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Full text of "The Works of Lord Byron: Embracing His Suppressed Poems, and a Sketch of His ..."

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THE 



WORKS 



LORD BYRON 



KMBaACIKG 



HIS SUPPRESSED POEMS, 



AlCD 



A SKETCH OF HIS LIFE. 



ILLXTSTBATIS. 
NEW EDITION, COMPLETE IN ONE VOLUMB. 



BOSTON: 

PHILLIPS, SAMPSON, AND COMPANY. 

UO WA8HINOTON STREET. 

1854. 



\<f i3S'0 


^^i^ 




(^ L, . '/ /^yy^j 




\i^iR^i;^X^ 







ADVERTISEMENT. 



Ik tihe preparation of the present edition of the works of Lord £yton, tihe 
pnblishers have spared no expense or delay in making it butikelt coKPuraE. 
In its progress through the press, it has undergone the careful siiper*:v*9n of a 
distinguished literary gentleman; and its proprietors feel that they can claim for 
this edition what no other publisher can in this country, — that it contains, 
xmABBiDGEt^ line for line, and word for word, the cohplxtb wobks of Lord 
Byron, and, in this respect^ the only one ever issued from the American press* 



CONTENTS. 



POEMS, ETC. 



17 

Tolaslte 18 

CniDl. 19 

DntolL 2S 

DntoUL 87 

CkntolY 47 

HotettoOntol. • • • • • 84 

liotHtoOutell U 

AnNBdiz 7» 

Kotat to Omlo nL 81 

KotastoOmolY. . • • . 84 

Cn QiAoum .108 

108 

108 

119 

Tn BuBB ov AsiCMt • • • • U2 

. . • « • 1S2 

»I. ....••• 122 

OntolL 126 

Hotel 182 

Tn CoasAim 186 

185 

it. 186 

CntolL 141 

Gntom. ••••'.. 145 

151 

• • . • • 154 

OutoL .,••..• 154 

CbatolL 159 

Soto U5 

ha Baem w ikmxwrm • • • • 166 

166 

166 

175 

178 

178 

178 

• • • . 181 



Tn pBiioiraft «v Cixuov • • • U8 

BoQiwlmCUIln • • « • 188 

Notef 186 

Bbppo 188 

Notef 185 

MAMMtTA 198 

AftmtiMBuat 196 

TnliL^iro •••••. 108 

Cutol. 108 

CwtolL 805 

Canto HL 810 

CaatolV 812 

Appendix • • 818 

Uamwbmd 888 

Notat 888 

Tkb Dbfobkbd TBumvoMOD • • • 888 

lidvBrtiMinflnt 888 

Hn^Tur A3n> Baks .. ... 818 

Caot 889 

Dedication 859 

PtefiMM 859 

Habiko FixuBOy Dooa or Yavm . • 878 

PieflMa 878 

Notes ■• • • • • ■ • • 811 

Appendix ••«•••• 812 

Tkb Two Fomiabi J80 

Appendix 841 

BAMSUMAtAJbim 818 

Dedioatkm 848 

x^enee •■••••• 9fto 

Notee m 

WBBjnn 878 

DedieatioB 878 

PMftMe •••••• <78 

HOUBI OV TlllWBM 412 

Dedioattan ••••.. 412 

Pie&oe . ... * ^2 

On leading KewrteadA]>be!f ... 418 



CGKnSJXTS 



Oa a Distant Tiew of the Tillage and Sehool 

of Hazrow on the Hill .... 414 

ToD 414 

Epitaph on a Friend .... 416 

A Fragment 416 

ToBddleston 416 

Reply to some Verses of J. M. B. Figot, 

Esq., on the cmelty of his Mistress 416 

To the Sighing Strephon . . .416 

The Tear 416 

ToMissFigot 417 

Lines written in " Letters of an Italian Nun 

and an English Gentlenkan. By J. J. 

Sonssean. Founded on Facts ** . 417 

Answer to the foregoing, addressed to Miss — 417 

The Cornelian 417 

On the Death of a Yonng Lady, Consin to 

the Author, and yery dear to him 418 

To Emma .418 

An Occasional Prologue. Delivered prerious 

to the performance of '* The Wheel of For- 

tane" at a private Theatre ... 418 
On the Death of Mr. Fox . . . 419 

To M. S. G. 419 

ToCarolhie 419 

To Caroline 420 

To Caroline 420 

Stanzas to a Lady, with tiie Poems of Camoens 420 
The first Kiss of Lote .... 421 

To Mary 421 

To Woman 421 

ToM. S.O. 422 

To a BeautiAil Quaker . . .422 

Song 422 

To 423 

To Mary, on reedying her Picture . . 423 

ToLesbia 424 

Idnes addressed to a Young Lady • . 424 

LoTe's Last Adieu 424 

Damsetas 425 

To Marion 426 

Oscar of Alva 426 

To the Duke of Dorset .... 428 
Adrian's Address to his Soul, when Dying 429 
Translation from Catullus. AdLesbiam . 430 
Translation of the Epitaph on Yirgil and 

Tibullus. By Domitius Marsus . . 430 
Imitation of Tibullus .... 430 
Translation from Catullus .... 430 
Imitated from Catullus. ToEUen . 430 
Translation from Horace. Ode 8, lib. 3 . 430 
Translation from Anacreon. To his Lyre 431 

Ode in . 431 

Fragments of School Exercises. From the 

Prometheus Vlnctus of iBschylus . • 431 
The Episode of Nisus and Euryalus. APar^ 

aphrase from the iBneid, Lib. IX. • . 431 
Translation i^xmi the Medea of Euripides 436 
Thoughts suggestedbyaColleffeExamination 436 



To the Earl of 486 

Granta. A Medley . . . ... 487 

Answer to some elegant Yerses sent by a 
Friend to the Author, oomplaining that one 
of his Descriptions was rather too warmly 

drawn 488 

LachinYGair 480 

To Romance 480 

Elegy on NewBtead Abbey ... 440 
On a change of Masters at a great Poblie 

School 442 

Childish Recollections .... 442 
Answer to a beautiftil Poem, written by Mont- 
gomery, entitled ** The Common Lot" . 446 
To the Rer. J. T. Becher ... 447 
The Death of Calmar and Orla. An Imitar 

tion of Macpherson's Ossian . . 447 
To E. N. L., Esq. .... 448 

To . . .... 449 

Stanzas 460 

Lines written beneath an Elm in the Church- 
yard of Harrow on the Kill, September 2, 

1807 460 

Critique on "Hours of Idleness,*' extracted 
from the Edinburgh Reriew ... 461 
English Basim ahd Sootoh RanvwBBS 468 

Preface .463 

Postscript 467 

Hz2n» moK Hobaob 468 

ThB CUBSa OF MiKBSTA . . . ' • 480 

Thx Walts 488 

To the Publisher 488 

The Aob of BBOirn 487 

Thb Yision of JuoGxaiiT ... 494 
Preface 494 

MOBOANTB MaOOOIBB .... 608 

Advertisement ' . • • ' . • • 608 

Canto 1 604 

Thb P&ophbot of Dahtb' . . . .610 

Dedication 610 

Preface 610 

Canto 1 611 

Canto 11. 612 

Canto ni 613 

Canto lY 616 

Notes ....... 616 

Hbb&bw Mblodibs 618 

AdTertisement 618 

She Walks in Beauty 618 

The Harp the Monarch Minstrel Swept . 618 

If tiiat High World 618 

The Wild Gazelle 618 

Oh ! Weep for Those . • • , • 610 

On Jordan's Banks 610 

Jephtha's Daughter 610 

Oh I snatch'd away in Beanty'i Bloom . 610 

My Soul is Dark . . ... 610 

I saw Thee Weep CSKi 

Thy Days are Done • • • • 630 



COHTSim. 



IngofflHilbcfcnUilafltBatfto 620 

Saal 620 

'<Allbyuiit7,tri«h^ftFMMlier*' . 620 
WlwaColdncMin^tthknifliKiagCUy . 621 
Yiwni <rf BelskABw .... 621 

Simof theSleeplMi! 621 

Wen mj Bosom ■■ F«1m m Thoa deem'it it 

to be 621 

HeroA's LuM&t for Xirianme 621 

On the Day of the Deetnietion of JeroMlem 

by Titos 622 

By the Bivas of Babylon we tat doim aad 

«^ 622 

The Destructioii of Sennacherib . 622" 

Fran Job 622 

Thi Lamsnt ot Tamo . . . , i 

AdTertiacment 623 

MosoDT OH TSi Dbatk ov tkb Biost Hox. 

B. B. Shsudah 625 

Odb to NATouMnr Boxatabtb . .627 

Notef I 

Odb oir Yxmon I 

THlDBBiLIC 630 

Thb Blvs 632 

MncBLUunMus Poms .... 637 

Written in an Albom 687 

To • • • 637 

Stanias written in passing the Ambndan Golf 637 
BtiBsas composed during the l^ht« in a 

Thunder-fitonn •••••£ 

Written at Athens 63S 

Written after Swimming from Sestos to Aby- 

dos 638 

Song. ZM«ji*9«if arcviS .... 630 
Translation of the famous Greek War Song, 

A<«Tcrar^rd3ir'BXA#vMr .... 630 
Tnnalation of the Bomaio Song, ''Uxtftt /us 

*T9 Hpt04yt 'Oprnt^rmrn Xk^ *' . .640 

Written beneath a Fietare ... 640 

OnPkzting 640 

ToThyna 640 

Stuiias 641 

ToThyna 641 

Buthanasia 642 

Staazis. ** Hen qnanto minns est earn reli- 

quit Tcrsari qnam tni meminisse " • 642 

Stanms 643 

On a ComeUan Hesrt whieh was Broken • 643 
ToaYoathAdFriend .... 648 

To •••••• 644 

From the Portognese .... 644 
Laprompto, in reply to a Friend 644 

AddzesB, spoken at the opening of Dniry- 

LaaeTheatie 644 

ToTbne 646 

Tnnalation of a Bomaic Lore Song . 646 

ASong 64« 

On being asked what was the " Origin of 

Love" 646 



Him,fte 64« 

Lines inscribed npon a Cap fonned from a 

SkitU 647 

On the Death of Sir Petsr Psrker, Bart. 647 

To a Lady weeping 647 

From the Turkiah 647 

Sonnet. ToGene?ra 648 

Sonnet. To Generra • • • • 648 
Inscription on the Monnment of a Newfound- 
land Bog 648 

FareweU 648 

Bright be the Place of thy Sonl . 648 

When we Two Parted 649 

Stanaas for Mnsio 649 

StansasforMnsie 649 

Fan Thee WeU 660 

ASketoh 660 

To 661 

Ode. [From the French] .... 661 

From the French 662 

On the Star of ••the Legion of Honor." 

[From the French] .... 663 

Napoleon's FarewelL [From the French] 668 
Written on a blank Leaf of •< The Pleasures 

of Memory" 664 

Sonnet 664 

Stanaas to — — 664 

Darkness 664 

ChurchiU's GraTS 666 

Prometheus 666 

The Prayer of Nature 666 

Bomance muy Doloroso del Sitio y Toma de 

/lliaw^a ....«•. 667 
A Tcry moumM Ballad on the Siege and 

Conquest of Granada .... 667 

Sonetto di VittorelM. PerHonaca . 669 

Tranalation from Vittorelli. On a Nun . 669 

To my dear Mary Anne .... 669 

To Miss Chaworth . > . 669 

Fragment 660 

Fragment 660 

On Berisiting Hsirow . . » • 660 

L'Amitie est I'Amour sans Ailes 660 

To my Son ... 681 

Epitaph on John Adams, of Southwell . 681 

Fragment 661 

To Mrs. * * *, on being asked my reason for 

quitting England in the Spring , • 662 

A Lots Song 662 

Stansas !©••••••• 662 

To the Same 662 

Song 663 

Stansas to * * *, on learing England • 663 

Lines to Mr. Hodgson .... 664 
lines in the TrsTellers' Book at Orchomenus 664 

On Moore's Last Operatic Faroe . . 666 

Epiatle to Mr. Hodgson .... 666 

On Lord Thurlow's Poems ... 665 

To Lord Thurlow 661 



QOKTVSrSB. 



To Thomas Moore . . • . . M6 
Fngmoni of aa Bpistle to ThouM Moore iS66 

The DeTil's DriTO M 

Windeor Poetics W 

Additional Stanxas to the Qds to Ni^leon 

Bonaparte 607 

To Lady Caroline Lamb .... 507 

Stanzas for Music 568 

Address intended to be redted at the Caledo- 
nian Meeting • • . • • 569 
On the Prince Regent's returning the Picture 
of Sarah, Countess of Jersey, to Mrs. Mee 568 

ToBelshaszar 569 

Hebrew Melodies 568- 

Lmes intended for the opening of " The Siege 

of Corinth" 569 

Extract from an Unpublished Poem . . 570 

To Augusta 570 

On the Bust of Helen, by Canova . . 571 
Fragment of a Poem on heaving that Lady 

Byron was 111 571 

To Thomas Moore 572 

Stansas to the RiTer Po . . . .572 
Sonnet to George the Fourth . . . 572 
Frapcesca of Rimini ..... 572 

The Irish Aratar 573 

Stansas to Her who can best understand Them 574 
Stansas written on the Road between Florence 

and Pisa 575 

Impromptu, on Lady Blessington expressing 

her Intention of taking the Villa called 

*< n Parediso," near Genoa . 575 

To the Countess of Blessington . . . 575 

On this Day I complete my Thirty-Sixth Year 576 

To a Lady who presented the Author with 

th« Yelret Band iHtieh brand h«r Tresses 576 



ThoAdiea . • • • 

ToaYaiaLMlj 

To Anne 

To the Same . • • • • 

To the Author of % Sonnet K^**"g <^' Sad 



m 
m 

577 
578 
578 



<aiidy«iiioXeeK*' 



578 
578 
579 
579 
579 
580 
581 
581 



is my Terse/ yoasay. 
On Finding a Fan . 

Farewell to the Mun 

ToanOakatNewstead . . » • 
Lines, on hearing that Lady Byron wae III 
Stansas. " Could Love fi» ew " . 
Stansas. To a Hindoo Air 
Oh, never talk again to me 
The Third Act of Mani^red, in ite original 

Shape, as first sent to the Publisher . 581 

Dow Juan ....... 585 

Dedication ...... 565 

Canto L 587 

Canto II 608 

Canto III 618 

Canto lY 627 

Canto y 685 

Preface to Cantos YLYII. and TUL . 647 

Canto YI 648 

Canto Yn. 656 

Canto Yin 663 

Canto IX • . 673 

Canto X. 679 

Canto XI 685 

Canto Xn • . 692 

Canto Xin. .••,.. 698 

Canto XIY. .706 

Canto XT. 718 

CantoZTL W 

Notoe no 



CONTENTS. 



LETTERS, ETC. 



LBTTBBS 

L to Min P^vt 
n. to Hr. Pigot . 
m' to KiM Pigot 
IT. to Hr. Pigot . 
y. to Hr. Pigot . . 
YI. to Hr. Pigot . 
yn. to Hr. Pigot 
ym. toMiMPigot . 
IX. to the Btf 1 of Ghn . 
X. to Hr. ligot . . 
XL to Hr. Willuai^aiiket 
Xn. to Hr. William Baakw 
Xm. to Hr. FaUcMv . . 
Xiy. to Hr. PSgot . . 
Xy . to MiM Pigot 
XyL to MiM Pigot . 
Xyn. to HiM Pigot 

xym. to MiM Pigot . . 

XIX« toMiMPigot 
XX. to MiM P%ot . 
XXL to MiM Pigot 
XXn. to Mr. DidlM . 
XXm. to Mr. Dalha 
XXiy. to Mr. H«U7 Dmy 
XXy. to Mr. HaniMi . 
XXyi. to Mr. HaniMt 
XXyn. to Mr. Bedier 
XXym. toMr.BeebM . . 
XXIX. to Mr. Jmektoa 
XXX. toMr. JaokMm 
XXXL to Mr. JMluoft . . 
XXXn. to Mr. BMkar . . 
XXXm. to the HoBOnUe Mnu BjMx 
XXXiy. to Mrs. B710B . 
XXXy. toMr.HodgMA . 
XXXyi. to R. C. DalbM, Eiq. 

xxxyn. to R. c. DiUm, Em^. 

XXXyiU toMn.B7ioA. . 



m 

7» 
740 
740 
740 
740 
741 
741 
741 
742 
742 
742 
742 
743 
748 
748 
744 
744 
745 
745 
740 
746 
747 
747 
747 
748 
748 
748 
748 
748 
749 
749 
749 
750 
750 
750 
751 



XXXIX. to^r.HviMM . 

XL. to R. a D«Um» Biq. . 

XLI. toMr.WimAmB«ikM 

XTiIL to Mn. Byron 

XLni. to Mr. Henry Drary 

XLiy. to Mr. Hodgson . 

XLy . to Mr. Hodgson 

XLYI. to Mr. Hodgson . 

XLyn. to the Hon. Mn. Byion 

XLyni. to Mr. Rvshton . 

XLIX. to the Hononbls Mrs. Byna 

tj, to Mrs. Byron 

LI. to Mrs. Byion . 

LII. to the Hon. Mrs. Byron 

LIIL to the Hon. Mrs. Byron 

Ijy. to the Hon. Mrs. Byron 

Ly. to Mr. Henry Dnixy 

Lyi. to Mr. Hodgson . 

LYII. to the Honorable Mis. Byron 

Lyni. to Mr. Henzy Dmry . 

LIX. to the Hon. Mr^ Byron . 

LX. to Mis. Bjson 

LXI. to Mrs. Byron . 

LXII. to the Hon. Mrs. Byioa 

LXin. to Mr. Hodgson 

LXIY. to Mrs. Byron . . 

LXy. to Mrs. Byron . 

LXYI. to Mrs. Byzoa . 

LXyil. to Mr. Hodgson 

LXYIIL to Mr. BallM . . 

LXIX. to Mr. Henry Dnuy 

LXX. to the Hon. Mrs. Byron 

LXXI. to Dr. Pigot . 

LXXn. to Mr. Scrope DsTiM . 

LXXIII. to Bolton, Bs^i. 

LXXiy. to Mr. Bolton 
LXXy. to Mr. Bolton . 
LXXyi. to Mr. Dallas 



TSl 
751 
751 
783 
75S 
752 
752 
751 
753 
754 
755 
755 
757 
757 
757 
757 
757 
W 
758 
75C 
700 
761 
761 
762 
762 
763 
764 
764 
764 
765 
765 
765 
766 
766 
766 
767 
767 
767 



u 


CONTENTS. 






Pfefe 


. 


»••• 


LETTERS 




LETTERS 




LXXVII. to Mr. Hodgson . . 


. 767 


CXXXY. to Lord Holland . 


. . 786 


LXXVIII. to Mr. DaUaa . . 


768 


CXXXYI. to Lord Holland 


788 


LXXIX. to Mr. Murray . . 


. 768 


CXXXYII. to Lord Holland . 


. . 786 


LXXX. to Mr. Dallas 


769 


CXXXVm. to Lord Holland 


787 


LXXXI. to Mr. Dallas . , . . 


. 769 


CXXXIX. to Lord Holland 


. . 787 


LXXXII. to R. C. Dallas, Esq. 


769 


CXL. to Lord Holland 


787 


LXXXIII. to Mr. Murray . . 


. 770 


CXLL to Mr. Murray 


. . 787 


LXXXIV. to Mr. Dallas . . 


770 


CXLIl. to Mr. Murray . 


. 787 


LXXXV. to R. C. Dallas, Esq. . 


. 771 


CXLIIl. to Mr. William Banket 


. . 788 


LXXXVL to Mr. Murray . . 


. 771 


CXLIY. to Mr. Murray . 


788 


LXXXVII. to R. C. Dallas, Esq. . 


. 771 


CXLY. to Mr. Murray 


. . 789 


LXXXVIII. to R. C. Dallas, Esq. 


. 771 


CXLYI. to Lord Holland 


789 


LXXXIX. to Mr. Murray . . 


. 771 


CXLVU. to Mr. Murray 


. . 789 


XC. to Mr. Dallas . . 


771 


CXLYIII. to Mr. Murray . 


789 


XCL to R. C. DaUas, Esq. . 


. 772 


CXLIX. to Mr. Murray 


. . 789 


XCU. to Mr. D^las . . 


772 


CL. to Mr. Murray . 


. 790 


XCni. to Mr. Didlas . . . 


. 772 


CLI. to Mr. William Bankes 


. . 790 


XCIY. to R. C. Dallas, Esq. 


772 


CLII. to Mr. Murray . 


790 


XCY. to R. C. Dallas, Esq. 


. 773 


. CLIII. to Mr. Rogers . . 


. • . 790 


XCYI. to Mr. Dallas . . 


. 773 


CLIY. to Mr. Murray . . 


791 


XCVn. to Mr. Hodgsoa 


. 774 


CLY. to Mr. Murray 


. . 791 • 


XCVin. to R. C. Dallas, Esq. 


. 776 


CLYI. to Mr. Murray . 


791 


XCIX. to R. C. Dallas, Esq. . 


. 776 


CLVII. to Mr. Murray 


.• . 791 


C. to R. C. Dallas, Esq. 


. 776 


CLYIII. to W. Gifford, Esq. . 


.' 792 


CI. to R. C. Dallas, Esq. . 


. 776 


CLIX. to Mr. Moore . 


. . 792 


CII. to Miss Pigot . . 


776 


CLX. to Mr. Moore . 


792 


cm. Mr. Moore to Lord Byron 


. 776 


CLXL to Mr. Moore . . 


. . 792 


CIV. to Mr. Moore . . 


776 


CLXII. to Mr. Moore 


793 


CY. to Mr. Moore . 


. 776 


CLXni. to Mr. Moore . . 


. . 793 


CVI. to Mr. Moore . 


777 


CLXIY. to Mr. Moore 


798 


CVII. to Mr. Moore . 


. 777 


CLXY. to Mr. Croker . . 


. . 794 


CYIII. to Mr. Harness . 


777 


CLXYI. to Mr. Murrey . . 


794 


CIX. to Mr. Harness 


. 777 


CLXYn. to Mr. Morxay 


. . 794 


ex. to Mr. Hodgson . 


. 778 


CLXYni. to Mr. Murray . 


. 795 


CXI. to Mr. Hodgson 


. 778 


CLXIX. to Mr. Moore . 


. 796 


CXII. to Mr. Harness . 


779 


CLXX. to Mr. Moore . . 


798 


CXIII. to Mr. Moore . 


. 779 


CLXXI. to Mr. Moore . . 


. . 796 


CXIY. to Mr. Moore 


779 


CLXXII. to Mr. Moore . . 


797 


CXY. to Robert Rushton . 


. 780 


CLXXIII. to Mr. Moore . . 


. . 797 


CXYI. to Robert Rushton . 


780 


CLXXIY. to Mr. Moore . . 


797 


CXYII. to Mr. Hodgson 


. 780 


CLXXY. to Mr. Moore . . 


. . 797 


CXYIII. to Master John Cowdl 


780 


CLXXYI. to Mr. Moore . . 


798 


CXIX. to Mr. Rogers . 


. 781 


CLXXYTI. to Mr. Moore . . 


. . 798 


CXX. to Lord Holland 


. 781 


CLXXYIIL to Leigh Hunt . . 


799 


CXXI. to Mr. Hodgson 


. 781 


CLXXIX. to Mr. Moore . . 


. . 799 


CXXII. to Lord Holland 


781 


CLXXX. to Mr. Murray 


600 


CXXIII. to Mr. William Bankes . 


. 782 


CLXXXI. to Mr. Oifford . . 


. . 800 


CXXIY. to Mr. WiUiam Bankes 


782 


CLXXXIL to Mr. Murrey . . 


800 


CXXY. to Lord Holland . . 


. 783 


CLXXXm. to Mr. Muzny 


. . 801 


CXXYI. to Sir Walter Scott, Bart 


. 783 


CLXXXIY. to Mr. Murray . , 


801 


CXXYIL to Lord Holland . 


. 784 


CLXXXY. to Mr. Murrey 


. . 802 


CXXVill. to Lord Holland 


. 784 


CLXXXYL to Mr. Murrey . . 


802 


CXXIX. to Lord Holland 


. 784 


CLXXXVil. to Mr. Murrey 


. . 802 


CXXX. to Lord Holland 


784 


CLXXXYm. to Mr. Murrey . . 


803 


CXXXI. to Lord Holland 


. 784 


CLXXXIX. to Mr. Ashe . . 


. . 803 


CXXXn. to Lord Holland 


. 786 


CXC. to Mr. Ashe . . 


804 


CXXXin. to Lord Holland . . 


. 785 


CXCI. to Mr. Gait . . 


. . 804 


CXXXIY. to Lord Holland 


786 


CXCn. to Mr. Leigh Hunt . 


804 





C0NTENT8. 


Hi 




ftp 




nm 


utrrsRs 




LBTTBRS 




CXCm. to Mr. Hmt>I« . 


. . 804 


CCLI. to Mr. Murray 


. . 828 


CXCIV. to Mr. Unmj . . 


804 


CCLII. to Mr. Murray . 


824 


CXCV. to Mr. Moore 


. . 805 


CCLIII. to Mr. Nathan 


. 824 


CXCYI. to Mr. Moore . 


805 


CCLIV. to Mr. Moore . . 


824 


CXCVn. toMr.Morrmj . 


. . 806 


CCLY. to Mr. Moore 


. . 824 ' 


CXCVIIL to Mr. Murray . . 


806 


CCL VI. to Mr. Moore . 


824 


CXCIX. to Mr. Murray . 


. . 806 


CCLVII. to Mr. Murray . 


. . 825 


CC. to Mr. Moxraj . 


807 


CCLVIII. to Mr. Moore . . 


825 


OCI. to Mr. Hodgson . 


. . 807 


CCUX. to Mr. Moore 


. . 825 


CCIL to Mr. Moore . . 


808 


CCLX. to Mr. Moore . . 


923 


CCm. to Mr. Hunt . 


. . 808 


CCLXI. to Mr. Moore 


. . 826 


OCIV. to Mr. Murray . . 


. 809 


CCLXII. to Bfr. Moore . . 


8»« 


OCT. to Mr. Rogers 


. . 809 


CCLXIII. to Mr. Moore 


. . 821 


0C7VI. to Mr. Rogers . 


809 


CCLXIV. to Mr. Coleriage . 


82^1 


OCVII. to Mr. Moore 


. . 809 


CCLXV. to Mr. Murray . 


. . 828 


OCYin. to Mr. Dallas . 


810 


CCLX VI. to Mr. Moore . . 


828 


CCIX. to • • • • . 


. 810 


CCLXVII. to Mr. Murray . 


. . 828 


OCX. to Mr. Moore . 


810 


CCLXVIII. to Mr. Hunt . . 


828 


CCXI. to W • • W • •, E« 


^ . 811 


CCLXIX. to Mr. Moore 


. . 829 


CCXII. to Mr. Moore . . 


811 


CCLXX. to Mr. Moore . 


829 


CCXm. to Mr. Moore 


. 811 


CCLXXL to Mr. Sotheby . 


. 880 


OCXIV. to Mr. Murray . 


812 


CCLXXII. to Mr. Sotheby 


830 


CX3XV. to Mr. Murray . 


. . 812 


CCLXXIII. to Mr. Taylor . 


. . 830 


CCXYI. to Mr. Moore . . 


812 


CCLXXIV. to Mr. Murray . . 


830 


OCXVn. to Mr. Moore 


. . 813 


CCLXXY. to Mr. Murray . 


. . 831 


CCXVin. to Mr. Murray . . 


814 


CCLXXVI. to Mr. Hunt . . 


831 


CCXIX. to Mr. Murray . 


. . 814 


CCLXXVn. to Mr. Hunt 


. . 831 


CCXX. to Mr. Murray . . 


814 


CCLXXVIII. to Mr. Hunt . . 


831 


CGXXI. to Mr. Murray . 


. , 814 


CCLXXIX. to Mr. Moore 


. . 832 


CCXXn. to Mr. Murray . . 


814 


CCLXXX. to Mr. Hunt . . 


832 


CCXXni. to Mr. Murray . 


. . 815 


CCLXXXI. to Mr. Moore 


. . 833 


OCXXIV. to Mr. Moore . . 


816 


CCLXXXII. to Mr. Moore . * 


833 


CCXXV. to Mr. Moore 


. . 816 


CCLXXXIII. to Mr. Murray . 


. . 834 


CCXXVI. to Mr. Moore . . 


816 


CCLXXXIV. to Mr. Murray . . 


834 


CCXXVll. to Mr. Rogers . 


. . 816 


CCLXXXV. to Mr. Murray . 


. . 834 


CCXXVUL to Mr. Rogers . . 


817 


CCLXXXVI. to Mr. Moore . . 


834 


CCXXTX. to Mr. Moore 


. . 817 


CCLXXXVIL to Mr. Hunt . . 


. . 835 


CCXXX. to Mr. Moore . . 


817 


CCLXXXVIII. to Mr. Rogers . . 


836 


OCXXXI. to Mr. Murray . 


. . 818 


CCLXXXIX. to Mr. Moore 


. . 835 


OCXXXII. to Mr. Murray . . 


818 


CCXC. to Mr. Hunt . 


838 


OCXXXni. to Mr. Murray . 


. . 818 


CCXCI. to Mr. Moore 


. . 838 


OCXXXnr. to Mr. Moore . . 


818 


CCXCU. to Mr. Murray . . 


837 


CCXXXV. to Mr. Murray . 


. . 819 


CCXCIII. to Mr. Rogers . 


. . 837 


CCXXXVI. to Mr. Murray . . 


819 


CCXCIV. to Mr. Murray . . 


837 


CCXXXVII. to Mr. Moore 


. . 819 


CCXCV. to Mr. Murray . 


. . 837 


CCXXXVIII. toMr.Moore . . 


820 


CCXCVI. to Mr. Murray . . 


837 


CCXXXIX. to Mr. Murray . 


. . 820 


CCXCVn. to Mr. Murray . 


. . 837 


CCXL. to Mr. Murray. 


820 


CCXCVIII. to Mr. Rogers . . 


838 


CCXU. to Mr. Moore 


. . 821 


CCXCIX. to Mr. Murray . 


838 


CCXLn. to Mr. Moore . 


821 


CCC. to Mr. Murray . 


838 


CCXT.ni. to Mr. Moore 


. . 821 


CCCI. to Mr. Rogen 


. . 838 


CCXUV. to the Countess of • • 


• 822 


CCCII. to Mr. Murray . . 


838 


CCXLV. toMr.Moore 


. . 822 


CCCIII. to Mr. Murray . 


. . 840 


CCXLVI. to Mr. Hunt . . 


822 


CCCIY. to Mr. Murray . . 


840 


CCXLTn. to Mr. Mooie 


. . 822 


CCCV. to Mr. Murray . 


. 84C 


CCXLVni. to Mr. Henry Drury 


823 


CCCVl. to Mr. Murray . - 


841 


OCXLIX. to Mr. CoweU 


. . 823 


CCCVII. to Mr. Murray . 


. . 841 


CCL. toMr.Moore . . 


828 


CCCVIII. to Mr. Moots . • 


8tf 



0ONTBNX8. 



LBTTBBS 

OCCIX. 

CCCX. 

CCCXI. 

CCCXII. 

CCCXIII. 

CCCXIV. 

cccxv. 

CCCX VI. 
CCCXVII. 

cccxvin. 

cccxix. 

cccxx. 

CCCXXI. 
CCCXXII. 

cccxxm. 

cccxxiv. 

cccxxv. 

cccxx VI. 
CCCXXVII. 

cccxxvin. 

CCCXXIX. 

cccxxx. 

CCCXXXI. 

cccxxxn. 

CCCXXXIII. 

cccxxxrv. 
cccxxxv. 

CCCXXXVI. 

CCCXXXVII. 

CCCXXXVIII. 

CCCXXXIX. 

ccexL. 

CCCXLI. 

CCCXLII. 

CCCXLIII. 

CCCXLIV. 

CCCXLV. 

CCCXLVI. 

• CCCXLVII. 

cccxLvm. 

CCCXLIX. 

CCCL. 

CCCLI. 

CCCLII. 

CCCLIII. 

CCCLIV. 

CCCLV. 

CCCLVI. 

CCCLVII. 

cccLvra. 

CCCLIX. 

CCCLX. 

CCCLXL 

CCCLXII. 

cccLxra. 

CCCLXIV. 

CCCLXV. 

CCCLXVI. 



to Mr. 
to Mr. 
to Mr. 
to Mr. 
to Mr. 
to Mr. 
to Mr. 
to Mr. 
to Mr. 
to Mr. 
to Mr. 
to Mr. 
to Mr. 
to Mr. 
to Mr. 
to Mr. 
to Mr. 
to Mr. 
to Mr. 
to Mr. 
to Mr. 
to Mr. 
to Mr. 
to Mr. 
to Mr. 
to Mr. 
to Mr. 
to Mr. 
to Mr. 
to Mr. 
to Mr. 
to Mr. 
to Mr. 
to Mr. 
to Mr. 
to Mr. 
to Mr. 
to Mr. 
to Mr. 
to Mr. 
to Mr. 
to Mr. 
to Mr. 
to Mr. 
to Mr. 
to Mr. 
to Mr. 
to Mr. 
to Mr. 
to Mr. 
to Mr. 
to Mr. 
to Mr. 
to Mr. 
to Mr. 
to Mr. 
to Mr. 
to Mr. 



Moore 

Moore . 

Murray 

Murray 

Murray 

Murray 

Murray 

Moore . 

Murray 

Murray 

Murray 

Moore . 

Murray 

Muiray 

Moore 

Moore. 

Murray 

Moore. 

Murray 

Kogen 

Murray 

Moore . 

Murray 

Muiray 

Murray 

Murray 

Murray 

Moore . ' 

Murray 

Murray 

Murray 

Murray 

Murray 

Murray 

Murray 

Murray 

Murray 

Moore . 

Murray 

Muiray 

Murray 

Murray 

Murray 

Murray 

Hoppner 

Murray 

Muiray 

Muiray 

Muiray 

Murray 

Murray 

Hoppner 

Muiray 

Muiray 

Murray 

Moore . 

Murray 

Hoppner 



848 
843 
846 
846 
846 
846 
847 

1UA 
OvO 

849 
849 
860 
850 
861 
861 



864 
866 
866 
866 
866 
867 
868 
868 



861 
861 
861 
862 
862 



863 
864 
864 
866 
866 
866 



867 
867 
868 
868 



869 
870 
870 
870 
870 
871 



LETTEB8 
CCCLXVII. 

CCCLX vra. 

CCCLXIX. 

CCCLXX. 

CCCLXXI. 

CCCLXXII. 

cocLXxm. 

CCCLXXIV. 

CCCLXXV. 

CCCLXXVI. 

CCCLXX vn. 
cccLxxvin. 

CCCLXXIX. 

CCCLXXX. 

CCCLXXXI. 

CCCLXXXU. 

cccLXxxni. 

CCCLXXXIV. 

CCCLXXXV. 

CCCLXXXVI. 

cccLxxxvn. 
CCCLXXX vm. 

CCCLXXXIX. 

cccxc. 

CCCXCL 
CCCXCIL 

cccxcin. 

CCCXCIV. 

cccxcv. 

CCCXCVI- 

CCCXCVII. 

CCCXCVIII. 

CCCXCIX. 

cccc. 

CCCCI. 

ccccn. 
ccccin. 

CCCCIV. 

CCCCV. 

CCCCVL 

ccccvn. 
ccccvra. 

CCCCIX. 

ccccx. 

CCCCXI. 

ccccxn. 

CCCCXIII. 

ccccxrv. 
ccccxv. 

ccccx VI. 

ccccxvn. 
ccccxvin. 

CCCCXIX. 

ccccxx. 

CCCCXXI. 

ccccxxn. 
ccccxxni. 



toMr. Bogers . 

to Mr. Moore . 

to Mr. Munay • • 

to Mr. Murray 

to Mr. Murray . 

to Mr. Muiray • • 

to Mr. Muiray . 

to Mr. Moore . 

to»» •• • . . . 

to Mr. Murray 

to Mr. Muiray . « 

to Mr. Muiray 

to Mr. Murray • • • 

to Capt Basil Hall 

to Mn Moore 

to Mr. Murray 

to Mr. Murray .. 

to Mr. Murray 

to Mr. Murray . 

to Mr. Murray 

to the Editor of GalignanTs 

Messenger 
to Mr. Muiray . 
to Mr. Muiray 
to Mr. Murray . 
to Mr. Hoppner 
to Mr. Hoppner . 
to Mr. Murray 
to Mr. Hoppner . 
to Mr. Muiray 
to Mr. Hoppner . 
to Mr. Muiray 
to Mr. Murray . 
to Mr. Murray 
to Mr. Murray . 
to the Countess Ghiiedoll 
to Mr. Muiray . 
to Mr. Murray 
to Mr. Hoppner . 
to Mr. Hoppner 
to Mr. Hoppner . 
to Mr. Muiray 
to Mr. Hoppner . 
to Mr. Muiray 
to Mr. Bankes 
to Mr. Murray 
to the Countess Guiccioli 
to the Countess GuieoioU 
to Mr. Hoppner . 
to Mr. Muiray 
to Mr. Hoppner . 
to Mr. Moore . 
to Mr. Hoppner . 
to Mr. Hoppner • 
to Mr. Murray . 
to Mr. Bankes 
to Mr. Murray . 
to Mr. Baslies 



872 
872 
873 
873 
873 
874 
874 
874 
876 
877 
877 
877 
878 
878 
878 
879 
879 
879 
88D 



881 
881 



884 
884 
886 
886 
886 
886 
887 
887 
887 
887 



889 
890 
890 
891 
891 
892 
892 
892 
892 
898 

898 
894 
894 
894 
896 
896 



OOOOXZIY. to! 
OOOOXXT. toliE.1 

GOOCXXyn. tolir.Xiiiny 
OOOCZXTHL toXE^Mttmy. 
OOOCXXIX. to Mr. littxi^ 
OOCOZXX. tD Mr. Mn^. 
OOOCXXXL to Mr. HdppMi . 
OOOOXXZIL to Mt; Mn^ . 
OOOCXXXm. to Mr. Mwxm J 
OCOCXXZIV . to Mr. Honnv 
OOOOXXXV. toMr.Mvn7 . 
OOOCXXXTL to Mr. Mrnny. 
OOOCXZXTIL to1fir.Mttn«7 . 
OOOCXXXYin. toMr.Miin^r. 
OOOCZXXIX. toMr.Moon , 
OOOOZL. to Mr. Haniitt 
OOOCUJ. toMr.MMn < 
OOCCXLIL to Mr. Mttmy. 
OOOOXUn. toMr.Moon . 
GOOCXIjy. toMr.Moon . 
OOOCXI»y . to Mr. Muny . 
OOCCXLYL to Mir. Mvny. 
OCCCXI.yn. toMr. Moon . 
fCOCXLVnL to Mr. Mvmj* 
OOOCXUZ. toMr. Mamy • 
GOOCLb to Mr. Mamy. 
CCCCU. toMr.Muimy 
CCCCLIL toMr-Mmmy. 
OCCdJIL to Mr. Muny 
OCCCUY. to M^. Mmrny . 
OOOGLV . to Mr. Many 
OCOCLVL toM^.Mwny. 
COOGLTIL toMr. Munty 
COOOE^VUL to Mr. Mwny . 
OCCCLDL to Ml. Moon 
OCXXSLX. toMr.M«ny. 
OCGCLXL to Mr. Muny 
OOCGLXn. toMr. Moon . 
COOCLXm. to Mr. M«my 
OCXXSUUV. to Mr. Moiray . 
COCCULT. to Mr. Muny 
CCCCUiyL toMr. Muny. 
COOCUCYIL to Mr. Moon 
COOCULYIIL toMr. Moon . 
OOOCLXIX. to Mr. Moon 
tMnm to tiM Noi9«littt i 
OCXXfLXX. to Mr. Moon 
OOOOULXI. to Mr. Many. 
CCOCLXXn. toMr.Miiiny 
OOOCLXXnL to Mr. Momy . 
OOOGULXIV. to Mr. Mvmy 
OCCCI^Xy. to Mr. Moon . 
GOOCULXYI. to M^. M«my 
aOOCLXXTn. toMi.Miimy. 
OOOCLZXTm. to Mr. Momy 
OOOCLXXIX. to Mr. Mmay . 
OOOCLXXX. toMr. Moon 



806 
807 
807 
807 
807 
807 



8B0 
8B0 



901 
901 
901 
90S 
902 
908 
908 
908 
904 
906 
006 
906 
906 
906 
906 
906 
906 
907 
906 
906 
900 
009 
910 
910 
911 
911 
912 
013 
018 
914 
914 
OU 
915 
016 
916 
917 
917 
918 
018 
918 
018 
919 
019 
930 
Oil 



OOCOLXXZI. 

ocooLXXxn. 

OCCGLXXXm. 

ooocLxxxiy. 

OCCOLXXXY. 

OCOOLXXXTL 

OCCGLXXXTIL 

OOOCLXXXTm. 

COOCLXXXIX. 

ooocxo. 

OOOOXCL 
OCOCXdL 

ococxcm. 

OOOCXCIV. 

OCOCXCfV. 

OOOCXCVI. 

ccccxcYn. 
oocxmcnn. 

OOCCXCIX. 

D. 

DL 

DIL 

Dm. 

DIV. 

DV. 

DVL 

Dvn. 
Dym. 

DIX. 

DX. 

DXL 

Bxn. 
Dxm. 

DXIV. 

DXV. 

DXVI. 

Dxvn. 

DXYIIL 

DXIX. 

DXX. 

DXXI. 

Bxxn. 
Dxxin. 

DXXIT. 

DXXT. 

DXXVI. 

DXXTIL 

DxxvnL 

DXXIX. 

BXXX. 

BXXXL 

DXXXIL 

Dxxxm. 

DXXXIY. 

DXXXV. 

DXXXVI. 

DXXXTn. 

Dxxxvin. 



toi^.Pvir 

to]fr.Mnq 

tolfr. 
toMr. 

toMr.BMky 



toMr.MMn 
toMr. Moon . 

tolfr.Mttmy 
toMr. HoppMV 
toMr.Mvisy 
tolfr.MMn . 
tolfir. Miuoy 
totW 
toMr.Moon 
toMr. Hoppur 
toMr.Mni^y 
toMr-Mni^y. 
to Mr. Many , 
toMr. Hoppn« 
toMr.Moon 
toMr.Moon . 
toMr.Moon 
to M^. Mnmy • 
toMr. Mvmy 
toMr.M«ny. 
toMr.BoppMt 
tolfr.Mttmy. 
toMr. Moon 
toMr.M«my. 
toMr.Mwny 
toMr. Momy. 
to Mr. Moon 
to Mr. Momy 
to Mr. Mwny 
toMr.Moon . 
to Mr. Mwny 
to Mr. Momy. 
toMr. Moon 
toMr.Moon . 
toMr.Moon 
to Mr. Momy. 
toMr. Miizny. 
toMr.Moon 
to Mr. Momy. 
toMr.Moon 
toMr. Moon . 
toMr.Moon 
to Mr. MuEny • 
toMr. Momy 
toMr.Rogon. 
toMr.Moon 
toMr. Momy. 
toMr.Momiy 
toMr.Moon • 
toMr.OwppoHl 
to Mr. Momy. 



ON 
ON 
ON 

988 
936 
936 
936 
936 
936 
987 
987 
987 
987 



986 
980 
980 
980 

980 
080 
080 
081 
088 
088 



088 
084 
084 



086 

086 
087 
088 
088 
088 
080 
080 
•10 
040 
040 
041 
041 
041 
043 
048 
048 



jA 




1 


OaMTbnxB. 1 




»^ 


f^ 


UnTBBS 




LETTERS 


DXXXIX. to Ut. Uumj . . 


. 943 


DXCVL to Goethe ... 966 


DXL. to Mr. Moore . . 


944 


DXCVn. to Mr. Bowring ... 965 


DXT.I. toMr. SheUey . . 


. 944 




DXLII. to Mr. Moore . . 


944 


Greeee .... 966 . 


DXLIII. to Sir Walter Seott, Bart 


. . 945 


DXOIX. to Prince MaTrooordato . 966 


BXUV. to Douglas Kinnaiid 


945 


DC. to Mr. Bowring ... 966 


DXLV. to Mr. Murray . . 


. 946 


DCI. to Mr. Bowring . . 967 


DXLYI. to Mr. Moore . . 


946 


DCn. to Mr. Bowring ... 967 


DXLVIL to Mr. Moore . . 


. 947 


DCiil. to the Honorable Mr. Douglas 


BXLVIII. to Mr. Moore . . 


947 


Kinnand ... 967 


DXLIX. to Mr. Mooie . . 


. 947 


DCIV, to Mr, Bowring . . 968 


DL. to Mr. Moore . 


948 


DGV. to Mr. Moore ... 968 


DLI. to Mr. Moore . . 


. 948 


DC VL to the Hon. Colonel Stanhope 969 


DLH. toMr.Munmy. . 


948 


DCVIL to Mr. Muir .... 969 


BLIII. toMr.Mooie . . 


949 


DCVni. to Mr. C. Hancock . . 969 


DLIV. to Mr. Murray . 


. 949 


DCIX. to Mr. Charies Hancock . 970 


DLV. to Mr. Murray . . 


949 


DCX. to Mr. Charles Hancock . 971 


DLVI. to Mr. Murray . 


. 950 


DCXL to Mr. Charies Hancock . 9n 


DLVn. to Mr. Murray . . 


950 


DCXn. to • • • • . . . 971 


DLVin. to Mr. Shelley . . 


. 950 


DCXin. to Mr. Charles Hancock . 972 


DLIX. to Sir Walter Soott . 


950 


DCXIV. to Andrew Londo . 978 


DLX. to Mr. Murray . . 


. 951 


DCXY. to His Highness YussniT 


DLXI. to Mr. Moore . . 


951 


Pacha ... 978 


DLXn. to Bir. Mumy . . 


. 951 


DCXVI. to Mr. Barflf . . . .978 


DLXm. to Mr. Murray . 


952 


DCX VII. to Mr. Mayer ... 978 


DLXIV. to Mr. Murray . 


. 952 


DCX VIII. to the Honorahle Douglas 


DLXV. to Mr. Moore . . 


952 


Kinnaird. . . 974 


DLXVI. toMr.EUice 


958 


DCXIX. to Mr. Barff .... 974 


DLXVII. to Mr. Murray . . 


953 


DCXX. to Mr. Murray ... 974 


DLXYllL to Mr. Murray . 


953 


DCXXI. to Mr. Moore . . .975 


DLXIX. to Mr. Moore . . 


953 


DCXXII. to Dr. Kennedy . 975 


DLXX. to Mr. Moore . . 


. 954 


DCXXIII. to Mr. Barff .... 976 


DLXXI. to Mr. Moore . . 


954 


DCXXiy. toMr.Barff ... 976 


DLXXn. to Mr. Murray . . 


. 955 


DCXXY. to Sr. Parmea ... 976 


DLXXm. to Mr. Murray . . 


955 


DCXXYI. to Mr. Charles Hancock . 976 


DLXXIV. to Mr. Murray . . 


. 956 


DCXXVn. to Dr. Kennedy . . .976 


DLXXV. toLady . . 


957 


DCXXYIII. to Colonel Stanhope . 977 


DLXXYI. to Mr. Piootor . . 


. 957 


DCXXIX. to Mr. Barff .... 977 


DLXXVII. to Mr. Moore . . 


957 


DCXXX. toMr.Barif ... 977 


DLXXVra. to Mrs. . . . 


. 957 


DCXXXI. to Mr. Barff .... 978 


DLXXIX. to Lady • • • . . 


958 


DCXXXn. to ••••• a Pnvsian Oflleer 978 


DLXXX. to Mr. Moore . . 


. 958 


DCXXXIII. to Mr. Barff .... 978 


BLXXXI. to the Earl of Blesaingto 


a 959 


DCXXXIY. to Mr. Barff ... 978 


DLXXXII. to the Earl of Blessingto 


n . 959 


DCXXXY. to Mr. Barff .... 979 


DLXXXm. to the Earl of Blessingto 


Q 960 


Extracts from a Journal, beg«n NoTcmber 14, 


DLXXXIV. to the Count * • . 


960 


1813 979 


DLXXXY. to the Countess of Blessin 


gton960 


Extracts from a Journal in SwitMrland . 995 


DLXXXVI. to the Countess of • • • 


. 961 


Extracts from a Journal in Italy ... 998 


DLXXXVn. to Lady Byron . . 


961 


Detached Thoughts, exlxacted from tszIoqs 


PLXXXVIll. to Mr. Blaquiere . . 


. 961 


Journals, Memorandums, ftc, &o. • . 1010 


BLXXXIX. to Mr. Bowring 


962 




DXC. to Mr. Bowring . . 


. 963 




DXCL to Mr. Church, Amei 


ican 


Itinerary of Greece 1028 


Consul at Genoa . 


. 963 




DXCn. to M.H. Beyle 


963 


by Lord Byron in the Spring of 1812 ; (after* 


DXCin. to Lady ♦ • • • . . 


. 964 


wards Published in one of Mr. Dallas's 


BXCIY. to the Countess of Blessin 


gton964 


NoTels 1028 


DXCY. to Mr. Bowring . . 


. 984 


Parliamentary Speeehas 1028 



oojiTum. 



^ 



▲ fngnoit. ... . . . lOaS 

Lettar to John Ximay o& tho B«t. W. L. 
Bowles's Strictnxss on fhe Lifo and Writings 

of Pops . 1087 

Notes 1016 

Obsenrations upon " ObserrstioBS." A See- 
ond Letter to John Mnmy, Bsq., on tht 
Ber. W. L. Bowles's Stiiotnras on the Life 
and Wntincs of Pops M 



Hots lOM 

SooM Obssrratkms npon an Axtiels m BUok- 

wood's Hagaains 10» 

Lotter to ^s Bditor of M7 Qxandmothsr'i 

Beriew lOM 

I^ord Baeon's Apothsgms • • . . 1066 
Translation of Two Bpistlst ftm the Aimo- 

nianYsnion. ... • . 1066 

Tte Wm of Loi4 Byiw • 1616 



THE LIFE OF LORD BYRON. 



OOIDOV Btbov 



bon in Holkt 



Vinet, LnMoD, oa ^a 8M di^x of Janvurj, 17M. 
' firtartedhim/aadllM 



r]Dil)irtk,hiafetlMr 
vhofe iwpmwibJHty of his wrlj tnfadng deirolv^ 
«■ kis vioChar, wlio, wilk Urn, mma iltar npairsd 
to Ater4aen, wbara they VMided for mmm tOM in 
ahoMMt eomplete SMiaiion. 

TkB Inlhacj of Byron wm marked with the work- 
iun of that wild and actire nririt whieh ha lo ftdly 
»dinlsy«dinan mhaeqnentyaanof hialiiik Aa a 
elud, hia temper waa fiolent, or rmtiiar, aollenly 
liaainnate. Bemgaagiily reprimanded by hia ninae, 
•■• daT, ftr haTinp aoiled or torn a new frock in 
which ne had jost been dreeaed, he got into one of 
Ui '<«ilairt lagea." (aa he teimed them,) eeised the 
fteek with boui haakdh rent it from pao to bottom, 
and stood in anllcn atittneea, aelting hia eeuawer 
and her wn;& at delanoe. 

KeCin^ftanding these nnnily oatbf«aks» in whieh 
he was too mnch eneonraged by the example of his 
mother, who frequently ptooeeded to the same ez- 
trcadties with her own eaps, gowns, fte., there 
was in hfa dianoeition a mixtnre of affeetionato 
■BiiUmii and piayftUneea, wluoh attaehed many to 
Mm, asid wkidi r en der e d him ^en, as in liper years, 
essilT msni^^eable by thoee who lored and nnder- 
atooa him sdReiently to be at onoe gentle and firm 
•ttoogk fisr the taak. 

T%e midiYided afleetien of the mother was nata' 
nBy centered In her son, who was her dariinff ; and 
wlien he only went out for an ordinary waUi, die 
WQwd enfreeft nim, with teare in her eyes, to take 
eare of himself, as ** she had notiiing on earth but 
him to lif« ibr ; " a eondnet not at aU pleasing to 
Us a d t enfamm i spirit ; the more espeeislly as some 
ef his eeakpaniona, who beheld the aifoetionato 
seene, wonla laogh and ridieole about it. This ex- 
eamiw! maternal aifcetion and indolgenoe* and the 
entire abaenee of that aalntaiy diaeipline so neoee- 
sary to ddldhood, donbtlem eontnbnted to tiie 
facmation of these nnplcasant traits of dtaraoter 
that distingnished Byron from all others in siriMO- 



throogh tiie eare and daily instmetlon of thb Buaa, 
he attrined a frr eariier and mere intimatoaeqnaint- 
anea with the Sacred Writings, than (alls to tha Wt 
of most yoonc people. 

The defeet a the fonnation of his foot, and a great 
weakneee of oonetitotion, induced his mother to keep 
him from an attendance on eehool, that he might 
expand his loigs and brace his limbs, npon the 
monntains of the neighborhood. 

This was eridentty the moot jndiekms method for 
imparting strensth to hie bodily frame; and the ee- 
qnel showed that it likewiee imparted tone and 
rigor to his mind. The sarage grandeur of natnra 
aroond him ; the feeling that he was npon tha hills 
where 



An aecSdent, at the time of birth, cansed a msl' 
foimatkm of one of his feet Hany expediento 
were need to restore the hmb to ito proper shape, 
under tim dSreetion of Dr. Hunter. Hie nurse, to 
whom im the task of putting on tiw bendagee, 
wonM often eing him to sleep, or relato to him sto- 
rim and legends, to which, like most otiier children, 
" ' I great delight. She also tought him 
rent number of Fiudms ; and the first 
1 were among the esriiest that he 
mory. Out of these lessons arose, 
hmg afterwards, die '* Hebrew Melodiee ; ** whieh, 
but for tiiem, nerer would hsTo been written, thoush 
Bnon studied Lowth on the Saoed Poetry of the 
Hebrews an his life. It is a remarkable fact, that, 



a«l«rdKkl;H 

his intercourse with a people whose chief amnis 
ments consisted in the recital of heroic talee of other 
timee, feats of strength, and a display of independ* 
enoe, blended with the wild, supernatural storiss pe- 
culiar to remote and thinly-peopled districts i-ndl 
these were calculated to foster that peculiar poetical 
feeling Innato in his character. 

The malformation of his foot was a subject on 
which young Byron was extremely sensitire. As 
his nune was walking with him one day, she was 



eyes fiashed with anaer, and, striking at her with a 
httle whip which he held in his hand, he impatiently 
exclaimed, <* JDnwm ip«iA of it!** 

As sn instance of his quickness and energy at this 
period, might be mentioned a little incident that oe» 
curred one night during the performance of *' Tarn- 
ing a Shrew,*^ which his nurse had tkken him to sea. 
He had attended some time, with silent interest ; 
but, in the scene between KdUhernu and Ptintekio, 
where the following dialogue takes placs,<— 

•■ lUL-l taev It b dN Moa. 

George stsrted up, and cried out boldly, ** But I say 
it is toe moon, sfr." 

Bynm was not quito fire Tears of age when he waa 
sent to a dar school at Aoerdeen, tought by Mr. 
Bowers. At that school he remained about ana 
year. 

Baring his schoolboy days he was Uveiy, warm- 
heerted, generous, and high-enirited. He was, haw- 
ever, pasrionate and resentAu, and to a remark^a 
degree Tenturesome and Ibarleee. If he received an 
injury, he was sure to rerenge it : though the casti- 
gation he inflicted might be hmg on its way, yet it 
came at length, and se?erely. 



fUl 



BYRON'S WORKS 



He was a brave youtli, and was much more anz- 
ious to excel his fellows by prowess in s^ort and 
Stic ezorcisesi than by advancement in leaxn< 



when any study pleased him, he devoted all his 
attention to it, and was auick in the performance of 
his task. He cared but little where he stood in his 
class ; and at the foot was as agreeable to him as at 
the head. 

He remained at school until the year 1796, when 
an attack of scarlet fever weakened nis, by no means 
strong, constitution, and he was removed by his 
mother to the Highlands. 

From the period of his residence in the High- 
lands, Byron dated his love of mountainous coun- 
tries and his equally ardent love of solitude. While 
at Aberdeen, he would escape unnoticed, and find 
his way to the sea-side. At one time, it was sup- 
posed ne was lost, and after a long and anxious 
search he was found struggling for his life in a sort 
of morass or marsh, in which he would undoubtedly 
have perished, had not some one came to the rescue. 

Many like instances occurred during his residence 
among the Highlands. His love of adventure often 
led him into difficulty and danger. While sc 
bling over a declivity that overhung a small water- 
fall, called the Linn of Dee, some heather caught 
his lame foot, and he fell. He was rolling down- 
ward, when the attendant luckily caught him, anc 
was but just in time to save him from being killed. 

On the 17th of Maj, 1798, William, the fifth Lord 
Byron, died without issue, at Newstead, and young 
Byron, then in his tenth year, sncceeded to his 
titles and his estates ; and nis cousin, the Earl of 
Carlisle, the son of the late Lord's sister, was ap- 
pointed his guardian. 

Upon this change of fortune. Lord Byron was 
removed from under the immediate care of his 
mother. 

In the latter part of 1798 he went with his mother 
to Newstead Abbey. On their arrival, he was placed 
at Nottingham, under the care of a person who 
professed to be able to cure his lameness ; at the 
same time, he made some advancement in Latin 
studies, under the tuition of a schoolmaster of that 
town, a Mr. Rogers, who read parts of Virgil and 
Cicero with him. The name of the man whose 
pretensions in curing excelled his skill, and under 
whose empiricism the youn^ lord was placed, was 
Lavender ; and the manner m which he proceeded 
to effect a cure was, by first rubbing the foot over 
for a long time with handsful of oil, and then 
forcibly twisting the foot round, and biniUng it up in 
a sort of a machine, with about as much care and 
tiiought of the pain he might give, as if straighten- 
ing up a crooked limb of a tree. 
^Byron, during his lessons with Mr. Rogers, was 
often in violent pain ; and one day the latter said to 
htm, ** It makes me uncomfortable, my lord, to see 
you sitting there in such pain as I kriow you must be 
suffering." ".Never mind, Mr. Rogers," answered 
the boy ; ** you shall not see any signs of it in me." 

This gentleman often spoke of the gaiety of his 
pupil, and the delight he experienced in exposing 
Lavender's pompous ignorance. One day he wrote 
down on a sheet of paper al) the letters of the 
alphabet, put together at random, and placing them 
before this concentrated body of pretension, asked 
him very seriously what language it was. Not 
wishing to expose his ignorance, and not dreaming 
of the snare to trip him, he replied as seriously as 
the inquiry' was put, ^at it was Italian^ to the 
infinite delight of tiie young satirist, who burst 
into a loud laugh. 

At about this period, Lord Byron's first symptom 
of a tendency to rhyme manifested itself. The 
oecasion which gave rise to it is thus related : — 

An elderly lady, who was in the habit of visiting 
his mother, had made use of some expressions that 
very much affronted him; and these slights, his 
nurse said, he generally resented violently and im- 



placably. The old lady had some eoiious notioiif 
respectmg the soul, which, she imagined, took its 
fiight to the moon after death, as a preliminary 
essay, before it proceeded further. One day, alter 
a repetition, it is supposed, of her original insult to 
the boy, he appeared before his nurse in a violent 
rage. ** Well, my little hero," she asked, *• what's 
the matter with you, now?" Upon which the 
child answered, that " tiiis old woman had put him 
in a terrible pa8sion,-^hat he could not bear the 
sight of her,'^ &c., &c,,— and then broke out into 
the following doggerel, which he repeated over and 
over, as if delighted with the vent he had found for 
his rage; — 

** In NottlDgbua eoaoqr, (bere Bw at Svan Gnen, 
A* cnnt aa old laitj u ever wat Men ( 
And vtaM ri» doei die, which 1 hope wiB be fooB, 
She Snnlf belleree ibe will go to Ibe moon." 

This was the occasion and the result of his first 
effort at rhyming. His ** first dash at poetry," as 
he calls it, was made one year later, during a vaca- 
tion visit at the house ox a cousin. Miss Parker. 
Of that poem, he says, " It was the ebullition of a 
passion for my first cousin, one of the most beauti- 
ful of evanescent beings. I have long forgotten 
the verses, but it would be difficult for me to forget 
her — ^her dark eyes — ^her long eye-lashes — ^her com- 
pletely Greek cast of face and figure ! I was then 
about twelve — ^she rather older, perhaps a year." 
Love for this young lady obtained strong hold of 
his heart. Ox her personal appearance, he says« 
" I do not recollect any thing equal to the tranma- • 
rent beauty of my cousin, or to the sweetness of ner 
temper, during the short period of our intimacy. 
She looked as if she had been made out of a rain- 
bow—all beauty and peaoe." 

After a short visit at Cheltenham, in the snmmeir 
of 1801, at the earnest solicitation of his mother, 
he was placed at Harrow, under the tuition of 
Doctor Drury, to whom he testified his gratitude in 
a note to the fourth canto of Childe Harold. In 
one of his manuscript journals, he says, "Dr. 
Drury was the best, the kmdest firiend I ever had^ 
and I look upon him still as a father." 

" Though he was lame," says one of his school- 
fellows, " he was a great lover of sports, and pre- 
ferred hockey to Horace, relinquishea even Hehcon 
for ' duck puddle,' and gave up the best poet that 
ever wrote nard Latin for a same of cricket on the 
common. He was not remarkable (nor was he ever) 
for his learning, but he was always a clever, plain- 
spoken, and undaunted boy. I have seen him fight 
by the hour like a Trojan, and stand up against the 
disadvantage of his lameness with all the spirit of 
an ancient combatant." 

It was during a vacation, and his residence at 
Newstead, that he formed an acquaintance with 
Miss Chaworth, an event which, according^ to his 
own deliberate persuasion, exercised a lasting and 
paramount infiuence over the whole of his sub- 
sequent character and eventful career. 

Twice had he loved, and now a third time he 
bowed before beauty, wit, and worth. 

The father of this young lady had been killed in 
a duel by the eccentric grand-uncle of Byron, and 
the union of the young peer with her, the heiress of 
Annesley Hall, " would," as he said, ''have healed 
feuds in which blood hod been shed by our fathers : 
it would have joined lands rich and broad ; it would 
have joined at least one heart, and two persons net 
ill-matched in years." But all this was destined to 
exist but in imagination. They had a parting 
interview in the following year ; and, in 1805, Miss 
Chaworth was married to Mr. Musters, with whom 
she lived unhappily. She died in 1831. Many of 
his smaller poems are addressed to this lady. The 
scene of their last interview is most exquisitely 
described in " The Dream." 

Durine one of the Harrow vacations he studied 
French, but with little success, under the direction 



THB UFS OF LOfKD BTBON. 



if fkt JlSM de Roolllgiiy. The TMatftm af 18M 
te mat with hii mother at 8««thwell, and is 
OttuMi'f 1M6, 1r Isft Hannowi tend cntcrM TrinitT 
OoDc^, Cambridffe. He left with fselfaiga of taa- 
mm. He sart, ^I ahrayt MtOtd Harrow till the 
last year and a half, bat then I liked it.** He now 
bcnn to feel that he waa no longer a boy, and in 
■obtode he monnied OTer the tmth ; thia sorrow he 
eoold not at all times repress in pnblie. 
Boon after entering coUespe, he formed an attach 



Hii rwitaiae wis nofir at Vewttead, whera, diving 
the preparation of the new edition of his po«ms, he 
dispensed with a liberal hand the hospitalities of 
the old Abbey to a party of college firiends. C. S, 
MmHhetM, one of this party, in a letter to an 
naintanee, gires the following description of the 



montwith a yoath named Bddleston, which exceeded 
ti and Tomanee all his sdioolboy attaeh- 



in warmth 



In the summer of 18t)6, sno^er Tiait to Booth- 
wdH resnltod in an aeouaintance with the family of 
Pigots. to a lady of which the earliest of his pnb- 
Bshed lettcts were addressed. 

The temper of his mother exceeded all bounds. 
This temper, Byron in a great degree inherited. In 
his childhood, this paasion often broke out in the 
most Tiolent manner. Mother and son were often 
quarrelling, and proroe a tions flnatty led to a sepa- 
ration, in August, 1806. Bjrvn fled to London, 
where hia mother followed him, made orertnres of 
peace, and a reconeiMation was brought about. 

Bsriy in Norember, his first rolome of poems 
were pot in press. It waa entitled "Poems on 
Varioos Occasions," and waa printed anonymously 
by Mr. Hidge, a bookseller at Newark. Becoming 
dissatisfied with tiiis, he caused a second edition to 
be printed in January, in which he omitted many 
pieces which had appeared in the first. This wns 
not intended for publie scrutiny, but merely cSarcn- 
lated among his friends, and such persons as he 
tiiooght well disposed towards the first effort of a 
young and inexperienced author. 

Encouraged by its fsTorable reception, he again 
re^wrote the ooems, made many additions and 
alterations, ana, under the name of "Hours of 
Idleness,** sent his Tohtme forth to the public. 

TIda book, containing mainy indications of genius, 
also contained many errors of taste and judgment, 
which were fiercely aasailed by a critique* in the 
Bdinborgh Reriew, and brought fbrth trom Byror. 
the stinging satire, "EngUsn Bards and Scotch 
Be viewer St* 

The minor r evie w s gaye the •* Hours of Idleness " 
a better reception, yet we may, with no degree of nn- 
T caa on ab lcness, suppose that to the scorcbing word^ 
of the E^nbtirgh he owed^much of future 8acce8» 
and hoBoc. He was roused like a lion in its lair. 
He felt, though it might be true, he did not deserre 
such an sortiele, and he resolutely determined to 
show the critic that he had talent and genius, 
(hoT^h the reyiewer, in his eager search for its 
absence, couM not diseoyet fts presence. 

Lord Byron supposed Jeffrey to be the author of 
the (rfmoxious article, and he poured out on hini 
his yisls of wrath and merci1es« satire. 

During the p rogre ss of his poem through the 
press, he added to it more than a hundred line«. 
New impressions asd influenees gaye birth to ncn 
thoughts, and he made his Bards and Rcriewcr^ 
carry them farth t^- vex and aonoy his yictim!*. 
The person who superintended its progress through 
the press, daily received new matter for its pogcs ; 
and, in a note to that gentleman, Byron says, 
••Print Boon, or I shall oyerflow with rhyme." It 
was BO in subsequent years. If he could reach his 
printer, he would continue to send his ** thick - 
coming fascies," which were suggested by perusals 
of what be bad already written. 

On the Idth of March, he took his seat in the 
House of Lords, and en the middle of the same 
month puUishsd his satire. From the hour of its 
appearance, fame and fortune followed him. Its 
success was such as to demand his attention in the 
pwpatatlon of a second edition. To this much wa« 
added, and to it was pvefizod his name. 



aeouai] 
Abbey 



Abbey at that time, and amusing account of ths 
p ro c e ed ings and habits of its occupants :— > 

" Newstead Abbey is situated one hundred and 
thirty-six miles from London — four on this side 
Mansfield. Though sadly fallen to decay, it is still 
eompletely an abS^^ and most part of it is still 
standingin the same state as when it was first 
built. There are two tiers of cloisters, with a 
yariety of cells and rooms about them, which, 
though not inhabited, nor in an inhabitable state, 
might eaaily be made so ; and many of the original 
rooms, amongst which is a fine stone hall, are stiB 
in nse. Of the abbey-church only one end remains; 
and the old kitchen, with a long range of apart- 
ments, is reduced to a heap of rubbish. Leading 
from the abbey to the modem part of the habit** 
tion Is a noble room, seventy foet in length and 
twenty-three in breadth ; but every part of the 
house displavs neglect and decay, save those which 
the present lord has lately fltted'up. 

'* The house and gardens are entirely surrounded 
by a wall with battlements. In front is a large 
lake, bordered here and there with castellated 
buildings, the chief of which stands on an eminence 
at the further extremity of iL Fancy all this 
surrounded with blrak and bnrren hills, with scarce 
a tree to be seen for mil«»*, except a solitary clomp 
or two, and you will have some idea of Newstead. 

** So much for the place, concerning which I haye 
thrown tORether these few particulars. But if the 
place itself appears rather strange to you, the ways 
of its inhabitants will not appear much lesa so. 
Ascend, then, with me the hall steps, that I may 
introduce you to my lord and his visitanta. But 
have a care how you proceed ; be mindful to go 
there in broad daylight, and with your eyes about 
you. For, shoula you make any blunders,— should 
YOU go to the right of the hall steps, you are laid 
hold of by a bear ; and should you go to the left, 
your case is still worse, for you run full against a 
wolf.* Nor, when you have attained the door, is 
your danger over ; for the hall being decayed, and 
therefore standing in need of repair, a bevy of 
inmatea are very probably banging at one end of it 
with their pintols; so that if you enter without 
giving loud notice of your approach, you have only 
escaped the wolf ana the bear, to expire by the 
pistol-shots o' the merry monks of Newstead. 

"Our party consistea of Lord Byron and four 
others, and was, now and then, increased by the 
presence of a neighboring parson. As for our way 
of liyine, the order of the day was generally this :— 
for brealkfast we had no set hour, but each suited 
his own convcnionce,— every thing remaining on 
the table till the whole party had done; though 
had one wished to breakfast at the early hour of 
ten, one would have been rather lucky to find any 
of the servants up. Our average hour of rising 
waa one. I, who geneniily got up between eleven 
and twelve, was always — even when an invalid— 
the first of the party, and was esteemed a prodigy 
of early rising. It was frequently past two before 
the breakfast party broke up. Then, for the amuse- 
ment of the morning, there was reading, fencing, 
single-stick, or shuttlecock, in the great room; 
practising with pistols in the hall ; walking, riding, 
cricket, sailing on the lake, pkying vrith the bear, 
teasing the wolf. Between seven and ei^ht vre 
dined ; and our evening lasted from that time till 
one, two, or three in the morning. The eycning 
diversions may be easily conceived. 

** 1 must not omit the custom of handing round, 
after dinner, on the removal of the cloth, a human 



BYBONnS WOBU. 



skvtt iUkd ifkHh Boxguidj. After ivreUlag 
choice TxandB, and the finest wines of Fraaoe* we 
adjourned to tea, where we emnsed ourselves with 
leading or improving conversation,— each according 
to his fuicj,— end, after sandwiches. &o., retirea 
to rest. A set of monkish dresses, which had been 
provided, with all the proper apparatus of crosses. 
Deads, tonsures, ftc, often ^ave a variety to our 
appearanee, and to our pursuits." 

Byron was at London when he put the finishing 
touches upon the new edition, which, having done, 
he took leave of that city, and soon after sailed for 
liibon. After a passage of four davs, he arrived 
at his destination, in company with his firiend, Mr. 
John Cam Hobhouse. Tney remained but a short 
time in Lisbon, from whence they travelled on 
korseback to Seville and Cadis. He was as free 
and easy in each of these places as he had been at 
home. In Lisbon, as he said, he ate oranges, 
talked bad Italian to the monks, went into society 
with pocket pistols, swam the Tagus, and became 
the victim of musquitoes. In Seville, a lady of 
character became fondly attached to him, and at 
parting gave him a lock of her hair " three feet in 
length,*" which he sent home to his mother. In 
Ca£z, "Miss Cordova and her little brother" 
became his favorites, and the former his preceptress 
in Spanish. He alludes to this in one of liis poems. 

■■ til itkMkif to to Kiwal'd ID a •Innfs taogtie 
B^ fenale l|» mud eye> that b, I mnn. 
Wton hotti ito twnher •ad the taocte 
M WM ilN cMe, at laa*, when 1 have baea. 

Leaving Cadis, in the Hyperion frigate, he sailed 
for Qibruter, where he remained tiU the 19th of 
August, when he left for Malta. 

At this latter place, he formed an acquaintance 
with Mrs. Spencer Smith, a ladv whose life had 
been fertile with remarkable incidents, and whom 
he addresses, in his poetry, under the name of 
** Florence,** 

After remaining at anchor for three or four dm^s 
off Patras, Byron and his friend proceeded to their 
ultimate destination. On their passage,^ they had a 
most charming sunset view of Missolonghi. They 
landed at Prevesa on the 29th of September. From 
Prevesa they journeyed to the capital of Albania, 
and, soon after, to Yanina; at which place he 
learned that AU Pacha was with his troops in 
niyrium, besieging Ibrahim Pacha in Berat. From 
Tanina, Lord Byron passed to Tepaleen. Being 
among the first English travellers in that part of 
the world, they met with much attention, taui the 
greatest show of hospitality. 

With the intention of going to Patras, Lord 
Byron embarked on board a Turkish ship of war, 
provided for him by All Pacha. A moderate gale 
of wind arose, and, owing to the ignorance of the 
Turkish officers, the vessel came near being wrecked. 
Luckily for all on board, the wind abated, and drove 
them on the coast of Suli, where they landed, and, 
by aid of the natives, returned again to Prevesa. 

While at the Suliote village, a poor but honest 
A l b a nian supplied his wants. Byron pressed him 
to take money in return for his kinuiess, but he 
reftised, with the reply, *<I wish you to love me, 
not to pay me." 

Attended by a guard of forty or more Albanians, 
they passed through Acamania and Btolia to Mis- 
solonghi, crossed the Ghilf of Corinth to Patras, 
and proceeded fitmi thence, by bmd, to Vostizsa, 
where they caught the first glimpse of Mount Par- 
nassus. In a small b^at they were oonveyed to the 
opposite shore of the gulf; rode on horseback from 
salona to Delphi, and after travelling through liva^ 
dia, and making a brief stop at Thebes, and other 
gaoes, arrived at Athens on the 26th of Decern- 

He remained at Athens between two and three 
^M»nths. employing his time in visiting the vast and 
iptondin monuments of anoiant genius, and oallsng 



around him from tk« depths of selitBAe «h* 
of other timet to peoplelts ruins. 

He made frequent excursioas to Attiea, on om 
of which he came near being seized by a band of 
pirates dwelling in a cave under the clifEi of Mi- 
nerva Sunias. 

His beautiftil sons, ** Maid of Athens, ere we 
part," was addressea to the eldest daughter of the 
Qreek lady, at whose house he lodged. 

Ten weeks had flown rapidly and pleasantly awaj, 
when the unexpected offinr of a passage in a Bn^ 
ish sloop of war to Smyrna, induced the traveUen 
to leave Athens, whicn they did, on the 6th ol 
March, with much reluctanoe. 

At Smyrna, Lord Byron resided in the house of 
the Consul-GkneraL In the eourse of his residenee 
here, he made a three-day visit to the ruins of Ephe- 
sus. While at 8.. he finished the two first cantos 
of " Childe Harold," which he had oommenoed fivo 
months before at Joannina. 

The Salsette ftiffate being about to sail for Con- 
stantinople, Lord Byron and Hobhouse took pas- 
sage in her. It was while this frigate lay at anchor 
in the Dardanelles, that Byron accomplished his 
famous feat of swimming the Hellespont. The 
distance across was about two miles; but the tide 
ran so strong that a direct course could not be pur* 
sued, and he swam three miles. 

He arrived at Constantinople on the 18th of May. 
While there, he wore a scarlet ooat, richly embroi- 
dered ipth gold, with two heavy epaulettes and a 
feathered oocked hat. He remaued about two 
months, during which time he was presented to the 
Sultan, and made a Journey to the Black Sea and 
other places of note in that ridnity. Qu the 14th 
of July, they left in the Salsette frigate,— Mr. Hob- 
house intending to accompany Mr. Adur. the Bng- 
lish ambassador, to England, and Byron oeterminod 
to visit Ghvece. 

The latter landed at Zea, with two Albanians, a 
Tartar, and his English servant Leaving Zea, he 
reached Athens on the 18th. From thence, he madt 
another tour over the same pieces he had previously 
risited, and returned to Auiens in December, witt 
the purpose of remaining there during his sojourn 
in Greece. The persons with whom he associated 
at Athens, were liord Sligo, Lady Hester Stanhope, 
and Mr. Bruce. Most of bis time was employed in 
collecting materials for those notes on the state of 
modem Greece, appended to the second canto of 



Childe Harold. Here also he wrote, «' Hints l 
Horace," a satire full of London life, yet, singular 
as it may appear, dated, ** Athens, Capuchin Con- 
vent, March 12, 1811." 

He intended to have jjone to Egypt, but friling 
to receive expected remittances, he was obliged to 
forego the pleasure of that trip, and he left Athens 
and landed at Midta. There he suffered severely 
frt>m an attack of fever, recovering from which, he 
sailed in the Y olage frigate for England. He left 
Greece with more feeUngs of regret than he had 
left his native land, and the nuBories of his sojourn 
in the East, immortalised in ChiMe Harold, were 
among the pleasantest that a e oo mp e nie dhim through 
life. 

He arrived at London aftor an aheenoe of iust two 
^ears. Mr. Dallas, the gentleman irtio had super- 
intended the publication of ''English Bards and^ 
Sootoh Reviewers," called on him the day after his 
airival; Lord Byron mentioned having written a 
new satire, and handed the MSS. to him for exami- 
nation. Mr. Dallas was grieved, supposinff that 
the inspiring lands of the Bast had brought from 
his mind no richer poetical works. 

Meeting him the next morning^ Mr^ Dallas ex- 
pressed surprise that, he had, during his absenoe| 
written nothing more. Upon this. Lord Byron tola 
him that he had oeoasionally written short poems, 
besides a great many stansas in Spenser's measure, 
relative to the eountiies he had visited. ** They aro 
not worth tumbling you with," said Byiun, <*b«t 



THB UFB OF LOSD BTBON. 



m Aall here IkoB aH wKh Ton, if 70a like.** 
H« then took Chflde Harold'i rilgrimaM from a 
nan tmk, and liaaded It to Mr. Dallas, at the 
wmM tkmm ei>m e Miii g a desire to kaTs ths " Hints 
ftom Honeo'^ put to mn immediately. He 
aadervaliiod Okude Harold, and OTenrahiad the 
"WooXmJ' He bought the ftmner inferior to the 
latter. As time psned on, he altered his mind in 
feteeaee to tlib matter. «<Had Lofd Byron," 
says Moore, "pessiated In his original purpose of 
aping this poem to the press, instead of Chflde 
HaioEd, it is mote than probable, that he would 
haTB besii lost, as a great poet to the world." 

He flnally oonsented to the poblieatlon of Childe 
Harold, yet, to the last, he expressed donbts as to 
its meri^ and the reception it would meet with at 
the haade of the vabue. Doubts and diffleulties 
arose as to apoblbiier. Messrs. Iiongman had re- 
used to pubBsh "BngUsh Bards snd Scotch Re* 
I ; ** and it was exprc 



expressly stipulated with Mr. 
to wliom Lord Byron had presented the 
lepyriglLt, that ChUde Harold should not be oifered 
to that house. An appHoation was made to Mr. 
Mmer, tmt owing to the sererity in which a per* 
aonal IHciid of tnat aentleman was mentioned, in 
the poem» ha dedinea voblishing it At length it 
yasead into ^e hsnds of Mr. Murrar, then residing 
IB Fleet street, who was proud of the undertaking, 
and bj whoa it was immediately put to press ;— - 
and thus was laid tiiie fbundation of that friendly 
and profttshie conneetion, between that publisher 
sad the author, which oontinned, with but little 
interrvption, dming the poet* s life.* 

About this time, the iifth edition of his satire was 
issued, and, soon after, ereiy copy that could be 
found was taken and destroyed. In America, how- 
ever, and on the continent, where the law of Eng- 
land had no power, it continued to meet with an 
unprohitBted ssle. 

while busily ensaged in Htersiy projects, he was 
suddenly called to ifewstead, by information of the 
skknesB of his mother. He immediately departed, 
and trareQed with all possible speed, yet death pre- 
ceded him. When he arriTed, he found her dead. 

In a Wtter, the dsy after, he says, **I now feel 
liie truth of Mr. Oray's obserration, <we can only 
hate one mother.' '* Mrs. Byron had, undoubtedly, 
Wved her son, and he her, with a depth of feeling 
baldly svpposable by thoee who had seen them in 
llicir ftto of ungvremable passion. An incident 
that oceuiie d at Mewstead, at this time, oroTes the 
siaeetity of bis affection. On the night after his 
sniTBl, the waiting woman of Mis. Byron, in nass- 
ing tike door of the room, where the deceased oody 
by, hesrd a sound as of some one sighing hesTilV 
from within ; and, on entering the chamber, found, 
to her surprise. Lord Byron, sitting in the dark, 
beside the oed. On her representing to him the 
of thus ^ving way to grief, ne burst into 




friend in the worid, and she Is gone ! * 

He was called at this time to mourn oter the loss, 
not only of his mother, but of six relatiTes ana' 
intimate friends. 

He returned to London in October, snd resumed 
the toils of literary labor, rerislng Childe Harold, 
and making many additions and alterations. Hs 
had. also, at this time, two othef works in press, 
"Hints i^m Horace," and "The Curse of Miner- 
ra." In January, the two cantos of Childe Harold 
were printed, but not ready for sale until the month 
of March, when "the effect it produced on the 
public," says Moore. ** was as instantaneous as it 
has proTed deep and lasting. It was electric ;— his 
fame had not to wait for any of the ordinary grade- 
tiona, but seemed to spring up, like the palace of a 
fairy tale, in a nifht.''^ Byron, himself, in a mem- 
oranda of the sudden and wholly unexpected effect, 
said, **I awoke one morning, and found myself 
famous." 

It was just prefious to this period, that he 
became acquainted with Moore, the poet. The 
circumstsnce which led to their fl^»quiiwitan<*ir was 
a correspondence caused by a note appended to 
"English Bards and Scotch Beriewers.*' The ao- 
quaintance thus formed, was continued, with the 
utmost familiaritTi through life. Lord Bmn was 
personsUT introduced to Moore at the nouse ojf 
Rogers, the poet, where, on the eame day, these 
three, together with Campbell, dined 

Among the many tributes to his genius, which 
Lord Byron receiTed, was that of the Prince Re- 
gent. At an erening party he was presented to 
that personage, at the request of the latter. The 
^^-ent expressed his admiration of Childe Harold 
entered into a long and animated couTersation, 
which continued all the erenine. 

In the month of August, I8II, the new tiieatre in 
Drury Lane was finished, and, after being urgendy 
requested, Byron wrote an opening address for the 
occasion. He now resided at Cheltenham, where, 
in addition to the address, he wrote a poem on 
"WaltalM." In Mar, appeared "The Giaour," 
which rapidly passed tnrougn seTeral editions. The 
first contained but about four hundred Unes, the 
last edition, about fourteen hundred. Many of ite 
choicest parte were not in the early copies, yet it 
was receired with the greatest fayor, and the admir^ 
ers of Childe Harold equally admired this new pro- 
duct of the mind of ite author. 

In December, 1818, he published " The Bride of 
Abydos." To this, while being printed, he added 
nearly two hundred lines. It met with a better re- 
ception, if possible, than either of his former works. 
Fourteen thousand copies were sold in one week ; 
and it was with the greatest dlf&culty and labor that 
the demand for it could be supplied. In Januanr 
following, appeared the "The Corsair." In April, 
the " Ode to Napoleon," and, during the ensuing 
month, he published " Hebrew Melodies." 

In May, he adopted the strange and singular reso 
lution of calling in all he had written, Duying up 
aU his copyrighte. snd not writing any more. For 
two years, he had been the liteiary idol of the peo- 
ple. They had bestowed upon nim the hlgnest 
words of praise, and shouted his aenius snd fimie 
to the skies. His nsme had eyer been on the lips, 
his writings in the head, and his sentimente in the 
heart of uie great public This strong popularity 
beoan to wane, as the excitement caused by the 
suoden appearance of any new thing, always wilL 
The papers raised a hue and err against a few of 
his mmor poems. His morsl ana sodal character 
was brougnt into prominency : all that had occurred 
during his short, but eyentml life, and much that 
had neyer an e^tence, except in the minds of his 
opponente, was related with minute partieubaitr 
Not only this, but the slight opinion these journal 



iste expressed of his genlus,-^4eoonded, as' it was 
by that Inward dissatisfaction with his own powsi^ 



BYBOITS VrOBXB. 



SU 

iriiich (hey, vhoae standafd of ezceUeuce is highosi. 

are always surest to feel, mortified and disturbed 

him. In noticing these attacks, he remarks^ **1 

« am afraid what you call trash is plaguily to the pur- 

Kse; and, to tell the truth, for some time past, I 
Ye been myself much of the same opinion." In 
this state of mind, he resolved apon bidding fare- 
well to the mudes, and betaking himself to some 
otiier pursuit. Mentioning this determination to 
Mr. Murray, that gentleman doubted his serious- 
ness ; but on the arriyal of a letter, enclosing a 
draft for the amount of the copyrights, and a re- 
quest to withdraw all the advertisements, and de- 
stroy all copies of his poems, remaining in store, 
except two of each for himself, all doubts vanished. 
Mr. Murray wrote an answer, that such an act 
would be deeply ii^jurious to both parties, and final- 
ly induced him to continue publishing. 

In connection with "Jacqueline," a poem, by Mr. 
Bogers, <'Lara" appeared in August. This was 
his last appearance as an author, until the spring 
of ISlfi. 

On the 2d of January, 1815, Lord Byron pro- 
posed and was accepted in marriage, by an heiress. 
Miss Milbanke, daughter of Sir Balph Milbanke, a 
baronet, in the county of Durham. Her fortune 
was upwards of ten thousand pounds sterling, which 
was considerably increased by the death of her pa- 
rents, a few years subsequent to her union with the 
poet This union cast a shade on his hitherto 
bright career. A twelve-months' extravagance, 
emoarrassments, and misunderstandings, dissolved 
it, and the lady retired to the country-seat of her 
parents, from the unpleasant scenes of her own 
Lome. One child was the result of this marriage, 
Ada Augusta Byron. Previous to the separation, 
3yron*s muse was stimulated to exertion bv his 
fast-gathering misfortunes, and he produced the 
•* Siege of Corinth *' and "Parisina." 

At the time of their separation, Lord Byron and 
Ladv Byron resided in London. He entered into a 
giday whirlpool of frolicking and unrestrained gai- 
ety, which at length brought upon him great pecu- 
niary embarrassments, which so increased, that in 
November, he was not only obliged to sell his libra- 
ry^ but his furniture, and even his beds, were seised 
by the bailiffs. 

As soon as the separation took place, the fuU tide 
of public opinion set against him, and those who 
had sought nis acc^uaintance, coveted bis friendship, 
and envied him his position, were among his dead- 
liest foes and his most slanderous vilifiers. "In 
every form of paragraph, pamphlet and caricature, 
both his person and character were held up to odi- 
um ; hardly a voice was raised, or at least listened 
to, in his behalf; and though a few faithful friends 
remained unshaken by his side, the utter hopeless- 
ness of stemming the torrent, was felt as well by 
them, as by himself; and after an effort or two to 
gain a fair hearing, they submitted in silence." 

Thus miserable, yet conscious of his newly- 
awakening strength, Byron determined to leave 
England. At leaving, the only person with whom 
he parted prith regre^ was his sister, and to her he 
penned the touching tribute, ** Though the Day 
of my Destiny's over.^' To Mr. Moore he addressed, 
"My Boat is on the Shore : " and to Ladv Bvren, 
"Fare thee well." 

He sailed for Ostend on the 25th of April. His 
Journey lay by the Bhine. He made a short stay at 
Brussels. At Geneva he spent the remainder of the 
summer ; livingin a beautiful villa on the borders 
of the lake. While there, he made frequent excur- 
sions to Coppet, Chamouni, the Bernese Alps, and 
other places of interest. Mr. and Mrs. Shelley were 
also residing at O^eva at that time.' It was m this 
villa, on the banks of the lake, that he finished the 
third canto of "Childe Harold." He also wrote 
•* The Prisoner of Chillon," stanzas " To Augusta," 
•The Fi-agment," "Darkness," and " The Dream." 

In the month of August he was visited by Mt. 



SS 



M. 0. Lewis, Mr. Hobhooie wd Mr. & Di^lUi 
with whom he made the excuniens pseviously al 
luded to. It was while here, that he besan his prose 
romance of " The Vampire ; " also another, founded 
upon the story of the Marriage of Belphegor, both 
01 which he left unfinished. 

From the commencement of the year 1817f to that 
of 1820, Lord Bvron's pruidpal residemee was at 
Vexuce. Soon alter reaching that city, he began 
the study of the Armenian language, m which he 
made considerable progress. While there, he pur- 
sued his literary labors with much diligence and 
success. He wrote " The Lament of Tasso," the 
fourth canto of "Childe Harold/' the dramas of 

Marino Faliero," and the " Twotoscari; " "Bep- 
"Maaeppa," and the first cantos of "Don 

nan." 

He formed an acquaintance with Madame Gnicci- 
oli. which soon grew to a passionate love, and was 
duly reciprocated by her. She was a B^mi^gnese 
ladv. Her father was Count Gamba, a nobleman of 
high rank and ancient name, at Ravenna. She had 
been married, when at the age of sixteen, without 
reference to her choice or affection, to the Count 
Guiccioli, an old and wealthy widower. At the 
time Byron was introduced to her, she was about 
twenty; with fair and delicate complexion, large, 
dark eves, and a profusion of auburn hair. Tnis 
lady almost entirely governed the movements of 
Byron, while in Italy; and it was a government 
which he appeared to love, and from whidi he man- 
ifosted no desire to escape. 

She proceeded with her husband to Kaveana, in 
April, 1819, and Lord Byron soon followed. He 
shortly returned to Venice, where he received a visit 
from Moore, in the course of which he presented to 
him a large manuscript volume, entitled, " My Life 
and Adventures." As he handed it to him^ ne re- 
marked, " It is not a thing that can be published 
during my lifetime; but yon may have it, if you 
like, — there, do whatever you please with it; " and 
soon after added, " This will make a nice legacy for 
my littie Tom, who shall astonish the latter days 
of the nineteenth century with it." 

This manuscript was a collection of various jour- 
nals, memorandas, etc. At Byron's request, Mr. 
Moore sold the copyright to Murray for two thou- 
sand pounds, with the stipulation that it was not to 
be published until after the author's decease. When 
that event occurred, Mr. Moore returned to Mr. 
Murray the money advanced, and placed the manu- 
script at the disposal of Lord Byron's sister, Mrs. 
Leigh ; at whose request, and, with the acoordaat 
opinion of Lord Byron's best friends, it was de- 
stroyed. The motive for its destruction is said to 
have been an unwillingness to offend the feelings of 
many of the individuals mentioned in it. 

Towards the close of the year 1819, Lord Byron 
removed to Bavenna, where he wrote " The Proph- 
ecy of Dante," " Sardanapalus," "Cain," "Heaven 
and Earth," the third, fourth and fifth cantos of 

Don Juan," and "The Vision of Judgment." 

He remained at Bavenna during the greater part 
of the two succeeding years. In the autumn of 
1821 he removed to risa, in Tuscany, where he 
remained until the middle of May. His habits of 
life, while at Pisa, are thus described bv Moore :— 

" At two, he usually breakfasted, and at three, or, 
as the year advanced, four o'clock, those persons 
who were in the habit of accompanying hfan in his 
rides, called upon him. After, occasionally, a game 
of billiards, he proceeded, — and in order to avoid 
stares, in his carriage, — as far as the gates of the 
town, where his horses met him. At first, the route 
he chose for these rides was in the direction of the 
Oascine, and of the pine forest that reaches towards 
the sea ; but having found a spot more eonvenient 
for hie pistol exercise, on the road leading from 
Portalla Spiaggia to the east of the city, he took 
daily this course during the remainder of his stay 
When arrived at the Podere^ or farm, in the garden 



THE jbxn or umm btron. 



JBtti 



frindi «ttd )m AiBM&tad, 

aboBt kair an bmir to a trial of ikiU at tha 

Rtoraed, a little before iimset, into the dtj. 

LnviBg Plia, 1m lemoted to Gtaoa, where he 
fcfmamed tOl hia final departaio fw Oraeoe, ia Jnljr, 
181ft. Daring this tima, he prodneed •• Werner/* 
'•Tha Deiomed T^nuufimaed," "The laUad," 
•'The Age ef Btonsa/' and the last eairtoa of <• Don 

He boeaaae interested in the-atmnle of ttie 
Greeks for flee d uui , and offend his semoes in th«r 
behsU He c%tained the adYanee of a lam sum of 
Bonej, and ehaitcnd an Bngiish venel, the Heron- 
les, for the ymp oee of taking him to Oiceee. 

All things bemg iead]r, on the ISth of Jiafy, he, 
and those who were to aecompany him, embarked. 
ffis soite eottsistad of Coont Eietro Gamba, brother 
of the Coontess Ooiedoli; Mr. Trelawny, an Bng^ 
Kshman ; and Doetor Bmno, an Italian physieianf 
who had jnst left the nniversity, and was somewhat 
a eqnamte d with svrgerf . He had, also, at his ser- 
lice, eight servants. 

There were on board ft^e hoxBea, arms and ammn- 
nition for the use of his own party, and medicine 
enoagh for the snpply of one thansand men for one 

On the aaoniag of the 14th of July, the Heroalcs 
ssOed ; but, encountering a aercre storm, was obliged 
ts put baek. On tiie erening of the 16th, they 
sgam started, and after a psssage of ilve days, 
reached Leghorn, where they shipped a snpply of 
nnpowder, and other Snghsh goods. Receiring 
mese, they immediately sailed for Cephalonia, and 
leached Argolosti, the principal port of that island, 
oa the 21st ot July. He was warmly received by 
tte Greeks and English, among whom his presence 
created a Uvelr sensation. 

Wishing inrotmation, in order to determine upon 
Qie best course for him to pursue, he despatcaed 
Mr. Tr^awny and Mr. Hamilton Browne with a 
letter to the Greek government, in ordor to obtain 
an ace m mt of the state of public aAurs. Here, as 
in many other places, he displaved his generosity, 
by relitrving the distressed, wno had fled from Scio. 

He was delayed at Argolosti about six weeks, by 
adverse winds. At lenpjth, the wind becoming fair, 
he embarked on board the Mistico, and Count 
Gsmba, with the horses and heavy baggage, in a 
hrse vess^ 

The latter was brought to by a Turkish frigate, 
and carried, with its vakiahio cargo, into Patras, 
where the conunander of the Turkish fleet was sta- 
tioned. Coont Gamba had an interview with the 
Facha, and was so fofrtunate as to obtsin the relense 
of his vessel and freight ; and sailmg, reached Mis- 
■olonghi on the 4th of January. He was surprised 
to learn that Lord Byron had not arrived. 

On his Lordship's departure from Dragomestri, a 
violent gale cane on, and the vessel was twice 
driven into imminent danger on the rocks ; and it 
was owing to Lord Byron's firmnssa and nautical 
•km, that the vessel, several lives, and twenty-five 
thousand dollars, were saved. 

It was while at Dragomestri, that an imprudent 
ftath brought on a cola, which was the foundation 
of that sickness which resulted in his death. 

He reached Missolonghi on the 6th of January, 
and was received with enthusiastic demonstrations 
of joy. No mark of welcome or honor that the 
Greeas could devise, was omitted. 

One of the first acts of Lord Byron, was an at- 
tempt to mitigate the ferocity of war. He rescued 
a Turk from the hands of some sailors, kept him at 
bis house a few days, until an opportunity occurred 
to smd him to Patras. He sent four Turkish pris- 
oners to the Turkish Chief of Patras, and requested 
that nriaoners, on both sides, be henceforward 
treated with humanity. 

Forming a corps of Snliotes, he equipped them 
It his own expense. They numbered about six 



hndnd. bwvs aad h»4y HMMtalMers, birt whoUy 
nndismplined and nnmsnsgsahto. Of these, having 
obtained a commission, he, on the first of Felnr»> 
ary, took the scmmsad. 

Aa ai^aditioii aninst Lspanto was proposed; 
but, owing to some cufflculty with the rode snd riot* 
o«s soldiery, it was suspenoed. 

Disease now began to prey upon him, and ha 
was attacked with a fit of enUapsy on the 15th of 
February, which deprived him, for a short time, ol 
his senses. On the following morning, he appeared 
to be mneh batter, but atill quite iU. 

On tiie 9th of April, after retaining from a rids 
with Co«nt Gamba, duriac which they had met a 
rioknt ahower, he waa again prostrated with di»- 
eaae. He waa seised with shuddering, and com- 
plainad of rhoumatie pains. The following day he 
arose at his aeenatomed hour, transacted business, 
and rods into the dive woods, aoeompanisd by his 
loDg train of Snliotes. 

On the 11th his fever increased ; and on the 12th 
he kept his bsd all day, oomplsintng that he could 
not aUep, and taking no noorishment whatever. 
The two following days, he suffered much from 
pains in the head, though his fever had subsided. 
On the 14th, Dx. Bruno, finding sudorifios naavail- 
in^, urged the neeessity of his being bled. But of 
this Lord Byron wot^d not hear. At length, how- 
ever, after repeated entreaties, he promised that, 
should his fever increase, he would sllow it to be 
done. He was bkd ; but the relief did not answer 
the expectations of any one. The restlessness and 
agitation increased, and he spoke several tinges in 
an incoherent manner. On the 17th, it was repeated. 

His disease continued to increase ; he had not, 
till now, thought himself dangerously ill ; but now, 
the fearful truth was apparent, not only in his own 
feelings, but in the countoisaces and actions of his 
friends and attendants. 

A consultation of physiciaas was had. Soon 
after, a fit of delirinm ensued, and he begsn to talk 
wildly, calling out, half in English, half in Italian, 
" Forwards ! — forwards !— courage ! — follow my ex- 

ople ! ** Ac, Ac. 

On Fletcher's ssking him whether he should 
brin|^ pen and paper to take down his words, he 
replied :•— <* Oh, no, there is no time — it is now nearly 
over. Go to my sisters-tell her— go to Lady Byron 
—you will see her— and say^— " Hero his voice fal- 
tered, and became graduaily indistinct. He con- 
tinued speaking in a low, whispering tone. ** Mr 
Lord," replied Fletcher, " I have not understood 
a ward your Lordship has been saying." " Not 
understood me i " exclaimed Byron, with a look of 
distress, " what a pity !— then it is too late ;— 4dl is 
over." '* I hope not,^* answered Fletcher ; but the 
Lord's will be done!" '* Yes, net mine," said 
Byron. He then attempted to say somethixig ; but 
nothing was intelligible, except **mj sister— my 
child." 

About six o'clock in the evening of the 19th, he 

id, "Now I shall go to sleep;" and, turning 
round, fell into that slumber from which he never 
awoke. 

The sad intelligence was received by the people 
of Missolonghi with feelings of sorrow, which we 
are unable to describe; and all Europe was in 
mourning over the lamentable event, as its tidings 
spread through its cities, towns, and rillages. 

It waa but a short time previous, that the Greeks 
were inspired by his presence, and inspirited bv the 
touch of his ever-powerful genius. Wow, all was 
over. The future triumphs which they had pictured 
forth for their country's freedom, vanished. Their 
bright hopes departed, and lamentation filled hearts 
lately buoyant with rejoicing. 

In various parts of Greece, honors were paid to 
his memory. 

The funeral ceremony took place in the church of 
St. Nicholas. His remains were carried on the 
shoulders of the officers of his corps. On his ooffin 



KIT 



BYBONnS W0BK8. 



were placed a helmet, a sword, andaerown of lavzeL 
The cnurch was crowded to ita utmoet extent, dur- 
ing the lervice. 

On the 2d of May the body was conveyed to Zante, 
onder a salute from the gans of the fortress. From 
thence, it was sent in the English brii Florida, in 
charge of CoL Stanhope ; and, being landed onder 
the curection of his Lordship's ezecators, Mr. Hob- 
honse and Mr. Hanson, it was removed to the honse 
of Sir Edsnurd KnatohbuU, where it lay in state dur- 
ing the 9th and lOth of July. On the 16th of July, 
the last duties were paid to the remains of the great 
poet, by depositinff them close to those of his mother, 
m the family vault in the small village church of 
Hucknall, near Newstead. It is a somewhat singu- 
lar fact, that on the same da^ of the same month 
in the preceding year, he said to Count Gtemba, 
** Where shall we be in another year ? " 

On a teblet of white marble, in the chancel of the 
church of Hucknall, is the following inscription : — 

IN THB VAULT BBITSATH, 

WHBBl KANT OF HI8 ANCESTORS AND HIS MOTBU 

AKB BU&IBD, 

LIB THB BBKAIN8 OV 

GEORGE GORDON NOEL BYRON, 

LOBD BTBON, OF BOOHDALB, 

IN THB OOUNTT OP LANCASTBB; 

THB AUTHOR OF 

** CHILDB HAROLD'S PILORIMAOB." 

HB WAS BORN IN LONDON, ON THB 

22d of januart, 1788. 

■B DIBD AT MI880LONOHI, IN WB8TBRN ORBBOB, 

ON THB 19TH of APRIL*, 1824, 

BNOAGBD IN THB GLORIOUS ATTBMPT TO 

, RE8T0BB THAT COUNTRY TO HBR 

ANOEBNT FREEDOM AND 

RBNOWN. 

HIS SISTER, THB HONORABLB 

AUGUSTA KARIA LEIGH, 

PLACED THIS TABLET TO HIS MBHORT. 

Thus lived and died the poet Byron. With a 
mind, blest with an active gemus. which but few are 
privileged to poesess, he passed tnrough this world, 
like a comet, on ita bright but erratic course, leavinff 
a luminous trace behind to mark his passage, ana 
to keep his memory fresh in the hearte of many fu- 
ture generations. It is not our purpose, in this 
place, to speak of the g^eral tone of his writings 
or of their influence, xhat he had faults, we are 
ready to admit ; and that he had an inward good- 
ness of heart, we are as ready to assert. But few 
men, with like temperament and associations with 
his, would have pursued a different course. 

In heiffht he was five feet eight inches and a half. 
His hands were very white and smalL Of his face, 
the beauty may be pronounced to have been of the 
highest order, as combinins at once regularity of 
features with the most varwd and Interestiiig ex- 
pression. His eyes wefe of a light gray, and capa- 



ble of all eztremes of eAptassloo, from tlte mosl 
joyous hilarity to the deepest sadness, from Uw very 
sunshine of benevolence to the most conoentrateo 
scorn or rage. 

But it was in the mouth and chin that the great 
beauty of his countenance lay. Says a fair critic of 
his reattjres, "liany pictures have oeen painted of 
him, with various success; but the excessive beauty 
of hi^ lli-jd eseaped every painter and sculptor. In 
tbcLT ct^a.Kdless play they represented every emotion* 
whether pale with anger, or curled in disdain, smil- 
incT in trnimph, or dimpled with archness and love. 
TlSb extreme udlity of expression was sometimes 
painftil, for I have seen him look absolutely ugly— I 
have seen him look so hard and cold that you must 
hate him, and then, in a moment, brighter than the 
sun, with such playful softness in his look, such 
affectionate eagerness kindling in his eyes, and 
dimpling his lips into something more sweet than a 
smile^ that you forgot the man, the Lord Byron, in 
the picture of beauty presented to you, and gased 
with intense curiosify — I had almost said— as if to 
satisfy yourself, that thus looked the g(od of poetry, 
the god of the Vatican, when he conversed with the 
sons and daughters of man." 

His head was sfsrall ; the forehead high^n which 
glossy, dark-brown curls clustered. His teeth 
were white and regular, and his countenance oolor- 

• BS. 

He believed in the immortality of the souL In 
one of his letters, he said that he once doubted it, 
but that reflection had teught him better. The 
publication of *' Cain, a Mystery," brought down 
upon him the severest dfenunciations of many 
of the clergy, whose seal took rapid flight and bore 
away their reason and judgment. They called it 
blasphemous. . This, Lord Byron denied in the 
most positive terms. The misunderstanding was 
owing to the fact that Byron caused each of the 
characters to speak as it was supposed they would 
speak, judging from their actions, and that these 
wult-finders, who raised such an outcry, imderstood 
the language to be the belief of the author, than 
which nothmg could be more unreasonable. 

At the time of Byron's death many tributes to his 
memory were paid by the most celebrated authors. 
Amonff them was one from Rogers, from which we 
take the following as best fitted, in closing this 
sketeh, to leave on the mind of our readers a just 
view of the strange and eventful life of the poet, 
and at the same time to call forth that charity in 
judgment which it is our duty to bestow :— 



jLad to vlM voidd MidiihM fa 11(7 gnvik 
Ok,htkimpMnl far who •mooff w all, 
Triad M thfPQ W Mt mm ftna Oiy m^km. jiwn, 
Whn wworiarinf, jet mmfoBX, aHifbkiid haf-m 
Triad M tboa wart, ud wkh tlij lore of AuM ; 
FlaaMna, wfaBa yet tha dawn waa oo tkj obadi, 
UfliMiir, pmrfaK, and 10 niM liha thfaa, 
Bar ekaimad cap—ah, «Im aiaoofM ■§ ai 
Coidd aiV ka had not «md M BMMh Mi MM •* 



Til it 



WORKS OF LORD BYRON. 



CHIIDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE 



A ROMAUNT. 



Vr^fwm m mm avto dt Im, «kni m bH !• fw b i !ii J i n ptfi WmA m u^ m ^m mm t»f, J'« 

M.MJd . f • .1 r ''I' "~ C< nmmm m m% pah< <a l i rffc w . 

taiHk » ^ite. T^MB hi III lil «» P«M* ««ii^ »*^ k^>^ 1^ •'^ •'«« n il <■< "^ 

»- a»Ml fa ■•ua^ M dWM bMAn di mi i w^ w v« mM-I*. )• ata npMMMli il l» *«h il l» 




LB (XWMOPOLrrC 



PREPACK. 

Tb Mlowiag poeoi wm wiIMhi, for tke mott 
put, odd 13mb Menet wUeh it > t U aq>t B to dMoribe. 
Kuwbegim iaAlbaiki; vAUhmftartM rikthr* to 
Spdft Bid PortagAl iran oompofled fron Hie Mithor't 
ulnmilium in ^om eoantries. Thus nmch it may 
h< III tow My «o Btato for tko conootacM of the de- 
The MOMO ettenpted to U eketehed 
Spidn, PoituBid, Epins, AemMaia, and 
Thore for the praHnt tlM poem stope: iti 
nwpUon -mm dotmodne iriiethor the author may 
vcntnre t»oondMt hit readon to the eapHal of the 
BMt, Ihwgti Ionia aadPhrygia 



the exception of a few concluding stansaa, thewholi 
of this poem waa written in the Leraat. 

The ttanaa of Spenter, aecoiding to one of oar 
moat aaoceaaful poets, admita ef ereiy Tanetj. Jk. 
Beattie makea the following ohaerration: <'Kot 
long ago I b^an a poem in the style and ataasa of 
Spenser, in which I propoae to give ftiU scope to my 
inclination, and be either droU or pathetic, deociv* 
tiYe or sentimental, tender or satWcal* as the hi«nor 
strikes me; for, if I mistake not, the measure 
which I have adopted admits eqnally of all these 
kinds of composition." «— BtreogUiened in my opin- 
ion by such high authority, and by the eTamp l e of 
some in the highest order of Italian poets» I shall 
attempts at similar TariatioM 



make no apology , 

iekiteodBeed for tte mIm of lq the foUowing oompositioni satisfied that» if they 
are unsuccessful, their failure must be in the eieon- 
tion, rather than in the deaign aanctio n ed by th« 
practice of Arioeto, Thomson, and Beattie. 



eonnmEion to the piece; which, how- 
doB to Mtnkrity. It has 
_ L to me by friends, on whose opinions 
I set a hiflpk vahM, that in this ftetitioua character, 
"ChOda fiUs^dt" I may iaeor the saepfeies of 
having inftrmifoil eome real parsonage; this I beg 
leave, oneeftit an, to disdaiafc— Harold is the child 
of iasagiaationt for the porpoee I have stated. In 
some wry ^dvial partimdars, and thoee merely Weal, 
Hmw migkt be gronnds for toch a notion ; but in 
the main polBts, I shouU hope, none whaterer. 

It Is almost saperfluoua to mention that the ap- 
pellation "Chnde,*' aa ** Childe Waters/' "Childe 
Childen," ftc, is used as more consonant with the 
old str a ctm e of the Tersifleation which I hare 
adopted. The " Good Night," in the beginning of 
tkt first canto, was suggested by ** Lord MaswelVs 
Good Night," in the Border IGnstrelsy, edited by 
Mr. Scott. 

With the different poems which have been pub- 
lished on Spanish subjects, there may be found some 
slight coimcidenoe in the first part, which treats of 
the Peninsula, but h can only be casual; as, with 
S 



ABDITIGIV TO THB PBXFACS. 

I UA.ym now waited till almoot all our periodieal 
journals have d i s »ut s d tfiilr usual portion of 
criticism. To the justice of the generality of their 
criticisms I have nothing to object ; it would ill bo- 
come 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. 
Among the many objections justly urged to the very 
indifferent character of the *< vagrant Childe,** 
(whom, notwithstanding many hints to the eon- 



18 



BTBON'8 WORKS. 



tnu7> I itiU maintidn to be a fiotitfoiu penonige,) 
It hm been stated, that, besides tlie anachrcmism, 
he is Yerj wnhu^hUy, as the times of the Knights 
were times of lore, honor, and so forth. Now it so 
happens that the good old times, when " Tamour 
dn bon vieoz terns Tamour antique" flourished, 
were the most profligate of all possible centuries. 
Those who have any doubts on this subject may 
consult St. Palaye, paatim, and more particularly 
▼oL ii., page 09. The tows of chiralry were no 
better kept than any other tows whatsocTer ; and 
the songs of the Troubadours were not more deeent, 
and oertainly were much less refined, than those of 
OTid. The " Couss d'ainour, paxtemens <*amow ou 
de courtesie et d» gtentilesse" had much more of 
loTe than of courtesy or gentleness. See Rolland 
on the same subject with St. Palaye. Whaterer 
other objection may be urged to that most unamia«« 
ble personage, Childe Harold, he was so fiLrperfeofly 
knightly in his attributes^*' No waiter, but a 
knight temphff."* By the by, I fear that Sir 
Tristrem and Sir Lancelot were no better tiiaa they 
should be, although Tery poetical personages and 
true knights <<8ans peur," though not ''sans re- 
proche." If the story of the institittion of the 
** Garter " be not a fltble, the knights of that order 
haTo for scTeral centuries borne the badge of a 
Countess of Salisbury of indifferent memory. So 
much for chiTalry. Burke need not haTe regretted 
that its days are OTer, though Maria Antoinette was 
quite as chaste as most of those In whose honors 
Unoes were shiTered, 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 feimd to this statement, and I foar a Utile hiTes- 
tigation will teach us not to regret these monstrous 
mummeries of the middle ages. 

I now leaiTO ••Childe Harold," to Uto hia day, 
•ueh as he is ; St had been more agreeable, and cex^ 
tafaily more easy, to haTe drawn an amiable charao- 
ter. It had been easy to Tarnish oTer Ms faults, to 
tnake him do more and express less, but he ncTer 
wai Intended as an example, forther than to show 
that early perrerslon of mind and morals leads to 
iatiety of past pleasures and disappointment in 
Ikew ones, and Hut eren the beauties of nature, and 
ftkjb stimulus of tntTcl (except ambition, the most 
powerftil of aH excitements) are lost on a soul so 
constitated, or rather misdirected. Had I pro- 
ceeded with the poem, this character would haTe 
deepened as he drew to the close ; for the outline 
which I once meant to fill up for him was, with 
some ezoeptkma^ the tketeh of a modem Timon, 
perhaps a poetical Zeluco. 



TO lANTHB. 



Not in those climes where I have late 

straying. 
Though Beauty long hath there been matchlest 

deem'd; 
Not in those Tisions to the heart displaying 
Forms which it sighs but to haTe only dream'd. 
Hath aught like thee in truth or fancy seem'd: 
Nor, hsTing seen thee, shall I Tainly seek 
To paint those charms which Tsried as they beam'd : 
To such as see thee not my words were weak ; 
To those who gase on the^ what language emild 

they speak? 

Ah ! may'st thou oTor be what now tiiou art, 
Nor unbeseem the promise of thy spring, 
Asihir In form, as warm yet pure in heart. 
Lore'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 Aiture years, 
Before whose heaTonly hues sll sonow disappears. 

Toung Peri of the West !^*tis well for mo 
My years already doubly number thine ; 
My loToless eye umoTed may gaae on thee,- 
And safely Tiew thy ripening beauties shine ; 
Happy, I ne'er shall see thsna in deeline ; 
Happier, that while sll younger hearts shall blsed* 
Mine shall eseape the doom thine oyoi sesiyi 
To those wheee «dmicatioB ahaU a u eseed» 
But inlx'd with paa^i to Lore's trsn loreliesthovn 



Oh! ktthateye,whkh,wildMt»«eGaaslU's, 
Now brightly bold or beaulifolly shy, 
Wins as it wanders, daisies where it dweUs) 
Olsnee o'er this page, nor to aiy vwss deny 
That smOe for which my brssst mi^ Tsia^ si^ 
Could I to thee be eter mors thai& Mesid : 
This Bueh, desr nmid, aooord: not qvsslioA why 
To one so ybung my strain I would eottsasiid, 
B«t bid me with my wreath ens OMitohlsss lily Ussd. 



Such is thy Mme wi«i titfs my 
And long ss kindsr eyes a look shall ess 
On Harold's page, laathe^ hsn snrittin 
ShsU thus be first behslA, forgoHSB Isst 
My days onee nmnbsr'd, should tidi 
Attract thy fairy flngsn near tlM lyrs 
or him who hailld thes, lo««lisst as 
Such is the most my m s mmy m«y dmfe* ; 
Though mors than Hope 

ShiplSMM<M^A» 



CHUDE HABOLD'S PILGRIMAGE 



CANTO I 



QKfthoii! in HeUas dMm*d of heayenly birth, 
Mim! iBim'd or &bled at ths mmitrers will ! 
flfaiM rtainftd ftiU oft by Uter lyiM on earth, 
Ifine dam not call the« from thy sacred hill : 
Tet liwn I*^ wander'd by thy Tatinted rill ; 
Tea! sigh'd o'«r Dalphi's lomg deaerted thrme,* 
Whve, aftVQ that feeble fovntaia, all ia itUl; 
Bar note my aheU awake the weary Kine 
Tc giaee ao plain a tale— 4hia lowly lay of mine. 

n. 

Whiloaae in Albfam'a iale there dwelt a youth, 
Who ne in Tirtae'a wsya did take delight ; 
Bat apent liia daya in riot moet vneonth, 
And Tez*d with mirth the drowsy ear of Night. 
Ah, ne ! in aooth he waa a shameleM wight, 
8eie grten to rerel and vngodly glee ; 
Few earthlj fhSnga ft»«nd fkvor in hie sight 
8aTe oon cttbln e a and oamal companie, 
Andibnnting waaaailere of high and low degree. 

m. 

Cbilde Hacoldwaahekight,— batwhe»oehia nam* 
And lineagei long, it aoita ^ne not to any ; 
fldBee it, that perchaiKe 'hey were of fame. 
And hnd been g^mnam ia, another day : 
Bnt one and loael aofl* a uame for aye. 
However wgiiity in tha o'dan time: 
Nor an dtft !««nida sake from ooiBn'd elay, 
Nor land fra^a^ aur hociad Use of rhyme, 
Canbbaon evil daada, or ooaaeirata a dime. 

IV. 

Chade Harold baak*d him in the noontide son, 
IKaporting there like nny other fly ; 

Nor daenM beftre Ua mtte fcy ^^ ^o*>* 
One Idast miglit ehiB Un tele misery. 
Bvt leag «« aewee a fidid of Ma paaa'd bjTi 
▼one than aJvoaily Ite Odlfe befeD ; 
He felt tha Mtaaes of MlMy : 
Then hmdied he hi hlinttIHa limd la dwell, 
WUtn aaem'd ta atta isunc* lane ihoi Mm^^^ m 
odL 



For he through Sin's long labyrinth had mn. 
Nor made atonement when he did amisa, 
Had sigh'd to many thongh he lored bat ona^ 
And that loved one, alas ! eonld ne'er be hia. 
Ah, happy she ! to 'scape ih>m him whoae ki» 
Had been pollution unto aught ao ehaate ; 
Who soon had left her charms for Tulgar bUn, 
And spoil'd her goodly lands to gild hia waati. 
Nor calm domestic peace had ersr deign'd to taalf 

VI. 

And now Childa Hatold waa won aiek at heart, 
AndkornhJafcttmbaeahanakw— tdlaa? 
"Ha aaid, ait ti»ea the aoBan tev iPasOd alMt, 
Bnt Pride «aiigeard the dro|» nkhte Ma aa : 
Apast he atalk'd In Joyleaa MWH«B» 
And frsB his natHn land raMlv'd«o««, 
And Tjait aeeteMf allnw baymid <ha aanf 
With pleaMva Angg'd ha afaMOt lM«^ fer «», 
And a'esi fw ahaaga ot 



vn. 

The Childe departed kom hia fethcr's hall: 
It waa a vaat and vananbla pile ; 
60 old, it leewiod only not to iatt. 
Yet strength waa pillir'd in 1 
Monaatie dome! oondamn'd to naaa vflal 
Where &ipeistition onoa had made har dea» 
Now Pi^hiaa girla were kaMvn to aing and «nile } 
And monks might deem their tima wia s 
If aneimt talaa ai^ tn^nar vmb Iheaa hoiyi 



VIIL 

Tet ofttlmea In hia maddeat mirOAil mood 
Strange pangs would flash along Childe Harold't 
Aa if the memaiy of aome deadly fend [brow, 
Or diaappointed paaafon Ittrk'd beWw: 
But thla none knew, nor hi^ tared la hhew; 
X OT hia waa vot that open, arHeM aow 
That feela nU^ by bMdlug aoftww M^f 
Nor soug^ he fHend to oevmel or eondola, 
Whate'er hia grief meila be, whUh ha eoold Ml 
oontraL 



20 



BYRON'S WO&KS. 



IX. 



And none did lore him— though to hall and bower 
He gather'd lerellers from far and near, 
He knew them flatt'rers of the festal hour ; 
The heartless parasites of present cheer. 
Tea \ none did love him— not his lemans dear— 
But pomp and power alone are woman's care, 
And where these are light Eros finds a fere ; 
Maidens, like moths, are ever caught bj glare, 
And Mammon wins his way where Seraphs might 
despair. 



Ghildo Htreld had a mtther— mot forgot, 
Though parting frera t^at mother he did shun ; 
A sister whom he loved, b«t saw her not 
Before his weary pilgrimage begun : 
If friends he haii, he bade adieu t* wm». 
Yet deem not thence his breast a breast of steel ; 
Ye, who have known what 'tis to dote upon 
A few dear objeets, will in sadnesa feel 
Such partings break the heart thej fondly hope to 
heal. 

XI. 

Hls hous^:^ ^ts homCj hli hcdtage, his lands, 
The laugMrig di\Qi«s m whiim he did delight, 
Whofic Iflj^c blu^ cyei, fair Locks, and snowy hands 
Might abftk^ Uki sainCnhip of an anchorite, 
And long had fed his youth (td appetite ; 
His f allf tH brimm'd with tvery costly wine, 
And all that mote to luxury invite, 
Without a eigli he left, to cross the brine, 
And traverae Faynim nhoie^, And pass Earth's cen- 
tral line. 

XII. 

The fails wen ill'd, and &ir the light winds blew, 
As glad to wait hhoa from his native hone ; 
And fsat the wMte rocks faded fkom hia view. 
And soon wsn lost in cirouaambioBt foam : 
And then, it may be, of hia wish to roam 
BepflBited he, but in his bosem slept 
The dlent theioght, nor fnmi his lipa did eome 
One ward of wstal, whflat oehen aat and wept. 
And to the reckless gales unmanly moaning kept. 

XUL 

But when the sub was sinking in the sea 
He seized his harp, which he at times could string, 
And strike, albeit with untaught melody, 
When deem'd he no etrange ear was listening : 
And now his fingers o'er it he did fling, 
And toned his ftrewell in the deep twilight. 
While flew the vessel on her snowy vring, 
And fldetfttg slMirat needed f^om hit sight. 
Thus to the elements he pour'd his last *<Oood 
Night." 

1. 

** Adbv, adieu 1 my nativa ahon 

Fadea o^ar the waters blue ; 
Tli^ Night-winds sigh, the breaken roar, 

And shriaka the wild sea-mew. 
Yon Bvm that aeta xnjfou the aea 

W^Xollow in hia flight ; 
FarewsU awhile to him and thee, 

My native Land— Good Night 1 



** A few short hours, and He will riaa 

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

But not my mother Earth. 
Deserted is my«>own good hall, 

Its hearth is desolate ; 
Wild weeds an gathering on the wall ; 

My dog howls at the gate. 

3. 
<* Come hither, hither, my little page! 

Why dost thou weep and wail ? 
Or dost thwu^dread the biUowa*' i»f% 

Or taemUa at tiia gide?- 
But dash the tear-drop from thine eye , 

Our ship is swift and strong : 
Our iieeteat fklcon scarce could fly 

Mon merrily along." 



' Let winds be shrill, let waves roll high, 

I fear not wave nor wind ; 
Yet marvel not, Sir Childe, that I 

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

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

But thee— and one above. 

6. 
* My father bless'd me fervently. 

Yet did not much compliun ; 
But sorely will my mother sigh 

Till I come back again.' — 
'* Enough, enough, my little lad ! 

Sudi tean become thine eye ; 
If I thy guileless bosom had, 

Mine own would not be dry. 

6. 
** Come hither, hither, my staunch yeomaa 

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 ao weak ; 
But thinking on an absent wife 

WQl blanch a ftuthful cheek. 



* My spouse and boys dwell near thy hall, 

Along the bordering lake ; 
And when they on their fhther eall, 

What answer shall she make ? '— 
** Enough, enough, my yeoman good, 

Thy grief let none gahssay ; 
But I, who am of lighter mood, 

Will laugh to flee away. 

a. 

** For who would troat the iasming aighs 

Of wife OS panmovr i 
Rpsak fens wiU dry the bright blue 9ym 

We late saw ptreaaaing o'er. 
For pleasures past I do not gfisira^ 

Nov perila gathering near ; 
My gnttast grief ia that I leave 

No thing that clainu a tear. 



CHILDX SABMiyf FIM&UAQB. 



SI 



•'And now Pm in ^ iratU iioii*» 

Vpon the wide, wkto Ma: 
But wky ahoiild I for otiicn grota, 

Wh€n none ifffl ligli ftir me ? 
Perchance my dog wOl whine in Tiift 

m fed I17 ttnnger bends; 
Bat long ere I eome baek tgefai, 

He'd tear me whcM he ttande. 

10. 

'•WJiktlMe.mybeik^rUewiftlyge . 

Athwart the foaming brine ; 
Nor eare what land thoa bear'at me tuo, 

80 not agun to mine. 
Wnlenmn, welcome, je dark bine waTee ! 

And iriien jaa fail my eight, 
Weleome, ye desert*, and ye caTee ! 

My native Un^-Oood Night ! " 

XIV. 

On, on the Tenel fliai» the land is gone, 
And winds are nide in Biscay's sleeplese bay. 
Four days are sped, but with the fifth, anon, 
New shores descried make erery bosom gay; 
And Cintn's mountain greets them on their way. 
And Tagos dashing onward to the deep. 
Hie libled golden tribate bent to pay ; 
And soon on board the Losian pilots leap, 
4nd steer 'twixt fertile shores where yet 1^ mstles 
reap. 

XV. 

Ok, Christ! it is a goodly sight to see 
What HevMk hsitii done In this d^eioQS land ! 
What frnito of fragianee hhish on erery tne I 
What goofiy prospeet a o'er the hilb expand! 
Bnt mam wonM mar them with an hnpions hand : 
And when the Ahaii^ty lifts his iereeet seowge 
wk^ meet transgress his h%h 



XVUL 



» will his hot shafts nigs 
Gani'slMnsthost, and earth firam feUast 
pinge. 

XVI. 

What beauties doth lisboa first nnfold ! 
Her image floating on that noble tide, 
Which poets Tainly pave with sands of gold, 
But BOW whereon a thousand keels did ride 
Of nicety strength, since Albion whs allied. 
And to the liusians did her aid afford : 
A nation swoln with ignorance and pride. 
Who lick yet loathe the band that waTSs the sword 
lo save them firom the wrath of Qaul's unsparing 
told. 

xvn. 

Bnt whose euterMn WrakiA lUs town. 
That, riieeaing ftt, eelestfial seems to be, 
IMsoonsolato wffl wander wp* and down, 
"Mid mai^ things unsightly to strange ee; 
For hot and palaee show Hke iHUfly : 
The Aagy denisens are rear'd in dirt ; 
Ne pcnonage of high or mean degree 
Vcm care for cleanAeas of snrtont er tMrt, 
fhoogji sfacttt with Bgypf 8 plagne, mikempt. 



PoQr,pahryslaTes! yet bom 'midst noMsst seems, 
Why, Nature, waste thy wonders on such meat 
Lo ! Cintra's glorious Eden intervenes 
In Tariegated maze of mount and glen. 
Ah, me I what hand can pencil guide, or pen. 
To follow half on which the eye dilates, 
Through riews more daasUng unto mortal ken 
Than those whereof such things the bard jelatos, 
Who to the awe-struck world luJock'd Elysfaun's 
gates? 

XIX. 

The horrid erags, by toppling oooTent erown'd. 
The eork-tiees hoar that clothe the shaggy steep, 
The monntaia-mDM by scosching skies imbrown'd, 
The sunken glen, whose sunless shrubs must weep. 
The tender aswe of the nnnifled deep, 
The orange tints that gild the greenest bough. 
The toerents that from clifT to Yalley Imj^ 
The rine on high, the willow branch below, 
MiK'd in one mighty scene, with raried beanty glow. 

XX. 

Then slowly climb the many-winding way« 
And frequent turn to linger as you go, 
From loftier rocks new loveliness surrey, 
And rest yet at our " Lady's house of wo ; " * 
Whsre frugal monks their little relics show. 
And sundry legends to the stranger teU : 
Here impioms men hare punish'd been, and lo! 
Deep in yon cave Honorioos k>ng did dwell, 
In hope to merit heaven by making earth a HeflL 

XXI. 

And here and there, as up the crags yen spring, 
Mark many rude-earred croases near the path: 
Yet deem not these devotion's ofTering — 
These are memorials frail of murderous wrath : 
For whereeoe'er.the shrieking rictim kath 
Pour*d forth his blood benea t h the assassin's kid^ 
Some hand ereota a croas of mouldering lath » 
And grove and glen with thousand such are rife 
Throughout this purple land where law eecures not 
life.* 

XXIL 



On shiping msvnds, or in Hie vsle beneath* 
Are demee where whikme kings did make repair} 
But now the wild lowers round them only tareaAhe ; 
Yet ndn'd splendor still is lingering there. 
And yonder towers the Prince's palaee fiurs 
There timu too, Vathek i England's wealthieft son. 
Once (brm'd thy Paradise, aa net aware [done. 
When wanten Wealth her mightiest deeds hath 
Meek Peace Toluptuoas loree was ever wont t« sun. 

xxm. 

Here didst «he« dvi«U» km schemes 

plan. 
Be ne at h yen mountain's ever hsauteous brow : 
But now, as if a thong unUsst by Man, 
Thy ftkry dwelling is as lone as thou ! 
Here gint weeds a paamgs seesce allow 
To halls desertsd, portals gaping wide ; 
Fntk lessons to the thfnVJjsg bosom, how 
Vam $x% the plcesaunces on earth supplied ; 
Swept into wrecks anon by Time's ungentle tide 



22 



BYRON'S WOftXa 



XXIV. 



Behold the hall where ohie& were Ute conrcned ! * 
Oh ! dome displeasing unto British eye ! 
With diadem hight fooUcap, lo ! a fiend, 
A Uttle fiend that scoirs incessantly, 
There sits in parchment robe array'd, and by 
His side is hung a seal and sable scroll, 
Where blazon'd glare names known to chiraliy, 
And lundry signatures adorn the roll, 
Whereat the Urchin points and laughs with aU his 
uqqL 

XXV. 



Ccyarention is the dwarfish danum styM 
That foii'd the knights in MarialTa's dome : 
Of brains (if brains they had) he them begnilid, 
And tom'd a nation's shallow joy to gloom. 
Here Folly dash'd to earth the victor's plmnoi 
And Policy regained what arms had lost ; 
For chiefs Kke ours in Tain may laurels bloom t 
Wo to the conqu*ring, not the conqner'd host, 
BInoe baflled Triumph droops on Lnaitania's eoMt. 

XXVI. 

And erer sinee that martial synod met, 
Britaonia sickens, Ctntra ! at thy name ; 
And folks in office at the mention flret, 
And fain would blush, if Idush they couki, for 
How will posterity the deed ploclaim ! [shame. 
Will not our own and fellow*nations sneer. 
To Tiew these champions cheated of their ikma, 
By foes in fight o'erthrown, yet victors here. 
Where Scorn her finger points through many a oom- 
ingyear? 

XXVII. 

80 deemM the Childe, as o'er the mountaini he 
Did take his way in solitary guise : 
Sweet was the scene, yet soon he thought to fiee, 
More restless than the swallow in the skies : 
Though here a while he learned to moralise. 
For meditation fiz'd at times on him ; 
And conscious Reason whisper'd to desfrise 
His early youth misspent in maddest whim ; 
Bnt aa he gazed on truth Us aoUng eyes grerw dim. 

xxvni. 

To kaiMl to horse! he %niti, for vrer quits 
A ieeno of peaee, though sootiung to his senl ; 
Again he nmses from his moping fito, 
But seeks not now the harlot and the bowL 
Onward ho ilas, nor fiz'd as yet the goal 
Where he shall rest him on his pilgiiouige ; 
And o'tr him many changing soenes most roll 
Bre toQ his thint for travel ean asenage, 
Or he ahaQ eatan hia braaat, or learn experi«iMe 
sage. 

XXlt. 

Tet Ifafra lihall one moment eiilm ialay,* 
Where dwelt of yore the Luslans' luekless queen } 
And churdi and eoort did mingle tteir array. 
And mass and revel w«m alternate seen ; 
Lordlings and freree— Hi-sorted fry I ween ! 
But here the Babylonian whofe hath bnilt 
A dome, where flaunts the in sneh glnrions sheen, 
That men forget the blood whieh she hath spflt, 
JjidWwtiie knee to Pomp that kiveo to vanish 
gniR 



XXJL. 



O'er vales thai teem wUh fruits, rMUKtle httli. 

(Oh, that such hills iqpheld a freebom race 1) 
Whereon to gaae the eye with joyanee fills, QplltMw 
Childe Harold wends through many a plesamt 
Though dnggards deem it but a foolish chaae 
And marvel men should quit their easy ehafar, 
The toilsome wny, and long, long league to tmooy 
Oh ! there is sweetness in the mountain air» 
And life, that bloated Ease can never hope to skMS. 

XXXI. 
More bleak to view the hiHs at length Moede^ 
And, less luxuriant, smoother vales extend: 
Immense horizon-bounded plains succeed! 
Far as the eye discerns, witiiouten end, 
Spain's realms appear whereon her shepheA tend 
Flocks, whose rich fleece right well the trader 

knoift's — 
Now must the pastor's arm his lambs defend * 
For Spain is compass'd by unyielding foes, 
And all must shield their aU, or share Suljeetioa'a 
woes. 

XXXII. 

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

XXXUL 

But these between a silver streamh* ^Ata* 
And scarce a name distinguisheth the bn«k. 
Though rival kingdoms press its verdant ridts. 
Here leans the idle shepherd on his sroelK, 
And vacant on the rippling wavw doth took* 
That peaeefol still 'twhct bitteiest fosmen flow; 
For proud each peasant as the noblsal dnke : 
Wen doth the Spanish hMd the dJAvsm 
'Twixt Um snd Luaian slave, tiie losssilel th« low * 

XXXIV. 
But ere the mingling bounds have for been paai'd» 
Dark Ouadiana rolls his power along 
In sullen billows, murmuring and vast. 
So noted ancient roundelays among. 
Whilome upon his banks did legions throng 
Of Moor and knight, in mailed splendor drest ; 
Here ceased the swift their race, here sunk th« 
The Paynim turban and the Christian orest [etrong ; 
Miz'd on the bleeding stream, by floating hosts op- 
press'd. 

XXXV. 

Oh, lovely Spain ! renown'd rmnantie land ! 
Where is thai standard whieh Pelsgio here. 
When Cava'a Initor^iiie first oall'd the hand 
That dyed ibj n»MMaaia steeama with Oothid 

gM»?2 

'Where are those bloody banneia which of yoxt 
Waved o'sr tl^ sons, victorious to the gale, 
And drove at last the ^oikrs to their shore ? [ptle. 
Red gleam'd the ezose, and waned the oreseent 
While Afrlo's echoes thriU'd with Moorish matitms' 
waiL 



CHILDB ■AMI4)« nMlDf AOB. 



U 



xxrvh 

•Mb dlfe^ nMk Hw flMaM tdft ? 

wiltoi and yrin Mootdi fiul» 
A peMuf • ipkiat pvalangB kk d ttb ioM date. 
PiUal bod ty&e tgra from h&unm, to 
Seakmr AAmigk^alueinkiiitoaMiig! [MtaiD, 
Caa Yolma, FUlar, Pile, p t o t w ye tte snat ? 
(k anat dioa traai Tkadition*a HBiOe toagoe^ 
VIma tUtnrf deepawiUi thee, and Hiatovydoai 
thee wnmg? 

xxxvn. 

Aiaike, jpe eoae of Spain ! awake t adraiioe! 
Le ! Chiralrf, your aadent goddeas, cariea ; 
B«t widda not, aa of old, her thiztty laaM, 
Nerahakeahflr criiaeon plumage ia the tkke : 
Mow on the imoke ot biasing bolta ihe flies. 
And speaka in thunder tiixongh yon engine's rear 
In every peal she oall»-" Awake 1 ariae!** 
Say, is her Toiee more feeble thkn of yoie, 
When her war-eong was heard en Andatnsia's 
shon? 

xixvra. 

Hark ! heard yon not those hooft of dreadful note ? 
Soonds not the clang of conflict on the heath ? 
Saw ye not whom the reeking sabre smote ; 
Nor saved yoor bretiiren ere they sank beneath 
Tyrants and tyrants' slaves ? — the flree of death 
The bale-fllres flash on high : — ^firom rock to rock 
Each volley tells that thousands cease to breathe. 
Death rides upon the sulphury Siroc, 
Red Battle stamps his €DOt, and nations fcel the 
shock. 

XXXIX. 

Lo ! where the Oiant on the mountain stands. 
His Uood-iod treswce deepening in the sun, 
HTlih death-ehot glowing in hia fiery hands, 
And eye that soeircheth all it glares upon ; 
Hestless it rolls, now fix'd, and now anon 
Flaahing afar,— «nd at his iron feet 
Destractian cowos, to mark what deeds are done ; 
For on this mom three potent nations meet, 
to shed before kis shrine the blood ho deems most 



XL. 

By heaven, it is a splendid sight to see 
(Pear one uriio hath no friend, no brother there) 
Their rival scarfk of mix'd emboroidery, 
Their variooa arms that gUttor in the air 1 [lair 
What gallant war-hounds rouse them from tiieir 
Andgnaah their fimgs, loud yelling for the ptey ! 
An join the chase, but few the triumph share ; 
The Gkrave shall bear the chiefest prise away, 
Attd Hsioe scares flar joy can nnmbor thehr raray* 

XLL 

Tfane hosts eosoftuM to oflte s as iii ee ; 
Thne tongiies prefer stnage orisoBs on hi^ ; 
Three gandystaaidards flout the pale blue skies; 
The shouts sre Fnmoe, Spela, Albiea, Yiotory ! 
Tte foe, ihe viottm, and tiie imd aBy 
That fl^hfts for an, but ever flghfts in vain, 
A» met— as if St hoBse th^ eoohi not die- 
To ibsd tiie crew on Talavera's ^sJn, 
Afti flntilMW tlM fley HMt each ptetenfli te gain 



XUL 



There shsll they rol— Ambition's honer'd 
Tss, honor decks the tvf that wraps tlisir 
Vsin Sophistiy I in theee behold the todli, 
The beoken tools, that tyranta east away 
By myriads, when tiiey dara to pave their 
With human he a i ts t o what ^-<a dream 
Can despots compass ought that haib tiMir 
Or call with truth ene span of esrtt «Mhr 
Save that wherein at laat they emmMe 



I 
fllay! 



way 



I 



XLHL 



Oh, Albuera! glorious fleld of grief! 
As o'er thy plain the Pilgrim prick'd his steed. 
Who could foresee thee, in a space so brief, [bleed . 
A scene where mingling foes should boast and 
Peace to the perish'd ! may the warrior's meed 
And tears of triumph their reward prolong ! 
TUl others foil where other chieftains lead. 
Thy name shall circle round the gaping tlurong, 
And shine in worthlesa lays, the theme of transient 
song! 

XUV. 



Enou^ of Battle's ndnions ! let Oani plaf 
Tbeir gaaae of lives, and barter breath for foMs: 
Pame that will searee leanfanate their slay, 
Though thouaands foil to deck eoMs rtagW naiae. 
In sooth 'twere sad to ^wart their noble aim (good. 
Who strike, blest hireiings! flnr thsir eomtvy's 
And die, that living might have proved bar ahame ; 
Perish'd, perehanee, in sosse dsaMStis fond. 
Or in a nairower sphere wild Bapiae's path pwaasd. 

XLV. 

Full swiftly HsTOld wends h!s lonely way 
Where proud Sevilla triumphs unsubdued : 
Yet is she free— the spoiler's wished-for prey I 
Soon, soon shall Conquest's flery foot intrude. 
Blackening her lovely domes with traces rude. 
Inevitable hour ! 'Gainst fote to strive 
Where Desolation plants her ftdnish'd brood 
Is vain, or Ilion, Tyre, might yet survive. 
And Yirtne vanquish all, end Murder cease to tiirive 



XLVI. 
But all unconsdoBS of the coming doom. 
The feast, the song, the revel here abounds ; 
Strange modes of merriment the hours oonsume, 
Kor bleed these patriota with their country's 

wounds: 
Nor here War's darioo, but Love's rebeck soosds ; 
Here PoUy still his votaries inthraUs ; 
And young-eyed Lewdnees walka hsr midnight 
€Krt with the silsnt orimss of Cspitals, [rsonds: 
Still to the last kind Vice clings to the tott'xingwallk 

xLvn. 

Not so the rustio-^th his trembling mate 
He harks, nor eeats his hsavy eye afor. 
Lest he sbenld vfow his vineyard desolata 
Blasted belosr the dan hot breath ot wh 
No BBOre beneaHi soft Bve's i 
Fsndange twiiia his Jocund t 
Ah, monar^s 1 could ye tasts the mortk yu nW| 
Not in the tolls of Qkxry would ye fret; 
The hoame dull drum would sleep, and Maa bt 
happy yet! 



S4 



BT&OK'B 'WOBJU. 



xLvnx. 



Hdw eu9U nov tiie lojrty m«l«tMr ? 
Of love, rosMOioey deTotion, ie his lay, 
Ab ivlulome lie was wont the leagues to cheer, 
His qiiiefc bells wildly jiaging on the Way } 
Nel as he speeds, he chants ** Viva el Bey ! "• 
And cheeks his song to eseorate Godoy, 
The royal wittol Charles, and curse the day [boy, 
When first Spain's queen beheld the black-eyed 
And gore-faoed Xreaaon sprang &om her adulterate 
joy. 

xwx. 

On yon long level plain, at distance crown'd 
With crags, whereon those Moorish turrets rest, 
'Vnde scattered hoof-marks dint the wounded 
ground ; [vest 

And, scathed by fire, the greensward's darken*d 
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 neat; 
Still does he mark it with triumphant boast, 

And points to yonder cliffs, which oft were won and 
lost 

L. 
And whomoe^er along the path yon x&eel» 
B«ars in his cap the badge of cnmson hue, 
Whieh tdls yon wfaon to shnn and whom to greet ;* 
We te tiie nnm tAiat walks in public view 
Withent of loyalty this token true : 
Sharp is the knife, and sudden is the stroke ; 
And sovsly would the GteUie foeman rue. 
If subtle poniaids, wrapt beneatii the cloak, 

Could blunt the sidice's edge, or desr the oaanon's 
smoke. 

