THE POETICAL WOEKS
f.
^y
LOED BYRON.
ODE TO NAPOLEON tJUOXAPAETE
INTKODU'jnO>' . . . . •
1
HEBUEVv' MELODIES .....
ADVERrisE::'?:^!
INTRODUCTIO:*
SHE WALKS X.--: BEATTtr .....
THE H.VP.F THE IIUJ'AF.CU ^r.-'oTREL b^Vi;l•T .
IF Til\T Ui'GrI WOULD . . , . ,
THE V-IID GAZKLLE .....
OH ! 1VE';:' Fori thost: .....
ON JOV.TjaN's SA^KS .....
Ca ! Z^I'lCh'd AWiY IIJ EEAUTT'.S ril-OOM .
MV tOUf. JS D.VHb:
1 S.V\.' THfE WKSP
THY t)AYr: M'.E MONE
EADL ........
8GNQ OF .^AUr.. i;EFi,'Hi: HIS T.A.Sr BATILK.
"all It* VA.'.irY, a^nn rur PiiEACiiEit"
V:iEN C0Ln>Fi'3 Vi'RA?3 IHIi 3(.'J?/EP.I.^G CLaY.
■VlilON OF BViLSHAZi^Aa
-/• SON 0>' THE iLj:.!-:!':.^.-.? n>». . . . .
WEKE >.Y 'iO-OM AS FAL-iK AS lUOU I.iF.K.MS C TT
v( T.. ir.
11
13
U
ro B!i
1.5
16
16
17
IS
13
VJ
•20
21
21
2-A
23
24
24
25
2G
2S
2S
»i CONTENTS.
IleORtn MKI.OnitS — continued. Pnge
rerod's L-vmest for marumne 29
ox the dat op the uestuoctiox of jerusalem bv titus . . 30
PV TDR niVKIU or BABTLOX WE SAT DOWN AND WEPT . . . . 31
THE DESTRCCriOX Olf SENXACnEUIB 31
A spinrp pass'd before me. from job 33
DOMKSTIC PIECES. (1S16) 35
iNrp.oDCCTio.v 37
F\EE THE2 WF.LL . .1 39
A SKETCH 41
STAXZA3 TO AUGUSTA. " WHEJT ALL AROUND," ETC 44
STANZAS TO THE SAMr. "TaOUGH THE PAT OF MV DE&TINY's OVER," ETC. 46
tPISTLE TO TOE SAME. "ilT SISTER, MT SWEET SISTER " ... 48
H^■^3 O.V litARINO THAT LADY BVl;OX WAS ILL 52
.MuNODV ON THE DEATH OF THE RIGHT HON. E. B. SHERI-
DAN. SPOKE.V AT DRURT L.\NE TUEiTUE ..... 55
THE DREAM 63
ixTRODCciro.s 6r.
THE L.V.MENT OF TASSO , . , . . 75
ADVERTUEMEVT ...... 76
i--<rr.ovuonoj .77
CDF. ON VENICE . ^^
THE MOUGANTE ?.[AGOI0RE OF I'LT-CI 05
ADVlKTISCaKST , . . 9"
iirrnont'CTio.v . . • „,,
^ • • - . . . . yy
'^^^ 144
THE PIIOPHECY OF DANTE 145
l-KEFACB , .
I'hl
PKOIClTIbM
lid
IJtTBODCCIfis-
. 150
• . . 1 '>1
CONIENTS. vu
Thk Puofhkcy of Dante— coK/t«ut(i. Pa^-e
CANTO II. . . . . . ....... 157
CANTO III. . . . . . . . . . ^ . . . ICl
Canto iv. .....•• 1^7
FFvANCESCA OF IIIMIXI ITi^
INTKODUCTIO.V .^ 175
NOTES ISO
THE BLUES: a LiTi;RARy eclojue 183
INTKODCrCTION , . 184
THE VISION OF JUDGMENT 199
PREFACE 201
APPENULS TO LORD BYRONS PREFACE ....... 205
INTDODUCriON 211
MOTE.S ............. 240
THE AGE OF BRONZE ; or, car.mkn su'ulare et a>ncs n\iu
MIF.ABIIJS . . 243
IMTRODCCTXO:V 244
OCCASIONAL .PIECES. 18CT— IS"]! ,269
ISTRO'^'-'CXION . . . . o 270
IKE ASCt.T. WUITTiN' TTNDtR TKE lilPREoSION THAT THE A'JlHoR
"WODLD SOO.N" WE 271
■CO A VAi;" T.iiiy 27i^
TO a:>"ne ............. 273
TO the SAMS 277
TO THE .V^T^OR OF A SONXET BCGI>"NING " ' SAD TS MV VERSE,' VOU
SV.T, 'ANil YET NO TSAR' " 277
ON FEN'Du-JI A PVN 278
J-AKEWELL to TliE MUSE . 279
TO AN OAK AT NEWoTEAD ..... ... 280
ON eevisit:>'g harrow , 2S2
KhirAPH ON JOHN ADAJIS. Of SOUTE'.VKLL, A CARRIER, V, HO ii: EO OF
I)l».'NK.ENNii>.^ '2o'J.
rO Sii bO.V ... o ....... . 2vli
^ii CONTEXTS.
Ocv.vsioNAL I'lECDJ — c^ndnueil. p«se
F^r.EVeLt! If EVER FOSDKsT PBAYiiR 23i
BHtUiir liK THE PLACE OV TllV SOOL 285
\TIIK.V WE TWO PAUTED 285
TO A TOOTUtUL FKIKND ^S6
Lists IXSCKICED CPON A CCP FOUMED FliOJl A SKULL . . . 2SL>
WELL ! THOU ART HAPPY ! 2D0
n«scKimos OS the monument of a Newfoundland dog , . 201
TO A LADT, ON BEING ASKED MY REASON FOB QUITTING ENGLAND fX
THE SPRING 292
Br.MISD ME NOT, tl.MISD ME NOT 293
THERE WAS A TIME, I NEED NOT NAME 2l)4
AND \nLT THOU WEEP WHEN 1 AM LOW? 295
riU. THE GOBLET AGAIN. A SONG 297
STANZAS TO A LADT, ON LEAVING ENGLAND 299
USES TO MR. HODGSON. WRITTEN ON POARD THE LISBON lACKET . 301
TO FLORENCE 303
USES WRITTES IN AN ALDUM AT MALTA 305
BfASZXS COMPOSED DURING A TBUNDEIl-STORM 305
STANZAS WP.ITTE.V IN PASSING THE AMBF.ACIAN GUIj" . . . . 30S
THE SPELL TS BROKE, THE CHARM IS FI.OWN ! 309
WHITTEN AFri;;-. swimming FROM SES:05 TO ABTD03 .... 309
LINES IN THr TPaVELLERS' KOOK AT ORCHOMENUS . . . . . 310
^ MAID OF .\TnEN!*' ERE WE PaRT 311
TRANSLATION OF IDE NURsEa' DOLE IN 'IHi: .YKDllA OF F.URtPLDES . . 312
Ut EPITAPH 313
scbatitutb ior an EriCApH 3] 3
Ll.*!* WRriTEN BENPATH A PIOTCKE 313
_- — . TRANSLATION OF THE FAMOIS GREtK WAR £ONG, '-Afrre ircTSc? rh'U
TM«LAT10N OF VHE ROMAIC SONG, "M/rfra^EjV.r' Trf>,.S(;\(," ETC. . 315
O.N p.iiriNC .,^g
rnriPH lOR JO'-nPU ltIJ..CKr.T-T, LATr: POET A.VD o30?.MAKER. . . 317
fARtWRLL TO MALTA «, o
Tj mvns. i ifiuoMtwr 32 g
ox VOO;i''5 LA-T f.l-RATrC FAr.fC, OR FARaC.M 0;>H>A
320
^''
CONTEXTS. ix
OooASioxAL Pieces — con'inu^d. p^„,
EPISTLr, TO A FP.UIND, Iir A>3tt"En TO SOME L1XE5 KXHOKTINa THK
AUrnuR TO BL CUEERFUI,, AND TO '■ JiXyiiU CARVj" . . . 320
TO THYRZi 322
away, awat ! yk xotks of w0£ ! 32-j
oxb spkdggls more, and i am tree 325
eiotha:.'asia . , . . 327
ant) thou art dead, i3 todng a3 fair 328
IF soiLH;Ti:.i£.s i>: tue haunts of men 330
LINE:i J'F.UJI IHE FRENCH 331
ON A CORNELIAN HEART, WHICH WAS BROKEN 332
LINES TO A Lady WEEPINCJ . 332
"THE CH.AIN I GATE," ETC. FROM THE TURRI3H .... 333
LINE3 WRITTEN O.f A BLANK LEAy OF " THE. PLEASURES OP MRMOP.Y " 333
ADDP.FS5 SPOKEN AT TFTE OPENING OF DRfRY LANE THEATRE, SATUR-
DAY, OCTOP.ER lO, IS12 334
PAaENTHETICAL AI)DRr.SS, BY IR PLAGIARY 337
VERSES FOUND IN A SUMMSP.-IIOI'SE AT RALES-OWEN . . . . 339
EEM^jrJER THEE ! KE1IE.HB':3. THEE ! 339
TO rt->ix 3-10
TRANSr_\nON OF A ROMAIC! l.OVE SONG 311
YaOU ART NOT FALSE, BUT THOU ART FICKLE 312
ON BEING ASKED WHAT \\ AS TUZ '"ORIGIN OF LOYE" .... 343
KEMEMSEF. HTM, WHI^M P.'S^frON'S lOV/ER ....... 3-Ii
ON LORD THUKLOW'S POEMS . . ^ 345
TO LORD TU!:RI.GW 316
TO THuMAS MOORE. WRITTEN HiE EVENING BEFORE HIS VISIT TO
MR. LETGH H1:NT IN HORSEMONGEU-LANE GAOL, MAY 19, lSi3 . . S47
IMPROMPTU "when FROM THE HEART WHERE SORROW SITS" . . 3iS
SONNET, TO GENZVEA 348
SONNET, TO THE KAilE 3i9
ia-.'M THi; PO.XTrGUESE. "TU mi C'tlAMAS" ...... 349
THF ■devil's drive ; j>.N UNFINISHED RHAPSODY C50
WINDSOR F&?:iC3 LINES C0M?05>n) ON THE OCCASrON OF HIS ROYAL
HIOK>'Ei:S THE PP.IN'CE REGENT BEING SEEN .STANDING BETWEEN
THE COVFINS OP HlIN.nY VIIL AND CHARLES I, IN THE ROYAL
Vault at \TlN';^OR S5;>
>
CONTENTS.
(Xxasional Pieces — continued P'^-»
6rANZl.S FOR MUSIC. '• I SPEAK NOl," Lrc ■ . 3;>3
ADURl.^ ISrESDED TO BE RECITED AT TUE CALEDONIAN MEETl.Vt; , 354
TKxGiiasr or a.n ei'Istle to thomas mooke 355
CONDoLATOKT ADDRfiS TO SARAH, COUNTiISS 0/ JFM<-^r, ON THE
REOnST's RETURSl>"<J UER PICTURE TO MBS. MEE . . . . 356
TO CEL.SUAZZAR 35S
ELEGIAC STA^iSAS ON THE DEATU OF SIR PETER PARKER, EART. . . 359
STANZAS FOR MCalC. " THERE'S NOT A JOY," ETC 360
STANZAS FOR MCSIC. "THERE BE NONE OF BEAOTYS DAUGHTERS," ETC. 361
ON NAPOLEONS ESCAPE FROM ELBA . 362
ODE FROM THE FRENCH. " WE DO NOT CURSE THEE, WATERLOO" . . 362
FROM THE FRENCH. "MUST THOU GO, MY GLORIOUS CHIEF?" . . 365
ON THE STAR OF "TOE LEGION OV HONOUR." Fr.OM THE FRENCH. . 367
napoleon's FAREWELL. FROM THE FRENCH ..... 368
ENDORSK'JENT TO THE DEED OF SEPAB.ITION, IN THR APF!IL Oi' 1S16 . 36D -
DAKKNEiS 369
CHCRCniLL'.l GRAVE; A FACT LITERALLY KENDi;RED . , . . 372
pnoMnTH.>-us 373
A FRACMENT 375
SONNET TO LAKE LEMaN 376
STANZAS FO:i Mi.StC. " tRIOHT BE THE PLACE OV lilY SOCL!" FTC. . 377
A VERT lIOUr.NFCL BALLAD ON THE SIEGE AND C0N(iUL3T OF ALU.UrA 379
ON tUE i;U.iT OP LELEN BY CANO\ A , , ZS6
TRANSLATION FROM VITTORELU ^ 2S7
BTANZA.S FOR ill.st",. "THEY SAY THAT HO?:;,'' ETC S87
tONu FOH THE LUDUIfES ••....,., 33S
VFKJtlCLlS ' . ,. 3S9
fr>, we'll no NO MORE a-pov;no . 389
TO THOMAS JIOJP.E 33Q
TOVR. MCRRAr. "to HOOK TUB READER,'" ETC 390
To TIIOX'J MOOHK. "ilY BOAT IS ON TUZ SHORE," ETC. . . . S91
ri^TLB fKOM MX MURUAT TO DR. POLIDORt .... 392 ^
I MiTLF TO WR. MDHR.V7. " M Y DEAR Vil. MURKaT,- ETC. . . . 3'H
10 110. .MURRAY. 'STUinAN, TO.VSvJN, LINTOT," ETC. . . . 395,
f" ." rn.r.T OF J.JUN WU.LIAM Uli/.O HOPPNEll . ... 30 '
CONTKNTS. xl
THE IRISH AVATAT
P»re
Occasional PiEcrs — cwfinued.
STANZAS 70 TUH PO o96
EPIGRAM. FHOM THE FP.ENCH OF UOLIil^RES 398
SONNET lO :;EOKGr. rV. ON THE REPEAL OP LORD EDV/AHD PITZGI'RALD'S
rORFEITCUE 399
stanzjs. "could lovs for IVl-R," EIC 3P0
ON MT wr.DDI;,"i; DAT 402
KPITAPU FOK WIIL'.AM PITT 402
EPIGRAM. "IN DIGCINa UP YOUR EONiS/* ETC 403
SrANZAo. " WHE;I a man hath no Fl'.ESDO^r," ETC. . ^ . , 403
EPIGRAM. "THE WORLD 13 A BUNDLE OF LlXY," ETC 403
THE CHARITY BALL 404
EPIGRAM ON THE BRAZIERS COMPANT H^VIN.i RESULTED TO i'RESK.N'i;
AN ADDRf:SS TO qUEBN CAr^OLINE 404
EPIGRAM ON MY WEDDING-DAY. TO P£N ELOPE 404
ON MY THIRTY-THIRD BIRTUDAY 405
MARTIAL, ITB I., EFIG. I. ........ . 405
BO^VLES AND CAMl'EELL .,.,...... 405
EFIGKA5LS ON CA3TLEREAGH . 406
EPITAPH ON T1T£ SAME .......... 406
JOHN KliAIS
THE CONQUKST ......•.•••
406
407
TO MR. MCr.nvY. "FOR OlU'OKD iNI) FOP. Vt-ALDEGK\TE " . , . 407
. . 403
STANZAS "WRITTEN O!- THE RO\D BETV.EtN FLORENCE AND ri3A . . 412
STANZAS TO A HINDOO Alil . . . 413
IMPROMP'ilT
TO THE C07J>TES.S OF BLESSING '"ON .......
ON TKEi DAY I COMPLErE KY TElP.l Y-sIiTB YEAB .... 415
414
414
THE
M 1 i / .
POETIC A L W 0 II K S
OF
LOED BYKON
IN SIX VOLUMES.— VOL. IL
A NEW EDITION.
WITH fORTKAIT.
LONDON :
JOHN INIUr.RAY, ALBEMAELE STREET.
1879.
455G
V.2
LONDON :
BKAl3BVtlV, Ar.NEW, & CO.. PRINTERS, WHIl EFXIARS.
-^^Vp/f'
ODE TO NAPOLEON BUOMPAPJE
"Expende Aanibalem : — quot libras in duce sunimo
Invenies?" — Juvenal, Sat. x.*
"The Emperor Nepos was acknowledged by the Senate, by the Italians,
and by the Provincials of Gaid ; his moral virtues, and military talents, were
loudly celebrated ; and those who derived any private benefit from his govern-
ment announced in prophetic strains the restoration of public felicity. * *
By this shameful abdication, he protracted his life a few years, iu a very
ambiguous state, between an Emperor and an ExUe, till ." — Gibbon's
Decline and Fall, vol. vi., p. 220. t
* ["Great Hannibal withiu the balance lay,
And tell how many pounds his ashes weigh." — Dp.yden.
Sir .Tfihn Paterson had the curiosity to weigh the ashes of a person discovered a few
years since iu the parish of lilccles. Wonderful to relate, he fniiud the whole did not
exceed iu weight one ouuce and a half! Alas ! the quot libras itself is a satirical
exaggeration. — Gifford.]
t f"I send you an adilitional motto from Gibbon, which you will find singularly
appropriate."— ik)rcJ B. to Mr. Murray, April 12, ISH.]
VOL. ir.
IXTEODTJCTION TO THE ODE TO NAPOLEON
BUONAPARTE.
On the morning of the ninth of April, 1814, Lord Byron reiterated the resolution
he formed, on the publication of "The Corsair," to cease from versifying till he was
turned of thirty. "No more rhyme for — or rather from — me. I have taken my
leave of the stage, and henceforth will mountehank it no longer." In the evening
came the news of the abdication of Fontainebleau, and the next day the poet violated
his vow by composing this Ode. It originally consisted of only eleven stanzas, and the
subsequent additions, which were requested by Mr. Murray to avoid the stamp duty
then imposed on a single sheet, are of an inferior cast. The three last stanzas were
never printed during the poet's life. "I don't," he said, "like them at all, and they
had better be left out. The fact is I can't do anything I am asked to do, however
gladly I would; and at the end of a week my interest in a composition goes off."
While refusing in the face of his total-abstinence pledge to put his name to the Ode,
he directed Mr. Murray to proclaim openly whose it was, and declared his intention of
incorporating it with his avowed productions. "Nothing," he said, "but the occa-
sion which was 'physically irresistible made me swerve ; and I thought an anonynie
within my pact with the public." He was prophetic as well as poetic on the event.
"I shall think higher of rhyme and reason, and very humbly of your heroic people,
till — Ella become a volcano, and se7ids him out ar/ain. I can't think it all over
yet." Southey confessed that there was in the "Ode to Napoleon," as in all Lord
BjTon'e poems, great spirit and originality, though the meaning was not always
clearly developed— which is strong praise from a hostile quarter, however inadequate
to the merits of a piece that contains such grand and energetic stanzas. Lord Byron
once asked Southey in conversation if he did not think Napoleon a great man in his
Tillany. The Laureate replied, " No— that he was a mean-minded villain," and on
the publication of the Ode he exclaimed that Lord Byron had come round to this
opinion. With Southey's conception of the character of Napoleon we have nothing to
do, but we can see no ground for his imputing a change of sentiment to Lord Byron,
who appears to us to have been consistent with himself. To .«ay that a person is a
ffieat man, and a villain, can only signify that he is intellectually great, and morally
tlie reverse— an estimate confirmed and not contradicted by the Ode. The main
objection to the poet's doctrine is that he adopts an unworthy standard of heroism
when he inveighs against Napoleon for refusing to fling away life with fortune, which,
—not to urge any liigher argument,— is the resource of the cowardly, the feeble-
minded, and the insane.
i
ODE TO NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE.
I.
'Tis done — but yesterday a King !
And arm'd with Kings to strive — •
And now thou art a nameless thing :
So abject — yet alive !
Is tills the man of thousand thrones,
AY ho strewed our earth with hostile bones.
And can he thus survive ? '
Since he, miscall'd the Morning Star,
Nor man nor fiend hath fallen so far.
n.
Ill-minded man ! why scourge thy kind
Who bow'd so low the knee ?
By gazing on thyself grown blind,
Thou tanght'st the rest to see.
With might unquestion^l, — power to save, —
Thine only gift hath been the grave.
To those that worshipp'd thee ;
Nor till thy fall could mortals guess
Ambition's less than littleness !
' [" I don't know — but I think 7, even I (an insect compared with this creature),
have set my life on casts not a millionth part of this man's. But, after all, a crown
may not be worth dying for. Yet, to outlive Lodi for this ! ! ! Oh that Juvenal or
Johnson could rise from the dead ! 'Expende — quot libras in duce summo invenies V
b2
ODE TO NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE.
III.
Thanks for that lesson— it will teacli
To after-warriors more,
Than high rhilosopliy can preach,
Ami vainly preach'd before. i
That spell upon the minds of men I
Breaks never to unite again, |
That led them to adore j
Those Pagod things of sabre sway, ;
"With fronts of brass, and feet of clay. j
i
I
The triumph, and the vanity, j
The rapture of the strife — * \
The earthquake voice of Victory, j
To thee the breath of life ; j
The sword, the sceptre, and that sway j
Wiiich man seem'd made but to obey, |
Wherewith renown was rife — i
All quelFd ! — Dark Spirit ! what must be |
The madness of thy memory !
V.
Tlic Desobtor desolate !
The Victor overthrown !
The Arbiter of others' fate
A Suppliant for his own !
Is it some yet imperial hope
That with such cliange can calmly cope?
Or dread of death alone ?
To die a prince — or live a slave —
Thy choice is most ignobly brave !
I knew they were light in the balance of mortality ; hut I thought their living dust
weighed more carais. Alas ! this imperial diamond hath a flaw iu it, and is now
liardly fit to slick in a glazier's pencil ; — the jien of the historian won't rate it worth a
d\ic.it. Psha ! 'something too much of this.' But I won't give him up even now;
though all liis admirers have, like the Thanes, fallen from him." — Byron Diary,
April 9.]
* "Ccrtaminia r/anrllc" — the expression of Attila in his harangue to liis army,
previous to tlie battle of Chalons, given in Cassiodorus.
ODE TO NArOLEON BUONAPARTE. 6
vr.
He who of old would rend the oak,
Dreamed not of the rebound ; ^
ChainM by the trunk he vainly broke — -
Alone — how lookM he round ?
Thou, in the sternness of thy strength.
An equal deed hast done at length,
And darker fate hast found :
He fell, the forest prowlers' prey ;
But thou must eat thy heart away !
vir.
The Roman/ when his burning heart
Was slaked with blood of Rome,
Threw down the dagger — dared depart.
In savage grandeur, home. —
He dared depart in utter scorn
Of men that such a yoke had borne,
Yet left him such a doom !
His only glory was that hour
Of self- upheld abandoned power.
Till.
The Spaniard, when the lust of sway
Plad lost its quickening spell.
Cast crowns for rosaries away.
An empire for a cell ;
A strict accountant of his beads,
A subtle disputant on creeds.
His dotage trifled well : '
Yet better had he neither known
A bigot's shrine, nor despot's throne.
' ["Like Milo, lie would rend the oak ; but it closed again, wedged his hands, and
now the beasts — lion, bear, down to the dii-tiest jackal — may all tear him.'' —
B. Diary, April 8.]
* Sylla. — [We find the germ of this stanza in the Diary of the evening before it was
written : — " Methinks Sylla did better ; for he revenged, and resigned in the height of
his sway, red with the slaughter of his foes — the finest instance of glorioua contempt of
the rascals upon record. Dioclesian did well too — Amurath not amiss, had he become
aught except a dei-vise — Charles the Fifth but so so ; but Napoleon worst of all." —
B. Diary, April 9.]
* [Charles the Fifth resigned, in 1555, his imperial crown to his brother Ferdinand,
ODE TO NAPOLEON jiUONArARTE.
IX.
But thou— from tliy reluctant hand
The thunderbolt is wrung —
Too late thou leav'st the high command
To which thy weakness clung ;
All Evil Spirit as thou art,
It is enough to grieve the heart
To see thine own unstrung ;
To think that God's fair world hath been
The footstool of a thing so mean 3
X. i
And Earth hath spilt her blood for him,
^Vho thus can hoard his own !
And Monarchs bow'd the trembling limb.
And thank'd him for a throne !
Fair Freedom ! we may hold thee dear,
'^Vhen thus thy mightiest foes their fear
In humblest guise have shown.
Oh ! ne'er may tyrant leave behind
A brighter name to lure mankind !
XI.
Thine evil deeds are w^it in gore^
Nor written thus in vain —
Thy triumphs tell of fame no more.
Or deepen every stain :
If thou hadst died as honour dies.
Some new Napoleon might arise,
To shame the world again —
liut who would ^oar the solar height,
To set in such a starless night ? ^
and the kinpdom of Spain to his son Philip, and retii-ed to a monastery in Estrema-
diim, whfie lie confMriiied to all the rigour of monastic ansttrity. Not sati.sfied with
thjjt, he dre«ned liiiiiKolf in his sliroud, was laid iu liis coffin, joined in the prayers
whi.li w.Tc r.iTcred up for llic rest of liis soul, and mingled liis tears with those which
hilt atl<.n<laiit« bliu<l, txa if tlicy liad been celebrating a real funeral.]
[" But who would rise in brightest day
To set witliout one parting rny ?"' — MS.]
ODE TO NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 7
XII.
"Weigli'd in tlie balance, hero dust
Is vile as vulgar clay ;
Thy scales, Mortality ! are just
To all that pass away :
But yet inethought the living great
Some higher sparks should animate.
To dazzle and dismay :
Nor deem'd Contempt could thus make mirth
Of these, the Conquerors of the earth.
XIII.
And she, proud Austria's mournful flower.
Thy still imperial bride ;
How bears her breast the torturing hour ?
Still clings she to thy side ?
Must she too bend, must she too share
Thy late repentance, long despair.
Thou throneless Homicide ?
If still she loves thee, hoard that gem, —
'Tis worth thy vanished diadem ! '
XIV.
Then haste thee to thy sullen Isle,
And gaze upon the sea ;
That element may meet thy smile —
It ne'er was ruled by thee !
Or trace with thine all idle hand
In loitering mood upon the sand
That Earth is now as free !
That Corinth's pedagogue' hath now
Transferr'd his by-word to thy brow.
' [It is well known that Count Neipperg, a gentleman in the suite of the Emperor of
Austria, who was first presented to Maria Louisa within a few days after Napoleon's
abdication, became, in the sequel, her chamberlain, and tlien her husband. He is said
to have been remarkably plain. The Count died in 1831.]
* [" Dionysius at Corinth was yet a king to this." — B. Diary, April 9. Dionysius
the Younger, esteemed a greater tyrant than his fathei-, on being for the second time
banished from Syracuse, retired to Corinth, where he was obliged to turn schoolmaster
for a subsistence. ]
8 ODE TO NAPOLEON BUONAPAKTE.
XV.
Thou Tiinoiif! in In's captives cage'
What thi)Ughts will there be thine,
AVhilt! brooding in thy i)rison'(l rage?
Hut one — " The world was mine ! "
Unless, like he of JSab} Ion,
All souse is with thy sceptre gone.
Life will not long conliue
That spirit pourM so widely forth —
So lung obe3'd — so little worth !
XVI.
Or, like the thief of fire from heaven,'
Wilt thou withstand the shock?
Aiul share with him, the unforgiven.
His vulture and his rock !
Foredoom'd by God — by man accurst,'
Ami that last net, though not thy worst, \
The very Fieiurs arch mock ; ^
He in his fall preserved his pride,
And, if a mortal, had as proudly died !
XVII.
There was a day — there was an hou.r,
While earth was Gaul's — Gaul thine —
^^ hen that immeasurable power
Unsated to resign
Had been an act of purer fame
Than gathers round Marengo's name
And gilded thy decline.
Through the long twilight of all time,
Despile some passing clomls of crime.
» The .-ap- of Rajazft, by order of Tamerlane. » Prometheus,
• rin thf ..rst diaiiglit —
" lie suffered for kind acts to men,
\\ h(i have not seen his like again,
At least of kingly stoek ;
Since he was good, and thou but great,
Thou canst not quarrel with thy fate."]
' "The very fiend's arch mock —
To lip a wanU,n, and suppose her chaste."— Shakspeare.
ODE TO NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE.
XVIII.
But thou forsooth must be a king.
And don the purple vest.
As if that foohsh robe could wring
Eemembrance from thy breast.
Where is that faded garment ? where
The gewgaws thou wert fond to wear.
The star, the string, the crest?
Vaiu froward child of empire ! say.
Are all thy playthings snatch'd away ?
XIX.
Where may the wearied eye repose
When gazing on the Great;
Where neither guilty glory glows,
Nor despicable state?
Yes — one — the first — the last — the best-
The Cincinnatus of the West,
Whom envy dared not hate,
Bequeath'd the name of Washington,
To make man blush there was but ojie !
HEBEEW MELODIES.
ADVERTISEMENT.
The subsequent poems were written at the request of my friend,
the Hon. Douglas Kinnaird, for a Selection of Hebrew Melodies,
and have been published, with the music, arranged by ]\fr. Braham
and Mr. Nathan.
January, 1815,
INTRODUCTION TO THE HEBTIEW MELODIES.
TnK "Hebrew Melodies" were written in London in the autumn of 1814. The
immense difficulty of sacred poetry is apparent from the many men of genius who have
ntteuiptod it with only moderate success. The sublime and affecting ideas involved
in the theme being already expressed in Scriptm-e with unrivalled power, and familiar
t.1 us from childhood, it is neither easy to call up thoughts which have the sem-
blance of originality, nor to clothe them in language which will bear to be tried by
the lofty standard of inspired song. Lord Byron wisely resolved not to walk in the
cunfined and trodden circle of devotional strains. He had the whole Jewish history
oi)eu to his choice, and his text is in general those martial, patriotic, and domestic
circumstances which allow the imagination its freest range. In spite of the judgment
with wliich he selected his subjects, some of Lord Byron's acquaintances thought the
"Hebrew Melodies" below his reputation, pretending, with jesting exaggeration, to
jirefer Stcrnhold and Hopkins ; nor were they received very favourably by the public,
in i)art, perhaps, from their expecting in songs the stirring power of his longer
compositions. The poet himself did not look back upon them with much complacency.
"Sunburn Nathan 1" he broke out, when Moore ridiculed the manner in which the
" Melodies" were set to Music — " why do you always twit me with his vile Ebrew
nasalities ? Have I not told you it was all Kiunaird's doing, and my own exquisite
fa<'ility of temper?" Subsequently Jeffrey stated in the Edinburgh Review that
though obviously inferior to Lofd Byron's other works, they displayed a skill in versi-
ficjition, and a mastery in diction which would have raised an inferior artist to the
summit of distinction, — a judgment most gratifying to the poet, who said it was very
kind in his critic to like them. A second admirer of the "Hebrew Melodies" —
Mrs. Grant, the author of the "Letters from the Mountains " — on reading the ex-
quisitely jiathetic piece, "Oh weep for those that wept by Babel's stream," was
unnble to resist the literal fulfilment of the poet's invocation. The most plaintive and
I»oetic passages, indeed, are those which relate to the wanderings of the Jews, and the
thinl stanza of " The Wild Gazelle" is another mournful note struck on the same
string which might no less "ope the sacred source of sympathetic tears." Had all
lK.«n final to what is best, the "Hebrew Melodies" must soon have excited universal
adminitiun, but the majority of them .are somewhat tame in sentiment, and one or
two, like "Jephtha's Daughter," are not fai: removed from the school of Sternhold.
HEBREW MELODIES.
SHE WALKS IN BEAUTY.^
She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies ;
And all that's best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes :
Thus mellowM to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.
[T.
One shade the more, one ray the less.
Had half impaired the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress,
Or softly lightens o'er her face ;
Where thoughts serenely sweet express,
How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.
III.
And on that cheek, and o'er that brow.
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent.
The smiles that win, the tints that glow.
But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent !
[These stanzas were wi-itten by Lord Byron, on returning from a ball where Lady
Wilmot Horton had appeared in moxirning, with numerous spangles on her dress.]
1 I
1(5 HEBREW ]\tELODIES.
TflE HARP THE MONARCH MINSTREL SWEPT.
I.
The harp tlie inoiiarcli minstrel swept,
The Kiiiir of men, the loved of Heaven,
Which Music hallowM while she wept
O'er tones her heart of hearts had given,
Eedoubled be her tears, its chords are riven !
It soften'd men of iron mould,
It gave them virtues not their own ;
No ear so dull, no soul so cold,
That felt not, fired not to the tone.
Till David's Ipe grew mightier than liis throne !
II.
It told the triumphs of our King,
It wafted glory to our God;
It made our gladden'd valleys ring.
The cedars bow, the mountains nod;
Its sound aspired to heaven and there abode!*
Since then, though heard on earth no more,
Devotion and her daughter Love
Still bid the bursting spirit soar
To souiuls that seem as from above.
In dreams that day's broad light can not remove.
IF THAT HIGH WORLD.
I.
If that high world, which lies beyond
Our own, surviving Love endears;
If there the cherish'd heart be fond.
The eye the same, except in tears —
* \" When Lord Byron put the manuscript into my hand, it terminated with this line.
Ab thi«, however, did not comiilete the verse, I asked him to hel)) out the melody. He
rc-flii-d, • Why, I have sent you to heaven— it would be dillicult to go further ! ' My
MU-ntion for n few minutes was called to some other person, and his Lordship, whom I
l.a-l hanlly miKs<?,l, exclaimed, ' Here, Nathan, I have l>nmj;lit you down again ;' and
immcdiaU-Iy presented me the beautiful lines which conclude the melody."— Nathan.]
HEBREW MELODIES. 17
How welcome those untrodden spheres !
How sweet this very hour to die !
To soar from earth and find all fears
Lost in thy light — Eternity !
II.
It must be so : 'tis not for self
That we so tremble on the brink ;
And striving to overleap the gulf,
Yet chng to Being's severing link.
Oh ! in that future let us think
To hold each heart the heart that shares,
With them the immortal waters drink.
And soul in soul grow deathless theirs !
THE WILD GAZELLE.
The wild gazelle on Judah's hills
Exulting yet may bound,
And drink from all the living rills
That gush on holy ground ;
Its airy step and glorious eye
May glance in tameless transport by : —
II.
A step as fleet, an eye more bright.
Hath Judah witness'd there;
And o'er her scenes of lost delight
Inhabitants more fair.
The cedars wave on Lebanon,
But Judah's statelier maids are gone !
III.
More blest each palm that shades those plain?
Than Israel's scatter'd race;
For, taking root, it there remains
In solitary grace :
It cannot quit its place of birth,
It will not live in other earth.
VOL. II,
J 8 HEBREW MELODIES.
IV.
But we must wander witheringly,
In other lands to die ; I
And where our fathers' ashes be, j
Our own may never lie :
Oar tem]ile hath not left a stone, j
And j\lockery sits on Salem's throne. |
OH! WEEP FOR THOSE.
I.
Oh ! weep for those that wept by Babel's stream,
AYhose shrines are desolate, whose land a dream ;
Weep for the harp of Judah's broken shell ;
I^Iouni — where their God hath dwelt the godless dwell !
II.
And where shall Israel lave her bleeding feet ?
And when shall Zion's songs again seem sweet ?
And Judah's melody once more rejoice
The hearts that Icap'd before its heavenly voice?
III.
Tribes of the wandering foot and weary breast.
How shall ye flee away and be at rest !
The wild-dove hath her nest, the fox his cave,
Mankind their country — Israel but the grave !
ON JORDAN'S BANKS.
On Jordan's baidvs the Arab's camels stray.
On Sion's hill the False One's votaries pray.
The Baal-adorer bows on Sinai's steep —
Yet there — even there— Oh God ! thy thunders sleep
HEBREW MELODIES. 19
II.
There — where thy finger scorcli'd the tablet stone !
There — where thy shadow to thy people shone !
Thy glory shrouded in its garb of fire :
Thyself — none living see and not expire !
in.
Oh ! in the lightning let thy glance appear ;
Sweep from his shiver'd hand the oppressor's spear !
How long by tyrants shall thy land be trod ?
How long thy temple worshipless, Oh God ?
JEPHTHA'S DAUGHTER,
Since our Country, our God — Oh, my Sire !
Demand that thy Daugliter expire ;
Since thy triumph was bought by thy vow —
Strike the bosom that's bared for thee now !
ir.
And the voice of my mourning is o'er.
And the mountains behold me no more
If the hand that I love lay me low.
There cannot be pain in the blow !
HI.
And of this, oh, my Father ! be sure —
That the blood of thy child is as pure
As the blessing I beg ere it flow,
And the last thought that soothes me below.'
' [Jephtha vowed, if lie was victorious over the Ammonites, that whatever came
forth from his house to meet him should be ofiered for a burnt offering. His daughter
was the first to greet him, and at her own request — after bewailing her childless lot
two months upon the mountains — she was sacrificed by her father. This is the version
of the Bible history adopted by Lord Byron ; but according to another interpretation,
which agrees equally well with the original Hebrew of the vow, and better with the
general tenor of the narrative, she was merely devoted to a single life. ]
c 2
: 1
20 HEBREW MELODIES.
IV.
Tliougli the virgins of Salem lament,
Be ilic judge and the hero unbent !
I have won the great battle for thee,
And my Tather and Country are free
When this blood of thy gi\nng hath gush'd,
When the voice that thou lovest is hush'd,
Let my memory still be thy pride.
And forget not I smiled as I died !
^a"^
OH! SNATCH'D AWAY IN BEAUTY'S BLOOM.
I.
Oil ! snatchM away in beauty's bloom.
On thee shall press no ponderous tomb ;
But on thy turf shall roses rear
Their leaves, the earliest of the year ;
And the wild cypress wave in tender gloom :
II.
And oft by yon blue gushing stream
Sliall Sorrow lean her drooping head.
And feed deep thouglit with many a dream.
And lingering pause and lightly tread ;
Fond ^Yretch ! as if her step disturbed the dead :
III.
Away ! we know that tears are vam,
Tliat deatli nor heeds nor hears distress :
Will tliis unteach us to complain ?
Or make one mourner weep the less ?
And thou — who tell'st me to forget.
Thy looks are wan, thine eyes are wet.
HEBREW MELODIES. 21
MY SOUL IS DARK.
My soul is dark — Oh ! quickly string
The harp I yet can brook to hear ;
A nd let thy gentle fingers fling
Its melting murmurs o'er mine ear.
1 r in tliis heart a hope be dear.
That sound shall charm it forth again :
If in these eyes there lurk a tear,
'Twill flow, and cease to burn my brain.
II.
But bid the strain be wild and deep.
Nor let thy notes of joy be first :
I tell thee, minstrel, I must weep.
Or else this heavy heart wiU burst ;
For it hath been by sorrow nursed.
And ach'd in sleepless silence long;
And now 'tis doom'd to know the worst.
And break at once — or yield to song."
I SAW THEE WEEP.
I.
I SAW thee weep — the big bright tear
Came o'er that eye of blue ;
And then methought it did appear
A violet dropping dew :
I saw thee smile — the sappliire's blaze
Beside thee ceased to shine ;
It could not match the living rays
That fill'd that glance of thine.
* ["It was generally conceived that Lord Byron's reported singularities approached
on some occasions to derangement ; and at one period, indeed, it was very currently
asserted that his intellects were actually impaired. The report only served to amuse
liis Lordship. He referred to the circumstance, and declared that he would try how a
madman could write : seizing the pen with eagerness, he for a moment fixed his eyes
In majestic wildness on vacancy ; when, like a flash of inspiration, without erasing a
single word, the above verses were the result." — Nathan.]
S3
HEBREW MELODIES.
ir.
As clouds from yonder sun receive
A deep and mellow dye,
■Which scarce the shade of coming eve
Can banish from the sky,
Those smiles unto the moodiest mind
Their own pure joy impart ;
Their sunshine leaves a glow behind
That lightens o'er the heart.
THY DAYS ARE DONE.
I.
Thy days are done, thy fame begun ;
Thy country's strains record
The triumphs of her chosen Son,
The slaughters of his sword !
The deeds he did, the fields he won.
The freedom he restored !
II.
Though thou art fall'n, while we are free
Thou shalt not taste of death !
The generous blood that flow'd from thee
Disdain'd to sink beneath :
AVithin our veins its currents be,
Thy spirit on our breath !
in.
Thy name, our charging hosts along.
Shall be the battle-word !
Tliy fall, the theme of choral song
Trom virgin voices pour'd !
To weep would do tiiy glory wrong :
Thou shalt not be deplored.
I
HEBREW MELODIES. 23
SAUL.
Thou whose spell can raise the dead,
Bid the prophet's form appear.
" Samuel, raise thy buried head !
Kino;, behold the phantom seer \"
Earth ^-awn'd ; he stood the centre of a cloud :
Light changed its hue, retiring from his shroud.
Death stood all glassy in his fixed eye ;
His hand was witherM, and his veins were dry ;
His foot, in bony whiteness, glitter' d there.
Shrunken and sinewless, and ghastly bare;
Trom lips that moved not and unbreathing frame,
Like cavern'd winds, the hollow accents came.
Saul saw, and fell to earth, as falls the oak.
At once, and blasted by the thunder-stroke.
II.
" Wliy is my sleep disquieted ?
Who is he that calls the dead?
Ts it thou, 0 King ? Behold,
Bloodless are these limbs, and cold :
Such are mine ; and such shall be
Thine to-morrow, when with me :
Ere the coming day is done.
Such shalt thou be, such thy Son.
Fare thee well, but for a day.
Then we mix our mouldering clay.
Thou, thy race, lie pale and low.
Pierced by shafts of many a bow ;
And the falchion by thy side
To thy heart thy hand shall guide :
Crownless, breathless, headless fall.
Son and sire, the house of Saul !"''
^ ["Since we have spoken of witches," said Lord Byron at Cephalonia, in 1823,
" what think you of the witch of Endor ? I have always thought this the finest and
most finished witch-scene that ever was written or conceived ; and you will be of my
ojinion, if you consider all the circumstances and the actors in the case, together with
the gi'avity, simplicity, and dignity of the language."]
p
24 HEBREW MELODIES.
SONG OF SAUL BEFORE HIS LAST BATTLE.
z.
"Warriors and chiefs ! should the shaft or the sword
Pierce me in leading the host of the Lord,
Heed not the corse, though a king's, in your path •_
Bury jour steel in the bosoms of Gath !
n.
Thou who art bearing my buckler and bow.
Should the soldiers of Saul look away from the foe,
Stretch me that moment in blood at thy feet !
Mine be the doom which they dared not to meet.
III.
Farewell to others, but never we part,
I [eir to my royalty, son of my heart !
Jjright is the diadem, boundless the sway.
Or kingly the death, which awaits us to-day !
"ALL IS VANITY, SAITH THE PEEACHER.'^
I.
Tame, wisdom, love, and power were mine.
And health and youth possessed me ;
My goblets blusliM from every vine.
And lovely forms caress'd me;
I sunnM my heart in beauty's eyes.
And felt my soul grow tender ;
All earth can give, or mortal prize,
Was mine of regal splendour.
II.
I strive to number o'er what days
Kcmeiiibrance can discover,
^Vlli(•ll nil that life or earth displays
Would lure me to live over.
HEBREW MELODIES. 25
There rose no day, tliere roll'd no liour
Of pleasure unembitter'd ;
And not a trapping decked my pouer
That gaird not while it glitterM.
III.
The serpent of the field, by art
And spells, is won from harming;
But that which coils around the heart.
Oh ! who hath power of charming?
It will not list to wisdom^s lore.
Nor music's voice can lure it ;
But there it stings for evermore
The soul that must endure it.
WHEN COLDNESS WRAPS THIS SUFFERING CLAY.
I.
When coldness wraps this suffering clay.
Ah ! whither strays the inmiortal mind ?
It cannot die, it cannot stay.
But leaves its darken^ dust behind.
Then, uuembodied, doth it trace
By steps each planet's heavenly way ?
Or fill at once the realms of space,
A tiling of eyes, that all survey ?
II.
Eternal, boundless, undecay'd,
A thought unseen, but seeing all.
All, all in earth, or skies displayed.
Shall it survey, shall it recall :
Each fainter trace that memory holds
So darkly of departed years.
In one broad glance the soul beholds.
And all, that was, at once appears.
26 HEBREW MELODIES.
III.
Before Creation peopled earth.
Its eye shall roll through chaos back :
And where the furthest heaven had birth,
The spirit trace its rising track.
And where the future mars or makes,
Its glance dilate o'er all to be.
While sun is quencliM or system breaks,
Fix'd in its own eternity.
IV.
Above or Love, Hope, Hate, or Fear,
It lives all passionless and pure :
An age shall fleet like earthly year ;
Its years as moments shall endure.
Away, away, without a wing,
O'er all, through all, its thought shall fly,
A nameless and eternal thing,
Forgetting what it was to die.
I
VISION OF BELSHAZZAR
I.
The King was on his throne.
The satraps throng'd the Jiall
A thousand bright lamps shone
O'er that high festival.
A thousand cups of gold.
In Judah decm'd divine —
Jehovah's vessels hold
The godless Heathen's wine !
II.
In that same hour and hall,
The fingers of a hand
Came forth against the wall,
And wrote as if on sand ;
HEBREW MELODIES. i7
The fingers of a man; —
A solitary hand
Along the letters ran,
And traced them like a waud.
III.
The monarch saw, and shook.
And bade no more rejoice ;
All bloodless wax^'d his look.
And tremulous his voice.
" Let the men of lore appear.
The wisest of the earth.
And expound the words of fear.
Which mar our royal mirth.'*
IT.
Chaldea's seers are good.
But here they have no skill ;
And the unknown letters stood
Untold and awful still.
And Babel's men of age
Are wise and deep in lore ;
But now they were not sage.
They saw — but knew no more.
V.
A captive in the land,
A stranger and a youth.
He heard the king's command,
He saw that writing's truth.
The lamps around were bright.
The prophecy in view ;
He read it on that night, —
The morrow proved it true.
VI.
" Belshazzar's grave is made.
His kingdom pass'd away,
He, in the balance weigh' d.
Is light and worthless clay ;
88 HEBREW MELODIES.
Tlic shroud, his robe of state.
His canopy the stone;
The Mede is at his gate !
The Persian on his throne ! *'
SUN OF THE SLEEPLESS!
Sun of the sleepless ! melancholy star !
Whose tearful beam glows tremulously far.
That shoVst the darkness thou canst not dispel.
How like art thou to joy rememberM well!
So gleams tlie past, the light of other days.
Which shines, but warms not with its powerless ravs ;
A }iight-beam Sorrow watcheth to behold.
Distinct, but distant — clear — but, oh how cold !
WERE MY BOSOM AS FALSE AS THOU DEEM'ST IT TO BE.
I.
Wjkre my bosom as false as thou deem'st it to be,
I need not have M'ander'd from far Galilee;
It was but abjuring my creed to efface
The curse Mhich, thou say'st, is the crime of my race.
II.
If the bad never triumph, then God is with thee !
If tlie slave only sin, thou art spotless and free !
If the Exile on earth is' an Outcast on high.
Live on in thy faith, but in mine I will die.
III.
I liave lost for that faith more than thou canst bestow.
As the God who permits thee to prosper doth know;
In ins liand is my lieait and my hope— and in thine
riic land and the life which for him 1 resign.
HEBREW MELODIES. 2i)
EIEKOD'S LAMENT FOE MARIAMNE."
I.
Oh, Mariamue ! now for thee
The heart for which thou blecFst is bleeding ;
Beveiige is lost in agony
And wild remorse to rage succeeding.
Oh, Mariamne ! where art thou ?
Thou canst not hear my bitter pleading :
Ah ! could'st thou — thou would'st pardon now.
Though Heaven were to my prayer unheeding.
II.
And is she dead ? — and did they dare
Obey my frenzy's jealous raving ?
My wrath but doom'd my own despair :
The sword that smote her 's o'er me waving. —
But thou art cold, my murder' d love !
And this dark heart is vainly craving
For her who soars alone above.
And leaves my soul unworthy saving.
III.
She's gone, who shared my diadem ;
She sunk, with her my joys entombing ;
I swept that flower from Judah's stem.
Whose leaves for me alone were blooming ;
And mine's the guilt, and mine the hell.
This bosom's desolation dooming;
And I have earn'd those tortures well,
Which unconsumed are still consuming !
'' [M.iriamBe, the wife of Herod tlie Great, falling under the suspicion of infidelity,
■was jjut to death by his order. Ever after, Herod was haunted by the image of the
muidered Mariamne, until disorder of the mind brought on disorder of body, which
led to temporary derangement. — Milman. — When Lord Byron was in the midst of the
altercations with his own wife, he asked Mr. Nathan to sing him this melody, and
listened to it with an air of romantic regret.]
30 HEBREW MELODIES.
ON THE DAY OF THE DESTRUCTION OF JERUSALEM
BY TITUS.
From the last hill that looks on thy once holy dome,
i belield thee, oli Sion ! when render'd to Rome :
'Twas thy last sun went down, and the flames of tliy fall
riash'd back on the last glance I gave to thy wall.
II.
I lookM for thy temple, I look'd for my home.
And forgot for a moment my bondage to come;
I beheld but the death-fire that fed on thy fane,
And the fast-fetter'd hands that made vengeance in vain.
III.
On many an eve, the high spot whence I gazed
Had reflected the last beam of day as it blazed ;
AYhile I stood on the height, and beheld the decline
Of the rays from the mountain that shone on thv shrine.
IV.
And now on that mountain I stood on that day.
But I mark'd not the twilight beam melting away ;
Oil ! would that the lightning had glared in its stead.
And the thunderbolt burst on the conqueror's head !
V.
But the Gods of the Pagan shall never profane
The shrine where Jehovah disdained not to reign;
And scattered and scorn'^ as thy people may be.
Our worsliip, oh Father ! is only for thee.
HEBREW MELODIES, 31
BY THE RIVERS OF BABYLON WE SAT DOWN AND
WEPT.
We sate down and wept by the waters
Of Babel, and thought of the day
AVhen our foe, in the hue of his slaughters,
Made Salem's high places his prey ;
And ye, oh her desolate daughters !
Were scatter^ all weeping away.
II.
While sadly we gazed on the river
Which roll'd on in freedom below.
They demanded the song ; but, oh never
That triumph the stranger shall know !
May this right hand be witherM for ever.
Ere it string our high harp for the foe !
III.
On the willow that harp is suspended,
Oh Salem ! its sound should be free ;
And the hour when thy glories were ended
Eut left me that token of thee :
And ne'er shall its soft tones be blended
With the voice of the spoiler by me !
THE DESTRUCTION OF SENNACHERIB.
The Assyrian came down like the woK on the fold.
And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold ;
And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the sea.
When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee.
82 HEBREW MELODIES.
11.
Like the leaves of the forest when Summer is green,
That host with their banners at sunset were seen :
Like the leaves of the forest when Autumn hath blown,
That host on the morrow lay wither'd and strown.
III. ^
For the Angel of Death spread his wings on the blast, I
And breatliM in the face of the foe as he pass'd ; | l
And the eyes of the sleepers wax'd deadly and chill, '■ j
And their hearts but once heaved, and for ever grew still !
IT.
And there lay the steed with his nostril all wide.
But through it there roll'd not the breath of his pride ;
And the foam of his gasping lay white on the turf.
And cold as the spray of the rock-beating surf.
And there lay the rider distorted and pale,
"With the dew on his brow, and the rust on his mail :
And the tents were all silent, the banners alone.
The lances unlifted, the trumpet unblown.
VI.
And the widows of Asliur are loud in their wail.
And the idols are broke in the temple of Baal ;
And the might of the Gentile, unsmote by the sword.
Hath melted like snow in the glance of the Lord !
II
HEBREW MELODIES. 33
A SPIRIT PASS'D BEFORE ME.
FKOM JOB.
I.
A SPIRIT pass'd before me : I beheld
The face of immortality unveil' d —
Deep sleep came down on every eye save mine —
And there it stood, — all formless — but divine :
Along my bones the creeping flesh did quake ;
And as my damp hair stiffen'd, thus it spake :
ri.
" Is man more just than God ? Is man more pure
Than he who deems even Seraphs insecure ?
Creatures of clay — vain dwellers in the dust !
The moth survives you, and are ye more just ?
Things of a day ! you wither ere the night,
Heedless and blind to Wisdom's wasted light ! "
VOL. n.
I
DOMESTIC PIECES.
ISIO.
INTEODUCTION TO DOMESTIC PIECES.
Of the six "Domestic Pieces," tlie first three were written immediately before
Lord Byron's departure from England ; the others during his residence in the neigh-
bourhood of Geneva. They all refer to the unhappy separation of which the precise
causes are still a mystery, and which he declared to the last were never disclosed to
himself. He admitted that pecuniary embarrassments, disordered health, and dislike
to family restraints, had aggravated his naturally violent temper, and driven him to
excesses. He suspected that his mother-in-law had fomented the discord, — which Lady
Byron denies, — and that more was due to the malignant offices of the female dependant,
who is the subject of the bitterly satirical "Sketch." To these general statements
there can only be added the still vaguer allegations of Lady Byron, — that she conceived
his conduct to be the result of insanity, that the physician pronoimcing him responsible
for his actions she could submit to them no longer, and that Dr. Lushington, her legal
adviser, agreed that a reconciliation was neither proper nor possible. No weight can
be attached to the opinions of an opposing counsel upon accusations made by one
party behind the back of the other, who urgently demanded, and was pertinaciously
refused, the least opportunity of denial or defence. He rejected the proposal for an
amicable separation, but consented when threatened with a suit in Doctors' Commons.