U. 
At every turn Morena's dusky height 
Sustains aloft the battery's iron load ; 
And, far as mortal eye can compass sight, 
The mountain-howitzer, the broken road, 
The bristling pallisade, the fosse o'erflow'd, 
The station'd bands, the never-vacant watch. 
The magasine in rocky durance stow'd. 
The bolster'd steed beneath the shed of thatch. 

Hie ball-piled pyramid, the ever-blazing match,i<^ 

LIL 
Portend the deeds to come :— ^ut he whose nod 
Has tumbled feebler despots from their sway, 
A moment pauseth ere he lifts the rod ; 
A little moment deigneth to delay : [way ; 

Soon will his legions sweep through these their 
The West must own the Scourger of the world. 
• Ah I Spsin ! how sad will be thy reckoning-day. 
When soars Oaul's Vulture, with his wings 
unftirl'd, 
And thou shalt view thy sons In crowds to Hades 
hurl'd. 

LIII. 
And must they fall } the young, the proud, the 

bnve, 
To swell one bloated ChietTs nnwhotesome reign ? 
Ko step between submission and a grave ? 
The rise of rapine and the fall of Spain ? 
And detib the Power that man i^ona ordain 
Their doom, nor heed the siqyplisnf s appeal } 
i» all that desperate Valor acts in vun } 
And Counsel sage, and patriotio Zeal, 
The V«teMDi's skill. Youth's iire, and Manhood's 
heart of steel? 



LIV. 



Is it Ibr tUs tiie SpaniikmBid, atefasoi^ 
Hangs on the willow her unstrung guitar, 
And, an unsez'd, the aniaee hath eqiouaed, 
Sung the kmd song, and dared the deed of irm i 
And she, whom onoe the semblance of a sew 
Appsll'd, an owlet's 'larum ehUl'd wi& dread. 
Now views ^e eolumn-scattsixBg bay'net jar, 
The fiaidiion flash, and o'er the yet warm dead 
Stalka with Ifinerva's step where Mars might qnak* 
to tread. 

LV. 

Ye who shall marvel when you hear her tale, 
Oh ! had you known her in her softer hour, [veQ, 
Mark'd her black eye that mocks her coal-blaak 
Heard her Ught, lively tones in Lady's bower. 
Seen her long locks that foil the painter's poiwWt 
Her tBxry form, with more than female graeoy 
Scarce would you deem that Saragosa's tower 
Beheld her ssoile in Banger's Gorgon face, 
Thin the closed ranks* and lead in Glory's fearftil 
chase. 

LVI. 

Her lover sink»— she sheds no ill-timed tear; 
Her chief is slain — she fills his fatal post ; 
Her fellows flee— ehe checks their base career ; 
The foe retires— she heads the sallying host ; 
Who can appease Uke her a lover's ghost ? 
Who can avenge so well a leader's fall ? 
What maid retrieve when man's flush'd hope ii 
Who hang so fiercely on the flying Gaul, [lost ? 
Foil'd by a woman's hand, before a batter'd wall i ^> 

LVII. 

Yet are Spain's maids no race of Amasons, 
But form'd for all the witching arts of love : 
Though thus in arms they emulate her sons, 
And in the horrid phalanx dare to move, 
'Tis but the tender fierceness of the dove. 
Pecking the hand that hovers o'er her mate : 
In softness as in firmness fer above 
Remoter females, famed for sickening prate ; 
Her mind is nobler sure, her charms perchanoe as 
great. 

LVIIL 

The seal Love's dimpling finger hath im]»ess*d 
Denotes how soft that chin whidh bears his toueti : >^ 
Her lips, whose kisses pout to leave tnehr nest. 
Bid man be valiant ere he merit such : 
Her glance how wildly beautiftil I how much 
Hath Phoabus woo'd in vain to qpoil her cheeky 
Whieh glows yet smootiier frmn his amo»>as 

clutch! 
Who round the North fer paler dames would seek ? 
How poor their fonna appear ! bow langwiii, wnn^ 

and weak ! • 

UX. 

Match me, ye eUmes ! whidi poets love to land ; 
Hatoh me, ye harams of the landl where now 
I strike my strain, fer distant, to applaud 
Beauties that er'n a eynio must avow; 
Match me those Houries, whom ye searoe allow 
To taste the gale lest Love should ride the wind. 
With Spain's dark-glancing danghtsrfr— deign to 
There your wise Prophet's paradise we find, [knoir 
His black-eyed maids of Heftvwi« angplieally Und* 



•:. :t 



■■■■ ^ 1 



:X •«" 



/#.^^' 



■L-t 



h 



i 









.! 



14 



BTaOMf VOBJUL 



xLvm. 

Bow car^ B#ir tb» lo^ty mvl^tMr ? 
Of loT«, zDZMnoe, devotioiiy b bis lay, 



As ivhUraae he 'wfjroat the leagiws to cheer, J^ ^^^ jjj ttnsex'd, the anlaee h*th espoused. 



UT. 



Is It fiv tUs tite Spttiiih nudd, anrased, 
Hangs oa the TriUow her unstrung guitsr^ 






A .•.•' 



' • tV, . V 



I-:-... . ' • 



...a. 



'! • -J 






Lcj^t uf L .> -^ 



.»•.■ 



GBILDB HABOUyt nUmiMkQ^ 



Hi. ihM PaOIMMi » lAMi I M 

Not in th« frmj of a imM*t aji^ 
K«t ia tiio ftiUid In^Q^pe of ft Uy, 
But Kwdng now-olad thiodgh Hiy notiv* il^ 
In tkkB nikl poaip of woua^am wa^mtf 1 
WbU maiTol if I tkao oMay to nag ? 
1^ huDOilMt of Ay pfigiiaM fiMiiig by 
Wevld gbdly woo tfuBO BdMMt iiitli his ttring, 
tkMj^ fron thyU^ta ao mmo oho XttMfvffl 
mTohoririiig. 

Oft hoTO I dimmed of Thee ! whoM glariow boom 
Who knowi not, knows not man's dlTinest lore : 
And now I tIow fhee, 'tis, alas 1 with shame 
That I in feeblest aecents must adore. 
When I recoont thy worshippers of yore 
I tremble, and can only bend the knee ; 
Nor raise my Toioe, nor yainly dare to soar. 
Bat gaxe beneath iby doady canopy 
la sikat joy to think at last I look on Thee ! 

ULH. 

Happer la this than mightiest bards have boea, 
Whose late to distant homes eonllned thek lot» 
Shall I oamored behold the haUow'd scene. 
Which otheiB rare of, though they kaow it aot ? 
Though heace no more Apollo haunts his grot. 
And thou, the Muses' seat, art now their graTO^ 
Some gentle spirit still perrades the spot» 
Sighs in the gale, keeps silence ia the cave, 
Aad glides with glassy foot o'er yoa melodioas wat«. 

LXHL 

Of thee heieafter.— Ev'a aaudst vy straia 
I turn'd aside to pay my homage here; 
Forgot the lead, the sons, the maids of Spain ; 
Her &te, to every freeborn bosom dear ; 
And hail'd thee, aot perchance without a tear. 
Now to my theme-^mt from thy holy haunt 
Let me some reamaat, some memorial bear *, 
Tield me one leaf of I>aphne's deathless plsat, 
Nor let thy ▼otary's hope be deem'd aa idle raunt 

LXIV. 

But ne'er didst thou, fdr Xouat I whea Oreeoe was 
See round thy giant base a brighter choir, [young, 
Nor e'er did Delphi, when her priestess sung, 
Th» Pythian hymn with more than mortal fire. 
Behold a train more fitting to inspire 
The song of Ioto than Andalusia's maids, 
Nurst in the glowing lap of soft desire : 
Ah ! that to these were giTen such peaceful shades 
As Greece can atiU bestow, though Glory fly her 

LXV. 

Fair is pnad Seville; let her eevatey boast 
Her strength, Iwr wealth, Imt sits of 
But Cadis, liiiag oa ths distsat coast, [daysj 
CaDs forth a sweeter, Umn^ igaoble paim. 
Ah, y ice 1 how soft an Ihy Tolaptaoas ways 1 
WUU boyish blood ia maatliag who eaa 'aeapa 
The tecmaitiea of Ihy aa^ gaao? 
A Ghermb-hydfa found us dost thoa gapo^ 



UTTL 



Mlbytfai 



The ^aeea who ceaqacra all mast yield to Ihsa 
The FleaMoee fled, but sought as wana a ettno 
Aad Veaus, constant to her natlvo eea, 
To asn^t else constaat, hither deiga'd to flee; 
Aad fla'd her ahriaewithlatheee walls of whits; 
Though aot to oae dome eireumseiibeth she 
Hea wonhip, but, devoted to her rite, 
A tfumaaad altan rise, ior ever Uaaiag bright 

LXTH. 

nomaiefa tSQ a|^t, from n^ht till starred Meis 
Peepe bluahiag on the revolt laughing crew, 
The soag is heard, the rosy garland won, 
Devices quaiat, aad fkoUes ever aew, 
Tread oa each other's kibes. A loag adieu 
He bids to sober joy that here sojouras : 
Nought interrupts the riot, though in Bea 
Of true devotioa monkish iaeense burns, 
Aad love aad prayer aaite, or rule the hoar 1^ 



LXVHL 

The Sabbath comes, a day of blessed rest ; 
What hallows it upon this Christisa shore f 
Lo ! it is sacred to a solema feast ; 
Hark ! heard you aot the forest monarch's roar? 
Crashing the lance, he snufi the spouting gore 
Of man and steed, o'erthrown beneath his horn. 
The throng'd arena shakes with shouu for more; 
Tells the mad crowd o'er entrails freshly torn. 
Nor shrinks the female eye, nor ev'n affects ta 



LXIX. 

Tlie sercnth day this ; the jubilee of man. 
London ! right well thou know'st the day of prayer : 
Then thy spruce citizen, wash'd artisan, 
And smug apprentice gulp their weekly air : 
Thy coach of nackney, whiskey, one-horse chair. 
And humblest gig through sundry suburbs whiri. 
To Hampstcad, Brentford, Harrow make repair ; 
Till the tired jado the wheel forgets to hurl, 
Provoking envious gibe from each pedestrian eharL 

LXX. 

Some o'er thy Thames row the ribbon'd loir. 
Others along the safer turnpike fly ; 
Some Bichmond-hill ascend, some scud to Waia, 
And many to the steep of Highgate hie. . 
Ask ye, Boetian shades ! the reason why } *< 
'Tis to the worship of the solemn Horn, 
Grasp'd in the holy hand of Mystery, [swosa. 
In whose dread name both men sad maids are 
And consecrate the oath with draaght, aad daaoa 

XiXXL 



AUhavol 

Fair Gadis, riaiag o'er the dMfc Uao sea ! 
Sooa as tha matia bell preelainMlh aiao, 
Tliy ssiat adorsrs eoaat the ro«ry : 
Xadi is the Txaonf teased to shi^ them flrw 
(Well do I vfoea the oaly vitgia thers) 
From crimes aa aaaiasoos as her beadsmsa bo; 
Thea to the esowded cirooa forth they flura: 
Tonag, old* high, low, at oaea the same r 



nXBQWB WOBU. 



UXH. 



The lists are oped, the speetous eree eleu*d* 
J3uma«ads on thousands piled aze eeated rooad ; 
Long ere the first loud trumpet's note ia heazd» 
Ne vacant space for lated wight is found: 
Here dons, grandeea, but chiefly dames aboundt 
SkiU'd in the ogle of a roguish 070, 
Tet ever well inclined to heal the wound ; 
None through their cold disdain are doom'd to die, 
kM mooaatruck bards complain* by Love's wd 
archery. 

Hosh'd is the din of tongues-«on gallant steeds, 
With milk-white cx^t, gold-spur, and light^poised 
Four cayaliers prepare (or Tenturous deeds, (lanoe. 
And lowly bending to the lists advance ; 
Rich are their scarfs, their chargers featly pranee : 
If in the dangeroua game they shine to-day. 
The crowd's loud shout and ladies' lovely glance, 
Best prize of better acts, they bear away, 
4lld aU that kings or chiefs e'er gain tbenr toils 
repay. 

LXXIV. 

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

LXXV. 

Thrice sounds the clarion ; lo ! the signal &Ufs 
The den expands, and Expectation mute 
Oapes 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 vraving to and fro 
His angry tail ; red rolls his eye's dilated glow. 

. LXXVL 

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 bellowings 
speak his woes. 

Lxxvn. 

Again ha oeaes; aov dart ner lamee aTaU, 
Nor the wild ptongiag of the tevtund homt ; 
Though mn, and maa's aveaging anns a««il» 
Tain are his weayoas, vaiaer ia Ida Isroe. 
Ope gtltai steed ia streteh'd a mangled corse; 
Another, hideoua sight 1 unaeatn'd appears* 
Hi« g«ry cheat unveils life's peating aeuzee ; 
Thoughdeath-fltmck,»tillhis feeUefraaiehenai 
B t ^ ggsri ng, but atsmmiag «U, hit lardaohann'd ha 
bears. 



LXZVIU. 



FoU'd, bihnihic, bMHtUeatt faOmm to Ite ]«^ 
FuU in the eentoe atands thi bsai at bi^, 
'Mid wounds, and olisging dwrts, aadlaaoM farw^ 
And foes disabled in tba hnital firagr; 
And now the Matsdons aron&d him plaj. 
Shake the red eloak, and peiae the ready toaad : 
Once miore through aU he bunts has tfawd'ziiig way: 
Vain rage I the BMOitk vnits the conyage head, 
Wrapahie fleKc«eye~'ti»jasl-4ie sinks upoa tha 
sand! 

LXXIX. 

Where his vast neck just mingles with the sptea» 
Sheathed in his form the deadly weapon lies. 
He stops^-he starts— ^daining 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— «weet sight for vulgar eyes^ 
Four steeds that spurn the rein, as swift as shy. 
Hurl the dark bulk idong, scarce seen in daahing by. 

LXXX. 

Such the ungentle aport that oft invites 
The Spanish maid, and cheers the Spanish swain« 
Nurtured in blood betimes, his heart dehghta 
In vengeance, gloating on another's pain. 
What private feuds the troubled village stain ! 
Though now one phalanx'd host should meet tiis 
Enough, alas ! in humble homes remain, [foe, 
To meditate 'gainst friends the secret blow, 
For some slight cause of wrath, whence life's wana 
stream must flow. 

LXXXI. 

But Jealouay hoe fled : his bars, his bolts. 
His widier'd sentinel, Puenna sage t 
And all whereat the generous soul revolts. 
Which the stem dotard deem'd he could eaoagc» 
Have pass'd to darkness with the vanish'd age. 
Who late so free as Spanish girls were aeea, 
(Ere War uprose in his volcanic rage,) 
With braided tresses bounding o'er the greea, 
While on the gay dance shone Night's lover-loving 
Queen? 

Lxxxn. 

Oh ! many a time, and oft, had Harold loved, 
Or dream'd he loved, since Kaptnre is a dream; 
But now his wayward bosom was unmoved^ 
For not yet had he drunk of Lethe's stream ; 
And lately had he leam'd with truth to deem 
Love has no gift so grateful as his wings ; 
How fair, how young, how soft soe'er he seem, 
FuU from the fount of Joy's delicious springs 
Some bitter o'er the flowers its bubbling venom 
flings. IS 

LXXXHL 

Yet to ^e bcaotwras form he was not blind. 
Though now it moved him as it moves the wlss} 
Not Hint PhikMophy oa soeh a aiiad 
E'er deigiied to bend her ehsstely-awfal eyes ; 
But Passkm raves itself to rest, or flies ; 
Aad Vies, that digs her oiwa volnptaeas tmth, 
Had buried loag his hopes, no mere to rise: 
Pleasuve's pall'd vietha 1 Hfe-abkomag glaeM 
Wxo^aa his IbdedbmweatstOais'si; 



rrifTT.n^ 



LXXXIY. 



BvtTiMrdlibaniMt 
FidninNai iM Mw kttw JolMd 1tedmM«» ite tng, 
Bo* lAo iiatr mfla tkaft tiaks bsMitt Us ftite » 
KM^t «i«l ke Mr hk tOMW «mld abftto: 
Tct MiM k> slnvgM 'gihwt Ike dHMA't swty, 
Aad w ia D— ty'« koww k* pcndve Mto, 
Pmo'd feitti tiiii VB^MMtdftBltd by 
f»<kH»iMMra 
day. 

TO msz. 
1. 

NaTi amO* not at mj loUen faatow ; 

AIm 1 I cauLOt tiaile again : 
Tet HeaY«B avart that ercr tkou 

fifciwtdat WMp, and haply waep in Taia 



▲ad doat tkon adc, vhai aecrat wo 
I bear, ecoroding joy and yimth ? 

▲ad viU tkoa Tafaily teak io know 
A paagt ar'n thou moat fail to aootk ? 



It is not loTOt it ia not hate, 
Nor law Ambition's honors lost, 

That kids ma loathe my present state, 
And fly from all I prised the most: 



It is that weariness which springs 
From aU I meet, or hear, or see : 

Te ma no pleasuze Beauty tarings ; 
Thine eyes hare scarce a charm for ma. 

9. 

It 18 that settled, eeas el eas gloom 
The fahled H^uew wanderer bore ; 

That will not look beyond the tomb. 
But cannot hope for rest before. 

6. 
What BzHe from hiaMSlf can flea ? 

To Zones, thongk moce and more ramotai 
Still, still pnrsaes, where'er I be, 

The blight of Ufe-^e demon Thought. 



Tat atken n^ m pleaaaia seem. 

And taala of aU tkat Ifcnake $ 
Ok ! mi^ Owy atiU of traaiport dream, 

Aj^ aa'as^ i« laaat lika nOt awaka ! 



Tkiaagk 9amy a eUaia 'tis miaa ta go, 
Witk many a ratroepaction oozst ; 

And all my aoUee is to know, 
Whata'sT batidssy Vie known the worst 



What is lk«t woBBi » Kqr da not 
fa^pMy friMB tka aisaek 

a's kaei\ and Tlaw tha HeQ ihii's thaia. 



Wkai 



ULXXT. 

rOkdtoiywHatoMadleal 
M^ lugat kow wall thy walls kttva alood I 
all wsas akangkig than akma wrt twia, 
Fliat to be fraa ttid last ta be sakdaad : 
And if ^laiist a seenai a skook so rode. 
Soma native bfeod waa seen tky stnata to dye; 
A tnitaa oaly Ml b«Ma1k tka food : » 
Hen aU wmf maib^ aava NobOhy ; 

kagg'd a es^acor'a dudn* aaia Uift 
CkiTafayl 

LXXXYL 

Sack be ^ sons of l^afn, and ftmiga kiiff foal 
They flght for freedom who were nerer free : 
A Kingless people for a nerreless state, 
Her Taasals combat when tkeir chieftains flat, 
True to tha Tsriest slaves of Treachery : 
Pond of a land which gave them nought but llfoi 
Prids points the path that leads to Liberty; 
Back to the struggle, baflled in tha strife. 
War, war is still the ciy, "War mm to tkl 
knifol*'n 

Lxxxvn. 

Te, who waold mora of Spain and Spaniards knaw, 
Oo, read whate'er is writ of bloodiest strifo : 
Wkate'cr keen Vengeance urged on foreign foa 
Can act, b acting there against man's lifo : 
From flashing sdmitaz to secnt knife, 
War mouldeth there each weapon to his need 
So may he guard the sister and the wifo, 
Bo may he make each curst oppressor bleed. 
So may such foes deserre the most rem(«seless dae4 

Lxxxym. 

Flows there a tear of pity for tiie dead } 
Look o'er the Tavaga of the reeking plain ; 
Look on the hands with femsle slaughter red ; 
Then to the dogs resign the unburied slain, 
Then to the vulture let each corse remain ; 
Albeit unworthy of the prey-bird's maw, [stala* 
Let their bleach'd bones, and blood's unbleaching 
Long mark the battle-fleld with hideons awa: 
Thus only may our sons eonoaive ^e scenes we saw 1 

LXXXIX. • 

Nor yat, alasl the dieadfol work Is done; 
Fresh legions pour adown the Pyrenean : 
It deepens still, the work Is soaree begun. 
Nor mortal aye the distant end foreseea. 
Fall'n natiana gase on Spain; If freed, ska ftaes 
More than her fell PIsarroa once anohain'd: 
Strange retribation ! now Oolumbia's ease 
Repairs the wrongs that Quito's sons sustaln'd, 
WhUa o'er the parent dime prowls Murder vb» 
rfetrain'd. 

XC. 



Nat aU tka blaad aft Talava 
Not all tibe marvels of Baraisa's fl^tt 
Not Albaera kivbk el tke dead. 
Have won for Spafai hm VMlVaaserted ri^rt. 
WksB shaU ker Olive-BsaMk be free froaa Ulfl^t ? 
Wkan ikaaskabreatkaksrfram «iebhMUng toilF 
How many a doubtfVd day shall sink In night, 
Jfca Ika Fkttik lakbcr ton kirn from kia apfi«l» 
And Freedom's stranger-tree grow natim af tha soil 



28^ 



SOX. 



And thou, my firfe&d 1 1*— sfaace nns^iaiBg wo 
Btinrt from my beart» and mingles trith the atraiiH- 
Had the sword laid thee with the mighty low, 
Pride might forbid ev'n Friendship to complain ; 
But thoa unlaureFd to descend in Tain, 
By all forgotten, save the lonely breast. 
And mix nnbleeding witii the boasted elalny 
While Glory crowns so many a meaner crest ! 
What hadst thou done to sink so peaceftilly to 
rest? 

XCII. 

Oh, known the earliest, and esteem'd the most ! 
Dear to a heart where nought was left so dear ! 
Though to my hopeless days for oyer lost, 
In dreams deny me not to see thee here ! 
And Mom in secret shall renew the tear 
Of Consciousness awaking to her woes. 
And Fancy horer o'er thy bloodless bier, 
Till my frail frame return to whence it rose, 
And mouzn'd and mourner lie nnited in repose. 

xcin. 

Here is one fytte of Harold's pilgrimage : 
Ye who of him may further seek to know, 
Shan find some tidings in a future page, 
If he that rhymeth now may scribble moe. 
Is this too much ? stem Critic ! say not so : 
Patience I 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 we 
quell'd. 



CANTO II. 

I. 

Com, bine-eyed maid of heaven !— but thon, alas . 
Didst never yet one mortal song inspire— 
Goddess of Wisdom ! here thy temple was, 
And is, despite of war and wasting fire>i 
And yesn, that bade thy worship to expire; 
But worse than steel, and flame, and ages slow, 
Is the dread sceptre and dominion dire 
Of men who never felt the sacred glow 
That thoughts of thee and thii^ on polish'd breasts 
bestow.s 

n. 

Andent of days ! august Athena I where, 
Where are thy men of might ? thy grand in soul ? 
Gone, glimmering through the dream of things that 
First in the race that kd to Gh)ry*s goal [ware 
They won, and pass'd away— is this the whole ? 
A schoolboy's tale, ti&e wonder of an hoor I 
The warrior's weapon and 'Qk» sophists stole 
Axe sought In vain, nd o'er eaoh mouldering 

tower. 
Dim with the mist of yens, gray flits tiie shade of 

Poiw« 



III. 

Sonof«b»m«ning,.risel ap|Ma0hy«|hfl»; 
Come— bttt molest aet yon defenoeless mm ; 
Look on this spot— a nation's sepnlc^ 1 
Abode of gods, whose shrines no longer burn. 
Even gods must yield— religions take their torn t 
'Twas Jove'»— 'tis Mahomet's— and other creeds 
Will rise with other years, till man shall leam 
Vainly his incense soars, his victim bleeds ; 
Poor ehild of Doubt and Deaths whose h(^ is buflt 
on reeds. 

IV. 

Bound to the earth, he lifts his eye to heaveih— 
Is't not enough, unhappy thing ! to know 
Thou art ? Is this a boon so kindly given, 
That being, thou wonld'st be again, and go 
Thou know'st not, reck'st not to what region, sf 
On earth no more, but mingled with the skies ? 
Still wilt thou dream on future joy and wo ? 
Regard and weigh yon dust before it flies ; 
That little uni saitii more than tfaonaand homiliM. 



Or burst the vanished Hero's lofty mound ; 
Far on the solitary shore he sleeps :' 
He feU, and falling nations moum'd around ; 
But now not one of saddening thousands ?reepst 
Nor wartlike worshipper his vigil keeps 
Where demi-gods appear'd, as r«M»rds tdl. 
Remove yon scull from out the scatter'd heaps : 
Is that a temple where a God may dwell ? 
Why ev'n the worm at last disdains her shatter'd 
cell! 

VI. 

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

VIL 

Well didst thon speak, Athena's wisest son ! 
<' All that we know is, nothing can be known." 
Why should we shrink from what we cannot shun i 
Each has his pang, but feeble sufierers groan 
With brain-bom dreams of evil all their own. 
Pursue what Chanoe or Fate prodaimsth best ; 
Peaoe waits us on the shores of Acheron : 
There no forced banquet daJms the s«ted guest, 
But Silence spreads the ooneh of over weleome rest. 

vm. 

Yet if, as hoBest men have deem'd, Hken be 
A land of souls beyond that sable ribore. 
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 labors light t 
To hear each voiee we fear'd to hear no nuM 1 
Behold eaoh mighty slwde veveal'd to sight, 
The Bactrian, Saaisn sage, and all who tanght the 
ri^t. 



CHODX aAMlU>« niMlOCAOB. 



IS. 



Tim, ihom f-^«lMM tom uA Ufc tafMkOT ltd, 
Baw kft »• ban to lof« tad IH« in vain— <> 
Twined vtt B17 iMst, aad «n I dMM thM 
WImb tasy MflBMoy iliAet im mf knbi ? 
W(dl-4 vffl A«ntt A«l WB B^r mMt agaia. 
And VM Hm YUan to ny vaoaat bnast ; 
iraaght of yvnig BflMBteaaoe thi 
Be aa H naj FMnity't bdiait, 
Fw n» tarn lO&M ettM^ to kaow thy qpinK UNt 



Boa let aw rft apaa tida auay ataaa, 
The aiaiUe eolaaaa'a yat uaakakaa baae ; 
Heta,8oaor8atoni! waa thy fcr* lito tivoaa.* 
Wghtieet of maay aaeb ! heaee let ma traoa 
He latent graadenr of thy dwetting^plaae. 
It BMj not be ; ner er^ eaa Faaey'a eye 
Ecaluia what Time halMabowd to dafcea. 
Tet theae proad ^Ihn daim ao pairing aigh X 
Uaawted^e Moalam alia, the IS|^t Bntk 

by. 

XI. 

Bat wao, of all the phmderaia of yoa fbaa 
Oa high, where Pallaa Unger'd, loath to iea 
The lateat relie of har ancient reign ; 
The laat, the wtnat, doll apoiler, who waa he ? 
Blnah, Caledonia ! tach thy aon oonld be f 
Bnglaad! I joy nochfldhe waaof thiae: [free; 
Thy free-bom aiea ihonld apaiewhat eaeewaa 
Tet they eoald rioUte each aaddmifag ahifne, 
And bear theae altara o'er the long*Telaetaat briao.* 

Xlt 

jfas Doec xne Tno u ei a xier^a igaooia aeaaCy 
To rire what Ooth, aad Tork, and Thae hath 
Cdd aa the eraga npon hla nailTe oeaat, [apaitd 
^Ba ndnd aa baxien and hn heart aa haiVt 
la heivhoae head eoneeiTed, whoeehaad psepared, 
Aught to displace Atheaa'a poor raoMiaa. 
B« aons too weak flie aaoed akiUie to gaard, 
Tet felt oome portSaa of tiieir BMither'a peina,? 
Aadnefcr kaew, till then, the weight of Bai^'a 



XT. 



xm. 



What! 



ahallHe'erbeaaidby 
waa happy hi Atheaa'a 
Thaagh in thy name iSkt elarea har baaomwrang. 
Tdl not tiie deed to bhuhfD^ Barope^a aan ; 
The ocean ijaeaai, the free nRtaaaiay beaia 
The last poor ptander froai a Meidittg land ; 
Tea, she, whose gen*roni aM Imt aanaa eadaaaa. 
Tore dowa thoee maaaatawMi a harpy's head, 
Whkh envSonsBlb ftiboia, aad tytanti left to ataad* 

xrv. 

Whoc was tidae JEgb, PiAas, that appail'd 

Stem Alarie aad Hatoe oa th^ way M 

Tfhere Pelena* aoa ? whom Hell ia^alaaathiall'4 

Hia ahadea from Hades apoa that draad day 

Bus ting to i^ht in tcRiMa anay ! 

What ! could not Unto ^aia the ddef aaceau>re. 

To scare a second mibbar frau his prey ? 

Idly he waader'd oa tte 9tyglaa ahare, 

Xor sow pras tr ? ^ tha walk ho krrad to shMd 



Cold U tiia heart, fldr Qrasoa I that looks aa lha% 
Ner feds as lorara o'er the dust they lored; 
DoU is the eye that will not weep to see [moved 
Thy walls ds fr eed , thy mouldoiag shrines la- 
By British heads, which it had best behoored 
To gaaid theae reliaa ne'er to be restored. 
Curat be the hoorwhea from their isls theyro?ed« 
Aad ones again thy hapleee boeom gored. 
And aaateh'd thy ahzinking Oods to northeia dfanai 
abhorr'dt 

XVL 

BatwhmiaHanld? ahaU I thaa faget 

To urge the gloomy wanderer o'er the wave ? 
little reok'd he of all that mea regret ; 
No lored one now in feign'd lament could raye ; 
No friend the parting hand extended gave, 
Bre the cold stranger pass'd to other climes : 
Hard is his heart whom charms may not anslaTe » 
But Haloid felt not as fai other times, 
Aad left without a sigh the land of war aad eriaas. 

xvn. 

He that has sall'd npon the dark blue sea 
Has ▼iew'd at times, I ween, a ftill fair eight; 
When the fresh breese is frir as breese may be. 
The white sail set, the gallant fr^to tight ; 
Masts, spires, and strand retiring to the right. 
The glorious main expanding o'er the bow, 
The conToy spread like wfld swans in their flight, 
The dullest sailer wearing braTely now, 
So g^y curl the wayes before each il^Tbiag prow. 

xvra. 

And oh, the little warlike world within ! 
The waU-reered guaa, the netted eaaopy,* 
The hoarse eommaad, the busy hvmaiiag dia. 
Whan, at a word, the tope are aiaaa'd oa high ; 
Hark to the Boatswaan'a eall, the ehecriag exy I 
While throagh the aeaaian's head the tackle glidea; 
Or schoolboy Mldshipaaaa, that, ataading by, 
Strains his shriU pipe aa good or ill batidss, 
And well the dodle crew that skilftd uroUa guides. 

XIX. 

White is tiie glassy deck, without a stain, 
Where oa the wmtoh the staid Lieateaant walks : 
Look oa tiiat part whidi sacred doth renoain 
For thekae ehiaftafak, who mi^tie stalks, 
SQeat sad ibsr'd by all-aot oft he talka 
With aaght beaaath him, if he woald praaenre 
That strict reatraiBt, which hrokan, erer balks 
CoQ^aastaadFanka: bat Britona rarely swerre 
From law, howwrer sism, which tends their strength 

XX. 

Blow ! awiftly blow, fhoa keel-oompeiliag gale ! 
Till tM bsoad ana withdrawa hia lasaenfng ray ; 
Then mart the pannant^bearer alacken aail, 
That hogging barka may awke their lasy way. 
Ah I grivfaaoa eon, and listless dull delay. 
To waste oa sluggish hulks the sweetest breese! 
What laagaaa are loat, before the dawa of di^, 
Hint kitering pana^To oa the willing aeas, 
The dipping aail haal'd dawa to halt for logo likt 
I 



so 



Btnom W0&X8. 



XXL 



The moon is np . by HeaTen, a lonely ere ! 
Long streams of light o*er dancing waTes expand; 
Now lads on shore may sigh, and maids beUere. 
Such be our'fate when we retam to land ! 
Meantime, some mde Arion's restless hand 
Wakes the brisk harmony that sailors lore; 
A circle there of merry listeners standi 
Or to some well-known measure featly moTe, 
Thoughtless, as if on shore they still were fine to 
rove. 

xxn. 

Through Calpe's struts survey the steepy shore ; 
Europe and Afric on each other gase ! 
Lands of the dark-eyed Maid and dusky Moor 
Alike beheld beneath pale Hecate's blase ; 
How softly on the Spanish shore she pla3r8, 
Disclosing rock, and slope, and forest brown, 
Distinct, though darkening with her waging phase ; 
But Mauritania's giant-shadows frown, 
From mountain cliff to coast descending sombrs 
down. 

xxm. 

'TIS night, when Meditation bids as feel 
We once have loved, though love is ait end. 
The heart, lone mourner of its baffled seal. 
Though fiiendless now, will dream it had a friend. 
Who with the weight of years would wish to bend 
When Touth itself survives young Love and Joy ? 
Alas 1 when mingling souls forget to blend, 
Death hath but little left him to destroy ! ^ 
Ah ! happy years I onoe more who would not be'a 
boy? 

XXIV. 

Thus bending o*er tiie Teeeel's Uving side. 
To gam on DUm's wvfe xeAieeted sphere, 
The sQ«l feigets her sebenas of Hope and Fkide. 
And flies onooneoiDnB o'er each backward yetr. 
None am to desolate but something dear, 
Dearer tkaa self, poaseeses or posses s 'd 
A thou^t, and daima the homage of a tear ; 
A ftasblng pang ! of whieh the weary breast 
Would still, albeit in vain, the heavy heart divest 

XXV. 



To tit on rocks, to onite o'er fltod tad M, 
To slowly femee the Ibretf t shady teena, 
Where things that awn not man's doninkn dwell. 
And mortal foot hafth ne'er or rwsly been; 
To ettmb the traeklest ■KHmtaSn all nnaean, 
With the wild iloek tiiat nefver naadt a Ibid ; 
Alone o'er steepe and fbaniag Ua ta iHua; 
lliia U not toUtude; 'tit b«t to kold 
Converte with Natore'a channa, and viav her store 
vnroll'd. 

XXVL 

But midft tiia erowd, tiie iRdtt, t^ Aotk of men. 
To hear, to see, to litol, and to paaicaa. 
And roam along, Ae woKldft tired daidiBii, 
With none who blete na, u oaawhomwa eaa Ueat^ 
Minions of splendor, ahrinking froA dIstMtt t 
Kono that, with kindred nrintdiinsMitt endoad. 
If we were not, would teem to smQa the lasa 
Of an that Hatter *d, foUow'd, sovght, tad Mtdc 
This la to ba alone; thia, thia is aoUtodat ' 



xxvn. 



More West the lilb of godly ] 
Such as on lonely Athot may ba i 
Watehing at eve upon the giant height. 
Which looks o'er waves to blve, tkita to terena, 
Thst he who there at tadi an hoar hath bean 
Wm wittftil linger on that hallowed tpats 
Then slowly tear him from the wkehing toesia, 
Bigh forth one with tlia* tneh had been hit lot. 
Then tvB to hate a world ha had almaat fo^BOt. 

XXTIIL 

Patt we titt IsBg, navaiying eanite, tha track 
Oft trod, thai never leaves a trace behind; 
Patt wa tha oalm, the gale, the change, the taek, 
And eaoh well known eaprioe of wave and wind ; 
Pass wa the Joya and tonrowt tailors find, 
Coop'd in their winged tea-girt citadel ; 
The foul, tiia &ir, 1^ eontrary, the kind, 
Ar breeaw rite and hXk and bUlows swell. 
Till en aoma JoavAdmom-^lo, land ! and all is wall 

XXIX. 

But not in tileaoe patt Calypso's islet,** 
Tha titter tenant! of the middle deep ; 
There for the weaiy stiU a haven smiles, 
Though the (air goddess long hath ceased to weep, 
And o'er her difis a ftiitlees watch to keep 
For him who dared prefer a mortal bride : 
Here, too, his boy essay'd the dreadful leap 
Stem Mentor urged from high to yonder tide ; 
While thus of both bereft, the nymph-queen doubly 
tigh'd. 

XXX. 

Her reign is patt, her gentle gloriea gone : 
But trtiat not thia ; too easy youth, beware ! 
A mortal tovereign holds her dangerous throne. 
And thou may'tt iaA a new Calypso there. 
Sweet Florenae ! eoold another ever share 
This wayward, loveless heart, it would be thine : 
But ehadL'd by evesy tie, I may not dare 
To cast a worUdees offering at thy shrine. 
Nor aak todatr abreaat to ieelone pang for mine. 

XXXL 

Thm HanU daem'd, aa on that ladj't aye 
He look'd, and met ita beam without a tiiought, 
8«fe AdaslratioB glanaiag hazmlett by : 
Leva ktpt alaaf, albeit not far remote. 
Who kaaw Ua votaiy often lost and caught. 
But knew him aa hia wiarthiiq^ no more. 
And na'ar afain tha bey his bosom sought i 
flinta naw ha vainly wgad him to adore, 
Wan datm'd tha little God hia Mident sway was 
o'er. 

xxxn. 

Fair Fknaaa fa«sid, in aoath w&A soma amaae,. 
One whe, 'twaa wM, ttin sigh'd to all he saw, 
Withataad, nnmorad, tha lustre of her gaze, 
Whith athm hail'd with zeal or mimie awe, [law; 
Their hope, Ami doom, their punishment, theit 
All that giqr Baanty from har bondsmen claims; 
And te«th tha uarpeDad that a youth so raw 
Nor f^lt, »at Wgn'd at least, the oft-tdd flamet. 
Which* tiwng^ MMatimaa they frown, yet rtrelj 
anger 



CHILDB HASOUrS FILORIMAOX. 



Hi 



xxxni. 

Uttte k&€W iAm Dimt Mendng mnbto liMrt, 
Now mask'd in tileiioe or ivithlMM hf pride^ 
Wm ttot vnskitftil in tlia cpoilcr'a art. 
And Bpmd its nuures lioentioiii ht and vida ; 
Kor from the base pomit had tttrn'd aside, 
Am Ifrng ae aught traa worthj to purtae : 
But Harold on tech arts no more relied ; 
And had he doted on those eyes so bhie, 
Tct never would he jobi the lover's whining csew. 



XXXIX. 



xxxnr. 

Not nmeh he hens, I ween, of woman's breast. 
Who thinks that wanton thing is won by sighs ; 
VHtaX careth she for hearts when onoe possess'd ? 
Do proper homage to thine idol's eyes ; 
But not too humbly, or she will despise 
Thee and thy suit, Ihoagh told in moving tropea 
Disgnise ev*n tenderness, if thou art wise ; 
Brisk confidence still best with woman copes ; 
Fiqiie her and sootik in tnm, soon Passion erowns 
thy hopes. 

XXXV. 

Tia an old lesaon ; Time approves it tme. 
And thoae who know it best, deplore it 
When all is won that all desire to woo, 
The paltry piise is hardly worth the eost ; 
Yontii wnsted, maade degraded, honor lost, 
Theee are thy fruits, sucoeaaful Passion ! these ! 
I^ kindly aael, early Hope is etoat, . 
Still to the last it zanklea, a disease, 
Met to be eured when Loto itself forgets to please. 

XXXVL 

Awmy ! nor let me loiter in my song. 
For we have many a moumtaltt-palh to tread, 
And many a varied shore to sail along, 
By pensire Sadness, not by Fic«lon, le^^ 
dimes, ftir withal as ever mortal head 
Imagined In its little sehcmes ef thought ; 
Or e*er in new Utopias were read, 
To teaili man what he might be, or he tfoght j 
If that cotTvpted thing eooM ever such be taught. 

XXXVII. 

Dear Natare is the kindest mother still. 
Though alway ehangfaig, fai her aspect mUd ; 
From her bare bosom let me take my fill. 
Her never-weanM, though not her 1kvor*d child. 
0% ! she is fiairest in her fcatures wild, 
Ifhiae nothing poliBh*d dares pollute her path ; 
To me by day or night she ever smQed, 
Though I have maxk*d her when none other hath, 
And sought her more and more, and loved her best 
in wrath. 

xxxTm. 

land of Albania ! whets Iskander rose, 
Theme of the young, and beacon of the wise. 
And he his namesake, whose oft-baflled foes 
Shrunk from his deeds of chivahoos emprise: 
Lend of Albania ! let me bend mine eyes 
On thee, thou rugged nurse of savage men ! 
The Crooe desoends, Ihy minaivti arise, 
And the pale crescent sparkles in the glen, 
Throngih many a cyprees grove wMhln eaeh sill's 



ChiMe Harold sail'd, and paasM the barren spotu 
Where sad Penelope o*erlook*d the wave ; 
And onward view'd the mount, not yet forgot. 
The lovers refhge, and the Lesbian's grave. 
Dark Sappho ! could not verse immortal save 
That breast imbued with such immortal fire } 
Could she not live who life eternal gave } 
If life eternal may await the lyre, 
That only Heaven to which Euth*s children mav 
aspire. 

XL. 

*Twas on a Orecian autumn's gentle eve 
Childe Harold hail'd Leucadla's cape afar ; 
A spot he long*d to see, nor cared to leave ' 
Oft did he mark the scenes of vanished war, 
Actium, Lepanto, fatal Trafalgar ; " 
Mark them unmoved, for he would not delight 
(Bom beneath some remote inglorious star) 
In themes of bloody fray, or gallant fight, 
But loathed the bravo*s trade, and laughed at mar- 
tial wight 

XU. 

But when he aaw the evening star above 
Leucadia's far-projecting rock of wo, 
And hail'd the last resort of fruitless love,'* 
He felt, or deem'd he felt, no common glow; 
And as the stately vessel glided slow 
Beneath the shadow of that ancient mount. 
He watch'd the billows* melancholy fiow, 
And, sunk albeit in thought aa he was wont. 
More placid seem*d his eye, and smooth his palUd 
front. 

xLn. 

Mom dawns ; and with it stem Albania's hlDs, 
Dark Snli's rocks, and Pindus' inland peak, 
Robed half in mist, bedewed with snowy rills» 
Arrayed in many a dun and purple streak, 
Arise ; and, as the clouds along them break, 
Disclose the dwelling of the mountaineer : 
Here roams the wolf, the eagle whets his beak. 
Birds, beasts of prey, and wilder men appear, 
And gatherhig storms around convulse the closing 
year. 

XLin. 

Kow 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; [few. 
His breast was arm'd 'gainst fate, his wants were 
Peril he sought not, but ne'er shrank to meet ; 
The scene was savage, but the scene was nsw ; 
This made the ceaseless toil of travel sweet. 
Beat back keen winter's bl;ist, and welcomed sum- 
BMr's heat. 

XLIV. 

Here the red cross, for still the cross is here, 
Though sadly scoffed at by the ofrenmclsed, 
Forgets that pride to pamper'd priesthood dear ; 
Chmthman and votary aUke despised. 
Foul Superstition ! howsoe'er disguised, 
Idol, saint, virgin, prophet, crescent, cross, 
For whatsoever symbol thou art prised. 
Thou sacerdotal gain, but general loss ! 
Who from tme worabip's gold can sepaia^ Hiy 



M 



BYBON'S WOBSC 



XLT. 



Amhraoia't gulf behold, wliere mioe was lost 
A world for womaa, lovely, haimless thing ! 
In yonder rippling bay, their naval host 
Did many a Koman chief and Asian king ^* 
To doubtful conflict, certain slaughter bring : 
Look where the second Cteear's trophies rose ! i* 
Now, like the hands that rear*d them, withering : 
Imperial anarchs, doubling human woes ! 
God ! was thy globe ordain' d for such to win ^nd 
lose? 

XLVI. 

From the dark barriers of that ragged clime, 
£T*n to the centre of Illyria*8 vales, 
Childe Harold passed o'er many a mount sublime. 
Through lands scarce noticed in historic tales *, 
Tet in famed Attica such lovely dales 
Are rarely seen ; nor can fair Tempo boast 
A charm they know not; loved Parnassus fails. 
Though classic ground, and oonsecrated most, 
to matdi some spots that lurk within this lowering 
coast. 

XLYII. 

He pass'd bleak Pindus, Aehemsia's lake, " 
And left the primal city of the land* 
And onwards did his further journey take 
To greet Albania's chief, » whose dread command 
Is lawless law; for with a bloody hand 
He sways a nation, turbulent and bold; 
Tet here and there some daring mountain band 
Disdain his power, and from their rocky hold 
Hurl their defiance far, nor yield, unless to gold. ^ 

XLVm. 

Monastic Zitsa ! ** from thy shady brow, 
Though small, but favor'd spot of holy ground ! 
Where'er we gase, aroimd, above, below, 
What rainbow tints, what magic charms are found ! 
Bock, river, forest, mountain, all abonnd, 
And bluest skies that harmonize the whole : 
Beneath, the distant torrent's rushing sound 
Tells where the volumed cataract do^ roll 
Between those hanging rocks, that shock yet please 
the soul. 

XUX. 

Amidst the grove that crowns yon tufted hUl, 
Which, were it not for many a mountain nigh 
Bising in lofty ranks, and loftier still, 
Might well itself be deem'd of dignity, 
The convents'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 
Prom hence, if he delight kind Nature's sheen to 
see. 

L. 

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



U* 



Dusky and hmg«, enlaxgiag on the tiffki, 

Nature's volcanic amphitheatre,** 
Chimsera's alps extend from left to right; 
Beneath, a living valley seems to stir ; [flf 

Flocks play, trees wave, streams flow, the mountain 
Nodding above : behold black Acheron ! ** 
Once consecrated to the sepulchre. 
Pluto ! if this be hell I look upon. 
Close shamed Elysium's gates, my shade shall seek 
for none ! 

Ul. 

Ne eity's towern pollute the lovely view ; 
Unseen is Tanina, though not remote, 
Yeil'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 seatter'd flock. 
The little sheph^ in his white capote ^ 
Doth lean his boyish form along the rock. 
Or in his cave awaits the tempest's short-lived shook. 

LIIL 

Oh { where, Dodona ! is thine aged grove. 

Prophetic fount, and oracle divine ? 

What valley echo'd 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 Oods may well be thine . 

Wouldst thou survive the marble or the oak ? 
When nations, tongues, and worlds must sink be- 
neath the stroke ! 

LIV. 

Bpims' bounds recede, axtd mountains fail; 
Tiiped of up-gasing still, the wearied eye 
Reposes gladly on as smooth a vale, 
As ever Spring yolad in grassy die ; 
Ev'n on a plain no humble beauties lie. 
Where some bold river breaks the long expanse, 
And woods along the banks see waving high, 
Whose shadows in the glassy waters dance, 
Or with the moonbeam sleep in midnight's solemn 
trance. 

LV. 

The sun had sunk behind vast Tomerit,** 
And Laos wide snd fierce came roaring by ; » 
The shades of wonted night were gathering yet. 
When, down the steep banks winding warOy, 
Childe Harold saw, like meteors in the sky. 
The glittering minarets of Tepalen, [nigh, 

Whose waUs o'erlook the stream ; and drawing 
^ He heard the busy hum of warrior men 
SweUing the breeze that sigh'd along the lengthen- 
ing glen. 

LVT. 

He pass'd the sacred Haram's silent tower, 
And underneath the wide o'erarching gate 
Survey'd the dwelling of this chief of power, 
Where all around proclaim'd his high estate. 
Amidst no commun pomp the despot sate, 
While busy preparation shook the court, 
Slaves, eunuchs, soldiers, guests, and santons wait ; 
Within, a palace, and wi^out, a fort : 
Here men of every clime appear to make resort 



CHiLDM nutoiayv pilquxaos. 



Lvn. 

"BSAif ca p a ri soa*d, a rettdy row 
Of aimed hon«, and numy a irartika store, 
Girded the wide extending eourt below ; 
Abore, atraage gronps adoni'd the eonidor; 
▲ad olttlmea through the area's echoing door 
Bome high-eapp'd Tartar spnir'd his steed awaj : 
The Turk, the Greek, the Albanian, and the Moor, 
Here mingled in their many-hued array, 
While the deep war-drum's sovad annooneed the 
doee of day. 

Lvm. 

The wild Albanian kirtled to his knee, 
inth shawl-girt head and ornamented gnn, 
And gold-embroider'd garments, fair to see ; 
The crimson-scarfed men of Macedon ; 
The Delhi with his cap of terror on, 
And erooked glarre : the lirely, supple Greek ; 
And swarthy Nubia's mutilated son ; 
The bearded Turk that rarely deigns to speak, 
liaster of all around, too potent to be meek, 

UX. 

Acs alz'd ooBSiiiaaoiis: sinne recline in grottpe, 
li^w^w^ the motley scene that raries round ; 
There some grave Moslem to dcrotion stoops, 
And some that smoke, and some that play, are 

foQBd; 
Here the Albanian proudly treads the ground; 
Half whispering there the Greek is heard to prate; 
Hark ! from the moaque the nightly solemn sound. 
The Muessin's call doth shake the minaret, 
■■There is no god but God !— to prayez^lo ! God is 
great!" 

LX. 

JwBt at tbSm seaaon Bamasani'a bat 
ThroQgh the hmg day its penance did maintain : 
But when the lingering twilight hour was past. 
Bevel and feast ssawmed the rule again : 
Now all was bvatley and the menial train 
Prepared and spread the plenteoiu board within ; 
The Tacant gallery now seem'd made in yain. 
But from tiie chambers came the * nf ng Hn g din. 
As page and slave anon wore passing out and in. 

LXI. 

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

LXU. 

In maibl9*paved pavilion, where a spring 
Of living water from the centre rose, 
Whose bubbling did a genial freshness fling, 
And soft voluptuous coaches breathed repose, 
Alt reclined, a man of war and woes ; 
Tet in his lineaments ye cannot trace, 
While Gentleneos her milder radiance throws 
Along that aged venerable face. 
The deeds that htrk beneath, and stain him ifKth 
diflgraoe. 



LXHL 

It Is Mt tiiat yon hoary 1eng«hei*ig h6«4 
HI suits the passions which behmg to youth; 
Love conquen a ge so Hafls hath avsCT'd, 
80 sings the Teian, and he sfaigs in loeth 
But crimes that soom the tender reiee of Blh, 
Beseeming all men ill, but most the flMm 
In years, have mark'd Urn with a ttgar*! loeih; 
Blood follows blood, and, through their wastM 
span. 
In hhwdisr sets conclude those who with blood 



Lxnr. 

'Mid many things most new to esr and eye 
The pilgr^ rested here his weary feet. 
And gased around on Moslem luxury, 
Till quickly wearied with that spadous seat 
Of Wealth and Wantonness, the choice 1 
Of sated Grandeur from the city's noise : 
And were it humbler it \a sooth were sweet ; 
But Peace abhorreth artificial joya. 
And Pleasure, leagued with Pomp, the seet of both 



LXV. 

Fierce are Albania's children, yet they lack 
Not virtues, were those virtues more mature. 
Where is ths foe that ever saw their back ? 
Who ean so well the toil of war endure ? 
Their native fastnesses not more secure 
Than they in doubtful times of troublous need: 
Their wnth how deadly ! but their friendship tmn% 
When Gratitude or Valor bids them bleed. 
Unshaken rushing on where'er their chief may lead 

LXVI. 

Childe Harold saw them in their ehleftaln'f timm 
Threnging to war in splendor and tnceees ; 
And after viewed them when, within thefr powsr 
Himself, awhile the victim of distress; 
That saddening hour when bad men hotUer pres s ' 
But these did shelter him beneath their roof, 
When less barbarians would have eheer'd him leas. 
And fellow-countrymen have stood aloof—*' 
In aught that tries the heart how few vrithstaad the 
proof 1 • 

• LXVIl. 

It ehanced that adverse winds onee diore hitbetfc 

Full on the coast of Suli's shaggy shore. 
When all sround was desolate and dark : 
To land was perilous, to sojourn more ; 
Tet for a whUe the mariners forbore, 
Dubious to trust where treachery might lurk : [sore 
At length they vcntused forth, though doubting 
That those who loathe alike the Frank and Turk 
Might once again renew their ancient butcher-work 

LXTin. 

Tain fear ! the Suliotes stretch'd the welcome hand. 
Led them o'er rocks and past the dangerous swamp, 
Kinder than pollsh'd slaves, though not so bland, . 
And piled the hearth, and wrung thefr garments . 

damp, 
And ilU'd the howl, and trimm'd the eheerfrd Itn^ 
Andepread their hie ; though homely, all they had s 
Such conduct bears Philanthropy's rare stam^~ 
To rest the weary and to sooth the sad, 
Doth lesson happier men, and shames at leest Hki 



M 



BXJMIM'B^ 



XiXIX. 
It COM to pMt. 1b»t when he did «ddr«w 

Tyi yiifff^f to quit at length this mountaln-lzixid. 
Combined nuupavderB half-way barr'd egress, 
And wasted fiur-and near with glaive and hrand ; 
And therefore did he take a trusty band 
To travseee Aeanuuua's forest wide, 
Ia war well season'd, and with labors tann'd, 
Till he did greet white Achelous tide, 
And from his further bank ^tolia's wolds espied. 

Where lone Ulraikey forms its circling core. 
And weaxy waves retire to gleam at rest, 
How brown the foliage of the green hilVs grove, 
Nodding at midnight o'er the calm bay*8 breast. 
As winds come lightly whispering &om the west 
Kissing, not ruffling, the blue deep's serene : — 
Here Harold was received a welcome guest ; 
Nor did he pass unmoved the gentle scene. 
Per many a joy could he «from Night's soft presence 
glean. 

LXXI. 

On the smooth shore the night-fires brightly blazed, 
The feast was done, the red wine circling fast,* 
And he that unawares had there ygazed 
"Vnth 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, 
Telling their uncouth dirge, long daunccd the kirtled 
clan. 

LXXII. 

Childe Harold at a ntfW d^tance stood 
And Hcw'd, but not displeased, the revelrie. 
Nor hated harmless mirth, however rude ; 
la sooth, it was no vulgar sight to see 
Their barbarous, yet their not indecent, glee ; 
And, as the flames along their faces gleam'd. 
Their gestures nimble, dark eyes flashing free. 
The long wild locks that to their girdles stream'd. 
While thus in concert they this lay half sang, half 
i'd:» 



" TaxBOVBOX ! Tamhougi I * thy 'laium a&r 
liiiMhttpe to tha vdiiant, and prcmUse of war; 
All tbe sons of the mountains arise at the note, 
GSuMsriot, mfiian, and dark Suliote ! 

% 
01k 1 vftks IS mom brave than a dark Suliote, 
In Us snowy caatese and his shaggy capote ? 
To tbe w<Af and tht vultui% he leaTes his wild flock, 
And deoeenda to the plain like the stream from the 
Mck« 

t. 

8haB the «oni of Chimazi, who nerer forgive 
The fimbtcf a friend, bid an enemy live ? 
Let tkMe^nns se unerring such vengeance forego ? 
What made is se Cdr as the breast of a foe f 

4. 

Macedonia «ends forth her inTineible race ; 
For a time they aS^andon the cave and the choM : 
Bvt those Acarfs ef blood-red shall be redder, before 
Xhe sahse is sheathed and the battle is o*er. 



Thn the pirates of Farga that owe!! by the vavMi 
And teach the pale Franks what it is to be slaveiy 
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, 
Hy 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 shaU tear. 

7. 

r love the fair face of the maid in her youth. 
Her caresses shall lull me, her music shall sooth; 
Let her bring from the chamber her many-toned lyn 
And sing us a song on the fall of her sire. 

8. 
Remember the moment when Frevisa fcll,3* 
The shrieks of the conquer'd, the conquerors' yellf 
The roofs that we flred, and the plunder we shared 
The wealthy we slaughter'd, the lovely we spared 

9. 

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

10. 
Dark Muchtar his son to the Danube is sped, 
Let theyellow-hair'd* Giaoursf view his horse-tailt 
with dread ; [banks, 

When his Delhisf come dashing in bloofd o'er the 
How few shall eseape from the MuMorite ranks 1 

IL 

SelietiT ! || unsheathe then our eluef s sctmitar : 
Tambourgi I thy lanm gives promise of war. 
Ye mAonteins, that see us descend to the shore. 
Shall view us as victors, or view ns no mor» i 

LXXin. 
Fair Greece ! sad relic of departed worth ! ^ 
Immortal, though no more; though fallen, great! 
Who now shall lead thy seatter'd children forth, 
And long aocnstom'd bondage tmcreate } 
Not such thy sons who whUome did awidt. 
The hopeless warriors of a willing doom, 
In bleak Thermopylce's sepulchral strait— 
Oh ! who that gallant spbrit shall resume, 
Leap from Eurota's banks, and call thee from the 
tomb? 

LXXIV. 

Spirit of freedom ! when on Fhyle's brow^* 
Thou sat*st with Thrasybulus and his train, 
Couldst thou forebode the dismal hour which new 
Dims the green beauties of thine Attio plain 2 
Not thirty tyrants now enforce the cliain. 
But evecy carle can lord it o*er thy land ; 
Nor rise thy sons, but idly rail in vain. 
Trembling beneath the scourge of Turkish haad^ 
From birth till death enslaved ; in word, in deed* 
oninann'd. 



* TJgtr k Om •fUui gitwi to Sw Ri w iii n . f 

t BoaHdh m dM iMffM of a Fteduu 
|HaMmB.aaMnrt«fl»owteknlMf0. |: 



CHILDB XABOUrS PIIA&IXAOB. 



ULXT. 



lAin 

Thai narks the ire ttiU ■parUmg in aaeh eye, 
Wko but imld deem thefar boeosu bora'd anew 
Whk tiqr uttqmencked beeot, kat Liberty ! 
And way dieom wtUud tlM hour IB Bigh 
That gifee tiiem beck their &then' heriti^ : 
Fcr foreign aims and aid tkej fondly ligb. 
Her solely dare eneonnter hostile lage. 
Or tear Ihes name defiled from Slaveiy'B moumftil 

LXXTL 

Hwsditsiy bmwiiiHsn I haow ys net {Vknr} 

Wbo ipsnld be free theMselves moat stiike the 
By liMir Tight aims the oonqnsst moat be wrought } 
inUOsnl or Xoseovite redress ye ^ nol 
T^ne^ tiiey may lay ytmr yrond despoilers lov. 
But net lor yoa wiU Freedom's altars flame. 
I of the Hdots ! triomph o*er your ftie ! 
a! change diy lords, thy stateia still thesame; 
Xhy ^Iflrioia day is o'er, bat not thy years of 

LXXYIL 

Tke ci^ «M fiw ASah from the Giaonr, 
The Qiaovr from Othman's race again may wrsst; 
And Ike fiend's impenetrable tower 
Beestte tiie fiery Frank, her former guest; ** 
Or WahaVs rebel brood who dared divest 
The** prophet's tosnb of all its pious spoil. 
May wind their path of blood along the West; 
Bat mTct will freedom seek this Ihted soU, 
Bnftdam sseeeed te slare through years of endhss 
toil 

LXXVnL 

Tetmark ihsir mirt h e ro lenten days begin 
That pcBsnoe wiiich their holy rites prepare 
Te shziTe from man his weight of mortal sin, 
By daily abstinence and nightly prayer ; 
Bvt ere his sackcloth garb Repentance wear, 
Some days of joyannoe are decreed to all, 
To take of pleasannce each his secret share ; 
In motlay robe to dance at mashing ball, 
And JBJa (he mimic train of meiry CamiTal. 

LXXIX. 

And whoee more ziliB with msRimettt than thine, 
Oh Stambovl ! onee the e m p r e ss of their reign ? 
Though turbans nerw poHnte Sophia's shrine, 
And Qreeee her yrrj altars eyes in Tain : 
(Alas \ her woes will still per?ade my strain !) 
Qay were her minstrels once, for free her throng, 
AH fdt the common joy tiiey now must feign. 
Hot oft Fve seen sudi sight, nor heard such song, 
4a wooTd the eye, sad thrill'd the Bosphorus along. 

LXZX. 

Loud was tiM Bghtsome tomalt ef the shore. 
Oft Mttsle discnged» tamt never osaasd her tone. 



And ripi^ing watsn made a 
The Queen of tUas on Ugk eottscnting shon*. 
And when a tmnsient bseeae swept e'er the wave^ 
Twis^ aa if dsiting firem hsr hea Vunly throne, 

ongnver gisnee nv nam mussisa gaie, 
-^ -- I'dtalifl^thebaiikaflkey 



ULXXI. 

>y a light oai^ne alsng the foaai, 
Baneed 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 
Bnehanged the look few bosoms may withstand, 
Or gently prest, retnxn'd the pressure still : 
Oh Lots ! young Lots ! bound in thy rosy band. 
Let sage or cynic prattie as he will, 
These hours, and only these, redeem UI^^s yearn ai 
iU! 

LXXXU. 

But, midst the throng in merry masquerade, 
Lurk there no hearts that throb with secret pain. 
Even through the closest scarment half betray'd) 
To such the gentle murmurs of the main 
Seem to ref cho all they mourn in yain ; 
To such the gladness of the gamesome crowd 
Is source of wayward thought and stem disdain : 
How do they loathe the laughter idly loud. 
And long to change the robe of revel for the rfmradt 

LXXXUL 

This must he fed, the true-bora son of Oreeoa, 
If Greece one true-born patriot still can boast : 
Not such as prate of war, but skulk in peace. 
The bondsman*s peace, who sighs for oil he lost. 
Yet with smooth smile his tj-rant can accost. 
And wield the slavish sickle, not the sword: 
Ah ! Greece I thcj love thee least who owe thee 

most! 
Their birth, their blood, and that sublime record 
Of hero sires, who shame thy now degenerate hord« . 

LXXXIV. 

When riseth Lacedscmon's hardihood. 
When Thebes Epaminondas rears again, 
When Athens' children sre with hearts endued. 
When Grecian mothers shall give bfarth to men. 
Then may'st thon be restored ; but not till then. 
A thousand years scarce serve to fbrm a state; 
An hour may lay it in the dust : and when 
Can man in shatter'd splendor renovate. 
Recall its virtues back, and vanquish Time and FirtS } 

LXXXV. 

And yet how lovely in thine age of wa. 
Land of lost gods and godlike men! art tiumt 
Thy vales of evergreen, thy hiUs of snow,*' 
Proclsim thee Nature's varied favorite now ; 
Thy ihme, thy templea to thy snrfruse bow^ 
Comndngling slowly with heroic eaitii, 
Broke by the share of every raatio pbngh: 
So perish monmnenta of mortal birth. 
So paish aU in turn, save weUrreeorded Wdrth; 

LXXXYI. 

Save where soma solitary eolnma aoaaia 
Ahoive its prostrate brethren of the eave ; ** 
Save where Tritonia's sary shrine adorns 
Colonna's cMff, and gleams slong the wave; 
Save e'er soma wairior's half-fotgotten grave^ 
Where the gny stones and unmolested grssa 
Ages, but not oblivion, fed>ly brave. 
While sliaagera only not regardless pass, 
l in ger i ng like me, pawhanne, to , 



96 



BYBOSTB W<ttKS. 



LXXXVII. 



Yet are thy skies as bhie, thy crags as wild; 
Sweet are thy groTes, and rcnrdant are thy fields, 
Thine olire ripe as when Minerra smiled, 
'And still his honied wealth Hymettas yields ; 
There the blithe bee his firagrant fortress builds, 
The freebom wanderer of thy monntain-air ; 
Apollo still thy long, long summer gilds, 
StiU in his beam Hendeli's marbles glare ; 
Art, Glory, Freedom fdl, but Nature still is fair. 

LXXXVIII. 

"Wltere'eT we tread 'tb haunted, holy ground ; 
No earth of thine is lost in vulgar mould, 
But one vast realm of wonder spreads around, 
And all the Huse's tales seem truly told, 
Till the sense adies with gazing to behold 
The scenes our earliest dreams have dwelt upon : 
Each hill and dale, each deepening glen and wold 
Defies the power which crushed thy temples gone: 
Age shakes Athena's tower, but spares gray Mara- 
thon. 

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 mom to distant Glory dear. 
When Marathon became a magic word ; ^ 
Which utter'd, to the hearer's eye appear 
The camp, the host, the fight, the conqueror's ca- 
reer. 

XC. 

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

XGI. 

Yet to tiie rcBinsats of thy splendor past 
flliall pilgrims, pensive, bat unwearied throng; 
Long shali the voyager, with th' Ionian blast, 
Hail the bright clLne of battle and of song ; 
Long shall thine annals and immortal tongue 
Fill with thy fame the youth of many a shore ; 
Boast of the aged ! lesson of the young ! 
Which sages venerate, and bards adore, 
As PaUas and the Muse unveil their awful lore. 

XCII. 

The parted bosom cHngs to wonted hom«, 
If aught that's kindred cheer the welcome hearth ; 
He that is lonely, hither let him roam. 
And gaxe complacent on eongenial earth. 
Greece is no lightsome land of social mirth. 
Bat he whom Sadness sootheth may abide, 
And scarce regret the region of his birth, 
. When wandering slow by Delphi's sacred tide. 
Or gasdng o'^ the plains where Greek and Penian 
died. 



xcm. 



Let such approach this consecrated land, 
And pass in peace along the magic waste ; 
But spare its relics—let no busy hand 
Deface the scenes, already how defitced ! 
Not for such purpose wcro these altars plaeed; 
Revere tiie remnants nations once revered : 
So may our country's name be tmdisgraced. 
So may'st thou prosper where thy youth wms rear'di 
By every honest joy of love and life endear'd 1 

XCIV. 

For thee, who thus in too protracted song 
Hath soothed thine idlesse with inglorioas lays. 
Soon shall thy voice be lost amid the diiong 
Of louder minstrels in these later days ; 
To Buch resign the strife for fading bays,— 
111 may such contest now the spirit move 
Which heeds nor keen reproach nor partial pnise ; 
Since cold each kinder heart that might approve, 
And none «re left to please, when none are left to 
love. 

xcv. 

Thou too art gone, thou loved and lovdy 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 staid to welcome here thy wanderer home. 
Who mourns o'er hours which we no more shall see : 
Would they had never been, or were to oome ! 
Woxdd he had ne'er returned, to find fresh cause to 
roam. 

XCVL 

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. [hast. 
All thou couldst have of mine, stem Death ! thoo 
The parent, friend, and now the more than friend; 
Ne'er yet for one thine arrows fiew so fast, 
And grief with grief continuing still to blend. 
Hath snatch'd the little joy that life had yet to iMid. 

XCTII. 

Then must I plunge again into the crowd, 
And follow all that Peace disdains to seek ? 
Where Revel calls, and Laughter, vainly loud. 
False to the heart, distorts the hollow cheek. 
To leave the flagging spirit doubly weak ; 
Still o'er the features, which perforce they cheer. 
To feign the pleasure or conceal the pique ; 
Smiles form the channel of a future tear, 
Or raise the writhing lip with ill-dissembled i 



XCVUI. 

What is the worst of woes that WB»t on ago ? 
What otamps the wrinkle deeper on the brow ? 
To Tiow eadi loved one blotted from life's page. 
And be alone on earth, as I am now. 
Befixre the Chaotenor hnmhly let me bow 
O'er hoaits divided, aad o'er b^ies destroy'd; 
Boll on, vain days 1 full Mklass may ye flow, 
SiBoe Time hath reft vhate'er my sind oiyoy'd, 
And with the ills of Eld mine earlier ywm alloy'd* 



chudb babou>« TwmiUAom, 



CANTO in. 



AfLT.ITJf. 






Ii tikj ft«e like Aj aiotha*!, my frir elifld! 
Ada! aok dmt^ter ^ my hooM and beurt ? 
ffhoi ksl I nw thy Tooag bine eye« they mikd, 
And tiien «• parted,— not as now we pert, 
Bnt with a hope.— 

Awaking with a start, 
Thn wnten heave azonnd me ; and on high 
The «nde lift np their Toioes : I depart, 
KThithcr I know not ; hnt the honr*e gone by, 
Whn Albia&'e Ifeeening ahoiea conld grieve or glad 
mine eye. 

IL 

Qnee mfln npon tiie waters ! yet once more! 
And the wmTea bonnd beneath me as a steed 
That knows his rider. Welcome, to their roar ! 
Swift be their guidance, wheresoe'er it lead ! 
Thoogh the strain'd mast should quiver as a reed, 
And the rent canvas fluttering strew the gale. 
Still must I on ; for I am as a weed, 
Plmg from the rock, on Ocean's foam to sail 
WheR*er the surge may sweep, the tempest's breath 
pieTsiL 

m. 

In my yovth*s rammer I did sing of One, 
The wandering oatlaw of his own dark mind ; 
Again I seise the theme then but begun, 
And bear it with me, as the rushing wind 
Bean the doud onwards : in that Tale I find 
The furrows of long thought, and dried-up tears, 
Which, ^bing, leave a steril track behind, 
0*ar which all heavily the journeying years 
Plod Am last sands of life,— where not a flower 
appears. 

IV. 

flfnee my yoimg days of paasien-^oy, in pain. 
Perchance my heart and harp have lost a string. 
And both may jar; it may be, that in vain 
I would essay as I have sung to sing. 
Tet, though a dxnary atnin, to this I ellng. 
Be tiiat it ween me from tiie weary dream 
Of sdflsh grief or g^adnees— eo it fling 
F e t g e tfti lnese around me— it shall ieem 
To me, though to none else, a not nngratefhl theme. 



He, lAo grown aged in this world of wo, 
In deeds, not years, pierefaig the depthe of U^ 
Be that no wonder waita hhn; nor below 
Can love, er eotrow, fame, ambition, strife, 
Cut to his heart again nWtk the keen knife 
or silent, sharp endnanee: heean tsU 
Why dMrng^ aeeka leAige fas leae eavse, yet rife 
Wtt afay images, and shapee whfadi dima 

d, 1ko«gh old, in the eonl'a hamtdl 



VI. 



Tie to crcate, and in erealing Bvn 
A being more intense, that we endow 
With form or luiey, 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 gasing, as I glow 
Mix*d with thy spirit, blended with thy birth. 
And feeling still with thee in my crashed feeltagtr 
dearth. 

vn. 

Tet mnet I thbih lees wildly :— I Aoee thooght 

Too long and darkly, till my brain became, 
In its own eddy boiling and o'erwrought, 
A whirling gulf of phantasy and flame ; 
And thus, untaught in youth my heart to tame^ 
My springs of life were poison'd. Tis too late I 
Yet am I changed ; though still enough the sane 
In strength to bear what time can not abate, 
And feed on bitter fruits without aoeuaing Fata. 

vni. 

Something too much of this ;— 4rat now 'tic pMl» 

And the spell doees with its silsnt seal. 
Long absent Harou) reappears at last ; 
He of the breast which fun no more would feel. 
Wrung with the wounds which kill not, but ne'et 
Tet Time, who changes all, had alter*d him [heal; 
In soul and aspect as in age : years steal 
Fire from the mind as vigor from the limb ; 
And life's enchanted cup but sparkles near the biim. 

IX. 

His had been qualTd too quickly, and he fenad 
The dregs were wormwood ; but he fiU'd again* 
And from a purer fount, on holier ground. 
And deem*d its spring perpetual ; but in vain! 
Still round him clung in\'iflibly a chain 
Which gall'd, for ever fettering though unseen. 
And heavy though it clank'd not ; worn with pain. 
Which pined although it spoke not, and grew keen, 
Entering with every step he took through many a 
scene. 

X. 

Secure in guarded coldness, he had miz*d 
Again in fancied safety with his kind, 
And deem*d his spirit now so firmly fiz*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 Natare't 
hand. 

XL 

Bnt who ean view the ripen*d roee, nor saek 
To wear it ? who can euriously behold 
The smoothness and the sheen of beauty's cheelt, 
Kor feel the heart can never aU grow old ? 
Who ean oontemplateFame through clouds unfold 
The star which rises o*er her steep, nor climb ? 
Harold, onoe more within the vortex, roll'd 
On with the giddy circle, ehasing Time, 
Yet with a nobler aim than in lus youth's fend 



M 



BTBON'8 WORKS 



xn. 



But soon lie knew himself the most unfit 
Of men to herd irith Man ; with whom he held 
little in common ; untanght to submit [quell'd 
His thoughts to others, though his soul was 
In youth by his own thoughts ; still uncompell'd, 
He would not yield dominion of his mind 
To spirits against whom his own rebell'd ; 
Proud though in desolation ; which could find 
A life within itself, to breath without mankind. 

xni. 

Where rose the mountains, there to him were 

friends ; 
Where roll*d the ocean, thereon was his home; 
Where a blue sky, and glowing clime, attends, 
He had the passion and the power to roam ; 
The desert, forest, cavern, breaker's foam, 
Were unto him companionship ; they spake 
A mutual language, clearer than the tome 
Of his land*s tongue, which he would oft forsake 
For Nature's pages glass'd by sunbeams on the lake. 

XIV. 

like the Chaldean, he could watch the stars, 
Till he had peopled them with beings bright 
As their own beams ; and earth, and earth-bom 
And human frailties, were forgotten quite : [jars, 
Could he have kept his spirit to that flight 
He had been happy ; but this clay will sink 
Its spark immortal, envying it the light 
To which it mounts, as if to break the link 
That keeps ns from yon heaven which woos us to its 
blink. 

XV. 

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

XVI. 

Self-esiled Harold wanders forth again, 
With nought of hope left, but with less of gloom; 
The very knowledge that he lived in vain, 
That all was over on this side the tomb, 
Had made Despair a smilingncss 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. 

XVII. 

Stop !— For ^y tread Is on an Empire's dust ! 
An Earthquake's spoil is sepulchred below ! 
Is the spot mark'd with no colossal bust ? 
Nor column trophied for triumphal show? 
Kone ; but the moxul's tmth tells simpler so, 
As the ground was before, thus let it be ; — 
How that red rain hath made the harvest grew ! 
And is this all the world has gain'd by thee, 
Thou first and last of fields ! king-mali^ Victory ? 



xvm. 



And Harold stands upon this plaee of akulk, 
The grave of France, the deadly Waterloo; 
How in an hour the power which gaw amiiili 
Its gifts, transferring fiune as fieeting too I 
In ** pride of place " ■ here last the M|^e fltfir. 
Then tore with bloody talon the rent ^^ain, 
Pierced by the shaft of banded nations thxough; 
Ambition's life and labors aU were vain ; 
He wears the shatter'd links of the worid't hcokM 
chain. 

XIX* 

Fit retribution ! Gaul may champ the bit 
And foam in fetters ;— ^ut is Earth more firee f 
Did nations combat to make Orw submit; 
Or league to teach all kings trae sovereignty? 
What! shall reviving Thraldom again be 
The patch*d-up idol of enlighten'd days f 
Shall we, who stmck the Lion down, shall we 
Pay the Wolf homage? proffering lowly gase 
And servile knees to thrones ? Ko : prwe before yt 
praise! 

XX. 



If not, o'er one fallen despot boast no more! 
In vain fair cheeks were forrow'd with hot teaxs 
For Europe's flowers long rooted up before 
The trampler of her vineyards ; in vain, years 
Of death, depopulation, bondage, fears, 
Have all been borne, and broken hy 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 gather'd then 
Her Beauty and her Chivah^, 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 mazriago-bdl ; ' 
But huflh ! hark ! a deep sound strikes like a riring 
knell I 

xxn. 

Did ye not hear it ?— No ; 'twas but the wind* 
Or the car rattling o'er the stony street; 
On with the dance 1 let joy be unconfined; 
No sleep till mom, when Youth and Pleasure »ool 
To chase the glowing Hours with flying feet-» 
But, hark !— that heavy sound breaks in o&oe noio^ 
As if the douds its edio would repeat ; 
And nearer, dearer, deadlier than before I 
Arm! Arml it is— 4t is— the cannon's opening roar! 

XXIU. 

Within a wiadow'd nicho of that high jkaU 
Sate BrunswidL's frtad diiollain ; ho did hear 
That so«nd tho fisst avidst tho fottlTal, 
And caught its toiM with Death's pophetio ear; 
And when thoy smiled booanse he deen'd it Jioar, 
His howt mart tmlf know that peal too vdbII 
WMeh atmteh'd hia AttlMr on a bloody bkr. 
And roused the vosgeaBee blood alone oonld gmoU; 
He msh'd into the fidd, and, forenost fighting fidk 



CHILDS XAMUTB PflUnOfAOB. 



xzrr. 

AJtd galkflriBg tMa, uid tnnUiiigs of diitraM, 
AftA ^Mkft att pale, wlkich but ma hour ago 
Blnali'd at thepniM of their own iovdiiMW; 
Ajid than ware aoddaa partiagt, SBdi aa preta 
The Kla Iron o«t youg haarta, and ahoking aighi 
Which Ba'cr night bavepaatad; who oould gvasa 
If ever mora ahould awet those ntutoal eyaa, 
epen sigbk ao eiPBet aech awful mem ooold 
riae? 

XXV. 

AaA «h«e WW Monting in hot haate : the fteed 
The Bttatering aqnadroo, and the clattering car, 
We&t pouring forward with fanpetnooa speed, 
And swiftly fecming in the ranks of war; 
And tiie deep thunder peal on peal afkr; 
And near, the beat of the alarroing drum 
Bonaed np the aoldier ere the morning star ; 
"While thnmg*d the citizens with terror dumb, 
Ok whispering, with white lip^--"The foe! Thej 
oomel they come!" 

XXVI. 

And wad and high the " Cameron's gathering" 
The war^oto of Loehiel, which Albyn's hills [rose ! 
Hsffe hesrd, and heard, too, haTe her Saxon foes : 
How in the noon of night that pibroch thrills, 
SaTageaadahnll! Bat with the breath which fills 
Their mountain-pipe, so fill the mountaineers 
With the fierce native daring which instills 
The ttirxiBg ueaiory of a thousand years, 
And ^Bvan's, ^Donald's ftme lings in eadi daaa- 
Bisn*s earat 

xxvn. 

And Ardennes' wares above them her green leaves 
Dewy va& nature's teardrops, as they pasa 
Qnsi»g, if anght inanimate e*er grieves, ' 
Over the unretuming brave,— alas ! 
Sre evening to be trodden like the grass 
Which now beneath them, but above shall grow 
la its next verdure, when this fiery mass 
Of living Talor, rolling on the foe, 
And burning with high hope, shidl moulder cold 
and low. 

xxvni. 

Last noon beheld them ftxH of hurty fife, 
Last eve in Beauty's circle prouffly gay, 
The midnight brought the signal-sound of strife, 
The mom the marshalling in arms,— the day 
Battle's magnificently-stern array ! 
The thunder-clouds close o'er it, which when rent, 
The esrth is covered thick with other clay, 
Which her own clay shall cover, heap'd and pent, 
Bider and horse,— 4isnd, foe,— in one rod burial 
bleAt! 

XXIX. 

Their praise Is hymn'd by loftier haips than mine; 
Y«t ens I wMOd aeleot from tlMft pcood llnoBg, 
Partfy beaaoM Ih^ blend me with his fine, 
And ptttfy tiMt I did his siro some wrongs 
And partly tiwt bright names wlU hallow song ; 
And Us ma of the bnveot, aad when showei^d 
The Aeslh-hoto dsadlieot the Ouna'd files along, 
the tiiAckeat €»f vngr's tempest hMNr'd, 
'd no noMer fateaat than thdae^ yoongt 
gallHiiHowaidl 



Thwah av e ha aa t a a i s aad beeahiBg hetts im Aaa, 
And mine were nothing, had I saoh to gfara; 
But when I stood beneath the fresh grasn tiae^ 
Which living waves when then didst esaaa to llv% - 
And saw around me the wide field aendve 
With i^roits and fertile pcemlM, aad the apriag 
Ceme^orth her work of gladwa ta oonlnre^ 
With all her reckless birds upon the wiag, 
I tam'd from all she bcaoght to those she aaald nil 



XXK. 



XXXL 

I ton'd to thee, to thooaaads, of i 
And one aa all a ^aatly gap did i 
In his own kind and kindred, whom to tMoh 
FoigetAilneaa were mercy for their sake ; 
The Ajehangel's trump, not Qlory*s, mn 
Thoee whom they thkst ibr; though As an aad ol 
May for a moment aooth, it oaaaot slake [Fsbm 
The fever of vain longing, and the naOM 
So hoaor'd but asmmes a stronger, faitteasr i 

xxxn. 



They inovm, but am&e at length; and* i 
The tree wifi vritiier long beftae it &&; [meaxn: 
The hull drives on, though mast and saU be ton; 
The roof-tree sinks, but moalders on Iha hatt 
In massy hoarineea; tiie ruinM wall 
Stands when its wind-worn battknents aw gone; 
The bars survive the captive they endksal; [ean; 
The day drags tioough tho' stoms keey eat the 
And thus the heart will break* yat krekaaly liw en. 

xxxza 

Bren as a broken mirror, wfalck the glass 
In every fragment muhipBes ; aad makes 
A thousand images of one that was, 
The same, and still the more, the mere it breaks; 
And thus the heart will do whkh not iorsakes, 
living in shatter'd gaiM, and etm, and eeld, 
And bloodless, with its sleepless sosra 
Tet wlthen on till all without Is old, 
Showing no viaftla sign, for taek ttlage 

XXXIV. 

There is a very life in our despair. 
Vitality of poiaon,— a quick root 
Which feeds these deadly branches; feritwwi 
As nothing did we die; but life will salt 
Itself to Sorrow's most detested fruit, 
like to the apples on the > Bead Sea'a ahora^ 
All ashes to the taste: Bid man eoaapute 
Existenoe by enjoyment, and count o'er 
Sneh heuia 'gainst years m l<fe/»"tay, would ha nMN 
threeso(»e? 

XXXV. 

The Psalmist iwmber'd out the ysan of mmk\ 
They are enough ; and if thy tale be inn, 
Theu, whodidstgndgehhaeven thatfieet in ge p a ^ 
Mete than eaeagh, thou fetal W«tsrk>ol 
MiBions of toagues reoord thee, and anew 
Their chUdren's lips shall echo them, and sagr*- 
« Hers, where tiie sword united nations drew. 
Our countrymen were warring on that day i " 
Aad thia la aaMh, and aU whioh wiU net pass away. 



XXXVL 

TImm rank tiie gnatMt, &<s tte wont of awh 
Whoflo iplrit antithetically niixt 
One moaicBt of the mightiest, and again 
- On lit^ objects witii Uke firmness iixt, 

Extreme in all things 1 hadst thoa been betwutt» 
Thy throne had still been thine, or never been ; 
For daring mada thy rise as fall : thou setk'st 
Even now to reasanme tho imperial mien, 
^ad ahahe again the world, the Xhonderer of the 



xxxTn. 



Conqveror and captive of the earth art thon ! 
She trembles at thee still, and thy wild name 
Was ne'er more broited in men's minds than now 
That thon art nothing, save the jest of Fame, 
Who woo'd thee onoe, thy rassal, and became 
The iUtterer of thy fierceness, till thou wert 
A god nnto thyself; nor less the same 
To the astonnded kingdoms all inert. 
Who deen'd thee for a time whate'er thou didst 
assert 

xxxYin. 

Oh, more or less than raatt--4n high er low. 
Battling with nations, fiying from the field ; 
Now making monarchs' necks thy footstool, now 
More than thy meanest soldier taught to yield ; 
An empire thon eonldst crush, command, rebuild. 
But govern not thy pettiest passion, nor, 
However deeply in men*s spirits skill'd. 
Look thnmgh thine own, nor curb the lust of war. 
Hot learn that tenqrted Fate will leave the loftiest 
•tar. 

XXXIX. 

Yet well thy soul hath brook'd tke turning tide, 
With that untaught bmate philosophy, 
Which, be it wisdom, coldness, or deep pride, 
Is gall and wot rn wo u d to an enemy. 
When tiie whole hoet of hatred stood hard by. 
To watch and mock thee shrinking, thon hast 
With a sedate snd all-enduring eye ;— [smfied 
When Fortune fled her spoil'd and favorite child, 
Ka flood nnbow'd beaaath the ills upon him pUed. 

XIm 

Bager than in thy fortunes ; for in d&em 
Ambition steeVd thee on too fkr to show 
That just habitual scorn which could contemn 
Men and their tiioughts ; '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 wwe tum'd unto thine overthrow : 
'Tis but a worthless world to win or lose ; 
80 hath it proved to thee, and all such lot a^o 
choose. 

XU. 

If, lika a tower upon a headlong rook, 
Thou hadst been made to stand or isU alone, 
Sneh seom of man had help'd to brave the ahock ; 
But men's thoughts were the steps whioh paved thy 
Their admiration thy best weapon shone ; [tiirone. 
The part of Philip's son was thine, not then 
(Unless aside thy purple had been thrown) 
like stem Diogenes to mock at men ; 
For sceptred cynics earth were hi tea wide a dan I' 



XUL 



Btti qafei to ^nlek baaana is a hifif 
And tk«r$ hath been thy bane; there is a flia 
And motion of the aoul which will not dwell 
In its own narrow being, but aspire 
Beyond the fitting w«^"«t»* of desire; 
And, but onoe kindled, quenchless evennora 
Preys upon high adventure, nor can tire 
Of aught but rest ; a fever at the core. 
Fatal to him who beais^ to all who ever bora. 

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

XUtV. 

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

XLV. 

He who ascends to mountain-tops, shaQ find 
The loftiest peaks most wrapt in clouds and snow; 
He who stirpasses or subdues mankind. 
Must look down on the hate of those below. 
Though high above the sun of glory glow. 
And for beneath the earth and ocean spread, 
lUnmd him are icy rocks, and loudly blow 
Contending tempests on his naked head, 
And thus reward the toils which to those sununili 
led. 

XLVL 

Away with these 1 true Wisdom's world wHl ba 
Within its own creation, or in thine. 
Maternal Nature ! for who teems like thee, 
Thus on the banks of thy mijestio Rhine ? 
There Harold gases on a work divine, 
A blending of all beauties ; streams and dells. 
Fruit, foliage, crag, wood, cornfield, mountaia« 

vine, 
And chiefiess castles breathing stem farewells 
From gray but leafy walls, irtura Ruin greenly 

dwells. 

XLVn. 

And there they stand, as stands a lofty mind* 
Worn, but unstooping to the baser crowd. 
All tena ntl es s, save to the orannying wind. 
Or holding dark commnniim with the doud. 
There was a day when they were young and proad« 
Banners on high, and battiies pass'd below > 
But they who fought are in a bloody shroud* 
And those which waved are shredless dust e^ noVi 
And the bleak battlements shall bear no fature blow. 



GHILDB HUMftPS. JPIMMM Afl«, 



41 



XLTUL 

Power dwelt amidst her paMions; in xuroud state 
Baeh lobbev chief upheld his anned halls, 
Doing hiB eril will, nor less elate 
Than mightier heroes of a longer date. [haye i 
What want these ontiawB^<> conqneroia should 
But Hiitoiy's purchased page to call them great ? 
A wider space, an ornamented givve i 
Xheir hopes were not less wanuy their souk were fbll 
asbEUTe. 

In the&r baxonial feuds and single Adds, 
What deeds of prowess unrecorded died ! 
And loTO, 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 &ir mischief won. 
Saw the disoolor'd Bhine beneath its ruin run. 



But Thou, eocultl^ and unbounding rirer ! 
Making thy waves a blessing as they flow 
Through banks whose beauty would endure for erer 
Could man but leaye thy bright creation so, 
Nor its £Btir promise from the smfsce mow 
WiHh the sharp scythe of conflict,— then to see 
Thy Tslley of sweet waters, were to know 
Barth pared like HeaTen ; and to seem such to me, 
Btou now what wants thy stream ?-^lhat it should 
LeOatte. 

LL 

A t^ussoid battles have assafl'd thy banks, ' 
But these and half their fiime have pass'd away. 
And Slaughter heap'd on high his weltering ranks ; 
Their very grares are gone, and what are they ? 
Thy tide wash'd down the blood of yesterday. 
And an was stainless, and on thy clear stream 
Glass'd with its dancing light the sunny ray ; 
But o'er the blacken*d memory's blighting dream 
Thy wares would rainly roll, all sweeping as they 



UI. 

Thus Harold inly said, and pass'd along, 
Yet not insensibly to all which here 
Awoke the jocund birds to early song 
In glens which might have made even exile de9r ; 
Thoi^h on his brow were graren 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 ifaco. 
But o'er it in such scenes wmld steal with transient 
trace. 

UII. 

Nor was all lore shut from him, th4nigh his days 
Of passion had consumed themselves to dust. 
It is in yain that we would coldly gaae 
On such as smile upon us $ the heart must 
Leap kindly back to kindness, though disgust 
Hath wean'd it from all worldlings : thus he felt, 
For there was soft remembrance, and sweet trust 
In one fond breast, to which his own would melt, 
Aad in its tenderer hour on that his bosom dwelt. 
o 



LIV. 



Aad he had kamed to loye,— >I know not why. 
For this in such as him seems strange of mood,— • 
The helpless looks of blooming iofuicy, 
Even in its earliest nurture ; what subdued. 
To change like this, a mind so &r imbued 
With scorn of man, it Uttle boots to- know ; 
But thus it was ; and though in sofitade 
Small power the nipp'd affections have to grow. 
In him this glow'd when all beside had ceased to 
glow. 

LV- 

And there was one soft breast, as hath been aald. 
Which unto his was bound by stronger ties 
Than the church links withal ; and, though unwed 
That love was pure, and, far abore disguise. 
Had stood the test of mortal enmities 
Still undivided, and cemented more 
By peril, dreaded most in female eyes ; 
But this was firm, and from a foreign shore 
Well to that heart might his these absent greetingp 
pour. 

The castled crag of Draehenfelsi^ 
Frowns o'er the wide and winding Rhine, 
Whose breast of waters broadly sweUs 
Between the banks which bear the vine. 
And hUls all rich with blossom'd trees, 
And fields which promise com and wine. 
And scatter'd dties crowning these, 
Whose far white walls along them shine. 
Have strew'd a scene which I should see 
With double joy wert thou with me. 

2. 
And peasant girls, with deep blue eyes, 
And hands which offer early flowers, 
Walk smiling o'er this paradise ; 
Above, the frequent feudal towers 
Through green leaves lift their walls of gray, 
And many a rock which steeply lowers. 
And noble arch in proud decay, 
Look o'er this rale of vintage-bowers; 
But one thing want these banks of Rhine,— 
Thy gentle hand to clasp in mine I 



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



The river nobly foams and flows, 

The charm of this enchaated groohd. 

And all its thousand tuns diselose 

Some freriur beauty varying round : 

The haughtiest breast its wish might bound 

Through lils to dwell delighted here; 

Nor could on earth a spot be found 

To nature and to me so dear. 

Could thy dear eyes hi following mine 

Still sweeten more these banka of BUnol 



42 



LVL 



Ity Cohlants* on a ziae of gentle grodindv 
There is a small and simple pyzamid. 
Crowning the summit of the Terdant moimd; 
Beneath its base are heroes' ashes hid« 
Our enemy's— ^ut let not that forbid 
Honor to Mareeau ! o'er whose eady tomb 
Tesx8» big tears, gush'd firom the rough soldier's lid, 
Lamffnting and yet envying such a dorai, 
falling for Fraaee, whose nghts he battledto reume. 

LTII. 

Bifef, bnre, 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 sueh as wield her weapons ; he had kept 
The whiteness of his soul, and thus men o'er him 
wept.*" 

Lvni. 

Here Ehzenbrdtstein,!* ndth her shatter'd wtdl 
Black with the miner's blast, upon her height 
Yet shows of wha^ she was, when diell and ball 
Bebounding idly on her strength did light : 
A tower of victory 1 from whence the fli^^ 
Of baffled foes was watch'd along the plain ; 
But Peace destroy'd what war coidd never blight. 
And laid those proud roofs bare to Summer's rain — 
On which the iron shower for years had pour'd in 
vain. 

LIX. 

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

LX. 

Adien to thee again I a vain adieu ! 
There can be no farewell to scene like thine; 
The mind is color'd by thy every hue ; 
And if reluctantly the eyes resign 
Their cherish'd gaze upon thee, lovely Rhine ! 
'Tis with the thankful glance of parting praise ; 
More mighty spots may rise — ^more glaring shine, 
But none unite in one attaching maze 
Ths brilliant, fair^ and soft,— the glories of old days. 

LXI. 

The negligently gtand, tin fruMftil bloom 
Of coming lii^enen, the white city's sheen. 
The rolling etnem, the preeipioe's gloom, 
The forest's growth, and Ootids wa&s between, 
The wEd rooks shaped as tiiey had tuirets been, 
In mockery of man's art ; and these withal 
A raoe of faeee happy m Hie ooene, 
Whose fertile bounties here extend to all, 
Still springing o'er thy banks, though Empires near 
' I &11. 



VS3L 

But these Teoede. Above me are the Alps, 
The palaoes of Mature, whose vast waBs 
Have pinnaded in elouds their snowy scalps. 
And throned Btecnity in icy halls 
Of cold sublimity, where forms and falls 
The avalanche-^e tfaundeibclt of snow I 
All that expands the spirit, yet appals. 
Gather asound these rammits. as to titaw 
B^w earth may pioKse to fleaTen, yet leave Tail 
man below. 

JUXZEL 

But ere these mtttdxless heights I ibre to eeaa. 
There is a spot should not be pass'd in vaini— 
Morat ! th^ proud, the patriot field ! where mm 
May gaze on ghastly trophies of the slain, 
Kor blush for those v^o c<mqner'd on that plain , 
Here Burgundy bequeathed his tcmibless boat, 
A bony heap, through ages to remain. 
Themselves tikeir monument; the Stygian ooast 
Unsepolehred they xoam'd, and shriek'd eaeli 
wandering ghost ^^ 

LXIV. 

While Waterloo with Canne's eamage ^ 
Morat and Marathon twin names shall i 
They were true Glory's stainless victories, 
Won by the unambitious heart and hand 
Of a proud, brotherly, and dvic band. 
All unbought champions in no prineely onnte 
Of viee-entail'd Comiption ; they no land 
Doom'd to bewail the blasphemy of laws 
Making kings' rights divine, by tsMS Shraeonis 
elause. 

LXV. 

By a lone wall a lonelier coliunn 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-bcwilder'd gaze 
Of one to stone converted by amaze, 
Tet still with consciousness ; and there it ataitis 
Making a marvel that it not decays. 
When the coeval pride of himian hands, 
Levell'd** Aventicum, hath strew'd hec subject 
lands. 

LXVI. 

And there— oh ! sweet and sacred be the namet— 
JuHa— 'the daughter, the devoted — gave 
Her youth to Heaven ; her heart, beneath a claim 
Nearest to Heaven's, broke o'er a father's grave. 
Justice is sworn 'gainst tears, and hers would crave 
The life she lived in, but the judge was just, 
And then she died on him she could not save. 
Their tomb was simple, and without a bust. 
And held within their urn one mind, one heart, one 
duat.« 

Lxvn. 

But these are deeds which should not pass away. 
And names that must not wither, though tiieesith 
Forgets her empires m.^ a just decay, [birth ; 
The enslavers and the enslaved, their death and 
The high, the mountain-majesty of worth 
Bhould be, and shall, survivor of its wo. 
And from its immortality look forth 
In ttie sun^s face, like yonder Alpine snow,^ 
ImperishsMy pure beyond all things below. 



CBSLXkM HABOUVB numOUBM. 



sacvUL 

like Lmm WOM Bie nWi its flvyrtU Aim, 
fke mIbw «1mm the itan a&d momtilBa 
Ae ctOkMM of tkeir aspect in eMk tsMse 
Hi cter depth yields of their fclr height and hue ; 
There is too nmeh of mia hen, to look thnnigh 
WitiL a fit mind the Bdght which I behold ; 
8«t soon is mo sheU Lo&eliiiees ranew 
ThooghEls hid, bfnt not lees ehsrish'd than of eld, 
Bn angling whh the heard had pennM me in tiieir 
fold. 

Z.ZIZ. 

To ily from, need not be to hate, mankind: 
An are not fit with them te stir and toil. 
Nor is it discontent to ksep the mind 
Deep in its fenntain, lest it oreirbott 
la the hot tiirong, where we become the spofl 
Of our infeetion, till too late and long 
We may deplore end stEnggle with the eoil, 
In WRtdied interchange of wrong for wrong 
Uidstm eontentioas world, strifing i^iere none are 
strong. 

LXX. 



There, in nmoment, we may phmge omr year* 
lafctal penitenee, and ia the bHght 
Of our own sold tnm all onr blood to tears. 
And color things to come with hnee of Night ; 
The Fsee of Sle boeomee a hopelees flight 
To those Aat walk in dsrknese : on the sea. 
The boldest steer bnt where theh ports inTite» 
Bat tiiere are wandteen o'er Eternity 
Wheee baA drives im and on, and anehor'd ne'er 
• ihallbeu 

LXXI. 

Is it not better, then, to be alone. 
And lore Earth only for its earthly lake ? 
By ftut bine rushing of the arrowy Rhone,i« 
Ck the pure bosom of its nursing lake. 
Which feeds it as a mother who doth make 
A fair bnt froward infant her own care, 

^JBsing its cries away as these awake ; — 
Is it not better thus our Iitss to wear, 

Thsn join the emshing crowd, doom*d to inflict or 



r? 



Lxxn. 



I live not in myself, but I become 
Portion of that around me : and to me 
High moontains sre a feeling, but tiie bom 
Of human cities torture : I can see 
Nothing to loathe in nature, saTe to be 
A ^k reluctant in a fleshy chain, 
Class'd among creatures, when the soul can flee. 
And with the sky, the peak, the heading plain 
Of ocean, or the stars, mingle, and not in Tain. 

T^TTTTT, 

And thus I am abeorb'd, and this » life; 
I look upon '^e peopled desert i>ast. 
As on a place of agony and strife, 
Where, for some sin, to Sonow I was east. 
To act and saffer, but remount at last 
^inth a fresh pinion ; which I feel to spring, 
Though yonng, yet waxing vigorous, as tiie blast 
Which it would cope with, on delighted wing, 
Bpnning the day-cold bonds which ronnd onr being 
olmg. 



UXIT. 

And whiB, «l ]«t«i, Iho mliA ateB he aa tet 
From what it Imles in this degraded fiom* 
Bell of its eamal Ufe, save what shall bo 
Exiitent happier in the fly and woim^-* 
When euments to elements oonlbrm. 
And dost is as it shonld bo, shall I not 
Fsel all I soo, less dassling, bnt more warm ? 
The bodiless ^onght ? theSphritof eaehspotf 
Of iridflh, ovsa aow« I shtto at times tho taaotel 
lot; 

LKXY. 

Are not the moontains, wmw, and AkB, n pvl 
Of mo and of my aonl, as I of them ? 
Is net the love of these deep in my heart 
With a pure passion ? should I not contemn 
All objects, if eompared with these ? and stem 
A tide of saffning, rather than forego 
Sudi feelings for the hard and worldly phlegm 
Of those whose eyes are only tnm'd below, 
Gaaing upon the ground, with tikooghls which dsa^ 
not glow? 

LXXYL 

But this is not my theme; and I nCnm 
To that which is immediate, snd require 
Those who iind contemplation in the urn, 
To look on One, whose dust was onoe oil fire, 
A native of the land where I respire 
The clear air for a while— a passing guest, 
Where he became a bdng,— whose desire 
Was to be glorious ; 'twas a foolish quest. 
The which to gain snd keep, he sacrificed all reft 

LXXTII. 

Ben the s«lf«tortuing sophist, wfld Pobmww, 
The apoetle of sfflietion, he who threw 
Enchantment over passion, and from wo 
Wrung overwhehning eloquence, first drew 
The breath whioh made him wretdied ; yet he know 
How to make madness besutifrd, and cast 
O'er erring deeds and thoughts a heavenly hne 
Of words, Uke sunbeams, dawling as they psai 
Tho cf OS, which o'sr thsm shed team fodiug^ sad 
fost. 

LXXTia 

His love was passion's sssencs ai a tree 
On fire by lightning ; with ethereal fiame 
Kindled he was, and blasted ; for to be 
Thus, and enamor'd, were in him the same 
But his was not the Uve of living damCj 
Nor of the dead who rise upon our ^breams, 
Bnt of ideal beauty, which beeame 
In him oxisieBce, and o'ecAowing teems 
Alongfais bvmdng psge, disten^ec'd thon^ it s sw Hi 

UXIZ. 

Tlit hreathed itself to Bfe hi Jnle, iii<i 
Invested her with all that's wOd and simet ; 
This haUow'd, too, ths memorsUe kiss 
Which every mem his ferer'd lip would gtset, 
From hen, who bnt with ftjandshiphiswonldmeet; 
But to that gentle touch, through hndnsoad breast 
Flashed the thifU'd spirif s love-devoming hetft ; 
In that ahsoxhing sig^ psrehanoe more bioBt, 
Than vulgar minds ma^ be wi^ all thegr aaift 

pOffSMt» 



44 



BTBON*S WORKS. 



hxxx; 



His life wai one long war mtb self-sotight foes, 
Or friends by him self-banished ; fbr his mind 
Had grown Suspicion's sanctuary, and chose 
For its own cruel sacrifice, the kind 
'Ghdnst whom he raged with fiiry strange and blind. 
But he was frensied,— wherefore, who may know } 
Sinoe cause might be which skill could never find; 
But he was frcnsied by disease Or wo, 
To that worst pitch of all, which wears a reasoning 
show. 

LXXXI. 

For then he was Inspired, and from him came. 
As from the Pythian*s mystic cave of yore, 
Those oracles which set tke world in flame, 
Nor ceased to bom tiU kingdoms were no more : 
Bid he not this for France ? which .lay before 
Bow'd to tike inborn tyranny of years ? 
Broken and trembling to the yoke she bore, 
Till by the voice of him and his compeers 
Boosed up to too much wrath, which follows 
o*«rgrown fears ? 

LXXXII. 

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

Lxxxni. 

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

LXXXIV. 

What ds«p wooods ever closed without a scar ? 
The heart's bleed longest, and but heal to wear 
That which disfigures it ; and they who war [bear 
With their own hopes, and have been vanquished. 
Silence, but not submission : in his lair 
Fix'd passion holds his breath, until the hour 
Which shall atone for years ; none need despair : 
It eame, it cometh, and will come, — ^the power 
To punish or forgive— in one we shall be slower. 

LXXXY. 

Clear, placid Lemaa ! thy contruied lak9. 
With the wild world I dwelt in, is a thing 
Which warns me, with its stillness to forsake 
Berth's troubled Waters I6r a purer spring. 
This quiet sail is as a noiseless wing 
To waft me from distraction ; once I loved < 

Tom oeean's roar, but thy soft murmuring 
Sounds sweet as if a sister's voice reproved, 
Iliat I with stem delights should e'er have been so 
nored. 



LXXXYL 



It is the hush of night, and all between 
Thy margin and the mountains, dusk, yet oleat 
MeUow'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 shoir% 
Of flowers yet fresh with childhood ; on the ear 
Drops the light drip of the suspended oar, 
Or chirps the grasshopper one good*night candmrf^ 

Lxxxvn. 

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 a voice a moment, then is still. 
There seems a floating whisper on the hill. 
But that is fancy, for the starlight dews 
AU silently their tears of love instil. 
Weeping themselves away, till they infrwe 
Deep into Nature's breast tiie spirit of her hues. 

LXXXWIL 

Ye stars ! which are the poetry of heaven ! 
If in your bright leaves we would read the frtte 
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; fiiryeare 
A beauty and a mystery, and ereate 
In us such love and reverence from aHar, 
That fortune, £une, power, life, hath named them 
selves a star. 

LXXXIX. 

All heaven and earth are still— though not in sleep, 
But breathless, as we grow when feeling most; 
And silent, as we stand in thoughts too deep ;— 
All heaven and earth are still : From the high host 
Of stars, to the lull'd lake and mountain-coaat. 
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 defe&ce. 

XC. 

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

XCI. 

Not vainly did the early Persian make 
E[is altar the high places and the peak 
Of earth-o'ergazing mountains,*^ and thus tak« 
A fit, and unwall'd temple, there to seek 
The Spirit, in whose honor shrines are weak, 
Uprear'd of human hands. Come, and compare 
Columns and idol-dwellings, Goth or Greek, 
With Nature's realms of worship, earth and alr^ 
Nor fix on fond abodes to circumscribe thy pray'rt 



GBUJ>B.XAMKUyS PIMKIMAOB. 



XOH. 

TIm tkf is ehanged !^«ud iii«h a ehaag* I Oh 

night,* 
And storm, and darkneM, yesrawondrons strong, 
Tet lorely in joor strength, as it the light 
Of a dark eye in woman ! Far along, 
From peak to peak, the rattling crags among, 
Leaps the lire thunder ! Not from one lone cloud. 
But eTery mountain now hath found a tongue, 
And Jura answers, through her misty shroud. 
Back to the joyous Alps, who call to her aloud ! 

XdlL 
Aad iUb ii in te alghft >*]Ioat flM0«t Bi^ ! 
Thou wert not sent for slumher ! let me be 
A sharer in thy fieree and f$i delight,— 
A portion of the tempest and of thee I 
How the lit lake shines, a phosphoric sea« 
And tiie big nun cones danmng to the earth ! 
And now again 'tis black, — and now, the glee 
Of the loud hills shakes with its mountain mirth, 
As if tiiey did zqi<Hee o*cr a young earthquake's 
birth* 

xcnr. 

N«w« where the swift Rhone elesTes his way 



Hcighti which appear as lovers who hare parted 
In hate, whoee mining depths so intervene, 
That they can meet no more, though broken- 
hearted! 
Tho* in their souls, which thus each other thwarted 
Love was the very root of the fond rage [parted: 
"Whii^ blighted their life's bloom, and then de- 
Itself expired, but leaving them an age 
Of jesn aU winters,— war within themselves to wage. 

• XCV. 
Kov, where the quickBhone thus hath cleft his way 
The mightiest of the storms hath ta'en his stand : 
For here, not one, but many, make their play. 
And fling their thunderbolts from h%nd to hand, 
Flashing and cast around : of all the band, [fork'd 
The brightest through these parted hills hath 
His lightniwgiv— ea if he did undsrstand. 
That in sueh gaps as desolation work'd. 
There the hot shaft should blast whatever therein 
luk'd. 

XCVI. 

Vky, mountains, river, winds, lake, lightnings ! ve ! 
With night, and clouds, and thunder, and a soul 
To make these felt and feeling, well may be 
Things that have made me watchl\il ; the tu toll 
Of yoor departing voices, is the knoll 
Of what in me is sleepless,—^ I rest. 
But where of ye, oh tempests ! b the goal ? 
Are ye like those within the human breast ?' 
Or do ye find, at length, like eagles, some high 



t? 



xcvn. 



Could I soibody and unbosom now, 
Tliat whidk is most within me,— oouid I wreak 
My thoughts upon expression, and thus throw 
&ml, heart, mind, passions, feelings, strong or 

weak, 
AH 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, [)iword. 

iniha most voioelesa tiumght, sheathing it as a 



XCVHL 

The mook Is up again, the dewy mom. 

With breath all hieense, and with cheek all blooMi 
TAughing the elouds away with playful scorn. 
And living as if earth contain'd no tomb,— 
And glowing into day ; we may resume 
The march of our existence : and thus I 
Still on thy shores, fair Iceman ! may find tocm 
And food for meditation, nor pass by 
Koch, that may give us pause, if ponder'd fitting^. 

XCIX« 

Clarens ! sweet Clarens, birth-place of deep Lova, 
Thine air is the young breath of passionate thought *, 
Thy trees take root in Love : the snows above 
The very Glaciers have his colors caught. 
And sunset into rose hues sees them wrought* 
By rays which sleep there lovingly ; the rocks 
The permanent crags, tell here of Love, who 

sought 
In them a refrige from the worldly shocks, « 

Which stir and stmg the soul with hope that woot, 

then mocks. 

C. 

Clarans ! by heavenly feet thy palhi are trodt 
Undying love's, who here ascends a throne 
To which the steps are mountains ; where the god 
Is a pervading life and light,— so shown 
Not on those summits solely, nor alone 
In the still cave and forest; o'er the fiower 
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 desolali 
hour. 

CL 

All things are here of him ; from the black piaeSy 
Which are his shade on high, and the loud roar 
Of torrents, where he listeneth, to the vines 
Which slope his green path downwsrd 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 hosr. 
But light leaves, young as joy, stands wh^ It 
stood, 
Offering to him, and lus, a populous solitude. 

cn. 

A populous solitude of beea i&d Urds, 
And falry-form'd and many-eolor'd things, [word% 
Who worship him with notes more sweet tkaa 
And innoeently open their glad wings. 
Fearless and frill of Hfe ; the gush of springs. 
And fall of lofty fountains, and the bend 
Of stirring branches, and the bud which brings 
The swiftest thought of beanty, here extend, 
HingUng, and made by Love, unto one mi|^ty end. 

cm. 

He who hath loved not, here would learn that lors^ 
And make his heart a spirit : he who knows 
That tender mystery, will lote the more, 
For this \a love's recess, where vain men's woes,' 
And the world's waste, have driven him fer from 
For 'tis his nature to advaaoe or die ; [thos^ 
He stands not still, but or decays, or grows 
Into a boundless blessing, whieh may vie 
With the immortal lights, in its eternity' 



#6 



imoirs W0MD8. 



OPT. 



'Tiras not for fiction chose BooBsean thii ipot, 
Peopling it with affections ; but he found 
It was the scene which passion must allot 
To the mind's puzifled beings ; 'twas the ground 
Where early Lotc his Psyche's lone unbound, 
And hallow'd it with loTcliness : '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 hare reax'd 
a throne. 

CV. 

Lausanne ! and Femey ! ye have been the abodes** 
Of names which unto you bequeath'd a name ; 
Mortals, who seught and found, by dang^erous 
A path to perpetuity of iiame ; [roads. 

They were gigantic minds, and their steep aim 
Was, Titan-like, on daring doubts to pile [flame 
Thoughts which should call down thunder, and the 
Of heaven, again assail'd, if heaven the while 
D& man and man's research could deign do more 
than smile* 

CVI. 

The one was fire and fickleness, a child. 
Most mutable in wishes, but in mind, 
A ^t as vazions, — gay, grave, sage, or wild,— 
Historian, bard, philosopher, eombined; 
He multiplied himself among mankind, 
The Proteus of their talents ; But his own 
Breathed most in ridicule,^which, as the wind. 
Blew where it listeth, laying all things prone,— 
How to o'erthrow a fool, and now to shake a throne. 

cvn. 

The other, deep and slow, exhausting thonght. 
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, [fear. 

Which stung his foes to wrath, which grew from 
And doom'd him to the lealot's ready Hell, 
Which answers to aU doubts so eloquently welL 

cnn. 

Yet, peace be with tiieir ashes , for by them, 
If merited^ the penalty is paid ; 
It is not ours to Judges- -Air lass condeoon ; [made 
The hour must come when such things shall be 
Known unto all,r-or hope sad dread allay'd 
By slumber, on one pillow,— In the dust. 
Which, thns much we ere snre, must lie decay'd; 
And when it shaU revive, as is our tnst, 
Tsritt be to be foEgiven, or snffer what is Jnst 

CIX. 

But let me quit mnk's wmks, again to read 
His Maker's, spsead around me, and suspend 
This page, which from my zeveries I feed, 
TTutil it seems prolonging without end. 
The doods above me to tiie white Alps tend. 
And I must pierce them, end survey whate'er 
May be permitted, as my steps I boid 
To their most gvealf and growing region, where 
The earth te her eflsfamee eoaqpels the powers of air. 



ex. 



Italia ! too, ItaUa I looking on thee, 
Full flashes on the soul the light of ages, 
Since the fierce Carthaginian almost won thee^ 
To the last halo of the chiefs and sages. 
Who glorify thy consecrated pages : 
Thou wert the throne and grav6 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 imperisi 
hill. 

CXL 

Thus Ur have I prooeedtod in a thcoic 
Benew'd with no kind auspices ; to £eei 
We sie not what we have' been, aiid to deem 
We are not what we should- be,— «nd to steel 
The heart against its^ ; and to coneeal 
With a proud caution, love, cr hate^ or augkt^^ 
Passion or feeling, purpose, grief, or zeal,^* 
Which is the tyrant spirit of our thought. 
Is a stem task of soul :— No matterr-it is taught. 

CXII. 

And for these words, thus woven into song. 
It may be that they are a harmless wile,— 
The coloring 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 net 
So young as to regard men's frown or smile, 
As loss or guerdon of a glorious lot ; 
I stood and stand alone,— remember'd or forgot. 

cxm. 

I have not loved the world, nor the world me ; 
I have not fiatter'd its rank breath, nor bow'd 
To its idolatries a patient knee,— 
Nor Mrined my oheek to smiles,— nor eried 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 [could 
Of thoughts which were not their tiioughts, and still 
Had I not filed*< my mind, which thus itself sub- 
dued. 

CXIV. 

I have not loved the world, nor the world me^— 
But let us part fair foes ; I do believe, 
Though I have found them not, that there may be 
Words which are things^- hopes which will set 

deceive. 
And virtues which are merciful, nor weave 
Snares for the failing: I would also deem 
O'er others' griefs that some sincerely grieve:** 
That two, or one, are almost what they seem,— 
That goodnees is no name, and happiness no dream. 

cxv. 



My daughter ! with thy name this song begun^— 
My daughter! with ^y name thus much shall 
I see Ihee not,— I bear thee not,**but none [end— 
Can be so wrapt in thee ; thou art the friend 
To whom the shadows of for yesrs extend : 
Albeit my brow thou never should'st behold, 
My voice shall with thy fotore visions blend, 
And reach into thy heart,-^when n^e is eold,^ 
A token and a tone even from thy tether's mould. 



CHILDB HABOLB^ PIL6RIVAOX. 



47 



OKTL 

T9 tad liiy mind's d>ir»lo pmca » to witdi 
n^ daf«rm of Uttte jojtb —to sH nd tet 
Afanost thy yerj giowtli,— to view thet oUeh 
bovledge of objeetSi-^woaden y«t to tkeel 
To hold thoe lightly on a gentle knooy 
And print on thy soft cheek a peienVt kiae^- 
Tliis, it should teem, was not leserred for me; 
Tet this was in my natiiM:-'as it is, 
I knaiw not wk^ is there, yet soawthing l&e to this. 

CXTIL 

Tet, though doll hate as daty ahoaU be tanght, 
I kMow that thon wilt lora bm; thoagh mj name 
Should ho dbrt froBi thee» as a spell still frani^t 
With dcaolatMNV^aiid a broken elaim; [saa^— 
Thoagh the gnve cloaed between ns» 'twere the 
IhaovthattiMmwiltloTenie; theagh to dxain 
Jfy blood fimn owt thy being, wen sa aia^ 
And an sttiinmmtr-*H woold be in vain^* 
atSU then wonld'st love ae, stiU that flMBB than Uie 



cxvm. 

Ihe ehfld of lore,— thoagh bom in bit tern ess . 
And nartazed in conTol^n. Of thy sire 
These were the eleaients,— and thine no less. 
As jet soch are sroond thee,— but thy fire 
Shall bo more tea&per'd, and thy hope far higher. 
Bweet be thy eradkd shimben I O'er the sea. 
And from the mountains where I now respire* 
?kin would I waft such blessing upon thee. 
As, wiA a righ, I deem thon might*st have been te 
ae! 



CANTO IV. 



FMses, Jtmmarf 2, 1818. 

TO 

JOHN H0BH0TT8E, ESa, A.M. F.R,3. 

XT VBIS XOBHOtrsa, 

Av«t aa fnlerral of sight yean b a t wae n the 
b of eie Urst and last esataa of Chflde 
HsMld, the conchisieB of the poem is about tb be 
BtriMdUedtoflkopobUe. In pasting wi^ so old a 
friend, H ii not eKtraerdisMry that X skoQld faear to 
one sda older and better,— to one who has beheld 
fte birth and death of the other, and to whom I am 
ta mote iadebtad for the social adTantages ol aa 
eaUghtened frieadsh^>, thau'^though not ungrate* 
Ad— I ean or could be, to Chllde Harold for any 
poblie favor reflected through the poem on the poet, 
~tD one, whom I haire known long^ and accompa^ 
nied i^; whom I haTe ibond wakeful oyer my sick» 
aesi, and kind in my soixow ; glad in my prospetity, 
Widfinn in my adyeisity ; true in oounsd, and trusty 
b perily— to a friend often tiied and never found 
vanti^ ', — to yonrsdf. 



In so doing, I rseur flom Action to trvth, and In 
dedicating to you in tta eomplete, or at least con- 
cluded state, a poetical work which is the longest, 
the most thoughtful and comprehcnuiTe of my com- 
positioni, I wish to do honor to myself by the record 
of many years* intimacy with a man of learning, of 
talent, of steadiness, and of honor. It is not for 
minds Uke ours to gire or to receive flattery ; yet 
the praises of sincerity have ever been permitted to 
the voice of fHendship ; and it is not for you, nor 
even for others, but to relieve a heart which has not 
elsewhere, or lately, been so much accustomed to 
the encounter of good-will as to withstand the 
shock firmly, that I thus attempt to commemorate 
your good qualities, or rather the advantages which 
I have derived fh>m their exertion. Even the recur^ 
rence of the date of this letter, the anniversary of 
the most unA>rtunate day of my past existence, but 
which cannot poison my future, while I retain the 
resource of your friendship, and of my own facul* 
ties, will hencefbrth have a more agreeable recolleo- 
tion fbr both, inasmuch as it will remind us of this 
my attempt to thank you for aa indefatigable ra> 
gard, such as few men have experienced, and no oat 
could experience, without thinking better of Us 
species and of himself. • 

It has been our fortune to traverse together, at 
various periods, the countries of chivalry, history, 
and fable— Spain, Greece, AsiaMmor, and Italy: 
and what Athens and Constantinople were to us a 
few years ago, Venice and Rome have been more 
recently. The poem also, or the pilgrim, or both, 
have accompanied me from first to last ; and per 
haps it may be a pardonable vanity which induces 
me to reflect with complacency on a composition 
which in some degree connects me with tiie spot 
where it was produced, and tiie object, it would fbia 
describe ; and however unworthy it may be deemed 
of those magical and memorable abodes, however 
short it may fall of our distant conceptions and im- 
mediate impressions, yet, as a mark of respect fbt 
what is venerable, and of feeling for what is glori- 
ous, it has been to me a source of pleasure in tile 
production, and I part with it with a kind of regret, 
which I hardly suspected that events could have left 
me for imaginary objects. 

With regard to the conduct of tile last canto, 
there win be found less of the pilgrim than in any 
of the preceding, and that little slightiy, if at att, 
separated from the author speaking in his own per> 
son. The fact is, that I had become weary of draw* 
ing a line which every one seemed determined not 
to perccivot like the Chinese in Goldsmith's ''Cit- 
izen of the World," whom nobody would believe to 
be a Chinese, it was in vain that I asserted, and im- 
agined that I had drawn, a distinction between the 
author and the pilgrim ; and the very anxiety to 
preserve this difference, and disappointment at find- 
ing it unavailing, so fiir crushed my eflbits in the 
composition, that I determined to abandon it alto- 
gether — and have done so. The opinions which 
have been, or may be, formed on that subject, are 
note 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 ojm mind beyond the 
reputation, transient or permanent, which is to 
arise from his literary eiTorts, deserves the fate of 
authors. 
In the course of the fbllowing canto. It was mj 



48 



BYBOirS W0BK8. 



intentio&t eifhtt In the text or In the notet> to bftTo 
touched upon the present state of Italian Utdltataro, 
and perhaps of manners. But the text, within the 
limits I proposed} I soon found hardly sufficient for 
the labyrinth of external objects and the conse- 
quent reflections ; and for the whole of the notes, 
excepting a few of the shortest, I am indebted to 
yourself, and these were necessarily limited to the 
elucidation of the text. 

It is also a delicate, and no rery grateful task, to 
dissert upon the literature and manners of a nation 
so dissimilar; and requires an attention and impax^ 
tiality which would induce us, — though perhaps no 
inattentive observers, nor ignorant of the language 
or customs of the people amongst whom we have 
recently abode, — to distrust, or at least defer our 
Judgment, and more narrowly examine our informa- 
tion. The state of literary, as well as political 
party, appears to run, or to have run, so high, that 
for a stranger to steer impartially between them is 
next to impossible. It may be enough then, at 
least for my purpose, to quote firom their own beau* 
tiAil language— "Mi pare che in un pacse tutto 
poetico, che vanta la lingua la piu nobile ed insieme 
la piA dolce, tutte tutte le vie diversi si poesono 
t^ntare, e ch^ sinche la patria di Alfleri e di Monti 
wm ha perduto Vantico v«lore, in tutte essa dovrebbe 
essere la prima.*' Italy has great names still— 
Canova, Monti, Ugo Foscolo, Findemonte, Visconti, 
Morelli, Cicognara, Albrizzi, Mezzophanti, Mai, 
Mustoxidi, Agiletti, and Vacca, will secure to the 
present generation an honorable place in most of 
the departments of Art, Science, and Belles Let- 
tres; and in some of the very highest;— Europe 
the World— has but one Canova. 

It has been somewhere said by Alfleri, that ** La 
pianta uomo nasce piil robusta in Italia che in qua- 
lunque altra terra — e che gU stessi atroci delitti che 
vi si commettono ne sono una prova.*' Without 
subscribing to the latter part of his proposition, a 
dangerous doctrine, the truth of which may be dis- 
puted on better grounds, namely, that the Italians 
are in no respect more ferocious than their neigh 
dors, that man must be wilfully blind, or ignorantly 
heedless, who is not struck with the extraordinary 
capacity of this people, or, if such a word be admis- 
lible, their c«^)abiliiietf the facility of their acquisi- 
tions, the rapidity of their conceptions, the fire of 
their genius, their sense of beauty, and amidst all 
the disadvantages of repeated revolutions, the des- 
olation of battles, and the despair of ages, their 
still unquenched "longing after immortality," — 
the immortality of independence. And when we 
ourselves, in riding round the walls of Rome, heard 
the simple lament of the laborers' chorus, " Roma ! 
Boma I Boma ! Boma non ^ pid come eta prima," 
it was difficult not to contrast this melancholy dirge 
with the bacchanal roar of the songs of exultation 
still yelled from the London taverns, over the car- 
nage 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 tho better days of our history. For me. 



(Ke U tiHte dl sue dum m 



What Italy has gained by the late transfer of 
aations, it were useless for Englishmen to inquire, till 
It be^omee asoertained that Kngland has acquired 



something more than » pfnument amj and a ni^ 
pended Habeas Corpus; it Is enough for them to 
look at home. For what they have done abroad, 
and especially in the South, '* Verily they wtt Aove 
their' reward," and at no very distant period. 

Wishing you,' my dear Hobhouse, a safe and 
agreeable return to that coxmtry whose real weUars 
can be dearer to none than to yourself, I dedicate to 
you this poem in its completed state ; and repeat 
once more how truly I am ever 

Your obliged and affectionate friend, 

BYRON. 



I vrobr> in Veniee, on the Bridge of Sighs ; > 
A palace and a prison on eeeh hand : 
I saw from out the wave her struetozee rise 
As ftmn the stroke of the enchanter's wand : 
A thousand years thefr cloudy wings expand 
Aroond me, and a dying glory smiles 
O'er the frur times, when many a subject land 
Look'd to the winged Lion's maxfole piles, 
Where Venice sate in state, throned on her hundred 
isles! 

IL 

She looks a sea-Cybele fresh from ocean 
Bising with her tiara of proud towers > 
At tiky distance, with majestic motion, 
A ruler of the waters and their powers, 
And such she was ; her daughters had their dowers 
From spoils of nations, and the exhaustless East 
Pour'd in her lap all gems in sparkling showers. 
In purple was she robed, and of her feast 
Monarchs partook, and deem'd their dignity in- 
creased. 

IIL 

In Venice, Tasso's echoes are no more,* 
And silent rows the songless gondolier; 
Her palaces are erombling to the shore. 
And music meets not always now the ear : 
Those days are gone— but beauty still is h e r e . 
States fall, arts fade— ^t Nature doth not die : 
Nor yet forget how Venice once was dear, 
The pleasant place of all festivity. 
The revel of the earth, the masque of Italy. 

IV. 

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



The beings of the pnind are not of clay ; 
Essentially immortal, they create 
And multiply in us a brighter ray 
And more beloved existence : that which fate 
Prohibits to dull life, in this our state 
Of mortal bondage, by tiiese spirits supplied. 
First exiles, then replaces what we hate; 
Watering the heart whose early flowers have disd. 
And with a fresher growth replenishing the void. 



OHILDB niMOUn FZLQ&DCAOB. 



▼I- 



I m fhm xtiagM of ovr youth audi ago* 
Ihe iicst from Ho^, the last from Vacancy ; 
Asd this worn feeling peoples many a page, 
Aad, may be, that which grows beneath mine eye 
Y^ tiliere aze things whose strong reality 
Ontahiaea our bizy-land; in shape and hues 
Moxe beantifal than onr fantastic sky. 
And the strange constellations which the Muse 
O'er hflx wild murerse is skilM to diffuse : 

vn. 

I saw or dieam'd of such, bu t let them go— 
They came like truth, and disappear 'd like dnams ; 
And whatsoe'er they were— ere bow but so : 
I eonld replaee ^em if I would; still teeaas 
My mixid whh msny a foim which aptly seems 
Such as I sov^ht fmr, and at moments found ; 
Let ^ese too go— for waking reason deems 
Budk ovei wee n ing phantades unsound, 
And other Toieee speak, and other sights samond. 

vin. 

I're taught me other tongues — and in strange eyes 
Hare made me not a stranger ; to the mind 
'Which is itself, no changes bring surprise ; 
Kor is it harsh to make, nor hard to find 
A country withr^y, or without mankind ; 
Yet was I bom where men are proud to be, 
Not without cause ; and should I leave behind 
The iuTiolate island of the sage and free, 
And seek me out a home by a remoter sea, 

IX. 

Perhaps I loved it well ; and should I lay 
My ashes in a soil which is not mine, 
My spirit shall resume it— if we may 
Unbodied choose a sanctuary. I twine 
My hopes of being remember'd in my line 
'With my land's language : if too fond and far 
These aspirations in their scope incline, — 
If my fame should be, as my fortunes arc, 
Of hasty growth and blight, and dull Oblivion bar 



My name from out the temple where the dead 
Axe honor'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 pknted, — ^they have torn me,— «Lnd I bleed : 
I should have known what fruit would spring from 
saehaseed. 

XI. 

The spooseloss Adriatic mourns her lord ; 
And, annual marriage now no more renew'd, 
The Bucentanr lies rotting unrestored, 
Neglected garment of her widowhood ! 
St Mark yet sees his Lion where he stood* 
Stand, but in mockery of his withcr'd power, 
Over the proud place where an Emperor sued, 
And monarchs gated and envied in the hour 
WhenYeniee was a queen with an unequall'd dower. 
7 



xa. 



The Saubaan sued, and now the Austrian I 
An Emperor tramples where an Emperor knelt ; 
Kingdoms are shrunk to provinces, and chains 
Clank over sceptered cities ; nations melt 
From power's high pinnacle, when they have felt 
The sunsliine for a while, and downward go 
like Uuwine loosen'd from the mountain's belt ; 
Oh for one hour of blind old Dandolo \^ 
Th' octogenarian chief, Byzantium's conquering fo» 

xm. 

Before St. Mark ttiU glow hk steeds of braas, 

Their gilded collars glittering in the sun ; 
But is not Doris's menace come to pass ?• 
Are they not 6rtdlMf— Venice, lost and won, 
Her thirteen hundred years of freedom done 
Sinks, like a searweed, into whence she rose 1 
Better be whelm'd beneath the waves, and shmic 
Even in destruction's depth, her foreign foes. 
From whom submission wrings an in£uaous repoa«i 

XIV. 

In youth she was all glory, — a new Tyre.— 
Her very by-iK*ord sprimg 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 XiCpanto's fight 1 
For ye are names no time nor tyranny can blight. 

XV. 

Statues of glass— <aU shirer'd— tiie long flit 
Of her dead Doges ore declined to dust ; 
But where they dwelt, the vast and sumptuous pOt 
Bespeaks the pageant of their splendid trust ; 
Their sceptre broken, and thefr 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' lofwly 
walU. 

XVI. 

When Athens' armies fell at Syracuse, 
And fetter'd thousands bore the yoke of war 
Redemptiott 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 hii 
strains. 

XVIL 

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



60 



BTKOIVS V0BX8. 



xrni. 



I loTcd her from my boyhood— «he to me 
Was as a fairy city of the heart. 
Rising like water-columns from the sea, 
Of joy the sojourn, and of weakh the mart ; 
And Otway, Radcliffe, Schiller, Shakspeare*8 art," 
H&d stamp'd her image in me, and even so, 
Although I found her thus, we did not part. 
Perchance even dearer in her day of wo. 
Than when she was a boast, a marvel, and a show. 

XIX. 

I em repeople with the past — eaxd of 
The present there is still for eye and thought, 
And meditation chastened 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 colors caught: 
There are some feelings Time can not benumb, 
Kor Torture shake, or mine would now be cold and 
dumb. 

XX. 

But from their nature will the tannen grow" 
Loftiest on loftiest and least shelter'd rocks, 
Rooted in barrenness, where nought 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 ; — ^thc mind may grow the 

same. 

XXL 

Existence may be borne, and the deep root 
Of life and 8\iiFerance make its firm abode 
In bare and desolate bosoms : mute 
The camel labors with the heaviest load. 
And the wolf dies in silence, — ^not bestowed 
In vain should such example be ; if they, 
Things of ignoble or of savage mood, 
Bndure and shrink not, we of nobler clay 
May temper it to bear,— it is but for a day. 

XXIL 
All Buffering doth destroy, or is destroyed, 
Even- by the sufferer ; and in each event. 
Ends :--Some with hope replonish'd and rebnoy'd, 
Return to whence they came— with like intent, 
And weave their web again ; some, bow'd and bent, 
Wax gray and ghastly, withering ere their time, 
And perish with the reed on which they leant ; 
Some seek devotion, toil, war, good or crime, 
Aeeording as their souls were form'd to sink or climb : 

xxm. 

Bat erer and anon of griefs subdued 
There comes a token like a scorpion's sting, 
Searee seen, but with fresh bitterness imbued ; 
And slight withal may be the things which bring 
Back on the heart the weight which it would flii^ 
Aside for ever : it may be a sound — 
A tone of music— summer's eve-— or spring— 
A flower— ^he wind— the ocean— which shall 

wound, 
Striking tiie electric chain wherewith we are darkly 

boud; ^ 



xxnr. 



And how and why we know not, nor can traee 
Home to its cloud this lightning of the mind. 
But feel the shock renew'd, nor con ei!aee 
The blight and blackening which it leaves bdiindi 
Which out of things familiar, nndesign'd. 
When least we deem of such, calls up to view 
The spectres whom no exorcism can bind, [anew. 
The cold— the changed*-^>erdhance the dead— • 
The moum'd, the loved, the lost— >too many !-^t 
how few ! 

XXV. 

But my soul wanden ; I demand it back 
To meditate amongst decay, and stand 
A ruin amidst ruins ; there to track 
Fall'n states and boned gieataees, o'er a land 
Which vxu the mightieet in its old command. 
And u the loveliest, and must ever be 
The master-mould of Nature's heavenly hand, 
Wherein were cast the heroic and the free, 
The beantiful, the hrave-^he lords of earth and sei, 

XXVI. 

The eommonwealth of kings, the men of Rome ! 
And even since, and now, fair Italy ! 
Thou art the garden of the world, the home 
Of all Art yields, and Nature can decree : 
Even in thy desert, what is like to thee ? 
Thy very weeds are beautiful,*thy waste 
More rich than other climes' fertility; 
Thy wreck a glory, and thy ruin graced 
With an immaculate charm which can not be defiaoed. 

XXVIL 

The Moon is up, and yet it ia not night- 
Sunset divides the sky with hei^-a sea 
Of glory streams along the Alpine height 
Of blue Friuli's moimtains ; Heaven is free 
From clouds, but of all colors 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! 

XXVIIL 

A single star is at her side, and reigns 
With her o'er half the lovely heaven ; but still ^* 
Yon sunny sea heaves brightly, and remains 
Roll'd o'er the peak of the far Rhstian hill. 
As Day and Night contending were, until 
Nature reclaim'd her order : — gently flows 
The dccp-dyed Brenta, where their hues InstQ 
The odorous purple of a new-bom rose, 
Which streams upon her stream, and glass'd within 
it glows, 

XXIX. 

Fill'd with the face of heaven, which, fttnn 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 imbnei 
With a new color as it gasps away. 
The last still loveliest, till— 'tis gone— and aU \b 
gray. 



CHILDS aAftOUrS PILORIMAOE. 



tl 



XKX. 

I ia a twab ia Aiqiui^— Mv'd In «ir» 
tSBa'd m th«u Mroopbigiu, rcpoie 
Hie bones of I<«ir»*8 lover ; here repair 
Many familiar iiith his 'weU-snag wees, 
Ihe pilgiime of his genins. He arose 
To raiae a hmgnage, and his land reclaim 
From the doll yoke of her barbaric foes : 
Watacing tbe tree which bears his lady's 
With hia nwlodiew tears, he gave himself to 

XXXL 

Thty Jceap hm duet in Aiqaa» whore ke died ;» 
The mountain-Tillage where hia latter days 
Went down the Tale oi years ^ and 'tis their pxidi^— 
An honest pride— and let it be their praise, 
Te oAer to the passing ateanger's gase 
ffis maaaion and has sepnkhre; both plain 
A»d TenenUy simple, aneh aa raise 
A faeting more accordant with his atrain, 
Than if apyamid form'd hia mnimmewtal fane. 

xxxn. 

And the jail qviet hamkt whoie ha daralt 
Is one of that eomplezion which seems made 
For those who their mortality ha^e felt, 
And sought a refuge from their hopes decay*d 
la the deep nmhrnge of a gieen hUl*s shade. 
Which shows a distant prospeet far away 
Of busy cities, now in Tain display'd, 
IfoK they can luxe no further ; and the ray 
Of abofl^ sun can make sufficient holiday,^ 

xxxm. 

Bevelopi&g the mountains, leaTcs and flowers. 
And BhfnJTig in the brawling brook, whcre-by. 
Clear as its current, glide the sauntering hours 
With a calm languor, which, though to the eye 
Idleese it seem, hath its morality. 
If from society we learn to Utc, 
TSs solitude should teach us how to die ; 
It hath no flatterers ; Tonity can giye 
So hollow aid ; alone — ^man with lus Gtod must strive 

XXXIV. 

Or, it may be, with demons, who impair'' 
Thestieagth of better thoughta, andseek their prey 
In melancholy bosoms, such as were 
Of moody texture from their earliest day, 
And loTed to dwell in darkness and dismay. 
Deeming themselTes predestined to a doom 
Which is not of the pangs that pass awi^ ; 
Making the ann like blood, the earth a tomb. 
The tamb a hell, and hell itaelf a murkier gloom. 

XXXV. 

Fcznna! in thy wide and grass-grown streets. 
Whose symmetry was not for solitude, 
There seems as 'twere a curse upon the seats 
Of fanner sovereigns, and the antique brood 
Of Este, which for many an age made good 
Its strength within thy walls, and was of yose 
Patron or tyrant, as the changing mood 
Of petty power impeird, of those who wore 
The wreath which Dante's farow alone had worn 



XXXVI. 



And Tasso fa thair glory and thair shame. 
Hark to hia strain ! and then survey his ceU t 
And see how dearly eam'd Torquato's fame. 
And where Alfonso bade his poet dwell : 
The miserable despot could not quell 
The insulted mind he sought to quench, and blend 
With the surrounding maniacs, in the hell 
Where he had plunged it. Glory without end 
ScAtter'd the clouds away— and on that name att«d 

XXXVIL 

The tears and ^raiaes of all time; whOaOlM 
Would rot in its obUvion— in the sink 
Of worthless dust, whidi from thy boasted line 
Is shaken into nothing ; but the link 
lliou formest in his fortunes bids us think 
Of thy poor malice, naming thee with suuin 
Alfonso ! how thy ducal pageants shrink 
From thee ! if in another station bom, 
Searea fit to be the slave of him thou aaad'at U 

xxxvin. 

• 
l%im! form'd to eat, and be defused, and dfa. 
Even as the beasts that perish, save that tho« 
Hadtft a more splendid troi^h and wider sty : 
He with a glory round his furrow'd brow, 
Which emanated then, and dassles now. 
In face of all Ids foes, the Cruscan quire. 
And Boileau, whose rash envy could allow ** [lyio, 
No strain which shamed his country's creaking 
That whetstone of the teeth— monotony in wire 1 

XXXIX. 

PeaeatoTorqaato'siivuiedahadal 'twaahfa 
In life and dntth to be the mark whsra Wroag 
Aim'd with her poison'd azrowa, hot to miaa. 
Oh, victor unsorpaas'd in modem song ! 
Each year brings forth its millions; but how long 
The tide of generationa ahall roll on. 
And not the whole combined and isountleaa throng 
Compose a mind like thine? though all in ana 
Condenaed their scatter'd rays, they would not fam 
aaun. 

XL. 

Great aa thou art, yet paralell'd by those. 
Thy countrymen, before thee bbk to shine, 
The bards of Hell and Chivalry : first rose 
The Tuscan father's comedy divine ; 
Then not unequal to the Florentine, 
The southern Scott, the minstrel who call'd faith 
A new creation with hU magic line, 
And, like the Ariosto of the North, 
Sang ladye-love and war, romance and knightly 
worth. 

XLL 

The lightning rent from Ariosto's bust ^ 
The iron crown of laurel's mimio'd leaves 
Nor was the ominous element unjust. 
For the true laurel-wreath which Glory weaTM* 
Is of the tree no bolt of thunder cleaves. 
And the false semblance but disgraced his hnw; 
Yet still if fondly Superstition grieres. 
Know, that the Ughning sanctifies below* 
Whatever it strikes;— yon head fa doubly iaciad item 



63 



BYB01l*S VCNEUCS. 



XLH. 



Italia! oh Italia! thon who hast « 
The fatal gift of beauty, which became 
A faneral dower of present woes and past, 
On thj ffweet brow is sorrow plough'd by shame, 
And annals graved in characters of flame. 
Oh Ood ! that thou wert in thy nakedness 
Less loyely or more powerful, and couldst claim 
Thy right, and awe the robbers back, who press 
To shed thy blood, and drink the tears of thy distress : 

XLIII. 

Then might'st 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, 
Yictor or ranquish'd, thou the slave of iriend or foe. 

XLIV. 

' Wandering in youth, I traced the path of him," 
The Roman friend of Rome's least mortal mind, 
The friend of Tully: as my bark did skim 
The bright blue waters with a fanning wind, 
Came Megara before me, and behind 
^gina lay, Pineus on the right, 
And Corinth on the left ; I lay reclined 
Along the prow, and saw all these unite 
In ruin, even as he had seen the desolate sight ; 

XLV. 

Por Time hath not rebuilt them, but uprear'd 
Barbaric dwellings on their shattered site, 
Which only make more moum'd and more endear'd 
The few last rays of their far-scatter'd light, 
And the crush*d relics of their vanish'd might. 
The Roman saw these tombs in his own age. 
These sepulchres of cities, which excite 
Sad wonder, and hfs yet surviving page 
The moral lesson bears, drawn from such pilgrimage. 

XLVI. 

That page is jpow before me, and on mine 
Sis country's ruin added to the mass 
Of perish'd states he moum'd in their decline. 
And I in desolation : all that was 
Of then destruction is ; and now, alas ! 
Rome— Rome imperial, bows her to the storm. 
In the same dust and blackness, and we pass 
The skeleton of her Titanic form,« 
Wrecks of another world, whose ashes still are warm. 

XLVII. 

Yet, Italy ! through every other land 
Thy wrongs should ring, and shall, from side to side ; 
Mother of arts ! as once of arms ; thy hand 
Was then our guardian, and is still our guide ; 
Parent of our Religion ! whom the wide 
Nations have knelt to for the keys of heaven ! 
Europe, repentant of her pairidde, 
Shall yet redeem thee, and, all backward driven, 
Boll the barbarian tide, and sue to be forgiven. 