This rupture, against his will, of the marriage bond produced the pathetic remonstrance
"Fare thee well," which Sir Walter Scott termed "a very sweet dirge indeed." Un-
known to Lord Byron it was sent to a newspaper, together with the "Sketch," about
the middle of April, by a too zealous friend, and was thought by some to be the
honest outbreak of natural feeling, and by others the artifice of a practised poet.
Moore at fii-st took the latter view, but changed his opinion on reading in Lord
Byron's memoranda that a swell of tender recollections, as he sat musing in his study,
gave birth to the "tanzas, which were penned, he said, weeping. The tear-blotted
manuscript confirms this account. If there were those who doubted whether " Fare
thee well" was written in sorrow, no one could question that the companion -piece,
entitled " A Sketch," was written in anger. It is a vivid and powerful portrait, and
whether deserved or not may be read with profit by every fawning slanderer who
inflames enmities in the name of friendship. Having tried in vain to persuade Lady
Byron to relent, the poet protested that "they were now divided for ever," but on
visiting Madame de Stael at Copet she reasoned the point with him, and, convinced
by her eloquence, he again endeavoured to eiFect an agreement. His overtures were
rejected, and it was immediately after his amicable advances had been repelled that
his indignation found vent in the " Lines on hearing that Lady Byron was ill." Her
uniform refusal of any explanation, her never answering his lettei's, nor holding out a
hope that theii- child might become a bond of union, exasperated him greatly, and it
38 INTRODUCTION TO DOMESTIC PIECES.
was tben that, to vex lier, he retaliated by the sarcasms which are scattered tlirough-
out bis works. At all other times, and iu every other particular, he praised her with
a genernu' and touching warmth. " I do not believe," he wrote to Bloore upon the
original outbreak, "and I must say it, in the very dregs of all this bitter business,
that there ever was a better, or even a brighter, a tenderer, or a more amiable
and agreeable being than Lady B. I never had, nor can have, any reproach to make
her wliile with me. Where there is blame it belongs to myself, and, if I cannot
redeem, I must bear it." Such was liis language to his dying hour, and while life
remained he fondly fancied that amity might yet be restored. It was not because
Lord Byron was a great poet that the world has any business v.ith his domestic feuds,
but by treating of them in his writings he made the public a party to the quarrel, and
it is equally impossible to pass it over iu silence or to pr'noimce upon it with
certainty.
DOMESTIC PIECES.
FAEE THEE WELL.
"Alas ! they had been friends in youtl; ;
But whispering tongues can poison truth
And constancy lives in realms above ;
And life is thorny ; and youth is vain ;
And to be wroth with one we love,
Doth work like madness in the brain ;
* » « *
But never either found another
To free the hollow heart from paining —
They stood aloof, the scars remaining,
Like cliffs which had been rent asunder ;
A dreary sea now flows between,
But neither heat, nor frost, nor thunder,
Shall wholly do away, I ween,
The marks of that which once hath been."
CoLEKiDGK'b ChristubcL
Tare tliee well ! and if for ever.
Still for ever, fare thee well :
Even tliougli unforgiving, never
'Gainst thee shall my heart rebel.
Would that breast were bared before thee
Where thy head so oft hath lain.
While that placid sleep came o'er thee
Which thou ne'er canst know again :
Would that breast, by thee glanced over,
Every inmost thought could shovv !
Then thou would' st at last discover
'Twas not well to spurn it so.
40 DOMESTIC PIECES.
Tlioiiiili the world for tliis coininend tliee —
Though it smile upon the blow,
Even its praises must offend thee,
Tounded on another's woe :
Tliouirli my many faults defaced me.
Could no other arm be found,
Than the one which once embraced me.
To inflict a cureless wound ?
Yet, oh yet, thyself deceive not ;
Love may sink by slow decay.
But by sudden wrench, believe not
Hearts can thus be torn away :
Still thine own its life retaineth,
Still must mine, though bleeding, beat;
And the undying thought which paineth
Is — that we no more may meet.
These are words of deeper sorrow
Than the wail above the dead ;
Both shall live, but every morrow
Wake us from a widow'd bed.
And when thou would'st solace gather,
When our child's first acccnts^flow.
Wilt thou teach her to say " Father ! "
Though his care she must forego ?
When her little hands shall press thee,
^ When her lip to thine is press'd.
Think of him whose prayer shall bless thee.
Think of him thy love had bless'd !
Should her lineaments resemlile
Those thou never more may'st see.
Then thy heart will softly tremble
^\ ilh a pulse yet true to me.
DOMESTIC PIECES. 41
All my faults percliaiice thou kiiowest.
All my madness none can know ;
All my hopes, where'er thou goest,
Witlier, yet with thee they go.
Every feeling hath been shaken ;
Pride, which not a world could bow.
Bows to thee — by thee forsaken.
Even my soul forsakes me now :
But 'tis done — all words are idle —
Words from me are vainer still ;
But the thoughts we cannot bridle
Force their way without the will.
Tare thee well ! thus disunited.
Torn from every nearer tie,
Sear'd in heart, and lone, and blighted.
More than this I scarce can die.
Marcli 17, 1816.
A SKETCH.'
" Honest— honest lago !
If that thou be'st a devil, I cannot kill thee. "
SUAKSPEARE.
Born in the garret, in the kitchen bred.
Promoted theiice to deck her mistress' head ;
Next — for some gracious service unexpress'd.
And from its wages only to be guess' d —
Raised from the toilet to the table, — where
Her wondering betters wait behind her chair.
With eye unmoved, and forehead unabash'd.
She dines from off the plate she lately \vash'd.
Quick with the tale, and ready with the lie.
The genial confidante, and general spy,
' ri send you my last night's dream, and request to have fifty copies struck oflF, for
privat-e distribution. I wish Mr. Gifford to look at them. They are from life." —
Lord B. to Mr. Murray, March 30, 1816.]
,j2 DOMESTIC PIECES.
VVlio could, ye gods ! her next eiuployment guess —
An only infant's earliest governess !
She taught the child to read, and taught so Avell,
That she herself, by teaching, learned to spell.
An adept next in penmanship she grows.
As many a nameless slander deftly shows :
AVhat she had made the pupil of her art,
None know — but that high Soul secured the heart,
And panted for the truth it coidd not hear,
"With longing breast and undeluded ear.
Foil'd was perversion by that youthful mind,
"Which Flattery fool'd not. Baseness could not blind.
Deceit infect not, near Contagion soil.
Indulgence weaken, nor Example spoil,
jVor inaster'd Science tempt her to look down
On humbler talents with a pitying frown.
Nor Genius swell, nor Beauty render vain,
Nor Envy ruffle to retaliate })ain,
Nor Eortune change, Pride raise, nor Passion bow,
Nor Virtue teach austerity — till now.
Serenely purest of her sex that live.
But wanting one sweet weakness — to forgive.
Too shocked at faults her soul can never know.
She deems that all could be like her beloAV :
Foe to all vice, yet hardly Virtue's friend,
Por Virtue pardons those she would amend.
But to the theme, now laid aside too long.
The baleful burthen of this honest song.
Though all her former functions are no more,
She rules the circle which she served before.
If mothers — none know why — before her quake ;
If daughters dread her'for the mothers' sake;
If early habits — those false links, which bind
At times the loftiest to the meanest mind — •
Have given her power too deeply to instil
The angry essence of her deadly will ;
If like a snake she steal within your walls.
Till the black sliuic betray her as she crawls;
1
DOMESTIC PIEfJES. 43
If like a viper to the heart she wind,
And leave the venom there she did not find ;
What marvel that this hag of hatred works
Eternal evil latent as she lurks.
To make a Pandemonium where she dvells,
A.nd reign the Hecate of domestic hells ?
Skill'd by a touch to deepen scandal's tints
"With all the kind mendacity of hints,
"While mingling truth with falsehood, sneers with smiles,
A thread of candour with a web of wiles;
A plain blunt show of brietly-spoken seeming,
To hide her bloodless heart's soul-hardeu'd scheming ;
A lip of lies ; a face form'd to conceal,
And, without feeling, mock at all who feel :
With a vile mask the Gorgon would disown, — •
A cheek of parchment, and an eye of stone.
Mark, how the channels of her yellow blood
Ooze to her skin, and stagnate there to mud.
Cased like the centipede in saffron mail.
Or darker greenness of the scorpion's scale —
(For drawn from reptiles only may we trace
Congenial colours in that soul or face) —
Look on her features ! and behold her mind
As in a mirror of itself defined :
Look on the picture ! deem it not o'ercharged—
There is no trait which might not be enlarged :
Yet true to " Nature's journeymen," who made
Tills monster when their mistress left off trade —
'lliis female dog-star of her little sky,
Wliere all beneath her inflaence droop or die.
Oh ! wretch without a tear — without a thought.
Save joy above the ruin thou hast wrought —
The time shall come, nor long remote, when thou
Shalt feel far more than thou inflictest now ;
Peel for thy vile self-loving self in vain,
And turn thee howling in unpitied pain.
May the strong curse of crush'd affections light
Back on thy bosom with reflected blight !
iSl
44 DOMESTIC PIECES.
And make thee in tliy leprosy of mind
As loathsome to thyself as to mankind !
Till all thy self-thoughts curdle into hate,
]31ack — as thy will for others would create :
Till thy hard heart be calcined into dust.
And thy soul welter in its hideous crust.
Oh, may thy grave be sleepless as the bed,
The widow'd couch of fire, that thou hast spread !
Then, when thou fain wouldst weary Heaven with prayer,
Look on thine earthly victims — and despair !
Down to the dust ! — and, as thou rott'st away.
Even worms shall perish on thy poisonous clay.
]3ut for the love I bore, and still must bear,
To her thy malice from all ties would tear —
Thy name — thy human name — to every eye
The climax of all scorn should hang on high,
Exalted o'er thy less abhorr'd compeers —
And festering^ in the infamy of years.
March 29, 1816.
STANZAS TO AUGUSTA.'
I.
When all arouiid grew drear and dark.
And reason half withheld her ray —
And hope but shed a dying spark
Which more misled my lonely way ;
II.
In that deep midnight of the mind,
And that internal strife of heart,
When dreading to be deem'd too kind.
The weak despair — the cold depart ;
2
[In first draught — "weltering." "I doubt about 'weltering.' We say 'weltering
in bluuJ ; ' but do they not also use ' weltering in the wind, ' ' weltering on a gibbet ? '
I have no dictionary, bo look. In the mean time, I have put 'festering;' which,
pcrlia])S, in any case is the best word of the two. Shakspcare has it often, and I do
nut tiiiuk it too strong for the figure in this thing. Quick ! quick ! quick ! quick ! "
— Loi-d B. to Mr. Murray, Ai)ril 2.]
^ lHi» sister, the Honourable Mrs. Leigh. — These stanzas— the parting tribute to
lier whi'hc t4.uilerue.s8 had been his s-ole cousulatiou in the crisis of domestic misery —
were, we Ijclieve, the last verses written by Lord Byron in Euglaud.]
DOMESTIC PIECES. 15
III.
When fortune changed — and love fled far.
And hatred^s sliafts flew thick and fast.
Thou wert the solitary star
Which rose and set not to the last.
IV.
Oh ! i)lest be thine unbroken light !
That watch'd me as a serapli's eye,
And stood between me and the night.
For ever shining sweetly nigh.
V.
And when the cloud upon us came.
Which strove to blacken o^er thy raj — ■
Then purer spread its gentle flame.
And dash'd the darkness all away.
VI.
Still may thy spirit dwell on mine,
And teach it what to brave or brook — ■
There's more in one soft word of thine
Than in the world's defied rebuke.
Tir.
Thou stood'st, as stands a lovely tree,
That still unbroke, though gently bent.
Still waves with fond fidelity
Its boughs above a monument.
VIII.
The winds might rend — the skies might pour,
But there thou wert — and still wouldst be
Devoted in the stormiest hour
To shed thy weeping leaves o'er me.
IX.
But thou and thine shall know no blight.
Whatever fate on me may fall ;
Por heaven in sunshine will requite
The kind — and thee the most of all.
48 DOMESTIC PIECES.
X.
Then let the ties of baffled love
Be broken — thine will never break ;
Thy heart can feel— but will not move ;
Thy soul, though soft, will never shake.
XI.
And these, when all was lost beside,
Were found and still are fix'd in tliee;—
And bearing still a breast so tried,
Earth is no desert — ev'n to me.
STANZAS TO AUGUSTA.*
Though the day of my destiny's over,
And the star of my fate hath declined,' l
Thv soft heart refused to discover !|
The faults which so many could find ;
Though thy soul with my grief was acquainted.
It shrunk not to share it with me.
And the love which my spirit hath painted
It never hath found but in thee.
II.
Then when nature around me is smiling^
The last smile which answers to mine,
1 do not believe it beguiling.
Because it reminds me of thine ;
And wlirn winds are at war with tlie ocean,
As the l)reasts I believed in with nie,
If their billows excite an emotion.
It is that they bear me from tliee.
* [These beautiful versos, so expressive of the wi-iter's ■wounded feelings at the
nioiiiciit, were written in July, at the Oampagne Diodati, near (reneva. " J^e care-
ful," he says, "in printing the stanzas lieginniug, 'Though the day of my destiny's.'
&c., whii;h I think well of as a composition."]
* [In the original MS. —
"Thiiui.'h the daj'S of my gh>ry are over,
Anil lliL- sua of my fame hath declintd."]
DOMESTIC PIE.'E.S. 47
III.
Though the rock of my last hope is shivered.
And its fragments are sunk in the wave,
Though I feel that my soul is delivered
To pain— it shall not be its slave.
There is many a pang to pursue me :
They may crush, but they shall not contemn;
They may torture but shall not subdue me ;
'Tis of thee that I think — not of them."
Though human, thou didst not deceive me,
Though woman, thou didst not forsake.
Though loved, thou forborest to grieve me.
Though slander'd, thou never couldst shake ;
Though trusted, thou didst not disclaim me.
Though parted, it was not to fly.
Though watchful, 'twas not to defame me,
Nor, mute, that the world might belie.'
Yet I blame not the work], nor despise it,
IVor the war of the many with one ;
If my soul was not fitted to prize it,
'Tvvas folly not sooner to shun :
And if dearly that error hath cost me.
And more than I once could foresee,
I have found that, wliatever it lost me.
It could not deprive me of thee.
VI.
From the wreck of the past, which hath perisli'd.
Thus much I at least may recall.
It hath taught me that what I most cherished
Deserved to be dearest of all :
' [Origiually thus : —
' ' There is many a paug to pursue me,
Aud many a peril to stem ;
They may tortui'e, but shall not subdue me ;
They may crush, but they shall not contemn."]
' [MS. — "Though watchful, 'twas but to reclaim me,
Nor, silent, to sanction a lie."]
<8 DOMESTIC PIECES.
In the desert a fountain is springing.
In the wide waste there still is a tree,
And a bird in the solitude singing,
Which speaks to my spirit of thee.
July 24, 1810.
EPISTLE TO AUGUSTA.*
My sister ! my sweet sister ! if a name
Dearer and purer were, it should be thine.
Mountains and seas divide us, but I claim
No tears, but tenderness to answer mine :
Go where I will, to me thou art the same —
A loved regret which I would not resign.
There yet are two things in my destiny, —
A world to roam through, and a home with thee.
n.
The first were nothing — had I still the last.
It were the liaven of my happiness ;
But other claims and other ties thou hast.
And mine is not the wish to make them less.
A strange doom is thy father's son's, and past
Recalling, as it lies beyond redress ;
llcversed for him our grandsire's^ fate of yore, —
lie had no rest at sea, nor I on shore.
' [These stanzas — "than which," says the Quarterly Review, for January, 1831,
*' there is nothing perhajjs more' raaurnfully and desolately beautiful in the whole
range of Lord Byron's poetry,'' were also written at Diodati, and sent home to be
pulilished if Mrs. Leigh should consent. She decided the other way, and the epistle
was not printed till 1830.]
'■' [Admiral Byron was remarkable for never making a voyage without a tempest.
He was known to the sailors by the facetious name of " Foul- weather Jack."
"But, though it were tempest-toss' d.
Still his bark could not be lost."
Ilf returned safely from the wreck of the "Wager" (in Anson's voyage), and nianj
years after circumnavigated the wurld, as commander of a similar expedition.]
DOMESTIC PIECES. 49
III.
If my inheritance of storms hath been
In other elements, and on the rocks
Of perils, overlook'd or unforeseen,
I have sustained my share of worldly shocks.
The fault was mine ; nor do I seek to screen
My errors with defensive paradox ;
I have been cunning in mine overthrow,
The careful pilot of my proper woe.
IV.
Mine were my faults, and mine be their reward.
My whole life was a contest, since the day
That gave me being, gave me that which marr'd
The gift, — a fate, or will, that walked astray;
And I at times have found the struggle hard.
And thought of shaking off my bonds of clay :
But now I fain would for a time survive.
If but to see what next can well arrive.
T.
Kingdoms and empires in my little day
I have outlived, and yet I am not old ;
And when I look on this, the petty spray
Of my own years of trouble, which have roUM
Like a wild bay of breakers, melts away :
Something — I know not what — does still uphold
A spirit of slight patience ; — not in vain.
Even for its own sake, do we purchase pain.
VI.
Perhaps the workings of defiance stir
Within me — or perhaps a cold despair.
Brought on when ills habitually recur, —
Perhaps a kinder clime, or purer air,
(For even to this may change of soul refer.
And with light armour we may learn to bear,)
Have taught me a strange quiet, which was not
The chief companion of a calmer lot.
VOL. 11. B
eO DOMESTIC PIECES.
vri.
I feel almost at times as I have felt
In happy childhood; trees, and flowers, and brooks,
AVhich do remember me of where I dwelt
Ere my young mind was sacrificed to books,
Come as of yore upon me, and can melt
My heart with recognition of their looks ;
And even at moments 1 could think I see
Some living thing to love — but none like thee.
VIII.
Here are the Alpine landscapes which create
A fund for contemplation ; — to admire
Is a brief feeling of a trivial date ;
But something worthier do such scenes inspire :
Here to be lonely is not desolate,
I'or much I view which I could most desire.
And, above all, a lake I can behold
Lovelier, not dearer, than our own of old.
IX.
Oh that thou wert but with me ! — but I grow
The fool of my own wishes, and forget
The solitude which I have vaunted so
Has lost its praise in this but one regret;
There may be others which I less may show ; —
I am not of the plaintive mood, and yet
I feel an ebb in my philosophy.
And the tide rising in my alter'd eye.
I did remind thee of our own dear Lake,'
By the old Hall which may be mine no more.
Leraan's is fair ; but think not I forsake
The sweet remembrance of a dearer shore :
Sad havoc Time must with my memory make.
Ere l/iat or t/iou can fade these eyes before ;
Though, like all things which I have loved, they are
Resign'd for ever, or divided far.
' [The Lake of Newstead Abbey, which he has described minutely in the thirteenth
lit-, of "Don Junn."l
CHI
DOMESTIC PIECES. 51
XI.
The world is all before me ; I but ask
Of Nature that with which she will comply —
It is but in her summer's sun to bask,
To mingle with the quiet of her sky,
To see her gentle face without a mask,
And never gaze on it with apathy.
She was my early friend, and now shall be
My sister — till I look again on thee.
XII.
I can reduce all feelings but this one ;
And that I would not ; — for at length I see
Such scenes as those wherein my life begun.
The earliest — even the only paths for me —
Had I but sooner learnt the crowd to shun,
I had been better than I now can be ;
The passions which have torn me would have slept;
I had not suffer' d, and thoic hadst not wept.
XIII.
With false Ambition what had I to do ?
Little with Love, and least of all with Fame ;
And yet they came unsought, and with me grew.
And made me all which they can make — a name.
Yet this was not the end I did pursue ;
Surelv I once beheld a nobler aim.
Bat all is over — I am one the more
To baffled millions which have gone before.
XIV.
And for the future, this world's future may
From me demand but little of my care ;
I have outhved myself by many a day ;
Having survived so many things that were;
My years have been no slumber, but the prey
Of ceaseless vigils ; for I had the share
Of life which might have fill'd a century.
Before its fourth in time had pass'd me by.
k2
5r DOMESTIC PIRCES.
XV.
Aiul for the remnant which may be to come
I am content ; and for the past I feel
Not thankless, — for within the crowded sum
Of struggles, happiness at times would steal,
And for the present, I would not benumb
]\fv feelings fartlier. — Nor shall I conceal
That with all this I still can look around.
And worship Nature with a thought profound
xvr.
For thee, my own sweet sister, in tliy heart
I know myself secure, as thou in mine ;
We were and are — I am, even as thou art —
Beings who ne^er each other can resign ;
It is the same, together or apart,
T'rom life's commencement to its slow decline
We are entwined — let death come slow or fast,
The tie which bound the first endures the last !
LINES ON HEAEING THAT LADY BYRON WAS ILL.
And thou wert sad — yet I was not with thee :
And thou wert sick, and yet I was not near;
Met bought that joy and health alone could be
Where I was noi — and pain and sorrow here !
And is it thus? — it is as I foretold,
And shall be more so ; for the mind recoils
Upon itself, and the wreckM heart lies cold.
While heaviness collects the shatter'd spoils.
It is not in the storm nor in the strife
We feel benumb'd, and wish to be no more,
But in the after-silence on the shore.
When all is lost, except a little life.
I am too well avenged ! — but 'twas my right ;
Whate'er my sins might be, l/um wert not sent
To be the Nemesis who should requite —
Nor did TTonvon choose so near an instrument.
DOMESTIC PIECES.
Mercy is for the merciful ! — if thou
Hast been of such, 'twill be accordetl now.
Thy nights are banished from the realms of sleep . —
Yes ! they may flatter thee, but thou shalt feel
A hollow agony which will not heal.
For thou art pillow'd on a curse too deep ;
Thou hast sown in my sorrow, and must reap
The bitter harvest in a woe as real !
I have had many foes, but none like thee ;
For 'gainst the rest myself I could defend.
And be avenged, or turn them into friend ;
But tliou in safe implacability
Hadst nought to dread — -in tliy own weakness shielded.
And in my love, which hath but too much yielded.
And spared, for thy sake, some I should not spare ;
And thus upon the world — trust in thy truth.
And the wild faQie of my ungovern'd youth —
On things that were not, and on things that are —
Even upon such a basis hast thou built
A monument, whose cement hath been guilt !
The moral Clytemnestra of thy lord.
And hew'd down, with an unsuspected sword.
Fame, peace, and hope — and all the better life
Which, but for this cold treason of thy heart.
Might still have risen from out the grave of strife,
And found a nobler duty than to part.
But of thy virtues didst thou make a vice,
Trafficking with them in a purpose cold.
For present anger, and for future gold —
And buying other's grief at any price.
And thus once enter'd into crooked ways.
The early truth, which was thy proper praise.
Did not still walk beside thee — but at times.
And with a breast unknowing its own crimes.
Deceit, averments incompatible,
Equivocations, and the thoughts wdiich dwell
In Janus-spirits — the significant eye
"Which learns to lie with silence — the pretext
Of prudence, with advantages annex' d —
The acquiescence in all things which tend.
Si DOMESTIC PIECES.
No inatter how, Jo the dcsh'ed end —
All found a place in thy philosophy.
The means were worthy, and the end is won —
I would not do by thee as thou hast done !^
September, 1816..
^ [*'Lord Byron had at least this much to say for himself, that he was not the
first to make his domestic dift'erences a topic of public discussion. On the contrary,
he saw himself, ere any fart but the one undisguised and tangible one was or could be
known, held up everywhere, and by evei-y art of malice, as the most infamous of men,
— because he had parted from his wife. He was exquisitely sensitive : he was wounde<l
at once by a thousand arrows ; and all this with the most perfect and indignant
knowledge, that of all whi were assailing him not one knew anything of the real
merits of the case. Did he right, then, in publishing those squibs and tirades ? No,
certainly : it would have been nobler, better, wiser far, to have utterly scorned the
assaults of such enemies, and taken no notice, of any kind, of them. But, Ijecause
this young, hot-blooded, proud, patrician poet did not, amidst the exacerbation of
feelings which he could not control, act in precisely the most dignified and wisest of
all possible manners of action, — are we entitled, is the world at large entitled, to
issue a broad sentence of vituperative condemnation ? Do tre know all that he had
suifered • — have we imagination enough to comprehend what he suiiered under circum-
stances such as these ! — have we been tried in similar cii-cumstauces, whether we
could feel the wound unflinchingly, and keep the weapon quiescent in the hand that
trembled with all the excitements of insulted privacy, honour, and faith.
' ' Let people consider for a moment what it is that they demand when they insist upon
a poet of Byron's class abstaining altogether from expressing in his works anything of
liis own feelings in regard to anything that immediately concerns his own history. We
tell him, in every possiljle form and shape, that the great and distinguishing merit of his
pi-etry is the intense truth with which that poetry expresses his own personal feelings.
We encourage him in every possiljle way to dissect his own heart for our entertain-
ment— we tempt him by every bribe most likely to act powerfully on a young and
imaginative man, to plunge into the darkest depths of self-knowledge ; to madden his
brain with eternal self-scrutinies, to find his pride and his pleasure in what others
slirink from as torture^we tempt him to indulge in these dangerous exercises, until
they obviou.sly acquire the power of leading him to the very brink of frenzy — we tempt
him to find, and to see in this perilous vocation, the staple of his existence, the food
of his ambition, the very essence of his glory,- — and the mriment that, by habits of
our own creating, at least of our own encouraging and confirming, he is carried one
single step beyond what we happen to approve o), we turn round with all the bitter-
ness of .spleen, and reproach him with the unmanliness of entertaining the public with
his feelings in regard to his separation from his wife. This was triUy the conduct of
a fair and liberal public ! To our view of the matter. Lord Byron, treated as he had
been, tempted as he had been, and tortured and insulted as he was at the moment,
did no mure forfeit his character by writing what he did write ujion that uidiappy
occasion, than another man, under circumstances of the same nature, would have
'lone, by telling .something of his mi\id about it to an intimate friend across the fire,
'i'he public had forced him into the habits of familiarity, and they received his con-
fiilen?e with nothing but anger and scorn." — Lockhakt.]
(.J
MONODY ON THE DEATH
OF
THE EIGHT HON. R B. SHEEIDAN.
\
MONODY ON THE DEATH
OF
: 1
THE RIGHT HON. R. B. SHERIDAN
SPOKEN AT DRURY-LANE THEATRE.
When tlie last sunshine of expiring day
In summer's twiliglit weeps itself away,
Who hath not felt the softness of the hour
Sink on the heart, as dew along the flower ?
With a pure feeling which absorbs and awes
While Nature makes that melancholy pause,
Her breathing moment on the bridge where Time
Of light and darkness forms an arch sublime,
Who hath not shared that cahn, so still and deep.
The voiceless thought which would not speak but wieu,
A holy concord, and a bright regret,
A glorious sympathy with suns that set ?
^Tis not harsh sorrow, but a tenderer woe,
Nameless, but dear to gentle hearts below,
Felt without bitterness, but full and clear,
A sweet dejection, a transparent tear,
UnmixM with worldly grief or selfish stain,
Shed without sliame, and secret without pniii
' [Mr. Sheridan died the 7th of July, 1816, aud this mouody was written <\t
Diodati ou the 17th, at the request of Mr. Douglas Kinnaird. "I did as well as I
could," says Lord Byron, "but where I have not my choice, I pretend to answer for
nothing." He told Lady Blessington, however, that his feelings were never more
excited than while writing it, and that every word came direct from his heart.]
5S MONODY ON THE DEATH OF SHERIDAN.
Even as the tenderness tliat hour instils
"When Summer's day declines along the hills.
So feels the fulness of our heart and eyes
When all of Genius which can perisli dies.
A mighty Spirit is eclipsed — a Power
Hath pass'd from day to darkness — to whose hour
Of light no likeness is bequeath'd — no name,
Focus at once of all the rays of Fame !
The flash of Wit, the bright Intelligence,
The beam of Song, the blaze of Eloquence,
Set with their Sun, but still have left behind
The enduring produce of immortal Mind ;
Fruits of a genial morn, and glorious noon,
A deathless part of him who died too soon.
But small that portion of the wondrous whole.
These sparkling segments of that circling soul,
Which all embraced, and lighten''d over all.
To cheer, to pierce, to jilease, or to appal.
From the charmM council to the festive board.
Of human feelings the unbounded lord ;
In whose acclaim the loftiest voices vied.
The praised, the proud, who made his praise their pride.
When the loud cry of trampled Hindostan
Arose to Heaven iu her appeal from man,
His was the thunder, his the avenging rod.
The wrath — the delegated voice of God !
Which shook the nations through his lips, and blazed
Till vanquished senates trembled as they praised.'
And here, oh ! here, where yet all young and warm,
The gay creations of his spirit charm,
Tlie matchless dialogue, the deathless wit.
Which knew not wliat it was to intermit:
The glowing portraits, fresh from life, that bring
Home to our hearts the truth from which they spring ;
These wondrous beings of his fiincy, wrought
' ITlie eiKjcch against Warieu Hastings iu the House of Commons was pronounced
by Buike, Fox, and Pitt to 6ur])ass every eftbrt of oratory, . ancient or modem. But,
liMwevLT dazzling at llie iuonicut, his lx;st speeches lost much of tlieir eflFect ujwn a
cjtlm pcruhal.]
MONODY ON THE DEATH OF SHERIDAN. 5^
To fulness by the fiat of his thought.
Here in their first abode you still may meet.
Bright with the hues of iiis Promethean heat ;
A halo of the light of other clays,
Which still the splendour of its orb betrays.
But should there be to whom the fatal blight
Of failing Wisdom yields a base delight.
Men who exult when minds of heavenly tone
Jar in tlie music which was born their own.
Still let them pause — ah ! little do they know
That what to them seem'd Vice might be but Woe.
Hard is his fate ou whom the public gaze
Is fix'd for ever to detract or praise ;
Eepose denies her requiem to his name.
And Folly loves the martyrdom of Fame.
Tlie secret enemy whose sleepless eye
Stands sentinel, accuser, judge, and spy.
The foe, the fool, the jealous, and the vain.
The envious who but breathe in other's pain.
Behold the host ! delighting to deprave.
Who track the steps of Glory to the grave,
Watch every fault that daring Genius owes
Half to the ardour which its birth bestows.
Distort the truth, accumulate the lie,
And pile the pyramid of Calumny !
These are his portion — but if joined to these
Gaunt Poverty should league with deep Disease,
If the high Spirit must forget to soar,
And stoop to strive with Misery at the door,*
To soothe Indignity — and face to face
Meet sordid Rage, a-nd wrestle with Disgrace,
To find in Hope but the renewed caress,
The serpent-fold of further Paithlessness : —
■^ [This was not fiction. Only a few days before his death, Sheridan wrote thus to
Mr. Rogers : — "I am absolutely undone and broken-hearted. They are going to put
the carpets out of window, and break into Mrs. S.'s room and take 7)ie : 1501. will
remove all difficulty. For God's sake let me see you !" Mr. Moore was the immediate
bearer of tbe required sum. This was written on the 15th of May, and ou the 14th of
July, Sheridan's remains were deposited in Westnniister Abbey — his pall-liearers being
tlje Duke of Bedford, the Earl of Lauderdale, Earl Mulgrave, the Lord Bishop of
London, Lord Holland, and Earl Speuser.]
k
so MONODY ON THE DEATH OF SHERIDAN.
If such may be the ills which men assail,
^Vhat marvel if at last the mightiest fail ?
Breasts to whom all the strength of feeling given
Bear hearts electric — charged with fire from Heaven,
Black with the rude collision, inly torn,
By clouds surrounded, and on whirlwinds borne.
Driven o'er the lowering atmosphere that nurst
Thoughts which have turn'd to thunder — scorch, an;l burst.'
But far from us and from our mimic scene
Such things should be — if such have ever been
Ours be the goitler wish, the kinder task,
To give the tribute Glory need not ask,
To mourn the vanish'd beam, and add our mite
Of praise in payment of a long delight.
Ye Orators ! whom yet our councils yield.
Mourn for the veteran Hero of your field !
The worthy rival of the wondrous IViree ! *
Whose words were sparks of Immortality !
Ye Bards ! to whom the Drama's Muse is dear.
He was vour Master — emulate him /lere !
Ye men of wit and social eloquence !*
lie was your brother — bear his ashes hence !
While Powers of mind almost of boundless range/
Complete in kind, as various in their chauge,
* [lu the original MS. —
" Abandon' d by the skies, whose beams have nurst
Their very thunders, lighten — scorch, and burst."]
* Fox — Pitt — Burke. ["I heard Sheridan only once, and that briefly ; but I likod
his voice, his manner, and his wit. He is the only one of them I ever wished to hear
at greater length." — B. Diary, 1821.]
'' ["In society I have met Sheridan frequently. He was superb ! I have seen him
cut ui> Whitbread, quiz Madame de Stacl, annihilate Colman, and do little less by
bonie others of good fame and ability. I liave met him at all places and parties, and
always found him convivial and delightful." — B. Diary, 1821.]
' ["The other night we were all delivering our respective and various oi'iuions
upon Sheridan, and mine was this : — 'Wliatever Sheridan has done, or chosen to do,
has Ueen par crrcllence always the best of its kind. He h.as written the best comedy
(School fur Scandal), the best drama (in my mind, far beyond that St. Giles's larajioon,
the Beggars' Ojiera), the best farce (the Critic,— it is only too good for a farce), and the
bust address (Monolo}.'iie on Garrick), and, to crown all, delivered the very best
finitioii (the famous Bcginn speech) ever conceived or heard in this country.'"—
U. Diarif, Dec. 17, la 1 a.]
5I0N0DY ON THE DEATH OF SHERIDAN. 61
^Yhile Eloquence, Wit, Poesy, and Mirth,
That humbler Harmonist of care on Earth,
Survive within our souls — while lives our sense
Of pride in Merit's proud {)re-eminence,
Long shall we seek his likeness, long in vain.
And turn to all of him wliich may remain.
Sighing that Nature formM but one such man,
And broke the die — in moulding Sheridan !
»
1
THE DEEAM.
INTRODUCTION TO THE DREAM.
"The Dream" — called in the first draught "The Destiny" — was composed at
Diodati in July, 1816, and reflects the train of thought engendered by the recent
quarrel with Lady Byron. The misery of his marriage led him to revert to his
early passion for Miss Chaworth, whose union had proved no happier than his own,
and, amid many tears, he traced their respective fates in verse which is the rarest
combination of historical simplicity with poetic beauty. The attachment to Miss
Chaworth began in his childhood, and reached its height in his sixteenth year, when
he spent the summer holidays of 1803 at Nottingham, and was a constant guest at
Annesley Hall. She was two years his senior at a period when the difference made
her a woman, and left him a boy. He had nothing beyond his rank to compensate
for the disadvantage — his genius was not so much as in the bud, his beauty unde-
veloped, his manners rough, and his temper ungovernable. The succeeding year he
bade her farewell on the hiU which is celebrated in "The Dream." "The next time
I see you," he said, "I suppose you will be Mrs. Chaworth," — for her husband
originally took her name, — and she answered "I hope so." She naturally numbered
Lord Byron's attachment among the fickle ebullitions of juvenile susceptibility, and
would have treated it with coldness, even if her heart had not been already won. In
1805 she was united to Mr. Musters, a gentleman of a noble appearance and of an
ancient family. There was no sympathy between their characters, and his conduct to
her was reported to be harsh and capricious. He never relished Lord Byron's allusions
to her, and after the publication of ' ' The Dream " he cut down the celebrated
"diadem of trees" which grew on his estate. His beautiful and accomplished bride
became the victim of her cares, and she sunk into lunacy. In 1832 she closed
her tragic life by a mournful death. A party of Nottingham rioters sacked
Colwick Hall, and she and her daughter took refuge in the shriibbery, where her
constitution received a fatal shock from the combined effects of cold and terror.
Lord Byron always kept the conviction that the lady of Annesley would have averted
his destiny. In 1822 having called her in his Diary "my M. A. C," he suddenly
exclaims, " Alas ! why do I say my ? Our union would have healed feuds in which
blood had been shed by our fathers, — it would have joined lands broad and rich, it
would have joined at least one heart, and two persons not ill-matched in years, and
— and — and — what has been the result ? " The consideration of his cliaracter leads
us to think that the result would not have been widely difierent if he had prospered
in his suit ; and the romance that must always linger round the name of Miss
Chaworth is probably none the less that it comes to us invested with the hues of
imagination instead of the light of experience.
VOL. II. f
C6
INTRODUCTION TO THE DREAM.
' Successful love may sate itself away ;
The wretched are the faithful ; 'tis their fate
To have all feeliug, save the one, decay,
And every passion into one dilate.
As rapid rivers into ocean pour ;
But ours is fathomless, and hath no shore."
So wTote the poet in the name of Tasso, with his own unrequited attachment for
Miss Chaworth in his mind. That she was worthy of the lasting passion she raised,
tliat he loved hor with a deeper fervour than was ever excited by any future favourite,
may be readily admitted ; but had Ids love been successful it would have sated itseli
awaj, and the woman who could permanently have fixed his affections might have
aspired to chain tlie ■sdnds.
THE DREAM.
Our life is twofold : Sleep hath its own world,
A boundary between the things misnamed
Death and existence : Sleep hath its own world.
And a wide realm of wild reality.
And dreams in their development have breath.
And tears, and tortures, and the touch of joy ;
They leave a weight upon our waking thoughts.
They take a weight from off our waking toils.
They do divide our being ; they become
A portion of ourselves as of our time,
And look like heralds of eternity;
They pass like spirits of the past, — they speak
Like Sibyls of the future ; they have power —
The tyranny of pleasure and of pain ;
They make us what we were not — what they will.
And shake us with the vision that's gone by.
The dread of vanished shadows — Are they so ?
Is not the past all shadow ? — What are they ?
Creations of the mind ? — The mind can make
Substance, and people planets of its own
With beings brighter than have been, and give
A breath to forms which can outlive all flesh.
I would recall a vision which I dream'd
Perchance in sleep — for in itself a thought,
r2
08 THE DEEAM.
A slumbering thought, is capable of years.
And curdles a long life into one hour.
ir.
I saw two beings in the hues of youth
Standing upon a hill, a gentle hill,
Green and of mild declivity, the last
As 'twere the cape of a long ridge of such,
Save that there was no sea to lave its base.
But a most living landscape, and the wave
Of woods and cornfields, and the abodes of men
ScatterM at intervals, and wreathing smoke
Arising from such rustic roofs ; — the hill
Was crown'd with a peculiar diadem
Of trees, in circular array, so fix'd,
!Not by the sport of nature, but of man :
Tliese two, a maiden and a youth, were there
Gazing— the one on all that was beneath
Fair as herself — but the boy gazed on her;
And both were young, and one was beautiful :
And both were young — yet not alike in youth.
As the sweet moon on the horizon's verge,
Q'lie maid was on the eve of womanhood ;
Tlie boy had fewer summers, but his heart
Had far outgrown his years, and to liis eye
There was but one beloved face on earth.
And that was shining on him : he had look'd
Upon it till it could not pass away ;
He had no breath, no being, but in hers ;
She was his voice ; he did not speak to her,
But trembled on her words ; she was his sight,'
Tor his eye follow'd hers, and saw with hers,
"VYliich colour'd all his objects : — he had ceased
To live within himself; she was his life.
The ocean to the river of his thoughts.
Which terminated all : upon a tone,
A touch of hers, his blood would ebb and flow,
' [ " she -was his sight,
For never did be turn his glance until
Her own had led by gazing on an object." — MS.]
THE DREAM. 69
Aud his cheek change tempestuously — his heart
Unknowing of its cause of agony.
But she in these fond feelings had no share :
Her sighs were not for him ; to her he was
Even as a brother — but no more ; 'twas much.
For brotherless she was, save in the name
Her infant friendship had bestow'd on him ;
Herself the solitary scion left
Of a time-honour'd race, — It was a name
Which pleased him, and yet pleased him not — and why P
Time taught him a deep answer — when she loved
Another ; even now she loved another,
And on the summit of that hill she stood
Looking afar if yet her lover's steed
Kept pace with her expectancy, and flew.
in.
A change came o'er the spirit of my dream.
There was an ancient mansion, and before
Its walls there was a steed caparison'd :
Within an antique Oratory stood
The Boy of whom I spake; — he was alone,
And pale, and pacing to and fro : anon
He sate him down, aud seized a pen, and traced
AA^ords which I could not guess of; then he lean'd
His bow'd head on his hands, and shook as 'twere
With a convulsion — then arose again.
And with his teeth and quivering hands did tear
What he had written, but he shed no tears.
And he did calm himself, and fix his brow
Into a kind of quiet : as he paused.
The Lady of his love re-entered there ;
She was serene and smiling then, and yet
She knew she was by him beloved — she knew,
For quickly comes such knowledge, thnt his heart
Was darken' d with her shadow, and she saw
That he was wretched, but she saw not all.'
' ["I had long been in love with M. A. C, and never told it, though sht had dis-
covered it without. I recollect my sensations, but cannot describe them, and it is as
well."— £. Diary, 1822.]
70 THE DREAM.
He rose, and with a cold and gentle grasp
He took her hand ; a moment o'er his face
A tablet of unutterable thoughts
Was traced, and then it faded, as it came ;
He drop)/d the hand he held, and with slow steps
Eetired, but not as bidding her adieu,
For they did part with mutual smiles ; he pass'd
From out the massy gate of that old Hall,
And mounting on his steed he went liis way ;
And ne'er repass'd that hoary threshold more.
IV.
A change came o'er the spirit of my dream.
The Boy was sprung to manhood : in the wilds
Of fiery cHmes he made himself a home,
And his soul drank their sunbeams : he was girt
With strange and dusky aspects ; he was not
Himself like what he had been ; on the sea
And on the shore he was a wanderer ;
There was a mass of many images
Crowded like waves upon me, but he was
A part of all ; and in the last he lay
Reposing from the noontide sultriness,
Couch'd among fallen columns, in the shade
Of ruin'd walls that had survived the names
Of those who rear'd them ; by his sleeping side
Stood camels grazing, and some goodly steeds
Were fasten'd near a fountain ; and a man
Clad in a flowing garb did watch the while.
While many of his tribe slumber'd around :
And they were canopied by the blue sky,
So cloudless, clear, and purely beautiful.
That God alone was to be seen in heaven.'
A change came o'er the spirit of my dream.
«n!i ff'"^ '^i^'""® hicjmig-an Eastern picture perfect in its foregi-ound, and distance,
f.7,„I ' T?- "f? ^^^ of v^hich is so dwelt upon or laboured as to obscure tin. priiK-ipal
hcw • ^ 'P , ^^'^^'^ ''^°'' '^'"los*' imperceptible touches that tlie liand of the
: in Vm'^'"'. •''"., *'"'^^ «'"e^« •'^Park, struck from his fancy, lightens with a hmi:
tKiin of illunimation that of the reader. -Sik Walter Scott.]
THE DREAM. 71
The Lady of his love was wed with One
Who did not love her better : — in her home,
A thousand leagues from his, — her native home,
She dwelt, begirt with growing Infancy,
Daughters and sons of Beauty, — but behold !
Upon her face there was the tint of grief,
The settled shadow of an inward strife.
And an unquiet drooping of the eye,
As if its lid were charged Avith unshed tears.
What could her grief be ? — she had all she loved.
And he who had so loved her was not there
To trouble with bad hopes, or evil wish.
Or ill-repress'd affliction, her pure thoughts.
What could her grief be? — she had loved him not,
Nor given him cause to deem himself beloved.
Nor could he be a part of that which prey'd
Upon her mind — a spectre of the past.
VI.
A change came o'er the spirit of my dream.
The Wanderer was returned. —I saw him stand
Before an Altar — with a gentle bride ;
Her face was fair, but was not that which made
The Starlight of his Boyhood ; — as he stood
Even at the altar, o'er his brow there came
The self-same aspect, and the quivering shock
That in the antique Oratory shook
His bosom in its solitude ; and then —
As in that hour — a moment o'er his face
The tablet of unutterable thoughts
Was traced, — and then it faded as it came.
And he stood calm and quiet, and he spoke
The fitting vows, but heard not his own words.
And all things reel'd around him ; he could see
Not that which was, nor that which sheuld have been —
But the old mansion, and the" accustom'd hall,
And the remember'd chambers, and the place,
The day, the hour, the sunshine, and the shade,
All things pertaining to that place and hour,
And her who was his destiny, — came back
72 THE DREAM.
And thrust themselves between him and the light :
What business had they there at such a time ? *
VII.
A change came o'er the spirit of my dream.
The Lady of his love ; — Oh ! she was changed
As by the sickness of the soul ; her mind
Had wanderM from its dwelling, and her eyes
They had not their own lustre, but the look
"Which is not of the earth ; she was become
The queen of a fantastic realm ; her thoughts
Were combinations of disjointed things ;
And forms impalpable and unperceived
Of others' sight familiar were to hers.
And this the world calls frenzy ; but the wise
Have a far deeper madness, and the glance
Of melancholy is a fearful gift ;
What is it but the telescope of truth ?
Which strips the distance of its fantasies.
And brings life near in utter nakedness,
Making the cold reality too real ! '
VIII.
A change came o'er the spirit of my dream.
The Wanderer was alone as heretofore.
The beings which surrounded him were gone,
Or were at war with him ; he was a mark
For blight and desolation, compassed round
With Hatred and Contention ; Pain was mix'd
In all wliich was served up to him, until,
* [This toucliing picture agrees closely, in many of its circumstances, with Lord
Byi-on's own prose account of the wedding in his Memoranda; in which he describes
himself as waking, on the morning of his marriage, with the most melancholy
reflections, on seeing his wedding-suit spread out before him. In the same mood, he
wandered about the grounds alone, till he was summoned for the ceremony, and joined,
for the first time, on that day, his bride and her family. He knelt down — he repeated
the words after the clergyman ; but a mist was before his eyes— his thoughts were
elsewhere : and he was but awakened by the congratulations of the bystanders to find
that he was — married. — Moore.]
[ ' ' the glance
Of melancholy is a fearful gift ;
For it becomes the telescope of truth,
And shows us all things naked as they are."— MS.]
THE DREAM. 78
Like to the Pontic monarch of old days,*
He fed on poisons, and they had no power,
But were a kind of nutriment ; he lived
Through that which had been death to many men,
And made him friends of mountains : with the stars
And the quick Spirit of the Universe
He held his dialogues ; and they did teach
To him the magic of their mysteries ;
To him the book of Night was opened wide,
And voices from the deep abyss reveal'd
A marvel and a secret — Be it so.
IX.
My dream was past ; it had no further change.
It was of a strange order, that the doom
Of these two creatures should be thus traced out
Almost hke a reality — the one
To end in madness — both in misery.
July, 1816.
• Milliridates of Pontus.
THE LAMENT OF TASSO.
ADVEETISEMENT.
At Ferrara, in the Library, are preserved the original MSS. of
Tasso's Gierusalemme and of Guarini's Pastor Fido, with letters of
Tasso, one from Titian to Ariosto, and the inkstand and chair, the
tomb and the house, of the latter. But, as misfortune has a greater
interest for posterity, and Kttle or none for the contemporary, the
cell where Tasso was confined in the hospital of St. Anna attracts a
more fixed attention than the residence or the monument of Ariosto
— at least it had this effect on me. There are two inscriptions, one
on the outer gate, the second over the cell itself, inviting, unneces-
sarily, the wonder and the indignation of the spectator. Ferrara is
much decayed and depopulated ; the castle still exists entire ; and I
saw the court where Parisina and Hugo were beheaded, according
to the annal of Gibbon.
INTEODUCTION TO THE LAMENT OF TASSO.
— * —
After all that has been written upon the Duke of Ferrara's imprisonment of
Tasso, a great deal continues to be left to conjecture. It seems certain that he was
in love with the Princess Eleonora, and that he addressed her amatory poems.
There are other pieces which probably refer to her, in which he boasts of a dishonour-
able success, and which are supposed to have fallen into the hands of her brother, the
Duke. But the immediate cause of Tasso's arrest was a quarrel in the palace at
Ferrara, when he threw a knife at a domestic. The incident ended in his being sent
as a lunatic to the convent of St. Francis. This was on the 11th of July, 1577, and
on the 20th he made his escape. In February, 1579, he returned to Ferrara, and the
Duke and the Princess refusing to notice him, he uttered imprecations against them,
was declared a madman, and was confined for seven years in the hospital of St. Anna.
A miserable dungeon below the ground floor, and lighted from a grated window,
which looks into a small court, is shown as the scene of his suiferings, but there is no
likelihood that it has been correctly chosen, and Tasso was at least removed to a
spacious apartment before a twelvemonth had elapsed. The poet protested that the
madness of 1577 was feigned to please the Duke, who hoped, according to modern
inferences, that any imputations upon the name of the Princess would be ascribed to
the hallucinations of a distempered mind. Whether the subsequent madness of 1579
was real or not, has been the subject of endless speculations, but if clouds obscured
the mind of Tasso they broke away at intervals, and allowed him to continue his
immortal compositions. Lord Byron adopts the theory that he was imprisoned under
a false pretence to avenge a pure but presumptuous love. The original MS. of the
"Lament of Tasso" is dated "The Apennines, April 20, 1817." It was inspired
by a single days sojourn at Ferrara, when Lord Byron visited it on his way to
Florence, and it is a striking instance of his instinctive sense of the direction in which
his power lay, that before starting on the journey, he expressed his indifference for
the poet's manuscripts, and centred his interest upon "the cell where they caged
him.'' He was well aware that his imagination would be kindled by the scene of
Tasso's woes, and that his own experience of the workings of a tortured bosom would
enable him to celebrate in worthy verse the pangs of his brother bard. " I look upon
it," he wrote to Murray, " as a ' These be good rhymes ! ' as Pope's papa said to him
when he was a boy." He did not overrate their excellence, for they are among his
finest strains. They are mournful but not morbid,— the plaintiif musings of a sorrow-
stricken man, couched in the choicest language of a poet. The mind of Tasso wanders
on in a natural progression from his captivity to his poem, from his poem to Leonora,
from Leonora back to his dungeon, and his beautifully contrasted thoughts are at
78
INTRODUCTION TO THE LAMENT OF TASSO.
once so natural, so original, and so piteous, that though there are pieces of Lord
Byron -which strike us more upon a first perusal, there is none that wins more
lasting admiration. Throughout there is a wonderful vividness of feeling, and the
final section, — when Tasso, soaring into far futurity, utters the proud prediction of
hifl coming pre-eminence over his persecuting sovereign and disdainful mistress,
— is majestic to sublimity. Lord Byron received three hundred guineas for the
copyright.
THE LAMENT OF TASSO.
Long years ! — it tries the thrilling frame to bear
And eagle-spirit of a child of Song —
Long years of outrage, calumny, and wrong ;
Imputed madness, prison'd solitude.
And the mind's canker in its savage mood.
When the impatient thirst of light and air
Parches the heart ; and the abhorr'd grate.
Marring the sunbeams with its hideous shade.
Works through the throbbing eyeball to the brain,
With a hot sense of heaviness and pain ;
And bare, at once, Captivity displayed
Stands scofiing through the never-open'd gate.
Which nothing through its bars admits, save day.
And tasteless food, which I have eat alone
Till its unsocial bitterjiess is gone ;
And I can banquet like a beast of prey.
Sullen and lonely, couching in the cave
Which is my lair, and — it may be — my grave.
All this hath somewhat worn me, and may wear,
But must be borne. I stoop not to despair;
For I have battled with mine agony.
And made me wmgs wherewith to overfly
The narrow circus of my dungeon wall,
And freed the Holy Sepulchre from thrall ;
80 THE LAMENT OP TASSO.
And revelFd among men and things divine,
And pour'd my spirit over Palestine,
]n honour of the sacred war for Him,
The God wlio was on earth and is in heaven,
I'or he has strength'd me in heart and limb.
That through this sufferance I might be forgiven,
I have employed my penance to record
How Salem's shrine was won, and how adored.
n.
But this is o'er— my pleasant task is done : —
]\Iy long-sustaining friend of many years !
If I do blot thy final page with tears.
Know, that my sorrows have wrung from me none.
]^iit thou, my young creation ! my soul's child !
AVhicli ever playing round me came and smiled,
And woo'd me from myself with thy sweet sight.
Thou too art gone — and so is my dehght :
Ajid therefore do I weep and inly bleed
AYith this last bruise upon a broken reed.
Thou too art ended — what is left me now?
Tor I have anguish yet to bear — and how?
I know not that — but in the innate force
Of my own spirit shall be found resource.
I have not sunk, for I had no remorse,
Nor cause for such : they call'd me mad — and why ?
Oh Leonora ! wilt not tJioii reply ? '
I was indeed delirious in my heart
To lift my love so lofty as thou art ;
But still my frenzy was not of the mind ;
' [In a letter written to his friend Scipio Gonzaga, shortly after his confinement,
Tasso exclaims— "Ah, wretched me! I had designed to write, besides two epic
poems of most noble argument, four tragedies, of which I had formed the plan. I had
Bchemed, too, many works in prose, on subjects the most lofty, and most useful to
human life ; I had designed to write philosophy with eloquence, in such a manner
that there might remain of me an eternal memory in the world. Alas ! I had expected
to close my liie with glory and renown ; but now, oppressed by the burden of so many
calamities, I have lost every prospect of reputation and of honour. The fear of per-
petual imprisonment increases my melancholy ; the indignities which I suffer augment
it ; and the squalor of my beard, my hair, and habit, the sordidness and iilth, exceed-
ingly annoy me. Sure am I, that if she who so little has corresponded to my attach-
ment— if she saw me in such a state, and in such affliction — she would have soioe
compassion on me." — Oj>tre, t. x., p. 387.]