XLVin. 



But Amo wins as to the fair white wiHb, 
Where the Etrurian Athens claims and keeps 
A softer feeling for her fairy halls. 
Oirt by her theatre of hiUs, she reaps 
Her com, and wine, and oil, and Plenty leaps 
To laughing life, with her redundant horn. 
Along the banks where smiling Amo sweeps, 
Was modem Luxury of Commerce bom. 
And buried Learning rose, tedeem'd to a nsw mom 

XLIX. 

There, too, the GkxUless loves in stdftSi and fiUa ■ 
The air around with beauty ; we inhale 
The ambrosial aspect, which, beheld, instils 
Part of Its immortality ; the veil 
Of heaven is half undrawn ; within the pale 
We stand, and in that form and faoe behold 
What mind can make, when Nature's self would 
And to the fond idolaters of old [fail ; 

Envy the innate flesh which such a sonl could mould : 

L. 

We gaze and turn away, and know not where. 
Dazzled and dnmk with beauty, till the heart 
Reels with its fulness ; there — ^for ever there — 
Chain'd to the chariot of triumphal Art, 
We stand as captives, and would not depart. 
Away ! — ^there need no words, nor terms precise. 
The paltry jargon of the marble mart. 
Where Pedantry gulls Folly — ^we have eyes : 
Blood— pulse— and breast, confirm the Dardan Shep- 
herd's prise. 

LI. 

Appear'dst thou not in Paris in this guise ? 
Or to more deeply blest Ancbises ? or. 
In all thy perfect goddess-ship, when lies 
Before thee thy own vanquish'd Lord of War ? 
And gazing in thy face as toward a star. 
Laid on thy lap, his eyes to thee upturn. 
Feeding on thy sweet cheek ! ^ while thy lips are 
With lava kisses melting while they bum, 
Shower'd on his eyelids, brow, and mouth, as from 
an urn! 

LII. 

. Glowing, and circumfused in speechless love, 
Their full divinity inadequate 
That feeling to express, or to improve, 
The gods become as mortals, and man's fate 
Has moments like their brightest; but the weight 
Of earth recoils upon us :— let it go ! 
We can recall such visions, and create, [grow 
From what has been, or might be, things whick 

Into thy statue's form, and look like gods below. 

LIII. 

X leave to leamed fingers, 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 : [stream 
I would not their vile breath should crisp the 
Wherein that image shall for ever dwell ; 
The unmfl9ed mirror of the loveliest dream 
That ever left the sky on the deep sonl to beam 



CHILDB HABOU^ PXLOSDfAOB 



UV. 



I lAidi make H hoHer, diut whtch Sa 
Bvn m itself an immortaiity. 
Thoagih tkere were nething save the past, and thlii 
Ike partiele of thoae aQbUmitiflB 
'WUeh bATB relapsed to duos ><-4kere repose 
ABgato**, AMcri's bones, and his,** 
The stany Oalileo, with his woes ; 
Bae MaaldsrdK's eoxth i«tarn*d to whence it rose.** 

LV. 

These are fimr minds, iriiich, like the elements, 
IGght famish forth creation :-^Ital7 ! [rents 

Thne, which h&di wrong'd thee with ten thousand 
Of thine imperial garment, shall deny. 
And hath denied^ to erery other sky, 
Spirits which soar firom min >— thy decay 
Is still impiegnate with divinity, 
Which gilds it with reyiTifying ray ; 
AidL aa the great of yore, CanoTa is to-day. 

LVL 

B«t wiiera repose tiie all Btmsoan three- 
Dante, and Petrarch, and, scarce less than they, 
The Bard of Prose, creative spirit ! he 
Of the Hundred Tales of loTc-^here did they lay 
Their bones, distinguish*d from our common day 
la death as life ? Are they resolved to dust, 
And have their country's marbles nought to say ? 
Could not her quarxies furnish forth one bust ? 
Dil Ihey not to her breast their filial earth intrust ? 

LVII. 

UqgratsAil Florenoe I 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 
VfiA. the remorse of ages ; and the crown ■ 
Ifhieh Petrarch's laureate brow supremrly wore, 
Upon a tax and foreign soil had grown, 
Bia life, his lame, his grave, though rifled^-not thine 
own* 

Lvin. 

Boeeaedo to his parent earth bequeath'd * 
His dust,— «nd Ues it now her Oreat among, 
Vnthmany a sweet and solemn requiem breathed 
O'er him who form'd the Tuscan's siren tongue ? 
That musie in itself, whose sounds are song. 
The poetry of speech ? No ;~even his tomb 
TJptoni, must bear the hysna bigot's wrong, 
Vo more amidst the meaner dead find room, 
Hor daim a passing sigh, because it told for wham ! 

LIX. 

And Santa Crooe wants their mighty dost, 
TetlbrtUa want more noted, as of yore 
The Casar's pageant, shorn of Brutus' bust, 
Did bat of Bome's beat Son remind her more: 
HappBcr Bavsoma i on thy hoary shore, 
Portress of felling empire I honor'd deeps 
The immertal exile ;— Arqua, too, her store 
Of tonefol relics proudly daims and keeps. 
While Florence vainly begs her banish'd dead and 



LX. 



What is her pyramid of predous stones ?*• 
Of phorphyiy, jasper, agate, and all hues 
Of gem and marble, to encrust the bones 
Ofmerchant^dukes? the momentary dews 
Which, sparklmg to the twilight stars, inftise 
Freshness in the green turf that wraps the dead. 
Whose names are the mausoleums of the muse. 
Are gently prest with far mora reverent tread 
Than ever paced tiie slab which paves the ptiaoito 
head. 

LXL 

There be more things to greet tie heart and eysa 
In Amo's dome of Arf s most princely shrine. 
Where Seolpture with her rainbow aister vies ; 
There be more marvels yet— but not for mind; 
For I have been accustom'd to entwine 
My thoughts with Nature nther in the fields, 
Than Art in galleries : though a work divine 
Calls for my spirit's homage, yet it yields 
Less than it feels, beeavse the weapon which it wiallt 

LXU. 

Is of another temper, and I roam 
By Thrasimene's lake, in the defiles 
Fatal to Roman rashness, more at home, 
For there the Carthaginian's warlike wiles 
Come back before me, as his skill beguiles 
The host between the mountains and the shore. 
Where Courage falls in her despairing files. 
And torrents, swoln to rivers with their gore, 
Beek through the sultry plain, with legions scatter'd 
o'er 

LXIIL 

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 red'd unheedingly away 1 * 
None fdt stem Nature rocking at his feet. 
And yawning forth a grave for those who lay 
Upon their bucklen for a winding sheet ; 
Such is the absorbing hate when warring nations 



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, reclTd not of the awe [Urda 
Which reigns when mountains tremble, and tha 
Plunge in the clouds for refuge and withdraw 
From their down-toppling nests ; and bellowing 

herds 
Stumbling o'er heaving plains, and man's dread hath 

no words. 

LXV. 

Far other scene is Thrasimene now ; 
Her lake a sheet of silver, and her plain 
Rent by no ravage save the gentle plough ; 
Her aged trees rise thick as once the slain 
Lay where their roots are ; but a brook hath ta*e&- 
A Uttle riU of scanty stream and bed— 
A name of blood from that day's sanguine raia* 
And Sanguinetto tdls ye where the dead 
Made the earth wet, and tnm'd the unwilling wat«t 
red. 



54 



BYEON'S WORKS. 



LXVI. 



But thou, CUtunmus ! in thy sweetest ware^^ 
Of the most living crystal that was e'er 
The haunt of riTer nymph, to gaze and lave 
Her limbs where nothing hid them, thou dost rear 
Thy grassy banks whereon tho 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 minor and a bath for Beauty's youngest daugh- 
ters! 

LXVII. 

And on thy happy shore a temple still, ^ 
Of small and deUcate proportion, keeps, 
Upon a mild declivity of hill, 
Its memory of thee ; beneath it sweeps 
Thy current's calmness ; oft from out it leaps 
The finny darter with the glittering scales, 
Who dwells and revels in thy glassy deeps ; 
While, chance, some scatter'd water-lily sails 
Down where the shallower wave still tells its bub- 
bling tales. 

LXVin. 

Pass not unblest the Genius of the place ! 
If through the air a zephyr more serene 
Win to the brow, 'tis his ; and if ye trace 
Along his margin a more eloquent green. 
If on the heart the freshness of the scene 
Sprinkle its coolness, and from the dry dust 
Of weary Ufe a moment lave it clean 
With Nature's baptism,— 'tis to him ye must 
Pay orisons for this suspension of disgust. 

LXIX. 

The roar of waters ! from the headlong height 
Velino cleaves the wave-worn precipice ; 
The fall of waters ! rapid as the light 
The flashing mass foams shaking the abyss ; 
The hell of waters ! where they howl and hiss, 
And boil in endless torture ; while the sweat 
Of their great agony, wrung out from this 
Their Phlegethon, curls round the rocks of jet 
That girds the gulf around, in pitiless horror set, 

LXX. 

And mounts in spray the skies, and thence again 
Returns in an unceasing shower, which round. 
With its unemptied ck>ud of gentle rain. 
Is an eternal April to the ground, 
Making it all one emerald : — ^how profound 
The gulf! and how the giant element 
From rock to rock leaps with delirious bound. 
Crushing the cliffs, which, downward worn and rent 
With his fierce footsteps, yield in chasms a fearfHil 
tent 

LXXI. 

To the broad column which rolls on, and shows 
More like the fountain of an infant sea 
Tom from the womb of mountains by the throes 
Of a new world, than only thus to be 
Parent of rivers, which flow gushingly, [back ! 
With many windings, through the vale : — Look 
Lo ! where it comes like an eternity, 
As if to sweep down all things in its track, 
Cluurming the eye with dread. —a matchless cata- 
racf 



LXXII. 



Horribly beautiful ! but on the verge, 
From side to side, beneath the glittering i 
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 'n'ith all their beams unshotll ; 
Besembling, 'mid the torture of the scene. 
Love watching Madness with unalterable mien. 

Lxxni. 

Once more upon the woody Apcnnine, 
The infant Alps, which— had I not before 
Gazed on their mightier parents, where the pine 
Sits on more shaggy summits, and where roar 
The thundering lauwine— might be worshipped 

more : * 
But I have seen the soaring Jungfrau rear 
Her never trodden snow, and seen the hoar 
Glaciers of bleak Mount-Blanc both far and new. 
And in Chimari heard the thunder-hillfl of fear« 

LXXIV. 

Th' Acroceraunian mountains of old name ; 
And on Parnassus seen the eagles fly 
Like spirits of the spot, as 'twere for fame. 
For still they soar'd unutterably high ; 
I've look'd on Ida with a Trojan's eye ; 
Athos, Olympus, -Etna, Atlas, made 
These hills seem things of lesser dignity, 
All, save the lone Soracte's heights display'd 
Not wno in snow, which asks the lyrio Eoman's aid 

LXXT. 

For OUT remembrance, and from out the plain 
Heaves like a long-swept wave about to break, 
And on the curl hangs pausing : not in vain 
May he, who will, tiis recollections rake 
And quote in classic raptures, and awake 
The hills with Latian echoes ; I abhorr'd 
Too much, to conquer for the poet's sake, 
The drill'd dull lesson, forced down word by Wcffd* 
In my repugnant youth, with pleasure to record 

LXXVI. 

Aught that recalls the daily drug which tam'd 
My sickening memory; and, though Time hath 
My mind to meditate what then it leam'd, [taught 
Yet such the flx'd inveteracy wrought 
By the impatience of my early thought, 
That, with the freshness wearing out beAne 
My mind could relish what it might have BO«ight< 
If free to choose, I cannot now restore 
Its health ; but what it then detested, stiU abhor. 

LXXVIL 

Then farewell, Horace ; whom I hated io, 
Not for thy faults, but mine ; it fs a cane 
To understand, not feel thy lytic flow, 
To comprehend, but never lore thy verse, 
Although no deeper moralist rehearse 
Our little life, nor Bard prescribe his art, 
Nor livelier Satirist the consdenee pierce, 
Awakening without wounding the touoh'd 
Yet fare thee well— upon Soracte's ridge we part. 



fmiTJW SAJKHiDV PSMBDCAOB. 



IXlVlll. 

tkeiKpliaiM of th0 heut mast tun to tfaM» 
Lone mother of dead empires ! and ooatrol 
In their shut breasts their pettj misery. 
What are oxir woes and Boffeocaace? Come and see 
The ejprees, hear the owl, and plod your way 
O'er steps of broken thrones and temples, Ye I 
Whose agonies are etiU of a day— 
IvQEld is at our feet as fragile as oar clay. 

LXXIX. 

The Kiohe of antioDs I there she stands 
Childlefls and crownless, in her voiceless wo. 
An empty urn, within her wither*d hands. 
Whose holy dost was scattered long ago ; 
The Sdpio's tomb contains no ashes aow ; ^ 
The Tery sepnlchres lie teaantless 
Of their heroic dwellers : dost thoa flow, 
Old Tiber I thxongh a marble wilderness ? 
Bms, vith thy yellow waves, and mantle her distress. 

LXXX. 

The GoA, the Christiaa, Time, War, Floed, and 
JP5re, 

HsTs dealt apon the seren-hiU*d city's pride; 
She saw her glories star by star expire. 
And ap the steep barbarian monarchs ride. 
Where the car dimb'd the capitol ; far and wide 
Tcn^le and tower went down, nor left a site >- 
Chaos of rains ! who shall trace the Toid, 
O'er the dim fragments cast a lanar light, 
And say, "here was, or is," where all is doably 
Bight? 

LXXXL 

The doable aight of ages, and of her, 
Kight's danghter, Igaoraace, hath wrapt and wzmp 
All roond as ; we but feel oar way to err: 
The oceaa hath his chart, the stars theb map, 
And Knowledge spreads them oa her ample lap ; 
Bat Rome is as the desert, where we steer 
Stombling o'er recoUectioas ; now we clap 
Oar hands, and cry '* Eareka ! " it is clear— 
When bat some false mirage of rain rises near. 

LXXXJDL 

Alas ! the lofty city ! and alas ! 
The trebly hundred triumphs I ^ and the day 
When Brutus made the dagger's edge surpass 
The conqueror's sword in bearing fame away ! 
Alas, for Tally's Toice, and Virgil's lay, 
And Liry's pictured page !— but these shall be 
Heriesnrrectioa ; all beside — decay. 
Alas, for Earth, for never shall we see 
Xhat hcightness in her eye she bore when Rome was 
free! 

Lxxxm. 

Oh, thoa, whose chariot roU'd on Fortune's wheel,^ 
Trimnphant Sylla ! Thoa, who didst sabdae 
Thy couatiy's foes ere thoa woaldst pause to feel 
The «iath of thy own wrongs, or reap the due 
Of hoarded vengeance till thine eagles flew 
O'er prostrate Asia ;— thoa, who with thy frown 
Annihilated seaates-^Bonum, too. 
With an thy vices, for thoa didst lay down 
With sn atoning smile a more than esxtbly crown— 



LXXZIY. 

The dietsloiial wzoaQi,^^ioiddst thoa dHtod 
To what woald one day dwindle thai whioh nada 
Thee moffe than auvtal? and that so sapia* 
By aa^tthaa Romans Rome should thus be laid 9 
She who was named Etoraal, aad aitay'd 
Her warriors bat to eoaqacar— ehe who voil'd 
Earth with her haaghty shadow, aad display'd* 
Uatil the o'creaaopied horiaoii foil'd. 
Her rashiag iriago— Oh! ahe who was AlaOi^ 
haU'd! 

LXXXY. 

SjOm was flnt of victors ; bat oar own 
Tho aagest of asarpcn, Cromwell ; he 
Too swept off seaates while he hew'd the throat 
Dowa to a block— immortal rebel ! See 
What crimes it costs to bo a moment free 
And frmous through ail agea I butbeaeath 
His fiite the moral lurks of destiny ; 
His day of doable victory and death 
Beheld him wia two realms, aad, happier, yield ait 
broath. 

LXXXYI. 



The third of the same mooa whose ftnmer i 
Had all bat crowa'd him, oa the selframe day 
Deposed him gently flrom his throae of force. 
And laid him with the earth's preceding day.^ 
Aad show'd not Fortune thus how frune aad sway 
And all we deem delightful, and coasame 
Our souls to compass through each arduous way. 
Are in her eyes less happy than the tomb ? 
Were they bat so ia man's, how difiereat were bli 
dooBL 

LXXXVU. 

Aad thoa, Aread statael yet exist ia^ 
The aasterest form of asked migesty, 
Thoa who beheld'st 'mid the assassins' dia. 
At thy bathed base the bloody CsMsr Ue, 
Folding hlB robe ia dyiag dignity, 
Aa offering to thine altar from the qaeea 
Of gods and men, great Nemesis ! did he die» 
And thou, too, perish, Pompey ? have ye been 
Yictns of coanUess kings, or puppets of a soene) 



Lxxxvra. 

And thoa, the thaader-strickea aarse of Rome!* 
She-wolf! whose teasea-imaged dags impart 
The aiilk of conquest yet within the dome 
Where, as a monument of antique art. 
Thou standest :— Mother of the nughty haart» 
Which the great founder suck'd from thy wild teat, 
Scorch'd by the Roman Jove's etherial dart, 
And thy limbs black with lightning— dost thoa yet 
Ouard thine immortal cubs, nor thy fond ohaige 
forget? 

LXXXIX. 

Thoa doat ;— bat all thy foster babes are dea^-^ 
The men of iron ; and the world hath rear'd 
Cities from out their sepalchres : men bled 
In imitation of the things they fesr'd, [steet'd 
And fought and conquer'd, and the ssme oonzse 
At apish distance ; but as yet aoae have, 
Nor oould, the same supremacy have aear'd, 
Save one vaia man, who is not in the grave, 
Bat, vaaqaish'd by himself, to his owa slavaa a 
slave— 



56 



BYBOK'S WOBX& 



XC. 



The fool of false dominion— and a kind 
Of bastard Ccesar, following him of old 
With steps unequal : for the Roman's mind 
Wbb 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 seemed 
At Cleopatra's feet,— and now himself he beam'd. 

XCI. 

And came— and saw— and conquered ! But the man 
Who would have tamed his eagles down to flee, 
like a train'd falcon, in the Gallic van, 
Which fie, in sooth, long led to victory. 
With a deaf heart which never seem'd to be 
A listener to itself, was strangely framed ; 
With but one weakest weakness — ^vanity. 
Coquettish in ambition— still he aim'd — 
At what? can he avouch-^-or answer what he 
claim'd ? 

XCII. 

And would be all or nothing^-nor could wait 
For the sure grave to level him ; few years 
Had fix'd him with the Caesars in his fate 
On whom we tread : For this the conqueror 
The arch of triumph ! and for this the tears 
And blood of earth flow on as they have flow'd, 
An universal deluge, which a|»pear8 
Without an ark for wretched man's abode. 
And ebbs but to reflow !— Renew thy rainbow, God ! 

xcm. 

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

XCIV. 

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

XCV. 

I speak not of men's creeds — ^they rest between 
Man and his Maker,— but of things allow'd, 
Aver'd and known,— and daily, hourly seen— 
The yoke that is upon us doubly bow'd, 
And the intent of tyranny avoVd, . 
The edict of Earth's rulers, who are grown 
The apes of him who humbled once the proud, 
And shook them from their slumbers on the throne ; 
Too glorious, were this all his mighty aim had done. 



XCVI. 



Can tyrants but by tyrants coaqmf'd be, 
And Freedom find no champion and no child 
Such as Columbia saw arise when she 
Sprung forth a Pallas, arm'd and undefiled ? 
Or must such minds be nourish'd in the wild, 
Beep in the impruned forest, 'midst the roar 
Of cataracts, where nursing Nature smiled 
On infant Washington ? Has Earth no more 
Such seeds within her breast, or Europe na laok 
shore? 

XCVIL 

But France got drunk witii blood to vomit cximt^ 
And fatal have her Saturnalia been 
To Freedom's cause, in every age and clime ; 
Because the deadly days which we have seen. 
And vile Ambition, that built up between 
Man and his hopes an adamantine wall, 
And the base pageant last upon the scene, 
Are grown the pretext for the eternal thrall 
Which nips life's tree, and dooms man's wont— his 
second fall. 

XCVIIL 

Yet, Freedom ! yet thy banner, torn, but flying. 
Screams like the thunder-storm Offoinsi the wind; 
The trumpet voice, though broken now and dying, 
The loudest still the tempest leaves behind ; 
Thy tree hath lost its blossoms, and the rind, 
Chopp'd by the axe, looks rough and little worth. 
But the sap lasts, — and still the seed we find 
Sown deep, even in the bosom of the North ; 
So shall a better spring less bitter iruit bring forth. 

XCIX. 

There is a stem 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 ? within its cave 
What treasure lay so lock'd, so hid ? — ^A woman's 
grave. 

C. 

But who was she, the lady of the dead, 
Tomb'd in a palace ? was she chaste and fair ? 
Worthy a king's— or more— a Roman's bed ? 
What race of chiefs and heroes did she bear ? 
What daughter of her beauties was the heir ? 
How lived — ^how loved — ^how died she ? Was shs 
So honor'd — and conspicusly there, [not 

Where meaner relics must not dare to rot. 
Placed to commemorate a more than mortal lot ? 

CI. 

Was she as those who love their lords, or they 
Who love the lords of others ? such havo been 
Even in the olden time, Rome's annals say. 
Was she a matron of Cornelia's mien. 
Or the light air of Egypt's graceful queen. 
Profuse of 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 griefjB ?— for such theafiba 
tionsare. 



CKILDB BAMUrS FXLOBIIUOS. 



« 



(SL 



Wltb woes Hr beaTiar thftn the ponderous tomb 
Snt weigh'd upon her gentle diut, a dond 
Higkt gather o*er her beantj, and a gloom 
la her dark eye, prophetie of tiie doom 
Haaren giToa its fiiToritee e a rly death ; yet ihed^ 
A simsei chann anrand her, and Oltune 
^th heetio li^t, the Hesperos of the dead* 
Ofber '"■>-"-*"g oheefc the antnmaal leaf-Uke nd. 



om. 

Pfvdianoe she died in age— svrTiring aU, 
Channsy kindred, children— with the silTer gray 
On her long tresses, which might yet recall, 
It may he, still a something of the day 
When they were braided, end her proud array 
And lorely form were enned, praised, and eyed 
By Rome— Bat whither would Conjecture stray ? 
Tims madk alone we know— Motella died, 
fhe wealthiest Soman's wife; behold his love or 

CIV. 

I know not why bu t standing thus by thee, 
It seems ss if I had thine inmate known, 
Thoatomb! and other days oome hack on me 
With recollected music, thongh the tone 
Is dianged and solemn, like the cloudy grosn 
Of dying thunder on the distant wind i 
Yet could I eeat me by this ivied stone 
TOl I had bodied forth the heated mind 
PcKBs from the flowing wreck which Buin leaves 
behind; 

CV. 

And ikon the planks, fu shattar'd o'er the xo^», 
Built me a little bark of hope, once more 
To battle with the ocean and the shocks 
Of the loud breakers, and the ceaselese roar 
Which rushes on the solitary shore 
Where all lies founder'd that was ever dear : 
But could I gather from the wuTe-wom store 
Enough for my rude boat, where should I steer ? 
Chen woos no home, nor hope, nor life, ssTe what 

is here. 

CVL 

Then let tiie winds howl on ! thefarhsimony 
Iftan henceforth be my music, and the night 
The sound shsll temper with the owlets' cry. 
As I now hear them, in the feding light 
IMm o'er the bird of darkness' native site, 
Answexittg each other on the Pa^tine, [bright. 
With their large eyes, all glistening gray and 
And sailing junions.— Upon such a shrine 
What are our petty griefs ?-4et me not number 

cvn. 

Cypi e w snd ivy, weed and waBflower groim 
Hatted and mass'd together, hillocks heap'd 
On what were ehambers, arch cmsh'd, cohunn 

strewn fsteep'd 

In fragments, choked up tsuHs, and frescoes 
In subterranean damps, where the owl peq>'d, 
Deeming it midnight: — Temides, baths, or hsUs ? 
Pnmounoe who esn ; fior all that Learning reap'd 
Fmn her resesrdi hath been, that these arewaUs— 
BdioM the Imperial Mount 1 'tis thus the mighty 

frais.« 
R 



CVIU. 



There is tiie moral of aU human tales;** 
TiB but the same rehearsal of the past, 
first Freedom, and then Glory— when that laikt 
Wealth, vice, corruption,— barbaiiim at last. 
And History, with all her volumes vast. 
Hath but ONs page,— 'tis better written here, 
Where gorgeous Tyranny had thus amass'd 
All treasures, all delighti, that eye or ear, 
Heart, soul could seek, tongue aak— Away wiA 
words 1 draw near, 

CIX. 

Admire, exult— despise— laugh, weep,— for here 
There is such matter for all feeling : — ^Man I 
Thou pendulum betwixt a smile and tear, 
Ages and realms are crowded in this span, 
This mountain, whose obliterated plan 
The pyramid of empires pinnacled. 
Of Glory's gewgags shining in the van 
Till the sun's rays with added flame were flll'd I 
Where are its golden roofs ? where those who dsred 
to build? 

ex. 

TuUy was not so eloquent as thou. 
Thou nameless column with the buried base ! 
What are the laurels of the Cesar's brow i 
Crown me with ivy from his dwelling-place. 
Whose arch or piUar 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 sob- 
lime,» 

CXI. 

Buried in air, the deep blue sky of Borne, 
And looking to the etars : they had contain'd 
A spirit which with these would And a home 
The last of those who o'er the whole earth reign'd. 
The Roman globe, for after none sustain'd. 
But yielded back his conquests :— he was more 
Than a mere Alexander, and, unstain'd. 
With household blood and wine, serenely were 
His sovereign virtues— still we Tn^aa's name 
adore.** 

CXII. 

Where is the rock of Triumph, the high place 
Where Rome embraced her heroes ? where the 
Tarpeian ? fittest goal of Treason's race, [ste«p 
The promontory whence the Traitor's le^ 
Cured all ambition. Did the oonquerers heap 
Their spoils here ? Tes ; and in yon field below, 
A thousand years of silenced factions sleep— 
The Forum, where the immortal aeeents g^ow. 
And still the eloquant air breathes— buns wttk 
Cicero I 

cxm. 

The field of freedom, faction, fame, and blood : 
Here a proud ]MOple*s passions were ei haled. 
From the first hour of empire in the bud 
To that when further worlds to conquer ftdl'd ; 
But long before had freedom's face been veO'd^ 
And Anarchy assumed her attributes ; 
Till every lawless soldier who assail'd 
Trod on the^tren^Ung senate's slavish mutes 
Or raised the venal voice of baser p rosti tu tes 



BYBOSrS wosss. 



CXIV. 



Then tozn we to her latest tribime'a name, 
From her ten thousand tyrants turn to thee, 
Redeemer of dark centuries of shame — 
The friend of Petrarch — ^hope of Italy— 
Bienzi ! last of Romans ! While the tree» 
Of freedom's ^thered 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-bom Numa thou — with reign, alas ! too 
brief. 

cxv. 

Egeira ! sweet creation of some heart ■* 
Which found no mortal-resting-place so fair 
As thine ideal breast ; whate'cr thou art 
Or wert, — a young Aurora of the air, 
The nympholepsy of some fond despair i 
Or, it might be, a beauty of the earth. 
Who found a more than common votary there 
Too much adoring ; whatsoe'er thy birth, 
Ihou wert a beautiful thought, and softly bodied 
forth. 

CXVI. 

The mosses of thy fountain still are sprinkled 
With thine Elysion water drops ; the &ce 
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 ; nor must the delicate waters sleep, 
Prison'd in marble, bubbling from the base 
Of the cleft statue, with a gentle leap 
The rill runs o'er, and round, fern, flowers, and 
ivy creep 

CXVII. 

Fantastically tangled ; the green hills 
Are clothed with early blossoms, through the grass 
The quick-eyed lizard rustles, and the bills 
Of summer-birds sing welcome as ye pass; 
Flowers fresh in hue, and many in their class 
Implore the pausing step, and with their dyes 
Dance in the soft breeze in a fairy mass ; 
The sweetness of the violet's deep blue eyes, 
Kiss'd by the breath of heaven, seems color'd by its 
skies. 

CXVIIL 

Here didst thou dwell, in this enchanted cover, 
Egeria ! thy aU heavenly bosom beating 
For the far footsteps of thy mortal lover ; 
The purple Midnight veil'd that mystic meeting 
With her most starry canopy, and seating 
Thyself by thine adorer, what befell ? 
This eave was surely shaped out for the greeting 
Of an enamoured Goddess, and the cell 
Haimtcd by holy Love— the earliest oracle I 

CXIX. 

And didst thou not, thy breast to his replying. 
Blend a celestial with a human heart; 
And Love, which dies as it was bom, in sighing. 
Share with immortal transports ? could thine art 
Hake them indeed immortal, and impart 
The purity of heaven to earthly joys. 
Expel the venom and not blunt the dar^— 
The dull satiety which all destroys— 
|Lnd root from out the soul the deadly weed which 
cloys? 



CSX, 



Alas! our young affections run to waste* 
Or water but the desert ; whence azise 
But weeds of dark luxuriance, tares of haste, 
Rank at the core, though tempting to the eyes* 
Flowers whose wild odors breathe but agoniee» 
And trees whose gums are poison ; such the pltti-« 
Which spring beneath her steps as Passion flies 
O'er the world's wilderness, and vainly pants 
For some celestial fruit forbidden to our wants. 

• CXXL 
Oh Love ? no habitant of earth thou ar^-> 
An ufnseen 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 phantasy, 
And to a thought such shape and image given. 
As haunts the unqucnch'd soul — parch'd — ^weaiied-« 
wrung — and riven. 

CXXII. 
Of its own beauty is the mind diseased, 
And fevers into false creation :— where, 
Where are the forms the sculptor's soul hath seized ? 
In him alone. Can Nature show so fair ? 
Where are the charms and virtues which we dare 
Conceive in boyhood and pursue as men. 
The unreach'd Paradise of our despair, 
Which o'er-informs the pencil and the pen, 
And overpowers the page where it would bloom 
again? 

CXXIII. 

Who lores, raves— 'tis youth's frenzy^-bnt Uie curs 
Is bitterer still ; as charm by charm unwind 
Which robed our idols, and we see too sure 
Nor worth nor beauty dwells from out the mind's 
Ideal shape of such ; yet still it binds 
The fatal spell, and still it draws us on, 
Reaping the whirlwind from the oft-sown winds ; 
The stubborn heart, its alchemy begun. 
Seems ever near the prize— wealthiest when most' 
undone. 

CXXIV. 

We wxtiter from our youth, we ga^ awsy^- 
Sick — sick ; nnfound the boon— unalak'd the tiilrsSt, 
Though to the last, in verge of our decay. 
Some phantom lures, such as we sought at firsts* 
But all too late, — so are we doubly curst. 
Love, fame, ambition, avarice — 'tis the same, 
Each idle — and aU ill— and none the worst — 
For all are meteors with a diflisrent name. 
And Death the sable smoke where vanishes the 
flame. 

cxxv. 

Few^-^one-Hlfaid what they love or eonld httvs 

loved. 
Though accident, blind contact, and the strong 
Necessity of loving, have removed 
Antipathiee— but to recur, ere long, 
Envenom'd with irrevocable wrong ; 
And Circumstanoe, that unspiritnal god 
And miscreator, makes and helps along 
Our coming evils with a eruteh-4ike rod, 
Whose touch turns Hope to diist,-^the dust we sfl 

have trod. 



OHiu» HABou>« raMttouca. 



CXXTL 

OvlHb is a ft^be m itiue * tli not in 

The kannony of tiungs,— tiiis hard doc»6» 

Tldi nngradieablo taint of tin, 

nil bonndloatnpas, this all-blasting tree, 

Wlioae root it earth, whoM leavee and branohMbo 

The skies whieh rain their plaguee on men like 



Disease, deati), bondage— all the woes we 

And worse, the woes we see not-^rhich thiob 



Ihs immedicable sonl, with heart-aehss ersr nsw. 

cxxvn. 

Tet let na ponder boldljr— 'tis a base'' 
Abandonment of reason to resign 
Oar light of thought— our last and only plaee 
Of lefiage; this, at least, shall still be mine : 
Thoogh from onr birth the faculty diTine 
Is chain'd and tortored— eabin'd, ctibb'd, confined, 
And bred in darkness, lest the truth should shine 
Too bristly cm the nnprepszed mind, 
The besm povn in, for time and skill will eonch the 
blind. 

cxxvm. 

Aldus on arches ! as it weare that Bome, 
CoOeeting the chief trophies of her line, 
Woald bwdld np all her triumphs in <me dome, 
Hev Colisewn stands ; the moonbeams shine 
As 'twere its natural torches, for divine 
Shoiddbe the light which streams here, to illome 
This loag^explored bat still exhaustless mine 
Of contemplation ; and the asore gloom 
Of an Italian night, where the deep skies 



CXXIX. 

floes which have words, and speak to ye of hcaren, 
Floats o'er this rast and wondrous monument, 
And shadows forth its glory. There is giyen 
TJnto the things of the earth, whieh Time hathbcnt, 
A spirit's feeling, and where he hath leant 
Bm hand, but broke his scythe, there is a power 
And magic in the roin'd battlement, 
For which the palace of the present hour 
Host yield its pomp, and wait till ages are its down. 

CXXX. 

Oh'nme! the beasltter of the dead, 
Adomer oi the ruin, comforter 
And only healer when the heart hath bled*> 
Time ! the corrector where our judgments enr. 
The test of truth, lore,— «ole philosopher, 
For all beside are sophists, from thy thriit, 
'Whish never loses though it doth defer— 
Thae, the arenger ! unto thee I lift 
My hands, and eyes, and heart, and cmfo of thee a 
gift: 

CXXXL 

Anidst this wreck, where thou hast made ashrine 
And temple more ditinely desolate. 
Among tiiy ndghtiear oiMngt here are mine, 
Snins of yesr»--^oiigh f^, yet ihll of fhte >-* 
If ^loo hast eror seen me too elate, 
0earmenot; bstif calmly I have borne 
Good, and reserred my pnde agalnot the hate 
Whieh diall not whefan me, let me not hare worn 
This iron in my soul in Tain— shalllAsy not mourn ? 



amiL 

And inoii, wne now yet of human wrong 
Left the unbalanced scale, great Nemesis ! *• * 
Here, where the sncient paid thee homage long^ 
Thou who didst call the Furies flrom the abyss, 
And round Orestes bade them howl and hiss. 
For that unnatural retribution— ^'ust. 
Had it but been from hands less neai^— in tUs 
Thy former realm, I call thee from the dust ! 
Dost thou not hear my heart ?->Awake I thoa shalti 



cxxxm. 

It is not that I may not hare incurred 
For my ancestral foults or mine the wound 
I bleed withal, and, had it been confeir'd 
With a just weapon, it had flow'd unbound ; 
3ut now my blood shall not sink in the ground; 
To thee I do derote it— Mov shalt take [found. 
The Tengeance, which shall yet be sought and 
Which if / hsTO not taken for the sak e 
But let that pass I sleep, but thou shalt yet awake 

CXXXIV. 

And if my Toioe break forth, 'tit not that noir 
I shrink from what a suffered : let him speak 
Who hath beheld decline upon my brow, 
Or seen my mind's couTulsion leave it weak ; 
But in this page a record will I seek. 
Not in the air shall these my words diqwrae. 
Though I be ashes ; a far hour shall wreak 
The deep prophetic ftilneas of this verse. 
And pile on human heads the mountain of my curse 1 

cxxxv. 

That eurse shall be Forgiveness. — ^Have I not— 
Hear me, my mother Earth ! behold it, Heaven!— 
Have I not had to wrestle with my lot ? 
Have I not sufrcr*d things to be forgiven ? 
Have I not had my brain seor'd, my heart riven, 
Hopes sapp'd, name blighted, Life's life lied away I 
And only not to desperation driven, 
Because not altogether of such clay 
As rots into the souls of those whom I survey. 

CXXXVI. 

From mighty wrongs to petty perfidy 
Have I not seen what human tiungs could do i 
From the loud roar of foaming calumny 
To the smaU whisper of tiie as paltry few. 
And subtler venom of the reptile erew, 
The Janus glance of whose significant eye, 
lieaming to lie with silence, would sssm Inoi 
And without utterance, save the shrug ot §1^ 
Deal round to happy fools its speechless obloquy, 

CXXXYIL 

But I have lived, and have not lived in vdn : 
My mind nuy lose its force, my blood its fire, 
And my tnme perish even in conquering pain ; 
But there ii that within me which shall tire 
Torture and Time, and breathe when I expire; 
Something unearthly, which they deem not of, 
like the remember'd tone of a mute lyre, 
Shall on their soften'd spirits sink, and move 
In hearti all rooky now the late remorse of love. 



eo 



BTBON'S WQBIC8. 



cxxxvm. 



The seal is set.— 'Now welcoyne, thou dread power ! 
Nameless, yet thus omnipotent, which here 
Walk'st in the shadow of the midnight hour 
T^ith a deep awe, yet all distinct from fear ; 
Thy haunts are ever where the dead walls rear 
Their ivy mantles, and the solemn scene 
Derives from thee a sense so deep and clear 
That we become a part of what has been, 
ibid grow unto the spot, all-seeing but unseen. 

CXXXIX. 

And here the buzz of eager nations ran, 
In murmur'd pity, or loud-roar'd applause, 
As man was slaughtered by his fellow-man. 
And wherefore slaughter'd ? wherefore, but because 
Such were the bloody Circus' genial laws. 
And the imperial pleasure. — ^Whercfore not ? 
What matters where we fall to fill the maws 
Of worms — on battle-plains or listed spot ? 
Both are but theatres where the chief actors rot. 

CXL. 

I tee 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, 
0re ceased the inhuman shout which hail*d the 
wretch who won. 

CXLI. 

He heard it, but he heeded not— his eyes 
Were with his heart, and that was far away. 
He reck'd not of the life he lost nor prize, 
But where his rude hut by the Danube lay, 
J%ere were, his young barbarians all at play, 
There was their Dacian mother, — ^he, their sire, 
Butcher 'd to make a Roman holiday — *> 
AH this rush'd with his blood— Shall he expire 
And unavenged ? — ^Arise ! ye Goths, and glut your 
ire! 

CXLII. 

But here, where Murder breathed her bloody steam. 
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 sounds much — and fall the stars' faintrays 
On the arena void— seats cmsh'd— -walls bow'd— 
And galleries, where my steps seem echoes strangely 
loud. 

C^LIII. 

A ruin— yet what ruin ! from its mass 
Walls, palaces, half-cities have been rear'd; 
Yet oft the enormous skeleton ye pass. 
And marvel where the spoil could have appear'd. 
Hath it indeed been plunder'd, or but clear'd ? 
Alas ! developed, opens the decay, 
When the colossal fabric's form is near'd; 
It will not bear the brightness of the di^, 
Which streams too much on all years, man,*h&va 
leftamty. 



GXXXV. 



But when the rising moon be^ns to eUmb 
Its topmost arch, and gently pauses there; 
When the stars twinkle through the loops of tim^ 
And the low night-breeze waves along the air 
The garland-forest, which the gray walls wear, 
Like laurels on the bald first Cesar's head; ^ 
When the light shines serene but doth not glaie 
Then in this magio circle raise the dead : 
Heroes have trod this spot— 'tis on their dustyt 
tread. 

CXLV. 

'* While stands the Coliseum, Rome shall stand ; * 
*<When falls the Coliseum, Rome shall fall; 
"And when Rome falls— the World." From oar 

own land 
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 skiU, 
The World, the same wide den — of thieves, or what 

ye wilL 

CXLVL 

Simple, erect, severe, austere, sublime — 
Shrine of all saints and temple of all gods, 
From Jove to Jesus — spared and blest by time ; ^ 
Looking tranquillity, while falls or nods 
Arch, empire, each thing round thee, andmanplodi 
His way through thorns to ashes — glorious dome ! 
Shalt thou not last ? Time's scythe and tyrant's 
Shiver upon thee — sanctuary and home [rods 

Of art and Piety — Pantheon ! — ^pride of Rome ! 

CXLVIL 

Relic of nobler days, and noblest arts ! 
Despoil'd yet perfect, with thy circle spreads 
A holiness appealing to all hearts-^ 
To art a model ; and to him who treads 
Rome for the sake of ages. Glory sheds 
Her light through thy sole aperture ; to those 
Who worship, here are altars for their beads ; 
And they who feel for genius may repose 
Their eyes on honored forms, whose busts around 
them close.® 

CXLVIIL 

There is a dimgeon, 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 plains- 
An old man, and a female young and fitur, 
Fresh as a nursing mother, in whose vein 
The blood is nectar :— but what does she there, 
With her unmantled neck, and bosom white and 
bare? 

CXLIX. 

Full swells the deep pure fountain of young life. 
Where an the heart, and Jrom the heart we took 
Our first and sweetest nurture, when the wife* 
Blest into mother, in the innocent look, 
Or even the piping cry of lips that brook 
No pain and small suspense, a joy perceives 
Man knows not, when from out its oradled nook 
She sees her little bud put forth its leave»— 
What may the fruit be yet ^— I know not— Cain wm 
Sve's. 



CSSLDM HABOUM PiLOBIMAOB. 



CL. 

Bst Iwte ywfttk dflbn to old age the food, 
Tk« suHk of biB oim gift : — it is her sire 
To vbom she rendecs back the dd»t of blood 
Bom with, her birth. No; he shall not expire 
While in thoee mnn end loTely reins the fire 
Of heelth and holy feeling eaa proride piigher 
Greet Natoze*s Nile, whose deep stream rises 
Than Egypt's riTer :<--from that gentle side 
Pnnk, drink and live, old man ! Hearen's realm 
holds 90 such tide. 

CLI. 

The starry &ble of the milky way 
Has not Hiy story's purity ; it is 
A constellation of a sweeter lay. 
And sacred Nature trinmphs more in this 
Bcverse of her decree, than in the abyss 
Where spaiUe distant worlds :^0h, holiest nmse ! 
No dnp of that clear stream its way shall miss 
To thy aire's heert, replenishing its sooree 
With hie, aa oox freed sonk rejoin the unirerse. 

CLH. 

Tun to the Mole which Hadrian rear*d on high,^ 
Imperial mimic of old Egypt's piles, 
Colossal copyist of deformity, 
Whose traTell'd phantasy from the far Nile's 
Enennons model, doom'd the artist's toils 
To boild for giants, and for his Tain earth. 
His shnmken ashes, raise this dome : How smiles 
The gsMx's eye with philosophic mirth, 
le Tiew the hnge design which sprang from such a 
fairth! 

CLni. 

Bat lo I — the dome — the vast and wondrous dome,* 
To which Diana's marrel was a cell — 
Christ's mighty shrine aboTc his martyr's tomb 1 
I have beheld the Ephesian's miracle- 
Its oolmnna strew the wilderness, and dwell 
The hyena and the jackall in their shade ; 
I hare beheld Sophia's bright roofs swell 
Then glittering mass i' the sun, and hare survey'd 
Its sanctuary the while the usuxping Moslem pray'd j 

CLIV. 

But thou, of temples old, or altars new, 
Standest alone — ^with nothing like to thee — 
Wor^est of God, the holy and the true, 
Since Zion's desolation, when that He 
Fonook his former city, what could be. 
Of earthly structures, in his honor piled. 
Of a Bublimer aspect ? Majesty, 
Power, Glory, Strength, and Beauty, all are aisled 
In this eternal ark of worship undefiled. 

CLV. 

Enter: its grandeur oTerwhefans thee not ; 
And why ? it is not lessen'd ; but thy mind, 
Expsnded by the genius of the spot. 
Has grown colossal, and ean only find 
A fit aboda wherein appear enahiined 
Thy hopes of immortality ; and thou 
Shalt one day, if found worthy, so defined, 
See thy God fooe to &ee, as thou dost now 
ffis Holy of Holier nor be blasted by his blow. 



CLVI. 

Thou movest— "but increasing with the bdTsnet, 
like climbing some great Alp, which still doth rise, 
DecdTcd by its gigantic elegance ; 
Yastness which grows— but grows to hanDoniz»-« . 
AH musical in its immensities ; [flame 

Rich marbles— richer painting — shrines where 
The lamps of gold^-and'haughty dome which Ties 
In air with Earth's chief structure, though their 

frame 
Sits on the firm-set ground— and this the doods 

ttnst Hfi F) 

CLVII. 

Thou seest not all ; but piecemeal thou mustbrea& 
To seperate 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 vntU 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, 

CLVnL 

Not by its fault— but thine : Our ontward sense 
Is but of gradual grasp— and as it is 
That what we hare of feeling most intense 
Outstrips our faint expression ; eren so this 
Outshining and o'eiwhelming 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 sixe of what tiiey contemplate. 

CLIX. 

Then pause, and be enlightened ; there is more 
In such a surrey than the sating gase 
Of wonder pleased, or awe which would adore 
The worship of the place, or the mere praise 
Of art and its great maaters, who could raise 
What former time, nor skill, nor thought oould 
The fountain of sublimity displays [plan : 

Its depth, and thence may draw the mind of man 
Its golden sands, snd learn what great ooneeptiona 
can. 

CLX. 

Or, turning to the Vatican, go see 
LaoccoOn's torture dignifying pain — 
A father's lore and mortal's agony 
With an immortal's patience blending :— ^Vain 
The struggle ; Tain, against the coiling strain 
And gripe, and deepening of the dragon's grasp. 
The old man's clench ; the long euTenomcd chai« 
RiTets the liTing links,— the enormous asp 
Bnfoffoes pang on pang, and stifles gasp on gasp. 

CLXL 

Or Tiew the Lord of the unerring bow, 
The God of life, and poesy, and light— 
The Sun in human limbs array'd, and brow 
AU radiant f^m his triumph in the fight ; 
The shaft hal^ just been shot— the arrow bright 
With an immortal's Tengeance ; in his eye 
And nostril beautiful disdain, and might, 
And miyesty, flash their foil lightnings by 
, OerelopiDg in that one ^bnce the Deity 



62 



BYBOITS WOBXS. 



CLxn. 



But in his delicate form — ^a dream of LoTei 
Shaped by some solitary nymph, whose breast 
Long'd for a deathless loTer from aboTe^ 
And madden'd in that vision — are ezprest 
All that ideal beauty ever bless'd 
The mind with in its most unearthly mood. 
When each conceptioil was a heavaily guest— 
A ray of immortality — and stood, 
Starlike, around, imtil they gathered to a god ! 

CLXIII. 

And if it be Prometheus stole from Heaven 
The fire which we endure, it was repaid 
By him to whom the energy was given 
Which this poetic marMc 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 
II tinge of years, but breathes the flame with which 
'twas wrought. 

CLXIV. 

Bat wher0 is he, the Pilgrim of my song, 
The being who upheld it through the past ? 
Methinks he oometh late and tarries long. 
He is no more— ^ese breathings are his last. 
His wanderings done, his visions ebbing fast, 
And he himself as nothing : — if he was 
Aught but a phantasy, and could be class'd 
With forms which live and stiffer— let that 
His shadow fades away into Destruction's mass, 

OLXV. 

Which gathers shadow, substance, Ufe» and all 
That we inherit in its mortal shroud, 
And spreads the dim and universal pall [cloud 
Through which all things grow phantoms ; and the 

. 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 darkneiw ; rays 

Sadder than saddest night, for they distract the gase, 

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 to 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 onee we bore 
these fardels of the heart-^he heart whose sweat 
was gore. 

CLxvn. 

Hark! forth frmn the abyss a voice pioeeedfl, 
A long low distant murmur of dread sound, 
Such as arises when a nation bleeds 
With some deep and immedicable wound ; [ground. 
Through storm and darkness yawns die rending 
The gulf is thick with phantoms, but the chief 
Seems royal still, though with her head disotuw'd, 
And pale, but lovely, with maternal grief 
She clasps a babe to wHom her breast yields no nSef. 



CLxym. 



Scion of chiefs and monarehs, where art tbou ? 
Fond hope of many nations, art thou dead ? 
Could not the grave forget thee, and lay low 
Some less migestic, less beloved head ? 
In the sad midnight, while thy heart still bled. 
The mother of a moment, o'er thy boy, 
Death hush'd that pang for ever -, with.thee fled 
The present happiness and promised joy 
Which fill'd the imperial isles so full it seem'd to cloy 

CLXIX. 

Feasants 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 Onb; for she had pour'd 
Her orisons for thee, and o'er thy head 
Beheld her Iris.— Thou, too, lonely lord, 
And desolate consort-mainly wert thou wed I 
The husband of a year ! the father of the dead t 

CLXX. ' / 

Of sackcloth was thy wedding garment made ; 
Thy bridal's fruit is ashes : in the dust 
The fair-hair'd Daughter of the Isles is laid. 
The love of millions ! How we did intrust 
Futurity to her ! and, though it must 
Darken above our bones, yet fondly deem'd 
Our children should obey her child, and bless'd 
Her and her hoped-for seed, whose promise seem'd 
like stars to shepherd's eyes :— 'twas but a meteor 
beam'd. 

CLXXI. 

Wo unto us, not her ; for she sleeps well : 
The fickle reek of popular breath, the tongue 
Of hollow counsel, the false oracle. 
Which from the birth of monarchy hath run^^ 
Its knell in princely ears, till the o'erstung 
Nations have arm'd in madness, the strange fate^ 
Which stumbles mightiest soverdgns, and hath 
Against thair blind omnipotence a weight [flung 
Within the opposing scale, which crushes soon oi 
late,— 

CLXXn. 

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 oppresJ 
The land which loved thee so that none could lovt 
thee best. 

CLXXIII. 

w Lo, Nemi ! navcU'd in the woody hills 
So fax, that the uprooting wind which tears 
The oak from his foundation, and which spiUt 
The ocean o'er its boundary, and bears 
Its foam against the skies, reluctant spares 
The oval mirror of thy glassy lake ; 
And, calm as cherish'd hate, its surface weati 
A deep eold settled aspect nought can shake* 
An coil'd into itself and rounds as sleeps the snate 



CHILDB HABOLDH mOUMAOB. 



cExxrr. 

Aad near Albano't scarce diyided myes 
Shine from a sister ralley ; — and afar 
The Tiber winds, and the broad ocean laves 
The Latian coast where sprang the Epic war, 
"Arms and the Man,'* whose reascending star 
Bo«e o*er an empire : — bat beneath thy right 
ToUy reposed from Rome ; — and where jon bar 
Of girdling moontains intercepts the sight, 
rheSaJnne Una was tilled, the weary bards dd%ht.^> 

CLXXV. 

But I forget. — ^My Pilgrim's shrine is won, 
And he and I mnst part,~-«o let it be,-— 
His task and mine alike are nearly done ; 
Yet once more let ns look upon the sea ; 
The midland ocean breaks on him and me, 
And from the Alban Mount we now behold 
Oar friend of yoath, that ocean, which when we 
Beheld it last by Calpe's rock onfold 
Those waves, we follow'd on till the dork Boxine 
n^'d 

CLXXVL 

Upon the blue Sympl^ades : long years—* 
Long, thongh not rery many, since haTe done 
Thar work on both; some si:uS'ering and some tears 
Have left as nearly where we had began : 
Yet not in rain oar moral race hath ran, 
We have had oar reward-— and it is here : 
That we can yet feel gladden'd by the son, 
And nap from earth, sea, joy almost as dear 
As if tfaue were no man to trooble what is dear. 



CLXXVII. 

Oh! that the desert were my dweUing^laoe, 
With one fair Spirit for my minister, 
That I ought an forget the homan race, 
And, hating no one, love but only her ! 
Ye Blements ! — in whose ennobling stir 
I ISkI myself exalted— Can ye not 
Aococd me sach a being ? Bo I err 
la deeming saeh inhabit many a spot ? 
Thoagh with them to conTerse can rarely be our lot 



CLXXVin. 

There is a pleasure in the pathless woods. 
There is a rapture on the lonely shore, 
There is society, where none intrudes. 
By tile deep Sea, and mosie in its roar : 
IloTe-Bot Han the less, bat Nature more, 
Ftom these oor isterriews, in which I stcAl 
Ttom aH I may be, or have been before, 
To mingle with the UniYezse, and feel 
Vhs^ I can ne'er express, yet cannot all conceal. 



CLXXEL. 

Boll QB, thon deep and dark bine ocaaa— roll I 
Ten thooaand fleets sweep oTer thee in Tain; 
Man marks tiie earth with ruinr-his control 
Stops witb the ihote^F— «pon the watevy ]^aia 



The wrecks are all thy deed, nor doth remaia 
A shadow of man's rayage, save his own. 
When, for a moment, Uke a drop of rain. 
He sinks into thy depths with bubbling groan, 
Without a grave, unknell'd, uncofHn'd, and un- 
known. 

CLXXX. 

"Bjm steps are not upon thy paths,— thy fields 
Are not a spoil for him,— thou dost aritio [wields 
And shake him from thee : the Tilo strength ha 
For esrth's destruction thou dost all despise, 
Spuming him from thy bosom to the skies, 
And send'st him, shivering in thy playful spray 
And howling, to his Oods, where haply lies 
His petty hope in some near port or buy, 
And dashest him again to earth : — there let him lay. 



CLXXXI. 

The armaments which thunderstrike the walls 
Of rock-built dties, bidding nations quake. 
And monarchs tremble in their capitals. 
The oak leviathans, whose huge ribs make 
Their clay creator tiie vain title take 
Of lord of thee, and arbiter of war: 
These are thy toys, and, as the snowy flake. 
They melt into thy yeast of waves, which mar 
Alike the Armada's pride, or spoils of Trafalgar. 



CLXXXII. 



Thy shores are empires, changed in all save t 
Assyria, Greece, Borne, Carthage, what are they ) 
Thy waters wasted them while they were free^ 
And many a tyrant since ; their shores obey 
The stranger, slave, or savage ; their decay 
Has dried up realms to deserts :— not so thou, 
Unchangeable save to thy wild waves* play— 
Time writes no wrinkle on thy asure brow- 
Such aa creation's dawn beheld, thou rollest now. 



CLxxxnr. 



Thou glorious mirror, where the Almighty's i 
Glasses itself in tempests : in all time, 
Calm or convulsed — ^in breeze, or gale, or storm, 
Icing the pole, or in the torrid clime 
Dark-heaving ;— boundless, endless, and sublime— 
The image of Eternity — ^the throne 
Of the Invisible ; even from out thy slime 
The monsters of the deep are made ; each sons 
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 
Bome, like thy bubbles, onward : from a boy 
I wanton'd with thy breakers— they to me 
Were a delight ; and if the freshening sea 
Made them a terror — 'twas a pleasing fear. 
For I was as it were a child of thee. 
And trusted to thy billows far and near, 
And laid my hand upon thy mane— aa I do hara. 



64 



BtBOlTS WQJOLB. 



CfLXXXV. 



Hy task is done — ^my song hath ceaacd— my tiieme 
Has died into an echo ; it is fit 
The spell should break of this protnu^ted dream. 
The torch shall be extinguished which hath lit 
My midnight lamp— end what is writ, is writ,— 
Would it were worthier ! but I am not now 
That which I have been — and my visions flit 
Less palpably before me— and the glow 
Which in my spirit dw^elt is fluttering, faint, and low. 



diXXXVI. 



Farewell ! a word that must be, and hath 1 
A sound which makes us linger ;-— yet-— farewell » 
Ye ! who have traced the Pilgrim to the scene 
Which is his last, if in your memories dwell 
A thought which once was his, if on ye swell 
A single recollection, not in vain 
He wore his sandal-shoon and scallop-shell ; 
Farewell ! with him alone may rest the pain, 
If such there were— with you, the moral of his strain 



NOTES TO CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 



CANTO I. 



Tet I tigJCd o^er Ddphffi long deterted ahrine. 
Stansa i. line 6. 

Thb little villaffe of Castri stands partly on the 
■ite of Delphi. Along the path of the mountain, 
from Chrysso, are the remams of sepulchres hewn 
in and from the rock. '* One," said the ^de, ** of 
a king who broke his neck hunting." His majesty 
had certainly chosen the fittest spot for such an 
achievement. 

A Uttle above Castri is a cave, supposed the 
Pythian, of immense depth ; the upper part of it is 
paved, and now a cow-house. 

On the other side of Castri stands a Greek 
monast^y ; some way above which is the cleft in 
the rock, with a range of caverns difficult of ascent, 
and apparenUy leading to the interior of the moun- 
tain; probably to the Corycian Cavern mentioned 
by Pausahias From this part descend the fountain 
and the "Dews of Castalie." 



And rest ye at otar " Lady's house of too.'* 

Stansa xz. line 4. 
The Convent of "Our Lady of Punishment." 
^ofsa Senora de Pena,* on the summit of the rock. 
Below, at some distance,^ is the Cork Convent, 
where St. Honorius dug his den, over which is his 
epitaph. From the hills, the sea adds to the beauty 
of the view. 



• Blnee Ihe iwUkialao of this poem, I havt been infifnwd «r Ok n^ 
iKMiaB of the mrm Notm Semora d» An*. It «u oviiif ie the wuA of 
the iBdf, OT matk orar tht fs vbkh Mltn ilw Mgalfiaatioo of (be w«iid : wlih 
lUFmSaifnifiMarock; vithoulk,i>«iwliutheieiuelMbp(ed. Idonot 
lUtik h weeamj to nller iba peaage, m, though the eommon aooepln ' 
tflbudtoHli ''OarLwIjoftlMBadt," I mr j mfl ■■luiii ilimiilim iii 
b«M tfa* ■«T«lilei jndlMd ten. 



Throuyhaut this jntrpk kmd, where law secures not 
Kfe, Stanza xzl. line last. 

It is a well known &et, that in the year 1809 the 
assassinations in the streets of Lisbon and its 
vicinity were not confined by the Portuguese to 
their countrymen ; but that Englishmen were daily 
butchered : and so far from redress being obtained, 
we were requested not to interfere if we perceired 
any compatriot defending himself against his allies. 
I was once stopped in the way to the theatre at 
eight o'clock in the evening, when the streets were 
not more empty than they generally are at that 
hour, opposite to an open shop and in a caxriage 
with a friend : had we not fortunately been armed, 
I have not the least doubt that we should have 
adorned a tale instead of telling one. The crime 
of assassination is not confined to Portugal; in 
Sicilv and Malta we are knocked on the head at a 
handsome average nightly, and not a Sicilian or 
Maltese is ever punished ! 



Behold the haU where ehitfs were late eorwened! 
Stanza xziv. line 1. 

The Convention of Cintra vras liflned in the 
palace of the Marchese Marialva. Thelate exploits 
of Lord Wellington have effaced the foUies of 
Cintra. He has, indeed, done wonders; he has 
perhaps changed the character of a nation, recon 
died rival superstitions, and baffled an enemy who 
never retreated before his predecessors. 

5. ^ 

Yet Mafra shall one moment claim delay. 

Stanza zxix. hne 1. 
The extent of Mafra is prodigious ; it contains s 



KOTSS TO CnUP gjWWJV PUjOBDCAOB. 

14. 



fi kw , I — Wit, — ^ —rt wyrt dbaneh. Tktds 
onaat we tlis nMi beaatOul I ever beheld^ In 
pout of dflootrntioiu ; ir« did not hear them, but 
WKt told that thoir tones were coirespondont to 
tttg m lend o r. Mafrm n totmod the BmuxuI of 
AvtogoL 

ITeff dMA £A« S^Mmuh kmd ths diferenc§ kmw 
*1Wu< kim mmd iMtian $lav0, th» httett of the km. 
Stanza zxxiii. lines 8 and 9. 

As I fiiiuid tlko PwtngvMo, so I have ebaraetKuwd 
fhesa. That tktj an sinoe imptoTod, at least in 
ssviago, iaevideni. 

7. 
Whm Osaa't trmUor nrtjint eaWd tK» hand 
Thai dfei tkjf tmomU a in tirmtwu wUk GdMe pore. 
Stansa zxxt. lines 3 and 4. 
Oomit J«liaa*8 danghter, the Helea of Spain. 
Psiagiws praorred hk iadependflBee in the £ut- 
I of mt Aatorias, and um deseendants of his 
a, after some eentnries, completed their 
i \fj the coaqnest of Orsoada 



Jiol MUMpetdt.KeehmUa, « VivdeilUyr 
Stsaia xlTiii. line 5. 



"Thrft d Bey Fernando V 
'I is the choms of 



' Ijong lire King Fer- 
moet of the Spanish 
patriotie songs: ther are efaieflj in dispraise of the 
•Id kmg Charles, mm (teeen, and the Prince of 
Pteaea. l have heard many of them ; some of the 
asrs are beantifiil. Oodoy. the Prineipe de ia Paz, 
was bom at Badajos, on the frontiers of Portugal, 
and vas oriflsaally in the ranks of the Spanish 
Ouarda, till nia penon attracted the queen's eyes, 
and raised him to the dukedom of Alcudia, &c. &c. 
It is to Mi asan that the Spaniards uniTersally 
impute idm van, of their country. 



Ikmn m hU cap the badge of crinuon hue, 
W^JUek Ua$ yofi whom to efStm and whom to areet, 
Stanxa 1. lines S and 3. 

The red eoekade, with 

M). 

T%a boBrpOed pyramid, the eper-btaxinji match, 

Stanaa li. tke last, 

AH who haTO seen a battery will recollect the 

pnamidal form in which shot and shells are piled. 

Tae Sisoca Hocena was Hortified in every defile 

L which I passed in my way to Seville. 



FwirieproadSaoaUi kihereomirw 
Ber etrenga, her wealth, hor 



, $ite ofa$tc%mU dap§, 
Stanaa Ixt. lines 1 and 1 



£ie( 



Fernando Scptimo" in 



11. 



before a haUer'd waU, 

tensa] 



F9irdbfawoman*e 

i ItL line last. 

8ueh wen the ezplote of the Maid of Saraeosa. 
When th« waHtnar wee at SeriUa she walked daily 
OB ^ Pndo, decorated with medals and orders, by 
eonnand of the Junta. 

IX 

TiU eeal Lem^e drnqtHnaMmger hath imayee'd 

Stann iTiM. ttnes 1 and 2. ' 
'• K^iUa in mento impressa Amoris dlgitnlo 
Yestigio demonstrant moUitadinem." AuL. Gel. 

13. 

Oh, #ou Pamaeam ! 

Stania Ix. line 1. 
These ttaaxaa were written in Castri, (Belphoo,) 
St the foot of Parnassus, now called Acoffvps^ 
liakonu 



SertUe was the HispaUs of the Bomans. 

Aeh ye, BetoHan ehadee, the reaeon whj 
Stanaa Uz 
This was written at Thebes, and consequently ia 
the best situation for asking and answering su^ a 
Queation : not as the birthplace of Pindar, but at 
the capital of Bceotia, where the first riddle wua 
propounded snd solved. 

16. 
Some bUter o*er thejhwere ite babbUna venom JUnao, 
Stansa IxzxU. line last 
"Medio de fonte leporum 
Surgit amari aliquid quod in ipsis floribns angat." 

Lva 
17. 
A tr^UoranfyfeU beneath the feud, 

Stansa Iuzt. Uao 7* 
Alluding to the conduct and death of SolaaOi 
the OoYemor of Cadis. 

18. 
•*War eoen to the hmfir 

Stansa IzxxtL line last 
" War to the knife." Palafox's answer to tht 
French general at the siege of Saragosa. 

19. 
And thou, my friend! ^. 

Stansa zeL line 1. 
The Honenble I*. W, of the Guards, who 
died of a fever at Coinbra. I had known him ten 
years, the better half of his life, snd the happieel 
part of mine. 

In the short space of one month I had lost her 
who gave me bemg, and meet of those who had 
made that being tolerable. To me the linca of 
Young are no fiction : 

*' Ineatiate archer ! could not one suifice ? 
Thy shaft flew thrice, and thrice my pesoe was slala. 
And thrice ere thrice yon moon haa nlled her horn.'* 

I should have Tcntured a verse to the memory of 
the late Charles Skinner Matthews. Fellow of 
Downing Colleoe, Cambridge, were he not too 
much above all paise of nunc. His powers <^ 
mind, shown in the attainment of greater honors, 
against the ablest candidates, than those of any 
graduate on record at Cambridge, have suAcientfy 
established his fame on the spot where it was 
acquired: while his softer qualities live in the 
recollection of frioids who loved him too well tf 
envy his superiority. 



CANTO n. 

1. 

despite of war and waetingj ir e 

sSinzaLttned. 
Pa&t of the Acropolis was destroyed by the 
explosion of a magarine during the Venetian sicfi. 



66 



FntOH'B WOBn^ 



s. 



But worse than tteel andfame^ and ages slow, 

Is the dread sceptre and dominion dire 

Of men who ntverfelt the sacred gUno 

That thoughts of thee astd thine on poHsk'd brsnsts 

bestow. Stanza 1. line 6. 

We can all feel^ or imagine, the regret with 

which the ruins of cities, once the capitals of 

empires, are beheld; the reflections sugg^estcd by 

Sicn objects are too trite to require recapitulation, 
ut neyer did the littleness of man, and the vanity 
of his very best virtues of patriotism to exalt, and 
of valor to defend his country, appear more con- 
spicuous than in the record of wnat Athens was, 
and the certainty of what she now is. This theatre 
of contention between mighty factions, of ^ the 
struggles of orators, the exaltation and deposition 
of tyrants, the triumph, and punishment of gen- 
erals, is now become a scene of petty intrigue and 
pexpetual disturbance, between the bickering agents 
of certain British nobility and gentry. ** The wild 
Ibxes, the owls and serpents in the ruins of Baby- 
lon," were surely less degrading than such inhab- 
itants. The Turks hare the plea of conquest for 
their tyranny, and the Greeks have only suffered 
the fortune of war, incidental to the bravest ; but 
bow are the mighty fallen, when two painters 
contest the privilege of plundering the Parthenon, 
and triumph in turn, according to the tenor of each 
succeeding firman ! Sylla could but punish, Philip 
subdue, and Xerxes bum Athens ; but it remained 
for the paltrv antiquarian, and his despicable 
agents, to render her contemptible as himself and 
hispursuits. 

Tne Parthenon, before its destruction in part, by 
iize, during the Venetian siege, had been a temple, 
a church, and a mosqiie. In each point of view it 
U an object of regard : it changed its worshippers ; 
but still it was a place of worship thrice sacred to 
devotion ; its violation is a triple sacrilege. But 

'* Man» vain man, 
Brest in a little brief authoritv, 
Plays such fantastic tricks before high hoAven 
As make the angels weep." 

8. 

Far on the solitary shore he sleeps. 

Stanza v. line 2. 

It was not always the custom of the Greeks to 
bom their dead; the greater Ajax, in particular, 
wss interred entire. Almost all the chiefiB beoions 
ffods after their decease ; and he was indeed nog- 
lected, who had not annual games near his tomb, or 
festivals in honor of his memory by his countrymen, 
as Achilles, Brasidas, &c., and at last even Anti- 
nous, whose death was as heroic as his life was in- 
ftmous. 

4. 

J7er0, son of Saturn I was thg favorite throne. 
Btansa z. line 3. 

The temple of Jupltur Olympins^ of which six- 
teen eolumns, entirely of marble, yet survive iO'^' 
inally there were one hundred and fifty. These 
•olnmns, however, are by many supposed to belong 
to the Pantheon. 

0. 
Andbearthese aUare o*er the long reluctant brine. 

Stanza zi. line last 
TIm ship was wrecked in the Archipelago. 



t^Hu what OoU^mkdTurk^and Time Jusoe^^ared. 
Stanza zii. line 2. 
M liiis HMment, (January 3, 1809,) besides what 
bas been already deposited in London, an Hydxiot 
ressd is In tiie Pynras to receive every portable 
leUo Thus, as I heard a young Qreek otieerre, in 



eoRimon with many of his uuuaite y iilea ' ^ w , leei at 
they are, thev yet feel on this oocasion^-^us may 
Lord Elgin boast of havCng ruined Athens. An 
Italian painter of the first emmence, named Lusieri, 
is the agent of devastation; and like the Greek 
finder of Verres in Sicily, who followed the same 
profession, he has proved the able instrument ol 
plunder. Between this artist and the French Con- 
snl Fauvel, who wishes to rescue the remains for 
his own government, there is now a violent dispute 
concerning a car employed in their conveyance, the 
wheel of which— I wish they were both broken u^on 
it--4ia8 been locked up by the Consul, and Lusieii 
has laid his complaint before the Wavwode. Lord 
Elgin has been extremely happy in nis choice of 
Signer Lusieri.' During a residence of ten years in 
Auiens, he never had the curios!^ to proceed as far 
as Sunium,* till he accompaniea us m our second 
excursion. However, his works, as far as they eo, 

» most beautiful ; out they aire almost all mum- 
ished. While he and his patrons confine theoi- 
selves to tasting medals, appreciating cameos* 
sketching columns, and cheapening gems, their 
little absurdities are as hsrmless as insect or foa- 
hunting, maiden speechiffing, barouche-driving, or 
any such pastime ; but when thev carry away three 
or four shij^loeds of the most valuable and massy 
relics that time and barbarism have left to the most 
injured and most celebrated of cities; when they 
destroy, in a vain attempt to tesr down, those works 
which have been the admiration of ages, I know no 
motive which can excuse, no name which can desig- 
nate,' the perpetrators of this dastardly devastation. 
It was not the least of the crimes laid to the ckazae 
of Verres, that he had plundered SicQy, in tae 
manner since imitated at Athens. The most mi- 
blushing impudence could hardly go &rther than to 
affix the name of its plunderer to the walls of tlw 
Acropolis; while the wanton and useless deface- 
ment of the whole range of the basso-relievos, In 
one compartment of the temple, will never permit 
that name to be pronounced by an observer without 
execration. 

On this oocasion I speak impartially: I am not a 
ooUector or admirer of collections, consequentlT no 
rival ; but I have some early prepossession in lavor 
of Greece, and do not think the honor of England 
advanced by plunder, whether of ladla oar Attioa. 

Another noble Lord has done better, becaas« he 
has done less ; but some others, more or less noble, 
yet ** all honoyable men," have done best, because, 
after a deal of excavation and execration, bribesry to 



Now Cape Colaona. In all Auloa, V «• txeept AOwm icadf, apd 
Manthon, tben b no aeeTM mora lutenadxif than Oape ColoniHU Tb ikl 
andquaiy and cittat, iixteea ealofflna an an IvxhaaMlUe aooiw af dhMnfr 
} to the pMowipher, fta — ii|iwJ aoMa d^tttmm af Wa<^ 
eoDvanaiiooa wfll not be itnwalenmB ; aad the Inveller wU be aoiidi vllk 
Uw beaiitjr of ifaa pnapeet erer " /«<M Aa< ctomi tk* Mgrnn (bip.-" bvlftc 
aa EngMwMui, Colooaa baa yet an aiddldonal fnteiMt, aa Uh actual tfA 
tif ISIooner'a SUpvrcck. Mlaa aai Rmb an totfitumt to (to •aaol> 
lariiaA «r Pakonar and CMpbdl i 

•Ban tn fte (had af BlglA If Lmm^ M« 

IVa (enspk of MInerra maj be aean at aaa Cnona a great dtalane*. la t*a 
and ona ▼ografB le Gape Colonna, the ^km fkata 
ahhv ride, I7 land, waa ieaa alrikinf Smui tiM appraack Son tba falea. la 
nr aaoood land esconign, we bad a nanaw eaeape ftom a paitj of llbaalBl^ 
aoeadedtotfMMMmbeMwIh. W9 ww» told aSuwaaili, ly cm df thtir 
■iaooabiiabMqaaMlf aaDnMl»lkiitliir««MdeiH*dfinaM aWarMiif m 
bj the affMiaaca «r mgr two Afeaatoaat aaiOasiarins raqr aafackKMl/, M 
bhOft tfiat w« bad a compleie guaid of tlMBe Anaooii at band, tiMV 
naMJned Katlooaqr, and ihua aavad our panr, whfah waa toe ■naA to hM« 
oppoaed any aflbemal nabunae. 
ColonnabneieaaaMaoftorpalnteBlhHiarpiialeai theic 

«• ne bfadinf aitfal pkoli Ha pakiy dtok, 

ntiUdjrlucaier.aB^ 

Bat Ann NatasB, with thfl aid aT Ail, haa doM that be haneU: 1 «M 
fcrtnaate aaoogli to angaga a fcij aiqpeilor Qenaan axtbt; and bopa la 



KOTBS TO 



"BAMlUrM PILGRIHAOS. 



« 



-Ihi WviiS ■liiiiigMrt WNtttamlirfitf, Hhm 



dM^ wki^ ahnott ended Ib bloodslied ! Lord E.'i 
•'jBg''—te Xonalhaii Wild for the defisitieii of 
"jB^ten "— qiianelled wHh another, Orv p m a ^ by 
Buae, (a Tery good name too for hit budaeai,) and 
Buittared sometiiing about tatiefeetion, in a Terbal 
■asver to a note of the poor Pnutian : thk was 
stated at table to Gropins, who landed, bnt eonld 
eat no dinner afterwards. The riTals were not 
iceeneiled when I left Greece. I have reason to re- 
iwmher their scpi&bble, for tbej wanted to make me 
ibior ailuliator. 

T. 
Ar soRS too weak tJie tttcred thrine to guard, 
Tti/klt somejfortion of their mother'tpaiM, 
Stansa zii. lines 7 and 8. 
I esoiBot resist arailing myself of th« permission 
ef my fa&mi Dr. Clarke, wnoae name requires no 
csmflMBt with the public, but whose san ct k m will 
add tenfold weight to my testimony, to insert the 
iiDowing extract from a very obliging letter of his 
to me, as a note to the aboye lines. 

** When tiie last of the Metopes was taken from 
^e Parthtwm, and in monng of it, great part of 
tbe aupsntanstiBe with one of the lB|dypfas was 
IhigwM d0wn by the workmen whom Lord Elgin 
esspiojed, the iHsdar, who beheU the mischiof 
done to Ijbb building, took his pipe from his mouth, 
dr o pp ed a tear, and, in a supplicating tone of Toice, 
said to Lnsieri, TIA*f ! — ^I was present." 

The Disdar alfaided to was the father of the pree- 
tttDiedar. 

8. 
Wkerw was tkme Mgu, Palknf that appaWd 
Stem Alaric and Havoc on thmr waff 

Stansa xiy. Unee 1 aad^ 
Aoeoffding to Zoeimus, Minerra and Achilles 
frightened Alaric from the Acropolis; but others 
rwte that the Oothic king was nearly as misehisT- 
"'""'' " iCeanimlbb. 



Stansa xTiiL line 2. 
The netting to ixrereDt blocks or spUnters from 
bBa^oftdeok donng action. 

10. 

JB9U tmt m mieneepoM Ctdypto** ulet 

Stansa xxix. line 1. 
Goa is said to haTC been the island of Calypso. 

11. 

hend mine syst 
\e tf iova^ men ! 
xzztIU. lines 5 and 6. 
part of Macedonia, ^Jllyna, 



Land <^AIbtmda! let me hend 
Om thee^ tkeu rvgaed nuree ^ 

mansaxzzTlJ 



Chaonia, said Knims. Iskander is the Turi 
word for AWranner ; and the cel^vated Scander- 
bnOLord Aiezmder) is aHuied to in tiie third and 
fsirabnes of the thirty-eighth stansa. I do not 
ham idisthcr I aa oonect m making Scandsiherg 
the sw Mihjui tn of Alexander, who was bom at 
Pella in Maeedon, but Mr. Gibbon terms him so, 



■d I hOgm tmitume, u CoMri<liw|fc, fa ISIS. 1 am «nt hi^lp]r to 
li ■weaiUed to iMe, dat " thk wu art kn Ub load;** SMtt ka «m 
IftM-UiHUiFiMMdi 



JmtA^mt, ■in »l M in TdK. irteflmrb*ttai«a4MeoBd«dkk« 

rfa* fiw bm gl— tbB aobh fcwd > hi—mi's pahi 1 — w&rf way fcrS; 

MHMd te j«H> *• DOM of yt ageatt Md dK«sb I MB- 

Hdi iwniliiwn ngmir te JimaiDg h *• ■httfci of m muf , 1 w 

rhhiiHfaMofifcaittoba ■■rtwIfwL hted, 1 ten m n 

■• h MMi*ft« Mi M I Ml HfMl h MSm ft. 



and adds P^hus to the Bst, in spesking of his «s- 
ploito. 

Of Albania Gibbon remarks, that a eountty 
" within sight of Italjr is less known than the inte- 
rior of America.*' CLreumstances, of little oonae- 
quene« to mention, led Mr. Hobhouse and myself 
into that countrY before we visited anr other part 
of the Ottoman aomiaions ; and, with the exception 
of Msior Leake, then oiBcially resident at JoaxminiL 
no otnsr Englishmen have ever advanced beyond 
the capital into the interior, as that gentleman Tery 
lately assured me. Ali Pacha was at that time (Oc- 
tober, 1809), carrying on war against Ibraham 
Pacha, whom he had drivon to Bcrat, a strong for- 
tress which he was then besieging : on our arriral 
at Joannina wc were invited to Tepoleni, his high- 
nees's birthplace, and favorite Serai, only one day^s 
distonee from Berat; at this juncture the VisOT 
had made it his head-quarters. 

After some stay in the capital, we accordingly 
followed ; but though fomislred with every accom- 
modation, and escorted by one of the vizier's secre 
taries, we were nine days (on account of the rains) 
in accomplishinff a journey which, on our retttia, 
barely occupied four. 

On our route we passed two cities, Argyrocastvo 
and Libochabo, apparently little inferior to Tanina 
in size ; and no pencil or pen can ever do justice to 
the scenery in the vicinity of Zitxa and Delvinachi, 
the frontier village of Bpirus and Albania Proper. 

On Albania and its inhabitants 1 am unwillii^ 
to descant, because this will be done so much better 
by my fellow-traveller, in a work which may proba- 
bly Brecede this in publication, that I as little 
to follow as I woula to antidpato him. But 
few observations are necessary to the text. 

The Amaouts, or Alboneso, struck me forcibly br 
their resemblance to the HighUmders of Seottandt 
in dress, figure, and manner of living. Their ytrj 
mountains seemed Caledonian, with a kinder en- 
mate. The kilt, though white; the snare, actire 
form ; their dialect, Celtic in ite sound, and their 
hardy habits, all carried me back to Morren. No 
nation are so dettated and dreaded br their neigh- 
bors as the Albanese ; the Greeks nardly regard 
them as Christians, or the Turks as Moslems ; and 
in fact they are a mixtan of both, and sometiBaes 
neither. Their hahito are pfsdatory— all are aimed ; 
and the red-shawled Amaouts, the Montenegrins, 
Chimariots, and Gegdes, are treacherous; the othsra 
differ somewhat in garb, and essentially in ehaiae- 
ter. As far as my own experience goes, I can speak 
fkroraMy. I waA sttendea by two. an Infidel and a 
Mussulman, to Constantinople and every other part 
of Tufker which same withm my observation ; and 
more faitiifM in peril, or todefatinble in service, 
are rarely to be found. The Infidel was named Bar 
mlius, the Moslem, Dervish Tahfai ; the former a 
of middle age, and the latter about my owa. 
Basil! vras strictly charged by Ali Pacha in peiMii 
to attend us ; and Dervish was one of fifty w1m> ac^ 
companied us through the foresto of Acamania to 
the banks of Achelous, and onward to Messalon^hi 
in .fitolia. There I took him into mTt>wn service, 
and never had occasion to repent it till the moment 
of my departure. 

When, in 1810, after the departure of my firiend 
Mr. H. for England, I was seised with a wvere fever 
in the Morea, these men saved my life by fri^tan- 
ing away my physician, whose throat they thxMit- 
ened to cut if I was not cured vrithin a given time. 
To this consolatory assurance of posthumous rotii- 
butien, and a resolute refusal of Dr. RomaneDi*! 
prescriptions, I attributed my reeovery. I had left 
my last remaining English servant at Athena ; my 
dragoman was as ill as myself, and my poor Am* 
naouts nursed me vrith an attention that woold 
have done honor to civilisation. 

They had a variety of adventures ; for the Mos- 
lem, Dervish, being a remarkably handsome maai 
was always sfuabb&gwMi tlM hnabMidt of AthflM 



68 



BTRCHTO iromKB. 



insomuch th»t four of Die principal Tniki paid me 
a Titit of remonstxance at the Conren^ on tho sub- 
ject of his hafing ti^en a woman firom tiie hath — 
whom he had lawfully bonghti however— « thing 
quite contrary to etiquette. 

Basfli» also, was extremely gallant among, his own 
persuasion, and had the ^eatest Teneration for the 
ohnroh, mixed with the highest contempt of church- 
men, whom he cuffed upon occasion in a most het- 
'erodox manner. Yet he nerer passed a church 
without crossing himself; and I remember the risk 
he ran in entermg St. Sophia, in Stambol, because 
it had once been a place of his worship. On remon- 
strating with him on his inconsistent proceedings, 
he inTsziablj answered, ''our church is holy, our 
priests are tnieves ; " and then he crossed hmiself 
as usual, and boxed the eats of the first " i>apas " 
who refused to assist in any required operation, as 
was always found to be necessarr where a priest had 
any iniluence with the Cogia Bashi of his village. 
Indeed, a more abandoned race of miscreants can- 
not exist than the lower order of the Greek clergy. 

When preparations were made for my return, my 
Albanians were summoned to reoeiye their pay. 
Basili took his with an awkward show of regret at 
my intended departure, and marched away to his 
quarters, with his ba^ of piastres. I sent for Der- 
Tidi, but for some tmie he was not to be found ; at 
last he entered, just as Signer Logotheti, fiather to 
the d-devant Anglo-consul of Athens, and some 
other of my Greek acquaintances, paid me a visit. 
Dervish took the money, but on a sudden dashed it 
to the ground; and clasping his hands, which he 
raised to his forehead, rushed out of the room, 
weeping bitterly. From that moment to the hour 
of my embarkation, he oontmued his lamentations, 
and all our efforts to console him only produced this 
answer, " Md ^fwt," « He leaves mo.'* Signor Lo- 
theti, who never wept before for anything less than 
the loss of a para,* melted ; the padre of the con- 
vent, my attendants, my visitOK»--«nd I verily be- 
lieve that even Steme'^s *< foolish fat scumon" 
would have left her " fish-ketde," to sympathise 
with the unaffected and nnexpected sorrow of this 
barbarian. 

For my own part, when I remembered that, a 
short time before my departore from England, a 
noble and most intimate associate had excused him- 
self from taking leave of me because he had to attend 
a relation " to a milliners," I felt no less surprised 
than humiliated by the present occuzxenoe an2l the 
past recollection. 

That Dervish would leave me with some regret 
was to be expected; when master and man have 
been scrambbng over the mountains of a doien 
provinces together, they are unwilUn^ to separate ; 
but Ms present feelings, contrasted with his native 
ferocity, improved my opinion of tiie human heart. 
I believe this almost feudal fidelity is frequent 
among them. One day, on our Journey over Par- 
nassus, an Englishman in my service gave him a 
push in some dispute about the baggage, which 
he unluckily mistook for a blow; he spoke not, 
but sat down, leaning his head upon his hands. 
Foreseeing the consequences, we endeavored to ex- 
plain away the affiront, which produced the follow- 
ing answer :— I have been a robber ; I am a soldier ; 
no captain ever struck me ; you are my master, I 
have eaten your bread, but by that bread 1 (an usual 
oath) had it been otherwise, I would have atabbed 
the dog your servant, and gone to the mountains.'* 
So the affair ended, but from that day forward he 
never thoroughly forgave the thougntiess fellow 
who insulted him. 

Dervish excelled in the dance of his country, con- 
iectured to be aremnant of the ancient Pyrrhic: be 
that as it may, it is manly, and requires wondetftil 
agility. It is very distinct from the stupid Bo- 



te «r« 



natta, tha Ml wemmA abif I ef AeOgsaha^ •f wM— 
our AUieniaa party had so manv speoimeni. 

The Albanians in general (I do not mean the cul- 
tivators of the eartn in the provinces, who have 
also that appellation, but the monntaiaesn), have 
a fine osst of countenance ; and the most beautlAil 
women I ever beheld, in stature and in features, we 
saw leoelUtw the rood broken down by the torrents 
between Delvinachi and Libochabo. xheir manner 
of walking is tmly theatrical; but this strut is 
probably the efiect of the capote, or cloak, depend- 
ing from <me shoulder. Their long hair reminds 
you of the Spartans, and their courage in desultory 
war&re is unquestionable. 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 fiitigue. 



12. 



Where sad Pi 
Ithica. 



-and 



*d the barren ^pot^ 

o*erl9ok*d the toave. 

Stanza xxxix. lines 1 and S. 

18. 



Aethmnt Lepimto^ fcOni Trafaigmr, 

Stanaa zl. liae 5. 
Actium and Trafalgar need no fruiher mention. 
The battle of liCpanto, equally bloody and consid- 
erable, but less Known, was fought in the (hdf of 
Patraa. Here the author of Don Quixote lost his 
left hand. 

14. 
And haWd the laet reeort qfjruitleae Ibee. 

^I^tansaxlt lines. 
Lenoadia. now Santa Maura. From the pronMm- 
tory (the Lover's Leap) Sappho is aaid to bava 
thrown herselt 

15. 
—^—^nenty 4i luHnttn ehttf tntd JLeittn Mtn^ 

Stansa xhr. Un« 4. 
It is said, that on the day previous to the battle 
of Actium, Anthony had thirteen kings at his Icfvee. 

16. 
Look where the eeeond Cmear't tropMet rase / 
Stansa xlv. Una 6. 

Nioopolis, whose ruins are most extensive, is at 
some mstance iSrom Actium, where the wall of the 
Hippodrome survives in a few fragments. 



17. 
"Archerutia'i lake. 

SttmtazlviLliael. 



According to PouqueviUe the lake of 
but Pouqucville is always out. 

18. 
To freet Albania' e chirf, 

Stansa xlviL line 4. 

The celebrated AU Pacha. Of this eaUam dl i ia ry 
man there is an incorrect aeooont in PouqveviUra 
Travels. 



19. 



Fef Asns OMf Msns seMs ctofw MOi 
Diedmin hiepoimet, and from their rooku hold 
Hurl their d^ncefo/r^ nor fields unieee to ^oUL 
Stansa xlvii. lines 7, 8 and 9. 
Five thousand Suliotes, among the rocks and in 
the castle of Suli, withstood thirty thonsand Alba- 
nians for eighteen years ; the castle at laat was 
taken by bribery. In this contest there were sevenl 
acts perfonned not unworthy of the better days of 
Greeoe. 



jfom TO 



TlxwiniHl «ad TiTligo of 2itn v» few hom' 
tooMj fttna JoubIiuh or Taiiin% tho emtaX of 
ftePkrtwKffki In the TiHcy of tht iiT» iCaUinM 
(OMe tiw Acheron) iowi, ud not &r from Zitn 
nms A flue ontanet. The situation U perhapt the 
inert in Greeee, thong^ the mioeeh to Belnnechi 
nd parts itf AesnuukUk end JBtolU may eonteet the 
Mtan. IMphiy Paniaasas» and, in Attiea, erea 
C^ Colonna and Port Baphti, ere Terj inteior ; 
M also erery scene in Ionia, or the Troad ; I am 
almost ineHned to add the sppnaeh to Constaati- 
nople; hat ttna the difiennt IMvei of tiie last, 
a comparieoa ean hardly he made. 



PILOBUfAaB. 



«9 



Stanaazlin. linea. 



ne CUmniot moontidai appear to ha^a haea 
21 

klL line 6. 




The ziTer Laos was AiH at the tone the author 
, it ; and immediate^ abore Tepalen, vas to 
t eye as wide as the Tharaes at Westminster; at 
at in the oraiion of the anther and hii fellow^ 
tiavdier, Mr. Hobhonse. In the summer it must 
be mneh narrower. It eertaSnly Is the finest rirer 
in fte Lerant ; neither Acheloos, Alpheus, Acheron, 
Behamander, nor Cajster, approached it hi breadth 
Qcbeantf* 

27. 

kfani tiaaS. 
ATTading to tl&e wrechers of Cornwall 

28. 

**^ - k]ua.line2. 



Ae Albsnian Mmsnbaaas do not abstain from 
wine, nd indeed TCTf few of the othen. 



MmLhaLUne: 



PiGkar, diortened wliett addressed to a sini 
person tan lUAc««^(, a genesal name fat a solmer 
•moBott tiie GraeYs and Albanese who speak 
Eomaie>-it means p r op criy **a lad." 



301 



StaaMluiLlinalMt. 



Asai m e fli me a of Ae Alb a ni a n qrAmnentdialeol 
of the uJjrric, I here Intert two of their most pop* 
ttlar chonl songs, wlilch are nnsnlhr ehantsd m 
daneing by men or women inoiserimmatdy. The 



first words are 
^. Hke 
langnagee. 

1. 

Bo, Bo, Bo, Bo, Bo, Bo, 
Madarara, popuso. 



Nadarura na eirin 
Ha pendsrini ti bin. 



Ha pe udni eeciotlni 
TI vm ti mar MrretinL 



Calirioteme rarme 
Ea ha pe pse dna ttrob 



Bno, Bo, Bo, Bo, Bo, 
QisgsBn spirta esimiro. 



kind of choms withoot 
and all othsf 



ItfO, Lo, I some, I 
be thou silent. 



I some, I mn ; open tha 
door that I may ent«r. 

3. 
Open the door by halTes» 
that I may take my tor^ 
ban. 

4. 
Caiiriotes* with the dark 
he gate that 
*7< 



CaUiiota TU le fcnde 
Ede Tste tunde tandem 



Calirtote me snrme 
Ti mi pat e poi mile. 

8. 
Se ti pnta eiti mora 
Si mi ri ni vstt ado gis. 

9. 
Va la ni il che eadale 
Celo more, more oelo. 

Phi hari ti tirete 
Phi hnron ela pre seti. 



Lo, Lo, I hear thee, my 
souL 



An Amaont girl* in oostly 
garb, walks with grace- 
ful pride. 

7* 

Caliriot maid of the dark 
eyes, give me a kiss. 



UI hate kissed thee.what 
hast thou gained ! Mr 
■oul is eonsumed wita 
fire. 

9. 

Dance liffhtly , more sent- 
ly, ana gently stiU. 

10. 
Make not so mueh dust 
to destroy your em 
broidmed nose. 

The last stansa would pussle a commentator ; the 
men have oectainbr buskins of the most beautiM 
teztare, but the ladies f to whom the abore is sup- 
posed to be addi-ested) have nothing under thor 
tittle yeUow boots and slippers but a well-turned 
and sometimes Tsry white ankle. The Amaont airls 
are much handsomer than the Greeks, and their 
drets is £v more pictoresoue. They preserre their 
shape mneh longer also, from being always in the 
■pen air. It is to be observed, that the Amaont ia 
hot a written language ; the words of this song, 
therelbre, as well as the one which follows, are 
spelt aoeording to their nroanndation. They ate 
copied by one wha speaks and understands the 
dialect perfectly, and who ia a natiTO of Atiiens. 

1. 1. 

Ndis^dilindeulafossa I am wounded by thY Iota. 
Vettimi npri vi lofra. and hare loTcd but ta 

scorch myself. 



Ah raisisso mi priri lofra 
Si mi rini mi la Tosse. 



Then hast oonsomed ma * 
Ah, maid! thou hast 
stanekmetothaheart. 



«lw;"fcrirtMiiiii— H>f»stA^wl^ 



70 



Uti taia zoba itna 
filti ere tnbtti doa. 



Roba stinori ssidua 
Qu mi sini yetti dua. 



Qurmixd dua «iTileni 
fioba ti narmi tildi ei^ 

6. 
Ultara pisa vaisisto me 

rimi nn ti hapti 
£ti mi bire a piste si gui 

dendroi tiltati. 



BTBON*S W0lt&8. 



I ka¥e said I 'wish no 
dQvrwj, but thine eyes 
and eje-lashes. 



The accursed doirry I 
want not, but thee 
only. 

5. 

Give me thy charms, and 
let the portion feed the 
flames, 

6. 

I have loved thee, maid, 
with a sincere soul, but 
thou hast left me like 
a withered tree. 



7. 7. 

Udi Yura udorini udiri ci- If I have placed my hand 

cova cilti mora on thy bosom, what 

Udorini talti hoUna u ede have I pained ? my 

caimoni mora. hand is withdrawn, but 

retains the flame. 

I beliere the two last stanzas, as they are in a 
different measure, ought to belong to another bal- 
lad. An idea something similar to the thought in 
the last lines was expressed by Socrates, whose arm 
ha-ving come in contact with one of his *• irwcwArwi,** 
Critobulus or Cleobodus, the philosopher com- 
plained of a shooting pain as far as the saoulder for 
iome days alter^ and therefore very properly resolved 
to teach his disciples in future without touching 
thenu • 

31. 
Tambourffif Tambourffi! thy larum afiur. S^, 
Song, Staaxa i. Ime 1 
These Stanzas are partly taken from different 
Albanese songs, as far as I was able to make them 
out by the exposition of the Albanese in Romaic 
and Italian. 

32. 

Remember the momeni when PreeieafeU, 

■ Song, Stanxa viii. line 1. 
It was taken by stonn from the Frenoh. 

38. 

jPatr Greece t tad reHc of departed worth, ^. 
Stanza Ixxiii. line 1. 
Some tfaonghts on this sul^ect will be found in the 
•vbjoined papers. 

84. 

^pirit of freedom ! when on PhyWe brow 
Thou eavtt with Thraeybttlut and hie train. 

Stanza buuv. linfes 1 and 2. ^ 

Phyle, which commands a beautiful view of 

Athens, has still eendderaUe remidns; it 

■eized by Tfarasybulus previoua to tbe expulsion of 

theXhlsty. 

36. 

Reimuethejter^ Fnmk, 

Stsnsa IxxTU. line i, 
When taken by the Latins, and retained for 
lereral years.^See Gibbon. 

36. 

T^pnpkefe tomb of all its pious spoil. 

Stanxa Ixxvii. Une 6. 
Meeca and Medisa were taken same tiac ago by 
Hm Wahabees, a sect yearly Inoreaslng. 



sr. 



Thy vales of eeot-frtn, ikf kBUs of i 

Stanza Ixxxr. line 8. 

On many of the mountainfl, particulaily LMcvftt 
the snow never it entirely melted, notviusti *' 
the intense heat of the suramer ; but 1 1 
lie on the plains, even in winter. 



Save where some solitary column t 
Above its prostrate brethren of the cave. 

Stanza Ixxxvi. lines 1 and 2. 

Of Mount Fentelicus, from whence the maibia 
was dug that oonstructed the public edifices ol 
Athens. The modem name is Mount Mendeli. 
An immense cave formed by the quarries still 
remains, and wiU till the end of time. 



When MartUhon became a magic word, 

Stanaa IxzJdx. iStaie 7. 
'* Siste Viator— hcroa oalcas ! " was the epitaoh 
on the famous count Merci ; — ^what then must oe 
our feelings when standing en. the tumiilus of the 
two hnndnd ((Greeks) who fell on Marathon ? The 
principal bairowhas reeently been opened tiy Fa»- 
vel; few or no relics, as vases, &c., were found by 
the excavator. The plain of Marathon was offered 
to me for sale at the Bum of sixteen thousand 
piastres, about nine hundred pounds ! Alas !— 
" Expende,— <juot librcu in duce summo— inve- 
nies ! "—was the dust of Miltiades worth so awie ? 
It could scarcely have fetohed less if sold by weight. 



fATSBB BSFUattO XO »X JTOSJI 38* 



Before I say any thing about a city of which every 
body, travelur or not, kai thoiu|kt it neoMsarr to 
say something, I will request Miss Owenson, when 
she next borrows an Atnenian heroine for her four 
volumes, to have the goodness to marry her to 
somebody more of a gentleman than a <*I)isd«r 
Aga," (who by the by is not an Aga,) the most im- 
polite of petty offlcers, the greatest patron of lax*- 
ceny Athens ever saw, (except Lord B.) and the 
unwcM-thy occupant of the Acropolis, on a handsome 
annual stipend of 150 piastres, (eight pounds steil> 
ing,) out of which he has only to pay nis gairisoB, 
the most ill-regulated corps in the ill-4«gulated 
Ottoman Empire. I speak it tenderly, seeing I 
was once the ca«se of the husband of ** Ida of 
naariy suffering the bastinado ; and be> 
the said *< Disdar " is a turbulent husband and 
beats his wife ; so that I exhort and beseech Miss 
Owenson to sue for a separate maintenance in behalf 
of <*Ida." Having premised thus much, on a 
matter of aoah import to the readeia «f romaneea, 
I may now leavo Ida, to mention her birthplace. 

Setting aside the waa^ of tlie naoM, ami all 
those associatioas which it would be pedantic and 
superfluous to recapitulate, the very situation of 
Athens would render it the favorite oi all who haTS 
eyes for art or nature. The climate, to me at least, 
appealed a perpetual aptiftg; daafiag «lgkit months 
I never passed a day without being as many hours 
on hoffseback ; rain is axtTenelv rare, snow never 
lies in the plains, and a cloudy oay is an agreeable 
rarity. In Spain, Portugal, and every part of Ae 
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,) yon might '* damn the 
climate, and eoinylawi of lylMn*'' ire days ontol 



MOTES TO CBOMi HABQUTft PILO&DCAOS. 



Tht lir af th» M ica » hcary nd vswhoktoa^ 
Mt tktt moBiaat you pM* the lathmiu in tha direo- 
tioo of Mcgara the change b strikingly peroepti- 
Ue. Bat I fear Hoaiod wjll stiii ba founa coxreet in 
hk deaenptiaa of a Bcsotian winter. 

We found mX Livadia aa ** aapnt fart *' in a Oreak 
UshoD, of ail free thinken 1 Thia wozthj hypoeiita 
Bihaa hia own zelision with great intra]ndity, (bat 
lot before kla flook,) and talked of a moM as a 
*' cog^ioaaria." It wma impoaaihla to think better of 
kia tor thia ; hot, for a Boeotian, he was brisk with 
all hia ahairdity. Thia phenomenon (with the ex- 
ception indeed of Thebea, the remains of Chsronea, 
tibe plain of PUloa, Orchomeaus, Liradia, and ita 



Uet] 

The feoontain o( i^iree tarns a miU : at least mr 
eampanion (who zeaolTing to be at once cleanly and 
filassiral, bathed in it) pronoonced it to be the foun- 
tain of Diree, and taa body who thinka it worth 
while may ooatradiet him. At Castii we drank of 
kalf a dosen streamleta, soaae not of the poreat, be- 
fofe we d aa J d cA to oar satiafaction whicn was the 
tneCaataiian, and sraen that had a riUaaoias twang, 
prahahly from the anow, though it did not throw ns 
into an emc ferer, Uke poor Dr. Chandler. 
atatr 



i Phyle of whioh laroe remains still ax- 
iat» tbe nain of Athens, PenteUcus, Uymettua, the 
JSigeaa, and the Aoropolia, bust upon the eye at 
OBoa I in my opinion, a more glorioas prospect than 
flven Gimtnt or Istawhnl Not the Tiew from the 
Troad, with Ida, the HeUaspont, and the more dis- 
tant Mowtt Athoa, can equal it, though ao superior 
Inextaait. 

I heard mnch of the beauty of Arcadia, but ex- 
cepting the view from the monaatery of Megaspelion, 
(wnieh is inferior to Zitsain aeommandof eoantry,) 
and the deecent from thauaoantaina on the way from 
Tripolitaa to A»as, Azeadia has little to reoom- 
Bsaad it bayoad the name. 

" S taMitai , ei duiem mociens reasiaiaeitur Argoa." 

▼Ifgi! could harre put this into the mouth of none 
but an ArgiYe, and (with reference be it spoken) it 
Aaos not daaenre the epithet. And if the Polynioes 
of Statins, ** In me<tiis audit dao litora eampis.^ 
did actually hear both shores in crossing the isth- 
mus of Corinth, he had batter ears than nare ever 
been woth in such a journey since. 

" Athens,** says a celebrated topographer, ** is 
still the BBoat polished city of Greece." Perhaps it 
Biar be of Greece, but not of the Chreekt ; for Joannina 
in Bphus ia oniverBally allowed, among themselTes, 
to he superior in the wealth, refinement, learning, 
and dtaleet of ita inhabitanto. The Athenians are 
remarkable for their ounning; and the lower or- 
ders are not inspropeerly charaoteriaed in that pror- 
crb, which claases them with ** tiie Jews of Saloniea, 
and die Tvrka of the Ne^^repont." 

Among the Tarious foreigners resident in Athens, 
French, Italians, Germans, Raj^usans, &c., there 
was never a difference of opinion in their estimate of 
the Greek character, thou^ on all other topics 
Ihsf disputed with 9faat aonmony. 

Hr ¥W^ the French consul, who has passed 
thirtif years prineipaUy at Athens, and to whoae 
talents as an artist and manners as a gentleman 
none who have known him can refuse their testimo- 
ar, has frequently declared in my hearing, that the 
Cueeks do not deserre to he emancipated; reason- 
tag OB the groaoda of their ^'national and individual 
depasfitj ;** whflo ho forgot that such depaarity ia 
to be Bttriba*ed to eauses whieh can only be reasor- 
sd by tile measure he reprobates. 

Mr. Rooue, a flench merchant of respectability 
loBg settled in Athens, asserted with the most 
imusing gravity, '^ Six they are the same oanaUle 
thaiasMtedsaMrdaM^ Themuitooiee r analarm- 
iag remark to the ** Lwsdaaof teaMperis actL" The 
mcients K^^M)i<wi Themistocles, the modems cheat 



71 

great an kwa wm baav 
traated! 

In short, all the Franks who are ftataraa, and 
moat of the Englishman, Germans, Daaea, &c^ o| 
passage eaow over hy degrees to their opinion, on 
much the same grounds that a Turk ia Bngland 
would oondamn the nation by wholesale, beoause he 
was wronged by hia laequey, and orerehsrged by 
his washerwoman. 

Certainly it was not a Uttib staggering when the 
Sieurs FauTel and Lusieri. the two greatest dema- 
gogues of the day, who oivide between them the 
power of Pericles and the popularity of Cleon, and 
pusaU the poor Waywode with perpetual diflerencea, 
agreed in the utter oondeasnation, ** nulla rirtuta 
redemptum," of the Greeks in general, and of tha 
Athenians in particular. 

For my own humble opinion, I am loth to ha»» 
ard it, knowing, as I do, that there be now in MS. 
no less than five tours of the first magnitude and of 
tha most threatenina aspect, all in typographical 
array, by peraoas of wit, and honor, and regular 
oommon-pLace books ; but, if I may say this wiUiout 
oiEenca, itsesms tome rather hard to declare so posi* 
tively and pertinAoioualy. as almost every body haa 
de cl a r ed, that tha Greeka, because they are very 
bad, will never be batter. 

Eaton and Sonnim have lad ns astray by theif 

anegyrioa and projecto ; but, on the other hand, Da 

'auw and Thornton have debased the Greeks be« 
yond their demerits. 

The Greeks will never be independent ; thev will 
never be sovereigns as heretofore, and God forbid 
they ever should ! but they may be subiects with- 
out being slaves. Our colonies are not inoependent, 
but they are free and induatsious, and such may 
Greece be hereafter. 

At present like the Catholioa ef Ireland and the 
Jews thronffhoptthe world, and such other cudgelled 
and heterooox people, they suffer all the moral and 
physical ilia that can aaiiet humaiiity. Their lifoia 
a struggle against tiwth ; they are vicious in their 
own defence. They are so unused to kindness, thai 
when they oocasiocaily meet with it they look upon 
it with suspicion, as a dog often beaten maps at 
your fingers if you attempt to caress him. ** They 
are ungrateful, notoriously, abominably ungrate- 
ful !"— ihis is a general ery. Now, in the name ol 
Nemesis ! for what are th^ to be gratcfol ? Where 
is the human bei^ that ever conferred a benefit on 
Greek or Greeka r They are to be grateful to tha 
Turks for their fotters, and to the Franks for ^eir 
broken premises and lying eounaels. They are to be 
grateftil to the artiat who aagravaa their ruins, and 
to the antiquary who carries them away; to the 
traveller whoea janissary fiogs them, and to the 
scribbler whose journal abuses them ! This is the 
amount of their obligatiMsa to foreigners. 

II. 
Franciscan Convent, At?hen»t Jaemary 23, 1811. 

Among the remnants of tiie barbarous policy of 
the earlier ages, are the traces of bondage which yet 
exist in different countries ; whose inhabitants 
however divided in religion and manners, almost all 
agree in oppression. 

The English have at last compassionated their 
Negroes, and under a less bigoted government, may 
probably one day release their Catholic bretnren : 
but tiie interposition of foreigners alone can eman- 
cipate the Gmks, who otherwise, appear to have aa 
small a chance of redemption from the Turks, as 
the Jews have from mankind in general. 

Of the ancient Greeks we know more than enough ; 
at least the younger men of Europe devoted much 
of their time to the study of the Greek writers and 
history, which would be more usefully spent in mas- 
tering their own. Of the modems, we are perhaps 
more neglectful than they deserve ; and while every 
man of any pretensions to learning is tiring out Wa 



7« 



vrmaxn wokkb. 



jvoAt tad often fcii afe, in tks itndy of Uie lan- 
guage and of the liarangues of the Athenian dem- 
agogues in fiiTor of -freedom, the real or swpposed 
descendants of these sturdy republicans are left to 
the actual tyranny of their masters, although a very 
s%ht effort is required to strike off their chains. 

To talk, as the Gbreeks themselves do, of their 
rising again to their pristine simeriority, wooid be 
ridiculous ; as the rest of the world must resume its 
h&rbarism, aftar reasserting the soverei^tT of 
Gxoeoe : but there seems to be no very great obstap 
ele, except in the apathy of the Fruuts, to their 
becoming an useful oependencT, or even a free state 
with a proper gusnntee ;— ^moer correction, howev- 
er, be It spoken, for many and well-infonned men 
doubt the practicability even of this. 

The (Greeks have never lost their hope, tiiough 
they are now more divided in opinion on the subject 
of uieir probable deKveirers. Religion recommends 
the Bassisns; but they have twice been deceived 
and abandoned by that power, and the dreadfol lea- 
son they received after the Muscovite desertion in 
the Korea has never been forgotten. The French 
they dislike i although the 8iilir|uaation of the rest 
of £urope will, probably, be attended by the deliv- 
erance of continental Oreeoe. The islanders look 
to the English for succor, as they have very late- 
ly possessed themselves of the Ionian republic, 
Corfu excepted. But whoever m>ear with arms in 
their hands will be welcome $ and when that day 
rivesj Heaven have mercy on the Ottomans, they 
cannot expect it from the Giaours. 

But instead of considering what they have been, 
and speculating on what they may be, let us look 
at them as they are. 

And here it is imposdUe to reeonoile the con- 
trariety of opinions : some, partieularly the mar 
chants, decrying the Oreeks in the strongest Ian- 
Kuage; others, generally tzaveUers, turning periods 
El tnefr eulogy, and publishing very curious specula- 
tions graftea on tiieor former state, which can have 
no more e&ct on their present lot, than the exist- 
ence of the Incas on the Ihtoie fortunes of Peru. 

One very ingenious person tarns them the **nat* 
ural allies of £ngUshmen ;" another, no less ingen- 
ious, will not allow them to be tiM allies of anybody, 
and denies their very deseent from ^e andents ; a 
third, more ingenious than either, builds a Greek 
empire on a Russian fovndation. and lealisea (on 
paper} all the chimeras of Cathertae 11. As to the 
question of their descent, iriiat can it import wfae- 
tner the Mamotes are the lineal Laoonians or not? 
or the present Athenians as indlgNums aa the bees 
of Hymettus, or as the gnmkoppen, to which they 
once likened themselves ? What Englishman eares 
if he be of a Danish, Baxon, Norman, or Trojan 
blood ? or who, except a Welshman, is afflicted with 
a desire of being des c ended from Caraotacus } 

The poor Oreeks do not so much abound in the 
good things of this world, as to render even their 
claims to antiqid^ an object of envy ; it is very cruel, 
then, in Mr. Thornton to distittb them In the 
possession of aU that time haa left them : vis. their 
pedigree, of which they are the more tenacious, as 
It is all they can call their own. It would be worth 
while to publish together, and eomrare, the works 
of Messrs. Thornton and De Pauw, Eton and Son- 
nini i paradox on one side, and prejudice on the 
other. Mr. Thornton conceives nimself to have 
claims to the public confidence from a fourteenyears' 
residence at Pera ; perhaps he may on the suDgeot of 
the Turks, but this can give him no nNre insight 
into the real state of Greece and her inhabitaats, 
than as many years spent in Wapping into that of 
the Western Bkhlands. 

The Greeks of Constantinople live in Fanal ; and 
if Mr. Thornton did not oftener cross the Golden Horn 
than his brother merchants are accustomed to do. 
should place no great re^ance on his information. 
I actuaUy heard one of these gentlemen boast of 
Aeir little general inteisoorse with the dty, and — 



sert of Umeelf, wUh an airof 
been but four times at " 



1lM»hehaa 
in as many 

As to Mr. Thornton's wmige in tiie Black Sea with 
Greek vessels, they gave fann the same idea of Greeos 
as a cruise to Berwick in a Scotch smack would of 
Johnny Grot's house. Upon what grounds, then, does 
he arrogate the right of condemning by wholesale i 
body of men, of whom he can know little ? It is 
rather a curious drcumatance that Mr. Thornton, 
who so lavishly dispraises Pououeville, on every oc- 
casion of mentiomng the Turks, haa yet resource 
to ham as authority on the Greeks, and terms himan 
impartial observer. Now Br. Pououeville is as little 
entitled to that appellation, as Mr .Thornton tc con* 
fer it on him. 

The fret is, we are deplorably in want of informa- 
tion on the subject of tne Greeks, and in particular 
their literature, nor is there any probabihty of ooi 
being better acquainted, till our interoooise becomes 
more intimate, or their independenee cosilrmed : the 
relations of passing traveUera are as little to be de- 
pended on as the invoetires of angry foetois; but 
till something more can be attaineiL we must be 
content with the little to be acquired from shnilsr 
sources.* 

However defective these may be, they axe meiiesa 
ble to the paradoxes of men who nave read supci^ 
ilcially of the ancients, and seen nothing of tiie 
modems, such as Be Faaw; wko when he ssserti 
the British breed of horses is miiied by Newmarket, 
and that the Spartans were cowaxds in the field, be* 
trays an equal knowledge of English horses and 
Spartan men. His *< philosophical ohserrations " 
have a much better ebim to the title of *<poeti- 
cal." It could not be expected that he who libsi^ 
ally oottdenms some of the most eeiebnted instita* 
tions of the ancient, should have mercy on the 
modem Greeks : and it fortunately happens, that 
the absurdity of his hypothesis on tadbr forefattheis 
reftitee his sentence on themselves. 

Let us trust, then, that in spite of the prophecies 
of Be Pauw, and the doubts of ICr. Thornton, then 
is a reasonable hope of the rodemptifln of a race of 
men, who, whatever may be the enora of their re- 
ligion and policy, have been amply punished by three 
centuries and a half of captiri^. 

lU. 
AOem, FraneUean ComomU^ Mar. 17, 1811. 



Some time after my return from Constantinople to 
this city, I received the thirty-first number of the 
Edinburrii Review as a great Havor, and certainly 
at this distance an acceptable one, firom the captain 
of an English frigate otr Balamia. In that number, 



• A vonl, m p at mm, wldi Mr. TlMntM and Dr. 
\mn bma gdly ftHw—i Sw>of ■wily nHmliig Urn Bmkut** TmMA. 

Dr. PoujoBTille leik a loaf moij of a Modem who aMJlowad eoooii* 
subBoMte is MKh quHMUM dMt In MqoiiiMl tht mm af " AdqinM 
y«ywS** I- •• V>o^ tlM Doctor "AflcyMM, *• Mtir qf w fr a ri m •«» 
matt.** •'Ifaa,** lUnki Mr. ThonHon, (uifTj wi* te Doctor fer tm 
OAkth timej •' bav« I caugbt yoaf '^TbM, III a aota Ivrlet Om AiekBM rf 
dHDaaMr^aMedala,lN4aMlleH«to DafltaC% pnSsiaMf hi Cm TihIM 
iMfWtMd I* v«nah/ b Ifc vmn^^ PW," ut i a i >■ Mr. TIwwkm, i^tm 
laikttaCM Oiito ym^puMtt»ttArwMk^nAJ**knmmmiaJb$ 
man tbw fiMtyMn «• MMr.** and qaHa niiMtw tbe Mndnentair 
"mUtoMlB.*' Now bodiutilfU.«ad both are WTCOf. If Blr. Thonieo, 
when he Mzt italdM ••bunooo jmn hi the tu$arj,** wffl canHk Ui 
Torhhh dktfcmanr, or a* Mqr of Ifc atmbclae aaqiiBhitaaaa, he wll 
diaeovw ant •« AriipnM yefM,** pdt ttfiaBr StaMHf, MM the «*«^ 
J— of^i Hnii,**tthofwr " JX ^piii " b *■ «Mi w ft ili ^ " 
dgwUyh^ -Mi I iiriM wUhMle," Mrf aal heiaff a ^pnfm imm m Ait 
«oeaeleB,ahhoi«hllbeaaoiltadas mm aooafh «ith te ■iin inn rfw. 
Aa« Mr. ItaMB^IwiMit Uoie or pnfcaad OriBQtalhm, ha aright hM 
iMnd tUe out beftve he eaof each pMH ofw Dr. PtaiVMvBa. 

- 1 flilnk xTiavdfen Mffw Faslan ■* ihel ha ev MtM, SMgl 



Mm.'> M.B.fhrthel 



, "mam" toaM • i 



KOTM TO CHUSB 




FILOBOUOB. 



On 




aad tluir tttantnre, itIA a 
N»r OKay»»oo-4naMUtotiathftPnaieh 
tiiose noiaska I neaa togroandafcw 
aad tiba not whore Iii«w writ* will I 



ibruta 



: tiMmia a 



BtiodMteg H 
: m ttooA d%BM ooui^etad with tM sabiaet. 
Oonr* tiia most cSiehqitad of Unmm QntSuh at laMt 
nm^ the FimUu. was boim at Solo, (in tiM B0vi«w 
ftaTxna is ststedf I bavs isaioa to Odak, taoonoet- 
lf,)aBd, benies tike tnaalatfamolBaosozia and oth- 
er works laairtawned by ^s Sevioww, haa pnMiahed 
a lesieon in Binaaie and French, if I may trast the 
annaoe «f sobs Buiish tmfeUsn lately airived 
ftem Paris ; bnt the lataet we hare seen here in 
Ftaaeh wmd Qteek ie that of OfSMiy £oliheclooa.* 
Oosay has reeentir been inYolred in an n:^Iesaant 
aonttoveeay witii IL GaaUt & Paikian eoAkBientatOK 
editor of eosM tnnalationa from 0»m Greek 
m. cottseqaeaoe of the InstHate having 
\ the prise far UsTanioa of JUppocrataa 
•*tUpl U«v«ir," Jke^ to the dinMngenMBt. and eon- 
a^dlqaesaweof tikeeaid^dL To his ez- 
a uftenry end petdotie gi 



JS^letl 



_ great pniae is ua- 

doebtedly dae» bnt a part of tluit praise onght not 
to be wtthhdd from the two brotheis Sodmado, 
ihaata aetOed in Le^orn,) who sent hha to 
, and wiTitihifnd him far the expceaa pui p u ee 
of aJwcwfatnugtibeeneieat^ and adding to tin mod- 
em, zeoesKehes of his eonftTmsa. Cecigr, 



, is not eo H s id ere d by hie oonntiymen eqnal to 
■nee who Izred in the two lest oentozies ; mere par- 
tkelady Darothees of Mitylene, whose Hellenie 
eiitoMS are so mneh en teemed by the Oreaks that 
MdAs tenM him, •« Mar* r«y dM««JlA|v m) Icv^ 
#«»md^«T«c*JM4Mr/' (P.»4BodeainMioalHis- 
T.voLi.) 

Kadrikas, tte trahslatar of Foate- 
uraaea, 1^ tranalated OeeUns Ln- 



csty 



I ea Hm UaireeBe into l^eneh, Ohristodonhu, 
MBB partiaalarly PaaUda, lAom I have eon- 
I with in Jeeaaiaa, aie also ia hirii lepate 
J their KteiatL The liwt-meatloned has pab- 
fin Bomaio and Latin a work ea ** Tine Hi 
dedieatad toCSatharinell. BntPolyse 
by tile Beviewcr to be the onlymed- 
my who haa distingaiahed himaelf by 
r H^snie, if he be the PoWaoia Lsm- 
EaiotaB of Tanina, who has pehlishsa a nami 
Ittbms in Bemaie, was malthsr mote nor U 
, an itinerant render of books; witii the oon- 
I of which he had no conaem beyond hia aame 
m tittai paao» plaeed there to aeeare his prop- 
la the pabficetign; sad he wa8» moreover, a 
L atlaHy deetitato ef aeholaalie aeqoireaMa 
tiba aaia% howevw, ia aot aaenmiaon, aoi 
PalyBoli amy have edited Ae Spiatlas of Aiis- 



It ia be ■agiittifl that the ayalem of esatiaental 
blockade has oloeed the few chaaaals thsoagh which 
tte Qneka laeeived «air pahiiaatians, paationlarly 
YcaieeaadTUeste. Xvea the eemmoa grtounara 
far ^tUien aretieeoBie too dear far the lower Qidevs. 
Axaaagat tbair origiaal worka tlba Oeogmahy of 
Mdbtiiia, ArehUahop of Athene* and a maWti 
of Aeohia^eal oaaitoe aad peetiael pamphletai i 
to be met wit&i their graauaam aad leTJeoms 
twe^ tbne^ and faav fangaagee, aae Bmaeraoa a — 
eKceOent Their poetry is in rhyme. The meet 
di«ahxpieoe I have lately asea is a satire ia dia- 



■Mtohle fl< ora> ■hilw/' OBOiiaPtaMkMl 

IMf eH»MlldlMl«ioat«rat«lwia«l«tMnalB^t** It 

BiMkiaMihHhHhMteaaMMaM«te*nll In *• aah 




■■iiHH i^kiiwvH a Basaiaaf flBgnah« aad F^reaoh 
tracveOer, and the Wayiiode of waUachia, (or 
Maakbey, ae tiunr term him,) an archbiahop, a 
ehant, and Gogfa Baehi, (or primate,) in an 



. to all of whom under the Turks, the writer 
attribatee tiieir preeent degeneracy. Their aongs 
are sometiaue pretty and pathetic, bat their tnnee 
generally eaplaaeing to tne ear of a Frank : the 
beet to &e ftmooa '*At€rt ir«Uc£ rO^ 'SAA«r«»»/' by 
the n^fortonate Riga. Bat from a eatalogae of 
mote ^an aizty aathota, now before me, only if* 
teen can be found who ha^ touched on any taeme 
exeeat theology. 

I em inbnuted witii a oommisaioB by a Greek of 
Atiiens. named Marmarotonri, to make anaage- 
menta, if poaaible, for printing in London a trana- 
latioa of sartikdemi'a Anacharato in Romaic, aa he 
has ao other opportonity, unless he deapatchee the 
MS. to Viaaaa by the Black Sea and Danube. 

The Reviewer BMntiona a acfaool established at 
H ec at e n esi, snd a u p pi eaaed at the inatiration of 
Sebeetiaai : he means Cidonics, or, in Turkish, 
HaiTali ; a town on the continent where that inati- 
tation far a handled atodenta and three profeaaors 
atill eakta. It to true that thto eatabluhment was 
distarbed by the Porte, uader the ridiculous preteat 
that the Oieeks were eoastructinff a fortress instead 
of a oollege; but, on inveetigauum, and the pay» 
BMnt ef some pnraea to the Divaa, it has been per* 
mitted to continue. The principal professor, named 
Uenfamin, (L e. Benjamin,) to stated to be a man 
of talent, but a freethinker. He waa bom in Les- 
bos, studied in Italy, and to master of Hellenic, 
Latin, aad some Frank languagea; berideaaama^ 
taring of tiie aeienoca. 



tion over the fall of the Greeka appeara ainguUr, 
when he dfoaea it with these worda: **l%e chanftis 
fa b$ dllifl ii farf fa tkmr miifirttmm rather than fa 
amy *phmmeal thgrBdatitm.* ** It may be tnie that 
the Gieeka ere not ph^rricaDy degenerated, and tha« 
Oonatantiaople contained, on the day it changed 
maatera, ae many men of aix feet and upwarda aa in 
the hour of prosperity ; but ancient history and 
BMdera poHtica matruct ua that something mora 
tiian physical perfection ia neceaaary to pieaerve a 
atate m rigor and independence ; and the Graeka, 
In partieuuir, are a melancholy example of the neer 
oonneot&oa between moral degredation and national 
decay. 

The Reriewer mentiona a plan "tosMMve" br 
Potemkin for the pniification of the Romaic, and! 
have endcsfvored in vain to procure any tidmga or 
traoea of ita eziatenoe. There was an academy in 
St. Petersburgh for the Greeks; but it was su^ 
pressed by Paul, snd has not been rerived by his 

There to a slip of the pen, and it can only be a 
sUp of the pen, in p. 68, No. ai, of the Bdinborsh 
Review, where ^ese words occur:— <'We are told 
that when the capital of tiie East ytolded to Solf 
fnan *'--it maybe presumed that thto last word wifi» 
in a Aitam edition, be altered to Mahomet II.*— 



lafaoMV maim «# *• WOgtm^ Bvrinr, UH, S h i 

iMiaad ai jf lriafc 4aai aot ana « kHP^^r "V ■">* *» *^ 
• mJkUh.1 ftwiy,— Wm a la ScotiMd Umj i!m ywf iimlm ■'■ ol 
« S^lfmm tamm JMmmI IL m^ tmm 




•MlBrlthtoteariteiaBBMnet. Tlw fmSniM, tevlnff anjayvd wot 



74 



BYBOirS WQXXS. 



ihe ''Udut of ConstentiaoDle/' it mmb«. at ikgX 

period spolce a dialect, " which would not naye dis- 
graced we lips of an Athenian " I do not know 
y^how that might be, but am sorry to saj the ladies 
in general, and the Athenians in particular, are 
much altered ; being far from choice either in their 
dialect or expressions, as the whole Attio race are 
i)arbarous to a proyerb : 

" SX AJB/iva KfiorTj x*^P^ 
Ti yatiapoMs rp^ig rci»pa." 

In Gibbon, toI. x. page 161, is the following sen- 
tence :"— " The vulgar dialect of the city was gross 
and barbarous, though the compositions of the 
church and palace sometimes aifected to copy the 
purity of the Attic models." Whatever may oe as- 
serted on the subject, it is difiicult to conceive that 
the " ladies of Constantinople," in the reign of the 
last Cssar, spoke a purer dialect than Anna Cmn- 
nena wrote three centuries before : and those royal 
pages are not esteemed the best models of composi- 
tion, although the princess yXiaTT^v uxtp AKPIBAZ 
ATTiKi^Qvvav, In the Fanal, and in Yanina, the 
best Greek is spoken : in the latter there is a nour- 
ishing school under the direction of Fsalida. 

There is now in Athens a pupil of Psalida'i, who 
is making a tour of observation through Greece : he 
is intelligent, and better educated than a fellow- 
oommoner 'of most colleges. I mention this as a 
proof that the spirit of inquiry if not dormant 
among the Greeks. 

The Reviewer mentions Mr. Wright, the author 
of the beautiful poem *' Horas lonicfls,'* as qualified 
80 give details of these nominal Romans and de- 
generate Greeks, and also of their language; but 



Mr. Wright, though a good poet and an able man, 
has made a mistake where he states the Albanian 
dialect of the Romaic to approximate nearest to the 
Hellenic : for the Albanians speak a Romaio as no- 
toriously corrupt as the Scotch of Aberdeenshire, or 
the Italian of Naples. Yanina, (where, next to 
the Fanal, the Greek is purest,) although the capi- 
tal of Ali Pacha's dominions, is not in Albania but 
Epirus ; and beyond Delvinachi in Albania proper, 

S» to Argyrocastro and Tepaleeu, fbeyond whicn I 
d 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, whose 
mother tongue is lUyric, and I never heard them or 
their countrymen (whom I have seen not only at 
home, but to the amount of twenty thousand in the 
army of Vely Pacha), praised for their Greek, but 
often laughed at for their provincial barbarisms. 

I have m my possession about twenty-flve letters, 
among which some from the Bey of Corinth, writ- 
ten to me by Notaras, the Cogia J^chi, and others 
by the dragoman of the Cainiacam of the Morea, 
(which last governs in Vcly Pacha's absence,) are 
said to be favorable speciinens of their epistolary 
s^Ie. I also received some at Constantinople from 
private persons, written in a most hyperbolical 
style, but in the true antique character. 

The Reviewer proceeds, after some remarks on 
the tongue in its past ana present state, to a para- 
dox (page 59) on the great mischief of the knowl- 
edge of his own language has done to Coray, who, 
it seems, is less likely to understand the ancient 
Ghreek, because he is perfect master of the modern ! 
This observation follows a paragraph, recommend- 
ing, in explicit terms, the study otthe Romaic, as 
"a powerful auxiliary," not only to the traveller 
and foreign merchant, but also to the classical 
scholar; m short, to every body except the only 
person who can be thoroughly acquainted with its 
uses ; and by a parity of reasonmg, our old laaenafle 
is conjectured to l.e probablv more attainable By 
"foreigners," than by ourselves! Now I am in- 
clined to think, that a Dutch Tyro in our tongue 
(albeit himself it Saxon blood) would be sadly 
perplexed with " Sir Tristrem," or any other given 



AaekinlMk]fa**wMi ortiHhMt A u 
glossary; and to most «pprehen«l«BS it 
evident that none but a native can aeqoire a eom- 
patent, far leaa complete, knowledge oi our obeolete 
idioms. We may give the critic credit for hie 
ingenuity, but no move believ« him than we do 
SmoUet's Linnahago, who maintains that the 
purest English is spoken in Edinburgh. That 
Coray mav err is very possible ; but if he does, the 
fault is m the man rather than in his mother 
tongue, which is, as it ought to be, of tht greatest 
aid to tiie native student.—* Here the Reviewer pro- 
ceeds to business on Slarabo's translatots, and here 
I close my remarks. 

Sir W. Brummond, Mr. Hamilton, Lord Aber- 
deen, Dr. Clarke, Captain Leake, Mr. GeU, Mr. 
Walpole, and many others now in England, have 
all tne requisitas to ftimish details of this fiUlen 
people. The few observations I have offered I 
should have left where I made them, had not the 
article in question, and above all the spot where I 
read it, induced me to advert to those pages, which 
the advantage of my present situation enabled me 
to clear, or at least to make the attempt. 

I have endeavored to waive the personal feelings, 
which rise in despite of me in touching upon any 
part of the Edinburgh Review; not from a wish 
to conciliate the &vor of its writers, or to cancel 
the remembrance of a syllable I have formerly pub- 
lished, but simply from a sense of the impropriety 
of mixing up private resentments with a disqusition 
of the present kind, and more particulariy at this 
dietanoe of time ana place. 



ASBJcnoxA* yon, oir trb Tunxa. 

The diffioulties of travdiing in Turiiey haw been 
much exaggerated, or rather have oenaidstmbly 
diminishea of late years. The Mussulmans have 
been beaten into a kind of sullen civility, vecy 
comfortable to voyagers. 

It is hasardous to say mach on the subject of 
Turks and Turkey; since it is possible to Uve 
among them twen^ years without acquiring infoi^ 
mation^ at least from themselves. As far as my 
own slight experienoe carried me I have no com- 
plaint to make ; but am indebted for many civilities, 
(I might almost say for friendship,) and much 
hospitality, to Ali Paeha, his son Veli Pacha of the 
Mores, and several otiiers of high rank in the 
provinces. Sulevman Aga, late Govexnor of Athens, 
and now of Thebes, was a ban ms nnf , and ss social 
a being as esmt sat cross-legged st a tray er a table. 
During the carnival, when our English perty vran 
masquerading, both himself and his successor were 
more happy to <* receive ma4ks" than any dowager 



in Grosvenor . 

snpeinff at 
his friend and visitor, the Cadi of Thebes, 



On one«ooci 



square, 
asum of 



his 



; the eenvent, 



carried from table perfectly quahfled for any clnb in 
Christendom ; while the worthy Way wode himaell 
triumphed in his falL 

In all money transaotiens with the Moslems, I 
ever foond the strictest honor, the highest disinter- 
estedness. In tsanssetinR business witii them, 
thsee am none oC these oirty peculationa, under 
the name of interest, differonoe of exchange, eofli- 
mission, &c., &a., uniformly found in applying to a 
Greek consul to eash biUs» even of the nnt \ 



in Pera. 

With regard to presents, an established enstom 
in the East, you will rarely find yourself a loser ; 
as one worth acceptance Is generally returned by 
another of similar value — a horse, or a shawL 

In the capital and at court the citixens and 
courtiers are formed in the same sehool with those 
of Christianity; but there does not enist-a mwm 



irOTSS TO GBUHI HABOUIV PILORIMAGB. 



tim tke triM TMi»k poT&ofad An, or ModMn 
toanoj gBntlem»B. It i» not meant nm to desig- 
Bcte Che gOTeraors of towns, but thote Ana who, 
brakindof feudiu. tenure,poMeM Unds uidhonMs, 
or Boto or l«n extent in Greece and Asia Minar. 

The lower orders are in as tolerable discipline as 
the rabble in eonntries with greater pretensions to 
«mlisati«Mi. A Moslem, in walking the streets of 
ear eomtrr-towas, would be more incommoded in 
Bn^and tnan a Frank in a similar situation in 
Tvkey. Regimentals are the best traTelUng dress. 
The best accounts of the religion^ and different 
sects of Islamism, may be found m D'OUison's 
Frcneh ; of their manners, Ac, perhaps in Thom> 
ton's English. The Ottomans, witti all their 
delecti, axe not a people to be despised. Equal, at 
least, to the Spaniards, they are superior to the 
Portngueee. If it be difficult to pronounce what 
thej are, we can at least say what they are not : 
they are not treacherous, they are not cowardly, 
they do not bum heretics, they are not assassins, 
nor has an enem^ adranced to their capitaL They 
ait faithful to their sultan till he becomes unfit to 
gOTon, and derout to their God without an inquisi- 
tion. Were ther driTen firom St Sophia to-morrow, 
and the French or Russians enthroned in their 
stead, it would become a question, whether Europe 
would gain by the exchange ? England would cer- 
tainly be the loser. 

With regard to that i^orance of which they are 
so generally, and sometimes justly accused, it may 
be doubted, always excepting France and England, 
in what useful points of knowledge they are 
czeelled by other nations. Is it in the common 
arts of life r In their manufactures ? Is a Turkish 
nhre inferior to a Toledo? or is a Turk worse 
dothed or lodged, or fed and taught, than a Span* 
iard? Are their Pachas worse educated than a 
Grandee ? or an Effendi than a Knight of St. Jago. 
I think not. 

I remember Mahmout, the grandson of Ali Pacha, 
asking whether my fellow- traTeUer and myself were 
in ^ upper or lower House of Parliament. Now 
tiiis question from a boy of ten years old proved that 
his education had not been neglected. It may be 
doubted if an English bqy at that age knows the 
iifisence of the JJiTan from a College of Deryises ; 
but I am Tery sure a Spaniard does not. How little 
Mahmout, surrounded, as he had been entirely hj 
his Turkish tutors^ has learned that there was suen 
a thing as a Parliament it were useless to ooi^ecture, 
uless we suppose that his instructors did not con- 
fine his studies to the Koran. 

In all the mosques there are schools established, 
which are rerj regularly attended ; and the poor are 
tansht without the church of Turkey being put into 
pcra. I belieye the system is not yet printed; 
(though there is such a thing as a Turkish press, 
and books printed on the late militarT insHtiitKm of 
the ^^sam Oedidd ;) nor have I heard whether the 
Mufti and the MoUas have subscribed, or the Caima- 
eam and the Tefterdar taken the alarm, fbr fear the 
ingenious youth of the turban should be taught not 
to ** pray to God their way." The Greeks also— a 
kind of Eastern Irish papi sts h ave a college of 
their own at Maynooth— no, at Haiyali: where the 
hetoodoK reoeiTe much the same kind of ccrante- 
sance from the Ottoman as the Catholic collage firom 
the English legislature. Who shall Aen affirm that 
the Turks are ignorant bigots, when l3iey thus 
erinoe the exact proportion of Christiam charity 
which is tolerated in thiB most prosperous and ortho- 
dox of an possible kingdoms f But. though they 
aDow all this, they wUf not smffer the Greeks to> 



participate in their prxyikMs ; no, let tliam fight 

, ad p»T HMfar * 
drubbed in this w«eM, and daanva in the next. 



the^b^tUes, and pAT 



(taes,) be 



we tiMB uMsneipote our Irish Helots ! 
ro«lm!dlb«BhthM Mussul- 



Mahomet forbid! Wo 



n 

wont OlifMaas i otpvMMt wt mito Iho 
best of bothH«^tieal ftdth, and toinirthhig nsl 
mndi inferior to TdrUsh toleration. 



APPENDIX. 

Axowo an enalayod people, obH^od tohnyon* 
course to fureign presses even for their books of ro» 
ligion, it is less to be wondered at that we find to 
few pvUieotiona on general snMecti than that wt 
find any at all. The whole nnmoer of the Greeksj 
scattered up and down the Turkish empire and 
elsewhere, may amount, at most, to three millions i 
and yet, for so scanty annmber, it is impossible to dis- 
eorer anr nation with so great a proportion of books 
and theor authors, as the Greeks of the 



esBtwy. *' Ay," but sst the generous adTocates q| 
oppression, who, while tney assert the i^oranee ef 
the Greeks, wish to prerent them from dispelling it| 
*«ay, b«t tiMse are mostly, if not all, ecfesiastical 
traels, snd conseouently good for nothing." WeU« 
and pray what else can they write about ? It ii 
pleasant enough to hear a Frank, particularW aft 
Englishman, who may abuse the goyemment of hli 
own oountry ; or a frendman, who may abuse er- 
ery goyemment except his own, and who majraoM 
at will oyer eyery philoeophical, religious, scientiflo, 
skeptical, or moral subject, sneering at the Greek 
legends. A Greek must not write on politics, and 
oannoi toueh on science fbr want of instmction; U 
he doubts, he is exeommunicated and damned; 
therelbre his eountrymon are not poisoned with 
modem philosophy ; and as to mornls, ^anks tt 
the Turks 1 there are no such things. Wliat then 
is left him, if he has a turn for scribbMng } ReUAr 
ion, and holy biography: and it is natural enough 
that thooe wiio have so little In this life should look 
to the nest. It k no great wonder then that In a 
catalogue ftew before me of fifty-Aye Greek writei% 
many of whom were lately liying, not aboye fifteen 
should hay* tou(diod on any thing but religios. 
The catalogue aUuded to is contained in the twear 
tr^izlh chapter of the fourth yolume of Meletins'f 
Ecclesiastical Histoir. From this I subjoin aa ear 
tsaet of those who haye written on general sub- 
jects ; which will be followed by some spednaens M 
theBomaio. 



LIST 07 XOMAIC AVTHOBA.* 

Neophitus Diakonos (the deacon) of the Morea» 
has puolished an extensaye grammer, and also soma 
political reffulations, whieh last were left u nfini s he d 
at his deatn. 

Prokopius of Moseopolis, (a town in Epirus,) has 
written and published a catalogue of the learned 
Greeks. 

Seraphin, of Periclea, is the author of many 
works m the Turkish lan^oago, hut Greek charac- 
ter ; for the Christians of Caraniania, who do not 
speak Romaic, but read the character. 

Eustathius PsaUdas. of Bushares^ a physician, 
made the tour of England fbr the purpose of study 
'xApiP ^adiicsuit) I but ti^ou|^ his name is enumer- 
ated, it is not sUted that he has writtem any thing. 

Kallinikus Torgeraus, Patriarch of Constantino- 
ple : many poems of his are extant, and also prose 
tracts, and a catalcjpie of patriarchs lince the last 
taking of Constantinople. 

Ajiastasius Macedon, of Naxos, member of the 
royal academy of Warsaw. A church biographer. 



BYEOSra YQBU. •, 



(of what is not specified,) and has published his 
oorrespondence with the celebrated George of Trebi- 
Bond, nis contemponoy. 

MeletiuB, a celebrated geographer ; and author of 
the book from whence these notices are taken. 

Dorotheas, of Mitylene, an Aristotelian philoso- 
pher : his Hellenic works are in great repute, and, 
&e is esteemed bv the modems (I quote the words 
of Meletius) tisra r6v &ovKv6(driv xal Scyo^dSrra ApiFos 
•fiXX^ofir. I add fhrther, on the authority of a well- 
liifoFmed Greek, that he was so famous among his 
countrymen, that they were accustomed to «ay, if 
Thucyoides and Xen(^hon were wanting, he n 
capable of repairing the loss. 

Marinus Count Thurbourec, of Cephalonia, pro- 
fessor of chemistry in the academy of Padua, and 
member of that academy, and those of Stockholm 
end Upsal. He has published, at Venice aa ac- 
count of some marine animal, and a treatise on the 
yopertiee of iron. 

Marcus, brother to the former, fismous in mechaa' 
ios. He has removed to St. Petersburg the immense 
xock on which the statue of Peter uie Great was 
ixed in 1709. See the dissertation which he pub- 
Bshed in Paris, 1777. 

George Constantino has published a four-tongued 
kzioon. 

George Yentote; a lexicon in French, Italian, 
ttndBomaic 

There exist several other dictionaries in Latin 
and Romaic, fVench, ftc, besides grammars in 
every modem language, except Eiwlish. 

Among the living authors the following axe most 
eriebratea>-* 

Athanasius Parios has written a treatise on rhet 
one in Hellenic. 

Christodoulos. an Aeamanian, has published, in 
Tienna, some physical treatiBes in HeUenio. 

Panagiotee X^odrikae, aa Athenian, the Romaic 
teaaslator of FonteneUe'^ << Plurality of Worlds," 
fa ihvorite work amonsnt the Greeks,) is stated to 
fie a^teacher of the Hellenic and Arabic languages 
in Paris ; in both of which he is an adept. 

Athanasius, the Parian, author of a treatise on 
dietoric 

Vicenso Damodos, of Cephalonia, has written 
•*€it Ti iuoo9ipeQp9¥," on logic and physics. 

John Kamarases, a Bysantine, has translated 
into French Ocellus on tne Universe. He is said 
to be an excellent HeUenist, and Latin scholar. 

Gregorio Demetrius published, in Vienna, a 
geographical work : he has also translated several 
Italian authors, and printed his versions at Venice, 

Of Coray and Psalida some account has been 
already given. 



GREEK WAR SONG.f 

1. 

AMtT TS, wmiSst rAt 'BAX4m*v» 

h matpdi Hit H^ift ^Aflw, 
'At fa9&iHt» A(i*c kmiwa¥ 

antf ficif itkNUv rib ^fXfi* 
'A( vnHotfftfv Mf€ltAt 

riv ^vydy T^t rvpavptSot* 
lirjiv^o'cii/Kv rarp(S«t 

it6Bt 8¥ti60s mivxpir. 

vaXitt *BXA4vitfr, iytt/itw* 
Il9ram64v kxfipw ro c?/ia 



I tr Mi Mv «■ to *wl oMv *» • 



OAcv(799rro5r*BAA4»«fr 
K6KiiaXa difipttMitt¥€f 

Jbn^para Inopwtvpiiva, 
Ttapa X&6er€ wo^y i 

X r^v ^UKJ^y rift caAriyytft ji« 
ewaxBflrt 5\a 5/io«. 

ical ¥ikSts Tp6 ira»ro9 
TA 8v\a is Xa^6)|ier, sle. 



Twipra^ Twapra^ rt ttoipScai 

{(irvi}9«r, «rpA(c A$li»utt 
v^pftoxov ««yrorciHf»« 

*E99vpii99v AcMviJov 
4poM( ro9 ^at»9ro9f 

T09 d»6p9s tirtuptfii99Vf 

^ipo9 Kol Tp9ptpo9f 

Tft SvXm is XMu^t¥, see 



*Oirov its rhs ^tpitniXtLt 

iriXtpw a^rdf KponX, 
Kttl TO^t Uipc^s ^favl^tt 

Kal a^niv KaraicpartU 
Hi TptaKoviuvt ivSpatf 

its ri Ktvrpmr vpoxM^i, 
Kal, tas Xiuv 9v/iu/ilv0(, 

tif rd alpA rtav fiovret, 
Ta oirXa Sf X&€t»iuw, etc 



ROMAIC EXTRACTS. 

Vtaantf 'A^X*f, ««! raAXof xd^ovrcf rJt» vtpi^yngtB 
r9r 'EXXd^f, koX 0Xbnrrts rilv dOX(ar r^v K^riaranm 
tlpdriitrav Karapx&S tva TpatKiv 0(XIXXi|va iiiv^itiBww^ 
rk" ahtav, psr' airdv Iva ptirpviroXtrtiVf ttra fv« ^X^c* 
uvttiVf iirttra Iva npaypianvT^v rat Iva vpMorcSrSa 

Efvl pas, & ^iXlXXiura, trSs ^iptis H^v atcXmSUv 
Kal r^v a9aptry6pnTov rdv TirSpXciw rvpayyfoy, 
ittas raXs IvXaXs xaX {Apitryic^s k<iX viiiipoitopSia» 
waUaVt rrapdivbw, yvvaiKuv dv^KOVvrw ^ptXatfk 
A2y CiXO* i<nXs dn6yovoi Utlvtav rcSy 'EXX^vcdV 
ruv tXsvBipuv Kal vo^dv xal r&v ^(Xairarpi j«iy, 
Kal veSf UtXvoi dvlBviiCKOP ytft r^y iXci>9rp^a»% 
ffol Ttapa iotis iriKtiaOt ds rimav rvpawvloj^, 
Kal irotoy yivos &»S MXs iorSBii ^tarivpivaw 
ds rf^y nn^tav, S^vapiPf its «' 8Xa ^OKnvftiPw 
r^( y9y tKaraar^Tt rlt¥ ^<anyhp BXAiJo. 
fiaSdJ its l^a 9KiXi6p9¥f wf vKorttpiif Xofiwdi^M 
OpiXtt, ^/Xrarc TpatKl, tivi ftan rlfv mirUp 
pi Kpiirrps riwoits 1tp»htf >M riw ihnpla^ 



'O MAfi'AAHNOZ 

TaM'ff-ayyXtf-xdXXoc, *ZXXiis» «al 1^(1 iXAs<« 

9rev, ns Xirt, ir6nP peydXti, 

w9» il SBXia, KaX dt^iU 

^ ai ipX^^f" 4 dpoBtom 

9a* i^nxopa^auM yd ril» (wry^vjr 

toBt* till rd x^tpow rilv &^iiy«9«. 

airil oTvy^M, ri tIkpu cp^ci« 

ar4 yft mpaidirTanv 5Xs vpyvrd^Wf 

««l r^* iXfri{« In mpil^ti 

cipsfy isctyo svf r^y ^Xo|^«i. 

Mi fvrif roX|i4«n 9k r^ («*»4#9 

vdyti 0rd» Um ac*^^ ^(*« Mp(m» 



vans TO CilIU» HAB0U>'9 PUORDfAQl. 



w 



-&ft«h9Mli 1^ 



Bt of a loag te- 



aiatie satin «a th« Onak pdMtkood, |Mriiioet» and 
gntrj: It » 60Btanp«S>l« at a wpoaitfan, tet 
t^fTfc*p^ cLiiou a as a q>MiiiMii of thafar rhynie ; I 
hsfvflM ivlMUin MS. but this sxtzaet wffl be found 
saffacnt. Tbs Bomaie in this composition is so 
«M7 ss to leader a Tcnion an insult to a scholar : 
bat thnae who do not nndentand the original will 
aeuse the following bad translation of what is in 



TKAKSLiiTION. 



▲ Rwseiaw, BngHahman, and Frenchman making 
the taMv of Oreeoe» and obserrin^ the miserable 
state of tiie eoontrr, intsnogatoi u turn, a Greek 
Patriot, to loan the eanse; afterwards an Arch- 
bishop, ^en a Ylackbey,* a Merchant, and Cogia 
Bechi or Primate. 

ihoii ftiesd of iSbcy oountrr ! to strangers record 
Vhy bear je the yoke of uie Ottoman Lord ? 
Why bear ye these fetters thus tamely displajr'd, 
The wrongs of tiie matron, the stripling, and maid } 
The deerendants of Hellas's raoe are not ye ! 
The patadDt aons of ^o aage and tiie free, 
"^ I from the bloM of the noble and braTe, 



To TiklT enst as tiM Museolmsn slaTc! 

Rot SBSO wve the Ihthen your aanab ean boast, 

Who eonqjtter'd and died for the freedom you loet! 

Kot eneh was your land in hst earlier hour. 

The dnp<«tar off nations in wisdom and powerl 

And stul wiU yon thus nnresisting increase. 

Ok shanefal dishonor 1 the dadknoss of Oreeee ? 

Then tsll no, beloirod Achean ! rsreal 

The osnso of the woes which yon cannot conceal. 

The reply of the PhPellenist I haTC not trans- 
lated, so H is no betfemr than the questiDn of the 
traveung trinmvirale; and the abore wiU svffi- 
ciendy ueer with what kind of composition the 
GnAm aie now saliiHsJ. I trast I have not much 
intend Ae origfMl in the fow lines glTsn aa foith- 
lUly, snd as near the 



nmae i uo «f the Bomaie, ae I eoidd make them. 
Almost an their piecea, abore a song, which ss]nre 
ts tim name of poetry, contain eaaouy tiie quantity 
of foot of 

"AB^fcfabriJif IfcMii, Bti SwiHi mill qwHw,* 

idii^ is in foot the present heroic oouplet of the 



SCENE FROM 'O KA^EMTZ 
ninLATSD raov ths Italian of ooldoiti, 

BY SPeniDION TLAKTI. 
XSHNH Kr. 

IIAATZIAA €is r^y Hfirmw n9 x^inoi, cat ot iftaStp. 

lUA ''a 0a I ivi t4 n^eM^i ^o9 if Awn »« 4*«^m 
t^fm^rti dyJp^ |i«v iv Mirdf shut iiCt, f^M H 
amfiw 9k rir (crrpevidrM. [Miyivu free ArdJWf imi 
Ti i^mcTfiQu^ naAic£p<, «<f #u»«, *i irapemX**, evt^f 

Mtiu itfuU %^<rt|i<i h4p€i. Bref ( «^ Bi^friSf, 
k IJa«r kHf lUftwi Nfn«X(Wb«;, mZ h rpirf k Hip 

HAA Aap4|iM« tl% mirw^ iU «?»«, h ^Xaptmt, ir 

ipttf Av lAAeffT J!re|ia» 

ABA. ia(f^«dU^T«vr r*9««#Blxfy(ov. [Biytir- 



> Thdfcy, pat rf Waliiih 



IIAA Airit <7mi h Mpmt ^n x»f^t <U«. BsAI 

tit •irvit r9if ifmrHtt^hwH ^IXm vk r«n ««l(Ma/«» 

ACT. 'OfMiOf Mr (jnRnfit^ptww HfUtm rdv Im* 

FIA. KmpStk^ ««^iA, «i^r« ««X*» MpJiAr, li« c7mm 
Hnrgf. [U^ rh Btrt4pt»»] 
BIT. 'Bt^w miwHfpm eOf dmAar«. [Zw<#gerf«i ciii 

[Ari r& w p i^i ye rdv Urtimt #elr«rr« Am, fo«f 

Ml haH mirds itfxptt 9^ U>it pk H^r Omv^ 1 
BTr. 'OxhifTuinru 

MAP. Mi»r«i^MT«. 

ABA X4Kt»,f4rt*w^UtL 

OAA. B•4dlf«^ ^e^rie. (fc<rM dvi r«» •viMiy, I 

TPA. [SU fra wiin fit fmyl dt itfev wtr^irm tuSf 4m 

(DAA B^Y^htt dwk t4 ipfmtrr^pt rwt watyvtitwi rp$' 
Xwrrsf, «c2 ft€ytt tit ri x^i.] 
[BTr. Itt <PiMT« c/( r< x^^ np4t Stm^im—tp rff 

[HAP. MiymlMt hA m4r4t 9tyk wiyk im4 t4 i^um^pt^ 
mmI ^tiytt XiymtTmr RaaMras fafs.] [P«v|i4^f ff^r^}^ 

rOi A««Xm iwi H ipY*^^ ilvc^r*^ tig t4 x^h eol 
cX«i9#v r#v «tfpr«y«] 

[BIT. Uipu tU t4¥ mmM fin^^mt^ dw4 r4v POM* 

e«y«i 

ABA A^MTc T4wr UXia pk l^€i» pk titiwit imTP9 
t4 x^^t- JMI ri 9wm9l tit r4 xh* ipwrim rH B<|-«rtee.J 

BTr. *Oxtt lA yipirm wprt c<mi< Ivof umX^i^gmfUt 
ivMprim Hit ywfta6f «••, mI iyA MX« r^r iimftrntum 
i»t dt r4 iwrtfiop «?/!«. 

ABA £•« v^vM JpMV w4f ^fXn H |tfrsMt«8eep 
[Kw^Tf rip Miyiwup fii r< «««9l'«] 

BTr. Ahr #1 ^•««f/fai. [Kervr^d rkp AUpSpw^ 
irel »ir ^<4(m pk v«p9^ fo(#«i rirvr, Vir»f ti^9KWfrm$ 
iiftmrip ri «rfri ri|( X'P'frptatt fyMpu tit airi, «e2 



TBANSLATTOir. 



PkMSafirtmtA9Do9roftJktffoM,<mdmeOthm. 

Pla. OhOodl from the window it seemed that I 
heard my husband's Tolee. If he ia here, I hafo 
arrlTed in time to make him ashamed. [A Semani 
mvknfnm the Skop.l Boy, tell mo, piay, who era 
in those chambers. 

8&rv, Three gentlemen: one. Signer Eugenie; 
the other, Signer Martio, the NeapoUtan ; and the 
third, my Iiordj the Count Leander ArdentL 

Pla. Flaminio is not among these, unless he has 
changed his name. 

Leander. [IVithm, drinJtmff.] Long lire the good 
fortune of Signor Eugenie. 

[7^ whole Cempam/, Long lire, ftc] (LitcrallT. 
Ni'?ff.ra?*,MayheliTe.) 

Pla, Withont doubt that is my hnsband. [Hi 
the ServJ] My good man, do mo the fsTor to ao» 
company mo above to those gentlemen ; I have 
some business. 

Serv. At your commands. [Aside*! The old 
office of us waiters. [Be ffoet ottt qf the Ottming^ 
BoveeA 

RidoJpho. [To Yictcria on oMtKer part ^ As 
staged Courage, courage, be of good cheer, it Is 
nothing. 

Vietoria, I feel a^ if about to die. \Lemem§ on 
him ae iffttinimff.] 

[From the windowe edbofie aU nffUkSn are eem 
rising from table m oonfution : Leander sAirtfi 



• Afyp« Xarivtsdf, irod ^iXn pd tlnr ft9yt raff eif 



78 



BTKOira WOSX8. 



at the Hokt of PUteida, tmi afpeam ly Ma 
fferturet w tkrtaim her Ufe.} 

Bugenio. No, atop 

Mmrtio. Don't attenm^— 

Leander. Away, fly iSrom hcnee ! 

Pla. Help ! Kelp f [FUm dotm the attura. Lean- 
iet aitemftmg iojbUoto wih Ma award, Eogenio 
hmdera htm.] ^ , ., . , 

[Trappola toUh a plate of meat leapa over the to*- 
mmyfrwH the iramtow, and rtma into the Coffae- 

mateida rme out of the Gamisig-Bouae, and 
takea aheUer in the Hotel,] ^ , ^ . „ 

[Martto ateala aofUy out of the Oaminff-Houaef 
and goea o/T, exclaiming " Rumorea fdge." The 
Servants from the Gaming-Bouae enter the Beta, 
and ehut the door.] 

[Victoria remaina in the Coffee-Bouae aaaiated hy 
Aidolpho.J 

[Lcander atoord in hand oppoaUe Euffenio, ex- 
elaima. Give way— I will enter that hoteU 

Evgenio, No, that shall never be. You aie a 
scoundrel to your wife, and I wiU defend her to the 
last drop of my blood. 

Leander, I will give you eense to rtpent this. 
{Menacing with hia aioord.] 

Buoenw. I fear you not. [Be attaeka Leattder, 
and makea him give back ao muehythatJMing the 
door of the dancing girPa houae open, Leandwr ea 
0apea through, and ao^fimahea,]^ 



AlA'AOrOI OnOAKOr. YaXTLUA DIAL0017B8. 

Aift rft ^iiTliern Ue *p^fi^ 7b a^f»r ang thing, 
9Uc rapeKeXa, 6tctTi fu i^l pray you, gWe me if you 

^Iparlfit. 

Acyc^ocrl fit, 

Uira(vtTS vi ^tiH^iU* Go to 

Twp« sms. Now directly. 

a ixptSi, ito9 K.€p9t9 Hfdfi My dear Sir, do me thia 

fu aiHi¥ rh* x^P'"* nvor. 

Brd •€ f wpeeeXA. I antreat you. 

fiya eas i(opjr((«». I conjure VOU. 

^yi» eis Ti (vrA j<d x4pc». I ask it Of you as a flkvor. 

X'texfitiietri ftt tit lieav. Oblige me 80 mueh. 






M2 Kok^ ftov Knpitev. 
lis ct/iat ir&xpcoi. 

E7/iai So9X6s eas, 
TavsivSreros doiXof, 

IltfXAa wtip^l^teBt, 



AffenwMolte 

l^Kfe. 
Ify dear souL 
Kjdev. 
» heart. 
My love. 



AAfve, ipUTtit^ I dyi)ntt» 

Ayavnri fi»v, dtipiH ptaui, 
fUmplir^a ftov» 
Ay&ni /i«v. 

AiairiHxapi^Hfpr.va^iiijif To tkank, pay con 
wipi^inmsy eel fiKuMit menta, and teet^y 
ic^iucti. gard. 

%yia eta t#x«i»«»'*' I thank yon. 

Xff$ yvmali;ia x^P*^- I retum you thanks. 

t9t ilptit iw&xpatt Kordt mV I am muek o%Bged to fou. 
Xi. 



With all my heart 
Most cordially. 
I am obliged to you. 
I am wholly yours. 
I am your servant. 
Tour most humble scrr 

ant 
You are too obliging. 
You take too muck 
trouble. 
Td fx« 8ii x*P^ f^ *^ »*« I have a pleasure in scnr 

SovXt^ta, ing you. 

E7o-tc ci^cvtJrd; Ml t^/ioo^ You are obliging and kind. 

tfyopof, 
Aira tivat irfftwop. That is right. 

Tf HXtre { What is your pleasure ? 

T( &p I ^c'c I What are your comioandst 

XSt irafioxeXu vi |(i lUra- 1 beg you will treat ms 

XC(p£<caf^c iXc^po. freely. 

Xtaplt 9ipivo(ri9tf Without oeremon>. 

Sdff dytmH i{ hXnt ^09 eap- 1 Ioto you with aU mj 

itttf. heart 

Kal lyi> hfi9(uf Ajud I ^e same^ 

Ttiiietn ju rets rpomyeXt Honor me with your com- 

eat" fluttds. 

'Bj^rc rtmrts rft fil wp^eri- Have you tny comttandB 

|«wf forme? 

npoeri^trt riv fcl^fr em§» Command your servant 
Upoafiiim Tk>s vpenyAt eet* I wait youT commands. 
Mi KipiPtn fttyiXny rtn^p. You do me mat hmsor. 
tMMvyf wtptwelitets «tfr* Not so much oereaumy I 

rapajraXw. b^. 

npeeitwiiotn kt pipet pe9 Present my leapeeta to 
rip ipxowrm, ^ riv K^ptov. tixe eentieman, or his 

Batatvatri ree wi^t rt9 bf Assure hmi of my reBeaa» 

9ep99pau faraaoe. 

BtioiAeeti TMP «Sf rdy 4yc^ Ataure him of my friend- 

««S. ship. 

AJte ^i\*t M^ pa rot r« I wQl not fan to teU him 

«/iri3. of it 

TlpnwwApmrk pev aif rkvlAj comj^Jiments to ha 

ipX^irneeav, ladyship. 

Unyeiptra ipirpeoH cal eit Qm hetcaa, and I wfil Isl- 

ilMXovdw. low VOU. 

H{<«pM KeXhri xptef pe^. 1 woQ know my duty. 
H(«6pw ri tlwel fiov. I know my situatlioii. 

m Kipeert pi k^pietepai pk YoQ confound me with so 

reX% rtvtus ftXo^poe^pais much civility. 

vei» 
eiXtrt )m^p yft Kdpv pier Would you have me then 

4xp<«^i|v«> be guilty of an incivil- 

ityP 
Xwiyia ip!rp9eH ^kpk ettlgo before to obey you. 



• Zc3rcraf— f'fliMm "-nrHmdly «mii«1i. Im ft b «m Mend fe 
MteorOMRomlb. TlM<n%iiiidortUb«wri7«r<laidfait'k I iwtwi 
IntltdMt not •(pott oMarfefctaM. « n Bugtanfe '* to om of tk* 
««rir>l>aCiaD MtSinbt ^ tew ttn^Msd Into •oMtorfctonwh 
nMnunninr UMn«ar«VB*«Lhr,Hh,ifSMto. Tte dnneMr of Ldto to 
«MIW dWM «vi r«nffVrB*ffw GoMnl^ canHdki wmmoM to Sf\]P{ 
•aMIMlto|»aitbMlaEun|M,HKioilMnUKw«nU Bb Mb to atoo flm 
rf a» fcwt yBtawMof «liit<r^<||y, Md, -GStoi tow ohwrmd, " mow 
4nkp«tto Ohb aigr of hh ptoj*.** TIm abom Keo* «m KtoeiacI m OPuUto 
tag aoma of Um ino« tomilfer BooMk fclkMM, Doi for taj wll vfakh ft dta|*i7% 
(dm tbm to mon done lliu nld, the (imtor put eoodrifaiff of Ms* 
ainoOnM. Ths orlglMl toMM«rihe fevcwKifaBJ7 ~ 
•W«u(f»« h«Qoa«7 d iht iiMldtoff tbttoquia. 



Ai& vAxdpw Thp rp««ra}d(ir To comply with your eom 

ffaf. mand. 

Alv iyawii rdeeis irsptnt- J ^o not Bke so much oer^ 

netf. emony. 

Ai» tlpmi ntaivt ircpimtrf X §ja not at all eeremoni- 

etf. ous. 

Adrd tlpet r4 xeX^rcpnv. This is better. 
T6frov rd iteXiiTtpov, BO much the better. 

'Excn Xtfyoyt ^X^ra itxaiop. You are in the right 

Aift »a ^ctfet(3(r]if, vi <^p»'•^ Jb 0^rm, ifeny, conaattt, 
0|{, pA svTwrayi^ffyf , rrA. |e. 

B7mi dXntfWr, <lbwi dX4'Itk4nie,itlf voiytraa. 

0ierere^ 
Aia 1^ v«( crvftf rhp <iX4- To taU yeu tke «rmtU. 

tuop* 
OvriDi, fr(ii e7yaf. BeaUy it is SO. 

OaTtft ip^i^XXci ) Who doubts it f 

Alp ilr^t xoadt dpt^iUXte. There is no doubt. 
Ta niertiia. Up t4 wtereeo, I believe it, I do not k» 
Usveit 



KOTBB TO CHILDE HAROLD'S PILQRIHAOB. 



y» 



A.fyw r* txt* 

BdXXu 'rrx>rfi« Srt cijr«i. 

BdAAw erixfllt* 8rt 6i» (iMi 

Nai, /il rJ^ irforcr ^0«. 
£i( r4ir 9Jt¥ttimri» n»^ 

T5: ifn^ tiravta tig 'Hl¥ r<- 

ji^y fi0«. 
Utore^atrt |i<. 

H9t\a 06Xy 9TtxnpM tf, re 
^IXrrt JiA roOro. 

fartitrt) f 
OmXcTrt ftl ri SXa aag f 
B/w 4raf bfuXCi id rh SXa 

ftovt Kol 9is Ai^w Thy iiXif 

Bcta¥, 
Byik> rig r4 fi^aiwta, 

KaX^ gmXi. 

M¥ tiwat dXnStp6¥. 

Eivtu ifffUt, 

"Eyut daTei^oitov¥ (txpp^rcvit) 
E/b> ri tiToiiii yd yiXatruK 
Ti dAi|d«£f. 
Mi dplati Karh vo\X&» 
£v/caravr6(0 c£( ro^ra* 

\i¥ d¥Ti<rTiKOftai etc r»9ro. 
Bi^M r€/f^itiyos> ir ro^^ta^ 

£)ru cjrflyrtciiroiiai ui roBra 
AiA »A 4np€wtXtfiB^ii wh ctf 

Tt |ti ar«|i^vAciwTt vA s4#i«> i 

XMf (^4 >i|i<i( I 
**A{ Kdft*fii*¥ fr^ii, 
B7yai «aA4rc^*v l/«l) nA — - 
ZrodiTrc iA^x^* 
A^v $OcA<v <(va( ieaA4r<^«# 

ya t 

e<Acrc«4/<«i KaXfiT€pQhf — 
Ay iifM^v tis r4w rtfirvr Mr, 

ir^ 



I say yes. 

I say no. 

I wager it u. 

I wager it is not so. 

Tes, bymyfiuth. 

In consoienoa. 

By my life. 

Yes, I swear it to yon. 

I swesr to you as an hon- 
est man. 

I swear to you on my 
honor. 

BelicTe me. 

I can assure yon of it. 

I would lay what bet yon 
please on this. 

Yoa jest by chance ? 

Bo you speak seriously ? 
I speak seriously to you, 
and tell you the truth. 

I assure you of it. 
Ton havo enesied it. 
You hare hit upon it. 
I belioTe you. 
I must believe yon. 
rhis is not impossible. 
Then it is veiy wilL 

Well,weU. 
It is not true 
Itisisise. 

There is nothing of this. 
It is a falsehood, aa im- 
posture. 
I was in joke. 
X said it to laugh. 
Indeed. 

It pleases me much. 
I n^pcee with you. 
I sive my assent 
I do not oppose this. 
I agree. 

I will not. 

I object to this. 

7b consult, eonsideTf or 
retolte. 

What oufldit WB to do ? 
What shall we do? 
What do you adTJsa i 

to do? 
What part shaU we take ? 

Letwdothis. 

It is better that I- 

Wait a liUle. 

Would it not be better 

that 

I wish it were better. 
You will do better 
Let me go. 
If I w«rar in your place 



the reader hy the tpecimme Uiow will he enabled to 
eompare the modem with the aneieiU tongue, 

PABJLUSL FABSAeat VBOM ST. lOHlCs eOS»XN 
NIar. •* A^tffmx^. 

KcfiA. iu Ke^tiA. iu 

L EPS Tii¥ dpxi^y ho» h 1. 'EN df>X9 l¥ h Afyof, 
A^or KaX h Xivot ih'ey ficra m1 h Xiyt ^¥ wpdf ri¥ Otd¥, 
Bte9- «•! 0th nTe¥ h X6yt» Ml Oiif 9p I Kfyef^ 



9. l&ro9r9S tlrop tif t,)¥ 
daxfi¥ ptrh Oco9. 

3. *OA« [r.i wf^YfLarii] ith 
futctv Tcr8 [Atf^o«] tytt'rieraVf 
Kol x'^pU ai>T6¥ 6i¥ tyi^t 
Kuviva KiTi syi¥t. 

4. JRif ttVT6¥ 7lr&¥ ^tatir kh\ 
4 ^(ah firop Ti ^&t r«5y dp- 
9pwruv. 

5. Kal rd ^<3( tis rhv ok»- 
rtttur fiyyt*t *al 4 vkotm 
Si¥ rd naraXmtt, 

6. *Kyi¥e¥ Ipas IvOpo^vs 
dircoraXpivot drd rdv Qedv, 
rd Spofta Tov liitdvvrjs* 



fi. O9roc 9y h dpxi «yS. 
rdv Oiok 

8. Uavra Si airoB iyi¥ST^ 
KttX xt»>pU n^rod iyttfSTb o^M 
Sv, S yiyo¥t¥. 

4. *Ey air^ ([m^ 4y, mi ^ 
(w/^ fl¥ rd ^( nwy dvOp»- 
n<a¥, 

5w Ka\ rd ^^s h rj vKordf 
fa(¥*t, mal ff vkoHa aird oi 
KarlXaSs¥» 

6. "Byiptro ivBponrof dir- 
evraXiiivos irapa. Ofov, tvopa 
mir^ *l(oa¥¥fn. 



THE INSCRIPTIONS AT ORCHOMENUS. 
FROM MELETIUS. 

'OPXOMENO'S, MiircSf S«ptirod, ir6Xt( rori rXovviM 
rdrti gal ivx^p^r&Tiiy vp6rtpȴ icaXovpivri Botwriirai 'A9jf- 
yar, tig r^¥ kw0(Q¥ firov h Nad; rCiv Xapirup, di rdv hwoiop 
tKXfipiiX¥0¥ riXti ol OnSaToif nvTivog rd tSaipos avc<XK&^ii 
wori ird nSv AowaXdyKutv. ''Exuvtiyvpt^ov cis airtiv Til¥ 
w6Xt¥ rk Xaptr^aigf roi bxoiov dyuivoi cvpotf iirtypa<p&s br 
arlfXaii IpIow ro9 Kria$l¥rof yaov br^ ditSfiari rfit 6cortfjro«, 
iiri rvd np<aT9naBiip(»v Klevrof^ M ria¥ fiannXttM Ba#t- 
Xttovy Aio¥r»s, gal KioforavrtvoVf txo^ffas o^tof ip ftie 
a% f0t^ Kot¥i»s* 

**Ofit iinK«»k rdv dy&¥a rwv "Xmptrriclup* 
SoAvi^r/^f. 

H^yi; 'Av0AAb»y(ov 'A^nvx'Vf ard Mai^y^pM. 

Z«5rAa( ZioiXon ad^i9f> 

Pai^dtff. 
N9Vfi6ino( Noivti?W«9 'AOiipatos» 

Uoi^riis ix^¥, 
*Apii¥(at AtiifiiXt9vt OriSatof* 

A*Asr#f. 
*AnoXX6iorf 'AiroAA«^tfr9« Kpl^f, 

AiXi.tS6f, 
PtfJitfOf V»6if9ov *Apy1lot* 

#ayfaf 'AwnXXoddm ro9 ^omCov AloXrds iwi 1 

Ki9mptf6it, 
Ai9f^rpios UapiUviaK9V KaAx>|Otfyiofr 

Tpay<ad6f, 
UmepAnit 'Apiar»|ciyo«f PSiiofm 

KaAA^^porof '£(a«<«rM Qr/imet* 

Dcii/r^f Z«r(pa»y. 
'AjR^yfar Air|i«tfAlv«f QifSaTog. 

A«ip^e»S AupoBton TapAvriy^c 
* Honirilt TpayMiidp, 

Xa^OKXilt Zo^MAcaof 'A^vraFpf. 

*TiroitpiTfij. 
JLaStpixoi OcoJ<dpo« OuSaXof, 

IIo<i|r^( KwytM^my. 
'AAf|«y^poc 'Aptarta99S 'ABe¥el^e^ 

*Xw9KfilT^S, 

"ArroJ^S »ArrdXo9 'A^qyetcs. 
01^ SifU^p rd¥ y^^ifrvy dym¥a r&¥ I 

Uaiieg avXnvrUm 
AtoeXHs KtXXtft^v Q^ai9t* 

llaiiat kyipdpat, 
Srperiyof Biiy4<«« Oirtfaiof* 

"Aitipaf aiXuvrift 
Ai9KX!is KaAAtM^({«v BeSmtof. 

'A¥6pat kytftdpef 
IfdStwirof Voiinrov 'Apyttag. 

TpayuSdf, 
InrMcpanjf 'Aptcr9fil¥ovs F(6i9S 



60 



BtBOxrs wcniKii. 



AXf |«yJ^9f 'Af i^rwytj 'AOifiraiOf. 
'Ar A r$ ir^ JwpiKttlf. 

Xapinfriov, cikipi4<rrtt w&»ru9 9$ nt 6t ivucfiSvay r* 
Xapirc/rco. 

mptiSt X'iUcpiTtos Otf^CiOf. 

Ilocirdf. 
M^vrup M^anpt ♦uc«i<^. 

KpireMf KXruyos OttSitof. 

A^Xtirit. 
UtptytwU BpccAcfda* KM^ifffV^f. 

AiXatpUs. 
AmnfiittTos ^Xav«M*Ap7'(o^ 

Kitfapivrdif. 
Tif^rfit 'A^aAwof A/oXhy^ dird Mo«p(ra(. 

Tpaxosv^tff. 
'AmrXairi^tfpo; Ilovdcio taparrivit* 

'HiK69rpar»s ♦iXtfarpirw 6crtf<i»f. 

B9€pKot Hp^TW Kopwvc^r.*' 

*By <XA^ Xt9v. 

'll#piX9$ IIoXwpdrM( 'Iap<ayvpof ^(ax(r«Nrn Mp9Mt 
X»paY*t9*vrtt put^wrtt it9Hc*9 iifHhiMW r(iiwt ip- 

XWTOi mi\(0¥T9{ ttXloS fi0¥r»f dXKl9$i¥t9S*** 

*£» Mpi>} \(Bm, 

«*wiPX« ipX9*f^ii M**"** *«X««^fft», 4pxi.....^ B*- 
tf(aX( 4px«<ipw ^fMCfo...^^; iwiSuuta drd rAf eov}^ 
yp«f^ rf^ r«5y nXcpipxW) ff^ r«5y MrovrAuv, dptkS- 
pt¥Ot Tit 90JtYYfi^^ '*« «i^l>oc w4p «<^p<i»«, «# ^l3(«' 
Kh vo9i«Xccr«.^ ....^ik riptfpri^v ^owrtaf, «# dc^arcXccir 
XwiMpw, ffi^ <5roy«cov KO^iM^itfw X9P«M'c7«t ffir r4 t^^i«- 

Sv^M ^MTVf, pcirdf ^XaXnpcvlM F ipy«3y, 'vX^- 
«X<i«f r«pfa( drU«Mr< «lf«*X« ipx»i&lit ^cMttf 4r< rAf 
9O9yyp0^Q ri KaraXin^v kAt ri ^ffd^tepa rH Japw, dU«- 
Xtfpcvof rAf 9»iiyYP*f*H rAf «fpcy«f ir&p «t«^(X«v, c^ 
rf^p«»a ^bMKlflf. K^ vAp iitaHvfv m^t^vStapot XW^f^^f 
Mil XvwUan99 taporfXtos frtSa rw roXtpipx*Wt «% ^^ 
Karvwriw. 

■«'Apxorr*C ^ ipX«|rtv# ^«r4px««» ptvAf 'AXcXcopcydtf 
ir di F IXarlif llcv«(ra# 'ApxcXAw pcirif vpdrw. 'Op«- 
Xor« BMwX* F IXardr, 9irHri96Xt ipx^ptrfMy. 'Eniai 
iitMpl^ry B<fMX«f rip r^t «#Xiof W d<»ci«y hnar gkr 
rlt hp0Xoy(mf t4j r^nf hwipXP» IflC^vrt^ pciHf 
^ccXov^K uk wir i^tXirn air<& f ri tiMr r^p rdr v^tv, 
4XX* inftic^ wdwTQ vtpl manift *J^ iw96ti6tt96t tf HXi ri 
IxoitTH rftv hit9X9y(as9 W piv «*rl Stdopt999 xptfiwr 
BMwXv lirl vopfof F irt ^wtrrmpa ffvUwvt #v4» 7«v«( 4<ft 
««rfi|f Fc «ari irp«4ar«f Mir i|;^f XtiXfq; dp^l reS XP^^ 
6 iriAvrdf & ptrlk Hvapx99 ipxntn ipx»p*9tos diroypa' 
^^1 6i EifitaXov rar' hftniv iff«er»y wiip riw raplav 
k9i riw vdpwf if rdn Katpmrm r&w vp^drwt^ kM rw 
4x«5vi til rwr /9ov<3ir, c^ rMV Sinran', d^ irdriMr dmpafMV 
^£«if ri wXttBof pel dw9Ypdf€99 &U vXfors rc3y ytyp^pi- 
plyc^y iy r^ <r«0}oiCfi»^^'< l) ^ari(MMMM.«..i| rd iivopiov 
B<i^«XOTr d^cfXft....^... mmX«£ rc3v ifxopt¥t*»¥ dpy99p(a 



.^.^Hv dk lp»p«rr»f forw r#r lpn»P^»to » 



'■» lAXMf X<«Mf. 

<«'AM*up« fffrf^oy xarp*" NOKTEZ. « KaXXiWrw 
ipf<piX«r, «rf «>««." •■• •»*pff i«rpiif# M^ r4999, 
H vw«p«, 4 M hpitt iw9Ypdfpt9^ •! ««A«(*i vpMlT'pa^Mb 
Kill rh l(9c 



Th« following ii the proflpoetus of a tnaslatios 
of Anatilianis into Romaic, by m? Romaic master, 
Maxmazotottri, who wiahad to publish it in E ngl a nd . 

EIAHSIX TTnorPA«IKB. 

npdf rtdf bf ftX9Yatii m) ^cXf Xavvcc. 

'020I </f fitiXta ravr«^«A ii^p«f«5#ii', i|(<ip««p vtfnv 

f 7m( r# JCP^9tp99 r#j 'ItfTvpfaf, d«' «*t«s yip liivpintrm 

4 rXtor piptupwpim waXat6r^s, nl ^fupofyrai »f far •■- 

r^rp^ |9i|, wpiitts Ml ^loic^Mis v»XXf3» «al Sta^ta 

'I^op««i^ Ai#ri|v«< c'f a/<3M r4y fivttra. 

Htm rfr9tm iricr4pi| r7vai ficr^rrvrvf, mI iv rair^ 
w^UipV, i( itpttrt9P tlwilv dp^ytcatv ^larl Xoivdy ^p<l3 
p^*i yi f^» Wrcpoipctfa, pm iiitipwnt 9^ H( dpxk^ r^ 
irpoytfiwr puft w6$tv w6n «a2 rut clpl^«r df ri( xarpi- 
iaf pat,9iT9 ri i|9v, ri gmnpSt^para vol r^y h9(Kn9h 
rw i Av ip«»r4«P<» r«^ dXX«x(i«ff , #(i<p9«r m p«( ^ 
9999 4x< P^a'M' i9T9pt€i»t r^» ttpX^i* Mi rftv itpUtw rdy 
9p9y49Wf paf, tfXXA mI rvwypdftKtit pit ^(xmw t^ 
5l«i( rdv ««rp<dfl*y p«r, «al «lmvl xfip^xAvyol ytptptwn 
pi r9it ^Mxpa^i«^f rwv ir{#a«af , pif Xlyovr, MA c7»ai •! 
'A«9v««, id& « Sr^prn , l«<7 al e^#ci, rtfra «rMia | p(Xm 
dteixi^t k pirn hrmpx^m dvi -ri^v iXXirv* T«9r«f wKoMipfM rtv 
ptm9 tr6XtPfiKti¥oi rJ^r 2XXir»y «<1 tX. np99iri 4r ipwr^M^ 
piv m:6r9^i roif pi^ BXXqvarxripaT'aiyodc p«r, rtftffy ir«p«ci* 
r^ftiMV yd <{iipr«y4«««y ipX<^ *^^9 raXai Af , ^wovrtfXwr 
p«( in9Kp(¥9»rut pi aiT9^ r«*f X4}««(. *« K«9cbf & iir Zo- 
BUf'Aifdxmpvttfiifilp tmptlpxtrt rk rayrv^p^wva farciy* 
fXlpmn Tift EXXi^of, ty ^2» ip^p€iro r* dOtopmrm, rh 
Vh Mi T9^t 96p99f rwy 'EXX^ywy, HOtXi pt(¥$ ZtiOiK ««« 
rd t99p9 Kol ri irpiypm' olrw «ral & ^p'rcpos iarpit^ Sv ^ 
lp<i^«y< ri r«9 'Inracpdr*«{, div i^f yaro ri vp«xup4#f 
«iS H^ r<xy«» rH. Ay & iy ^pfy yvpjtffnif dly i(<ra^c rA 
r«9 SA«v»f, A«m4px««« m) IIi rrac*^, ^iy U4i'ttr9 »i ^v- 
6^4rf Mi yiMXupy^p ri ijftfv rwy iptf^ydly r9r Ay 4 
P4r«ip diy 4in|y0((<r9 ric ctl^p«irfa( Mi r»i$ x"^**^^^^ 
p9$s ry? Airpo0<^ly»«f I Ay iyfp^o^My tit rhf ^M^ ^^ 
i«pMirc3y T99' Ay 4 N/o( Ay&x<*P<f^St & Kopiyf ^ASSii 
BaptftX«p«r«f Hff dvtytiKant pi pcylX^y lrcp«ylky *ai cgi- 
^y r«^( rX(py lrKp(r9Vi v^yyP^^U rdv *EXX#y(»y, <(c- 
pcvr^ a4r*i« ff«ri /?i0yf M rpfmrwrc M«* fri, ily V^Xcy 
i^ir^v^ T96Tn» r#y rtp2 *EXX#ywy Irrvpfcy ry*, f ri( 11^ 
^cfff f Tvf ffiov 'AMXipycwf ««p' o^«f vpy9>ci)yep<«^q, nl 
r/( IXa; rif tiptwUmt 9taXiMr99t pirtyXurT(99n»** Kri 
iy iyl X«i>}^y «t PiwrcpM, 4v dtp ittpprnp itii UtfYoif r*if 
wp^yi99H pat, |#cX«y Ymk mpiMp«*yfat parclW p^< 
ry« y«y. Airi dty <7yai Xdyi« <y6y«auieplyo« ^li ri ^tX*- 
X(y(f PpaiMf, <7y«i H fiX«X4#ytf Fcppoyytf, ffrif <piri. 
f p«m riy Nl*y *ki4xap9t» dmi rvf r«XXi««0 </s rd f^ 
payffftfy. 

Ay Xocirdy ««i ^^fr HXupnw yi piM(«^pcy r% yi nm * t 
br X«pirp<3y «»r*p0wp4r««» iir#a fccMiy •! i«i|p«#ff«i 
iir«ry«i irp«pirypcc 4p^« i» <n9»p«9yty yi pt$mpn rk9 
9p49699 Mi aiCilvCi twr 4r rif rixHt <r«l in«r4pa< Mi 
tlf Kd$i IXXy <f J«f p«0ik««fi iy fx**!*"* ^tptipyttap yi 
Y¥Upt9up€9 940*9 9a.TaydptBat Mi iryfovf dsvpa^rvd; «mI 
|icydXo«f AvipaSf d koI wpoydpovg 4pe5y, ^ci, fprrf dfar 
yyupffypcy, r^s ffccpdy (ry? yf ^XXyytycrf ^avpi^otny 
o^roif , Mi ii»c 9wip9t wK9T9ta09$9 pai9M«*f Wf p yy i, if 
999Spdp»pi9 tarwrtf rpoMpwf i% r#y liDi99t9 r«9 5a«p«> 
fffov ry^rw 99yypdpit9T9S ro9 Niy« 'Ayox^ptfcwf. 

Hpc^r o^y •{ iw9ytypappi99t ^lX9pt9 litrtXim rpoMpiK 
H^y ptri^pa/9t9 to9 Bc^Iyv pi ri^y cari rd 69¥ari9 ipU 



NOTES TO CHUja HABOLP'S PILOKIMAQE. 



u 



tts rinif, 9IX0|tfy ri gaXXwiou |ii ro^t ytvypa^t^^s 
^ffititw tif r^ lcT$piap, 

idimviy r#s 'IraAiff^f ^tfatwf. H ri|i^ &Ao« r«9 (nyyp&ii' 

nir xfw|rpc^iJtw» iriri««iJ'. 'O ^iA»/nr^( «^ vvp^pmriis 
npiwtt wk jrAqpucq </( icaOc rtffiav ^topfvi Iva «al Ka^yro- 
v(a ttK0ct rilf Bihvnit "''^ ro^ro XMp2( Kamilav 9p66Qinv, 
iXX* ti$it inrom OiXti v£ vgpa^tftff & Hfioi rvKvuivos «al 
&^fyof. 

']E^f^^lr«« Ml cMa(|i«Mf ^la^ccSoirc, 'EXAJ^ywr r«rdc;. 

iM^vft MappofigToip^f. 
A^Hirptos BcpUpns* 

XvvptimV UptSlTH' 



THB LORD'S PRAYER IN ROMAIC. 

'*& nATE'PA /laf ovod ci^ai us ro^i vipavo^, hs diytaa> 
9f ri Swopi 90¥. As iXOg i 0a9iX€(a 9o«. A; yivy rd ^lXnp& 
«•«, KaOii>s ds rdv oipavdv, trl^ti kcX tis rhv yfi^. Td i/zcu^l 
pas t6 gaO^ptptydy, 66s pas ri v^ptpov, Kal wyxtipnvi 
pas ri Jcpin pasy xaBois Kal iptts wvyxtapwdpsv rois rpeo- 
44tXiraspaS' Kc) phy p8s ^9* tis moaapivj dXA* lAcv- 
9ipa)vi pas ^i riv leov^piv, *Orc Until oov ilitat 4 0atru 
Xtia a, 4 Myo^iir, teal 4 ^(^t tis ^^t alu^as- *Ap^. 

IK GREEK. 

IIA'TBP 4/1 Wfi & if r»if •i/Mjwrf, a;^taa0qrb> ri t^o pi 
oav. 'fiA9lr«a ii ^aaiAcia M«* ^«yivi?4rw rd ^iXnpA vev, oh 
iy o«p«y^ tal iwt rUs yiiS* T^y Ikprgy hp^v r&o iirtaiciov 
iis hpiit v^ptpow, Kai i^s hptv rik b^iXfipara fip^^t »$ 
gal ^pjtTs AfUpOf r9is i^Xirats ipAv. Kal pk tiMviytr/s 
4|M(f tis wtipaapip, dXXt, ^rat ipSs dxi ro9 woyiipo9. 
'Ort 999 iorlv h BaaiXita, gal ^ ivvapts, gal h J4{a, lis 
ra^ aiwas. 



CANTO III. 

I. 
Im "pruh of place " hert kut the eagle Jlew, 
Stansa ZTiii line 6. 
* PszDS of |iUee '* is a t«rm of fiilcoiir>', and 
■iMiifl tha highetC pitch of flight. See Macbeth, &c. 

«• Aa Bigia tmr«rfBf In Ui pride or plMB 
Wm Igr « meoHif Ovi kKwkxl at ani UBaiL 

2. 
Such a$ HarmoeHus drmo an Athene* tyrant hrd. 
Stansa xx. line 9. 
See the flunotu soyib on Harmodiiu and Aristoffi- 
ton.— The beet Bnfflkh txansla^n ia in Bland's 
AAthelogy, by Mr. JOenman. 

•• Whh mMB aV «r«d will t vnMK" Ai^ 



JjMf oU wemt nwrry ae a mmrnoffe-Ml. 

Stensa ui. bne 8. 
On the night prerious to the action, it is said 
that a ball was giren at Brussels. 

4,5. 

And Bvan% DonaUTt fame ringt in each clane- 
man*8 eare. Stansa xxri. line 9. 

Sir Ryan Cameron, and his descendant Donald, 
the <« gentle liochiel^* of Ibe »lbrty-Are." 
11 



And Ardennet %oavee above them her preen leavee. 
Stanza uvii. line 1. 

The wood of Soigsiet is snpposed to be a rem- 
nant of the ** forest of Ardennes," famous in 
Boiardo's Orlando, and immortal in Shakspeare's 

As Yon Like It." It is also celebrated in Tacitw 
as being the spot of successful defence by the Ger- 
mans asainst the Roman encroachments.r-I have 
▼enturea to adopt the name connected witii nobler 
associations than those of mere slaughter. 



/ tum*d from aU she brouffht to those she eottkt 
not bring. Stanza xzx. line 9. 

Mj ffttide from Mont St. Jean oyer 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 shiTered 
in the battle) which stand a few yards from < 



other at a pathway's side. — BeneatA these he died 
and was buried. The body has since been remored 
to EnfliUnd. A small holl(|w for the present marks 
where it lay, but will probably soon be eiboed ; the 
plough has been upon it, and the grain is. 

After pointing out the different spots when 
Picten and other gallant men had perished, 1^ 
guide said, *<here Major Howard lay; I was near 
him when wounded." I told him my relationship, 
and he seemed then still more anxious to point out 
the particular spot and drcumstanoes. The place 
is one of the most marked in the field fr<nn the 
peculiarity of the two trees aboye mentioned. 

I went on horseback twice oyer the field, con- 
paring it with my recollection of similar scenes. 
As a plain, Waterloo seems marked out for the 
scene of some gieat action, though this may be 
mere imagination: I haye yiewecTwith attention 
those of Flatea, Troy, Montinea. Leuctra, Cheip- 
nea, and Marathon ; and the field around Mont St. 
Jean and Hougoumont appears to want little but a 
better cause, and that mdeflnable but impressiye 
halo which the lafwe of ages throws around a cel- 
ebrated spot, to yie in interest with any or aU oi 
these, except perhaps the last mentioned. 

8. 
Like to the apples on the Dead Sea*e ehore. 

Stanza xxxiy. line 6. 
The (fttbled) awlee on the brink of the lake 
Asphaltes were said to be ikir without, and within 
ashes.— Vide Tacitus, Histor. 1, 6, 7. 



For eceptered cynics earth wore far too wide a de^ 
Stanza xli. line last. 

The great ener ef Napoleon, *< if we have wiit 
our annals true," was a continued obtrusion en 
mankind of his want of all community of feeling km 
or with them ; perhaps more ofiensiye to human 
yanity than the actiye cruelty of more tremlrfing 
and euspieious tyranny. 

Such were his speeches to public aasembllee es 
well as indiyiduak ; and the single expressiott «^Jeh 
he is said to haye used on returning to Paris after 
the Russian winter had destroyed his army, nibbing 
hie hande over a fire, <*This is pleesanter then 
Moscow,*' would probably alienate more fayor from 
his cause than tne destruction and reyerses which 
led to the remark. 



10. 
What want iheee outiawe 



t should hafa0» 
ETtanza zlyiiL line d. 

an* 



was King James's ouestion on meeting JcAmny 
Armstrong and his followers in full aocoutiemeailiL 
--See tiieBeUad. 



8fi 



BYBOK'S WOSXS. 



II. 



7%e castled croff qf Draohmfib. 

Page 41, Terse 1. 

The oastle of Drachenfek staads on the highest 
■ammit of " the seyen Mountains," over the Rhine 
hanks: it Is in ruins, and connected with some 
«ingalar traditions: it is the first in view on the 
road from Bonn, bnt on the opposite side of the 
riyer : on this bank, nearly facing it, are the remains 
of another, called the Jew's castle, and a large cross 
commemorative of the murder of a chief by his 
brother : the number of castles and cities along the 
course of the Rhine on both sides is Tery great, and 
their situations remarkably beautifuL 

a 

I%e whitmen of hit totU, and thus men o*er him wept. 
Stanza Wii. line last. 

The monument of the young and lamented Gen- 
eral Marceau (killed by a rifle ball at Alterkirchen 
on the last day of the fourth year of the French 
republic) still remains as described. 

The inscriptions on his monument are rather too 
long, and not required: his name was enough; 
France adored, and her enemies admired ; both 
wept oyer him.-— His funeral was attended by the 

Snerals and detachments from both armies. In 
e same ^ave General Hoche is interred, a gaUant 
man also in eyery sense of the word ; but though 
he distinguished nimself greatly in battle, he had 
not the good fortune to die there : his death was 
attended by suspicions of poison. 

A seperate monument (not oyer his body, which 
' Is honed by Marceau's) is raised for him near 
Andemach, opposite to which one of his most 
memorable exploits was performed, in throwing a 
bridge to an island on the Rhine. The shape and 
style are different from that of Marceau*s, and the 
Inscription more simple and pleasing. 

«* The Army of the Sambre and Mouse 

to its Commander in Chief 

Hoche." 

This is all, and as it should be. Hoehe was 
etteemed among the firet of France's earlier gen- 
erals before Bonaparte monopolised her triumphs. 
He was the destmed commander of the invaaing 
anny of Ireland. 

U. 
Sere EhrenbreUetetn^ teith her shattered ufatt. 
Stanza lylii. line 1. 

Ehrenbreitstein, i. e. *' the broad stone of Honor," 
one of the strongest fortresses in Europe, was 
dismantled and blown up by the French at the 
Imoe of Leoben. — It had been and could only be 
ndaced by jGeunine or treachery. It yielded to the 
l9nner» aided by surprise. AJfter hayiaff seen the 
fntifioations of Gibraltar and Malta, it did not 
nnch strike by comparison, but the situation is 
•ommanding. General Marceau besieged it in yain 
§at some time, and I slept in a room where I was 
ibown a window at which ne was said to haye been 
■landing obsendng the progress of the siege by 
■Kwnlight, when a ball struck immediately below it. 

U. 
Unupukh red they roamed, and shrUlfd emh m rn der * 
ing ghoet. Stanza bdOL line last 

The chapel is destroyed, and the pyramid of! 
bones dimmished to a small number vj the Bur-' 
gundian leaaxm in the service of France, who 
a&ziously emiced this record of their ancestors' less | 
■aooessAil inyasions. A few still remain, notwiih- 1 
■taadinff the pains taken by the Burgundiaas for 
ttea, (aU who passed that way remoying a bone to 
their own country,) and the less jastiflaSle larcenies 
of the Swiss postillions, who carried tiiem off to 
aoll for knife-handles, a purpose fiv whieh the 



wUtoness imUbed by the bleaehhift of 7>*ar8 ban 
rendered them in great request. Of thea« relics I 
ventured to bring away as much as may hare mads 
a quarter of a hero, for which the sole excuse is, 
that if I had not, the next passer by might hm 
perverted them to worse uses than the careM 
preservation for which I intend for them. 

15. 

^ LeveWd AvetUicum hath strewed her su^'eet la;%dt^ 
Stanza Ixv. line last. 
Aventicum (near Morat) was the Roman capital 
of Helvetia, where Avenches now stands. 

18. 
And held teithin their um one mind, one heart, ene 
dust. Stanza IxvL line last. 

Julia Alpinula, a young Aventian priestess, died 
soon after a vain endeavor to save her father, con- 
demned to death as a traitor by Aulius Csebia. 
Her epitaph was discovered many years ago;--4t is 
thus— 

Julia Alpinula 

Hicjaceo 

Infelicis patris, infelix proles 

De« Aventie Sacerdos ; 

Exorare patris necem non potui 

Male mori in fatis iUe erat. 

Vizi annos xxiii. 

I know of no human composition so effecting as 
this, nor a history of deeper interest. These are 
the names and actions which ought not to perish, 
and to which we turn with a true and healthy 
tenderness, froto. the wretched and glittering detail 
of a confused mass of conquests and battles, with 
which the mind is roused for a time to a ftdse and 
feverish sympathy, from whence it recurs at length 
with all the nausea consequent on such intOKication. 

17. 
In the sun's face, like yonder Alpine sntno. 

Stanza Ixvii. line 81. 
This is written In the eye of Mont Blanc, (June 
3, 1816,) which even at this distance dazzles mine. 

(July 20th.) I this day observed for some time 
the distinct reflection of Mont Blanc and Mont 
Argentierre in the calm of the lake, which I wu 
crossing in mj boat ; the distance of these moun- 
tains from their mirror is sixty miles. 



18. 



tarrowy Rh> 
Stanza ixxL line 8. 



The color of the Rhone at Geneva is blue, to a 
depth of tint which I have never seen ei]ualled is 
water, salt or fresh, except in the Meditenranean 
anS Archipelago. 

19. 
Than vulgar minds may be with all they seek possest. 
Stanza Ixzix. line las^ 



This refers to the aaoount in hia " Conf« 
of hia passion for the Countess d'Houdetot, (the 
mistress of St. Lambert J and his long walk every 
morning for the sake of the single kiss which was 
the common salutation of French acquaintance.— 
Rousseau's description of his feelings on this ooci^ 
sion may bo eonsiaered aa the most paaeionato, vet 
not impure description and expression of love that 
ever kindled into words; which aftor all matt bt 
felt, from their very force, to be inadequate to tho 
delineation— a painting can give no suffidont ids* 
of the ocean. 

20. 

Cf eartho*erg amng mtnmienne, 

Stansa xcL Uao S. 
It to to be ieoolleotod» that the wotX bwmtiAil 



K0TB8 TO CHILDB HAB0LD*8 PILGBIMAGB. 



as 



waA !m|sc88hre doctrines of tiie diTine Fonndei of 
ChristisdtT were deUvoed, not in the TtmpU, but 
AtheJToMtf. 

To mire the qfoestion of derotion, and turn to 
knauoi eloquence,— tile most effectual and splendid 
re not pronounced within wmUs. 
iddressed the public and popular 
Cioero spoke in the foram. Tnat this 
idded to their effect on the mind of both orator 
nd hearen, may be conceiyed from <he difference 
btt w ecn . what we read of the emotions then and 
^ere prodooed, and those we oorselves experience 
ia the pespsal in the closet. It is one tning to 
read the Bxad at Sigsenm and on the tun^uli, or by 
the springs with Mount Ida above, and the plain 
and nrer and Archipelago around you; and another 
to trim jonr taper over it in a snug library— ^Aw I 
know. 

Were tlie early and rapid jprogress of what is 
csDed Hefthodiam to be attnunited to any cause 
bpfoad the enthnaiasm excited by its Tenement 
fiath sad doctrines (the truth oar error of which I 
piesimie neitiier to canvass nor to question) I 
should Tenture to ascribe it to the practice of 
fseaching in H&e iCeldf, and the unstudied and 
extemponaeooa eousions of its teachers. 

Hie Mnaralmana, whose erroneous devotion (at 
least in the loiwer orders) is most sinoere, and 
tbereAve imp resa iTe, are accustomed to repeat their 
mescribed onso&s and prayers whererer ther may 
be at the stated hour»--of course frequentlv m the 
open air, kneeling upon a light mat, (which they 
carry for tiie purpose of a bed or ensnion as re- 
qoM:) the ceremony lasts some minutes, duriiig 
whi^ tner are totally absorbed, and only living in 
their supplication : nothing can disturb ttiem. On 
me the simple and entire sincerity of these men, 
and the spirit whieh appeared to be within and 
upon them, made a fu greater impression than any 
general rite which was ever performed in places of 
warship, of which I have seen those of almost every 
persuasion under the sun; including most of our 
own seetaziee, and the Gtareek, the Catholic, the 
Armenian, the Lutheran, the Jewish, and the Ma- 
hometan. Many of the negroes, of whom there 
are numbers in the Turkish empire, are idolaters, 
and have free exercise of their belief and its rites : 
some of these I had a distant view of at Patras, 
and from what I could make out of them, thm 
appeared to be of a traly Pagan deseription, and 
not very agreeable to a spectator. 



Stanaa xcii. line 1. 

The thunder-storm to whieh these lines refer 

eeemed on the 13ch of June, 1816, at midnight. 

I have seen among the Aeroeeraunian mountains of 

Chhttsri several more terrible, but none nyre 



AMd iwuti into roae-hvet Bern them wrovpki, 
Btansa xdx. hne 6. 

.'s Heloise, Lettre 17, part 4, note. 
M sont si hautes qu*ime deml-heure 
ft^ fe aoSsa cottche, leurs sommets sont encore 
^dairea de see rayons; dont le rouge forme sur ees 
cimeB Uaaeihes «ms M£s mmitmr d$ rose qu'on 
«p«eitde fori loin." 
This smKM nore partieularly to the heights 

"J'aBaiiVemlogeriilaClef, etpettdaai deux 
t"'"* ^i'y nvtsA sans voir personne, je pris pour 
eette vule un amour qiu m*a suivi bans tons m«« 
voyages, let qui m* v a fait etablir enfin les h^oo de 
mon itnnan. Je oirois volontiers k oeux qui out 
da go6t et qui sent senaibles ; allea iTevai—- vicites 
le paya, eraminaa lea sites, pronienes-vous sur le lae« 
ct aites si la Nature n'a pas £ut ee beau nays pour 
■Be Je&e, poox vne Claize et pour an St. Preux; 



mais ne les y cherebcs pas." Les ConfessioBS, livre 



Iv. page 906, Lyons ed. 1796. 
In July, ---' - ■ 



. , 1810, I made a voyage round tile Lake 
of Geneva; and as far as my own observations have 
led me, in a not uninterested nor inattentive survey 
of all the scenes most celebrated by Rousseau in 
his '* llcioise," I can safely sav, that in this there 
ia no exag^reration. It would be difficult to see 
Clarens, (with the scenes around it, Vevay, Chillon, 
B6vcret, St. Oingo, Meillerie, Eivan, and the 
entrances of the Rhone,) without being forcibly 
struck with its peculiar aoaptation to the persons 
and events with which it has been peoplccL But 
this is not all : the feeling with which all around 
Clarens. and th^ opposite rocks of Meillerie, is 
invested, is of a still fiigher and more compr^en- 
sivc order than the mere sympathy with individual 
passion ; it is a sense of the existence of love in its 
most extended and sublime capacity, and of oar 
own participation of its good and of its gloij : it is 
the great principle of the universe, which is there 
more conacnsed, but not less manifested; and of 
which, though knowing ourselves a part, we lose 
our individujdity, and mingle in the beauty of the 
whole. 

If Rousseau had never written, nor lived, the 
same associations would not less have belonged to 
such scenes. He has added to the interest of his 
works by their adoption ; he has shown his sense 
of thdr beauty by the selection; but they have 
done that for him which no human being could do 
for them. 

I had the fortune (good or cvH as it might be) to 
sail from Meillerie (where we landed for some time) 
to St. Gingo during a lake storm, which added to 
the mogmnccnce of all around, although occasion- * 
ally accompanied bv danger to the boat, which was 
small and overloaaed. It was over this very part 
of the lake that Rousseau has driven the lioat of 
St. Prenx and Madame Wohnar 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 chateaa. 
The hills are covered with vineyard, and inter- 
spersed with some small but beantifol woods ; one 
of these was named the *' Bosquet de Julie," and it 
is remarkable that, though long ago cut down hj 
the brutal selfishness of Uie monks of St. Bernard 
(to whom the land appertained,) that the ground 
might be enclosed Into a vineyard for the nuserable 
drones of an exiled Bui>erBtition, tiie inhabitants of 
Clarens still point out the spot where Its trees 
stood, calling it by the name which consecrated and 
survived them. 

Rousseau has not been particulatiy fortunate in 
the p r e se rvation of the ** local habitations " he haa 

S'ven to «• airy nothings." The Prior of Great St, 
ernard has cut down some of his woods for the sake 
of a few casks of wine, and Bonaparte has levelled 
a part of the rocks of Meillerie m improving the 
road to Simplon. The road Ib an excellent one, but 
I cannot quite agree with a remark which I heard 
made, that *'La route vaut miseux que les sou- 
venirs." 

18. 
Lmwntene! and Femey! ye have Seen the abodee, 
Stansa cv. line 1. 
Voliaiie and Gibbon. 

Had I not jUed my minds which thm UUjf eMmik 
Stanaa cxm. Ime laaC 

r»r Buqno't 1mm k»T« l>k n^nbd.' 



(yer Others grieft thai iome naeerely yruve, 
Stansa cxiv. line 7< 



84 



BYRON'S WORliS. 



It is Bftid by Bochefoucault that *< there is ahpaus 
something in the misfortunes of men's best friends 
not displeasing to them." 



CANTO IV. 



1 ttood tn Venice on the Bridae qf Si^hs ; 

ApcUace and aprison on each hand, 

Stansa i. lines I and 2. 
Thb communication between the ducal palace 
and the prisons of Venice is by a gloomy bridge, or 
eoTered gallery, high above the water, and divided 
by a stone wall Into a passage and a cell. The 
state dungeons, called "pozsi,'^ or wells, were sunk 
in the thick walls of the palace ; and the prisoner 
when taken out to die was conducted across the 
galleiT to the other side, and being then led back 
into the other comnartment, or cell, upon the bridge, 
was there stranglea. The low portal through which 
the criminal was taken into this cell is now walled 
up ; but the passage is still open, and is still known 
by the name of the Bridge of Sighs. The pozzi 
are under the flooring of the chamber at the foot of 
the bridge. They were formerly twelve, but on the 
first arrival of the French, the Venetians hastily 
blocked or broke up the deeper of these dungeons. 
You may stilly however, descend by a trap*door, 
and crawl down through holes, half choked by 
• rubbish, to the depth of two stories below the first 
range. If you are in want of consolation for the 
extinction of patrician power, perhaps you may 
find it there ; scarcely a ray of light gUmmers into 
the narrow gallery wliich leads to the cells, and the 
places of confiement themselves are totally dark 
A small hole in the wall admitted the damp air of 
the passages, and served for the introduction of the 
prisoner's food. A wooden pallet, raised a foot 
from the ground, was the only furniture. The 
conductors tell you that a light was not allowed. 
The cells are about five paces m 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 th6 republicans descended 
into these hideous recesses, and he is said to have 
been confined sixteen years. But the inmates of 
the dungeons beneath had left traces of their 
repentance, or of their despair, which are still 
visible, and may perhaps owe something to recent 
ingenuity. Some of the detained appear to have 
onended against, and others to have oelonged to, 
the sacred body, not only from their si^atures, 
but from the churches and belfries which they have 
scratched upon the walls. The reader may not 
object to see a specimen of the records prompted by 
10 terrific a sohtude. As nearly as they could be 
copied by more than one pencil, three of them are 
aie as f jUows : 

1. 

NGN TI FIDAS AD ALCUNO PEN8A e TACI 
BE yuOIB YUOI DB SAONI IXSIDIB e LACCZ 
XL PSNTI&TI PBMTI&TI NXJI.LA OIOVA 
MA BBN DI VALOB TtJO LA VERA PROTA 

1607. ADI 2. OENABO. PULSE. 
TBNTO P* LA BESTIEMMA P* AVER DATO 
DA VANZAR A UN MORTO 

lAOOKO . OBITTI . BCBIS9B. 

2. 
XnK 7ABLAR POOHO et 
IfEGARB PRONTO et 

m PBNBAB AL FINB PUO DARB LA TITA 
A irOl ALTKI XBflOHINX 

1605 



SDO ZOHN BAPT»TA AB 
BCCLB8IAM CORTBLLAR£V« 



DB CHI MI FIDO OUABDAMI DIO 

DB Cni NON MI FIDO XI OUARDARO 10 

A 

TA H A KA 

T. LA B . C . K . R. 

The copyist has followed, not corrected the 
solecisms ; some of which are however not quite sc 
decided, since the letters were evidently scratched 
in the diark. It only need be observed, bettemmia 
and manffiar may be read in the first inscription, 
which was probably written by a prisoner confined 
for some act of impiety committed at a foncral; 
that Cortellaritu is the name of a parish on tens 
firma, near the sea ; and that the last initials 
evidently are put for Viva la santa Ckieea Kattoliea 
Romana. 

2, 
She looks a $ea Cybele, fresh from oeean. 
Rising icith her tutra of proud towers. 

Stanza ii. lines 1 and 2. 
An old writer, describing the appesrance 9f 
Venice, has made use of the above image, whidi 
would not be poetical were it not true. 

** Quo Jit ut pti supeme w^em oontemplettir, tur- 
ritam teuuria tmaginem medio Oeeano ^pguratam s» 
nutet inmicere" * 

8. 

In Venice Ta8so*s echoes are no more. 

Stansa iu. line 1. 

The weU-known song of the gondoliers, of alter- 
nate stanzas from Tasso's Jerosalem, has died with 
the independence of Venice, editions of the poem, 
with the original on one column, and the Venetian 
variations on the other, as srmg by the boatmen, 
were once common, and are 8l:ill to oe found. The 
following extract will ser\'e to show the difierenee 
between the Tuscan epic and the '<Canta alia 
Barcariola." 

ORIGINAL. 

Canto V arme jpietose, e 'I capitano 
Che '1 gran Sepolcro libeard di Cristo, 

Molto egu opr6 col senno, e con la mano 
Molto soffri nel glorioso acquisto ; 

£ in van V Inferno a ltd s' oppose, e in vane 
S' arm6 d* Asia, e di Libia U popol misto, 

Che il Ciel gli di^ favore, e sotto a 1 Santi 

Segni ridusse i suoi compagni erranti. 

YBNBTIAN. 

L' arme pietose de cantar gho vogia, 
£ de Goffredo la imniortal braura 

Che al In '1 ha libera co strassia, e dogia 
Del nostro buon Oes6 la Sepoltura^ 

De mezo mondo unito, e de quel Bogia 
Missier Pluton non V ha bu mai paura:^ 

Dio r ha agiuti, e *I compagni sparpagnai 

Tutti '1 gh i ha messi insieme i di del Dai. 

Some of the elder gondoliers will, how^ever, tais 
up and continue a stansa of their onee famfiNf 
bazd. 

On tile 7th of last Januanr, the author of ChiMs 
Harold, ind another Englishman, the wrftar of this 
notice, rowed to tiie laae with two singers, one of 
whom was a carpenter, and the other a gondoUff- 
The former placed himself at the prow, the latter 
at the stem of the boat. A little after leaving the 
quay of the Piazsetta, they began to sing, and 
continued their exercise until we arrived at the 
island. They gave us, amongst other essays, the 
death of Clorinda, and the palace of Azmida ; tnd 



Mud AmmB fhbelR da Vm 



n XMk dcu namtb, edtu Tknib 1 



H0XS8 TO CBIUB HABOUM PILQUMAOX. 



u 



aft Ml *« 4kt V«Mlin, tat ft* 

tiM tan. tad w freqtMBtlj obliged to prompt hit 
flouMMk told «• that ho ooaU Atrntfal* the 
ttigBiL He added, that he coald ihig almost 
tins Inmdzed stanaaa, bat had not spirits {morhm 
«tt the iiwd he need) to leam any more, or to sing 
wksthaalieody knew: amaamiist ha^ idle time 
SB his handa to aeqidre, or to repeat* and, said the 
poor Mlow, «<look at my dothes and at me ; I am 
Hsniag.'* Thie speech was more affecting than 
In perfismanee, whidi habit alone oan make 
tttraetiTe. The recitative waa shrill, soeaming. 
lid nenotanens, and the gondolier behind a s si s t e n 
kiBToioe br holdiag hia hand to one side o£ his 
■oatiL The carpenter need a quiet action, which 
ht endendy enaeaToted to restrain; but was too 
■■ek fntarasted uk his snbjeet altogether to repress, 
ftom Aese men we learnt that singing is not oon- 
fned to the gondoliers, and that, although the 
ehaat is seldom, if ever, roluntary, there are still 
Kvoal amongst tiie lower classes who are aoqnainted 
with a few stansaa. 

It does net appear that it is nsnal for the per- 
ftsBMB t» row and aing at the aame time. Al- 
IhoHk Ihe Tecsea of the Jemsakm are no longer 
cssBiJly bgard. tiicre is yet much music upon the 
VsoetisB csaala; and upon holjdsTS, those strung- 
en who are not near or informed enough to dis- 
tiagnidi the words, may fancy that many of the 
Kondolaa stiH reaound with the strains of Tasso. 
The miter of some remarks which appeared in the 
Guioeities of literature, must excuse his being 
Ones quoted; for, with the exception of some 
ahnsss a littie too ambitioas and extraTagant. he 
lai teuidhed a -very exact, as well aa agr ee able, 



*' la Venice, the gondoliers know by heart long 
pasnges ftom Aiiosto and Tasso, and often chant 
tbaa with a penwlinr melodv. But this talent 
iecBu it present on the deoline :— «.t least, after 
tikiBg lome nains, I oould find no more than two 
pensBs who oeliwwed to me in this way a passage 
ttem Tssso. I nonat add, that the late Mr. Beiry 
SDce cheated to me a passage from Tasso, in the 
■sBoer, as he assured me, <» the sondoliers. 

" Then are always two concemeo, who alternate- 
ly naff the strophes. We know the melody event- 
eally by Boussean, to whose songs it is printed ; it 
ku ftopetly no melodious moTement, and is a sort 
ef nwdinm between the canto fermo and the canto 
Ignnto ; it approaches to the former by redtatiyieal 
ieehiaatioa, and to the latter by passages and course, 
b]r wliieh one syllable is detained and embellished. 

*<Ientend a gondola by moonlight: one einger 
pbeed Umself mrwards and the other all, and thus 
ytoeeeded to Bt. Oeorgio. One began the song; 
vbcn he had ended hia strophe, the other took up 
Ihe lay, end so continued the song altemateljr* 
Threaghent th* whole of it, the same notes inyari- 
•UyretanedL hut, according to the subject metier 
" the stivphe, th^ laid a g r eate r or a smaller 
• ra one, sad sometimes on another 



note, sad indeed changed the eauneiation of the 
whole sfeRiphe as tiie ^kJKt of the poem altered. 

" Oa ^ whole, howcTer, the sounds were hoarse 
and soeanuag: they seeawd, in the manner of all 
nide aadfffiied men, to make the exeelkacy of 
tbeir shigSag in the fcnee of their roice: one seem- 
ed denoQi of eoaquering tito other by f^e strength 
efUsbrngs; and so ftcr from receiving dalight from 
this aeeae,(eh«t up aa I waa in the box ef the gea- 
doU,) I foomd myself in a very unpleasant situation. 

**My eompsnion, to whom I communicated this 
circniaBlBaee, being very desisoaa to keep up the 
occBt ef his eontrymen, aasorad me that this siiig- 
iag was very delightftil when heard at a distance. 
Accordingly we got out upon the shore, tearing one 
of the aingen in the gonaola, while the other went 
to the di«6nee of some hundred paces. They now 
Began to sing agamat one another, aftd I kept walk- 



iag up and down hetwuta thaai both, io a« ahrayt 
toleaTe him who was to begin his part. I frequent- 
ly stood still and hearkened to the one and to thu 
other. 

** Here the scene was properly introduced. The 
itrong declamatory, and, as it were, shrieking 
souufl^ met the ear from far, and called forth the at* 
tention; the quickly succeeding transitions whidi 
ne c eeearily required to be sung in a lower tone. 

oned Hke plaintiTe strains succeeding the Tocif^ 
orations of emotion or of pain. The other, who 
listened attentively, immediately began where the 
former left off", answering him in milder or more 
vehement notes, according as the purport of the 
strophe reoulred. The sleepy canals, the loftr 
buildings, tne splendor of the moon, the deep shaa- 
ows of the few gondolas that mored like spirits 
hither and thither, increased the striking pecu- 
liarity of the scene ; and amidst all these circum* 
stances, it was easy to confess the character of this 
wonderful harmony. 

'* It suits perfecUy well with an idle, solitary mari- 

ar, lying at length in his Tcssel at rest on one of 
these canals, waiting for his company, or for a fare, 
the tiresomeness of whioh situation is somewhat 
aUeriated by the songs and poetical stories he hsa 
in memonr. He oftcm raises nis Toice as loud as he 
can, whicn extends itself to a vast distance over the 
tranquil mirror, and as all ia still around, he is, aa 
it were, in a solitude in the midst of a large and 
populous town. Here is no rattling of carriages, no 
noise of foot passengere ; a silent gondola glidee 
now and then by him, of which the splashings of 
the oars are scaroely to be heard. 

<* At a distance he hears another, perh^a utterly 
unknown to him. Helody and Terse immediately 
attach the two strangers : he becomes the respon- 
sive echo to the former, and exerts himself to be 
hoard aa he had heard the other. By a tacit con- 
vention they alternate verse for verse ; though the 
song d^ould last the whole nisht through, they en- 
tertain themselves without fatigue: the hearers, 
who are passing between the two, take part in tha 
amueement. 

" This vocal perfonaanee sounds beet at a ^unt 
distance, and is then inexpressibly charming, aa it 
only fulftls its design in the sentiment of remote- 
ness. It is plaintive but not dismal in its sound, 
and at times it is scarcely possible to refrain firom 
tears. My companion, who otherwise was not a 
very delicately organiasd person^ said quite unex- 
pectedly: < e singolare come quel eanto mteaeriset* 
e molto pid quando lo cantano me^o.' 

« I waa told that tiie woaMa oT Libo, the long 
row of islanda that diridea the Adriatic from the 
Lagouns,* oartieulariy tiie women of the extreme 
districts of M alamoeeo and Palestrina, sins in like 
manner the Works of Tasso to these and similar 
tones. 

«< They have the custom, whch their huabands §a^ 
Ashing out at sea, to sit slong the shore in the 
evenings, and vociferate these songs, and continue 
to do so with great violence, till each of them can 
distinguish the responses of her own husband at a 
distance." f 

The love of music and of poetry distinguishes all 
classes of Yenetiaaa, even amongst the tuneful 
sons of Italy. The city itself can occasionaUy fur- 
nish respectable audiences for two and even three 
opera-houses at a time ; and there are few eventa in 
private lifb that do not eall forth a printed and cir- 
culated sonnet. Does a physician or a lawyer take 
his dMpree, or a clergyman preach his maiden ser- 
mon, has a surgeon performed an operation, would 
a harlequin announce his departure or his bene&t, 
are you to be congratulated on a marriage, or a 



*£tf»,vWh 1faihV»tnm9rUtmit,biA^hmg 



S6 



BTBON^ WOttXS. 



birth, or a kwnilt| the MuBes are invoked to tai- 
nlsh the same niunW of s;jrUables, and the individ- 
nal triumphs blase abroad m virgin white or party- 
colored placards on half the corners of the capital 
The last cnrtesj of a fttvorite '* prima donna " brings 
down a shower of these poetical tributes from those 
upper regions, from which, in our theatres, nothing 
but cumos and snow-storms are accustomed to de- 
scend, xhcre is a poetry in the very life of a Venetian, 
which, in its common course, is varied with those 
surprises and changes so rccommendable to fiction, 
out so different from the sober monotony of north- 
ern existence ; amusements are raised mto duties, 
duties are softened into amusements, and every ob- 
ject being considered as equally making a part of 
the business of life, is announced and performed 
with the same earnest indifference and gay assidu- 
ity. The Venetian gazette constantly closes its 
oolumns ?rith ^e foUo?ring triple advertisement. 

Charade. 



Exposition of the most Holy Sacrament in the 
•hurch of St. 



T%e(Ure8. 

St Moses, opera. 

St. Benedict, a comedy of characters. 

St. Luke, lepoee. 

When it Is recollected what the Catholics believe 
tiieir consecrated wafer to be, we may perhaps think 
it worthy of a more respectable niche than between 
poetry and the play-house. 



Sjparta haih many a worthier son than ?ie. 

Stanza x. line 5. 

The answer of the mother of Brasidas to the 
•trangera who praised the memory of her son. 

6. 
St, Mark yet sees Me lion where he stood 

Stand, Stansa zi. line 5. 

The lion has lost nothing by his journey to the 
InTalides but ihe gospel which supported the paw 
that is now on a level with the other foot. The 
horses also are returned to the ill-chosen spot 
whence they set out, and are, as before, half hidden 
under the porch of St. Mark's church. 

Their history, after a desperate struggle, has been 
tatisftiotorily explored. The decisions and doubts 
of Eriaso and Zanetti, and lastly, of the Count Le- 
opold Cieognara, would have given them a Boman 
extraction, and a pedigree not more ancient than 
the reign of Nero. But M. de Schlcgel stepped in 
to teaon the Venetians the value of taeir own treas- 
ures, and a Greek vindicated, at last and lor ever, 
the pretension of his countrymen to this noble pro- 
duction.*^ Mr. Mustoxidi has not bean left without 
a reply ; but, as yet, he has received no answer. It 
shoula seem that the horses are irrevocablyChian, 
and were transfefred to Constantinople by Xheodo- 
■ios. Lapidary writing is a favorite play of the 
Italians, and has conferred reputation on more than 
one of their literary characters. One of the best 
•pecimens of Bodoni's Irpo^phy is a respectable 
volume of inscriptions, all written by his friend Pac- 
ciaudi. Several were prepared for the reco\-ered 
horses. It is to be hoped the best was not selected, 
when the following words were ranged in gold let- 
ten above the cathedral porch. 



QXTATUOB * BdVOBVIC * SKOTA A * - Y^Htmrn • BV- 
ZASrriO * CAPTA * AD ' TBXF ' D ■ KA£ * A * K * 8 
MCOIY * POBITA ' QVJB ' HOSTILU ' 0UPIDITA8 * A* 
MDCCUIO ■ AB8TUI.EBAT * FBA2Y0 * 1 * IK? * PACZS ' 
ORBI ' D-ATA ' TnOPHAUK ' A * MDCCOXT ' YIGTOa* 
RBDUXIT. 

Notliing shall be said of the Latixi, but it may be 
permitted to observe, that the injustice of the Ysik* 
etians in transporting the horses from Constantino- 
ple was at least equal to that of the French in car- 
rying thepi to Pans, 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 naving a rdec^ 
ence to any other triumphs than those of relkion. 
Nothing less than tiie pacification of the world can 
excuse such a solecism. 

6. 

ITie Suabian sued, and now the Austrian reigns^ 

An Emperor tramples where an Emjperor knelt. 
Stansa xii. Imes I and 2. 

After many vain attempts on the part of the Ital- 
ians entirely to throw on the yoke of Frederic Bar- 
barossa, and as fruitless attempts of the emperor to 
make himself absolute master throughout the whols 
of his Cisalpine dominions, the bloody struggles of 
four and twenty years were happily brought to 
a close in the city of Venice. The srtioles of a 
treaty had been previously agreed upon between 
Pope Alexander III. and Barbaroesa, and the far- 
mer having received a safe conduct, had already ar- 
rived at Venice fr«m Ferrara, in companv with the 
ambassadors of the king of Sicily and tne consols 
of the Lombard league. There still remained, how- 
ever, many points to adjust, and for several 6a,j$ 
the peace was believed to be impracticable. At tnii 
juncture it was suddenly reported that the Empeior 
had arrived at Chioaa, a town fifteen miles from the 
capital. The Venetians rose tumultnously, and in- 
sisted upon immediately conducting him to the dtr. 
The Lombards took the alarm, and departed towaids 
Treviso. The Pope himself was apprehensive of 
some disaster if Frederic should suadenly advance 
upon him, but was reassured by the pruoenoe and 
address of Sebastian Ziani, the Boge. Several em- 
bassies passed between Chiosa and tne capitslj until, 
at last, the Emperor relaxing somewhat of his pie- 
tensions, " laid aside his leonine ferocity, and put 
on the mildness of the lamb." * 

On Saturday, the 28dof July, in the year 1177, 
six Venetian galleys transferred Frederic, in great 
pomp, from Chioaa to the island of lido, a mils 
nrom Venice. Early the next morning the Pep^ 
accompanied by the Sicilian ambassadors, and or 
the envoys of Lombardy, whom he had recalled 
from the main land, together with a great 
concourse of people, repaired from the patri- 
archal palaee to St. Mark's church, and solemmjr 
absolved the Emperor and bi-partisans from jus 
excommunication pronounced against him. The 
Chancellor of the Empire, on the part of his mas- 
ter, renounced the anti-popes and their schismatie 
adherents. Immediately the Doge, with a sr^t 
suite both of the clergy and laity, got on board the 
gallgrS) and ^aitiuff on Fredeno, rowed him m 
mi^ty state from tne Lido to ue capitaL The 
Emperor descended from the galley at the quay of 
the Piasetta. The Dage, the patriarch, his buh- 
opB and deigy, and the people of Venice with their 
crosses and ueir standards, marched in solemn pro- 
cession before him to the church of Saint Mark. 
Alexander was seated before the vestibule of the 
basilica, at t e n d e d by his bishops and cardinals, by 



•C qnudo Tult hcndliter 
ltal.«^ VIL(.9 



', oponntt CO, qol ogrda parlnfllpain rfent v 

iodiiiAt, leoniitt leriUM depoiha, oriiiBn m 

Stleniiiuii ChrMriMo. apad Sorfi*. ft 



K0TB8 TO OBSVam HASOUTB PILGEDCAQX. 



bid. pt W Lombtrdy, aU of thorn in statt, tad 
elottflJ m Uicir eknrefa robM. Frederie ap- 
pnajM^"- "Moved by the Holy Spirit, Tenerating 
tlw Afatr^ly in the person of Alexander, laying 
asidfr Up imperial diffnity, and throwing oif his 
Bsntle, re pr*«trated himself at ftill length at the 
ftet vf the P^pe. Alexander, with tears in his 
c^, raised Vim beni^mntly from the gnrand, 
bssed kfm, blessed lum ; and immediately the 
Qcrman* of the tram nng, with a lond ▼oice, ' We 
pnise thee, O Lord.' The Bmperor then taking 
the Tof9 by ^e right hand, led mm to the ehurch, 
sad having referred his benediction, returned to the 
dacai palace." * The eeremony of hnmiliation was 
repeated the next day. The rope himself, at the 
req[uest of Frederie, said mass at St. Mark's. The 
Emperor agaza laid aside bis imperial mantle, and, 
takmg a wand in his hand, officiated as verper, drir- 
i^ the laity ttom the choir, and preceding thie pon- 
tiff to &e altar. Alexander, after reciting the gee- 
pd, preached to the peoi>le. The Emperor pnt 
himself close to the pnipit in the attitude of listen- 
ing ; and &e pontiff, touched by this mark of his 
attention, for he knew that Frederic did not under- 
stand a word he said, commanded the patriarch of 
A<pti2eja to translate the Latin discourse into the 
Ooman tongue. The creed was then chanted. 
Frederic made his oblation and 'kissed the Pope's 
Ibei, and, mass being over, led him by the hand to 
htt white horse. He held the stirrup, and would 
haTe led the horse's rein to the water side, had not 
fte Pope accepted of the inclination for the per- 
lannanoe, and affectionately dismissed him with his 
benediction. Such is tiie substance of the account 
left by the archbishoD of Salerno, wh.i was present 
it the ceremony, ana whooe stoiy is eonffrmoi by 
erery subsequent narration. It would be not wortn 
so ndnute a reeord, were it not the triumph of lib- 
erty as wdl as of superstition. The states of Lom- 
baidy owed to it the confirmation of their priri- 
leges; and Alexasder had reason to thank the 
^n^hty, who had enabled an infirm, unarmed old 
man, to sobdue a terrible and potent soTereign.t 



Okj Jor ^tte komr of Umd old Da$uhh ! 
TV o eio g mmuriam eitrf, ByxawUum's co7%qu€rinq foe, 
Staooa xiL lines 8 and 9. 

The reader will recoUect the exclamation of the 
Highlander, OA, for ons hour of Dundee! Henry 
Dmdolo, when d^eeted Doge, m 1192, was eighty- 
fire years of age. When he commanded the Vene- 
tians at the taking of Constantinople, he was con- 
■equently ninety-seren years old. At this age he 
annexed the fbmth and a half of the whole empire 
of Romania,^ for so the Roman empire was tnen 
called, to the title and to the territories of the Ven- 
etian Dose. The three-eighths of this empire were 
T in the diplomas until the dukedom of Gi- 



nation in the year 1357.^ 

Dandolo led the attack on Constantinople in per- 
son : two ships, the Paradise and the Pilgri;m, were 




I tht inportut «, ud kM writtan Roaani 
■■iBHi «r RowaB w. I^elkM ud Fall, cap. bd. Dote 9. But lbs tide 
aofiiv i l bf Daadflio ram (ha In the chrooiek of ha namcMke, the Doge 
Aadrew DudolB. Dt»ea& Hbdo midUt, ** Quartm partm «f disridaa (dSm 
And. I>um|. Ckronioon. eap. ft. pm kxxtU. up. 
si. pa^ 831 Aad dia Ranuiis k obMrred Jo the 
ett «r S« Oofa*. Indeed the eondaeotd poneMioos of Ike 
e is Eon^ wen (hen fenaaBjr known b]r the iMine ofRonunia, 
md dMt apfiataau h atZL aeen in the nape of Taifcej m applied to Thiaee. 
4 See te wrthmaSwi of Dandob'k Chnnlde, Jbid. page 418. Mr. 
CB/btB appaan not ID inelnde DdMne, fallowing Sanoda, wUo nja, **U 
!•■< fltoto «i MM Jb •! Ooc« OioaoiMi Deftho. Bee YUe de' DucU dl 
VMM. Hv Oolfl. Bab kaL IHB. ni. CM. SO. 



nd a dmwbildgo or liM« lot down 

from thsir higher yards to the walls. ThoDogowM 
one of the first to rush into the city. Then WM 
computed, said the Venotians, the prophecy of tho 
Srythrvan sibyL " A gathering together of tho 
powsrftil shall be made amidst the waves of tho 
Adriatic, under a bUnd leader; they shall besot tho 
goat-^they shall profane Bysantiom-^they shall 
blacken herbuildingo— her spoils shall be dispenMd: 
a new goat ahaU Uoat. nntd they haTe measured 
out and run oror ilfty-wur foot, nine inehes, and a 
half.*** 

Dondolo died on tho iiot dny of Juno, 1206. hav 
ing reigned thirteen yeais, six months, and firo 
days, and was buried m tiie church of St. Sophia, 
at Constantinoplo. Stiaaffoly enough it must sound| 
that the name of the rebel am>thecary who recoiToa 
the Doge*s sword, and annihuafbd the ancient gov 
emment, in 1796-7» was Dandolo. 



Bui is noi Dona's mmthee tome to pout 
Are they not hridMr 

Stansa xlii. lines S and 4. 
After the loss of the battle of Pola, and tho 
taking of Chiosa on the 16th of August, 1379, by 
the united armament of the Genoese and Frano 



da Carrara, Signor of Padua, the Venetians were 
reduced to the utmost despair. An embassy was 
sent to the conquerors with a blank sheet of paper, 
pnmng them to prescribe what terms they pleased, 
ana leave to Venice only her independence. Tho 
Prince of Padua was inclined to listen to these pro- 
posals, but the Genoese, who after the victory at 
Pola, had shouted *' to Venice, to Venice, and long 
live St. George," determined to annihilate the£ 
rival, and Peter Doria, their commander in chief^ 
returned this answer to the suppliants : *' On God*s 
faith, gentlemen of Venice, ye shall have no peace 
from the Signor of Padua, nor from our commune 
of Genoa, until we have first put a rein upon those 
unbridled horses of yours, that are upon the porch of 
your evangelist St. Mark. When we have bridled 
them, we shall keep you quiet. And this is the pleas- 
ure of us and of your commune. As for these my broth- 
ers of Genoa, that you have brought with you to give 
up to us, I will not have them : take them back ; for, 
in a few days hence, I shall come and let them out 
of prison myself, both these and all the others." f 
In fact, the Genoese did advance as far as Mala- 
mocco. within five miles of the capital ; but thdr 
own danger and the pride of theur enemies gavo 
courage to the Venetians, who made prodigious ef- 
forts, and many individual sacrifices, aU of Uiom 
carefully recorded by their historians. Vettor Pi- 
sani was out at the head of thirty-four galleys. The 
Genoese broke up from Malamocco, and retired to 
Chiosa in October ; but they again threatened Ven- 
ice, which was reduced to extremities. At this 
time, the 1st of January, 1380, arrived Carlo Zeno, 
;;»..^- -n 141-... — v.1. ^ A^ * Ai. V J • ^1^0 Iwd been cruising on the Genoese coast with 

2SS£^hr'J??l.Sf «»e of the above desig- fourteen galleys. The Venetians were now strona 



enough to besiege the Genoese. Doria was killed 
on the 22d of January by a stone bullet one hun- 
dred and ninety-five pounds weight, discharged 
from a bombard called the Trerisan. Chiosa was 
then closely invested: five thousand auxiliaries, 
among whom were some English Condottieri, com- 
manded by one Captain Ceccho, joined the Vene- 



" Fia pomttmm in aquit AdrituieU tfonfrvfoSo, a 
cum amUferU, Bjfmnlium pntpkanabunt, mSfida dmdgrabunt; 
£s]mrgrnt»*r, Hlrcus no9Ut baUbU utque Aim UV ^edce •( IX foUtcw, 
«l MMU prtumtumtUi dbcumuil." (Chaonfeon, Ud. paia uxIt.] 

t "ABa/t dl Dio, Sifnori F«neaicim, non Aowrrtt mai pae$ dal SIg- 
man A Padoua^ m dal nottt-o eammum A Ornoes, m prMtramsKtt mm 
MMbirirll«aftMittoo«tH<MaaUa/V«M||,<A«M>ne tu te ilu« M 
Foalro SwHif aUato S. Mann, imbrrmad dke gU JkoertMO, tr Jbrmm 

QuMd tmei fratH^Qtimon dn AoMte mertnd con vol p*r damard, non 
nofHo; rimanHigliln dittro perA* io inttndo da qui a foM ghnd m^t^ 
|0 • rifCMoln-, dUlt IMM jnifioni, « lero t fli «<H." 



u 



"Btwunon ▼€ 



4ition8. but noneirero gnnted, uatil, at lost, thef 
smrendered Kt disoMtion ; and, om the S^th of Jima, 
I380y the Doge Cozitarim nude his triumphal entry 
into ChJOMU Four thousand prisoners, nineteen 
nlleys, manT smaller vess^ and barks, with all 
&e ammunition and suns, and outfit of the expedi- 
tion, feU into the hands of the conqucron, who, 
had it not been lor the inexorable answer of jporia, 
would have gUdlv redneed their dominion to the 
dtj of Yenioe. An aeeoont of these tnnsaotions 
is found in a work called the War of Chioza, written 
by Daniel Cbinaczo, who was in Yenioe mt the time.* 



2%e *• PkaUer of tK4 Lion,** 

^ Stanza xIt. line 8. 

Plant the Lton— 4hat is, the lion of St. Mark, 
the standard of the republic, which is the origin of 
the word Pantaloon-~Pisatelone, Pantaloon, Pan- 
taloon. I 

10. 

Thmatntta^ anifor0ign aapwU, tuch tu must 
Too oft remind her wM ana whai entkralU. 

Stanza xt. lines 7 and 8. 

The population of Yenice at the end of the seven- 
teenth century amounted to nearly two hundred 
thousand souls. At the last census, taken two years 
ago, it was no more than about one hundrea and 
Sree thousand, and it diminishes daily. The com- 
merce and the official employments, which were to 
be the unexhausted source of Yonetian ^andeur, 
have both expired-f Most of the patrician man- 
sions are deserted, and would gradually disappear, 
had not the gOTemment, alarmed by the demolition 
of seventy-two, during the last two years, expressly 
forbidden this sad resource of poverty. Many rem- 
nants of the Yenetian nobility are now scattered 
and confounded with the wealthier Jews upon the 
banks of the Brenta, whose palladian palaces have 
sunk, or are sinking in the general decay. Of the 
"gentUuomo Yeneto,'* the name is stm known, 
ai^ 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 maj 
nave been the vices of the republic, and althoud 
the natural term of its existence may be thousht oy 
foreigners to have arrived in the due course of mor- 
tality, only one sentiment can be expected from the 
Yenetians themselves. At no time were the sub- 
jects of the republic so unanimous in their resolu- 
tion to rally round the standard of St. Mark, as when 
it was for the last time unfurled ; and the cowardice 
ibad the treachery of tiie few patricians who recom- 
mended the fatal neutrtdity were confined to the per- 
sons of the traitors themselves. The present race can- 
not be thought to regret the loss of their aristocrat- 
ical forms, and too despotic government ; they think 
only on their vanished independence. They pine 
away at the remembrance, and on this subject sus- 
pena for a moment their gay good humor. Yenice 
may be said in the words of the Scripture^ ** to die 
daily ; " and so general and so apparent is fhe de- 
cline, as to become paiuful to a stranger, not recon- 
ciled to the sight of a whole nation ex];>irinff as it 
were before his eyes. So artificial a creation, naving 
lost that principle which called it into life and sup- 
ported its existence, must fall to pieces at once, and 
sink more rapidly f* sa it rose. The abhorrence of 
slavery which drove (he Yenetians to the sea, has, 
since their disaster, forced them to the land, where 
they may be at least overlooked amongst the crowd 
of dep^dants, and not present the humiliating 



• •'OmHCft (Mb gqanrn S Ommm," A*. Baript. Rw. lodk. b 

t *' NoonuOonim k MMDlKli bn 
ftmbAi Id quod tribM h i 

■ k BajKA. pcrdpfaial, qos baiw ob c 
Mdlnb»-«M dt FriadftOm lufl*, Tstrntm cdk. 1881. 



iMelMle of a ^^wlo nMltei lo^Wl' wW 
£^ Thehr liveliness, their iSSOity, aad that 
happy indiference which constitution alose eaa. 
give, for philosophy aspires to it in vain, have not 
sunk unoer drcumstanees ; but many pecu)isziti«s 
of costume and manner have by degrees been lost* 
and the nobles, with a pride common to all Tt«lia«s 
who have been masten, have not boon pervuaded to 
parade their insignificance. That sj>lendor which 
was a proof and a portion of theor power, they 
would not degrade into the trappings of their sutn 
'eetion. They retired from the spaoe which they 
lad oecu^ed in the e^es of their fellow-eitiaens ; 
their contmuanoe of whioh would have been a symp- 
tom of aequiesoence, and an insult to those who 
suffered by the eommon nusfortune. Those who 
remained in the degraded capital might be said 
rather to hsnnt the scenes of their deported power, 
than to live in them. The reflection, "who and 
what enthralls," wUl hardlv bear a comment from 
one who is, nationally, the niend and the ally of the 
eonoueror. It may, however, be allowed to say thuo 
muca, that to those who wisn to recover thenr inde- 
pendence, any masters must be an object of d^ 
testation ; aiid it may be safely foaretold that this 
unnroiAtable aversion will not have been corrected 
be«>re Yenice shall have sunk into the sUme of her 
choked canals. 



11. 
Redemption foee t^intke Attie Mtuef 

Stanxa xvi. line S. 

The story is told in Flutsrch's life of Nidas. 

12. 
And OiwaVf RadeUffe, Sekilkr, Shakapeare^e oH. 
Stansaxviiilinefi. 
Yenioe Preserved; Mysteries of Udolpho; Hm 
Ohostseer, or Armenian ; the Merchant of Yonice; 



Othello. 



18. 



Btd from their nature wiU the tannen grow 
Lqftteet on Iqflieet and least shdter*d roeke. 

Stanza xx. lines 1 and 2. 

Tatmen is the plural oi taime, a speoies of fir po- 
ouliar to the Alps, which only thrives in very rocky 
parts, where sosrc»ly soil sufficient for its nourish- 
ment osn be found. On these spots it grows to a 
greater height than any other mountain tree. 

U. 
A eimgU etar it at her eide, and rmgne 
With her o'er half the lovelv heaven, 

Stanxa xxviu. lines 1 and 3. 

The above description may seem fantastical or 
exaggerated to those who have never seen an Orien- 
tal or an Italian sky, yet it is but a literal and hardly 
sufficient delineation of an August evening (tiie 
eighteenth) as contemplated in one of many ndes 
along the banks of the Brenta near La Mira. 

16. 

Watering the tree whioh hears his ladg's name 
With his melodious tearSf he gave himsAf to fame^ 
Stanza xxx. lines 8 and 9. 

Thanks to the critical acumen of a Scotchman, 
we now know as little of Laura as ever.* The di»* 
coveries of tiie Abb^ do Sade, his triumidis, his 
sneers can no longer instruct or amuscf we must 
not, however, tmnk that these memoirs are aa 
much a romance asBelisarius or the Incas, although 



• 8es as BbCoifaal ukI CrUnl Emj on i 
Petnoth; and a Phaertadon oo an BlMarioal 
Bade i tha flnt appaarad aboot U* ;<aar 1784 ; 
fboiA Tohuna of the TnaaaoSpiia of tha Rojd 



t MinolTCi pour !• Via d 



oSMrii h a m a d laOs 

•ri 



K0TB8 TO GHQJIS HABGLD^S PILORIHAOB. 



911 



little avthoritj.* His "labor" has not been in 
Tain, notwithstanding his "loTe" has, like most 
other passioBe, made him ridioialoas.t The hypoth- 
esis imeh OTsrpowered the struggling Italians, and 
eairied alonff less interested edtics in its current, is 
•vn ont. We have another proof that ire can be 
never sure that the psradoz, the most singnlar, and 
therefore having the most agreeable and authentic 
air, wQl not gire place to the reestablished ancient 



pMTJndio 



It seems, then, first, that Lanra was bom, lived, 
died, and vras buried, not in Avignon, but in the 
country. The fountains of the Soxga, the thickets 
of Cabriores, may resume their pretensions, and the 
exploded de la BnaHe again be heard with compla- 
cency. The hypothesis of the Abbe had no stronger 
props than the parchment sonnet and medal found 
on the skeleton of the wife of Hugo de Sade, and 
tiie mannscript note to the Virgil of Petrarch, now 
in the Ambrosial library. If these proofs were both 
incontestable, the poetiy was written, the medal 
eomposed, cast, and deposited within the space of 
twelve hours : and these deliberate duties were per- 
ftnrmed round the carcass of one who died of the 
plague, and was hurried to the grave on the day of 
ner death. These documents, therefore, are too 
decisive: they prove not the fact, but the fbxgery. 
Bithsr the sonnet or the Virgilian note must oe a 
falsification. The Abb^ cites both as inoontestably 
true ; the consequent deduction is inevitable— 4hey 
axe both evidently false.^ 

Secondly, Laura was never married, and was a 
haughty vnrgin rather than that tmdet and pruderU 
wife, wno honored Avignon by making that town 
the theatre of an honest French pMsion, and played 
off for one and twenty years her UUU maohmery of 
alternate favors and refasalsj upon the first poet 
of the ase. It was, indeed, rather too unfair that a 
female soould be made responsible for eleven chil- 
dren upon the fiedth of a misinterpreted abbreviation, 
and the decision of a librarian. || It is, however, 
satisfactory to think that the love of Petrarch was 
ftot platonic. The happmess which he prayed to 
possess but once and for a moment was surely not 
of the mind,1f and something so very real as a 
marriage project, with one who has been idly 
called a shadowy nymph, may be, perhaps, detected 
hoL at least six places of his own sonnets.** The 
love of Petrarcn was neither platonic nor poetical ; 
and if in one passage of his works he calls it 
'*amore veementeissimo ma unico ed onesto," he 
confesses, in a letter to a Mend, that it was guilty 



• UftorBMiaB,ligrSirVr.Faitai,t.iLp.l06. 

1 MV.GU1D11 called hb niMnain "s Ja6er q/'IpM,'* (I 
FUitC^pblubttotot,) and UknrodUbn with eoofldfeBM and daUghC Tlw 
amnytnt of a veiy rolanilnom voik moit take maeb erideian opoo iiuM; 
Mx» Gibbon hai dono ao, thoogli not aa nadDj aa Mme ocber authen. 

% TheeonnethadbafamawalDBaadUMauqildomorMr.BonoeWalpok. 
fca Ui bCter to WhutDO In ITSS. 

|*«nwiaiNifcnM4fi,«atualMnMitvBd*a(v«iiB«( de lipuaa bfeo 
•viMgdc^ OM femme tendn «t aafa aaMB, pcadaat Tfatgt «t an ao^ la ptai 
gmod po«e da mm dade, laM fldn h malBdm MAa k aoo hofwur.*' 
Mim.po«laV1edBPinRnqiie,PkdhMau RMDfdfc Tba Itoiha edilor 
of dw Uwdm edWon of PMPud^ wiis baa oaaelalBd Loid V^oodhoiiede^^ 
itwlen tha «'famaa teodn et a^fa," **n|^lrMM dh tm .** nmrilfwl 
btonio a madeniHi Lama, p. 9N, ToL IS. ad. 18U. 

I Inadlakfae«lth8t.Aiiga«tai«PcliardbbaadaKribadLanfaaabcvlBf 
ftbcKir axbaiMled vilb fBiMKod ^Mte. Tha aid edboia nad and prtntad 
prturiaSoMftaa; bia llr. Cappamler, Sbniiaa to tha Fmwb Uflf ta 1788, 
«li»anrtb»MS.telin Phik flbnisr* iMda aa aOMriian tbat «« <m Sc ti 
w'w* dtU On, fortubm takauttmn.'* De Sade yrined the BUMe of 
tfeem. Boudol, and BeK« with Mr.Caivinnhr, and b ilHvhala 



and perverse, that it sbsoibed hfan quite and 
mastered lus heart.* 

In Has case, however, he was perhaps alarmed 
for the culnabiUty of his wishes ; for the Abb6 de 
Sade himself, who certainly would not have been 
scrupulously delicate if he could have proved his 
descent from Petrarch, as well as Laura, is forced 
into a stout defence of his virtuous grandmother. 
As fur as relates to the poet, we have no security 
for the innocence, except perhaps in the constancy 
of his pursuit. He assures us m his epistle to pos- 
terity, that, when arrived at his fortieth year, he 
not only had in horror, but had lost all recollection 
and image of any " irregularity."! But the birth 
of his natural daughter cannot be assigned earlier 
than his thirty-ninth year; and either the memory 
or the morality of the poet must have failed him, 
when he forgot or was guilty of this slip. % The 
weakest argument for the purity of this love has 
been drawn from the permanence of effects, which 
survived the object of his passion. The reflection 
of Mr. do la Bastie, that virtue alone is capable of 
making impressions which death cannot effiice, if 
one of those which everybody applauds, and every- 
body finds not to be true, the moment he examines 
his own breast or the record of human feeling.{ 
Such apothegms can do nothing for Petrarch or for 
the cause of morality, except with the very weak 
and the very voung. He that has made even a 
little progress oeyond ignorance and pupil^ can- 
not be eoified with anything but truth, what is 
called vindicating the nonor of an individual or a 
nation, is the most futile, tedious, aud uninstructive 
of all writing ; Hthough it will always meet with 
more applause than that sober criticism, which is 
attributed to the malicious desire of redudng a 
great man to the common standard of humamty. 
it is, after all, not unlikely, that our historian was 
r^ht in retaining his favorite hypothetic salvo, 
which secures the author, although it scarcely saves 
the honor of the still unknown mistress of Petrarch. | 

16. 
They ketp Mm dust in Arqua, tahere /is died. 
Stansa xicxi. line L 

Petrarch retired to Arqua immediately on his re- 
turn from the unsucoessml attempt to visit Urban 
V. at Rome, in the year 1370, and, with the excep- 
tion of his celebrated visit to Venice, in company 
with Francesco Novello da Carrara, he appears to 
have passed the four last years of his life between 
that cnarmin^ solitude and Padua. For four months 
previous to his death he was in a state of continual 
languor, and in the morning of July the 19th, in 
the year 1374, was found dead in his library chair, 
with his head resting upon a book. The chair is 
still shown among the precious relics of Arqua, 
which, from the uninterrupted veneration that has 
been attached to overy thing relative to this great 
man from the moment of his death to the present 
hour have, it may be hoped, a better chance of au- 
thenticity than tne Shaksperian memorials of Strat- 
ford upon Avon. 

Arqua (for the last syllable is aooented in pro* 
nunctation, 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 Bovigo, in tiie bosom of 



a6.,Pb9r, TboiaaaAqidBaa b adhd bi toaaakvtedMrSMnMk'aaiAh 
toeea vaa a etaile maid or a cdhSmnC vSh. 

Y '* Fi^naHoa, qaaalD lodar S del 

IM' ini«laa laa, M nillB Tdie 

N* waeS qoai eb* r Bol aM wild.*' 



£« «NM, •«. par L paff. MS, adk. Tan. tm. 
ae.,paM. 



tiUioi 

I "A, 
ntaefa'cKeoe." TbaboeeU, Storia, § c toau t. Ub. !v. par. il. paf . OS. 

f "/liiV««*wla««rlH«aiilef«d«oi(capa6b de/flir* dn tmpnmltm 
flHalaaiorta'«^lMejm.'* M. de Btaaiid, Jhraa de la Buda, b dia M^» 
dree deIUeadeBdedeaInea1|4k»eetBellQBLe(tRe far 1740 and 1761. Ifi 
alio RIfliadniil, tr , p Mff. 

I "jkadirtba vlttne or pradcDoa of Lanm waa hiaxanUa, be a^OTad 
BDda%hlboaalircqk9fafthenymphorpaeti7." DacHae aud fVdl.ov 
feBbpbV,veLd.efll. PMiape the ^ le ben a 



$0 



BTBOSTS 11708X8. 



the BigaaMa IuJIb. After & walk of twenty mJn* 
Qtes across a flat, well-wooded meadow, you come to 
a little blue lake, clear, but fathomless, and to the 
foot of a succession of accliyities and mils, clothed 
with vineyards and orchards, rich with fir and pome- 
granate trees, and ererv sunny firuit shrub. From 
the banks of the lake the road winds into the hills, 
and the church of Arqua is soon seen between a 
cleft where two ridges slope towards each other, 
and nearly enclose the village. The houses are 
scattered at intervals on the steep sides of these 
summits ; and that of the poet is on the edge of a 
little knoll overlooking two descents, and com- 
mending a view not only of the glovring gardens in 
the dales immediately beneath, but of the wide 
plains, above whose lOW woods of mulberry and 
willow, thickened into a dark mass b^ festoons of 
vines, tall single cypresses, and the spires of towns 
are seen in the distance, which stretches to the 
mouths of the Po and the shores of the Adriatic. 
The climate of these volcanic hills is warmer, and 
the vintage begins a week sooner than in the plains 
of Padua. Petrarch is laid, for he cannot be said 
to be buried, in a sarcophagus of red marble, raised 
on four pilasters on an elevated base, and presearved 
from an association with meaner tombs. It stands 
oonspiouously alone, but will be soon overshadowed 
by four lately planted laurels. Petrarch's fountain, 
for here everv thing is Petrarch's, springs and ex- 
pands itself beneatn an artificial arch, a little below 
the church, and abounds plentifully, in the driest 
season, with that soft wat<n: which was the ancient 
wealth of the Euganean hills. It would be more 
attractive, were it not, in some setsons, beset with 
hornets and wasps. No other coincidence could 
assimilate the tombs of Petrarch and Archilochus. 
The revolutions of centuries have spared these se- 
questered valleys, and the only violence which has 
been offered to the ashes of Petrarch was prompted 
not bv hate, but veneration. An attempt was made 
to roD the sarcophagus of its treasure, and one of 
the arms was stolen by a Forentine through a rent 
which is still visible. The iiy'ury is not forgotten, 
but has served to identify the poet with the country 
where he was bom, but where ne would not live. A 
peasant boy of Arqua being asked who Petrarch 
was, replied, "that the people of the parsonage 
knew all about him* but that he only knew that he 
was a Florentine." 

Mr. Forsyth* was not quite correct in saying that 
Petrarch never returned to Tuscany after he had 
once quitted it when a boy. It appears he did pass 
through Florence on his way ttota rarma to Rome, 
and on his return in the year 1360, and remained 
there long enough to form some acquaintance with 
its most distinguished inhabitants. A Florentine 
gentleman, ashamed of the aversion of the poet for 
his native country, was eawer to point out this trivial 
error in our accomplished traveller, whom he knew 
and respected for an extraordinary eapaeity, exten- 
sive erudition, and refined taste, loined to that en- 
ffaging simplicity of manners which has been so 
frequently recognized as the surest, though it is 
certainly not an indispensable, trait of superior ge- 
nius. 

Every footstep of Laura's lover has been anxious- 
ly traced and recorded. The house in which he 
lodged is shown in Venice. The inhabitants of 
Arezso, in order to decide the ancient controversy 
between their city and the neighboring Ancisa, 
where Petrarch was carried when seven months old, 
and remained until his seventh year, have designat- 
ed by a long inscription the spot where their great 
fellow citizen was bom. A tablet has been raised to 
him in Parma, in the chapel of St. Agatha, at the 
oathedral,t because he was an archdeacon of that 



■oofoty, Slid was only snatched frnn Us Intndel 
sepulture in their church by Kfomgn death. Anoth* 
er tablet with a bust has been erected to him al 
Pavia, on account of his having passed the autamn 
of 1368 in that dty, with his son-in-law Brossano. 
The politieal condition which has for ages pxe- 
duded the Italians from the criticism of the livmg, 
has concentrated their attention to the iUustratiou 
of the dead. 

17. 
Or, it may be, with danotu. 

Stanza xxxiv. line 1. 

. The struggle is to the full as likely to be with 
demons as with our better thoughts. Satan chose 
the wilderness for the temptation of our Saviour. 
And our unsullied John Locke preferred the pres- 
ence of a child to complete solitude. 

18. 
In face of tM hiefoee^ the Cnuean qwre; 
And Boueau, tohoee nuh etwy. Ac. 

Stanza xxxvm. lines 6 and 7. 

Perhaps the couplet in which Boileau dcinreciates 
Tasso, may serve as well as any other specimen to 
justify the opinion given of the harmony of French 
verse. 

A MiiMie • Rmui, pnfcM Tb»ophOe, 

Bt to dinqout du "nun • tout I'or di Vlrflla. 

SaL Ix. von. ns. 

The biographer Serassi,* out of tenderness to tho 
reputation either of the Italian or the French poet, 
is eager to observe that the satirist recanted or ex- 
plained away this censure, and subsequently allowed 
the author of the Jerasalem to be a *< genius, sub- 
lime, vast, and happily bom firom the higher flights 
of poetry." To this we will add, that the recanta- 
tion is far from satisfactory, when we examine the 
whole anecdote as reported by OUvetf The sen- 
tence pronounced against him by Bohcrars^ is re- 
corded only to the coni^on of the critic, whose 
paUnodia tne Italian makes no effort to d^cover, 
and would not perhaps accept. As to the opposi- 
tion which the Jerasalem encountered firom the 
Gruscan academy, who degraded Tasso from ali 
competition with Ariosto, below Bojardo and Pulci, 
the disgrace of such opposition must also in some 
measure be laid to the charge of Alfonso, and the 
court of Ferrara. For Leonard Salviati, tne princi- 
pal and nearly the sole origin of this attack, was. 



:BlUi]r,p.H.nole,9d«dk. 
t D. O. M. 
FnuidMft ntrutha 



Kthins ChrUuue wlptori oUndo 



nam hie in inba penemm nfliui MtMi 
S. P. d. R. luim dooKta. 
TuttiVM. 




Dlv» Juiuuia enM 



H.M.P. 



oeocpoi 




• LaViudelTun»UlkBlp.»l,lam.iL 
t HMaIn ds I'AewUi^ FnmgdH,d^pdilSBSJuMia'a 
d'OSvct, pi. 181, «diL Aimnduv Vim, "BCal^Mwiie. 
ftMidiMitalMa, JVmdiiiMotnquebbMNH n'Mpu 
diM^N^hHliil," p. Uk Boilno mM ha 
«r«i d rf pm flhaagi, dh^l,'* ae^ p. ISL 

I LaMuriMdabiMiFiMMrduii 
mUl MK. PfaikallMS b fer Tmm, ud wtyi, In ihe 
bona Mprfli VM lltdb » pMfa, li Tmh Mt tuiu t S > w mI 
pha hoMbumol" But Bohonia Mam lo tpedc b Eadosia, 
tbt abmid «MnpMlHiit "fWkanMnlaTMMtMtqa'tt 
iB'MiikMpoariiMliTta|le.»*«. IUd.|>.t«. 



ITSB. 

l7S0.ptfl'Abbf 



•«d> idwta 
qufpMile 
• ckMiwtt 
mpUiNji 



TO 



BJOmiTB PUiOaiMAQB. 



91 



iMR«nbttaodoikl»*teiMBfled bjftlMpeto to- 
qmn tke IkTor of tli« Himse of mtm; aa oligect 
wkieh h» thought attainable hj eialthfig the reputa- 
tioB of a natiTo poet at the expense of a riTal, then 
a ATMOMT of siaie. The hopes and efforts of Sal- 
mtzmnst serre to show the ootempomy opinion 
as to the nature of the poet* s imnriBonment ; and 
wiQ fill UD the measure of oar indtgnation at the 
tyrant jauer-f In fact, the antasonist of Tasso 
was not diasappointed in the reception given to his 
critieism; he was called to the court of Forrara, 
wfagere haring endeavored to heighten his claims to 
fftvorhjr panegyrics on the fiunilj of his sovereign,! 
he was in turn abandoned, and expired in negisteted 
Boverty. The opposition of the Crusoaas was 
brought to a close m six years after the oonmienee- 
asoit of the controversy ; and if the aeademv owed 
its first renown to having almost opened witn such 
a pazodox^ it is probable that, on the other hand, 
the care of his reputation alleviated rather than ag- 
mvated the imprisonment of the imured po^ 
The defcBce of his fiather and of himself, for ooth 
were involved in tiie censure of Salviati, found em« 
ployment for many of his solitary hours, and the 
captive could have been but little embaraseed to 
reply to accusations, where, amcmgst other delin- 
^ueaees, he was charged wi^ invialously omitting, 
his comparison Mtween France ana Italy, to 
' B any mention of the cupola of St Maria del 
I at Fkcenoe-I The late biompher of Ariosto 
■eens as if willing to renew the controversy by 
doubting the inteanpretation of Tasso's self-estima- 
tisnf related m Serassi's life of the poet. But 
Tkabeschi had before laid that rivalry at rest,** by 
sbowmgy that between Ariosto and Tasso it is not a 
questioa of comparison, but of preference. 

19. 

The UgJUning rent from Ariosto'e butt 
The iron crown of lattreTe mimic' d leaves. 

Stanza xli. lines I and 2. 
Before the remains of Ariosto were removed firom 
the Benedictine church to the library of Feirara, 
his bust, which surmounted the tomb, was struck by 
lightning, and a crown of iron laurels melted away. 
Twe event has been recorded bv a writer of the last 
century .tt The transfer of these sacred ashes on 
the 6th of June, 1801, was one of the most brilliant, 
spectacles of the short-lived Italian Republic ; and 
to consecrate the memory of the ceremony, the 
oaee funous fallen InirqneU were revived and re- 
fonaed into the Ariostean academy. The large 
public place through which the procession paraded 
was thai for the first time called Ariosto Square. 
Tbe author of the Orlando is jealously claimed as the 
Homer, not of Italy, but Ferranutt The mother of 
Ariosto was of Bemo, and the house in which he 
was bom is carefully distinguished by a tablet with 



**(hd naeqm Lmdomeo Arioeio tl 
ffiorm 8 di Seitemhre tMt tmmo 1474.'* But th« 
Feirarese make light of the accident by which their 
poet was bom abroad, and claim him exclusively fof 
their own. They possess his bones, they show hif 
arm-chair, and ms inkstand, and his antogn^^hs. 



FEorei 



* UVta, Ae., Au a.p.lOitom. fi. Tht EogOtt tmOat mtf tm wm 
— irftf»1ipft*in« ofSvCraM oTiMQ, la Dr. OMk, IJ^ *•., 

t PwfMkK, sad, k h kaped, decWM rtoid,e»uTmto «w addM mm 
Md—am m f r it o m r ^f tmit, Ihi wrlwT li n fc iw d to " ifirtarMoI IZIw> 
aiSM ■/ at /ma C^mta of CMUi Ar«U,' ' iMf . MM] Mhiwiaf . 

X ObmboI taHbri . . . deOe lodl Dm Lutgi CuiBttil d'BM . . . <Mb hdl 
JDMBi]faM41b«B. Sae U V1S^ ih. a fw 117, 

f U «u fandoi fa ISUlp sad 
«r9tefMf.«»piMteliB 

I 'CMM pai» MiiVR in hi I 
■Br mmm rfciwilM " La Vki^ Iftu B. pu M, IS, lorn. V. 

\ UTaadI M. L. liivto, wilte daU' hXa^ GMamo BwaflUH Giaa. 
hM, Sc^ f^aa, ISST, Bt. H. p. «L *•« Bbiortal BortMio 
PlX. 

*• Skrfi ddk Laa. Atu, »u B. tHB. tl. p«. a. p. tM, M«L 4. 

VaM.** OpdlBM«Ml,«ri.il.pwl1S,ad.Mina,MBi lettmal 
CMrtniHiliMiliiiiiadiiiiSliii.aaB'fadBiidiiiaftdMi-oadalolaDwAi' 



X^'^knmim 



■faa 



• ad lavlMa apolo^taa MP fittu% fwrrW' 
I tqrTaM>,andliqiwladlDteaMllWni of 



> IbMM, ». B. ppw «^ «, La Tla di M. L. AiiMtok *i^ 



The house where he lived, the room where he 
died, are designated by his own reolaoed memorial,* 
and by a recent inscription. The Ferrarese are 
more jealous of their claims since the animosity oi 
Denina, arising firom a cause which their apologists 
mysteriously hmt is not unknown to them, ventured 
to degrade their soil and climate to a Boeotian inca* 
padtv for all spiritual productions. A quarto vol 
ume nas been called forth by the detraction, and 
this supplement to Barotti's Memoirs of the illus- 
trious Ferrarese has been considered a triumphant 
reply to the '*Qaadi> Storieo Statistioo dell'^Alte 
Italuu" 

20. 

For the true lauret-wreath which Okry weawee 

It of the tree no bolt of thunder eleavet. 

Stansa xlL lines 4 and 5. 

The eagle, the sea calf, the laurel,t and th« 
white vine,X were among the most approved jure- 
servatives i^ainst lightning ; Jupiter chose the &st, 
Augustus Cesar the second,^ and Tiberius never 
failed to wear a wreath of the third when the sky 
threatened a thunder-storm. H These superstitioiif 
may be received without a sneer in a country whsra 
the magical properties of the hasel twig have not 
lost all their credit; and perhaps the reader may 
not be much surprised to find that a oommentator 
on Suetonius has taken upon himself gravely to 
disprove the imputed virtues of the crown of Tibe- 
rius, by mentioning that a few years before he wrote 
a laurel was actually streck by lightning at Bome.^ 

21. 
Know thai the Ughtmng tttnetffiei below. 

Stansa xli. line 8. 

The Curtian lake and the Ruminal fig-tree in the 
Forum, having been touched by lightning, were 
held sacred, and the memory of the accident was 
preserved bjr ajnUeal or altar, resembling the mouth 
of a well, with a little chapel covering the cavity 
supposed to be made by the thunderbolt Bodies 
scathed and persons struck dead were thought to 
be incorruptiole ;** and a stroke not fatal conferred 
perpetual dignity upon the man so distinguished by 
heBven.i^ 

Those killed by lightning were wrapped in a 
white gpurment, and buried where they fell. The 
superstition was not confined to the worshippers sdf 
Jupiter ; the Lombards believed in the omens fori 
nished by lightning, and a Christian priest eonfessee 
that, by a diabolical skill in interpreting thunder, a 
seer foretold to Agilulf, Duke of Tunn, an event 
which oame to pass, and gave him a queen and a 
erown.tl There was, however, something equivo- 
cal in this sign, whi^ the ancient inhamtants of 
Borne did not always oonsideor propitious : and as 
the fears are likely to last longer than the oonsolar 



'* F^rra «d apla nUil, «d aoB ebnoxia, «d am 



t AquOa, vltuint maiiniM, aC luriab Mnloe oon feriunter. Ptta. NaL 
BfaL Ub. I. enp. hr. 

I CdoBMlla, ih. X. 

I SaelBa. h Tit A«t«l. Mpb M. 

I Sueton. h Vk. TBMd, «p. tsbk 

f Note S, pu MS, «dlt. Lagri. BaU 1SI7. 

•• Vid. J. C. Bulloagw, da Ten« Moto tL FulndBlk lib. v. cap zL 

ft 066tlt npewMit irinos ivrt, S9t¥ cal i>s ^sif rf 
ftarat. Plot. Bpufm. vid. J. U BiiIlBBf . at mp. 

tl PiMdl DhHHd. <!• Otek fa^iliiri B^ B. Mpw zhr. fa. IS, adS. 



18 



BYBON'S VOBX£L 



nous of Bupcratitioii, it » net straiige that the Ro- 
toans of the age of Leo X. shoula have been to 
much terrified at some misinterpreted storms as to 
require ^e exhortations of a scholar, who arrayed 
all the learning on thunder and lightning to prove 
the omen favorable ; beginning vdth the flash which 
struck the walls of "V^Utrae, and including that 
which placed upon a gate at Florence, and foretold 
Ae pontificate of one of its citizens.* 

22. 

Italia! ohIUiUa! Sfi. 

Stanza xlii. line 1. 

The two stanzas. XLII. and XLIIL, are, with 
the exception of a line or two, a translation of the 
famous sonnet of FiUicaja : 



23. 

Wandering in youthf I tfne$d the path (if himy 

The Roman frtend of Rome's least mortal mind. 
Stanza xliv. lines I and 2. 

The celebrated letter of Servius Sulnicue to 
IScero on the death of his daughter describes it as 
It then was, and now is, a path which I often traced 
|& Greece, both by sea and land, in different jour- 
neys and voyages. 

" On my return from Azia, as I was sailing from 
JEgina towards Megara, I began to contemplate the 
prospect of the countries around me : iBgina was 
Dehind, Megara before me; Pineus on the right, 
Corinth on the left ; all which towns, once famous 
and flourishing, now lie overturned and buried in 
their ruins. Upon this sight, I could not but think 
presently withm myself, Alas ! how do we poor 
mortals fret and vex ourselves, if any of our friends 
happen to die or to be killed, whose life is ^et so 
ihort) when the carcasses of so many noble cities lie 
here exposed before me in one view.'* f 

2i. 

Andwepaae 
The skeleton of her Titanic form 

Stanza xlvi. fine* 7 and 8. 

It is Poggio who, looking fiom the Capitoline 
hUl upon ruined Rome, breaks forth into the excla- 
mation, "Ut nunc omni decore nudata, prostrata 
Jacet, instar gigantel cadaveris corrupti atque un- 
oique exesL" X 

26. • 

Theret too^ the Goddess loves in stone. 

Stanza xlix. line 1. 
The view of the Venus of Medecis instantly eog- 
gests the lines in the Seasons^ and the comparison 
of the object with tiie description proves not only 
the oorrectness of the portrait, but the peculiar 
torn of thought, and, if the term may be used, the 
sexual imagination of the descriptive poet. The same 
conclusion may be deduced tmm another hint in the 
same episode of Musidora ; for Thomson's notion of 
the privileges of favored love must have bean either 
very primitive, or rather deficient in delicaoy, when 
he made his grateftd nymph inform her discreet 
Damon that m some happier moment he might, 
perhaps, be the companion of her bath : 

•• The SUM aaj oome jou mad not tj.** 

The reader win recollect the anecdote told in the 
life of Dr. Johnson. We will not leave the Flor- 
entine gallery without a word on the Whetter. It 



rflrSMUfcorM. TdllM Chant mbL Tl. p. 



seems stnmffe that tiie durastcr of that diMM 
statue should not be entirely decided, at leastami 
mind of any one who has seen a sarcophagus in wm 
vestibule of the Basilica of St. Paul wfthout Hm 
walls, at Borne, where the whole group of the fabU 
of Mareyas is seen in tolerable preservation ; and 
the Scythian slave whetting the knife is represented 
exactly in the same position as the celebrated master^ 
piece. The slave is not naked ; but it is easier to 
^et rid of this difficulty than to suppose the knife 
m the hand of the Florentine statue an instrument 
for shaving, which it must be, if, as Lanzi supposes, 
the man is no other than the barber of Julius uesar. 
Winkelmann, illustrating a baa relief of the same 
subject, follows the opinion of Leonard Agoatini^ 
and his authority might have been thought conclu- 
sive, even if the resemblance did not strike the 
most careless observer.* 

^ Among the bronzes of the same nrincely collec- 
tion is still to be seen the inscribea tablet copied 
and commented upon by Mr. Gibbon.t Our histo^ 
rian found some difficultiesi but did not desist from 
his illustration : he might be vexed to hear tiiat his 
criticism has been thrown away on an inscnlptUMi 
now generally recognized to be a forgery. 

26. 
His eves to thee icptum, 
Feeding on tky sweet cheek. 

Stanza IL lines 6 stnd 7. 



27. 
In Santa Oroce's holy predncts Ue. 

Stanza liv. line 1. 
This name will recall the memory, not only of 
those whose tombs have raised the Santa Croce mto 
the centre of pilgrimage, the Mecca of Italy, but of 
her whose eloquence was poured over the illustrious 
ashes, and whose voice is now mute as tiiose sh« 
sunp. CoRtNNA is no more ; and with her should 
expire the fear, the flattery, and the envy, which 
threw too dazzlmg or too aark a cloud round the 
march of genius, and forbade the steady gaze of 
disinterested criticism. We have her picture em* 
bellished or distorted, as friendship or detraction 
has held the pencil: the impartial portrait was 
hardly to be expected from a contemporary. The 
immediate voice of her survivors will, it is probable, 
be far from affording a just estimate of her singular 
capacity. The galianti7» ^^^ ^^"^^ ^^ wonder, and 
the hope of associated fkme, which blunted the 
edge of censure, must cease to exist.— The dead 
have no sex; they can surprise by no new miracles s 
they can confer no privilege ; Corinna has ceased 
to be a woman— she is only an author : and it majr 
be foreseen that many will repay themselves for 
former complaisance, by a seventy to which the ex* 
travagance of previous praises may perhaps give the 
color of truth. The latest posterity, tot 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 
sees, the more aecorately minute will be the object, 
the more certain the justice, of the deeiaiea. She 
will enter into that existence in which the great 
writers of all ages and nations are, as it wes«, aaso- 
ciated in a world of l^eir own, ana, from that supe- 
rior sphere, shed their eternal influence for the oon- 
trol and ooasolation of mankind. But the individ- 
ual will gndnally disappear aa the author is mors 
distinctly seen : some one, therefore, of all those 
whom the charms of involuntary wH, and of < 



SMlfaalm.AM.lMd.Fn. L Mfw m. a. zML ] 
driB lii» So.* 1ft. sL Mpu L lam. S. iMf . «14. ML S. 



nans TO CKILDB HAROLD'S PILORDiAGS. 



9d 



lUMpitdhVt ftttneted witiiin tiie friendly drclet of 
Oomt, niould rescue from oblirion those yirtuee 
«vbiu, ahhongli Xhsj are said to lore the shade, 
are, xa Het, more freq^aently chilled than excited b j 
the domestic cares of priTste Hfe. Some one 
shoald be found to portray the vnafiected graces 
mtik which she adorned those dearer relationships, 
tiks perfonnanoe of whose duties is rather discor- 
cred among the interior secrets, than seen in the 
•ntward management, of Camily intercovrse; and 
which, indeed, it requires the delicacy of genuine 
sfleetion to qualify for the eye of an inoifferent 
spectator. Some one should be found, not to cele- 
brate, \mt to describe, the amiable mistress of an 
open mansion, the centre of a society, erer raried, 
and Always pleased, the creator of wtuch, divested 
of the ambition and the arts of public rirabry, shone 
forth only to Kire freeh animation to those around 
her. The motaer tenderly affectionate and tenderly 
bdored, the friend unboundedly generous, but still 
esteemed, the charitable patroness of all distress, 
eannot be forgotten by those whom she cherished, 
and xffotected, and fed. Her loss will be mourned the 
most where she was known the best; and, to the 
aoROws of very manj friends and more dependants, 
may be ofEered the disinterested rupret of a stranger, 
who, amid the sublimer scenes of the Leman ls5e, 
rece t Ted his diief satisfaction from contemplating 
the engaging qualities of the incomparable Corinna. 



H€F9 Ttp096 

ilnysfo's, AlfierVt bones. 

Stanza Ht. lines 6 and 7. 
AUcri ia ttie ^reat name of this age. The Ital- 
ians, without waiting for the hundred years, con- 
sider him as ** a poet good in law."— His memory 
is the more dear to them becaoae he is the bard of 
freedom; and because, as such, his tragedies can 
reeexre no countenance from any of their sovereigns. 
Th^ are but rery seldom, and but very few of 
them, allowed to be acted. It was observed by 
Cicero, fiiat nowhere were the true opinions and 
fedings of the Romans so clearly shown as at the 
iheatre.* In the autumn of 1816, a celebrated im- 
provisatoire exhB)ited his talents at the opera-house 
ef Milan. The reading of the theses handed in for 
the subjects of his poetxr was received by a very 
umerous audience, for the most ^art in silence, or 
whh laughter; but when the assistant, unfolding 
one of the papers, exclaimed, " The Apotheosia of 
Yidor Aljieri," the whole tiieatre burst into a 
shout, and the applause was continued for some 
moments. The lot did not frJl on Alfieri ; and the 
ftgnorSgricd had to pour forth his extemporary 
COTBmon-places on the bombardment of Ajj^iers. 
The choice, indeed, is not left to accident quite so 
much as might be thought from a first view of the 
ceremony ; and the jmHcc not only takes care to look 
at the papers beforehand, but in case of anv pru- 
dential afterthought, steps in to correct the blmd- 
nesa of chance. The proposal for deifying Alfieri 
was received with immediate enthusiasm, the rather 
hecaase it was conjectured there would be no oppor- 
tnnity of carrying it into effect. 



BenMaMeiUUi 



29. 
'« earth r t hu m ed to whence it roee, 
Stansa liv. line 9. 



The affectation of simplicity in sepulchral inscrip- 
tions, which so often leaves us uncertain whethet 
the structure before us is an actual depository, or a 
cenotaph, or a simple memorial not of deatn bat 
life, has given to toe tomb of Machiavelli no in* 
formation as to the place or time of the birth or 
death, the age or parentage, of the historian. 

TAXTO MOMIIfX KTLLVX PAJl BLOOmC 
NICCOLATB KACUIATSLLX. 

There seems at least no reason why the name should 
not have been put above the sentence which alludes 
to it. 

It will nadily be imagined that the prejudice* 
which have passed the name of Machiavelli mto an 
epithet proverbial of iniquity, exist no longer at 
Florence. His memory was persecuted as bis lifb 
had been, for an attachment to liberty incompatible 
with the new system of despotism, which succeeded 
the fiall of the i^ee governments of Itxdy. He was 
put to the torture for being a *' iibertine,'* that is, 
for wishing to restore the republic of Florence ; and 
such are Uie undying efforts of those who are in- 
terested in the perversion not only of the nature of 
actions, but the meaning of woids, that what was 
once oatnotiemf has by (Agrees come to signify de 
btntcA. We have ourselves outlived the old mean- 
ing of "liberality," which is now another word for 
treason in one country and for infatuation in all. It 
seems to have been a strange mistake to accuse the 
author of the Prince, as bem^ a pander to tyranny ; 
and to think that the Inquisition would condemn 
his work for such a delinquency. The fact is that 
Machiavelli, as is usual with those against whom 
no crime can be proved, was suspected of, and 
charged with, atheism ; and the first and last most 
violent opposers of the Prince were both Jesuits, 
one of whom persuaded the Inquisition "bench^ 
fosse tardo," to prohibit the treatise, and ihe other 
qualified the secretary of the Florentine republic as 
no better than a fool. The father Possevin was 
proved never to have read the book, and the father 
Lucchesini not to have understood it. It is clear, 
however, that such critics must have objected not 
to the slavery of the doctrines, but to the supposed 
tendency of a lesson which shows how distinct are 
the interests of a monarch from the happiness ot 
mankind. The Jesuits are re^tablished m 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 d^potism. The chapter bears for title, " Esor- 
taxione a liberare la Italia dai Barbari," and oon« 
dudes with a Ubertine excitement to the future re- 
demption of Italy. **Non ti deve adunque Uucieur 
paemre gueeta occaeione^ ucciocehk la Italia vegom 
dope tanto tempo t^apaire un euo redentore, Ni 
poseo eeprimere con fual amore ei fiuee ricevuto m 
tutte qtielle provinete, ehe hanno patiio per queete 
iUmvioni esteme^ eon qual eete di vendetta, con che 
oetinata fede, eon che lacrime, Quali porte $e K 
terrerebeno t Quali popoli li negherebbeno la obbedi* 
ensa t Quale Italiano li nejfherebbe foeeequio f ▲]> 

OOJfUMO PUZZA. QUS8T0 BA&BA&O DOXUflO."* 

ao. 

Ungrate^ Fhrmee ! Dante eleem o/Sn*. 

Stansa iTii: lina 1. 



Dante was bom in Florence in the year 1261. He 
fought in two battles, was fourteen tunes ambassa^ 
dor, and once prior of the republic. When the 
party of Charles of Ax^ou triumphed over the Bi- 
I tm MB «r Ftoap^j; d*^ ^nm Um fam tte Swtn with cone*, anclu, he was absent on an embassy to Pope Boni- 
Tfci wni MM ar a popaim, ■pootuiwMr txprwwi, h mnrwrong. \ foce VIII., and was coudenmed to two years' baa- 

JB>eaSMHfcfin of thtttiamvia joined bite esflcnSoo of te clilw.ty 

ifcnnSnf toorf te etautats W Leptdm and Phneos, vbo HimI pniKilbad 

liri-j Si I. n n • — "- "-"- ^- --— f-- - -y- r- : • IIPrindpe(HNkal6MMM*TelH,ae.,eoiil»p 
■qpk«Mflliaflaea(d,««nkao(liiBf batafDodpm. [C. VdL PUmouN fkha e poltkiw di Mr. Aimlot dt k Uoanyv I' • 
BtaLBLLa|LlKSlx.viC.7B,«fiuBK«1r,iaa.TMd.lb.iL«p. lssviL]'open Camopall, ITM. 



04 



BYRON'S W0BK8. 



Ishment and to a fine of eight thousand lite ; on non- 
payment of wMch he -was Airther punished h^r the 
sequestration of all his property. The republic, 
however, was not content ^vith this satisfaction, for 
in 1772 was discovered in the archives at Florence a 
sentence in which Dante is the eleventh of a Ibt of 
fifteen condemned in 1302 to be burnt alive ; Talis 
pervemens igne comburatur sie quod moriatur. The 
pretext for this judgment was a proof of unfair 
barter, extortions, and illicit ^ains. Baracteriixrum 
iniouarum, extorsionunif et %Uicitorum luerorum,* 
ana with such an accusation it is not strange that 
Dante should have always protested his innocence, 
and the injustice of his feliow-citizens. His appeal 
to Florence was accompanied by another to the 
Emperor Henry ; and the death of that sovereign 
in 1313, was the signal for a sentence of irrevocable 
banishment. He had before lingered near Tuseanv 
with hopes of recall ; then travelled into the north 
of Italy, where Yerona had to boast of his longest 
residence ; and he finally settled at Ravenna, which 
was his ordinary but not constant abode until his 
death. The refusal of the Venetians to grant him 
a public audience, on the part of Oiiido Novello da 
Polenta, his protector, is said to have been the 

frincipal cause of this event, which happened in 
321. He was buried ("in sacra minorum cede") 
at Ravenna, in a handsome tomb, which was erected 
bj Guido, restored bj Bernardo Bembo in 1483, 
praetor for that repubbc which had refused to hear 
him, again restored by Cardinal Corsi in 1692, and 
replaced by a more magnificent sepulchre, con- 
structed in 1780, at the expense of the Cardinal 
Luigi Valcnti Gonsaga. The offence or misfortune 
of Dante was an attachment to a defeated party, 
and, as his least fkvorable biographers allege against 
him, too great a freedom of speech and haughtiness 
of manner. But the next age paid honors almost 
divine to the exile. The Florentines, having in 
vain and fre^uentl^r attempted to recover his body, 
crowned his miage in a church,t and his picture is 
still one of the idols of their oathedral. They 
struck medals, they raised statues to him. The 
eities of Italy, not being able to dispute about his 
own birth, contended for that of his g^reat poem, 
and the Florentines thought it for their honor 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 Boccac- 
cio was apoointed to this patriotic emplorment. 
The example was imitated by Bologna ana Pisa, 
and the commentators, if they performed but little 
service to literature, augmented the veneration 
which beheld a sacred or moral allegory in eOl the 
images of his mystic muse. His birth and his in- 
fancy were discovered to have been distinguished 
above those of ordinary men ; the author of the De- 
eameron, his earliest biographer, relates, that his 
mother was warned in a dream of the importance of 
her pregnancy : and it was found, bv others, that at 
ten years of age he had manifested his precocious 
passion for that wisdom or theology, which, under 
the name of Beatrice^ad been mistaken for a 
substantial mistress. When the Divine Comedy 
had been recognized as a mere mortal production, 
and at the distance of two centuries, when criticism 
and competition had sobered the judsment of Ital- 
ians, Dante was seriously deolaiett superior to 
Homer : t and, though the peferenoe appeared to 
some casuists " an heretical blasphemy worthy of 
the flames," the contest was vigorously maintained 
for nearly fifty years. In later times it was made a 
question which of the liOrds of Verona could boast 



• StoikdeOa EiCtt. lul.*«n. t. lib. DI. pir. ^ p. 448. TlnlxMshi b IiMor- 
^t the dMei of the tlnw d«nw ualiHt DuM M« A. D. 1308, 1814, uKl 
WS. 

t»o 
■torik, *&, ut flop. p. 4S8. 

I Bf VaitM in hb Breobno. Tin eentiomqr cooiIaiMd lirom WQ to 
«M. ■wBlaih,*e.,laai.vl «».ill.pME;liLp.Un 



of having patronised him.* and the jealoos skepti* 
cism of one writer would not aUow Ravenna the 
undoubted possession of his bones. Even the crit- 
ical Tiraboschi was inclined to believe that the poet 
had foreseen and foretold one of the discoveries of 
Galileo.— I^ke the great originals of other nations, 
his populari^ has not always maintained the same 
level. The last age seemed inclined to undervalue 
him as a model ana a study ; and Bettinelli one day 
rebuked his pupil Monti, for poring over the harsh 
and obsolete extravagances of the Commedia. The 

E resent generation, having recovered from the Gal- 
c idolatries of Cessrotti, has returned to the an* 
cient worship, and the Dantmiare of the northern 
Italians is thought even inmsereet by the more 
moderate Tuscans. 

There is still much curious information relativw 
to the life and writings of this great poet which has 
not as yet been collected eVen oy the Italians ; but 
the celebrated Ugo Foscolo meditates to supply this 
defect, and it is not to be regretted that this notional 
work has been reserved for one so devoted te ah 
country and the cause of truth. 

81. 
Like Scipio, buried h^ the upbraiding shore ; 
* Thy factions^ in their worse than cwU toar, 
Proscribed, ^c. 

Stanza Ivii lines 2, 3, and 4. 
The elder Scipio AfHcanus had a tomb if he was 
not buried at liitemum, whither he had retired to 
voluntary banishment. This tomb was near the 
sea-shore, and the story of an inscription upon it, 
Inffrata Patria, having given a name to a modem 
tower, is, if not true, an agreeable fiction. If h« 
was not buried, he certainly lived there.t 



Incsria 

Em 1 fimnd' ooao che d'Afr a a'appella 
RsrehB prima col feno al viro april]a.{ 

Ingratitude is generally supposed the vice peculiar 
to republics ; and it seems to be forgotten that for 
one instance of popular inconstancy, we have m 
hundred examples of the fall of courtly fiivoritea. 
Besides, a people have often repented — a monarch 
seldom or never. Leaving apart many familiar 
proofs of this fact, a short stoiy may show the dif- 
ference between even an aristocracy and the multi- 
tude. 