\
THE LAMENT OF TASSO. 81
I knew my fault, and feel my punishment
Not less because I suffer it unbent.
That thou wert beautiful, and I not blind,
Hatli been the sin which shuts me from mankind ;
But let them go, or torture as they will,
My heart can multiply thine image still ;
Successful love may sate itself away ;
The wretched are the faithful ; 'tis their fate
To have all feeling, save the one, decay,
And every passion into one dilate,
As rapid rivers into ocean pour ;
But ours is fathomless, and hath no shore.
III.
Above me, hark ! the long and maniac cry
Of minds and bodies in captivity.
And hark ! the lash and the increasing howl.
And the half-inarticulate blasphemy !
There be some here with worse than frenzy foul.
Some wdio do still goad on the o'er-labour'd mind.
And dim the little light that's left behind
With needless torture, as their tyrant will
Is wound up to the lust of doing ill :'
With these and with their victims am I class' d,
'Mid sounds and sights like these long years have passed !
'Mid sights and sounds like these my life may close :
So let it be — for then I shall repose.
IV.
I have been patient, let me be so yet ;
I had forgotten half I would forget.
But it revives — Oh ! would it were my lot
To be forgetful as I am forgot !
Feel T not wroth with those who bade me dwell
In this vast lazar-house of many woes ?
Where laughter is not mirth, nor thought the mind.
Nor words a language, nor ev'n men mankind ;
2 [During the early paxt of Tasso's confinement he had one of those gaolers "with
vorse than frenzy foul," who treated him, as he wrote to his sister, "with evei7
species of rigour and inhumanity."]
VOL. II. a
82 THE LAMENT OF TASSO.
Where cries reply to curses, shrieks to blows,
And each is tortured in his separate hell —
For we are crowded in our solitudes —
Many, but each divided by the wall,
\Yhich echoes Madness in her babbling moods;
"While all can hear, none heed his neighbour's call-
None ! save that One, the veriest wretch of all,
Who was not made to be the mate of these.
Nor bound between Distraction and Disease.
Feel I not wroth with those who placed me here ?
Who have debased me in the minds of men,
Debarrijig me the usage of my own,
Bligliting my life in best of its career.
Branding my thoughts as things to shun and fear ?
Would I not pay them back these pangs again.
And teach them inward Sorrow's stifled groan ?
The struggle to be calm, and cold distress,
Wliicli undermines our Stoical success ?
No ! — still too proud to be vindictive — I
Have pardon'd princes' insults, and would die.
Yes, Sister of my Sovereign ! for thy sake
I weed all bitterness from out my breast.
It hath no business where tliou art a guest;
Thy brother hates — but I can not detest ;
Thou pitiest not — but I can not forsake.
V.
Look on a love which knows not to despair,
But all unquench'd is still my better part,
I )wclling deep in my shut and silent heart.
As dwells the gather'd lightning in its cloud,
Encompass'd with its dark and rolling sliroud.
Till struck, — forth flies the all-ethereal dart !
And tlius at the collision of thy name.
The vivid thought still flashes through my frame.
And for a moment all things as they were
Flit by me ; they are gone — I am the same.
And yet my love without ambition grew ;
1 knew thy state, my station, and I knew
A Princess was no love-mate for a bard ;
THE LAMENT OF TASSO. 83
I told it not, I breathed it not, it was
Sufficient to itself, its own reward ;
And if my eyes reveaFd it, tliey, alas !
Were punisVd by the silentness of thine.
And yet I did not venture to repine.
Tliou wert to me a crystal-girded shrine,
Worshipp'd at holy distance, and around
HallowM and meekly kiss'd the saintly ground ;
Not for thou wert a princess, but that Love
Had robed thee with a glory, and array'd
Thy lineaments in beauty that dismay' d —
Oh ! not dismayed — but awed, like One above !
And in that sweet severity there was
A something which all softness did surpass ;
I know not how — thy genius mastered mine j
My star stood still before thee : if it were
Presumptuous thus to love without design.
That sad fatality hath cost me dear ;
But thou art dearest still, and I should be
Fit for this cell, which wrongs me — but for thee.
The very love which locked me to my chain
Hath lightened half its weight ; and for the rest,
Tliough heavy, lent me vigour to sustain.
And look to thee with undivided breast, *
And foil the ingenuity of Pain.
VI.
It is no marvel — from my very birth
My soul was drunk with love, which did pervade
And mhigle with whatever I saw on earth;
Of objects all inanimate I made
Idols, and out of wild and lonely flowers.
And rocks, whereby they grew, a paradise.
Where I did lay me down within the shade
Of waving trees, and dream'd uncounted hours.
Though I was chid for wandering ; and the wise
Shook their white aged heads o'er me, and said.
Of such materials wretched men were made,
And such a truant boy would end in woe.
And that the only lesson was a blow;
g2
S4 THE LAMENT OF TASSO.
And tlieu tliey smote me, and I did not weep.
But cursed them in my heart, and to my haunt
Ecturu'd and wept alone, and dream'd again
The visions which arise without a sleep.
And with my years my soul began to pant
With feelings of strange tumult and soft pain ;
And the whole heart exhaled into One Want,
But undefined and wandering, till the day
I found the thing I sought — and that was thee;
And then I lost my being, all to be
Absorbed in thine; the world was past away;
Thou didst annihilate the earth to me !
VIT.
I loved all Solitude, but little thought
To spend I know not what of life, remote
Trom all communion with existence, save
The maniac and liis tyrant ; had I been
Their fellow, many years ere this had seen
My mind like theirs corrupted to its grave :'
But who hath seen me writlie, or heard me rave ?
Perchance in such a cell we suffer more
Than the wrecked sailor on the desert shore ;
The world is all before him — mine is here,
Scarce twice the space they must accord my bier.
What though he perish, he may lift his eye,
And with a dying glance upbraid the sky ;
I will not raise my own in such reproof.
Although 'tis clouded by my dungeon roof.
i
Till.
Yet do I feel at times ray mind decline,"
But with a sense of its decay : I see
3 ["My mind like theirs adapted to its gi-ave." — MS.]
* [" Nor do I lament," wrote Tasso, shortly after his confinement, "that my heart
is deluged with almost constant misery, that my head is always heavy, and often
painful, that my sight and hearing are much impaired, and that all my frame is
Income Sparc and meagre ; but, passing all this with a short sigh, what I -would
bewail is the infirmity of my mind. My mind sleeps, not thinks ; my fancy is chill,
and forms no pictures ; my negligent senses will uo longer furnish the iiuagcs of thiucs ;
my hand is sluggish in writing, and my pen seems as if it shrunk from the office. I
THE LAMENT OF TASSO, 85
Unwonted lights along my prison shine,
And a strange demon, who is vexing me
With pilfering pranks and petty pains, below
The feeling of the healthful and the free ;
But much to One, who long hath sufFer'd so.
Sickness of heart, and narrowness of place,
Ajid all that may be borne, or can debase.
I thought mine enemies had been but Man,
But Spirits may be leagued with them ; all Earth
Abandons, Heaven forgets me : in the dearth
Of such defence the Powers of Evil can.
It may be, tempt me further, — and prevail
Against the outworn creature they assail.
Why in this furnace is my spirit proved.
Like steel in tempering fire ? because I loved ?
Because I loved what not to love, and see.
Was more or less than mortal, and than me.
rx.
I once was quick in feeling — that is o'er ;
My scars are callous, or I should have dasVd
My brain against these bars, as the sun flashed
In mockery through them : If I bear and bore
The much I have recounted, and the more
Which hath no words, — ■'tis that I would not die
And sanction with self-slaughter the dull lie
Which snared me here, and with the brand of shame
Stamp Madness deep into my memory.
And woo Compassion to a blighted name,
Sealing the sentence which my foes proclaim.
No — it shall be immortal ! and I make
A future temj)le of my present cell,
Which nations yet shall visit for ray sake.'
While thou, Eerrara ! when no longer dwell
The ducal chiefs within thee, shalt fall down.
And crumbling piecemeal view thy hearthless halls,
feel as if I were chained in all my operations, and as if I were overcome by au uaviontod
numbness and oppressive stupor." — Opere, t. viii., p. 258.]
« [" Which j l^fte'r^/f j 'shall visit for my sake,"— MS.]
86 THE LAMENT OF TASSO.
A poet's wreath shall be thine only crown^ —
A poet's dungeon thy most far renown,
AThile strangers wonder o'er thy unpeopled walls !
And tliou, Leonora ! thou — who wert ashamed
That such as I could love — who blush'd to hear
To less tliau niouarchs that thou couldst be dear.
Go! tell thy brother, that my heart, untamed
By grief, years, weariness,' — and it may be
A taint of that he would impute to me —
From long infection of a den like this,
"Where the mind rots congenial with the abyss,
Adores thee still ; and add — that when the towers
And battlements which guard his joyous hours
Of banquet, dance, and revel, are forgot.
Or left untended in a dull repose, —
This, this, shall be a consecrated spot !
But Tkoa — when all that Birtli and Beauty throws
Of magic round thee is extinct — shaft have
One half the laurel which o'ershades my grave.
Ko poM'er in death can tear our names apart.
As none in life could rend thee from my heart.
Yes, Leonora ! it shall be our fate
To be entwined for ever — but too late !*
* [Lord Byrou's " Lament " is as sublime and profound a lesson in the recesses of
the human soul, as it is a production most eloquent, most pathetic, most vigorous,
and most elevating among the gifts of the Muse. — Brydges. There is one poem — the
" Prisoner of Cliilion" — in which Lord Byron has almost wholly laid aside all remem-
brance of the darker and stormier passions ; in which the tone of his spirit and his
voice at once is changed, and where he who seemed to care only for agonies and re-
morse, and despair, and death, and insanity, in all their most appalling forms, shows
that he has a heart that can feed on the purest sympathies of our nature, and deliver
itself up to the sorrows, the sadness, and the melancholy of humbler souls. The
"Lament" possesses much of the tenderness and pathos of the "Prisoner." Lord
Byron has not delivered himself unto any one wild and fearful vision of the imprisoned
Tasso,— he has not dared to allow himself to rush forward with headlong passion into
the hoiTors of his dungeon, and to describe, as he could fearfully have done, the conflict
and agnny of his uttermost despair,— but he shows us the poet sitting in his cell, and
singing there— a low, melancholy, wailing Lament, sometimes, indeed, bordering ou
utter wretchecbiess, but oftener partaking of a settled grief, occasionally subdued^into
mournful resignation, cheered by delightful remembrances, and elevated by the con-
fident hope of an immortal fame.— Professor Wilson.]
ODE ON VENICE.
k
ODE ON VENICE.
Oh, Venice ! Venice ! when thy marble walls
Are level with the waters, there shall be
A cry of nations o'er thy sunken halls,
A loud lament along the sweeping sea !
If I, a northern wanderer, weep for thee,
What should thy sons do ?— any thing but weep :
And yet they only murmur in their sleep.
In contrast with their fathers — as the slime.
The dull green ooze of the receding deep.
Is with the dashing of the spring- tide foam
That drives the sailor shipless to his home.
Are they to those that were; and thus they creep.
Crouching and crab-like, tlirough their sapping streets.
Oh ! agony — that centuries should reap
No mellower harvest ! Thirteen hundred years
Of wealth and glory turn'd to dust and tears ;
And every monument the stranger meets.
Church, palace, pillar, as a mourner greets ;
And even the Lion all subdued appears,
And the harsh sound of the barbarian drum.
With dull and daily dissonance, repeats
The echo of thy tyrant's voice along
The soft waves, once all musical to song.
That heaved beneath the moonlight with the throng
Of gondolas — and to the busy hum
Of cheerful creatures, whose most sinful deeds
90 ODE ON VENICE
Were but the overboating of the heart.
And flow of too much ha|)pinesSj which needs
The aid of age to turn its course apart
Prom the luxuriant and voluptuous flood
Of sweet sensations, battling with the blood.
But these are better than the gloomy errors,
The weeds of nations in their last decay.
When Vice walks forth with her unsoften'd terrorSj
And Mirth is madness, and but smiles to slay ;
And Hope is nothing but a false delay.
The sick man's lightning half an hour ere death,
When Paintness, the last mortal birth of Pain,
And apathy of limb, the dull beginning
Of the cold staggering race which Death is winning,
Steals vein by vein and pulse by pulse away ;
Yet so relieving the o'er tortured clay.
To him appears reiL'iwal of his breath.
And freedom the mere numbness of his chain ;
And then he talks of life, and how again
He feels his spirits soaring — albeit weak.
And of the fresher air, whicli he would seek ;
And as he whispers knows not that he gasps,
That his thin finger feels not what it clasps.
And so the film comes o'er him, and the dizzy
Chamber swims round and round, and shadows busy.
At which he vainly catches, flit and gleam.
Till the last rattle chokes the strangled scream.
And all is ice and blackness, — and the earth
That which it was the moment ere our birth.
n.
There is no hope for nations ! — Search the page
Of many thousand years — the daily scene,
The How and ebb of each recurring age.
The everlasting to he which hath been,
Hath taught us nought, or little : still we lean
On things that rot beneath our weight, and wear
Our strength away in wrestling with the air:
For 'tis our nature strikes us down : the beasts
SlaughterM in Jiouvlv hecatomlis for fensts
ODE ON VENICE. 91
Are of as high an order — they must go
Even where their driver goads them, though to slaughter.
Ye men, who pour your blood for kings as water,
What have they given your children in return?
A heritage of servitude and woes,
A blindfold bondage, where your hire is blows.
"What ! do not yet the red-hot plough-shares burn,
O'er which you stumble in a false ordeal.
And deem this proof of royalty the real ;
Kissing the hand that guides you to your scars.
And glorying as you tread the glowing bars ?
All that your sires have left you, all that Time
Bequeaths of free, and History of sublime.
Spring from a different theme ! Ye see and read,
Admire and sigh, and then succumb and bleed !
Save the few spirits who, despite of all,
And worse than all, the sudden crimes engender'd
By the down-thundering of the prison-wall.
And thirst to swallow the sweet waters tender' d.
Gushing from Freedom's fountains, when the crowd,
Madden'd with centuries of drought, are loud.
And trample on each other to obtain
The cup which brings oblivion of a chain
Heavy and sore, in which long yoked they ploughed
The sand, — or if there sprung the yellow grain,
'Twas not for them, their necks were too much bow'd.
And tlieir dead palates chew'd the cud of pain :
Yes ! the few spirits, who, despite of deeds
Which they abhor, confound not with the cause
Those momentary starts from Nature's laws.
Which, like the pestilence and earthquake, smite
But for a term, then pass, and leave the earth
With all her seasons to repair the blight
With a few summers, and again put forth
Cities and generations — fair, when free —
For, Tyranny, there blooms no bud for thee !
III.
Glory and Empire ! once upon these towers
With Freedom — godlike Triad ! how he sate.
92 ODE ON VENICE,
The league of mightiest nations^ in those hours
When Venice was an envy, might abate^
But did not quench her spirit ; in her fate
All were enwrajjp'd : the feasted monarchs knew
And loved their hostess, nor could learn to hate,
Although they humbled — with the kingly few
The many felt, for from all days and climes
She was the voyager's worshij) ; even her crimes
Were of the softer order — born of Love,
She drank no blood, nor fattened on the dead.
But gladdenM where her harmless conquests spread ,
For these restored the Cross, that from above
Hallow'd her sheltering banners, which incessant
Flew between earth and the unholy Crescent,
Which, if it waned and dwindled. Earth may thank
The city it has clothed in chains, which clank
Now, creaking in the ears of those who owe
The name of Freedom to her glorious struggles ;
Yet she but shares with them a common woe.
And call'd the " kingdom " of a conquering foe,
But knows what all — and, most of all, we know —
With what set gilded terms a tyrant juggles !
IV.
The name of Commonwealth is past and gone
O'er the three fractions of the groaning globe ;
Venice is crushed, and Holland deigns to own
A sceptre, and endures the purple robe ;
If the free Switzer yet bestrides alone
His chainless mountains, 'tis but for a time.
For tyranny of late is cuiming grown.
And in its own good season tramples down
The sparkles of our ashes. One great clime.
Whose vigorous offspring by dividing ocean
Are kept apart and nursed in the devotion
Of Freedom, which their fathers fought for, and
Bequeath'd — a heritage of heart and hand.
And proud distinction from each other land.
Whose sons must bow them at a monarch's motion.
As if his seuseless sceptre were a wand
ti
ODE ON VENICE. 93
Full of the magic of exploded science —
Still one great clime, in full and free defiance.
Yet rears her crest, unconquer'd and sublime,
Above the far Atlantic ! — She has taught
Her Esau-brethren that the haughty flag.
The floating fence of Albion's feebler crag,
May strike to those whose red right hands have bought
Pvights cheaply earn'd with blood. Still, still, for ever.
Better, though each man^s life-blood were a river.
That it should flow and overflow, than creep
Tlirough thousand lazy channels in our veins,
Damm'd like the dull canal with locks and chains.
And moving, as a sick man in his sleep,
Tliree paces, and then faltering : better be
Where the extinguished Spartans still are free.
In their proud charnel of Thermopylae,
Than stagnate in our marsh, — or o'er the deej>
Fly, and one current to the ocean add.
One spirit to the souls our fathers had,
One freeman more, America, to thee !
Il
TEE MOEGANTE MAGGIOEE
OP PULCI.
I
ADVERTISEMENT.
The Morgante Maggiore, of the first canto of which this
translation is offered, divides with the Orlando Innamorato the
honour of having formed and suggested the style and story of
Ariosto. The great defects of Boiardo were his treating too
seriously the narratives of chivalry, and his harsh style, Ariosto,
iu his continuation, by a judicious mixture of the gaiety of Pulci,
has avoided the one ; and Berni, in his reformation of Boiardo's
poem, has corrected the other. Pulci may be considered as the
precursor and model of Berni altogether, as he has partly been to
Ariosto, however inferior to both his copyists. He is no less the
founder of a new style of poetry very lately sprung up in England.
I allude to that of the ingenious Wliistlecraft. The serious poems
on Eoncesvalles in the same language, and more particularly the
excellent one of Mr. Merivale, are to be traced to the same source.
It has never yet been decided entirely whether Pulci's intentioii was
or was not to deride the relisrion w-hich is one of his favourite
I . . .
j topics. It appears to me, that such an intention would have been
; no less hazardous to the poet than to the priest, particularly in
I that age and country ; and the permission to publish the poem, and
i its reception among the classics of Italy, prove that it neither was
i nor is so interpreted. That he intended to ridicule tlie monastic
|| life, and suffered his imagination to play with the snnple dulness of
;| his converted giant, seems evident enough; but surely it were as
^1 unjust to accuse him of irreligion on this account, as to deiiounce
f' Fielding for his Parson Adams, Barnabas, Thwackum, Supple, and
rf the Ordinary in Jonathan Wild, — or Scott, for the exquisite use of
[j his Covenanters in the "Talcs of my Landlord."
' ! VOL. II. H
98 ADVERTISEMENT
In the following translation I have used the liberty of the original
with the proper names^ as Pulci uses Gan, Ganellon, or Ganellone ;
Carlo, CarloinagnOj or Carlomano; Rondel, or Eondello, &c., as it
suits his convenience ; so has the translator. In other respects the
version is faithful to the best of the translator's ability in combining
his interpretation of the one language with the not very easy task of
reducing it to the same versification in the other. The reader, on
comparing it with the original, is requested to remember that the
antiquated language of Pulci, however pure, is not easy to the
generality of Italians themselves, from its great mixture of Tuscan
proverbs ; and he may therefore be more indulgent to the present
attempt. How far the translator has succeeded, and whether or no
he shall continue the work, .are questions which the pubhc will
decide. He was induced to make the experiment partly by his love
for, and partial intercourse with, the Italian language, of which it is
so easy to acquire a slight knowledge, and with which it is so nearly
impossible for a foreigner to become accurately conversant. The
Italian language is hke a capricious beauty, who accords her smiles
to all, her favours to few, and sometimes least to those who have
courted her longest. The translator wished also to present in an
English dress a part at least of a poem never yet rendered into a
jiorthern language ; at the same time that it has been the original of
some of the most celebrated productions on this side of the Alps, as
well of those recent experiments in poetry in England which have
been already mentioned.
INTEODUCTION TO THE MOEGANTE MAGGIOEE.
The translation of the tedious Morgante of Puici -was chiefly executed at Eavenna
in 1820, and was first published in "The Liberal." Such was the care bestowed by
Lord Byron upon the task, that he only accomplished two stanzas a night, which was
his principal time for composition, and such was his opinion of his success, that he
always maintained that there was no such translation in the English language, and
never would be such another. He api^ears to have thought that its merit consisted ia
the verbum pro verbo closeness of the version, rendered doubly difficult by the
character of the poem, which, besides being humorous, is full of vulgar Florentine
idioms, abrupt transitions, ungrammatical constructions, and sententious obscurity.
Thus the translation was an exercise of skill in the art, and can only be estimated by
continuous reference to the original Italian, where the exigencies, moreover, of rhyme,
are far less felt than in English, and which Pulci often satisfied by yielding sense up
to sound. The immense laboiir of mastering these accumulated obstacles explains
Lord Byron's over-estimate of the piece. "Why," he says to Mr. Mm-ray, in 1821,
"don't you publish my Pulci, — the best thing I ever wrote ?" But, unless forced up
from its natural level, it is impossible for a stream to rise higher than its source, aid
the translation, from its very fidelity, was as much below " Childe Harold" and
"Don Juan " as Pulci was an inferior poet to Lord Byrou. The first edition of the
original Morgante was published at Venice in 1481. The characters are derived from
some chivalrous romances of the thirteenth century. A question much mooted is
whether Pulci designed a burlesque, or a serious poem — Ugo Foscolo maintaining that
the air of ridicule arose from the contrast between the absurdity of the matei'ials and
the eiFoi-t of the author to render them sublime ; while Sismondi contends that the
belief in the marvellous being much diminished, the adventures which formerly were
heard with gravity could not be reproduced without a mixture of mockery. Hallam
agrees with the latter, and thinks that Pulci meant to scoff at the heroes whom duller
poets held up to admiration. If he really intended to ennoble his subject he was at
least unsuccessful, and had strange ideas of dignity. There has been eqvial difference
of opinion upon the parts of the poem which touch on religion. Ugo Foscolo considers
Pulci a devout Catholic who laughed at particular dogmas and divines ; Sismondi
doubts whether to charge him with gross bigotry or profane derision ; and Hallam
thinks that, under pretence of ridiculing the intermixture of theology with romance,
he had an intention of exposing religion to contempt. Whatever might have been his
theoretical creed, he shows by his mode of treating sacred topics that he was entirely
destitute of reverence. Lord Byron was asked to allow some suppressions, to which
he responded, that Pulci must answer for his own impiety.
u2
1
IL MORGANTE MAGGIORE.
CANTO PRIMO.
I.
In principio era il Verbo appresso a Dio ;
Ed era Iddio il Verbo, e '1 Verbo lui :
Questo era nel principio, al parer mio ;
E nulla si puo far sanza cestui :
Perb, giusto Signer benigno e pio,
Mandami solo un de gli angeli tui,
Che m'accompagni, e recliimi a memoria
Una famosa antica e degna storia.
II.
E tu Vergine, figlia, e madre, e sposa
Di quel Signer, cbe ti dette le cliiave
Del ciele e MY abisso, e d' ogni cosa.
Quel di che Gabriel tuo ti disse Ave !
Percbe tu se' de' tuo' servi pietosa,
Con dolce rime, e stil grate e soave,
Ajuta i versi miei benignainente,
E'nfino al fine allumina la mente.
in.
Era nel tempo, quando Eilomcna
Con la sorella si lamenta e plora,
Che si ricorda di sua antica pena.,
E pe' boschetti le ninfe innamora,
E Eebo il carro temperate mena,
Che '1 sue Eetonte I'annnaestra ancora.
Ed appariva appunto all' erizzonte,
Tal che Titon si graffiava la frentc.
I'HE MORGANTE MAGGIORE.
CANTO THE FIRST.
I,
In the beginning was the Word next God ;
God was the Word, the Word no less was he :
This was in the beginning, to my mode
Of thinking, and without him nought could be :
Therefore, just Lord ! from out thy high abode.
Benign and pious, bid an angel flee.
One only, to be my companion, who
Shall help my famous, worthy, old song tlirough.
n.
And thou, oh Virgin ! daughter, mother, bride,
Of the same Lord, who gave to you each key
Of heaven, and hell, and every thing beside.
The day thy Gabriel said "All hail \" to thee.
Since to thy servants pity^s ne'er denied.
With flowing rhymes, a pleasant style a.nd free.
Be to my verses then benignly kind.
And to the end illuminate my mind.
iir.
'Twas in the season wlien sad Philomel
Weeps with her sister, who remembers and
Deplores the ancient woes which both befel.
And makes the nymphs enamoured, to the hand
Of Phaeton by Phoebus loved so well
His car (but tempered by his sire's command)
Was given, and on the horizon's verge just now
Appear' d, so that Tithonus scratch'd his brow :
102 MORGANTE MAGGIORE.
IV.
Quand'io varai la mia barchetta, prima
Per ubbidir chi sempre ubbidir debbc
La mente, e faticarsi in prosa e in rinia,
E del mio Carlo Imperador m'increbbe ;
Che so quanti la penna ha posto in ciuia,
Che tutti la sua gloria prevarrebbe :
E stata quella istoria, a quel ch'i' veggio,
Di Carlo male intesa, e scritta peggio.
Diceva gia Lionardo Aretino,
Che s' egli avesse avuto scrittor degno,
Com' egli ebbe un Ormanno il suo Pipino
Ch' avesse diligenzia avuto e ingegno ;
Sarebbe Carlo Magno un uom divino ;
Perb ch' egli ebbe gran vittorie e regno,
E fece per la chiesa e per la fede
Certo assai piii, che non si dice o crede.
VI.
Guardisi ancora a san Liberatore
Quella badia la presso a Manoppello,
Giu ne gli Abbruzzi fatta per suo onore,
Dove fu la battaglia e '1 gran flaggello
D'un re pagan, che Carlo imperadore
Uccise, e tanto del sua popol fello :
E vedesi tante ossa, e tanto il sanno,
Che tutte in Giusaff^ poi si vedranno.
VII.
Ma il mondo cieco e ignorante non prezza
Le sue virtii, com'io vorrei vedere :
E tu, Fiorenza, de la sua grandezza
Possiedi, e sempre potrai possedere
Ogni costume ed ogni gentilezza
Che si potcsse aquistare o avere
Col senno col tesoro o con la lancia
Dal nobil sangue e vcjuito di Erancia.
MORGANTE MAGGIORE. 103
IV.
Wheu I prepared my bark first to obey.
As it should still obey, the helm, my mind.
And carry prose or rhyme, and this my lay
Of Charles the Emperor, whom you will find
By several pens already praised ; but they
\Yho to diffuse his glory were inclined,
For all that I can see in prose or verse.
Have understood Charles badly, and wrote worse.
Leonardo Aretino said already.
That if, hke Pepin, Charles had had a writer
Of genius quick, and diligently steady.
No hero would in history look brighter j
He in the cabinet being always ready.
And in the field a most victorious fighter.
Who for the church and Christian faith had wrought,
Certes, far more than yet is said or thought.
VI.
You still may see at St. Liberatore,
The abbey, no great way from Manopell,
Erected in the Abruzzi to his glory.
Because of the great battle in which fell
A pagan king, according to the story.
And felon people whom Charles sent to heU :
And there are bones so many, and so many.
Near them GiusafFa's would seem few, if any.
TII.
But the world, blind and ignorant, don''t prize
His virtues as I wish to see them : thou,
Florence, by his great bounty don't arise.
And hast, and may have, if thou wilt allow,
All proper customs and true courtesies :
Whate'er thou hast acquired from then till now,
"With knightly courage, treasure, or the lance,
Ts sprung from out the noble blood of France.
101 MORGANTE MAGGIORE,
VIII.
Dodici palailini aveva in corte
Carlo ; e '1 piu savio e famoso era Orlando ;
Gan traditor lo condusse a la morte
In Roncisvalle un trattato ordinando ;
La dove in corno sonb tanto forte
Dopo la dolorosa rotta, quando
Ne la sna commedia Dante qui dice,
E inettelo con Carlo in ciel felice.
IX.
Era per Pasqua quella d\ natale :
Carlo la corte avea tutta in Parigi ;
Orlando, com' io dico, il principale
Evvi, il Danese, Astolfo, e Ansuigi :
Eamiosi feste e cose trionfale,
E inolto celebravan San Dionigi;
Angiolin di Bajona, ed Ulivieri
Vera venuto, e '1 gentil Berlingliieri.
X.
Eravi Avolio, ed Avino, ed Ottone
Ei Norniandia, Riccardo Paladino,
E '1 savio Namo, e '1 vecchio Salamone,
Gualtier da Monlione, e Baldovino
Cli' era ficfliuol del tristo Ganellone.
Troppo lieto era il figliuol di Pipino ;
Tanto die spesso d' allegrezza geme
Veggendo tutti i paladini insieme.
XI.
Ma la Portuna attenta sta nascosa,
Per guastar seinpre ciascun nostro effetto ;
Meiitre clie Carlo cosi si riposa,
Orlando governava in fatto c in detto
La corte e Carlo Magno ed ogni cosa :
Gan i)er invidia scoppia il maladetto,
]"i foniinciava un di con Carlo a dire :
Aljhiain noi scinpre Orlando nd ubbidire?
MORGANTE MAGGIORE. 105
VIII.
Twelve paladins had Charles in courts of wlioin
The wisest and most famous was Orlando ;
Him traitor Gan conducted to the tomb
In Eoncesvalles^ as the viDain plann'd too^
While the horn rang so loud, and knelFd the doom
Of their sad rout, though he did all kniglit can do :
And Dante in his comedy has given
To him a happy seat with Charles in heaven.
IX.
'Twas Christmas-day ; in Paris all his court
Charles held ; the chief, I say, Orlando was.
The Dane ; Astolfo there too did resort,
Also Ansuigi, the gay time to pass
In festival and in triumphal sport,
The much-renownM St. Dennis being the cause ;
Angiolin of Bayonne, and Oliver,
And gentle Belinghieri too came there :
Avolio, and Arino, and Othone,
Of Normandy, and Eichard Paladin,
Wise Hamo, and the ancient Salamone,
Walter of Lion's Mount and Baldovin,
Who was the son of the sad Ganelloue,
Were there, exciting too much gladness in
The son of Pepin : — when his knights came hither.
He groan'd with joy to see them altogether.
XI.
But watcliful Fortune, lurking, takes good heed
Ever some bar 'gainst our intents to bring.
While Charles reposed him thus, in word and deed,
Orlando ruled court, Cliarles, and every thing ;
Curst Gan, with envy bursting, had such need
To vent his spite, that thus with Charles the king
One day he openly began to say,
" Orlando must we always then obey ?
106 MORGANTE MAGGIORE.
zn.
lo lio creduto mille volte dirti .
Oi'laiido ha in se troppa presunzione :
Noi siam qui conti, re, duchi a servirti,
E Namo^ Ottone, Uggieri e Salamone,
Per ouorarti ognun, per ubbidirti :
Che cestui abbi ogni reputazione
Nol sofferrem ; ma siam dehberati
Da un fanciullo non esser governati.
XIII.
Tu cominciasti insino in Aspramonte
A dargli a intender che fusse gagliardo,
E facesse gran cose a quella fonte ;
Ma se non fusse stato il buon Gherardo,
10 so che la vittoria era d' Almonte :
Ma egli ebbe sempre Tocchio a lo stendardo ;
Che si voleva quel di coronarlo :
Questo e colui ch' ha meritato, Carlo.
XIV.
Se ti ricorda gih sendo in Guascogna,
Quando e^ vi venne la gente di Spagna,
11 popol de' Cristiani avea vergogna,
Se non mostrava la sua forza magna.
11 ver convien pur dir, quando e' bisogna :
Sappi ch' ognuno imperador si lagna :
Quant' io per me, ripassero que' monti
Cli' io passai 'n qua con sessantaduo conti.
XV.
La tua grandezza dispensar si vuole,
E far che ciascun abbi la sua parte :
La corte tutta quanta se ne duole :
Tu credi che cestui sia forse Marte ?
Orlando un giorno udi queste parole,
Che si sedeva soletto in disparte :
Dispiacquegli di Gan quel che diceva ;
l\Ia molto piu che Carlo gli credeva.
MORGANTE MAGGIORE. 107
XII.
" A thousand times I've been about to say,
Orlando too presumptuously goes on
Here are we, counts, kings, dukes, to own thy sway,
Hamo, and 0th o, Ogier, Solomon,
Each have to honour thee and to obey ;
But he has too much credit near the throne.
Which we won't suffer, but are quite decided
By such a boy to be no longer guided.
XIII.
*' And even at Aspramont thou didst begin
To let him know he was a gallant knight.
And by the fount did much the day to win ;
But I know tvlio that dav had won the fiffht
If it had not for good Gherardo been ;
The victory was Almonte's else ; his sight
He kept upon the standard, and the laurels
In fact and fairness are his earning, Charles.
XIV.
" If thou rememberest being in Gascony,
When there advanced the nations out of Spain,
The Christian cause had suffer'd shamefully.
Had not his valour driven them back again. '
Best speak the truth when there's a reason why :
Know then, oh Emperor ! that all complain :
As for myself, I shall repass the mounts
O'er which I cross'd with two and sixty counts.
XV.
" 'Tis fit thy grandeur should dispense relief.
So that each here may have his proper part,
Eor the whole court is more or less in grief :
Perhaps thou deem'st this lad a Mars in heart ? "
Orlando one day heard this speech in brief.
As by himself it chanced he sate apart :
Displeased he was with Gan because he said it,
But much more still that Charles should give him credit.
]08 MORGANTE MAGGIORE.
XVI.
E voile con la spada uccider Gauo ;
Ma Ulivieri in quel mezzo si mise,
E Durlindana gli trasse di mano,
E cosi il me' clie seppe gli divise,
Orlando si sdegnb con Carlo Mano,
E poco men clie quivi don V uccise ;
E dipartissi di Parigi solo,
E scoppia e 'mpazza di sdegno e di duolo.
XVII.
Ad Ermellina moglie del Danese
Tolse Cortana, e poi tolse Eondello;
E 'n verso Brara il suo cammin poi prese.
Alda la bella, come vide quello.
Per abbracciarlo le braccia distese.
Orlando, clie ismarrito avea il cervello.
Com' ella disse : ben venga il mio Orlando
Gli voile in su la testa dar col brando.
XVIII.
Come colui clie la furia cousiglia,
Egli pareva a Gan dar veramente :
Alda la bella si fe' maraviglia :
Orlando si ravvide prestamente :
E la sua sposa pigliava la briglia,
E scese dal caval subitamente :
Ed ogni cosa narrava a costei,
E riposossi alcun giorno con lei.
XIX.
Poi si parti portato dal furore,
E terminb passare in Pagania ;
E mentre clie cavalca, il traditore
Di Gan seinpre ricorda per la via :
E cavalcando d'uno in altro errore.
In un deserto truova una badia
In luoghi oscuri e paesi lontani,
Ch 'era a' confiu' tra Cristiani e pagani.
I
MORGANTE MAGGIORE. 109
XVI.
And with the sword he would have murderM Gan,
But OHver thrust in between the pair.
And from his hand extracted Durlindan,
And thus at length they separated were.
Orlando angry too with Carloman^
Wanted but little to have slain him there ;
Then forth alone from Paris went the cliief,
And burst and maddened with disdain and grief.
XVII.
From Erraellina, consort of the Dane,
He took Cortana, and then took Eondell,
And on towards Brara prick^l him o'er the plain ;
And when she saw him coming, Aldabelle
Stretched forth her arms to clasp her lord again :
Orlando, in whose brain all was not well,
As " Welcome, my Orlando, home," she said.
Raised up his sword to smite her on the head.
XVIII.
Like him a fury counsels ; his revenge
On Gan in that rash act he seemVl to take.
Which Aldabella thought extremely strange;
But soon Orlando found himself awake ;
And his spouse took his bridle on this change,
And he dismounted from his horse, and spake
Of every thing which passM without demur.
And then reposed himself some days with her.
XIX.
Then full of wrath departed from tlie place.
As far as pagan countries roam'd astray,
And while he rode, yet still at every pace
The traitor Gan remember'd by the way ;
And wandering on in error a long space.
An abbey which in a lone desert lay,
'Midst glens obscure, and distant lands, he found.
Which form'd the Christian's and the pagan's bound.
no MORGANTE MAGGIORE.
XX.
L* abate si cliiamava Chiaramonte,
Era del sangue disceso d'Anglante :
Di soj^ra a la badia v' era un gran monte,
Dove abitava alcun fiero gigante,
De' quali uno avea nome Passamonte,
L' altro Alabastro, e '1 terzo era Morgaute :
Con certe frombe gittavan da alto,
Ed ogni di facevan qualclie assalto.
XXI.
I monaclietti non potieno uscire
Del monistero o per legne o per acque :
Orlando piccliia, e non volieno aprire,
Ein clie a 1' abate a la fine pur piacque ;
Entrato drento cominciava a dire.
Come colui, clie di Maria gia nacque
Adora, ed era Cristian battezzato,
E com' egli era a la badia arrivato.
XXII.
Disse r abate : il ben venuto sia :
Di quel cli' io lio volentier ti daremo,
Poi clie tu credi al figliuol di Maria ;
E la cagioD, cavalier, ti diremo,
Accib che non 1' imputi a villania,
Perche a V entrar resistenza facemo,
E non ti voile aprir quel monaclietto :
Cosi intervien clii vive con sospetto.
XXIII.
Quando ci venni al'principio abitarc
Qucste montagne, benclie sieno oscurc
Come tu vcdi ; pur si potea stare
Sanza sospetto, cli' eir eran sicure :
Sol da le fiere t' avevi a guardare ;
Fernoci spesso di brutte paure ;
Or ci bisogna, se vogliamo starci.
Da le bestie dimcsticlic guardarci.
I
MORGANTE MAGGIORE. VA
XX.
The abbot was call'd Clermont, and by blood
Descended from Angrante: under cover
Of a great mountain's brow the abbey stood,
But certain savage giants looked him over ;
One Passamont was foremost of the brood,
And Alabaster and Morgante hover
Second and third, with certain slings, and throw
In daily jeopardy the place below.
XXI.
The monks could pass the convent gate no mors,
Nor leave their cells for water or for wood ;
Orlando knocked, but none would ope, before
Unto the prior it at length seem'd good ;
Entered, he said that he was taught to adore
Him who was born of Mary's holiest blood.
And was baptized a Christian ; and then show'd
How to the abbey he had found his road.
XXII.
Said the abbot, "You are welcome; what is mine
We give you freely, since that you believe
With us in Mary Mother's son divine ;
And that, you may not, cavalier, conceive
The cause of our delay to let you in
To be rusticity, you shall receive
The reason why our gate was barr'd to you :
Thus those who in suspicion live must do.
XXIII.
" When hither to inhabit first we came
These mountains, albeit that they are obscure,
As you perceive, yet without fear or blame
They seem'd to promise an asylum sure :
From savage brutes alone, too fierce to tame,
'Twas fit our quiet dwelling to secui'e ;
But now, if here we'd stay, we needs must guard
Against domestic beasts with watch and ward.
112 MORGANTE MAGGIORE.
XXIV.
Queste ci fan piuttosto stare a segno
Sonci appariti tre fieri gigantic
Non so di quel paese o di qual regno.
Ma molto son feroci tutti quniiti :
La forza e '1 malvoler giunt'a lo 'ngegno
Sai clie pub '1 tutto ; e noi non siam bastanfi ;
Questi per turban si 1' orazion nostra,
Che non so piu che far, s' altri nol mostra.
XXV.
Gli anticlii padri nostri nel deserto,
Se le lor 02)re sante erano e giuste,
Del ben servir da Dio n'avean buon merto ;
Ne creder sol vivessin di locuste :
Piovea dal ciel la manna, questo e certo;
Ma qui convien che spesso assaggi e guste
Sassi che piovon di sopra quel monte,
Che gettano Alabastro e Passamonte.
XXVI.
E '1 terzo eh' e Morgante, assai piii fiero,
Isveglie e pini e faggi e cerri e gli opjii,
E gettagli infin qui : questo e pur vero ;
Non posso far che d* ira non iscoppi.
Mentre che parlau cosi in cimitero,
Un sasso par che Rondel quasi sgro])pi ;
Che da^ giganti giii venne da alto
Tanto, ch' e' prese sotto il tetto un salto.
XXVII.
Tirati drento, cavahei-, per Dio,
Disse r abate, che la manna casca.
Risponde Orlando : caro abate mio,
Costui non vuol che '1 mio caval piu pasca :
Veggo che lo guarrebbe del restio :
Quel sasso par che di buon braccio nasca.
Rispose il santo padre : io non t' inganno.
Credo che '1 monte un giorno gitteranno.
moegante MAGGIORE. 118
v..
XXIV.
" These make us standi in fact, upon the watch ;
For late there have appear'd three giants rough,
What nation or what kingdom bore the batch
I know not, but they are all of savage stuff;
When force and malice with some genius matcii.
You know, they can do all — we are not enough :
And these so much our orisons derange,
I know not what to do, till matters change.
XXT.
'' Our ancient fathers living the desert in,
For just and holy works were duly fed ;
Think not they lived on locusts sole, 'tis certain
That manna was rainM down from heaven instead ;
But here 'tis fit we keep on the alert in
Our bounds, or taste the stones shower'd down for bread.
From off yon mountain daily raining faster.
And flung by Passamout and Alabaster.
XXVI.
" Tlie third, Morgante, 's savagest by far ; he
Plucks up pines, beeches, poplar -trees, and oaks.
And flings them, our community to bury ;
And all that I can do but more provokes."
While thus they parley in the cemetery,
A stone from one of their gigantic strokes.
Which nearly crush'd Eondell, came tumbling over.
So that he took a long leap under cover.
XXVII.
" For God-sake, cavaHer, come in with speed ;
The manna's falling noAV," the abbot cried.
" This fellow does not wish my horse should teed.
Dear abbot," Eoland unto him replied.
" Of restiveness he'd cure him had he need ;
Tiiat stone seems with good will and aim applied."
The holy father said, " I don't deceive ;
They'll one day fling the mountain, I believe."
VOL. 11. I
U4 MORGANTE MAGGIORE.
XXVIII.
Orlando goveruar fece RoncU^llo,
E ordinar per se da colazione :
Poi disse : abate, io voglio andare a quello
Che dette al mio caval con quel cantone.
Disse 1' abate : come car fratello
Consiglierotti sanza passione ?
10 ti scoufortOj baron, di tal gita ;
Cli' io so die tu vi lascerai la vita.
XXIX.
Quel Passamonte porta in man tre dardi :
Chi frombe, chi baston, chi mazzafrusti ;
Sai che giganti piu di noi gagliardi
Son per ragion, che son anco piii giusti ;
E pur se vuoi andar fa che ti guardi^
Che questi son villan molto e robusti.
Eispose Orlando : io Io vedro per certo ;
Ed avviossi a pie su pel deserto.
XXX.
Disse Y abate col segnarlo in fronte :
Ya, che da Dio e me sia benedetto.
Orlando, poi che salito ebbe il moiite.
Si dirizzb, come Y abate detto
Gli avea, dove sta quel Passamonte;
11 quale Orlando veggendo soletto,
Molto Io squadra di drieto e davante ;
Poi domandb, se star volea per fante ?
XXXI.
E' prometteva di faVlo godere.
Orlando disse : pazzo Saracino,
Io vengo a te, com' e di Dio volere,
Per darti morte, e non per ragazzino ;
A' monaci suoi fatto hai dispiacere ;
Non piio piii coraportarti can mastino.
Qucsto gigantc armar si corse a furiii,
Quaudo senti cli' e' gli diceva iiigiuria.
MORGANTE MAGGIORE. H;
XXVIII.
Orlando bade them take care of Eoudello,
And also made a breakfast of his own ;
" Abbot/^ he said^ " I want to find that fellow
Who flung at my good horse yon corner-stone."
Said the abbot, " Let not my advice seem shallow ;
As to a brother dear I speak alone ;
I would dissuade you, baron, from this strife.
As knowing sure that you will lose your life.
XXIX.
" That Passamont has in his hand three darts —
Such slings, clubs, ballast-stones, that yield you must :
You know that giants have much stouter hearts
Than us, with reason, in proportion just :
If go you will, guard well against their arts.
For these are very barbarous and robust."
Orlando answered, " This Til see, be sure.
And walk the wild on foot to be secure."
XXX.
The abbot signM the great cross on his front,
"Then go you with God's benison and mine:"
Orlando, after he had scaled the mount.
As the abbot had directed, kept the line
Right to the usual haunt of Passamont ;
Who, seeing him alone in this design.
Surveyed liira fore and aft with eyes observant.
Then ask'd liim, " If he wish'd to stay as servant?"
XXXI.
And promised him an ofiice of great ease.
But said Orlando, " Saracen insane !
I come to kill you, if it shall so please
God, not to serve as footboy in your train;
You with his monks so oft have broke the peace —
Yile dog ! 'fis past his patience to sustain."
The giant ran to fetch his arms, quite furious.
When he received an answer so injurious.
i2
J 16 MORGANTE MAGGIORE.
XXXII.
E ritornato ove aspettava Orlando,
11 qual non s' era partito da bomba ;
Subito venne la corda gkaudo,
E lascia un sasso andar fuor de la fromba,
Che in sii la testa giugnea rotolando
Al conte Orlando, e Y elmetto rimbomba ;
E' cadde per la pena tramortito ;
Ma piu che inorto par, tanto e stordito.
XXXIII.
Passamonte pensb clie fusse morto,
E disse : io voglio andarmi a disarmare :
Questo poltron per clii m' aveva scorto?
Ma Cristo i suoi non suole abbandonare,
Massime Orlando, ch' egli arebbe il torto.
Mentre il gigante 1' arme va a spogliare,
Orlando in questo tempo si risente,
E rivocava e la forza e la mente.
XXXIV.
E gridb forte : gigante, ove vai ?
Ben ti pensasti d' avermi aramazzato !
Yolgiti a drieto, che, s' ale non hai,
Non puoi da me fuggir, can rinnegato :
A tradimento ingiuriato m' hai.
Donde il gigante allor maravigUato
Si volse a drieto, e riteneva il passo ;
Poi si chinb per tor di terra uu sasso.
XXXV.
igi
Orlando avea Cortana ignuda in mano ;
Trasse a la testa : e Cortana tagliava :
Per mezzo il teschio parti del pagaiio,
E Passamonte morto rovinava :
E nel cadere il superbo e villano
Divotamente Macon besteramiava ;
Ma mentre che bcstemmia il crudo e acerbo,
Orlando ringraziava il Padre e '1 Verbo.
MORGANTE MAGGIOllE. 117
XXXII.
And being return'd to where Orlando stood.
Who had not moved him from the spot, and swinging
The cord, he hurFd a stone with strength so rude.
As show'd a sample of liis skill in slinging ;
It roll'd on Count Orlando's helmet good
And head, and set both head and helmet ringing.
So that he swooned with pain as if he died.
But more than dead, he seemed so stupified.
XXXIII.
Then Passamont, who thought him slain outriglit.
Said, " I will go, and while he lies along.
Disarm me : why such craven did I fight ?"
But Christ his servants ne'er abandons long.
Especially Orlando, such a knight.
As to desert would almost be a wrons^.
While the giant goes to put off his defences,
Orlando has recall'd his force and senses :
XXXIV.
And loud he shouted, " Giant, where dost go ?
Thou thought'st me doubtless for the bier outlaid ;
To the right about — without wings thou'rt too slow
To fly my vengeance — currish renegade ?
'Twas but by treachery thou laid'st me low."
The giant his astonishment betray'd.
And turned about, and stopped his journey on.
And then he stoop'd to pick up a great stone.
XXXV.
Orlando had Cortana bare in hand ;
To split the head in twain was what he sch^^ned ;
Cortana clave the skuU like a true brand.
And pagan Passamont died unredeemed.
Yet harsh and haughty, as he lay he banu'd.
And most devoutly Macon still blasphemed ;
But while his crude, rude blasphemies he heard,
Orlando thanked the Father and the Word, —
^g MORGANTE MAGGIORE.
XXXVI.
Dicendo : quanta grazia oggi m' ha data !
Sempre ti sono, o signer mio, tenuto ;
Per te conosco la vita salvata ;
Perb che dal gigante era abbattato :
Osni cosa a ragion fai misurata ;
Non val nostro poter sanza li tuo ajiito.
Priegoti, sopra me tenga la raano,
Tanto che ancor ritorni a Carlo Mano.
XXXVII.
Poi ch' ebbe questo detto sen' andbe,
Tanto clie trouva Alabastro piii basso
Che si sforzava, quando e' lo trovoe,
Di sveglier d' una ripa fuori uu masso.
Orlando, com' e' giunse a quel, gridoe :
Che pensi tu, ghiotton, gittar quel sasso?
Qaando Alabastro questo grido intende,
Subitamente la sua fromba prende.
XXXVIII.
E' trasse d' una pietra raolto grossa,
Tanto ch' Orlando bisogno sehcrmisse;
Che se V avesse giunto la percossa,
Non bisognava il medico venisse,
Orlando adoperb poi la sua possa ;
Nel pettignon tutta la spada missc :
E morto cadde questo babalone,
E non dimenticb perb Macone.
XXXIX.
Morgante aveva al suo modo un palagio
Fatto di frasche e di schegge e di terra :
Quivi, secondo lui, si posa ad agio ;
Quivi la notte si rinchiude e serra.
Orlando picchia, e daragli disagio,
Perche il gigante dal sonno si sierra ;
Vennegli aprir come una cosa niatta ;
Ch' un' aspra visione aveva iatta.
MORGANTE MAGGIORE. 119
XXXVI.
iSayiiig, " What grace to me thou'st this day given }
And I to thee, 0 Lord ! am ever bound.
I know my life was saved by thee from heaven,
Since by the giant I was fairly down'd.
All things by thee are measured just and even ;
Our power without thine aid would nought be found :
I pray thee take heed of me, till I can
At least return once more to Carloman."
XXXVII.
And having said thus much, he went his way;
And Alabaster he found out below,
Doing the very best that in him lay
To root from out a bank a rock or two.
Orlando, when he reached him, loud 'gan say,
"How think'st thou, glutton, such a stone to throw?"
When Alabaster lieard his deep voice ring.
He suddenly betook him to his sling,
XXXVIII.
And hurl'd a fragment of a size so large.
That if it had in fact fulfill'd its mission.
And Eoland not availed him of his targe.
There would have been no need of a physician.
Orlando set himself in turn to charge.
And in his bulky bosom made incision
With all his sword. The lout fell; but o'erthrown, he
However by no means forgot Macone.
XXXIX.
Morgante had a palace in his mode,
Composed of branches, logs of wood, and earth,
And stretched himself at ease in this abode.
And shut himself at night within his berth.
Orlando knocked, and knock'd again, to goad
The giant from his sleep ; and he came fortli,
The door to open, like a crazy thing,
Yov a rough dream had shook him slumbering.
120 MORGANTE MAGGIORE.
XL.
E' gli parea cli' un feroce serpente
L' avea assalito, e chiamar Macometto
Ma Macometto iion valea niente :
Oud' e' cliiainava Gesii benedetto ;
E liberate 1' avea finalmente.
Veime alia porta, ed ebbe cosi detto ;
Chi buzza qua ? pur sempre borbottando.
Tu '1 saprai tosto, gli rispose Orlando.
XLI.
Vengo per farti, come a' tuo' fratelli.
Ear de' peccati tuoi la penitenzia.
Da' monaci mandato, cattivelli,
Come stato e divina providenzia ;
Pel mal cli' avete fatto a torto a quelli,
E dato in ciel cosi questa seutenzia ;
Sappi, che freddo gia piii ch' un pilastro
Lasciato ho Passamonte e '1 tuo Alabastro
XLII.
Disse Morgante : o gentil cavaliere.
Per lo tuo Dio non mi dir villania :
Di grazia il nome tuo vorrei sapere ;
Se se' Cristian, deh dillo in cortesia.
Rispose Orlando : di cotal mastiere
Contenterotti per la f'ede mia;
Adoro Cristo, ch' e Signor verace ;
E puoi tu adorarloj se ti piace.
XLIII.
Rispose il Saracin con umil voce :
To ho fatto una strana visionCj
Che ra' assaliva un serpente feroce :
Non mi valeva ])er chiamar Macone :
Onde al tuo Dio clie fu confitto in croce
Rivolsi presto la mia intenzione :
E' mi soccorse, e fui libero e sano,
E son disposto al tutto esser Cristiauo.
,
MORGANTE MAGGIORE. 121
XL.