Vettor Pisani, having been defeated in 1854 at 
Potolongo, and many years afterwards in the mow 
decisive action of Pola, by the Genoese, was recalled 
bv the Venetian government, and thrown into 
chains. The Awogadori proposed to behead him, 
but the supreme tribunal was content vrith the sen- 
tence of imprisonment. Whilst Pisani was suffer^ 
ing this unmerited disgrace, Chioza, in the vicinity 
of the capital,j( was, by the assistance of the Sigrtor 
of Padua, dehvered into the hands of Pictro Doria. 
At the intelligence of that disaster, the great bell 
of St. Mark's tower tolled to arms, and uie people 
and the soldiery of the galleys were summoned to 
the repulse of the approaching enemy; but they 
protested they would not move a step, unless Pisani 
were liberated and placed at their h<^ The great 
council was instantly assembled; the prisoner was 
called before them, and the Doge, Andrea Conta- 
rini, informed him of Uie demands of the people 
and the necessities of the state, whose only hope of 
safety was reposed on hie efforto, and who iaiptared 
him to forget the indignities he had endured m her 
service. '* I have submitted," relied the maffnaa- 
imous republican, ** I haYe submitted to your deliV 



Ob. Jaoopo IHonU Quienko <tf Vmon 
AoiK ec, (MB. T. lib. L pot. L p. M. 

t Titan Lhom! «gk dm dariddo iiriih 
liry nporta that flOiM arid he waa buM a 
capbhr. 

} TrionlbdalkOuiila. 

|B«iKw8.pageei. 



. 0«tadlAao<laao,a.8. ftoa 

Sm T. Ur. BiaL tk. xxxrS. 
BfaatRonM Jk 



NOTES TO CHILDB HAROLDS PILGRIMAGB. 



95 



■itiiai iffidioat compbdn* ; I hare lupported pa- 
tieatijr the pains of impnsonment, for they were 
iaflietod at yoar command : this is no time to in- 
quire whether I deserved them — ^the good of the re- 
pmbtie may have seemed to require it» and that 
which the republic resolves is always resolved wisely. 
BehokL me ready to lay down my life for the preser^ 
ratioa of my country." Pisani was appointed gen- 
eralissimo, and by his exertions, in conjunction with 
those of Carlo Zeno» the Vepetians soon recovered 
die ascendancy over their maritime rivals. 

The Italian communities were no less unjust to 
their citizens than the Greek republics. liberty, 
both with the one and the other, seems to have 
been a national, not an individual object : and, not- 
withstanding the boasted equality btfon the laws, 
iHiich an ancient Greek writer* considered the 
neat distinctive mark between his countrymen and 
the barbarians, the mutual rights of feUow-citisens 
seem never to have been the principal scope of the 
old democracies. The world may have not vet seen 
an essay bv the author of the Italian Republics, in 
which me oistinctiGn between the liberty of former 
states, and the signification attached to that word 
by the happier constitution of England, is ingeni- 
ously developed. The Italians, howevcx,when thev 
had ceased to be free, still looked back with a sign 
upon those times of turbulence, when every citizen 
iBj^t rise to a share of sovereign power, and have 
never been taught fully to appreciate the repose of 
a monarchy. Sperone Speroni. when Francis Maria 
II. Duke of Rovere proposed the question, " which 
was preferable, the republic or the principality — the 
perfect and not durable, or the less perfect and not 
so liable to change," replied, ** that our happiness 
is to be measured by its quality, not by its duration ; 
and that he preferred to uve for one day like a man, 
than for a hundred years like a brute, a stock, or a 
stone." This was thought, and called, a nMgniJicent 
■Bswer. down to the last days of Italian servitude.! 



AndthBerwm^ 
Which PttrarcKe laureate brow eu pr e m ely wore, 
C^pom a far and foreiffn eoil had prowm. 

Stanza Ivii. lines 6, 7» and 8. 

The Florentines did not tAe the opportunity of 
Petrardi's short visit to their city in ISoO to revoke 
the decree which confiscated the property of his 
UAert who had been banished shortly after the 
Cadle of Dante. His crown did not dazzle them ; 
but when in the next year they were in want of his 
assistance in the formation of their university, they 
repented of their injustice, and Boccaccio was sent 
to Padua to entreat the laureate to conclude his 
wanderings in the bosdm of his native country, 
vhare he might finish his immortal Africa, and 
evuoy with his recovered possessions, the esteem of 
au classes of his fellow-citizens. They gave him 
the option of the book and the science he might 
cond^cend to exi>ound : they called him the glory 
of his country, who was dear, and would be dearer 
to them; and the^r added, that if there was anything 
anpleasing in their letter, he ought to return among 
them, were it only to correct their style.^ Petrarch 
seemed at first to listen to their flattery and to the 
entreaties of his friend, but he did not return to 
Florence, xad preferred a pilgrimage to the tomb of 
Laoia and the shades of V auchise. 

♦ J3. 

Baceaodo to hie parent earth beoueathed 
Hie duet. Stanza Iviii. Imes 1 and 2. 



Boccaccio was buried in the church of Si. Michael 
and St. JamcH, at Ccrtaldo, a small to^vn in the 
Valdclsa, which was by some suppo:iod the place of 
his birth. There he passed the latter part of his 
life in a course of laborious study, which shortened 
his existence ; and there might his ashes have been 
secure, if not of honor, at least of repose. But the 
** hvfcna bigots *' of Ccrtaldo tore up the tombstone 
of Boccaccio, and ejected it from the holy precincts 
of St. Michael and St. James. The occasion, and, 
it may be hoped, the excuse, of this ejectment was 
the making of a nen floor for the church ; but the fact 
is, that the tombstuno was taken up and thrown 
aside at the bottom of the building. Ignorance 
may share the sin with bigotry. It would be painful 
to relate such an exception to the devotion of the 
Italians for their great names, could it not be ac- 
companied by a trait more honorably conformable to 
the general character of the nation. The principal 
person of the district, the last branch of tne house 
of MedicLs, afforded that protection to the memory 
of the insulted dead which her best ancestors haa 
dispensed upon all cotemporary merit. The Mar- 
chioness Lcnzoni rescued the tombstone of Boccac- 
cio from the neglect in which it had some time lain, 
and found for it an honorable elevation in her own 
mansion. She has done more : the house in which 
the poet lived has been as little respected as his 
tomb, and is falling to ruin over the head of one 
indifferent to the name of its former tenant. It 
consists of two or three little cliambers, and a low 
tower, on which Cosmo II. affixed an inscription. 
This house she has taken nicasures to purchase, 
and proposes to devote to it that care and consider- 
ation which are attached to the cradle and to the 
roof of genius. 

This is not the place to undertake the defence of 
Boccaccio; but the man who exhausted his little 
patrimony in the acquirement of learning, who was 
among tne first, if not the first, to allure the sci- 
ence and the poetry of Greece to the bosom of 
Italy; — ^who not only invented a new style, but 
founded, or certainly fixed, a new language ; who, 
besides the esteem of every polite court of Europe, 
was thought worthy of employment by the predom- 
inant republic of his own country, and, what is 
more, of the friendship of Petrarch, who lived the 
life of a philosopher and a freeman, and who died 
in the pursuit of knowledge, — such a man mi^ht 
have found more consideration than he has met with 
from the priest of Certaldo, and fh>m a late English 
traveller, who strikes off his portrait as an odious, con- 
temptible, licentious writer, whose impure remain* 
should be suffered to rot without a record.* That 
Enslish traveller, unfortunately for those who have 
to aeplorc the loss of a very amiable person, is be- 
yond all criticism ; but the mortality which did not 
protect Boccaccio from Mr. Eustace, must not do- 
fend Mr. Eustace from the impartial judgment of 
his successors. — Death may canonize his virtues, not 
his errors ; and it may be modestly pronounced that 
he transgressed, not only as an author, but as a 
man, when he evoked the shade of Boccacio in com • 
pany with that of Arctine, amidst the sepulehros 
of »anta Crocc, merely to dismiss it with indignity. 
As far as respects 

"UflafenoOe'Prindrl, 
II Dhrin Pfetfo ARttno," 



* TlbtGwdt^iiH IdMihewM^ggr^MOJ* Bee te 1m« dwyier of the 

f ••£ taam»«OsflicfiiVbsrMfwal>,"«c ScMMi Vita dsl Taao, »w 
L p*#. MB. »•. LvlU S. BoigMiio. 

% - ■ ■iiijtiri 111 iliiT. Ti il T -*•- wMr l^mintl, ft anvhe llmBmiil 
■A.Afidak...8eSc*HnM«nBaiiiixiM« sd mmzo idle con elMttdhpl* 



CbiMied Tour, cap. Ix. rol. D. p. 865, edit. Sd. " Of I 
Modera Petnmhit, «««ky iioOiiiif ; the abuae of gmim k mora odbM aarf 
more eomnnpdUe iban ha abwnee ; and it hqwrla Uoie wtare te^part 
ramaina of a licemioiu aiitlior are eondfticd to their Mndrad dial. ~ 

B leaaon the umvdl;r oHiy pa« aniiotked thi tanb af t 



Thk dviiom phraae b har-Oj enough to wan the loaiU from tha mmpkhm 
of aaot fe r Uuodirr icapeuiiif ihe Uirui-placa uf AmiiM, whoae tamb waa in 
the church of St. Luke at Venice, aud (ava rlae to the Cunoua cuutroveaqr of 
wMeh aome notka ia tiken hi Bajrl«. Sam the word* of Mr. Euiuce aroukl 
lawl Oi to tidnk the lomb waa at Floreooe, or at leart vaa to be mmmwha* 
r acBg n he d . Whether tha Inacripdou ao miieh diaputcd waa erer written aa 
■n*«MMC BowbedaeidedfivaD mamorial «f tUa aiMhor haa OmP 



96 



BYEON'S WORKS. 



it is of little import what censure is passed upon a 
coxcomb who owes his present existence to the 
above burlesque character given to him by the poet 
whose amber has preserved many other grubs and 
worms ; but to classify Boccaccio with such a per- 
son, and to excommunicate his very ashes, must of 
itself make us doubt of the qualification of the 
classical tourist for writing upon Italian, or, indeed, 
upon any other literature; for ignorance on one 
point may incapacitate an author merely for that 
particular topic, but subjection to a professional 
prejudice must render him an unsafe director on all 
occasions. Any perversion and injustice may be 
made what is vulgarly called **a case of con- 
science," and this poor excuse is all that can be 
offered for the priest of Certaldo, or the author of 
the Classical Tour. It would have answered the 
purpose to confine the censure to the novels of Boc- 
caccio, and gratitude to that source which supplied 
the muse of Dryden with her last and most harmo- 
nious numbers mi^ht perhaps have restricted that 
censure to the objectionable qualities of the hun- 
dred tales. At any rate the repentance of Boccaccio 
might have arrested his exhumation, and it should 
have been recollected and told, that in his old age 
he wrote a letter to his friend to discourage the 
reading of the Decameron, for the sake of modesty, 
and for the sake of the author, who would not have 
an apologist always* at hand to state in his excuse 
that ne wrote it when young, and at the command 
of his superiors.* It is neither the licentiousness 
of the writer, nor the evil propensities of the reader, 
which have given to the Decameron alone, of all the 
works of Boccaccio, a perpetual popularity. The 
establishment of a new and delightful dialect con 
feved an immortality on the works in which it was 
first fixed. The sonnets of Petrarch were, for the 
same reason, fated to survive his self-admired Africa, 
the *^ favorite of kings." The invariable traits of 
nature and feeling with which the novels, as well as 
the verses, abound, have doubtless been the chief 
source of the foreign celebrity of both authors ; but 
Boccaccio, as a man, is no more to be estimated by 
that work, than Petrarch is to be regarded in no 
other light tlian as the lover of Laura. Even, how- 
ever, had the father of the Tuscan prose been known 
only as the author of the Decameron, a considerate 
writer would have been cautious to pronounce a 
sentence irreconcilable with the unerrmg voice of 
many ages and nations. An irrevocable value has 
never been stamped upon any work solely recom- 
mended by impurity. 

The true source of the outcry^ against Boccaccio, 
which began at a very early period, was the choice 
of his scandalous personages in the cloisters as well 
as the courts ; but the princes only laughed at the 

fallant adventures so uujustly charged upon oueen 
heodelinda, whilst the priesthood cned sname 
upon the debauchees drawn from the convent and 
the hermitage ; and most probably for the opposite 
reason, namely, that the picture was faithful to the 
life. Two of the novels are allowed to be facts use- 
fully turned into tales, to deride the canonization of 
rogues and laymen. Scr Ciappelletto and Marcelli- 
nu3 are oited with applause even by the decent Mu- 
ratori.f The great Amaud, as he is quoted in 
Bayle, states, that a new edition of the novels was 
proposed, of which the expurgation consisted in 
omitting the words •* monk *' and ** nun/* and 
tacking the immoralities to other names. The lit- 
erary history of Italy particularizes no such edition ; 
but it was not long before the whole of Europe had 
but one opinion of the Decameron : and the absolu- 
tion of the author seems to have been a point set- 
tled at least a hundred years ago. "On se fcroit 



nffler si Ton prCtmdoit conTiinore Boceaoe de 

n'avoir pas 6t6 honnfrte homme, puis qu'il a fait le 
Decameron.*' So said one of the best men, and 
perhaps the best critic, that ever Uved— the very 
martyr to impartiality.* But as this informatioiL 
that m the beginning of the last century one wooQ 
have been hooted at for pretending that Boccaccio 
was not a good man, may seem to come from one of 
those enemies who are to be suspected, even when 
they make us a present of truth, a more acceptable 
contrast with the prescription of the body, soul, and 
muse of Boccaccio may be found in a few words 
from the virtuous, the patriotic cotemporary, who 
thought one of the tales of this impure writer 
worthy a Latin version from his own pen. " / have 
remarked elsewhere t" says Petrarch, writing to 
Boccaccio, " that the book itself has been toorried by 
certain do^s, but stoutly defended by your staff <md 
voice. Nor was I astonisnedf for Ihane htM proof 
of the vigor of your mindf and I know you have 
fallen on that unaccommodating incapable race of 
mortals whOy whatever they either like notf or knots 
notf or cannot do, are sure to reprehend in others; 
and on those occasions only put on a show of learning 
and eloquence, but otherwise are entirely dumb.** f 

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 woidd 
not lose the opportunity of raising a cenotaph to 
his memory. Bevius, canon of Padua, at the be- 
ginning of the sixteenth century, erected at Arqna, 
opposite to the tomb of the iJaureate, a tablet, in 
wmch he associated Boccaccio to the equal honon 
of Dant« and of Petrach. 

31. 
WTuU is her pyramid of precious stonesf 

Stanza Ix. line 1. 

Our veneration for the Medici begins with Cosmo 
and expires with his grandson ; that stream is pure 
only at the source ; and it is in search of some me- 
morial of the virtuous republicans of the family that 
we visit the church of St. Lorenso at Florence. 
The tawdry, glaring, unfinished chapel in that 
church, designed for the mausoleum of the Dukes 
of Tuscany, set round ?rith crowns and coffins, givei 
birth to no emotions but those of contei^pt for tha 
lavish vanity of a race of despots, whilst the pave- 
ment slab, simply inscribed to the Father of his 
Country, reconciles us to the name of Medici.^ It 
was very natural for Corinna 6 to suppose that the 
statue raised to the Duke of Urbino m the capeUa 
de* depositi was intended for his great namesake ; 
but the magnificent Lorenzo is only the sharer of a 
coffin half nidden in a niche of the sacristy. The 
decay of Tuscany dates from the sovereignty of the 
Medici. Of the sepulchral peace which succeeded 
to the establishment of the reigning families in 
Italy, our own Sidney has given us a glowing but a 
faithful picture. " Not\^'ithstanding all the sedi- 
tions of Florence, and other cities of Tuscany, the 
horrid factions of Quelphs and Ohibelins, Neri and 
Bianchi, nobles and commons, they continued popu- 
lous, strong, and exceeding rich ; but in the space 
of less than a hundred and fifty years, the peaceable 
reign of the Medicos is thought to have destroyed 
nine parts in ten of the people of that province. 
Among other things it is remarkable, that wh«» 
Philip the Second of Spain gave Sienna to the 
Duke of Florence, his ambassador then at Rome 
sent him word, that he had given away m«e than 



* " Nod enbn idiique Ml, qui la exctiKitioiMn ruemm conru|peiii dkat, Juv*- 
»ta Kripik, et OMJoris ctnuia Impeiio." The letter wm mddivand to Mtgll- 
binrd of Caraleanli, nwnhal of the kingdom of Bidlj. 8ee TfamboKhi, 
Storia, tc, torn. r. par. H. lib. Ki. piig. 535, ed. Vaa. 1795. 

t Dinenuioni mpn le Anttchiti Italune, DIk. ItBI. p. SSS, too-M ■. acBt. 
MBMLlTSl. 



EeUdrtiBttmna, tc. Ac, p. 638, aJL B«^, 1741, in Urn Su^flkmM 
to Bijk*« DicdoDuy. _ 

t "AnimndTertl mIIcuU Bbnim ipmm eukdm deodbmtowailliiin,tto««"« 

iculo efregl4 toiqiM worn dafrnam. Nee ndrMm eum t Mun tt iimf^ 
pnH tui nort, ec aeio cacpoitae fl«ae bowlnniB fMHM lu enh n i e« i|UBii^ 
>ii qoieqaki Ipri vd Milaiit vdue■eilm^ vd OM poMB^ in ails fvpnkwh^ 
ad l»oc oouin deed et oifini, aad tOngum ad fleUqoa." . . . EfM. Jsu* >** 
cado, 0pp. lam. i. p. 640, adk. BarfL 

X OoinMHMedieaB,OeenlaPabl«s^>«wFMila. 

I Coitet, Ir. zVB. cap. ■. T«L 0. paga 9M. 



N0TB8 TO CHZLDB HABOU>*8 PILO&IIUOB. 



•7 



„__ _ i; aad Hk net biliOTed tfien an 
MvMiO aoiili inhabftSng that dtj end territory. 
Fisa, Ffrtoia, Areno, Cortona, and other toims 
thalvcK then i^ood and populous, are in the like 
Proportion diminwhed, and rlorence more than any. 
when that city had been long troubled with sec- 
tions, tnnnlts, and wars, for the most part unpros- 
iiiBoas, theystiU retained such strength, that when 
Charles YllL of France, being admitted as a biend 
m& his whole army, which soon after conquered 
flie kingdom of Naples, thought to master them, 
die people, taking arms, struck such a terror into 
iim, that he was glad to depart upon such condi- 
tions as ther thought fit to impose. Machiavel re- 
sorts, that m that time Florence alone, with the 
Val d*Amo, a small territory belonging to that 
dtv, could, in a few hours, by the souna of a boll, 
bcmg together, 133,000 well-armed men ; whereas 
BOW that city, with all the others in that province, 
ire brought to such despicable weakness, emptiness, 

Srertj, and baseness, that they can neither resist 
e oppressioni of their own prince,' nor defend him 
or themsdves if they were assaulted by a foreign 
enemy. The people are dispersed or destroyed, and 
the best fiunibes sent to sees habitations in'V cnice, 
Genoa, Rome, Naples, and Lucca. This is not the 
efleet of war or pestHence ; they enjoy a perfect 
peace, and suffer no ether plague than the gorem- 
meat tikey are under." * rrom the usurper Cosmo 
down to the imbecile Oaston, we look m rain for 
any of those unmixed qualities which should raise 
a patriot to the command of his fellow-citizens. 
Tke Grand Dukes, and particularly the third Cos- 
mo, had operated so entire a ehange in the Tuscan 
diaracter, that the candid Florentines, in excuse for 
tome imperf<M:tions in the phflanthropie system of 
Leopold, are obliged to confess that the sorerdgn 
was the only liberal man in his dominions. Yet 
that exeeUeat prince himself had no other notion of 
a nationai assembly, than of a body to represent 
the wants and wishes, not the will, of the peotple. 



An emrthgwakt rtd'd uttkmthdlp away. 
Stansa Ixiii. une 



6. 



**Andameh wot ihekr mutual dnifiMw/fy, wo mierU 
mn thty ujpon filke iKOtU^ thai the earthquake, ufhich 
wterihrtw in great part many of the eiiies of IttUyy 
uhkh turned the eoune of rapid ttteame, voured 
Asdfc the Meet upon the rivers^ and tore down the very 
noimtetica, woe noifett bv one of the eombatantt." f 
6iKh is the description of lAvj. It mity be doubted 
whether m p dem tactics Wo«dd admit of such an ab- 
•traction. 

The site of tte battle of Thrashnene Ss not to be 
mistaken. Tbe traveller from tiie village under 
Oortona to Caaa di Piano, the next stage .on the 
WIT to Rome, has for the first two of three miles, 
Bfoond him, but more particularly to the right, that 
iat land wfiich Hannibal laid waste in order to in- 
dnee the Consul Flaminins to more from Afexso. 
Oa his left, and in front of him, is a ridge of Mils 
bending down towards the lake of ThrasiiUcne, 
caBed by livy ** montes Cortonenses," and now 
named t^ 6tuilandra. These Mils he approaches 
at Oinaja, a vfUag^ whxeh the itineraries pretend to 
have been to denominated from the bones ibirod 
there; but there have been no bones found there, 
and fkt baffle was ibught on the other sidci oj 
the hUL From Osdaja the road be^fcn to rise a 
little, but does not pods into the roots of the mom' 
tains untH the sixtr-seventh irtilestone from Flo- 
pence, The ascent thence U not steep but perpetual , 
and eontinnes for twenty minutes. The lake is 
soon seen below on the right, with Borghetto, a 



zoond tower close upon the vnter; aad tie midv* 

lathig hills partially covered with wood, among 
which the road winds, sink by degrees into the 
marshes near to this tower. Lower than the road, 
down to the right amidst these woody hillocks, 
Hannibal placed his horse,* in the jaws of or rather 
above the pass, which was between the Ui^e and 
the present roaa« and most prubablv close to Bor» 
Rhetto, just under the lowest of the " tumulL" f 
On a summit to the left, above the road, is an on 
circular ruin which the peasants call ** the Tower 
of Hannibal the Carthaginian.** Arrived at the 
highest point of the road, the traveller has a partial 
view of the fatal plain, which opens folly upon him 
as he descends the Gualandra. He soon finds him- 
self^ in a vale enclosed to the left and in front and 
behind him by the Gualandra hills, bending round 
in a segment larger than a semicircle, and running 
down at each ena to the lake, wMch obliques to the 
right and form the chord of this mountain arc. 
The position cannot be guessed at from the plains of 
Cortono, nor appears to be so completely enclosed 
unless to one who is fairly withha the hilhi. It then, 
indeed, appearji " a place made aa it were on pur> 
pose for a snare," locus ineidiisnatu*. ** Borghetto 
IS then found to stand in a narrow, marshy pass 
close to the hill and to the lake, whilst there is no 
other outlet at the opposite turn of the mountains 
than through the little town of Passignano, which 
is pushed into the water by the foot of a high rocky 
acclivity." J There is a woody eminence branching 
down fironi the mountains into the upper end of the 
plain nearer to the side of Passignano, and on tMs 
stands a white village called Torre. Polybius seems 
to allude to tliis eminence as the one on which Han- 
nibal encamped and drew out his heavy-armed Af- 
fricans and Spaniards in a conspieuous position, f 
From this spot he despatched his^aleario and Ught- 
armcd troops round tnrou^h the Gualandra heights 
to the right, so as to amve unseen and form an 
ambush among the broken acclivities which the 
road now passes, and to be ready to act upon the 
left flank and above the enemy, whilst the horse 
shut up the pass behind. Flaminius came to the 
lake near Borghetto at sunset ; and, without send- 
ing any spies before him, marched through the pass 
the next morning before the day had qmte broxen, 
80 that he perceived nothing^ of the horse and light 
troops above and about him, and saw onlv the 
heavy-armed Carthaginians in front on the nill of 
Torre. H The consul began to draw out his army 
in the flat, and in the mean time the horse in am- 
bush occupied the pass behind him at Borshette. 
Thus the Romans >verc completely enclosed, hav- 
ing the lake on the right, the main army on the hill 
of Torre in front, the Gualandra hills filled with 
the light-armed on their left flank, and being pre- 
vented from receding by the cavalry, who, the farther 
they advanced, stopped up all the outlets in the 
rear. A fog rising from the lake now spread itself 
ovto the any of the consul, but the high lands 
were in the sunshine, and all the different corps in 
ambush looked towards tlie hill of Torre for the 
order of attack. Hannibal gave the signal, and 
moved down from his post on the height. At the 
same moment aU his troops on the eminences b^ 
hind and in the flank of Flaminius, rushed forwards 
as it were with one accord into the plain. The Bo- 
mans, who were forming their array in the mist, 
suddenly heard the shouts of the enemy among 



* Oa Goventtnt, ehip. I. MCt. nrrt. p^. mS, edfc. ITtl. SUaej ta, 

iip SiL i vicb U*» MS BoMllej, on* of Mr. Hom's '*4mpimldt " wilten. 

f "TVntflajMerifltndoranlini 




luUa Mmgmu putet pRwtnvH, tvttthqna 

fawndt, mooiM lK|m Ingcfill piWuit, 

1lLlir.ttk>xi.«iVwdL 



^narauc9t«>aiMtuiniDlli&ptaiflgMdbiialoa«.'* T..IJvl 

m. XXii. tiRp. IV. 

t "UWnMoriiti 

t '*ltMle«oaeaa«uiva»U** ILU. 

f Tdv i$iv KaTairp69tMw r^f ir<*pcfaf Atf^oy air^t Kart 
XiSiTB, Kal r»i>« AiSvatt ral r«*j 'I^qpa; , fx"" *»* «*»^ 
KartOTfMTOirlScvtn, Hkt. Ub. Hi. «p. 83. The account In PolTtioi li 
not w eiuilj reconciUy« with preaent appa&nnc«i u that m Urj ; be Idta 
of hOla to the rigbt uid left of tbe pB« and raJter • ^^ ^■^^wo Fhnlaftv 
cnttTod bs Ud the Inks ai the right of both. 

I "AlHioMHparMiiittdeceiNMkUdlB.'* T.U^.IM. 



06 



BY&ON'S VrOKSB. 



thflm, on eTerj li^* and !>«&«» Uioy ooold &U into 
thdr ranks, or draw their swords, or see by whom 
they were attacked, felt at once that they were sur- 
rounded and lost. 

There are two little rivulets which run from the 
Gualandra into the lake. The traveller crosses the 
first of these at about a mile after he comes into the 
plain, and this divides the Tuscan from the pa^ial 
territories. The second, about a quarter of a mile 
farther on, is called " the bloody rivulet," and the 
peasants point out an open spot to the left between 
the *' Sanffuinetto " and the hills, which, they 
say, was the principal scene of slaughter. The 
otner part of the plain is covered with thick set 
olive-trees in com srounds, and is nowhere quite 
level except near the edge of the lake. It is, in- 
deed, most probable, that the battle was fought near 
this end ox the valley, for the six thousand Ro- 
mans, who, at the beginnine of the action, broke 
through the enemy, escapocT to the summit of an 
eminence which must have been in this quarter, 
otherwise they would have had to traverse the whole 
plain and to pierce through the main army of Han- 
nibal. 

The Bomans fought desperately for three hours, 
but the death of Flaminius was the signal for a gen- 
eral dispersion. The Carthaginian horse then burst 
in upon the fugitives, and the lake, the marsh about 
Borghetto, but chiefly the plain of the Sanguinetto 
and the passes of the Gualandra, were strewed with 
dead. Near some old walls on a bleak ridge to the 
left above the rivulet, many human bones have besn 
repeatedly found, and this has confirmed the pre- 
tensions and the name of the ** stream of blood." 

Bvery district of Italy has its hero. In the north 
come painter ic the usual genius of the place, and 
the fbreini Julio Romano more than divides Man- 
tua with ner native Virgil.* To the south we hear 
of Roman names. Near Thrasimene, tradition is 
still faithful to the fame of an enem^, and I^anni- 
bal the Carthaginian is the only ancient name re- 
membered on the banks of the Perugian lake. 
Flaminius is unknown ; but the postillions on that 
road have been taught to show the very spot where 
// Contole Romano was slain. Of all who fought 
and fell in the battle of Thrasimene, the historian 
himself has, besides thejjenerals and Maharbal, pre- 
served indeed only a smgle name. Tou overtake 
the Carthaginian again on the same road to Rome. 
The antiquary, that is, the hostler, of the posthouse 
at Spoleto, tells you that his town repulsed the vic- 
torious esaoBajj and shows you the gate still called 
Porta di Anmbaie. It was hardly worth while to 
remark that a French travel writer, well known by 
the name of the President Deputy, saw Thrasimene 
in the li^e of BoLsena, which lay conveniently on 
hia way from Sienna to Rome. 

But thou, CUhmmm. 

StanaalxvL Bio 1. 

No book of travels has omitted to expatiate on 
the temple of the Clitumnus, between Foliffno and 
Bpoleto, and no site, or scenery even in Italy, is 
more worthy a description. For an account of^the 
dilapidation of this temple, the reader is referred to 
Historical Illustrations of the Fourth Canto of 
Childe Harold. 

87. 

Charminff the <y« with dreadf^^a matehleu eat' 
araet. Stanxa Ixxi. Une 9. 

I saw the "Caseata del mtrmore" of Term 
twice, at diffiexent periods ; onoe from the summit 
•f the precipice, and asain from the valley below. 
The lower view is fn to do preferred, if the traveller 
has time fbr one only ; hut in any point of view, 



either from above or bctow, it li woitii 9h die eu> 
cades and torrents of Switzerland put toffetner: 
the Staubach, Reichenbach, Plsse Vache, fall of Ar^ 
penas, &c., are rills in comparative appearance. Of 
the fall of Schaffhausen t cannot speak, not yet 
having seen it. 

38. 
An iris sits amidst the infernal siurge. 

Stanza Ixxii. Une 3. 
Of the time, place, and qualities of this kind of 
iris, the reader may have seen a short account in a 
note to Manfred, The fall looks so much like ** the 
hell of waters," that Addison thought the descent 
alluded to by the gulf in which Alecto plunged into 
the infernal regions. It is singular enough that 
two of the finest cascades in Europe should be ar» 
tificial— ^is of the Velino, and the one at TivolL 
The traveller is strongly recommended to trace the 
Velino, at least as high as the little lake called Pie^ 
di Lup. The Reatme territory was the Italian 
Tempo,* and the ancient naturalist, among other 
beautiful varieties, remarked the daily rainbows of 
the lake Velinus. f A scholar of great name hat 
devoted a treatise to this district alone. % 



The thundering lauvnne. 

Stanza IxxiiL line 6. 

In the greater part of Switzerland the avalanche* 
are known by the name of lauwine. 



• AbBvttlMBiiddltortlMXIlilicMtitiyifaeealBief 
e^HmbmgtaBAtgmotrirgjL Zeeea ditalh, ;L xtB. L 6. . . V^Tafe 
*HM Is lAlM^ te., pw. A. Z. MBlin. ton. L p«f . SM, Puis, I8I7. 



40. 

lahhorred 
Too much, to conouerfir the poets sake. 
The drilCd duU teeson, forced down word fty word* 

Stanza Ixxv. Unes 6, 7f and 8. 
These stanzas may probably remind the readet 
of Ensign Northerton*s remarks : ** D— n Homo, 
fte., but the reasons for our dislike are not exaetlY 
the same. I wish to express that we become tired 
of the task before we can coinprehend the beauty ; 
that we learn by rote before we eon get by heart ; 
that the freshness is wean awav, and the fotore 
pleasure and advantage deadenea and destroyed, by 
the didactic anticipation, at an age when we can 
neither feel nor understand the power of compoeir 
tions which it requires an acquaintance with liie, as 
well as Latin and Greek, to relish, or to reason 
upon. For the same reason we never ean be aware 
or the ftilaess of some of the finest passages of 
Shakspeare, {["To be, or not to be," for iastaaoe,) 
from the habit of having them hammered into ns mt 
ei^t years old, as an oxetoise not of mind bat 
of memory : so that when we are old enough to en> 
J th^m, the taste is gone, and the appetite palled. 
1 some parts of the Conttnent young penons axe 
tanght frimi more common authors, and do not read 
the best classics till their maturity. I oertainly do 



^ 



not speak on this point from any pique c 
towods the place of my edncation* I was not a 
slow, though an idle boy ; sad t believe no one conld, 
or can be more attached to Hanow than I have al- 
ways been, and with reason ;««-a pari of the tinko 
passed there was the hamnssi of my life ; and mj 
preceptor (the Rev. Dr. Joseph Drury)was die best 
and worthisst friend I ever posseesed, whose warnings 
I have remembered but too well, thoush too late— 
when I have enred, and whose eounseb I have bmt 
feUowed when I have done well or wisely. If error 
this imperfect reeord of my feeling towards him 
shsold reaeh his eyes, let it remind him of one who 
never thinks of him but with gratitude and venera 
tion— of one who would more gladly boast of hav- 



JbLlr. 

fin 
«p.bJL 

t AU. 
p. 778. 



ad ana Tanpa dttMranL** deer. qte. ad AtHc sv. 
aoidtoMadteinannana.** Ha. HUl. !ta. ttb 1. 
■ BtailDa oite •gnp^ tp- ttlkmgn, T bwa wr . 1Mb i. 



NOTES TO CHIU>S BABOUm PILGRHCAQB. 



M 



^tett &» papa, if^ by more oicMKly Mlvwing 

^ he eoiiM rdlect any honor upon hu in- 

41. 
T%0 Sc^^tof* <0fli5 cofftasru no (u^ notp. 

Stansa Ixxix. line 6. 

For a comment on this aad the two following 
atnuasv the reader may consiUt Historical Ilhi8tra< 
liana of the Fourth Canto of Childe Harold. 



42. 

The Irtbfy ktmdred trmnw^M, 

Stanxa ixxzii. line 2, 
tiiree hundred and twenty for the 
.ihs. He is followed by PanTinins ; 
by Mr. CKbbon and the modem writ- 
en. 

4a. 

Oh thtnh whoaedkariei rolPd on Fi)rhme*9 wheel, ^c. 
Stanaa IxxxilL line 1. 

Certaaafy were it not for these two traits in the 
fife of Bytta, alluded to in this stansa, we should re- 
Mxd Um as a monster unredeemed by any admira> 
Uecpn^ity. The atomm em t of his voluntaiy resig- 
aatioB of empire may perhaps be aeeepted by us. as 
it seems to have satisfied the Romans, who, if they 
Imd not reipected must ha^e destroyea him. There 
•ovld bo no mean, no diTisioa of"^ opinion ; tiiey 
■BSt hsTO aU thought, like Buentee, that what 
had appeared ambition was a lore of glory, and 
that wtiat had been mistaken for pride was a real 
grmdearof sooL* 

44. 
And knd him «dA the earth'e preeedmo clay, 
Stuisa bcxxTL line 4. 

On the third of September, Ckomwell gained the 
listary of Dunbar ; a year afterwards he obtained 
» ys qp u w uiu g meroy ^ of Woroeeter ; and a few 
years after, on the same dar, which he had OTer 
c wlma n l the most fortunate for him, died. 

45. 
Andihou^dnadeinhie! etaietktetUin 
The umUe n a tfirm of nahei mmeetjf. 

Stansa bcxzTii Imea I and 2. 

The p rojec te d dirision of the Spada Pompey hos 
shesdy been recorded by the historian of the De- 
dine and Fall of the Roman Empire. Mr. Gibbon 
found it in the memorials of Flaminius Yacca, f 
and it umy be added to his mention of it that Pope 
JuSbs in. gare the contending owners five hun- 
dred crowns for the statue ; and presented it to Car^ 
dinal Capo di Feno, who had prer ented the judg- 
ment of Solomon from being executed upon the 
■mge. In a more civilised age this statue was ex- 
posed to an actual opmtion : for the French who 
acted Ae Brutus of Voltaire in the Coliseum, re- 
solved that their Cnsar should foil at the base of 
that Pompey, whidi was supposed to hare been 
rarinkled with the blood of the origbud dictator. 
ne nhie-foot hero was therefore removed to the 
arena of tiie ampitheatre, and to facilitate its trans- 
port saSoed the temporary amputation of its richt 
ana, The repabUeaa tragedians had to plead that 
the am was a restoration: but their aceueers do not 
heBefoOat Ae integrity of the statue would have 

1 it The lore of finding every oo i n e i do n eo 
>d the true Ceearian ieher in a stain 
amtf the rii^t knee: but colder cr i ticism has re- 
jected not only the blood but the portrait, and as- 
•igned the globe of power rather to the first of the 

I than to the last of the republican masters 



of Rome. WSnklemaan* is loath to altow an he- 
roic statue of a Roman citisen, but the OrimanI 
Affrippa, a cotemporary alsiost, is heroic; and 
naked Roman figures were only verv rare, not abso- 
lutely forbidden. The foce aocoros much better 
with the *' hominem inieffrum et oaetum et ^raoem ,'* f 
than with any of the busts of Augustus, and is too 
stem for him who was beautiful, says Suetonius, at 
all periods of his life. The pretended likeness to 
Alexander the Great cannot be disoemed, but the 
traits resemble the medal of Pom]>ey.t The obieo- 
tionable plobe may not hare been an iU-apulied flat- 
tery to him who found Asia Minor the bcmnoary, and 
left it in the centre of the Roman empire. It seems 
that Winkelmann has made a mistake in thmVjuft 
that no proof of the identity of this statue, will 
that which received the bloody sacrifice, can be de- 
rived from the spot where it was oi^covered. } Fla- 
minius Vacca says eaUu bia eantifM, and this can- 
tinais known to nave been in the Ticolo de* Leutari 
near the Cancellaria, a position corresponding ex- 
actly to that of the Janus before the basilica of 
Pompey's theatre, to which Augustus transfeired 
the statue after the cwia was cither burnt or takeft 
down. B Part of the Pompelan shade, If the porti- 
co, existed in the beginning of the XVth century, 
and the airiMm was still called Satmm, So sayi 
Blondns.^ At all events, so imposing is the sterm 
miyesty of the statue, and so memorable is the 
story, that the play of imagination leaves no room 
for the exercise of the Judgment, and the fiction, If 
a fiction it is, operates on the spectator with an ef- 
fect not less powerful than truth. 

46. 

Atid thou, the thunder-etrieken nuree of Borne t 
Stansa Ixxxviii. Une 1. 

Ancient Rome, like modem Sienna, abounded 
most probably with images of the foster-mother of 
her founders, but there were two she-wolves of whom 
history makes particular mention. One of these. 
of braee in ancient work, was seen by IHonysius tf 
at the temple of Romulus, under the Palatme, and 
is universally believed to be that mentioned by the 
Latin historian, as having been made from the mon^ 
collected by a nne on usurers, and as standing un- 
der the Rumiual fig-tree tt The other was that 
which Cicero^} has celebrated both in prose and 
verse, and which the historian Dion also records as 
having suffered the same accident as is alluded to 
by the orator. H i| The question agitated by the anH- 




• Stork doBe Aill, Ac, IBx Ix. tap. 1, pac- M, W, tan. L 

t Cker. Epfat «d. Attkian, sL a 

) PuUldMd bjr Ctmem hi hb Mmmud RttnMimn. 

f SlMfeadbAitl,*e. Bid. 

I SaettNi.faTit.At«art.eiy^>l, urilnTftC.J.CMW.MVbm Affte 
Mjtkwia banc down. Bwe a now af Hhaw to S tiMaa hw , py. ML 

f «TttiaadoFiDnpelaIetttaa|Mlana*«a*M.'* 

0«ld.AnAMik 
•* SoBMlHiaanta, B. I. ftw II 
tt X&XKta irvt^itarm wdhmttt iflyeeimf. A«^Bi^ll»l. 

II "Ad Sena BmiMlam dmnhcM taS«ilHm i Sniain ttrtda nib 

terfbaa hipa paffMnaL** Ur. BM. Bb. x. eap. bdi. TUa waa fa «• 

jmr V. C. 48B, or 457. 
If **Tau mam Natt^ turn afenulMM Deorua, » a ii wl« nw i « Bihh 
makrletbeUwfiruliiilaaaladaaoiMiderait." DaDMMtLn. "Ta^ 
a M na elkn qol teM oftan eflritt llMMriaa, i|«M taomlHi h Oay^ 

taBo parfvm aifaa h 

to CalBD. ■. a. 



Mailia, qoa pafvaa MMVtUa aanha aaioa 

ITbafeoi gnvUia vMlBin i%ahat 

a»a Mm anm foaria SuBOMla MiAaii kSi 



Da Cooaabcn, Ub. I. (Bb. i. da DMbiL cqp. &| 






«B «yth (te km mn weem wmn BgoaAad aad baeoma d^nifi^ 
it ttH te Bona M «M li WMt « iNi* *>M to liqttv^ MiW 



IW 



BTKOirS WORKS. 



paries is, wliether tiie w6\tn€fw in the oonscrrRtets* 
palace is that of Liry and Dionysitis, or that of Cice- 
ro, or "vrhether it is neither one nor the other. The 
earlier writers differ as mach as the modems : Lucius 
Faunus * says, tiiat it is the one alluded to by both, 
which is impossible, and also by Virgil, which may 
be. Fulyius Ursinus f calls it the wolf of Dionys- 
ius, and Marlianus t talks of it as the one men- 
tioned by Cicero. To him Rycquius tremblingly 
assents.f Nardini is inclined to suppose it may be 
one of the many wolves preserved in Ancient Borne ; 
but of the two rather bends to the Ciceronian 
statue, li Montfkucont mentions it as as a point 
without doubt. Of the latter writers the decisive 
Winkehnann** proclaims it as having been found 
at the church of Saint Theodore, where, or near 
where, was the temple at Romulus, and conseouent- 
ly makes it the wolf of Dionysius. His authority 
is Lucius Faunus, who, however, only says that it 
vxtsplacedf not found, at the Ficus Ruminalis, by 
the Comitium, by which he does not seem to allude 
to the church of Saint Theodore. R ycq uius was 
the first to make the mistake, and Winkelmann 
loUowed Rycquius. 

Flamiirius v acca tells quite a different story, and 
■ays he had heard the wolf with the twins was 
found ft near the arch of Septimius Severus. The 
eommentator on Winkelmann is of the same onin- 
ion with that learned person, and is incensea at 
Kardini for not having remarked that Cicero, in 
■peaking of the wolf struck with lightning in the 
Capitol, makes use of the past tense. But, with 
the Abate's leave, Nardini does not positively assert 
the statue to be that mentioned by Cicero, and, if 
he had, the assumption would not perhaps have 
been so exceedinglv indiscreet. The Abate himself 
is obliged to own tnat there are marks very like the 
scathing of lightning in the hinder legs of the pres- 
ent wolf; and, to g;et rid of this, adds, that the 
wolf seen by Dionysius mi^ht have been also struck 
oy lightning, or othemise mjured. 
: Let us examine the subject by a reference to the 
WOTds of Cicero. The orator in two places seema 
to particulariase the Romuhis and the Remus, espe- 
cially the first, which his andlence remembered 
to have been in the Capitol, as being struck with 
lightning. In his verses he records that the twins 



tovudathe«Mti JMiiMiitlaikhaflennnknMulaorUKwoir. Thli happened 
!n A. U. C. 988. The Abate Fm, !n noiidiif thia poaca^ of Dion (Stoila 
<k\k Anl, ftc, totn. I. j»g. 402, now x.) mj*, Tfon ovAwa, aggiungt 
iMom, cte /bM« «m /MiMM (Mm indO t9 whkh te k dMT tiM Ateee tnm- 
jMBd Uw XTbndio-LMiDckTiu Tvoioo. irhfch putofuamU* atoM/ikt for (he 
migfaal ISvjttvth *■ ^""^ ^^ ^<"* "<'* '■*""'>* ^ ftnmta, but only raind, 
M may be dMiiuitlj aeen from another paann of the aarae Dion : 'Hff"tiAih 
Bn ftlv 0^ h 'A^p£«««( cat rdv Avyowroy tvravBa Upvaai, 
HlM.lih.lrL Dion aaxi that A9ripfa'<viahed 10 rofaecalalM of Aivuato* 

tallloFteMlMOB." 

* '* b eailem partku anaa iii|a, cdjoi oheilbua RoiQUlna ae Banini hfllan- 
tea inblant, eonqiwiiir t da hae CioaiD H VnrgUiiM tan^ier iotdlesaie. Livhia 
boa riimiHih JBiWrnr sx peeunib quBwa muleutl aiaen ftsDezaioraa, podtum 
innuit. Antca in Comilib ad Ficiun Rtiiainafeni, quo loco pueil fueiani e»> 
pnM locaum pro eeno eau" Imc. Fauni de AnUq. Utb. Rom. lib. it. aap. 
Tfi. ap. SallaDgn^ torn. L p. Sir. In Ma XVI lih chapter he rapoata that Iha 
«MMa««Ndiai«,tat not that tfaqr wtn* y^Ntwi there. 

t Ap. Nardhti Bom Vetiv, lih. r. cap. ir. 

i UadhMl Uib.Ram. Top«gnph. ISk iL cap. Ix. lie mendooa another 
Vdf and tarfna In the Tationi, Ub. r. cap. ssi. 

f "Nob deauat qui haao ^wam aaM puisnt, quam adpinxirouat qwe e 
•onlto hi BarifieanHLalMUinm, oofflnonnHltia aUia anliqiOtaiiun nliqaib, 
alqne Unc in Oapholium po«aa rdata ait, qtuutnTia Marliviua autiqaBin Cap- 
aolnameeaeBMhiii^TuaadeeGiipaum.cuIuthtreBUnia dnUa, trepidt ad- 
fentfanur.'* JuaL Bycq^ de Cnpit. Roman. Corona, oap. xslr. paf . Ml, 
idk Locd. Bat. 1606. 

I NanUni Roma Yetoa, nb. r. cap. W. 

T <* iMfm. hodieque in capiioUaia pmetnt axlibui, eummdgb AiIibIbIi quo 
klam narmt Cicero." Diarinm Italic torn. i. p. 174. 

•• Storia delle Attl, kt., Bb. m. cap. ill. f L note 10. WhiMnann has 
■Mlea ttiaiiy Mwlertn thaaqte, by eayhy th» Plwii* i waU <— HW te 
Iht CaiAel, and (hat DloB waa mmy hi aayhif aa. 

tt "I^Miedl dixv^che I'Eitelo « Inon, eteogglilMfa naOaalRtf 
GaAiid0g1Jo,luO«T««»iiei faro Bonnno appnaee litoev dl Bettknb i e vofti 
WeiMiaiMhehihipadilnwwehenltaiaBaBBolo^BHMi e eta MDa Logiia 
Ham. Yaeaa, Altanoete, awm. a. pap. 4 ap^ 



fand woK both feU, and the latter left befafad «hs 
marks of her feet. Cicero does not say €KMt the 
wolf was consumed ; and Dion only mentions that 
it fell down, without alludinff, as the Abate has 
made him, to the force of the dIow, or the firmness 
with which it had been fixed. The whole strength, 
therefore, of the Abate's argument hangs upon the 
past tense ; which, howe\*er, may be somewhat di- 
minished by remarking that the phrase only showi 
that the statue was not then standing in its former 
position. Winkelmann has observed, that the 
present twins are modem ; and it is equally clear 
that there are marks of gilding on the wolf which 
mig;ht therefore be supposed to make part of the • 
ancient group. It is known that the sacred imagee 
of the Capitol were not destroyed when injured by 
time or accident, but were put into cettain under* 
ground depositories caXiei favissa.* It may be 
thought possible that the wolf had been so deposit- 
ed, and had been replaced in some conspicuous sit- 
uation when the Capitol was rebuilt by Vespasian. 
Rycquius, without mentioning his authorily, tellB 
tliat It was transferred firom the Comitium to the 
Lateran, and thence brought to the CapitoL If it 
was found near the arch of Severus, it may hare 
been one of the images which Orosius f say» was 
thrown down in the Forum by lightning wh^ Alar 
ric took the dty. That it is of very hiffh antiam- 
ty the workmanship is a decisive prooi; and ^M(t 
circumstance induced Winkelmann to believe it the 
wolf of Dionysius. The Capitolene Wolf, howvvei^ 
may have been of the same early date as tiiat at the 
temi>le of Romulus. Lactantiufl % asserts that im 
his time the Romans worshipped a wolf; and it iv 
known that the Lupercalia held out to a very lata 
period} after every other observance of the ancient 
superstition had totally expired. This may account 
for the preservation of the ancient image longer 
than the other early symbols of Paganism. 

Itmav be permitted, however, to remark, thvt 
the wolf was a Roman symbol, but that Ibe wor- 
ship of that symbol is an inference drawn by tbe 
seal of Lactantius. The early Christian writers ere 
not to be trusted in the charges which they make 
against the Pagans. Busebius accused the Ro- 
mans to their faces of worshipping Simon Magus, 
and raising a statue to him in the island of the Ty- 
ber. The Romans had probablv never heard of 
such a person before, who came, however, to pUty a 
considerable, though scandalous part in the church 
history, and has left several tokens of hi^ aerial 
combat with St. Peter at Rome ; notwithstanding 
that an inscription found in this very island of the 
Tyber showed the Simon Magus of Eusebius to be 
a certain indigenal god, called Semo Sangus or 
Fidius. II 

Even when the worship of the founder of Iftome 
had been abandoned, it was thought expedient to 
humor the habits of the good matrons of the dty 
bv sending them with their sick infants to the 
cAurch of Saint Theodore, as they had befbre car- 



• Lns.Paaa.lbid. 

t See note lo atsaa Ixn. hi BMariaal iPitinlliilia 

X >< RomnU nutriz Liipa boooribaa eat aflaeta dMala, et knma ai i 
iyaumruiaaetjcujuafigunmfeiit.*' liutant de Falaa ReUgionei Bb. X| eapw 
zz. paf. 101, edit Tailor, 1600 : that is to aay, he would mther adore a woU 
tbso a proitltate. Hh eommentator has obaored that ifeii opbalon ef tivj 
taoeenSag Lanrentbi being flared in tidawolf wu aet mlreMBl. BtaalD 
dtoaghteo. Ryeqrtaafaviong to aayibf ftnt LactMUlia — Sua e ihi wtf 
WMfateOapkoL 

f To A. D. 406. "aa&i oadeN poarit," ea|« BMcalua (AoHb BDctaBL 
MB. viB. p. 003, In. an. 4M|, ** vigulaae adhoe Rema ad Gehaal (eaapots, 
qua Aiere ante esordia ntla aQata in Italiam LupeicaBk? " Geiaaitia vrale 
a letter wiiloh oecopiea tarn fbOo pa^ to AodnnuicliaB the senator, aad 
otfien, to ahov that the itiee AMdd be g^rea ap. 

I Eiieebhtt haa tha» traRhi ««1 d»^t£vr( rap* {alV &r 3f«« 
r t i l i mr a*, i» r» Ti0§pi mrmnA fisra|i nei' Ma ytt^pw^ 
/Txcer iwiypafk^ 'Poipialf jn^ raimPt £f#ift>v( 3co» Xif^KTtx 
EBalaa.Biat.llbwLeap.an.pk48. JaadaManrrfaastoMtte std^Mln 
~ leHlfMl todMacttUe&bla. •eoNaidlBlSMfl 



Yec lib. Ttt. cap. zU. 



MOTBS TO GHILDB WMamjrS PILOSIMAOB. 



101 



iM l^tm to tte tnmle df BoBMdm.* TIm ptMtSee 
b ooBtiBiisd to thii day ; uid the site of the ahore 
t^mA leeau to be theiebj identified with that of 
tke temple; so that if the wolf had been reallgr 
fiiMd mete, ae Whikrinunn laTf , there would be 
BP doabt of the present statue bong that seen by 
jKoayshukt But Faanns» in Myin^ that it was 
pt dM Ficna Ruminalis by the CTomitiiimi is only 
tslkiikg of its ancient position as recorded t^ Pliny ; 
pmd eren if he had been remarking where it was 
fbond, would not haTe alladed to the church of 
Beint Tlieodore, but to a very diffinrent plaee, near 
which it was men thought the Ficns Kununalis 
Bad heem, and also the Comitimn ; that is, the three 
fr*"^"*** by the chnrch of Santa Maria liberatrice, 
■I the earner of the Palatine looking on the Forum. 
It iSy in &ct, a mere coiuectnre wnere the image 
was actual^ dug up. X ana perhaps, on the whole, 
(^ marks <n the gilding, ana of the lightning, are 
a better arsiument in faror of its being the Cieero- 
nian wolf thaa any tiiat can be adduced for the eon- 
trarr opinion. At any rate, it is reasonably seleeted 
fcr uie teKt of the poem as one of the most inte- 
resting relics of the ancient dty, f and is certainly 
the figvre, if not the rery animal to which Virgu 
•Ihidsii in his beantiftil 




47. 
For tkt Roman* $ tnimd 
Wm» moddtd tn a tot terrutriai momld. 

Stanza xc. lines 3 and 4. 
It ii possible to be a very great man, and to be 
ftill TflKj inferior to Julius Cssar, the most complete 
charaetcr, so Lord Bacon tiiought, of all antiquity. 
Hatoie seems incapable of such extraordinary com- 
Dinaliona as composed his versatile capacity, which 
was the wonder even of the Romans themselres. 
The first general — ^the only triumphant politician— 
Inlnor to none in dnNqucnce^-KJomparable to any in 
fte attainments of wisdom, in an age made up of 
the greatest commanders, statesmen, orators, and 
philosophers, that erer appeared in the world— an 
author who composed a ponect specimen of military 
aanals in his travelling carriage — at one time in a 
esntioveTsy with Cato, at another writing a treatise 
•n panning, and collecting a set of good sayings— 
fig^rangV and T^^ki^g love at the same moment, 



-JbmksImMiI f nmilii par logfler to winori* d>' gfcioeM 
WMS fa 9mm d Biwufa, fatwli—iio Vvm di portwri BwnlM 
\ da iiifciium oocuhe, aedk ri Bbofoo per ITnttiii—kim dS qoMl* 
9mm^ mmt di cantfaiio ri iperiiamta.** Bknit si. Bipa McunUa t mi» 
^MA ihMiliiHi. ac, dl Bona Moiknta deO' Ab. RUoM; T«auti, I7SI. 

t IfanM, A. V. ea]iL 11, coaTfcto INw^w I m Vmrn trwmi trroria, fa 
yaekyfatRaoin] flroee at tht cfanch of Sabt Theodo* : bol aa Urj 
■^•Stevdf waa at Urn FIcaa RanrinaAi, and Dkmy^m at tfaetemffa oT 
Mmm^a^ he fa ttB^ (cap. Ir.) to own tint Ihe two wen doae 
viA as fai LopoiBl cave, abadM, aa fc wm, b7 tha flgm««. 
I " ad mmmmm §am oBa Bnmfaafc faininatat, ' 

>■>•<,■ IIWIW, iMIIlllYl 

inod a M^b Mfa Du liaito UHBtMi apydbao «U /c 
. feBa ^ aMa MUaa lopa gemiooa paeroloa lactanliB, quant hodie fa eaphoBo 
t tTitb ■oaaa* FadH, cap. B. flae afa> 
I wnli after Najdfai fa MV. Ap. Oiwr. AiM^. tUm. 

1 P w ' i rw, lai «L aip. tS, gfaaa anwifal i ii p iil fai w c— itti dw wdf 
B^ ane periln aa (bat fa dK CbpSd : cMl fa aa M>«aa dw wdT wfib 
tefa^MtKVOtBd. abcr«eSiiMcrAii«oiifa«Pfak 

|JikvS.SB. Sea Dc. MkkQeton, fa Mi iMar ftoB B«Mk vhi fa. 
^ t» aa Ckanaiait woU; b« wMmoC esMdafaf Ite ntjeat. 

Tfakfali 




•adwOUiigto 



tress ftnr a sight of the Pountaias oFthe^Se. 8od| 
did Julius Cesar appear to his cotemporaries and to 
those of the subsequent ages, who were the most 
inclined to deplore and execrate his fatal genius. 

But we must not be so much daaalea with his 
sozpassing fflory, or with his magnanimous, hit 
amiable qualities, as to forget the decision of hlf 
impartial countryioMn : 

HE WAJ JVSTLT SLllX.* 
48. 

What from tku harrtH bemg do we re^t 
Our smtom marrow , omd omr roaoon fnuL 

Stansa xciiL Unes 1 and 2. 
**.... omnes P^ne veteres ; qui nihil eognoselt 
nihil percepi, nihil sdri posse mxenmt : ai^pistQe 
sensus : imbeeillos animos, breria ewrioula ritn; hi 
profundo veritatem demersam ; opinionibus et instl> 
tutis omnia teneri ; nihil veritati reUnqni : deinoept 
omnia tanebris circumfusa esse dixsrunt." f Tke 
ei|(hteen hundred years which have elapsed since 
Cicero wrote this have not remored an? of the ftn- 
perfections of humanity : and the complaints of the 
ancient philosophers may, without injustice or aflbo- 
tation, be transcribed in a poem written yesterday. 



Tkort it a tlem round tower of other dsyt . 

Stansa xdx. Ime I. 
AModing to the tomb of Cecilia Metella, called 
Cape di Bove, in the Appian Way. See Historical 
niustrationa of the IVth Canto of Childe Harold. 

50. 

Propkeiie of tike doom 
Heaven aivee ite faoor Hee ea rlu death. 

Stasia cii.lmestf and «. 

Rich. Frane. Phil. Branch. Poetii 
Gnomid, p. 891, edit. 17S4. 

61. 

Behold the Imperial Mount ! tie thue the mighty fiUh . 
Stansa cvii. line 9. 
The Palatine is one mass of ruins, particularly on 
the dde towards the Circus Maximus. The very 
soil is formed of crumbled brick-work. Nothing 
has been told, nothing can be told, to satisfy the 
belief of any but a Roman antiquary. See Histor- 
ical Illustrations, page 206. 

62. 
There io Me l e r al ef ail iUawaw take : 
'TVs but the eame reh earea i of thejmet, 
Fktt Freedom^ amd theu Olory^ tie. 

Staaaa erilL lines f, 2» and «. 
The author of the Life of Cicero, speaking of the 
opinion entertained of Britun by that orator and 
his cotemporary Romans, has the following eloquent 



'< Sic relut fa tuU 
Noob iter medium.' 



•ecuri pace ttafaeUoC 



M^aa- 



■di,kifa 



■dfafewy j oJi l o a 



InanuH Canr aamper aUciBr mua 



•IvaanMaxiMfaHlar,'' ly Bontnotiia, after a fclr eadmatko << Ui 

abanrder, and maJdof iwe of a phiaae whk^i waa a fannula fa Ur/'e %^m, 

Mdliw Just CMMi pvanumkvk, edam d Rfni crimiue inanna futsk . " 

(Hfa It. aapw 48,1 aad wbkh waa coadnnad fa dio kgal Jadfinenfa piv> 

■aad fa )<rtMelie faMBUdia,aMh aa UHaff h 

fa «a. a J. cfa«r, widi «»««MafT «f n*«Pi ^ n^ 

t awiliiail,Ml 



lOS 



BTSOirS WORKS. 



passage : <<From liieir rafltexies of liiis kind, on the 
Darbarity and misery of our island, one cannot help 
reflecting on the surprising fate and revolntions of 
kinffdoma; how Rome, once the mistress of the 
worTdi the seat of arts, empire, and glory, now lies 
sunk in sloth, ignorance, and poverty, enslaved to 
the most cnxel as well as the most contemptible of 
tyrants, superstition, and religious imposture: 
while this remote country, anciently the jest and 
contempt of the polite Romans, is become the hap- 
py seat of liberty, plenty, and letters ; flouxfshing 
m all the arts and refinements of civil life ; yet 
running perhaps the same course which Rome it- 
self had run before it, from virtuous industry to 
wealth ; firom wealth to luxury ; from luxury to an 
impatience of discipline, and coimption of morals ; 
till, by a total degeneracy and loss of virtue, being 
grown ripe for destruction, it fall a prey at last to 
some haray oppressor» and, with the loss of liber- 
ty, losing e?«7thin^ that is valuable, sinks gradu- 
ally again into its onginal barbarism." * 

63. 

And apostolic statues climb 
To crush the impmial um, whose ashes slept sublime. 
Stanza ex. lines 8 and 9. 
The oolunm of Trajan is surmounted by St. Peter ; 
Ihat of Auzelius by St. Paul. See Historical lUus- 
tcfttionB of the lY th Canto, &c. 

M. 

8iiU we Trc^an*s name adore. 

Stanza exi. line 9. 
Tr^aa was proverb ia lly the best of the Roman 
prbices ; f and it would be easier to find a sovereign 
uniting exactly the opposite characteristics, than 
one possessed of all the happy qualities ascribed to 
this emperor. " When he mounted the throne,*' 
says the historian Dion,t " he was strong in body, 
be was vigorous in mind ; age had impaired none of 
his fiumlties ; he was aHogetner free n>om envy and 
from detraction ; he honored all the good, and he 
advanced them ; and on this account they could not 
be the objects of his fear, or of his hate ; he never 
listened to informers ; he gave not way to his anger : 
lie abstained equaUv from unfair exactions and un- 
just punishments ; ne had rather be loved as a man 
than honored as a sovereign ; he was affable with 
his people, respectful to the senate, and universally 
beloveabprboth; he inspired none with dread but 
the enemies of his country." 

55. 
Riensif last of Bomans. 

Stanza cxiv. line 5. 

The name and ex^aHs of Bleiui muet be famil- 
iar to tSie reader of fiiMMm. fiona details and ined- 
Hed manuseiipts relativa to this unhappy hero wiU 
be seen in the Ilhifltratioiis to the IVth Cfanto. 



• Th«m*ii7cni«iiaiirM.Taa»chHD^ wbvL VOL I. p. us. 

Thi«oBaMlliubMai«v«n«d In ■ Ibm «xiiBonliHuy Ibmuos. AgBodo- 
k«a «M (brawn lotBpriHm at Ihili ; effiwti wen riHuk Tor hbrolewe. Tto 
PraaA mlahtf rartinued to detehi Urn, ondar tbo pratooee that he wu not 
, bat obIj a Ammm. Sat «*lBtamMin( JPaela idailaf «b 




t . TBAJAKO.' 



r, nU, PBUaOR . AVOVBTO . 
Eutrapb Braw. HkLBom. Uk vUL «npb t. 






ifUyekwf iral Stdi to9to oirr i^oSsXrd ripa air&p, o^t 

iuunt Simo\tt7i rt ficirra kwtvrt^ r«l 6py^ jfrim 

0o«A«9r0* ri^ rt XPII^'''^^ ^v iXXurpttav Tm vol fSpmv 

tAp ditnty dntx'Te ^tXoifttvdt rt •{» iv* airoit 

fiXXov 1^ ri;ia3ii(rnf <X'(ps, iral rfi r« Himw utr* <iricf«cia( 
nMyivsr; ital r$ ynpowrlf 9tfLVW9ptrrQ% OfiiAri* dyvmrrdi 
pky wdfff 6oScpdi et itiiStpX, wXflv 9o\eitfoti Sir, Hfat. Boin.Bb. 
tartL «v fL at HL lam. B. p. IISB, ItM, Mh. Banb. nsa 



56. 



Bgeria ! sweet creation of some heart 
Which found no mortal resHng-plaoe so fmr 
As thine ideal breast. 

Stanza cxv. lines 1, 2, and 8. 

The respectable authority of Flaminius Tacca 
would inclme us to believe in the claims of the E^ 
rian grotto.* He assures us that he saw an inscnp* 
tion m the pavement, stating that the fountain was 
that of Egeria, dedicated to the nymphs. The in- 
scription IS not there at this day : but Hont&ucon 
quotes two lines f of Ovid from a stone in the Villa 
Giustiniani, which he seems to think had been 
brought from the some grotto. 

This grotto and valley were formerly fre<}uented 
in summer, and porticularlv the first Simday inHay, 
by the moaern Romans, wno attached a salubrious 
Quality to the fountain which trickles from an ori- 
fice at the bottom of the vault, and, overfiowing the 
little pools, creeps down the matted gxiiss into the 
brook below. The brook is the Ovidian Almo, 
whose name and qualities are lost in the modem 
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 
rvbbia of a^oining land. 

There can be little doubt that this lonff dell is the 
Egerian vaUey of Juvenal, and the pausing place of 
XJmbritus, notwithstanding the creneralitv of Us 
commentators have supposed the aesoent or the sat 
)rist and his friend to have been into the Aririaw 

ove, where the nvmph met Hippolitus, and where 

le waa more pecuUarly worshipped. 

The step from the Porta Capena to the Albaa 
hill, fifteen miles distant, would be too considera- 
ble, unless we were to beueve in the wild coi^eotnre 
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 inathin the 
shrinking city.^ The tufo, or pumice, which the 
poet prerers to marble, is the substance composing 
the bank In which the grotto is sunk. 

The modem topograpners { find in the grotto the 
statue of the nymph and nine niches for the Muses, 
and a late traveller || has discovered that the cave 
is restored to that simplicity which the poet re- 
gretted had been exchanged for injudicious orna- 
ment. But the headless statue is palpably rather a 
male tlian a nymph, and has none of the attrfimtes 
ascribed to it at present visible. The nine Muses 
could hardly have stood in six niches ; and Juvenal 
certainly does not allude to any individual cavtt.1l 



Sove 
e w 



•• Poco lontano dal detto luogo il aeanda ad on eaaUaMB, del ^hIm • 

•ono Padroal U CafimiU, eba oon qiacalo nome A CUaniato lttogO{ «l k ooaa 

ana aotto ana gran toIU aatica, cbe al pw e iS a d code, • M lln—iS v| 

vaeno I'aatota a ricnanl ; nel pavimanto dl eaaa taam ■l^ffi U «b niilafl* 

HnqoaaaUrgatadiEgnKdwSeata alle ainft, « quaaia dioa I^D|«lafla^ 

■ora k madadma Contain cui fix coavwiita.*' MaBBorf^ *&, ^ Naidtel, 

if.ia. HadoeanotflTstbBlnaaiiidoo. 

t " In TiOa Ju«bi«na extal infona UpU qptdtatoa aoBte fa qas ari^ 
n duo OTidU eannina aunt 1 

ITtnila nal ijiai pnrtMtaqurai iia grata rimiaili 



hAot 



Qnl bph vldatur ax eodam Vfida fin*, ant 4aa vkbii 
lNBifamiltalk.p.lSB. 

X De Mafnh. Vat. Rom. ap. Gmv. Ant. Roau torn. 

I BoMnard, DeKiWooa di nooia • ddl' agio Bi 



Vanad, in Roma, I7SB. Thej bdieve b tte frotta ai 
CIO dl qoaMo imta, aaMndovi aoulpite le aoq^ a pia di 

I Qaarfoal Taor, cbapt. ft. p. 07, t«L L 

fSabrtUtad 



Omnia anfan papolo ■Mraadaai pandara] 
Aiber, at ^H""" wdiaat *»m O wiJi 
In rallann Effnto deaoandlmua, at apdoi 



tr.p.]8Sr. 
a,eocractodar Ahati 

d QJIOpB. flVHlM 



Naimia<|«B,v1ildiria 
Bacfea,naeta«BMiMa«iflbi 



>clai 



nom TO craxDB hibouvs pilordcaob. 



108 



RoOyBg can be collected from the Mtirift bat that 
■omewaere near the Porta Capena was a spot in 
which it was supposed Noma hdd nightlj consulta- 
txcois with his n jmph, and where there was a grore 
and a sacred fountain, and fan^ once consecrated 
to the Muses ; and that from this spot there was a 
descent into the vallej of Egfoia, where were sct- 
oal artificial cares. It is clear that the statues of 
tike Muses made no part of the decoration which 
tiie satirist thought misplaced in these caves ; for he 
esporessly assigns other fanes (delnbra) to these di> 
rinities above the valley, and moreover tells us 
£hat thev had been ejected to make room for the 
Jews. In £act, the little temple, now called that of 
Bacchus, was formerly thought to belong to the 
Muses, and Nardini* places them in a poplar 
grove, which was in his time above the valley. 

It is probable, from the inscription and position, 
that the cave now shown may be one of the *' arti- 
ficial caverns,*' of which, indeed, there is another a 
fittle way higher up the valley, under a tuft of alder 
bashes : but a tingle grotto of Bgeria is a mere mod- 
em invention, grsitea upon the application of the 
eni^et Egerian to these nymphea m general, and 
whieh nuAt soid us to look for the haunts of Numa 
upea the banks of the Thaases. 

Our "Rngligii Juvenal was not seduced into mis- 
tnoulatioa by his acquaintance with Pope : he care- 
fidly preserves the correct plural — 



The valley abounds with springSyf and over 
Ibaw mrnMn, which the Muses might haunt from 
ftflb nn^MDOziug groves, Egena presided; hence 
■ke wms ssad to supply them with water ; and she 
wns the nymph of the grottos through whioh the 
fpvBtsinB were taught to flow. 

Th/t whole of the monumenta in the vicinity of 
the Sgenan valley have received names at will, 
vhidi JMve been changed at will. Venuti t owns 
ke am see ne baces of tne temples of Jove, Saturn, 
JuB0. YeBusy and Diana, which Nardini found, or 
hoped to find. The mutatorium of Caracalla's cir- 
eoiy iikt tenmle of Honor and Virtue, the temple of 
Baeehns, sma« above all, the temple of the god Aedi* 
eahM, are the antiquaries' despair. 

The dmis of Caracalla depends on a medal of 
tihat emporor sited by Fulvius ursinus, of which the 
iSfttise shews a dieas, supposed, however, by some 
te npcesent the CSrons Maximus. It gives a very 
nod idea of that plaee of exercise, llie s<m1 has 
been bat little raised, if we may iudge from the 
omU oeUnlar str uc t ur e at the end of the Spina, 
vUi^ was probably the ehapel of the god Comus. 
TfaM ceQ is half beneath the soil, as it must have 
besB in the cirevs itself, for Dionysius ^ could not 
be persuaded to believe that this divinity was the 
Boman Heptnae, becaase his altar was under 



not thus thatourfhtkonmahitiiiMdHiBtiMbnll- 
iant periods of our history. Pr^udioe may be 
trusted to guard the outworks for a short space of 
time while reason slumbers in the citadel ; but 11 
the latter sink into a lethargy, the former will 
quickly erect a standard for herself. Philosophy, 
wisdom and liberty, support each other; he who 
will not reason is a bigot ; he who cannot, is a fool ; 
and he who dares not, is a slave." Prefooe, p. xiv 
XV. voL L 1806. 

58. 

Ormt Nmmma! 
Here, wker$ tk§ mneimU paid thm homage long. 
Stansa cxxxiL lines 2 and S. 

We read in Suetonius, that Augustus, from a 
warning received in a dream,* counterfeited, once 
a year, the beggar, sitting before the gate of his 
palace with his hand hollowed and stretched out for 
charitv. A statue formerly in the Villa Borghese, 
and which should be now at Paris, represents Um 
Bmperor in that posture of supplication. The ob- 
jeot of this self degradation was the appeasement 
of Nemesis, the perpetual attendant on good for- 
tune, of whose power the Roman eonquerors were 
also reminded by certain symbols attached to their 
cars of triumph. The symbols were the whip and 
the croialOt which were discovered in the Nemesis 
of the Vatican. The attitude of beggary made the 
above statue pass for that of Belisarius : and until 
the criticism of Winkelmannf had rectified the 
mistake, one fiction was called in to support another. 
It was the same fear of the sudden termination of 
prosperitir that made Amasis, king of Egypt, warn 
his mend Polvcrates of Samos, that the gods loved 
those whose lives were checkered with good and 
evil fortunes. Nemesis was supposed to he in wait 
particularly for the prudent ; that is, for those whose 
caution rendered them accessible onlv to mere acci- 
dents : and her first altar was raisea on the banks 
of the Phrygian JBsepns by Adrastus, probably the 
prince of that name who killed the son of Citnsns 
oy mistake. Hence the goddess was called Adras- 
tea.t 

The Roman Nemesis was tacred and avgutt, 
there was a temple to her in the Palatine under the 
name of Rhamnnsia:^ 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.|l This is the last superstition 
which retains its hold o^br the human heart ; and 
frt>m concentrating in one object the credulity so 
natural to man, has always appeared strongest in 
those unembarrassed by other articles of beliefl 
The antiquaries have supposed this goddess to be 
synonymous with Fortune^ and with Fate;1I but it 
was in her vindictive quality that she was worship- 
ped under the naoM of Ncsneeie. 



«7. 
Tei let tu ponder boUfy, 

Stanza cxxvfi. line 1. 

** At an events,'* says the author of the Academi- 
eel QaestioBS, '* I trust, whatever may be the fate 
of By own speeulatioBS, that philosoi^y will regain 
that estimation which it ought to possess. The 
fiieesnd philosophic spfait of our nation has been 
the tiierae «f attoairatton to the workL This was 
IIm proud distinetSon of Englishmen, and the lumi- 
MMs sooree of all their glory. Shall we then for- 
get the many and disnifted sentiments of our an- 
eartcs, to prate in ue lanruage of the mother or 
tihe Buxse aeout our good old prejudices? This b 
■ot tike way to defena the eanse of truth. It was 



• SJt.U.ta^WL 

t ■'P»<esw«*>to«gMi iiHiilii 

SMi>«d.*cGk.dLy.9ir,1 



IlA>dW,SkH.c»p.ll 



■ ii H iB. hTlL ti^w S , mf. St. 

a'sUwnorCunfflM ai^ Aril 
te ito tkumitnu ti Ua Mtj. Tte haOmnd Kud wm 
SigiM of dofTBteko ; uMl whan dM daMl bo^jr </ Sm 

Mabouilntiiaavhbjr 



M BMril. BihU, *!., fan. ■. ^ Mi), Mill 



taMkdriteAi«l.ae.,B>.sl.oqk.a.loB.U.p €0. 
«ew, towBvvr, a CjWfc Mb gives in te Ml 
IS. Tki4SiMfW(8|li| 
HaChMpiM. 
I Ohi. d» AvH MM* AtevlMu 
f It k ■■minHiil by tbo n^kmuj Vklor. 
I PoMuM bi^wn dU. CiMroMMdoMlier.daLBgib. 
f DEAE NEMBBl 

8IVB FORTUNAE 
PISTORIYS 
BVOIANVS 
V. C. LBOAT. 
LBS. XIU. Q. 
COBD. 



Sea ftufarinnii Raroami, Ac, ap. Gtm, 

Nor. Thwanr. Inaer^ Vet. torn. L p. SB, 8S, 



Reman, torn. r. p. 948. Bat 



IH 



BYBOil*0 WO|U&J^ 



I c«0 before me the Gladiator lie. 

Stanza exl. line 1. 

Wiifither tne wonderfdl statue which suggested 
fhiB imaga be a laquearian gladiator, which, in spite 
of Wiakelmann's criticism has been stonUy main* 
tained,* or whether it be a Qieek herald, as that 
mat anfiauazy positively assertedff or whether it 
IS to be thought a Spartan or barbarian shield* 
bearer, aoeording to the opinion of his Italian edit- 
or ,t it must assuredly seem a copy of that master- 
piece of Ctesilaus which represented "a wounded 
man djix^ who perfectly expressed what there re- 
mained or life in him." 4 llontfauoon Q and Maf- 
feif thought it the identical statue; but th#t 
0tatue was .of bronse. The gladiator was once in 
the villa Ludovizi, and was bought by Clement Xlt. 
The right arm is an entire restoration of |iichael 
Angelo.** 



credibly attached to thew gamos,* gmro fftstuit or- 
ders to the gladiators to slay him ; and Ttdemachus 
gained the crown of martyrdom, and the title of 
saint, which surely has never either before or since 
been awarded for a more noble exploit. Honorius 
immediately abolished the shows, which were never 
afterwards revived. The story is told by Theodore f 
and Cassiodorus, % and seems worthy of credit not- 
withstanding its place in the Roman mart)*rology. { 
Besides the torrents of blood which flowed at the 
funerals, in the amphitheatres ^ the circus, the forums, 
and other public places, gladiators were introduced 
at feasts, and tore each other to pieces amidst the 
supper tables, to the ^eat delight and applause of 
the guests. Tet Lipsius permits himself to sup- 
LatlP^B® the loss of courage, and the evident desenera- 
i^^ of mankind, to be nearly connected with the abo- 
rt Ution of . . « 



He, their Mrs, 
Btdoher'd to metke a Roman holiday. 

Stanza cxli. lines 6 and 7* 

Gladiators were of two kinds, compelled and vol- 

Etary ; and were supplied from several coi[^ditions : 
m skves sold for that purpose ; from culprits ; 
m barbarian captives either taken in war, and, 
after being led in triumph, set apart for the games, 
or those seized and condemned as rebels : also from 
free citizens, some fighting for hire (attctorati), 
others from a depraved ambition: at last even 
^nights and senators were exhibited, a disgrace of 
which the first tyrant was naturally the first in- 
ventor.ft In the end, dwarfs, and even women, 
fought; an enormity prohibited by Severus. Of 
these the most to be pitied, undoubtedly, were the 
barbarian captives ; and to this species a Christian 
writer tt justly applies the enithct ** innocent" 
to distinguish tnem from the proiessional gladiators. 
Aurelian and Claudius supplied great numbers of 
these unfortunate victims; the one after his tri- 
umph, and the other on the pretext of a rcbellion.§{ 
X^o war, says Lipsius,]! I was ever so destructive to 
the human race as tiiese sports. In spite of the 
laws of Constantino and Constons, gladiatorial 
shows survived the old established rehgion more 
than seventy years ; but they owed tiieir final ex- 
tinction to the courage of a Cfhristian. In the year 
404, on thb kalends of January, they were exhibit- 
ing the shows in the Flavian amphitheatre before 
the usual immense concourse of people. Almachius 
or Telemachus, an eastern monk, who had travelled 
to Borne intent on his holy purpose, rushed into 
the midst of the arena, i^d endeavored to separate 
the combatants. The preetor Alypius, a person in- 



' these bloody spectaoles.Q 
61. 




a>fl,lain.S.p.98B. 

t Eiaier1HiUfi»ttB,lMnldorUhH,feflMbf CBdIinip 
•I EinfdKiia, idkd Iqr ite AlfaflaliiMVlM b» eii«Mranxl iodng (ha 1 
tDda rrara ihe «liar of matgr, aad ia vIior bonor ttej fanlliued m 
IwnM, eowteoed to tke tfnn orBodrfui; or AnthMBocdM, Ao AdM 
benld, kOfcd I7 flw Megsmwi, vho imnt VBOofwad dw Inpktjr. 
flteib iMIe Am, 4e., wm. I. p. 90B, AM, flOS, MS, Sir, Hb. ix. Mipw H. 

)8lKla,*e.,iBn.fl.|k«r. Not. <A.) 

f "VidMniaBi dofldealam fedt to 4M pw* taMlgl quMtw 1 
MliBB." PIiA.NtLBfat.lb.nalr.o9kl. 

t Aalki.tta.tt.p«.9,tdb.Ui. 

t Rmc alat. ttb. M. 
' Mos. Capital, torn. B. p. 154, odk. I78B. 



u Vb.fi. cap. IL 



MPH 



folaplatfa publloB hota Sam." JiHt. L^ 

f§ VopfaetH. to Vic AanL ud io HL Olud. Ud. 

II ''Cieito fai6 Kto iralton beitom tuum dtodan Tsatittamiii 
toBMoo lirtttDfaM, qouD hot ad Tolortalm lodM.*' JoK. Upt. lUd. Bb. i. 
lap. sB. 



» feneii 



Here, where the Roman miUion*t blame orpnUee 
Was death or life, theplaythmge of a crotod. 

Stanza cxlii. linM 6 and 6. 

When one gladiator wounded another, he shout- 
ed, '*he hatU,** "hoc habet," or "habet." The 
wounded combatant dropped his weapon, and ad- 
vancing to the edge of the arena, supplicated the 
spectators. If he nad fought well, the people saved 
him ; if otherwise, or as they happened to be in- 
clined, they turned down thear thumbs, and he was 
slain. They were oooaaionaUy so saTag*a thatth^ 
were l^npatient if a combat lasted longer than ordi- 
nary without wounds or death. Tne emperor's 
presence generally saved the vaiuitiished ; and it is 
recorded as an instance of Caraealla's feroeitT, thai 
he sent those who supplicated him fbr li^, in • 
spectacle at Nioomedia, to ask the people; in other 
words, handed them over to be slala. A similar 
ceremony is observed at the Spanish bull-fights. 
The magistrate presides; and ahsr the honemen 
and piecadores have fought the bull, the matadon 
steps forward and bows to him fiw permission to 
kill the animal. If the bull has dene -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 accomp** 
nied with the loudest acclamations, and many ges- 
tures of delight, especially from the female poroon 
of the audience, including those of the gentleet 
blood. Everything depencU on habit. The aatiior 
of Childe Harold, the writer of this note, and one 
or two other EngMsfamen, who have eertainlf ia 
other days borne the sight of a pitched batde, wevfr, 
during me summer of 1809, in the ffovenkor's box 
at the great amphitheatre of Santa Maria, opposite 
to Cadiz. The death of one or two horses com* 
pletely satisfied their curiosity. A gentleman 
present, observinc them shudder and look pale, no* 
ticed that unusual reception of so delightml 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 o/f his own home. He was saved by accla- 
mations, which were redoubled when it was known 
he belonged to a priest. 

An Englishman, who can 1>e m«eh pleased with 



iMaiaiiip^flipeSI 



AagoadliiM (IlK.«LeoBieik«ap.TliU) "Allpfa 
toyala facndBShn abiapciim,'' aodUt. to. Mb. 4. o^k «8. 

t HiiL Eodea. cap. xxvl Itb. t. 

i Caariod, Tripoitka, I. X. c Jd. Saturn, to. b. 

f Barooiua, ad. «nn. e( to mXk ad Maxt^. Itaa. 1, i 
goal ddia iMUMrie iBcm « pidaiie datt' Asitaalie Ravtot p. «, adft. UW. 

I »QMod>iiaBtaUpri«BBia«auimaltoimibatouM«MMaad«falBanr 




MOOB TO CBOJm HABOUyt FILORIlCA<a. 



IM 



r to liMk at a Ikone gallopwg nwui an uwu 
with hit boirah tniliag on th« grMBd, vbA tenw 
finHB the fpeeteda via the H^wtetonvith hoflrar 
•ad dii^giist. 

82. 

LOt LmmnJB fmtktbaUJIrM Cmta^9 M^ad. 
Stuua czUt. line 6. 

SoetoniBt tidbaiM oa that Jnliiu Canr mm par- 
tiedarly oxati&ed bj that decree of the aenata, 
vhkh enabled him to weer a vieath of hmrel on all 
oecaaona. He waa amdoiia not to ihow ti^t ha 
was the oonoveror of the world, hat to hide that he 
WIS bald. A stzanger at Bomo woold hardly haTe 
guEBied at the notiva, Bar shovU wa without the 
help of the hiatariao. 



Wkae ■fnnrfi <A« Coliamtm, Boom akall ttamd. 
Stansa exlv. line 1. 

This ia owotad in the DaeBaa and Fall of tha |U> 
isaa SBspna ; and a notiee oa the Goliaaaoa ■ayba 
•eoL ia ^a Hiatoiioal lUaatiationa to tSbm iVth 
Caato of GhOde Baiold. 

64. 

StaosacxlrLUiMa. 
"ThoQ^ ph ua dered of all ita braes, aaeept ^ 
' g wUa vaa weeeaaary to pteeerve the 



aapoaed ta r epe at ed Area, ihooffh 
lad oy tha 



tirer, aad alwaya open to 

of eqwal antiqiilty is so 

' ' -iHthKt- 

Ltwor- 

for «he 

altar, tlwit Miahaei Aageto, erar stadiow 

- BddMir 



ftenia, mm 

wdl norwad aa ^bam latonda. It pseeed wit 
tts Aeietioa ftwa the Pi^aainto tte present 
ihiB; aad ao oon^aBisnt wave ito aiehes lio 



of aacssot haanty, isteodneed d^ir deaign aa a 
■sdri in the Catholio ehmeh."— For^'a Ba- 
■Bxka, &e., on Italy, p. 197» aae. edit. 



Jhmr ^fti am 



Jbfd tktg wiiofmlfbr f a i Mtt aiM n^ 

> aonavwd iiinna, who9t ^ 

Stonsa axlTii. linea 8 and 9. 



UmU artiianf 



TW Pantfiaon haa bean made a reeeptaela for the 
basta of aiodaen giaat, or, at leaat, diatiagiuBhed, 
Bea. Tha dood of Hght whioh onee feU through 
Ihe \u^ oi^ above on the whole cfarele of dirinitiea, 

^ — ^ L nnmerona aaaemblage of mortala, 

» of ivhoBi have been abnoat deified 
of their ooontrymen. 

66. 
Tkart i$ a dtmgmm^ m whom dim, drwr light 
Stanaa exlviiL fine 1. 

Thia aad the tiirea nazt stansaa allada to the 
•iBiyof tha Beaaan daughter, whiah ia raaallad to 
dwtzavdkvbytfaa aito, or pretended aita» of thai 
adfcalBte, now ahown at the chaieh of St. Kieho- 
las w eaimw. Tlw difliealtiaa attending tha ftill 
bdief of Aa tale are atoted in IBaftadeal Dbutta- 
tiflw,ft«. 

6T. 

Tivntoa^UoU.whichSmdnamrmf'dmhiah. 
Stann dU. line I. 

Thaaaiaaof 8t.Aagdi». flea TTiatorted DfaW" 



68. 

Stansa clltt. 

Thia and tha sin nest atarmi have a lefiwanoa to 
the ehmA of St Pator»a» For aiaeMuwwent of 
the eoaapaiative leagth of this baaaka, wd the 
■ther neat ehnrdiaaof Baxope, aee the pavement 
af St Poter'a, and tihe <daaaifial Toar thrai^ Italy, 
taL iL page 126. «t set* ehap. ir. 



Tkettramgefaie 
FrnMw Annoiat fni^htiftt tovtrtt^iu, 

Stansa elxzL linea 6 and 7. 
Mary died on the acaflbM; BUsabetii of a btohaa 
heart; Chariea Y. a hermit; Looia XIV. a bank* 
nipt in means aad glory; Cromwell of anxiety s 
and, ** the greateat is behind," Napoleon lives a 
prisoner. To these sovereigns a long but superdo- 
ous list might be added of names equally illustrious 
and unhappy. 

76. 
ZoyJVsNu, neeatrd jn Ma woodiy AftOf . 

Stanaa eluiiL line 1. 

The villaga of Kemi was near the Arieian retreat 
of Egeria, and from the shades whieh embosomed 
the temple of Diana, has preserved to this day its 
distinettTe appellation of The Oroee. Nemi is but 
an evening's ride from tiio oem ibr t a ble inn of A^> 



Tl. 

Amdajmr 
The TVftar lawidi, tmd tk$ wood ocmm Imcm 
Th§ LaHam eoaat, ^. Ac. 



linaaS,8,and4. 

The whole declivity of the Alban hill is of unri* 
vaOed beauty, and from the convent on the higbeat 
point, which has sueceaded to the temnle of the Xia* 
tian Jupiter, the prospect embraces all the objecto 
alluded to in the citea atansa ; the Mediterraneans 
the whole aoene of the latter half of the .^neidt 
aad the coast from beyond the mouth of the Tiber 
to the headland of Circsum and the Cape of Terra- 
chM. 

The aite of Cicero'a villa may be suppoaed eithear 
at the Grotto Ferrata, or at the Tusculum of Prince 
Lueien Bonaparte. 

The former was thought seme ycara ago tiie ae- 
tuid aite, as may be seen from IIiddleton*8 Life of 
Cicero. At present it has lost something of ito 
credit, except lor the Domenichinos. Nine monka 
4>f the Greek order live there, and the adjoiniog 
villa is a eardinaVa aununer-house. The other vi> 
la, ealled Rufinella^ is on the summit of the hiU 
aboive Frascati, and many rich remains of Tuscu- 
lum have been found tnere, besides seventy-two 
statues of different merit and preservation, and 



From the same eminence are seen tiie Sabine 
hills, embosomed in which lies the long valley of 
Bustica. There are several circumstances which 
tend to establish the identity of this valley with the 
**Uwtiea** of Horaee; and it aeems possible that 
the mosaic pavement whieh the peasants uncover hj 
throwing up the earth of a vineyard may belong to 
hia villa. Bustica is pronounced short, not accord- 
ing to our stress upon <• Uitiem cw6aitfw."— It is 
more rational to think that we are wrong tlian that 
the jnhabitonta of thia aeduded valley have changed 
thek tone in this word. The addition of tha con* 
predaed ia nothing : yet it is n eces s ary to be 
aware tnat Buatica may be a modem name which 
thepeaaants may have caught from the anti<mariea» 

Tne villa, or the mosaic, ia in a vineyard on a 
knoll eoveaed with cheatout treea. A stream runs 
dflfWB tha valley, and although it is not true, as said 
in tiM guide booka, that this stream is called lioen- 
aa, yet than Is a village on a rock at the head ol 
the valley whieh is so dsnoaiittated, and wMch mi^ 
hasa taken ito naaae from the DiMBtia. LiBsnas 
oontaina seven hundred inhahitanto. On a peak a 
Uttle vrur beyond is Civitella, containing three hun* 
dred. Chi the banks of the Anio, a little before yon 
into Yalle Bustiea, to tiie left, about aa 
m the rnSh, is a town called Vicovaro» 
another fhvorable coincidence with the Varia of the 
poet. At the end of the valley, towards the Anio, 
there is a hare hill, crowned witn a little town called 
Baidda. At tiie foot of this hill the livulst of W 



turn up int 
hour from 



106 



BTBOH*8 WOBU. 



•mn iowi, and is almost abtorbed in a ifide Muidy 
bed before it reaohes tiio Anio. Nothing eaa be 
meie fortonate for the lines of the poet, whether in 
a metaphorical or direct sense : 

" Me qaoitai lefldt geUdut Di^antk thm, 
Quern Mandob VBtH rufon* frigore pagui.** 

The stream is clear high up the Talley, but before 
it reaches the hill of Bardela looks green and yel- 
low like a sulphur rirulct. 

Rocca Oiorane, a mined Tillage in the hills, half 
an hour's walk from the Tineyard where the pave- 
ment is shown, does seem to be the site of the 
fuie of Vacunai and an inscription found there tells 
that this temple of the Sabine Victory was repaired 
by Vespasian.* With these helps, and a position 
corresponding exactly to ererything which the poet 
has told us of his retreat, we may feel tolerably se- 
eore of our site. 

The hill which should be Lncretilis is called 
Campanile, and by following up the rivulet to the 
pretended Bandusia, you oome to tiie roots of the 
liiffher mountain Oennaro. Singularly enough, the 
only spot of ploughed land in the whole valley (s on 
tiie knoll where this Bandusia rises. 



PrabM, at pKori nga." 

The peasants show another spring near the mo- 
saic pavement, which they call *«Oradina," and 
wfaieh flows down the hiUs mto a tank, or mill-dam, 
9nd then it trickles over into the Digentia. 

But we must not hope 

•• To MM the MwM opmnU l» dMir ipriaf ,» 

„ the windings of the romantic valley in 
of the Bandusian fountain. It seems stnmge 
that any one should have thought Bandusia a foun- 
tain of the Digentia'— Horace has not let drop a 
word of it ; and this immortal spring has in uct 
been discovered in possession of the holders of 
many good things in Italy, the monks. It was at- 
tachea to the church of St. Gervais and Protais 
near Venusia, where it is most likely to be fotmd.t 
We shall not be so lucky as a late traveller in find- 
ins the occational pine still pendant on the poetic 
villa. There is not a pine in the whole valley, but 
there are two cypresses, which he evidently took, or 
mistook, for the tree in the ode.^ The truth is, that 
the nine is now, as it was in the days of Virgil, a 
garden tree, and it was not at all likely to be found 
m the craggy acclivities of the valley of Rustica. 
Horace probably had one of them in the orchttd 
elose above his fgum, immediately overriiadoving 
his villa, not on the rocky heights at some distance 
from his abode. The tourist majr have easily sim- 
posd himself to have seen this pine figured m the 
above cvpresses, for the orange and lemon trees 
which throw such a bloom over his description of 
the royal gardens at Naples, unless they have been 
■ince displaced, were assuredly only acaelae and 
other common garden shrubs.^ The extreme dis- 
appointment experienced by cJloosing the Classical 
Tourist as a guide in Italy must be flowed to find 
▼ent in a few observations, which, it is asserted 
without fear of contradiction, will be confirmed 
bv every one who has « elected the same oonduetor 
tnrouffhthe same country. This author is in fact 
one of the most inaceurate» uasatis&ctory writers 



• IMP. CJBBAR VESPASIAinrt 

POMTVKZ BIAXI3IVS. TRIB 

POTEST. CENSOR. iEDEM 

yiCTOBIJB. VFFTSTATE UXAPSAM 

svA. iMPENSA. aearrrviT. 

t 8eeBktaeinlIIhMinlioi»QrihBF««kCuito,i>.43. 

} 8m CtaMfcal Tour, Sc, ebiip. rS. p. CSO, toI. IL 

f *< Undnr ow wiudowB, and botdcrinir <" ^^ >>c^h, h dM loyrigaieeD, 
Wdoat hi putenw, ud valks tfaaded bj ton 3f oniife traa.^ 
Dm, Al.,«teyb >L %«L a. Ml. SMw 



that hsite !n our times attained a temporary reptita 
tlon, and is very seldom to be trusted even when ht 
speaks of objects which he must be presumed te 
have seen. His enors, from the shnpfe eaaggen- 
tion to the downright misstetement, are so frequent 
as to induoe a suspicion that he had either new 
visited the spots described, or had tmsted to tiie 
fidelity of former writers. Indeed the Classical 
Tour nas every characteristic of a mere compila- 
tion of former notices, strung together upon a verr 
slender thread of personal 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 everything, and therefore sig- 
nifving nothing. 

The style which one person thinks cloggy and 
cumbrous, and unsuitable, may be to the taste o( 
others, and such may experience some salutary ex- 
citement in ploughing through the periods of ths 
Classical Tour. It must be said, however, that 
polish and weight are apt to beget an expectation of 
valpe. It is amongst the pains of the damned to 
toil up a elimax with a huge round ttoM* 

The tonrift had the choice of his words, but then 
was no sneh latitude allowed to that of his senti- 
ments. The love of virtue and of liberty, which 
must have distinguished the character, certainly 
adomp the pages of Mr. Eustaee, and ue gentl»> 
manly s^farit, so recommendat(»y either in an an- 
ther or his productions, is very conspieuons through- 
out the Classical Tour. But ti&ese generous quali- 
ties are the foliage of such a performance, and may 
be spread about it so prominently and proi^iselv as 
to embarrass those who wish to see and nnd the noit 
at hand. The unction of the divine, and the exhor- 
tations of the moralist, may have made this work 
thing more or better than a book of travehL 
but they nave not made it a book of traveb; and 
this observation applies more espedaUy to that en- 
ticing method of instructioa conveyed by the pe^ 
petual introduction of the same OalUo Helot to reel 
and bluster before the rising generation, and terrify 
it into decency by the display of all the excesses of 
the revolution. An animosi^ against atheists and 
regicides in general, and Frenchmen spedficattv, 
may be honorable, and may be useful as a record; 
but that antidote should either be adminlstoed 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 reflection as to give a bit- 
terness to every page : foi who would choose to fasTe 
the antipathies of any man, however just, for his 
travelling companions ? A toorist, unless he ss- 
pires to the credit of prophesy, is not answenbls 
for the changes which mav take place in the country 
which he describes ; but nls reMler may very fairly 
esteem all his political portraits and deductions as 
so much waste paper, the moment they cease to ss- 
sist, and more particularly if they obstruct his ao 
tual survey. 

Neither encomium nor aeeosation of any govern 
ment or governors, is meant to be here oflered ; bat 
it is stated as an incontrovertible feet, tiiat the 
change operated, either by the addrees of th e late 
impenal systena, or by the disappointment of every 
expectation by those who have succeeded to tbs 
Italian thrones, has been so considerable, and is lo 
apparent^ as not only to put Mr. Eustace's antigal- 
hcan philippics entirely out of date, but even to 
throw some suspicion upon the competency and can- 
dor of the author himself. A fenMurkabto example 
may be found in the instance of Bolonga, ov«f 
whose papal attachments, and oonsequeint desola- 
tion, the tourist poun forth sndi strains of condo- 
lence and revenue, made louder by the borrowed 
trumpet of Mr. Buike. TXtm Bolonga is at this mo- 
ment, and has been for some yean, notorioos 
amongst the states of Italy for its attachment to 
revolutionary principles, and was almost the only 
city which noaoe any demonstrations in favor of the 
unlbrtimate Muxat. This ohange may. 



XOXB TO OmLDB BAMOUTB nLQUMAOB. 



l«l 



teMbMBoade siBM Ifr. BartMe iMtod tfdi OML 
toyi tat ttetcmveaenvhan lie hM drilled with bor- 
ror «t tta uiu j g eted ■ t ripp i n g of tii> oopp* ftoi th» 
o^ob of t^1h(tcr'% Bwtta BUMh iJSOTiid to fad 
IhaftfrilMH Mit of tiMpmnr of tiM n«Mh,or 

If the eoBs^rinff Toieo of otiiorwlM lifal orilios 
M Bot gifoa eonaidanUo oomiiioy to tho duaiotl 
Tour, it wooM hsr» baoi nimo^iwinr to wank the 
mdv, diat h oi w t w it n^r odom his libmy, it 
vin ta of little or no MTtioo to bin ia bio OMX&M ; 
a^ if tlM jvdfl^Mttt of thooo oritiM had Utharto 



Md jiiitm A>gBfci. J» 
GfeiVLlr.p^iab«ri.l. 



r«r>v 



1 CBw yany f J»w» M 
liadan te IvMi of 



ha«i wHiwndad, no att e mpt nonld hav« oan wait 
to aatfetoato thair dadaloii. iia it ia, thoaa who 
ataad bt the lalatlon of poatavitr to kr. Bvataaa 
flMv ho pamittad to appeal from notampniaii 
piai am , a&d an pariiapa mora Ukaly to ha jnat im 
tnoporaon aa tim eauaaa of Ioto aad hatnd are tita 
nrakarramoTad. Thia appeal had, in aomeauaauv, 
baaB made helbra the abore remarha wave wiittaa; 
for one of the moat raape a table of tim IlotaBtiao 



publiabera, who bad been pcnaadad by the 1 
tnqoiriaa of thoaa on thair joonejr aostiiwaida to 
lepriat a ohaap edition of the Claaaiflal To«, waa, 
bj the oonannag adriee of retoniag tn.Talkaa» is- 
doeedto^baiidS hia deaign, aUboa^ behad al- 
leadj anaikged bit typea I 
off'oDe or two of the mat 

The wiitar of titeae BOtaa woqU with to part (Hka 
Mr. Oibboa) on good tmma with tim Pope a&d tim 
Caidinala, bat be doaa not think it neaeaaary to i 
tend tim aame diaeraat aiknea to thak 1 



THE GIAOUR; 

A FRAGMENT 01 A TURKISH TALE. 



Iti liHik dMda aDkB o'er oar JqjB ud oorwoM— 
To wUeh m MtUaf dMtor nor farlghtv eua brin^, 
For wUeb J^r h^h do boln, ud aflkHoo no Ming. 
MOORB 



xo 
SAMUEL ROGERS, ESQ. 

AB ▲ SLIGHT BTJT XOflT SINOBBB TOKBX OF ADXISATIOX FOR HI8 OBKIUB, BMFBCI TOm 
HIS 0HA1U.0TBB, AXU) 0&A.TITUDB F0& HIB FBIBHS8HIP, ^ 

THIS PBODVCTION 18 INSOBIBBD 

BT HIS OBLIOBD AMD AFFEOTIOKATB SBBTAKT, 

BTBON. 



ADYERTISEMENT. 

Tbb Tale which these di^ointed fragmeiiti pre- 
sent, is founded upon ofareumstances now lees eom- 
mon in the East than formerly ; either because the 
ladies are more dreumspect than in the *< olden 
time ; '* or because the Christians haye better for- 
tune, or less enterprise. The story, when entire, 
contained the adTentures of a female slaTe, who was 
thrown, in the Mussuhnan manner, into the sea for 
infidelity, and arenged by a young Venetian, her 
lorer, at the time the Seven Islands were possessed 
by the Sepublio of Venice, and soon after the Ar- 
naouts were beaten back from the Mores, which 
they had rsTaged for some time subsequent to the 
Russian invasion. The desertion of the Mainotes, 
on being reftised the plunder of Misitra, led to the 
abandonment of that enterprise, and to the desola- 
tion of the Morea, during which the eruelty exer- 
cised on all sides was unparalleled eren in the sanals 
«f tiie faithftiL 



THE GIAOUR. 

No bfsath of air to break the wa?e 
That rolls below the Athenian's grave. 
That tomb* which, gleaming o'er the dii^ 
First greets the hoaaeward-vesring skill^ 
High o'er the land he saved in vain: 
When shall sotth hsKO live sgsin ? 
• •••••• 



Fair clime ! where every season smiles 
Benignant o'er those blessed isles. 
Which, seen from &r CoUona's height. 
Make glad the heart that hails the sight. 
And lend to loneliness delight. 
There, mildly dimpling, Ocean's cheek 
Reflects the tints of many a peak 
Caught by the laughing tides that lave 
These Edens of the Eastern wave; 
And if, at times, a transient breeae 
Break the blue crystal of the seas. 
Or sweep one blossom from the trees* 
How welcome is each gentle air 
That wakes and wafts the odors there. 
For t he r e th e rose o'er crag or vale, 
Sultana of the nightingale,* 
The maid for whom his melody. 
His thousand songs are heard on hi^ 
Blooms blushing to her lover's tale : 
His queen, the garden queen, his losa^ 
Unbent by winds, unchfll'd by snows, 
Fsr from the winters of the west, 
By every breeie and season bleef^ 
Retocns the sweets bj Nature given. 
In softest incense bad^ to heaven ; 
And grateAil yields that smiling s3cy 
Her fairest l^e and fragant sigh. 
And many a summer flowsr is there. 
And many a shade that love might shsie» 
And many a grotto, meant for rest» 
That hokis the pirate for a guest; 



TUB CU0OA. 



101 



WlMW hHle te ftk^toriBg core Mow 

loks te the paning peMeAil prow 

T31 the gay mavinar's gutter* 

Ii ketrd, Slid M0B the erauiig •!» 

Tha rtaOing with tiM noflM OM, 

Fkrdiidtd hf the fodrf shore, 

Saih the Bighi-pvowkn on the pfey, 

Asd ten to gioeiie his ronndeUx. 

Stnage-^Ouit whefo Nature hyr'd to tno» 

As if for godi, a dwdling pkee. 

And vmy ehaim end grace hath nix'd 

Within tike puadSse she ilx'd, 

There men, enamoT'd of dist r ess , 

Should Bar it into wilderness, 

And tnmple, hntte-like, o'er eech iower 

Thst tasks not one Isborioos hour ; 

Nor daims the eoltore of his hand 

To htoom along tiie ttSay land, 

B<tt ipiings as to predwie his care, 

And sweetly woos him— bnt to spare! 

Sbiage— that where sU is peaee beside 

There psMion xfots in her pride, 

And hist snd rapine wildly reign 

To dufcen o'er the fiur domain. 

It ii as thovgh the fiends prerail'd 

Aganst tike seraphs tiiey assidl'd. 

And, bed on heavenly thrones, shovld dweUi 

The ikeed faiheritns of heB ; 

So soft tike seene, so fioRn'd for Jey, 

So enat the tyrants tiiat destroy 1 



Hewhohtfhbent hn o'er the dead. 

Sis tihs first day of death is fed, 

The first dark day of nothingness^ 

The last of danger and distreas, 

(BefiBie decay's eflbsing fingers 

Hare swept the lines whete beenty Ungsn,) 

And saark'd the mfld angeUc air, 

The rapture of repoee that's tikere. 

The fix'd, yet tender tndts tiiiat streftk 

The lasgoor of tike placid eheek, 

And— hat ibrlhat sad shfoudrt eye, 
That fires not, wins not, weeps not, now, 
And hot for tint ehm, ehangd«e tMWw, 
Where eold obstmetiAn's apa&y « 
Appals fte garing inmii ne k ^s heart, 
As if to him H eoidd fanpatt 
The doom he dreads, yet d#rihi ttpen ; 
Tes, hotiortiwse, and AeseahMke, 
Some momeBis, ay, one tteae k e w m e hew 
He stm mi^ dovM the tynsfft ptwet I 
So fuxf so odm, so sofHy seaFd, 
The list, bst look by ^ath rereaTd !• 
fai^ hihe aspect of this ehofe ; 
"Tia Qneee, but Uring Greece no mote ! 
80 eoUly teeet, so deadly fdr. 
We shxt, for sool is wanting tikwe. 
Hers ■ the loveiineM ilk death. 
That paitinot qmts Witik partkg hfMtb ; 
Bnt besaty irttii that fearfii] Meomf 
That hne which hastnts it t»11k^ tomb, 
SzpisniQn't tet receding ray, 
A gfttsdhitohoferhkg rtmnd dtfcagr, 
The fknesQ becm of feeling pest away f 

Nerfc of thatfiuM, perehanoe of heantaily birth, 

^Ush tfewi, Vit warms no note iti ehevished 
eax^\ 



Clime of t he w iwgo tlt u btavt! 
Whoee land frosn jdaSn to monntaitt-eate 
Was freedom'a home or ghny's grave ' 
Shrine of the mighty! can it be. 
That this is all remains of thee ? 
Approach, tinm craven erouching stare : 

Say, is not this Thermopylm ? 
Theee watcn bine that ronnd yon lave, 

Oh servile oftpiing of the ftee— 
Prononnee what sea, wlkat shore is this } 
The gnlf, the rock of Salamis ! 
These scenes, their story net nnknown. 
Arise, and make again yonr own ; 
Sikatch from the ashes of yonr sires 
The emben of their farmer fires ; 
And he who in the strife expires 
Wm add to thefars a name of fbar 
That tyranny shall qmake to hear. 
And leave his sons a hope, a Bune 
They too will rather die tiksn shsaae . 
For fimedom's battle onee begun, 
Beqneath'd by bleeding aira to son, 
Thongh beflleid oft, is everwon. 
Bear witness, Greece, thy Iving ps^e, 
Attest it many a deathless age ! 
While kings, in dnsty darkneae hid, 
Have left a nameleea pyramid. 
Thy heroes, though the general doom 
Hath swept the column firom their tomb» 
A mightier monument command. 
The mountains of their native land ! 
Then points thy muse to stranger's eye 
The graves of tlkose that cannot die ! 
Twsfe long to tdl, and sad to trace. 
Bach step from splendor to disgrace ; 
Enough— no Ibrelgn fbe could quell 
Thy soul, till from itself it IbU ; 
Yes! self-abasement paved the way 
To viUaia-bonds and despot sway. 



What can he tell who treads thy shore? 

No legend of thine olden time. 
No thesae on which the muse might soar 
High, as thine own in days of yore, 

When man was worthy of thy dhne ; 
The hesrts iHthin thy valEes bred. 
The fiery souls that might have led 

Thy sons to deeds sublime, 
Now crawl firom cradle to the grave, 
81aves--fkay, the bondsmen of a slave,* 

And callous, save to crime ; 
Stain'd with each evil that poUtttes 
Mankind, whera least above the tonlse; 
Without even savage virtue blest, 
Without one i^ oi^ralient breast. 
Still to the neighboring ports they waft 
Proverbial wiles, and ancient craft; 
In this Oe subtle Greek is found. 
For this, aftd this aknae, tenown'd. 
In vain might liberty invoke 
The spirit to iti iMtoiegebMllWk 
Or raise the neck tiMEt eoortitte yoke : 
No more her sMiows 1 beemn, 
Tet this will be amownfrd tale. 
And th^ who Biten may beUsfe, 
Who heard it first had cause to giieee. 

• eeeeaee 



110 



BTBON'8 MPOfCES. 



Far, dark, al«ag the blue aeft gboMfaig 
The shadows of the rocks adTaadng, 
Start on the fisher's eye like boat 
Of island-pirate or Malnole ; 
And, fMoM for his light cai^e, 
He shuns the near, but donbtftil ereek i 
Though worn and weary with his toil. 
And oomber'd with his soaly spoil* 
Slowly, yet strongly, plies tiie oar. 
Till Port Leone's safier shore 
BeoeiTes him by the lovely light 
That best becomes an eastern night. 
• ••e«««« 

Who thundering comes on blackest steed* 
With slacken'd bit, and hoof of speed ? 
Beneath the clattering iron's sound 
The carem'd echoes wake aroted 
In lash for lash, and bound for bound ; 
The foam that streaks the courser's side 
Seems gather'd from the ocean-tide; 
Though weaxy waves are sank to rest, 
There's none within his rider's breast; 
And though to-morrow's tempest lower, 
'TIS calmer than thy hear^ young Giaour ! ' 
I know thee not, I loathe thy race. 
But in thy lineaments I trace 
What time shall strengthen, not effiuM : 
Though young and pal^ that sallow front 
Is scathed by fiery passion's brunt ; 
Jlhoogh bent on earth thine evil eye, 
As meteor-like thou glidest by. 
Right well I view and deem tiie one 
Whom Othman's sons should slay or shun. 

On—- on he hastened, and he drew 

My gaae of wonder as he flew: 

Though like a demon of the night 

He pass'd and vanish'd from my sighli 

His aspect and his air impress'd 

A troubled memory on my breast, 

And long upon my startled ear 

Rung his dark courser's hooft of fear. 

He spurs the steed ; he nears the steep, 

That, jutting, shadows o'er the deep ; 

He winds around ; he hurries by; 

The rock relieves him Ikom mine eye ; 

For well I ween unwelcome his 

Whose glance is ftz'd on those that flee ; 

And not a star but shines too bright 

On him who takes such timeless flight 

He wound along, but, ere he pass'dt 

One glance he snatch'd, as if his last, 

A moment check'd his wheeling steed, 

A moment breathed him from his speed, 

A moment on his stKmp stood— 

Why looks he o'er the (dive-wood? 

The cresent glimmen on the hill. 

The mosque's high lamps are quivering etiS : 

Though too remote for sound to wake 

In echoes of the far tophaake,* 

The flashes of eaeh Joyous peal 

Are seen to prove the Moelon'a aeaL 

To-night, set Rhamannl's sob ; 

To-night the Baiiam ibasf e begon; 

To-night— but iribo and what art thMU 

Of foreign garb and feazfrdbKow} 

And what an theae to tiiine or thee. 

That thou shcmldst eitiier pause or flee ) 



He stood^-eanae diead WIS ott hio flMS^ 

Soon hatred settled in its place ; 

It rose not with the reddening flush 

Of transicttt anger's darkoning blush, 

But pale as maxble o'er the tomb, 

Whose ghastly whiteness aids its gloom. 

His brow was bent, his eye was glased. 

He raised his arm, and fleroely raised. 

And sternly shook his hand on high, 

As doubting to return or fly : 

Impatient of his flight delay'd, 

Here loud his raven charger neigh'd— 

Down glanced that hand, and grasped his bU^ ; 

That sound had burst his waking dream, 

As slumber starts at owlef s scream. 

The spur hath lanced his courser's sides ; 

Away, away, for life he rides ; 

Swift as the hurl'd on high jerreed,* 

Springs to the touch his startled steed ,* 

The rock is doubled, and the shore 

Shakes with the clattering tramp no more -^ 

The erag is won, no more Is seen 

His Christian crest and haughty mien. 

'Twas but an instant he restrain'd 

That flery barb so sternly rein'd : 

'Twas but a moment that he stood, 

Then sped as if by death pursued; 

But in that instant o'er his soul 

Winters of memory seem'd to loU, 

And gather in that drop of time 

A liib of pain, an age of crime. 

O'er him who loves, or hates, or fears. 

Such moment pours the grief of yean. 

What flslt As then, at once opprest 

By all that most distractB the breast ? 

That pause, which ponder'd o'er his fkte. 

Oh, who its dresry length shall date ? 

Though in time's record nearly nou^^ 

It was eternity to thought ! 

For inflnite as boundless qtaoe 

The thought that oonsdenoe must embrao% 

Which in itself can comprehend 

Wo without name, or hope, or end. 

The hour is past, the Oiaoor is gone ! 

And did he fly or fiOl alone ? 

Wo to that hoar he earns er went! 

The enrse for Hassan's sin was sent. 

To turn a pslses to a tomb: 

He eane, he wsot, liks the sinioom,*^ 

That hsibiBger of isle and gloom, 

Beneolh i^ese wldely^wastlBg bnath 

The very eypie se droops to dwith— > 

Dark trse» stUl sad when other's g^cief isfled. 

The only constant mourner o'er the dead ! 

The steed is vanish'd from the stall; 

No serf is seen in Hassan's hall ; 

The looely spider's thin gny pall 

Waves tHimiy widening e'er the wall ; 

The bat builds in his hann bower; 

And in the fiurtnss of his power 

The owl usurps the beason-toww ; 

The wild-dog howls o'er the fountain's hrin. 

With baOed thirst, and frnune grim ; 

For the stream has shrunk from its marble bod» 

When ths weeds and the desolate dnst ifeo S!pnnd I 

Twas sweet of yon to sse it play. 

And chase tbe sultriness of day, 



ocAomu 



111 



In vkkb IkatMCkiaiy Uvr, 
Aadiug huBUMNMoookMMiwmd 
The ur, and <vndBi« o'er tb« §in— il 
TvM sweet, vkflA doodlMi tten w* 
To nev tko vewe of nelery Uf^ 
And hev its auM J by ni^ 
A»A oa baa He— n'e chfldheod yley'4 
Anend tbe vesge of tlMt 
AaA oft epon liie »otker*e 
That eooad hed kaBBoniaed Us zeei ; 
Aad oft had Hasna's yevtli along 
ba bank been aoothed by benty'a song } 
And softer aecmed each melting tone 
Of nnsie "*"g'***' frith its own. 
fist ne'er ahaU Haasan's age lepeae 
Ahmg the brink at twilight's eloae : 
Tbe stream that iill'd that font ia ied« 
The biood that waxm'd his heart is shed 1 
Aad here no more shall human toiee 
Be heard to rage, regret, lejoiee ; 
The last sad note that aweU'd the gale 
Was wosaan'a wildest ftmeral mdl; 
TM qncnch'd in silence, all is still. 
Bat tbm lattice thst flaps when the wind is slMtill 
The^gh rsTee the gnat, and floods the ndn. 
No hand shall eloee its dasp again. 
On deeert aanda twere Joy to aean 
The redest staps of Aitov msi^ 
80 hen tiie Yery Toioe of grief 
Ifight wake an edie like relief ; 
At leeet temild say, «« all are not gone ; 
There laagin fife, thoofl^ bntin qm— " 
Per many a gilded chamber's th«re» 
Whidb aolitnde might well feibear; 
WUhin ^at donw aa yet deosy 
HaA sloiriy werk'd her oankesing «iy^— 
Bnt gloom ia gathered o'er the gate 
Nor there the fiUur'a eelf wiU wait ; 
Her tiieve wiU wandering derriae stay. 
For bomi^ dieos not his deley ; 
Nor fliere wiU weary stranger halt 
To bloH the ssered " bleed and salt." " 
AHke most weelth and poverty 
Pern heedless and nnheeded by, 
For co ntt e sj f and pity died 
VHA Hassan on the moontain aide. 
Hiareo^ that lefege nnte nna» 
la deaolation'a 
Tkegnestiiesthe 

IS ekft by tfaeii^Ad'ssiibse! M 



1 hear the smnd of coming feet, 
But not s Toiee mine ear to greet ; 
Mero ne aar each turban I can scan. 
And nhm^eathed atai^n ; 1" «> 

The fell most of ibt band is aeen, 
An eaur by his gaxv of green i^ 
**nol who art &on }^4Um low salam <• 
BepUea of Moalan feMi I am. 
The berden ye so gently bear, 
Butins one timt claims your ntmost csre» 
Aad, dodbdaes, holds some preeioas freight^ 
Mr Iramble berk would glsAy wait." 



•• Tkon speakest sooth, thy skif im 
And irait ws from ttta dent shore : 



Nay, IsOTO Ifet osfl stfl feil*d sad ply. 
The nesrest oar that* B aeatler'd by ; 
And midway to thoss rocks whsrs sleep 
The dmnneU'd waters dark and deep. 
Best from yov teak so b ravely done» 
Onr conree has bsen right swiftly ran* 
Yet 'tis the longest voyage, I trow. 
That one of^" 



BnUen it phmg'd, and dowly eank, 
The calm wave rippled to the benk ; 
I wateh'd aa it eank, methonght 
Some motion from the eonrent canght 
Beetirr'd it more,— ^twaa but the beam 
That ehecker'd o'er the living etream : 
I gaaed, till vanishing from view, 
Like leesening pebble it withdrew ; 
Still leee and leee, a speck of white 
That gemm'd the tide, then mock*d the si^t} 
And all ite hidden eeerets aleep, 
Known bnt to genii of the deep. 
Which, trembling in their coral caves 
They tee not whisper to the waves. 
oeeeeeeo 

As rising on its purple wing 
The insect queen *' of eastern spring, 
O'er emerald meadows of Kasbmeer 
Invites the young pursuer near, 
And leads him on from flower to flower 
A weary chase and wasted hour, 
Then leaves him, as it soars on high. 
With panting heart and tearful eye : 
80 beauty lures the fell-grown child. 
With hue as bright, and wing as wild ; 
A chaae of idle hopes and fears. 
Begun in folly, closed in tears. 
If won, to equal ills betray'd, 
Wo waits the iniect and tiie maid— 
A Hfe of pain, the loss of peace. 
From infenf s play, and man's caprice . 
The lovely toy so fiercely sought 
Hath lost its charm by being caught. 
For every touch that wooed its stay 
Hath brush'd its brightest hues away. 
TiU, charm, and hue, and beauty gone, 
Tis left to fly or feu alone. 
With wounded wing, or bleeding breast^ 
Ah ! where shall either rictim rest ? 
Csn this with feded pinion soar 
From roee to tulip as before ? 
Or beauty, blighted in an hour, 
Find joy within her broken bower ? 
No ! gayer insects fluttering by 
Ne'er droop the wing o'er those that die, 
And lovelier things have mercy shown 
To every feOing but their own, 
And every wo a tear can claim 
Except an erring rister's shame, 
oeeeeeeo 

The mind, that broods o'er guilty woes. 

Is like the scorpion girt by flre, 
In circle narrowing aa it glowa, 
The flames around their captive eloee. 
Till, inly search'd by thousand throes. 

And maddening in her xr<», 



112 



BTBOXV WOBSS. 



One sad and sole nlief «b» kaovt* 
The sting she nomish'd for her foes. 
Whose Tenom nerer yet was vain, 
QiTes but one pang, and ooxes all paln^ 
And darts into her desperate brain : 
So do the dark in soul expire, 
Or live like soorpton girt by fire ; " 
So writhes the mind remorse hatii riTe% 
Unfit for earthy undoom'd for heaveni 
Darkness ahore, despair beneath, 
Axovnd it flame, within it death 1 
• ••#••«• 

Black Hassan from the haram flies. 
Nor bends on woman's form his eyes ; 
The unwonted chase each hour empk>y8. 
Yet shares he not the hunter's joya. 
Not thus was Hassan wont to fly 
When Leila dwelt in his Serai. 
Doth LeUa there no longer dwell ? 
rhat tale can only Hassan tell : 
Strange nunors in our city say 
Upon that Sffe she fled away, 
When Rhamasan's '^ last sun was set, 
And flashing from each minaret, 
Millions of lamps proolaim'd the foasi 
Of Bairam through the boundless east. 
'Twas then she went as to the bath, 
Which Hassan vainly searched in wrath } 
For she was flown her master's rage, 
In likeness of a Georgian page, 
And fsr beyond the Moslem's power 
Had wrong'd him with the faithless Giaour 
Somewhat of this had Hassan deem'd; 
But still so fond, so fair she seem'd^ 
Too well he trusted to the slave 
Whose treachery deserv'd a grave: 
And on that eve had gone to mosque, 
And thence to feast in his kiosk. 
Such is the tales his Nubians tell, 
Who did not watch their charge too well ; 
And others say that on that night. 
By pale Phingari's *> trembling light 
The Giaour upon his jet-black steed 
Was seen, but seen alone to speed 
With bloody spur along the shore, 
Nor maid nor page behLad him bore. 



Her eye's dark charm 'twere vain to telW 
But gase on that of the gazelle, 
It will assist thy fancy well ; 
As large, as langoishingly (huk. 
But soul beam'd forth in every spark 
That darted from beneath ike Ud, 
Bright as the jewel of Giamsohid.*^ 
Tea, aoul, and should our prophet say 
That form was nought but breathing elagr* 
By AUa ! I would answor nay ; 
Though on Al-Sirat's *i areh I stood 
Which totters o'er the fiery flood. 
With paradise within my view. 
And all his houris beckoning through* 
Oh ! who young Leila's glance could read 
And keep that portion of his creed *> 
Which saith that woman is but dost, 
A soulless toy for tyrant's lust ? 
On her might Muftis gaze, and own 
That through her eye the Immortal shoii« ; 



On her fiir flhsek'f wdMiiiir Mm 

The young ponegsaiiate's ** Uostoma stnv 
Their bloom In blushes ever new ; 
Her hair in hyaointhiiie m fl^yir, 
When left to vdl its folds bdow. 
As 'midst her handmaids in the hsil 
She stood superior to than all, 
Hath swept the marble n^ere her fbei 
Gleam'd whiter than the mountsin deet. 
Ere from the doud that gave it birtii 
It fell and caught one stain of earth. 
The cygnet nobly walks the water ; 
So moved on earth Cireassia's daughter. 
The loveliest bird of Franguestan ! » 
As rears her crest the ruffled swan, 

And spurns the wave with wings of pride 
When pass the steps of stranger man 

Along the banks that bound her tide ; 
Thus rose fair Leila's whiter neck : — 
Thus armed with beauty would she check 
Intrusion's glance, till folly's gaze 
Shrunk from the charms it meant to praise. 
Thus high and graceful was her gait ; 
Her heart as tender to her mate : 
Her mate—fitem Hassan, who was he ? 
Alas ! that name was not for thee ! 



Stem Hassan hath a Journey ta'on 
With twenty vassals in his train. 
Bach arm'd, as best becomes a man. 
With arquebuss and ataghan ; 
The chief before as deck'd for war. 
Bears in his belt the sdmetar 
Stained with the best of Amaut blood 
When in the pass the rebels stood. 
And few retum'd to tell the tale 
Of what befeli in Fame's vale. 
The pistols which his gurdle borft 
Were those that once a pasha wore, 
Which still, though gemm'd and bossM with gold. 
Even robbers tremble to behold. 
'Tis said he goes to woo a bride 
More true than her who left his side ; 
The faithless slave that broke her bower, 
And worse than faithless, for a Giaour ! 
• •••eeea 

The sun's last rays an on the hiU, 
And spsBrkle in this fowntain rill, 
WhMe weleMse wtteri, eeol and elear» 
Braw hlessiags tem this meontaineer f 
Here may the loitering merchant Greek 
Find that repose 'twere vain to seek 
In dties lodged too near his lord. 
And trembling for his secret hoard- 
Here may he reet where none can see. 
In crowds a slave, in deserts free; ' 
And with forbidden wine may stain 
The bowl a Moslem must not drain. 

The foremost Tartar's in the gap, 
Conspicuous by his yellow cap ; 
The rest in lengthening line the while 
Wind slowly through the long defile : 
Above the mountain rears a peak. 
Where vultures whet the thirsty beak« 
And theirs may be a feast to-night. 
Shall tempt them down ere morrow's %ht| 



Quoom. 



IM 




8nc diEste tittt ipriaff to 1 

Eadt side ^* miteay padi tbn» Uy 

By taae, cr toflwito» iightaiig mtoi 
Pioto aMtorito cted ia ndbto of VMT«a • 
For vhfln k heUwi tatk b«hdA 
Tki pedt el Lidkom «»T«a'd ? 

Thtj reftdi tlie groye of pm« at last: 
"BImfllah!* now the peril's psst; 
For yonder yiew the opening plsin, 
And tliere we 11 prick our steeds amain.'* 
Hie ChiaQS spkke, and as he said, 
A hvllet whistled o'er his head ; 
Ihe foremost Tartar bites the ground ! 

Searce had they time to check the rein, 
Swift from their steeds the riders bound ; 

Bnt three shall never mount again ; 
Unseen the foes that gaye the wound, 

The dying ask reyenge in yain. 
WiA steel unsheathed, and carbine bent, 
8oae o'er their courser's harness leant, 

Half shelter'd by the steed ; 
801^ fly heluBd the nearest rock, 
And there await the coming shock, 

Nor tamely stand to bleed 
Beneath tiie shaft of foes unseen, 
Who dare not quit their craggy screen. 
Stsn HassAn only from his horse 
Disdains to light, and keeps his course. 
Till fleiy flashes in the yan 
Proclaim too sure the robber-clan 
Have well secured the only way 
CouU now ayail the promised prey ; . 
Then carl'd his yery beard*' with ire, 
And glazed his eye with fiercer fire : 
"Thoogh fisr and near the bullets hiss, 
Fye soiped a bloodier hour than this. " 
And now the foe their coyert quit. 
And can hia yassals to submit ; 
Bmt Hassan's frown and furious word 
An dreaded more than hostile sword, 
KoT of his little band a man 
Beaign'd carbine or ataghan, 
Nor raised the eraven cry, Amaon ! * 
In ftiller sight, more near and near. 
The latdy ambuah'd foes ^pear, 
And, issuBg from the gtore, advance 
Some who on battie-charger pranee. 
Who leads them on with foreign brand, 
Far flashing in his red right hand ? 

" Tia he! 'tis he! I know him now ; 

I know bin by his pallid brow ; 

IknowbiQby thaerileya** 

That aids his enyiovs treacjkery ; 
I kiunr him by his jet-black barb : 

Though now array'd in Amaut garb, 
Apostate from his own vile faith, 

It shall act save him from the death : 

Tis he ! well met in any hour ! 

I^Mt LeiU's love, accursed Giaour ! " 

Am toUi the river into the ocean, 
In sable torrent wUdly streaming ; 

As the lea-tide's opposing motion, 
In aauze oofamn proudly gleamfaig, 
15 



Beats hMk iho fVMBt sny a iMi» 
In eurling foam and -»«i>g»«g flood* 
While eddyinc whirl, and bnakiag wave 
Boused by tho blast of wiift«, mto ; 
Through sparkling spray, fan thundering elith. 
The lightaings of tho watecs flash 
In Kwiak whHeneto o'er tho shore. 
Thai oUms aad shakos boaoath tho roar { 
Thus-«a tho stnam aad ooean greet. 
With waves thai madden as thsy mast— 
Thus Join tho hands, whom waatml wrong* 
And fato, and loiy, diiyo along. 
The bickertag sskres' shirering jsr ; 

And poaliiig wide or ftr^girtg near 

lU echoes on the throbWi^ ear. 
The death-shot haasmg from a£ur; 
The shook, tho shoot, tho groan ol war, 

Eeverberato along that yalo, 

More suited to tho shaphmd's talo: 
Though few the ■nmbmo thsfai tho otrifc^ 
That neithsr spares nor speaks for lilii I 
Ah! fondly youthfU hearts ean press, 
To sriso and share the dear caress ; 
But lore itself could never pant 
For all that beauty sighs to grant 
With half the fervor hate bestows 
Upon the last embrace of foes. 
When grappling in the fight they fold 
Those arms that ne'er shall lose their hoM: 
Friends meet to part ; love laughs at fidth ; 
True foes, once met, are join'd till death ! 

• eoeeeoo 

With sabre shiver'd to the hilt, 
Tet dripping with the blood he split: 
Tet strain'd within the sever'd hand 
Which quivers round that faithless brand | 
His turban Ibr behind him roll'd. 
And cleft in twain iu flnnost fold ; 
His flowiog robe by ialehien torn. 
And crisBson as those elonds of mom 
That, stroak'd with dasky red, portend 
The day shall hare a stoimy end i 
A stain on every bosh that bora 
A fhigment of hia palampore,'^ 
His breast with wounds uanumher'd lif^ 
His back to earth, his fMe to heavan, 
Fsllen Hassan lies— his nneloaed eyo 
Tet lowerhig on hia enemy. 
As if the hour that seal'd his fate 
Surviving left his qaonehloas hate ; 
And o'er him, bends that foe with brow 
As dark as his that bled beiow.— 
«**ooooo 

*« Yes, LeUa sleeps beneath the wave, 
But his shsU bo a redder grave ; 
Her spirit -painted weU tho steel 
Whieh taught that fek>n heart to feeL 
He call'd the Prophet, but his power 
Was vain against the Tongeftil Giaov : 
He oall'd on Alia— but the word 
Arose unheeded or unheaxd. 
Thou Paynim fool ! could Leila's prayer 
Be pass'd* and thine accorded there ? 
I watohed my time, I leagued with these, 
The traitor in his turn to seise ; 
My wrath is wreak'd, the deed is dene, 
And now I go— but go alone." 



114 



BTBOmi IIWEKS. 



The browiiDg eaoMlt' belli ai« tlakKag: 
His mother lo<4L*d from her Istttee Ugh, 

She nw the dew» of eve be^iiiikliiig 
The pasture gwen beneath her eye, 

She saw the planets fidntly twinUing: 
<• *Tis twOight-eore his train is nigh.*' 
She oould not net bx the gardnn bower, 
Bnt gased thxoogh the gnte of his steepest towor 
«<Whj cones he not? his steeds are fleet. 
Nor riurinh they ftom the enmnsr heat { 
Why sends not thebridegzoom his promised gift ) 
Is his heart more eold, or his baib less swifl i 
Oh, false repzoaoh 1 yon Tartsr now 
Has gain'd ou neareat mountain's faravr. 
And warily the steep deeoends. 
And now within the vaUsy bends; 
And he bears the gift at Us saddle-bow^ 
How could I deem hia eo w se r slow? 
Bight weUmy largess shall repay 
His weloome speed, and weary way/' 

The Tartar lighted at the e^te, 
But scarce upheld his fgdnting weight ; 
His swarthy Tisage spake distress, 
But this might be from weariness ; 
His garb with sanguine spots was dyed, 
But these might be from his courser's side ; 
He drew the token, from his Tes^— 
Angel of Death ! 'tis Hassan's cloven crest^^ 
His calpac '* rent— his caftan red— 
" Lady, a fearfid bride thy son hath wed ; 
Me, not for mercy, did they spare. 
But this empurpled pledge to bear. 
Feaoe to the braye ! whose blood Is spilt ; 
Wo to the Giaour! for his the guilt." 
«e*««e«e 

A turban * cerred in eoaieest stone, 
A pillar with rank weeds o'srgrown. 
Whereon can now bo seweely read 
The Koran verse that mootns the dead. 
Point ont the spot where Haaaan Ml 
A Tietim in that lonely dell. 
There sleeps as true an OsmanUe 
As e'er at Mecca beat the kneei 
A^ erer soom'd tobidden wine, 
Or prayed with fikee towards the shsfaw, 
In orisons reeomed anew 
At solemn sound of ««AlhiHnl'*» 
Yet died he by a stnmger's hand* 
And stranges' in Us aallte land ; 
Yet died be as in aima he stood. 
And unaTOnged, at least in blood. 
But him file maids of paradise 

Impatient to thefr hslls faiTite, 
And the dark heaven of Hovri's eyet 

On him shall glanee for ever bright ; 
They co m e diei r kercUefr green thqr msn^^ 
And weleoBM with a kisi the brafft ! 
Who Mb In batde 'gaiiMt n Giaonr 
Is worthiest an hnmntal bower. 



But then, (Use infldel! shalt writhe 
Beneath avenging Moiddr's" sqthe; 
And from its torment 'seape alone 
To wander round lost Eblis'<* thnme; 
A Are unquench'd, unquenchable, 
Aronnd, within, thy heart shall dwell; 
Nor ear eai^ hear nor tongue can tell 



The tortone of «M» hM«4 hen ! 
But first, on eeztii an vampire*' aeBt» 
Thy corse shall from its tomb he rente 
Then ghastly hauBt tiiy aa«lf« plasa» 
And suck the blood of aU thy sbob; 
There from thy danghter, smter, wtfi» 
At midnight drain ^e stiossn of Ufc; 
Yet loadie the banqnet whieh |i ■riiim 
Must feed thy Uvid living oosso: 
Thy victims ere they yet esptai 
Shall know the demon for iSubt sfae, 
As cursing thee, thou eursiiig them» 
Thy flowers are wither'd on tibe stem. 
But one that for thy crime must fall, 
The youngest, most beloved of all. 
Shall bless thee with a fiUkm'* name- 
That word ahall wrap thy heert in flauM . 
Yet must thou end tiiy tssk, and mark 
Her cheek's last tinge, her eye's last spark* 
And the last glassy glanoe must view 
Which freeses o'er its lifelees blue i 
Then with unhallow'd hand shalt tear 
The tresses of her yeUow hair. 
Of which in life a lock when shorn 
Affection's fondest pledge waa worn ; 
But now is borne away by thee* 
Memorial of thine agony I 
Wet with thine own best bkod shsll drip * 
Thy gnashing tooth and haggard Up ; 
Then stalking to thy sullen grave, 
Oo— «nd with Qouls and Afrits rave ; 
TUl these in horror shrink away 
From spectre more accursed than fbgf ! 



" How name ye yon lone Caloyer I 

His features I have scann'd before 
Inmine^wnland: 'tis many a year. 
Since, dashfag by the londiy shore, 
I saw him urge as fleet a steed 
As ever served a horseman's need. 
But once I saw that &oe, yet then 
It was so mark'd with invnird pain, 
I could not pass it by again ; 
It breathes the same dark spirit now, 
As death waa stamp'd upon his brow."* 

« 'Tis twice three years at summer-tide 
Since first among our freres he came ; 
And here it soothes him to abide 

For some dark deed he will not nasM. 
But never at our vesper prayer, 
Nor e'er before oonfiBasion dudr 
Kneels he, nor recks he when axise 
Incense or anthem to the skies, 
But broods within his cell akme, 
His lUth and race alike unknown. 
The sea from Paynim land he evosty 
And here ascended from the eoasti 
Yet seems he not of Othman raee. 
But only Christian in his (hce: 
I'd Judge him some stray renegade. 
Repentant of the change he made. 
Save that he shuns our holy shrink. 
Nor tastes the sacred bread and wine. 
Great largess to these walls he bron^t. 
And thus our abbot's fSuvor bought ; 
But were I prior, not a day 
Should brook such stranger's ftirthv iligf. 



no GIMI<IIB. 



lift 



Or yOBt «iftlB OTT pOHM^'Ml 

8h0iU doom kin tiMW ftr aye to itniL 
UmA m Mi vMbm nwlton ho 
Of miiiloa ifbtteM boMolh Oo mo ; 
Ofite ooclMli faiRfe— iyfa» 
Wnmgo wnat^tA, oBd Mooleai dfii^* 
Ob diff ko katk boM kamm to otnd, 
AoiiwvoootoMi 
Fraihoofcr*dfronitoi 
iB^&ilotoaUbathiB, 
Wkidi boakoBS onnod to kit gi«ro» 
Aad fanof to kqp iBto tho WBTO.** 
• •••oooo* 

CttkoadBMarfUyit tkooetort 

Tkst gioTCi koBBOl^ kk dBriij oowl: 

Tbo flaik of «MI dflotiBf «yo 

BoToob too BBdk of tkMO goBO kj ; 

TkoB^ VHTiBr, iBdMtoet in kat. 

Oft wOl kk glBMo tko goav HM, 

Fcr is ft kvkf tkoft BMBolMt opoH 

Wkieh 90oks, ftMlf «Bipoikabfe, 

A spkit yoft bA^mV d Mid Ugkf 

Tkot ekdnv Mid koops ooooBiMMy ; 

ABd liko tko kbd ipkooo piBlDBO «Miko, 

Bat ooiBBt fly Iko gMlBg SBoko, 

Wm oOoB <iBidl bMwolii kii kwk, 

Her "iKo^ tko gkBOo Ikey Mttoo MA knok. 

Fran kkB aie koU^oftlgktod friv 

WkoB nwt ofaao woold Mb ntko, 

As If tkot oyv nd WUer oriio 

T^BBafBR»d to otkoM inr nd Kofli : 

Hot oft to nrik JMMBdrtk ko» 

AaA «teB ko do«k »tfa Md to OM 

Tkat ke bat nooko Bl Bfcmy. 

Hmr tkat polo I9 iffiD eorl md q[BiTtr» 

UmB flx OBM toon M if fMOTM; 

As if kio Ofxiow «r dkdidB 

FcBbodo Urn o'or to Mrik aeoln. 

WoD irare H so— tBah gkM^ mirth 

F^POM jojoBBOo BO^or dMired ito Mitk 

But Mdda oiiB ft HMO to troM 

What OBBo imn fBiWwgt fa thot fcoo ; 

lime kolik not 70I tiko Ibotono flx'd, 

B«t bni^htor tadto liilh ovil aiz'd ; 

Aad tkMo aro koM BOt alwoji fiidtd, 

Wkkk spook o nfad not all dogndod 

Btcb by Iho MiniM tliioigk which H wadjd : 

The iwmBWB «Rnrd hot aw tbe gloom 

Of way w aid doodo, aad flttfaig doom ; 

Ike doM oboHvor oaa oapy 

A Bobls soul, oBd liaoogo kigk : 

Aha! thoBgkbolhbootow'dlaTain, 

WUck griof aoBld ahoBgOk «Bd goiU oodUl ttdB« 

It vaa BO Tolgar fmrnnrnt 

To «kieh Bo^ toltj fi^ WMo IcBt, 

Aad atm with titdo kM than droad 

Ob SBsk tbo i^^ ia ilrotod. 

Tkoiooiaao oot» dooay'd aad natf 

Wm aaano dday Iko poaaor by ; 
Tko towM ky iNB M loa^Mst beatt 
White yet may frowa OBO batttcBUBt, 

Bemaada aad daaato fko ttnagsr'i ^yo ; 
Sack iv&eA«nk, aad fiUar kmo, 
Flaada haaghtay far gkriM goao ! 



L 



■ Hia floating Toboanmad Um folding, 
8I01W i w oop iba «kn«|^ te ookmi'd aislo; 



Wltk dnad boheld, Htti t 

Tko ligkto that taaotiff Ao pBo. 
Bat akaa tk« aatkom sk^M tko ekofr. 
And knaol tko moaka, kia atopa loCkoi 
By yoBdar loBo aad woMdBg toaeh 
His aspeel ghoM withfai tho penk t 
Tkara will he pooM tiU an is d oao ■ 
Aad hear the prayer, b«t nttor aaao. 
6eo-by the halMUamkiod watt 
His hood fly book. Us dark kair ftdl, 
That pale broir widely moatlkiBg loaad. 
As if the Qorgoa tharo had boBBd 
The sableat of tho aMpsattoaid 
That o'M kw fMHrfal fcMkea staay'd : 
For ke deoliBM tko oOBToat ootk, 
And iMTM tkoM looka ankaUow'd growtk. 
Bat woaif ovr garb fai aU bosidos 
And, not ihna pio^ bat irido, 
GiTM wialth to walls tfiat BOVM hoard 
Of his oBoholy TOW aor wotd. 
Lo !— mark ye, m the harmony 
Peals kmdor praiste to the sky. 
That Urid eheek, that stony ak 
Of Bdz*ddaiaaM and despok 1 
Baait Franck, keep him from tho shiiBO, 
Bke may we dread the wrath diiriae 
Made manifest by awful sign. 
If erer eril angel bore 
The foran of mortal, such ho worn : 
By all my hope of sins fargiTon» 
Such looks are not of earth nor heoTen t ** 

To lore the softnt hearts are pion^ 
But sueh can ne'er bo all hk own ; 
Too timid in hk wom to share, 
Too meek to meet, or braro deapak; 
And sterner hoarto aloao Btay kel 
The wound that tiam eaa natot haaL 
The m^ed aietal of tho miao 
Must bum befbre its surfiMs shiae. 
But plunged within tho fiuaaoo-flaaaa. 
It bends and melta-4hough atiU tho aamo ; 
Then tempor'4 to thy want, or wiU^ 
rrwill senre thoe to defend or kill ; 
A breastplate for thine hoar of naed» 
Or blade to bid thy foeaua blood ; 
But if a dagger's fona it boai» 
Let thoM who shape its edge beware 1 
Thus paasion*s ire, aad woman's art» 
Can turn and tame the aterner heart } 
From thoM its form and tone aio to'ea« 
And what they make it, must 1 
But bieak<"before it b«id again. 



If aoUtBdo suoeoed to grief; 
Bokase from paia k sHght leliaf } 
The Taeant boaom's wildcraen 
Might thank the pang that made it kM. 
We loathe what none are left to share; 
Brea bliia 'twere wo aloao to bear ; 
The heart once left thus desolate 
Must fly at kst for ease— to hate. 
It k as if the dead could feel 
The icy worm around fhem steal, 
And shudder, as the reptilM ereep 
To xorel o'er their rotting sleep. 
Without the power to eeare away 
The oold eonsometa of thek eUy t 



lis 



BlfBOKIB WOBXS. 



Itii uff tiMdiNrt-Urd» 

Whose beftk unlockf her boaom's etreaia 

To still her fkmish'd nestlings' sereem, 
Nor mourns a life to them tnmsferr'd, 
Should rend her resh devoted breast, 
And ilnd them flown her emply^ nest. 
The keenest pangs the wretched find 

Are raptore to the dreary void, 
The leafless desert of the mind, 

The waste of feelings unemploy'd. 
Who would be doom'd to gaae upon 
A sky without a oloud or sun ? 
Less hideous far the tempest's roar 
Than ne'er to braTe the billows more--' 
Thrown, when the war of winds is o'er, 
A lonely wreck on fortune's shore, 
'Mid sullen calm, and silent bay, 
Unseen to drop by dull decay ;— 
Better to sink beneath the shock 
Than moulder piecemeal on the rock ! 

** Father ! thy days have pass'd in peace, 

ICid counted beads, and countless prayer ; 
To bid the sins of others cease, 

Thyself trtthout a crime or care, 
Save transient ills that all must bear. 
Has been thy lot from youth to age ; 
And thou wilt blese thee from the rage 
Of passions fleree and uncontroll'd. 
Such as thy penitents unfold, 
Whose secret sins and sorrows rest 
Within thy pure and pitying breast. 
My days, though few, hare pass'd below 
In much of joy, but more of wo ; 
Tet still in hours of lore or strife, 
I've 'scaped the weariness of life ; 
Now leagued with friends, now girt by foes, 
I loathed the languor of repose. 
Now nothing left to lore or hate, 
No more with hope or pride elate, 
I'd rather be the thing that crawls 
Most noxious o'er a dungeon's walls. 
Than pass my dull, unvarying days, 
Condemn'd to meditate and gaze. 
Tet, lurks a wish within my breast 
For rest— 4rat not to feel 'tis rest. 
Soon shall my fate that wish fi^fll ; 

And I shall sleep without the dream 
Of what I was, and would be still. 

Dark as to thee my deeds may seem ; 
My memory now is but the tomb 
Of joys long dead ; my hope, their doom : 
Though better to have died with those 
Than bear a life of lingering woes. 
My spirits shrunk not to sustain 
The searching throes of ceaseless pidn 
Nor sought the self-accorded grave 
Of ancient fool and modem knave : 
Tet death I have not fear'd to meet ; 
And in the fldd It had been sweet, 
Had danger woo'd me on to move 
The slave of glory, not of love. 
I've braved it— not for honor's boast ; 
I smile at laurels won or lost ; 
To such let others carve their way, 
For high renown, or hireling pay ; 
But place again before my eyes 
Aught that I deem a worthy priie, 



The maid I lovt, the man I hate ; 
And I will hunt the steps of fate, 
To save or slay, as these require. 
Through janding steel, and rollizig flie; 
Nor need'st thou doubt this speodi from one 
Who would but do— what he hath done. 
Death is but what the haughty brave, 
The weak must bear, the wretch must eravit ; 
Then let life go to him who gave: 
I have not quail'd to danger's brow 
When high and happy— need I now t 



" I loved her, friar ! nay adored— 

But these m words that all i 
I proved It more in deed than word: 
There's blood upon that dinted sword, 

A stain Its steel can never lose ; 
'Twas shed for her, who died for me, 

It warm'd the heart of one abhoir'd : 
Nay, start not-^o— nor bend thy knee. 

Nor midst my sins such act record ; 
Thou vrilt absolve me from the deed, 
For he was hostOe to thy creed! 
The very name of Naxaiene 
Was wormwood to his Paynim spleen. 
Ungratefrd Ibol ! since but fm brands 
Wall welded in some hardy hands, 
And wounds by Galileans given, 
The surest pass to Turkish heaven. 
For him his Houris still might wait 
Impatient at the prophet's gate : 
I loved hei^ove will find its way 
Through paths where wolves would imet to pny 
And if it dares enough, 'twere hard 
If passion met not some reward- 
No matter how, or where, or vrhy 
I did not vainly seek, nor sigh ; 
Tet sometimes, with remorse, in vain 
I wish she had not loved again. 
She died— I dare not tell thee how; 
But look — 'tis written on my brow; 
There read of Cain the curse and c 
In characters unworn by time: 
Still, ere thou dost condemn m 
Not mine the act, though I the < 
Tet did he but what I had done 
Had she been false to more than one. 
Faithless to him, he gave the blow ; 
But true to me, I laid him low : 
Howe'er deserved hor doom might bo, 
Her treachery was truth to me; 
To me she gave her heart, that all 
Which tyranny can ne'er enthrall ; 
And I, alas ! too late to save ! « 

Tet all I then could give, I gave, 
'Twas some reHef, our (be a grave. 
His death sits lightly; but her fhte 
Has made m»— what thou vrell ma/st hat*. 

His doom was seal'd— he knew it well, 
Wam'd by the voice of stem Taheer, 
Deep in whose darkly boding ear* 
The death-ehot peal'd of murder near. 
As filed the troop to where they fell ! 
He died too in the battle broil, 
A time that heeds nor pain nor toil ; 
One cry to Mahomet for aid. 
One prayer to Alia all he made : 



IIT 



I «Md vpoift Um nkm h* liy. 

no^^ fi»^d lik« fttd by kn 
Ha ftlt not half thai Mw I fccL 

I MBCll'd, but TWiBlj MM«h»4l» to ftid 

Tk» voifk^gs of AvovadedniBd; 
Ba^ featsn of tbftt mUtt MflM 
Belny'd Us nge, Imt BO rMMMb 
Oh, vbftt bad YeosMMtt gma to tnM 
Dopur vpoft Mi djt^ fMa ? 
Tba kte npoBtaMa of lliAt bov, 
Wba penStenct badi VMt ber powvr 
To tnr one tnnr from tbo ipATO, 
And niD not Motbo^oBd cuuiot mv*. 



**Tbe cold m clime are cold in blood, 
Tbflir lovo can aearco detcrre tho nana ; 

Batmina waa Hke the lara flood 
Tbalbofla in iBtna'a bxoast of flama. 

I aaanat pnte in poling strain 

Of ladTO-loTe, and beanty'a chain ; 

If fbinginc cheek, and scorching Tsin, 

Up§ taaght to writhe, tmt not comphin. 

If busting heart, and madd'ning brain. 

And danng deed, and Tengefol steel. 

And an that I haTC felt, and feel, 

Betoken hurc— ^at lore was mine. 

And shown by many a bitter sign. 

Tb trae, I conld not whine nor sigh, 

I kncar bat to obtain or die. 

I dia— bat flrst I have possees'd, * 

And. eoBM what may, I have been bleat 

Shall I the doom I sought npbraid ? 

W o roft of aB, yet nndismay'd 

Bat fcr the tfaooght of Leila slain, 

Oi?a ma the pleasure with the pain, 

So woold I live and lore again. 

I grieve, bat not, my holy guide ! 

Far him who dies, bat her who died : 

She alaqia beneath the wandering t> a f» " 

Ah! had aha bat an earthly grare, 

This breaking heart and tlurobbing head 

Shoold aeek and share her narrow bed. 

She waa a fbnn of life and light. 

That, seen, became a part of eight ; 

And rose, where'er I turned mine eye. 

The moniing-atar of memny 1 

"Yes, lore indeed is light Itom hearen ; 

A qpork of that inunotal fire 
With angela shared, by Alia given. 

To Hit hook earth our low desire. 
Devotion walla the mind abore. 
Bat heaven itadf deaeenda in love; 
A frding from the Godhead eanght. 
To wean from aelf each aordid thooght ; 
A my of him who focm'd the whole ; 
A ^ory circling roond the aeol 1 
I gnmt mf leva imperfrct, all 
That mortsls by the name miscall ; 
Then deem it evil,, what then wilt; 
Bat Bay, oh say, Aers waa not goiltf 
She waa my life's onerring light: 
That (piendi'd, what beam shall bieak my night ? 
Ok I woold it dione to lead me still, 
AMiOi«h to daiKllL or deadlimt in 1 



Why aHunrel ye, if they whelaat 
Thia pTtowitjoy, thia ftitnra hope. 
No mora with sorrow meekly eope ; 
In frenay than thefar fitto aeenae ; 
In madnaas do thoae f aarftil deads 

That aaaaa to add bat goilt to wo } 
Alaa! the braaat thai inly blaeda 

Hath naught to draad from oatwaid blow* 
Who frUs from all he knows of bliaa, 
Cares little into what abyaa. 
Fierce aa the ^oomy vultoze'a now 

To lhaa» old asan, my deeds appear: 
I read abhorrence on thy brow, 

And thia toe waa I bom to bear 1 
Tla trae that, Uke that bird of prey. 
With havoe have I mark'd the way : 
But thta waa tai^t ma by the dore. 
To die— and know no second love. 
Thia leeaon yet hath man to learn, 
Taaght by the thing ha daraa to span : 
The bird that sings within the hnJca, 
The awan that swima upon the lake. 
One mate, and one alone, will take. 
And let tike ImI still prone to ranga* 
And aneer on aU who cannot changay 
Partake hia jcat with boaating boya ; 
I envy not hia varied Joya, 
But deem each Cseble, heartless ma^ 
Leas than yon soUtary awan ; 
Far, far beneath the ahallow maid 
He left beUeving and betray'd. 
Such ahame at least was never mine- 
Leila! e&ch tiiooght waa only thine I 
Hy good* my guilt, my weal, mj wo, 
Hy hope on high— my aU b^w. 
Berth holda no othar like to thee» 
Or, if it doth, in vain for me : 
For worlds I dare not view the dame 
Besembling tiiee, yet not the same. 
The very Crimea that mar my youth. 
This bed of death-«ttest my truth ! 
'Tis aU too late-thoa wert, thon ait 
The oheriah'd madness of my heart ! 



■« And ahe waa lost— and yet I breathed. 

But not the breath of human life ; 
A serpent round my heart was vrreathed* 
And stung my every thought to strife. 
Alike all time, abhoir'd all place. 
Shuddering I shrunk from nature's fhoe. 
Where every hue that charm'd before 
The blackness of my bosom wore. 
The rest thou dost already know. 
And all my ains, and half my wo. 
But talk no more of penitence ; 
Thou see'st I soon shall port from hence^ 
And if thy holy tale were true, 
The deed that's done can'st thou undo ? 
^Think me not thankless— but this grief 
Looka not to priesthood for relief.^ 
My soul's estate in secret guess : 
But wouldst thou pity more, say less. 
When thou canst bid my Leila Uve, 
Then will I sue thee to forgive : 
Then plead my cause in that high place 
Where purchased maasea proffer grace. 
Oo, when the hunter's hand hath wrong 
From forest-cave her shrieking young, * 



118 BTBOiri WOBXS. 


jUkd ofOm the londf UoiMM : 


Which now I giae en» as oft ter. 




Who look'd sad loeka ftr lovdiv ; 




Dimly I view its tnmbttQg spark. 


•• In Mrlior dftjB, and calmer hcran, 


To-moRow*s night shafi be more tefc 


W1m& heart with heart delighta to bte4» 


And I, before its rays eppesr. 


"Where blcxmi my natire Tallcy'a bowers, 


That lifelees tUng Dm bvingter. 


Ihad-«h! haT6lxkow?-«ftieiid! 


I wander, fittlier t ibr aqr Ml 
Is fleeting towards the &ua goaL 


To Um thia pledge I charge thee aend, 


Memorial of a youthftil tow ; 


I saw her, friar! and I rose 


I would remind him of my end : 




Though aonlB absorbed like mine allow 


And rushing frommy eosMh, I dnil. 


Brief thought to distant ftiendihip*^ claim, 


And cbwp her to my desperste hMrt; 


Tet dear to him my blighted name. 


I clasp-what is it that I deep ? 




No breathing fcim wUildsi My gmp. 




No heart thatbeata reply |o mSa^ 


When prudence would hia Toioe aeaume, 


Tet, Leila ! yet ttie form is Diinel 


And warn— I rcck'd not what-the wUte : 


And art thou, dearest, changed io mek* 


But now remembrance whispers o*er 


As meet my ^e, yet mock my touch } 


Those aocenta scarcely mark'd before. 


Ah ! were thy beauties e'er so cold. 


Say— 4hat his bodings came to pass, 


I care not ; so my arms enfold 


And he wni start to hear their tratii, 


The all they ever wish to hoUL 






Tell him, unheeding as I was. 


They shrink upon my lonely breast ; 


Through many a busy bitter scene 


Tet stm 'tis there ! in silence stands. 


Of all our golden youth had been, 


And beckons with beseeching hands 1 


In pain, my faltering tongue had tried 




To bleea his memory ere I died ; 


I knew 'twas false— ^e could not die ! 


But Heayen in wrath would turn away. 


But he is dead! within the ddl 


If guilt should for the guiltless pray. 


I saw him buried where he feU; 


I do not ask him not to blame, 


He comes not, for he cannot break 


Too gentle he to wound my name ; 


From earth ; why then art thou awake ? 


And what haTc I to do with fiune ? 


They told me wild wares roU'd above 


I do not ask him not to mourn, 


The face I view, the form I love ; 


Such cold request might sound like scorn ; 


They told me— 'twas a hideous tale ! 


And what than friendship's manly tear 


I'd teU it, but my tongue would fail : 


May better grace abrother's bier f 


If true, and i^rom thine ocean-cave 


But bear this ring, his own of old. 


Thou eom'st to daim a calmer grave, 


And t«iU him^^hat thou doet behold : 


Oh I pass thy dewy fingers o'er 


The withered frame, the ruin'd mind, 


This brow that then will bum no moce ; 


The wrack by passion left behind, 


Or place them on my hopeless heart : 


A shxiireU'd scroU, a scatter'd leaf, 


But, shape or shade ! whate'er thou ai^ 


Sear'd by the autnnm blast of grief! 


In mercy ne'er again depart ! 


• ««eee«« 


Or fturther with thee bear my soul. 




Than winds can waft or waters roll I 


** Tdl me no more of fancy's gleam, 




No, father, no, 'twas not a dream ; 


** Such is my name, and such my tale. 


Alas I tha dreamer first must sleep. 


Confessor 1 to thy seeret ear 


I only watch'd, and wiah'd to weep ; 


I breathe the aotrows I bewail. 


But oould not, for my burning brow 


And thank thee fior the generous tmt 


Throbb'd to the very brain as now : 


This glasing eye could never shed. 


I wish'dbut for a single tear, 


Then lay me with the humblest dead. 


As something welcome, new, and dear: 


And, save the cross above my head. 


I wish'd it then, I wish itstUl ; 




Despair is stronger than my will. 


By prying stranger to be read. 


Waste not thine orison, despair 


Or stay the passing pilgrim's tread." 


Is mightier than thy pious prayer 




I would not, if I might, be blest; 


He pass'd^-Aor of his name and taoe 


I want no paradise, but rest. 


Hath left a token or a trace. 


Twas then, I tell thee, father ! then 




I saw her ; yes, she lived again ; 


Who shrived him on his dying day : 


And shining in her white symar,* 


This broken tale wus all we knew 


As through yon pale gray cloud the star 

• 


Of her he loved, or him he slew.* 



NOTES TO THE GIAOUIL 



•OMB myiw— d ttt Mfralchre of ThemktoolaB. 



Pag« 108» liM 1«. 
•f «h« aithftfamUtotlMraMk 
AMe. If raitot«k«ii«t» th« 
' w QB9 of ]us appal- 




fagelOO, line a. 
Tte gater is tiM aoiMtaat Manti— it of tfbe 
* ailor bjwght: with a steady iUrwl»l»MiA 
a eofai, it is aeoonpsaied atwajs by tho 
by- - 



pJolAiliM44. 

• JIgr, M l» dt «d g» v» kwv Ml wkMb 

l»fcfctaM III III.* 

M m iii>>r M iii i, Aol UL M^ 9t.% 



Pago 109, Hm 62. 
I tawl tlutt Um of my loadnt hmy eror had aa 
oppoftaaxty of witnessiBg what Is have attamptad 
ia deacxipttofB, hat those who hare, will probably 
letaia a paiafUnoieiabraaee of that aiaanlar beaa^ 
whidi Mnradea, with few eaoaptlsBa* Oa featuraa 
of 'fte «ead, a km honxa, and bat for a few hooza, 
•■iilsr the apbit k aot tiiera." It ia to be le- 
\ la eaaoa of vfoloat dealh by goashot 
f the aapieaaina ia alwaya that of laagaery 
w the aatazal aae ig/ of the •otecr'a ehar- 
bat ia death froaa a stab, the eoaateaaaee 
Tea ita traita of fteia% or fctod^, aad the 
litabiaatotheUst. 

e. 

IT, tks btmdamen of a «2ass. 

Page 109, liae 114. 



Pi^ 110, line as. 
Jeme^ «v UmM, a blvaisd Taifcish Jaielfa, 
whioh is darted frm hotsebeekwith neat fifoe nA 
pndsioa. It is a &TOrite exercise of the Moseol- 



i: bvtIkaowBot if it eaa be eanedasMafo 
oae, tfaee the nwet expert ia the art are the Blaeh 
Saaachs of Coastaatiaople. I thiah, asat ttlhian 
a ICaalovk at Setyiaa wee the aaiet akilAil that 
withJaaynbaaiTatiea, 

10. 
JTe mm$^ k$ waf , lik§ rt# waissai. 

Page 110, line Ua. 
The Uaet «f «a deesBt, fhtal t» ofOiytfaiBg lffta«, 
aaaofloaaUadadtoiaeaBtaaoeteT.^^ ^^ 



\ la the vropertv of the Kislar Aga, (the 
daevaef the eeragiio and goaidiaa of the women,) 
te the WaywDoe. A pander aad eu- 
are not polite, yet trae appellatioiie— 
■ow jasems the ffovemor of Athens I 



'IVieiriMirilfla tkm ktarL w cw M O saoa r . 
AgeT0Q,]iBea4. 

8. 

AgeU6,]lae09. 
"Ttopfadke," vmslLet— The Bairam ia awaaaaeed 
hrOa eaaaoa at vaaeBt; ths ilhnaiaatina o<^a 
Moaqoee, aad Um ftiiaa of an kiaAi of amaU MM, 
Isated wiOi tell, pioi^Sm it doriag the aight 



11. 
A Nm tiU aasrwl •< 6««ad ami saft." 

Page 111, Uae Ida. 
To pertake of food, to break bread aad aalt with 
Toar hoet, iasaras the safbty of the gneat; erea 
thoagh aa enemy, his person from that moBseat is 
safireo. 

11 
kia fartea wa$ Mt fly Me MWs aeam; 
Pagelll,]iae01. 
I need hardly obaerve, that Charitf aad Hospi 
tality are the Irst dnties eigoined by Uahomet, 
aad, to say troth, Tory geaexally practised by Ua 
disdples. The ttnt praise that can be bestowed o& 
a ehief is a paaegyric on Us bonnty; the next, oa 
hisTalor. 

UL 
jIh^ fifar eilsirfAaf efnsfAaa- 

Page 111, line M. 
The atMhaa» aloag dagger worn with piatola ia 
the belt, ba metal seehberd, geaeraUy of riltw; 
id, amei^ the wealthier, gilt, or of gold. 

U. 

Jia SMeT off mt9 pOlf9 w_^^MSPk 

Page Ulf JIM pa. 
Oresn ia the privileged eolor of the prephet't 
nnmsrona pretended deeeendants: with them, aa 
here, frith (the frmily inheritaaoe) ia snppoaed to 
sapgaede me neee arity of yod works ; they are the 
wecat of a very indiftrent brood. 

la. 

Hot who oH thorn f'^hUkwmUmi. 

Page HI, line aa. 
Salam aleikoom aalsmt peaoe be with Toa; he 
with yon p e ace ■ the aalutatioa rsaenad for tie frith* 
ftil:<— to a Cbzistiaa, ''UHarnla,** a good Jooraeyt 
or eaban hiresem, saban serala; good mom, geoa 
eren ; aad aometimea, "auiy yoor end be happy ! ** 
are the naoal aalntes. 

la. 

TKo fa se of -gaesa of OBuUm apHnf, 

Page ,111 line 9S. 
The bhie-wiiMad battoKfly of Kariuaear, the moat 
laia a«d beaaCiral of the speciea. 



120 



B)eltON'B WOBXS. 



17. 



Or Uve Uke acorpion girt hfffirt. 

Page 112, Une 7. 
AUading to the dubious fuieide of the scorpion, 
•o placed for experiment by gentle philosopners. 
Borne maintain that the position of the sting, irhen 
turned to^rards the head, is merely a convulsiTe 
moTement ; but others have actually brought in the 
verdict, "Felo de se." The scorpions axe sulely 
interested in a speedy decision of the question; as, 
if once fairly established as insect Catos, they ivill 
probably be allowed to live as long as they thiak 
poper, vrithout being martyred for the sake of an 
nypothesis. 

18. 
Whm Rhemagan** kui stm wag $ti. 

Page 112, line 23. 
The eannon at sunset dose the Bhamaaan. See 
•oteS. 

19. 
By paU Phinaari's trembUng UghL 

Page Inline 42. 
Phingari, the moon. 

20. 
Bright aa thsjewd of CHatntoMd. 

Page 112, line ^. 
The celebrated fabulous ruby of Sultan Oiamschid, 
the embellisher of Istaklkar; irmh. Hs splendor, 
named Schebgerag, '*the torch of night;" also, 
« the cup of the sun." &o.-*-In tiie nrst edition, 
«( Qiamscnid " was wzxtten as a word of three syl- 
lables, BO D'Herbelot has it; but I am told Rich- 
ardson reduces it to a dissyllable, and writes ** Jam- 
ahid." I have left in the text the orthography of 
the one with the pronunciation of the other. 

21. 
Though on Al»Sirat*a arch I Hood. 

Page 112, line 68. 
Al-Sirat, the bridge of breadth less than the 
thread of a famished spider, over which the Mus- 
sulmans must sktUo into paradise, to which it is the 
only entrance ; but this is not i^ worst, the river 
beneatii being hell itself, into which, as may be ex- 
pected, the unskilful and tender of foot contrive to 
tumble with a '* facilis descensus Avemi," not very 
pleasing in prospect to the next passenger. There 
U a shorter cut downwards for the Jews and Chris- 
tians. 

22. 
And keep that portion of hie creed, 

'Pagell2,line«3. 
A vulgar error : the Koran allots at least a third 
paradise to well-behaved women; but by &t the 
greater number of Mussulmans interpret the text 
ueir own way, and exclude their moieties from 
heaven. Being enemies to Platonics, they cannot 
discern " any fitness of things " in tiie aouls of the 
other sex, conceiving them to be superseded by the 
HoQiis. 

23. 
The young pomegrunate^e bloasome etrew, 

v-r- -y p^^ ^2, line 69. 

An oriental simile, which may, perhaps, though 
fafarly stolen, be deemed '' plus Arabe qu'en Arabic." 

24. 
Her hair in hyacinthinejiow. 

Page 112, line 71. 
Hyadnthine, in Arabic, " Sunbul ; " as common 
ft thought in the eastern poets, as it was amoug the 
Chneeks. 

25. 
The lovelieet bird of Franguestan. 

Page 112, line 81. 
"Fhmgnestan/' Ciroassia. 



26. 
BiemiUaht now 



the periPe poet, 

Pagell8,l]ne92. 



Bismfflahr*<'lA ^e name of God;" th« eon* 
mencement of aU the chapters of the Korea b«t 
one, and of prayer and thanksgiving. 

27. 
Then eurVd hie very beard teith ire. 

Page 118, Une 87. 
A phenomenon not nnoommon with an angry 
Mussulman. In 1809, the Capitan Pacha's wUe- 
kers, at a diplomatio audience, were no less lively 
with indignation than a tiger cat's, to the horror of 
all the dragomans; the portentous mustaehloe 
twisted, they stood erect of their own accord, and 
were expected every moment to change their oo]or» 
but at last condescended to subside, which, prob^ 
bly, saved more heads than they contained haln 



28. 
Nor roieed the craven 



1\ 



age US, line 47. 
" Amaun,'* quarter, pardon. 

29. 
I know himhy the eeU eye. 

Page 113, line 88. 
The **«vil eye," a common snpstftfttioii in tta 
Levant, and of which the imaginary ellbots aie yet 
very singular, on those who ooneelve themaekvee af- 
fected. 

80. 

A. fragmant of hie ptilninporB» 

Page 113, line 111. 
The flowered shawls, generally worn by psraons 
of rank. 

8L 
Hie ealpae r e nt— hk arfkm red. 

Page 114, line 29. 
The " oalpao " is the solid cap or centre part of 
the head-dress ; the ahaid is wowid lowid It, aad 
forms the turban. 

82. 
A twhan carved m coareeet etone. 

Page 114, line 88. 
The turban, pillar, and inscriptive verse, deeorata 
the tombs of the OsmanUes, whether in the < 



tery or the wilderness. In the mountains ^ou tr^ 
quently pass similsr mementos ; and, on m(^uiiy, 
you' are mfbrmed, that they record somo victim of 
rebellion, plunder, or revenge. 

38. 
Aisoienrneoundof^'AJlaHuI*' 

Page 114, line 47. 
" Alia Hu ! " the concluding words of the Mues- 
sin's call to prayer from the highest gallery on tiie 
exterior of tne minaret. On a still evening, wh/tai 
the Muezsin has a fine voice, which is freouentl; 
the case, the effect is solemn and boaataA&L oeyona 
all the bells in Christendom. 

84. 
They co me their kerchief e green they wave, 
Pi^^U4,liBeM. 
The following is part of a battle-song of th* 
Turks :— <* I see— I see a dark-eyed girl of pandoMt 
and she waves a handkerchief, a kerSdef of fluiiimi 
and cries aloud. Come, kiss me, for I love tiiea,** 
etc. 

85. 
Beneath avenging KbnAtr's eeythe* 

Page 114, Una 82. 
MonUr and Nekir aie the in^iaitan Af Aa desid* 
before whom the corpse undergoes a alight novitiat« 
and preparat<n7 training for danmation. If the mor- 
swers are none of the clearest, he is hauled up with a 
scythe and thumped down with a red-hot maoe tiU 
properly seasoned, with a variety of subsidisry pro- 
bations. The office of tiiese aaoels is no sineoore ; 
there are but two, and the number of orthodox de* 
ceased being in asmall propartion to the remaind«r« 
theh hands axe always nilL 



N0TB8 TO THX iHAOXm 



121 



tte Oiiemtel PriiM* of BwknMt. 



1%e Yuapirt nmntitioa ii ttiU general in tke 
Lenut. HanestT^nznefortteUi ft long story, whieh 
Mr. Sootliej, in tbe notes on ThftlabM^notes. about 
tbew *' Ynmoolochfts," as he ealls them. The Bo- 
mue term k '« YardouUeha." I reooUeet a whole 
funily bein^ tamJIed by the scream of a child, 
wbiu th«r **"*c*^^ most proceed from such a Tisi- 
tetisn. ThA Greeks netrer mention the word with- 
esthoczor. I find that «Broneolokas*' is an old 
k^itiBate Hellenic appellation— at least is so ap- 
phed to Azeenins, who, according to the Greeks, 
¥is alter his deatk animated by Ihe DeriL— *1)ie 
ae the word i mention. 



PagelU,lfie96. 

The freshness of the fiiice» and the wetness of tiie 
fip with blood, are the nerer-failing signs of a Yam- 
poe. The stories told in Hunganr and Greece of 
these fiml fcedcra are singnlsr, and some of them 
mast McndOJ^ attested. 



The 

Oe 



Page 116, ] 



1 7. 



Ii, I believe, the bird ao KbeOed, by 
I of feeding her chickens with her 



40. 
X)M9 111 tA40ei dbrtfcf Aodfatf eeir* 

Pagelie, Ibie 1». 



ition of a second-heuins (f# I 

_bt seoond-sight in tne east) fell 
my "own obserTation.-^)n my third 
r to Cape Colonna early in 1811. as we pnssed 
the defile that leadb from tne hamlet be- 
tvenTKeratiar and Colonna, I obeerred Derrish 
Tahiri riding zather oat of the path, and leaning 
bii head upon his hand, as if in pain. I rode up 
aad inqmzed. **We are in peril,'' he answerea. 
''What peril ? we are not now in Albania, nor in 
the passes to Bpheeos, Mceeahinghi, or Lepanto; 
Acre are plenty of us, well anned. and the Choriates 
kne not courage to be thieres.''— " True, Afiendi, 
bat nerertheless the shot is ringing in my ears.** 
*'The shot! not a tophaike has been fired this 
moning.'*-^' I hear it notwithstanding^— Bom — 



HaraldtCnteM. Iwaaati 

the man, and he described the ( , 

marks of the horaesof our party so accoiately, that* 
with other drcumstancss, we could not doubt of Ait 
hsTing been in *'Tillainous company,*' and our> 
scItcs in a bad neighborhood. iMrnsh become n 
soothsayer for life, and I dare say is now hearing 
more musketrr than ever vrill be fired, to the gnat 
refreshmsnt of the Amaouts of Berat, and his na- 
tive mountains.— I shall mention one trait more of 
this singular race. In March, 1811. a remarkably 
stout and active Amaout came (I believe the tenta 
on the same errand) to oiEBr himself as an attend- 
ant, which was declined: *< Well, Aifendi." quoth 
he, ** may you live !— you would have ftmna me use- 
All. I shall leave the town for the hills to-moRow, 
in the winter I letum, perhaps you will then receiTe 
me.'*— >]>ervish, who was preeent, remarked, as a 
thing of couise, and of no consequence, *' In the 
mean time he will join the Klephtes," (robbers,) 
which was true to the lettsr.— Ifnot cut o£ ther 
come down in the winter, and paas it uamoiestea 
in some town, where they are often as wdl knows 
as ttetr exploits. 

41. 

Page mf^ 198. 
The monk's sermon is omitted. ItseemstohaTO 
had so little efiect upon the patient, that it could 
have no hopes from ne reader. It may be sufficient 
lo say, that it was of a customary lensth (as may 
be poceived) from the interruptions ana unes * 
of the penitent,) and was delivered in the 
tone of all orthodox preachers. 

41. 

Am^ Mmmg an ktr whiU tymar. 

Page 118, line ft. 
«8ym»'*— shroud. 

43. 

Page 118, line 121. 
The circumstance to which the abore story v^ 
Utes was not very uncommon in Turkey. A fow 
years ago the wife of Muchtar Pacha complained to 
nis Ihther of his son's supposed infidelity; he asked 
with whom, and she had the barbarity to give in a 

inTa 



I plainly as I hear your voice."—** Pshaw." 
*'Asyoai^eBscAilbiidi| if it is written, so wiU it 
be."— I Idt th£i quick-eared predeetinarian, and 
rode UD to Basilit his Christian compatriot, whose 
ean, thooffh not at all prophetic, by no meana rel- 
ished tfie mtelliffenee. We all arriTed at Colonna, 
remaxned some hours, and returned leisurely, say- 
ing a ^vaiistr of brilliant thinfts, in more laagucgcs 
than spoilea the building of Babel, u^on the mis- 
taken seer I Bomaic» Aniaout, Turkish, Italian, 
aad Engliah were all exercised, in Tarious conceits, 
vpon the uafortunate Mussulman. Whfle we wen 
eontem^ating the beautifril pro8x>eet. Dervish was 
occup i ed about the columns. I tiiooaht he vras de- 
ranged into an antiquarian, and aakea him if he had 
become a • PyoceosiTO ' man : « No," aaid he, •* but 
these pEDan wiU be useful in making a stand;" 
aad added other remarks, which at least evinced his 
ovn belief in his troublesome fttcnlty o^brs-AeoriM. 
Oa OUT return to Athens, we heaitl from Leone (a 
irisoaer set aahose some days alter) of the intended 
attadt of the Mainotes, mentioned, vrith Ae caose 
If iu net taking plaoOk in the notsa to CUIde 
16 



Hat of the twelve handsomest women 
They were seized, fastened up in sacks, and drowa* 
ed in the lake the same night ! One of the guards 
who was present informed me, that not one of thn 
victims uttered a cry, or showed a s ymptom of ter> 
ror at so sudden a '* wrench ftwm all we know, irom 
all we love.*' The (ate of Phrosine, the foirsel ol 
this sacrifioc, is the subject of many a Romaic and 
Arnaont ditty. The story in the text is one told 
of a young Venetian many years ago, and now 
nearly forgotten. I heard it by accident recited by 
one of the coffee-house story-tellers who abound in 
the Levant, and sing or recite their naiialieeSi 
The additions and interpolations by the translatoar 
will be easily distinguished from the rest by the 
want of Eastern imagexr ; and I regret that m^ 
memory has retained so few flragmenti of the origi- 
nal. 

For the contents of some the notes I am indebted 
partly to D'Herbdot, and partly to that most ea«^> 
Srn, and, as Mr. ^^ ' -*- -^-* '^ " --" 



Mr. Weber Justly entitles it, *< i 
talc," the « Caliph Yathek.'^ I do not know from 
what aouice the author of that singular volume 
may hare drawn his materials: some of his inci- 
dents are to be found in the '* Bibliotheque Orien- 
tale; but for conectnese of costume, beauty of 
deseilption, and power of imagination, it fiur sur* 
passes aU European imitations ; and bears such 
marks of originality, that tiiose who have visited 
the East, will find some difilculty hi believing it to 
be more than a translation. As an Eastern tal*, 
even Basselas must bow before it; his "Hapnr 
Valley" wiU not bear a con^arison with the « Hall 
•f Bbll*." 



THE BRIDE OF ABYDOS; 

A TURKISH TALE. 






to 
THE RIGHT HONOBiwBLE LORD HOLLAND, 

THIS TALB 18 IVMaOBBOy 

8XVTIXBKT 07 KBOAKD AMB EB8FB0T» BT Kit ftB4VDin&T 
AM9 SniQtMM ntlBlTDy 

BTBON. 



CANTO I. 



Kvow ye th« Und wkere the cypreas and myrtle 
Are eaLUems of deeds that are done In their elimet 

Where the rage of the Tohore, the lore of the turtle, 
Now melt into aonow, now madden to crime ? 

Know ye the land of the oedar and tine, 

Where the flowers erer blossom, the beama ever 
shine; 

Whan the lif^t wfngs of Zephyr, oppreaa'd with 



Wax Mnt o'er the gardena of 061^ In her bloom ; 
Whet« Hie eitroA and olire are fkireat of fruit, 
And the voice of the nightingale never Is mute ; 
Where the tinta of the earth, and the hues of the sky, 
In color though varied, in beauty may vie, 
And the pvple of oeeaa is deepeet in dye ; 
Whtte Hm virglna are soft as the roeee ^ey twfaie, 
And an, save the aplrlt of man, is divine? 
'tis the clime of theBaat; 'tis the' land of the lun— 
Can he smile on such deedi as hia ohildrea have 

done?' 
Ok ! wild as the eocents of lovera' toeweU 
Aye the hearta which they bear, and the tales wUeh 

I theytell. 

* U. 

Begirt with many a gallant alave, 

Apparril'd aa beoomea the brave, 

Awaitfaig eaeh hia lord'e beheet 

To gaide hia atepa, or guard hia nat. 



Old OiaOr eat fin hia IXvan : 
Deep thought was in hia aged eye ; 

And though the &ce of Muasulmtin 
Not oft betr^ to staadess by 

The mind vrithin, wdl akfll'd to Ud« 

An but unoonquerable pride, 

His pensive cheek and pondering teow 

Did more tiiaa he vraa wont avow. 

III. 

'Let the dmmber be eleatU''-The teiia dta 

pear'd— 
" Now call me the chief of the Haram guaxC* 
With GiaiBr la none but hia only son. 
And the Nubian awaiting the ahe'a aaravd. 
« Harean— when aU the crowd timt vrait 
Are paaa'd beyond the outer gate, 
(Wo to the head whoae eye beheld 
My child Zuleika's ihce unveU'dl) 
Henoe, lead my daughter i^om her to i m. ; 
Her £ate la fiz'd thia vecy hear : 
z et not to her lepeat my Isongfat { 
By me alone be duty taught !** 

" Pacha! to hear is to obey/' 
«No move mnat alave to dei^ My- 
Thea to the tower had ta'ea hia vi^t 
But here young Selfan aHenee bukOy 
Vket lowty rendering reyeranee maet } 




My ililv, mhrnmStim gvldat 

I ftH liqr frovM Mil 

Ite Mm* waMM •flaad M 
WMi 1MMM to Iktoi and rsply 
To though wititi vUdk my liMTt biat Uglb 
W«irkiimiw 4hg niMteTag ayood, 
4b Hwdi I km B«t MlitaaB ; 

Aad, as tiMU kMHWl ^atlbv m« 
8o«B toM ^ Hnni's gntfag k«f , 
Bfltee &• gmdlMi ahmi sv»k« 
We t» ftsCTpnM gicfTw httd flowm* 
Aad aada tn^ hmIb, nd kMTW •« MB. 
Then lng«M wb, begafisd tookng 
Witk Mi^oai's tdft, or Sadi's Mug ; • 
TSn I» lAo iMHd the dMp tunban 4 
Beet liy DivHi'e eppioeeUng &««• 
To Am, end to mf daty tmoi 
Wim'd by tiMoeiad, to poet t i ne i o w; 
Bull 
Hiy,! 

Tkit HMO on ficne that I 
BittibDOOvtei 



IV. 

•*8oK «r o ohm r-49io Podn ooid* 
"PiniBii osbeliovlBg smimIK ond^ 
TaiiiiiOKe « fkHiM^o hope to 000 
Ao^t that beoooBo a man in thoo. 
Tboo, viMA Hum am alKrald bend tbo bow, 
Asd bnd the dait, and onb Ike otood» 
Tboo, Qcoek Ilk oool if not ta onodt 
Hast pore who 
AaiiralekaBfoldfaig] 
Woaid tiiat yon flfb, n^ooo Moiis gkfv 
Tky Botttoe eyee eo moeh adnivo, 
Vodd Ind «ee eonotUi^ of Ui ioet 
TboB, ivfao iioaUUt 000 tlile battlMMBt 
By Cbnotini eoBDOtt pisoflOMol rent $ 
Hay, taadj Tiew old Stambol'o wal 
BoAbb Hio digi of Koooow Ml, 
Nor slnke OBO itroke te life and dwdli 
AgaiBrt tbe eon of Waarotk 1 
Qo-^ Iky Ion Aoa wvnaaa'e band 
Aanuao tbe dkta#-«at Oo broAd. 
But, HsioBB !— to my daa^Mter ofood: 
And IttA-offtinewra hood toko hood- 
If thw Zolnka oft takeo irinff- 
Tho« wart joa boiv^t hath a ctriag ! " 

T. 

9o OQvad fren Selirn'o Bp woo hooid, 
At looi tittt met old CHaOr^ oor, 

But ofnj fromi end ofoiy word 

Pteood benn than m Ohxiotin'o ovoid. 
<• 8oa oC aihwot lojiioaeh'd vfHi terl 
Thote c^ bad eoot aaoOMr door. 

gon<rfatli;fe\ andwifcoay Ao?** 
Thn bdd Uo ihoeiikte tMr doA OMOw ; 




ut 



AadgtaMoo 



Old OlBife fOMd ^oa Mo OM 

A»dot«tod| tevitUnhlooyv 
Ho nod how midb bla wiatib hath doM I 
Ho oawfoboQlMi thaae b^pmt 



Imi 

B«t 

But If Ay bond had 

And if Ay hnd had 



n 



■Mvlo^ 



rdjoy to 000 Aoo brook al 



On SoUm'e eye ho Anooly goaodt 

That eye rotun'd him flaaeo far glaaoo, 
And proodly to hk eiio'e WM mioed, 

TBI Qiaflr'o ^oafl'd and Awnk ■■bwoo 
And why— he fslt, bat dniot not ton. 
•*Mneh I miidonbt thio wayward boy 
WiU one day work mo more oanoy : 
I never lofod him firom hie births 
And— bnt hie ann la little worth. 
And eeerooly in the ehaao ooold oopo 
WiUi timid Ibwn or antelope. 
Far laoo would Tontnre into ettift 
Where man eontonde ibr ftme and Bfc 
I wmdd not tnut that look or tono i 
No— nor the blood so near my own. 
Thatbloodr— ho hath not hoovd-4io wan 
111 watoh him doeor thanbofaco. 
Ho is an Arab* to my sight, 
Or Christian erooehing in the dght— 
But hark !— I hear Znloika's toIoo : 

Like Homis' hymn it moots mine oar : 
She Is the oikforing of my ehoioe ; 

Oh I more than or'n hor mother door, 
With all to hope, and nought to lear<* 
My Peri! over weloome hero ! 
Sweet aa the dooert-foimtain's woto 
To Upe jnst oool'd in time to sav^- 

Such to mj longing sight art thon ; 
Nor ean they waft to Meooa's ahrino 
More Aanks far life, than I for thino, 

Who bloet thy birth, and blsoe thoo now ! 

VL 

Fair, aa thoint that M of woBumUiid, 
When on that dread yet lovely eespont i 



Whooe fanago Asn wia atamp'd nponhera 

Bnt onoobogn fl o d en d over mooo begntta 
Daaaling, eothat, (A I too 4 

To aocrow'e phsntoooH 
When hoert moots hoort egahi hi ^ 

And painta the loot on oerthrovived hi 1 
Soft, aa the mewwy of bwiod low I 
Pore, aa the pnysrwhieh ehfldhood wallo 
Wao aho-^Cho danghter of Aie rado old 4 
Who mot the maid with to aro botntof giht 



Who hath not nwfod how foeUy words oMay 
To flx one apoilc of beonty's heavenly my I 
Who doth not ibel, vntil hie fidUng dghft 
Fainte into dimneae with its own dsl^ht, 
His ohanging ohoek, )d» sfaiking heart ooatao 
The might-^ko m^eoty of lovolineao ^ 
Saoh wia Znleikar-oach aronnd her sh e n s 
The elesi sksiMronwoib'dhyherokno; 



Iftt 



HYBOira WOBX& 



The Bght of loT«, the pnl^ bf graeo, 
The mind, the moaio bteething ftam her flMe,* 
The hear*, whose softneaa heimonised the whol»— 
And, oh ! that eye wae fai itsdf a soul ! 

Her gracefdl arms in medmesa bending 
Across her gently budding breast ; 

At one kind word tiioee arms estending 
To clasp the neck of him who blest 
His child caressing and caieati 
Znleika eame— end Giaffir felt 
His purpose half within him melt; 
Not that against her faneied weal 
His heart though stem could erer feel ; 
Affection chain'd her to that heart ; 
Ambition tore the links apart. 

vn. 

•* 2uleika ! child of gentleness ! 

How dear this very day must tell, 
When I forget my own distress, 

In losing what I love so well, 

To bid thee with another dwell : 

Another! and a braver man 

Was never seen in battle's Tan. 
We Moslem reck not much of blood ; 

But yet the line of Carasman ' 
Unchanged, unchangeable hath stood 
First of the bold Timariot bands 
That won and well can keep their lands. 
Enough that he who comes to woo 
Is kinsman of the Bey Oglou : 
His years need scarce a thought employ ; 
I would not have thee wed a boy. 
And thou shalt have a noble dower : 
And his and my united power 
Will laugh to scorn the death-firman, 
Which others tremble but to scan. 
And teach the messenger > what fate 
The bearer of such boon may wait. 
And now thou know'st thy father's wiU ; 

All that thy sex hath need to know : 
Twas mine to teach obedience stiU— > 

The way to love thy lord may show." 

vin. 

In silence bow'd the virgin's head ; 

And if her eye was fill'd with tears, 
That stifled feeling dare not shed. 
And changed her cheek fiK)mpele to red, 

Andved to pale, as through her ears 
Those winged words like arrows sped. 

What could such be but maiden fears ? 
80 bright the tear in beauty's eye. 

Lore half regrets to kiss it dry ; 
80 sweet the blush of bashftilness, 

Bven pity scarce can wish it less I 
Whate'er it was the sire forgot ; 
Or if remember'd, mark'd it not : 
Thrice clapp'd his hands, and call'd his steed,* 

Besign'd his gem-adom'd Chibouke,i* 
And mounting featly for the mead, 

With Maugrabee " and Mamaluke, 

His way amid his Belis took,is 
To witness many an active deed 
With sabre keen, and blunt jerreed. 
The Kislar only and his Moors 
Wateh'd well the Haram's massy doors. 



His head was leant upon his hand, 

His eye look'do'er the dark-blue wmttf 
That swiftly glides and gently sweiis 
Between the winding Dardanelles ; 
But yet he saw nor sea nor strtmd, 
Kor even his Pacha's tuiban'd band 

Mix in the game of mimic slanghter, 
Careering cleave the folded felt ^ 
With sabre stroke right sharply dealt; 
Nor mark'd the javelin-darting crowds 
Nor heard their Ollahs ^ wild and loud- 
He thought but of old GiaiBr's daughter . 

X. 

No word from SeUm's bosom broke ; 
One sigh Zuleika's thought bespoke : 
Still gasedhe through the Uttice gntr 
Pale, mute, and moumftilly sedate. 
To him Zuleika's eye was tam'd. 
But little from his aspect leam'd : 
Equal her grief, yet not tiie same ; 
Her heart eonfees'd a gentler flsnie, 
But yet that heart alarm'd or weak, 
She knew not why, forbade to speak 
Yet speak she must— but when essay ? 
" How strange he thus should turn away ! 
Not thus we e'er before have met ; 
Not thus shall be our parting yet." 
Thrice paced she slowly throuJe^ the room. 

And watch'd his eye— it stUl was flz*d; 

She snateh'd the urn wherein was miz'd 
The Persian Atar-gul's ^ perfume, 
And sprinkled all its odors o'er 
The pictured roof ^* and marble floor : 
The drops, that through his glittering vwl 
The playful girl's appeal addreet, 
Unheeded o'er his bosom flew, 
As if that breast were marble too. 
" What, sullen yet ? it must not be— 
Oh 1 gentle Seiim, this from thee ! '* 
She saw in curious order set 

The fahrast flowers of Eastern land— 
** He loved them once ; may touch them yet» 

If ofler'd by Zuleika's hand." 
The childish thought was hardly breath'd 
Before the rose was pluck'd and wreathed*. 
The next fond moment saw her seat 
Her fairy form at Selim's feet ; 
. '< This rose to calm my brother's caret 
A message from the Bulbul ^^ bears ; 
It says to-night he will prolong 
For SeUm's ear his sweetest song ; 
And though his note is somewhat sad, 
He'U try for once a strain more glad. 
With some faint hope his alter'd lay 
May sing these gloomy thoughts away. 

XI. 
" What ! not receive my foolish flower ? 

Nay then I am indeed unblest : 
On me can thus thy forehead lower ? 

And know'st thou not who loves thee beet } 
Oh, Selim dear ! oh, more than dearest I 
Say, is It me thou hat'st or fearest? 
Come, lay thy head upon my breast, 
And I wdl kiss thee into rest, 
Since words of mine, and songs must fail. 
Even from my fabled nigtingale. 






THBBSl 

BH Wfrom tfafle liad jvt to Iflini : 
Tbovrill kwywhekirM UMtaol; 
Bnt ■ Zskika's lore ftwgot ? 
AhJdeemlxi^t? the Paeha't plaa^ 
lUi klMiyai Bej of CaiMmin 
r«kaps may psove msm foe of thine. 
If lo, I even hj Mecca's thnnet 
If ■hiinee that ne'er a|pproech allov 
To voaun'e itep edmh her tow, 
Wilhoat thy finee coneeiit, commaad, 
Ae Soltaa ehoold not have my hand ! 
lUah'flt then that I could bear to part 
With thee, and learn to halTe my heert ? 
Ah ! were I serer'd from thy tide, 
Wheie mve tiiy friend— end who my guide f 
^een have not teen, time shall not see 
The hoar that teen my soul from thee : 
Sren Axrad " from has deadly quiver 

Whca Hiea that shaft, and fly it must, 
That parts all else, shall doom for ever 
Oni hearts to undivided dust ! '* 



xn. 

He Irred— he hreathed— he moved--he felt ; 

He raieed the maid from where she knelt ; 

ffis tnnce was gone — his keen eye shone 

With thoughts that long in darkness dwelt ; 

With thoughts that bum-4n rays that melt. 

As the stream late conceal'd 
By the fringe of its wilXows, 

When it mahee reveal'd 
In the light of its billows ; 

As the holt bursts on high 
From tie Uaek eloud that bound it, 

fbsh'd tits soul of that eye 
Thioogh the long lashes round it. 

A wat^hoEse at the trumpet's sound, 

A lion roused by heedless hound, 

A tjmaX waked to sudden strife 

By graae of Hi-directed knife, 

Starts not to more convulsive life 

Than he, who heard that vow, dispUiy'd, 

And all, befiuoreparees'd, betray 'd : 

■'Nowthou art mine, lor ever mine. 

With life to keep, and scarce with life resign; 

How Ihon srt ooine, that saored oath, 

Thoo^ sworn by one, hath bound us both. 

Tes, fondly, wisely hast thou done ; 
That vowhadi saved more heads timn one : 
Bat hlBBeh not 1hon-4hy ajmplart tnai 
Claims mote from me than liiailiw mas f 
I wtwld «Qt wrong tiM slcndereet hair 
That dnoler round thy fonhead fldr. 
For an tiie li e nim e s bsrtod Ur 
Within the eaves of Istakar.^* 
Tills momiag ekmde upon me lowcr'd, 
BefKOodMS on mj head wen shower'dt 
And OiaiBrslDBeetcalledmeocnrardl 
Kow I hscoe motive to be bcaive ; 
Tke eon of his neglected shire, 
Kaij» start not 'twas tiae tsim he gave, 
ICacy show, though little apt to vaunt, 
A beort his words near deeds een daunt. 
jBso nan, laAeedt'-yet, thanks to 'Uiee, 
PcxduoHe I am, at least shall be ; 
Bnt let oar plighted secret vow 
Bn only known ts ii as now 



09 ABVDOS. 



IM 



Iknowtho 

Fkom Oiafir thy lelnetant hand > 
Mere in-got wsrilh, a meenegeonl 
HoMsnotaMuaeelBBS** eentnil; 
Washe not bled in Bgripo ? n 

A viler rase let Inoel ihew 1 

Bnt let that peso ♦onenebetold 

Our oath; thenetshall 

To me and mine leave Otman Bey ; 

I've paiHeaiis fo psril's dayi 

Think not I am what I efpeer; 

I've WM^ sAd frWnoe, and vengeenee near. 

xni. 

" Think not then art what thoni^peeieel , 

Mt Selim, thou srt sadly changed : 
This mom I saw thee gentleet, deueet; 

But now thott'rt fimn thyself estranged 
My love tiion sorely knew'st beffotOt 
It ne'er was leee, nor can be more. 
To see thee, hear thee, near thee stay, 

And hate the night I know not why. 
Save that we meet not but by day ; 

With thee to live, with thee to die, 

I dare not to my hope deny : 
Thy cheek, thine eyoe, thy Upe to Use, 
like thie-Hmd this— no more than this ; 
For, AUa 1 sore thy Upe are flame : 

What fever in thy veins Is flushing i 
Hy own have neerly eaught the same. 

At leaat I fbsl my dMokteo blnaUng. 
To sooth thy siekneee, waldk thy hMkh, 
Partake, butnever WMte thy veaHh, 
Or stand with mUee uunonmring bT» 
And lighten half thy povofty s 
Do aH but eloee thy dying eje. 
For that I eoold not ttve to try ; 
To theee alone ray thenghts aspire : 
More can I do ? or then lefoiia f 
But, Seifan, thenasMl anfww why 
We see so much of mystery ? 

But be it, sfaioe thou say^ »tto wdl; 
TetwtettlMnmaen^etby •arme' and 
Beyond ^ weaker aenae estonds. 
I meent that Okfir ahonUl have heeid 

The verf iww Iplgklad thnei 
Hia wrath would not lovoke wj word ; 

Bnt surely he would leme me free. 

Can thii fond wish seem strange in me, 
To be what I have ever been ? 
What other hath Zuletica seen 
From simple childhood's earlieet hour ? 

What other can she seek to see 
Than thee, companion of her bower, 

The partner of her infancy ) 
These cherish'd thoughts with life begun, 

Say, why most I no more avow ? 
What change is wrought to make me shun 

The truth ; my pride, and thine till now f 
To meet the gase of stranger's eyee 
Our law, our creed, our Gk>d denies ; 
Nor shall one wandering thought of mine 
At such, our Prophet's will repine : 
No ! happier made by that deoee ! 
He laft me all in leaving thee. 
Deep were my anguish, thus eompell'd 
To wed with one I ne'er behdd: 



196 

Thkw hu wfciB ihwM laatiWiir 
Why wilt ibott nig* AM to oommI ? 
I know the pMlut't hmgh^BMMd 
To thM hmtk MPtw boded gMd : 
And he lo often etomie at amigM 
Allah! forind that e'er he ooi^tl 
And why, I know not, but within 
Mj heart eeneealsMnt weigh! Uka dtt» 
If then raeh eeemey be eriaa. 

And raeh it feele while Inriding her*; 
Oh,Se]im! teUaMyalfaitine, 

Nor iMKTO OMthna ta thonihte af im; 
Ah ! yonder aae the Tchooedar,* 
My father leaTee the mimia war ; 
I tremble now to meet hia ey^- 
Say, Seliam eamtthoa taUna why}** 

XIV. 

*<Znlea»! tothytewer'axatraat 

Betake thea-^Giafflr I eaa greet; 

And now with hhn I Mr araat pnte 

Of firmana, impoata, leriee, etata. 

There's fearftil newa from Danube'a beak, 

Onr Yiaier nobly fiiiaa hia raaka. 

For which theGiaonr may gire him iSktaskM ! 

Our Sultan hath a ahortar way 

Such coetly triumph to repay. 

But, mark ma, when the twilight dram 

Hath wam'd the troope to food and ateepi 
Unto thy eeU wm Selim ooma; 
Then aoftly from the Hanttn creep 
Wh»e we may wander by Iha deep s 
Our garden-batdamenta are steep f 
Nor these will zadi iatradareUmb 
To list anripoida, Of itlnt ov tlsM } 
And if he dotii, I wairt aol aleel 
Which some haTO Ml, and move may UmL 
Then shalt thou learn of MIm aaara 
Than thou haat heard or thoagkl betavt 
Trust me, Zulet k a » ar net ma I 
Thou know-Bl I holda Kman key.** 



"Peer thee, my (Mim I 
Did word like tUi-'* 

'<DaliyMitthan| 
I keep the key and Hvaon'a gnaid 
Have aome, and hope af am r a l ea mdi 
To-night, Zukika, AMibtfl bMV 
Hy tale, my pwpoaa^ mid mf imrt 
Iamnot,li>fal wiMtli 



CANTO n. 



Ths winds an high on Hellene waiter 
Aa on that night of atoimy wal«r, 
"When Lara, who tent, forgot to aata 
The young, ^ beantiftily the bnrfa. 

The lon^ hope of Seetoa* danghtw. 
OhI wkan alone along the sfcy 
Her tnnet*torch waa bbudng hi^ 
Though rising gale, and breaking fMBf 
And shrieking seapbfada wan*d Um ~ 
And clonda aloft and tides below, 
With signs and semnda, forbade to go^ 



He could n ot aae» ha »aa ld n ii h e ar 

Or sound or aign fanboding limr } 

His eye but saw that Ught ol lenre^ 

The only star it hafl'd above ; 

His ear but rang wkh Hero^a aong, 

<<Te waTea, diTida not lovcra long !"«- 

That tale ia old, but lava anew 

May nerve young hearts to prove aa tana 

n. 

The winds are high, and Hello's tide 

BoUs darkly heaving to the main ; 
And night's descending shadows hide 

That field with blood bedew'd in vain» 
The deaert of old Priam's pride ; 

The tomba, sole relics of his reign, 
Allr-save immortal dreams that could begnila 
The blind old man of Sdo's rooky iale : 

ni. 

Oh ! yet— for there my steps have been ; 

Theee feet have presa'd the sacred shore ; 
Theee limbs that buoyant wave hath bona- 
Minstrel ! vritii thee to muse, te mourn, 

To trace again thoaa flalda of yore. 
Believing every hillock green 

Contains no fiibled hero's aahes, 
And that around the undoubted soena 

Thine own " broad Hellespont "•• still daah— , 
Be long my lot! and oold were he 
Who there could gaae denying thee f 

IV. 
Tha night hath eloeed on HeDe'a i 

Nor yet hath risen on Ida's hiU 
That moon, which shone on his high 1 
No wanior ehldsa her peaceAil beam, 

But eonadoua shepherds Uesait atilL 
Their fiocka are grasing on tha mound 

Of him who fait tha Daidan'a arrow: 
That mi^ity heap of gathet'd groand 
Which Amnion's *< eon ran proudly ravMl 
By nationa raised, by monareha crown*d. 

Is now alone and namdeea banow ! 

Within-Ufay dw<dBng^laee how nauw; 
Without— can only strangers breathe 
Tha name of Mm titat wa» beneath; 
Dnat kmg ontbats tiie storied atdoc i 
But tha n -t hy vary daatia gone I 



Lata, lata to-idght wm IKan ehav 

The swain, and ehaae the bosdman'f Ihart 

Till than tta baaaan on the diff 

May shape thaeoaiaa of atruggUngeklfti 

The scattsr'd lights tiiat sikkt tha bay:. 

All, one by one, have died aiway s 

The only lamp of this kma havr 

la glimmering in 2ideika% towsr s 

Yeel tiiefaia light hi tha* lane f 

And o'er her eiBun ottomsm 
Are thrown the fragrant beads of t 

O'er which her Mry frsgeis ran^ 
Near theae, wltii emerald nyabaoety 
(How could ahe thaa thai got fioigat r) 
Her mo^er'a aaintad ann^* 
Whereon angiaved tha Koosaea ^ntf 
Could smooth this Hfb, and win thai 
And by her eomboloioV Bea 
A Koran of iUnminad dyea ; 



€r ABTDOt. 



117 



Aad o'er tib0M teroDt, a«l cfl M 



Aad rand kflr lap 0f AvMai toM 
IBw lu ' w Iaio— of r~ " 
Ikt ridMrt vwk 0f Inati looM, 
iailftMiM'tribmtofi 

i&tetcn«y«ori 

Alt §i;dMf'd ift that gMfMwt 1 

Bit |iC it hath an air of i^oom. 
&^ if tUt Peri eell tha ipiits, 
Ifhat doth aha haaea, and on ao nda anl^t ? 

TL 

Wi^ b «ha dnkaat aabto Taat, 
WUoh nana ktb noblaat Moalem waar, 

To saaid fromiHadi of haaran tha htaaat 
Ab hwm Hnlf to SaltB daar, 

WHh MBtfaMi ilapa tfaa Okkat ^raafiag, 

lad ilBlii^ alt, M ttnrogh tha iiM* 

thi gut iti hallow moaaiafa aMda, 
TSD OB Ika aiBoothv patitway tnadingt 
Mm ftw kor tUd baaom haat, 

Tk Bid panoad h«r afleat gaida i 
Aad Ihavgh he tanar vigad latnat, 

Hav aoald Aa qait h«r 8all»*a iida ? 

HovtMh he tmdelSpa ta ahldaf 



\ 



Ihif fwch'd at kDgtti a giotto^ Imhib 

By aatara bat aalargad by vt, 
Wkoa aft hff lata *a woBt to taM, 

And aft her Karaa aons'd ap«rt; 
AadaftiayaaMdiafvaria 
8ha fooa'd what PnadlM alg^ bt s 
irkaawoBiaB'i parlad aoal dMB 8* 
Hw praphrt had dJadainad to ihow ; 
Btt fidtaev aaaaioB waa aaaara» 
Kor dan^ Aa, aoidd ho long aOon 
ffii boavia odbtf wfMdda of bBM» 
TidMBt AflT, maat batofod to ttdi ! 
Ok! wkosodaarwfthhtoi aoMAnam 
Wnt Hoari aontii hiai half ao waO? 

vra, 

San iMt aha Yiritad tha apot 

8oBN cbaaga aaeto'd wrooglit wMiM Ika gtol : 

ItBi^ttoattly tihat tha night 

DhpdndfiiiBga aaan by battor Bgirt I 

uit bnan lainp but diaaly toiiaw 

A laj of no ealeatial baa ; 

Bat IB a Booh witiiin tha eall 

Hs eye <m siniigar otgacto IbIL 

TlMnnni wera piled, not mdi aa wMi 

The tokaa'd DeUa fa the Md ; 

Batlnada af loiaigtt bbda nd hm, 

And OH VM red-pecahanea with gvnt I 

Ah fhnraiftoiit can blood batpOt? 

AeaytMoa^boaidwaaaat 

Thet ^ aat aaeaa to hold aheibot 

'Whatuqrthbnatn? aha tnm'd to iM 

HerUto-^'Oli! eaatUabaha?" 

n. 

Bk xobeof irida waa thxowa aalda, 
ffia bmr BO hif^-arown'd tvban boia. 

Bat in Ki tlaai a ahc«l of lad, 
Waaaaadl%hayio«iBd,hiB 



Thatd 

Ware worthy of a i 

No kmgar gUtlaed at hto witot, 

Whan piatola imadom'd w«a bncadt 

And froaa hia belt a aatea awvng, 

And ftooa hia ahoaldarloaaaly fasng 

The ekiah of wUta, tfia tfafa aapato 

That daaka tha wandariag CWdiato t 

Banaath— Ma goldan-platod vaat 

Chmg Hha a aoiraaB to Ua biaaat I 

Tha giaaTaa balaw hia knee thai woand 

WIthitlvaty aealaa w«a ihaatiMd and boMd 

Bat ware it not that high enwaad 

Spake fa hk ayev and tone, and hand* 

AU^ata eeielatoeyaeoaldaaa 

In him waa aena yonng Qallangde.* 



*<I aaid I was not what I aeem'd : 
And now thou aeeat my worda ware tna 

I haTa a tale thoa hast not dieam'd. 
If oooth-^ta truth moat othexa ma. 

ICy atoty now 'twere rafa to hide ; 

I moat not aee thee Oaman'a bride; 

But had not thine own lipa dedand 

How mneh of that young heart I ahazad» 

I could not, must not, yet haye ahown 

The darker aeeret of my own. 

In thia I speak not now of lore ; 

That, let time, truth, and peril prora ; 

But first— Oh ! nerer wed anothei^- 

Znlaika! I am not thy brother !" 

XL 
•« Oh ! not flsy toothst i-yat naaar-» 

Oodl amIlaflaloMaAaaith 
To nMmr»— I data not umay Iha daf 

That aaw aay aoBtaiy Urth ? 
Ohl llMmwihhyfamano«M>aaffal 

M y sfaUng haaat tonbodad m s 
Bnt know oia all I waa baftna. 

Thy 8latap-4indr^£nlaika atilL 
Thou led'stma hen perohaaea to kill; 

If thorn haaaanaa far ▼angaanoa,aaa 
Mybsaaatiaa fc ' d ta kati^ini 

Far battar with the dead to ba 

Than liTa thaa nothing now to thao t 
Parhapa far woiaa, far now I kaow 
Why OialBr ahaaya aeam'd thy faa; 
Andlalaal am Qiafir's child. 
For whom Ikon wwt eontaaan'd, varilad. 
If not thy sbtar-wouldat thon aaaa 
My life, Ohl bid ma ba thy slava r 

XII. 
•* My slaTa, Zuleika !— tiay, I*m thfae; 

But, gentle lore, this transport ealm : 
Thy lot diall yet be Ifak'd with mine; 
I swear it by our Prophet's shrine, 

And be that thought thy sorrow's bafan. 
8o may tha Koran * Teiae display'd 
Upon its steel direct my blade, 
In danger's hour to guud us both, 
As I preaarra that awhU oath I 
The name fa which thy heart hath prided 

Must diange ; but, my Zuleika, know. 
That tie is widen'd, not dirided. 

Although thy 8ire'# my daadlieat fba^ 



IM 



rai^oif^ wittiu. 



My &tiMr w taCUiA «U 

Tlutt Sdim lat^ was deem*d to thee ; 
That brother mrought a brother's £bl11, 

But spared, at least, my infancy ; 
And lull'd me with a vain deceit 
That yet a like return may meet. 
He rear'd me, not with tender help, 

But like the nephew of a Cain;'' 
He watched me like a lion's whelp, 

That gnaws and yet may break his chain. 

My fikther's blood in every vein 
Is boiling ; but for thy dear sake 
No present vengeance will I take; 

Though here I must no more remain. 
But irst, belov'd Zuleika I hour 
How (Haffii wrought this deed of fear. 

xm. 

** How hist their strife to rancor grew. 

If love or envy made them foes, 
It matters little if I knew ; 
In fiery spirits, slights, though few 

And thoughtless, will disturb repose. 
In war Abdallah's arm was strong, 
Bemember'd yet in Bosniac song, 
And Paswan's^i rebel hordes attest 
How little love they bore such guest ; 
His death is all I need relate. 
The stem effect of Giaffir's hate; 
And how my birth disclosed to me, 
Whate'er beside it makes, hath made me free. 

XIV. 
** When Paswan, after years of strife, 
At last f6r power, but first for life. 
In Widin'e walls too proudly sate, 
Our Pachas rallied round the state ; 
Nor last nor least in high command 
Bach brother led a separate band ; 
They gave their horsetaib >* to the wind, 

And, mustering in Sophia's plain. 
Their tents were pitch'd, their post assign'd ; 

To one, alas ! assign'd in vain ! 
What need of words ? the deadly bowl. 

By Giafir's order drugg'd and given, 
With venom subtle as his soul, 

Dismiss'd Abdallah's hence to heaTen. 
Reclined and feverish in the bath. 

He, when the hunter's sport was up, 
But little deen'd a brother's wrath 

To quench his thirst had such a cup : 
The bowl a bribed sttendant bore ; 
He drank one draught, " nor needed more ! 
If thou my tale, Zuleika, doubt, 
Call Haroun— he can tell it out. 

XV. 

" The deed once done, and Paswan's feud 
In part suppress'd, though ne'er subdued, 

Abdallah's Pachalick was gain'd :— 
Thou know'st not what in our Divan 
Can wealth procure for worse than man — 

Abdallah's honors were obtain'd 
By }pm a brother's murder stoin'd ; 
'Tis true, the purchase nearly drain'd 
JDb lU-got treasure, soon replaced. 
Would'st question whence ? Survey the waste, 
And ask the squalid peasant how 
Hii gains repay his broiling brow!— 



Why me the stem usurper ^aze4» 
Why thus with me his palace shared^ 
I know not. Shame, regret, remorse, 
And little fear from infant'a force ; 
Besides, adoption as a son 
By him whom Heaven accorded non» 
Or some unknown cabal, caprice, 
Preserved me thus ; but not in peace 
He cannot curb his haughty mood. 
Nor I forgive a father's bl(K>d. 

XVI. 
** Within thy father's house are foes ; 

Not all who break his bread are true 
To these should I my birth disclose, 

His days, his very hours were few : 
They ooily want a neart to lead, 
A hand to point them to the deed. 
But Haroun only knows, or knew 

This tale, whose close is almost nigh: 
He in Abdallah's palaoe grew. 

And held that post in his Serai 

Which holds he here — ^he saw him die i 
But what could single slavery do ? 
Avenge his lord ? alas ! too late; 
Or save his son from such a fate r 
He chose the last, and when elate 

With foes subdued, or friends betray'^ 
Proud OiafiBr in high triumph sate, 
He led me helpless to his gate. 

And not in vain it seems essay'd 

To save the life for which he pray'd. 
The knowledge of my birth secured 

From all and each, but most from me ( 
Thus Giaffir's safety was insured. 

Removed he too from Roumelie 
To this our Asiatic side, 
Far from our seats by Danube's tide, 

With none but Haroun, who retains 
Such knowledgO'-and that Nubian feels 

A tyrant's secrets axe but chains, 
From which the captive gladly steaU, 
And this and more to me reveals : 
Suoh still to guilt just Alia sends-* 
Slaves, tools, accomplices— no friends ! 

XVII. 
<« AU this, Zuleika, harshly sounds; 

But harsher still my tale must be : 
Howe'er, my tongue thy softness woundSt 

Yet I must prove all truth to thee. 

I saw thee start this garb to see. 
Yet is it one I oft have worn. 

And long must wear : this Galiongte, 
To whom thy plighted vow is sworn. 

Is leader of those pirate hordes, 

Whose laws and lives sre on their aworda ; 
To hear whose desolating tale 
Would make thy waning cheek more pale ; 
Those arms thou see'at my band have hrongfai l 
The hands that wield sre not remote ; 
This cup too for the rugged knaves 

Is fill'd— once quaff 'd, they ne'er repma ; 
Our Prophet might forgive the slayes ; 

They're only infidels in wine. 

xvm. 

** What could I be ? Proscribed at hone^ 
And taunted to a wish to room; 



W ABTDOe. 



lit 



AslBitei kK ^ftr €I^Ar»t fcw 

Jk^ai tbe ecraner and th« speai^ 

noiCh0ft-Oh,lC^iimi«t! how oft!-- 

Ik iUI Binm tiw daqwt seoff'd, 

Ac if ay mak unwiUiiig band 

Bafeaed tha bridle or tha teaad : 

St ever went to mr alone, 

lad pm me hare untried, lAhnown ; 

To Haiosn'a eare with women left, 

B7 hope vaUeat* of fiune bereft, 
WbOe thoik— wboae aoflnaa long endaar'd, 
Thaqgh it nnmaan'd me, atiU had chaar'd— 
fd Braaa'a walla far aaf^ tent, 
Awrited'at there the field's erent. 
Hinaan, who aaw my t|nrit pining 

Beneath inaction'a tluggiah joke, 
ffii oaptiTe, thongh with dr e ad rerignlng, 

My thraWmn for a aeaaon broke, 
Onpnnniae to letiun before 
Th(t day when GKafir's ehaige waa o'er. 
TSa ^ain— 4ny tongue aannot Inqpart 
My almoat dmnkennesa of heart, 
When iint this liberated eye 
Barvej'd Sarth, Ocean, Sun, and Sky, 
Aa if my spirit piereed them through. 
And an their inmost wonders knew! 
One word alone can paint to thee 
That Bsore than feeling — ^I was Free ! 
S*en for thy presence ceased to pine ; 
The World— <nay— Heaven itself was nune ! 

XIX. 
•The shallop of a trusty Moor 
CoBvey'd me from this idle shovs ; 
I kmg'd to see the isles that g«ai 
Old Ocean's purple diadem : 
I sought by turns, and saw them all ; ^ 

But when and c-here I join'd the crew 
With wnom Vm pledged to riae or fall. 

When aU tiiat we deaign to do 
Is done, 'twill then be time more meet 
To ten thee, when the tale's complete. 

XX. 
** Tb tne, they are a lawless brood. 
But longh in Ibno, nor mild in mood ; 
And every ereed, and erery race, 
With them hath found-— may find a place . 
But open speech, and ready hand, 
Obe&Bfse to their chief's command ; 
A soul for erery enterprise, 
Tbat nerer aees with terror's eyes ; 
Fiiendship fior each, and faith to all. 
And vengeance row'd for those who &U, 
Haie made them fitting instruments 
Focamie than even my own intents. 
Aad ione— and I hare studied all 

IMstingoish'd firom the rulgar rank, 
Bat dnefiy to my counsel call 

The wisdom of the cautious Frank— 
And some to higher thou^ts aspire, 

The last of Lambro's^ patriot's there 

Antidpated freedom share ; 
And oft around the cavern fire 
Ob visUmar; schemes debate. 
To snatch the Bay&hs * from their fate. 
So let them esse their hearts with prate 
or eq[onl rights, which man ne'er knew: 
I iMnre & love far freedom too. 
17 



Ah ! let me Iflie ^e oeeaa yHi*^ch*> nwa. 
Or only know on land tiie Tsrtar's home !** 
My tant on shore, my galley on ^e sea. 
Are more than citlea and serais to me : 
Borne by my steed, or wafled by my sail. 
Across ti&e desert, or before the gale. 
Bound where thouwAt, my bari>! or glide, my prasr? 
But be the star that guides the wanderer, Thon ! 
Then, my Zuleika, share and bless my bark ; 
The dove of peace and promise to mine ark I 
Or, ainee that hope denied in worlds of strife, 
Be thon the rainbow to the atorms of life 1 
The evening beam that amilea the donds away, 
And tints te-motrow with prophetie ray 1 
B l ea t - - aa the Muesain's strain firom Meoea's wall 
To pilgrim's pore and proatrate at his call : 
So ft a s the melody of yonthlhl days, 
That steals the trembling tear of speechless prslwi 
Deai^-as his native aong to eiile's eara. 
Shall sound each tone thy loog4oved voiee endeark 
For thee in thoee bright ialea is bnOt a bower 
Blooming as Aden* in its earliest hour. 
A thousand swords, with Sdim's haart and hand 
dt"^pr a ve defe nd— d es troy at thy eommand t 
Oirt by my band, Zuleika at my side. 
The spoil of nations shall bedeck my bride. 
The Haram's Unguid yeara of listless ease 
Are well resign'd for cer es 'fo r joys like these: 
Not blind to fate, I see, where'er I rove, 
Unnumber'd perila— but one only love 1 
Tet well my toils shall that fond breast repay, 
Though fortune fh>wns, or felser friends betray. 
How dear the dream in darkest hours of ill. 
Should all be changed, to find thee futhfril stfll 
Be but thy soul like Selim's, firmly shown * 
To thee be Selim's tender as tiiine own ; 
To sooth each sorrow, shsre in each delight, 
Blend every thought, do all— but disunite I 
Once free, 'tis mine our horde again to guide ; 
Friends to each other, foea to aught beside : 
Tet there we follow but the bent aasign'd 
By fatal nature to man's warring kind : 
Mark ! where his carnage and his conquests oeaa* • 
He makea a aolxtode, and calls it— peace 1 
I, like the rsat, must use my skUl or strength, 
But ask no Isnd beyond my sabre's length : 
Power sways but by division— her resource 
The bleat alternative of fimud or foroe ; 
Oura be the last ; in time deceit may oome. 
When cit^ cage us in a social home : 
There even ihj soul might erf— how oft the hesrt 
Corruption shakes which peril oould not part t 
And woBsan, more than man, when death or wo, 
Or even disgrace would lay her lover low, 
Sunk in the lap of luxury will shame*- 
Away suspicion ! noi Zuleika's name: 
But life is haaard at the best; and here 
No more remaina to win, and much to fear ; 
Yea, fear !-^he doubt, the dread of losing thee, 
By Oeman's power and GiaiBr's stem decree. 
That dread shall vanish with the fevoring gale. 
Which love to-night hath promised to my sail : 
No danger daunts the pair his smile hath blest. 
Their steps still roving, but their hearts at rest. 
With thee all toils are sweet, each clime hath charms | 
Earth— sea alike— our world within our arms ! 
Ay — ^let the lotid winds whistle o'er the deck, 
So that those arms cling closer round my neckf 
The deepest murmur of this h^ shall be 



180 



Bl[SLpm W08SS. 



No tigli to HMlf V«t a Ts^njm ton thiwl 
The war of dements no fears impart 
lo lore, whose deadliest bane is human art : 
T%er$ Us the only rocks onr course can check ; 
Htre moments menace— <^« are years of wreck ! 
But hence ye thoughts that rise in Horror's shape ! 
This hour bestows, or ever bars escape. 
Few words remain of mine my tale to close : 
Of thine but <m$ to waft us from our foes ; 
Yesr-foee-*^ me will Qiaffir's hate decline ? 
And is not OsmaUf who would part us* thine } 

XXL 
** His head and faith from doubt and death 

Betuzn'd in time my guard to saye ; 

Few heard, none told, that o'er the wave 
From isle to isle I roved the while : 
Avd since,, though parted from my band* 
Too seldom now I leave the lend, 
No deed they're done, nor deed shall do, 
Bre I haTe heard and doom'd it too : 
I foim the plan, decree the spoil, 
'Tis it I offeener share the toil. 
But now too long I've held thine ear ; 
Time presses, floats my bark, and here 
We l^TO behind but hate and fear. 
To-moBow Osman with his train 
▲niTea— 4o-night mist break thy chain; 
And wouldst thou save that hanghty Bey, 

Perchance his life who gave thee thine. 
With me this hour away^— away I 

But yet, though thou art plighted mine, 
Wouldst tiiou recall thy willing tow, 
AppaU'd by truths imparted now. 
Here rest I— not to see thee wed : 
But be that peril on my headl " 

XXU. 
Zuleika, mute and motionless. 
Stood like that statue of distress. 
When, her last hope for. ever gone, 
The mother hardened into stone ; 
All in the maid that eye could see 
Was but a younger Niob^ 
But. ere her lip, or even her eye, 
Bssay'd to speak, or look reply, 
Beneath the garden's wicket porch 
Far flashed on high a blazing torch 1 
Attother^-and anothe>-and another— 
**Ohl fly— no more— yet now my mora than 

fcroAer!" * - 

Fax, widc^ through every thicket spread, 
The fearfril lights are gleaming red; 
Nor these alone — ^for each right hand 
Is reaty wi^ a sheathless brand. 
They part, pursue, return, and wheel 
Witii eearchizkg flambeau, shining steel; 
And lasrt«f all, his sabre waving, 
Stem Gifiiar m his hay raving : 
And now almost they touch the cave— 
Oh { must that grot be Selim's grave ? 

xxin. 

Dauntlesa he atood— ^< 'tis come— soon past- 
One kiss, Zulcaka— *ti8 my last : 

But yet my band not far from shore 
Ifay hear this signal, see the flash: 
Tet now too few— the attempt were rash: 

No matter— yet one effort more." 



Forth to the eavem nmtth he stepi. 

His pistol's echo rang on high ; 
Zuleika started not, nor wept, 

Despair benumb'd her breast and eyel-* 
'* They hear me not, or if they ply 
Their oars, 'tis but to see me die ; 
That sound hath drawn my foes moue ni^ 
Then forth my father's seimitor ; 
Thou ne'er hast seen less equal war ! 
Fsrewell« ^leikal— Sweet! retire: 

Tet stay within— here linger safe. 

At thee his rage will <HUy chafe. 
Stir not'— lest even to thee perchance 
Some enring blade or ball should glsAoe. 
Fear'st thou for him ?— may I expire. 
If in this strife I seek thy sir^ ! 
No-^ough by him that poison pour'd ; 
No— though again he call me coward! 
But tamely shall I meet their steel? 
No— as each crest save hit may feel! " 

XXIV. 

One bound he made, and gain'd the sand : 

Already at lus feet hath sunk 
The foremost of the prying band, 

A gasping head, a quivering trunk t 
Another falls— but round him close 
A swarming circle of his foes ; 
From right to left his path he deft, 

And almost met the meeting wave : 

His boat appears— not five osrs' length— 
His comrades strain with desperate stron g tl> ■■ 

Oh! are they yet in time to save ? 

His feet the foremost breakers lave ; 
His band are plunging in the bay. 
Their sabres glitter through the spray; 
Wet— wild— unwearied to the strand 
They struggle— now they touch the land I 
They come ! — ^'tis but to add to slaughter'** 
His heart's best blood is on tlie water. 

XXV. 
Esoaped from shot, unharm'd by steel. 
Or scarcely grazed its force to feel, 
Had Selim won, betray'd, beset. 
To where the strand and billows met : 
There as his last step left the land. 
And the last death-blow dealt his hand— 
Ah ! wherefore did he turn to look 

For her his eye but sought in vain ? 
That pause, that fatal gaze he took, 

Hath doom'd his death, or fix'd his chabl 
Sad proof, in peril and in pain, 
How late will lover's hope remain ! 
His back was to the dashing spray : 
Behind, but dose, his comrades lay, 
When, at the instant, hiss'd the baU— 
** So may the foes of Qiaffir fall ! " 
Whose voice is heard ? whose carbine rang 2 
Whose bullet through the night-air sang,, 
Too nearly, deadly aim'd to err ? 
'Tis thme— Abdallah's murderer ! 
The father slowly rued thy hate, 
The son hath found a quicker fate : 
Fast from his breast the blood ib bubbliagp 
The whiteness of the sea-foam troubling— 
If aught his lips essay'd to groan. 
The rushing billows chok'd the tone I 



THM} 



Xm MgWDOB. 



m 



VLm. 



Man ilowly loBs the etoadi mwmf ; 

Fnr trophies of the ight ere there: 
The Aeete that ahoek tiM midnight bey 
An stent; but eome eigne of frey 

That ettend of etrife mey beer, 
And fregraeate of each ehiTor'd bread ; 
Slepe etemii'd ; end desh*d into the send 
The pnnt of meay a struggling head 

Kay tiiae be mark'd; nor fiur renote 

A broken tarefa, «a oeriees boat; 
Alii taagled on the weeds that heap 
The beach -where eheWing to the deep 

Then Bee a white capote ! 
Tii leat in twainrKme dark red stain 
The wave yet ripplee o'er in rein : 

But where is he who wore ? 
Te ! wlio wonld o'er his relies weep» 
Go, seek tliem wheve the surges sweep 
Their bmdea round Sigwom's steep, 

Aad eest on Lenmoe' ehote : 
The sea-birds shriek abeve tiie prey, 
Ca wUek their hungry beaks delay, 
As shaken on his lestlees piUow, 
His head heavee with the beaTi&g bOlow; 
That head, whose motion is not life, 
Tet leeUy seems to menaee striiis, 
FloBg by the toeamg tide oa hig^ 

Then tereilM with tlw waTO— 
What recke it, thmgh tliat eorse shall lie 

wifUa a Ifriag grave? 
The bird that tears that prostrate form 
Halh only robVd the meaner worm) 
The only heart, the only eye 
Had bled or wept to eee him die, 
Hai eeea Ihoee seatter'd Umbe oompeeed, 

Asd Bsoomed abore his tiurean-etone,*' 
That heart hath borst^-that eye was e to s ed 

Tesr-eioeed before his own ! 



xxvn. 

Bf Helle's stream.there is a roice of wail ! 
Aad woflum's eye ia wet— man's che^ is pale: 
fidiekal last e€ OiaiBr*s raee. 

Thy destined lord is oeme too late ; 
He seee not— ne'er shall see thy Uoe I 

Can be not hear 
The load Wal-wuUeh^i wain his distant ear? 
Thy handmaids weeping at the gate, 
The Kowk-ehaonters of the hymn of fhte, 
The silsBt sUves with folded arms that wait» 
fligte in the hall, aad shrieks npon the gale^ 

Tdl him tiiy tale! 
Thoa dUst not Tiew thy Selim ftU ! 
}hat ftaxfol moment when he left the eate 
Thy hesrt grew chUl : 
Be wee &y he^e-^hy joy^-^y leTe--ihiae 
Aiad that IsBttbDiigfat on him thoa eoaldst net 1 
Snffieedtekill; 
Bnst focth ia oae wHd ay— and aU was still. 

Peaee to thj brokea h^ert, aad tirgin graTel 
Abl Imppyt bat oflii^ to lose the worst ! 
That grief-thoiigh deep— though £fttal— 'was thy 

tet! 
Thsiee happy \ ne'er to feel nor fear the foroe 
Of s b e enft, shame, pride, hate, revenge, remorse 1 
Aaa,ehl ihs» pang where mere lUsamalbessttMt 
"1 not s l e e p sad never diss ; 



Thooght of *• giDOHy ^ aad ghaatir aifl|ht» 

That dreads the davkaees, aadyet loathes the Ugfal, 

That winds around sad tears the quivoriov heart ! 

Ahl w he s el bae aet eonsome i»— end depart ! 

Wo to thee, iMh aad naarteatlag chief I 
Vaialy thoa heep'st the dest opoa thy head. 
Vainly the sackeleth o'er thy Ifanbs doth spmd: 
By that same hand Abdallah—Selim bisd. 

Now let it tear tiiy beard in idle grief ; 

Thy pride of heert, thy bride fi>r Osmaa's bed, 

She, whom thy saltan had bat seen to wed. 
Thy daughter's dead ! 
Hope of thine age, thy twilight's lonely 1 
The star hath aet that shone on Helle's i 

What quench'd its ray ?-^the Uood that thoa hast 
shed! 

Hark ! to the hurried question of deapair : 
Where is my child ? " — aa echo aaswen •• 
"Where?"* 

xxvin. 

Withia the place of tiiousaad tombs 

That shiae beneath, while dark above 
The aad but living cypress glooms, 
Aad withers not, tiiough branch aad leaf 
Are stamped wMi an eternal grief, 

like early unrequited love, 
One Bpot exiats, which ever blooms. 

Even in that deadly grove*- 
A single rose is shedding there 

Its lonely lustre, meek and pale . 
It looka aa planted by deapair— 

So white— so iUnt-tiie sHghtaat gide 
IDght vrhkl the leavea on high ; 

And yet, though atornis and blight sssaHv 
Aad hands more rude than winter sky 

May wring it fix>m the stem— in vain- 
To-morrow sees it bloom again 1 
The stalk seme spirit gently rsersy 
And waters with celestial tesrs ; 

For well may maids of Helle deem 
That ^is can be no earthly ilower, 
Which mocks the tempeat'a withering hour, 
And buda unshelter'd by a bower ; 
Nor droopa, though apring reluae her shower« 

Not woos the summer beam : 
To it a» livefeng aif^t tiMve shigs 

A bird unsee n ■ b ut not remote : 
lavisibtehisakywings» 
But soft as harp that Houri strings 

His long entrancing note I 
It were the bulbul ; but his throat. 

Though mournful, pours not such a strain : 
For they who listen cannot leave 
The spot, but linger there and grieve, 

As if they loved in vtin! 
Aad yet so sweet the tears they shed, 
TIs sortew ee unmix'd with diead. 
They searee esn bear the mom to break 

That melaneholy apell, 
And longer yet would weep and wdce, 

He aings ao wild and wdl ! 
Bat whoi the day-blosh bants flrom higk 
Bzpirea that magic melody. 
Aad aome have been who could believe 
(9d fondly youthful dreams deceive, 
Aad harsh be they that blame) 
That note so piercing aad profound 
Will ahape and syllable its soond 

late Zttleifca's aama.^ 



m 



BTBOVrS WOBXS. 



'Tb from lier ejpmB* mmmiit heaid. 
That melts in afir the liquid word ; 
Tis from her lowly virgin earth 
That white rose takes iU tender birth. 
There late was laid a marble stone ; 
Bto saw it placed— the moirow gone ! 
It was no mortal arm that bore 
That deep-fix*d pillar to the shore : 
For there, aa Belle's legends tell, 
Next mom 'twas fonnd where Selim fell. 



Lash'd by the tumbling tide, whose wave 

Denied his bones a holier grave : 
And there by night, reclined, 'tis said, * 
Is seen a ghastly torban'd head : 
And hence extended by the billow, 
'Tis named the ** Pirate phantom's pillow! ' 
Where iirstit lay that mourning flower 
Hath flourish'd ; flourisheth this hour. 

Alone and dewy, coldly pure and pale ; 

As weeping beauty's cheek at sorrow's tale ! 



NOTES TO THE BRIDE OF ABYD08. 



1. 

Waxfamto*er the oardmu of Oul m her bloom, 
Pagel22,Une8. 
<«Gq1," the rose. 

2. 
Can he itniie on such doedt at hit children have don$} 
Page 122, line 17. 

•■Baiili nMukoT In, and cUdnn of the wa, 
WHk vhon nveDf* b vMtn.— Toimf't llMMiifv. 



WUh Memoun*9 tale, or Sad^e 

Page 123, fine 23. 
Mcjnoun and Leila, the Romeo and Juliet of the 
Xast. Sadi, the moral poet of Persia. 



7V0 J, who heard the deep tambour. 

Page 123, line 24. 

Tsmbour, Turkish drum, which sounds at sunrise, 
noon, and twilight. 

5. 
Heiean Arab to my tight. 

Page 128, line 05. 
The Turks abhor the Arabs (who return the com- 
pliment a hundred fold), even more than they hate 
the Christians. 

6. 
The mind, the mutic breathinajrom her face. 
Page 124, line 2. 
This expression has* met with ohfeotioDS. I will 
not refer to ** him who hath not music in his soul,' 
but merely reouest the reader to recollect, for ten 
seconds, the features of the woman whom he be- 
lieves to be the most beautiful; and if he then 
does not comprehend fully what is feebly expressed 
in the above line, I shall be sorry for us both. For 
an eloquent passaffe in the latest work of the first 
female writer of this, perhaps of any age, on the 
analogy f and the immediate comparison excited by 
that analogy), between ** painting and music," see 
vol. iii. cap. 10. De l'Allsmaone. And is not this 
connexion still stronger with the original than the 
copy ? With the coloring of nature than «f art ?. 



After all, this is rather to be felt than described; 
still I think there are some who will understand it^ 
at least they would have done, had they beheld tbe 
oountenanee whose speaking harmony suggested th« 
idea; fortius passage is not drawn i^m imagina- 
tion, bat memory, that mhrror which affliction 
dashes to tiie earth, and looking down nym the 
fragments, only beholds the reflection multiplied. 



But yet the Une of Caratman. 

Page 124, line 24. 

Carasnum Oglou, or Cara Osman Oglou, ia tha 
principal landholder in Turkev ; he governs Hag* 
nesia : those who. hj a kind of feudal tenure, pos- 
sess land on oonoition of service, are called Tmist^ 
riots: they serve as Spahis, according to the extent 
of territory, and bri^g a certain number into the 
field, generally cavalry. 

8. 
And teach the mettenger what fate. 

Page 124, line 38. 

When a Pacha is sufficiently strong to resist, the 
single messenger, who is always the first bearer of 
the order for his death, is strangled instead, and 
sometimes five or six, one after the other, on the 
same errand, by command of tiie refractory patient; 
if, on the contrarr, he is weak or loyal, he bowa* 
kisses the Sultanas respectable signature, and ie 
bowBtrung with great complacency. In 1810, awe- 
ral of these presents were exhibited in the niche of 
the Seraglio gate; among others, the head of the 
Paeha of Bagdat, a brave young man, cut off by 
treachery, after a desperate resistance. 

9. 
'niriee clapp'd hit handt, andealTdhit tteed. 
Page 124, line «. 

Clapping of the hands calls the servants. The 
Turks nate a saperfluous expenditure of voice, aal 
they have no bells. 

10. 
IMgn*d kit gem-adom*d ohOmtam, 
^ ' Pageli^UaeM. 



KOTIS TO THB BRIDB OF ABTDOt. 



isa 



OUboaqae, tiia Torldsh piDe, of wliieli tilke mbcr 
mam fBkjUe e and sometfanes tne ball iHiich c<mt>ini 
tiwlad; it ttAomed frith predoos ftoiiM, if inpo*- 
i of tlie iPMlAiflr Qtdnt. 



U. 
1Fdl4 JfoMoniftM oiirf HomaliiAt. 

Pag«m,]iiM5a. 
Mmgrabee, Mooriah mercenaricn. 

12. 
Hi$ wow amid kis IMi took, 

Pag«m,liM». 
Sdi, IsmTOo idio fonn tho forlora hope of the 
mmJn, and ahraya begin the action. 

la. 

C^rotnmaeimvetheJbUedfilL 

Pasell4, Hne 71. 
A twisted fold otfeU is need for admitar practiee 
W the Turks, and few bat MuBsulman 



I cut 
trough it at a single stroke : sometimes a tough 
tnlMn is used for the same purpose. The jenreiM 
is a game of bfamt jaTelins, aniinatfd and graoeftiL 

14. 
Nor MeardOmrOUaht wild and Umd, 

Page 124, line 74. 
*«ailahs,*' AHa a Allah, the *<LeiUes/' as the 
Spanish poets call them, the sound is OUah; a erj 
of which the Tnrks, for a silent peoi>le, are some- 
wliat profose, particularly daring the jeireed, or in 
the rhase, bat mostly in battle. Their animation 
in tiia ifdd, and gravitj in the chamber, with their 
fipes and eombobios form an amusing oontrast. 

15. 

Pag^ 124, line 93. 
Atar-gnly" ottar of roses. The Persian Is the 

16. 
Theniehered roof and nuMrblo floor. 

Page 124, line 05. 
The ceOing and wainscots, or rather walls, of the 
Massaknan apartments are generallj nainted, in 
^est booses, with one eternal and hignly colored 
'view of Constantinople, wherein the principal 
fcatore is a noble contempt of peripectiTe ; below, 
anus, scimitars, ftc, are m general fiuidfiilly and 
not inelegantly disposed. 

17. 

A me$9affeJrom th$ BuBnd hears. 

Page 124, line 111. 
It has been much doubted whether the notes of 
fliis ** Lorer of the rose," are sad or merry ; and 
Hz. Pox's remarks on the subject hare proroked 
• some learned controversy as to the opinions of the 
andents on the subject. I dare not yenture a con- 
icctore on the point, though a little inclined to the 
" ecraxe mallem,'* &c., if Mr. Fox wat mistaken. 

18. 
Btm Axrael,from hii deadly qmver, * 

Page 125, line 19. 
** AsrBel"-^the angel of death. 

19. 
Wiikin the cavee of Istakar, 

Page 125, line 54. 
The treasures of the Pre- Adamite Sultans. See 
D'HSBBSLOT, article Iskatar, 

20. 
Holde not a MtuseUm't eontroL 

Page 125, line 70. 
a go? emor, the next in tank after a 



Pacha; a Waywodeis the third; and then ooom 
theAgas. 

21. 
WaekenothredinRoripof 

1^125, line 71. 
Bgiipo— 4h« Negvopont,— According to the ptor- 
efb the Turks of Sgrrpo, the Jews of Saloniea, aad 
the Greeks of Athens, are the worst of their respee 
tire races. 

22. 
Ah! yomdmr tee the Tehoeadar, 

Page 120, IfaM 11 
"Tehoeadar "-.one of the attendants who pc^ 
cedes a man of authority." 

2S. 
Thine oum" broad HelleepoHt" etiUdaehet. 
Page 126. line 88. 
The wrangling about this epithet "the broad 
Hellespont*^ or the "boundless Hellespont," 
whether it means one or the other, or what it means 
at all, has been beyond all possibility of detaiL I 
haTo eren heard it disputed on the spot; and, not 
foreseeing a speedy conclusion to the contaroTersy, 
am u sed myseu with swimming across it in the mean- 
time, and probably may again before the point Is 
settled. Indeed, the question as to the truth of 
" the tale of Troy dirine " still continues, much of 
it resting upon the talismanic word «*«««<^«f:" 
probably Homer had the same notion of distance 
that a coquette has of time, and when he talks at 
boundless, means half a mile; as the latter, by a 
like figure, when she says eternal attachment, stm- 
ply specifies three weeks. 

24. 
Which AnumnCe eon rcui proudly round. 

Page 126, line 94. 
Before his Persian inyasion, and crowned the al- 
tar with laurel, &c. He was afterwards imitated 
by Caracalla in his race. It is believed that the last 
also poisoned a friend, named Festus, for the sake 
of new PatrocUn ffames. I have seen the sheep 
feeding on the tombs of .£detes and Antiloehns ; 
the first ii in the centre of the plain. 

25. 
O'er which her fairy Ataere ra$i. 

Page 126, line 118. 
MThen rubbed, the amber is susceptible of a psr- 
fome, which is slight but not disagreeable. 

26. 
Her mother** eainted amulet. 

Page 126, line 116. 
The belief in amulets en^yed on ffems, or en- 
closed in gold boxes, containing scraps from the Ko- 
ran worn round the neck, wrist, or arm, is still uni- 
versal in the East. The Eoorsee (throne) verse hi 
the second chapter of the Koran describes the at- 
tributes of the Most High, and is engraved in thii 
manner, and worn by the pious, as the most esteem- 
ed and sublime of all sentences. 

27. 
And by her Comboloio lies. 

Page 126, line 119. 
" Comboloio "—a Turkish rosary. The MSS. par 
ticularly those of the Persians, are richly adorned 
and illuminated. The > Greek females are kept in 
utter ignorance ; but many of the Turkish girls art 
highly accomplished, though not actually qualified 
for a Christian coterie; perhaps some of our own 
"' bluei ** might not be the worse for bleaching, 

28. 
In him was some young OaUongee 

Page m, line 77. 
" Galiong^ "— or Galiongi, a sailor, that Is, t 



184 



BYBOITS W0BX8. 



JSa^kiih sailor; fhe Greeks navigate, tiie Turks 
. work the guns. Their dress is picturesque; audi 
have seen the Capitan Pacha more than once wear- 
ing it as a kind of incoty. Their legs, howeTer, are 
generally naked. The buskins described in the 
test as sheathed behind with silver, are those of an 
•Amaot robber, who was my host, rhe had quitted 
tike profession,) at his Pyrgo, near Crastouni m the 
Morea: they were plated in scales one over the 
Other, Uke the back of an armadillo. 



So may the Koran vent dkpkuf'd, 

PagelST, line 116. 
The ohaneters on all Turkish scimitars contain 
tometimes the name of the place of their man- 
ofiftcture, but more generally a text from the Ko- 
ran, in letters of gold. Among those in my pos- 
session, is one with a blade of singular construction ; 
It is Tery broad, and the edge notched into serpen- 
tine ourres like the ripple of water, or the warering 
of flame. I adted the Armenian who sold it, what 
fiossible use such a figure could add: he said, in 
ItaUan, that he did not Know ; but the Mussulmans 
had an idea that those of this form gave a severer 
wound ; and liked it because it was ** piu feroce." 
I did not much admire the reason, but bought it for 
its peculiarity. 

^ 30. 

But like the nephew ^ a Cain. 

Page 128, line 8. 
• It is to be observed, that etianr allusion to any- 
-tUag or personage in the Old Testament, such as 
the Ark, or Cain, is equally the privilege of Mus- 
sulman and Jew : indeed, tne former profess to be 
much better acquainted with the lives, true and fab- 
ulous, of tiie patriarchs, than is warranted by our 
own sacred wnt, and not content with Adam, they 
'have a biography of Pre- Adamites. Solomon is the 
monarch of ail necromancy, and Moses a propl 
inferior only to Christ and Mahomet. Zuleika is 
the Persian name of Potiphar's wife, and her 
amour with Joseph constitutes one of the finest 
poems in the language. It is therefore no violation 
of costume to put the names of Cain, or Noah) into 
the month of a Moslem. 

81. 
And PamaeCe rebel hordei attest. 

Page 128, line 24. 
Paswan Oglou, the rebel of Widin, who for the 
last years of his life, set the whole power of the 
Porte at defiance. 

32. 
They gave their honetaUe to the trind. 

Page 128, line 36. 
' Borsetail^ the standard of a Paeha. 



He drank one dravghtt nor needed more. 

Page 128, Une 49, 
Qiaffir, Pacha of Argyro Castro, or Scutari, I am 
sot sure which, was actually taken off by the Alba- 
nian Ali, in the manner described in the text. All 
Pacha, while I was in the country, married the 
daughter of his victim, some years after the event 
bad taken place, at a bath in Sophia, or Adrianople. 
The poison vras mixed in the cup of coffee, whicn is 
ated before the sherbet by the bath-keeper, after 

91. 
I Bought by tume and aato them all. 

Page 129, line 36. 
The Turkish notions of almost all islands are con- 
' to the Archipelago, the sea alluded to. 

86. 
2%« last of Lambro's patriots there. 

Page 129, line 68. 
Lunbro Canzoni, a Greek, fiunous for his eiforti 



in 1789-60 for the independsnoe of his otsmSttji 

abandoned by the Russians, he became a piratOyOai 
the Archipelago was the seene of lus eatanosss. 
He is said to be still alive at Petarsbma^ He and 
Biga are the two most celebrated of the Greek 
revolutionists. 

36. 
To snatch the Rayahs from their fate. 

Page 129, line tt. 
* Rayahs '* all who pay the capitation tax, called 
the •* Haratch." 

37. 
Ay. UtmeUheiheoceam^patriarch roam. 

P«e^ 129, line 60. 
The first of voyages is one of the few with whidi 
the Mussulmans profess much aoquaintanoe. 



Or only know on land the Tartar's home. 

Page 129, line 07. 
The wandering life of the Arabs, Tartars, and 
Turkomans, will be found well detailed in aoybodL 
of Eastern travels. That it possesses a charm pe- 
culiar to itself cannot be denied. A young frenok 
renegade confessed to Chateaubriand, that ne never 
found himself alone, galloping in the desert, witii- 
out a sensation approaching to rapture, wfaidi was 
indescribable. 

89. 
Blooming as Aden in its earliest hour. 

Page 129, line 87. 
"Jannat al Aden," the perpetual abode, tiki 
Mussulman Paradise. 

40. 
And moum*d above his turban^stone. 

Page 131, line 80. 
A turban is carved in stone above the gnveo off 
men only. 

41. 
The loud Wul-^ouUeh warn his distant ear. 
Page 131, line 45. 
The death-song of the Turkish women. Tho 
" silent slaves *' are tne men whose notions of de- 
corum forbid complaint in public. 

42. 
" VKhereismy child f "^^m echo answerer" Wher^f*' 
Page 181, Une 81. 

« I came to the place of my birth and cried, * the 
fiiends of my y outn, where are they ? ' and an Echo 
answered, * where are they ? ' "— JProm on Arahie 
MS. 

The above quotation (from which the idea in the 
text is taken) must be already familiar to erorr 
reader^it is given in the first annotation, page 67. 
of ** The Pleasures of Memory " a poem so wdl 
known as to render a reference almost superfluous ; 
but to whose pages all will be delighted to recur. 

43. 
Into Zuleika* s name. 

Page 181, line 1» 

" And Iky tonsaei tWt«|(<kai* men'* niMi.*' 

For a belief that the souls of the dead inhaUi the 
form of birds, we need not travel to the .east. I«onl 
Lyttleton's ghost story, the belief of the Butehese 
ox Kendal tiiat George I. fiew into her window in 
the shape of a raven, (see Orford's Reminiscences,) 
and many other instances, bring this superstition 
nearer home. The most singular vras the whim of 
a Worcester lady, who, beUeving her daughter to 
exist in the shape of a singing oird, literally fkB^ 
mshed her pew in the Cathedral with oages-mll of 
the kind: and as she was rich, and a benefactress 
in beautifying the church, no objection was made to 
her harmless folly. For this anecdote see Qcfticd'i 
Letters. 



THE COBSAIB; 

A TALE. 



iMrifMMlBM 

TJMO,am 



TSrOMAS HOOBS, Bsa 

Mt bbas Moobb,— 

I SKRIGAXB to yott tiie Isst prodnetion with which 
I diall traspass on public patience, and yom indnl- 
genee, fixr some yean ; and I own that I feel anx- 
iou to orail mjieU of this latest and only opporta- 
Bity of adonixng my pages with a name, oonsecrated 
by w^«^«^«*** public principle, and the most nn- 
donbted and various talents. While Ireland ranks 
yon ankoog the firmest of her patriots ; while you 
stand alone the first of her bards in her estimation, 
sad Biitaia npeats and ratifies the decree, permit 
one, whose only regret, since onr first acquaintance, 
has been the years he had lost before it commenced, 
to add the humble but sincere suffirage of friendship, 
to the voice at more than one nation. It will at 
least pr<r(Te to you, that I have neither forgotten the 
gratification deodved fnm yonr society, nor aban- 
doned the prospect of its renewal, whenever your 
losme or inclination allows you to atone to yonr 
ficicncb fbr too long an absence. It is said, among 
those friends, I tnut truly, that you are eng^ed in 
the eomposxtion of a poem whose scene will be laid 
m the East; none can do those scenes so mudi 
jastiee. The wrongs of your own country, the mag- 
uiflceBt and fiery spirit of her sons, the beauty and 
feefing of her daughters, may there be found; and 
Collins, when he denominate his Oriental his Irish 
Bdogues, was not aware how true, at least, was a 
part of b^ paEcsUeL Your imagination will create a 
wsaaner smi, and less etonded sky ; but wildness, 
tendenieBS, and arigxnalfty are part of yonr aatioaal 
daim of oriental dasoent, to which yon have already 
thus far provadyonr title moce clearly than the most 
naloBS of yoar eountsy's antiquarians. 

May I adl ii fiew wi»ds on a sml^eot on which ail 
men aae soppoeed tobe flneat, and none agreeable ? 
—Sell I Ime written much, and published more 
tiban eno^g^te demsend a lon^ev silence than I now 
; but lot soaiS years to come^ it is tny in- 



tention to tempt no farther the award of *'fOis» 
men, nor columns." In the present compoaitloA I 
have attempted not the most difficolt, but, pcrlu«M| 
the best adapted measure to our Itnguage, tiw good 
old and now neglected heroic couplet. The staasn 
of Spenser is, perhaps, too slow and dignified for 
narrative ; thraigh, I eonfeas, it is the measure most 
after my own heart ; Scott alone, of the p res e n t 
generation, has hitherto completely triumphed over 
the fatal facility of the octo-syllabic verse ; and thla 
is not the least rictoiy of his fertile and mighty ges- 
ius: in blank verse, Milton, Thomson, and our 
dramatists, are the beacons that shine along tht 
deep, but warn us firom the rough and barren rock 
on which they are kindled. The heroie couplet is 
not the most popular measure certainly ; but as I 
did not deviate into the other from a wish to flatter 
what is called public opinion, I shall quit it withouft 
fbrther apology, and take my chance once more with 
that versification, in which I have hitherto pnbliahed 
nothing but compositions whose former dreulation is 
part of my present, and will be of my fritore regnt. 
With regard to my story, and stories in general, 
I should have been glad to hate rendered my per^ 
sonages more perfect and amiable, if possible, inae- 
much as I have been sometimes criticised, and con- 
sidered no less respottsible for their deeds and qual* 
ities than if all had been personal. Be it so—if I 
have deviated into the gloomy vanity of ** drawing 
from self," the pictures are probably like, since they 
are unfavorable; and if not, those who know me 
sre undeceived, and those who do not, I have little 
interest in undeceiving. I have no particular desivt 
that any but my acquaintance should think tiie 
autliar better than the beings of his imagining ; but 
I cannot help a littie surprise, and perhaps amuse- 
ment, at some odd critical ezcqprtions in the present 
instance, when I see several bards, (&r more de» 
serving, I allow,) in very reputable plight, and 
quite exempted from all participation in tiie frtults 
of those heroes, wko» nevertheless, might be found 
witii littie more morality than " The Giaour,*' and 
perhaps -^t no— I miat admit Childe Harold ta 



186 



BTBX>N'S W0BS8. 



be a yerj xepnlATe penoiuge; and m to his iden- 
tity, thoee who like it must give him whatever 
*< alias " they please. 

If, however, it were worth while to remove the 
impression, it might he of some service to me, that 
the man who is alike the delight of his readers and 
his fUends, the poet of all circles, and the idol of 
his own, permits me here and elsewhere to subscribe 
myself. 

Host truly, 

And ail^'cfcionately, 

His obedient serrant, 

BYKON. 
January 2, 1814. 



n. 



CANTO I. 



Cterieoidanidelli 



I. 



lagfiardolsBB, 



•* O'BB the glad waters of the dark blue sea, 
Our thoughts as boundless, and our souls as firee, 
Par as the breeze can bear, the billows foam. 
Survey our empure, and behold our home ! 
These sxe our realms, no limits to their sway— 
Our flag the sceptre all who meet obey. 
Ours the wild life in tumult still to range 
Fkt>m toil to rest, and joy in every change. 
Oh, who can tell ! not thou, luxurious slave ! 
Whose soul would sicken o'er the heaving wave : 
Kot thou, vain lord of wantonness and ease ! 
Whom slumber soothes not, pleasure cannot please— 
Oh, who can tell, save he whose heart hath tried. 
And danced in triumph o'er the waters wide. 
The exulting sense— the pulse's maddening play. 
That thrills the wanderer of that trackless way ? 
That for itself can woo the approaching fight, 
And turn what some deem danger to delight ; 
That seeks what cravens shun with more than zeal, 
And where the feebler faint— can only feel-* 
Feel— to the rising bosom's inmost core, 
Its hope awaken and its spirits soar ? 
No dread of death— if with us die our foes- 
Save that it seems even duller than repose : 
Come when it will— ^e snatch the life of life — 
When lost— ^hat recks it— by disease or stxife ? 
Let him who crawls enamor'd of decay . 
Cling to his couch, and sicken years away ; 
Heave his thick breath, and shake his palsied head ; 
Oura--the fresh turf, and not the feverish bed. 
While gasp by gasp he falters forth his soul. 
Ours with one pang^— one bound— escapes control. 
His corse nu^y boast its urn and narrow cave, 
And they who loathed his life may gild his grave : 
Ours are the tears, though few, sincerely shed. 
When ocean shrouds and sepulchres our dead. 
For us, even banquets fond regret supply 
In the red cup that Crowns our memory ; 
And the brief epitaph in danger's day, 
When those who win at length divide the prey, 
And cry, remembrance saddening o'er each brow, 
fiow had the brave who fell exulted now t " 



Such were the notes that from the pirate's isle 

Around the kindling watch-fire rang the while ; 

Such were the sounds that thrill'd SiB rocks alo«g« 

And unto ears as rugged seem'd a song t 

In scatter'd groups upon the golden sandf 

They game— carouse— converse— or whet die fanaA; 

Select the arms — to each his blade assign, 

And careless eye the blood that dims its shine ; 

Repair the boat, replace the helm or oar. 

While others straggling muse along the shore: 

For the wild bird l^ie busy springes set, 

Or spread beneath the sun die dripping net ; 

Gaze where some distant sail a speck suppUM» 

With all the thirsting eye of enterprise ; 

Tell o'er the tales of many a night of toil* 

And marvel where they next shall seize a spoil : 

No matter where— their chiefs allotment this ; 

Theirs, to believe no prey nor plan amiss. 

But who that Chief ? His name on every shor» 

Is ftoned and fear'd— they ask and know no man. 

With these he mingles not but to command; 

Few are his words, but keen his eye and hand. 

Ne'er seasons he with mirth their jovial mes^ 

But they forgive his silence for success. 

Ne'er for his Up the purpling cup tley fill. 

That goblet passes him untasted still— 

And for his fare— the rudest of his crew 

Would that, in turn,* have paas'd untasted too ; 

Earth's ooarsest bread, the garden's homelleztrooti 

And scarce the summer luxury of fruits. 

His short repast in humbleness supply 

With all a hermit's board would scarce deny. 

But while he shims the grosser joys of sense. 

His mind seems nourish'd by that abstinence. 

" Steer to that shore ! "—they sail. « Do this 1 »»- 

'tis done : 
** Now form and follow me I "—the spoil is won. 
Thus prompt his accents and his actions ztillf 
And all obey and few inquire his will ; 
To such, brief answer and contemptuous eye 
Convey reproof, nor further deign reply. 

III. 
" A sail !— a sail ! " — a promised prize to hope ; 
Her nation— fiag — ^how speaks the telescope i 
No prize, alas !-^ut yet a welcome sail : 
The blood-red signal glitters in the gale. 
Yes — she is ours — a home-returning bark- 
Blow fair, thou breeze ! — she anchors ere Hie dark. 
Already doubled Is the cape— our bay 
Receives that prow which proudly spurns the spray 
How gloriously her gallant course she goes ! 
Her white wings flying — ^never from her foes- 
She walks the waters Uke a thing of life, 
And seems to dare the elements to strife. 
Who would not brave the battle-fire--the wreck- 
To mot* the monarch of her peopled deck ? 

IV. 

Hoarse o'er her side the rustling cable rings ; 
The sails axe furl'd ; and anchoring round she swingi^ 
And gathering loiterers on the land discern 
Her boat descending from the latticed stem. 
'Tis mann'dr— the oars keep concert to the atnnA, 
THI grates her keel upon the shallow sand. 
Hail to the welcome shout !— 4he fidendly speeok I 
When hand grasps hand uniting on the beach ; 
The smile, the question, and the quick zeplyt 
And the heart's promise of festivity 1 



THB CQBaUB. 



1ST 



V. 



Yhd tittii||s ifvfiMf sua gswconB^ grows toA crowd j 
Tlie hflB of Toiew, uid liie laughter Uwdf 
Aai wmia'a gvatler audout tone U hMid— 
FtiflodB*— hubondB*— 4oTen' uaM ia each dear 



"Oh! azethejeafe? we aak not of wpcieBi 
BatBfaaUweaeetiicm? will their aeoents bleaa ? 
Aoia where the battle roan-^Ae hOowa chafe— 
Tkflj doobtleoa boldly did— bat who are aafe ? 
Bbc let them haete to gladden and serpriae, 
ind hiss the doobt from theae ddighted eyes." 

VI. 
"Whflve IS our chief? for him we bear report"' 
And doobt that joy— whieh hails our coming— short ; 
Tst thns sincere— 'tis dieetiiig, though so brief; 
Bat, Jnan ! instant goidens to oar chief: 
Oar greeting paid, we*Il feast on onr retom, 
And sU shall bear what each may wish to leam." 
Aaeenfingdowlybythe rock-hewn way, 
To where hia watch-tower beetles o'er the bay. 
By boahy biake^ and wild flowers blossoming, 
And freshness Inreathing from each silrer spring, 
Whose seatter'd streams from granite basins bant, 
Lesp into life, and sparkling woo yoor thirst ; 
Fram exag to diff they nurant— Near yonder eave, 
Wbat lonely atzaggler looks along the wave ? 
U pensire posture leaning on the brand. 
Not oft a resting^stair to that red hand ? 
"Tm he — ^"tis Conrad— h ere a s wont— alone ; 
Oik-^aan !— on— and make oni pnrpoee known. 
Ike bark he Tiews— and tell him we would greet 
Hk ear with tidings he most quickly meet : 
We dare not yet approach— thou know'st his mood, 
Whm strange or oninrited steps intrade.*' 

vn. 

Him Joan sought, and told of their intent- 
He ^ake not — but a sign ezpress'd assent. 
These Jium calla— they come— to their salute 
He bends him slightly, but his lips are mute. 
"These letters. Chief, are frop the Greek— the spy 
Wlio stin proclaims our spoil or peril nigh : 
Wliate'er his tidings we can well report, 
liBeh tiiat **—•< Peace, peace!"— he cuts their 

prating short. 
Wondering they turn, abashed, while each to each 
Coqeetoze whispers in his muttering speech: 
Tbey watch his glance with many a stealing look, 
To ga&er how that eye the tidings took ; 
Bat, this as if he guess'd, with head aside, 
Ferdiance from some emotion, doubt, or pride. 
He read the icroll— " My tablets, Juan, hark- 
Where is Gonsalvo ? " 

*'Intheanchor'dbark.' 

'* Then let hhn stay— ^ him this order bear- 
Back to yoor duty— for my course prepare : 
Kyedf this enterprise to-night will share." 

•• To night. Lord Conrad ? " 

«AyI at set of son: 
The hnese iriH freshen when tb» day is done. 
Vy eonlet— doak— one houi^— and we are gone. 
8&ig «m thy bugle— see that free from rust 
Xy easfaine-lock springs worthy of my trust; 
Be the edgesharpen'd of my boarding brand, 
had pie ita guard more room to flt my hand. 



This let the Anncter with speed dispose ; 
Last time, it more fittigued my arm than foes : 
Hark that the signal-gun be duly flred, 
To tell us when the hour of stay's expired." 

VUL 

They make obeissnee, and retire in haste, 
Too soon to seek again the watery waste : 
Tet they repine not^-eo that Conrad guides, 
And who dsre question aught that he decides ? 
That man of lonelineas and mystery, 
Scarce seen to smile, and seldom heard to sigh ; 
Whose nsme appals the fieroest of his crew. 
And tints each swarthy cheek with sallower hue ; 
Still sways their souls with that commanding art 
That dassles, lesds, yet chills the Tulgsr heart. 
What ii that spell, that thoa his lawless train 
Confess and envy, yet oppose in vain ? 
What should it be, that thus their fate can bind ? 
The power of Thought— the magic of the Mind I 
Link'd with success, assumed and kept with skill. 
That moolds another's weakness to its will ; 
Wields with their hands, but, still to these unknowii 
Makes eren their mightieet deeds appear his own. 
Such hath it been— shall bo— beneath the sun. 
The msny still must labor for the one ! 
"Tis Nature's doom— but let the wretch who toils, 
Accuse not, hate not Mm who wears the spoils. 
Oh I if he knew the weight of splendid chains, 
How light the balance of his humbler pains ! 

IX. 

Unlike the heroes of each aneient race, 
Demons in act, but Gods at least in face, 
In Conrad's form seems little to admire, 
Thoogh his dark eyebrow shades a glance of fire : 
Robust but not Herculean— to the sight 
No giant frame sets forth his common height; 
Tet, in the whole, who paused to look again, 
Saw more than marks the crowd of vulgar men ; 
They gase and marvel how— end still confess 
That thus it is, but why they cannot guess. 
Sunburnt hia cheek, his forehead high and pale 
The sable curls in wild profusion veil ; 
And oft perforce his riaing Up reveals 
The haughtier thought it curbs, but scares oonoeak. 
Though smooth his voice, and c^Jm his general nuen. 
Still seems there something he would not hare seen | 
His features' deepening lines and varying hue 
At times attracted, yet perplex'd the view, 
As if within that murkiness of mind 
Work'd feelings fearful, and yet undefined ; 
Such might it be — ^that none could truly tell— > 
Too dose inquiry his stem glance would queU. 
There breathe but few whose aspect might defy 
The full encounter of his searching ^e : 
He had the skill, when Cunning's gase would seek 
To probe his heart and watch his changing cheek. 
At once the observer's purpose to espy. 
And on himself roll back his scrutiny, 
Lest he to Coprad rather should betray 
Some secret thought, than drag that chiefs to day 
There was a laughing Devil in his sneer, 
That raised emotions both of rage and fear ; 
And where his frown of hatred darkly fell, 
Hope withering fled— and Mercy sigh'd frurewell 1 

X. 

Slight are the outward signs of evil thought, 
Withiar-o'Withii^-'twas there the spuit wrooght t 



i<8 



BTitOK'S TVtmKS. 



Love tkom aQ ohnigefl— Hatei AsM&aa, Guile, 
Betray no ftixther than the Utter smile ; 
The lip's least eurl, the lightest paleness thrown 
Along the goveni'd aspect, speak alone 
Of deeper passions ; and to judge their mien, 
He, who would see, must be himself unseen. 
Then-^th the hurried tread, the upward eye. 
The clenched hand, the pause of agony, 
That listens, starting, lest the step too near 
Approach intrusiTe on that mood of fear : 
Then— with each feature working from the heart. 
With feelings loosed to strengthen— not depart : 
That rise— conTulse— contend— that freeze, or glow, 
Flush in the cheek, or damp upon the brow ; 
Then— Stranger ! if thou canst, and tremblest not, 
Behold his soul'— the rest that soothes his lot ! 
Mark— how that lone and blighted bosom sears 
The scathing thought of execrated years ! 
Behold— but who hath seen, or e'er shall see, 
Man as himsdf— ^e secret spirit free ? 

XI. 
Tet was not Conrad thus by Nature sent 
To lead the guilty— guilt's worst instrument— 
HiB soul was changed, before his deeds had driven 
Bim forth to war with man and forfeit heaven. 
Warp'd by the world In Disappointment's school. 
In words too wise, in conduct there a fool ; 
Too firm to yield, and far too proud to stoop, 
Boom'd by his very virtues for a dupe, 
He cursed those virtues as the cause of ill, 
And not the traitors who betray'd him still ; 
Kor deem'd that gifts bestow'd on better men 
Had left him joy, and means to live again. 
Fear'd—ehunn'd— belied — ere youth had lost her 

force, 
Qe hated man too much to feel remorse. 
And thought the voice of wrath a sacred call, 
To pay the injuries of some on all. 
He knew himself a villain— but he deem'd 
The rest no better than the thing he seem'd ; 
And scom'd the best as hypocrites who hid 
Those deeds the bolder spirit plainly did. 
He knew himself detested, but he knew 
The hearts that loathed him, crouch'd and dreaded 

too. 
Lone, wild, and strange, he stood alike exempt 
From all aifection and from all contempt : 
His name could sadden, and his acts surprise ; 
But they that fear'd him dared not to despise : 
Man spurns the worm, but pauses ere he woke 
The slumbering venom of the folded snake : 
The first may turn— -but not avenge the blow ; 
The last expires— but leaves no living foe ; 
Fast to the doom'd offender's form it clings, 
Aad he may crush— not conquei^'-«till it stings ! 

XII. 
None are all evil — quickening round hjs ^eaxt. 
One softer feeling would not yet depart ; 
Oft could he sneer at others as beguiled 
By passions worthy of a fool or child ; 
Tet 'gainst that passion vainly stall he strove, 
And even in him it asks the name of Love ! 
Yes, it was love— unchangeable— unchanged. 
Felt but for one from whom he never ranged ; 
Though fuiest eaptives daily met his eye. 
He ihonn'd nor sought, but ooldly pass*d tliem by ; 



Though many a beanty droop'd in prisonM bower* 
None ever soothed his most unguarded hour. 
Tes— it was Love— if thoughts of tenderness. 
Tried in temptation, strengthened by distress, 
Unmoved by absence, firm in every dime. 
And yet— Oh more than all ! — ^ontired by time ; 
Which nor defeated hope, nor baffled wile. 
Could tender sullen were she near to smile, 
Nor rage could fire, nor sickness fret to vent 
On her one murmur of his discontent ; 
Which still would meet with joy, with calmness par^ 
Lest that his look of grief should readi her heart ; 
Which nought removed, nor menaced to remor o - 
If there be love in mortals — ^this was love ! 
He was a villain— ay— reproaches shower 
On him— but not the passion, nor its power. 
Which only proved, all other virtues gone. 
Not guilt itself could quench this loveliest one ! 

XIIL 
He paused a moment— till his hastening men 
Pass'd the first winding downward to the glen. 
" Strange tidings ! — many a peril have I past. 
Nor know I why this next appears the last ! 
Tet so my heart forebodes, but must not lear. 
Nor shall my followers find me falter here. 
'Tis rash to meet, but surer death to wait 
TiU here they hunt us to undoubted fiite ; 
And, if my plan but hold, and Fortune smQe, 
We'll furnish mourners for our funeral-pile. 
Ay— let them slumbei^-peaoeful be their dreams I 
Mom ne'er awoke them with such brilliant beams 
As kindle high to-night (but blow, thou breese !) 
To warm these slow avengers of the seas. 
Now to fedora— Oh I my sinking heart. 
Long may her own be lighter than thou art ! 
Tet was I brave — mean boast where all are braTe t 
Ev'n insects sting for aught they seek to save. 
This common courage which with brutes we shaic 
That owes its deadliest efforts to despair, 
Small merit claims — ^but 'twas my nobler hope 
To teach my few ^rith^iumbers still to cope ; 
Long have I led them— uot to vainly bleed : 
No medium now— we perish or succeed ! 
So let it be-»it irks not me to die ; 
But thus to urge them whence they cannot fly. 
My lot hath long had little of my care, 
But chafes my pride thus baffled in the snare : 
Is this my skiU ? my craft ? to set at last 
Hope, power, and life upon a single cast ? 
Oh, Fate !— accuse thy folly, not thy fate — 
She may redeem thee stOl- nor yet too late." 



XIV. 

Thus with himself communion held he, till 
He/reach'd the summit of his towcr-crown'd hill : 
There at the portal paused— for wild and soft 
He heard those accents never heard too oft; 
Through the high lattice far yet sweet they rung. 
And these the notes his bird of beauty sung : 



" Deep in my soul that tender secret dwells, 
Lonely and lost to light for evermore, 

Save when to thine my heart responsive sweUs^ 
Then trtenbles into silence as before. 




r- '.'^* 



THB COBSAIE. IM 

8. V'Thb how w« part !--4n7li08rtfoMl>od0dilili; 

Hun, in its centre, a sepnlchral lamp iTlms ever fade my fairy dreamt of bliM. 

. *h^ .1 o« flame, •t'^rti •!— *>"♦ «••—■». • J TWa ht a*» i * tm»imt ¥% t t > W * '».«•.• -.♦i** f 









-. '. -I. 



Ai r.i 






I hour again—but not for long-'we part^ ISo MIr-ihai feeling aeem'd ahnott tmfelt ! 







^' 







not COBflAIB. 



tu 



Jkn, in its centre, a lepulchnl Ump 
Bam the alow flame, eternat-but unieen ; 
Which not tlie darkness of despair csn damp, 
Iboqgh Tun ila zmy as it had neTer heen. 



I ! pass not thou my gra^e 
Without oae thought whose relios there recline : 
The only pang my bosom dare not bntTo 
Mnthe to find foigetfolness in thine. 



" M7 liBidest— Isintest-Utest aoeenU he 
Grief for the dead not Tirtae can leprore ; 

Ikngxve me all I erer ask'd— a teer, 
The li s t l ast— eole rewsrd of so mnch love ! " 

Hepan'd the porta l - cross'd the conidore, 
Aadxench'd the chamber as the strain gare o'er ; 
"KyownMedora! sore thy song is sad-— " 

'Is Omnd*fe absence wooldst thou hare it glad ? 

Without thine ear to listen to my lay, 
StSl mast my song my thoughts, my soul betray : 
Still lanst each accoit to my bosom suit, 
Jf7 heart onhnsh'd— although my lips ifoe mnte ! 
Oh ! ma J a night on this lone couch reclined, 
My dxeaming fear with stovma hath wing'd the wind, 
isd deem'd the breath that faintly £um*d thy sail 
The nuxrmuiing prelude of tiie ruder gale ; 
Though softy it seem*d the low prophetic dirge, 
That nunzm'd thee floating on tiie saTSge snige ; 
Still would I rise to rouse the beacon fire, 
Leit spies less true should let the blase expire ; 
Asd many a restless hour outwatch'd each star. 
And momiag came— and still thou wert afar. 
Oh! how the chill blast on my bosom blew, 
And day broke dreary on my troubled riew, 
Aad stdll gased and gased--and not a prow 
Wis granted to my tears— my troth— my tow ! 
kL length— *twas noon— I hsil*d and bless the mast 
That met my sight— it near'd— Alas ! it past ! 
Another came— Oh Qod ! 'twas thine at last ! 
Would that those days were orer t wilt thou ne'er, 
MyConrad! team the joys of peace to share? 
Sne thou hast more than wealth, and many a home 
Ashd^tastiusinTitesusnot to roam; 
Thou know'st it is not peril that I fear, 
I oaly tremble when thou art not here ; 
Then not fiormine, but that far dearer life, 
WhiA flies from lore and languishes for strifi^- 
How strange that heart, to me so tender still. 
Should war with nature and its better will 1 " 

Tea, stooge indeed-that heart hath long been 
changed; 
Wonn-Uke 'twas trampled— adder-like arenged, 
Without one hope on earth beyond thy lore. 
And seaice a glimpse of mercy from abore. 
Tet the same feeling which thou dost condemn. 
My Tery lore to thee is hate to them. 
So doMly nmgling here, that disentwined, 
I ceaa« to lore thee when I Ioto mankind : 
Tet dread not thia-^e proof of all the past 
AsBono the fotore that my love will last ; 
But— OhfMedorat nerve thy gentle heart. 
This hovx again— but not for hmg-'we pert** 



" This how we part !—ny hisart Ibi^boddl All ; 

Thus ever Ihde my fairy dreams of Uiss. 

This hornet esnnot be— 4Us hour away ! 

Yon bark hath hardly •nehor'd in the bay: 

Her oonsort stOl is absent, and her ertw 

HaTe need of rest befine tiMy toQ anew: 

My lore ! thou moek'st my weakness ; and wmdM 



My breast belbrs the time when it must feel ; 
But trifle now no more with my distress. 
Such mirth hath less of play than bitterness 
Be silent, Conrad !— dearest ! come and share 
The feast these hsnds delighted to prepere , 
Light toil ! to cull and dron thy fruigal fere ! 
See, I hare pluck*d the fruit that promised best, 
And where not sure, perplexed, but pleas'd, I gnsM^ 
At such as seem'd the fairest: thrice the hUl 
My steps have wound to try the coolest till; 
TesI thy sherbet to-night wUl sweetly flow. 
See how it sparkles in its vase of snow I 
The grapes' gay juice thy bosom new eheers; 
Thou more then Moslem when tite cop appeaai: 
Think not I mean to chide— for I rejoioe 
What others deem a penanoe is thy choioe. 
But come, the board is spread ; our silrer lamp 
Is trimm'd, and heeds not the Siroeeo's damp : 
Then shall my handmaids whSlb the time along. 
And join with me the danoe, or wake the song; 
Or my guitsr, which still thou lov'st to hear. 
Shall sooth or lull— or, should it toz thine etr, 
We'll turn the tale, by Ariosto told. 
Of fidr Olyn^ia loved and left of old.> 
Why-^ou wert worse than he who broke his fw 
To that lost damsel, shouldst thou leave me nsmi 
Or even that traitor chief— I'tc seen thee smile. 
When the dear sky show'd Ariadne's Isle, 
Which I have pointed from these clifls the while : 
And thus half sportiTe, half in fear, I said, 
Lest Time should raise that doubt to more thi^ 

dread. 

Thus Conrad, too, will quit me for the main : 
And he dcoeiTed me— foi^-he came again t " 

** Again— again— and oft agun— my lore I 

If there be life below, and hope aboTe, 

He wHI return— but now, the momenta bring 

The time of psrting with redoubled wing : 

The why^— the wh e r e what boots it now to tdl ? 

Sinoe all must end in that wild word— farewell ! 

Yet would I fain— ^id time allow— disclose— 

Fear not— these are no formidable foes ; 

And here shall vratch a more than wonted guard* 

For sudden siege and long defence prepared : 

Nor be thou lonely — though thy lord's away. 

Our matrons and thy handmaids with thee stay ; 

And this thy eomfort— that, when next we meet. 

Security shall make repose more sweet. 

list !— 'tis the bugl»-Juan shrilly blew— 

One ki s s o ne mo re a nother^-Oh I Adieu!" 

She rose— she sprung^-she clung to his embnea^ 
Tai his heart heaved beneath her hidden ihoe. 
He dsred not raise to his tiiat deep-bfaie eye. 
Which downcast droop'd in tearless agony. 
Her long Mr hair lay floating o'er his ams, 
In all the wHdness of diahevell'd charms; 
Scaroe beat that boeom whsie his image dvasit 
SofU^-tfAorfceUngfeeu'd almoctvnIUt! 



THB CQBfiAIB. |g^ 

_ •• |"TMfhowiraptft!-«i7liMttfeiibod8d«fai 

aim, m ifei centre, a sepulchnl lamp JThpa erer fade my furj dream of bUts. 



. w f iJmucv uvab (uai; UO801X1 wnere Jus image dwidft 

lilt luniragaiB^-bat not for ]on«^--^we pert** ISo fall 4haf fcdiag ■eem'd ehnoet nnfelt r 



i40 



BYRON'S WOBKS. 



Haork— ^pMb'tiie thimdef of t&e ugnal-gim ! 
It told 'twas sunset— and he CTirsed that sun. 
Again-— again — ^that foim he madly press'd, 
Which mutually clasp'd, imploringly caressed ! 
And tottering to the couch his bride he bore, 
One moment gazed— as if to gase no more ; 
Felt— that for him earth held but her alone, 
Sjss'd her cold forehead— tum'd— is Conrad gone ? 

XV. 

** And is he gone ? "— «n sudden solitude 

flow oft that fearful question will intrude ! 

" 'Twas but an instant past — and here he stood 1 

And now " — ^without the portal's porch she rush'd, 

And then at length her tears in freedom gush'd ; 

Big— bright— and fast,unknown to her they fell ; 

But still her lips refused to send—" Farewell ! " 

For in that word — ^that fatal word — ^howe'er 

We promise— hope— belieye — ^there breathes despair. 

O'er every feature of that still, pale face. 

Had sorrow flz'd what time can ne'er erase : 

The tender blue of that large loving eye 

Cbew frozen with Its gaze on vacancy, 

Till— Oh, how far ! — It caught a glimpse of him, 

And then, it flow'd— and frenzied seem'd to swim 

Through those long, dark, and glistening lashes 

dew'd 
With drops of sadness oft to be reneVd. 
"He's gone I "—against her heart that hand is 

driven, 
Convulsed and quick — ^then gently raised to heaven ; 
She look'd and saw the heaving of the main; 
The white sail set— she dared not look again ; 
But tum'd with sickening soul within the gate— 
** It is no dream— end I am desolate ! " 

XVI. 

From crag to crag descending^-swiltly sped 
Stem Conrad down, nor once he tum'd his head; 
But shrunk whene'er the windings of his way 
Forced on his eye what he would not survey, 
His lone, but lovely dwelling on the stoep, 
That hail'd him first when homeward from the deep : 
And she — the dim and melancholy star, 
Whose ray of beauty reach'd him from afar, 
On her he must not gaze, he must not think, 
There he might rest— but on Destruction's brink ; 
Yet, once almost he stopp'd— and nearly gave 
His fate to chance, his projects to the wave ; 
But no — ^it must not be — a worthy chief 
If ay melt, but not betray to woman's grief. 
?e sees his bark, he notes how fair the wind, 
Ind sternly gathers all his might of mind : 
Again he hurries on— «nd as he hears 
The clang of tumult vibrate on his ears. 
The busy sounds, the bustle of the shore. 
The shout, the signal, and the dashing oai ; 
As marks his eye the seaboy on the mast. 
The anchors rise, the sails unfurling fast. 
The waving kerchiefs of the crowd that urge 
That mute adieu to those who stem the surge ; 
And more than all, his blood-red flag aloft, 
He marvell'd how his heart could seem so soft. 
Fire in his glance, and wildness in his breast. 
He feels of all his former self possest ; 
He bounds— he flies— imtil his footsteps reach 
The Terge where ends the cliff, begixis the beach, 
There checks his speed ; but pauses less to breathe 
The bieeiy freshness of the deep beneath, 



Than there his wonted statelier step renew; 
Nor rash, disturb'd by haste, to vulgar view : 
For well had Conrad leam'd to curb the crowd, 
By arts that veil, and oft preserve the proud ; 
His was the lofty port, the distant mien. 
That seems to shun the sight— and awes if seen 
The solemn aspect, and the high-bom eye. 
That checks low mirth, but lacks not courtesy; 
All these he wielded to command assent: 
But where he wish'd to win, so well unbent, 
That kindness cancell'd fear in those who heard, 
And others' gifts show'd mean beside his word. 
When echo'd to the heart as from his own 
His deep yet tender melody of tone : 
But such was foreign to his wonted mood. 
He cared not what he soften'd, but subdued ; 
The evil passions of his youth had made 
Him value less who loved— than what obey'd. 



XVII. 

Around him mustering ranged his ready guard. 
Before him Juan stands — *' Are all prepared ? " 

'* They are— nay more— embark'd: tiie latest boat 

Waits but my chief " 

" My sword, and my capote." 
Soon firmly girded on, and lightly slung. 
His belt and cloak were o'er his shoulders flung : 
*' Call Pedro here ! ". He comes— and Conrad bends. 
With all the courtesy he deign'd his friends ; 
** Receive these tablets, and pemse with care. 
Words of high tmst and tmth are graven there ; 
Double the guard, and when Ansehno's bark 
Arrives, let him alike these orders mark : 
In three days (serve the breeze) the sun shall shxn^ 
On our retum— till then all peace be thine ! " 
This said, his brother Pirate's hand he wrung. 
Then to his boat with haughty gesture spruitf 
Flash'd the dipt oars, and sparkling with the s^ ^fte* 
Arotmd the waves' phosporic* brightness broke ; 
They gain the vessel— on the deck he stands. 
Shrieks the shrill whistle — ^ply the busy hands- 
He marks how well the ship her helm obeys. 
How gallant aH her crew — and deigns to praise. 
His eyes of pride to young Gonsalvo turn — 
Why doth he start, and inly seem to^oum ? 
Alas ! those eyes beheld his rocky tower. 
And live a moment o'er the parting hour; 
She — ^his Medora— did she mark the prow ? 
Ah ! never loved he half so much as now ! 
But much must yet be done ere dawn of day— - 
Again he mans himself and turns away ; 
Down to the cabin with Oonsalvo bends. 
And there unfolds his plan — ^his means— find ends ; 
Before them bums the lamp, and spreads the duu1| 
And all that speaks and aids the naval art ; 
They to the midnight watch protract debate ; 
To anxious eyes what hour is ever late ? 
Meantime, the steady breeze serenely blew. 
And fast and falcon-like the vessel flew; 
Pass'd the high headlands of each clustering isle. 
To gain their port— long-— long ere morning smile : 
And soon the night-glass through the narrow bay 
Discovers where the Pacha's galleys lay. 
Count they each sail— and mark how there supine 
The lights in vain o'er heedless Moslem shine. 
Secure, unnoted, Conrad's prow pass'd by. 
And anchor'd where his ambush meant to lie ; 



XSB CQBffAIB. 



141 



ThaliMn on high its rude fawtiitic ah^e. 
ThflttiMs his band to dnty— 4iot from sleep— 
Jbpapfd far deeds alike on land or deep ; 
WUle leon'd their leader o*er the fretting flood* 
AndcaUj talked— end yet he talkM of Uood I 



CANTO II. 



I. 
br Oocon's bey floats many a galley light, 
Thzomgih Coron's latdoes the lamps are bright, 
Por Seydy die Pacha, makes a feast to-night * 
▲ feast fer promiaed triumph yet to come, 
When he ahaU drag the fetter'd BoTers home ; 
This hatili he sworn by Alia and his sword. 
And feithfol to his firman and his word. 
His somnMm'd prows collect along the coast, 
And great tiie gathering crews, and loud the boast ; 
Aheadf shared the captiTes and the prise, 
Though fer'tbe distant foe they thus despise ; 
Tis but to sail— no doubt to-morrow's Sun 
Win see the Pirates bound— their haven won ! 
Meantime the watch may slumber, if they will, 
Nor only wake to war, but dreaming kill. 
Thou^ an, who can, disperse on shore and seek 
To flesh their glowing valor on the Greek ; 
How w^ such deed becomes the turban'd brav^- 
Ts here the sabre's edge before a bUtc ! 
Infest hie dwelling— but forbear to slay, 
Their amas axe strong, yet merdftil to-day, 
Aad do not deign to smite because they may ! 
Thdess some gay caprice suggests the blow. 
To keep in practice for the coming foe. 
Bevel and rout the erening hours beguile, 
And they who wish to wear a head must smile ; 
For Moelem mouths produce their choicest cheer, 
And heexd their curses, tiH the coast is clear. 

n. 

JEE^ XQ his haH reclines the torban'd Seyd; 
Anfuad— 4he bearded chiefs he came to lead. 
Bemoved the banquet, and the last pilaff— 
Forbidden draughts, 'tis said, he dared to quaff, 
Thongh to the rest the sober berry's juice * 
The slaiTee bear round for rigid Moslems' use ; 
The lea^ Chibouque's « dissolTing cloud supply. 
While denee the Almaa* to wild minstrelsy. 
The liaiBigaiQsn will view the ehiefe embaik ; 
But wmreo tte somewhat treacherous in the dark : 
Aadswrelkn may more securely sleep 
Ob sOkeo couch than o'er the rugged deep ; 
FesMt tJMBewhocan mot combat tfll they must, 
And leas to eonqnest than to Korans trust ; 
And 7«t tMe mnbera cnwded in his host 
Might wmami man than even the Pacha's boest 

m. 

letwcBice from the outer gate, 
Ihe 8Uf% whoee offiee there to wait. 



WWk 



hJsb^athedi hia h— d aalatia the 

Bre yet his tongue the trusted tidings bore: 
** A captiTe Penrise, from the pirate's nest > 
Bseaped, is hare-^iimself would teU the rest." 
He took the sign from Seyd's assenting eye, 
And led the holy man in silenoe nigh. 
His arms were folded on hie dark-green vest. 
His step was feeble, and his look deprest ; 
Yet worn he seem'd of hardship more than years. 
And pale his cheek with penance, not from feais. 
Vow'd to his Ood-^iis sable locks he wore. 
And these his lofty cap rose proudly o'er : 
Around his form his loose long robe was thrown. 
And wrapt a breast bestow'd on heaven alone ; 
Submissive, yet with self-posaeesion mann'd, 
He calmly met the curious eyes that scann'd ; 
And question of his coming fain would seek. 
Before the Pacha's wiU allow'd to speak. 