He thouglit that a fierce serpent had attacked him
And Mahomet he call'd ; but Mahomet
Is nothing worthy and not an instant back^l him ;
But praying blessed Jesu, he was set
At liberty from all the fears which rack'd him ;
And to the gate he came with great regret —
" Who knocks here ? " grumbling all the while, said he.
" Tliat," said Orlando, " you will quickly see :
XLI.
" I come to preach to you, as to your brothers, .
Sent by the miserable monks — repentance ;
For Providence divine, in you and others.
Condemns the evil done, my new acquaintance.
'Tis writ on high — your wrong must pay another's :
From heaven itself is issued out this sentence.
Know then, that colder now than a pilaster
I left your Passamont and Alabaster."
XLII.
Morgante said, " Oh gentle Cavalier !
Now by thy God say me no villany ;
The favour of your name I fain would hear.
And if a Christian, speak for courtesy.'^
Eeplied Orlando, " So much to your ear
I by my faith disclose contentedly ;
Christ I adore, who is the genuine Lord,
And, if you please, by you may be adored."
XLIII.
The Saracen rejoin'd in humble tone,
" I have had an extraordinary vision ;
A savage serpent fell on me alone.
And Macon would not pity my condition;
Hence to thy God, who for ye did atone
Upon the cross, preferr'd I my petition ;
His timely succour set me safe and free.
And I a Christian am disposed to be."
VA2 MORGANTE MAGGIORE.
XLIV.
Kispose Orlando : barou giusto e pio,
Se questo buon voler terrai iiel core,
JJ anima tua ara quel vero l)io
Che ci pub sol gradir d' etenio oiiore ;
E s' tu vorrai, sarai compaguo mio,
E ainerotti con perfetto amore :
Gl' idoli vostri son bugiardi e varii :
II vero Dio e lo Dio de' Cristiani.
XLV.
Yenne questo Signor sanza peccato
Ne le sua madre vergine pulzella :
Se conoscessi quel Signor beato,
Sanza '1 qual non risplende sole o Stella^
Aresti gia Macon tuo rinnegato,
E la sua fede iniqua ingiusta e fella ;
Battezzati al mio Dio di buon talento.
Morgante gli risposo : io son contend >.
XLVI.
E corse Orlando subito abbracciare :
Orlando gran carezze gli facea,
E disse : a la badia ti vo' menare.
Morgante/ andianci presto^ respondea ;
Co' monaci la pace ci vuol fare.
De la qua! cosa Orlando in se godea,
Dicendo ; fratel mio divoto e buono,
Io vb che chiegga a V abate perdono.
XLVII.
Da poi che Dio rallumiuato t' ha,
Ed acettato per la sua umiltade
A^uolsi die tu aiicor usi urnilta.
Disse Morgante : per la tua bontade,
Poi che il tuo Dio mio seinpre omai sarii,
Dimmio del nome tuo la veritade,
Poi di me dispor puoi al tuo comando ;
Oiul' e' gli disse, com' euii era Orlando.
MORGANTE MAGGIORE. J 23
XLIV.
Orlando answer' d, " Baron just and pious.
If this good wish your heart can really move
To the true God, you will not then deny us
Eternal honour, you will go above,
And, if you ])lease, as friends we will ally us.
And I will love you with a perfect love.
Your idols are vain liars, full of fraud :
The only true God is the Christian's God.
XLV.
" The Lord descended to the virgin breast
Of Mary Mother, sinless and divine ;
If you acknowledge the Redeemer blest.
Without whom neither sun nor star can sliine,
Abjure bad Macon's false and felon test.
Your renegado god, and worship mine.
Baptize yourself with zeal, since you repent."
To which Morgante answer'd, " I'm content."
XLVI.
And then Orlando to embrace him flew,
And made much of his convert, as he cried, '
" To the abbey I will gladly marshal you."
To whom Morgante, " Let us go," replied ;
" I to the friars have for peace to sue."
Which thing Orlando heard with inward pride,
Saying, " My brother, so devout and good,
Ask the abbot pardon, as I wish you would :
XLVII.
" Since God has granted your illumhiation,
Accepting you in mercy for his own.
Humility should be your first oblation."
Morgante said, "For goodness' sake, make known, -
Since that your God is to be mine — your station.
And let your name in verity be shown ;
Then will I everything at your command do."
On which the other said, he was Orlando.
124 MORGANTE MAGGIORE.
XL VIII.
Disse il gigante : Gesii benedefcto
Per mille volte ringraziato sia;
Sentito t' ho nomai-j baron perfetto,
Per tutti i tempi de la vita mia :
E, com' io dissi, sempremai suggetto
Esser ti vo' per la tua gagliardia.
Insieme molte cose ragioiiaro,
E 'n verso la badia poi s' inviaro.
XLIX.
E per la via da que' giganti morti
Orlando con Morgante si ragiona :
De la lor morte vo' die ti conforti ;
E poi clie piace a Dio, a me perdona ;
A' monaci avean fatto mille torti ;
E la nostra scrittura aperto suona,
II ben remunerato, e '1 mal punito ;
E mai non ha questo Signor fallito.
L.
Perb ch' egli ama la giustizia tanto,
Che vuob che sempre il sno giudicio morda
Ognun ch' abbi peccato tanto o quauto ;
E cosi il ben ristorar si ricorda :
E non saria senza giustizia santo :
Adunque al suo voler presto t' accorda :
Che debbe ognun voler quel che vuol questo,
Ed accordarsi volentieri e presto.
I4I.
E sonsi i nostri dottdri accordati,
Pigliando tutti une conclusione,
Che que' clie son nel ciel glorificati,
S' avessin nel pensier comj)assione
De' miseri parentis che dannati
Son ne lo inferno in gran confusione.
La lor felicit£i nulla sarebbe ;
• E vcdi die qui ingiusto Iddio parrebbe.
MORGANTE MAGQIORE. V25
XLVIII.
" Then/' quoth the giant^ " blessed be Jesu
A thousand times with gratitude and praise !
Oft, perfect baron ! have I heard of you
Through all the different periods of my days :
And, as I said, to be your vassal too
I wish, for your great gallantry always/'
Thus reasoning, they continued much to say,
And onwards to the abbey went their way.
XLIX.
And by the way about the giants dead
Orlando with Morgante reasoned : " Be,
For their decease, I pray you, comforted ;
And, since it is God's pleasure, pardon me ;
A thousand wrongs unto <lie monks they bred ;
And our true Scripture soundeth openly,
Good is rewarded, and chastised the ill.
Which the Lord never faileth to fulfil :
" Because his love of justice unto all
Is such, he wills his judgment should devour
All who have sin, however great or small ;
But good he well remembers to restore.
Nor without justice holy could we call
Him, whom I now require you to adore.
AU men must make his will their wishes sway,
And quickly and spontaneously obey.
LI.
" And here our doctors are of one accord.
Coming on this point to the same conclusion.
That in their thoughts who praise in heaven the Lord
If pity e'er was guilty of intrusion
For their unfortunate relations stored
In hell below, and damn'd in great confusion.
Their happiness would be reduced to nought.
And thus unjust the Almighty's self be thought.
123 MORGANTE MAGGIORE.
LII.
Ma egli anno posto in GesCi ferma spnie ;
E tanto pave a lor, quanto a lui pare ;
Afferman cib clie^ e' fa, clie facci bene,
E che non possi in nessun mode errare :
Se padre o madre e nelF eterne pene,
Di questo non si posson conturbare :
Che quel che piace a Dio, sol piace a loro :
Questo s' osserva ne 1' eterno coro.
LIII.
Al savio suol bastar poche parole,
Disse Morgante ; tu il potrai veoere,
De^ miei fratelli, Orlando, se mi duole,
E s' io m' accorderb di Dio al volere,
Come tu di' che in ciel servar si suole :
Morti go' morti ; or pensiam di godere ;
Io vo tagliar le mani a tutti quanti,
E porteroUe a que' monaci santi,
LIT.
Accib cli' ognun sia piii sicuro e certo.
Com' e' son morti, e non abbin paura
Andar soletti per questo deserto ;
E perche veggan la mia mente pura
A quel Signor che m' ha il suo regno aperto,
E tratto fuor di tenebre si oscura.
E poi taglio le mani a' due fratelli,
E lasciagli a le fiere ed agii uccelli.
A la badia insieme se ne vanno,
Ove 1' abate assai dubbioso aspetta :
I monaci che '1 fatto ancor non samio,
Correvano a 1' abate tutti in fretta,
Dicendo i)aurosi e pien' d' all'anno :
"Volete voi costui drento si metta ?
Quando 1' abate vedeva il gigante.
Si turbo tutto nel primo sembiante.
MORGANTE MAGGIORE,. 127
ui.
" But they in Christ have firmest hope, and ail
Whicli seems to him, to them too must appear
Well done ; nor could it otherwise befall ;
He never can in any purpose err.
If sire or mother sutler endless thrall,
They don't disturb themselves for In'm or her :
What pleases God to them must joy inspire ; —
Such is the observance of the eternal choir/'
LIII.
" A word unto the wise," Morgante said,
" Is wont to be enough, and you shall see
How much I grieve about my brethren dead ;
And if the will of God seem good to me.
Just, as you tell me, 'tis in heaven obey'd —
Ashes to ashes, — merry let us be !
I will cut off the hands from both their trunks,
And carry them unto the holy monks.
MT.
" So that all persons may be sure and certain
That they are dead, and have no further fear
To wander solitary this desert in.
And that they may perceive my spirit clear
By the Lord's grace, who hath withdrawn the curtain
Of darkness, making his bright realm appear."
He cut his brethren's hands off at these words,
And left them to the savage beasts and birds.
LV.
Then to the abbey they went on together.
Where waited them the abbot in great doubt.
The monks, who knew not yet the fact, ran thither
To their superior, all in breathless rout.
Saying with tremor, " Please to tell us whether
You wish to have this person in or out ? "
The abbot, looking through upon the giant.
Too greatly fear'd, at first, to be compliant.
128 MORGANTE MAGGIORE.
LVI.
Orlando die turbato cosi il vede,
Gli disse presto : abate, datti pace,
Questo e Cristiano, e in Cristo nostro crede
E rinnegato ha il suo Macon fallace.
Morgante i moncherin mostrb per fede.
Come i giganti ciascun morto giace ;
Donde 1^ abate ringraziavia Iddio,
Dicendo ; or m' hai couteuto, Signor mio.
I
LVII. jl
E risguardava, e squadrava Morgante, |i
La sua grandezza e una volta e due,
E poi gli disse : O famoso gigante, ;
Sappi eh' io non mi maraviglio piiie, !
Che tu svegliessi e gittassi le piante,
Quand' io riguardo or le fattezze tue :
Tu sarai or perfetto e vero amico
A Cristo, quanto tu gli eri nimico.
LVIII.
Un nostro apostol, Saul gia chiamato,
Persegui molto la fede di Cristo:
TJn giorno poi da Io spirto infiammato,
Perche pur mi persegui ? disse Cristo :
E' si ravvide allor del suo peccato
Ando poi predicando sempre Cristo;
E fatto e or de la fede una tromba.
La qual per tutto risuona e rimbomba,
LIX.
Cosi farai tu ancor, Morgante mio :
E chi s' emenda, e scritto nel Vangelo,
Che maggior festa fa d' un solo Iddio,
Che di novantanove altri su in cielo :
Io ti conforto ch' ogni tuo disio
Eivolga a quel Signor con giusto zelo,
Che tu sarai felice in sempiterno,
Ch' eri perduto, e dannato air inferno.
I
AIORGANTE MAGGIORE 129
LVI.
Orlando seeing him thus agitated,
Said quickly, " Abbot, be thou of good cheer ;
He Christ believes, as Christian must be rated,
And hath renounced his Macon false ; " which here
Morgante with the hands corroborated,
A proof of both the giants' fate quite clear :
Thence with due thanks, the abbot God adored.
Saying, " Thou hast contented me, oh Lord ! "
LTII.
He gazed ; Morgante's height he calculated.
And more than once contemplated his size ;
And then he said, " Oh giant celebrated !
Know, that no more my wonder will arise.
How you could tear and fling the trees you late did,
When I behold your form with my own eyes.
You now a true and perfect friend will show
Yourself to Christ, as once vou were a foe.
Lvni.
" And one of our apostles, Saul once named.
Long persecuted sore the faith of Christ,
Till, one day, by the Spirit being inflamed,
' Why dost thou persecute me thus ? ' said Christ ;
And then from his oifence he was reclaimed.
And went for ever after preaching Christ,
And of the faith became a trump, whose sounding
O'er the whole earth is echoing and rebounding.
LIX.
" So, my Morgante, you may do likewise :
He who repents— thus writes the Evangelist —
Occasions more rejoicing in the skies
Than ninety-nine of the celestial list.
You may be sure, should each desire arise
With just zeal for the Lord, that you'll exist
Among the happy saints for evermore ,
But you were lost and damn'd to hell before ! "
VOL. II. r
180 MORGANTE MAGGIORE.
LX.
E grande onore a Morgaute faceva
L' abate, e molti di si son posti :
Un giorno, come ad Orlando piaceva,
A spasso in qua e in la si sono andati :
U abate in una camera sua aveva
]\Iolte armadure e certi arclii appiccati :
Morgante gliene piacque un die ne vede ;
Oude e' sel cinse bench' oprar nol crede.
LXI.
Avea quel luogo d' acqua carestia :
Orlando disse come buon fratello :
Morgante, vo' clie di piacer ti sia
Andar per 1' acqua : ond' e' rispose a quelle :
Comanda cio clie vuoi che fatto sia ;
E posesi in ispalla un gran tinello,
Ed avviossi la verso una fonte
Dove solea ber sempre appie del monte.
LXII.
Giunto a la fonte, sente un gran fracasso
Di subito venir per la foresta :
Una saetta cavo del turcasso,
Posela a 1' arco, ed alzava la testa ;
Ecco apparirc un gran gregge al passo
Di porci, e vanno con molta tempesta j
E arrivorno alia fontana appunto
Donde il gigante e da lor sopraggiunto.
Lxin.
Morgante a la Ventura a un saetta ;
Appunto ne Y oreccliio lo 'ncarnava :
Da V altro lato passo la verretta;
Onde il cingliial giu morto gambettava ;
Un altro, quasi per fame vendetta,
Addosso al gran gigante irato andava ;
E percbe e' giunse troppo tosto al varco.
Non fn Morgante a tempo a trar con 1' arco.
MORGANTE MAttGIORE. 131
LX.
And thus great honour to Morgante paid
The abbot : many days they did repose.
One day, as with Orlando they both strayM,
And saunter\l here and there, wherever they chose.
The abbot showed a chamber, where array'd
Much armour was, and hung up certain bows ;
And one of these Morgante for a wliiin
Girt on, though useless, he believed, to him.
LXI.
There being a want of water in the place,
Orlando, like a worthy brother, said,
" ]\Iorgante, I could wish you in this case
To go for water." " You shall be obey'd
In all commands," was the reply, " straight ways."
Upon his shoulder a great tub he laid.
And went out on his way unto a fountain.
Where he was wont to drink, below the mountain.
LXII.
Arriv'd there, a prodigious noise he hears.
Which suddenly along the forest spread ;
Whereat from out his quiver he prepares
An arrow for his bow, and lifts his head ;
And lo ! a monstrous herd of swine appears.
And onward rushes with tempestuous tread,
And to the fountain's brink precisely pours ;
So that the giant's joined by all the boars.
LXIII.
Morgante at a venture shot an arrow.
Which pierced a pig precisely in the ear,
And pass'd unto the other side quite through ;
So that the boar, defunct, lay tripp'd up near.
Another, to revenge his fellow farrow,
Against the giant rush'd in fierce career.
And reach' d the passage with so swift a foot,
Morgante was not now in time to shoot.
e:2
132 MORGANTE MAGGIORE.
LXIT.
Vedenclosi venuto il porco adosso^
Gli dette in su la testa un gran punzone*
Per modo die gl' infranse insino a Y osso,
E morto allato a quell' altro lo pone :
Gli altri porci veggendo quel percosso.
Si missou tutti in fuga pel vallone ;
Morgante si levo il tinello in collo,
Ch' era pien d' acqua, e non si muove un croUo.
LXV.
Da 1* una spalla il tinello avea posto,
Da V altra i porci, e spacciava il terreno ;
E torna a la badia, cV e pur discosto,
Ch' una gocciola d' acqua non va in seno.
Orlando che '1 vedea tornar si tosto
Co' porci morti, e con quel vaso pieno ;
Maravigliossi clie sia tanto forte :
Cosi 1' abate ; e spalancan le porte.
LXVI.
I mouaci veggendo 1' acqua fresca
Si rallegrorno, me piii de' ciugluali;
Ch' ogni animal si rallegra de 1' esca ;
E posano a dormire i breviali :
Ognun s' affanna, e non par clie gl' incresca,
Accio clie questa carne nog s' insali,
E che poi secca sapesse di victo ;
E la digiune si restorno a drieto.
Lxvn.
E ferno a scoppia c'orpo per un tratto,
E scuffian, che parien de 1' acqua usciti ;
Tanto che '1 cane sen doleva e '1 gatto,
Che gli ossi rimanean troppo puliti.
L' abate, poi che inolto onoro ha fatto
A tutti, un di dopo questi conviti
Dette a Morgante un destrier molto bello,
Clie lungo tempo tenuto avea quello.
MORGANTE JfAGGIORE. 133
LXIV.
Perceiving that tlie pig was on him close.
He gave him such a punch upon the head,
As floor'd him so that he no more arose,
Smashing the verj' bone; and he fell dead
Next to the other. Having seen such blows,
The other pigs along the valley fled ;
Morgante on his neck the bucket took,
Full from the spring, which neither swerved nor shook.
IiXT.
Tiie tub was on one shoulder, and there were
The hogs on t'otlier, and he brush'd apace
On to the abbey, though by no means near,
Nor spilt one drop of water in his race.
Orlando, seeing him so soon appear
AVith the dead boars, and with that brimful vase,
Marvell'd to see his strength so very great ;
So did the abbot, and set \\'ide the gate.
LXVI.
The monks, Avho saw the water fresh and good,
Rejoiced, but much more to perceive the pork ;
All animals are glad at sight of food :
They lay tlieir breviaries to sleep, and work
"With greedy pleasure, and in such a mood.
That the flesh needs no salt beneatli their fork.
Of rankness and of rot there is no fear.
For all the fasts are now left in arrear.
LXVII.
As though they wish'd to burst at once, they ate ;
And gorged so that, as if the bones had been
In water, sorely grieved the dog and cat.
Perceiving that they all were picked too cleaii.
The abbot, w!io to all did honour great,
A few days after this convivial scene.
Gave to Morgante a fine horse, well traiiiM,
Which he long time had for himself maintain'd.
184 MORGANTE MAQGIORE.
LXVIII.
Morgante iu su 'u un prato il caval mena,
E vuol die corra, e clie facci ogiii pruova,
E pensa che di ferro abbi la schiena,
O forse non credeva scliiacciar 1' uova :
Questo caval s' accoscia per la pena,
E scoppia^ e 'n su la terra si ritruova.
Dicca Morgante : lieva su, rozzone ;
E va pur punzeccliiando co lo sprone.
LXIX.
Ma finalmente convien ch' egli smonte,
E disse : io son pur leggier come penna,
Ed e scoppiato ; che ne di' tu, conte ?
Eispose Orlando ; un arbore d' antenna
Mi par piuttosto, e la gaggia la fronte :
Lascialo andar, die la fortuua accenna
Che meco appiede ne venga, Morgante.
Ed ip cosi verrb, disse il gigante.
LXX
Quando sera mestier, tu mi vedrai
Com' io mi proverb ne la battagiia.
Orlando disse : io credo tu farai
Come buon cavalier, se Dio mi vaglia ;
Ed anco me dormir non mirerai :
Di questo tuo caval non te ne caglia :
Vorrebbesi portarlo in qualche bosco;
Ma il modo ne la via non ci conosco.
tXXI.
Disse il gigante : io il portero ben lo,
Da poi che portar me non ha voluto,
Per render ben per mal, come fa Dio;
Ma vo' che a porlo addosso mi dia ajuto.
Orlando gli dicea : Morgante mio,
S' al mio consiglio ti sarai attenuto,
Questo caval tu non ve '1 porteresti,
Che ti far^ come tu a lui facesti,
MORGANTE MAGGIORE. 135
Lxvin.
The horse Morgante to a meadow led,
To gallop, and to put him to the proof,
Thinking that he a back of iron had.
Or to skim eggs nnbroke was light enough ;
But the horse, sinking with the pain, fell dead.
And burst, while cold on earth lay head and hoof.
Morgante said, " Get up, thou sulky cur ! "
And still continued pricking with the spur.
LXIX.
But finally he thought fit to dismount.
And said, " I am as light as any feather.
And he has burst; — to this what say you, count?"
Orlando answer'd, "Like a ship's mast rather
You seem to me, and with the truck for front :
Let hira go ! Portune wills that we together
Should march, but you on foot Morgante still."
To which the giant answer'd, " So I will.
LXX.
" When there shall be occasion, you will see
How I approve my courage in the fight."
Orlando said, " I really think you'll be.
If it should prove God's will, a goodly knight ;
Nor will you napping there discover me.
But never mind your horse, though out of sight
'Twere best to carry him into some wood.
If but the means or way I understood."
LXXI.
The giant said, " Then carry him I will.
Since that to carry me he was so slack —
To render, as the gods do, good for ill;
But lend a hand to place him on my back."
Orlando answer'd, " If my counsel still
May weigh, Morgante, do not undertake
To lift or carry this dead courser, who.
As you have done to him, will do to you.
136 MORGANTE MAGGIORE.
LXXII.
Guarda che non facesse la vendetta.
Come fece gia Nesso cosi morto :
Non so se la sua istoria hai inteso o letta ;
E' ti fara scoppiar ; datti coiiforto.
Disse Morgante : ajuta cli' io me '1 metta
Addosso, e poi vedrai s' io ve lo porto :
Io porterei, Orlando mio gentile.
Con le campane la quel campanile.
Lxxni.
Disse 1' abate : il campanil v' e bene ;
Ma le campane voi 1' avete rotte.
Dicea Morgante, e' ne porton le pene
Color che morti son la in quelle grotte ;
E levossi il cavallo in su le scliiene,
E disse : guarda s' io seiito di gotte,
Orlando, nolle gambe, e s' io lo posso:
E fe' duo salti col cavallo addosso.
LXXIV.
Era Morgante come una montagna :
Se facea questo, non e maraviglia :
Ma pure Orlando con seco si lagna ;
Perclie pur era omai di sua famiglia
Temenza avea non pigliasse magagna.
Un' altra volta costui riconsiglia :
Posalo ancor, nol portare al deserto.
Disse Morgante : il portero per certD.
LXXT.
E portoUo, 0 gittollo in luogo strano,
E torno a la badia subitamente,
Diceva Orlando : or che piu dimoriano?
Morgante, qui non facciam noi niente ;
E prese un giorno 1' abate per mano,
E disse a quel molto discretamente,
Che vuol partir de la sua reverenzia,
E domandava e perdono e licenzia.
MORGANTE MAGGIORE. 137
LXXII.
" Take care he don't revenge himself, though dead.
As Nessus did of old beyond all cure.
1 don't know if the fact you've heard or read ;
But he will make you burst, you may be sure."
"But help him on my back," Morgante said,
" And you shall see what weight I can endure.
In place, my gentle Roland, of this palfrey.
With all the bells, Fd carry yonder belfry."
LXXIII.
The abbot said, " The steeple may do well.
But for the bells, you've broken thein, I wot."
Morgante answer' d, " Let them pay in hell
The penalty who lie dead in yon grot ; "
And hoisting up the horse from where he fell.
He said, " Now look if I the gout have got,
Orlando, in the legs — or if I have force ; " —
And then he made two gambols with the horse.
LXXIT.
Morgante was like any mountain framed ;
So if he did this 'tis no prodigy ;
But secretly himself Orlando blamed.
Because he was one of his family ;
And fearing that he might be hurt or maim'd,
Once more he bade him lay his burden by :
" Put down, nor bear him further the desert ia."
Morgante said, " I'll carry him for certain."
LXXV.
He did ; and stow'd him in some nook away.
And to the abbey then return'd with speed.
Orlando said, "Why longer do we stay?
Morgante, here is nought to do indeed."
The abbot by the hand he took one day,
And said, with great respect, he had agreed
To leave his reverence ; but for this decision
He wish'd to have his pardon and permission.
133 MORGANTE MAGGIORE.
LXXVI.
E (le gli onor ricevuti da questi,
Qualche volta portendo, ara buon merito ;
E dice : io iiiteudo ristorare e presto
I persi gionii del tempo preterito ;
E' son piu di clie licenzia arei chiesto,
Beuigno padre, se non cli^ io mi perito ;
Noil so mostrarvi quel clie drento sento ;
'1 auto vi veggo del mio star coiitento^
liXXVII.
Io me ne porto per sempre nel core
L' abate, la badia, questo deserto ;
Tanto v' ho posto in picciol tempo amore :
Kendavi su nel ciel per me buon merto
Quel vero Dio, quello eterno Signore
Che vi serba il suo regno al fine aperto :
Noi aspettiam vostra benedizione,
Eaccomandiamci a le vostre oraziotie.
LXXVIII.
Quando 1' abate il conte Orlando intese,
llinteneri nel cor per la dolcezza,
Tanto fervor nel petto se gli accese ;
E disse : cavalier, se a tua prodezza
Non soiio stato benigno e cortese,
Come conviensi a la gran gentiUezza ;
Che so che cio ch' i' ho fatto e stato poco,
Incolpa la ignoranzia nostra e il loco.
LXXIX.
Noi ti potremo di messe onorare,
Di prediche di laude e paternostri,
Piuttosto che da cena o desinare,
0 d' altri convenevol che da chiostri :
Tu m' hai di te si fatto iimamorare
Per inille alte eccellenzie che tu mostri ;
Ch' io me ne vengo ove tu andrai teco.
E d' altra parte tu resti qui meco.
MORGANTE MAGGIORE. 189
Lxxvr.
The honours they continued to receive
Perhaps exceeded what his merits claimM :
He said, " I mean, and quickly, to retrieve
The lost days of time past, which may be blamed ;
Some days ago I should have ask'd your leave.
Kind father, but I really was ashamed.
And know not how to show my sentiment.
So much I see you with our stay content.
LXXVII.
'' But in my heart I bear through every clime
The abbot, abbey, and tliis solitude —
So much I love you in so short a time ;
For me, from heaven reward you with all good
The God so true, the eternal Lord sublime !
Whose kingdom at the last hath open stood.
Meantime we stand expectant of your blessing.
And recommend us to your prayers with pressing."
LXXVITI.
Now when the abbot Count Orlando heard,
His heart grew soft with inner tenderness,
Such fervour in his bosom bred each word;
And, " Cavalier," he said, " if 1 have less
Courteous and kind to your great worth appearM,
Than fits me for such gentle blood to exjiress,
I know I have done too little in this case ;
But blame our ignorance, and this poor place,
liXXIX.
" We can indeed but honour you with masses.
And sermons, thanksgivings, and pater-nosters.
Hot suppers, dinners (fitting other places
In verity much rather than the cloisters) ;
But such a love for you my heart embraces.
For thousand virtues which your bosom fosters.
That wheresoever you go I too shall be.
And, on the other part, you rest with me.
140 MORGANTE MAGGIORE.
LXXX.
Tanto cli' a questo par contraddizione ;
Ma so clie tu se' savio, e 'iitendi e gusti,
E inteudi il mio parlar per discrizione ;
De' beneficj tuoi pietosi e giiisti
Eeuda il Sigiiore a te munerazione,
Da cui mandato in queste selve fusti;
Per le virtu del qual liberi siamo,
E grazie a lui e a te noi ne rendiamo.
LXXXI.
Tu ci hai salvato 1' anima e la vita :
Tanta perturbazion gia que' giganti
Ci dettoii, clie la strada era smarrita
Da ritrovar Gesu con gli altri santi :
Perb troppo ci duol la tua partita,
E sconsolati restiam tutti quanti ;
Ne ritener possiamti i mesi e gli anni :
Che tu non se' da vestir questi panni,
LXXXII.
Ma da portar la lancia e 1' arniadura :
E puossi meritar con essa, come
Con questa cappa ; e leggi la scrittura :
Questo gigante al ciel drizzo le some
Per tua virtii ; va in pace a tua ventura
Chi tu ti sia, ch' io non ricerco il nome ;
Ma diro sempre, s' io son domandato,
Ch' un angiol qui da Dio fussi mandato.
^ LXXXIII.
Se c' e armadura o cosa che tu voglia,
Vattene in zambra e pigliane tu stessi,
E cuopri a questo gigante le scoglia.
llispose Orlando : se armadura avessi
Prima che noi uscissim de la soglia,
Che questo mio compagno difendessi :
Questo accetto io, e sarammi piacere. .
Disse 1' abate : venite a vedere.
MOKGANTE MAGGIORE. 141
LXXX.
"This may involve a seeming contradiction;
But you I know are sage, and feel, and taste,
And understand my speech with full conviction.
For your just pious deeds may you be graced
With the Lord's great reward and benediction,
}3y whom you were directed to this Avaste :
To his high mercy is our freedom due,
For which we render thanks to him and you.
Lxxxr.
" You saved at once our life and soul : sach fear
The giants caused us, that the way was lost
By which- we could pursue a fit career
In search of Jesus and the saintly host ;
And your departure breeds such sorrow here.
That comfortless we all are to our cost ;
But months and years you would not stay in sloth,
Nor are vou form'd to wear our sober cloth,
LXXXII.
" But to bear arms, and wield the lance ; indeed.
With these as much is done as with this cowl ;
In proof of which the Scriptures you may read.
This giant up to heaven may bear his soul
By your compassion : now in peace proceed.
Your state and name I seek not to unroll ;
But, if I'm ask'd, this answer shall be given.
That here an angel was sent down from heaven.
LXXXIII.
" If you want armour or aught else, go in,
liook o'er the wardrobe, and take what you choose.
And cover with it o'er this giant's skin."
Orlando answer'd, " If there should lie loose
Some armour, ere our journey we begin.
Which might be turn'd to my companion's use,
The gift would be acceptable to me."
The abbot said to him, " Come in and see."
U2 MORGANTE MAGGIORE.
LXXXIV.
E in certa cameretta entrati sono,
Che d' armadure vecchie era copiosa :
Dice 1' abate : tutte ve le dono.
Morgante va rovistando ogni cosa ;
Ma solo un certo sbergo gli fu buono,
Ch' avea tutta la maglia rugginosa :
Maravigliossi che lo cuopra appunto :
^ Che mai piu gnun forse glien' era aggiunto.
LXXXV.
Questo fu d' un gigante smisurata,
Ch' a la badia fu morto per antico
Dal gran Milon d' Angrantej ch' arrivato ;
Y' eraj s' appunto questa istoria dico ;
Ed era ne le mura istoriato,
Come e^ fu morto questo gran nimico
Che fece a la badia gia lunga guerra:
E Milon v' e com' e' 1' abbatte in terra.
LXXXVI.
Veggendo questa istoria il conte Orlando,
Era suo cor disse : o Dio, che sai sol tutto.
Come venne Milon qui capitando,
Che ha questo gigante qui distrutto ?
E lesse certe lettre lacrimando,
Clie non pote tenir piu il viso asciutto,
Com' io diro ne la seguente istoria ;
Di mal vi guardi il Ee de 1' alta gloria.
f
MORGANTE MAGGIORE, "143
LXXXIV.
And in a certain closet, where the wall
Was cover'd with old armour like a crust,
The abbot said to them, " I give you all."
Morgante rummaged piecemeal from the dust
The whole, which, save one cuirass, was too small.
And that too had the mail inlaid with rust.
They wondered how it fitted him exactly.
Which ne'er had suited others so compactly.
LXXXV.
'Twas an immeasurable giant's, who
By the great Milo of Agrante fell
Before the abbey many years ago.
The story on the wall was figured well ;
In the last moment of the abbey's foe.
Who long had waged a war implacable :
Precisely as the war occurr'd they drew him.
And there was Milo as he overthrew him.
LXXXVI.
Seeing this history. Count Orlando said
In his own heart, " Oh God, who in the sky
Know'st all things ! how was Milo hither led ?
Wlio caused the giant in this place to die?"
And certain letters, weeping, then he read.
So that he could not keep his visage dry, —
As I will tell in the ensuing story.
From evil keep you the high King of glory !
NOTE TO THE MOEGANTE MAGQIOEE.
' "Gli dette in su la testa Tin gran punzone." It 13 strange that Pulci
should have literally anticipated the technical terms of niy old friend and
master, Jackson, and the art which he has carried to its highest pitch. "A
punch on the hecui," or "a punch in the head," — "uu punzone in su la
testa," — is the exact and frequent phrase of our best pugilists, who little dream
that they are talking the purest Tuscan.
THE PEOPHECY OF DANTE.
' 'Tis the sunset of life gives me mystical lore,
And coming events cast their shadows before."
Campbell.
VOL. II.
PREFACE.
— ♦ —
In the course of a visit to the city of Eaveuna in the summer of
1819, it was suggested to the author that having composed something
on the subject of Tasso's confinement, he shouhl do the same on
Dante^s exile, — the tomb of the poet forming one of the principal
objects of interest in that city, both to the native and to the
stranger.
" On this hint I spake," and the result has been the following
four cantos, in terza rima, now offered to the reader. If they are
understood and approved, it is my purpose to continue the poem, in
various other cantos, to its natural conclusion in the present age.
The reader is requested to suppose that Dante addresses him in the
interval between the conclusion of the Divina Commedia and his
death, and shortly before the latter event, foretelling the fortunes of
Italy in general in the ensuing centuries. In adopting this plan ]
liave had in my mind the Cassandra of Lycophron and the Prophecy
of Nereus by Horace, as well as the Prophecies of Holy Writ. Tlit
measure adopted is the terza rima of Dante, which I am not aware to
have seen hitherto tried in our language, except it may be by Mr.
Hayley, of whose translation I never saw but one extract, quoted in
the notes to Caliph Vathek ; so that — if I do not err — this poem
may be considered as a metrical experiment. The cantos are short,
and about the same length as those of the poet, whose name I have
borrowed, and most probably taken in vain.
Amongst the inconveniences of authors in the present day, it is
difficult for any who have a name, good or bad, to escape translation,
l2
148 PRKFACE.
I have had the fortune to see the fourth canto of " Childe Harokl "
translated into Italian versi sciolti, — that is, a poem written in the
Spenserean stanza into llanh verse, without regard to the natural
divisions of the stanza or of the sense. If the present poem, being
on a national topic, should chance to undergo the same fate, I would
request the Italian reader to remember that when I have failed in
the imitation of his great "Padre Alighier," I have failed in
imitating that whicli all study and few understand, since to this
very day it is not yet settled what Avas the meaiiing of the allegory
in the first canto of the Inferno, unless Count Marchetti's ingenious
and probable conjecture may be considered as having decided the
question.
He may also pardon my failure the more, as I am not quite sure
that he Mould be pleased with my success, since the Italians, with a
pardonable nationality, are particularly jealous of all that is left them
as a nation, — their literature ; and in the present bitterness of the
classic and romantic war, are but ill disposed to permit a foreigner
even to approve or imitate them, without finding some fault with his
ultramontane presumption. I can easily enter into all this, knowing
what would be thought in England of an Italian imitator of Milton,
or if a translation of Monti, or Pindemonte, or Arici, should be held
up to the rising generation as a model for their future poetical
essays. But I perceive that I am deviating into an address to the
Italian reader, when my business is with the English one ; and be
tliey few or many, I must take my leave of both.
\\
DEDICATION.
— ♦ —
Lady ! if for the cold and cloudy clime,
Where I was born, but where I would not die,
Of the great Poet-Sire of Italy
I dare to build the imitative rhyme,
Harsh Kunic copy of the South's sublime,
Thoit art the cause ; and howsoever I
Fall short of his immortal harmony,
Thy gentle heart will pardon me the crime.
Thou, in the pride of Beauty and of Youth,
Spakest ; and for thee to speak and be obey'd
Are one ; but only in the sunny South
Such sounds are utter'd, and such charms display'd.
So sweet a language from so fair a mouth —
Ah ! to what effort would it not persuade ?
Rave. SKA, Jum 21, 1819.
INTEODUCTION TO THE PEOPIIECY OF DANTE.
— ♦—
In the summer of 1819 Lord Byron visited the Countess of Guiccioli, at Eavenna.
His books were at Venice, and the Countess, to occupy his pen, requested tliat his
residence in the city, which was the last retreat and burial-place of Dante, might
inspire a poem on the illustrious exile. "With his usual rapidity, he composed," she
says, " 'The Prophecy,' " — and so much to his own satisfaction, that in forwarding it
to Mr. Murray he called it "the best thing he had ever done, if not unintelligible."
It went to England with several more of his productions, and was pronounced by the
persons to whom Mr. I\Iurray showed the MS., "vei-y grand and worthy." A later
decision of the publisher was somewhat less favourable, and Lord Byron, who
constantly depreciated his writings when the first fondness was over, declared that he
hiniself had no great opinion of any of the shipment, except the version of Pulei.
"The Prophecy" remained impublished till May, 1821, when it was sent into the
world in the same volume with "Marino Faliero." In the opening canto Dante is
represented brooding over his exile, and venting his indignation against ungrateful
Florence, who had shut her gates uiJon her worthiest son. In the second he jsrediots
the foreign foes and internal divisions which were to bring desolation upon the garden
of the world. In the third he characterises his great successors in Italian song, and
in the last the painters and sculptors, who alone of all the geniuses of their clime are
still unmatched by rival nations. If "The Prophecy" had been successful, it was
Lord Byron's intention to have continued the chant, but it was rather coldly received,
and he never returned to the theme. The portion he executed is defective in plan :
the parts have no connection, and tend to no result ; they are disjointed fragments of
poetical description, which as Prophecies have little that is sufficiently significant.
The obscurity, he apprehended, was felt by many, and though it is chiefly occasioned
by the length of the sentences, and yields to attention, there is yet an oppressive
cumbrousness in the diction which nothing can dispel. The metrical experiment was
also a failure, and the terza rima, even in Lord Byron's hands, who was no less a
master of his Italian models than of his native tongue, proved more heavy than
hartnoniiuis. To conclude the catalogue of defects, he has reiterated several of the
sentiments of "Childe Harold," and the first version was in all respects the best.
But without glowing with the utmost heat of Lord Byron's imagination, the ' ' Prophecy "
Ib still a lofty and solemn poem, and in its sombre colouring truly Dantesque.
THE PROPHECY OF DANTEJ
CANTO THE FIRST.
— ♦ —
Once more in man's frail world ! which I had left
So long that 'twas forgotten ; and I feel
The weight of clay again, — too soon bereft
Of the immortal vision which could heal
My earthly sorrows, and to God's own skies
Lift me from that deep gulf without repeal,
Where late my ears rung with the damned cries
Of souls in hopeless bale ; and from that place
Of lesser torment, whence men may arise
Pure from the fire to join the angelic race ;
Midst whom my own bright Beatrice bless'd '
]\Iy spirit with her light ; and to the base
Of the eternal Triad ! first, last, best.
Mysterious, three, sole, infinite, great God !
Soul universal ! led the mortal guest,
' [Dante Aliohieri was born in Florence in May, 1265, of an ancient and honour-
able family. In the early jiart of his life he gained some credit in a military character,
and distmguished himself by his bravery in an action where th. Florentines obtained a
signal victory over the citizens of Arezzo. At the age of thirty-five he rose to be one
of the chief magistrates of Florence, when that dignity was conferred by the suffrages
of the people. From this exaltation the poet dated his principal misfortunes. Italy
was distracted by the factions of the Grhibellines and Guelphs, and the internal
dissensions among the latter, to whom Dante belonged, caused him to be banished in
one of the proscriptions, when he became a Ghibelline, and died in exile in 1321.]
^ The reader is requested to adopt the Italian pronunciation of Beatrice, sounding
all the syllables.
152 THE PROPHECY OF DxVKTE. [canto i.
Unblasted bj the glory, tliougli he trod
From star to star to reacli the almighty throne.
Oh Beatrice ! whose sweet limbs the sod
So long hath press'd, and the cold marble stone.
Thou sole pure seraph of iny earliest love.
Love so ineffable, and so alone.
That nought on earth could more my bosom move.
And meeting thee in heaven was but to meet
That without which my soul, like the arkless dove.
Had wander'd still in search of, nor her feet
Eelieved her wing till found; without thy light
My paradise had still been incomplete.'
Since my tenth sun gave summer to my sight
Thou wert my life, the essence of my thought.
Loved ere I knew the name of love," and bright
Still in these dim old eyes, now overwrought
With the world's war, and years, and banishment.
And tears for thee, by other woes untaught;
For mine is not a nature to be bent
By tyrannous faction, and the brawling crowd.
And though the long, long conflict hath been spent
In vain, — and never more, save when the cloud
Which overhangs the Apeimine my mind's eye
Pierces to fancy Florence, once so proud
Of me, can I return, though but to die.
Unto my native soil, — they have not yet
Quench'd the old exile's spirit, stern and high.
But the sun, though not overcast, must set.
And the night cometh ; I am old in days.
And deeds, and contemplation, and have met
Destruction face to face in all his ways.
The world hath left me, what it found me, pure.
And if I have not gather'd yet its praise,
"Che Eol per le Lelle opre
Che fanuo in Cielo il sole e V altre stelle
Dcutro (li lui' si crede il Paradiso,
Cosi se guard i fiso
Pensar ben dei ch' ogni terren' piacere."
Canzone, in which Dante describes the person of Beatrice, Stroplie third.
^ [Aci-ordiiig til Boccaccio, Daii+e was a h)ver long before he was a soldier, and his
passion for the Beatiice ■.vhom lie has immortalised commcuccd while he was iu nie.
ninth and she in her eighth year. — Cary.]
CAKTo I.] THE PROPHECY OF DANTE. 153
I sought it not by any baser lure;
Man wrongs, and Time avenges, and my name
May form a monument not all obscure,
Though such was not my ambition's end or aim.
To add to the vain-glorious list of those
"Who dabble in the pettiness of fame.
And make men's fickle breath the wind that blow?
Their sail, and deem it glory to be class'd
\A^ith conquerors, and virtue's other foes.
In bloody chronicles of ages past.
I would have had my I'lorence great and free ; *
Oh Florence ! Florence ! unto me thou wast
Like that Jerusalem which the Almighty He
Wept over, "but thou wouldst not;" as the bird
Gathers its young, I would have gather'd thee
Beneath a parent pinion, hadst thou heard
My voice ; but as the adder, deaf and fierce.
Against the breast that cherish'd thee was stirr'd
Thy venom, and ray state thou didst amerce.
And doom this body forfeit to the fire.'
Alas ! how bitter is his country's curse
To him who for that country would expire.
But did not merit to expire hij her.
And loves her, loves her even in her ire.
The day may come when she will cease to err.
The day may come she would be proud to have
The dust she dooms to scatter, and transfer
Of him, whom she denied a home, the grave.
But this shall not be granted ; let my dust
Lie where it falls ; nor shall the soil which gave
* " L'Esilio che m' e dato onor mi tegno
« « « « ♦
Cader tra' buoni e pur di lode degno."
Sonnet of Dante,
in wliich he represents Right, Generosity, and Temperance as banished from among
men, and seeking refuge from Love, who inhabits his bosom.
^ " Ut si quis predietorum uUo tempore in fortiam dicti communis pervenerit, fcdis
nerveniens igne comburatur, sic quod moriaiur." Second sentence of Fh)rence aga'nst
Daute, and the fourteen accused with him. The Latin is worthy of the sentence. —
[The decree that he and his associates in exile should be burned, if they fell into the
hands of their enemies, was first discovered in 1772. Dante had been previously
fined eight thousand lire, and coudemaed to two years' banishment.]
154 THE PROPHECY OF DANTE. [canto i.
Me breath, but in her sudden fury thrust
Me forth to breathe elsewhere, so reassume
My indignant bones, because her angry gust
Forsooth is over, and repeal'd her doom ;
]\TQ^_slie denied ine what was mine — my roof.
And shall not have what is not hers — my tomb.
Too long her armed wrath hath kept aloof
The breast which would have bled for her, the heart
That beat, the mind that was temptation proof.
The man who fought, toiFd, travelled, and each part
Of a true citizen fultill'd, and saw
I'or his reward the Guelf's ascendant art
Pass his destruction even into a law.
These things are not made for forgetfulness,
Florence shall be forgotten first ; too raw
The wound, too deep the wrong, and the distress
Of such endurance too prolong'd to make
My pardon greater, her injustice less.
Though late repented ; yet — yet for her sake
I feel some fonder yearnings, and for thine.
My own Beatrice, I would hardly take
Vengeance upon the land which once was mine.
And still is hallow'd by thy dust's return,
Which would protect the murderess like a shrine,
And save ten thousand foes by thy sole urn.
Thoudi, like old Marius from Minturnse's marsh
And Carthage ruins, my lone breast may burn
At times with evil feelings hot and harsh,'
And sometimes the last pangs of a vile foe
Writhe in a dream before me, and overarch
My brow with hopes of triumph, — let them go !
Such are the last infirmities of those
Who lone: have suffer'd more than mortal woe,
And yet being mortal still, have no repose
But on the pillow of Revenge — Eevenge,
7 [Wlien M;irius was defeated in the civil war between himself and Sylla, he
csca|ied his pursuers by plunging chin deep into the luarslies of Miuturniiin, between
Rome and Naples. He then sailed for (Jarthage, and had no sooner landed than he
wa.s ordered by the governor to quit Africa. On his subse(iuently gaining the ascen-
dancy, Marius justified the m.assacre of Sylla's adherents liy the humiliation he had
Bullcred himself at iMiuturuum and Carthage.]
CANTO r.] THE PROPHECY OF DANTE. 155
Wlio sleeps to drenm of blood, and waking glows
With the oft-baffled, slakeless thirst of change,
When we shall mount again, and they that trod
Be trampled on, while Death and Ate range
O'er humbled heads and severM necks Great God !
Take these thoughts from me — to thy hands I yield
My many wrongs, and thine almighty rod
Will fall on those wlio smote me, — be my shield !
As thou hast been in peril, and in pain.
In turbulent cities, and the tented field —
In toil, and many troubles borne in vain
For Florence, — I appeal from her to Thee !
Thee, whom I late saw iu thy loftiest reign.
Even in that glorious vision, which to see
And live was never granted until now.
And yet thou hast permitted tliis to me.
Alas ! with what a weight upon my brow
The sense of earth and earthly things come back,
Corrosive passions, feelings dull and low.
The heart's quick throb upon the mental rack.
Long day, and dreary night ; the retrospect
Of half a century bloody and black.
And the frail few years I may yet expect
Hoary and hopeless, but less hard to bear.
For I have been too long and deeply wreck'd
On the lone rock of desolate Despair,
To lift my eyes more to the passing sail
Which shuns that reef so horrible and bare ;
Nor raise my voice — for who would lieed my wail ?
I am not of this people, nor this age.
And yet my harpings will unfold a tale
Which shall preserve these times when not a page
Of their perturbed annals could attract
An eye to gaze upon their civil rage.
Did not my verse embalm full many an act
Wortliless as they who wrought it : 'tis the doom
Of spirits of my order to be rack'd
In life, to wear their hearts out, and consume
Their days in endless strife, and die alone ;
Then future thousands crowd around their tomb.
15C THE PROrHECY OF DANTE. [canto i.
And pilgrims come from climes where they have known
The name of him — who now is but a name.
And wasting homage o'er the sullen stone.
Spread his — by him unheard, unheeded — fame;
And mine at least hath cost me dear : to die
Is nothing ; but to wither thus — to tame
My mind down from its own infinity —
To live in narrow ways with little men,
A common sight to every common eye,
A wanderer, while even wolves can tind a den,
Eipp'd from all kindred, from all home, all things
That make communion sweet, and soften pain —
To feel me in the solitude of kings
^'ithout the power that makes them bear a crown —
To envy every dove his nest and wings
"VYhich waft him where the Apennine looks down
On Arno, till he perches, it may be.
Within my all inexorable town.
Where yet my boys are, and that fatal she,*
Their mother, the cold partner who hath brought
Destruction for a dowry — this to see
And feel, and know without repair, hath taught
A bitter lesson ; but it leaves me free :
I have not vilely found, nor basely sought,
Thev made an Exile — not a slave of me.
s This lady, whose name was Gemma, sprung from one of the most powerful Guelph
families, named Douati. Corso Donati was the principal adversary of the Ghibellines.
She is described as being "Admodu7nmorosa, ut de Xantippe Socratis philosop/iicun-
ju(/e scriptmn esse letjimus," according to Giannozzo Manetti. But Lionardo Aretino is
Bciindalised with Boecace, in his life of Dante, for saying that literary men should not
marry. "Qui il Boccaccio non ha pazienza, e dice, le mogli esser contrarie agli studj ;
e non si ricorda che Socrate, il piu nobile filosofo clie mai fosse, ebbe moglie e tigliuoli e
niiici della Repubbliea nella sua Citta ; e Aristutele che, &c., &c., ebbe due mogli in
varj tempi, edebbe figliuoli, e ricchczzeassai.—E Marco Tullio—e Catone— e Varrune —
e Seneca— ebbero m.>glie," &c. &c. ■ It is odd that honest Liunardo's examples, with the
{xccption of Seneca, and, for anything I know, of Aristotle, are not the most felicitous.
Tully's Terentia, and Socrates' Xantippe, by no means contributed to their husbaiuls'
hapi>iness, whatever they might do to their philo.sophy— Cato gave away his wife— of
Varro's we know nothing— and of Seneca's, only that she was disposed to die with
him, but recovered and lived several years afterwards. But says Lionardo, "L uomo
c auiniale chile, secondo jjiace a tutti i filosufi." And thence concludes that the
greatest proof of the animaVs civism is "la prima congiuuzione, dalia quale multipli-
cata uasce la Citta."
CANTO THE SECOND.
The Spirit of the fervent days of Old,
When words were things that came to pass, and tliouglit
Fhish^d o'er the future, bidding men behohl
Their children's children's doom already brought
Torth from the abyss of time which is to be,
The chaos of events, where lie half-wrought
Shapes that must undergo mortality ;
What the great Seers of Israel wore within,
That spirit was on them, and is on me.
And if^ Cassandra-like, amidst the din
Of conflict none will hear, or hearing heed
This voice from out the Wilderness, the sin
Be theirs, and my own feelings be my meed.
The only guerdon I have ever known.
Hast thou not bled ? and hast thou still to bleed,
Italia ? Ah ! to me such things, foreshown
With dim sepulchral light, bid me forget
In thine irreparable wrongs my own ;
We can have but one country, and even yet
Thou'rt mine — my bones shall be within thy breast.
My soul within thy language, which once set
With our old Roman sway in the wide West;
But I will make another tongue arise
As lofty and more sweet, in which express'd
The hero's ardour, or tlie lover's sighs.
Shall fiud alike such sounds for every theme
That every word, as brilliant as thy skies,
Shall realise a poet's proudest dream.
And make thee Europe's nightingale of song;
So that all present speech to thine shall seem
158 THE PROPHECY OF DANTE. Tcakto ii.
The note of meaner birds, and every tongue
Confess its barbarism when compared with thine,
Tliis shalt thou owe to him thou didst so wrong, I
Thy Tuscan bard, the banish'd Ghibelline. i
Woe ! woe ! the veil of coming centuries :
Is rent, — a tliousand years which yet supine '
Lie like the ocean waves ere winds arise,
Heaving in dark and sullen undulation, I
Float from eternity into these eyes ; 1
The storms yet sleep, the clouds still keep their station.
The unborn earthquake yet is in the womb.
The bloody chaos yet expects creation.
But all things are disposing for thy doom;
The elements await but for tlie word,
''Let there be darkness! ^' and thou grow'st a tomb !
Yes ! thou, so beautiful, shalt feel the sword.
Thou, Italy ! so fair that Paradise, j
Eevived in thee, blooms forth to man restored :
Ah ! must the sons of Adam lose it twice ? '
Thou, Italy; whose ever golden fields,
Plough'd by the sunbeams solely, would suffice
For the world's granary ; thou, whose sky heaven gilds
AYith brighter stars, and robes with deeper blue;
Thou, in whose pleasant places Summer builds
Her palace, in whose cradle Empire grew.
And forra'd the Eternal City's ornaments
From spoils of kings whom freemen overthrew ;
Birthplace of heroes, sanctuary of saints.
Where earthly first, then heavenly glory made
Her home ; thou, all which fondest fancy paints.
And finds her prior vision but portray'd
In feeble colours, when the eye — from the Alp
Of horrid snow, and rock, and shaggy shade
Of desert-loving pine, whose emerald scalp
Nods to the storm — dilates and dotes o'er thee,
And wistfully implores, as ^twere, for help
To see thy sunny 5elds, my Italy,
Nearer and nearer yet, and dearer still
The more approach'd, and dearest were they free.
Thou —thou must wither to each tyrant's will :
CANTO n.] THE PROPHECY OP DANTE. 15»
The Goth hath been, — the German, Frank, and Hun
Are yet to come, — and on the imperial hill
Euin, already proud of the deeds done
By the old barbarians, there awaits the new.
Throned on the Palatine, while lost and won
Kome at her feet lies bleeding ; and the hue
,0f human sacrifice and Roman slaughter
Troubles the clotted air, of late so blue,
And deepens into red the saffron water
Of Tiber, thick with dead ; the helpless priest,
And still more helpless nor less holy daughter,
Vow^d to their God, have shrieking fled, and ceased
Their ministry : the nations take their prey,
Iberian, Almain, Lombard, and the beast
And bird, wolf, vulture, more humane than they
Are ; these but gorge the flesh, and lap the gore
Of the departed, and then go their way ;
But those, the human savages, explore
All paths of torture, and insatiate yet.
With Ugolino hunger prowl for more.
Nine moons shall rise o'er scenes like this and set;'
The chiefless army of the dead, which late
Beneath the traitor Prince's banner met,
Hatli left its leader's ashes at the gate ;
Had but the royal Rebel lived, perchance
Thou hadst been spared, but his involved thy fate.
Oh ! Rome, the spoiler or the spoil of France,
IVom Brennus to the Bourbon, never, never
Shall foreign standard to thy walls advance.
But Tiber shall become a mournful river.
Oh ! when the strangers pass the Alps and Po,
Crush them, ye rocks ! floods whelm them, and for ever !
Why sleep the idle avalanches so.
To topple on the lonely pilgrim's head ?
Why doth Eridanus but overflow
The peasant's harvest from his turbid bed ?
Were not each barbarous horde a nobler prey ?
Over Cambyses' host the desert spread
' See "Sacco di Roma," generally attributed to Guicciardini. There is another
written by a Jacopo Buonaparte,
160 THE PROPHECY OF DANTE. [-canto ii.
Her sandy ocean, and the sea-waves' sway
Roird over Pharaoh and his thousands, — why,
Mountains and waters, do ye not as they ?
And you, ye men ! Romans, who dare not die,
Sons of the conquerors who overthrew
Those who overthrew proud Xerxes, where yet lie
Tlie dead whose tomb Oblivion never knew,
Are the Alps weaker than Thermopylae ?
Their passes more alluring to the view
Of an invader ? is it tliey, or ye,
That to each host the mountain-gate unbar,
And leave the march in peace, the passage free ?
Why, Nature's self detains the victor's car.
And makes your land impregnable, if earth
Could be so ; but alone she will not war,
Yet aids the warrior worthy of his birth
In a soil where the mothers bring fortli men :
Not so with those whose souls are little worth ;
For them no fortress can avail, — the den
Of the poor reptile which preserves its sting
Is more secure than M-alls of adamant, when
Tlie hearts of those within are quivering.
Are ye not brave ? Yes, yet the Ausonian soil
Hath hearts, and hands, and arms, and hosts to bring
Against Oppression ; but how vain the toil.
While still Division sows the seeds of woe
And weakness, till the stranger reaps the spoil.
Oh ! my own beauteous laud ! so long laid low,
So long the grave of thy own children's hopes,
When there is but required a single blow
To break the chain yet, — yet the Avenger stops.
And Doubt and Discord step 'twixt thine and thee.
And join their strength to that which with thee copes ;
^^ hat is there wanting then to set thee free.
And show thy beauty in its fullest light ?
To make the Alps impassable ; and we.
Her sons, may do this with one deed Unite.
<^
CANTO THE THIRD.
'From, out the mass of never-dying ill.
The Plague, the Prince, the Stranger, and the Sword,
Vials of wrath but emptied to refill
And flow again, I cannot all record
That crowds on my prophetic eye : the earth
And ocean written o'er would not afford
Space for the annal, yet it shall go forth ;
Yes, all, though not by human pen, is graven,
There where the farthest suns and stars have birth.
Spread like a banner at the gate of heaven.
The bloody scroll of our millennial wrongs
Waves, and the echo of our groans is driven
Athwart the sound of archangelic songs.
And Italy, the martyred nation^s gore,
WiU not in vain arise to Avhere belongs
Omnipotence and mercy evermore :
Like to a harpstring stricken by the wind.
The sound of her lament shall, rising o'er
The seraph voices, touch the Almighty Mind.
Meantime I, humblest of thy sons, and of
Earth's dust by immortality refined
To sense and suffering, though the vain may scoff.
And tyrants threat, and meeker victims bow
|i Before the storm because its breath is rough,
J; To thee, my country ! whom before, as now.
I loved and love, devote the mournful lyre
And melancholy gift high powers allow
To read the future : and if now my fire
Is not as once it shone o'er thee, forgive !
I but foretell thy fortunes — then expire ;
i.\ VOL. II.
''i
162 TIIR PROrnECY OF DANTE. [oanto hi.
Think not that I would look on them and live.
A spirit forces nie to see and speak,
And for my guerdon grants oiot to survive ;
My heart shall be pour'd over thee and break :
Yet for a moment, ere I must resume
Thy sable web of sorrow, let me take
Over the gleams that flash atliwart thy gloom
A softer ghmpse ; some stars shine through thy night,
And many meteors, and above thy tomb
Leans sculptured Beauty, which Death cannot blight :
And from thine ashes boundless spirits rise
To give thee honour, and the earth delight ;
Thy soil shall still be pregnant with the wise.
The gay, the learn'd, the generous, and the brave,
Native to thee as summer to thy skies.
Conquerors on foreign shores, and the far wave,'
Discoverers of new worlds, which take their name ; -
For thee alone they have no arm to save.
And all thy recompense is in their fame,
A noble one to them, but not to thee —
Shall they be glorious, and thou still the same?
Oh ! more than these illustrious far shall be
The being — and even yet he may be born —
The mortal saviour who shall set thee free.
And see thy diadem, so changed and worn
By fresh barbarians, on thy brow replaced ;
And the sweet sun replenishing thy morn.
Thy moral morn, too long with clouds defaced.
And noxious vapours from Avernus risen.
Such as all they must breathe wdio are debased
By servitude, and have the mind in prison.
Yet through this centuried eclipse of woe
Some voices shall be heard, and earth shall listen ;
Poets shall follow in the path I show,
And make it broader : the same brilliant sky
Wliich cheers the birds to song shall bid them glow.
And raise their notes as natural and high ;
Tuneful shall be their numbers ; they shall sing
' Alexander of Parma, Spinola, Pescara, Eugene of Savoy, Montecucco.
^ Columbus, Ainericus Vespusius, Sebastian Cabot.
CANTO III.] THE PROPHECY OF DANTE. 163
Many of love, and some of liberty,
But few shall soar upon that eagle's wing,
And look in the sun's face, with eagle's gaze.
All free and fearless as the feather'd king,
But fly more near the earth ; how many a phrase
Sublime shall lavish'd be on some small prince
In all the prodigality of praise !
And language, eloquently false, evince
The harlotry of genius, which, like beauty.
Too oft forgets its own self-reverence.
And looks on prostitution as a duty.
He who once enters in a tyrant's hall *
As guest is slave, his thoughts become a booty.
And the first day which sees the chain enthral
A captive, sees his half of manhood gone " —
The soul's emasculation saddens all
Mis spirit; thus the Bard too near the throne
Quails from his inspiration, bound to please, —
How servile is the task to please alone !
To smooth the verse to suit his sovereign's ease
And royal leisure, nor too much prolong
Aught save his eulogy, and find, and seize,
Or force, or forge fit argument of song !
Thus trammell'd, thus condemn'd to Flattery's trebles.
He toils through all, still trembling to be wrong :
For fear some noble thoughts, like heavenly rebels.
Should rise up in high treason to his brain.
He sings, as the Athenian spoke, with pebbles
In's mouth, lest truth should stammer through his strain.
But out of the long file of sonneteers
There shall be some who will not sing in vain.
And he, their prince, shall rank among my peers,*
And love shall be his torment ; but his grief
Shall make an immortality of tears.
And Italy shall hail him as the Chief
Of Poet-lovers, and his higher song
' A verse from the Greek tragedians, with which Pompey took leave of Cornelia on
entering the boat in which he was slain.
■* The verse and sentiment are taken from Homer,
^ Petrarch.
Ji 2
164 THE PROPHECY OF DANTE. canto hi.
Of Freedom wreathe him with as green a leaf.
But in a farther age shall rise along
The banks of Po two greater stiU than he ;
The world which smiled on him shall do them wrong
Till they are ashes^ and repose with me.
The first will make an epoch with his lyre.
And fill the earth with feats of chivalry :
His fancy like a rainbow, and his fire,
Like that of Heaven, immortal, and his thought
Borne onward with a wing that cannot tire ;
Pleasure shall, like a butterfly new caught.
Flutter her lovely pinions o'er his theme.
And Art itself seem into Nature wrought
By the transparency of his bright dream. —
The second, of a tenderer, sadder mood,
Shall pour his soul out o'er Jerusalem ;
He, too, shall sing of arms, and Christian blood
Shed where Christ bled for man ; and his high harp
Shall, by the willow over Jordan's flood,
Eevive a song of Sion, and the sharp
Conflict, and final triumph of the brave
And pious, and the strife of hell to w^arp
Their hearts from their great purpose, until wave
The red-cross banners where the first red Cross
Was crimson'd from his veins who died to save.
Shall be his sacred argument ; the loss
Of years, of favour, freedom, even of fame
Contested for a time, while the smooth gloss
Of courts would slide o'er his forgotten name
And call captivity a kindness, meant
To shield him from insanity or shame.
Such shall be his meek guerdon ! who was sent
To be Christ's Laureate — they reward him well !
Florence dooms me but death or banishment,
Ferrara him a pittance and a cell.
Harder to bear and less deserved, for I
Had stung the factions which I strove to quell;
But this meek man who with a lover's eye
Will look on earth and heaven, and who will deign
To embalm with his celestial flattery, l»i
I
111
CANTO 111,1 THE PROPHECY OF DANTE. 165
As poor a thing as e'er was spawn\l to reign,
What will he do to merit such a doom ?
Perhaps he'll love, — and is not love in vain
Torture enough without a living tomb ?
Yet it will be so — he and his compeer,
The Bard of Chivalry, "will both consume
In penury and pain too many a year.
And, dying in despondency, bequeath
To the kind world, which scarce will yield a tear
A heritage enriching all who breathe
With the wealth of a genuine poet's soul,
And to their country a redoubled wreath,
Unmatch'd by time ; not Hellas can unroll
Through her olympiads two such names, tiiough one
Of hers be mighty ; — and is this the whole
Of such men's destiny beneath the sun ? ^
Must all the finer thoughts, the thrilling sense.
The electric blood with which their arteries run.
Their body's self turned soul with the intense
Feeling of that which is, and fancy of
That which should be, to such a recompense
Conduct ? shall their bright plumage on the rough
Storm be still scatter'd ? Yes, and it must be ;
For, form'd of far too penetrable stuff.
These birds of Paradise but long to flee
Back to their native mansion, soon they find
Earth's mist with their pure pinions not agree.
And die or are degraded ; for the mind
Succumbs to long infection, and despair.
And vulture passions flying close behind.
Await the moment to assail and tear ;
And when at length the winged wanderers stoop.
Then is the prey-birds' triumph, then they share
The spoil, o'erpower'd at length by one fell swoop.
Yet some have been untouch'd who learn'd to bear,
Some whom no power could ever force to droop,
* [" Reader ! how must you have admired those exquisitely beautiful and affecting
portraitures of Ariosto and Tasso which conclude the third canto of the ' Prophecy of
Dante ! ' We there see them characterised in number, style, and sentiment, so
wonderfully Tkintei^quc, that they seem to have been inspired by the very genius of the
inarrivabile Dante himself." — Glenbervie.]
106 THE PROPHECY OF DANTE. [oanto iii.
Who could resist themselves even, hardest care !
And task most hopeless ; but some such have been,
And if my name amongst the number were.
That destiny austere, and yet serene,
AYere prouder than more dazzling fame unblessed;
TJie Alp's snow summit nearer heaven is seen
• Than the volcano's fierce eruptive crest.
Whose splendour from the black abyss is flung.
While the scorched mountain, from whose burning breast
A temporary torturing flame is wrung,
Shines for a night of terror, then repels
Its fire back to the hell from whence it sprung.
The hell which in its entrails ever dwells.
CANTO TtlE FOUHTH.
Many are poets who have never penii'd
Their inspiration, and perchance the best :
They felt, and loved, and died, but would not lend
Their thoughts to meaner beings ; tliej compress'd
The god within them, and rejoined the stars
UnlaurelFd upon earth, but far more blessed
Than those who are degraded by the jars
Of passion, and their frailties linked to fame.
Conquerors of high renown, but full of scars.
Many are poets but without the name,
For what is poesy but to create
JProm overfeeling good or ill ; and aim
At an external life beyond our fate,
And be the new Prometheus of new men.
Bestowing fire from heaven, and then, too late.
Finding the pleasure given repaid with pain.
And vultures to the heart of the bestower.
Who, having lavish\l his high gift in vain,
Lies chained to his lone rock by the sea-shore ?
So be it : we can bear. — But tlius all they
Whose intellect is an o'erraastering power
Which still recoils from its encumbering clay
Or lightens it to spirit, whatsoe'er
The form which their creations may essay,
Are bards; the kindled marble's bust may wear
More poesy upon its speaking brow
Than aught less than the Homeric page may bear;
One noble stroke with a whole life may glow,
Or deify the canvass till it shine
With beauty so surpassing all below,
]68 THE PROPHECT OF DANTE.
TJiat they wlio kneel to idols so divine
Break no commandment, for high heaven is there
Transfused^ transfigurated : and the line
Of poesy, which peoples but the air
With thought and beings of our thought reflected.
Can do no more : than let the artist share
The palm, he shares the peril, and dejected
Paints o'er the labour unapproved — Alas !
Despair and Genius are too oft connected.
Within the ages which before me pass
Art shall resume and equal even the sway
Which with ApeUes and old Phidias
She held in Hellas' unforgotten cUiy.
Ye shall be taught by Euin to revive
The Grecian forms at least from their decay.
And Roman souls at last again shall live
In Eoman works wrought by Italian liands.
And temples, loftier than the old temples, give
!New wonders to the world ; and while still stands
The austere Pantheon, into heaven shall soar
A dome,' its image, while the base expands
Into a fane surpassing all before.
Such as all flesh shall flock to kneel in : ne'er
Such sight hath been unfolded by a door
As this, to which all nations shall repair
And lay their sins at this huge gate of heaven.
And the bold Architect unto whose care
The daring charge to raise it sliall be given.
Whom all hearts shall acknowledge as their lord.
Whether into the marble chaos driven
His chisel bid the Hebrew,'' at whose word
> The Cupola of St. Peter's. ' ^
' The statue of Moses on the monument of Julius II.
SONETTO
Di Giovanni Battista Zcqtjii.
Chi 6 cestui, che in dura pietra scolto,
Siede gigante ; e le piii illustre, e conte
Opre deir arte avvanza, e ha vive, e pronte
Le labbia si, che le parole ascolto ?
Quest' e Mose ; ben me '1 dlceva il foUo '
Onur del meiito, e '1 doppio raggio in froiite,
[canto IV.
rANT.^ iv.j THE PROPHECY OF DANTE. 169
Israel left Egypt, stop the waves in stone,
Or hues of Hell be by his pencil poiir'd
Over the damnM before the Judgment- throne/
Such as I saw them, such as all shall see,
Or fanes be built of grandeur yet unknown.
The stream of his great thoughts shall spring from m
The Ghibelline, who traversed the three realms
Which form the empire of eternity.
Amidst the clash of swords, and clang of helms.
The age which I anticipate, no less
Shall be the Age of Beautj^, and wliile whelms.
Calamity the nations with distress.
The genius of ray country shall arise,
A Cedar towering o'er the Wilderness,
Lovely in all its branches to all eyes.
Fragrant as fair, and recognised afar.
Wafting its native incense through the skies.
Quest' e Mose, quanJo scexidea del monte,
E gran parte del Niime avea nel volto.
Tal era allor, die le sonanti, e vaste
Acque ei sospese a se d' iutorno, e tale
Quando il mar chiuse, e ne fe tomba altrui.
E voi sue turbe un rio vitello alzaste ?
Alzata aveste imago a questa eguale !
Cli' era men fallo 1' adorar costui.
[" And who is lie that, shaped in sculptured stone
Sits giant-like ? stern monument of art
Unparallel'd, while language seems to start
From his promj^t lips, and we his precepts own ?
— 'Tis Moses ; by his beard's thick honours kiu.wn,
And the twin beams that from his temples dart ;
'Tis Moses ; seated on the mount apart,
Whilst yet the Godhead o'er his features shone.
Such once he look'd, when ocean's sounding wave
Suspended hung, and such amidst the storin,
"When o'er his foes the refluent waters roar'd.
An idol calf his followers did engrave ;
But had they raised thi.s awe-commanding form.
Then had they with less guilt their work adored." — Rogkus.]
' The Last Judgment, in the Sistine Chapel.
* I have read somewhere (if I do not err, for I cannot recollect where,) that Dante
■was so great a favourite of Michael Angelo's, that he had designed the whole of the
Divina Commedia : but that the volume containing these studies was lost by sea. —
[It was upon the margin of a folio copy of Dante that Michael Angelo drew pen and
Lak illustrations of the text. The vessel which carried the precious volume foundered
ou its way from Leghorn to Civita Vecchia. Dujipa states in the Life of Michael
Angelo that it is obvious throughnit his works that he had fed his imagination from
the jioems of Daute.]
170 THE PROPHECY OF DANTE. [canto iv.
Sovereigns shall pause araidst their sport of war,
Wean'd for an hour from blood, to turn and gaze
On canvass or on stone ; and they who mar
All beauty upon earth, compelFd to praise,
Shall feel the power of that which they destroy ;
And Art's mistaken gratitude shall raise
To tyrants who but take her for a toy,
Emblems and monuments, and prostitute
Her charms to pontiffs proud,' who but employ
The man of genius as the meanest brute
To bear a burthen, and to serve a need.
To sell his labours, and his soul to boot.
Who toils for nations may be poor indeed,
But free ; who sweats for monarchs is no more
Than the gilt chamberlain, who, clothed and fecM,
Stands sleek and slavish, bowing at his door.
Oh, Power that rulest and inspirest ! how
Is it that they on eartli, whose earthly power
Is likest thine in heaven in outward show,
Least like to thee in attributes divine,
Tread on the universal necks that bow,
Aud then assure us that their rights are tliine?
And how is it that they, the son^ of fame.
Whose inspiration seems to tliem to shine
From high, they whom the nations oftest name,
Must pass their days in penury or pain.
Or step to grandeur through the paths of ^liaiiie.
And wear a deeper brand and gtmdier chain ?
Or if their destiny be born aloof
Erom lowliness, or tempted thence in vain.
In their own souls sustain a harder proof,
The inner war of passibns deep and fierce ?
Florence! when thy harsh sentence razed my roof,
^ See the treatment of Michael Angelo by Julius II., and his neglect by Leo X. —
[.luliu.s II. enjoyed liis couversation, and encouraged liis attendance at the Vatican,
but I'Ue morning as he was entering, he was stopped by the person in waiting,
V(-lio said, " I have an order not to let you in." Micliael Angelo, indignant at tlie
insult, lelt Rome that very evening. Though Julius despatched courier after
courier to bring him back, it was some months before a reconciliation was effected.
On the Pope observing, "In the stead of your coming to us, you sccni to have exjjectcd
that we should wait upon you," Michael Angek apologised with dignity, and matters
icsumcd their ancient course.]
CANTO IV.] THE PROPHECY OF DANTE. 171
I loved thee ; but the vengeaiice of my verse.
The hate of injuries which every year
i\Iakes greater, and accumuhates my curse.
Shall live, outliving all thou holdest dear.
Thy pride, thy wealth, thy freedom, and even that.
The most infernal of all evils here.
The sway of petty tyrants in a state ;
For such sway is not limited to kings.
And demagogues yield to them but in date,
As swept off sooner ; in all deadly things.
Which make men hate themselves, and one another,
In discord, cowardice, cruelty, all that springs
From Death the Sin-born's incest with his mother.
In rank oppression in its rudest shape,
The faction Chief is but the Sultan's brother,
And the worst despot's far less human ape :
Florence ! when this lone spirit, which so long
Yearn'd, as the captive toiling at escape.
To fly back to thee in despite of wrong.
An exile, saddest of all prisoners,*
\\ ho has the whole world for a dungeon strong,
Seas, mountains, and the horizon's verge for bars.
Which shut him from the sole small _spot of eart!i
Where — whatsoe'er his fate — he. still were iiers,
Ilis country's, and might die where he had birth —
Florence ! when this lone spirit shall return
To kindred spirits, thou wilt feel my wortli.
And seek to honour with an empty urn
^ [In his ' ' Couvito, '' Dante speaks of his banishment, and the poverty and distress
which attended it, in very affecting terms. About the year 1310, his friends obtained
his restoration to his country and his possessions, on condition that he should pay a
certain sum of money, and, entering a church, avow himself guilty, and ask pardon of
the republic. " Far," he replied, "from the man who is familiar with philosophy,
be the senseless baseness of a heart of earth, that could imitate the infamy of some
others, by oiferiug himself up as it were in chains. Far fr>,m the man who cries
aloud for justice, this compromise, by his money, with his persecutors ! No, my
Father, this is not the way that shall lead me back to my country. But I shall
retui'n with hasty steps, if yon or any other can open to me a way that shall not
derogate from the fame and honour of Dante ; but if by no such way Florence can be
entered, then Florence I shall never enter. What ! shall I not every where enjoy
the sight of the sun and stars ? and may I not seek and contemplate, in every corner
of the earth under the canopy of heaven, consoling and delightful truth, without first
rendering myself inglorious, nay infamous, to the people and republic of Florence \
Bread, I hope, will not fail me."]
172 TUE PROPHECY OF DANTE. [canto iv.
The ashes thou shalt ne'er obtain — Alas !
" What have I done tcy thee, my people?"' Stern
Are all thy dealings, but in this they pass
The bmits of man's common malice, for
All that a citizen could be I was;
liaised by thy will, all thine in peace or war.
And for this thou hast warr'd with me, — 'Tis done :
I may not overleap the eternal bar
Built up between us, and will die alone,
Beholdinnr with the dark eve of a seer
The evil days to gifted souls foreshown,
Foretelling them to those who will not hear.
As in the old time, till the hour be come
When Truth shall strike their eyes through many a tear.
And make them own the Prophet in his tomb.
' "E scrisse piu volte non solamente a imrticolari cittadiui del reggimcEto, ma
aucora al popolo, e intra 1' altre una Epistola assai lunga clie comincia : ^ Pojnde mi,
quid feci tibi?'" — Vita di Dante scritta da Lionardo Aretino. [His countrymen
showed, too late, tliat they knew the value of wliat tbey had lost. At the beginning
of the next century, they entreated that the ashes of their illustrious citizen might be
restored to them ; but the people of Ravenna were unwilling to part with the honour-
able memorial of their own bospitality. No better success attended the subsequent
negotiations of the Florentines, though renewed under the auspices of Leo X., and
conducted through the powerful mediation of Michael Angelo.]
FKANCESCA OF EIMINL
INTEODUCTIOX TO FRANCESCA OF RIMIXL
Francesca, daughter of Gruido da Polenta, Lord of Ravenna, was given by her
fathei- m marriage to Lanciotto, sou of Malatesta, Lord of Eimini. Lanciotto, who
was brave but deformed, feared to be rejected if he was seen before the ceremony by
his destined bride, and he therefore sent his younger brother Paolo, a handsome and
accomplished man, as his proxy to marry Francesca. On seeing Paolo she mistook him
fitr her intended husband, and an attachment ensued, which ended in their being
detected In adidtery, and stabbed by Lanciotto. State-policy was the motive with
Francesca' s father to insist upon the match, and his Mends had warned him from the
outset that his high-spirited daughter would never submit to be sacrificed with impu-
nity. None of these extenuating circumstances are related by Dante, but he has
conducted his narrative with infinite refinement and fidelity to natui-e. Francesca
loves because she is beloved, yet there is no guilty intention with either. Their strong
and mutual attachment is una vowed, until a story, in which the feelings of each are
put into words, becomes an interpreter between them, tears the veil from their
passion, and hurries them on to the deplorable catastrophe. The episode is considered
the most pathetic in the Divina Commedia, and it greatly increases the pathos that
the fiither of Francesca was the friend and protector of the poet. It is asserted, indeed,
that this portion of the poem was composed in the house in which Francesca was born.
A stem justice mingled with the sensibility of Dante, and with such motives to
sorrow over the fate of the lovers, and while actually representing himself as swooning
with pity, he has condemned them to a place in his Inferno for their crime. Lord
Byron must have felt deeply the poetic version of the tragic tale, for he held that
when Dante was tender, he displayed a gentleness beyond all example. The trans-
lation was executed at Ravenna in March, 1820. In transmitting it to Mr. Murray,
Lord Byron says : ' ' Enclosed you will find line for line, in third rhyme (terza rima),
of which your British blackguard reader as yet understands nothing, Fanny of
Rimini. I have done it into cramp English, line for line, and rhyme for rhyme, to
try the possibility. If it is published, publish it with the original." On another
occasion he called it "thec?'ea?rt of all translations," but ''cramp English" is the
juster description. The spirit is too much sacrificed to the letter. It hae not the
force, the freedom, nor the melody of the original, and shows how close an approach
niay be made to verbal accuracy without retaining the suul of scng.
I
FRANCESCA DA RIMINI,
DANTE, L'INFERNO.
CANTO THE FIFTH.
" SiEDE la terra dove nata fui
Su la marina^ dove il Po discende
Per aver pace coi seguaci sui.
Amor, che al cor geutil ratto s' apprende,
Prese costui della bella persona
Che mi fu tolta ; e ^1 modo ancor m' ofFende.
Amor, che a nullo amato amar perdona,
Mi prese del costui piacer si forte,
Che, come vedi, ancor non m' abbaudona;
Amor condusse noi ad una morte :
Caina attende chi vita ci spense : "
Qucste parole da lor ci fur porta.
Da ch' io intesi quell' anime offense
Chinai '1 viso, e tanto '1 tenni basso
Pin che '1 Poeta mi disse : " Che pense ? **
Quando risposi comiuciai : " 0 lasso !
Quanti dolci pensier, quanto disio
Mono costoro al doloroso passo ! "
Poi mi rivolsi a loro, e parlai io,
E cominciai : " Prancesca,, i tuoi martiri
A lagrimar mi fanno tristo e pio.
FRVNCESCA OF RIMINI.
PROM THE lyPER.VO OP DANTE.
CANTO THE FIFTH.
"The land where I was boni ' sits by the seas
Upon that shore to which the Po descends.
With all his followers, in search of peace.
Love, which the gentle heart soon apprehends,
Seized him for the fair person which was ta'eu
From me,^ and me even yet the mode offends.
Love, who to none beloved to love again
Kemits, seized me with wish to please, so strong,
That, as thou seest, yet, yet it doth remain.
Love to one death conducted us along.
But Caina' waits for him our life who ended : "
These were the accents uttered by her tongue. —
Since I first listen'd to these souls offended,
I bow'd my visage, and so kept it till —
" What think' st thou ? " said the bard ; " when I unbended.
And recommenced : " Alas ! unto such ill
How many sweet thoughts, what strong ecstacies.
Led these their evil fortune to fulfil ! "
And then I turu'd unto their side my eyes.
And said, "Erancesca, thy sad destinies
Have made me sorrow till the tears arise.
VOL. II.
178 FRANCESCA DA RIMINI.
Ma diinmi : al tempo de' dolci sospin
A clie, e come concedctte A more
Che conosceste i dubbiosi desiri ? "
Ed ella a me : " nessuu maggior dolore
Che ricordarsi del tempo felice
Nelhi misaria ; e cib sa il tuo dottore.
Ma se a couoscer la prima radice
Del nosti-o amor tu hai cotanto affetto,
^ar^^ come colui, die piange, e dice,
Noi leggevamo un giorno per diletto
Di Lancilotto, come Amor lo strinse :
Soli eravamo, e seiiza alcun sospetto.
Per i)iii fiate gli occhi ci sospinse
Qtiella lettura, e scolorocci 'l viso :
Ma solo un punto fu quel die ci vinse.
Quando leggemmo il disiato riso
Esser baciato da cotanto amaiite,
Questi, che mai da me non fia diviso,
La bocca mi bacio tutto tremante :
Galcotto fu il libro, e chi lo scrisse —
Quel giorno piii non vi leggemmo avaute."
Mentre die i' uno spirto questo disse,
L'altro piangeva si che di pietade
lo venni men cosi com^ io morisse,
E caddi come corpo morto cade.
FRANCESCA OF RIMINI. 179
But tell me, in the season of sweet sighs,
By what and how thy love to passion rose.
So as his dim desires to recognize ? "
Then she to me : " The greatest of all woes
Is to remind us of our happy days '
In misery, and that thy teacher knows.
But if to learn our passion's first root preys
Upon thy spirit with such sympathy,
I will do even as he who weeps and says.'
AVe read one day for pastime, seated nigh,
Of Lancilot,' how love enchain'd him too.
We w^ere alone, quite unsuspiciously.
But oft our eyes met, and our cheeks in hue
All o'er discolour'd by that reading were ;
But one point only wholly us o'erthrew ; °
AYhen we read the long-sigh'd-for smile of her.
To be thus kiss'd by such devoted lover,'
He who from me can be divided ne'er
Kiss'd my mouth, trembling in the act all over :
Accursed was the book and he who wrote !
That day no further leaf we did uncover."
AVhile thus one spirit told us of their lot,
The other wept,'" so that wdth pity's thralls
I swoon'd, as if by death I had been smote.
And fell down even as a dead body falls.
NOTES TO FRANCESCA OF EIMINI.
' Rayenna.
* [The meaning is that she was despoiled of her beauty by death, and that the
manner of her death excites her indignation still. Among Loi^d Byron's unpublished
letters are the following different renderings of the passage : —
" Seized him for the fair person, which in its
Bloom was ta'en from me, yet the mode offends.
or,
Seized him for the fair form, of which in its
Bloom I was reft, and yet the mode offends.
Love, which to none beloved to love remits,
{■nath mutual wish to please ]
with wish of pleasing liita V- so strong,
with the desire to please J
That, as thou see'st, not yet that passion quits, &c.
You will find these readings vary from the MS. I sent you. They are closer, but
rougher : take which is liked best; or, if you like, print them as variations. Tht-y
are all close to the text." — Byron Letters.]
^ [From Cain, the first fratricide. Caina is that part of the Inferno to whicli
murderers are condemned.]
■• [Virgil, who is Dant«'s guide through the infernal regions.]
[''i^*°!j:mtd°urf'i--'^^ppy'i^^-
"In misery, and ] ^i ! w thy teacher knows." — MS.]
The teacher was Boetius, whom Dante in his distresses had always between liis
hands. — "In omni adversitate fortunaj infelicissimum genus infortunii est fuisse
felicem," — Jioetius.]
' [" I will j , > as he weeps and says." — MS.
The sense is —
" I will do even as one who relates while weeping."]
^ [One of the Knights of Arthur's Round Tal)]o, and the lover of Genc\Ta, so
celebrated in romance.]
NOTES TO FRANCESCA OF RIMINI. 181
[" But one point oi^ly us j 'J^^^'^^ | ."-MS.]
9 [" To be thus kiss'd by such j Jg^^tTd * ! lo^er."— MS.]
'" [The "other spirit" is Francesca's lover, Paolo. It is the poet himself who swoons
with pity, and he can hardly have exaggerated his emotion when we consider that he
had probably been acquainted with Francesca.]
THE BLUES:
A LITERARY ECLOGUE.
"Nimium ne crede colori." — Virgil.
0 trust not, ye bccautiful creatures, to hue,
Though your hair were as red, as your stockings are blue.
TNTEODUCTION TO THE BLUES.
The term "blue-stocking" took its origin from the blue stockings of Mr. Stilling-
fleet, — a prominent member of the literary coterie who assembled frequently at the
house of Mrs. Montague. The title was first applied in pleasantry to the whole society,
which consisted of both sexes, and was afterwards appropriated to the bookish ladies,
who formed so conspicuous a part of it. Had choice instead of chance jjresided at tiie
naming, Lord Byron's term '^hlne-botfle" might have deserved the preference. With
the sarcastic eye which he cast over society, and his hatred of false pretension, it was
impossible that the learned airs of iinlearned ladies should escape the rebuke of his
biting pleasantry. In "Beppo" aud "Don Juan" he has brushed laughingly but
not tenderly, the blue down besprinkled over the wings of these butterflies, and, in
1820, he amused himself with pinning in this "Literary Eclogue" a few specimens of
the azure beings who fluttered about the fashionable world during his London life.
He called the jeu d'es2'>rit "a mere piece of buffoonery never meant for publication,"
and it was solely owing to the entreaties of Mr. Hunt that it appeared in ' ' The
Liberal." With some little liveliness, this trifling effusion was not, it must be
acknowledged, the product of a witty or poetic hour. In comparison with the keener
strokes in "Don Juan," it was like stabbing with the hilt instead of with the point
of the sword. Much of the amusement, however, depended upon a knowledge of the
originals from whom the characters are drawn, and no traditionary information can
enable a later generation to apprehend fully the force of the allusions. If the satire
seems tame, it is for the most part good-humoured, and even the sketch of Lady
Byron, under the name of Miss Lilac, is devoid of bitterness. Had his spleen been
really roused, the gaiety of his mockiag-mood would have been mingled with many a
" glittering shaft of war."
THE BLUES
A LITER iHY ECLOGUE.
ECLOGUE THE FIRST.
London. — Before the Door of a Lecture Room.
Enter Tracy, meeting Inkel.
Inli. You^iE too late.
Tm, Is it over ?
Ink. Nor will be this hour.
But the benches are crammed, like a garden in flower,
With the pride of our belles, who have made it the fasliion ;
So, instead of " beaux arts," we may say "la helle passion''
For learning, which lately has taken the lead in
The world, and set all the fine gentlemen reading.
Tra. 1 know it too well, and have worn out my patience
With studying to study your new publications.
There's Vamp, Scamp, and Mouthy, and Wordswords and Co.
With their damnable
Lik. Hold, my good friend, do you know
Whom you speak to ?
Tra. Right well, boy, and so does "the Row:'"
You're an author — a poet —
Ink. And think you that I
' [Patemoster-Row — long and still celebrated as a very bazaar of booksellers. Sir
Walter Scott " hitches into rhyme" one of the most important firms — that
"Of Longman, Hurst, Rees, Orme, and Brown,
Our fathers of the Row."]
186 THE BLUES.
Can stand tamely in silence^ to hear you decry
The Muses ?
Tra. Excuse me : I meant no offence
To the Nine; though the number who make some pretence
'i 0 their favours is such but the subject to drop,
I am just piping hot from a publisher's shop, \ |
(Next door to the pastry-cook's ; so that when I
Cannot find the new volume I wanted to buy
On the bibliopole's shelves, it is only two paces.
As one finds every author in one of those places :)
AVhere I just had been skimming a charming critique.
So studded with wit, and so sprinkled with Greek !
AYhere your friend — you know who — has just got such a threshing.
That it is, as the phrase goes, extremely " ref resiling." ^
AVhat a beautiful word !
Ink. Very true; 'tis so soft
And so cooling — they use it a little too oft ;
And the papers have got it at last — but no matter.
So they've cut up our friend then ?
Tra. Not left him a tatter-
Not a rag of his present or past reputation.
Which they call a disgrace to the age, and the nation.
Ink. I'm sorry to hear this ! for friendship, you know
Our poor friend ! — but I thought it would terminate so.
Our friendship is such, I'll read nothing to shock it.
You don't happen to have the Review in your pocket?
Tra. No ; 1 left a round dozen of authors and others
(Very sorry, no doubt, since the cause is a brother's)
All scrambling and jostling, like so many imps.
And on fire with impatience to get the next glimpse.
Ink. Let us join them.
Tra. What, won't you return to the lecture?
Ink. Why the place is so cramm'd, there's not room for a spectre.
Besides, our friend Scamp is to-day so absurd —
Tra. How can you know that till you hear him ?
Ink. I heard
Quite enough ; and, to tell you the truth, my retreat
Was from his vile nonsense, no less than the heat.
- [This cant phrase was first used iu the Edinburgh Review — probably by
.A[r. Jeffrey.]
THE BLUES. 187
Tra. I have had no great loss then ?
Ink. Loss ! — such a palaver !
x'd inoculate sooner my wife with the slaver
(^f a dog when gone rabid, than listen two hours
To the torrent of trash which around hiiu he pours,
PinnpM up with such effort, disgorged with such labour.
That come — do not make me speak ill of one's neighbour.
Tra. I make you !
Ink. Yes, you ! I said nothing until
You compeird me, by speaking the truth
Tra. To speak ill?
Is that your deduction ?
Ink. When speaking of Scamp ill,
I certainly /o/fozy, not set an example.
The fellow's a fool, an impostor, a zany.
Tra. And the crowd of to-day shows that one fool makes many.
But we two will be wise.
Lik. Pi*ayj then, let us retire.
Tra. I would, but
Ink. There must be attraction much higher
Than Scamp, or the Jew's harp he nicknames his lyre.
To call 1/ou to this hotbed.
Tra. I own it — 'tis true —
A fair lady
Ink. A spijister ?
Tra. Miss Lilac.
Ink. The Blue!
Tra. The heiress ! The angel !
Ink. The devil ! why, man.
Pray get out of this hobble as fast as you can.
You wed with Miss Lilac ! 'twould be your perdition :
She's a poet, a chymist, a mathematician.
Tra. I say she's an angel.
Ink. Say rather an angle.
If you and she marry, you'll certainly wrangle.
I say she's a Blue, man, as blue as the ether.
Tra. And is that any cause for not coming together ?
Ink. Humph ! I can't say I know any happy alliance
Which has lately sprung up from a wedlock with science.
She's so learned in all things, and fond of concerning
188 THK BLUES.
Herself in all matters connected with learning,
That
Tra. What?
rule. I perhaps may as well hold my tongue ;
But there's five hundred people can tell you you're wrong.
Tra. You forget Lady Lilac's as rich as a Jew.
Ink. Is it miss or the cash of mamma you pursue?
Tra. Why, Jack, I'll be frank with you — something of both.
The girl's a fine girl.
Lik. And you feel nothing loth
'i 0 her good lady-mother's reversion ; and yet
II cr life is as good as your own, I will bet.
Tra. Let her live, and as long as she likes ; I demand
Nothing more than the heart of her daughter and hand.
Ink. Why, that heart's in the inkstand — that hand on the pen.
Tra. A propos — Will you write me a song now and then ?
Ink. To what purpose ?
Tra. You know, my dear friend, that in ])rose
My talent is decent, as far as it goes ;
But in rhyme
Ink. You're a terrible stick, to be sure.
Tra. I own it; and yet, in these times, there's no lure
Eor the heart of the fair like a stanza or two ;
And so, as I can't, will you furnish a few?
Ink. In your name ?
Tra. ' In my name. I will copy them out,
To slip into her hand at the very next rout.
Ink. Are you so far advanced as to hazard this ?
Tra. Why,
Do you think me subdued by a Blue-stocking's eye.
So far as to tremble to tell her in rhyme
What I've told her in prose, at the least, as sublime?
Ink. As sublime ! If it be so, no need of my Muse.
Tra. But consider, dear Inkel, she's one of the " Blues."
Ink. As sublime ! — Mr. Tracy — I've nothing to say.
.Stick to prose — As sublime ! ! — but I wish you good day,
Tra. Nay, stay, my dear fellow — consider — I'm wrong;
1 own it; but, prithee, compose me the song.
Ink. As subli;nt ! !
Tra. I but used the expression in haste.
THE BLUES. 1,S9
Ink. That may be, Mr. Tracy, but shows daiiiii'd bad taste.
Tra, I own it, I know it, acknowledge it — what
Can 1 say to you more?
Inh. I see what you'd be at :
You disparage my parts witli insidious abuse^
Till you think you can turn them best to your own use.
Tra. And is that not a sign I respect them ?
Inh. Why that
To be sure makes a difference.
Tra. I know what is what :
And you, who' re a man of the gay world, no less
Than a poet of t'other, may easily guess
That I never could mean, by a word, to offend
A genius like you, and moreover, my friend.
Ink. No doubt ; you by this time should know what is due
To a man of but come — let us shake hands.
Tra. You knew.
And you knoio, my dear fellow, how lieartily I,
Whatever you pubhsh, am ready to buy.
Ink. That's my bookseller's business ; I care not for sale ;
Indeed the best poems at first rather fail.
There were Renegade's epics, and Botherby's plays/
And my own grand romance
Tra. Had its full share of praise.
1 myself saw it puff'd in the " Old Girl's Review." -
Ink. What Review?
Tra. 'Tis the English " Journal de Trevoux ; '"
A clerical work of our Jesuits at home.
Have you never yet seen it ?
Ink. That pleasure's to come.
Tra. Make haste then.
Ink. Why so ?
Tra. I have heard people say
That it threaten'd to give up the (jliost t'other day.
Ink. Well, that is a sign of some spirit.
^ [Messrs. Southey and Sotheby.]
•• f" J.Iy (JrrandmotLer's Review, the British," which has since been gathered to its
grandmothers.]
* [The "Journal de Trevoux" (in fifty-six volumes) is one of the most curious
collections of literary gossip in the world, and the Poet paid the British Review au
extravagant compliment when he made the comparison.]
190 THE BLUES.
q^,-(j^ No doubt.
Shall you be at the Countess of Fiddlecome's rout ?
Ink. Tve a card, and shall go : but at present, as soon
As friend Scamp shall be pleased to step down from the moon
(Where he seems to be soaring in search of his wits),
And an interval grants from his lecturing fits,
Tm eniraired to the Ladv Bluebottle's collation,
To partake of a luncheon and learn'd conversation :
'Tis a sort of reujiion for Scamp, on the days
Of his lecture, to treat him with cold tongue and praise.
And I own, for my own part, that 'tis not unpleasant.
\\'ill you go ? There's Miss Lilac will also be present.
Tra. That " metal's attractive."
IiiJc. No doubt — to the pocket.
Tra. You should rather encourage my passion than shock it.
But let us proceed ; for I think by the hum
Ink. Very true ; let us go, then, before they can come.
Or else well be kept here an hour at their levee.
On the rack of cross questions, by all the blue bevy.
Hark ! Zounds, they'll be on us ; I know by the drone
Of old Botherby's spouting ex-cathedra tone.
Ay ! there he is at it. Poor Scamp ! better join
Your friends, or he'll pay you back in your own coin.
Tra. All fair ; 'tis but lecture for lecture.
Ink. That's clear.
But for God's sake let's go, or the Bore will be here.
Come, come : nay, I'm off.
[Exit Ink EL.
Tra. Xow are right, and I'll follow ;
'Tis high time for a " Sic me servavit Apollo." *
And yet we shall have the whole crew on our kibes.
Blues, dandies, and dowagers, and second-hand scribes,
^ ["Sotlieby is a good man — rliymes -well (if not wisely) ; but is a bore. lie seizes
you by the button. One night of a rout at Mrs. Hope's, he had fastened upon me—
(something about Agamemnon, or Orestes, or some of his plays) notwithstanding my
symptoms of maiufest distress — (for I was in love, and just nicked a minute wlien
neither mothers, nor husbands, nor rivals, nor gossips were near my then idol, who
was beautifid as the statues of the gallery where we stood at the time). Sotheby, I
say, had seized upon me by the button and the heart- strings, and spared neither.
William Spencer, who likes fun, and don't dislike mischief, saw my case, and coming
up to us both, took nie by the hand, and iiathetically bade me farewell ; 'for,' said
he, 'I see it is all over with you.' Sotheby then went his way : ' sic nie servavit
A/wllu.' "—Byrun Uiai-y, 1821.]
THE BLUES. 191
All flocking to raoisteu their exquisite throttles
AVith a glass of Madeira at Lady Blaebottle's.
[Exit Tracy.
ECLOGUE THE SECOND.
An Apartment in the House o/Ladx Bluebottle. — A Table prepared.
Sir Eichaed Bluebottle solus.
Was there ever a man who was married so sorry ?
Like a fool, I must needs do the thing in a hurry.
My life is reversed, and my quiet destroyed ;
]\Iy days, which once pass'd in so gentle a void,
Must now, every hour of the twelve, be employ'd ;
The twelve, do I say ? — of the whole twenty-four.
Is tliere one which I dare call my own any more ?
Mhat with driving and visiting, dancing and dining.
What with learning, and teaching, and scribbling, and shining.
In science and art, I'll be cursed if I know
Myself from my wife ; for although we are two.
Yet she somehow contrives that all things shall be done
In a style which proclaims us eternally one.
I>ut the tiling of all things which distresses me more
Tiian the bills of the week (though they trouble me sore)
Is the numerous, humorous, backbiting crew
Of scribblers, wits, lecturers, white, black, and blue,
\\ ho are brought to my house as an inn, to my cost —
For the bill here, it seems, is defrayM by the host —
No pleasure ! no leisure ! no thought for my pains.
But to hear a vile jargon which addles my brains ;
A smatter and chatter, glean'd out of reviews.
By the rag, tag, and bobtail, of those they call " Blues ;"
A rabble who know not But soft, here they come !
Would to God I were deaf ! as I'm not, I'll be duoib.
Enter Ladt Bluebottle, Miss Ltlac, Lady Bluemount, Mr. Eotherbt, Inkkl.
Tracy, Hiss Mazarine, and others, with Scamp the Lecturer, (Lc. d:c.
Lady Bliieh. Ah ! Sir Richard, good morning : I've brought }uu
some friends.
102 THE BLUES.
Sir Rich, [botrs, and afterwards aside). If frientls, they're tlic
first.
Lad^^ Blueh. But tlie luncheon attends.
I pray ye be seated, " sans ceremonie."
Mr. Scaui]), you're fatigued; take your chair there, next me.
{They all sit.
Sir Rich, {aside). If he does, his fatigue is to come.
Ladi/ Blueh. Mr. Tracy-
Lady Biuemouut — Miss Lilac — be pleased, pray, to place ye ;
And you, Mr. Botherby —
Both. Oh, my dear Lady,
I obey.
Ladi/ Blueh. Mr. Inkel, 1 ought to upbraid ye :
You were not at the lecture.
Indc. Excuse me, I was ;
But the heat forced me out in the best part — alas !
And when —
Lady Blueh. To be sure it M^as broiling ; but then
You have lost such a lecture !
Both. The best of the ten.
Tra. How can vou know that ? there are two more.
Both. Because
I defy him to beat this day's wondrous applause.
The very walls shook.
Ink. Oh, if that be the test,
I allow our friend Scamp has this day done his best.
Miss Lilac, permit me to help you ; — a wing ?
Miss Lil. No more, sir, I thank you. Who lectures next spring ?
Both. Dick Dunder.
Ink. That is, if he lives.
Miss Lil. And why not ?
Ink. No reason whatever, save that he's a sot.
Lady Bluemount ! a glass of Madeira ?
iMdij Bluem. "With pleasure.
Ink. How does your friend Wordsvvords, that Windermere
treasure ?
Does he stick to his lakes, like the leeches he sings.
And their gatherers, as Homer sung warriors and kings?
Lad// Bluem. He lias just got a place.
I>ik. As a footman?
THE BLUES. 193
Lady Bhem. Yox shame !
Nor profane with your sneers so poetic a name.
Ink. Nay, I meant him no evil, but pitied his master ;
For the poet of pedlers 'twere, sure, no disaster
To wear a nevv hvery ; the more, as 'tis not
Tlie first time he has turn'd both his creed and his coat.
Ladi/ Bluem. For shame ! I repeat. If Sir George could but
hear
Ladi/ Blueh. Never mind our friend Inkel; we all know, my
dear,
'Tis his way.
Sir Rich. But this place
LiJt. Is perhaps like friend Scamp's,
A lecturer's.
Ladi/ Bluem. Excuse me — 'tis one in the " Stamps :"
He is made a collector.'
Tra. Collector !
Sir Rich. How ?
Miss Lil. What ?
Ink. I shall think of him oft when I buy a new hat :
There his works will appear
Ladi/ Bhiem. Sir, they reach to the Ganges.
Ink. I sha'n't go so far — I can have them at Grange's.®
Ladi/ Blueh. Oh fie !
Miss Lil. And for shame !
Lady Bluem. You're too bad.
Both. Very good !
Ladij Bhiem. How good?
Lady Blueh. He means nought — 'tis his phrase.
Lady Bluem. He grows rude.
Lady Blueh. He means notliing ; nay, ask him.
Lady Bluem. Pi'ay> Sir ! did you mean
What you say ?
Ink. Never mind if he did ; 'twill be seen
That whatever he means won't alloy what he says.
Both. Sh:?
Ink. Pray be content with your portion of praise ;
'Twas in your defence.
' ("Mr. Wordsworth was collector of stamps for Cumberland and Westmoreland.]
* G^range is or was a famous pastry-cook and fruiterer in Piccadilly.
Vol. ii. O
194 THE BLUES.
Both. If you please, with submission
I can make out my own.
Ink. It would be your perdition.
AVJiile you live, my dear Botberby, never defend
Yourself or your works ; but leave both to a friend.
Apropos — Is your play then accepted at last ?
Both. At last?
Ink. Why I thought — that's to say — there had pass'd
A few green-room whispers, which hinted, — you know
That the taste of the actors at best is so so.'
Both. Sir, the green-room's in rapture, and so's the Committee.
Ink. Ay — yours are the plays for exciting our "])ity
And fear," as the Greek says : for " purging the mind," M
I doubt if you'll leave us an equal behind.
Both. I have written the prologue, and meant to have pi'ay'd
Eor a spice of your wit in an epilogue's aid.
Ink. Well, time enough yet, when the play's to be play'd.
1 s it cast yet ?
Both. The actors are fighting for parts.
As is usual in that most litigious of arts.
Ladi/ Blueb. We'U all make a party, and go i\\e first night.
Tra. And you promised the epilogue, Ink el.
Ink. Not quite.
However, to save my friend Botherby trouble,
I'll do what I can, though my pains must be double.
Tra. AYhy so ?
Ink. To do justice to what goes before.
Both. Sir, I'm happy to say, I've no fears on that score.
Your parts, Mr. Inkel, are
Ink. Never mind mine ;
Stick to those of your play, which is quite your ow)i line.
Ladi/ Blueni. You're a fugitive writer, I think, sir, of rhymes?
Ink. Yes, ma'am; and a fugitive reader sometimes.
On Wordswords, for instance, I seldom alight.
Or on Mouthey, his friend, without taking to flight.
^ ["When I belonged to the Drury Lane Committee, the number of plays upon the
shelves were about five hundred. Mr. Sutheby obligingly offered us all his tragedies,
and I pledged myself, and— notwithstanding many squabbles with my committee
brethren — did get Ivan accepted, read, and the parts distributed. But lo ! in the
very lieart of the matter, upon some tej/id-ness on the part of Kean, or warmth on
that of the author, Sotheby withdrew his play." — Byron Diary, 1821.]
THE BLUES, I95
Laily Bluem. Sir, your taste is too common ; but time aud
posterity
Will right these great men, and this age's severity
Become its reproach.
Ink. I've no sort of objection.
So I'm not of the party to take the infection.
Larh/ Blueb. Perliaps you have doubts that they ever will take ?
LiJc. Not at all ; on the contrary, those of the lake
Have taken already, and still will continue
To take — what they can, from a groat lo a guinea.
Of pension or place ; — but the subject's a bore.
Larli/ Bluem. Well, sir, the time's coming.
Ink. Scamp ! don't you feel sore ?
What say you to this ?
8camp. They have merit, I own ;
Though their system's absurdity keeps it unknown.
Iiih. Then why not unearth it in one of your lectures ?
Scamp. It is only time ])ast which comes under my strictures.
Lad?/ Blueb. Come, a truce with all tartness; — the joy of my
heart
Is to see Nature's triumph o'er all that is art.
Wild Nature ! — Grand Shakspeare !
Both. And down Aristotle !
Lady Bluem. Sir George' thinks exactly with Lady Bluebottle:
And my Lord Seventy-four,^ who protects our dear Bard,
And who gave him his place, has the greatest regard
Por the poet, who, singing of pedlers and asses,
Has found out the way to dispense with Parnassus.
Tm. And you. Scamp ! —
Scamp. I needs must confess I'm embarrass'd.
Inh. Don't call upon Scamp, who's already so harass'd
With old schools, and new schools, and no schools, and all schools.
Tra. AVell, one thing is certain, that some must be fools.
I should like to know who.
Ink. And I should not be sorry
To know who are not : — it would save us some worry.
^ [Sir George Beaumont — a constant friend of Mr. Wordsworth.]
2 [It was not the late Earl of Lonsdale, but James, the first earl, who olTored to
build and man a ship of seventy-four guns, towards the close of the American war ; —
hence the sauhriquel in the text.J
<• 9
196 THE BLUES.
Lady Blueb. A truce with remark, and let nothing control
This "feast of our reason, and flow of the soul."
Oh! my dear Mr. Botherbj ! sympathise! — I
Now feel such a rapture, I'm ready to fly,
I feel so elastic — "so huoyant — so buoyant V'^
Ink. Tracy ! open the window.
Tra, I wish her much joy on't.