TV, 

** Whence com'st thou, Dervlse ? " 



A ftigitiT»-" 



'< From tike oatiaw's den, 
* Thy capture where and when) " 



From Scalanovo's port to Sdo's isle. 
The Saick was bound ; but Alia did not smile 
Upon our course— 4he Moslem merchant's gains 
The Bovers won : our limbs have worn their chaina. 
I had no death to fear, nor wealth to boast. 
Beyond the wandering freedom which I lost ; 
At length a fisher's humble boat by night 
Afforded hope, and offer'd chance of ilight : 
I seized the hour and find my safety here— 
ITHth thee-^most mighty Pacha ! who can fear ? ** 

Hoiw speed the outlaws ? stand they weU prepared 
Their plunder'd wealth, and robber's rock, to gusxd ? 
Dream they of Hda our preparation, doom'd 
To view with fire their scorpion nest consnaiedr' 

Pacha ! the fetter'd captive's mourning eye. 
That weeps for flight, but ill can play the spy ; 
I only heard the reckless waters roar, 
Thoae waves that would not bear me irom the shore 
I only mark'd the glorious sun and sky. 
Too bright— ^too blue— for my captivity ; 
And felt — that all which Fre^om's bosom cheen, 
Must break my chain before it dried my tears. 
This may'st thou judge, at least, from my escape. 
They little deem of aught in peril's shape ; 
Blse vainly had I pray'd or sought the chance 
That leads me here — ^if eyed with vigilance : 
The careless guard that did not see me fly 
May watch as Idly when thy power is nigh. 
Padia !— my limbs are faintr-and nature craves 
Food for my hunger, rest from tossing waves : 
Permit my absence-^eace be with thee 1 Peace 
With all around !— now grant repose— release.** 

Stay, Dervise ! I have more to question stay, 
I do command thee sit -dost hear ?-'*obey I 
More I must ask, and food the slaves shaU bring: 
Thou shalt not pine where all are banqnetfBg: 
The supper done— prepare thee to reply, 
Clearly and ftdl— I love not myvtHy." 

Twen vain to guess what shook the pious miB» 
Who look'd not lovingly on that Divan ; 
Nor show'd high relish for the banquet pnai 
And loss respect for CTeiy fellow guest. 



I4i 



BTBOire VOBXS. 



TwM Imt a memeufs peeridi hefllio past 
Along Ms theok, and tranqoiUized as faat : 
He sate him down in sUenee, and his look 
Besumed the oalnmess which before fenook : 
The feast was osher'd in— but samptnons hie 
He Bhonn'd as if some poison mingled there. 
For one so long condemn'd to toil and fiist, 
Hethinks he strangely spares the rioh repast. 

« What ails thee, Derrise ? eat— dost thou sn^^ose 
This feast a Christian's ? or my Mends thy foes ? 
Why dost thou shnn the salt ? that sacred pledge, 
Which, once psrtaken, blunts the sabre's edge, 
Makes eren contending tribes in peace unite, 
And hated hosts seem brethren to the sight ! " 

« Salt sessons dainties— and my food is still 
The humblest root, my drink the simplest rill ; 
And my stem tow and order's ^ laws oppose 
To break or mingle bread with friends or foes ; 
It may seem strange— if there bo aught to dread. 
That peril rests upon my sin^e head ; 
But for thy sway— nay more-^thy Sultan's throne, 
I taste nor bread nor banquet-^saTe alone ; 
Infringed our order's rule, the Prophet's rage 
To Mecca's dome might bar my pilgrimage." 

" Well— as thou wilt— ascetic as thou art- 
One question answer ; then in peace depart. 
How many ? — ^Ha ! it cannot sure be day ? 
What star— what sun is bursting on the bay ? 
It shines a lake of fire !— away— away ! 
Ho ! treachery I my guards ! my scimitar ! 
The galleys feed the flames-^and I afar I 
Accursed Derrise !— 4hese thy tidings-Mhou 
Borne TilUsn spy-H Haae - cl eaTShim— slay him now!" 

Up rose the Derrise witii that burst of light, 
K6r less his change of form appall'd the sight: 
Up rose that Derrise— not in saintly g^b. 
But like a warrior bounding on his barb, 
Dash'd his high cap, and tore his robe away- 
Shone his maii'd breast, and flash'd his sabre's ray I 
His close but glittering casque, and sable plume, 
More glittering eye, and black brow's sabler gloom, 
Glared on the Moslems' eyes some Afrit sprite, 
Whose demon death-blow left no hope for fight. 
The wild confusion, and the swarthy glow 
Of flames on high and torches from below ; 
The shriek of terror, and the mingling yell— 
For swords began to clash, and shouts to swell. 
Flung o'er that spot of earth the air of hell ! 
Distracted, to and'fro, the flying slares 
Behold but bloody shore and flery waves ; 
Nought heeded they the Pacha's angry cry, 
Thejf sieze that Derrise T— seise on Zatanai ! ^ 
fie saw their terror— check'd the first despair 
That urged him but to stand and perish there, ' 
Sinoe Us too eaily and too weU obey'd. 
The flame was kindled ere the signal made ; 
He 99m their teivn^-from his baldrio drew 
His bi:«le-brief the blast-but shrilly blew; 
•Tis answer'd^— '< well ye speed, my gaUaat eww 1 
Why did I douht their quirtness of oareer ? 
And deem design h\th left me single here ? " 
Sweeps his long arm^^Chat sabre's whirling sway 
Sheds fast atonemeflt for its first dday ; 
Completes his f^, what thefar ftar b^n. 
And makes the many basely qwail to one. 



The cloren tnbaitt o'er tto c 

And scaiee an arm dare rsise to guard its head: 

Eren Seyd, conTulsed, o'erwhelm'd, with rage, sfV* 

prise. 

Retreats before him, though ho still defies. 
No crsTen he— and yet he dreads the blow, 
So much Confasion magnifies his foe ! 
His blssing galleys still distract his sight, 
He tore his beard, and foaming fled the fight; * 
For now the pirates pass'd the Haram gate. 
And burst within— and it were death to wait ; 
Where wild Amasement shrieking— kneeling throws 
The sword aside— in vain— the blood o'erflows ! 
The Corsairs pouring, haste to where within* 
Inrited Conrad's bugle, and the din 
Of groaning riotims, and wUd cries for life, 
Proclaim'd how well he did the work of strife 
They shout to flnd him grim and lonely there, 
A glutted tiger mangling in his lair ! 
But short their greetings-shorter his reply— 
" 'Tis well— but Seyd escapes— and he must die 
Much hath been done— but more remains to C 
Their galleys blaze— why not their city too ? * 



Quick at the word— 4hey seized him each a torcn. 
And fire the dome from minaret to porch. 
A stem delight was fix'd in Conrad's eye. 
But sudden sunk— for on his ear the cry 
Of women struck, and like a deadly knell 
Knock'd at that heart unmoved by battle's yeU. 
« Oh ! burst the Haram— wrong not on your lives 
One female form— remember^-ios have wives. 
On them such outrage Vengeance will repay ; 
Man is our foe, and such 'tis ours to slay : 
But still we spared— must spare the weaker prey. 
Oh I I forgot— but Heaven will not forgive 
If at my word the helpless cease to live : 
Follow who will— I go — ^we yet have time 
Our souls to lighten of at least a crime." 
He climbs the crackling stair^-he bursts the door. 
Nor feels his feet glow scorching with the floor ; 
His breath choked gasping with the volumed 8mok% 
But still from room to room his way he broke. 
They search— they find— they save : with lusty arms, 
Each bears a prize of unregarded charms ; 
Calm their loud fears ; sustain their sinkhog framsf 
With all the care defenceless beauty claims : 
So well could Conrad tame their flercest mood. 
And check the very hands with gore imbrued. 
But who ia she ? whom Conrad's arms convey 
From reeking pile and combat's wreck— awaj^— 
Who but the love of him he dooms to bleed h 
The Hsram queen— but still the slave of Seyd ! 

VI. 
Brief time had Conrad now to greet QolnaMyi* 
Few words to resssure the trembling fliir ; 
For in that pause compassion saateh'd fipam-mar, 
The foe before retiring, fost and for. 
With wonder saw tiieir fbotstops napiwind, 
First slowlier fledr-then rallied-^tfa«i wMhslooA. 
This Seyd perceives, then first psreeivM how^fotw 
Compared with his the Oofsair's roving OMW, 
And blushes o'er his error, as he etyes 
The ruin wrought by panic and surprise. 
Alia I Alia! Yengeanee swells the oiy»**> 
Shame mmwts to rage tint mnst alOM sr4t»l 



Thft tiii or tBBBphB ebtt dttft iow'd tDO ii«ll» 

Wbn wnA vttenM to mievmtad itzifc. 

And Aow who fought for oonquett strikfl for 111b. 

Cbmd bAM. the duigei^-he bdidd 

His lolkiwcn fuat by frwlienlEy ftMi repeO'd: 

» Om dToi t o n o to fanak tlM dreUng IkmII " 

Wtthza a nairoiver xing oon^nn'd, beMt, 
Hopelesi, not Iwr t k as, strire and ttraggleyv^— 
Ah * aowtiioy liglit in finnest flit no mottf 
Hemm'd I n c a t off— deft d own m d tnmpled o'er ; 
Bntooeh strikei singly, sileiitly, and liome, 
And aaiks ontwoariod tBAa tluA o'eroome, 
His Ust ttSnt qnlttaaoe icndving wi& his btm^ 
Tia tkebUdo glimnen In tlio grasp of death ! 

vn. 

B«l ixaCy ere oame the rallying host to Uowa, 
And nak to rank, and hand to hand oppose, 
Gtilnare and all her Haram handmaids freed, 
Safe in the dome of one who held their creed. 
By Conrad*s mandate safely were bestow*d, 
And dried those tears for life and fame that ilow*d : 
And when that dark-eyed lady, young Onlnare, 
Beeall'd those thoughts lato wandering in despair, 
Hach did she marrel o'er the courtesy 
That smoolh'd his aceento ; softea'd in his eye: 
Tvas strange-^<Aa< rohber thus with gore bedew'd, 
Seeoi'd gentler then than Seyd in fondest mood. 
The Pa^a woo'd as if he deem'd the slare 
Mast seem dplighted with the heart he gate; 
The Corsair row'd protection, soothed afiight. 
As if his homage were a woman's right. 
** The wish IS wrongs-nay, worse for female— "vata : 
Tet naeh I long to iriew that chief again; 
If hut to thank for, irtuit my fear forgot, 
Th£ liie-HBiy loring lord remembcr'd not! " 

Aad him she ssnr, when tMekest carnage sptead, 
Bat galhcr'd toeatiilng from the happier dead ; 
xsx from his band, and baifung with a host 
That deem right dearly won the fleld he lost, 
FdTd— hieefing^-baiBed of the death he sought, 
And snateh'd to ei^iiato all the ills he wrought ; 
Preserred to linger and to lire in Tsin, 
While Yeageance ponderM o'er new plans of pain, 
ADdstaack*d the blood she sares to shed agaSnp— 
Bat drop hy drop, for Seyd's unghitted eye 
WoA daam him ever dying— ne'er to die ! 
Can this be he? triumphant lato she sanr, 
When Us red hand's wfld gesture waved, a law ! 
Tis he aised-dkann'd but Qndepfes8*d, 
His sok ngret the life he stiU pessess'd; 
His wMBds toe slight, thengh token with that ndll, 
WhisbvoilihmkiBs'd tiie hand tet titon eould 

UL 
Oh woe Ooe none, of att the ma^ gbea, 
T»esMdhhssil-he seaieely aak'd to heeren ? 
Must he aleae of all retain his bieath, 
WhomanthanatthedsMvenandstraektedMlh? 
He deeplj ttt-^what nertal heeito 



For exoBaisBsniittod, sad^e vislof's thiea 
OrUngcriag tdMsBM to npay «be deb#- 
He dee^ isBUy fslt; bokeia fodb 
ThattleAtspsi pstrs to — w toneetoMJe. 



143 

Siffl to his atom and setf^oUeetod BiflB 
A eonqneror's moie than eaptire's air is sscn. 
Though faint with wasting t(^ and stiffening wouadi 
But few that saw so calmly gased around : 
Though the fer shouting of the distant crowd. 
Their tremors o'er, rose insolently loud, 
The better warriors who beheld him near. 
Insulted not tiie foe who taught them fear ; 
And the grim guards that to his durance led« 
In silence eyed him with a secret dread. 

IX. 

The Leeeh was sent^-bnt not in mercy— there. 
To note how much the life yet left could bear ; * 
He found enough to load with heaTiest chain, 
And promise feeling for the wrench of pain : 
To-monow ye a t o-monfow*s erening sun 
Will ■ittiritig see impalement's pangs begun, 
And rising with the wonted Uush of mom 
Behold how well or ill those pangs are borne. 
Of tonaento this the longest and the worst. 
Which adds all other agony to thirst. 
That day by day death still forbears to slake, 
While femished Tultmes flit around the stake. 
" Oh ! watei^Hfater ! "—smiling Hato denies 
The Tietim's prayei^-for if he drinks— he dies. 
This was his doom :— the Leech, the guard, wen 

gone, 
And left proud Conrad fetter'd and alone. 

X. 

Twere Tain to paint to what his feelings grew ' 

It cTcn were doubtlhl if their fictim knew. 

There is a war, a chaos of the mind, 

When all ito elemento conTulsed^-eombinedr— 

lie dark and jarring with perturbed force. 

And gnashing with impenitent Remorse ; 

That juggUng flend— ^ho nerer spake beleie— 

But cries <<Iwam'd thee!" when the deed is o'«. 

Yainroioel the spirit burning but unbent. 

Hay writhe— tebel— tike weak alone repent 1 

Eten to that lonely hour when most it feels, 

And, to hself, all— all that self rereals. 

No single passion, and no niling thought 

That leaves the rest at once unseen, unsought ; 

But the wild prospect when the soul l et ic ws 

All rusUng through their thousand avenues, 

Ambitton'sdresms expirtog, lore's regret, 

Bndanger'd glory, life itoelf beset ; 

The joy untasted, the oontempt or hato 

'Oainet those who fkin would triumph in our feto; 

The hopeless past, the hasting future driven 

Too quiekly on to guess if hell or heaven ; 

Deeds, thoughto, and words, perhaps remember'd nf>l 

So keenly till that hour, but ne'er forgot ; 

Things light or lovely to their aoted ttoie, 

But now to stem reflection each a crime ; 

The withering sense of evil unreveal'd, 

Not csnksring less because the more eoneeaVd— 

All, to a iserd, firom which all eyes must start, 

Thait opening sepulchre— the naked heart 

Bsres isilh ito buried woee, till Pride awake. 

To snateh the minor flrom the soul— and brsak. 

Ay^-Pride ean veil, and Courage brave it all, 

AU—all— before-beyond-^the deadlieet faU. 

Each hath sotoe liar, and he who least betrayak 

The only hypoerlto deeerving praise : 

Not the loud recreant wretoh who boesto and flies 

B«t he who looks en death-end sitet dies 



144 



BYBOmS WORKS. 



80 steol'd hf pondering o'er his far caxeer, 

He half-way meets him should he menace near ! 

XI. 
In the high chamber of his highest tower 
Bate Comrad, fetter'd in the Pacha's power. 
His palace perish'd in the flame — ^this fort 
Contained at once his captive and his court. 
Not much could Courad of his sentence blame, 
His foe, if vanquish'd, had but shared the same : — 
Alone he sate — in soUtude had scann'd 
His guilty bosom, but that breast he mann'd : 
One thought alone he could not— dared not meet— 
"<0h, how these tidings will Medora greet ? " 
Then-^nly then — his clanking hands he raised, 
And stndn'd with rage the chain on which he gaied ; 
But soon he found— or feign'd — or dream'd relief, 
And smiled in self-derision of his grief, 
" And now come torture when it will — or may. 
More need of rest to nerre me for the day ! " 
This said, with languor to his mat he crept, 
And, whatsoe'er his -visions, quickly slept. 
'Twas hardly midnight when that fray began, 
For Conrad's plans matured, at once were done ; 
And HaTOC loathes so much the waste of time. 
She scarce had left an uncommitted crime. 
One hour beheld him since the tide he stemm'd— 
Disguised — discoTer'd — conquering — ta'en — con- 

demn'd— 
A chief on land— «n outlaw on the deep— 
Bestroying^-saTing — ^prison'd-Hind asleep ! 

XII. 
He slept in calmest seeming— for his breath 
Was hush'd so deep— Ah ! happy if in death ! 
He slept— Who o'er his placid slumber bends ? 
His foes are gone— end here he hath no friends : 
Is it some seraph sent to grant him grace ? 
No, 'tis an earthly form with heayenly face ! 
Its white arm raised a lamp— yet gently hid, 
Lest the ray flash abruptly on the lid 
Of that closed eye, which opens but to pain. 
And once unclosed— but once may close again. 
That form, with eye so dark, and oheek so &ii, 
And auburn waves of gemm'd and braided hair ; 
With shape of fairy lightness-Hiaked foot, 
That shines like snow, and falls on earth as mute — 
Through guards and dunnest night how came it 

there? 
Ah ! rather ask what wHl not woman dare ? 
Whom youth and pity lead like thee, Ghnlnare ! 
She could not sleep— end while the Paeha'a rest 
In muttering dreams yet saw his pirate-guest, 
She left his aide— his signet-ring she bore. 
Which oft in sport adom'd her hand before* 
And with it, scarcely question'd, won her way 
Through drowsy guards that must that sign obey. 
Worn out with toil, and tired with changing blows, 
Their eyes had envied Conrad his repose; 
And chill and nodding at the turret door, 
They stretch their listless limbs, and watcSi no more : 
Just raised their heads to hail the sxgnet^ring, 
Nor ask or what or who the sign may bring. 

XIII. 
She gased in wonder, "Can he calmly sle«p» 
While other eyes hia foU or ravage weep ? 
And mine in restlessness are wandering here— 
What sudden spell hath made this man so dear ? 



True— 'tis to him my UHb, and more, I euro, 

And me and mine he spared from worse than wo: 
*Tis late to think— ^ut soft— his slumber breaks- 
How h^vily he sighs !— he starts — awakes ! " 

He raised his head— and dazxled with the light, 
His eye seem'd dubious if it saw aright: 
He moved his hand— 4he grating of his chain 
Too harshly told him that he lived again. 
" What is that form ? if not a shape of air, 
Methinks, my jailor's face shows wond'rous fair ! " 

** Pirate I thou know'st me not— but I am one. 
Grateful for deeds thou hast too rarely done; 
Look on me— and remember her, thy hand 
Snatch'd from the flames, and thy more fearfU ban<L 
I come through darkness— end I scarce kninrwhy^ 
Tet not to hurt— I would not see thee die." 

« If so kind lady ! thine the only eye 

That would not here in that gay hope delight : 

Theirs is the chance— and let them use their right. 

But still I thank their courtesy or.tiiine. 

That would confess me at so fair a shrine ! " 

Strange though it seem — ^yet with extremest gnef 
Is link'd a mirth — ^it doth not bring relief— 
That playfulness of Sorrow ne'er beguiles. 
And smiles in bitterness— but still it smiles ; 
And sometimes with the wisest and the best, 
Till even the scaffold " echoes with their jest ! 
Yet not the joy to which it seems akin — 
It may deceive all hearts, save that within. 
Whate'er it was that flash'd on Conrad, now 
A laughing wildness half unbent his brow : 
And these his accents had a sound of mirth. 
As if the last he could enjoy on earth ; 
Yet 'gainst his nature-— for through that short life» 
Few tiioughts had he to spare from gloom and stcifie 

XIV. 
*' Corsair! thy doom is named— Irat I have power 
To sooth the Pacha in his weaker hour. 
Thee would I spare— nay more— would saxe thes 

now, 
But thie-^time— hope^-nor even tiiy strength allow 
But all I can, I will : at least delay 
The sentence that remits thee scarce a day. 
More now were ruin— even thyself ware loth 
The vain attempt should bring but doom to both." 

''Yes t— loth indeed :-^ny soul is nerved to si. 
Or fall'n too low to fear a farther fkll : 
Tempt not thyself with peril ; me with hopA 
Of flight fnm foes with whom I oould not eope : 
Unflt to vanqnishr-^hall I meanly fly, 
The one of all my band that woold not die ? 
Yet there is one-^to whom my memory elings. 
Till to these eyes her own wild softness springs. 
My sole xesottrees in the path I trod - 
Were these— my bark— say swoid— my to v m} 

God! 
The last I left hi youth— he leares me now^ 
And man bat works his will to lay me low. 
I have no thought to mook his ttumne with pmyer 
Wrong from the oowasd onmeUng of devoir ; 
It is enough— I breathft-^ad I ean bear. 
My sword is shaken from the worthless hand 
That might hate beClsr kept so trae a brand: 



THB o<a«AnL 



141 



Mj hulk 18 smui or cftptivc ^rat mj lore ■ 
For her a looth my toim would mount above : 
Oh! ike is an that stUl to earth can bind— 
Aad As will break a heart so more than kind, 
Aad Wght a fom— iOl thine, appeared, Oulnare ! 
Kae eje ne'er ask'd if others were as fair." 

■■Tlioo loT'st another then ?— but what to me 
h this— 'tis nothing — nothing e'er can be : 
Bat yet— thou lor'st— and — Oh ! I envy those 
'Whose hearts on hearts as faithfhl can repose. 
Who never iSsel the Toid— ihe wandering thought 
That n^ o'er visions such as mine hath wrought.' 

*'Ididf— mfithoughi thy love was his, for whom 
This ana redeem'd thee from a fiery tomb." 

*]Cy lam stem Scyd's ! Oh— No— No— iiot my 

love— 
Tet srach this heart, that strives no more, once 



•No! 



To meet his passion— but it would not be. 

I Mtr^ fiwl-4ove dwells with— with the firee. 

I am a slave, a fiivor'd slave at best. 

To share his splendor, and seem veiy blest ! 

Oft mvHtniy soul the question undergo. 

Of—* Doei thou love ? ' and bum to answer, 

Okl hard it is that fondness to sustain. 

And stn^gle not to feel averse in vain ; 

Bat hazder still the heart's recoil to bear, 

And hide hom on e pe rhaps another there. 

He takes the hand I give not-^or withhold— 

Its pnlae not eheck'd— nor <iuioken'd— eafanly ooU : 

Anln^amisn'd, itdwpe a Ufeless w«ight 

From oae I never loved enough to hate. 

No wamth these lips return by his impress'd, 

And ckSU'd wmwihraoce shudder* o'er the real. 

Tsi— had I «f«r proved that paasioo's seal, 

The ehange to hatred were at least to feel : 

Bat Bt31^-he goee nnmoom' d re turns unsought— 

Aadeft whn pvesea*— ebeent from my tlMMight. 

Or when Rfleetion c omes a nd come it must— 

Ifcar «Mt heneeforth *twai but bring disgust ; 

I SSI his risftfr—^Bt, in despite of pride, 

twrn vom th«i bnidage to become his hnde. 

Oh ! that thb dotage of his breast wonM eoMe • 

Oricek SBolhsr and gife mine rsleeee. 

Bet ye ita i sy - l ctfnldlMtveeaid, to peace! 

tes^ nwimted ftmAMSs now I Irign^ 

Bs m aa h sf-^e a pt iv e ! 'tis ta break thy chain ; 

Bepay the life Hurt to thy hand I owe ; 

To give thee back to aU endear^ below. 

Who duR seek krve aa I esn never know. 

Farewid l m o rn breake— and I must now away : 

Twin cost me dear— ^nt dread no deeidi tinday ! " 



XV. 
He jntrc Us ftAcr'df fingers to her heart, 
Aad bow'd her head, and t«ni*d her to depart, 
^ad luMess as a lovely dream is gone^ 
Aod wai she here ? and is he now ahme ? 
What gefli hafh dropp'd and tperltles O'er hia chain ? 
The tssr moit laered, shed fcr othen' pson, 
ThatstartsatoBce-Mght— pine~4omFfty'« mhie, 
Akeady peUih'd by the hand divine ! 

Oh! too eonvincing— dangerotlsly dear- 
la wesuift eye the vnanswenAle tear! 
19 



That weapon of her weaknett she can wield« 

To save, subdue-— at once her spear and shield : 

Avoid it— Virtue ebbe and Wisdom errs. 

Too fondly garing on that grief of hers ! 

What lost a world, and bade a hero fly ? 

The timid tear in Cleopatra's eye. 

Yet be the soft triumvir's fiiult forgiven. 

By this— how many lose not earth— but heaven ! 

Consign their souls to man's eternal foe, 

And seal their own to spare some wanton's wo. 

XVI. 

Its mom— 4nd o'er^is alter'd features play 
The beams— without the hope of yesterday. 
What shall he be ere night ? perchance a thing 
O'er which the raven flaps her funeral wing : 
By his closed eye, unheeded and unfelt, 
While sets that sun, and dews of evening melt» 
ChiU— ^et— and misty round each stiifen'd limb 
Refreshing earth— teviving all but him ! — 



CANTO III. 



I. 

Slow sinks, more lovely ere his raee be run. 
Along Morea's hills the setting sun ; 
Not, aa in Northeni cliiMa, oboo««ly bright, 
But one uaelouded blase of living H^t I 
O'er the hush'd deep the yeUow beam ha throsm 
Gilda the green wave, that trembles as it glows 
On old JEgina'a rock, and Idn's isle, 
The god of gladness sheds his parting smile ; 
O'er his own fogions lingering, loves to shine. 
Though there hia altass are no more divine; 
DescendiBg fost, the mountain shadows kiss 
Thy glorious gulf, uaoonquear'd Balamia 1 
l^efr aanre arches tiuough the long ezpaaae 
More deeply pureed meet his mellowing glsner » 
And tendereet tints, akng their wuMnifts driven, 
Mark his gay cowse, and own tibe hues of heav« 
THl, darkly shaded Ikom the kmd and deep, 
Behind his Delphian oliff he sinks to sleep. 
On such an eve, his palest beam he oast, 
Whett-Athens! here thy Wisest h>ok'd his last. 
How vmteh'd thy better sons his frreweU iay» 
That etoeed their anrder'dssge'sn Utestdiv'! 
Not yet— not yet— Sol pauses on the hUl— 
The precieue hour of parting lingers still; 
But sad his light to agonising eyes. 
And dark the mountain's once delightftil dyes : 
Gloom fi^et the lovely land he oeem'd to poor. 
The land, where Phesbus never frown'd before; 
But ere he eonk below Cithnron's heed. 
The cup of wo was quafF'd— the spirit fled ; 
The soul of him who soom'd to imr or fly— 
Who Bv'd and died, as none can live or die 1 

But to! from high Hymatlns to the plain. 
The HdWfB of night eaoerts her sile«t jnign.>« 



) 



146 



BYBOiro WOBU. 



No murky rapor, herild of tiM itoxm, 
Hides her feir faiee, nor girds her glowing form ; 
With cornice gUmmering u the moonbeams play. 
There the white column greets her gratefhl ny, 
And, bright around with quiTering beams beset, 
Her emblem sparkles o'er the minaret : 
The groves of olive 8c&tter*d dark and wide 
Where meek Cephisus ponrs his scanty tide, 
The cypress saddening by the sacred mosque, 
The gleaming turret of the gay Kiosk,^ 
And, dun and sombre 'mid the holy calm, 
Near Theseus* fane yon solitary palm, 
All tinged with varied hues aivest the eye— 
And dull were his that pass'd them heedless by. 
Again the ^gean, heard no more afar, 
Lulls his chafed breast 'from elemental war : 
Again his waves in milder tints unfold 
Their long array of sapphire and of gold, 
ICizt with the shades of many a distant isle, 
That frown— ^here gentler ocean seems to smile.** 

II. 
Not now my theme— why turn my thoughts to thee ? 
Oh ! who can look along thy native sea. 
Nor dwell upon thy name, whate'er the tale, 
So much its magic must o'er all prevail ? 
Who that beheld that Sun upon thee set. 
Fair Athens ! could thine evening face forget ? 
Not he— whose heart nor time nor distance frees, 
Spell-bound within the clustering Cyclades ! 
Nor seems this homage foreign to his strain, 
His Corsair's isle was once thine own domain- 
Would that with freedom it were thine again ! 

HL 
fhe Sum hath sunk— and, darker than the night, 
Sinks with its beam upon the beacon height, 
Madora's heart^^the third day's come and gone— 
With it he oomea not— sends not— liithless one ! 
The wind was fair though light; and storms were 



While yet wto Hope— they seftia ^l - it t ei ' A ' 



Last eve Anselmo's bark retom'd, and yat 
His only tidings that they had not met 1 
Though wild, as now, far different were the tale, 
Had Conrad waited for that single sail. 
The nlght-bneas freshens— she that day had past 
In wst^ing all that Hope proclaun'd a mast; 
Sadly she sat e o n high— Impatience bore 
▲t last her footsteps to the midnight shore, 
And there she wander'd heedless of the spray 
That dash'd her garments oft, and wam'd away ; 
She saw not»-felt not this— nor dared depart, 
Nor deem'd it oold-her chiU was at her heert ; 
Till grew suefa eertainty from that suspense— 
HU tevy Sight had shock 'd tnm Ufs or senee ! 



It came at last— a sad and shatter'd boat. 
Whose inmates first beheld whom first they sought ; 
Some bleedings— an most iinretchedr-these the fnr* 
Soaree knew tiiey how escaped— tfAit all they knew. 
In sSlenee, darkling, each appear'd to wait 
Hit fellow's moumftil guess at Conrad's frite : 
Something they would have said ; but seem'd to fear 
To trust ^eir aeoents to Medora's ear. 
She saw at onoe, yet sunk natF--4remhled set- 
Beneath that grief, that loneliness of lot ; 
Within that meek fldr fdin, were feeliiigB high. 
That deen'd aot tiU they found their 



AH lost-^that softness died not but it slept ; 
And o'er its slumber rose that Strength iHuoh said, 
«With nothing left to lore— there's non^t to 

dread." 

'Tis more than nature's ; like the burning might 
Delirium gathers ftom the fever's height. 

" Silent you stand— nor would I hear yon tell 
What— speak not— breathe not— for I know it well— 
Tet would I ask— almost my lq» denies 
The— quick your answer— tell me where he lies '* 

*' Lady I we know not— scarce with life we fled ; 

But here is one denies that he is dead : 

He saw him bound ; and bleeding-^ut alive." 

She heard no fnrthei^-'twas in vain to strive- 
So throbb'd each vein— each thought— till then with- 
stood; 

Her own dark soul— these words at once subdued: 
She totters— falls— and senseless had the wave 
Perchance but snatch'd her from another grave : 
But that with hands though rude, yet weeping eyes» 
They yield such aid as Pity's haste suppUes : 
Dash o'er her deathlike cheek the ocean dew, 
Raise— fim — sustain — ^till life returns anew ; 
Awake her handmaids, with the matrons leave 
That fainting form o'er which they gaxe and grieve; 
Then seek Anselmo's cavern, to report 
The tale too tedious— when the triumph short. 

IV. 
In that wild council words wox'd warm sad stmge, 
With thoughts of rsnsom, rescue, and revenge ; 
All, save repose or flight: still lingering there 
Breathed Conrad's spirit, and forbade despair ; 
Whate'er his fatfr-ihe breasts he fbrm'd and led 
Will save him living, er appease him dead. 
Wo to his foes ! there yet survive a fsw, 
Whose deeds are daring, as Dieir hearts oe tpm, 

V. 

Within the Haram's secret chamber eate 
Stem Scyd, still ponderil^: o'er his Oaptire'e tete; 
His thoughts on love and hate altstnate dw^. 
Now with Gulnare, and now in Conrad's eefi ; 
Here at his fbet the lovely dave reohned 
Surveys his brow^-^ould sooth his glooai of miad 
While msay an snzioue gknoe her large dark eye 
Sends in its idle search for sympatiiy. 
Hit only bends in seeming o'er his beads»» 
But inly views his victim as he bleeds. 

•' Paehal the day is thiee; and on thy sraat 
Sits triumph— Conrad taken— fall'n the rest ! 
His doom is flz'd^-he dies: and weU his Cite 
Was esm'd— yet much too worthless for thy hate] 
Methinks, a short release, fer ransom teld 
With all his treasure, not unwisely sold ; 
Report speaks Isrgely of his pirate-hoard— 
Would that of this my Paeha were the lord I 
While baflled, weaken'd by this futal fr«y^ 
Wateh'd— foUow'd— he were then an easier prey i 
But onee eat off^^the resanant of his band 
Embark tiieir wealtfi, and seek a sa&r atrand.*' 

«< Oulnare!— if fw each drop of blood a gen 
Were offer'd zieh as Stambool's diadem; 



141 



U all Mv Aia5 talM diralftt 

OfuwWiiwf hOT>. thitgridaJMwldalwdtMm! 

JlMi0t low ndMBi'd a iiagle hour} 

3«t that I kaow him fettar'd iK my pow ; 

iH Anstng Ibv ivvwge^ I ponte vlfll 

Obpnga that longMt niok, and Ul«l kill.*' 



"Hay, 8tfA!— I Mek aot to VMtMlB thy n«e, 
Too jwtlf morad for laerey to awttag* ; 
)fy ^M^ti «iM« <mly to MCiiiv lor thM 
BifWifi th<M gdgM>d, ha nm sot ft«t : 

Dinbied, ihom of half his might and band, 
Ha captan eoold but wait thy int cotunand.** 



*1Eb eaptare eonUf-Hmd shall I than resign 
Onedaj to hiBt— the wretch already mine ? 
Bdoie my foe !— at whose remonstrance ?-Hhme 
Fair nitor ! Co ^bj firtnoas gratitude, 
Tkat tea lepays this Giaour's relenting mood, 
Which dice and thine alone of all could spare, 
Ho doubt— legardless if the prise were fair, 
Mj thaaks and praise alike are dne— now hear ! 
I have a eoonael for thy gentler ear : 
I do mistnist thee, woman ! and each word 
Of thine stamps tmth on all Suspicion heard. 
Bonie in his arms through fire from yon Serai — 
Say ir eit thou lingering there with him to fiy ? 
ThoQneed'st not answei^-^y confession speaks, 
Akiady reddening on thy gidlty cheeks ; 
Aea kyrely dame, bethink thee ! and beware: 
Til Bot Aw lilb alone may claim sneh care ! 
Aaotfasi word and— nay — I need no more, 
Aeeomd was the moment when he bore 
Thee from Hie flames, which better fta^-bu t n o 
I than had moum'd thee with a Unrer's wo-~ 
Ko« 'tis thy lord that wams-^deeeitiul thing ! 
Ksow'st thou that I can clip thy wanton wing ? 
hi iraids alone I am not wont to chafe : 
Looktotkysel^-nor deem thy falsehood sale !" 



He lose an d slowly, sternly thence withdrew, 
lage IB lus eye, and threats in his adieu : 
Ah ! littlozeek'd that chief of womanhoods— 
Whidk frowns ne'er quell'd, nor menaoea subdued ; 
And fitde deem'd he what thy heart, Oulnsre ! 
When ssft could feel, and when incensed eould dare. 
ffii doobls appeared to wrong— nor yet she knew 
How deep the root from whence eompassion gie n^*- 
She WIS a da r e from such may captiTes claim 
A fdkw-feding, ijBffering but in name ; 
BtiU half unconsciou s heed less of his wrath, 
Again ihe Tentured on the dangerous path. 
Again his nge rapell*d-«Bta arose 
That aiDfe of thought, the aovM «r woman's 



AIeaawhil»-hMg anxjoua wasry still Umaaia 
BoU'd day and night-hie soul eovUaossr tea*-- 
This fSestftil inlvTal «f doid»t and tead, 
VlMa s«s7 hour nngkt doom him wotse thaft dead, 
When e?By step that eefao'd by tiie gate 
Might entoing bad when axa and stidce asrail ( 
Wh« emy vsiea thaignted on his aer 
Might be the last that he oonld ever hesr ; 
OoeU temrlM»^.^that spMk slwi sad high 
Hadfw?adwv91ii« Mwiktodit; 



Twas 



dssay'4-Tati 

frwthanaUl 
The haal of flght, the hmy of the gale, 
Leava ssaraa one thought inert enough to ({lall; 
But bound and flz*d in fbtter'd aoUtade, 
To pine, tiha ptoj of erevy ehangfaig mood} 
To gasa on thine own heart ; and meditate 
Ixrerooable &ults, and coming fate — 
Too Uto the last to shun — ^the first to mend— > 
To count the hours that struggle to thine end. 
With not a friend to animate, and tell 
To other ears that death became thee well * 
Around thee foes to forge the ready lie. 
And blot life's latest scene iKith calumny i 
Before the tortures, which the soul can dare, 
Yet doubts how well the shrinking fiesh may bear; 
But deeply feels a single cry would shame, 
To Talor.'s praise thy last and deoreat claim ; 
The life thou leav'st below, denied above 
By kind monopolists of heavenly love ; 
And more than doubtAil paradise — thy heaven 
Of earthly hopo^thy loved one from thee riven. 
Such were the thoughts that outlaw must austofn. 
And govern pangs surpassing mortal pain : 
And those sustain'd he-^K>ots it well or ill ? 
Since not to aink beneath, is something still ! 

VIL 

The lurst day pass'd— he saw not her— Oulnar^ 
The saeoad^-thifd-Hmd still she same mot then; 
But what her words avouoh'd, her ehaims had doMb 
Or else he had not seen another sua. 
The fourth day roU'd along and with the ni^ty 
Came storm and darkness in their mingling might: 
Oh! how ha Usten'd to the rushing deep, 
That ne'er till now so broke upon his sleep ; 
And his wUd spirit wilder wishes sent, 
Roused by the roar of his own element ! 
Oft had he ridden on that winged vrave, 
And loved its roughness for the speed it gave ; 
And now its dashing echo'd on his ear, 
A long known voice— alas I too vainly near ! 
Loud simg the wind above ; and, doubly loudi 
Shook o'er his turret cell the thunder-cloud; 
And flashed the lightning by the latticed bar, 
To him more genial than the midnight star : 
GhMe to the glimmering grato he dragg'd his chda. 
And hoped tJiat peril might not prove in vain. 
He raised his iron hand to Heaven, and pcay'd 
One pitying flash to mar the form it made : 
ffis steel and impious prayer attract alike— 
The stoim roll'd onward, and disdain'd to strike ; 
Ito peal waz'd fainter— ceased— he felt alone, 
As it some faithleas iHend had spum'd his groaa ! 

VIIL 
The midnigfat poss'd^*and to «ha massy door 
A light stsp eamo-4t pau s e d i t moved ones mof i 
Slow turns the grating boH sad sullen key: 
TU as his hesit forebodedr-Hhol ftifr she I 
Whato'a her snis, to him a gosrdisa saint, 
And beauteous still as hermit's hope ean psdml; 
Yet ehanged since last within that eeU she eaasa, 
More pale her cheek, moia tmudoos her frame; 
On him she east her dark and hunied eye, 
Which spoke belsre her aoss nto ** Hktm must dBo ' 
Tea, thou must die-^hen is but one fssovoe. 
The last-^e went-if tortvM w«m Mi nwm" 



14S 



BYBmrS W&BMS. 



'«Lady! I koic to none— ny Up« pMokim 
Wh&t lait piodaim'd thej^-Oonxad stOl the Mme 
Why ihonld'st thou seek sn outlaw's life to spoie, 
And diaage the sentence I desenre to bear } 
Well have I eajm'dr— nor here alone— tiie need 
Of Sejd's revenge, by many a lawless deed/' 

** Why should I seek ? because — Oh ! didst thou not 
Bedeem my life from worse than slavery's lot ? 
Why should I seek ? — hath misery made thee blind 
To the fond workings of a woman's mind? 
And must I say ? albeit my heart rebel 
With all that woman feels, but should not tel^— 
Beeanae— despite thy crimes— that heart is moved : 
It fear'd thee— thank'd thee— pitied— madden'd- 

loved : 
Beply not, tell not now thy tale again, 
Thou lov'st another^— and I love in vain ; 
Though fond as mine her bosom, form more fair, 
I rush. through peril which she would not dare. 
If that thy heart to hers were truly dear. 
Were I thine own-^thou wert not lonely here : 
An outlaw's spouse— and leave her lord to roam ! 
What hath such gentle dame to do with home ? 
But speak not now — o'er thine and o'er my head 
Hangs the keen sabre by a single thread ; 
If thou hast courage stQl, and would'st be free, 
Beceive this poniard— rise^ and follow me ! " 

*< Ay^-in my chains ! my steps will gently tread, 
With these adornments, o'er each slumbering head ! 
Thou hast forgot— is this a garb for flight ? 
Or is that instrument more flt for fight ? " 

** Misdoubting Corsair ! I have gain'd the guard, 

Bipe for revolt, and greedy for reward. 

A single word of mine removes that chain : 

Without some aid how here could I remain ? 

Well, since we met, hath sped my busy time, 

If in aught evil, for thy sake the crime : 

The crime— 'tis none to punish those of Seyd. « 

That hated tyrant, Conrad— he must bleed ! 

I see thee shudder— but my soul is changed— 

Wrong'd, spum'd, reviled — and it shall be avenged— 

Accused of what till now my heart disdain'd — 

Too faithful, though to bitter bondage chain'd. 

Yes, smile ! — but he had little cause to sneer, 

I was not treacherous then — nor thou too dear : 

But he has said it — and the jealous well. 

Those tyrants, teasing, tempting to rebel. 

Deserve the fate their fretting lips foretell. 

I never loved— he bought me — somewhat high — 

Since with me came a heart he could not buy. 

I was a slave unmurmuring : he hath said, 

But for his rescue I with thee had fled. 

'Twas false thou know'st--4>ut let such augurs rue. 

Their WMds aro omens Insult rendsn true. 

Nor was thy respite granted to my prayer ; 

This fleeting grace was only to prepare 

New torments for I3iy Ufs, and my despair. 

Mine too he threatens ; but his dotage still 

WotM fain reserve me for his lordly will ; 

When wearier of these fleeting charms and bm> 

There yawns the sack— and yonder r<^ the sea ! 

What, am I then a toy for dotard's play. 

To wear but tdl the giMing frets sway? 

I saw thee>-4oTed t hee ■ e we thee aU— would save. 

If biitt» «how how giatafol is a slave. 



But had he B«ft thoi BMoaoad fysM nd lifi, 

(And well he keeps his oaths pronouaeed in stril^ 

I still had saved Aee— but the Faona spared. 

Now I am all thine own— for all prepared: 

Thou lov'st me not— nor know'st— or but the wofat, 

Alas ! this love-^that hatred see the first— 

Oh! could'st thou prove my truth, thouwould'al 

not start, 
Nor fear the fire that lights an Eastern heart ; 
'TIS now the beacon of thy safety— now 
It points within the port a Maniote prow : 
But in one chamber, where our path must lead, 
There sleeps— he must not wake— 4he op pie a aot 

Seyd!" 

** Oulnare— <jhilnare— I never felt till now 

My abject fortune, wither'd fame so low. 

Seyd is mine enemy : had swept my band 

From earth with ruthless but with open hand, 

And therefore came I, in my bark of war. 

To smite the tmiter with the scimitar ; 

Such is my weaponr-not the secret knife— 

Who spares a woman's seeks not slumber's life. 

Thine saved I gladly. Lady, not for this— 

Let me not deem that mercy shown amiss. 

Now fere thee well— more peace be with thy breast ! 

Night wears apace— my last of earthly rest I " 

"Best I rest ! by sunrise must thy sinews shake. 

And thy Bmbs writhe around the ready stake. 

I heard the ordei^-saw— I will not sec 

If thou wilt perish, I will fall with thee. 

My life— my love— my hatred— all below 

Are on this oast— Oorsair ! 'tis but a blow ! 

Without it flight were idle— how evade 

His sure pursuit ? my wrongs too unrepaid. 

My youth disgraced— the long, long wasted years, 

One blow shall cancel with our future fears ; 

But since the dagger suits thee less than brand, 

I'll try the fimmess of a female hand ; 

The guards are gain'd— one moment all were d'er— 

Corsair ! we meet in safety or no more ; 

If errs my feeble hand, the morning cloud 

Will hover o'er thy scaffold, and my shroud." 

IX. 
She tum'd, and vanish'd ere he could reply, 
But his glance foUow'd far with eager eye ; 
And gathering, as he could, the links that bound 
His form, to curl their length, and curb their sound. 
Since bar and bolt no more his steps preclude. 
He, fest as fetter'd limbs allow, pursued. 
'Twas dark and winding, and he knew not whece 
That passage led ; nor lamp nor guard were there ; 
He sees a dusky glimmering— shall he seek 
Or shun that ray so indistinct and weak ? 
Chance guides his steps — a freshness seems to bear 
Full on his brow, as if from morning air- 
He reach'd an open gallery— on his eye 
Gleamed the last star of night, the deariag aky^ 
Yet learoely heeded these— another light 
From a lone ehamber stcuek upon his sight, 
lewaids it he moved ; a scsreely closing door 
Beveal'd the lay within, but nothing mora. 
Witii hasty step a figure outward past. 
Then pause d- ■ an d tam'dp-«ad pnaed— 'tis Bkt at 

last! 

NopoidMdinthitthaBA-Mreignof ill— [UUf 
Thanks to Ibat i 



149 



Bttzii tratt Hm dK7 tbrapt aai teiftdlf . 

TkiU Miy TsiFa ter fMe and bwoB ftir: 
If if il» Isle iMd bwt k« iMBiBg hMd 
AiboTO KMBe oligeet of ter doaU or dreia. 

Her Imymg hand had lalt— Hwai tat a ^ol— 
Itokae tns all he law, and aearM utAatood— > 
Oh! digkt but eertalii pledge of crime-'tk blood! 



He bad eeoi btttde-be bad bRMded lose 

O'er pranlBed paags to aanteneed guilt foieahown ; 

^ bad bean templiid iibaatouad andAeebain 

TetonbkaaBsaugbt 

Betne'crlkomi 

Ftaaa a& bie feeliega is IImSt imMiet fbee^^ 

So ttsB'd BO abnddv'd afofy csKopiBg TaiUf 

Aa BOW tbey freoe belbte Ibai pinpla ataia. 

That apet of blood, tbatH^t bat guilty itffaak, 

Had baaMk-d all tiio beantj frona bar ebeek 1 



It floWd IB ooMbat, arma abed bf mea. 

XL 
*' Tm iVme he neatly waked— bat it ia done. 
Conair ! be ]wriah*d-^Cbe>ii art dearly won. 
An vaada wenld now be fala— nway— eway I 
Oar b«k ia towfng *tia already day. 
The few gain'd vwtx, now are wboUy mine, 
lad tfMBo tby yet avrnving bend abaU join : 
i my foice aball vindioate my band» 

lee ov aail laiBabea thia hated itrand." 



xn. 

Bhadapp'dbcr bande— and tbrough the gallaiy pov, 
Bquspp'd for flight, her Tassala — Greek and Mocr ; 
8Qent bnt quick they stoop, hia chaina unbind ; 
Oaee more hia limbo are free aa mountain wind ; 
Bet on hia beary heart inch tadneea aate, 
Aa if tbey &ere tranaferr'd that iron weight 
No worda are utter'd— at her iign, a doer 
Aeveale die aecret passage to the ahore ; 
The ctty lies behind--they speed, they reaoh 
The ^ad wares daudng on the ydlow beeeh ; 
And Conrad following, at her beck, obey'd, 
Mor eared he now if rescued or betray'd : 
Bcaistaaee were aa naeless aa if 8eyd 
Tet fifed to view the doom his ire decreed. 

xm. 

Bmbark'd, the San vnteVd, the Ui^t breeae blew^ 
How much had Convad'a memory to teriew ! 
Sub Im in Contemplation, till the eape 
Wbeae lasthe andior'd reared its giant thiKf. 
Ab ! aa a c M that fetal night, tiiongh brief the time, 
Had swept la age of terror, grief, and crime. 
Aa its fer duidow frown'd aboTe the meat. 
He Toii'd Us face, and sorroVd aa he past ; 
He tboogbt of aQ— OonaalTO and his band, 
ffia fleeting triuniph, and hia ikfilBg bend ; 
He thought on her afer, hia lonely bride : 
He turned nd saw— Gulnaxe, the homicide ! 



8bewnteh*dUB 
Their freeabg 
AndHint 
Fdl 



XIV. 
toil 



tobete^ 
teabaderdky. 



8be knelt baaUo Urn, and hie band die pieat : 
*' Thou may'at fbtgiTe though Alla'a self detest . 
Bnt fer that deed of darkness, what wert thou ? 
Beproaeb me— but not yet— Oh 1 spare me mm/ 
I am not what I seem fhti fearfbl night 
My brain bewiUer'd— do not madden finite ! 
If I had nerer loTod— though lesa my guilt. 
Thou hadst not Uved to— hate me— if thou wUt " 



XV. 

She wrongs bis tboughta, they aaoea himself upbraid 

Than her, though undeaign'd, the wietoh he made; 

But apeecbleaa all« deep, darii, and unezpreat* 

They bleed within that ailent oell-bia breaat 

Still onward, feir the breeae, nor rough the aurg^ 

The blue waTea sport aronnd the atera they nxge : 

Far on the horiaon'a 'veqge appeea a qteek, 

A spot— a msst e sail an armed deek ! 

Their Uttle bark her men of wateb deaery , 

And ampler eauTaa wooa the iNnd from high; 

She bears her down mi^tieaUy near. 

Speed on her prow, and terror in her tier. 

A flaab ia aeen— the bell beyond their bow 

Booma barmleas, hiaeing to the deep below. 

Up raee keen Conrad from hia ailent tnnea^ 

A long, long abeent gladness in hia ^aaee; 

<«*Tiamine-myblood-redflagl again again— 

I am not all deserted on the main ! '* 

They own the signal, answer to the hail, 

Hoiat out the boat at onee, and alaeken asdL 

" *Tia Conrad ! Conrad ! " shouting from the dceh» 

Command nor duty could their transport ebeok I 

With light alacrity and gaae of pride. 

They Tiew him mount once more hia Teaael'a sldak 

A smile relaxing in each rugged feoe. 

Their arma can eearee feibear a rough wmbrasa 

He, half forgetting danger and defeat, 

Retoma their greeting ae a ebief may greet, 

Wiinga with a cordial gmap Anaelmo'a band* 

And feels he yet ean conquer and eeramand 1 

XVI. 

Theae greetings o'er, the feelings that o*erflow, 
Tet grieve to win him back without a blow ; * 
They sail'd prepared for Tcngeance— had they 

known 

A woman's hand secured that deed her own, 
She were their queen— leas scrupulous are they 
Than haughty Conrad how they win%ieir way. 
"With many an askixig smile, and wondering stare, 
They whisper round, and gaze upon Gulnare : 
And her, at once above — beneath her aex. 
Whom blood appaird not, their regards perplex. 
To Conrad turns her faint imploring eye. 
She drops her veil, and stands in silence by ; 
Her arms are meekly folded on that breast, 
Whichr-Conrad safe— to fete resigned the reat 
Though worse than frensy could ^t bosom fill, 
Bxtreme in love or hate, in good or ill, 
The worst of Crimea had left her woman still I 

XVIL 
Thia Covad mark'd, andfdt-ah! couklheleaa^ 
Hate of that deed— but giief for her diabresa ; 
What she baa done no tears can wash away, 
And Heaven moat puniah on its angry day : 
But it waa done: he knew, whate'er her gnilt» 
For bim that poniard amote, that blood was spilt i 



150 



BYEOim WOBKS 



jknd he was firee !— And she for liim had giTen 
Her all on earth, and more than all m heaTen ! 
And now he tnm'd him to that dark-ey'd slave 
Whose hrow was bow*d beneath the glance he gave, 
"Who now seem*d changed and humbled :•— faint and 

meek, 
But Ttrying oft the color of her cheek 
To deeper shades of paleness— «]1 its red 
That fearful spot which stain'd it from the dead ! 
He took that hand— it trembled— now too late— 
80 soft in lore— «o wildly nerved in hate ; 
He clasped that hand— it trembled— and his own 
Had lost its firmness, and his voice its tone. 
•* Gulnare ! "—but she replied not— « dear Gnbisre !" 
She raised her eye— her only answer ther^- 
At onoe she sought and sunk in his embrace : 
If he had driven her from that resttng-placa. 
His had been more or less than mortal heart, 
But— good or illr-it bade her not depart. 
Perchanoe, hat for the bodings of his breast. 
His latest virtue then had join'd the rest. 
Yet even Medora might forgive the kiss 
That ask'd from form so fsir no more than this, 
The first, the last that Frailty stole from Faith— 
To lips where Love had lavished all his breath. 
To lips— whose broken sighs such fragrance fling, 
As he had finm'd them freshly with his wing I 

XVUI. 
They gain by twilight's hour their lonely isle : 
To tiiem the very rocks appear to smile ; 
The haven hums with many a cheenng sound. 
The beacons blue their wonted stations round. 
The boats axe darting o*er the curly bay, 
And sportive dolphins bend them through the spray ; 
BvsB the hoarse sea-bird's shrill, discordant shriek, 
Greets like the welcome of his toneless beak ! 
Beneath eaeh lamp that through its lattice gleams, 
Their flmcy paints the friends that trim the beams. 
Oh ! what can sanetify Uie joys of home, 
like Hope's gay glance from Ocean's troubled foam ? 

XIX. 
Theiights are high on beacon and from bower, 
And midst them Conrad seeks Medora's tower : 
He looks in vain— 'tis strange— and all remark, 
Amid so many, her's alone is dark) 
TiB strange — of yore its welcome never fail'd, 
Nor now, pershance, extinguish'd, only veil'd. 
With the first boat descends he for the shore, 
And looks impatient on the lingering oar. 
Oh t for a wing beyond the falcon's flight, 
To bear him like an arrow to that height ! 
With the first pause the resting rowers gave, 
He waits not— looks not— leaps into the wave, 
Btrives through the surge, bestrides the beach, and 

high 
Aseends the path familiar to his eye. 

He reach'd his turret door— he paused — no sound 
Broke from within ; and all was night sround. 
He knock'd, and loudly— footstep nor reply 
Announced that any heard or deem'd him nigh ; 
He knock'd— but fidntly— for his trenibling hand 
Befttsed to aid his heavy heart's demand. 
The portal opens^'tis a well>known face- 
But not the form he panted to embnoe. 
Its Ups are silent-^twioe his own essay'd, 
And fofl'd to frame the ^oMtlon tbey dstoy^ ; 



He snatch'd Ihe lanip— Us )3fjbt wfll 
It quits his grasp, expiring in the talL 
He would not wait for tiiat reviving la^ 
As soon could he have linger'd tiiere in day; 
But, gUmmeiing through the dusky ootiidoi^ 
Another checkers o'er the shadow'd floor ; 
His steps the chamber gain— his eyes behold 
AU tiiat his heart beUeved not-^yet forfltold< 

XX. 

He tnm'd not— spoke not— enak no^-^bi'd Us 

look. 

And set the anxious insam that lately ahook : 
Hegaaed— hew Wng we gaae dsapite of paiitf 
And know, but dare not own» we gaie in vahil 
In life itself she was so stiU and fair, 
That death with gentler aspect wither'd tiieve ; 
And the eold flowers " her colder hand cotttiin'd* 
In the last grasp as tenderly were steain'd 
As if Ae scareely felt, but feign'd n sleep, 
And mads it atanoat mockccy yet to. weep : 
The long dark lashes fiinsed her lids of snow, 
And veU'df-^hefug^t shrinks ficom all that Iwk'd 



Oh 1 o'er the eye Death moat exerts his might. 
And hurls the spirit frvm her throne of light ! 
Sinks those blue oihs in that long last eclipse. 
But spares, as yet, the eharm around her Upa- 
Tet, yet they seem as they forbore to sadU, 
And wish'd repose— but only for a while ; 
But the white shroud, and each extended ttew. 
Long— fair— but spread in utter Ufdesaness, 
Which, late the sport of every summer wind. 
Escaped the bafiled wreath that strove to biikl ; 
These— and the pale pure cheek, beeame the Uer-* 
But she fti nothing'-^herefere is he here ? 

XXL 

He ask'd no question— all were answer'd now 
By the first glance on that still marble brow. 
It was enough— she died— what reck'd it how i 
The love of youth, the hope of better years. 
The sonroe of softest wishes, tenderest feax8» 
The only living thing he could not hate. 
Was reft at once-^md he deserved his fote. 
But did not feel it less ;-^e good explore. 
For peace, those realms where guilt can never soar. 
The proud— the wayward— who have flx'd below 
Their joy, and find this earth enough for wo. 
Lose in that one their all — perchanoe a i 
Bat who in patience parts with all delight ? 
Full many a stoic eye and aspect stem 
Mask hearts where grief hath little left to 1 
And many a withering thought lies Md, not loat. 
In smiles that least befit who wear them 1 



xxn. 

By those, that deepest feel, is ill ezprest 

The indistinctness of the suffering breast; 

Where thousand thoughts begm to end in one, 

Which seeks for all the refrige found in none ; 

No words suffice the secret soul to show. 

For Truth denies all eloquence to Wo. 

On Gonvad's atrieksn soul exhaattiMi prestt 

And stupor ahnoet fadkd it into xeet : 

So fosUe now— his motiber's softness ssept 

To those wild eyes, wUeh ]ik« «& iafimfs vifli 



VOOS TO THB OOBSAIB. 



in 



Which thas eonfen*d without relieriiig pain. 
None saw his tricUiog teu*— perchance if teen, 
That uekas flood of grief had never been : 
Kor loBg they flow*d— he dried them to depart, 
la helplcw hopeleee--hrekenneM of heart: 
The ava geaa forth— bat Cearad't day ia dim: 
And the night eometh— ne*er to pasa from him. 
Ihcve ia no dariueta like the dond of mind« 
OaQntravain eTO-Hhe blindest of the hUnd ! 
HhiA aaay wit dain not a ee h nt tnrna aaide 
te hlaakest ahade-HMnr wUl mdnxe a guide ! 

xxm. 



t'dto 
Betimy'd too aarly, and begnilad too hmg; 
taeki feefing pure— aa ftdla the dsopping dew 
Within 1i» grot; Uke that had harden'd too ; 
Lbm eleaTf perchance, ita earthly triali pan'd, 
Bat smfc, and ehlU'd. and petitfled at laat 
Tet«Mpertiwia«,aBd Ui|itBingek«feathaflMk, 
If M^ Ua keaH, ■• ahattar'd it the ahodL. 
thoe giew ene dower beaeatii Hi ragged krnar, 
Th i ^h ia rh theB hade ' H ri ^elfd aa ied t91no«. 
The thander came-^that bolt hatib bhaled both, 
The dnnile'a flaaaeaa, aad the Lay's growth : 



The gentle pleat hath left no leaf to tan 

Its tale, bat shrank and withered where it feO, 
And of its cold protector, blaaken round 
But shiT«K*d fragmenti on the hanen ground 1 

xxnr. 

'TIS moni*-^ venture on his knelf hour 
Few dare ; though now Anselmo sought his towvL 
He was not there— nor leen along the shore ; 
Sre night, alarm'd* their isle is trSTicaed o*ir : 
Another moinr—«nother bids them seek, 
And shont his name till echo waxeth weak ; 
Mount g r otto ca t cin i a lley search*d in Tain, 
They find on shore a sea-boat*s broken chain : 
Their hope renTea— they follow o*er the main. 
Tie idle aU— moona roU on moona away. 
And Conrad comes not— came not since that day : 
Nor trace, nor tidings of his doom declare 
Where Utos his grief, or perish'd his despair ! 
Long mouxn*d his hand whom none could i 



And foir the monument they gave his bride : 
For him they raise not the recording ston»— 
His death yet dubious, deeds too widely known i 
He left a Corsair's name to other times, 
link'd with one virtue, sad a thonmnd edaea ** 



NOTES TO THE C0BJ5AIR. 



Tkb tiae in this poem may seem too short lor 
file ocenzieaces, but the whole of the JB^ean isles 
are within a few hoars' sail of the contment, and 
the reader amet be kind enough to take theiMiid aa 
I haif« oftm found it. 

1. 
Of >*- Oi^iM 4nwl Mi /^ of oW. 

Paiel»,lina9a 
Oelnaio,Cmto Uk 

3. 
Anmd tik wavmphotphorie hnohtneu hrok9. 
Page 140, line 100. 

Bt akht, psrtieularly in a warm latitude, erery 
stroke tftiieeer, every motion of the boat or ship, 
ia IbUevid by n di^t daah like sheet lightning 
foraatktuatss. 

a. 

TWwA A» tibe riif Me seier ienVsNMOf . 

Page 141, Unea^ 



J%* long OU&ouott^t OinoMng dUmd t^ippiy. 
Page 141, lbie4L 



TfhiU danci tJk$ Almtn to wild mmttrm9^. 

Page 141, line 49^ 
Daadng girls* 

6. 
A captiv9 Denri999from ths Pirate* t nett. 

Page 141, line ». 
It haa been ohieeted that Conmd'a entasing dis- 
suieed as a spy is out of natore.^Perhapo so. I 
Ind something not unlike it in history. 

" Anxions to exnlore with his own eyes the state 
of the Vandals, Mdorian Tentored, after ^ng^^^g 
the color of hie hair, to Tisit Carthage in the char- 
acter of hia own ambassador; and Oenseric was 
afterwards mortified by the discoTery, that he had 
enterlaiaed and diamimed the Bmperor of the Bo- 
Such an anecdote may be rejected as an 



fietioa; but itisa fletion which would 
net hsTo been imiagined unlem in the lifo of * 
hero."— GtMon, Z). and F., vol, Yi. o. ISO. 

That Conrad is a character not aftogether out of 
nature I shall attempt to proTo by some historic 
coinddences which I hare met with since writing 
«« The Corsair." 

dit Bdandini, "s'ei 



152 



BTAOITS WOBX& 



moh dans wi tilnoe menapant, U flaudt sv la teixe 
•on Tisage f6roce, et ne donnoit point d'essor & sa 
profonde indignation.— De toutes parts cependant 
lea Boldats et les peuples accouroient ; Us Touloient 
▼oir cet homme, jadis ai pixiBsaat, et la joie univear- 
selle Matoit de toutes parts. 

• •«••• 

'< Ecoelin ^oit d'une petite taiUie ; niaif tout Tas- 
pect de sa personne, tous sea mouyexnena, indiquoi- 
ent un soldat. — Son langage etoit amer, son d^orte- 
ment auperbe— et par son seul ^ard, il laisoit 
trembler lea plus hardis." SiiiMmUf tome ui, page 
219,220. 

<« GizericuB (Genaeric, king of the Vandalai the 
conqueror of both Carthage and Rome) statura 
mediocria, et equi casuclauoicans, animo profondua, 
aermone rams, luxuriie contemptor, ira turbiduS) 
habendi onpidus, ad solicitandaa Kentea proTiden- 
tissimus," &c., &o. Jomandea de Rebut Oeticie, 
e.33. 

I beg leave to quote these gloomy realities to keep 
in eountenanoe my Oiaour and Corsair. 



And my stem vow and order's late oppose. 

Page 142, Une 17. 
The dervises are in colleges, and of different or- 
derti aa the monks. 

8. 

They teige thai Denriee t'-eeixe on Zatanai I 
Page 142, Une 52. 
Satan. 

9. 
He tore hie heard, mud foaming fied the fight. 
Page 142, line 78. 
A common and not veiy novel effect of Mussul- 
man anser. See Prince flugene's Memoirs, page 
24. ** Tne Seraskier received a wound in the thigh ; 
he plucked up hia beard by the roots, because he 
was obliged to quit the field." 

10. 
Brief Uane had Conrad now to greet Oubmre. 
Page 142, line 117. 
Gulnaie. a female name ; it means, literally, the 
flower of the pomegranate. 

11. 
TiU even the scaffold echoes with their Jest ! 
Page 144, Une 87. 
In Sir Thomas More, for instance, on the scaffold, 
and Anne Boleyn, in the Tower, when grasping her 
neck, she remarked that it '<was too slender to 
trouble the headsman much." Durins one part of 
the French Revolution, it became a foanion to leave 
some *< mot " as a legacy ; and the quantitv of fa- 
cetious laat words spoken during that period would 
form a melancholy jest-book of a considerable sise. 

12. 
That ehsed their murder* d sagifs Itstest day. 
Page 145, line 100. 
Socrates drank the hemlock a short time before 
sunset, (the hour of execution,) notwithstanding 
the entreaties of his disciples to wait till the sun 
went down. 

13. 
The fueen of night aeserte her silent reign. 

Page 145, Une 112. 
The twilight in Ghreeee is much shorter than In our 
•wn countiy: the days in winter are longer, but in 
ftvnmev of shorter duration. 

14. 

T^ gleaming turret of the gay Kiosk. 

Page 146, Une 10. 



The Kiosk is a TuklA amnMfOhoww ; ihe pahi 
IS without the present walls of Athena, not far fiom 
the temple of Theseus, between which and the tree 
the wall intervenes.— Cephisua' stream ia indeed 
scanty, and lUssus has no stream at alL 

15. 
Thatfiown*^^wheregeniler ocean seems to smile. 
Page 146, Une 20. 
The opening linea aa far as Section II. have, po^ 
haps, Uttle business here, and were annexed to an 
unpublished (though printed) poem ; but they were 
wntten on the spot m the spring of 1811, and— 1 
scarce know whv— the reader must excuse tiidr ap< 
pearance here if he can. 

16. 
His only bends in seeming o'er his heads. 

Page 146, Une 104. 

The Comboloio, or Mahometan rosary ; the beads 
axe in number ninety-nine. 

17. 
And the oMMwers her colder hand eeedain^d. 
Page 150, Une 75. 
In the Levant it !s the custom to strew flowen on 
the bodies of the dead, and in the hands of young 
persons to place a nos^y. 

18. 

Linked with one virtue^ and a thousand crimes. 
Page 151, Une 48. 

That the point of honor which is represented in 

ne instance of Conrad's character has not been 

earned beyond the bounds of probaUUty may ^ 

haps be in some degree confirmed by the following 

anecdote of a brother Buccaneer in the year 1814. 

Our readers have all seen the account of the en- 
terprise against the pirates of Bairataria; bat£ev, 
we oeUeve, were informed of the situation, history, 
or nature of that estabUshment. For the informa- 
tion of such as were unaoouaimted with it, we have 
procured from a friend tne foUowing interesting 
narrative of the main &ets, of which he has pe^ 
sonal knowledge, and which cannot fitil to interest 
some of our readers. 

Barrataria is a bay, or a narrow arm of the Oolf of 
Mexico : it runs tbirongh a rich but voy flat oonntiy 
until it reaches within a mile of the Mississippi 
River fifteen miles below the city of New Orleans. 
The bay haa branches almost innumerable, in which 
persons can Ue concealed from the severest scrutiny. 
It communicates with three lakes which Ue on the 
southwest side, and these, with the lake of the 
same name, and which Ues oontiguons to the sett 
where there is an island formed by the two arms of 
this lake and the aea. The east and west points of 
this island were fortified, in the year 181 L by a band 
of pirates under the command of one Monsieur La 
Fitte. A large majority of these outlaws are of 
that elass of tiie populatioa of the State of Lonisi- 
ana who fled from the lalandof St. Domingo dur- 
ing the troubles there, and took leAige in the 
laund of Cuba : and when the last war between 
France and Spain commenced, they were oom- 
peUed to leave that island with the short notiiM 
of a few days. Without ceremony, they entered 
the United States, the moet of diem the State 
of Louisiana, with all tiie negroes they had pos- 
sessed in Cuba. They were notified by the Gover- 
nor of that State of the clause in the oonstitutioiL 
which forbade the importation of slaves ; but, at the 
same time, reoeived uie assurance of tiiie Governor 
that he would obtain, if possible, the approbatioii 
of the General Government for their retaming this 

^^"'^Islaad of Bazrataxxa is sitnated about Ut 



xonsiona orasAiB. 



ira 



C^ 



Hiknlft, as for tha tnpcrior miJa tad thtll-fldi 
«Hh vUdi its waten ■ooiuid. The chief of this 
)M^ fike Chute de Moor, had mixed with his 

r was a«M liiiiw. ia ^ year ISIS, this 
hadftesaitotnipiteda and hrtdaess, claimed 

ttsa t io i i of the Ooremor of Looisiaika; and to 
tesak up the estabUshme&t, he thoqcht pn^>cr to 
ftjke at like Kead. He therefore owed a reward 
rf irehaiidTed doIUzt for the head of Honsieiir Ia 
Rtls who was wdl known to the inhabitants of the 

Sof New Orleans, from his Immediate connexion, 
hb ones having heen a fendng-master in that 
tttf at great reputation, which art he learnt in 
B uBspe a t c'a army, where he was captain. The re- 
md whith. was offered by the Oovernor for the 
kii of La Fitte was answered by the offer of a re- 
ead froaa die latter of fifteen thousand for the head 
•f Hut GoTemor. The OoTemor ordered out a com- 
|iij to ma^ from the city to La Fitters island, 
ad ts hmra and destroy all the property, and to 
Wag to the city of New Orleans all his banditti. 
TUi fwwapawy, under the command of a man who 
kd been the intimate associate of this bold Cbp- 
tiia, aiM BSfthed very near to the l ii tMu d island, 
befae he eaw a man, or heerd a sonnd, until he 
kard a whistle, not unlike a boatswain's eaU. 
Thai it was he found himself surrounded by anaed 
nen who had emerged from the secret STenuea 
vUch led into Bayou. Here it was that the mod* 
oa Oharles de Moor dereloped his few noble traits ; 
flortD this man, who had come to destroy his life 
aaiaUtiwi was dear to him, he not only spared his 
fib,bstefierad him that which would hare made 
titt heaest soldier eesy for the ranaindor of his 
dm, whidi was iadisnaatly refrued. He ^ea, 
ma tte s^pprobation en his captor, retomed to the 
dty. This cncnmstaaoe, and some coaeomitant 
ercati, provad that this band of pirates was not to 
be tahen by land. Our naval force haTing always 
beeaasian la I3iat quarter, exertions for the destruo- 
tioa ef iSUm fllkit establishment eould not be ex- 
pected frem theaa until aagmeated ; for aa efleer 
of the navy, wi& most of the gnaboats on that 
that statioa* had to retreat from aa orerwhehning 
face ef La Fitte*s. So soon as the angmentatJon 
sf fte aavy authorized an attack, one was made ; 
theo te id u o w of this benditti has been flie result; 
mdaow ttas ahaost iBTulaaable point and key to 
HtsrOrlnaasmehar ef Ha saemy, it is to be hoped 
\he gu fe taia a a t will hold it by a strong military 
foree;-- FVom on Awtenetm Ifmptpaptr, 

In Nehle's eoattauation of Granger's Bioorq^hi- 

al BSrtorr, there Is a singular pasaage in nls ac- 

Mataf ArdMihop BkMLxhmDae, aal as f 

SI 



BMasve eonaeeted with the profcsslm ol ^ hsrs 
of the foregoing poem, I cannot resist the timpta- 
tion of extractmg it. 

"There is somethinff mTsterious in tliehistoiy 
and character of Dr. Buckboume. The former » 
but imperfoetly hnown; and report has eren as* 
serted he was a bueoaaeer; and that one of his 
brethren in that profession having asked, on his ar* 
rival in Bngland, what had become of his old chum. 
Blackbonme, was answered, he is archbishop of 
York. We are informed, that Blackbonme was in- 
stalled sab-dean of Bxeter, hi 1694, which office he 
resigned in 1708; but after hit au e cesse r Lewis Bar^ 
net? death, in ITOi, 1m regained it. In the foUow- 
ing year he became dean : and, in 1714, held with it 
the archdeanery of Cornwall. He was consecrated 
bishop of Exeter, FebruaiyM, 1716 ; and translated 
to Tarh, November 98, 1794, as a reward, aooord- 
ing to court aeandal, for suiting George I. to the 
Duchess of Munster. This, however, appears to 
have been aa unfounded celumny. As archbishop 
he beaaved with great prudence, aad was equally 
respectable as the guaroian of the revenues of the 
see. Rumor whispered he retained the vioee of his 
yealh, tad that a passioa ibr the foir eex formed aa 
Item ia the list of jus weaknesees ; but so for from 
being ooovicted by seventy wi to esse s , he does not 

Spear to have been directly criminated by one. Ia 
ort, I look upon theee aspereions as the effects eC 
mere malice. How is it possible a buccaneer ahould 
have been ao good a acnoUr as Blackbonme eei^ 
tainhr was ? he who had so perfect a knowledge of 
the elaasics, (particularly of the Greek tragedians,) 
as to be able to reed them with the saaae ease as he 



could Shakspeere, most have taken great ) 
aeqnire the learned Ungusgea; and have biad bo A 
leisore and good masters. But he was undoubtedly 
educated at Chiistchurch College, Oxford. He is 
allowed to hare been a pleasant man : this, how- 
ever, was turned against him, by its being said, * he 
gained more hearta than sools.' " 



** The only voice that could aoothe the passions 
of die savage, ( Alphonso III.) was that of an amia- 
ble and virtaous wife, the sole object of his love ; 
the Toiee of Donna Isabella, the daughter of tibe 
Duke of Savo^, and the grand-^ughter of Philip II. 
King of Spam.— Her ayinp words sunk deq» into 
his memoir ; his fierce spint melted into tears ; aad 
after the last embrace, Alphonso retired hito his 
chamber to bewail his irreparable loes, and to medi* 
tate on tike vanity of human lifc^Jfteesf/saeewi 
WoHuof Oibdm^ifew Editiom. 8va. vaL iiL psgs 
473. 



LARA; 

A TALE. 



CANTO I. 



Thb SerfB are glad through Lara'i iride domain. 

And Slayery hsdf forgets her feudal ohain : 

Be, their unhoped, but unfoigotten lord. 

The kng self-exiled chieftain is xeetored ; 

Then be bright foces in the busy hall, 

Bowls on the board, and banners on the wall ; 

Par checkering o'er the pictured window, plays 

The unwonted fiftggots* hospitable blase ; 

And gay retainers gather round the hearth, 

With tongues all loudness, and with eyes aXi mirth. 

n. 

rhe chief of Lara is xetum'd again : 
And why had Lsn eross'd the bounding main i 
Left by his sixe, too young such loss to know, 
Lord of himself ;—<hat heritage of wo. 
That fearftil empire which the human breast 
But holds to rob the hesrt within of rest I— > 
With none to check, and tew to point in time 
The thousand paths, that slope the way to crime ; 
Then, when he most required oommandment, then 
Had Lara's dazing boyhood gOTem'd men. 
It skills not, boots not step by step to trace 
His youth through all the mases of its race ; 
Short was the course his restlessness had run, 
But long enough to leave him half undone. 

m. 

And Lara left in youth his fkther-land ; 
But from the hour he waved his parting hand 
Bach trace wax'd fkinter of his course, till all 
Had nearly ceased his memory to recaU. 
His sire was dust, his yassals could deolsre, 
'Twas all they knew, that Lara was not thoe ; 
Nor sent, nor came he, till ooi^eetnre grew 
Cold in the many, ansious in ^ fiew. 
His hall scarce echoes with his wonted name. 
His portrait darkens in its fading frame, 
Axiother chief consoled his destined bride. 
The young forgot htm, and the old had died ; 
"Tet doth he live! " exclaims the impatient heir. 
And sighs for sables which he must not wear. 



A hundred seuteheons deck wltii i/kaomj p»m, 
The Lara's last and longest dweUing-plaee : 
But one is absent fr<om the mouUieriag file. 
That now weM welooiM in tlMt 0«dik pBe. 

IV. 
He ooMes at last in sudden timeliness. 
And whence they know not, why they need not guM, 
They more might marrel, when the greeting's o'«. 
Not that he came, but came not long befoie : 
No tnin is his beyond a siaigle page, 
Of foreign aspect, and of ftendar age. 
Tears had roU'd on, and fiut they speed awsy 
To those tiiat wander as Up those that stay ( 
But laek of tidings from another dime 
Had lent a flagging wing to weary Time 
They see, they xecegnaae, yet afan^ deem 
The present dubious, or the past a dream 

He Utos, nor yet is past his manhood's pxime, 
Though sear'd by toil, and som^hlag tonsh'd bf 

time ; 
His fkulto, whate'er they were. If searoe forgot, 
Might be untaught him by his Taried lot ; 
Nor good nor ill of late were known, his name 
Blight yet uphold his patrimonial fume : 
His soul in youth was haughty, but his sins 
No more than pleasure from the stripUng wins, 
And such, if not yet harden'd In th^ oonrse. 
Might be redeemed, nor ask a long remorse. 



And they indeed were changed— 'tin iiakUy sesit 
Whatever he be, 'twas not what he had been : 
That brow In foirow'd Unes had llz'd at laet, 
And spake of passions, but of paaaion past : 
The pride, but not the Hm, of early days. 
Coldness of mien, and cardesaneea of praise ; 
A high demeanor, anda glanoe that took 
Their thoughts from others by a single look; 
And that sareastie levity of tongue. 
The stinging of a heart the world hath atqp%» 



mtMiiii 



■KPHrft 



I IteM ftel tiiBt win Aot owiKheiroQ&d ; 
Ifl tti inw'd bk, md >eBMtiitogB>oro bcttMlli 
fha ^nee eirald wall Mfwl, or Mont teMtt*. 
iBliilm, i^offf , l«f«, «h« MnnoB aiB, 
Alt MM en MBqiMr, uid that an wmld «Mm» 
intUA Ui tewsft ttppesr'd AO mm to ttelft, 
fit iMiB'd « imlj A«r ^«d bMn •»?• ; 
4id MM tep fteUng it iran T«im to tnet 
At uammXM fightea'd o'« fab lifid hm. 

TI. 
Hot indk lie lorod long question of the pait, 
Kor told of wondnme ivfldi, and deeerti Tast, 
In thow fiff hnda wliere he had wandev'd lone, 
iod-et himself would have it seem— unknown : 
Tet thew in Tain his eye conU scarcely scan, 
Hot g^ean experience from his Itilow man : 
Bit vhit he had bebeld he shnnn'd to show, 
Ashadljirarthaatnnger's care to know; 
]f itill more prying snch inquiry grew, 
ffiikowim darker, and his words more few. 

vn. 

Rot Buqeieed to ne him once again, 
▼um vas his wdeome to the haunts of men ; 
Bon of high tin^age, link'd in high oommand, 
lean^lsd with tiie Magnatea of hb land, 
JoiB*d Ae earouflsds of tiie great and gay, 
AndMw tfasm ansile or sigh their hours away ; 
Bit Its he only aaw, and did not ahare 
The common pleasure or the general care ; 
He did not follow what they all pursued 
With hope still baffled still to be renew'd: 
Norihadfmy honor, nor suhstantial gain, 
Kor beauty's prefcvence, and the rival'a pain : 
Aiood hbi aome mysterioua drde thrown 
Kepdl'd approach, and show'd him still alone ; 
Upon his eye sate something of reproof; 
Thatk^ at least frivolity aloof; 
iad things more timad that behdd him near, 
la nlenee gazed, or whisper'd mutual fear ; 
Aaitibey the wiser, finendUer few confest 
Zhsydeim'd him better than his air ezprsst. 

vra. 

Tubs ttau^a-4n youth an action and aUlift, 
Bmiag fcr pleasure, not aTwse from strili» ; 
Wnmsa the iidd— the oeean— all that gare 
Pkendsa of gladness, peril of a gfaTO, 
la tun he tried-he ransadL*d all below. 
Aid iDQad hla leeompense in joy or wo. 
Ho tame, tote medium; for his feelings sought 
la that intensenees an escape from thought : 
The tempest of his heart in seom had gaaed 
On that «e ftsbler dements hath raised ; 
The nptare of Us heart hath Uwk'd en hl^, 
And ari^d if gnalsr dwnit berond 4m sky : 
Chain'd ta euass, tiw slave of eaeh eactosma, 
How woke lM from Um wMnass of .that dmam ? 
llaa! he told not— but he did awake 
To emae the irithcr'd heart that would not bfeafc. 

IX. 

Books, for Idft rolume lieretofore was Man, 
With eye more curious he appear'd to scan. 
And oft, in mdden mood, for many a day 
Vimn a& eoaununion he wonk Btait away ; 



IM 



Through ttlghfs long ho u i a worid sound fafshnrist 

tmed 
O'er ^ dark gallety, wkva his ft^ara ftwwn'd 
In radebnt antique portraiture around: 
They heard, but wUspw'd— «• tila« must net b« 



The sound of isords leas eaittdy than hia own. 
Tee, tiiey who eheeemlght onlle, but some had seen 
They seaiee knew what, but more ttan should haw 



Why gaied he so npon tfm ghMtiy head 

Which hands pcofcne had gather'd from the dead. 

That stfll beside his open'd volume lay. 

As if to startls sH save him away f 

Why slept he not whan othsss were at rssC ^ 

Why heard no musie, and reoeire no guest ? 

All was not weQ, they deem'd— but where ^ wrong? 

Some knew perehaaee— but twen a tale too long : 

And sneh besides were too dleereeHy wIm, 

To moie Hmn hint their knowledge in svaiset 

Bat if Aey wonld-they eonld »'-4vound tfi 

Thus Lsra'sTassals pruned to their Lorl 



It was the night— end Lara's glassy streem 

The stars are studding, each with imaged I 

So ealm, the watsra acarosly seem to stray. 

And yet they gUde like happiness away; 

BeAceting Cur and fUry-Hke from high 

The immortal lights that Utu along the sky, 

Ita banka are iUaged witili many a goodly tree. 

And flowers the fairest that may fiMSt the bee ; 

Such in her chaplet inihnt I>ian wore. 

And Innooenoe would offiv to her love : 

Theeedeek the shore; the warea their ehaanelnakt 

La windings bright and maay like the snake. 

All wee eo stilU eo eoft in ewth end air. 

Ton a e a ree would etart to meet aspirit thsfe; 

Secure that nought of eril eould driight 

To walk in audi a aeene, on audi a night! 

It was a moment only for the good : 

So Lara deem'd, nor longer there he stood, 

But tom'd in silenoe to his oastle-gate ; 

Such scene his soul no more could contemplate : 

Such scene reminded him of odier days, 

Of sUeo more doudlees, moons of purer blaae, 

Of nights more soft and frequent, hearta that ne1^w 

No— no— the stonn may beat upon his brow, 

Unfelt— unspering^-^t a night like this, 

A night of beauty, moek'd such brsaet aa his 

XL 

He tom'd witidn his solitary hall. 
And his high shadow shot along the wall ; 
There were the painted Ibims of othsr thnes, 
'Twas aU they left of rirtues or of crimes. 
Save Tague tradition ; and the gloomy Tanlts 
That hid their dust, their fofoles, and their fralts. 
And half a column of the po m p o us psge. 
That speeds tfie specious tale from age to age» 
Where history's pen its praise or bisme supplies. 
And Hes like truth, and stin most truly Ues. 
He wandering mused, and as the moonbeam shone 
Through the dim latttee o'er ^e fleer of stone, 
And the hlfl^ fretted roof, and seints, that there 
O'er Oothio windows knelt in pictured prayer, 
BeAeoted in iantastlo figures giew, 
Like lil< but not fike n«ta Bfb» to Tiew ; 



IM 



BTBON'S WOBXS. 



Hit biistlilig loek« of uMe, brow of ^oom, 
And the ivide wavi&g of bis shaken plume, 
Glanc'd Hke a apectre's attributes, and gave 
His aapeet all thet tenror ghee the grave. 

nil. 

'Twaa midtughi— all was slumber ; the lone light 
J>imm'd in the lamp, as loth to break the night. 
Hark ! there be murmurs heard in Lara's hall*- 
A sound—* voice— « shriek— a fearful call ! 
A long, loud shriek— and silence— did they hear 
That frantic echo burst the sleeping ear ? • 
They heard and rose, and tremulously brave, 
Bu^ where the sound invoked their aid to save ; 
They come with half-lit tapers in their hands, 
And snateh'd in startled haste unbelted brands. 

XIH. 
Cold as the marble where his length was laid. 
Pale as the beam that o'er his features play'd» 
Was Lsn stretch'd : his half-drawn sabre near, 
Bropp'd as it should seem in more than nature's fear ; 
Yet he wis firm, or had been firm till now, 
And still defiance knit his gathered brow ; 
Though mix'd with terror, senseless as he lay, 
There lived upon his lip the wish to slay ; 
Some half-form'd threat in utterance there had died, 
Some imprecation of despairing pride; 
His eye was almost seal'd, but not forsook, 
Bven in its trance the gladiator's look, 
That oft awake his aspect could disclose. 
And now was fixed in horrible repose. 
They raise him— bear, him;— 'hush! he breathes, he 

speaks. 
The swarthy blush reoolers in his cheeks, 
His lip resumes its red, his eye, though dim, 
Bolls wide and wild, each slowly quivering limb 
B«calls its function, but his words are strung 
In terms that seem not of his native tongue ; 
Distinct but strange, enough they understand 
To deem them accents of another land. 
And such they were, and meant to meet an ear 
That heatt hhn not— alas ! that cannot hear ! 

XIV. 
His page approach'd, and he alone appear'd 
To know the import of the words they heard ; 
And, by the changes of his cheek and brow, 
They were not such as Lara should avow. 
Nor he interpret, yet with less surprise 
Than those around their chieftain's state he eyes. 
But Lara's prostrate form he bent beside. 
And in that tongue that seem'd his own replied, 
And Lara heeds those tones that gently seem 
To soothe away the horrors of his dream ; 
If dream it were, that thus could overthrow 
A breast that needed not ideal wo. 

XV. 

Whate'er his frensy dream'd or eye beheld» 

If yet remember'd ne'er to be reveal'd. 

Bests at his heart : the custom'd morning came. 

And breathed new vigor in his shaken frame ; 

And solace sought he none from priest nor leech, 

And soon tiie same in movement and in speech 

As heretofore hefiU'd the passing hours, 

Nor less he smiles, nor more his for^ead lowers. 

Than these were wont; and if the coming night 

Appear'd less welcome now to Lara's sight, 



He to his marvelling vttsala showed it n«t, 
Whose shuddering proved their fear was less forgot 
In trembling pairs (alone they dared not) crawl 
The astonish'd slaves, and shim the iated-haU ; 
The waving banner, and the dapping door, 
The rustling tapestry, and the echoing floor; 
The long dim shadows of suirounding trees, 
The flapping bat, the night song of the bceese ; 
Aught they behold or hear their thought ai^als, 
As evening saddens o'er the dark gray walU. 

XVI. 

Vain thought ! that hour of ne'er unraveU'd gloom 
Came not again, or Lara could assume 
A seeming of forgetfulness, that made 
His vassals more amazed nor less afraid^ 
Had memory vanish'd then with sense restored ? 
Since word, nor look, nor gesture of their lord 
Betray'd a feeling that recall'd to these. 
That fever'd moment of his mind's disease. 
Was it a dream ? was his the voice that spoke 
Those strange wild accents ; his the cry that brokt 
Their slumber ? his the oppress* d, o'erlabor'd heart 
That ceased to beat, the look that made them start? 
Could he who thus had sufler'd, so forget, 
When such as saw that sufiering shudder yet? 
Or did that silence prove his memory fiz'd 
Too deep for words, indellible, unmix'd 
In that corroding secrecy which gnaws 
The heart to show the effect, but not the cause ? 
Not so in him; his breast had buried both, 
Nor common gaaers could discern the growth 
Of thoughts that mortal lips must leave half told: 
They choke the feeble words that would unfold 

xvn. 

In him inexplicably mix'd appear'd 

Much to be loved and hated, sought and fear'd; 

Opinion varying o'er his hidden lot. 

In praise or railing ne'er his name forgot : 

His silence form'd a theme for others' prat^- 

They guess'd— they gazed — they fain would knov 

his fate. 

What had he been ? what was he, thus unknown. 
Who walk'd their world, his lineage only known? 
A hater of his kind ? yet some would say, 
With them he could seem gay amidst the gay ; 
But own'd, that smile if oft observed and near, 
Waned in its mirth, and wither'd to a sneer ; 
That smile might reach his lip, but pass'd not by 
None e'er could trace its laughter to his eye: 
Tet there was softness too in his regard. 
At times, a heart as not by nature hard, 
But once perceived, his spirit seemed to chids 
Such weakness, as unworthy of its pride. 
And steel'd itself, as scorning to redeem 
One doubt from others* half withlield esteem. 
In self-inflicted penance of a breaat 
Which tenderness might onee have wrung fromrat; 
In vigilance of grief that would compel 
The soul to hate for having loved too welL 

xvin. 

There was in him a vital scorn of all : 
As if the worst had fall'n which could befrdl. 
He stood a stranger in this breathing vrorM, 
An erring spirit from another hurl'd ; 
A thing of dark imaginings, that shaped 
By eheice the perils he by chance escs^ped; 



IiABA. 



MY 



fiat •H^tAiA Y«iB, fcr te iMr 
SbiriiiivMld luOf «nat nd ludf 

Beitsm «■ BMMt of BMtal modUL Hid Urt^ 

ffis eulf dnaas of good ovirtripp'd tho trad^ 

Aid tiowlilid ■■■hood fcltow'd laflod yooth ; 

UnAfhwujjIitaf yooioin phaaftom thaoo aiHp«it» 

And wiolod poweis fior bottor innpooo lout; 

Aod toy poHioBS that hod poor'd tlioir mrmth 

U knriod doooUtioii o'or his path, 

Atti left the better fBoUnga all at atrifo 

In nild leflo ct i on o'er hia atonny life ; 

Bet ha^tf etOU and loth himaelf to blame, 

Ha call'd on Kotoio's a^ to share the shaaae, 

Aad charged ell fenlts upon the ieshlj form 

She gaTO to olog the seal, and feast the womi ; 

Tm he at last eonlDonded good and ill» 

AadhsirBiietooklnr&te the acta of will : 

Too high fe oomiooii aclHrbiieas, he could 

At tioBes nslgii his own for others' good, 

fist ant ie pitf, not becsase he o«|^t, 

Bot hi soBe stnnge psrfersity of thought, 

That s«i7*d him omrard witii a secret pride 

Todo vhat Hbw or iMme woold do beside ; 

And tUi ssme impulse noold, in tempting time, 

Misked his s^rtt equally to crime; 

Bo madi he soar'd beyond, or sunk beneath 

The men with whom he Mt oondenm'd to breethe ; 

And long'd by good or ill to separate 

TTrmself from all who shared his mortal state ; 

His mind abfaonring tlus had fix'd her throne 

Far finom ^e world, in regions of her own : 

Thes coldly paasing all that pass'd below, 

His blood in temperate seeming now would ilow : 

Ah ! happier if it ne'er with guilt had glow'd, 

fi«t ever in that icy smoothness flowed ! 

Tls txve, with other men their path he walk'd. 

And like the rest in sewniwg did and talk'd. 

Nor ootraged Reason's rules by flaw nor start. 

His madnoas was not of the head, but hesrt ; 

And ns^ wander'd in his speech, or drew 

His tttfoghts so forth as to offend the view. 

• XIX. 
With an that chilling mystery of mien. 
And m« iniag ^adaeas to remain unseen, 
He had (if 'twere not natmre'a boon) an art 
Of Mbb^ memecy on aaothei^s heart : 
It was not loTB psrehanee— «ior hate-^ior aught 
Thatirords esn image to esrpreas the thought ; 
Bat they iHu> mw him did not see in Tain, 
And oaee bdaeld, wonldaak of him again : 
Acd tihoeo to whom he spake remember'd well. 
And OB ^e words, howefer light, would dwell : 
Nofne knew, nor how, nor why, but he entwined 
WtTnsrtf perforce sround the hearer's mind ; 
Th«re he was stamp'd, in liking, or in hate, 
If gr ae t t d ones ; howerer brief the date 
That ftjeadihip, pity, or aversion knew, 
8tin there within the inmost thought he grew. 
Tov eaold not penetrate his soul, but found. 
Despite your wonder, to your own he wound ; 
His pneuiMi haunted stUl ; and from the breast 
He faaeed an sll unwilling interest : 
Vam vma the struggle in that mental net, 
Hia spirit seem'd to daie you to forget ! 

XX. 

ThsfV to s iwlifal, where kaights and dames. 
And aniM ^it VMl^ sr WCIf 1 



Appear a hjghbam < 
To Otho's haU earn* Lam with the Mst» 
The hmg eamisal shahsa Om ilhuBlaed hall, 
WeU speeds alike the beaqnet and ^ bell ; 
And OMgay daaee of bonndfaig Beasty'a train 
Links graee and haimoay in happieet chela : 
Blest aiethe eeiiy hearts aad geatle hwda 
That mingle these ia well-aesordiBg beads ; 
It is a sight ^e eveftU brow might smooth. 
And make Age saale, aad drMm Itsslf to Toath, 
And Tenth forget saeh hoar was paas'd en earth. 
So springs the exalting beeom to that mirth 1 

XXI. 

And Lsra gased on these, tedately ^ad, 
His brow belied him if his soul was ssd ; 
And his glance follow'd fost each flattering fob 
Whoee steps of lightness woke no scho tiliere 
He lean*d against the lofty pQlar nigh, 
With folded arms and long attentlTe eye. 
Nor mark'd a glance so sternly flx'd on his 
ni brook'd high Lara scrutiny like tUs : 
At length he caught it, 'tis a foee unknown. 
But seems as searching his, and his alone ; 
Prying and dark, a atranger's by his mien. 
Who still tin now had gased on him unseen ; 
At length en^untering meets tiie mutual gaae 
Of keen inquiry, and of mute amase ; 
On Lara's glance emotion gathering grew. 
As if distrusting that the stranger threw; 
Along the stranger's aspect flx'd and stem, 
Flaah'd more than thence the vulgar eye could laanw 

xxn. 

" Tiahe ! " the stranger cried, and those that heard. 
Reechoed fost and far the whisper'd word. 
'Tis he ! "— " Tis who ? " they question for and 

near. 
Till louder accents rung on Lara's ear ; 
So widely spread, few bosoms well could brook 
The general marvel, or that single look ; 
But Lara stirr'd not, changed not, the surprise 
That sprung at first to his arrested eyes 
Seem'd now subsided, neither sunk nor raiaed, 
Olaaced his eye round, though stUl the strangsf 

gazed; 

And drawing nigh, esclaim'd, with haughty sneer, 
**'Tis he!— how came he thence?— what doth hi 

here?" 

xxm. 

It were too nuieh for Lara to pass by 
Such qa e s tion s, so re p e at ed flsgoe aad high ; 
With look eoUeoted, but with aeeeat sold. 
More mildly Arm than potalaatly bold. 
He tnm'd, aad met the inqaisitnrisl tons 

My aaaie is Lsra I— ^hea thiae own is kaown, ^ 
Doubt not my flttiag answer to requite 
The aalook'd for eeartsey el sueh a kaight. 
'Tis Lara!— fiuAer woaldat thoa aaik or ask i 
I shun no qnestioa, and I wear no maak." 

Thou shunn'st no question ! Poadsr^«ja there aoae 
Thy heert anet aaoww, thoagh thiae ear woold 

sfana? 
And deem'st thoa me onkaowa too i Gese agaia 
At leaat thy ammory waa not gfersn ia vain. 
Oh ! never canst thoa cancel half her debt 
Eternity fosbide thee to i 



IM 



BTROira WOBXS. 



With ilow Old MwnhfciB g ka « em poa Us flMe 
Grew Ltra'a ejos, but no^isg than eonld tnee 
Thej kiufWy or ehom to knowi— with dabiow look 
He deign'd no answw, but hk haadhe shook. 
And half oontemptuoiM tnni'd to pass a;way ; 
Bnt the etern stranger notkm'd him to stay. 
<* A word I**-! charge thee stay, and aaswwr here 
To one, who, wort thou noble, were thy peer, 
But as thou wast and art— nay, frown not, kud. 
If false, *tls ease to disprove the word^- 
Bnt, as thou wast and ait, on thee looks down. 
Distrusts thy smiles, bat shakes not at thy frown. 
Art thoa not he ? whose r 



«'Whate'erIbe, 
Woids wild as these, aoensers like to thee 
I list no Airther ; those with whom they weigh 
May hear the rest, nor Tenture to gainsay 
The wondrous tale no doubt thy tongue can tell, 
Which thus begins so courteously and well. 
Let Otho cherish here his polish'd guest, 
To him my thanks and thoughts shall \>e ezprest" 
And here their wondering host hath interposed— 
" Whate'er there^be between you undisclosed. 
This is no tiBM nor fitting place to max 
The mirthful meeting with a wordy war. 
If then. Sir Bsselin, hast aught to sh^w 
Which it befits Count Lara's ear to know. 
To-morrow, here, or elsewhere, as may best 
Beseem your mutual judgment, speak the vest ; 
I pledge myself for thee, as not unknown, 
Theugh like Count Lara now retom'd alone 
Tmm other lands, almost a stranger grown ; 
And if from Lara's blood and gentle birth, 
I augur right of courage and of worth, 
He will not that untainted line belie, 
Nor aught that knighthood may accord, deny." 

< To-moROW be it," Easelin replied, 
•* And here our sereral worth and truth be tried. 
I gage my life, my fidchion to attest 
My words, so mfty I mingle with the blest t " 
What answers Lara ? to its centre shrunk 
His soul in deep abstraction sudden sunk ; 
The words of many, and the eyes of all 
That there were gather'd, seem'd on him to fldl ; 
But his were silent, his appear'd to stray 
In far forgetftilness away^— awaj^— 
Alas ! that heedlessness of all around 
Bespoke remembrance ooly too profound. 

XXIV. 

** To-morrow !— aj, to-iwiBrowf " fttfAer w«id 
Than those repeated none from Lara heard ; 
Upon his brow no outward passion spoke ; 
From his large eye no flashing anger broke ; 
TetOero was something fix'd in that low tone. 
Which show'dresolre, determined, thoughunknown. 
He seized his cloak-his head ho slightly bow'd. 
And passing BsMlIn, he left Ike crowd ; 
And, as he pass'd him, sndMng met tiie frown 
With which that chieftain's brow would bear him 



ft WIS nor smile of mlr^, nor stragglSag pride 
fhat curbs to scorn the wrath it cannot hide; 
But tftat of one in Ms own heart seeoro 
Of all that he would do, Or eoidd s fc d u r u . 
Could this BMsa peace? tho oahBmees of the good ? 
Or guilt grown old in dsap u w i l e hi rfl j i i oid f 



Alas! too HhoiBt 
For man to trust to nortal look or speeeh; 
From deeds, and deeds alone may ho disesBi, 
Truths uddoh it wrings thounpnu^iaed heart to le«» 

XXV. 

And Lara eall'd his page, and went his way— 
Well could that stripling word or sign obey : 
His only follower from those dimes a£ur, 
Where the soul glows beneath a brighter star ; 
For Lara left the shore from whence he sprung. 
In duty patient, and sedate though young ; 
Silent as him he serred, his faith appears 
Abore his station, and beyond his years. 
Though not unknown the tongue of Lara's land. 
In such from him he rarely heard command ; 
But fleet his step, and clear his tones would oome. 
When Lara's Up breathed forth the words of home i 
Those accents as his natiTo mountains dear. 
Awake their absent echoes in his ear, 
Friends', kindreds', parents', wonted Toioe reenll, 
Now lost, abjured, for one— his iHend, his aU : 
For him earth now disclosed no other guide; 
What marrel then he rarely left his side ? 

XXVI. 

Light was his form, and darkly delicate 
That brow whereon his native sun had sate. 
But had not maiT*d, though in his beams he grew. 
The cheek where oft the unbidden blush shone 

through; 
Yet not si}ch blush as mounts when health would 

show 

All the heart's hue in that delighted glow ; 
But 'twas a hectic tint of secret care 
That for a burning moment fcTcr'd there ; 
And the wild sparkle of his eye seem'd caught 
From high, and lighten'd with electric thought. 
Though its black orb those long low lashes' frxiigt 
Had temper'd with a melancholy tinge ; 
Tet less of sorrow than of pride was there. 
Or if 'twera grief, a grief that none should share ; 
And pleased not him the spoAs that please his ag^ 
The tricks of youth, tiie flrolios of the page ; 
For hours on Lara he would fix his glsaoe. 
As all-f oqgotten in that wutohM tsaaoe ; 
And from his chief withdrawn^ he waadss^d lo«a. 
Brief wve his answers, and hia q n s sti e a s none ; 
His walk the wood, his sport soma focaign book ; 
His resting-place tilie bank that curbs tha faraak : 
He seem*d Ukehim heaesved, to liva apart 
From aU that lures the eye, and flfla tha heart ; 
To know no brotiisriiood, and take freai earth 
No gift beyond that bitter boo n - ■ ourfairtk. 

xxvn. 

If aught be lored, 'twas Lara ; but was thoim 

His faith in rererence and in deeds alone ; 

In mute attention ; and his care, which guess'd 

Bach wish, frJflU'd it ere the tongue ezpreasM* 

Still there was haughtiness in all he did, 

A spirit deep that brook'd not to be ehid ; 

His seal, though more tiian that of serrlle handa. 

In act alone obeys, his air oommanda;' 

As if 'twas Lara's less than A» desfane 

That thus he senred, but sttely not far Ura. 

Slight wen tha tai&a eatfoia^ him by kk iqiA» 

To hold tfM stimf^ « ta baar th» awwdt 



OiitgM»tf 




No 

CnU bov tD Irfn, Bot AMOttd to 

Of Ugto With k» Mva'd. and tell« 4a^ 

K« Msk of wiear tofl tkit hud betray*, 

8» feBUwty iriite H si^t bwpMk 

A>olteM9t,i*M^Mteli'd«ith thU nMofteteak, 

Bit fior kb gvby lad tnnMthing In kls gMS* 

Men «BA aaA ftdgb than WMDuui't fft b«teyt ; 

A hftnt iM<08BMi that fiur mora baeama 

ffis fisy diMia than hk tandar frama : 

T^ ia hk iravdb H bioka not ftom hk biaMt» 

tefean hk Mpaot »l|^ ba SMM ttan giiaM*d. 

Kakd hk nasMk thoogh nmornid ha ban 

lasflnr ata ha kit hk monntain-ihan ; 

ParvaMlteaa ha woidd haar, howavar nigh* 

TUl aoM lapaatid land without laply, 

As oteffiar, ar, if raasad agafa^ 

Start to the aaond aa bnt lamember'd then ; 

UdIm twae Lava'a wonted voke that apaka, 

far dMn, aur, ayaa, end havt waold aU awake. 

xxym. 

Hekidkak'ddaam npon the ftetka hall, 

Aid Mtk*d thai aaddan atdk eo maik*d of aU ; 

Aad aiMn tha oowd aroond and aMT him told 

Tbdr wander at Om ealnneai of the bold* 

ThtB aiarTd how the high^Mm Lum bam 

Seek keaitfrene a ateaager, doubly eora, 

Tbe ookr of yen^ Kalad i^qp* and eama» 

Tbe Mp of aehea, and the ehaek of flaBM ; 

And e'er hkbwar the dampening heart-drapathraw 

Tht ndcemng kineee of tiiat aold daw, 

IWt ikee aa ^a bnay baaoae einka 

ITidi heenry 4hoa^hta froae lAkh leAaet 

Tes-^them ha thhqia whkh wannat diaein and daia, 

ABinaenfee eae tko^ktha half aweia: 

'Wbak'er BM^t Kalad'a ha» it waa aneiv 

To aeel bk Mp, bnt a^Mka hk baaar. 

He gMii en SaaeKn, tiU LHta eaat 

Hit ndeki^ aniU apon Om knii^t ha pMt » 

IThm Kdedeaw thnt HMk hk ika«a kU, 

At if ftnii aeaalbi^ aeaoieikii tii»t w^t 

Hk 

ThaUn'aaepeat 

Forand he Binn9^-n aaaaMt^ 

AaAiilalttfc Oat hatt aaem'd left akM; 



Sachbaioe ia^ hk epa an iMaTa 
Anbednurin'dtkritki 
Thai nh« kk ka« dark ehadaw tkeaafh the peeeh 
No MRnlMPee the fkM af yen high teaeh» 
BMh pahehHie fskkfi^ «n& aU heeaaa aeea 
To beaad at doubting from too black a dream, 
8«^ ee ve know k kka, yet dread in eaoth, 
"^^^■ee va vMRta area naaaeae wmbi* 
And they «a iM»-«nt Xaaelm k Aeaa, 
^VIA thea^Hkl vki«» and kftpariaM ak S 
^tVwgmnia*diwtt eManhaaraspkad 
Ha waved bkhvel ta Othni wd Mlkad. 

X3U3L 

Tha ««wi nt goae, fha lavclkm at teat ; 
Thn eovteoai heat, and att-apfvavii^ gneets 



Again to VMS aaaaaaam aeonennneiaMap 
Where /oy maeMkei ana eemw ai^ie ta ekap. 
And man, o'erlabor'd with hk being's strife, 
Shrfakke ta that eweat IbigatMaMs of Uk : 
There Ua lora'e keerkh hope, and eanaing'a gaik^ 
Hate's warhhig brein, end Inll'd emUtion'o wlk; 
(yer each vain eye oblivion'a pinlana wave. 
And qnsnah'd eodeteace cRmehae in a grave. 
What better naaee may ehnnber's bed baoome } 
Night* 8 eapid^re, the onkereal home. 
Where waakneee, strong^ viee, vhrtae, sunk eapina, 
AUke In naked helpkeeneee xadina; 
OUd ibr a while to heave onoanedoas breath. 
Yet wake to wrestle with the dread of death, 
And dran, tiioagh day bat dawn on ilU inoreaat. 
That sleep, tike kvelieet, sinee it dreaau the kaat 



CANTO II. 



NiojJT wtnea— tike vapore roand the mann 

CQll'd 

Melt into mom, and Ught awakee the world. 
Men has another day to eweU the peat. 
And lead him near to Httie, bat hk kst ; 
Bnt Bughty Natore bounds as from her birth. 
The eun k in the heavena, and tik on eer^ ; 
Ploweia in the vslley, splendor in the 1 
Health on -the gale, and freehnesa in the i 
Immortal man ! behold her gknee ehine. 
And cry, exulting inly, " they are thine ! " 
Oaie on, while yet thy gladden'd eye may eee; 
A morrow comes when they are not for thee ; 
And grieve what may above thy senseless bier, 
Nor earth nor sky will yield a single tear ; 
Nor eloud shall gather more, nor leaf shall ftll. 
Nor gale breathe forth one sigh fat thee, Ibr aU; 
But creepfaig tilings shall revel in thek epeO, 
Ajid it thy elay to krtilise the eoQ. 

II. 
'Tk nMra— 'tk neon aseembled hk the hall, 
The gathered eUeftaine eoma to (Hho'i eall *, 
'Tk now the proosieed hone, that must pcoelate 
The life or death of Lera's thtma kme ; 
When BflMlin hk charge may here unkld* 
And whatsoe'er the tale, it must be toM. 
Hk kith waa pledged, and Lera's prandea gkaa, 
To meat it in the eye of man and heavan. 
WhyeoBDMehenot? Bueh truths to be divulged, 
Methinka the aocueer's teet k long indulged. 

III. 
The hour k past, and Lara too k theae 
With eelf-eonflding coldly patient air : 
Why eomee not Esselin ? The hour k past. 
And murmurs rise, and Otho's brow o'ereeat* 
•' I know my friend ! hk kith I cannot fear, 
If yet he be OB earth, expect him here ; 
The roof that held him in the valley stands 
Between my own and noble Lara's lands ; 
My halk from such a guest had honor gidn'd. 
Nor had Sir Bnelfn hk host diadain'd. 
But that some previous proof forbade hk stay. 
And urged him to prepare agalnat to-day; 



leo 



BTBOirS WOBKB 



The word 1 ptodged for Mb I pledge again, 

Or irill myself redeem his knighthood's stain." 

He ceased— «nd Lara answer'd <* I am here 
To lend at thy demand a listening ear 
To tales of evil from a stranger's tongue, 
Whose words already might my heart have wrung, 
But that I deem'd him scarcely less than mad, 
Or, at the worst, a foe ignobly bad. 
I know him not— but me it seems he knew 
In lands where— but I must not trifle too : 
Produce this babblex^-or redeem the pledge ; 
Here in thy hold, and with thy falchion's edge." 

Proud Otho on the instant, reddening, threw 
His glove on earth, and forth his sabre flew : 
*' The last altematiye befits me best. 
And thus I answer for mine absent guest." 

"With cheek unchanging from its sallow gloom, 

However near his own or other's tomb ; 

With hand, whose almost careless coolness spoke 

Its grasp well used to deal the sabre-stroke : 

Witib eye, though calm, determined not to spare, 

IHd Lara too his willing weapon bare. 

In vain the circling chieftains round them closed. 

For Otho's frenzy would not be opposed ; 

And from his lips those words of insult fell-- 

His sword is good who can maintain them well. 

IV. 
Short was the eonflict ; furious, blindly rash, 
Vain Otho gave his bosom to the gash : 
He bled, and fell ; but not with deadly wound, 
Stretched by a dextrous sleight along the g^und. 
« Demand thy life ! " He answer'd not : and then 
From that red floor he ne'er had risen again. 
For Lara's brow upon the moment grew 
Almost to blackness in its demon hue ; 
And fieroer shook his angry falchion now 
Than when his foe's was levell'd at his brow ; 
Then aU was stem collectedness and art. 
Now rose the unleaven'd hatred of his heart ; 
So little sparing to the foe he fell'd, 
That when the approaching crowd his arm withheld. 
He almost tum'd the thirsty point on those, 
Who thus for mercy dared to interpose ; 
But to a moment's thought that purpose bent ; 
Yet look'd he on him still with eye intent, 
As if he loathed the ineffectual strife 
That left a foe, howe'er o'erthrown, with life -, 
As if to search how far the wound he gave 
Had sent his victim onward to his grave. 

V. 
They raised the bleeding Otho, and the Leech 
Forbade all present question, sign, and speech ; 
The others net within a neighboring haJl, 
And he, incensed and heedless of them all. 
The cause and conqueror in this sudden fray, 
In haughty silence slowly strode away ; 
He baek'd his steed, his homeward path he took, 
Kor cast on Otho's towers a single look. 

VI. 
But where was he ? that meteor of a night. 
Who menaced but to disappear with light ? 
Where was this Ezselin ? who came and went 
To leave no other traee of his intent 



He left the dene of Oflw long «n mom. 
In darkness, yvt so well the path was worn 
He eould not miss it: near his dwelling lay; 
But there he was not, and witii ooming day 
Came fast inquiry, which unfolded nought 
Except the ahsenee of the chief it sought. 
A chamber tenantless, a steed at rest, 
His host alarm'd, his munnnzing squires distrest 
Their search extends along, around the path, 
In dread to meet the marks of prowlers' wrath ; 
But none are there, and not a brake hath boma« 
Nor gout of blood, nor shred ol^maatle torn ; 
Nor fall nor struggle hath defaced the grass, 
Whieh still retains a mark where murder was i 
Nor dabbling flngers left to tell the tale. 
The bitter print of each convulrive nail. 
When agonized hands, that cease to guard. 
Wound in that pong the smoothness of the sward 
Some such had been, if here a life was reft, 
But these were not ; and doubting hope is left ; 
And strange suspicion, tdiispering Lna's mmitt 
Now daily mutters o'er his blacken'^ fame ; 
Then sudden silent when his form appeer'd, 
Awaits the absence of the thing it fear'd. 
Again its wonted wondering to renew. 
And dye oonjeetore with a darker hue. 

vn. 

Days roll along, and Otho's wounds are heal'd* 
But not his pride ; and hate no more conceai'dk 
He was a man of power, and Lara's foe, 
The friend of all who sought to work him wo, 
And from his country's justice now demands 
Account of Esselitt at Lara's hands. 
Who else than Lara could have cause to ftrar 
His presence ? who Ufcd made him disappear. 
If not the man on whom his menaced charge 
Had sate too deeply were he left at large ? 
The general rumor ignorantly hmd. 
The mystery dearest to the curious crowd ; 
The seeming friendlessness of him who strove 
To win no eonfldenee, and wake no love ; 
The sweeping fierceness which his soul betray'd. 
The skill with which he wielded his keen Made; 
Where had his arm unwarUke caught tiiat art ? 
Where had that -fleroeness grown upon Us hent ? 
For it was not ^e Mind eaprieiew tage 
A word can kiadle and a word assuage; 
But the deep working of a eonl mmiiK^ 
With aught of fity when its wratk had fa'd ; 
Such as long power and eveigoiged enoeees 
Coaeentratse into aU th«f s mervilees; 
These, liide^i with that desfre wMeh ever sways 
Mankind, the vathwar to eondMna than pmlse, 
Oaiast Lara gathering raiMd en kngliia stentt, 
Sueh as himself might foar, and foes vMndd fotm. 
And he nrast MtswiBr for the absent hedl 
Of one who hannts Um etfUt aUfo «r dead. 

vm. 

within that land was many a maleeateat, 
Who cursed l^s tyxaany to which he beat; 
That soil Ml many a wtiqgteg despot mm, 
Who w«rh*d his wcntonnABS te feim of la«| 
Long war wiftont sad f^squeiA brail wilMn 
Had made a path for blood and giant sin. 
That waited but a signal to hegin 
New havoc, sueh as civil disocurd blends, 
Which knows no neuter» owns but foes or fkiends} 



Jm ipori and dsed obey'd, in soul a2>honr*d. 
TlW Till bid inherited hii lands, 
Aad will tibMa puung hearts and sluggish hands ; 
Bat tkst long aliaence from hta natiTe dime 
Bad left him atainlesa of oppreaaion*8 cnme, 
AadBSv directed by his milder svay, 
AU itni by alow degrees had won aw^. 
lbs vniala lalt their usual awe alone, 
Bit noca fox him than them that fear was grown ; 
Ibtf daam*d him now unhappy, though at fbrst 
Thflfr evil judgment aagoi'd of tbe worst. 
Aid eadi long leatlsaa n%htt sad silent noodt 
Wai tnsel to siekMia, M by sotitude : 
Aid tiw^ hw IflMr habits threw of Ute 
GlooB o*er his dinmhar, ehesiftil waa hia gala; 
fcrteMs the wMtehad ne'er unsoothed withdmi^ 
Far tiMsa, at loasti hia soul ooa^Msston knew* 
ColdtB ttngsaat, eontsnptuous to the hight 
Tbtbimbla gaas'd iwt hia unheeding eye; 
Mwh hs wovld speak wt. but beneath hia zeoC 
Thcf fooBdaasrlnm eft» end ne'er reproof.* 
AaitiMf who vatflh'd might mark that day by day 
Sow anrntninsra gatbar'd to his sway I 
BatMst of lato, ainee SsMlin was lost, 
BepliT'dthe oe u iteg u a lord and boonteoua host: 
Ftidianee hw stnie with Otho made him dread 
taas sDsm fMpaied for hia obnoxious head ; 
Wkali'cEhiB vi0«» Ua Aitw mere obtains 
VHk tksae» tk« yeople, than hia fellow thanea. 
If this were potiey» so fur 'twas sound, 
Thsattwn jttiged but of him aa they fimnd; 
fton Urn by ataoHi ehjefr to eiile driven 
Tbsf butiequiied a sheltsr, and 'tWM given* 
By him no fsanMitmonm'd hia rifted eo^ 
Aid MCM the flevC eo«ld mmrnmE o'er hia lot ; 
mft him eld acvance found ita hoard seeure, 
lV!th him eoaAsmpt forbore to mock the poor s 
Toadi, present eheer, and promised recompense 
Betala'd, tiQ all too Ute to part from thenee : 
To bate ha ete^ with the eomlng ehMiga, 
Tbs deep imnftoB Af ddny'd 
To biva, kng baflad by the 
Tbs ~ 

AH wir waa lipa, ha widls bnt to proeWm 
fbat sbMiy Making wh&ah waa atlll a 
Ibe BBMnt ema, the hoar whsB Oiha Ikaugkt 




eat 

Hk 

Begirt by 

Fneh fiem Ikd^ fonM foClva nearty fflfw, 

Bc^fiig «ar«^ and oonMant af haavmb 

That aarakigke had ftaad the aailbiwdala^ 

Wkt iigue land te tyMKta baM iMff gsw«i 1 

BaAialkdra ry ae n e waiihword for the ight 

MuMiMtalatkawn^, and wwp the fight: 

Bplitfm <fcaadttBi aBHgmnaa what yon wiH, 

A waeA MMgh «e raiaa aaaiddnd to kitti 

Some CuttaaipleMe by cunnkBg caQgktwdapcaad, 

That guih may reign, and wolvae and warma be M ! 

IX. 

*thnmgh(»it that elime the feudal chieft had gain*d 
•••h away, theb infant monarch hardly rdgn'd ; 
How wu tile bow for faction*s rebel growth, 
The Berk wratemn'd the one, and hated both : 
they waited \rat a leader, and they found 
One to thdr eaaaeisaeparably bound; 



Itl 

By eireumataaaa oompaD'd te plnsge ftgefau 
In adMafenca, amidst the atrife of men. 
Cut off by aome myaterious fate from thoae 
Whom bbrfh and nature meant not for hia foes, 
Had Lara from that night, to him aecurat, 
Prepared to meet, but not alone, the worst: 
Some feaaon urged, whate*er it wu, to ahun 
Inquiry into deeda at distance done ; 
By mingling with his own the cause of all, 
B'en if he lul'd, he stiU delay'd his fblL 
The sullen calm that long hia boeom kept, 
The atorm that once had spent itself and slept. 
Reused by events that aeem'd foredoom'd to vgt 
Hia gloomy fortunes to their utmost Torge, 
Burst forth, and made him all he once had been, 
And is again ; he only changed the scene. 
Light eare had he for lilb, and less far fbme. 
But not less fitted for the desperate game : 
He deem'd himself mark'd out for othera' hate 
And moek'd at ruin so they shared hia ftite. 
What cared he for the freedom of the crowd f 
He raised the humble but to bend the proud. 
He had hoped quiet in his sullen lair. 
But man and destiny beset him there : 
Inured to hunters, he was found at bay ; 
And they must kill, they cannot snare the pref 
Stem, unambitious, silent, he had been 
Hencefiarlh a calm apectetor of life's scene ; 
But, dragg'd again upon the arena, stood 
A leader not unequal to the feud ; 
In Toiee— mien— gestuve— savage nature apeke. 
And from hia eye the gladiator broken 



What boots the oft-repeated tsle of strife. 

The feast of vultures, and the waste of Ufb? 

The varying fortune of each separate Held, 

The fierce that vanquish, and the fliint tket ylald f 

The smoking ruin, and the crumbled wall ? 

In this the atruggle was the seme with all ; 

Save that distemper'd passions lent their feree 

In bittemeas «ut beniata'd aU reanne. 

None aaed, for Itoey knew her ery waa wis. 

The captive died npen the battle-plain : 

In either eaoM, one lage ahme peeeset 

The emphe «f the ahsmaia vietor'a hroaet I 

And they that seaais for ft ae d w n ar for away, 

Deem'd fowwisresjain, while tnare I ameie'd to day. 

It waa too late te ebeek the wertiag brand, 

And Deaeiatfon seeped tin ikmish'd land ; 

The toreh was lighted, and the fi 

And Csmege saaAadupra her daily i 

XI. 
Fresh with the nerve the new-bon 
The first sneeess to Lara's umaabsra ehing 
But that vain victory hath tuhi'd all, 
They form ne tonger to tiMir leader's mH; 
In blind eonfoslon on tiie foe they pieaa. 
And think te snatch is to aeeoie sn e c sai. 
The lust of booty, snd the thbvt ef hate, 
Lure'on Ike broken brigands to their fote t 
In vain he doth whate'er a ehfof may de, 
To cheeh ^e headteng fbry of ttaat erew; 
In vain their stubborn ardor ke would tasM, 
The hand tiiat kki^ee cannot qmeneh tke flame; 
The wary foe alone hatii tum'd their mood. 
And shown their lasineeo to that ening brood: 



161 



BTBOinl l/OBXS. 



Tlie MgU'd ntreat, tke iAg\t\j nmhuBcwi/t^ 
The daily luurats, and the fight deUy*d, 
The long priTation, and the hoped lupply* 
The tenUeaa rest beneath the hnmid skj, 
The stnhbom wall that marke the leagner'a art. 
And palli the patience of his baffled heart, 
Of theie th^ had not deem'd : the battle-day 
They oodld enconnter as a veteran may ; 
But motto preferr*d the ftiry of the strife. 
And present death, to hourly suffering life : 
And funine Tvrings, and fever sweeps away 
SQs numbers melting fast from their array ; 
Intemperate triumph fades to discontent. 
And Lara's soul alone seems still unbent : 
But few remain to aid his voice and hand ; 
And thousands dwindled to a scanty band 
Desperate, though few, the last and best remain'd 
To mourn the discipline they late disdain'd. 
One hope survives, the frontier is not far. 
And thence they may escape from native war ; 
And bear within them to the neighboring state 
An exile's sorrows, or an outlaw's hate : 
Hard is the task their father-land to quit. 
But harder still to perish or submit. 

XII. 
It is resohred— they march— <eontenting Night 
Guides with her star their dim and toi^Uess iig^t; 
Already they perceive its tranquil beam 
Sleef^ «tt the rarfhee of the barrisr stream; 
Already they deecry— Ii yon the bank ? 
Away ! 'tis lined with many a hostile rank. 
Betium or fly !— What glitters in the rear ? 
'Tie Otho'i baanex^— the pursuer's spear 1 
Are those the shepherds' fires upon the height ? 
Alas i they blase too widely for the flight: 
Cut off from hope, and oompass'd in the toU, 
Less blood perchanoe hath bought a richer spoil ! 

XIIL 
A iBoment's pause, 'tie but to bna^e their bend. 
Or shall tiny enwwd prsao, or hen wHhalaad ? 
It matters Uttie-if they ehaige tiie Ibee 
Who by the boiiei'«tnaB ^«ir mareh eppoa^ 
Borne fesr, pwehanoe, may break and pa« tke line, 
Howertr Unk'd to heAe such design. 
•^Theehaigvbseml to wait for thsir eeaaiidi 
Were ikto fsiil wortiiy ot a eoward'a halt." 
Forth flies eaeh sabre, rsin'd is every eteed, 
And Ite nect word shall scaree outsti^ the deed; 
In the next tone of Leia'e gathering bw at h 
How nuuty shall but hear the voice of death. 

XIV. 
His blade is teed. In kkn then is an air 
Aa deep, but friT tde ttanquil for dsepstof 
A someOtog^of fnAUfonnoe mere than then 
BeoooMB the htovest, if they Itel for men— 
He tom'd his eye on Kaled, ever near. 
And ttm toe l^hhM to betray one feer ; 
Perdumee twaa but the moon's iSm twUight threw 
Along his a^ieet an unwonted hue 
Of monmM pilenass, i^ose deep tint expteet 
The tm^ «d not the tenor of his breast 
TUe Ufta nark'd and laid his head en hia ; 
It trembled not in such an hour ae this ; 
His 1^ was sflent, searoely beat his heevt, 
Sf eye alone prodaim'd, " We will not pert I 



Thy bend auy perish, or thy fidcndt vAf iee, 
Fsrewell to life, but not adieu to thee ! ** 
The word hath pass'd his Hps, and onward dtittt, 
Pours the link'd band through ranke asunder rive% 
Well has each steed obey'd the armed heel, 
And flash the scimitars, and rings the steil; 
Outnumber'd, not outbraved, they still oppose 
Despair to daring, and a front to foes ; 
And blood is mingled with the dashing i 
Which runs all redly till the morning I 



XV. 

Command&kg, aldihg, anhnaHBg all, 
Where foe q)pear'd to piess, <kfr friebd lo fill; 
Cheers Lara's voice, and wave* or Mrikeii his itoilt 
Inspiring hope himself had ceased to IbeL 
Kone fled, for well they knew that fiighit i»«i» mk) 
But those that waver turn to smito sgain, 
While yet they find the firmest of Ibe foe 
Becoil before their leader's look and bMr : 
Now girt with numbers, now ^mdst aloiM, 
He foils Ihefar ranks, or reunites his own ; 
Himself he spared notn-once they efteu'd to Itf^ 
Now was the time, he waved his hand ol Ugh, 
And shook— Why sudden droops that plumed flrM} 
The shaft is sped-^the arrow's in hie hteast! 
That fktal gesture left the unguarded side, 
And Death hath stricken down yon arm of pMm, 
The word of triumph fainted from his tongue; 
That hand, so raised, how droopingly it iNing I 
But yet the sword instinctively retains, 
Though from its fellow shrink the frdlfnt relw ; 
These Kaled snatches : dissy witik the Mw, 
And senseless bending o*er his ssddle-bow, 
Peroeivee not Lara that his anxious page 
Beguiles his charger from the cemfaaf s rage : 
Meantime his followers charge, and ohokg* agiin t 
Too miz'd the slayers now to heed liie slain ! 

XVI. 
Day glimMsrs on liie dying and the dead* 
The doven wiiTato, and tiie hehnleto head; 
The war-hoxse m ae toili ee is en tiie eaitb. 
And thset tost gasp hatii bust his bloody glnh ; 
And near, yet quivering with what Ufo leasalnM* 
The heel that urged him and liie hand that i«te*4 S 
And soBM tee near that loUhig tsmnt li% 
Whose watsn taioek the Up of these Aat dto I 
That panttng tiriret whieh eosithto In Ae bnatih 
Of tiioee flwt die the eoUfiert flHy dealh» 
In vafai tepels the humlag meuA to tram 
Onediop thelaet I'to eorfttfogtheyre; 
WMi foeUe and eenvnlsHe «AH 
Their liBihs along ihe ntesen^ 1 
The fotot tenaine of llfo sunh i 
But yet they tesah the I 
They ftel to frsehnesey and lias isl^silihi 
Whypause^ Nofhtthertiifasthate^My toslalrifi 
If fannqiienoh'd, and yet they foel it nett 
It was an ag*0B^^*4ett now fergut I 

xvn. 

Beneath a liase, remoter from the seene. 
Where but for him that stnUe hed never hesn« 
A breathing but devoted warrior lay ' 
Twas Lara bleediiig fast from Ufo away : 
ffis follower oneoi and now his only giddi^ 
Kneels Kaled watchfrd o'er his weUtog eide, 
And with his scarf would staun^^ the tides that zMk« 
With each convulsion, In a blacker gush; 




lA&i. 



lel 



AilAiib ttllitUit^tviAiNr ^muM Wir, 

b M*», Ml 1«i ftldMiik&igt fl0w; 

pit fovM ctti spHK) vQt notloui litai *al vtniii 

Aid avdy adiia«tef throk t0 iiiiii. 

ill dMps ^« knd ih«t pang ^«Mehii««U Mmfg^i 

Aid Mi^ rtMfeft Mi flMttltfl to tiwi tell jMig^ 

8nt Hist te^ ^row wUeh nali upoA Ui loiet ; 

Hdd aB ^« H^ ttift ilMM M Mrtk fcr Urn. 

xnxL 

Tkeiw «ilv«i» vlie loBg kid Mueh'd tht Md, 
TiMfr tRn^h aoofht tOl Lwa too ihonld yield; 
Aqr WNJd RBOTe him, but fhey see 'tw«ra Ttia, 
ill ki ragudi ^0m ifftti a oilm dbdiiik, 
TWt iQW to woimB e hini ^wftli Ids futo* 
iid tittt CMSpe to dMth from Hrlng Iwte : 
ill Otiho eoneft, and leapfaig frvui hk itoid, 
LMki Ml ihiB blaedhig foe ti^t made liSm bleed, 
iii^ewHopi of lue eteto *, he uuwen not, 
flwiM glueBB on hill w on one fcrgol, 
iiriteni to Saled ;— eaeh mniiiing word, 
Thtf ndentood not, if distinctly hetfd ; 
ffii l^fiig tones are in tiiat other tongne, 
To akich aome atrange temenibnnce wildly omg* 
TWy ipeak of other teenes, bat what—ii hnami 
To Kaled, whooBt their meaning reaeh'd ^ott« : 
iad he replied, thoagh fiUntly, to their lovnd, 
WUk gaaisd the rest in dumb amasement ronnd : 
Thty leem'd eren fiien— that twain— nnto the last 
To kalf forgel the present In the past; 
To daoe between themoelTes some aepartte fttd, 
Wkosa darhnoas none benda should penetrato, 

tXlL 

thd^wxftA thonc^ Ihint were many^-from the tone 
Thsir import thoee who headl eonid Jndga alone ; 
fkom iSbM, yott vdght ha:Te deamM yoang Kaled*o 



Xoranear than Lara's bY Ui toice and breath. 

80 nd, ao deep, and haaltating broke 

The aecesta hk searee-moTing pale lips spokv; 

Bat Lira's Toiee, thongh low, at first wsa clear 

iid eshn, tSlmvrmming dsath gaap'd hoeraely near, 

Bat from his fisage little eoald we gnesa, 

00 amapentant, dark and passionless, 

Save that whsn atmggUng nearer to his laat, 

Upon tiMt page hia eye was kindly east ; 

iid oBce sa Kaled'a answering acoenti oeasti 

Bate Ltta*8 hand, and pointed to the East: 

▼hcTC (u than Om breaking son froea high 

Bea'dbick the donds) Om motrow eanght his eye, 

Or Aat 'taia ehaaoa, or soBM leoMnbsr'd seene. 

That nissdhia am to point iriksrasQch had been, 

flcatoalikdsasm'd to know, bat tam'd away, 

<ds if kii kssrt ahhonr'd that eoming day, 

Aad titmk his glanee before that nsonung light. 

To look oa Lota's brow— whan all grew night. 

Tat aaaso seem'd left, thoagh better were ito Ums ; 

^or whsa eae near dijq;»lay'd the ahadlTfaig croaa, 

Aad paoflw'd to Ua tooeh tiia holy bead, 

or wWch Us parting aool might own ^ need. 

He looVd apon it with an eye profane. 

An d amil d U Heayen pardon! If 'twere with diadain; 

Aad Kakd, tboegh he apoke not, nor withdrew 

Vmn Liia't Iheehia dx'd dsspairing liew, 

'^[^ brow rapaUte, and with goatare swift, 

nag bosk ihahsmdwhiah hsU «a aafliad gill, 



Aa If Mah birt Oiiai^'i «m expM% ttek 
Ivor aeem^ to know Ua Un bvf Mtd bagttt) 
That life of Im mort a lity, aoMre 
Tomne, sftro tbm whose fhdth In CMalbawe. 

Bat gasping haaTod the breath that Lata draw. 

And doll the film along his dim eye grew ; 

His limbs stretch*d dattering, and hli head drooped 

o'er 
Tha weak yet stfll anttrtng khea that bom; 
He pressM the hand he held npon his heart— 
It beats no more, but ICsled wUl not part 
With the cold grasp, but feels, and feeb in fain. 
For that feint throb which axtswers not again. 
'* It beats ! **— away, ^on dreamer f he is gono— 
It onoe waa Lara which thon fc>ok*st npon. 

XXL 

He gased, aa if not yet had paas'd away 
The haughty spirit of that hnmbla aky ; 
And thoae aronnd haTo tanaed him frooa hit tnam$ 
Bat eaanot leer froaa thence hia ftaad flaaoa; 
And whan in raising him froaa whore he beoOk 
'Within his arnta the form that felt no more. 
He aaw the head his breast would atill aaatain. 
Boll down like earth to earth upon tha plain ; 
He did not daah Umaatf thsroby, nor tear 
Tha gloaay tondrila of Ua nTen hak. 
Bat stro^ to stand and gaaa, bat rael'd aad feO, 
Scaiee breathing more than that ha lorad so waB« 
Than that da loved! OhI nerer yet beneath 
The breast of aoan sadi trastgr Ioto auy brsatlw. 
That trying aoomant hath at onea wraal'd 
The secret long end yet bat hall-oanoaal'd ; 
In baring to retire that lifeless breaat. 
Its grief seem'd ended, bat the saa eonfeat; 
And life retam*d, and Kalad felt no shama- 
What now to her waa Womanhood ar FaaM? 

XXIL 

And Lsra sleeps not whore his fctfcaia alasp, 
Bat wham he died hia i^aa waa di[« aa deep, 
Nor ia hia moitol atombar leas piaiBiini, 
Thoagh priest nor bless'd nor marble deck'd tha 



And ha waa moom'd by one whoee qnlet grief, 
Leoa load, ontlasto a people's for their chief. 
Vain waa all qnestion sak'd her of the paat, 
And Tain e'en menace— sUent to the laat ; 
She told nor whence, nor why she left 'behind 
Her all for one who seem'd bat little kind. 
Why did she Ioto him ? Carions feol I— h 
Is hnman Ioto the growth of homan will ? 
To her he might be gaatlenoaa ; Urn atom 
Hare deeper thooghto ttan yonr doll eyaa 
And when they lore, yoor smllera goeaa not how 
Beata tha strong heart, thoagh leoa tha Upa avww. 
They ware not eoamkon linka, that ferm'd Iha 
That boond to Lare Kaled'a heart and brain. 
Bat that wild tale oho brook'd not to n»feld. 
And aeal'd is now each Up that eoold have tald. 

xxin. 

They laid hhn in the earth, and on hk braaat, 
Besidee the wound that cent his sool to teat, 
They found tha soattor'd dtoto of many a acsr. 
Which ware not planted tiMPo fai reaont w«i 



IM 



BTBOira irOBKS. 



Whore'a htA ptii'd hit mammm f99n of life, 
It Mems tMr Taniflh'd In a lead of strife; 
But all aaknown hfe glory or hif giuU> 
Th«M oaly told that aomewhore blood was spiU, 
And Easelm, who might havo spoke the past, 
Betvn'd no more— that night appeared his last. 

XXIV. 
Upon that nig^t (a peasant's is the tale) 
A Serf that crossed the intenrening Tale, 
When Cynthia's light almost gave way to mom. 
And nearly Toil'd in mist her waning hofn ; 
A Serf, that rose betimes to thread tike wood* 
And hew the bongh that bought his children's food, 
Pass'd by the river that dirides the plain 
Of Otho's lands and Ijara's broad domain : 
He heard a tramp— a horse and horseman broke 
From ont the wood— before him was a desk 
Wrapt nmnd some burden at his saddle-bow; 
Bent was his head, and hidden was his brow. 
Boosed by the sndden sight at such a time, 
And some foreboding that it mi^ht be crime, 
ttmself unheeded wateh'd the stranger' eonrse, 
Who reach'd tiie riTer, bounded ttoto. his horse. 
And Iffting thence the burden which he bore, 
Heaved up the bank, and dashed it from the shore, 
Then paused, and look'd, and tum'd, and seem*d to 

watch, 
And stiH another hurried glance would snatch, 
And follow with his step £e stream that iiow'd, 
As if eren yet too much its surfece show*d : 
At onoe he started, stoop'd, around him strown 
The winter floods had scatter'd heaps of stone ; 
Of tiiese the heattest thence he gathered tbere. 
And slung thsm with a more than common care. 
Meantime tiie Serf had crept to where unseen 
Himself might safely mark what this might mean ; 
He caught a glimpse, as of a floating breast. 
And sometiiing glftter'd starlike on the Test, 
But ere he wsfl could msrk the buoyant trunk, 
A massy fragment smote it, and it sunk : 
It rose again but indistinct to riew, 
And lell Urn walen of a putple hue, 
Then deeply dlsappeer'd : the honeman gaeed, 
Tm ebVd ^ Utest eddy it had rtleed; 



Then tuiatngf Tinted on hie pmrigg itsed, 
And hutant ^nrr'd him into panting speed. 
His feee was mask'd'— the features of the deed, 
If dead it wece, eseaped the obserrer's dread; 
But if In sooth a star Its bosom bore, 
Sush is the badge that knighthood erer wme, 
Aad such 'tis known Six Baselin had worn 
Upon the night that led to snoh a mom. 
If thus he poish'd* Heaven reoeire his soil! 
His undiaeoTer'd limbs to ocean roll; 
And charity upon the hope would dw^ 
It was not Lsni's hsnd t^r which he fell. 



XXV. 

And Kaled— Lara— Esselin, sire gone. 
Alike without their monumental stone 1 
The first, all efforts vainly strove to wean 
From Ungeiing where her chieftain's blood hsd bass 
Grief had so tamed a spirit onoe too proud. 
Her tears were few, her wailing never loud; 
But ftirious would you tear her from the spot 
Where yet she scaroe believed that he was not 
Her eye shot forth with all die living fire 
That haunts the tigress in her whelpless Ire, 
But left to waste ho: weary moments there. 
She talk'd aU idly unto shapes of afar, 
Snoh as tiie b«sy brain of Sorrow pahits, 
And woos to listen to her fond oomplaints ; 
And she would sit beneath the very tree 
Where lay his drooping head upon her knee; 
And in that posture where she saw him fsH, 
His words, his lool^, his dying grasp recsll; 
And she had shorn, but saved her raven hsir. 
And oft would snatch it from her bosom there, 
And fold, and press it gently to the ground, 
As if she staunched anew some phantom's i 
Herself would question, and for him reply ; 
Then rising, start, and beckon him to fly 
From some imagined spectre in pursuit; 
Then seat her down upon some linden's root. 
And hide her visage with her mesgre hand. 
Or trace strange characters along the send-- 
This could not last— she lies by him she lov^ ; 
Her tale untold— her truth too dearly proved. 



NOTE TO LARA. 



\am 



Tbb cwnt iM wctioii zziT Canto II. 
Mlad tgr tlM dMCTiptkMi of ih« demtii or ntk«r 
Eniil oT tiM Bake of QmndlA. 

Tbo Boot iatonotiiiff and pwticQUr oeeooiit of 
liiii BTStBrioos evoit u gWen bv Bwchat^ u^ ^ 
m w^iinm M fclkmi: «0b &o eishth day of 
/va^ Iho Caidmal of Yalenaa, aad tk» Duko of 
Qaafia, mm of tho Popo, mpBd witk tiidr mo^Mr, 
YnoBap Boar tho dmreh oi S. Pieiro advinculai 
mnaX odis pcnona being praaent at the entertala- 
neat. A lato hour approaebinff, and the eardhial 
haimg wmfudod his brother, that it waa time to 
nCvB io Iho apoctoHe palaeo, thej mounted their 
towM or walea, wiik only a few attendaato, and 
nroeeeiod together as fer as the nalaoe of the Car- 
aaal ^•**"^ Sforsa, when the duke informed the 
eaiihfll, thoft beftno ho retained hoaie, he had to 
paj a Tint of pleaeure. Dismissing therefore all 
Ui attandaata except his HogUro. or footman, and 
apcfsoa ia a auak, who had paid him a Tielt whikt 
at sapper, aad who, daring toe epaee of a awath or 
I, areTioae to this tan^b bad eaUed upon 
daily« at tho aaostolie palaoot he took 
, bduad him oanis male, andprooeeded 
to tib stRot of the Jews, where he quitted his ser- 
nat, diroetin^ him to renuun there until a certain 
hoar; when, if he did not return, he might repair 
to Aa pahee. The dake then seated the peieoa in 
fte mask behind him, and rode, I know n6i whither ; 
oat ia flttt light he was a«asstnated, and thrown 
into tiie rirer. The aerrant, after haTing been 
ithmieaiiil, was also assaulted and mortally wound- 
ed; aad although he was attended with great care, 
yet sadi was his situation, that he eoald gi^ ao In- 
tdBsUeaeeoaatof what had befeDoa hismafter. 
Ia tiie nocaiag, liM dake not haTiag latamod to 
tta palaef, bis sart aats bigaa to be alarmed; and 
oaa of thoB iafinmed the pontiff of the cTcnlng 
czcarsioa of his sons, and that the duke had not 
yet made his appearance. This gave the pope no 
email anxiety; trat he eoqjoetared tfvit tbe dake 
bad been attraetod by some ooartesaa to pose the 
night wl^ bar, aad not dliooeing to quit the house 
ia opan da*, had waited till tho following erening 
to retain hcMne. when, howeTer, the eveninff ar- 
rnad, aadhe ftmnd himself disappointed in bis ex' 
peeCatioBa,hel - -^rx . .. 

aaake fnqvdiias 
" to aUtt 

aToni, who^ 



W iviftuu iHimwsM vuo«k V wvu* awi aaa imam v^k- 

, he became deeply afmcled, aad benaa to 
tiiias fima difiertet psctoas, whom no or- 
aMMd biB for that pBpose. Amang 
a nsn nanted GioKsio SchiaToni, who. 



ksvins diachazged some timber from a bark in tho 
iiTer, Bad lemamed on board tike Teasel to wateb it, 
andbafaks iatacrogated whether he liad eoea any 
I bto &o vHcr ca the B||^ fModtig, 



B KOI, WBOeOBB 

a abort dBO af^ 



be replied, that he aaw two mea on fcot, who i 
down the street, and looked diligently 
obeerre whether any person was 
seeing no one, they returned, and a i 
terwwds two others same, and looked around iatbo 
same maaner as tlie ibrmer : ao person still appear 
ing, they gOTe a sign to their companiona, when a 
aian eoBe, Boaated on a white horse, baying bo- 
hind him a dead body, the head and arms of whl^ 
hung on one side, and the feet on the other side of 
the horse; the two peraoas on fbot snppoiting tiio 
body, to nrcTent its fkUing. They thus nroeoeded 
towarda that part where the ftlth of the dtr is aaa- 
ally iiatbasMiii into the river, and turning the horse, 
widi his tail towards the water, the two persona 
took the dead body by the arms and feet, and with 
all their strength ifung it into the river. The par* 
son on horsebaclc then asked If the^ bad thrown it 
in, to which they replied, Si^aor, m (yea, Sir.) Ho 
then looked toinads the Bfciv aad ooeiai a mantle 
ioatiag oa the atroam, he inquired what R was that 
appoand black, to which they answered, It was a 
mantle ; and one of them threw stones upon ft, in 
consequence of which it sunk. Tho atteadanti of 
the pontic then inquired from Oioigia, why bn ba4 
not rerealed this to tho gs iB u or of the ct^ \ t» 



which be lepUed, that he had seen in bis tune a 
bandied dead bodies thrown into the riTcr at the 
samo plaoe^ without any inquiry being made resnect- 
ing them, and that he had not therefvre, eoMto^ 
edit as a matter of any fanportaaee. Tbo isbir* 
men and seamen ware uen eolleotad, and Bflfad 
to eeaieh tho itvar, where, on the foUowiag ero- 
aiaa, ^bey feand the bodj of the duke, with hia 
habit eatna, and thirty ducata in his purse. He 
was pierced with nine wounds, one of which was in 
his throat, the others in his head, body, and Kmbs. 
No sooner was the poatMP infeiBed of the death at 
his son, and thai be bad been thrown, Uka dl«h« 
into the riyar, timn, gtrina way to his nief, he 
ahat bfaaaeU iw ia a chamber, and wept oitterly. 
The Cardinal of Segovia, and other attendants on 
the pope, went to tne door, and after many bom 
spent m persuasions and exhortations, prevailed 
upon him to admit them. From the evening ot 
Wednesday, till the following Saturday, the pope 
took no fDod; nor did he sleep from Thursday mom* 
ing till the same hour on the ensuing day. At 
length, however, giving way to tho sntraalUr of his 
attendants, ho began to restrain bii sobow, Mid to 
eoasidsr the iigury which his own health might sus- 
tain, by the further indulgence of his grief. —Jtoi- 
eee's Lm TmHK vol. i. psg9 M. 



THE SIEGE OF CORINTH 



TO 



JOHN H0BH0X7SE, ESQ. 



TKM POJBK It XSrSO&IBSDy 
BT KU 



Jmuary 22, 1816. 



FBIKNT 



ADVBRTISEMENT. 

Tn gn&t wtmsfi^ttm Twki, (ia 1716>) mader 
HkM PrinM Yixier, to open to tkomselTM » ivay into 
tttt heart of the Moree, and to fbrm the siege of 
Xapoli di Bewenie, the moet oonaidenble place in 
■a that eo«nftiry,« IdMHight it best in the first place 
to ettMk Coilttth, «pen which they inedA sereral 
ilonas. The garrisoa being weakened, end the 
gOTecnor seeing it wis impossible to hold eat 
■geiast so adlghtj a force, thought it tt to beat 
a pailej: bat while tfaej were treating about Ihe 
erttoles, one of tiie legeriaes ia the Turkish camp, 
adiflteiB they had sia handred banels of powder, 
blew up bj accident, whereby six or eevea hundred 
BUR wece killed; which so enraged the finHdeb, tiutt 
thsgr weald aot grant an j capitulation, but stormed 
Ike pkee with sa maoh tay, that «h^ took it, and 
p«lBiMl of the gan&Nu, with Signlor Minotti, the 
gorenor, to the sword. The vset, with Aatenio 
Benkbo, proreditor extraordlinaiy, were aiada pria- 
I of war."— JSTMfory qfthe Turks, toI. iii. p. 151. 



1. 
ICurr a Tsnish'd year and age, 
And len^^Vs breath, and battle's rage, 
BsvB flwsft a'sr Corinth ; yet she stands 
k ftvtoMi fuM'd to Freedom's hand. 



napMhrnam JkMgm. I tUmI ■■ Shw b IS1S41 { aad In tha 
> WB ^ a g mm^ ibt iii MHj a— ■yimmtwl ta MS, I 



■Ml *it tgr MA bM n 

l%hl«rbMl, and ofteii tezy mwk,p 

IriMdi Sdunb, Jl^[kia, Ftons ac, ud the coMi of tha • 



The whirlwind's wrath, the earthquakes 
Eaye left untouch'd her hoary rook, 
The key-stone of a land, which stilly 
Though fiUl'a, U>oks proudly oa that hSl, 
The laadmaxk to the double tida 
That purpling rsUs aa either aide. 
As if thdr waters chafed to meet, 
Yet pause and crouch beneath her Ibet 
But eould the blood before har shed 
Since ifarst Tiaoleaa's brother Ued, 
Or baffled Peniaa's despot iled. 
Arise from out the earth wlddl teak 
The stream of slaughter as it sank. 
That aaaguine ooean would o*eK4oif 
Her isthmus idly spread below : 
Or eould the banes of aH the alaia. 
Who perisVd there, he pilad i«abi. 
That xiTsl pyramid would rlsa 
More mountain-like, through tkooa eioBr i 
Than yon tower-o^^ Acropolis, 
Whleh eeeias the vecy elouds to kisa. 

IL 

Oa dun CSthsron's ridge appeoxr 
The glaaai of twice tea thoussad speen; 
And downward to the Isthmlaa plidii» 
Firom shore to shore of eKher naiia. 
The tent is pitdh'd, ttie ereeeeatahhiM 
Aloug the Moslem's leaguerlng Uaeei 
And the dusk Spahi's bands adTaace 
Beneath each bearded pacha's glance ; 
And far aad wide aa eya aan Bsack 
The turban'd cohorts throng the beoek ; 
And there the Arab's camel kaeeis. 
And there his steed the Tartar wheels; 
The Turcoman hath left his herd,> 
The sabre round his loins to giid ; 



or ottwrTH. 



Iff 



TSmvM grow MMPlte to Um iw. 
Ill femek is 4af , tiia eannom't ln«a^ 
Vb^ ^ Ctt hWng globe wt dtotk; 
FM iddxl tiio fti«v«nto from liM «aU» 
WU^ tnialdM with tbo fwdwut Mli 
Aai ftoB tiutt wtU the Am repUat. 
O'er doi^ ploia aad tmokj tkiM, 
TiA ii« thM tntnw £Mt and ViU 
Tk0 mimmio ol Um laAdaL 

m. 

lit »Mr nd BMNSt to tiM «aU 
or ttoM «ko wMhnA VMdL Hi ftdl* 
TA tepar akill te ww't bMk irt 
n« O^MA't toiM, and bigk of iMMTt 
Af vf aUef tbat aw stood 
TriBBphant m His Aslds of blood ; 
Ris fast to poat» aad daad to datd, 
FiMtnoDraar sis bit saakisc stosd* 
Vbm taUyii^ tanka tbs toenab aaaail, 
Aai nake tbs fotstoMt Moili^ 4«ail ; 

Or wbm ^ bsttoijt ffn»^^ v«Uf 

Iw i im aa yst impwgMibIs, 

ilVitiagebsMljtoiaapos 

Tki iolte alsolMMf fai bia ftrSf 

n» int and Iraabaat of tbe ksst 

VUdi Stambosl'i ssltan tbera ass basat, 

Ta gvda tbs fsllMMr o*ar tbs isld, 

Ti fofat tbs tobs, tbs laasa to niald. 

Or vbnt arasad tbs bidUrisg Usds 9— 

¥iiA^ tbs Adrian BM^Ms 1 

rv. 

fxmk Ysolea— o*as a loas of wovA 

HhtsaOa su ao ka dwwr hfa birtk ; 

Bat lata an ckOs frooi bar abois, 

AfiiBit bis uwutltym an ha bora 

TbaanBstbsjtoiic^ttobsart aadaow 

Tha toibsa gbC bia akavan taow. 

TbioQgb msay s ebangs bsd Cariatk psas'd 

Vitb Giesoe to Taniao* nle adlast; 

Aid bare, baion bar walls, wHk Hmss 

To Qieaee and Yaaisa eqnal fcaa, 

Ha rtaod a liM, with all As aaal 

Wydi yooBg and fiary a ou fO ila fM, 

Wttbm wboas hsstod bsaoB tbfloogs 

Tha ncBuity of a Aoossad wroags. 

To Ua bad Tanies asssad to bs 

Hat aadast ehio booBft-«« the Ass ; '* 

And in «ia palasa of at. Haik 

ITimamsd aaaaa«s In the dark 

Wiflifai tba « lion'a month " bsd pkosd 

Ha lad in tims, and sBvsd hk lUb, 
To vttta bii f^rtus yasis to ataife, 
That ta^^ bii land bow gfsat har Isaa 
Is bin vbo Mwnph'd o*^ ths Qmms, 
'Ooiait ^ridf^ be isn'd Iks Oisseant Ugh, 
And batOtd to t««i«e «r di^ 



<3«>mMB^«-ba wboae cHoshig , 
Adon'dthatiinnph eC Xogone, 
2!?«A <« WenUi* bloody |Mn 
Aa lut MdadiMMt of the aUin, 
Ha aaak, npakltog «o* to die» 
Soteamtbi 



Gov 



igl-« 



el' 



Thstktsstf 

Tin Cbristisn hsnda to Gieeae i 
The Jkeadoto Tanioa gave of yon } 
A hnndrad yasn hars roU*d awsy 
flinoo bs roAiaad the Moalsm'a away, 
And now ha lad ths MnasnhniB, 
And gsTs ths gnidanoa of the ran 
To A^, who wall repaid the trust 
By citiaa lerell'd with the dnat ; 
And psored, by auay a deed of diaA« 
How irm hk heart ia noTol fiiith. . 

VI. 

The waUi grew weak ; and flMt and hot 

Against them povr'd the oaaaaliSi ahot* 

inth nnihatiwg ftiry aent 

From battary to battlement; 

And tiinnd«-like the pealing din 

Boee from each boated calToln ; 

And ban and than soma oraeklfaig domg 

Waa fired befora the exploding bomb: 

And aa the fabrie aank benoa^ 

The abattaring aball'a voleanio breath. 

In red and wraathing oolnmna flaah'd 

The flame, aa tend Ae ndn eraah'd. 

Or into coentieaa meteoia driven, 

Ito earth-atara malted into hasren ; 

Whoae eloada that day grew donbly d«i, 

Impenrioos to the hidden ann, 

Wiik Tolnmed amoke that alowly grew 

To one wide sky of inlphnroiia hue. 

vn. 

Bttt not Ibr ▼engoaaee, long dalay'd,* 
Alone, did Alp, the renegade. 
The Moolem warriora atarnly tsaah 
Hia akiU to piaroe the promiaed braaah : 
Within tbeae walla a maid waa pent 
Hia hope venU wm wi«ha«t sonasiU 
Of thatinssonblsriis, 
Whoae heart relbaad him in ito isa. 
When Alp, bansath bis Cbristisn nsMft, 
Her virgin hand aapifsd to ehnm. 
In happiar mood, and oiriiar tima^ 
WhOa nnimpeash'd te frsitoBSM,tfiM» 
Chiyost in gondola or hall. 
He gUtter'd tbroi^ the Csndval; 
And toned tiie aoftast iiiis nil 
That e'er on AAda's wntom pky'd 
At midnight to XtaUan nMid. 

VUL 
And many deaa'd hor heart was wen . 
For aou^t by namban, givan to nsas, 
Had yonng j^enooaoa'a hand rmsain'd 
Still by ths lAvxBh's bonds nnfibsfaa*d: 
And when the Adriatio bora 
Lanoiotto to the Paynim ahoio, 
Her wontsd amilaa wen ssan to lall. 
And penaire wax'd the mold and psk; 
Mora oonatant at eenfoarional, 
Xore rare at msaqna and llmlMl; 
Or aeon at anoh» with i 
Which eonqaav'd hearto ttey i 
Wi^i liatlsni look ihe aeans to | 
With hnmbkt csn hsr iMto smifB ; 
Her Toioa leaa liToly to Ihe aeng, 
Har •tqpi, thon«h Vito Itoo float aas 



IM 



vmm% 



Tktt pattf, on wh&m fb»Mm!^atf» ^hm9 
BntikM, yet untftted mih tiie dance. 

flent by the atate to guard the land, 
(Which wracted from the MosUfe*8 hand, 
While Sobieaki tamed hia pride 
I^ BudA'a wiU and Danube's aide, 
The chiefs of Venice wrung away 
From Patra to EuboBa's bay,) 
Minotti held In Corinth*! towen 
The Doge'a delegated powers, 
While yet the pitying eye of Peace 
Smiled o*er her long-forgotten Greece : 
And ere that faithless truce was broke 
Which freed her from the unchristian yoke. 
With him his gentle daughter came, 
Nor there, ainoe Menelaus' dame 
Fonook her lord and land, to prove 
What woes await on lawless love. 
Had fairer form adom'd the shore 
Than she, the matchless stranger, boro. 

X. 

The wall ii rent, the ruins yawn ; 
And, with to-morrow's earUeat dawn. 
O'er the disjointed mass shall vault 
The foremost of the fierce assault. 
The bands are rank'd ; the chosen van 
Of Tartar and of Mussulman, 
The frill of hope, misnamed *' forlorn," 
Who hold the thought of death in scorn, 
And win their way with frdchion's force. 
Or pave tl^ path with many a corse. 
O'er which the following brave may rise. 
Their stepping-stone— the last who dies ! 

ZI. 
rris midnight : on the mountains brown 
The cold round moon shines deeply dewn ; 
Blue roll the waters, blue the aky 
Spteads like an ocean hung on Mgh, 
Bespangled with those isles of light, 
Oo wildly, spirftually bright ; 
Who ever gaaed upon them shining, 
And tum'd to earth without repining. 
Nor wish'd for wingt to flee away. 
And mix with their eternal ray } 
The waves on either shore lay tiiere 
Calm, clear, and asure as the air ; 
And scarce their foam the pebbles shook, 
But murmur'd meekly as tiie brook. 
The winds were piUo'w'd on the wavea ; 
The banners droop'd along their staves. 
And, as tiiey ftU around them frirling. 
Above them ahone the ereseent curling ; 
And that deep silence waa nnbroke. 
Save where the watch his signal apoke, 
Save where the tteed ndgh'd oft and shrill, 
And echo aj;«wer'd from the hUl, 
And the wide hum of that wild host 
Bustled like Isavea from coast to eoast, 
Aa rose the Muenin's voice in air 
In viUght eaU to wonted prayer ; 
It rose, that chanted mournftil strain, 
like some hme sfisif s o'er tke plain : 
•Twaa muaieal, but sadly sweet, 
BwHk tm whan wind* and haip-atrfngamMli 



And take a long mmieaanfed tone, 
To mortal ndnslTelay unknown. 
It seem'd to thoee urithin the waH 
A cry prophetSe of their Mi : 
It struck even the besieger'a ear 
With aonethlng omlnoaa and drear. 
An undefined and andden thrill, 
Which makee tiie heart a mmamt stilt 
Then beat wiA qnlcker pulae, ashamed 
Of that atrange aense its silenoe ikaasei ; 
Such as a sudden passing-bell 
Wakea, though but for a atraagsr'a kaelL 

XIL 

The tent of Alp was en the sheio^ 

The sound was hueh'd, ^e prayer was o'erf 

The watch waa set, tiie nlght^fwmi madii 

All mandatea laeued and obeyed : 

'TIS but another anxious nigbl, 

His pains the morrow may reqirite 

With all revenge and lo¥e can pay, 

In guerdon of thoir long dehry. 

Few houra remain, and he hath need 

Of reat, to nerve for many a deed 

Of slaughter ; but within hia aoul 

The thoughts like troubled waters rolL 

He- stood alone among the host t 

Not his the loud fanatic boaat 

To plant the crescent o'er the cross, 

Or risk a Ufe wHh little loss. 

Secure in paradise to be 

By Houria loved immortally : 

Nor his, what burning patriots feel, 

The stem exaltedness of seal, 

Proftiae of blood, untired in toO, 

When battling on the parent aoO. 

He stood alon^^i renegade 

Against the country he betray'd; 

He stood alone amidst hia band, 

Without a trusted heart or hand; 

They foUow'd him, for he waa brave. 

And great the spoil he got and gave ; 

They crouch'd to him« for he had akill 

To warp and wield the vulgar will; 

But still his Chzastian origin 

With them was little less thnn sin. 

They envied even the fisithless fame 

He eam'd beneath a Moslem name ; 

Since he, their mightiest chief had beea 

In youth a bitter Naxarene. 

They did not know how pride can 8toop» 

When bafiled feeUngs withering droop; 

They did not know how hate can bum 

In hearta once dianged from soft to ateni4 

Nor all the falae and fhtal seal 

The convert of revenge can IseL 

He ruled them— man may nile tho wocst. 

By ever daring to be first: 

So lions o'er Uio jaekal away ; 

The jackal pointa, ho fells the pagr» 

Then on the vulg« yelling press. 

To gorge the relics of i 



xm. 

His head grows fever'd, and his pidso 
The quick snaeessive throbs convnlso; 
In vain from side to side he throwo 
His form; In coortshlp of lOfiosoi 



THl SOMft Of eOSlXTH. 



Itt 



Or V W dMBi, a MMod, « ttsrt 
ivafci Um ititSi a raHk«B tent. 
Ai twfcin 0^ nil liot Imyw ftrMirSi 
nenail vdlghM tead^Gka on bit brant, 
TW^gfc oft md Vmif bcBBiA Hi weight 
Upon Ms tjm had thoabv Mtt, 
WjftpBt Off ocwicli tv omopyi 
lieqpt a TOOf^MT Md ud tky 
An nov B^t yield a moxioff^ bed, 
TlitD mom eloBg tile bearen ynm epreed ; 
HeeooH not net, be could not etay 
Wi!yB Id* teat to wait Ibr dty, 
Bvtaa&'d bbB igrdi alo^ the Mad, 
Wkre theaaMid elfmiyeM ■trcw'd the eteaad. 



WlatvOlow'd ^Ha} aadwliyaboQldba 

fiM BMse tbnr FoaU ««w tbor tea ? 
AbI yet thej Ibarieea dream of ipea ; 
mde be alone, wbece thooeeadi peei*d 
Aug^ of al*^ V«6baaee tbiir lael» 
la aeUy v%a waadei'd 0D» 
Aaacafiedallbegaaaii 



XIV 

He feh bis sool beooBM more Ugbt 
UntaA tiie fresbneei of the nSgbt 
Cool wn the aQeat tbj Iboogb cafan. 
And batted bis btow with airy bafaa : 
Bthfafed, the eamp— before him lay, 
la msay a wiadhig ereeb and bay, 
Lepuito's golf; and, on the brow 
Of Delhi's bill, vnsbaken snow, 
Hi|^ aad etsaal, eneh as shone 
Ibroai^ tiunisand smnmers brigbtiy gonet 
Akag Oe gnl^ tiie monnt, the dime ; 
It will not mdt, like man, to time : 
Tynat aad dare ate swept away, 
Lns Ibna'd to wear before the ray ; 
Bat ftat white Tea, tiie lightest, frdlest, 
"Wbidi oa the mighty monnt thou hailest, 
While towa aad tree are torn and rent, 
Axaes o'er its craggy battlement ; 
la flboB a peak, in height a cloud, 
la textaze like a horertng shroud, 
Tbb8 b^^ by parting Freedom spread. 
As ftom ber fimd abode she fled, 
Aadfiagei^d on the spot, where kmg 
Her pn^ BfUt spake in aei^^. 
Ob, itillber seep at amuata fidtera 
O'er aite'dfleldB, «id raia'd alt«ts» 
Aad fua weald wake» in eoole too bacdus. 
By poiatiBg to eaah gkniofaa token. 
Bat wis b« voiee» tin bettas days 
^■■abfhose yet xcaaeadMr'd rays 
'Wbkli ihoBs npeii the Peniaa iybig, 
Aad Mv «K Spartaa snib ia dyiag. 

XV. 

Mat BbilMi of tiieee mighty times 
Wai Alp, despite bis flight and crimes ; 
Andflm^ this night, as on he wandei^dy 
Aad o'er the pest and present pondeor'dy 
Aad tlMogbt upon the gloiiona dead 
WIm ^are in better cause had bled^ 
Ha Ut bow tunt and feebly dim 
Tbe fiune Ihat eoold aeeme to him, 

Who ebeo'd fheband, and wated the sword, 

* ^ " rbiatail»a*4lMids; 
33 



Aad ted them to the lawless siege, 
mtoee best success were saerOege. 
Hot so bad those bis fcacy Bumber*d, 
The dkiefr whose dust around him dumbtr'd ; 
nebr phalanx marsball'd on the plain, 
Whoee bulwarks were not thea in Tafai. 
They ftU devoted, but aadyiag ; 
The very gale thdr names seem*d sigblag : 
Ae waters murmui'd of tiieir name ; 
The woods were peopled with their fbrne ; 
The silent pillar, lone and gray, 
Claim'd kindred with their sacred clay ; 
Their spirits wrapt the dusky mountain. 
Their meanory sparkled o*er the fountain ; 
The meaneet rill, the mightiest rlrer 
Bon*d mingling with their fome for erer. 
Despite of erery yoke she bears, 
That land is glory's still and theirs ! 
Tis still a watchword to the earth : 
When man would do a deed of wovl^, 
He points to Greeee, and tarns to tieedt 
80 sanetiaa'd, on tke tytaaf ahead: 
He looks to ber, aad 1 
inwellfoisloet,eri 

XVL 
Still by the shore Alp mutely mased* 
And woo'd the lireshness Night difflued. 
These shriaks no ebb in that tideleaa eaa,* 
Which ebangelesa voUs eternally ; 
80 that wildest of waves* in ^eir 1 
0earee bceak on the bouads of the lead for artadl 
And the powerless moon beholds then fl«w# 
Heedless if she come or go ; 
Caha or high, in main or bay* 
On their course she hath no fway. 
The rock unworn its base doth bare. 
And looks o'er the surf, bat it comes not theret 
And the fringe of the foam may be seen below. 
On the line that It left l9ng ages ago : 
A smooth short space of yellow sand 
Between it and the greener land. 

He waader'd on, along the beach. 

Till within the range of a carbiae's reach 

Of theleaguer'dwall; bat they saw him aot, 

Or how could be *seape fsom the hoetile shot I 

Did traitors lurk in the Christians' hold} 

Were their heads grown stil^ or their hearts wart 

cold? 

I know not, in eooth ; but fsom yonder waU 
There flash'd no fire, and there hias'd no ball. 
Though he stood beneath the bastion's frown, 
That flank'd the seaward gate of the town; 
Though he heard the sound, and could alinost tit 
The sullen words of the sentinel, 
As bis nkeasured step on the stone below 
Claak'd, as he paced it to and fro; 
And he saw the lean dogs beneath the wall 
Hold o'er the dead thdx canuval, 
Ooiging aad growling o^er carcass and limb; 
Ikey ware too busy to bark at him t 
FroBs a Tartar's skull they had stripp'd the fleehf 
As ye peel the flg when its fruit is fresh; 
And their iHiite tusks craunch'd o'er the whi4« 

ska]l,« 

Aa tt dipp'd through their Jaws, when their edpi 
daU, 



170 



^^^r^^rV VWIP^^ 



▲4 tii^ laifly »i(PlM tM taMi of ft* i«ii4« 
When they tcarc« could riae from the q^t i^obb 

they fed; 
80 well h»d they broken a lingering fwtt 
With those who had fallen for that night's reyfst 
And Alp knew, by the torb^is ^at loU'd oa the 

sand, 
The fozemoat oi these were the best of his band : 
Cximson and green were the shawls of their we^, 
And each scalp had a single long t^ft of hair ; * 
All the rest was sharen and bare. 
The sealps ware in the wild dog's maWi 
The hair was tangled round his jaw. 
Bat dose by the shore, on the edge of the gul^ 
There sat a vulture flapping a wolf, 
Who had stolen from the hiUs, but kept awa^, 
Soared by the dogs, from the human prey ; 
But he seised on his share of a steed that lay 
Piek'd by the birds, on the sands of the bay* 

XVIL 
Alp tnm'd bins ft»m tibe sfekMiiig Jight : 
K«T« had shaken Us Mnes in iigbt ; 
But he better orald bMsli to beMd IM d}tei. 
Deep in the tide of their warm blood lying, 
Scoroh'd with the death-thixst, and writhing in Tain, 
Than the perishing dead who are past all pain. 
There is something of pride in the perilous hour, 
Whatever be the shape in which death may lower ; 
For Fame is there to say who bleeds, 
And Honor's eye on daring deeds ! 
Bnt when ail is past, it ie humbling to tread 
O^etHie w^tflrimg MA of the tvmUese dead. 
And see woisis of the earth and fowls of the air. 
Beasts of the forest, att gathering there ; 
All regarding man as their prey. 
All rejoicing at his decay, 

xvra. 

There is a temple in ruin stands, 

Fashion'd by long forgotten hands ; 

Two or three columns, and many a stone, 

Marble and granite, with grass o'ergrown ! 

Out upon Time I it will leaTc no more 

Of the things to come than the things before ! 

Out upon inbae I who for ever will leare 

But eoMigh oi the post for the future to grieve 

O'er that which hath been, and o'er that ^^oh 

mutt be: 
Vted wm have seen our sobs shall see ; 
Bemnants of things that haTe pass'd away, 
Fngmm.U oi etene, rear'd by creatures of clay ! 

XIK. 

He sate him down at a pillar's base. 

And pass'd his hand athwart his face ; 

like one in dreary musing mood. 

Declining was his attitude ; 

His hcfd was drooping on his breast, 

Ferer'd, throbbing, and opprest ; 

And o'er his brow, so downward bent, ^ 

Oft his beating fingers went, 

Hurriedly, as you may see 

Tour own run over the ivoiy key, ' 

Bit ttie measured tone is taken 

By the diords you would awaken. 

There he sate all hearilj. 

As he heard the night-wind sigh. 



Ww it ih« idad, «)iBo«gh M^e^Mtow M«^ 

SesKt than soft and toidev moan ? 

He lifted Us head, and he iQok'd on ihf f«ay 

But it was unnppled «i glasem-y be; 

He look'd on the Un^ggnias— it waved i|«t » hWi 

How was that i^eatle sound oonvey'd ? 

He look'd to the bannc ro .w ^ph flag l^ftijl^ 

So did the leaves on Cithfison's hiU, 

And he t^9^ a breath oome pier his eMk 

What d|d that sudden sound beq>eak ? 

He tum'd to the ]«ft>--is he sure of sight / 

There sate a lady».yQBthli4 ^d bright ^ 

He started up with more of foar 

Than if an armed fbe wero near. 

" God of my fhthers ! what is hflK«? 

Who art thou, and wherefore sent 

80 near a hostile arauMMBt } 

His trairirtfaig h«Bkds nfased to rigm 

The eroes he deem'd no more dlrine: 

He had lesuned it iA that hour. 

But conscience wrung away the poww. 

He gased, he saw: he haerw the foee 

Of beauty, and th^ fcotn of grape; 

It was Fnnotf ca by his side. 

The maid who might have been his brid*! 

The rose was yet i^on her cheek. 

But mellow'd with a tenderw strea]( : 

Where was the play of her soft lips fled? 

Gone was the smile that enliTen'd thrir jmL 

The ocean's calm within their visw^ 

BesidA hv Cf e had liiss of blue ; 

But like that cold wave it stood ftill. 

And its glance, though dear, was chiU ; 

Around her form a thin robe twining, 

Nought eoneeal'd her bosom shining ; 

Through the parting of her ^m. 

Floating darldy downward there, 

Her rounded arm show'd white and bare : 

And ere yet she made reply. 

Once she raised her hand on high: 

It was so wan end transparent of hue. 

You might have seen the moon shine thvpofsh* 

XXI 

* * I oome from my wmt to him I iam bestt 

That I may b« happy, and ha magr he kkmt, 

I have pass'd the guards, the gate, the watt* 

Sought thee hi safoty thrcngh foes and aU. 

'TIS said the Uoa will tan end iee 

From a maid in te piide of her P«>ity ; 

And the Power on high, that oaa fhMUlth* ^mA 

Thus from th» ty»at«f the wood. 

Hath extended its mercgr to guasd pieM will 

From the hands of the leaguering infidel 

I come— and if I oome in vain, 

Never, oh nevfs:, wp meet again 1 

Thou hast done a fearful deed 

In falH^ away from thy father's ec^ : ' 

But daah that turban to earth, and sign 

The sign of the qross, and for ever be mine 

Wring tiie black drop from thy heart, 

A- J *«_ unites us no more to part** 



^* And wfaiW9 fhould our bridal couch be 1 
in the midst of the dyin^ and th^ dpad ? 




m 



Oryaiiie;aBdl 

8001^81 vttk ft whi^ of I 

YkHinM and cHTj Bid* ay ftMt.*' 

ligkt Ml te toMk, bM it «i8M «• 

AaiAotanliflhmt»liiifc— ♦, 

¥Udk tz'd Ub b^r«A tiM poMT «• 

DmiI iBt^ was Ikift ^M^ •• awM 

IteosUaot ImmMm feMi ifti kM; 

Btt WW fid dMp of «M •» «M 

Strike on the pdb»irfA««AinMi^<f 

iaAoKflihUgiM, ki^ 

ftoit ftiM^ Ui Mood V^ 

TlMfeiafakslovorkli 

And bit lM«t nmk to 001! tlMt ft Mllte olMOi 

Ai k hok'doB «io Ibao, aad MmM lb iMo 

8e dapljr fbiigod imo whol iM kMMP ; 

Farbitfiml wMlioul Iho toy 

or Bind, tbat moda oa A telno ylif 

likt ipnklfaif «o:?M 00 o aoay day I 

AidhgiB«tiBBlaBtliyakiyotaioa ~ 

AadlMt WOtda aOBO SRin IVtthOVt MVttWHhii 

tod flare loae not o fcaawo o^w Wr >iiiifa oool, 
Aadthere aaam-i not o polM in kar ^olM to dwrii, 
Tlmi^ W 070 alMBo Ottt» 7«l <ko lite HM ta^d, 

tod the ghaeo flm H goTo voa ifSd ud «Hrfiif d 
Tidi nght af ^oBgo, as Uto Ofoa WKf wtmm^ 
or «he ntdaaa uriio walk In o «m*kd dnoB $ 
lAe tiia flgoiaa an anoa, «Mit glooaOf 
Bto'd li]r ika teestik of «io iriMry ak, 
80 ten bj die dying lanp'a itM Hgkt, 
Ii»M,batllfe-llko, Mkd owfal toaighfl} 
to fkrf aeeB^ fhroogk tho 



h<n fle diadoay mtn lekoo 

VeerfoDj littiag to and fto, 
to t^ gwto on tbo tapaoliy • 



lodlgo. 



*tfMtftrtofoofMkothoB 

Tkaenaeh, Oan, far «ho lore of haaraa,— 




f^n of fliy fldOlaoB brow, and awoor 

TUaeqJmdaoontry^ 

erftotmlaat; 

^ftTartb there _ 

IftUitedeoti^^and, 

AbHvy dean "tte tldno to -. 

TW dooo^koB ImV itertto i 

^ B««7'e gBilo say looalvo 

^^1 paaaa <wi*> ^iwwawt nnjuj.. ^^^ M^n 

Ike coea of Km «Mm ffidot ftfaako{ 
tod bak tMa tton to koovw, nd aot 
Ito IvTo Ibr off« Ant from <baa. 
Tkoe Sa al|[^ aknd by tko maatt-v 
^ paaaing, aod irsn paaa Ml aoa«— 
II. bj ika lima tea ^apoiy adi 
Hadi aeoMdlnr AaiBd oA «o ^^ 



Tkyl 

Tfcaa Qod and ■■■ ow Ww ■ 1 ■^■ny 
Dark Witt tky doQOA bo, darkac atfl 
~ rofilL'* 



Alp look*d to kiSfoii, and aow a* kWb 
91» aigs ako apoko of fa tbo ak J ( 
But kia kaart waa awoQan, and tors'd M 



Tkfa trot fciao paaaion of kk broaat 
Ml'd Mko o tavoM o W «M not 
BaanoletMiOrl AdSMaoy'd 
BjnOdvwdoal atteidmaidl 
Jl< VHBf'd bg Vantoe, tow to aawo 
Bar oo«h dovotad to tko giaoo I 
No-4koagk tka* aiond wosa tknadv'a «Hg^ 
And akaigad to craak kim— lot k borat ! 

Ho look'd i^on it aomaatly, 
Witkoot on oeoant of reply ; 
Howatak'ditpoaaittg; it ia flown: 
Fnll on kia tya tko dear moon akoao, 
And tkna ko apako— " Wkato'or my ftto, 
I an no akangeUng— 'tia too lata : 
Tko road in atorma may bow and ^nlTir, 
Tkan rioo again ; tko troa mnat ekiTir. 
Wkat Yaniee made me, I muat be, 
Ear fao in all, aare lore to tkee : 
Bnttkonartaafe: ok, fly witk me ! ** 

Ho tvm'd, bat die ia gone ! 

Notking ia tkere but tko oolvan atone. 

Hatk ako annk In tke eartk, or melted in akrf 

Hoaaw not^ ko knew not ; bnt notking la Ikaoo 

XSXL 

Tko nigkt la poet, and akinee tko son 

Aa If tkat mom waro a jocond one. 

Ligktly and Wg^liy broaka away 

Tke Homing from ker maodo gray, 

And tko Koon will look on a aotoy diy. 

Hark to tko tomnp, and tke dram, 
And die moamftQ aoond of tke baibarooa kanii 
And tke flap of tke bannere tkat flit aa tkogrVa bcoMb 
And tke no^rk of tke eteed, and tke nudtitndaro kun. 
And die elaak, and die akovt, *<«key eeno, dMy 

oomei" 
Tko konotaHa* are pIncVd from tke gracnd, and 

die aword 
Fromita akaatb; and tkey form, and bntwaltiii 

tke word. 
Tartar, and Spaki, and Torooman, 
Strike yonr tenta, and tkrong to tko Ton ; 
Mount ye, apor ye, akiir tke pkun, 
Tkat tke frigftfre may flee In Tain, 
Wkon ko breaka from tke town; and noi 
Aged or yonng. In tko Cbrladaa ak^o } 
Wkilo yoor foUowa on foot, In a flery i 
Bloodataki tke boaaek diroogk wUck dioy poaa. 
Tke ataeda are all bridled, and anort to tke rein ; 
Curred la eaek neck, and flowing eack mane ; 
Wkito la tke foam of tbeir okamp on the bit: 
Tko apeara am npliffead; tke matckea too Vt; 
Tke eannon are pointed, and ready to roar. 
And eraak tke wall diey koTe crumbled bdfora : 
Forma In kia pkalanz eack Jaidsar; 
Alpattkobkead; kia rigkt arm la bare. 
So la tke btodo of kia oeimitar ; 

• Mtom ai^dko »m1m aao a nt Ikoir 90l»4 
Tko il h lliiiiif tikihiidif a^hoit. 



Wlien the otStrmbi'u a^ntl is ired, then on ; 

LeAve not in Cimnth a Vbrm% one— 

A prieit at her altan, a chief in her haUt, 

A hearth In her mansions, a stone on her ivnBk 

God and the prophet— Alia Hu 1 

Up to the rides wi^ that wild halloo! 

" There the hreaeh lies for passage, the ladder to 

scale s 
And jonr hands on your sabres, and how shoiiM ye 

fiOl? 
He who first downs with the red eross may crave 
His heart's dearest wish; let him ask It, and have !" 
Thus utter'd Conmourgi, the danntless viator; 
The reply was the brandish of sahre and spear, 
And the shout of fierce thousands in joyevs ire ; 
Silence— hark to the sIgnalrHfire ! 

xxra. 

As the wolres, that headlong go 

On the stately buffido, 

Though with fiery eyes, and angry roar, 

And hoofii th|it stamp, and horns that gore, 

He' tramples on the earth, or tosses on high 

The foremost, who rush on his strength but to die, 

Thus against the wall they went. 

Thus the first were backward bent ; 

Many a bosom, sheath'd in brass, 

Strew'd the earth like broken glass, 

Shivet'd by the shot, that tore 

The ground whereon they moved no more ; 

Even as they fell, in files they lay, 

Like the mower's grass at the close of day, 

When hisSvork is done on the l^ell'd plain ; * 

Such was the fall of thm foremost slain. 

XXIV. 

As the spring-tides, with heavy plaah» 

From the cliib invading dash 

Huge fir«gments» sapp'd by the ceaaelese fl«w^ 

Till white and thundering down they go> 

lake the avalanche's 8now> 

On the Alpine vales below ; 

Thus at length, outbseathed and worn, 

Ooiinth's sons were downward borne 

By the long and oft renew'd 

Chaige of the Moslem multitude. 

In firmness they stood, and in masses they feU, 

HMp'd, by the hoet of the infidel, 

Hand to hand, and foot to foot : 

Nothing there, save death, was mute ; 

Stroke, and thrust, and flash, and cry 

For quarter, or for victory. 

Mingle there with the volleying thunder, 

Which makes the distant cities wonder 

How the sounding battle goes. 

If with them, or for their foes ; 

If they must mourn, or may rejoice 

In that annihilating voice, 

Which pierces the deqp hills through and through 

With an eeho dread and new : 

You night have heard it, on that day, 

O'er Salamis and Megara; 

(We have heard the hearers say J 

Even unto Pirseiis bey, 

XXV. 
Fmn the point of «iwwBrtiringbbiiwt»li»hflt> 



B«t th* nMif«l Is w«i, I 

AikdaHlmttiie after c 

Shrillor shrieks now mingling c 

From within the plunder'di 

Hark to the httsCe oi ilyiag feet, 

That sphdi in tiM blood of tibs aiippeiy stisitt 

But here and there, where 'vantage f^emd 

Against the foe may still be found. 

Desperate groupat of twelve or teB« 

Make a pause, and turn agaia^ 

With banded baeks against th« wdl. 

Fiercely ttaiid, or fighting foU. 

There stood an old man— ^his hairs were wUlit 

But his veteran arm w«s ttHl of might: 

So gallantly bore be the brant of this fiNj« 

The dead before him, on that day* 

Xn a MBicirele lagr ) 

Still he combated unwouadedf 

Though retreating, unsurrounded. 

Many a scar of former fi||ht 

LurVd beiwath his eonUt bdght ; 

But every wound his body bore, 

Saeh and aU had been ta'en before : 

Though aged, he was so iron of limb. 

Few of our youth could cope with him ; 

And the foas, whom he singly kept at bay, 

Outnumber'd his thin hairs ol silver yrsir. 

From right to left his sabse swept: 

Many an Othaan mother wept 

Sons that were unborn, when dipp'd 

His weapon first in Moslem gore» 

Ere his years could count a soore. 

Of all he might have been the sixe 

Who fell that day beae«th his ire : 

For, sonkes left long years ago» 

His wiatiimade many a chiMlees foe i 

And sinee the day, when in the etrait* 

His only boy had met his fote, 

His parent's iron hand did doom 

More than a human heoatomh. 

If shades by carnage be appeased^ 

Patrodus* spirit less was pleased 

Than hia» Minotti's son who died 

Where Asia's bounds and ours divide. 

Bmiod he lay where, thousands before 

For thousands of years were inh«m<wi on th« uksies 

What of thflm is left, to tell 

Where they lie, and how they fell ? 
Not a stone on their turf, nor a bone in their smveet 
But they live in the verse ttant 1 



XXVL 
Hark to Uie Allah shout I abend 
Of the Mnieniman brevest and best is at hand ; 
Their te^dss^e nervevs asm is baj% 
Swifter to smitoi asd n^ver to aper^^ 
Uncfothed to the ehonlder it wnves then, on ; 
Thus in thi fight is he evsr knowmj 
Others a gmSm garb may show. 
To tempt the spoil of the greedy foei 
Many a hand's on a zioher l^lt, 
But none ool a steel nere mddily gX%% 
Many a loftier turban nay weai^ 
Alp is but lounm by the white aim ben ; 
Look thiongh the thick of the flight, 'tis 
There is not a standard on that shore 
So well advsaoed the rsaka befort i 



m 



inn ImfhelMhb kftif M &r; 
It glaew Ifte a IblUBi altt ! 
Wkae'cr thai nl^itr nm is 
TkB liitiMl teb «r lala hava hmm i 

Tiintftathiiiii^iftilTarttt; 
0^ tiw hafo, dm l7U8» 
8ran»«»9Mla«r(Wiitta7tiig; 
KutariiV hvlM* fc«Ue blow 
■SMMt the ifcLMit hffifl'd iw> 



ttlMtk'A. 



XXYIL 
StinttMOdBU 
jyiaAl|P»««aiwrft] 



Tboa^ tiw lii» af thj gift vonld iMft «v afMr." 



il— OkaqrpMHMdbQdel 
Hmi dw tM |MMk bgrlhy |d4* ? " 



Far ftoB ttea» md oaAcftMU" 
GrinlT dMB MbioMindMt 
As W ■■« J^p ataifSMiag bow 
IMbrebii ifoidi^ •• wA a IiIqv. 



"Ok God! wlMa^«dahor*--<< 

Kor «wp I for h« ipfeift's flighi : 

KoDfi of my pua noo wkaM. be 

Sbtw toMobwBitaad th — 

CosM oa ! "•— Tbat ahaUngo w ia vaiii!— 

AIp*i afaoody witb the aUial 

WldleMiikotti'evcadiiire 

XoR levnge ia bitfew epoakiag 

tbaa Ui ftkkJM'a paint bad taad. 

Had tke tiaie aBav'd t» wooad. 

F^on «HUa Iba aaigbberiag perch 

OfaloDgdefiwdedobveh, 

Wteattia left ami doupwrateAw 

W««U ibi baling tghi iwMV, 

Tbcdnpabot dadied A)p lo the | 

Br tt aft eoaU view the would 

nat cnak'd thm^ «ia bnia of the bifldol. 

BMDd Ufpaa, aad dMm be Ml s 

A luk like te wittia bSe eyea 

Bbnd, ti be beat aa mofo to dee, 

Aadi^ etotaal daxkaaaa annb 

Ttoat^iflftepapimtiBgtwMUti 

KooKkt aC fife kn» aaiia a viivfliag 

^VVhflR kia Inka mae allgbtlj abhMriBi : 

Tkej tnn'd Urn on bk baA » bia kiaaat 

And tmr vwe alaia'd with goM anA daolt 

Aad fhmg^ bii lipe tba lift4i]aod c 

Fioa Ha aaap ^leiM kftoly Imed ; 

But in bia fidae tteca wee ao thiab> 

Nff oa Ua Ufa tM lyiag eeb ; 

Siflk, aor void, aor BtxaggUBg breath 

HenUadkia a«y to death : 

Bie kii Toy Ibmigbt ooold pny» 

XJaaaall'd be ipaaa'd awmy, 

'WHkovt a hope fkom macft aid,~ 

TotkaUstaienegada. 



SXTHL 

FeaiMlgrfiayiBaNee 

Of bia IMawM aad Me fcee ; 

1lnaeiaJof«feafaeytbeee( 

Thea again ia eeattelHiifaigi 

Claebfaig Bwoide, and apeeie 

lBt«ebai«ed the blow end tfanet 

Harliag wMikn bi the daet. 

alveet bj etreeli and sakby iBet» 

Stm U\»wM ilwea diapaio 

Tba lateet pertioa of tbe tend 

Left beaeaHi bk bigb eenwinid I 

mthbii 

Tbeiiwaarefbfa 

StOltbeehwebia 




That half av 
When Alp, bar I 
Thither bendkg etanly beak. 
They leava baJuee a Ueady tvaek ; 
Aad, with iMr fiMOB to tba ftw, 
DeeUag wannda witb every btow. 
The chief, aad bfa wtwaatiag tmfa, 
JoiB to tbeaa wittia the lane ; 
There fbey yet nop kreatbe awUk, 
Sheltered by the aaaa^ pOa. 

XXIX. 

Brief breathiag-tinia ! Aetnxbaa'a boot, 

Witb addiag naka aad raging boaat, 

Plreee onwazda with anch atr^gth and beat, 

Their nambera balk their own retreat ; 

For aanrow the way that led to the spot 

Wheee atill the Christiana yielded not ; 

And the foremoet, if fearful, nui.y rainly try 

Through the nkasey column to torn aad fly; 

They perforce maat do or die. 

They die ; but ere their eyee eould cloae, 

Areagers o*er their bodice rose ; 

Freeh aad ftnioaa, fast they All 

The raaka aathinn'd, though aUvghter'd itflli 

Aad faint the weary Chriatiana wax 

Befoie the etSU renew'd attacka : 

And now the Othman'a gain the gate ; 

Still reeiata its iron weight. 

And still, all deadly ahn'd and hot, 

From wrmy ererioe oomea the ahot ; 

From erery ahatter'd window pour 

The Tolleya of the sulphuroua ahower : 

But the portal wmTering growa and weak-^ 

The iron yields, the hingea creak-* 

It beade— it falls— «nd all U o'er ; 

Lost Corinth okay resist no more ! 

XXX. 

Darkly, sternly, and all slene, 

MinoHl neod e'er tba aHari 

Madonna's Ikee apen him i 

Painted in beatenly bne 

ITith eyee of Hght and iaebi af leevi 

And placed apoa that h<dy shrina 

To ia ear thwgbte an thdage dfcrbae^ 

When pictored there, we kneeling see 

Her, aad the boy-Ood on her knee, 

Smiling sweetly on each prayer 

To beaTOB, aa if to waft it there. 

BtQl she sailed ; eren aow aha emUsa, 

Though alaaghtsr atreama along her aialea : 



m 

Minotti Uftad hli aged egr«k 
And maide tk« tign of acnMKittkft 
Then Miied ft tardiirtiiak Uwed 
And ftm he etood, iriyU» wHli etoel 
Inward and onwaid Hm 

.XXXL 



Bnmrt woks& 



TheTinltebenee&tlto 
Contain'd the dead of eget gone; 
Thoir names were on tiie gtaven fle«r> 
But now illegihU with gove ; 
The eanred oreete, and entUMfl hftM» 
The yaried macUe's velna difittM^ 
Were amear'd, and dippe>7— etain'd, i 
With broken aworda, and helma o'arthiown 
There were deed aboire* and the deed below 
Laj cold in nuny a> oolBn'd x«w ; 
You might MM them piled in saUe state. 
By a pale light thAmgh a gloomy grate; 
Bnt War had enter'd their dark eatresi 
And stored along the TanHed grsvea 
Her snlphnrons tii M i es, thickly 
In masses by the flashless deed : 
Here, throughout the niegei had been 
The Christians' cidefast magariwe ; 
To these a late-form'd train now led, 
Minotti*8 last and stem resource 
Against the foe's o'evwhelming force. 

xrxn. 

The foe came on, and few remafai 

To stitte, and those must strive in Tain : 

For lack of farther Utcs, to slake 

The thirst of vengeance now awake, 

With barbarous blows they gash ^e dead, 

And lof the already lifeleas head, 

And feQ the statues from their niche. 

And spojl the shrines of offerings ridh, 

And from each other's rude hands wrest 

The silver veeseh saints had bless'd. 

To the high altar ofk they go ; 

Oh, but it made a glorious show ! 

On its table stiU behold 

The cup of oonsterated gold ; 

Massy and deep, a glittering prise, 

Brightly It sparkles to plunderers' eyes : 

That mom it held the holy wine. 

Converted by Christ to his blood so dhine. 

Which his worshippers drank at the break of day 

To shrive their souls ere they Join'd fai the fruy. 

StiU a few drops within it lay ; 

And round the sacred table glow 

Twelve lofty lamps, in splendid row, 

From the purest metal cast; 

A spoil-^e richest, and the last 

xxxnL 

So near they ewne, the nwaet sl lulA t 
To grasp the q^ he almoot lenek^d, 

When old HinoMi's hand 
Toneh'd vrtlh Ike toreh ttM trtitt^ 

Tisflredl 
Spiie, vanlte» fie sWae, thi»4ia» thaeWb* 



Thetuitardvletots, 
Anthntof livhigordead 
Hurl'd on high wMi the tfhl«ta^d tee, 

In one wfld foer foipit^ 1 
The shatter'd t own th e wbIIb tbmnn 
The waves a MeB«nt ba^kwert !«•*«• 
The bills that shake, sltbM«k unNkI, 

As if an earthq[Uid» pasi^A^ 
The tiiousand Aapeless mttgB att Crista 
In doud and flame Kthwart the 

By that tresMndowblas^^ 
Proditard the desMsaite eoHllit 



On that too long 
Up to the sky like rockets go 
All that mhigled there below : 
Many a tall and goetfy WMk, 
Soorch'd and dttfvdTd «• ft spaa* 
When he fen to earth 
LikeacindwstrewMtte 
Down the ashes shower like rain; 
Some leU in the gulf, wMsh Tees»i«i 
WMi a thoosaad eirttibag vnMtbs ; 
Some fell on the shore, but, fbr awmy, 
Scattsr'd o'er the «a*MM lay i 
Christian or Modsaa, whiah ¥• *eyf 
Let their mothera aee and say ! 
When In ersdled luat «bsr lay , 
And eaehmn 

On the sweet sleep ef tasr eUM, 
Little deem'd she sndi a day 
Would rend those tender 
Not the maira 

Could discern their offiqpring 
That one moment lelt no Imoe 
More of human ftnm cr lMe» 
Save a seatter'd aeelp «r b«ne< 
And down came Waring mnsn^ wMWft 
Around, and many a fliSung ston^ 
Deeply dinted in thb day, 
All blaokan'd Acre and leebteg lay. 
All the Uving thiage Hwk hesfed 
That deadly aarlh-ehoak aiaamMii'd ; 
The wild birds d0#; tiia wild Jbgi iad, 
And howling lift Ike nnborled diai ; 
The oameU from thehr keapbta bMke ; 
The distant stser isrsoak the yoli*^ 
The nearer steed phmged o'br «he plaki. 
And 1mm* Ms ghth, sad tote hie lein 
The bullfrog's note) Ikwh out the 
DeifinmilCi'd aroee^ and douiily hsrtb 
The wolves you'd on the esevKn'tl MDt 
Where echo rolTd In thunder etfl; 
The jackal's tMop, te gatlMS^d efty««» 
Bay'd from ate eoni|MaiBtly, 
Withamiz-dand 
like oTfaig bdbe, and k 
With aa ii in wing, and 
The ei^ left his todiy neet^ 
And mmlnted nearer te the MBS, 
The elmiAi baneaA hte seemid 
Their smoke asaaffd his 
And made hte hie^er soar and 
Thus was Corinth lost aiai ^ran t 



I 



NOTES TQ THE SIEGE OF CORINTH. 



TkBhoftke Tvreomaas ii wuteliig aadpft- 



♦ 



3. 



Qnai YUer to ftrtwiwt III. <A« Notfr«^i||Mo- 



MitiQr vovBded in fte next, aounst & G«r* 
MM,at tiM tfettle of Petenrand&, (in tlie nUia 
flf Ctabwiti.) in finnray, endearoring to rdl} bis 
M^ He dStod of ktt iraimds, next ^. His 
liit«i4r«Mlk« denpitMfeB of OoMnl KvidMr, 



I wiwnien: and hit kti 

i«rii.''OlitlMlIeMld&UMrv« nU tkoClixb. 
Wiigil" a ipMck atd aet not nnlika ooo of 

(«igila. E« vaa a jouiir nan of neat ami 

i|ri ateuM wraMmptiMi: on bang told lliat 
Awe Borne, IlieAoppoied to biK, '<wi^a 



I venr ta;ir till reiyieoent- 
ne EinaneM or Mr. Coleridge bSmself, wbOb 
I bope, if eonvinced tbat I baye not been a wilfu 
platfiuitt Tbe oriffiaal Idea undoubtedly pertaiaa 
to Mr. Colcftdge, wbooe poem baa been eompoMd 
abeiFv fc nr t e e u veers. Let me eonelnde by a bepe 
tkrt be wfll not longer delay Hm mtblioflhoa e« a 
prodnetton, of wUcb 1 ean wStf ada my mite of mf 
ptobation to tbe applanae ef kx more 
judges. 



I great 



fMNmnMb 110 sM In IM i&M«t fds. 

F^eMf^Unefl. 

IWxfste need baidN be ^Milnded tbat Uieie 
•RM^Ms^lUe tides in fin Xeatemnean. 

4. 

Page 170, line 8. 



™^"P«ti^ I ^m sscB,4SMii andeseribsa, be- 
Jf^fe.'^of ^ SscagUe at Constantinople, 
* "*• «* tvMn wmhr tbe Bospborus In the 



lJ?;^*SV™* «f wldcb^pioj^s betw^ 



I tbink tbe feet Is also 



tmim«ur»iM Panidiiieby it 



Wm ii tJU mud, tMromoh 90m$ hoUvm tiOM. 
999t M, line «T. 



I mnst bcre acknowledge a close, thougb unin* 
tentionai, rsssmblanee in tbens i we lu Ihn to a 
passage in an unpublisbed poem of Mr. Coleridge. 
csllM ««C1iristabel.»* It was not till slier tbees 
linss were written tbat I beard tbat wild and singn* 
larW originsl and beautifbl poem recited ; and tbe 
M8.oftiiati ' -^ ^ 



Bt mine; it may be fimnd 
ip«sl»«-lofte^ 
" (fforaet tbe preelsepi«s 



ThtnUaUghtekmdbvihe 

Page 171> Bne 91. 
t bare been told tbat tbe idea tupisesed horn 
llnss 588 to 008 bss been admired by tbose irhom 
approbation is raluable. I am glad of !t: but it li 
«Sft eilgnal— 4t toast not '' " 
mMk biiiist ssiiioeiiid te pi 

Ikk Tsnienof <*yatbek/' (ffonet t . ^ 

of tbe Prencb,) a work to wbicn I bare befne ■•• 
ferred, and neter recur to, or read, witbout a zt- 
newal of gratification. 

T%ek9ntla{Uar»phek^dfrom the grom^^ and ik% 
mt^rd. . Page 171, Kne 108. 

Tb* bonetall ixed upon i lanee, a Pkcba's stand- 
Hid 

8. 
iSMi sinos fiee dtut isAsn t^ Ins iAWv. 

PagelTSitoeM. 
In tbe naTsI battle, at tbe moutb of tbe Dstdlh 
nelles between the Venetians and tbe Turks. 



10. 



Psge 1747liae 104. 



I bellere I baire taken apoetieal ] 
plant tbe jackal from Asia. In Oreeoe I nerer saw 
nor beard these animals ; but among the rubu of 
Bpbeeus I bare beard them by hundreds, t&ey 
baunt rains, end follow nmies. 



PARISINA. 



TO 

SCROPE BBRDMORE DAYIES, ESQ. 

THB FOLLOWIKO fOXK 18 IITSCKXBSD, 
ST mm WHO RJLS LQN • A.maXKD Xn TAZAim AKD TALVBO BIS T&IBlf MVlT 

^«iii«Ky 82, 1816. 



ADVBBTISBMBirr. 

Thb following poem b grounded on a drmua* 
itenee mentioned in Gibbon** <* AntiqiiMM ol Uie 
Honae of Bnumnek."— I am awve, that is moten 
iHMa the dalieaef or fostidioaniMi of tba reader 
m»j doem tnch tutjeeti anflt for the pmroses of 
^ealE7. The Oreeh dramatlata, and iome of the 
»eat of oni old English writers, were of a different 
opinion: as AUleri and Schiller hare also been, 
more recently, npon the continent. The fbttowing 
extract will explain the facts on which the story is 
foonj^ed. The name of Ato is snbstiitated for 
Kicholas, as more metrical. 

'* Under the rei^a of Nicholas III. Fenaia was 
ItotttttoA with a AomosHo tragedy. By«biteatlSMmgr 
it SB attendant, and his own observation, the Mar- 
fnis of Sste dlsootered the Inceetuons loves of his 
wifo Parisini, and Hngo his bastard son, a beantiiU 
and valiant youth. They were beheaded in the 
eaaUe by the sentence of a Akther and hnshand, who 
published his shame, and sur vived their execntion. 
He was unfortunate, if they w«se guilty; If they 
were innocent, he was still more unfortunate ; asr 
Is Aere any possible situsSlon in which I earn sin* 
eerely appeova the last act ofj usthis of a parent"— 
OiHot^ MkcMmetmt Workg, vol. ilL p. 479, new 



It is the hour whttt ih«ai the boughs 
The nightingale's high note is heard ; 

la is the hour when tovitts* vowa 
Seem sweet in every wUsper'd word t 

And gentle winds, and waters near, 

liake music to the lone^'Sar. 



Sash Aower the dews have lightly wet, 
And in the Ay the stars are ttst, 
And <m the wave Is deeper blue. 
And on the leaf a browner hue, 
And in the heaven that clear obscure, 
So softly darh, and darkly pure, 
Which follows the decline of day, 
As twilight melts beneath the m o o n sway. 

II. 

But it is not to list to I3ie waterfoU 
That Farisina leaves her hall, 
And k is not 1e gate OB the lieaMBly fight 
That the Udy walks in the shadow ^fn^B^t 
And if she sits in Est^ bower, 
Tisnotforthasakaoftoftd lhla wi aiw w r 
Sba Ustsas bit not for the nightingale^ 
Though her ear eacpeets aa asil a tale. 
There glides a stap through the foUaga Uiisk, 
And her cheek grows pais— «nd her heart beiH 

quick. 
There whispers aveiee through the rustling leaves 

And her blush rstoms, aad her boeom heaves: 
A moment mo re a n d tiioy shall i 
ma past-hsr hfPir'S ctt hsir Ibat 



Aadwhat 



m. 

ithsmlsttesassld 
_»oflkuasiBdtid»f 
Its livteg tiifaiga— its eartfi and tikr^ 
An nothing to their irfnd and e^e. 



Of aught aaMbd, abovsn bsnea^; 
Aslfaaelaahadi 
Thsy«BlyfK4 



PABOINA. 



in 



8» Im^ ttat did H not dieaj, 
Hal bnqr mdneM would destro/ 

Hm bents which fed its ilarj sway : 
Of gnh, of peril, do they desm 
h that tannltiioiu tender dretm ? 
Who thvl bnTe felt that passion** power. 
Or pnood or fear'd in snch an hour } 
Ortimght how brief snch moments last ? 
Bit ]fet--<lie3r are already past ! 
Ahil «e mnst awake bdbre 
Ve haow neh risUm comes no more. 

nr. 

WNkmsay a lingering look they leare 
IW^ot of gvdlty gladness past ; 

iadtbragh they hope, and tow, they griere 
Ai if that parting were the last 

lis ftcfaent sigh— the long embrace— 
The 1^ Aat there would ding for erer, 

Whfle g^bams on Parisina's face 
The Hwren she fears will not forgive her, 

Aa if esdi calmly conidous star 

Bchddlicr frailty from afar— 

The ftequent sigh, the long embrace, 
Ycthiada them to their trysting-place ; 
Bat it most come, and they must part 
la feaiftil heaTiness of heart. 
With an the deep snd shuddering chiU 
WUdifdlowi Cast the deeds of 01. 

V. 

And Hugo is gone to hia lonely bed, 

To eoTBt there another's bride ; 
Bet ahe atut lay her eonsdous head 
A bubsnd's trusting heart bedde. 
Bat ferer'd in her deep she seems, 
Aad red her cheek with troubled dreams, 

And amtters she in her unrest 
A same ahe dare not breathe by day. 
And dasps her lord unto the breast 
Whieh psitfs fior one away : 
And he to that embrace awakes, 
Aad, happy in the thought, miatakes 
Thst dreuaing s^h, and warm caress. 
For aach as he was wont to bless ; 
Aad eoold in very fondness weep 
O's her iriio lores him even in deep. 

VL 
He efaiap'd her sleeping to his heart, 

Aadlistai'd to eaeh broken word: 
He hears— Why doth Prince Aso start. 

As if the Arehangd's voice he heard ? 
Aad weQ he may^^a deeper doom 
Codd seareety thunder o'er his tomb, 
Whenhe ahall wake to deep no more. 
And stand the etenud throne before. 
And well he may— his earthly peace 
Upon tint aound is doom'd to cease : 
That aleepiag whisper of aname 
Bespcska her guilt and Aso's shame. 
And wfaaoe that name } that o*er his pillow 
Bounds (iesfd sa the breakinic biUow, 
Which ToQs the pUnk upon the shoiv, 
And dashes oai the pdntedrock 

Tlw wret^who dnks to nae no more^— 
80 csae uf«n hia tod the shock. 



Aad whose that wmm} 'tis Hi^'s»-hit— 
In sooth he had not deem'd of this !— 
Tis Hugo's,— he, the child of one 
He lored— hia own all-eril son— 
The ofipring of hia wayward youth. 
Wheal he betrayed Bianca's truth, ^ 

The maid whoae folly could confide 
in him who made her not his bride. 

vn. 

Hephtck'd his poniard in its sheath, 

0ht sheath'd it ere the point was bare - 
Howe'er unworthy now to breathe. 
He could not slay a thing so fair— 
At least, not smfling— deeping— th er t ■ 
Kay more .*— he did not wake her then, 
But gased npon her with a glance 
Which, had she roused her from her traaee^ 
Had frosen her sense to deep again— 
And o*cr his brow the burning Ismp 
Oleaa'd on the dew-drops big and damp. 
She spake no m o re bu t still she dumber'^- 
While, in lUs thought, her days sre number'd. 

vin. 

And with the mom he sought, and fami. 
In many a tale horn thoee around. 
The proof of all he feer'd to know, 
Their present guilt, his future wo: 
The kmgHKmniring damsels seek 
To save themsdves, and would transfer 
The gdlt-^he shame— the doom to her : 
Concsabnent is no more— they speak 
All circumstance which may compel 
Full credence to the tde they tell : 
And Aso's tortured heart and ear . 
Have nothing more to feel or hear. 

IX. 
He was not one who brook'd dday : 

^thin the chamber of his state, 
The chief of Este'i andent sway 

Upon his throne of judgment sate ; 
Hia noblea and his gnsrds sre there,* 
Befirae him ia the dnful pair; 
Both young— and one how passing fair ! 
With swordless bdt, and fetter'd hand. 
Oh, Christ I that such a son should stand 

Before a father's face ! 
Yet thus must Hugo meet his dre, 
And hear the sentence of hia ire. 
The tale of hia disgrace ! 
And yet he seems not overcome, 
Although, as yet, his voice be dumb. 

X. 

And still, and pde, and silently 

Did Farisina wdt her doom ; 
How chaoged since last her speaking eye 

Glanced gladness round the glittering 
Where high-bom men were proud to wdt-* 
Where Beauty watch'd to fanitate 

Her gentle voice— her lovdy mien— 
And gather from her air and gdt 
The graces of its queen : 
Then,— had her eye in aonrow wept, 
A thousand warriors forth had leapt, 
A tiiousand swords had sheathlees sheM^ 
And made her quarrel all their owiu 



ITS 



BtSmPB WOKK0. 



Now,-^1i«il8 the ? and wlAt an ilier ? 
Can slie oomnuoid, or these obey ? 
All tilent and unheeding now, 
With downoast eyes and knitting bnm, 
And folded anns, and fireezing air. 
And lips that soaroe theix soom forbear. 
Her knights, and dames, her eonrtr— is there. 
And he, the chosen one, whose lance 
Had yet been conch'd before her glanee, 
Who— were his arm a moment free- 
Had died or gain'd her liberty ; 
The minion of his father's bride,— ^ 

He, too, is fetter'dby her side; 
Nor sees her swollen and full eye swim 
Less for her own despair than him : 
Those lids— o'er which the violet vein ' 
Wandering, leaves a tender stain, 
Shining through the smoothest white 
That e'er did softest kiss invite — 
Now aeem'd with hot and livid glow 
To press, not shade, the orbs below ; 
Whidi glance so heavily, and fill, 
As tear on tear grows gathering still. 

XI. 
And he for her had also wept, 

But for the eyes that on faixn gazed : 
His sorrow, if he felt it, slept ; 

Stem and erect his brow was raised. 
Whate'er the grief his soul avow'd. 
He would not shrink before the crowd ; 
But yet he dared not look on her : 
Remembrance of the hours that w e r e ■ 
His guilt— his lote— his present state— 
His father's wrath— all good men's hate— > 
His earthly, his eternal fate— 
And her's, oh, her's !— ^e dared not throw 
One look upon that deathlike brow ! 
Else had his rising heart betray'd 
Remorse for all the wreck it made. 



XII. 

And Aso spake ^-^^But jresterday 

I gloried in a wife and son ; 
That dream this morning pass'd away. 

Ere dny detines, I shall have none. 
My life must linger on alone ! 
Well,— let that pas:,— there breathes not one 
Who would not do as I have done : 
Those ties are broken— not by me ; 

Let that too pass ;— The doom's prepared ! 
Hugo, the priest awaits on thee, 

And then— thy crime's reward ! 
Away ! address thy prayers to Heaven, 

Before its evening stars are met^ 
Learn if thou there canst be forgiven ; 

Its mercy may absolve thee yet 
But here, upon the earth beneath. 

There is no spot where thou and I 
Together, for an hour, eould breathe : 

FareweB! I will not see tiiee die— 
Bnt thoa» fraU thing ! shall view his 1 

Awmj 1 I eannot speak tiie rest : 

Go 1 woman of the wanton breast, 
Not I, but thou hU blood dost shed: 
Go ! If tiiat«ight thou canst outliTe, 
And joy thee in file Ufo I give " 



xm. 

And hero stem Aso hid his face— 
For on his brow the swelling vela 
Throbb'd as if back upon his brain 
The hot blood ebb'd and flow'd again i 

And therefore bow'd be for a space. 

And pass'd his shaking hand along 

His eye, to veil it from the throng ; 

While Hugo raised his* chained hands. 

And for a brief delay demands 

His father's ear ; the -silent tfre 

Forbids not what his words reqidre. 

*< It is not that I dread the deaths 

For thou hast seen me by thy side 

All redly through the battle ride. 

And that not once a useless brand 

Thy slaves have wrested from my hand, 

Hath shed more blood in cause of thine, 

Than e'er can stain the axe of mine : 
Then gav'st, and may'st resume my farealh, 

A gift for which I thank thee not : 

Nor are my mother's wrongs forgot, 

Her slighted love and ruin'd name, 

Her offspring's heritage of shame ; 

But she is in the grave, where he. 

Her son, thy rival, soon shall be, 

Her broken heart— my sever'd head- 
Shall witness for thee from the dead 

How trusty and how tender were 

Thy youthfril love— paternal care. 

'TIS true, that I have done thee wrong- 
But wrong for wrong :-Hhi8, deem'd thy brids^ 
The other victim of thy pride, 

Thou know'st for me was destined long. 

Thou saw'st, and oovetedst her charms— 
And with thy very crime— my birth. 
Thou tauntedst me— as little worth ; 

A match ignoble for her arms. 

Because, forsooth, I could not claim 

The lawfol heirship of thy name. 

Nor sit on Este's lineal throne : 
Tet, were a few short summers mfne, 
Hy name should more than Esters shin* 

With honors all my own. 

I had a sword— and have a breast 

That should have won as haught* a creet 

As ever waved along the line 

Of all these sovereign sires of thine. 

Not always knightly spurs are wom 

The brightest by the better bom; 

And mine have lanced my eovrser's flank 

Before proud chiefs of princely rank* 

When charging to the cheering cry 

Of < Bate and of Yietoiy ! ' 

I will not plead the oanse of crime, 

Nor sue thee to redeem from time 

A few brief hours or days that must 

At length roll o'er my reckless dust ^— 

Such maddening moments as my past. 

They coiddnot and they did not, last— 

Albeit my biith and name be ba8e« 

And thy nobility of raee 

Diedain'd to decka thing like vae^ 
Yet in my Ifneoments they Inoe 
Some foatores of my Ikther'a Ikee, 

And in my sphdtF-ell of thee. 

Fkont theep-«this tameleesniiss of keatt^ 

Ftom thee— nay, vrhoeefore doet thon fflavt 9— 



199 



Uywmoi •tteiBgth, my tool of tasM— 
Ita dite not giT» aie life «knM» 
B8t afl that made me moM thine own. 
See vittt iky goilty km hath done I 
Sepeid thee «i«h too fike a Mia ! 
I m 00 baalaxd in mj aoal, 
Fbr that, like thiae, ahhon'd oaatral ; 
Aad ivmy braatik, that haatj boon 
Thoa sa^at and wriStk naasie to aoon, 
I Tdaed it no more thaa thoo, 
Vheanoe tky eaaqneaboTe iky braar, 
iad we, alL aide by atde^ hare atiirant 
iado'tt the dead our eoonandrimn : 
The past ia Botiuag'— and at laat 
ne ftitare can bat be the peat ; 
Yetnoald I that I tiwa had died : 

Far tiioogh thon woih'dst my mother'a ill, 
AninaAathy own my deatined beide, 

I fed tifeoa art my &ther atffl ; 
Aad^hoiA aa aoonds tiiy hard decree, 
Ik BOt m^ast, although from thee. 
Begot fai ain, to die In shame, 
Hj fife begun and ends the same : 
Ai en'd tiie aiie, so exr*d the son, 
Aad thon mnst pnnish both in one. 
My cmne seems wont to hmnan view, 
Bat God most jndge between us too ! " 

XIV. 
lie wassd and stood, with folded arms, 
Oa irhi^ the circling fetters Bounded ; 
And not an ear but felt as woonded, 
Of iD the ehiefii that there were rank*d, 
when those doll chains in meeting daak'd, 
IS Pirisiika's fatal charms 
igsin attracted every eje— 
Would ihe thns hear him doom*d to die ! 
She stood, I said, all pale and still, 
The Kring cause of Hugo's HI : 
Her eyes tmmored, but AiU and wide. 
Hot once had turned to either mde^ 
Her onoe did those sweet eyelids close, 
(^ shade the glance o*er which they rose, 
But round their orbs of deepest blue 
The eirding white dilated grew— 
And there with glassy gaze she stood 
As iee were in her curdled blood; 
Bat erery now and tisen a tear 
80 large and slowly gaiOiar'd did 
F^om the long dark fringe of that fidr Ud, 
It was a thing to aee, not hear ! 
Aadlhose who saw, it did soiinise, 
Such drops coaid fidl tKsn. hmaan eyes. 
Tespeekehe ihoa g U <h e im paiibo t note 
waa oohedtAlhialier ewellfaig throat, 
Yet seem*d in that low hoBow groin 
Her whole heart gashing m the tone. 
Itaaaiiii eijpda the thonght to speak. 
Then bent her toiee in one long afaiidt, 
And tolhe^eaitii the ftU Hke stone 
Or Stelae font its base utetiBowtt, 
If are Bk» a «dng Hmt ne'er had life— 
A.mfiinniKBto( km^8wlfe/- 
TbnaLher, that Mag guilty Ud&g, 
'Wboae every passMa was a sting, 
^rhkhmgeito goat, but eoidd not bear 
"^ S^tTKifeteat&an •t«& despidr. 



Bat yet she Ufed-HtBd ItB too aoea 
Beeorer'd frmn that death-Bke 1 
But scaree to rsaao n evoiy sense 
Had been o'entrang by paaga mteaae } 
And each IMl Abre of her brain 
(Aa bowstrings, when relax'd by rain, 
The erring arrows launch adde) 
Sent forth her thoaghu all wild and wid^ 
The paet a blsak, the frttare bkek. 
With glimpaea of a dreary track, 
like ]%htnfaig on the desert path, 
"Wlien midnight storms are mustering wrath. 
She fJear'd— she felt that something iU 
Lay on her soul, so deep and chill- 
That there was sin and shame she knew ; 
That some one was to die— but who ? 
She had forgotten ;— did she breathe ? 
Could this be still the earth beneath, 
The aky above, and men around ; 
Or were they fiends who now so frown'd 
On one, before whose eyes each eye 
Till tlun had smiled in sympathy ? 
All was oonAiaed and undefined 
To her all-jarr'd and wandering mind ; 
A chaoo of wfld hopes and fears : 
And now in laughter, now in tears. 
But madly still in each extreme. 
She strode with that conyulsive dream ; 
For so it seem'd on her to break ; 
Oh ! Tainly must she striye to wake ! 

XV. 

The ConTcnt bells are ringing, 

But moumfVilly and slow ; 
In the gray square turret swinging, 

With a deep sound, to and fro. 

HeaTily to the heart they go ! 
Hark I the hymn is singing— 

The song for the dead below. 

Or the living who shortly shall be so ! 
For a departing being's soul 
The death-hymn peals and the hollow beUs 
He is near his mortal goal ; 
Kneeling at the Friar's knee ; 
Sad to hear— and piteous to see — 
Kneeling on the bare cold ground. 
With the block before and the guards around* 
And the headsman with his bare arm ready, 
That the blow may be both swift and steady, 
Feels if the axe be sharp and true- 
Since he set its edge anew : 
While the crowd in a speechless circle gather 
To see the Son fall by the doom of the Father I 

XVI. 
It is a lovely hour as yet 
Before the summer sun shall set. 
Which rose upon that heavy day. 
And mock'd it with his steadiest ray ; * 
And his evening beama are shed 
Full on Hugo's fhted head. 
As his last eonlbsaion pouring 
To the monk, his doom deploring 
In penitential holiness. 
He bends to hear his aeoenta bleaa 
With absolution sudi as may 
Wipe our mortal stains away. 
That high sun on his head did gKststtt 
Aa he there did bow and Usteat- 



And tke xfaigi of chestmit hair 
OurVd lialf down liii neck to bore ; 
But biigliter still the beam was thrown 
Upon the axe whieh near hixn shone 

"^th a dear and ghastly glitter 

Oh! that parting honr was bitter ! 
BTon the stem stood chiU'd with awe : 
Dark the crime, and just the Um^ 
Tet they shndder'd as they saw. 

XVII. 
The parting prayers are said and over 
Of that false son — and daring lover ! 
flis beads and sins are all recounted, 
His hours to their last minute mounted— 
His Tnantling cloak before was stripp'd. 
His bright brown locks must now be clipped : 
*TiB done— all closely are they shorn — 
The Test which till this moment worn — 
The scarf which Parisina gaye^ 
Must not adorn him to the grave. 
Bven that must now be thrown aside. 
And o'er his eyes the kerchief tied ; 
But no-^that last indignity 
Shall ne'er approach his haughty eye. 
All feelings seemingly subdued, 
In deep disdain were half renew'd, 
When headsman's hands prepared to bind 
Those eyes which would not brook such blind ; 
As if they dared not look on death. 
*< No— yours my forfeit blood and breath— 
These hands are chain'd— but let me die 
At least with an unshackled eye — 
Strike : "—and as the word he said, 
Upon the block he bow'd his head ; 
These the last accents Hugo spoke— 
«' Strike "—and flashing fell the stroke— 
BoU'd the head— and, gushing, sunk 
Back the stain'd and heaving trunk 
In the dust, which each deep vein 
Slaked with its ensanguined rain ; 
His eyes and lips a moment quiver, 
Convulsed and quick— then fix for ever. 
He died as erring man should die, 

Without display, without parade ; 

Heekly had he bow'd and pray'd, 

As not disdaining priestly aid, 
Nor desperate of all hope on high. 
And while before the Prior kneeling. 
His heart was wean'd from earthly feeling ; 
His wrathful sire— his paramour— 
What were they in such an hour ? 
No more reproach— 'uo more despair ; 
No thought but heaven — no word but prayer-* 
Save the few which from him broke, 
When, bared to meet the headsman's stroke, 
He daim'd to die with eyes unbound. 
His sole adieu to those around. 

xvm. 

Stm as the lips that closed in death. 
Each gaser's bosom held his breath ; 
But yet, afar, from man to man, 
A oold electrie shiver ran, 
As down the deadly blow descended 
On him whose life and love thus ended, 
And with a hushing sound oomprest, 
A sigh shrunk back on every breast ; 



B^noira W0BS8. 



But no mote tiniDlBg noise loie 1 
Beyond the blow that to the block 
Pierced through with forced and snllen ahodk* 

Save one :— what cleaives the silent air 

So madly shrill, so passing wild ? 

That, as a mother's o'er her child, 

Done to death by sudden blow, 

To the sky these accents go, 

like a soul's in aidless wo. 

Through Aao's paUee-lattioe driven, 

That horrid voice ascends to heaven. 

And every eye is tnm'd thereon ; 

But sound and sight alike are gone ! 

It was a woman's shriek— and ne'er 

In madfier accents rose despair ; 

And those who heard it, as it past, 

In mercy wish'd it were the last. 

XIX. 
Hugo is fallen ; and, from that hour. 
No more in palace, hall, or bower. 
Was Parisina heard or seen : 
Her name— as if she ne'er had been— 
Was ba^ish'd from each lip and ear. 
Like words of wantonness or fear ; 
And from Prince Aso's voice by none 
Was mention heard of wife or son ; 
No tomb— no memory had they ; 
Theirs was unconsecrated clay ; 
At least the knight's who died that day, 
But Parisina's fate lies hid 
like dust beneath the coffin lid : 
Whether in convent she abode. 
And won to heaven her dreary road, 
By bUghted and remorseful years • 

- Of scourge, and fast, and sleepless tears ; 
Or if she fell by bowl or steel, 
For that dark love she dared to feel ; 
Or if, upon the moment smote. 
She died by tortures less remote ; 
like him ahe saw upon the block, 
With heart that shared the headunan't shock. 
In quicken'd brokenness that came, 
In pity, o'er her shatter'd frame, 
None knew— and none can ever know : 
But whatsoe'er its end below. 
Her life began and closed in wo ! ' 

XX. 

And Aso found another bride. 

And goodly sons grew by his side ; 

But none so lovely and so brave 

As him who wither'd in the grave ; 

Or if they were— on his cold eye 

Their growth but glaaeed unheeded fay, 

Or noticed with a smother'd sigh. 

But never tter his eheek deseendad. 

And never smile his brow unbended, 

And o'er that fi^r broad brow were mtmf/kk 

The intersected lines of thought; 

Those ftorows which the burring abate 

Of Sorrow ploughs untimely there ; 

Scars of the lacerating mind 

Which the Soul's war doth leate behind. 

He was pass'd all mirth or wo : 

Nothing more remain'd below 

But sleepless nights and heavy days, 

A mind all dead to soom or praise, 



mrisk «bn it IflMt •nPMff'd to iMlt, 
JMmmIj tfwoi^t fatwMaly ftlt: 
Tte deepest lee whioh em frose 
Oui eiilj o'er the warhe& doe»* 
Ihe liiiiig elnom liee qviek bdow, 
Aad flu— OB d eennot eeaie to low. 
Still wae Us seel'd-vp totem Iwsiitsd 
By tlkOQghta whieh Nsteie hath imfleiited ; 
Too deeply noted thenoe to mueh, 



1Vken» stnigi^iBff M tfae]r rise to start, 
We dwek tlMse waten of Ae heeit, 
Tbey are not dned--ihoee teen vnehed 
fiat flow beck to the foontaiB head, 
Aad meting in ttuir 9pan% move porOy 
For OMT in its depth endoie, 
Paseea, unrapt, but imeongeal'd. 



TOFABISniA. 

And ohMlah'd MelivlMn kasi flowsl' d. 
With faniaid staits of feeliag left, 
To tfaxob o'er thoee of life beteft ; 
Without the power to iUl again 
The deeert gap iriiich made hia pain ; 
Withoat the hope to meet them where 
United eoola ehaU ghdneee share. 
With all the eoMoiovsneee that he 
Had only paee'd a just deeree ; 
That thej had wrought their doom of iU ; 
Tet Aao*f age was wretched stOL 
The tainted branchee of the tree, 
If lopp*d with care a strength may giro, 
By niiieh the rest shall bloom and ]h« 
AH greenly fresh and wildly free : 
But if the lightning, in iU wrath, 
The waring bonghs with fury scathe. 
The massy trunk the ruin feels, 
And nsTer more a leaf reveals. 



Ml 



NOTES TO PABISINA. 



jjg fwflfaftf iwaffii ftiwonf H tho mcon semy. 

Page 176, line 14. 

The fines eontalned in 



Section L were printed 
as set to nuHse some tisM since ; bat behmiBed to 
the poem where they now appear, the oreater part 
ef viddi was compo«ed prior to ** Lara,^' end other 



ipo«edjnrio 
- published. 



Iha^ akimld Aoes tpei» at hau^M a eretL 

Page 178, line 108. 

Himt^ henghty— ** Away, hoftahi man, then 
Bit inswlting me "^-Shai^ptare, Bicnard U. 



Page 160, Une 109. 

** TUs tuned out a eaUmxtons year ibr thepeople 
of Fenaia, for there oeeurred a ray tragical erent 
in tbB eonrt of their eovereign. Ovr annals, both 
pr lnled and in manusecmt, with the exception of 
die unpolished snd nesBgent work of 8ardi, and 
one otlur, have giren ue following relation of it. 
from which, howerer, axe r^eeted many detaHs, end 
eepocilsHy the narratXTO of BaadeOi, who wrote a 
e entuij r afterwaxda, and who does not aeeoid with 
the eoartem p e sai ' i histosiaas. 

««Bwtheebocfe-mentloned Stella deU' Assassino, 
Oe Mniqais in theyeez 1406, had ason called Ugo, 



a beautiftil and ingenious youth. Parisina Malatis 
ta, second wife of Kiccolo, like the generality el 
step-mothers, treated him with little alndnees, to 
the infinite regret of the Marouis, who reaarded 
him with fond partiaUtr. One day she asked lesfo 
of her husband to undertake a certain jonmer, to 
which he consented, but upon condition that Ugo 
should bear her company ; for he hoped b^ these 
means to induce her, in the end, to lay aside the 
obstinate arersion which she had conceired against 
him. And indeed his intent was accomplished but 
too well, since, during the journey, she not only di- 
vested herself of all her hatred, but fell into the 
opposite extreme. After their return, the Marquis 
had no longer any occasion to renew his former re- 
proofs. It happened one day that a servant of the 
Marquis, named Zoese, or, as some call him, GHor- 
gio, passing before the apartmenta of Parisina, saw 
going out from them one of her chambermaids, all 
terrified and in tears. Asking the reason, she told 
him that her mistress, for some slight offence, had 
been beating her ; and, giving vent to her rage, she 
added, that she could easily be revenged, if she 
chose to mske known the criminal familiarity which 
subsisted between Parisina and her step-son. The 
servant took note of the words, and related them to 
his master. He was astounded thereat, but scarce* 
ly believing his ears, he assured himself of the 
fact, alas I too clearly, on the Iftth of May. bv 
looking through a hole made in the eeOing of hia 
wife's bhsmber. Instantly he broke into a ftirions 



ISS 



BYSOITB VOaU. 



r, aiabettortofihisniiMftet. Heotteed 

them to be brought to a hasty tiial, dflening the 
jadges to pronounce sentence, in the aoeostomed 
foims, upon the culprits. This sentence was death. 
Some there were that bestirred themselves in iayor 
of the delinquents, and, among others, Ugocdon 
Contrario, who was all powerful with Niccolo, and 
also his aged and much deserving minister, Alberto 
dal Sale. Both of these, their tears flowing down 
their cheeks, and upon their knees, implored him 
formercv: adducing whatever reasons they could 
suggest for sparing the offenders, besides those mo- 
tives of honor and decency which might persuade 
him to conceal firom the public so scandalous a deed. 
But his rage made him inflexible, and, on the in- 
stant, he commanded that the sentemee shoukl be 
put in execution. 

'* It was, then, in the prisons of the castle, and 
exactly in those frightful dungeons whisk are seen 
at this day beneath the chamber called the Aurora, 
at the foot of the lion's tower, at the top of the 
street Qiovecca, that on the night of the 21st of 
May were beheaded, flrst Ugo, and afterwards Pari- 
sina. Zoese, he that accused her, conducted the 
latter under his arm to the place of punishment. 
She, all along, fancied that she was to be thrown 
into a pit, and asked at every step, whether 
she was yet come to the spot r She was told 
that her punishment was the axe. She inquired 
what was oecome of Ugo, snd reoeiyed for answer, 
that he was already dead; at the whieh, aishing 
grievously, she exclaimed, * Now, then, I wisn not 
myself to live : ' and, being come to the block, she 
stripped herself with her omu hands of all her orna- 
ments, and wrapping a cloth around her head, sub- 
mitted to the lataf stroke, which terminatea the 
eruel scene. The ssme was done with Bangoni, 
who, together with the others, according to two 
calendars in the librsxy of St. Francesco, was buried 
In the cemetery of that convent. Nothing else Is 
known respecting the women. 



«The "Mmk^^Ob kept watch Ae wkol« -tf tkat 
dreadftil niohi and, as he was walking baeknntds 
and forwards, inquired of the captsin d the esids 
if Ugo was dead vet ? who answered him, Yes. He 
then gave himself up to the most desperate laoun- 
tations, exclaiming, *0h! that I too were dead, 
since I have been hurried on to resolve thus agsiast 
my own Ugo ! ' And then, giiawing widi his teeth 
a cane which he had in his hand, he passed the icet 



of the night in sighs and in tears, calling twixm^j 
upon his own dear Ugo. On the foIu>wing davi 
calling to mind^ that it would be necesssry to mske 



public his justification, seeing that the transaction 
could not be kept secret, he ordered tite nanatirs 
to be drawn out upon paper, and sent it to idl the 
courts of Italy. 

** On recei^ng this advice, the Doge of Venise, 
Francesco Foscari, gave orders, but without pub- 
lishing his reasons, that stop should be put to the 
preparations for a tournament, which, under the 
auspices of the Marquis, and at the expense of the 
city of Padua, was about to take nbee, m tiie 
square of St. Mark, in order to celebrate his ad- 
vancement to the ducal chair. 

'* The Marquis, in addition to what he had sbesdy 
done, from some unaccountable burst of vengesnoe, 
commanded that as many of the manied women u 
were well known to bim to be faithless, like hiB 
Parisina, should, like her, be beheaded. Amongst 
others, Bsrberina, or, as some call her, Lsodamis 
Bomet, wiis of the court judge, underwent this aen- 
tencoj at the usual place of execution, that is to 
say, m the quarter of St. Oiacomo, opposite the 
present fortress, beyond St. Paul's. It cannot be 
told how strange appeared this proceeduiff ins 
prince, who, considermghis own dis^Mitlon, snonld, 
as it seemed, have been in such eases most indnl- 
gent. Some, however, there were, who did not fril 
to conunend him." * 



THE PRISONER OF CHILLON; 

A FABLE. 



80KNBT ON CHIIXON. 

SoBMAL spirit of the duunlesfl mind I 
Bdgltettindiiiigaoiitylabarty! thou art. 
For tbore thy h^tatUm is the hear^— 

The bent which lore of thee alone can Und ; 

And vhen thy sons to fetters are consign'd— 
To fettsn, and the damp Tanlt's dayless gloovit 
Thnr eovatry conquers with their martyrdoiBf 

AniFkeedom'a fame finds wings on ersry wind. 

Odllon! thy prison is a holy place» 
And tiiy sad floor an altai^^or 'twas trod, 

Thitil his very steps hare left a traee 
Won, as if tfiy oold pafement wsra a sod, 

llj Bonnifsid! >— May none those maiks efiiM ! 
For ^ley lypeal from tyranny to God. 



Mt hair it gny, but not with yearn, 
Kor grew it white 
laaringlenight,* 
As men's hsTs grown from sodden feam : 
My finbs are bov'd, though not witfi toQ, 

Batnuted wi^ a Tile repoee. 
For Ihsj hare been a dungeon's spoil. 

And nuxks has been the fate of those. 
To whom the goodly eaitb and air 
Axe bnn'd, ud bair'd— faUdden frre ; 
B«t tkiiins te my Ihlhsi^s fritti 
I safted dksins snd oodBtBd death ; 
That frtW periih'd at the Bteke 
Per tBMH he would not forsake ; 
And far tibesune his lineal nee 
In dakaem foond a dweUing-plaee; 
We VSR l etcn tr h o now asa ons^ 

Sainyoath and one in age, 
Flniik'd M Ihey had began, 

fnad of Paseeation's rage ; 
One bi fee, lad two in ilsld. 
Their b^flf with blood hare smrd: 
Dymg ss their frther died, 
Far tbe God tiieir foes dei^edi 
Tfane were in a dungeon test, 
Of vhom tbiswiedL is led the hMt 



n. 

There sxe seren pillars of gothie monld. 
In Chillon's dungeons deep and old. 
There axe seren eohmms, massy and graf « 
IHm with a dull imprison'd ray, 
A Bunbeam which hath loet its way. 
And through the crerice and the deft 
Of the thick waU is fallen and left ; 
Oeeping o'er the floor so damp, 
Like a marsh's meteor lamp ; 
And in each pillsr there is a ring. 

And in each ring there is a chidn ; 
That iron is a cankering thing, 

For in these limbs its teeth remain, 
"With marks that will not wear away, 
Till I have done with this new day, 
Whieh now li painfbl to these eyes, 
Whieh hsTS not seen the sun so rise 
For years— I cannot count them o'er, 
I lost thefar long and heaty score 
When my Isst brother droop'd and died. 
And I Uy Uring by his side. 



m. 

They chain'd us each to a cohmm stoa% 
And we were t hree yet, each alime ; 
We oould not more a single paee. 
We oould not see each other's &ee, 
But witii that pale and lirid light 
That made us strangers in our sight, 
And thus together^-yet apart, 
Fetter'd in hand, but pined in heart ; 
Twas still some solace, in the dearth 
Of the pure elements of esrth. 
To hearken to each other's speech, 
And eaeh tun comforter to each 
With eone new hope, or legend old. 
Or song heroically bold ; 
But eren these at length grew cold. 
Our Toices took a dreary tone. 
An echo of the dungeon-stone, 
A grating soond--iiot ftdl and ftm 
As they of yore were wmt to be^; 
It might be hney^-'bot to me 
They never sounded like our ow^ 



IM 



BYBoars 



IV. 



I WM the eltot c f the thrae. 
And to uphold and cheer the rest 
I ought to do— end did my beat— 
And eaeh did well in his de^eee. 

The yonngeit, whom my fkthev loved, 
Beoanae our mother's brow was ^ven 
To himr—with eyes as blue as heaTen, 
For him my acnl was sorely moved; 
And truly might it be distrost 
To see such bird in such a neat; 
For he was beotttiAil as da]^^ 
(When day was beantifnl to me 
As to yoong eagles, being freo>— 
A pofaur day, which will not see 
A sunset till its summer's gone, 

Its sleepless summer of long Ughtt 
The snow-dad oibpting of the son; 

And thus he was as pure and bright, 
And in his natural spirit gay. 
With tears for nought but others' ills, 
And then they flow'd like mountain rills, 
Unless he could assuage the wo 
Which he abhoix'd to new below. 



The other was as pure of mind. 
But form'd to combat with his kind ; 
Btnmg in his frame, and of a mood 
Which 'gainst the world in war had stood, 
And perish'd in the foremost rank 

With joy >-but not in chains to pine : 
His spirit wither'd with their clank, 

I saw it silently decline— 

And so perchance in sooth did mine ; 
But yet I fSoreed it on to cheer 
those relics of a home so dear. 
He waa a hunter of the hills, 

Had foUow'd there the deer and wolf; 

To him this dungeon was a gulf. 
And fetter'd feet the worst of ills. 

VI. 

Lake Leman lies by Chillon's walls ; 
A thousand feet in depth below 
Its maasy waters meet and flow ; 
Thus much the fathom-line was sent 
From Chillon's snow-white battlement,' 

Which round about the wave enthralls ; 
A double dungeon wall and wave 
Have made— end like a liring grare. 
Below the surface of the lake 
The dark vault lies wherein we lay, 
We hesrd it ripple night and day ; 

Sounding o'er our heads it knock'd ; 
And I have felt the winter's spray 
Wash through the bars when winds were high, 
And wanton in the happy sky ; 

And then the very rock hath rock'd. 

And I have felt it shake, unshock'd. 
Because I could have smiled to see 
The death that would have set me free. 

VII. 
I said my nearer brother ^ed, 
I said his mighty heart declined, 
He loathed and put away his food ; 
It WM not that 'twas eoarse and rude. 



For we wenuMd to hnatar's Im^ 
And for the Uka had Uttle eace : 
The milk drawn from the moontaln gtat 
Was changed for water from the moat. 
Our bread was such as eaptlTe's tean 
Have moisten'd many a thousand years 
Since man first pent his feUow men 
like brutes within an iron den: 
But what were these to us or him ? 
These wasted not his heart or limb, 
My brother's soul was of that mould 
Which in a palace had grown oold, 
Had his free breathing been denied 
The range of the steep mountain's side; 
But why delay the. truth ?— he died* 
I saw, and could not hold his head, 
Nor reach his dying hand-^nor dead, 
Though hard I strove, but strove in vain^ 
To rend andgniaah my bonds hi twain. 
He died— end they unlock'd his chain. 
And scoop'd for him a shallow grave 
Even from the cold earth of our cave. 
I begg'd them, as a boon, to lay 
His corse in dust whereon the day 
Might shfaie— it was a foolish thought^ 
But then within my brain it wrought, 
That even in death his fi«ebom breast 
In such a dungeon could not rest. 
I might have spared my idle prayer— 
They coldly laugh'd— «nd laid him then: 
The flat and turfless earth above 
The being we so much did love ; 
His empty chain above it leant, 
Such murder's fitting monument ! 

VIU. 

But he, the favorite and th« flower. 
Most cherish'd since his na,tal hour, 
Hia mother's image in fair face. 
The infimt love of all his race. 
His martyr'd father's dearest thought* 
My latest care, for whom I sought 
To hoard my life, that his might be 
Less wretched now, and one day free; 
He, too, who yet had held tintired 
A spirit natural and inspired— 
He, too, was struck, and day by day 
Was wither'd on the stalk avray. 
OhGodI itisafearftilthing 
To see the human soul take wing 
In any shape, in any mood :— 
I've seen it rushing forth in blood, 
I've seen it on the breaking ocean 
Strive with a swoln convulsive motion^ 
I've seen the sick and ghastly bed 
Of Sfai delirious with its dread : 
But these were horrors-^his was wo 
Unmix'd with such— but sure and slow ; 
He fitded, and so calm and meek. 
So softly worn, so sweetly weak. 
So tearless, yet so tender— kind. 
And grieved for those he left behind : 
With sll the while a cheek whose bloom 
Was as a mockery of the tomb. 
Whose tinto as gently sunk away 
Ai a departing rainbow's ray^— 
An eye of most transparent light. 
That almost made the dungeon loiglit. 



THBsnHn 


aorcKxxoN. ui 




I ssnr tfto dnngaon tnlli sad iaor 






ABtfiMk#rWttardiyt, 


I snr the glhnmcr of the saa 


A fildtbspeny^wft to xiint 


deeping as it beftm had done, 




Bat through the sreriee whoa it came 


htUtlHlloM, of aU tk»BMti 






And taasr tium npon the tree ; 


(y Biiila^ Mttars^ fsiMAMMf 


A lovaly bird, with asaia winga, 






Ilkta'd, Imt I eoQld not bMi^ 


And eeem'd to say them all te me 1 


I Mira, for I «w irild liith flMff : 


I nerar saw it» lika beAna, 


I kMv tiiM liopelMi, tetmj diMd 


I ne'er shall see its Uksnasa man : 




It seem'd like ma «a want a mate. 


I cdri nd tiMmgkt I btod « Modh- 




I tail aj dham wldi one ttrang bound, 


And it was soma to tore me whm 


iid mk'd to Um ;— I finmd himiioC, 


Nona ttred to h»va ma so agafai. 


/flilr •tiR'd in tiiio blMk ipot. 


And ebeeiiag from my dnngeon's brink. 


IflilrliTed— Jimlydnw 


Had bnraght ma back to feal and think. 




I know not If it lata wan free, 




Or broke Its cage ta psmh onmlae, 


Betvm no and tlie eternal teiak, 


Bat knowing wett capthrfty, 


WhiA booad me to my ftOing zaee, 


Bwaetbitdl leooklnotwishfertiiina; 


Wai keken in tiiie fttal plaee. 


Or if it woe, in wfaiged gotoe. 


One « dM earth, and one beneatii— 


ATiaitantframParadlaa; 






Itook Aaiband wbieh lay lo itiU, 


Whieh made me both to weep and smile ; 


Ahi! myownwasfnllaaehill; 


* Isometimeedeem'dtfaatitmightbe 


I bed not atreagth to ftir, or ftfhe. 




Bat felt tbat I was etm aliTe- 


Bat then at last away it flew, 


▲ finatk feeling* nhenire Imow 




Tbit vbai «e lore ahall ne'er be 10. 


For ha would avrer tiras have flown. 


I bnow not wby 


And left ma twioe so doubly kme,— 


loouldnotdie. 


Lone— as the oorte within its shnmd. 






And tet fnbade a aelilih death. 


A single chmd on a sunny day. 




While all tfie rest of heaTen is clear» 


IX. 




Vbit Bczt befel me then end there 


That hath no baainess to appear 


I bnow not weB— I nerer knew— 


When akiea are bhie, and earth is gur* 


Rnt eoM tiie loes of light, and air» 




Aad«bnordailDieaatoo: 


XI. 




A kind of change came in my fete. 


Anoagtteitonee I stood a stone. 




Aadwis, leiree eonseions what I wist. 


I know not what had made them so. 


Aiibnblcss czags within the mist; 


They were inured to sights of wo, 


ForsQwisUsnk, end bleak, and gray: 


But so it was :— my broken chain 


It TCsnotaigbt-^t was not day, 


With linka unfiuten'd did remain. 


It nisnot eren the dongeon-light. 


And it was liberty to stride 


80 bstefel to my heavy sight. 


Along my cell from side to side, 


/ Btttmesaefsbsoihing space, 


And up and down, and then athwart. 




And tnead It over every part ; 


Than woe no staza— no earth— no tfane— 


And round the pillars one by one. 


Ko Chech— no change— no good-Hno crime— » 


Betnming where my walk begun, 


Bat denes, and a stirless breath 


Avoiding only, as I trod. 


Which adflier was of life nor death ; 




A sea of stagnant idleness. 


For if I tfiought with heedless tread 


Blind, boandless mute, and motionless 1 


My step piofened their lowly bed. 




My breath came gaspingly and thick. 


X. 


And my crush'd heart feU blind and sick. 


A Ught broke hi npon my brain,— 




Itwulheeaiolof abird; 


xn. 


It eeased, and then it came again. 


I made a footing in the waU, 


The sweetest song ear ever heard. 


It was not therefrom to esospe, 


And mbe was thankfiil ^ my eyes 


For I had buried one and all. 


Kaa cmr with the glad saxprise, 


Who loved me in a human shape ; 


1 And they that moment ooiOd not see 


And the whole earth would henceforth b« 


I Iwaatbe mate of misery; 


A wider prison unto me ; 


I BntUienbydQnaegieeacamebaek 


No ehndr-tio sire-^io kin had I, 


1 Hyauesto^ wonted track; 


No partner in fliy miseiy ; 

- 



I thonght of tbift and I wm gM* 

For thought of them had made me mftd ; 

But I WM ouiona to ascend 

To my harr'd whidowa, and to bend 

Onoe moEOa upon the monntaina high. 

The quiet of a loTing eje. 

XIII. 
[ saw themi and they ivere the seme, 
They were not ohaa^^ like me in fhuoe ; 
[ saw their thousand years of snQW 
On high— 4heir wide long lake below. 
And the blue Bhoae in Aillest flow; 
I heard the torrents leap and gush 
O'er channelled rock and broken bush ; 
I saw the white-waU'd distant toim. 
And whitsr sails go skimming down ; 
And then there was a little i^>^ 
Which in my yery iGsoedid amUe, 

The only one in Txew ; 
A small green isle, it seem- d xto more, 
Scarce broader than my dungeon floor. 
But in it there were three taU trees. 
And o'er it blew the mountain bijeess,. 
Aad by it there were waters flowing, 
And on it there were young flowen gzowiB9 

Of gentle breath and hue. 
The fish swam by the castle wall. 
And they seem'd joyous each and all ; 
The eagle rode the rising blast, 
Methought he noYer flew so fisst 
As then to me he seem'd to fly. 
And then new tears came in my eye. 
And I felt troubled—- and would fain 
I had not left my recent chain ; 
And when I did descend again, 



The dirkaees tog my/dtau sheds- 
Fsll on ma as a hevry load^ 
It was as is a new-dug grave. 
Closing o'er one we sought to save. 
And yet my gknce, too much oppiest» 
Had afanoet n^ed.of such a rest; 



xiy. 

It might be months, or years, or days^ 

I kept no count-<-I took no note, 
I had no hope.my eyes, to raise. 

And clear them of tiieir dreary inote; 
At last men came to set me free, 

I ask'd not why, and reck'd not wheie, 
It was at length the same to me, 
Fetter'd or fetteriees to be, 

I leam'd to love despate. 
And thus uliea they appear'd^at lBst» 
And all my bonds aside were east, 
These heaty walls to me had grown 
A hermitage-«>d all my own I 
And half I felt as they wece oome 
To tear me from a second home : 
Vnth. spiders I kad flnendship made, 
And watch'd them in their sullen trade, 
Had seen the mice by moonlight play, 
And why should I feel less than Uiey ? 
We were all inmates of one plsce^ 
And I, the monaroh of each raee^ 
Had power to kiU-^Tety strange to tdl ! 
In quiet we had leam'd to dwell— 
My yery chains and I girew friends, 
So mudi a long.oopunn2uon tends 
To make us what wa are :-^Te& I 
BegaJn'd my i^reedom with a sigh. 



NOTES TO THE PRISONER OF CHIIXON. 



1. 

By Bomdcard J-^-fnay none thosa marks effaoA I 
Page 183, Ime 18, 

P^an^ois da Bonni^vard, file de Louis de Bonni- 
?aid, origxnaire de Seyssel et Seigneur de Lunes, 
Aaquiten 1496; il fit ses Etudes 4 Turin : en 1510 
Jean Aim6 de Bonniyard, son oncle, lui resigns le 
Prieor^ de St. Victor, qui aboutissoit aux mun de 
Oen^Ye, et oui formoit uu ben^efioe considerable. 

Ce grand nomme (BonniTard mMte ce titfO; par 
la force de son ame, la droiture de son oflrar» H, no- 
blesse de see intentions, la saffesse de ses conseils, 
le courage de ses d-marches, Pdtendue de ses. con- 
naisBsnres et la Tiracit^ de son esprit,) ce graiid 
homme, qui exdtera TadmuFation de tone cens 
qa'uneTerta htelque pent eneore dmoumuB, hkspl- 



rera eneore la plus vive reconnaissance dan s bs 
eoBurs des GeneYois qui aiment Gendre. Bonsinn 
en fiit to^iours un des plus formea appuas : poor as- 
surer la kbert6 de notre R6publique, fl ne craigmt 
SAS de perdre souvent la slenne ; il oubli&son repos; 
m^risa see richesses ; il ne n^ligea rien pour 
affermir le bonheur d'une patrie au*il honors de son 
ehoiz: d^s ce moment if la cherii commelepns 
sde«, de ses dtoyens ; H la serrit aveo Vintr^piaits 
d'un h^ros, et il eoriTit son Histoite vreo la nsirets 
d'un philoeophe et la. chaleur d'un patrioteu ^ 

n ait dans le commencement de sen hktoneds 
Oen^YC, que, (Iss jtt'i/ wi eommeneS de Ure TAMdof 
dee mHom,Ute tenia eninan^ par eon goitfoi^^ 
BijnibligMei, dont ii^pouea ioiyowrt let vdMu: 
o*est ce ffpAt pour la abettk que lui fii sans doen 
adopter uen^TO pour aa patde. 



HOraS TO 



k Mmmv da GkB^v* ooAln UDnedi 

& I£I9» Boxxnirard deirient le maztjr da m 
pttriiu Le Doe de SaTore Mant entr^ dam Oen^T* 
cfBC eno caat hcwniiMii BoiiidTard orafait 16 raMcnti* 
■ent ds Due; avcmliit ee ntinv i Friboug poor 
«a Mtar lee eoitee ; aait ilftittiabiper deozhonfc" 
■Mi ^ rareompaytoient, et eondoit par ordre d« 
Miee k Qxolke od il resta prisoimier pendant deox 
ana. Bonmrajd^toitmalheureaxdanaaeaToyagea: 
Mmme aes malhean n'aroient point ralenti aon a^le 
peer Gen^e* fl ^toit to^joun nn ennemi ndontable 
poor aeaz qal la nMBa^oient, et par eonaiinient il 
davoit toe e^^oa^ i lava eeina. II ftit tenoontr^ 
M U90 anr le Jwa par dea ▼olsoxa, foi le d^pomiU 
Itetnt, et qui le mirent encore entre lea mama da 
Dae de Serore : ce Prince le fit enfermer dana le 
ChUeaa de Cnillon, ota il resta sans 6tre intenogi 
jvMpiea en 1536 ; il ftit alora deUvri par lai Ber- 
■ek, q[ai a'anqpoxibent da Paya de Taatf: 

Boaaxvaza* ea aortaatdeaa eapthiti, entle pUiair 
da traaver Gaa^re Ubre et p6fona6e ; la B^oBlique 
I de lai t^oigner aa leconnaiaaance et de 



le drtimmager dea maux qu'il ayoit aoajflTarta : eQe 
k xeeot Boaigcoia de la rme aa moia de Jain 1686 ; 



d& for 



dk ki domia la malaon habttee aatrefok par le 
Tkai i c- O^fa al, ei elk hii aaaigna vne pension d& 
SOOceas d*OT taat qn*il a^eomarait i GknAve. H 
Alt adflds dana k ConaeQ de Denz-Cent en 1637* 

Bemoraxd n'a pas fin! d'etre utile : apprea avoir 
tcsnffl^ i lendre Gkn^e libra, il r^ussit a U rendre 
laiaante. Bonnirard engagea le ConaeQ k aeeorder 
aaz Eodf^slaatiqaes et auz payaana on tenia auffi- 
aaat poor framinfT ka piopoettiona qa'on leor 
iBKat: il leaaait par aa doaoeor : on pmdie ton* 
loan k Christianume aree snoc^s qnand on k 
fvfechc wee eharit^. 

BonaiTBd fttt aavant ; aea maanaerita, qfni aont 
dana k Bihlothiiiae publiqne, prouTent qa'il am>ii 
bica hi ka aateoia claaaiqaeB latina. et qa'il apfoit 
app e uftia di k th^loffk et rhktoue. Ce grand 
aiaunt lea amencea, et il czoyoit qireUea 
* fhire k ffloxre de GenoTo; anaal fl ne 
[ien pear ka fixer dana eette 'viUe nak- 

.^ laSi il donna aa bibliothtoae aa pabUe ; 

eDe fdt leoommenoement de notre bibtioth^ne pab- 
fiaaa ; et eea Imea sent en partk ka rarea et bellea 
Mtkcw da qouui&ni&e si^cle qa'on foit dana notre 
eoOectscm.. Kofin, pendant k m6me annte, ce bon 
' i isBtitna la R^nbliqae son b^riti^ i eon- 
m*At employeroit aea biana k entretair k 
_ ODBloaprql^toitkimdatka. 

n yaroat q^ Bonnivard moarat ea lS7(ki mak 
oa ae pent Vtamiertparce qa'fl y anne kcnne dana 
la Ntetdoge depok k mok de /nillet 1670 jvaqaea 



£i a atMk miffhi. 

^Pitel86,linel7. 



or OHXIXOR It? 

sartedftf Mwk Aatolaette'at tke wikof Look ZTL 
thongli not in quite ao abort a period. Grief k laid 
to haye tbe aame eikct : to aubh» and not to kar 
thk change in Aan waa to be attributed. 



#V«a OMBoa'a Mov-tDMto hattimmii. 

Pagel8i,lk64t. 

Tbe diateaa de CUllon k rituated behaaai 
Ckrena and Tflkneuye, which laat k at one es< 
treaitf of the Lake of Genera. On its kit are the 



of the Khoae, aadeapoalte aia tfieheighti 
of Meilkrie and the range of A^ ahoya Boycvat 
aftd8t.Oingo. 

Near it, on a hfll behind, k a tonant ; below itp 
washing its walk, the kke has been fathomed to 
the depth of eight hundred feet, (French measure ;) 
withia it aie a laage of dongeona. in which the 
early rafomcxSt and sabeaqaantlTprkonen of state* 
were confined. Aeroea one of the yaalta k a beam 
hkek with age, on whkh we were informed that 
the condemned were finmerly czeented. In the 
oelk are aeyen pilars, or ramer, eight, one being 
half merged in the wall ; in some of these are rings 
for the wtten and the fbttered: in the payeaient 
the Btapa of Bonniyaid haye left thrfr twese h > 
was ooxmned here seyeral yeara. 

It u by thk castle that Bonsaeau has fixed the 
catastrophe of hk Hdoise, in the rescue of one of 
her children by Julie from the water ; the riiock of 
which, and the iUneea produced by the immenkii 
k the cause of her death. 

The ehateaa k kw^ end seen along the kke te 
a great dktanee. T£b walk are white. 



And tkm t^§r$ wa$ a UiHs uk* 

Page 186, Une Ml 

Between the entraneea of the Bhone and Tllla 
neuye, not kr from Chillon, k a yery small klana: 
the only one I ooald peroeiye, in my yoyaga roaaa 
and oyer the lake, within ita eircamferenee. It 
eontalns a kw traea, (I think not aboye three,) tad 
final its shfigkneas and din^nqlife aiae hat a p^mr 
liar elkct upon the yiew. 

'When the foregoing poem was composed I wai 
not sufficiently aware of the hktory of Bonnfyard, 
or I ahould haye eadeayoted to dignify the sal^feet 
byaa attempt toealebsate hk oonrage sad hk yi» 
tnes. Beme aoooaat of hk Uk wiH be kaadia a 
note appended to the « Sonnet on ChUlon,'* with 
whieh I naye been fumkhed by the kindness of a 
citisen of that BepubHo, iHiich k atiH proud of the 
memory of a naa worthy of the beat age of aaeisal 



BEPPO ; 

A VENETIAN STORY. 



•«BfloiiBtqr;toOQtoflai«wtihjnnrNaiMtj,aBd»lnicMtcUteGod for OMJdDf you tet ( 
«fllMucetUok(l^7oaliaTeiwarabiaOeMiiiota.~vA« You Lite A, la IV. S«. I. 



That H ban at rente, whkhwMiiiiKb«UtBdl9ttM7aaiif&iglUi(KtilBmcao^ t 

iWb b Mi»-4lM Mat of aU 4lbMlniaBeM.-fl. A« 



Tn known, at least it should be, that throughout 
All countries of the Catholic persuasion, 

8ome weeks before ShroTe Tuesday comes about, 
The people take their fiU of recreation, 

And buy repentance, ere they grow devout. 
However high their rank, or low their station, 

With fiddling, feasting, dancing, drinking, masking, 

And other things which may be had for asking. 

n. 

Hie moment night with dusky mantle covers 
The skies, (and the more duskily the better,) 

The time less liked by husbands than by lovers 
Begins, and prudery flings aside her fetter ; 

And gayety on restless tiptoe hovers, 
Oi^ling with all the gallants who beset her ; 

And there are songs and quavers, roaring, humming. 

Guitars, and every other sort of strumming. 

nr. 

And there are dresses splendid, but ikntastieal. 
Masks of all times and nations, Turks and Jews, 

And harlequins and clowns, with feats gymnastical, 
Greeks, Romans, Yankee-doodles, and Hindoos ; 

AH kinds of dress, except the ecclesiastical. 
All people, as their fancies hit, may choose. 

But no one hi these parts may quia tiie clergy. 

Therefore take heed, ye Freethinkers ! I charge ye. 

Ton'd better walk about begirt with briers. 
Instead of coat and small-clothes, than put on 

A single stitch reflecting upon friars, 
Although you swore it only was in tan ; 

They'd haul you o'er the coals, and stir the flies 
Of Phle^ethon with every mother's son. 

Nor say one mass to cool the caldron's bubble 

That boil'd your bones, voless you paid them double. 



V. 

But saving this, you may put on whate'er 
Tou like by way of doublet, cape, or cloakf 

Such as in Honmouth-street, or in Bag Fair 
Would rig you out in seriousness or joke ; 

And even in Italy such places are. 
With prettier name in softer accents spoke, 

For, bating Covent Garden, I can hit on 

No place that's call'd ** Piaui" in Great Britain. 

VL 

This feast is named the Carnival, which being 
Interpreted, implies '* farewell to flesh : " 

So caU'd, because the name and thing agreeing, 
Through Lent they live on fish both salt and firesk 

But why they usher Lent with so mueh glee in. 
Is more than I can tell, although I guess 

'Tis as we take a glass with friends at parting. 

In the stage-eoaeh or packet just at starting. 

vn. 

And thus they bid farewell to oomal dishee, 

And solid meats, and highly spioed i 
To live for forty di^ on iU-dress'd flshes, 

Beeause they have no sauces to their stews, 
A thing which causes many •*poohs" and *« pishes," 

And seversl oaths (which would not suit the Muse) 
From travellers accustomed ttom a boy 
To eat their salmon, at the least, with soy ; 

vin. 

And therefore humbly I would recommend 
" The curious in flsh-sauce," befbre th^ a^m 

The sea, to bid thefr cook, or wife, or friend, 
Walk or ride to the Strand, and buy in gictef 

(Or if set out beforehand, these may send 
By any means least liable to loss,) 

Ketchup, Soy, Chili-vinegar, and Harvey, 

Or,bytiieLordl a Lent wiB well nigh starve y«S 



t^witmf, if fovr x«U8ioa'«l 
And jM at Rome would do at Bomuit do, 

Aeeodi^ to tike proTeib,«-«]thoag]i no man* 
If Afo^ it obliged to €Mt; and yon. 

If Ftatatoat, or aicklXf or a woman, 
WooUniiicr dine in ain on a ragont— 

Dbiaaibd d-d ! I dont mean to be ooane, 

Bitthiff tbe penalty, to aay no woxae. 

X. 

Of an the plaeee where the Cazmral 
WMamt fteetioaa In the daya of yore, 

Fordiaee, and flong, and aeranade, mid ball* 
Aadnaaqoe, and mine, and myatery, and 

Tha Ihsve time to tell now, or at all, 
TeaieaifaebeU ih>mjBiT«ry eity bore, 

AndatllMnoDient when I Hx my atoiy 

Tint mbom dtywss in all her glory. 

XL 

Tkefn^n^ Ikeea yet, thoae aame Tenetlana, 
Blaek eyea, arch'd brows, and sweet ezpresaions 
itiU; 

Sod as of old were oopied from the Oreciana, 
h asdcBt arts by modems mimiek'd HI ; 

Aad like lo many Yenuaes of Titian's, 
(TIk hart's at Florence— aee it, if ye will,) 

tiej look irhea leaning oyer the balcony, 

Or itepp'i from ont a pietore by Qiecgione, 

xn. 

Whose tiots are truth and beauty at tiieir best; 

Asd vhen yon to Hanfrini's palace go, 
That pictsre (howaoeTer fine the rest) 

Is loToBest to my mind of all the show; 
ItBiaj periiaps be also to yosir seat, 

Aadihafa the eanse I rhyme npon it so ; 
Tis but the portait of hia son, and wiiSa, 
Aadsdf; bUtsMeAawoman! lore in life. 

xm. 

Uteiaftdllifb and lengtii, not tote ideal, 

Ko, nor idaal beanty , that fine name. 
Bat sesaetlmig better stQl, so irery real, 

Thsft the sweet model most have been the saaae ; 
JL thiag that yon wonld pmehase, beg, or steal, 

Wer't not napoaaible, besides a ahame : 
TkebfioieesSssomelhce, as *tweie with pain, 
foo oncehne seefrbttt ne^er will see again; 

xnr. 

One ofihose fotms whieh ilH by vs, when we 
Anym«g, and Ak our eyee on eimy lace ; 

^d, Oh! thalorelineaa at times weaee 
In noaeBtary gliding, the soft grace, 

TbeToath^tbeUeom, the beanty whieh agree, 
^ any a aanMlesa being we retrace, 

^^oee eooneandhomewe knewnot, nor shall kaaar, 

like tholort Flsiadi seen no mote below. 

XV. 

I aaid thailke a i^otare by OioigiflM 
yenetianirasiieii were, and so they are, 

?aitieiilady seen from a balcony, 
(For benty's aometanca beat set off aftr,) 

Aad there, iaat like a heroine of Ooldonl, 
They peep from OQt the blind, or o'er the baf ; 

And tnth to aay, they're mostly very pretty, 

AadmttflK like to show it, nore's the pity ! 



m 

XVI 
For ^aaeee beget oglea» oglss sighs, 

8i|^ wishes, wishes words, and words a letter. 
Which flies on wings of Ught-heel'd Mereuies, 

Whodosneh thii^beeanse they know no better 
And then, Ood knowa, what miachief may arise. 

When lore links two yonng people in one fr tter. 
Vile aaeignationa, and aiinlteroos beds, 
ElopeBsents, broken vowa, and hearta, and heads. 

xvn. 

SkMkMpmn deecribed the aex in Deedemona 
As veiy Cair, bat yet suspect in fame. 

And to thia day from Venice to Verona 
Such matters may be probably the eame, 

Bzcept that since thoee timee was nerer knows a 
Husband whom nacre auspicion could inflame 

To SttA>cate a wife no more than twenty, 

Beonse she had a " oaTalier aerrente." 

xvm. 

Their Jealoosy Of they are ersr Jeeloos) 

Is of a £ur complexion altogether. 
Not like that sooty devil of Othello's, 

Which smothers women in a bed of fesither. 
But worthier of theae much more jolly fellowa. 

When weary of the matrimonial tether. 
His head for such a wife no mortal bothers, 
But takes at once another, or another's 

XIX. 
Didst ever see agondoU ? For fear 

Ton should not, I'll deacribe it you exactly : 
lis a long oorer'd boat that's common here, 

Carred at the prow, built lightly, but eompaotl]^ 
Row'd by two rowers, each call'd *' Gondolier," 

It glides along the water looking blackly, 
Just like a coffin clapt in a canoe. 
Where none can make out what you aay or do. 

XX. 

And 19 and down the long canals thej go. 

And under the Rialto shoot along. 
By night and day, all paces, swift or slow, 

And round the theatres, a sable throng. 
They wait 'm their dusk livery of wo, 

Bnt not to them do woful things belong. 
For sometimes they contain a deal of fiin. 
Like moumhkg cosiches when the frineral's done. 

XXI. 

But to my stoey.— Twas aome years ago. 

It may be thirty, forty, more or less. 
The carnival was at its height, and so 

Were all kinds of buffoonery and dress ; 
A certain lady went to see the show. 

Her real name I know not, nor can guess. 
And so we'll call her Laura, if you please, 
Because it slips into my verae with ease. 

xxn. 

She was not old, nor young, nor at the yeexs 
Which certain people call a " certam age," 

Which yet the most uncertain age appears. 
Because I never heard, nor could engage 

A person yet by prayers, or bribes, or tears. 
To name, define by speech, or write on page. 

The period meant precisely by that word,— 

Which surely is exceedingly absurd. 



im 



BTBOB^'S WORKS. 



zxm. 

Laura waf blooming ftfll, kad mado tlie best 
Of time, -fldid tame xotuxii'd the compliment^ 

And treated her genteelly, so that, dreat, 
She lookM extremely well where'er ahe went : 

A inretty woman is a wdcome guest, 
And Laura's brow a frown had nurely bent, 

Lideed she shone all smiles, and seem'd to Hatter 

Msnhind with her black eyes for looking ttt'hcr. 

XXIV. 

She was a msnied woman ; 'tis conreaient, 
Because in Christian countries tis a rule 

To view their little slips with eyes more lenient, 
Whereas, if single ladies play the fool, 

(tJnless within the period intervenient 
A well-timed wedding makes the scandal oocd) 

I don't know how they ever can get over it, 

Bxoept they manage never to discover it. 

XXV. 

Her husband sail'd upon the Adriatic, 
And made some voyages, too, in other seas. 

And when he lay in quarantine for pratique, 
(A forty days' precaution 'gainst disease,) 

His wife would mount, at times, her highest attic. 
For thence she could discern the ship with ease : 

He was a merchant trading to Aleppo, 

His name Giuseppe, eall'd more briefly, Beppo.* 

XXVL 

He was a man as dusky as a Spaniard, 
Sunburnt with travel, yet a portly figure ; 

Though color'd, as it were, within a tanyard. 
He was a person both of sense and vigor— 

A better seaman never yet did man yard : 
And 8^0, although her manners show'd no rigor. 

Was deem'd a woman of the strictest principle, 

So much as to be thought almost invincible. 

xxvn. 

But several years dapsed sinoe they had met ; 

Some people thought the ship was lost, and seme 
That he had somehow blunder'd into debt, 

And did not like the thought of steering home ; 
And there were several offer'd any bet, 

Or that^e would, or that he would not eomei 
For most-men (till by losing render^d sager) 
WBl- back their own opinions witha wager. 

xxvm. 

Tis said that their last psrting was p«lhAtlC| 
As partings often are, or ought to be, 

And their presentiment was quite prophetio 
That tiiey should never more each other see, 

(A sort of morbid feeling, half poetic, 
Which I have known occur in two or three,) 

When kneeling on the shore upon her sad knee, 

He left his Adriatie Ariadne. 

XXIX. 

And Laura Waited long, and wept a little. 
And thought of wearing weeds, as well she might ; 

She almost 'lost all appetite for victual. 
And could not sleep witii ease alone at idglit ; 

She deem'd the window-frames and shutters brittls 
Against a daring housiibreaker or sprite. 

And so She thought it prudent to connect her 

With a rioe-husband, ehi^ to proteet h&r. 



XXX. 



She chose, (and what is there tiiey wQl not clieoss 
If only you wffl but oppose tiiesr choice ?) 

Till Beppo should return from his long cnrae, 
And bid once more her fatthfol hesrt r^eioe, 

A man some women like, and yet abuse— 
A coxcomb was he by the public voice ; 

A ooimt of weslth, they said, as wefl u qusliti, 

And in his pleasures of great libenjity. 

XXXI. 

And then he was a count, and then he knew 
Music, and dancing, fiddling, French, and Tuscan, 

The last, not easy, be it known to you, 
For few Italians speak the right Etruscan. 

He was a critic upon operas, too, 
And knew all niceties of -the sock and busUn ; 

And no Venetian audience could endure a 

Song, scene, or air, when he cried <* seccatora " 

xxxn. 

His " bravo " was decisive, for that sound 
Hush'd " academie " sigh'd in silent awe ; 

The fiddlers trembled as he look'd around. 
For fear of some false note's detected flaw; 

The " prima donna's " tuneful heart would bound, 
Dreading the deep damnation of his " bah I *' 

Soprano, basso, even the contra-alto, 

Wish'd him fite fathom under the Rialto. 

XXX in. 

He patronised the Improvisator!, 

Nay, could himself extemporize some stanzas, 
Wrote rhymes, sang songs, could also tell a story, 

Sold pictures, and was skilful in the dance as 
Italians can be, though in this their glory [ha*' 

Must surely yield the palm to that which France 
In short, he was a perfect cavaliero. 
And to his very valet seem'd a hero. 

XXXIV. 
Then he waafaithftU, too, as weU as «iiftOioiis» 

So that no sort of female could complain, 
Although they're now and then a little clamorouSt 

He never put the pretty souls in pain ; 
His heart was pne of those which most enamour w 

Wax to receive, and marble to retain. 
He was a lover of the good old school. 
Who still become more constant as they cooL 

XXXV. 

No woadsor aiiehsai MeompUBhrnanta ailMald tna 
A female head, however sage and steady^— 

With scarce a hope that Beppo could retvmt 
In law he was almost as good as dead, he 

Nor sent, nor wrote, nor show'd the least ooncetPi 
And she had waited several years alrBa4y ; 

And asaUy if a man won't let us know 

That he's alive, he's dead^ cff should bm so. 

XXXVI. 
Besides, witUn the Alps» to enrecy troBMBiv 

(Althoa^, God knows, it is a^dartous san*^ 
'TiSf.I may say, permitted to luov 4mo vuoda 

I can't tell who first bnnifi^ tbe eustoia in* 
But " Cavalier Serventes " are quite commoa. 

And no one-notiees, nor osodss * piA>t 
And we may call this (not to say iSui wmnst), 
A sseow^ Bsiriage which OQcaqits th0 jifinC 



1 



' V 







5 
in Bf9bk, tbon^ 

Old BngUad ftwn Mob 
of damage and divofeea ? 

XXXVUI. 
a ftia ilunk* with all dttB ditetMe 
Mri6^ part «f tke eiMtioii, 
|Bdi>^ '(^•v'ld pi WHO thft pnfannM 
K^gorgengpdeonTeieatton 
twy nitfaaqt pewliar lefc ii ee 
Ind, Fia&ee, or any other naliaii^ 
^f knonr ^M irovid, and are aft «aaa» 
[ aatoxml, natnnUy pleaie. 

XXXDL 

r badding Miaa Is Tery ekamliigy 
i«id cwkmucd at tni eoaiag out, 
Ihnn'd that ahe is quite alanaing, 
Ilk, Blush ; half Pertneaa, and half Pont; 
..^^ jcbg at H a muna , for fear there's haim in 
HwToo, aha, it, or they may be aboat, 
Ibolionay stiQ lisps omt in all they utter— 
llwMw, th^ ihraya smell of bread and butter. 

XL. 

Ihit"(kfdiar8erraite" isthephrMe 

Uied IB politest eireles to express 
Biis rapenrameraxy slsre, who stays 

dote to the lady aa a part of dress, 
Es word Hie only Iscw whieh he obe]fs. 

ffii is AD sinecure, aa yon may gnesa ; 
Cssfh, terrsnts, gondo l a , he goes to eall, 
Asd cttDBS fan snd tippet, glores snd shaid. 



Ld-U 



mk d! ill ftfaiftil doings, I mnst say. 

Thai Italy's a pleasant place to me, 
Who lofe to see the Sun shine emy day, 

Aad Tiaes (not nail'd to walls) fivm tiee to tna 
FfffoCRi*d, mveh Kke the back scene of a play, 

Or mdfldrame, whieh people floek to see, 
When the first act h ended by a danoe 
la nneyazds copied from the south of Ftanee. 

XLEL 

Ineeii'AstiBtttt evenings to fine out, 
WHfaovtbeing fcreed to bid my gtnom be sue 

Uj elosk isToiuid his ndiUle strapped about, 
Beeane flie fUes are not the most eecure ; 

I know too ^t, if stopped upon my route, 
WhcR the green alleys windingly allure, 

BeeKng utih ^n^pst xed wagous ehoke the way,-^ 

laBng^ twodd bu'^ng,' duet, or a diay. 

xcm. 

I slao Bk)e^ dine on beeiifteae, 
lu M«llie«aiaoet, enre-li^ liie faH M WWi w, 
^e^ thsoiil^aiiitty mMBlng'«Nl:dd^ 

A. buiiksa iaa«*s dead «ye In maRMttn soHNMr, 

BetwtthaaibMeiilfUawdf ; tiiat day willbroidias 

-'Beanteomaitladffleos, nerbe Ibreed to borrow 

That sett of ftfOdig euidfeligkt which gUmmen 

WhoftieekiBgliflBisft'* tmtfky ealdNii ihUMn. 



m 

xuv. 

I kyre the Isnguage, that soft bastard Latin« 
l^hich meKa like kiasca from a female mouth, 

And aonnds as if it should be writ on satin, 
With syllables which bieathe of the sweet South. 

And gentle liquids gliding all so pat in, 
That net a single aceent seems uncouth, 

like our hsnhnortiketn whistling, grunting guttural, 

WUeh we're obliged to hiss, and spit, and aputtsr an 

XLV. 
lUke the women too, (forgtre my fotty,) 

From the itch peasant-cheek of ruddy bronxe, 
And large black eyes that flash on you a Tolley 

Of rays that say a thousand things at once. 
To the high dama's brow, more melancholy, 

But dear, and with a wild and liquid glance, 
Heart ^ her lipa, and soul within her eyes. 
Soft as her dime, snd sunny as her skies. 

XLVI. 
Bto of the land which still is Paradise ! 

Italian beauty ! didst thou not Inspire 
Baphael,« who died in thy embrace, and iriea 

With all we know of Hearen, or can desire, 
In what he hath bequeath'd us ?— in what guise, 

Though flashing from the fenror of the lyre, 
Would tsorrif deacribe thy past and preaent glow. 
While yet CanoTa can create bdow ? * 

XLVII. 
« England ! with all thy faulta I lore thee stm,** 

I said at Calais, and have not forgot it ; 
I Uke to speak and lucubate my flU ; 

I like the goTcmment, (but that is not it ;) 
I like the freedom of the press and quill ; 

I like the Habeas Corpus, (when we're got it;) 
I like a parliamentary debate, 
Psrticttlarly when 'tis not too Ute ; 

XLVm. 
I like the taxea, when they're not too many ; 

I likea sefr^oal fire, when not too dear ; 
I like a beef-steak, too, as well as any ; 

Have no olgection to a pot of beer ; 
I like the weather, when it is not rainy. 

That is, I like two months of erery yesr. 
And so Ood saye the Regent, Church, and King. 
Which means that I like all and every thing. 

XLIX. 

Our standing army, and disbanded seamen, 
Poor*8 rate, Reform, my own, the nation's debt. 

Our little riots Just to show we are ft«e men, 
Our trifling bankniptcies in the Gazette, 

Our cloudy climate, and our chilly women, 
AR these 1 can Ibrgive, and those forget. 

And greatly Tenerate our recent gloriea, 

And wish they wore not owing the Tories. 



• Willi. 
0M mUnf dns, the writer, more ei|ieebll7 

€)f womea, wndd te OBtaMoad •» Hj , 
Be apnlB w a flfMUior, iidtoildiUf, 

Aad ahrajt, reader, in a modert vaj ; 
Fvfa^a, loo, Id no very gieat depw dadl ht 

Affttf to lHt*« dauM fei «k hjr, 
0hM| M all kmaWf wttKNti a* ns, oar momm 
Would Nem onfinUi'd like UkIt oatriiiimM boMM^ 



IM 



BTBOirS W0BX8. 



Bat to my tale of Laura,— 4i»r I find 

Digression is a sin, that by degrees 
Becomes exceeding tedious to my mind, 

And, therefore, may the reader too displeas^- 
The gentle reader, who may irax unkind^ 

And caring little for the author's ease, 
Insist on knowing what he means, a hard 
And hapless situation for a bard. 

U. 

Oh that I had iSie art of easy writing 
What should be easy reading ! could I scale 

Parnassus, where the Muses sit inditing 
Those pretty poems, ncTer known to fail. 

How quickly would I print, (the world delighting,) 
A Grecian, Syrian, or Assyrian tale : 

And sell you, mix'd with western sentimentalism, 

Some samples of the first Orientalism. 

LU. 
But I am bat a cameless sort of person, 

(A broken Dandy lately on my traTels,) 
And take for rhyme, to hook my rambling verse on. 

The first that Walker's Lexicon unravels, 
And when I can't find that, I put a worse on. 

Not caring as I ought for critics' cavils ; 
I've a half mind to tumble down to prose, 
But verse is more in fashion— so here goes. 

LHL 
The Count sad Laura made their new amagement. 

Which lasted, as arrangements sometimes do. 
For half a dozen years without estrangement ; 

They had their little differences, too ; 
Those jealous whifiEs, which never any change meant 

Li such affairs there probably are few 
Who hare not had this pouting sort of squabble, 
From sinners of high station to the rabble. 

LTV. 
But on the whole, they were a happy pair. 

As happy as unlawful love could make them ; 
The gentleman was fond, the lady fair, 

Their chains so slight, 'twos not worth while to 
break them : 
The world beheld them with indulgent air ; 

The pious only wish'd '* the devil take them ! " 
He took them not ; he very often waits. 
And leaves old sinners to be young one's baits. 

LV. 

But they were young ; Oh 1 what without our youth 
Would love be ! What would youth be without love ! 

Touth lends it joy, and sweetness, vigor, truth. 
Heart, soul, and all that seems as from above ; 

But, languishing with years, it grows uncouth*- 
'One of few things experience don't improve. 

Which is, perhaps, the reason why old fellows 

Are always so preposterously jealous. 

LVI. 
It was the Carnival, as I have said 

Some six and thirty stanzas back, and so 
Laura the usual preparations made, 

Which you do when your mind's made up to go 
To-night to Mrs. Boehm's masquerade. 

Spectator, or partaker in the show ; 
The only difference known between the eases 
X» -iftMV, we have «ix wc«k8 of " vamish'd fiMSf." 



LYn. 

Laura, when dnst, was (aa I la&g b««oi^ 

A pratty woman as was ever seen. 
Fresh as the Angel o'er a new inn door. 

Or frontispiece of a new Hagasine, 
With all the fashions which the Ust month von, 

Color'd, snd silver paper leaved between 
That and the title-page, for fear the press 
Should soil with psrts of speech the parts of duH 

Lvni. 

They went to the Bidotto;— ^tis ahall 
Where people dance, and sup, snd dance again; 

Its proper name, perhaps, were a maaqued ball, 
But that's of no importance to my strain; 

'Tis (on a smaller scale) like our Yauxhall, 
Excepting that it can't be spoilt by rain: 

The company is ** mix'd," (the phrase I qaote ii 

As much as saving, they're below your notice;) 

LIX. 
For a « mix'd company " implies that, saTS 

Yourself and iMends, and half a hundred moie, 
Whom you may bow to without looking grsTe, 

The rest are but a vulgar set, the bore 
Of public places, where they basely brave 

The fashionable stare of twenty score 
Of well-bred persons, call'd "the World;" bail 
Although I know them, really don't know why. 

LX. . 

This b the casern England; at least was 
During the dynasty of Dandies, now 

Perchance succeeded by some other class 
Of imitated imitators :— how 

Irreparably soon decline, alas ! 
The demagogues of fashion : all below 

Is frail ; how easily the world is lost 

By love, or war, and now and then by frost! 

LXL 

Crush'd was Napoleon by the northern Thor, 
Who knock'd his army down with icy hanuner, 

Stopp'd by the elemmta, like a whaler, or 
A blundering novice in his new French granuntts 

Gkiod cause had he to doubt the chance of war, 
And as for Fortune— but I daze not d— 'n her, 

Because, were I to ponder to infinity, 

The more I should believe in her divinity. 

Lxn. 

She rules the present, past, and all to be yet. 
She gives us luck in lotteries, love, and nanJage» 

I cannot say that she's done mueh for me yet; 
Nor that I mean her bounties to disparsge, 

We've not yet closed accounts, and we shiJl see yet 
How much she'll make amends for past misett- 
riage; 

Meantime the goddess I'll no more importone, 

Unless to thank her when she's made my fortune. 

Lxm. 

To torn,— and to return;— ^e davfl take it! 

This story slips fbr ever through my fingers, 
Beeause, just as the stansa likea to nuik| it, 

It needs must be— and so it rather lingers; 
This form of verse began, I can't weU break it, 

But most keep time and tone like public singti* 
But if I once get througli my present measure, 
111 take another when Tm next at kiniie. 



TowMA I —a trngomfmii to inoiwr, 
liittoainK«i|r Ibrnglite a Uttl« spMt, 

I Fm wUmt liiipiil^ and m^ bcnmr 
jttt^riiatldBdof &«• 
Ifay hnklwnwith aach maik, lad — my 
OMkeu ili p«M Muetinet, ru make, 
iMirtiH lima Imrn it hall an imw bahfai4.) 

UtV. 
Hmrinm moves alang llm jojrevt oowi, 
' ftiHwim ifcTcyai, aimsmxpwi on bar I^ms 
To MM Ae vidaptti, oOan apeaks alood ; 

Hi Mmft iba eiiitri«» «Bd to toma die dipa, 
Govphim of wazmih, and tiili eomplaittt srov'dt 
Her ktrcr temga the lemeaadB^ rim lipa ; 
aemnSflmtpitleeaiiU 
iftirbeliigteitsoffl. 

LXVI. 
Omiktt ftte einla, tnother too mndi pilnt, 

A thirt-^lmra did she Imy that frightftd tuhan? 
A Amrth'i m pale ahe fean she's going to ftint, 

A fifth's look's Tulgar, dowdyish, and snbvoban, 
A sfadii'i vliite sitk has got a yellovr taint, 

A sncath's tinn mnslia surely will be her bane, 
Ajii lo ! la e^j^lith appean,— '< HI see no more ! " 
Ferfesf, like Banquo's kings, they leaeh H score. 

LXVII. 

XemtiiM, wh3e she was thus at others gasing» 
Others were levellmg their looks at her ; 

She heard the men's half^hlsper'd mode of prtdsmg, 
Aad, liB twas done, determined not to stir ; 

The women only thought it quite amazing 
That at her time of life so many were 

Adnuren still,— 4>ut men are so debased, 

ThoM braien creatnxes always snit their taste. 

Lxvni. 

for mj part, now, I ne'er could understand 
"Why aanghty women — but I won*t discuss 

▲ fting which is a scandal to the land, 
I only don't see why it should be thus ; 

Aad if I were but in a gown and band. 
Just to entitle me to make a fuss, 

rd preach oa this till WUberforce and Romllly 

ShooU qiote in their next speeches from my homily. 

LXIX. 

W«I«vi A|tt was seen and seeing* smiling, 

TafluBg, the knew not why and cared not what. 
So %| li^ female friends, with envy broiling, 
• Bebe&dluB airs and triumph, and all that ; 
Aad well diest males still kept before her filing, 

And pasuag bow'd and mingled with her chat ; 
Mote than ^e rest one person seem'd to stare 
'^ pettiwu% that's rather rare. 

He was a^uk, iha eolor of meha^u^ ; 

A^Umaiaw bin, aad at first wss glad* 
^>««wu*«^ lur^ so mneh admire phU(^(7i^« 
-^^•N^thttasage of their wives iamd 5 * 
^J •«d tlMTdise no better thsn a dog any 
^^JW wsBBsa, whom they purchase like a pad : 
Ttay bawe a mwhe,, tbo,gh they ne'er eahiWt 'em. 
rom wms i^ )«, «nd ooneiibinsi " %d Ubitum*" 
25 



^ m 

UIX 

Th^ leak Am iV» and TtiU MAgwiDd tMAdMfef 

They seareely caa behold their male relationig 
00 that their nmmanta do not pasa eo gaily 

AaJa avppoead the ease with northern natieiw; 
Oonflnenupt, too. anstmake them look qnite paM|r . 

And as the Turks abhor long oonTersatieM» 
Their daya are either paat in dioing nothing. 
Or hathl^, nwEsiag* making Wve» and elothiag. 

They eannot read, and eo don't Ikp iaeritkinai 

Nor write, and so they don't affi»ct the mnee } 
Were new caaght in epigram or wittidam, 

Have no romanees, sermons, plays, rsTieway^ 
in harama learning soon would make a pretty eehlMlb 

Bnt hickily theee beanties are no '* bloee," 
Mo bnatli]^ Botberbys haTO they to show 'em 

That chemiag pama