Both. For God^s sake, my Lady Bluebottle, check not
This gentle emotion, so seldom our lot
Upon earth. Give it way : 'tis an impulse which lifts
Our spirits from earth ; the sublimest of gifts ;
Tor which poor Prometheus was chain'd to his mountain :
'Tis the source of all sentiment — feeling's true fountain ;
'Tis the Vision of Heaven upon Earth : 'tis the gas
Of the soul : 'tis the seizing of shades as they pass.
And making thera substance : ■'tis something divine : — ■
Ink. Shall I help you, my friend, to a little more wine ?
Both. I thank you : not any more, sir, till I dine.
Ink. Apropos — Do you dine with Sir Humphry^ to day ?
Tra. I should think with I)uke Humphry was more in your
way. _
Ink. It might be of yore ; but we authors now look
To the Knight, as a landlord, much more than the Duke.
The truth is, each writer now quite at his ease is.
And (except with his publisher) dines .where he pleases.
But 'tis now nearly five, and I must to the Park.
Tra. And I'll take a turn with you there till 'tis dark.
And you Scamp —
Scamp. Excuse me I I must to my notes,
For my lecture next week.
Ink. He must mind whom he quotes
Out of " Elegant Extracts;"
Lady Blueb. Well, now we break up;
But remember Miss Diddle' invites us to sup.
^ Fact from life, with the words.
* [Sir Humphry Davy, President of the Royal Society.]
* [The late Miss Lydia White, whose ambition was to be the hostess of the literary
celebrities of the day. Sir W. Scott describes her as a lady "with stockings nineteen
times'nine dyed blue," superabundant liveliness and some wit, great good-nature and
extreme absurdity. He mentions among her extravagances that she dressed on May-
day morning like the Queen of the Chimney Sweeps. The last time he saw her she
waa lying ou a couch " rouged, jesting, and" dying."]
THE BLUES. 197
Ink. Then at two hours past midnight we all meet again.
For the sciences, sandwiches, hock, and champaigne !
Tra. And the sweet lobster salad !
Both. I honour that meal ;
For ^tis then that our feelings most genuinely — feel.
Lik. True ; feeling is truest then, far beyond question :
I wish to the gods ^twas the same with digestion !
Ladi/ Blueh. Pshaw! — never mind that; for one moment of
feeling
Is worth — God knows w-hat.
Ink. 'Tis at least worth concealing
For itself, or what follows But here comes your carriage.
Sir Rich, [aside). I wish all these people were d d wdth ?;?y
marriage!
[Exeunt.
TEE VISION OF JUDGMENT.
QUEVEDO EEDIVIVUS.
SUGGESTED BY THE COMPOSITION SO ENTITLED BY THE AUTHOR
OF "WAT TYLER."
"A Daniel come to judgment ! yea, a Daniel !
I thank thee, Jew, for teaching me that word."
PREEACE.
It hath been wisely said, tliat " One fool makes many ; " and it
hatk been poetically observed —
" That fools rusla in where angels fear to tread." — Pope.
If Mr. Southey had not rushed in where he had no business, and
where he never was before, and never will be again, the following
poem would not have been written. It is not impossible that it may
be as good as his own, seeing that it cannot, by any species of
stupidity, natural or acquired, be worse. The gross flattery, the dull
impudence, tlie renegado intolerance, and impious cant, of the poem
by the author of " Wat Tyler," are something so stupendous as to
form the sublime of himself — containing the quintessence of his own
attributes.
So much for his poem — a word on his preface. In this preface
it has pleased the magnanimous Laureate to draw the picture of a
supposed "Satanic School," the which he doth recommend to the
notice of the legislature; thereby adding to his other laurels the
ambition of those of an informer. If there exists anywhere, except
in his imagination, such a School, is he not sufficiently armed against
it by his own intense vanity ? The truth is that there are certain
writers whom Mr. S. imagine, like Scrub, to have " talked of Aim ;
for they laughed consumedly."
I think I know enough of most of the writers to whom he is
sujiposed to allude, to assert, that they, in their individual capacities,
have done more good, in the charities of life, to their fellow- creatures,
in any one year, than Mr. Southey has done harm to himself by his
202 TREFACE.
absurdities in his whole life ; and this is saying a great deal. But I
have a few questions to ask.
Istly, Is Mr. Southey the author of " Wat Tyler ? "
2ndlv, Was he not refused a remedy at law by the highest judge
of his beloved England, because it was a blasphemous and seditious
publication ? *
3rdly, Was he not entitled by William Smith, in full parliament,
" a rancorous renegado ? " f
4thly, Is he not poet laureate, with his own lines on Martin the
regicide staring him in the face ? J <
And, 5thly, Putting the four preceding items together, vrith what
conscience dare he call the attention of the laws to the publications
of others, be they what they may ?
I say nothing of the cowardice of such a proceeding ; its meanness
speaks for itself; but I wish to touch upon the motive, which is
neither more nor less than that Mr. S. has been laughed at a little in
some recent publications, as he was of yore in the " Anti-jacobin,"
by his present patrons. Hence all this " skimble scamble stuff'"
about '' Satanic/' and so forth. However, it is worthy of him —
" qualis ah incepto."
If there is anything obnoxious to the political opinions of a portion
of the public in the following poem, they may thank Mr. Southey.
He might have written hexameters, as he has written everything else,
for aught that the writer cared — had they been upon another subject.
But to attempt to canonise a monarch, who, whatever were his
* [These were not the expressions employed by Lord Eldun. He laid down the
principle that "damages cannot be recovered for a work which is calculated to do
injury to the public," and suspecting Wat Tyler to be of this description, he refused
the injunction until Southey succeeded in obtaining damages in an action. Wat Tyler
was written at the age of twenty-one when Southey was a republican, and was
entrusted to two booksellers, who agreed to publish it, but never put it to press. The
MS. was not returned to the author, and in 1817, at the interval of twenty -three years,
when his sentiments were widely diftercnt, it was printed to his great annoyance, by
persons who were supposed to have obtained it surreptitiously.]
t [Mr. William Smith, M.P. for Norwich, attacked Mr. Southey in the House ef
Commons ou the 14th of March, 1817, and the Laureate replied by a letter in tlie
Cinrier.l
X [Among the efi'usions of Mr. Southey's juvenile muse, is a laudatory " Inscription
for the Apartment iu (Jhep-stow Castle, where Henry Martin, the Regicide, was
inipnsoned tliiity years." Canning wittily ]iarodicd it in the Anti-jacobin, by his
weli-kni.wn " Inseri])tion for the Door of the Cell in Newgate, where Mrs. Browurigi;,
the Trcntice-cide, was confined, previous to her Execution."]
PREFACE. 203
household virtues, was neither a successful uor a patriot king, —
inasmuch as several years of his reign passed in war with America
and Ireland, to say nothing of the aggression upon France — like all
other exaggeration, necessarily begets opposition. In whatever
manner he may be spoken of in this new " Vision," his puhl'ic career
will not be more favourably transmitted by history. Of his private
virtues (although a little expensive to the nation) there can be no
doubt.
With regard to the supernatural personages treated of, I can only
say that I know as much about them, and (as an honest man) have
a better right to talk of them than Eobert Southey. I have also
treated them more tolerantly. The way in which that poor insane
creature, the Laureate, deals about his judgments in the next world,
is like his own judgment in this. If it was not completely ludicrous,
it would be something worse. I don't think that there is much
more to say at present.
QUEVEDO EEDIVIVUS.
P.S. — It is possible that some readers may object, in these
objectionable tim.es, to the freedom with which saints, angels, and
spiritual persons discourse in this "Vision." But, for precedents
upon such points, I must refer him to Fielding's " Journey from this
"World to the next," and to the Visions of mjself, the said Quevedo,
in Spanish or translated. The reader is also requested to obserxe,
that no doctrinal tenets are insisted upon or discussed; that the
person of the Deity is carefully withheld from sight, which is more
than can be said for the Laureate, who hath thought proper to make
him talk, not " like a school-divine," but like the unscliolarlike Mr.
Southey. The whole action passes on the outside of heaven : and
Chaucer's " Wife of Bath," Pulci's " Morgante Maggiore," Swift's
" Tale of a Tub," and the other works above referred to, are cases
in point of the freedom with which saints, &c. may be permitted to
converse in works not intended to be serious.
Q.R.
%* Mr. Southey being, as he says, a good Christian and vindictive,
threatens, I understand, a reply to this our answer. It is to be hoped
that his visionary faculties will in the meantime have acquired a
204 PREFACE.
little more judgment, properly so called : otherwise he will get him
self into new dilemmas. These apostate jacobins furnish rich rejoinders.
Let him take a specimen. Mr. Southey laudeth grievously "one Mr.
Landor," who cultivates much private renown in the shape of Latin
verses ; and not long ago, the poet laureate dedicated to him, it
appeareth, one of his fugitive lyrics, upon the strength of a poem
called " Gehir." Who could suppose, that in this same Gebir the
aforesaid Savage Landor (for such is his grim cognomen) putteth
into the infernal regions.no less a person than the hero of his friend
Mr. Southey's heaven, — yea, even George the Third ! * See also how
personal Savage becometh, when he hath a mind. The following is
his portrait of our late gracious sovereign : —
(Prince Gebir having descended into the infernal regions, the shades of his royal
ancestors are, at his request, called wp to his view ; and he exclaims to his
ghostly guide) —
' ' Aroar, what wretch that nearest ns ? what wretch
Is that with eyebrows white and slanting brow ?
Listen ! him yonder who, bound do'mi supine,
Shrinks yelling from that sword there, engine-hung.
He too amongst my ancestors ! I hate
The despot, but the dastard I despise.
Was he our countryman ? "
"Alas, Oking !
Iberia bore him, but the breed accurst
Inclement winds blew blighting from north-east."
" He was a warrior tlieu, nor fear'd the gods ? "
" Gebii-, he fear'd the demons, not the gods,
Though them indeed his daily face adored ;
And was no warrior, yet the thousand lives
Squander' d, as stones to exercise a sling.
And the tame cruelty and cold caprice —
Oh madness of mankind ! address'd, adored ! " — Gebir, p. 28.
I omit noticing some edifying Ithyphallics of Savagius, wishing
to keep the proper veil over them, if his grave but somewhat indiscreet
worshipper will suffer it ; • but certainly these teachers of " great
moral lessons " are apt to be found in strange company.
* [Mr. Lander's political creed was always ultra-liberal. It was reported that he
had said tliat he ivould not, or could not, read Lord Byron's works, and Loi'd Byrun
resolved to retaliate upon the works of Landor. But their real feelings were those of
mutual esteem. The poetry of Lord Byron was panegyrised by Jlr. Landor in his
"Imaginary Conversations," and Lord Byron expressed in [irivate his admiration of Mr.
Laudor's generosity and independence, of his profound erudition and brilliant talents.]
APPENDIX TO LORD BYEON'S PEEPACE.
Mr. Sotjthey commenced his preface to the " Vision of Judgment "
with a defence of the hexameters in which it was written, and then
diverged fi-om his own versification to Lord Byron's conduct : —
"I am well aware that the public are peculiarly intolerant of such innova-
tions; not less so than the populace are of any foreign fashion, whether of
foppei-y or convenience. Would that this literary intolerance were under the
influence of a saner judgment, and regarded the morals more than the manner
of a composition ; the spirit rather than the form ! Would that it were directed
against those monstrous combinations of horrors and mockery, lewdness and
impiety, with which English poetry has, in our days, first been polluted !
" The publication of a lascivious book is one of the worst offences which can be
committed against the well-being of society. It is a sin, to the consequences of
which no limits can be assigned, and those consequences no after-repentance in
the writer can counteract. Whatever remorse of conscience he may feel when
his hour comes (and come it must !) will be of no avail. The poignancy of a
death-bed repentance cannot cancel one copy of the thousands which are sent
abroad ; and as long as it continues to be read, so long is he the pander of
posterity, and so long is he heaping up guilt upon his soul in perpetual
accumulation.
" These remarks are not more severe than the offence deserves, even when
applied to those immoral writers who have not been conscious of any evil
intention in their writings- — who would acknowledge a little levity, a little
I warmth of colouring, and so forth, in that sort of language with which men gloss
over their favourite vices, and deceive themselves. What then should be said of
those for v/hom the thoughtlessness and inebriety of wanton youth can no longer
be pleaded, but who have written in sober manhood and with deliberate
purpose? — Men of diseased hearts and depraved imaginatio'^s, who, forming a
system of opinions to suit their own unhappy course of conduct, have rebelled
(against the holiest ordinances of human society, and hating that revealed religion
which, with all their efforts and bravadoes, they are unable entirely to disbelieve,
'labour to make others as miserable as themselves, by infecting them with a
moral virus that eats into the soul ! The school which they have set up may
properly be called the Satanic school ; for though their productions breathe the
spirit of Belial in their lascivious parts, and the spirit of Moloch in those
loathsome images of atrocities and horrors which they delight to represent, they
206 APPENDIX TO THE PREFACE.
arc more especially characterised by a Satanic spirit of pride and audacious
imjiiety which still betrays the wretched feeling of hopelessness wherewith it is
allied.
" This evil is political as well as moral, for indeed moral and political evils are
inseparably connected. Truly has it been affirmed by one of our ablest and
clearest reasoners, that 'the destmction of governments may be proved and
deduced from the general corruption of the subjects' manners, as a direct and
natural cause thereof, by a demonstration as certain as any in the mathematics.'
There is no maxim more frequently enforced by Machiavelli, than that where the
maimers of a people are generally corrupted, there the government cannot long
subsist,— a truth which all history exemplifies ; and there is no means whereby
that corruption can be so surely and rapidly diffused, as by poisoning the
waters of literature.
" Let rulers of the state look to this in time ! But, to use the words of South,
if ' our physicians think the best way of curing a disease is to pamper it,— the
Lord in mercy prepare the kingdom to suffer, what He by miracle only can
prevent ! ' "
Lord ByioE. rejoined as follows : —
" Mr. Southey, in his pious preface to a poem, whose blasphemy is as harmless
as the sedition of AVat Tyler, because it is equally absurd with that sincere
production, calls upon the ' legislature to look to it,' as the toleration of tuch
writings led to the French Eevolution : not such writings as Wat Tyler, but as
those of the 'Satanic School.' This is not true, and Mr. Southey knows it to be
not true. Every French writer of any freedom was persecuted : Voltaire and
Rousseau were exiles, Marmontel and Diderot were sent to the Bastile, and a
perpetual war was waged with the whole class by the existing despotism. In the
next place, the French Revolution was not occasioned by any writings what-
soever, but must have occurred had no such writci's ever existed. It is the
fashion to attribute everything to the French Revolution, and the French
Revolution to everything but its real cause. That cause is obvious— the govern-
ment exacted too much, and the people could neither give nor bear more. With-
out this, the Encyclopedists might have written their fingers off without the
occurrence of a single alteration. And the English Revolution— (the first, I
inean, — what was it occasioned byl The Puritans were surely as pious and
moral as Wesley or his biographer. Acts — acts on the part of government, and
not writings against them, have caused the past convulsions, and are tending to
the future.
"I look upon such as inevitable, though no revolutionist: I wish to see the
English constitution restored, and not destroyed. Born an aristocrat, and naturally
one by temper, with the greater part of my present property in the funds, what
have /to gain by a revolution] Perhaps I have moi-e to lose in every way than
Mr. Southey, with all his places and presents for panegyrics and abuse into the
bargain. But that a revolution is inevitable, I repeat. The government may
exult over the repression of petty tumults; these are but the receding waves
repulsed and broken for a moment on the shore, while the great tide is still
rolling on and gaining ground with every breaker. Mi\ Southey accuses us of
attacking the religion of the country ; and is he abetting it by writing lives of
Wesley? One mode of worship is merely destroyed by another. There never
waa, nor ever will be, a country without a religion. We shall be told of France
again : but it was only Paris and a frantic party, which for a moment upheld
their dogmatic nonsense of theo-philunthropy. The church of England, if over-
APPENDIX TO THE rREFACE. 207
throwu, will be swept away by tlie sectarians and not by the sceptics. People
are too wise, too well informed, too certain of their own immense importance in
tlie realms of space, ever to submit to the impiety of doubt. There may be a few
such diffident speculators, like water in the pale sunbeam of human reason, but
they are very few ; and their opinions, without enthusiasm or appeal to the
passions, can never gain proselytes — unless, indeed, they are persecuted — that, to
be sure, will increase anything.
" Mr. Southey, with a cowardly ferocity, exults over the anticipated ' death-bed
repentance' of the objects of his dislike; and indulges himself in a pleasant
' Visidn of Judgment,' in prose as well as verse, full of impious impudence. What
Mr. Southey's sensations or ours may be in the awful moment of leaving this state
of existence, neither he nor we can pretend to decide. In common, I presume,
with most men of any reflection, / have not waited for a ' death-bed ' to repent of
many of my actions, notwithstanding the ' diabolical pride ' which this pitiful
renegado in his rancour would impute to those who scorn him. Whether upon
the whole the good or evil of my deeds may preponderate, is not for me to
ascertain ; but as my means and opportunities have been greater, I shall limit my
present defence to an assertion, (easily proved, if necessary,) that I, ' in my degree,'
have done more real good in any one given year, since I was twenty, than Mr.
Southey in the whole course of liis shifting and turncoat existence. There are
several actions to which I can look back with an honest pride, not to be damped
by the, calumnies of a hireling. There are others to which I recur with sorrow
and repentance; but the only act of my life of which Mr. Southey can have any
real knowledge, as it was one which brought me in contact with a near connection
of his own (Mr. Coleridge), did no dishonour to that connection nor to me.*
" I am not ignorant of Mr. Southey's calumnies on a different occasion, knowing
them to be such, which he scattered abroad on his return from Switzerland against
me and others : tbey have done him no good in this world ; and, if his creed be
the right one, they will do him less in the next. What his 'death-bed' may be,
it is not my province to predicate : let him settle it with his Maker, as I must do
with mine. There is something at once ludicrous and blasphemous in this
arrogant sciibbler of all work sitting down to deal damnation and destruction to
his fellow- creatures, with Wat Tyler, the Apotheosis of George the Third, and the
Elegy on Martin the regicide, all shufiied together in his writing-desk. One of his
consolations appears to be a Latin note from a work of a Mr. Landor, the author
of' Gcbir,' whose friendshiji for Robert Southey will, it seems, 'be an honour to
him when the ephemeral disputes and ephemeral reputations of the day are
forgotten.' -f- I for one neither envy him ' the friendship,' nor the glory iu
reversion which is to accrue from it, like Mr. Thelusson's fortune, in the third
and fourth generation. This friendship will probably be as memorable as his own
epics, which (as I quoted to him ten or twelve years ago in ' English Bards ')
Porson said ' would be remembered when Homer and Virgil are forgotten, — and
not till then.' For the present, I leave him."
Mr. Southey replied (Jan. 5, 1822), in a letter to the editor of the
" London Covirier," of which we subjoin all that is important : —
* [Lord Byron alludes to his attempt to obtain a publisher for the " Zapolya " of Coleridge.]
t [Southey, after quoting in his preface a Latin passage from Mr. Landor, spoke thus of its
author: — " I will only say iu this place, that, to have obtained his approbation as a poet, and
po.'^sessed his friendship as a man, will be remembered among the lionovirs of my life, wlien
the potty enmities of this generation will be forgotten, and its ephemeral reputations shall
have passed away."]
208 APPENDIX TO THE PREFACE.
"I come at once to his Lordship's charge against me, blowing away the abuse
with which it is frothed, and evaporating a strong acid in which it is suspended.
The residuum then appears to be, that 'Mr. Southey, on his return from Switzer-
hmd (In 1817), scattered abroad calumnies, knowing them to be such, against Lord
Byron and others.' To this I reply with a direct and positive denial.
" If I had been told in that country that Lord Byron had turned Turk, or Monk
of La Trappe, — that he had furnished a harem, or endowed an hospital, I might
have thought the account, whichever it had been, possible, and repeated it accord-
ingly ; passing it, as it had been taken, in the small change of conversation, for no
more tliau it was worth. In tliis manner, I might have spoken of him, as of Baron
Geramb,* the Green Man,"!' the Indian Jugglers, or any other figurante of the time
being. There was no reason for any particular delicacy on my part in speaking
of his Loniship ; and, indeed, I should have thought anything which might be
reported of him, would have injured liis character as little as the story whieli so
greatly annoyed Lord Keeper Guildford, that he had ridden a rhinoceros. He may
ride a rhinoceros, and though every body would stare, no one would wonder. But
making no enquiry concerning him when I was abroad, because I felt no curiosity,
I heard nothing, and had nothing to repeat. When I spoke of wonders to my
friends and acquaintance on my return, it was of the flying-tree at Alpnacht, and
the Eleven Thousand virgins at Cologne — not of Lord Byi-ou. I sought for no
staler subject than St. Ursula.
" Once, and only once, in connection with Switzerland, I have alluded to his
Lordship ; and as the passage was curtailed in the press, I take this opportunity
of restoring it. In the ' Quarterly Review,' speaking incidentally of the Jungfrau,
I said, ' it was the scene where Lord Byron's Manfred met the Devil and bullied
him — though the Devil must have won his cause before any tribunal in this world,
or the next, if he had not pleaded moi'e feebly for himself than his advocate, in a
cause of canonisation ever pleaded for him.'
" With regard to the ' others,' whom his Lordship accuses me of calumniating,
I suppose he alludes to a party of his friends, whose names I found written in the
album at Mont-Anvert, with an avowal of Atheism annexed, in Greek, and au
indignant comment, in the same language, underneath it. J Those names, witli
that avowal and the comment, I transcribed in my note-book, and spoke of the
circumstance on my return. If I had published it, the gentleman in question
would not have thought himself slandered, by having that recorded of him which
he has so often recorded of himself.
" Tlie many opprobrious appellations which Lord Byron has bestowed upon me,
I leave as I find them, with the praises which he has bestowed upon himself.
' IIow easily is a noble spirit discern' d
From harsh and sulphurous matter that flies out
In contumeUes, makes a noise, and stinks !' — B. Jonson.
But I am accustomed to such things; and so far from irritating me ai-e the enemies
who use such weapons, that when I hear of their attacks, it is some satisfaction to
think they have thus employed the malignity which must have been employed
[Baron Goramb, — a Germau Jew, who for some time excited mucli public attcntiou in
Loiul.iii, by the extravagauce of his dress. Boiug very ti-oublesorae and menacing in demand-
ing vcmuueration from government, for a proposal he had made of engaging a body of Croat
troops in the service of England, h? was, in 1S12, sent out of the country under the .aUcn act.]
t [The "Green Man" was a popular afterpiece, so called from the hero, who wore every
thing green, hat. gloves, &c. Ac]
t LMr. P. B. Shelley signed his name in this album with the addition of iflso;.]
APPENDIX TO THE PREFACE. 209
somewhere, and could not have been directpd against any person wtom it could
possibly molest or injure less. The viper, however venomous in purpose, is harmless
in effect, while it is biting at the file. It is seldom, indeed, that I waste a word,
or a thought, upon those who ai-e perpetually assailing me. But abhorring, as I
do, the personalities which disgrace our current literature, and averse from con-
troversy as I am, both by principle and inclination, I make no profession of non-
resistance. When the offence and the offender are such as to call for the whip
and the branding-iron, it has been both seen and felt that I can indict them.
" Lord Byron's present exacerbation is evidently produced by an infliction of
tliis kind — not by hearsay reports of my conversation, four years ago, trausmilted
him from England. The cause may be found in certain remarks upon the Satanic
school of poetry, contained in my preface to the ' Vision of Judgment.' Well
would it be for Lord Byron if he could look back upon any of his writings with
as much satisfaction as I shall always do upon what is there said of that flagitious
school. Many persons, and parents especially, have expressed their gratitude to
me for having applied the branding-iron where it was so richly deserved. The
Edinburgh Reviewer, indeed, with that honourable feeling, by which his criticisms
are so peculiarly distinguished, suppi-essing the remarks themselves, has imputed
them wholly to envy on my part. I give him, in this instance, full credit for
sincerity ; I believe he was equally incapable of comprehending a worthier motive,
or of inventing a worse ; and, as I have never condescended to expose, in any
instance, his pitiful malevolence, I thank him for having, in this, stripped it bare
himself and exhibited it in its bald, naked, and undisguised deformity.
" Lord Byron, like his encomiast, has not ventured to bring the matter of those
animadversions into view. He conceals the fact, that they are directed against
the authors of blasphemous and lascivious books ; against men who, not content
with indulging their own vices, labour to make others the slaves of sensuality,
like themselves; against public panders, who, mingling impiety with lewdness,
seek at once to destroy the cement of social order, and to carry profanation and
pollution into private families, and into the hearts of individuals.
" His Lordship has thought it not unbecoming for him to call me a scribbler of
all work. Let the word scrihhler pass; it is an appellation that will not stick, like
that of the Satanic School. But, if a scribbler, how am I one of all icorh ? I will
tell Lord Byron what I have not scribbled — what kind of work I have not done.
I have never published libels upon my frieuds and acquaintance, expressed my
sorrow for those libels, and called them in during a mood of better mind — and
then reissued them, when the evil spirit, which for a time had been cast out, had
returned and taken possession, with seven others more wicked than himself. I
have never abused the power, of which every author is in some degree possessed,
to wound the character of a man, or the heart of a woman. I have never sent
into the world a book to which 1 did not dare to affix my name ; or which I
feared to claim in a court of justice, if it were pirated by a knavish bookseller.
I have never manufactured furniture for the brothel. None of these things have
I done ; none of the foul work by which literature is perverted to the injury of
mankind. My hands are clean ; there is no ' damned spot ' upon them — no taint,
which 'all the perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten.'
" Of the work which I have done, it becomes me not here to speak, save only as
relates to the Satanic School, and its Coi'vphseus, the author of 'Don Juan.' I
have held up that school to public detestation as enemies to the religion, the
institutions, and the domestic morals of the country. I have given them a
designation to which tJteir founder and leader answers. I have sent a stone from
my sling wliich has smitten their Goliath in the forehead. I have fastened his
VOL. H. P
2]0 APPENDIX TO THE PREFACE.
name upon the gibbet, for reproach and ignominy as long as it shall endure. —
Take it down who can !
" One word of advice to Lord Byron before I conclude. — When he attacks me
again, let it be in rhyme. For one who has so little command of himself, it will
be a great advantage that his temper should be obliged to heep tune. And while
he may still indulge in the same raukness and virulence of insult, the metre will,
in some degree, seem to lessen its vulgarity."
Without waiting for Mr. Soutliey's closing hint, Lord Byron had
already "attacked" him "in rhyme." On October 1, 1821, he in-
formed Mr. Moore that he had completed sixty stanzas of " The Vision
of Judgment." " fu this," he added, " it is my intention to put the said
George's Apotheosis in a Whig point of view, not forgetting the Poet
Laureate for his preface and his other demerits." When, however, Mr.
Southey's letter fell into his hands, he could no longer wait for revenge
in inkshed, and despatched a cartel of mortal defiance to the Laureate,
through the medium of Mr. Kinuaird, — to whom he thus writes,
February 6, 1822 : —
"I have got Southey's pretended reply : what remains to be done is to call him
ciit. The question is, would he come ? for, if he would not, the whole thing
would appear ridiculous, if I were to take a long and expensive journey to no
purpose. You must be my second, and, as such, I wish to consult you. I apply
to you as one well versed in the duello, or monomachie. Of course I shall come
to England as privately as possible, and leave it (supposing that I was the
survivor) in the same manner; having no other object which could bring me to
that country except to settle quarrels accumulated during my absence."
Mr. Kkmaird, wisely ti-usting to the soothing effects of the delay
which distance imposed, never forwarded the challenge which accom-
panied the letter, and the pen was left to avenge its own provocations.
li
I
IXTEODIJCTIOX TO THE VISIOX OF JUDGMENT.
Among the English bards whom Lord Byron ridiculed in his early satire, Mr.
Southey had a proraineut place. When the quarrel ended in a general shaking ol
hands, Southey shared in the pacification. The two poets met occasionally at London
dinners in 1813, and Lord Byron, struck with the "epic appearance " of his brother
bard, said that "to have his head and shoulders he would almost have written his
Sapphics.'' In this there was more of sarcasm than compliment, but in a journal of
the same year lie declared " Southey's talents to be of the first order." His prose he
pronounced "perfect," and though rating his verse lower, he afterwards called "Don
Roderick" "the first poem of our time." Yet whatever panegyrics he might utter in
a soft and benevolent hour, his friends were aware that he had at bottom an indifferent
opinion of Southey's power-s, and a worse of his politics. These feelings gained a
complete ascendancy w-hen a false report reached Lord Byron in Italy, that the
Laureate had propagated scandalous tales of him. But above all he imagined that
the class of people who attacked his character had taken Southey for their champion,
and to vex the disciples he made a butt of the master. He assailed him in the early
cantos of "Don Juan" with the happiest admixture of gaiety and pungency, of
playfulness and contempt. This compound of sportive and scornful derision was a
species of satire thoroughly original, and as thoroughly galling. The Laureate
contented himself at the time with boasting in private that if he gave Lord Byron "a
passing touch, it should be one that would leave a scar," and on publishing the
"Vision of Judgment," in 1821, he seized the opportunity "to pay off," as he said,
"a part of his obligations." The poem of Southey shocked the pious, and was laughed
at by the profane. Robert Hall correctly tei'med it a travestie of the final judgment.
With incredible presumption the Laureate distributed the rewards and punishments
of eternity according to his political and literai-y predilections, and far from redeeming
the arrogance of the plan by the grandeur of the execution, the u-reverence was
increased by the meanness of the thoughts, the puerility of the language, and the
grotesqueness of the metre. With such an opening for mischievoiis waggery, the
temptation would probably have been irresistible to Lord Byron, even although the
preface to the "Vision of Judgment" had not contained the virulent attack upon
himself. "I'll work the Laureate," he wrote to Walter Scott, " before I have done
with him, as soon as I can muster Billingsgate therefor." He began, as we have
seen, with prose, and next determined upon a metrical satire on the hea\'y hexametrical
burlesque of Southey. Hence the opposition "Vision of Judgment," wliich, after
ineffectual negotiations with various publishers, was inserted in "The Liberal" in
1822. Some of the Laiireate's friends called it a dull comment upon a stupid original,
while Leigh Hunt describes it "as the most masterly satire since the time of Pope."
p 2
I
212 INTRODUCTION TO THE VISION OF JUDGMENT.
Each ruiglit have quoted specimens to justify their opinion, for many passages are
undoubtedly feeble, and there is nothing even in Pope to equal the caustic humour of
others. The ninety-sixth, and two following stanzas, in which Lord Byi'on sketclies
the career of his antagonist, are, for instance, superlative of their kind. The mockiug
treatment of an awful theme is the blot upon the piece, and met with the condemnation
it deserved. In personal disputes the public are spectators who seek to be amused,
and not judges anxious to do justice between the parties. As Lord Byron had the
wit, he had also the laughers iipon his side, and he who has the laughers wins. Nor
was the superiority of power his only advantage. The vaunts and egotism of Southey
damaged his case, and many were glad that the advocate should be mortified who
wished well to his cause. It is among the curiosities of literary conflicts that he
nevertlieless fancied he had gained the victory, and spoke of the result in terms of
exultation, which would only have been correct if he had substituted the name of
Byron for his own.
I
THE VISION OF JUDGMENT.
Saint Peter sat by the celestial gate :
His keys were rusty, and the lock was dull.
So little trouble had been given of late ;
Not that the place by any means was full.
But since the Gallic era " eighty-eight "
The devils had ta^en a longer, stronger pull,
And " a pull altogether," as they say
At sea — which drew most souls another way.
II.
The angels all were singing out of tune.
And hoarse with having little else to do.
Excepting to wind up the sun and moon.
Or curb a runaway young star or two.
Or wild colt of a comet, which too soon
Broke out of bounds o'er th' ethereal blue.
Splitting some planet with its playful tail.
As boats are sometimes by a wanton whale.
III.
The guardian seraphs had retired on high,
Finding their charges past all care below ;
Terrestrial business filFd nought in the sky
Save the recording angel's black bureau ;
Who found, indeed, the facts to multiply
With such rapidity of vice and wo,
That he had stripp'd off both his wings in quills.
And yet was in arrear of human ills.
214 THE VISION OF JUDGMENT.
IV.
His business so angmeiited of late years,
That he was forced, against his will no doubt,
(Just like those cherubs, earthly ministers,)
Tor some resource to turn himself about,
And claim the help of his celestial peers.
To aid him ere he should be quite worn out
By the increased demand for his remarks :
Six angels and twelve saints were named his clerks.
This was a handsome board — at least for lieaven ;
And yet they had even then enough to do.
So many conquerors' cars were daily driven.
So many kingdoms fitted up anew ;
Each day too slew its thousands six or seven.
Till at the crownirig carnage, Waterloo,
They threw their pens down in divine disgust —
The page was so besmeared with blood and dust.
vr.
This by the way ; 'tis not mine to record
What angels shrink from : even the very deni ^•
On this occasion his own work abhorr'd.
So surfeited with the infernal revel :
Though he himself had sharpened every sword.
It almost quench'd his innate thirst of evil,
(Here Satan's sole good work deserves insertion —
'Tis, that he has both generals in reversion.)
VII.
Let's skip a few short years of hollow peace.
Which peopled earth no better, hell as wont,
And heaven none — they form the tyrant's lease,
Witli nothing but new names subscribed upon 't ;
'Twill one day finish : meantime they increase,
" With seven heads and ten horns," and all in front,
]jikc Saint Jolin's foretold beast ; but ours are born
Less formidable in tlie head than horn.
THE VISION OF JUDGMENT. 216
VIII.
In the first year of freedom's second dawn '
Died George the Third ; although no tyrant, one
Who shiehled tyrants, till each sense withdrawn
Left him nor mental nor external sun :
A better farmer ne'er brush'd dew from lawn,
A worse king never left a realm undone !
He died — but left his subjects still behind.
One half as mad — and t'other no less bUnd.
IX.
He died ! his death made no great stir on earth :
His burial made some pomp ; there was profusion
Of velvet, gilding, brass, and no great dearth
Of aught but tears — save those shed by collusion.
Tor these things may be bought at their true worth ;
Of elegy there was the due infusion —
Bought also ; and the torches, cloaks and banners.
Heralds, and relics of old Gothic manners.
Porm'd a sepulchral melodrame. Of all
The fools who flock'd to swell or see the show,
"Who cared about the corpse ? The funeral
Made the attraction, and the black the wo.
There throbb'd not there a thought which pierced the pall ;
And when the gorgeous coffin was laid low.
It seem'd the mockery of hell to fold
The rottenness of eighty years in gold.
XI.
So mix his body with tlie dust ! It might
Eeturn to what it must far sooner, were
The natural compound left alone to fight
Its way bad: into earth, and fire, and air ;
But the unnatural balsams merely blight
What nature made him at his birth, as bare
As the mere million's base unmummicd clay —
Yet all his spices but pwlong decay.
210 THE VISION OF JUDGMENT.
He's dead — and upper earth with him has done;
He's buried ; save the undertaker's bill.
Or lapidary scrawl, the world is gone
For him, unless he left a German will :
But wliere's the proctor who will ask his son ?
In whom his qualities are reigning still,
Except that household virtue, most uncommon.
Of constancy to a bad, ugly woman
XIII.
" God save the king ! " It is a large economy
In God to save the like; but if he will
Be saving, all the better; for not one am I
Of those who think damnation better still :
I hardly knoAv too if not quite alone am I
In this small hope of bettering future ill
By circumscribing, witli some slight restriction,
The eternity of hell's hot jurisdiction.
XIV.
I know this is unpopular ; I know
'Tis blasphemous ; I know one may be damn'd
For hoping no one else may e'er be so ;
I know my catechism; I know we're cramra'd
With the best doctrines till we quite o'erflow ;
I know that all save England's church have shamm'd.
And that the other twice two hundred churches
And synagogues have made a damn'd bad purchase.
XV.
God help us all ! God help me too ! I am
God knows, as hel})less as the devil can wish,
And not a whit more difficult to damn.
Than is to bring to land a late-hook'd fish.
Or to the butcher to purvey the lamb ;
Not that I'm fit for such a noble dish,
As one day will be that immortal fry
Of almost every body born to die.
THE VISION OF JUDGMENT. 217
XVI.
Saint Peter sat by the celestial gate.
And nodded o'er his keys : ay hen, lo ! there came
A wondrous noise he had not heard of late —
A rushing sound of wind, and stream, and flame ;
In short, a roar of things extremely great.
Which would have made aught save a saint exclaim ;
But he, with first a start and then a wink.
Said, " There's another star gone out, I think ! "
XVII.
But ere he could return to his repose,
A cherub flapp'd his right wing o'er his eyes —
At which Saint Peter yawn'd, and rubb'd his nose :
" Saint porter," said the angel, " prithee rise ! "
Waving a goodly wing, which glow'd, as glows
An earthly peacock's tail, with heavenly dyes :
To which the saint replied, " Well, what's the matter ?
" Is Lucifer come back with all this clatter ? "
XVIII.
" No," quoth the cherub : " George the Third is dead."
" And who is George the Third ? " replied the apostle :
" JFhat George ? what Third?" " The king of England," said
The angel. " Well ! he won't find kings to jostle
Him on his way ; but does he wear his head ?
Because the last we saw here had a tustle.
And ne'er would have got into heaven's good graces.
Had he not flung his head in all our faces.
XIX.
" He was, if I remember, king of Prance ; *
That head of his, which could not keep a crown
On earth, yet ventured in my face to advance
A claim to those of martyrs — like my own :
If I had had my sword, as I had once
When I cut ears off", I had cut him dowai ;
But having but my keys, and not my brand,
I only knock' d his head from out his hand.
218 THE VISION OF JUDGMENT.
XX.
" And then he set up such a headless howl,
That all the saints came out and took him in ;
And there he sits by St. Paul, cheek by jowl ;
That fellow Paul — the parvenu ! The skin
Of Saint Bartholomew, which makes his coavI
In heaven, and upon earth redeemed his sin.
So as to make a martyr, never sped
Better than did this weak and wooden head.
xxr.
" But had it come up here upon its shoulders.
There would have been a different tale to tell :
The fellow-feeling in the saint's beholders
Seems to have acted on them like a spell;
And so this very foolish head heaven solders
Back on its trunk : it may be very well.
And seems the custom here to overthrow
Whatever has been wisely done below."
xxir.
The angel answered, " Peter ! do not pout :
The king who comes has head and all entire.
And never knew much what it was about —
He did as doth the puppet — by its wire.
And will be judged like all tlie rest, no doubt :
My business and your own is not to inquire
Into such matters, but to mind our cue —
Which is to act as we are bid to do."
XXIII.
While thus they s])ake, the angelic caravan.
Arriving like a rush of mighty wind.
Cleaving the fields of space, as doth the swan
Some silver stream (say Ganges, Nile, or Inde,
Or Thames, or Tweed), and midst them an old man
With an old soul, and botli extremely blind.
Halted before the gate, and in his shroud
Seated their fellow-traveller on a cloud.
THE VISION OF JUDGMENT. 219
XXIV.
But bringing up the rear of tliis bright host
A Spirit of a different aspect waved
His wings, like tliunder-clouds above some coast
Whose barren beach with frequent wrecks is paved ;
His brow was like the deep when tempest-toss'd ;
Fierce and unfathomable thouglits engraved
Eternal wrath on his immortal face,
And tohere he gazed a gloom pervaded space.
XXV.
As he drew near, he gazed upon the gate
Ne'er to be enter'd more by him or Sin,
With such a glance of supernatural hate.
As made Saint Peter w ish himself within ;
He patter'd with his keys at a great rate.
And sweated through his apostolic skin :
Of course his perspiration was but ichor,
Or some such other spiritual liquor.
XXVI.
The very cherubs huddled all together.
Like birds when soars the falcon ; and they felt
A tingling to the tip of every feather.
And form'd a circle like Orion's belt
Around their poor old charge ; who scarce knew whither
His guards had led him, though they gently dealt
With royal manes (for by many stories.
And true, we learn the angels all are Tories).
XXVII.
As things were in this posture, the gate flew
Asunder, and the flashing of its hinges
riung over space an universal hue
Of many-colour'd flame, until its tinges
Eeach'd even our speck of earth, and made a new
Aurora boreabs spread its fringes
O'er the North Pole; the same seen, when ice-bound,
J3y Captain Parry's crew, in "Melville's Sound.'"
220 THE VISION OF JUDGMENT.
XXVIII. J
And from the gate thrown open issued beaming
A beautiful and mighty Thing of Light,
Eadiant witli glory, like a banner streaming
Victorious from some vvorld-o'erthrowing fight :
My poor comparisons must needs be teeming
With earthly likenesses, for here the night
Of clay obscures our best conceptions, saving
Johanna Southcote/ or Bob Southey raving.
XXIX.
'Twas the archangel Michael ; all men know
The make of angels and archangels, since
Tliere^s scarce a scribbler has not one to show.
From the fiends' leader to the angels' prince
There also are some altar-pieces, though
I really can't say that they much evince
One's inner notions of immortal spirits ;
But let the connoisseurs explain their merits.
XXX.
Michael flew forth in glory and in good ;
A goodly work of him from whom all glory
And good arise ; the portal past — he stood ;
Before him the Youn^ cherubs and saints hoarv-
(I say yoinig, begging to be understood
By looks, not years ; and should be very sorry
To state, they were not older than St. Peter,
But merely that they seem'd a little sweeter).
XXXI.
The cherubs and the saints bow'd down before
That arch-angelic hierarch, the first
Of essences angelical mIio wore
The aspect of a god ; but this ne'er nursed
Pride in his heavenly bosom, in whose core
No thought, save for his Maker's service, durst
Intrude, however glorified and high ;
He knew him but the viceroy of the sky.
THE VISION OF JUDGMENT. 221
XXXII.
He and the sombre, silent Spirit met —
They knew each other both for good and ill ;
Such was their power^ that neither could forget
His former friend and future foe; but still
There was a high, immortal, proud regret
In cither's eye, as if 'twere less their will
Than destiny to make the eternal years
Their date of war, and their "^ champ clos" the spheres.
XXXIII.
But here they were in neutral space : we know
From Job, that Satan hath the power to pay
A heavenly visit thrice a-year or so ;
And that the " sons of God," like those of clay.
Must keep liim company ; and we might show
From the same book, in how polite a way
The dialogue is held between the Powers
Of Good and Evil — but 'twould take up hours.
XXXIV.
And this is not a theologic tract.
To prove with Hebrew and with Arabic,
If Job be allegory or a fact.
But a true narrative ; and thus I pick
From out the whole but such and such an act
As sets aside the slightest thought of trick.
'Tis every tittle true, beyond suspicion.
And accurate as any other vision.
XXXT.
The spirits were in neutral space, before
The gate of heaven ; like eastern thresholds is
The place where Death's grand cause is argued o'er.
And souls despatch'd to that world or to this ;
And tlierefore Michael and the other wore
A civil aspect : though they did not kiss,
Yet still between his Darkness and his Brio-litness
There pass'd a mutual glance of great ])oliteiiess.
222 THE VISION OF JUDGMENT.
xxxvr.
The Archangel bow'd, not like a modern beau.
But with a graceful oriental bend,
Pressing one radiant arm just where below
The heart in good men is supposed to tend ;
He turn'd as to an equal, not too low.
But kindly ; Satan met his ancient friend
With more hauteur, as might an old Castilian
Poor noble meet a mushroom rich civilian.
XXXVII.
He merely bent his diabolic brow
An instant ; and then raising it, he stood
In act to assert his right or wrong, and show
Cause why King George by no means could or should
Make out a case to be exempt from woe
Eternal, more than other kings, endued
^Yith better sense and hearts, whom history mentions,
Who long have " paved hell with their good intentions."
XXXVIII.
Michael besran : " What wouldst thou with this man,
Now dead, and brought before the Lord ? What ill
Hath he wrought since his mortal race began,
That thou canst claim him ? Speak ! and do thy will.
If it be just : if in this earthly span
He hath been greatly failing to fulfil
His duties as a king and mortal, say.
And he is thine ; if not, let him have way."
XXXIX.
"Michael \" replied the Prince of Air, "even here.
Before the Gate of him thou servest, must
I claim my subject : and will make appear
Tliat as he was my worshipper in dust.
So shall he be in sjnrit, although dear
To thee and thine, because nor wine nor lust
AY ere of his weaknesses ; yet on the throne
He reigu'd o'er millions to serve me alone.
THE VISION OF JUDGMENT. 223
XL.
" Look to onr earth, or rather mine ; it was.
Once, more thy master's : but I triumph not
In tliis poor planet's conquest; nor, ahis !
Need he thou servest envy me my lot :
AVith all the myriads of bright worlds which pass
In worship round hira, he may have forgot
Yon weak creation of such paltry things :
I think few worth damnation save their kings,
XLI.
" And these but as a kind of quit-rent, to
Assert my right as lord : and even had
I such an inclination, 'twere (as you
Well know) superfluous ; they are grown so bad,
That hell has nothing better left to do
Than leave them to themselves : so much more mad
And evil by their own internal curse.
Heaven cannot make them better, nor I worse.
XLII.
"■ Look to the earth, I said, and say again :
When this old, blind, mad, helpless, weak, poor worm
Began in youth's first bloom and tiusli to reign,
The world and he both wore a different form.
And much of earth and all the watery plain
Of ocean call'd him king : through many a storm
His isles had floated on the abyss of time ;
For the rough virtues chose them for their clime.
XLIII.
" He came to his sceptre young ; he leaves it old :
Look to the state in which he found his realm.
And left it ; and his annals too behold.
How to a minion first he gave the helm ;
How grew upon his heart a thirst for gold.
The beggar's vice, w hich can but overwhelm
The meanest hearts ; and for the rest, but glance
Thine eye aFong America and France.
224 THE VISION OF JUDGMENT.
XLIV.
" 'Tis true, lie was a tool from first to last
I have the workmen safe) ; but as a tool
So let him be consumed, Prom out the past
Of ages, since mankind have known tlie rule
Of monarchs — from the bloody rolls amass'd
Of sin and slaughter — from the Caesar's school,
Take the worst pupil; and produce a reign
More drench'd with gore, more cumber'd with the slain,
XLV.
*' He ever warr'd with freedom and the free :
Nations as men, home subjects, foreign foes.
So that they utter'd the word ' Liberty ! '
I'ound George the Third their first opponent. Whose
History was ever stain'd as his will be
With national and individual woes ?
I grant his household abstinence ; I grant
His neutral virtues, which most monarchs want ;
XLVI.
* I know he was a constant consort ; own
He was a decent sire, and middbng lord.
All this is much, and most upon a throne;
As temperance if at Apicius' board.
Is more than at an anchorite's supper shown.
I grant him all the kindest can accord ;
And this was well for him, but not for those
Millions who found him what oppression chose.
XLVII.
"The New World shook him off; the Old yet groans
Beneath what he and his prepared, if not
Completed : he leaves heirs on many thrones
To all his vices, without what begot
Compassion for him — his tame virtues ; drones
Who sleep, or despots who have now forgot
A lesson which shall be re-taught them, wake
U^jon the thrones of earth ; but let them (^uake !
THE VISION OF JUDGMENT. 226
XLVIII.
" Five millions of the primitive, who hold
The faith which makes ye great on earth, implored
A part of that vast all they held of old, —
Freedom to worship — not alone your Lord,
Michael, but you, and you. Saint Peter ! Cold
Must be your souls, if you have not abiiorr'd
The foe to Catholic participation
In all the license of a Christian nation.
XLIX.
" True ! he allowM them to pray God; but as
A consequence of prayer, refused the law
Which would have placed them upon the same base
AVith those who did not hold the saints in awe."
But here Saint Peter started from his place.
And cried, " You may the prisoner withdraw :
Ere heaven shall ope her portals to this Guel])h,
While I am guard, may I be damnM myself !
" Sooner will I with Cerberus exchange
My office (and Ms is no sinecure)
Than see this royal Bedlam bigot range
The azure fields of heaven, of that be sure ! '*
" Saint ! " replied Satan, " you do well to avenge
The wrongs he made your satellites endure ; * .
And if to this exchange you should be given,
m try to coax our Cerberus up to heaven ! "
LT.
Here Michael interposed : " Good saint ! and devil !
Pray, not so fast; you both outrun discretion.
Saint Peter ! you were wont to be more civil :
Satan ! excuse this warmth of his expression,
And condescension to the vulgar's level :
Even saints sometimes forget themselves in session.
Have you got more to say ? " — " No." — " If you please,
I'll trouble you to call your witnesses."
VOL. II. Q
22C THE VISION OP JUDGMENT.
LII.
Then Satan tnrnM and waved his swarthy hand.
Which stirr'd with its electric qualities
Clouds farther off than we can understand.
Although we find him sometimes in our skies ;
Infernal thunder shook both sea and land
In all the planets, and hell's batteries
Let off the artillery, which Milton mentions
As one of Satan's most sublime inventions.
LIII.
This was a signal unto such damn'd souls
As have the privilege of their damnation
Extended far beyond the mere controls
Of worlds past, present, or to come ; no station
Is theirs particularly in the roUs
Of hell assigned; but where their inclination
Or business carries them in search of game.
They may range freely — being damn'd the same.
LIV.
They are proud of this — as very well they may.
It being a sort of knighthood, or gilt key
Stuck in their loins ; " or like to an " entre "
Up the back stairs, or such free-masonry.
I borrow my comparisons from clay,
Being clay myself. Let not those spirits be
Offended w^ith such base low likenesses ;
We know tlieir posts are nobler far than these.
LV.
When the great signal ran from heaven to hell —
About ten million times the distance reckoned
Erom our sun to its earth, as we can tell
How much time it takes up, even to a second,
Eor every ray that travels to dispel
The fogs of London, through which, dimly beacon'd.
The weathercocks are gilt some thrice a year.
If that the smnmer is not too severe : '
THE VISION OF JUDGMENT. 227
LVI.
I say tliat I can (ell — 'twas half a raiiuite ;
I know the solar beams take np more time
Ere, packed up for their journey, they begin it;
But then their telegraph is less sublime.
And if they ran a race, they Avould not win it
'Gainst Satan's couriers bound for their own clime.
The sun takes up some years for every ray
To reach its goal — the devil not half a day.
LVII.
Upon the verge of space, about the size
Of half-a-crown, a little speck appear'd
(I've seen a something like it in the skies
In the Mgean, ere a squall) ; it near'd.
And, growing bigger, took another guise;
Like an aerial ship it tack'd, and steer'd.
Or was steer'd (I am doubtful of the grammar
Of the last phrase, which makes the stanza stammer ; —
LVIII.
But take your choice) : and then it grew a cloud ;
And so it was — a cloud of witnesses.
But such a cloud ! No land ere saw a crowd
Of locusts numerous as the heavens saw these ;
They shadow'd with their myriads space ; their loud
And varied cries were like those of wild geese
(If nations may be liken'd to a goose).
And realised the phrase of "hell broke loose."
LIX.
Here crash'd a sturdy oath of stout John Bull,
Who damn'd away his eyes as heretofore :
There Paddy brogued "By Jasus!"— " What's your wull?"
The temperate Scot exclaim'd : the French ghost swore
In certain terms I shan't traiislate in full.
As the first coachman will ; and 'midst the war,
The voice of Jonathan was heard to express,
" O/ir president is going to Avar, I guess."
228 THE VISION OF JUDGMENT.
liX.
Besides there were the Spaniard, Dutch, and Dane;
In short, an universal shoal of shades
From Otaheite's isle to Salisbury Plain,
Of all climes and professions, years and trades, .|
Heady to swear against the good king^s reign, ;
Bitter as clubs in cards are against spades: :
All summon'd by this grand " subpoena," to
Try if kings mayn't be damn'd like me or you. ;;
LXI. 1^'
When Michael saw this host, he first grew pale.
As angels can ; next, like Italian twilight.
He turned all colours — as a peacock's tail,
Or sunset streaming through a Gothic skylight
In some old abbey, or a trout not stale,
Or distant lightning on the horizon % night,
Or a fresh rainbow, or a grand review
Of thirty regiments in red, green, and blue.
LXII.
Then he addressed himself to Satan : " Why —
My good old friend, for such I deem you, thougV
Our different parties make us fight so shy,
I ne'er mistake you for a personal foe ;
Our difference is political, and I
Trust that, whatever may occur below.
You know my great respect for you : and this
Makes me regret whate'er you do amiss —
Lxiir.
" Why, my dear Lucifer, would you abuse
My call for witnesses ? I did not mean
That you should half of earth and hell produce;
'Tis even superfluous, since two honest, clean.
True testimonies are enough: we lose ft
Our time, nay, our eternity, between
The accusation and defence : if we
Hear both, 'twill stretch our immortality."
THE VISION OF JUDGMENT. 229
LXIT.
Satan replied, " To me the matter is
Indifferent, in a personal point of view :
I can have fifty better souls than this
With far less trouble than we have gone through
Already; and I merely argued his
Late majesty of Britain^s case with you
Upon a point of form : you may dispose
Of him; Fve kings enough below, God knows !"
LXT.
Thus spoke the Demon (late call'd " multifaced^'
By multo-scribbling Southey). "Then we'll call
One or two persons of the myriads placed
Around our congress, and dispense with all
The rest," quoth Michael: " Who may be so graced
As to speak first ? there's choice enough — who shall
It be ? " Then Satan answer' d, " There are many ;
But you may choose Jack Wilkes as well as any."
LXVI.
A merry, cock-eyed, curious-looking sjjrite
Upon the instant started from the throng,
Dress'd in a fashion now forgotten quite ;
Por all the fashions of the flesh stick long
By people in the next world ; where unite
All the costumes since Adam's, right or wrong,
Erom Eve's fig-leaf down to the petticoat.
Almost as scanty, of days less remote.
LXVII.
The spirit look'd around upon the crowds
Assembled, and exclaim' d, " My friends of all
The spheres, we shall catch cold amongst these clouds ;
So let's to business : why this general call ?
If those are freeholders I see in shrouds.
And 'tis for an election that they bawl.
Behold a candidate witluuiturn'd coat !
Saint Peter, may I count upon your vote ? "
230 THE VISION OF JUDGMENT.
Lxvm.
" Sir," replied Michael, " you mistake ; these things
Are of a former life, and what we do
Above is more august ; to judge of kings
Is the tribunal met : so now you know."
"Then I presume those gentlemen with wings,"
Said Wilkes, " are cherubs ; and that soul below
Looks much like George the Third, but to my mind
A G:ood deal older — bless me ! is he blind ? "
LXIX.
" He is what you behold him, and his doom
Depends upon his deeds," the Angel said ;
" If you. have aught to arraign in him, the tomb
Gives license to the humblest beggar's head
To lift itself against the loftiest."—" Some,"
Said Wilkes, " don't wait to see them laid in lead,
For such a liberty — and I, for one.
Have told them Avhat I thought beneath the sun."
LXX.
" Above the sun repeat, then, what thou hast
To urge against him," said the Archangel. " Why,"
Replied the spirit, " since old scores are past.
Must I turn evidence ? In faith, not I.
Besides, I beat him hollow at the last,
"With all his Lords and Commons : in the sky
I don't bke ripping up old stories, since
His conduct was but natural in a prince.
txxi.
" Foolish, no doubt, and wicked, to oppress •
A poor unlucky devil without a shilling ;
15ut tlien I blame the man himself much less
Than Bute and Grafton, and shall be unwilling
To see him punish'd here for their excess,
Since they Avere both damn'd long ago, and still in
Their place below : for me, I have forgiven.
And vote his 'habeas corpus' into heaven."
THE VISION OF JUDGMENT. 231
LXXII.
" WilkeSj" said the Devil, " I understand all this ;
Yon turnM to half a courtier ere you died.
And seem to think it would not be amiss
To grow a whole one on the other side
Of Charon^s ferry ; you forget that Ms
Eeign is concluded ; whatsoe'er betide,
He won't be sovereign more : you've lost your labour.
For at the best he will but be your neighbour.
LXXIII.
" However, I knew what to think of it.
When I beheld you in your jesting way,
Plitting and whispering round about the spit
Where Belial, upon duty for the day.
With Fox's lard was basting WiUiam Pitt,
His ])upil ; I knew what to think, I say :
That fellow even in hell breeds farther ills;
I'll have him gagcjcl — 'twas one of his own bills.
LXXIV.
" Call Junius i " From the crowd a shadow stalk' d.
And at the name there was a general squeeze.
So that the very ghosts no longer walk'd
In comfort, at their own aerial ease,
But were all ramm'd, and jamm'd (but to be balk'd.
As we shall see), and jostled hands and knees.
Like wind compress'd and pent within a bladder,
Or like a human colic, which is sadder.
LXXV.
The shadow came — a tall, thin, grey-hair'd figure.
That look'd as it had been a shade on earth ;
Quick in its motions, with an air of vigour.
But nought to mark its breeding or its birth ;
Now it wax'd little, then again grew bigger.
With now an air of gloom, or savage mirth ;
But as you gazed upon its features, they
Changed every instant — to v:hat, none could say.
232 THE VISION OF JUDGMENT
LXXTI.
The more intently the ghosts gazed, the less
Could they distinguish whose the features were ;
Tlie Devil himself seem'd puzzled even to guess ;
They varied like a dream— now here, now there;
And several people swore from out the press,
They knew him perfectly ; and one could swear
He was his father ; upon which another
Was sure he was his mother's cousin's brother :
IXXVII.
Another, that he was a duke, or knight,
An orator, a lawyer, or a priest,
A nabob, a man-midwife ; ^ but the wight
]\Iysterious changed his countenance at least
As oft as they their minds : though in full sight
He stood, the puzzle only was increased ;
The man was a phantasmagoria in
Himself — he was so volatile and thin.
LXXVIII,
The moment that you had pronounced him one,
Presto ! his face changed, and he was another;
And when that change was hardly well put on.
It varied, till I don't think iiis own mother
(If tliat he had a mother) would her son
Have known, he shifted so from one to t'other;
Till guessing from a pleasure grew a task,
At this epistolary "Iron Mask/"
• LXXIX.
For sometimes he like Cerberus would seem —
" Three gentlemen at once " (as sagely says
Good Mrs. Malaprop) ; then you might deem
That he was not even one j now many rays
Were flashing round him ; and now a thick steam
Hid him from sight— like fogs on London days :
Now Burke, now Tooke, he grew to people's fancies.
And certes often like Sir Philip Francis.
THE VISION OF JUDGMENT. 233
LXXX.
I've an hypothesis — 'tis quite my own ;
I never let it out till now, for fear
Of doing people harm about the throne,
And injuring some minister or peer,
On whom the stigma might perhaps be blown;
It is — my gentle public, lend thine ear !
'Tis, that what Junius we are wont to call
Was really, tndij, nobody at all.
LXXXI.
I don't see wherefore letters should not be
Written without hands, since we daily view
Them written without heads ; and books, we see.
Are filFd as well without the latter too:
And really till we fix on somebody
For certain sure to claim them as his due.
Their author, like the Niger's mouth, will bother
The world to say if there be mouth or author.
liXXXII.
" And who and what art thou ? " the Archangel said.
" For that you may consult my title-page,"
Eeplied this mighty shadow of a shade :
" If I have kept my secret half an age,
I scarce shall tell it now." — " Canst thou upbraid,"
Continued Michael, " George Rex, or allege
Aught further ? " Junius answer' d, " You had better
First ask him for his answer to my letter :
liXXXIII.
" My charges upon record will outlast
The brass of both his epitaph and tomb."
" Repent'st thou not," said Michael, '' of some past
Exaggeration ? something which may doom
Thyself if false, as him if true ? Thou wast
Too bitter — is it not so ? — in thy gloom
Of passion ?" — "Passion ! " cried the phantom diiri,
" I loved my country, and I hated him.
234 THE VISION OF JUDGMENT.
LXXXIV.
" What I have written, I have written : let
The rest be on his head or mine ! " So spoke
Old "Nominis Umbra ; " '" and while speaking yet,
Aw^ay he melted in celestial smoke.
Then Satan said to Michael, "Don't forget
To call George Washington, and John Home Tooke,
And Franklin ; " — but at this time there was heard
A cry for room, though not a phantom stirr'd.
LXXXV.
At length with jostling, elbowing, and the aid
Of cherubim appointed to that post.
The devil Asmodeus to the circle made
His way, and look'd as if his journey cost
Some trouble. When his burden down he laid,
"What's this? " cried Michael; "why, 'tis not a ghost?"
" I know it," quoth the incubus ; " but he
Shall be one, if you leave the affair to me.
LXXXVI.
"Confound the renegado ! I have sjirain'd
My left wing, he's so heavy ; on,e would think
Some of his works about his neck were chain'd.
But to the point ; while hovering o'er the brink
Of Skiddaw " (where as usual it still raiu'd),
I saw a taper, far below me, wink.
And stooping, caught this fellow at a libel —
No less on history than the Holy Bible.
LXXXVII.
" The former is the devil's scripture, and
The latter yours, good Michael : so the affair
Belongs to all of us, you understand.
I snatch'd him up just as you see him there.
And brought him off for sentence out of hand :
I've scarcely been ten minutes in the air —
At least a quarter it can hardly be :
1 dare say that his wife is still at tea."
THE VISION OF JUDGMENT. 235
LXXXVIII.
Here Satan said, " I know this man of old,
And have expected him for some time here ;
A sillier fellow you will scarce behold,
Or more conceited in his petty sphere :
But surely it was not worth while to fold
Such trash below your wing, Asmodeus dear :
We liad the poor wretch safe (without being bored
AVith carriage) coming of his own accord.
liXXXIX.
" But since he's here, let's see what he has done."
" Done ! " cried Asmodeus, " he anticipates
The very business you are now upon.
And scribbles as if head clerk to the Fates.
Who knows to what his ribaldry may run.
When such an ass as this, like Balaam's, prates ? "
"Let's hear," quotli Michael, " what he has to say :
You know we're bound to that in every way."
xc.
Now the bard, glad to get an audience, which
By no means often was his case below,
Be^an to cough, and hawk, and hem, and pitch
His voice into that awful note of woe
To all unhappy hearers within reach
Of poets when tlie tide of rhyme's in flow ;
But stuck fast with his first hexameter.
Not one of all whose gouty feet would stir.
XCI.
But ere the spavin'd dactyls could be spurr'd
Into recitative, in great dismay
Botli cherubim and seraphim were heard
To murmur loudly through their long array ;
And Michael rose ere he could get a word
Of all his founder'd verses under way.
And cried, " For God's sake stop, my friend ! 'twere best —
Non Di, noil homines — you know the res^t." "
236 THE VISION OF JUDGMENT.
XCII.
A general bustle spread throughout the throng,
"W^hicli seem'd to hold all verse in detestation ;
The angels had of course enough of song
"When upon service ; and the generation
Of ghosts had heard too much in life, not long
Before, to profit by a new occasion :
The monarch, mute tUl then, exclaim'd, "What ! what ! "
Tye '* come again ? No more — no more of that ! "
XCIIl.
The tumult grew ; an universal cough
Convulsed the skies, as during a debate,
When Castlereagh has been up long enough
(Before he was first minister of state,
I mean — the slaves hear nov)) ; some cried "'Off, off!'''
As at a farce ; till, grown quite desperate.
The bard Saint Peter prayed to interpose
(Himself an author) only for his prose.
XCIV.
The varlet was not an ill-favour'd knave ;
A good deal like a vulture in the face.
With a hook nose and a hawk's eye, which gave
A smart and sharper-looking sort of grace
To his whole aspect, which, thougli rather grave,
W as by no means so ugly as his case ;
But that, indeed, was hopeless as can be.
Quite a poetic felony " de se."
xcv.
Tlien Michael blew his trump, and still'd the noise
Witli one still greater, as is yet the mode
On earth besides ; except some grumbling voice.
Which now and then will make a slight inroad
Upon decorous silence, few will twice
Lift up their lungs when fairly overcrowM ;
And now the bard could plead his own bad cause.
With all the attitudes of self-applause.
THE VISION OF JUDGMENT. 237
XCVI.
He said — (I only give the heads) — he said,
He meant no harm in scribbling; 'twas his way
Upon all topics ; ^twas, besides, his bread.
Of which he butter'd both sides ; 'twould delay
Too long the assembly (he was pleased to dread).
And take up rather more time than a day.
To name his works — he would but cite a few —
"Wat Tyler"— "Ehymes on Blenheim "—" Waterloo.
XOVII.
He had written praises of a regicide ;
He had written praises of all kings whatever ;
He had written for republics far and wide.
And then against them bitterer than ever;
For pantisocracy he once had cried
Aloud, a scheme less moral than 'twas clever ;
Tlien grew a hearty anti-jacobin —
Had turn'd liis coat — and would have turn'd his skin.
XCVIII. ,
He had sung against all battles, and again
In their high praise and glory ; he had call'd
Eeviewing '* " the ungentle craft," and then
Became as base a critic as e'er crawl'd —
Fed, paid, and pamper'd by the very men
By whom liis muse and morals had been maul'd :
He had written much blank verse, and blanker prose.
And more of both than any body knows.
XCIX.
He had written Wesley's life : — here turning round
To Satan, '* Sir, I'm ready to write yours.
In two octavo volumes, nicely bound.
With notes and preface, all that most allures
The pious purchaser ; and there's no ground
For fear, for I can choose my own reviewers :
So let me have the proper documents.
That I may add you to my other saints."
238 THE VISION OF JUDGMENT.
c.
Satan bow'd, and was silent. " Well, if yon.
With amiable modesty, decline
My offer, what says Michael? There are few
Whose memoirs could be render'd moi'e divine.
Mine is a pen of all work ; not so new
As it was once, but I would make you shine
Like your own trumpet. By the way, my own
Has more of brass in it, and is as well blown.
CI
" But talking about trumpets, here's my Vision !
Now you shall judge, all people ; yes, you shall
Judge with my judgment, and by my decision
Be guided who shall enter heaven or fall.
I settle all these things by intuition.
Times present, past, to come, heaven, hell, and all,
Like Khig Alfonso.'* When I thus see double,
I save the Deity some worlds of trouble."
CII.
He ceased, and drew forth an MS. ; and no
Persuasion on the part of devils, saints.
Or angels, now could stop the torrent; so
He read the first three lines of the contents;
But at the fourth, the whole spiritual show
Had vanished, with variety of scents.
Ambrosial and sulphureous, as they sprang,
Like lightning, off from his " melodious twang.""
Cm.
Those grand heroics acted as a spell ;
The angels stopp'd their ears and plied their pinions;
The devils ran howling, deafen' d, down to hell;
The ghosts fled, gibbering, for their own dominions —
(For 'tis not yet decided where they dwell,
And 1 leave every man to his opinions) ;
Michael took refuge in his trump — but, lo !
His teeth were set on edge, he could not blow !
THE VISION OF JUDGMENT. 239
CIV.
Saint Peter, who has hitherto been known
Por an impetuous saint, upraised his keys,
And at the fifth line knock'd the poet down ;
Who fell like Phaeton, but more at ease,
Into his lake, for tliere he did not drown ;
A different web being by the Destinies
Woven for the Laureate's final wreath, whene'er
Eeform shall happen either here or there.
cv.
He first sank to the bottom — like his works.
But soon rose to the surface — like himself;
For all corrupted things are buoy'd like corks,"
By their own rottenness, light as an elf.
Or wisp that flits o'er a morass : he lurks,
It may be, still, like dull books on a shelf.
In his own den, to scrawl some " Life " or " Vision,
As Welborn says — " the devil turn'd precisian."
>y i»
cvi.
As for the rest, to come to the conclusion
Of this true dream, the telescope is gone
Which kept my optics free from all delusion.
And show'd me what I in my turn have shown ;
All I saw farther, in the last confusion.
Was, that King George slipp'd into heaven for one;
And when the tumult dwindled to a calm,
I left him practising the hundredth psalm.
NOTES TO THE VISION OF JUDGMENT.
1 [George III. died the 29th of January, 1820,— a year in which the revolutionary
spirit broke out all over the south of Europe.]
2
[Louis XVI., guillotined in January, 1793.]
^_ ["I believe it is almost impossible for words to give an idea of the beauty and
variety which this magnificent phenomenon displayed. The luminous arch had broken
intoin-egular masses, streaming with much rapidity in different directions, varying
continually in shape and interest, and extending themselves from north, by the east,
to north. The usual pale light of the aurora strongly resembled that produced by the
combustion of phosphorus ; a very slight tinge of red was noticed when the aurora
was most vivid, but no other colours were visible." — Sir E. Parr^fs Vovcu/e in 1819-
20, p. 135.] "^ "^
■* [Johanna Southcote, the aged lunatic, who fancied herself, and was believed by
many followers, to be with child of a new Messiah, died m 1815.]
^ [This refers to the opposition of George III. to the Catholic claims.]
* [A gold or gUt key, peeping from below the skirts of the coat, marks a lord
chamberlain.]
J [An allusion to Horace Walpole's expression in a letter — "the summer has set in
with its usual severity."]
* [Among the various persons to whom the letters of Junius have been attributed
we find the Duke of Portland, Lord George Sackville, Sir Philip Francis, Mr. Burke,
Wr. Dunning, the Rev. John Home Tooke, Mr. Hugh Boyd, Dr. Wilmot. "I don't
know what to think," says Lord Byi-on in 1813. "Why should Junius be dead ? If
suddenly apoplexed, would he rest in liis grave without sending his eiSoiAoi/ to shout
in the ears of posterity, ' Junius was X. Y. Z., Esq., buried in "the parish of *** **.'
llepair his monument, ye churchwardens ! Print a new edition of his Letters, ye
booksellers! Impossible, — the man mtist be alive, and will never die without the
disclosure. I like him ;— he was a good hater."— Sir Philip Francis, whose pretensions
Lord Byron seems to favour, died in 1818.]
" [The mystery of "I'homme an masque de fer," the everlasting puzzle of the last
century, has in the opinion of some been cleared up, by a French work published in
1825, and which formed the basis of an entertaining one in English by Lord Dover.]
'" [The well-known motto of Junius is, ''Stat nominis umbra.'"}
" [Mr Southey's residence was on the shore of Derwentwater, near the Mountain
Skjddaw.]
NOTES TO THE VISION OF JUDGMENT. 241
'* [Mediocribus esse poetis
Non Di, non homines, non concessere columnse. — Horace.^
'^ [The king's trick of thus repeating his words was a fertile source of ridicixle to
Peter Pindar (Dr. Wolcot).]
'■* [Henry James Pye, the predecessor of Mr. Southey in the poet-laureateship, died
in 1813. He was the author of many works besides his official Odes, and among
others "Alfred," an epic ]>oem. Pye was a man of good family in Berkshire, sat
some time in parliament, and was eminently respectable in everything but his poetry.]
'■' See "Life of Henry Kirke White."
"> Alfonso, speaking of the Ptolomean system, said that "had he been consulted at
the creation of the world, he would have spared the maker some absurdities."
'' See Aubrey's account of the apparition which disappeared ' ' with a curious perfume,
and a most melodious twancj ;'''' or see the "Antiquary," vol. i., p. 225.
"^ A drowned body lies at the bottom till rotten ; it then floats, as most people know.
'^ [Southey's Vision of Judgment appears to us to be an ill-judged and not a well-
exocuted work. Milton alone has ever founded a fiction on the basis of revelation
without degrading his subject ; but Milton has been blamed by the must judicious
critics, and his warmest admirers, for expressing the counsels of Eternal Wisdom, and
the decrees of Almighty Power, by words assigned to the Deity. It is impossible to
deceive ourselves into a belief that words proceeded from the Holy Spii-it, except on
the warrant of inspii-ation itself. It is here only that Milton fails, and here Milton
sometimes shocks. The blasphemies of Milton's devils offend not a pious ear, because
they are devils who utter them. Nor are we displeased with the poet's presumption
in feigning language for heavenly spirits, because it is a language that lifts the soul to
heaven. The words are human ; but the truths they express, and the doctrines they
teach, are divine. — Blackwood, 1822.]
THE AGE OF BEONZE;
OR,
CARMEN SEOULARE ET ANNUS HAUD MIRABILI&
'Impar Congrasus AcMllL'
INTEODUCTION TO THE AGE OE BEONZE.
In tlie long line of English Barons few could be prouder of their peerage than Lord
Byron, or more tenacious of its privileges. It is common enough for the most jealous
aristocrats to be the advocates of the people, if for no better motive than to join the
sweets of popularity to the dignity of rank. Lord Byi-on never made politics a pursuit,
nor did he usually take in them the ordinary interest which is felt by the generality of
educated men. Circumstances, however, induced him to throw his weight into the
liberal scale. The first important connections which he formed in London were ot
the Whig persuasion, and social influence, in a disposition like his, helped largely to
determine his political bias. He was inclined, too, on every subject to stand forth among
the champions of the latitudinarian side, from his love of startling sober people with
the extravagance of his doctrines, and shocking them by the vimlence with which he
railed at the dignitaries in whom they confided. Add to this, that most of his man-
hood was passed abroad, where there was little to conciliate a generous nature to the
governments of the day, and where revolutionary projects attracted a spirit that delighted
in Btorms. He professed, nevertheless, to be quite as averse to the tyranny of mobs, as
to the tyranny of kings, but not having deliberated on the most difficult of sciences — the
means of obtaining and securing a well-regulated freedom — it is easy to perceive that
he spoke and acted from the impulse of the hour, and often from his desu-e to show
his wit, or to gratify his spleen. Lentil he composed the " Age of Bronze," at Genoa,
in the early part of 1823, politics had only been treated by him incidentally or in
minor pieces, and when at last he devoted this satire to the subject, he appears not to
have written from the fulness of his mind, or on any well-defined plan. He retiuued
to a favourite theme, — the low and lofty qualities which were antithetically mixed in
the character of Napoleon, — jeered at the Congi-ess of Verona and the sovereigns who
convened it, rated the landed interest of England for their attempt to keep uj) rents,
and concluded with exclaiming against Maria Louisa for her second marriage, and \vith
laughing at Sir William Curtis for appearing at Holyi-ood in a tartan dress. None of these
topics are handled with his wonted power, except a portion of the first, where a few
sparks are called forth by the exile of Napoleon which shine with the brilliancy of the
former flame. Brief as are these passages no other pen could have produced them, and
they are only wanting in effect because the lofty flight is not long sustained. On the
publication of the poem in London, by Mr. John Hunt, considerable doubts of its
authenticity were expressed, for the knight having failed in his usual prowess, some
clumsy imitator was suspected of having borrowed the device on his shield.
THE AGE OF BRONZE.
The " good old times " — all times when old are good —
Are gone ; the present might be if they would ;
Great things have been, and are, and greater still
Want little of mere mortals but their will :
A wider space, a greener field, is given
To those who play their " tricks before high heaven."
I know not if the angels weep, but men
Have wept enough — for what ? — to weep again !
II.
All is exploded — be it good or bad.
Eeader ! remember when thou wert a lad,
Then Pitt was all ; or, if not all, so much.
His very rival almost deemM liim such.'
We, we have seen the intellectual race
Of giants stand, like Titans, face to face —
Athos and Ida, with a dashing sea
Of eloquence between, which flowM all free,
As the deep billows of the ^gean roar
Betwixt the Hellenic and the Plirygian shore.
But wdiere are they — the rivals ! a few feet
Of sullen earth divide each windino; sheet.''
Mr. Fox used to say — "/ never want a word, but Pitt never wants tlie word."]
The grave of Mr. Fox, in Westminster Abbey, is within eighteen inches of that
of Mr. Pitt.]
246 THE AGE OF BRONZE.
How peaceful and how powerful is the grave.
Which hushes all ! a calm, unstormy wave,
Which oversweeps the world. The theme is old
Of " dust to dust ; '' but half its tale untold :
Time tempers not its terrors — still the worm
Winds its cold folds, the tomb preserves its form.
Varied above, but still alike below ;
The urn may shine, the ashes will not glow,
Though Cleopatra^s mummy cross the sea
O'er which from empire she lured Anthony ;
Though Alexander's urn a show be grown
On shores he wept to conquer, though unknown —
How vain, how worse than vain, at length appear
The madman's wish, the Macedonian's tear !
He wept for worlds to conquer — -half the earth
Knows not his name, or but his death, and birtli.
And desolation ; while his native Greece
Hath all of desolation, save its peace.
He " wept for worlds to conquer ! " he who ne'er
Conceived the globe, he panted not to spare !
With even the busy Northern Isle unknown.
Which holds his urn, and never knew his throne.'
III.
But where is he, the modern, miglitier far,
AYlio, born no king, made monarchs draw his car;
The new Sesostris, whose unharness'd kings,"
Treed from the bit, believe themselves with wings.
And spurn the dust o'er which they crawl'd of late,
Chain'd to the chariot of the chieftain's state ?
Yes ! where is he, the champion and the child
Of all that's great or little, wise or wild ;
Whose game was empires, and whose stakes were thrones ;
Whose table earth — wliose dice were human bones ?
Behold the grand result in yon lone isle,'
And, as thy nature urges, weep or smile.
' [The sarcophagus, of breccia, which is supposed to have contained the dust of
Alexander, came into the possession of the English army, at the capitulation ot
Alexandria, in February, 1802, and is now in the IBritish JIuseum.]
* [Sesostris is said by Diodorus, to have had his chariot drawn by eight vanquished
sovereigns.] s [St. Helena.]
THE AGE OF BRONZE. 2*7
Sigh to behold the eagle's lofty rage
Reduced to nibble at his narrow cage ;
Smile to survey the queller of the nations
Now daily squabbling o'er disputed rations ;
Weep to perceive him mourning, as he dines.
O'er curtail'd dishes and o'er stinted wines ;
O'er petty quarrels upon petty things.
Is this the man who scourged or feasted kings ?
Behold the scales in which his fortune hangs,
A surgeon's ^ statement, and an earl's ' harangues !
A bust delayed,* a book refused, can shake
The sleep of him \\ho kept the world awake.
Is this indeed the tamer of the great.
Now slave of all could tease or irritate —
The paltry gaoler ® and the prying spy.
The staring stranger with his note-book nigh ? '
Plunged in a dungeon, he had still been great ;
How low, how little was this middle state.
Between a prison and a palace, where
How few could feel for what he had to bear !
Vain his complaint, — my lord presents his bill,
^ His food and wine were doled out duly still ;
Vain was his sickness, never was a clime
So free from homicide — to doubt's a crime ;
And the stiff surgeon, who maiutain'd his cause.
Hath lost his place, and gain'd the world's applause.*
But smile — though all the pangs of brain and heart
Disdain, defy, the tardy aid of art ;
Though, save the few fond friends and imaged face
Of that fair boy his sire shall ne'er embrace.
None stand by his low bed — though even the mind
Be wavering, which long awed and awes mankind :
^ [Mr. Barry O'Meara.]
" [Earl Bathurst.]
* [The bust of his son. ]
' [Sii- Hudson Lowe.]
' [Captain Basil Hall's interesting account of his interview with the ex-emperor
occurs iu his "Voyage to Loo-choo."j
2 [In 1818, O'Meara, in a letter to the admiralty, insinuated that two years pre-
viously Sir Hudson Lowe had suggested to him to rid the world of Napoleon. O'Meani
was in consequence dismissed the service, on the ground that if the charge w;is not a
Kvlumny he was inexcusable for having kept it so long a secret.]
24? THE AGE OF BRONZE.
Smile — for the fetterM eagle breaks liis cliaiu.
And higher worlds than this are his again.*
IT.
How, if that soaring spirit still retain
A conscious twilight of his blazing reign.
How must he smile, on looking down, to see
The little that he was and sought to be !
What though his name a wider empire found
Than his ambition, thougli with scarce a bound ;
Though first in glory, deepest in reverse,
He tasted empire^s blessings and its curse ;
Though kings, rejoicing in their late escape
From chains, would gladly be their tyrant's a[)e ;
How must lie smile, and turn to yon lone grave,
The proudest sea-mark that overtops the wave !
What though his gaoler, duteous to the last.
Scarce deemM the coffin's lead could keep him fast,
Hefusing one poor line along the lid.
To date the birth and death of all it hid ;
That name shall hallow the ignoble shore,
A talisman to all save him who bore :
The fleets that sweep before the eastern blast
Shall hear their sea-boys hail it from the mast ;
When Victory's Gallic column sliall but rise,
Like Pompey's pillar, in a desert's skies.
The rocky isle that holds or held his dust,
Shall crown the Atlantic like the hero's bust,
And mighty nature o'er his obsequies
Do more than niggard envy still denies.
]3ut what are these to him ? Can glory's lust
Touch the freed spirit or the fetter' d dust ?
Small care hath he of what his tomb consists ,
Nought if he slee])s — nor more if he exists :
Alike the better-seeing shade will smile
Oil the rude cavern of tlie rocky isle,
As if his ashes found their latest home
In Home's Pantheon or Gaul's mimic dome.
' [Buonaparte died llie 5th of May, 1821.'!
THE AGE OF BRONZE. 249
He wants not this ; but France shall feel the want
Of this hast consolation, though so scant :
Her honour, fame, and faith demand his bones.
To rear above a pyramid of thrones ;
Or carried onward in the battle's van.
To form, like Guesclin's * dust, her talisman.
But be it as it is — the time may come
His name shall beat the alarm, like Ziska's drum.*
V.
Oh heaven ! of which he was in j)ower a feature ;
Oh earth ! of which he was a noble creature ;
Thou isle ! to be rememberM long and well.
That saw'st the unfledg'd eaglet chip his shell !
Ye Alps which view'd him in his dawning tlights
Hover, the victor of a hundred fights !
Thou Rome, who saw'st thy Caesar's deeds outdone I
Alas ! why pass'd he too the Rubicon —
The Rubicon of man's awakened rights,
To herd with vulgar kings and parasites ?
Egypt ! from whose all dateless tombs arose
Forgotten Pharaohs from their long repose,
And shook within their pyramids to hear
A new Cambyses thundering in their ear ;
While the dark shades of fortv ages stood
Like startled giants by Nile's famous flood ; *
Or from the pyramid's tall pinnacle
Beheld the desert peopled, as from hell.
With clasliing hosts, who strewed the barren sand.
To re-manure the uncultivated land !
Spain ! which, a moment mindless of the Cid,
Beheld his banner flouting thy Madrid !
•* [Guesclin, constable of France, died in the midst of his triumphs before ChAtean-
neuf de Raudou, in 1380. The English gan-ison which had cooditiouod to surrender
at a certain time, marched out the day after his death ; and the commander rfspect-
fuUy laid the keys of the fortress on the bier, so that it might appear to have
surrendered to his ashes.]
^ [John Ziska — a distinguished leader of the Hussites. It is recorded of him, that
in dying, he ordered his skin to be made the covering of a drum. The Boliemiaus
hold his memory in superstitious veneration.]
^ [At the battle of the pyramids, in July, 1798, Buonaparte said — "Soldiers ! from
the summit of yonder pyramids lorty ages behold you."]
250 THE AGE OF BRONZE.
Austria! which saw thy twice-ta'en capital
Twice spared to be tlie traitress of his fall !
Ye race of Frederic ! — Frederics but in name
And falsehood — heirs to all except his fame :
Who, crushed at Jena, crouch'd at Berlin, fell
First, and but rose to follow ! Ye who dwell
Where Kosciusko dwelt, remembering yet
The unpaid amount of Catharine's bloody debt !
Poland ! o'er which the avenging angel past.
But left thee as he found thee, still a waste.
Forgetting all thy still enduring claim.
Thy lotted people and extinguish'd name.
Thy sigh for freedom, thy long- flowing tear.
That sound that crashes in the tyrant's ear —
Kosciusko ! On — on — on — the thirst of war
Gasps for the gore of serfs and of their czar.
The half barbaric Moscow's minarets
Gleam in the sun, but 'tis a sun that sets !
Moscow ! thou limit of his long career.
For which rude Charles had wept his frozen tear
To see in vain — he saw thee — how ? with spire
And palace fuel to one common fire.
To this the soldier lent his kindling match,
To this the peasant gave his cottage thatch.
To this the merchant flung his hoarded store.
The prince his hall — and Moscow was no more !
Sublimest of volcanoes ! Etna's flame
Pales before thine, and quenchless Hecla's tame ;
Vesuvius shows his blaze, an usual sight
For gaping tourists, from his hackney'd height :
Thou stand'st alone unrivall'd, till the fire
To come, in which all empires shall expire !
Tliou other element ! as strong and stern,
'Jo teach a lesson conquerors will not leani ! —
Whose icy wing flapp'd o'er the faltering foe.
Till fell a hero with each flake of snow ;
How did thy numbing beak and silent fang,
Pierce, till hosts i^erish'd with a single pang
THE AGE OF BRONZE. 251
In vain shall Seine look up along liis banks
Eor the gay thousands of his dashing ranks !
In vain shall France recal beneath her vines
Her youth — their blood flows faster tlian her wines ;
Or stagnant in their human ice remains
In frozen mummies on the Polar plains.
In vain will Italy's broad sun awaken
Her offspring chill'd ; its beams are now forsaken.
Of all the trophies gather'd from the war,
What shall return? the conqueror's broken car !
The conqueror's yet unbroken heart ! Again
The horn of Roland sounds, and not in vain.
Lutzen, where fell the Swede of victory/
Beholds him conquer, but, alas ! not die :
Dresden surveys three despots fly once more
Before their sovereign, — sovereign as before ;
But there exhausted Fortune quits the field,
And Leipsic's treason bids the unvanquish'd yield ;
The Saxon jackal leaves the hon's side
To turn the bear's, and wolf's, and fox's guide ;
And backward to the den of his despair
The forest monarch shrinks, but finds no lair !
Oh ye ! and each, and all ! Oh France ! who found
Thy long fair fields plough'd up as hostile ground.
Disputed foot by foot, till treason, still
His only victor, from Montmartre's hill
Look'd down o'er trampled Paris ! and thou Isle,"
Which seest Etruria from thy ramparts smile,
Thou momentary shelter of his pride.
Till woo'd by danger, his yet weeping bride !
Oh, France ! retaken by a single march.
Whose path was through one long triumphal arch !
Oh, bloody and most bootless Waterloo !
Which proves how fools may have their fortune too.
Won half by blunder, half by treachery :
Oh, dull Saint Helen ! with thy gaoler nigh —
'' [dustavus Adolphus fell at the great battle of Lutzeii, iu November, 1632, j
^ [The Isle of Elba.]
252 THE AGE OF BRONZE.
Hear ! hear Prometlieus ' from his rock appeal
To earth, air, ocean, all that felt or feel
His power and glory, all who yet shall hear
A name eternal as the rolling year ;
He teaches them the lesson taught so long.
So oft, so vainly — learn to do no wrong !
A single step into the right had made
This man tlie Washington of worlds betray'd :
A single step into the wrong has given
His name a doubt to all the winds of heaven ;
The reed of Fortune, and of thrones the rod.
Of Fame the Moloch or the demigod ;
His country's Caesar, Europe's Hannibal,
Without their decent dignity of fall.
Yet Vanity herself had better taught
A surer path even to the fame he sought.
By pointing out on history's fruitless page
Ten thousand conquerors for a single sage.
While Franklin's quiet memory climbs to heaven.
Calming the lightning which he thence hath riven,
Or drawing from the no less kindled earth
Freedom and peace to that which boasts his birth ; '
While Washington's a watchword, such as ne'er
Shall sink while there's an echo left to air : "
While even the Spaniard's thirst of gold and war
Forgets Pizarro to shout Bolivar ! ^
^ I refer the reader to the first addi-ess of Prometheus in ^sohylus, when he is left
alone by his attendants, and before the arrival of the chonis of Sea-nymphs.
["Ethereal air, and ye swift-winged winds,
Ye rivei's springing from fresli founts, ye waves.
That o'er th' intermmable ocean wreath
Your crisped smiles, thou all-producing earth.
And thee, bright sun, I call, whose flaming orb
Views the -wade world beneath, see what, a god,
I sufier from the gods ; with what fierce pains.
Behold, what tortures for revolving ages
I here must struggle." — Potter's translation. "l
* [The well-known motto on a French medal of Franklin was —
"Eripuit coelo fulmen, sceptrumque tyrannis."]
- ["To be the first man {not the Dictator), not the Sylla, but the Washington, or
Aristides, the leader in talent and truth, is to be next to the Divinity." — Byron
Diary.]
•' [Simon Bolivar, the liberator of Columbia and Peru, died at Sau Pedro, December,
1830, uf an illness brought on by excessive fatigue and exertion.]
THE AGE OF BRONZE. 253
Alas ! wliy must the same Atlantic wave
Which wafted freedom gird a tyrant's grave —
The king of kings, and yet of slaves the slave,
AA' iio burst the chains of millions to renew
The very fetters which his arm broke through.
And crushed the rights of Europe and his own,
To flit between a dungeon and a throne ?
VI.
But 'twill not be— the spark's awaken' d — lo !
The swarthy Spaniard' feels his former glow ;
The same high spirit which beat back the Moor
Through' eight long ages of alternate gore
Revives — and where ? in that avenging clime
Where Spain was once synonymous with crime,
Where Cortes' and Pizarro's banner flew.
The infant world redeems her name of " New"
'Tis the old aspiration breathed afresh,
To kindle souls within degraded flesh.
Such as repulsed the Persian from the shore
Where Gj'eece was — No ! she still is Greece once more.
One common cause makes myriads of one breast,
Slaves of the East, or helots of the West :
On Andes' and on Athos' peaks unfurl'd.
The self-same standard streams o'er either world :
The Athenian wears again Harmodius' sword ; "
The Chili chief abjures his foreign lord ;
The Spartan knows himself once more a Greek,
Young Freedom plumes the crest of each cacique ;
Debating despots, hemm'd on either shore,
Shrink vainly from the roused Atlantic's roar ;
Through Cnlpe's strait the rolling tides advance.
Sweep slightly by the half-tamed land of France,
Dash o'er the old Spaniard's cradle, and would fain
Unite Ausouia to the mighty main :
Tlie famous hymn, ascribed to Callistratus : —
"Cover'd with myrtle- wreaths, I'll wear ray sword
Like brave Harmodius, and his patriot friend
Aristogeiton, who the laws restored,
The tyrant slew, and ba<le oppression end," &c. &c.]
254 THE AGE OF BRONZE.
But driven from tlience awhibj yet not for aye,
Break o'er th' ^Egean, mindful of the day
Of Salami^ ! — there, there the waves arise,
Not to be lull'd by tyrant victories.
Lone, lost, abandoned in their utmost need
By Christians, unto whom they gave their creed.
The desolated lands, the ravaged isle.
The foster'd feud encouraged to beguile.
The aid evaded, and the cold delay,
Prolong'd but in the hope to make a prey ; — '
These, these shall tell the tale, and Greece can show
The false friend worse than the infuriate foe.
But this is well : Greeks only should free Greece,
Not the barbarian, with his mask of peace.
How should the autocrat of bondage be
The king of serfs, and set the nations free ?
Better still serve the haughty Mussulman,
Than swell the Cossaque's prowling caravan ;
Better still toil for masters, than await.
The slave of slaves, before a Russian gate, —
Number' d by hordes, a human capital,
A live estate, existing but for thrall.
Lotted by thousands, as a meet reward
For the first courtier in the Czar's regard ;
While their immediate owner never tastes
His sleep, sans dreaming of Siberia's wastes :
Better succumb even to their own despair,
And drive the camel than purvey the bear.
VII.
But not alone within the hoariest chme
Where Freedom dates her birth with that of Time,
And not alone where, plunged in night, a crowd
Of Incas darken to a dubious cloud.
The dawn revives : renown'd, romantic Spain
Holds back the invader from her soil again.
Not now the Eoman tribe nor Punic horde
Demand her fields as lists to prove the sword ;
* FAn authentic account of these Russian intrigues in Greece is contained in Gordon's
" History of the Greek Revolution," (1832).]
THE AGE OP BRONZE. 25!)
'Not now the Vandal or the Visigoth
Pollute the plains, alike abhorring both ;
Nor old Pelayo on his mountain rears
The warlike fathers of a thousand years.
That seed is sown and reap'd, as oft the Moor
Sighs to remember on his dusky shore.
Long in the peasant's song or poet's page
Has dwelt the memory of Abencerrage ;
The Zegrij and the captive victors, flung
Back to the barbarous realm from whence they sprung,
But these are gone — their faith, their swords, their sway,
Yet left more anti-christian foes than they ;
The bigot monarch, and the butcher priest.
The Inquisition, with her burning feast.
The faith's red " auto," fed with human fuel.
While sate the catholic Moloch, calmly cruel.
Enjoying, with inexorable eye.
That fiery festival of agony !
The stern or feeble sovereign, one or both
By turns ; the haughtiness whose pride was sloth ;
The long degenerate noble ; the debased
Hidalgo, and the peasant less disgraced.
But more degraded ; the unpeopled realm ;
The once proud navy which forgot the helm ;
The once impervious phalanx disarray'd ;
The idle forge that form'd Toledo's blade ;
The foreign wealth that flow'd on ev'ry shore.
Save hers who earn'd it with the native's gore ;
The very language which might vie with Rome's,
And once was known to nations like their homes.
Neglected or forgotten : — such was Spain ;
But such she is not, nor shall be again.
These worst, these kome invaders, felt and feel
The new Numantine soul of old Castile,
Up ! up again ! undaunted Tauridor !
The bull of Phalaris renews his roar ;
Mount, chivalrous Hidalgo ! not in vain
Revive the cry — " lago ! and close Spain ! " *"
* ["Santiago y serra Espana !" the old Spanish war-cry.]
256 THE AGE OF BRONZE.
Yes, close her with your armed bosoms round,
And form the barrier which Napoleon found, —
The exterminating war, the desert plain,
The streets without a tenant, save the slain ;
The wild sierra, with its wilder troop
Of vulture-plumed guerrillas, on the stoop
Por their incessant prey ; the desperate wall
Of Saragossa, mightiest in her fall ;
The man nerved to a spirit, and the maid
Waving her more than Amazonian blade ;
The knife of Arragon," Toledo's steel ;
The famous lance of chivalrous Castile;
Tlie unerring rifle of the Catalan ;
The Andalusian courser in the van ;
The torch to make a Moscow of Madrid ;
And in each heart the spirit of the Cid : —
Such have been, such shall be, such are. Advance,
A.ncl win — not Spain ! but thine own freedom, Trance !
vni.
But lo ! a Congress ! ' What ! that hallowed name
Which freed the Atlantic ! May we hope the same
For outworn Europe ? With the sound arise,
Like Samuel's shade to Saul's monarchic eyes.
The prophets of young Freedom, summon'd far
Prom climes of Washington and Bolivar ;
Henry, the forest-born Demosthenes,
Whose thunder shook the Philip of the seas ; *
And stoic Pranklin's energetic shade.
Robed in the lightnings which his hand allay'd ;
And Washington, the tyrant-tamer, wake.
To bid us blush for these old chains, or break.
7 The Arragonians are peculiarly dexterous in the use of tliis -weapon, and displayed
it particularly in former French wars.
" [The Congress of the Sovereigns of Russia, Austria, Prussia, &c. &c., which
assemlilcd at Verona, in the autumn of 1822.]
8 [Patrick Henry, of Virginia, a leading member of the American Congress, died in
June, 1797. Lord Byron alhidcs to his famous speech in 1765, in which, on saying,
" Cajsar had his Brutus — Charles the First had his Cromwell — and George the
Third " Henry was interrupted with a shout of "Treason! treason!!'' — hut
coolly finished the sentence with — "George the Third may profit by their example.'"]
TnE AGE OP BRONZE. 257
But who compose this senate of the few
That should redeem the many ? Who renew
This consecrated name^ till now assiguM
To councils held to benefit mankind ?
Who now assemble at the holy call ?
The blest Alliance, which says three are all !
An earthly trinity ! which wears the shape
Of heaven's, as man is mimick'd by the ape.
A pious unity ! in purpose one —
To melt three fools to a Napoleon.
Why, Egypt's gods were rational to these ;
Their dogs and oxen knew their own degrees,
And, quiet in their kennel or their shed,
Cared little, so that they were duly fed ;
But these, more hungry, must have something more —
The power to bark and bite, to toss and gore.
Ah, how much happier were good ^sop's frogs
Than we ! for ours are animated logs,
With ponderous malice swaying to and fro,
And crushing nations with a stupid blow;
All dully anxious to leave little work
Unto the revolutionary stork.
IX.
Thrice blest Verona ! since the holy three
With their imperial presence shine on thee !
Honour'd by them, thy treacherous site forgets
The vaunted tomb of "all the Capulets ! '"
Thy Scahgers — for what was " Dog the Great,"
" Can Grande,"'' (which I venture to translate,)
To these sublimer pugs ? Thy poet too,
Catullus, whose old laurels yield to new ;
^ [ " I have been over Verona. The amphitheatre is wonderful — beats eveu Greece.
Of the trutli of Juliet's story they seem tenacious to a degree, insisting on the fact,
giving a date (1303), and showing a tomb. It is a plain, open, and partly decayed
sarcophagus, with withered leaves in it, in a wild and desolate conventual ganlen,
• once a cemetery, now mined to the very graves. The situation struck me as very
appropriate to the legend, being blighted as their love. The Gothic monuments
of the Scaliger princes pleased me, but ' a poor virtuoso am I.'" — Bip-on Letirrs,
Nov. 1816.]
- [Cane I. Delia Scala, suruamed the Uieat, died i;i 1329 ; iie was the protector of
Daate, whu celebrated him as " il Gran Lombardo."]
VOL. II. s
258 THE AGE OF BRONZE.
Thine ampliitlieatre, where Romans sate ;
And Dante's exile shelter'd by thy gate ;
Thy good old man, whose world was all within
Thy wall, nor knew the country held him in;*
Would that the royal guests it girds about
Were so far like, as never to get out !
Ay, shout ! inscribe ! rear monuments of shame.
To tell Oppression that the world is tame !
Crowd to the theatre with loyal rage.
The comedy is not upon the stage ;
The show is rich in ribandry and stars,
Then gaze upon it through thy dungeon bars ;
Clap thy permitted palms, kind Italy,
For thus much stiU thy fetter'd hands are free !
X.
Eesplendent sight ! Behold the coxcomb Czar,^
The autocrat of waltzes and of war !
As eager for a plaudit as a realm.
And just as fit for flirting as the helm ;
A Calmuck beauty with a Cossack wit.
And generous spirit, when ■'tis not frost-bit ;
Now half dissolving to a liberal thaw.
But hardened back whene'er the morning's ruM- ;
With no objection to true liberty.
Except that it would make the nations free.
How well the imperial dandy prates of peace !
How fain, if Greeks would be his slaves, free Greece !
How nobly gave he back the Poles their Diet,
Then told pugnacious Poland to be quiet !
How kindly would he send the mild Ukraine,
W^ith all her present pulks, to lecture Spain !
How royally show off in proud Madrid
His goodly person, from the South long hid !
A blessing cheaply purcliased, the world knows.
By having Muscovites for friends or foes.
* [Claudian's famous old man of Verona, "qui suburbium nuuquam egressus est."]
* i^The Emperor Alexander ; who died in 1825.]
THE AGE OF BRONZE. 259
jf roceed, thou namesiike of great Philip's son !
La HarpCj thine Aristotle, beckons on ;*
And that which Scytiiia was to him of yore
Find with thy Scythians on Iberia's shore.
Yet think upon, thou somewhat aged youth,
'i'hy predecessor on the banks of Pruth ;
Thou hast to aid thee, should his lot be thine.
Many an old woman, but no Catherine."
Spain, too, hath rocks, and rivers, and defiles —
The bear may rush into the lion's toils.
Fatal to Goths are Xeres' sunny fields j'
Think'st thou to thee Napoleon's victor yields ?
Better reclaim thy deserts, turn thy swords
To ploughshares, shave and wash thy Bashkir hordes,
Redeem thy realms from slavery and the knout,
Thaii follow headlong in the fatal route,
To infest the clime whose skies and laws are pure
With thy foul legions. Spain wants no manure :
Her soil is fertile, but she feeds no foe :
Her vultures, too, were gorged not long ago ;
And wouldst tliou furnish them with fresher prey ?
Alas ! thou wilt not conquer, but purvey.
I am Diogenes, though Russ and Hun
Stand between mine and many a myriad's sun ;
But were I not Diogenes, I'd wander
Rather a worm than such an Alexander !
Be slaves who will, the cynic shall be free ;
His tub hath tougher walls than Sinopc :
Still will he hold his lantern up to scan
The face of monarchs for an " honest man."
■' [Colonel La Harpe — the tutor of Alexander — was supposed to have influenced
largely the character of his pupil. The Emperor instigated the Congress to tlie armed
intervention for repressing the democratic party in Spain.]
^ The dexterity of Catherine extricated Peter (called tlie Grea* by courtesy), whc-u
surrounded by the Mussulmans on the banks of the river Pruth.
7 ["Eight thousand men had to Asturias march'd
Beneath Count Julian's banner. To revenge
His quarrel, twice that number left their bones,
Slain in unnatural battle, on the field
Of Xeres, where the sceptre from the Goths
By righteous Heaven was reft." — Soutiiky's B.odtrvck.'\
2Co THE AGE OF BRONZE.
XI.
a
And what doth Gaul, the all-prolific land
Of ne plus ultra ultras and their band
Of mercenaries ? and her noisy cliambers
And tribune, which each orator first clambers
Before he finds a voice, and when ^tis found.
Hears " the lie " echo for his answer round ?
Our British Commons sometimes deign to " hear !
A GalKc senate hath more tongue than ear ;
Even Constant, their sole master of debate,
Must fight next day his speech to vindicate.
But this costs little to true Pranks, who'd rather
Combat than listen, were it to their father.
What is the simple standing of a shot.
To hstening long, and interrupting not ?
Though this was not the method of old Rome,
When Tully fulmined o'er each vocal dome,
Demosthenes has sanction'd the transaction.
In saying eloquence meant " Action, action ! "
XII.
But Where's the monarch ? hath he dined ? or yet
Groans beneath indigestion's heavy debt ?
Have revolutionary pates risen.
And turn'd the royal entrails to a prison ?
Have discontented movements stirr'd the troops ?
Or have no movements follow'd traitorous soups ?
Have Carbonaro* cooks not carbonadoed
Each course enough ? or doctors dire dissuaded
Repletion ? Ah ! in thy dejected looks
I read aU Erance's treason in her cooks !
Good classic Louis ! is it, canst thou say.
Desirable to be the " Desire ? "
Why wouldst thou leave calm Hartw ell's green abode/
Apician table, and Horatian ode,
* [The members of the secret repuhlican associations which had been recently formed
in Italy assumed the designation of "Carbonari" (colliers).]
9 [Hartwell, in Buckinghamshire— the residence of Louis XYIII. dui-ing the latter
years of the Emigration.]
THE AGE OF BRONZE. 281
To rule a people who will not be ruled,
Aud love much rather to be scourged than schooled ?
All ! thine was not the temper or the taste
Yov thrones ; the table sees thee better placed :
A mild Epicurean, forniM, at best.
To be a kind host and as good a guest.
To talk of letters, and to know by heart
One /ialf the poets, all the gourmand's art;
A scholar always, now and then a wit.
And gentle when digestion may permit ; —
But not to govern lands enslaved or free ;
The gout was martyrdom enough for thee.
XIII.
Shall noble Albion pass without a phrase
From a bold Briton in her wonted praise ?
" Arts, arms, and George, and glory, and the isles.
And hapjjy Britain, wealth, and Freedom's smiles,
White cliffs, that held invasion far aloof.
Contented subjects, all alike tax-proof.
Proud Wellington, with eagle beak so curl'd.
That nose, the hook where he suspends the world !'
And Waterloo, and trade, and (hush ! not yet
A syllable of imposts or of debt)
And ne'er (enough) lamented Castlereagh,
Whose penknife slit a goose-quill t'other day —
And 'pilots who have weather'd every storm' — "
(But, no, not even for rhyme's sake, name Reform)."
These are the themes thus sung so oft before,
Methinks we need not sing them any more ;
Found in so many volumes far and near.
There's no occasion you should find them here.
Yet something may remain perchance to chime
With reason, and, what's stranger still, with ihyme.
Even this thy genius. Canning ! may permit.
Who, bred a statesman, still wast born a wit,
' "Naso suspendit adunco." — Horaoe.
The Eoman applies it to one who merely was imperious to his acquaintance.
- ["The Pilot that weathered the storm" is the burthen of a song, in honour of
Pitt, by Canning.]
2(;2 THE AGE OF BRONZE.
And never, even in that dull HousCj couldst tame
To unleavened prose thine own j)oetic flame ;
Our last, our best, our only orator/
Even I can praise thee — Tories do no more :
Nay, not so much ; — they hate thee, man, because
Thy spirit less upholds them than it awes.
The hounds will gather to their huntsman^s hollo,
And where he leads the duteous pack will follow ;
But not for love mistake their yeUing cry ;
Their yelp for game is not an eulogy ;
Less faithful far than the four-footed pack,
A dubious scent would lure the bipeds back.
Thy saddle-girths are not yet quite secure,
Nor royal stallion's feet extremely sure ; "
Tlie unwieldy old white horse is apt at last
To stumble, kick, and now and then stick fast
With his great self and rider in the mud ;
But what of that ? the animal shows blood.
XIV.
Alas, the country ! how^ shall tongue or pen
Bewail her now uncountvj gentlemen ?
The last to bid the cry of warfare cease,
Tlie first to make a malady of peace.
For what were all these country patriots born ?
To hunt, and vote, and raise the price of corn ?
But corn, like every mortal thing, must fall.
Kings, conquerors, and markets most of all.
And must ye fall with every ear of grain ?
Why M'ould you trouble Buonaparte's reign ?
' [Lord Byron always wrote and spoke of Canning with the higliest adTniration. In
his Diary of 1821 the poet states that lie had never heard any one who fulfilled his
ideal of an orator : but adds that Canning was sometimes very like one. On another
occasion he enumerated among Canning's brilliant gifts — " the most effective
eloquence."]
"* [On the suicide of Lord Londonderry, in August 1822, Mr, Canning, who was
a1>out to go to India, as Governor-General, became Secretary of State for Foreign
Affairs, — not much to the satisfaction of George the Fourth, or of the high Tories in
the Cabinet. lie lived to verify some of the predictions of the poet — to abandon the
foreign policy of his predecessor — to break up the Tory party by a coalition with the
Whigs — and to prepare the way for Jieforiu in Parliament.]
THE AGE OF BRONZE. 2G3
He was your great Triptolemus ; his vices
Destroy'd but realms, and still maintaiu'd your prioos ;
He amplified to every lord's content
The grand agrarian alchymy, high rent.
Why did the tyrant stumble on the Tartars,
And lower wheat to such desponding quarters ?
Why did you chain him on yon isle so lone ?
The man was worth much more upon his throne.
True, blood and treasure boundlessly were s[)ilt,
But what of that ? the Gaul may bear the guilt ;
But bread was high, the farmer paid his way.
And acres told upon the appointed day.
But where is now the goodly audit ale ?
The purse-proud tenant, never known to fail ?
The farm wdiich never yet w^as left on hand ?
The marsh reclaimed to most improving land ?
The impatient hope of the expiring lease ?
The doubling rental? What an evil's peace !
In vain the prize excites the ploughman's skill.
In vain the Commons pass their patriot bill ;
The landed interest — (you may understand
The phrase much better leaving out the land) —
The land self-interest groans from shore to shore,
Tor fear that plenty should attain the poor.
Up, up again, ye rents ! exalt your notes,
Or else the ministry will lose their votes.
And patriotism, so delicately nice.
Her loaves will lower to the market price ;
For ah ! " the loaves and fishes,"" once so high.
Are gone — their oven closed, their ocean dry,
And nought remains of all tlie millions spent.
Excepting to grow moderate and content.
They who are not so, had their turn — and turn
About still flows from Fortune's equal urn ;
Now let their virtue be its own reward,
And share the blessings which themselves prepared.
See these inglorious Cincinnati swarm,
Farmers of war, dictators of the farm ;
Their ploughshare was the sword in hireling hands.
Their fields manured by gore of other lands ;
264 rfHE AGE OF BRONZE.
Safe in their barns^ these Sabine tillers sent
Their brethren out to battle — why ? for rent !
Year after year they voted cent, per cent.
Blood, sweat, and tear- wrung millions — w hy ? — for rent !
They roar'd, they dined, they drank, they swore they meant
To die for England — why then live ? — for rent !
The peace has made one general malcontent
Of these high-market patriots ; war was rent !
Their love of country, millions all mis-spent.
How reconcile ? by reconciling rent !
And will they not repay the treasures lent ?
]\^o : down with every thing, and up with rent !
Their good, ill, health, w'ealth, joy, or discontent.
Being, end, aim, religion — rent, rent, rent !
Tliou sold'st thy birthright, Esau ! for a mess ;
Thou should st have gotten more, or eaten les^ ;
JN'ow thou hast swill' d thy pottage, thy demands
Are idle; Israel says the bargain stands.
Such, landlords ! was your appetite for war.
And gorged with blood, you grumble at a scar !
AA hat ! would they spread their earthquake even o'er cash ?
And when land crumbles, bid firm paper crash ?
So rent may rise, bid bank and nation fall.
And found on 'Change a Fmidl'utg Hospital ?
Lo, Mother Church, while aU religion writhes,
liike Niobe, weeps o'er her ofl'spring. Tithes;
The prelates go to — where the saints have gone.
And proud pluralities subside to one;
Chui'ch, state, and faction wrestle in the dark,
Toss'd by the deluge in their common ark.
Shorn of her bishops, banks, and dividends.
Another Babel soars — but Britain ends.
And why? to paniper the self-seeking v^■ants,
And prop the hill of these agrarian ants.
" Go to these auLs, thou sluggard, and be wise; '^
Admire tlieir patience through each sacrifice.
Till taught k) teel the lesson of their pride.
The price of taxes and of homicide ;
Admire their justice, which would fain deny
The debt of nations : — pray who made it Ii'igh ?
THE AGE OF BRONZE. 2(55
XV.
Or turn to sail between those shifting rocks,
The new Symplegades — the crushing Stocks,
Where Midas might again his wish behold
In real paper or imagined gold.
That magic palace of Aicina shows
More wealth than Britain ever had to lose,
Were all her atoms of unleiivenM ore,
And all her pebbles from Pactolus' shore.
There Fortune plays, while Rumour holds the stake
And the world trembles to bid brokers break.
How rich is Britain ! not indeed in mines.
Or peace or plenty, corn or oil, or wines ;
No land of Canaan, full of milk and honey.
Nor (save in paper shekels) ready money :
But let us not to own the truth refuse,
Was ever Christian land so rich in Jews ?
Those parted with their teeth to good King John,
And now, ye kings ! they kindly draw your own ;
All states, all things, all sovereigns they control,
And waft a loan " from Indus to the pole."
The banker, broker, baron,* brethren, speed
To aid these bankrupt tyrants in their need.
Nor these alone ; Columbia feels no less
Fresh speculations follow each success ;
And philanthropic Israel deigns to drain
Her mild per-centage from exhausted Spain.
Not without Abraham's :eed can Russia march ;
'Tis gold, not steel, that rears the conqueror's arch.
Two Jews, a chosen people, can command
In every realm -their scripture-promised land : — •
Two Jews, keep down the Romans, and uphold
The accursed Hun, more brutal than of old :
Two Jews, — but not Samaritans — direct
The world, with all the spirit of their sect.
What is the happiness of earth to them ?
A congress forms their " New Jerusalem,"
Where baronies and orders both invite —
5 [Baron RothscMld,]
;66 THE AGE OF BRONZE,
Oh, holy Abraham ! dost thou see the sight ?
Thy followers mingling witli these royal swine,
"Who spit not " on their Jewish gaberdine,"
But honour them as joortion of the show —
(Where now, oh Pope ! is thy forsaken toe?
Could it not favour Judali with some kicks ?
Or has it ceased to " kick against the pricks ? ")
On Shylock's shore behold them stand afresh,
To cut from nation's hearts their " pound of flesh,
XVI.
Strange sight this Congress ! destined to unite
All that's incongruous, all that's opposite.
I speak not of the Sovereigns — they're alike,
A common coin as ever mint could strike ;
Eut those who sway the puppets, pull the strings.
Have more of motley than their heavy kings.
Jews, authors, generals, charlatans, combine.
While Europe wonders at the vast design :
There Metternich, power's foremost parasite.
Cajoles; tliere Wellington forgets to tiglit;
There Chateaubriand forms new books of martyrs;
And subtle Greeks' intrigue for stupid Tartars;
There Montmorenci, the sworn foe to charters/
Turns a diplomatist of great echit.
To furnish articles for the "Debats;"
Of war so certain — yet not quite so sure
As his dismissal in the " Moniteur."
Alas ! how could his cabinet thus err !
Can peace be worth an ultra-minister ?
He falls indeed, perhaps to rise again,
" Almost as quickly as he conquer'd Spain.
w
}>»
* Monsieur Chateaubriand, who has not forgotten the author in the minister,
received a handsome compliment at Verona from a literary sovereign : ''Ah ! Mon-
sieur C, are you related to that Chateaubriand who— who — who has written some-
thinrj .?" (ecrit quelqne chose/) It is said that the author of Atala repented him for
a moment of his legitimacy.
^ [Count Capo d'Istrias — afterwards President of Greece. The count was murdered,
in September, 1831, by the brother and son of a Mainote chief whom he had
imprisoned.]
* [The Duke de Montmorenci- Laval.]
' [From Pope's verses on Lord Peterborough.]
THE AGE OF BRONZE. 267
XVII.
Enough of this — a sight more mournful woos
The averted eye of the reluctant muse.
The imperial daughter, the imperial bride.
The imperial victim — sacrifice to pride ;
Tlie mother of the hero's hope, the boy,
The young Astyanax of Modern Troy ; '
The still pale shadow of the loftiest queen
That earth has yet to see, or e'er hath seen ;
She flits amidst the phantoms of the hour,
Tlie theme of pity, and the wreck of power.
Oh, cruel mockery ! Could not Austria spare
A daughter ? What did France's widow there ?
Her fitter place was by St. Helen's wave.
Her only throne is in Napoleon's grave.
But, no, — she still must hold a petty reign,
riank'd by her formidable chamberlain ;
The martial Argus, whose not hundred eyes
Must watch her through these paltry pageantries.*
"What though she share no more, and shared in vain,
A sway surpassing that of Charlemagne,
Which swept from Moscow to the southern seas !
Yet still she rules the pastoral realm of cheese.
Where Parma views the traveller resort.
To note the trappings of her mimic court.
But she appears ! Verona sees her shorn
Of all her beams — wdiile nations gaze and mourn —
Ere yet her husband's ashes have had time
To chill in their inhospitable clime ;
(if e'er those awful ashes can grow cold; —
But no, — their embers soon will burst the mould ;)
She comes! — the Andromache (but not Racine's,
Nor Homer's,) — Lo ! on Pyrrhus' arm she leans !
Yes! the right arm, yet red from Waterloo,
Wliicli cut her lord's half-shatter'd sceptre tlirough.
Is offer'd and accepted ? Could a slave
Do more? or less? — and he in his new grave !
• [Napoleon Fi'an9ois Charles Joseph, Duke of Reichstadt, died at the jpalace of
Schonbrunn, July 22, 1832, having just attained his twenty-first year.]
- [Count Neipperg, chamburlain and second husband to Maria-Louisa, had I'ut one
eye. The count died in 16151.]
268 THE AGE OP BRONZE.
Her eye, her clieek, betray no inward strife.
And the ^.r-empress grows as ex a wife !
So much for human ties in royal breasts !
Why spare men's feelings, when their own are jests ?
XVIII.
But, tired of foreign follies, I turn home.
And sketch the group — the picture's yet to come.
My muse 'gan weep, but, ere a tear was spilt.
She caught Sir William Curtis in a kilt ! ^
While throng'd the chiefs of every Highland clan
To hail their brother, Vich Ian Alderman !
Guildhall grows Gael, and echoes with Erse roar.
While all the Common Council cry "Claymore V
To see proud Albyn's tartans as a belt
Gird the gross sirloin of a city Celt,
She burst into a laughter so extreme.
That I awoke — and lo ! it was no dream !
Here, reader, will we pause : — if there's no harm in
This first — you'll have, perhaps, a second " Carmen."
^ [George the Fourth, is said to have been annoyed on enteiing the levee room at
Holyrood (Aug. 1822), in full Stuart tartan, to see only one figure similarly attired
(and of similar bulk) — that of Sir William Curtis. The city knight had everything
complete — even the knife stuck in the garter. He asked the King, if he did not think
him well dressed. "Yes !" replied his Majesty, " only you have no spoon m your
hose." The devourer of turtle had a fine engraving executed of himself in his Celtic
attire.]
OCCASIONAL PIECES.
1807—1821.
INTRODUCTION TO OCCASIONAL PIECES.
The "Hours of Idleness" contain the whole of the poenis comprised in the different
editions the author prepared of that work, together with several pieces which wei'e
written at the si.me period, and remained in MS. till after his death. All his sub-
sequent miscellaneous productions, which extend beyond a page or two, are arranged
in the order of their composition, and there now remain over a number of minor poems,
which we have grouped together under the title of " Occasional Pieces." They embrace
specimens of almost every date, commencing from the publication of "'Hours of
Idleness," and concluding with the latest verses which came from his pen — of almost
every variety of style, from the terrible gloom of the poem on "Darkness," — down to
his gayest effusions, — and of almost every grade of quality, from the inspirations of
genius to the designed doggerel interspersed among his letters. Of these numerous
poems "Darkness" is the grandest and the most original. Campbell's " Last Jlan"
is sublime from his lofty faith in the midst of ruin, — proudly defying a perishing
world to shake his trust in God. Lord Byron, after the manner of his genius, can
discover in the situation only horror and despair, but he paints his picture with such
power that we are transferred for the moment from the world about us to the world
he has conjured up. There are several pungent pieces in the collection, which must
not be literally understood. Satirists rarely feel half the indignation they express,
and Lord Byron was especially prone to dip his pen in gall when he had little bitterness
in his heart. His "Windsor Poetics" and "Irish Avatar" are signal examples of
this dissembled invective. He meant, no doubt, to irritate George IV. and his
minister, but the real animosity was very slight. Those who shoot arrows in sport
are apt to forget that the wound is proportioned to the strength with which the bow
is drawn, and is none the less because the malice of the marksman was rather playful
than deadly. In the tender portion of the occasional strains there is an unmistakeable
sincerity of sorrow. A poet's grief finds a voice in verse, and Lord Byron seldom
spoke with deeper and simpler pathos than in the address to Mrs. Musters, "Well !
thou art happy ; " in some of the stanzas to Thyrza ; in the Lines "There's not a joy
the world can give," and in the dying dirge which he composed upon his birth-day.
Each poem expresses a different phase of that distress which darkened a life full of
triumphs and full of anguish, — the pangs produced by unsuccessful love, by the early
death of some fair friend whose name is unknown, by the sense that his heart was
withering at the core, and by the regrets for past unworthy deeds, with a speedy grave
his brightest hope for the future. It is impossible to read these melancholy musings
without something of wonder mingling with our pity, that a being who could feel so
justly and strongly should have sought relief from the sorrows of his better nature in
the delirious dictates of the worser part.
OCCASIONAL PIECES.
1807—1824.
THE ADIEU.
WRITTEN UNDER THE IMPRESSION THAT THE AUTHOR WOULD SOON DIE.
Adieu, thou Hill ! ' where early joy
Spread roses o'er my brow ;
Where Science seeks each loitering boy
With knowledge to endow.
Adieu, my youtliful friends or foes,
Partners of former bliss or woes ;
No more through Ida's paths we stray ;
Soon must I share the gloomy cell.
Whose ever-slumbering inmates dwell
Unconscious of the day.
Adieu, ye hoary Eegal Fanes,
Ye spires of Granta's vale.
Where Learning robed in sable reigns.
And melancholy pale.
Ye comrades of the jovial hour.
Ye tenants of the classic bower,
' [Harrow.]
272 OCCASIONAL PIECES. [ISO 7.
On Cania's verdant margin placed,
Adieu ! while memory still is mine.
For, offerings on Oblivion's shrine.
These scenes must be effaced.
Adieu, ye mountains of the clime
Where grew my youthful years ;
Where Loch na Garr in snows sublime
His giant summit rears.
Why did my childhood wander forth
From you, ye regions of the North,
With sons of pride to roam ?
IVhj did I quit my Highland cave,
Marr's dusky heath, and Dee's clear wave.
To seek a Sotheron home ?
Hall of my Sires ! a long farewell —
Yet why to thee adieu ?
Thy vaults will echo back my knell.
Thy towers my tomb will view :
The faltering tongue which sung thy fall,
And former glories of thy Hall,
Forgets its wonted simple note —
But yet the Lyre retains the strings.
And sometimes, on ^Eolian wings.
In dying strains may float.
Fields, which surround yon rustic cot.
While yet I linger here.
Adieu ! you are not now forgot.
To retrospection dear.
Streamlet ! ^ along whose rippling surge
My youthful limbs were wont to urge.
At noontide heat, their pliant course ;
Plunging with ardour from the shore.
Thy springs will lave ihcse limbs no more.
Deprived of active force.
2 [The river Grete, at Southwell.]'
1807.] OCCASIONAL PIECES. 273
And shall I here forget the scene.
Still nearest to my breast ?
Rocks rise and rivers roll between
The spot AAliich passion blest ;
Yet Mary/ all thy beauties seem
Fresh as in Love's bewitching dream.
To me in smiles displayed ;
Till slow disease resigns his prey
To Death, the parent of decay,
Thine image cannot fade.
And thon, my Friend ! ^ whose gentle love
Yet thrills my bosom's cliords.
How much thy friendship was above
Description's power of words !
Still near my breast thy gift I wear
^A Iiich sj)arkled once with Feeling's tear.
Of Love the pure, the sacred gem ;
Our souls were equal, and our lot
In that dear moment quite forgot;
Let Pride alone condemn !
All, all is dark and cheerless now !
Ko smile of Love's deceit
Can warm my veins with wonted glow.
Can bid Life's pulses beat :
Not e'en the hope of future fame
Can wake my faint, exhausted frame.
Or crown with fancied wreaths my head.
Mine is a short inglorious race, —
To humble in the dust my face,
And mingle with the dead.
Oh Fame ! thou goddess of my heart;
On him who gains thy praise.
Pointless must fall the Spectre's dart,
Consumed in Glory's blaze;
3 [Mary Duff.] * [Eddlestone, the Cambridge chorister]
VOL II. J
274 OCCASIONAL PIECES. [1807
But me she beckons from the earth,
My name obscure, unmark'd my birth,
My hfe a short and vulgar dream :
Lost in the dull, ignoble crowd,
My hopes rechne within a shroud,
My fate is Lethe's stream.
When I repose beneath the sod,
Unheeded in the clay.
Where once my playful footsteps trod.
Where now my head must lay.
The meed of Pity will be shed
In dew-drops o'er my narrow bed.
By nightly skies, and storms alone j
No mortal eye will deign to steep
With tears the dark sepulchral deep
Which hides a name unknown.
Torget this world, ray restless sprite.
Turn, turn thy thoughts to Heaven :
There must thou soon direct thy flight,
If errors are forgiven.
To bigots and to sects unknown.
Bow down beneath the Almighty's Throne ;
To Him address thy trembling prayer :
He, who is merciful and just.
Will not reject a child of dust.
Although his meanest care.
Father of Light ! to Thee I call ;
My soul is dark within :
Thou who canst mark the sparrow's fall.
Avert the death of sin.
Thou, who canst guide the wandering star,
Who calm'st the elemental war.
Whose mantle is yon boundless sky.
My thoughts, ray words, my crimes forgive :
And, since I soon must cease to live.
Instruct me how to die.
1807. [First pul.lished 1832. ]
1S07. 1 OCCASIONAL PIECES.
TO A VAIN LADY.
Ah, heedless girl ! why thus disclose
Wiiat ne'er was meant for other ears;
Why thus destroy thine own repose
And dig the source of future tears ?
Ohj thou wilt weep, imprudent maid.
While lurking envious foes will smile.
For all the follies tliou hast said
Of those who spoke but to beguile.
Vain girl ! thy ling'ring woes are nigh.
If thou believ'st what striplings say :
Oh, from the deep temptation fly,
Nor fall the specious spoiler's prey.
Dost thou repeat, in childish boast,
The words man utters to deceive ?
Thy peace, thy hope, thy all is lost,
If thou canst venture to believe.
While now amongst thy female peers
Thou tell'st again the soothing tale.
Canst thou not mark the rising sneers
Duplicity in vain would veil ?
These tales in secret silence hush.
Nor make thyself the public gaze :
What modest maid without a blush
Recounts a flattering coxcomb's praise ?
Will not the laughing boy despise
Her who relates each fond conceit —
Who, thinking Heaven is in her eyes.
Yet cannot see the slight deceit ?
T 2
276
OCCASIONAL PIECES.
[1807.
Tor she wlio takes a soft deliglit
These amorous nothings in revealing,
Must credit all we say or write,
While vanity prevents concealing.
Cease, if you prize your beauty's reign !
No jealousy bids me reprove :
One, who is thus from nature vain,
I pity, but I cannot love.
January 15, 1807. [First published 1832.]
TO ANNE.
Oh, Anne, your offences to me have been grievous :
I thought from my wrath no atonement could save you ;
Bat woman is made to command and deceive us —
I look'd in your face, and I almost forgave you.
I vow'd I could ne'er for a moment respect you.
Yet thought that a day's separation was long ;
When we met, I determined again to suspect you —
Your smile soon convinced me suspicion was wrong.
I swore, in a transport of young indignation.
With fervent contempt evermore to disdain you :
I saw you — my anger became admiration ;
And now, all my wish, all my hope's to regain you.
With beauty like yours, oh, how vain the contention !
Thus lowly I sue for forgiveness before you ; —
At once to conclude such a fruitless dissension.
Be false, my sweet Anne, when I cease to adore yoa !
January 16, 1807. [First published 1832.]
1807.] OCCASIONAL PIECES. 277
TO THE SAME.
Oh say not, sweet Anne, that the Fates have decreed
The heart which adores you should wish to dissever;
Such Fates were to me most unkind ones indeed, —
To bear me from love and from beautv for ever.
Your frowns, lovely girl, are the Fates which alone
Could bid me from fond admiration refrain ;
By these, every hope, every wish were o'erthrown.
Till smiles should restore me to rapture again.
As the ivy and oak, in the forest entwined.
The rage of the tempest united must Aveather ;
My love and my life were by nature design'd
To flourish alike, or to perish together.
Then say not, sweet Anne, tliat the Fates have decreed
Your lover should bid you a lasting adieu :
Till Fate can ordain that liis bosom shall bleed.
His soul, his existence, are centred in you.
1807. [First pubUshed 1832.]
TO THE AUTHOR OF A SONNET
BEGINNING " ' SAD IS MY VERSE,' YOU SAT, 'AND YET NO TEAR.
Thy verse is " sad^' enough, no doubt :
A devilish deal more sad than witty !
Why we should weep I can't find out.
Unless for thee we weep in pity.
Yet there is one I pity more ;
And much, alas ! I think he needs it :
For he, I'm sure, will suffer sore,
^Vho, to his own misfortune, reads it.
278 OCCASIONAL TIECES. [1807.
Thy rhymes^ without the aid of magic,
May once be read — but uever after :
Yet their effect's by no means tragic.
Although by far too dull for laughter.
But would you make our bosoms bleed,
And of no common pang complain —
If you would make us weep indeed,
Tell us, you'll read them o'er again.
March 8, 1807. [First published 1832.]
ON FINDING A FAN.
In one who felt as once he felt.
This might, perhaps, have fann'd the tiame;
But now his heart no more will melt,
Because that heart is not the same.
As when the ebbing flames are low.
The aid which once improved their light.
And bade them burn with fiercer glow.
Now quenches all their blaze in night.
Thus has it been with passion's fires —
As many a boy and girl remembers—
While every hope of love expires,
Extinguisli'd with the dying embers.
'W\Q first, though not a spark survive,
Some careful hand may teach to burn ;
The last, alas ! can ne'er survive -,
No touch can bid its warmth return.
Or, if it chance to wake again.
Not always doom'd its heat to smother.
It sheds (so wayward fates ordain)
Its former warmth around another.
1807. [First published 1832.]
1807.] OCCASIONAL PIECES. 279
FAREWELL TO THE MUSE.
Thou Power ! who hast ruled ine through infancy's days,
Young offspring of fancy, 'tis time Ave should part ;
Then rise on the gale this the last of my lays.
The coldest effusion which springs from my heart.
This bosom, responsive to rapture no more.
Shall hush thy wild notes, nor implore thee to sing ;
The feehngs of childhood, which taught thee to soar.
Are wafted far distant on Apathy's wing.
Though simple the themes of my rude flowing Lyre,
Yet even these themes are departed for ever;
No more beam the eyes which my dream could inspire,
My visions are flown, to return, — alas, never !
\Yhen drain'd is the nectar which gladdens the bowl.
How vain is the effort delight to prolong !
When cold is the beauty which dwelt in my soul.
What magic of Fancy can lengthen my song ?
Can the lips sing of Love in the desert alone,
Of kisses and smiles which they now must resign ?
Or dwell Avith delio-ht on the hours that are flown ?
Ah, no ! for those hours can no longer be mine.
Can they speak of the friends that I lived bni, to love?
Ah, surely affection ennobles the sti-ain !
But how can my numbers in sympathy move,
When I scarcely can hope to behold them again
s
Can I sing of the deeds which my Fathers have done.
And raise my loud harp to the fame of my Sires ?
For glories like theirs, oh, how faint is my tone !
For ileroes' exploits how unequal my fires !
280 OCCASIONAL PIECES. [1807
Untouched, then, my Lyre sliall reply to the blast —
'Tis hush'd ; and mv feeble endeavours are o'er :
And those who have heard it will pardon the past.
When they know that its murmurs shall vibrate no more.
xVnd soon shall its wild erring notes be forgot.
Since early atfection and love is o'ercast :
Oh ! blest had my fate been, and happy my lot,
Had the first strain of love been the dearest, the last.
Parewell, my young Muse ! since we now can ne'er meet;
If our songs have been languid, they surely are few :
Let us hope that the present at least will be sweet —
The present — which seals our eternal Adieu.
1807. [First published 1832.]
f
TO AN OAK AT NEWSTEAD.*
Young Oak ! when I planted thee deep in the ground,
I hoped that thy days would be longer than mine ;
That thy dark-waving branches would flourish around,
And ivy thy trujik with its mantle entwine.
Such, such was my hope, when in infancy's years,
On the land of my fathers I rear'd thee with pride ;
They are past, and I water thy stem with my tears, —
Thy decay, not the weeds that surround thee can hide.
I left thee, my Oak, and, since that fatal hour,
A stranger has dwelt in the hall of my sire ;
Till manhood shall crown mte, not mine is the power,
But his, whose neglect may have bade thee expire.
* [Lord Byron, on his first an'ival at Newstead, in 1798, planted an oak in the
garden, and chcrisbed the fancy, that as the tree flourished so should he. On revisiting
the abbty, lie found tlie oak choked up by weeds and almost destroyed ; — hence these
lines, hliortly after Colonel Wildniau took possession, he said to a servant, "Here
ii; a fine yonng oak ; I'ut it must be cut dow; , as it grows in an improper ))lace."' —
"1 hojieuot, sir," replied the man, "forit'sthe one that my lord was so fond of^, because
ho ;:ct it himself.' It is already inquired after by strangers, as "the Byron uak,"
\Va\ piii!iii.-ts to .sliare the celebrity of Shakspeare's luulhcrry, and Pope's willow.]
1807.] OCCASIONAL PIECES, 281
Oil ! hardy thou wert — even now Httle care
Might revive thy young head, and thy wounds gently heal :
But thou wert not i'ated all'ection to share —
Yov who could suppose that a Stranger would feel ?
Ah, droop not, my Oak ! lift thy head for a while ;
Ere twice round yon Glory this planet shall run.
The haud of thy Master will teach thee to smile.
When Infancy's years of probation are done.
Oil, live then, my Oak ! tow^r aloft from the weeds.
That clog thy young growth, and assist thy decay,
For still in thy bosom are life's early seeds.
And still may thy branches their beauty display.
Oh ! yet, if maturity's years may be thine.
Though / shall lie low in the cavern of death.
On thy leaves yet the day-beam of ages may shine.
Uninjured by time, or the rude winter's breath.
Por centuries still may thy boughs lightly wave
C'er the corse of thy lord in thy canopy laid ;
"\Yhile the bran.ches thus gratefully shelter his grave.
The chief who survives may rechne in thy shade.
And as he, with his boys, shall revisit this spot.
He will tell them in whispers more softly to tread.
Oh ! surely, by these I shall ne'er be forgot ;
Remembrance still hallows the dust of the dead.
And here, will they say, when in life's glowing prime.
Perhaps he has jjour'd forth his young simi)le lay.
And here mu;t he sleep, till the moments of time
Are lost in the hours of Eternity's day.
1807. [First published 1832.]
282 OCCASIONAL PIECES. [1807.
ON REVISITING HARROW.*
Here once engaged the stranger's view
Young Eriendsliip's record simply traced ;
I'ew were her words, — but yet, though few,
Kesentment's hand the line defaced.
Deeply she cut — but not erased.
The characters were still so plain.
That Friendship once return' d, and gazed, —
Till Memory hail'd tlie words again.
Repentance placed them as before ;
Forgiveness joined her gentle name ;
So fair the inscription seem'd once more,
That Friendship thought it still the same.
Thus might the Record now have been ;
But, ah, in spite of Hope's endeavour,
Or Friendship's tears, Pride rush'd between.
And blotted out the line for ever.
September, 1807.
EPITAPH ON JOHN ADAMS, OF SOUTHWELL,
A CAERIER, WHO DIED OF DRUNKENKESS.
John Adams lies here, of the parish of Southwell,
A Carrier wlio carried \}\s can to his mouth well :
He carried so much, and he carried so fast.
He could carr?/ no more — so was carried at last ;
For, the liquor he drank, being too mucli for one.
He could not carr^ off, — so he's now carri-on.
September, 1807.
" Some years ago, when at Harrow, a friend of the author engraved on a particular
spot the names of buth, with a few additional words, as a memorial. Atterwards, on
receiving some real or imagined injury, the author destroyed tlie frail rccoHl before he
left Harrow. On revisiting the place in 1807, be wrote under it these stanzas.
1307.] OCCASIONAL PIECES.
TO MY SON. 7
283
Those flaxen locks, those eyes of blue.
Bright as thy mother's in their hue ;
Those rosy lips, whose dimples play
And smile to steal the heart away,
Jiecall a scene of former joy,
Aud touch thy father's heart, my Boy !
And thou canst lisp a father's name —
Ah, William, were thine own the same, —
No self-reproach — but, let me cease —
My care for thee shall purchase peace ;
Thy mother's sliade shall smile in joy.
And pardon all the past, my Boy !
Her lowly grave the turf has prest,
And thou hast known a stranger's breast ;
Derision sneers upon thy birth.
And yields thee scarce a name on earth ;
Yet shall not these one hope destroy, —
A Father's heart is thine, my Boy !
Why, let the world unfeeling frown.
Must I fond Nature's claims disown ?
Ah, no — though moralists reprove,
I hail thee, dearest child of love,
Eair cherub, pledge of youth and joy —
A Father guards thy birth, my Boy !
Oh, 'twill be sweet in thee to trace.
Ere age has wrinkled o'er my face,
^ [So much were Lord Byron's poems founded on fact, tliat Jlr. Moore thought on
the one hand that these verses would not have been written if the case was fictitious,
aud on the other, that there would have been a further allusion to it if the ciicumstance
had been true. He had forgotten that Lord Byron refers in Don Juan (canto xvi.,
St. 61) to " a sad mishaii" of the kind, and in a manner which leaves no doubt of its
reality. J
284 OCCASIONAL PIECES. [1808.
Ere half mv a-lass of life is run.
At once a brother and a son ;
And all my wane of years employ
In justice done to thee, my Boy !
Although so young thy heedless sire.
Youth will not damp parental fire ;
And, wert thou still less dear to me,
While Helenas form revives in thee,
The breast, which beat to former joy,
Will ne'er desert its pledge, my Boy !
1807. [First published 1830.]
FAKEWELL! IF EVER FONDEST PRAYER.
Farewell ! if ever fondest prayer
For other's weal avail'd on high.
Mine will not all be lost in air.
But waft thy name beyond the sky.
'Twere vain to speak, to weep, to sigh ;
Oh ! more than tears of blood can tell,
When wrung from guilt's expiring eye.
Are in that word — Farewell ! — Farewell !
These lips are mute, these eyes are dry ;
But in my breast and in my brain.
Awake the pangs that pass not b}'.
The thought that ne'er shall sleep again.
My soul nor deigns nor dares complain,
Though grief and passion there rebel ;
I only know we loved in vain —
I only feel — Farewell ! — Farewell !
1808.
1808.] OCCASIONAL PIECES. 285
BEIGHT BE THE PLACE OF THY SOUL.
Bright be the place of thy soul !
No lovelier spirit than thine
E'er burst from its mortal control
In the orbs of the blessed to shine.
On earth thou wert all but divine.
As thy soul shall immortally be ;
And our sorrow may cease to repine.
When we know that thy God is with thee.
Light be the turf of thy toml) !
May its verdure like emeralds be :
There should not be the shadow of gloom
In aught that reminds us of thee.
Young flowers and an evergreen tree
May spring from the spot of thy rest :
But nor cypress nor yew let us see ;
For why shoidd we mourn for the blest !
1808.
WHEN WE TWO PAUTED.
When we two parted
In silence and tears.
Half broken-hearted
To sever for years,
Pale grew thy cheek and cold.
Colder thy kiss ;
Truly that hour foretold
Sorrow to this.
The dew of the morning
Sunk chill on my brow —
It felt like the M-arning
Of what I feel now.
236 OCCASIONAL PIECES. [1808.
Thy vows are all broken,
And lio-ht is thv fame :
I hear thy name spoken,
And share in its shame.
They name thee before me,
A knell to mine ear ;
A shudder comes o'er me —
Why wert thou so dear ?
'J'hey know not I knew thee,
Who knew thee too well ; —
Long, long shall I rue thee.
Too deeply to tell.
In secret we met —
In silence I grieve.
That thy heart could forget.
Thy spirit deceive.
If I should meet thee
After long years,
How should I greet thee ? —
With silence and tears.
1808.
TO A YOUTHFUL FEIEND.s
'Few years have pass'd since thou and I
Were firmest friends, at least in name.
And childhood's gay sincerity
Preserved our feelings long the same.
But now, like me, too well thou know'vst
What trilles oft the heart recall ;
And those who once have loved the most
Too soon forget they loved at all.
' [This copy of verses, and several of the poems which follow it, originally appeared
in a volume published in 1809 by Mr. Hobhouse, under the title of "Imitations and
Translations, together with Original Poems," and bearing tlie modest epigraph — " Nos
hcec novimus esse wiA«7."]
1808.] OCCASIONAL PIECES.
And such the change the heart displays.
So frail is early friendship's reign,
A month's brief lapse, perhaps a day's,
Will view thy mind estranged again.
If so, it never shall be mine
To mourn the loss of such a heart ;
The fault was Nature's fault, not thine,
Which made thee fickle as thou art.
As rolls the ocean's changing tide.
So human feelings ebb and flow ;
And who would in a breast confide
Where stormy passions ever glow ?
It boots not that, together bred.
Our childish days were days of joy :
My spring of life has quickly fled ;
Thou, too, hast ceased to be a boy.
And when we bid adieu to youth.
Slaves to the specious world's control,
We sigh a long farewell to trutli ;
That Avorld corrupts the noblest soul.
Ah, joyous season ! when the mind
Dares all things boldly but to lie ;
When thought ere spoke is unconfined.
And sparkles in the placid eye.
Not so in ]\Ian's maturer years.
When ]\Ian himself is but a tool ;
When interest sways our hopes and fears.
And all must love and hate by rule.
With fools in kindred vice the same.
We learn at length our faults to blend;
And those, and those alone, may claim
The prostituted name of friend.
287
288 OCCASIONAL PIECES. [IgOS,
Such is the common lot of man :
Can we then ^scape from folly free ?
Can we reverse the general plan,
Nor be what all in turn must be ?
No ; for myself, so dark my fate
Through every turn of life hath been ;
Man and the world so much I hate,
I care not when I quit the scene.
But thou, with spirit frail and light.
Wilt shine awhile, and pass away ;
As glow-worms sparkle through the nighty
But dare not stand the test of day.
Alas ! whenever folly calls
Where parasites and princes meet,
(For cherish'd first in royal halls.
The welcome vices kindly greet,)
Ev'n now thou'rt nightly seen to add
One insect to the fluttering crowd ;
And still thy trifling heart is glad
To join the vain and court the proud.
There dost thou glide from fair to fair.
Still simpering on with eager haste,
As flies along the gay parterre,
That taint the flowers they scarcely taste.
But say, what nymph will prize the flame
Which seems, as marshy vapours move.
To flit along from dame to dame.
An ignis-fatuus gleam of love ?
What friend for thee, howe'er inclined,
Will deign to own a kindred care ?
Who will debase his manly mind.
For friendship every fool may share ?
1803.] OCCASIONAL PIECES.
289
111 time forbear : amidst the throiiij
No more so base a thing be seen ;
No more so idly pass along ;
Be something, any thing, but — mean.
■ 1808.
LINES INSCRIBED UPON A CUP FORMED FROM
A SKULL."
Start not — nor deem my spirit fled :
In me behold the only skull,
From which, unlike a living head,
Whatever flows is never dull.
I lived, I loved, 1 quafl''d, like thee :
I died : let earth my bones resign ;
Pill up — tliou canst not injure me ;
The wonn hath fouler lips than thine.
Better to hold the sparkling grape.
Than nurse the earth- worm^s slimy brood ;
And circle in the goblet's shape
The drink of Gods, than reptile's food.
Where once my wit, perchance, hath shone,
In aid of others' let me shine ;
And when, alas ! our brains are gone.
What nobler substitute than wine ?
Quaff while thou canst : another race.
When thou and thine, like me, are sjied.
May rescue thee from earth's embrace,
And rhyme and revel with the dead.
9
[Lord Byron gives the following account of this cup : — " The gardener in digging
discovered a skull that had probably belonged to some jolly friar or monk of the alibej',
about the time it was demonasteried. Observing it to be of giant size, and in a perfect
state of preservation, a strange fancy seized me of having it set and mounted as a
drinking cup. I accordingly sent it to town, and it returned with a very high polish,
and of a mottled colour like tortoiseshell." It is now in the possession of Coloue!
Wildman, the proprietor of Newstead Abbey.]
VOL. II. u
290 OCCASIONAL PIECES. (ISOS.
AVliy not ? since through life's little day
Our heads such sad effects produce ;
Ecdeem'd from worms and wasting clay,
This cliance is theirs, to be of use.
Newstead Abbey, 1808.
WELL! THOU ART HAPPY.^
Well ! thou art happy, and I feel
That I should thus be happy too ;
Tor still my heart regards thy weal
Warmly, as it was wont to do.
Thy husband's blest — and 'twill impart
Some pangs to view his happier lot :
But let them pass — Oh ! how my heart
Would hate him if he loved thee not !
When late I saw thy favourite child,
I thought my jealous heart would break;
But when the unconscious infant smiled,
I kiss'd it for its mother's sake.
I kiss'd it, — and repress'd my sighs
Its father in its face to see ;
But then it had its mother's eyes.
And they were all to love and me.
Mary, adieu ! I must away :
While thou art blest I'll not repine ;
But near thee I can never stay ;
My heart would soon again be thine.
I deem'd that time, I deem'd that pride,
Had queuch'd at length my boyish flame ;
Nor knew, till seated by thy side.
My heart in all, — save hope, — the same.
^ [A few flays before this poem was written, the poet dined at Annosley. On the
infant daughter of his hostess being brought into the room, it was with the utmost
difficulty tliat he suppressed the emotion to which we owe these beautiful stanzas.]
130S.] OCCASIONAL PIECES.
Yet -nas I calm : I knew the time
My breast would thrill before thy look;
But now to tremble were a crime —
We met, — and not a nerve was shook.
I saw thee gaze npon my face.
Yet meet with no confusion there :
One only feeling couldst thou trace ;
The sullen calmness of desjDair.
Away ! away ! my early dream
Eemembrance never must awake :
Oh ! where is Lethe's fabled stream ?
My foolish heart be still, or break.
291
November, 2, 1808. '
INSCRIPTION ON THE MONUMENT OF A NEW-
FOUNDLAND D0G.3
When some proud son of man returns to earth.
Unknown to glory, but upheld by birth.
The sculptor's art exhausts the pomp of woe.
And storied urns record who rest below :
2 [Lord Byron wrote to his motlier on this same 2nd November, announcing his
intention of sailing for India in March, 1809.]
3 [This monument is a conspicuous ornament in the garden of Newstead, A prose
inscription precedes the verses : —
" Near this spot
Are deposited the Eem.iins of one
Who possessed Beauty without Vanity,
Strength without Insolence,
Courage without Ferocity,
And all the Virtues of Man without his Vices.
This Praise, which would be unmeaning Flattery
If inscribed over human ashes.
Is but a just tribute to the Memory of
BOATSWAIN, a Dog,
Who was born at Newfoundland, Jlay, 1803,
And died at Newstead Abbey, Nov. IS, 1808."
Lord Byron thus announced the death of his mvourite to Mr. Hodgson : — "Boatswain
is dead ! — he expired in a state of madness on the 18th after suffering much, yet
retaining all the gentleness of his nature to the last ; never attempting to do the lea-st
injury to any one near him. I have now lost everything except old Jlurray." In the
•will which Lord Byron executed in 1811, he desired to be buried in a vault near Iiis
dog, and Joe Murray was to have the honoui- of making one of the party. When tlje
02
292 OCCASIONAL PIECES. 11808.
■When all is clone, upon the tomb is seen,
Not what he was, but what he should have been :
But the poor dog, in life the firmest friend.
The first to welcome, foremost to defend,
Whose honest heart is still his master's own,
Who labours, fights, lives, breathes for him alone,
Unhonour'd falls, unnoticed all his worth.
Denied in heaven the soul he held on earth :
While man, vain insect ! hopes to be forgiven,
And claims himself a sole exclusive heaven.
Oh man ! thou feeble tenant of an hour,
Debased by slavery, or corrupt by power.
Who knows thee well must quit thee with disgust,
DeOTaded mass of animated dust !
Thy love is lust, thy friendship all a cheat,
Thy smiles hypocrisy, thy words deceit !
By nature vile, ennobled but by name.
Each kindred brute might bid thee blush for shame.
Ye ! who perchance behold this simple urn.
Pass on — it honours none you wish to mourn :
To mark a friend's remains these stones arise ;
I never knew but one, — and here he lies.*
Newstead Abbey, November 30, 1308.
TO A LADY,
ON BEING ASKED MT REASON FOR QUITTING ENGLAND IN THE SPRING.
When Man, expeU'd from Eden's bowers,
A moment linger'd near the gate.
Each scene recalled the vanish'd hours,
And bade him curse his future fate.
poet was on his travels, a gentleman, to wliom Murray showed the tomb, said, "Well,
old boy, you will take your place here some twenty years hence." " I don't know that,
sir," replied Joe, "if I was sure his lordship would come here I should like it well
enough, but I should not like to lie alone with the dog."]
•* [In Mr. Hobhouse's Miscellany the last line runs thus : —
" I knew but one unchanged — and here he lies."
The morbid tone which pervades these very powerful lines was due in part to the scuse
of desolation produced by his recent visit to Annesley.J
180S.] OCCASIONAL PIECEH 293
But, wandering on through distant climes,
He learnt to bear his load of grief;
Just gave a sigh to other times.
And found in busier scenes relief.
Tims, lady ! ' will it be with me.
And I must view thy charms no more ; .
Por, while I linger near to thee,
I sigh for all I knew before.
In flight I shall be surely wise,
Escaping from temjotation's snare ;
I cannot view my paradise
Without the wish of dwelling there.*
December, 2, 1808.
• EEMIND ME NOT, EEMIND ME NOT.
Eemind me not, remind me not.
Of those beloved, those vanish'd hours.
When all my soul was given to thee ;
Hours that may never be forgot.
Till time unnerves our vital powers.
And thou and I shall cease to be.
Can I forget — canst thou forget.
When playing with thy golden hair.
How quick thy fluttering heart did move ?
Oh ! by my soul, I see thee yet.
With eyes so languid, breast so fair.
And lips, though silent, breathing love.
« [In the first copy, " Thus, Mary ! "—(Mrs. Musters.)]
* [In Mr. Hobhouse's volume the line stood, —
" Without a wish to enter there. "
A little before his engagement to Miss Milbanke, Lord Byron had an opportunity, with
h( r own consent, of paying a visit to his early love. His sister, who knew that this last
stanza was as true as ever, prevailed upon him to resign the jjleasure. " For," said
she, "if you go you will fall in love again, and then there will be a scene ; one step
will lead to another, et eel a f era im eclat. "^
294 OCCASIONAL PIECES. [1S08.
When thus reclining on iny breast^
Tliose eyes threw back a ghnice so sweet,
As half reproach'd yet raised desire.
And still we near and nearer prest,
And still our glowing lips would meet.
As if in kisses to expire.
And then those pensive eyes would close.
And bid their lids each other seek,
Veiling the azure orbs below ;
While their long lashes' darkened gloss
Seemed stealing o'er thy brilliant cheek,
Like raven's plumage smooth'd on snow.
I dreamt last night our love return' d.
And, sooth to say, that very dream
Was sweeter in its phantasy.
Than if for other hearts I burn'd,
For eyes that ne'er like thine could beam
In rapture's wild reality.
Then tell me not, remind me not,
Of hours which, though for ever gone.
Can still a pleasing dream restore,
Till thou and I shall be forgot.
And senseless, as the mouldering stone
Which tells that we shall be no more.
THEKE WAS A TIME, I NEED NOT NAME.
There was a time, I need not name,
Since it will ne'er forgotten be.
When all our feelings were the same
As still my soul hath been to thee.
And from that liour when first thy tongue
Confess'd a love which equall'd mine.
Though many a grief my heart hath wrung.
Unknown, and thus unfelt, by thine,
1808.] OCCASIONAL PIECES. 295
None, none hath sunk so deep as this —
To think how all that love hath flown ;
Transient as every faithless kiss.
But transient in thy breast alone.
And yet my heart some solace knew.
When late I heard thy lips declare.
In accents once imagined true,
Remembrance of the days that were.
Yes ! my adored, yet most unkind !
Though thou wilt never love again.
To me 'tis doubly sweet to find
Remembrance of that love remain.
Yes ! tis a glorious thought to me,
Nor longer shall my soul repine,
AVhate'er thou art or e'er shalt be.
Thou hast been dearly, solely mine.
AND WILT THOU WEEP WHEN I AM LOW?
And wilt thou weep when I am low ?
Sweet lady ! speak those words again :
Yet if they grieve thee, say not so —
I would not give that bosom pain.
My heart is sad, my hopes are gone.
My blood runs coldly through my breast;
And when I perish, thou alone
Wilt sigh above my place of rest.
And yet, methinks, a gleam of peace
Doth through my cloud of anguish shine :
And for a while my sorrows cease.
To know thy heart liatli felt for mine.
296 OCCASIONAL PIECES. [1808.
Oil lady ! blessed be that tear —
It falls for one who cannot weep ;
Such ])recious drops are doubly dear
To those whose eyes no tear may steep.
Sweet lady ! once my heart was warm
With every feeling soft as thine ;
But beauty's self hath ceased to charm
A wretch created to repine.
Yet wilt thou weep \\'hen I am low ?
Sweet lady ! speak those words again :
Yet if they grieve thee, say not so —
I would not give that bosom pain.'
' [The melanclioly wliich was now gaming fast upon tlie youiig Poet's roiiid was a
source of mucli uneasiness to his fiiends. It was at this period that the folluwing
verses were addressed to him by Mr. HoLhouse : —
EPISTLE TO A YOUNG NOBLEMAN IN LOVE.
Hail ! generous youth, whom glory's sacred flame
Inspires, and auimates to deeds of fame ;
Who feel the noble wish before you die
To raise the finger of each passer-by :
Hail ! may a future age admiring view
A Falkland or a Clarendon in you.
But as your blood with dangerous passion boUa,
Beware ! and fly from Venus' silken toils :
Ah ! let the head protect the weaker heart,
And Wisdom's ^gis turn on Beauty's dart.
* * * *
But if 'tis fix'd that every lord must pair,
And you and Newstead must not want an heir,
Lose not your pains, and scoxir the country round,
To find a treasure that can ne'er be found !
No ! take the first the town or court afibrds,
Trick'd out to stock a marliet for the lords ;
By chance perhaps your luckier choice may fall
On one, though wicked, not the worst of all :
* • * «
One though perhaps as any Maxwell free,
Yet scarce a cojiy, Claribel, of thee ;
Not very ugly, and not very old,
A little pert indeed, but not a scold ;
One that, in short, may help to lead a life
Not fartlier much from comfort than from strife ;
And when she dies, and disappoints your fears,
Shall leave some joys fa- your declining years.
1S08.] OCCASIONAL PIECES. 297
EILL THE GOBLET AGAIN.
A SONG.
Fill the goblet again ! for I never before
Pelt the glow which now gladdens my heart to its core ;
Let ns drink! — who would not? — since, tlu'ough life's varied
ronnd.
In the goblet alone no deception is found.
But, as your early youtli some time allows,
Nor custom yet demands you foi' a spouse,
Some hours of freedom may remain as yet,
For one who laughs alike at love and debt :
• Then, why in haste ? put off the evil day.
And snatch at youthful comforts while you may !
Pause ! nor so soon the various bliss forego
That single souls, and such alone, can know :
Ah ! why too early careless life resign.
Your morning slumber, and your evening wine ;
Your loved companion, and his easy talk ;
Your Muse, invoked in every peaceful walk ?
What ! can no more your scenes paternal please,
Scenes sacred long to wise, unmated ease ?
The prospect lengthen'd o'er the distant down,
Lakes, meadows, rising woods, and all yuur own ?
What ! shall your Newstead, shall your cloistei-'d bowers,
The high o'erhanging arch and trembling towers !
Shall these, profaned with folly or with strife,
And ever fond, or ever angry wife !
Shall these no more confess a manly sway,
But changeful woman's changing whims obey ?
Who may, perhaps, as varying humour calls,
Contract your cloisters and o'erthrow your walls ;
Let Repton loose o'er all the ancient ground.
Change round to square, and square convert to round ;
Root up the elms' and yews' too solemn gloom.
And fill with shi-ubberies gay and green their room j
Roll down the terrace to a gay parterre.
Where gravel walks and flowers alternate glare ;
And quite transform, in every point complete.
Your gothic abbey to a coimtry seat.
Forget the fair one, and your fate delay ;
If not avert, at least defer the day.
When you beneath the female yoke shall bend,
And lose your wit, your temper, and your friend*
Trin. Coll. Camb., 1808.]
* [In his mother's copy of Mr. Hobhouse's volume, Lord Byron has written with a
pencil, — '^ I have lost thcia all, and shall v;v,d accord in (jlij. 1811. B."]
298 OCCASIONAL PIECES, ri,<:n8.
I have tried in its turn all that life can supply ;
I have bask'd in the beam of a dark rolling eye ;
I have loved ! — who has not ? — but what heart can declare
That pleasure existed while passion was there ?
In the days of my youth, when the heart's in its spring,
And dreams that affection can never take wing,
I had friends ! — who has not ? — but what tongue will avow.
That friends, rosv wine ! are so faithful as thou ?
The heart of a mistress some boy may estrange,
Triendship shifts with the sunbeam — thou never canst change ;
Thou grow'st old — who does not ? — but on earth what appears.
Whose virtues, like thine, still increase with its years ?
Yet if blest to the utmost that love can bestow.
Should a rival bow down to our idol below,
We are jealous ! — who's not? — thou hast no such alloy;
Tor the more that enjoy thee, the more we enjoy.
Then the season of youth and its vanities past,
Por refuge we fly to the goblet at last ;
There we find — do we not ? — in the flow of the soul.
That truth, as of yore, is confined to the bowl.
AVhen the box of Pandora was open'd on earth.
And Misery's triumph commenced over Mirth,
Hope was left, — was she not?— but the goblet we kiss.
And care not for Hope, who are certain of bliss.
Long life to the grape ! for when sunnner is flown,
The age of our nectar shall gladden our own :
We must die — who shall not ? — ]\lay our sins be forgiven.
And Hebe shall never be idle in Heaven.
1809.] OCCASIONAL PIECES. 299
STANZAS TO A LADY, ON" LEAVING ENGLAND.^
'Tis done — and shivering in the gale
The bark unfurls her snowy sail ;
And whistling o^er the bending mast^
Loud sings on high the fresh^nhig blast ;
And I must from this land be gone,
Because I cannot love but one.
But could I be what I have been,
And could I see what I have seen —
Could. I repose upon the breast
Which once my warmest wishes blest — ■
I should not seek another zone
Because I cannot love but one.
'Tis long since I beheld that eye
Which gave me bliss or misery ;
And I have striven, but in vain.
Never to think of it again :
Tor though I fly from Albion,
I still can only love but one.
As some lone bird, without a mate.
My weary heart is desolate ;
I look around, and cannot trace
One friendly smile or welcome face,
And ev'n in crowds am still alone.
Because I cannot love but one.
And I will cross the whitening foam.
And I will seek a foreign home ;
Till I forget a false fair face,
I ne'er shall find a resting-place ;
My own dark thoughts I cannot shun.
But ever love, and love but one.
s [111 the original MS., " To Mrs. Musters." j
800 0(.'CASIONAL PIECKS. [1809.
The poorest, veriest wretch on earth
Still finds some hospitable hearth,
"Where friendship's or love's softer glow-
May smile in joy or soothe in woe ;
But friend or leman I have none,
Because I cannot love but one.
I go — but whereso'er I flee
There's not an eye will weep for me ;
There's not a kind congenial heart.
Where I can claim the meanest part;
Nor thou, who hast my hopes undone.
Wilt sigh, although I love but one.
To think of every early scene,
Of what we are, and what we've been.
Would whelm some softer hearts with woe-
But mine, alas ! has stood the blow ;
Yet still beats on as it begun.
And never truly loves but one.
And who that dear loved one may be.
Is not for vulgar eyes to see ;
And why that early love was cross' d.
Thou know'st the best, I feel the most ;
But few that dwell beneath the sun
Have loved so long, and loved but one.
I've tried another's fetters too,
With charms perchance as fair to view j
And I would fain have loved as well,
But some unconquerable spell
Forbade my bleeding breast to own
A kindred care for aught but one.
'Twould soothe to take one lingering view.
And bless thee in my last adieu ;
1S09.] OCCASIONAL PIECES. 301
Yet \vi,sli I not those eyes to weep
For him that wauders o'er the deep ;
His home, his hope, his youth are gone,
Yet still he loves, and loves but one.'
1809.
a>
LINES TO ME. HODGSON.
WRITTEN ON BOARD THE LISBON PACKET,
Huzza ! Hodgson, we are going,
Our embargo's off at last ;
Favourable breezes blowing
Bend the canvass o'er the mast.
From aloft the signal's streamijig,
Hark ! the farewell gun is fired ;
Women screeching, tars blaspheming.
Tell us that our time's expired
Here's a rascal
Come to task all.
Prying from the custom-house ;
Trunks unpacking.
Cases cracking,
Not a corner for a mouse
'Scapes unsearch'd amid the racket.
Ere we sail on board the Packet.
Now our boatmen quit their moorijig,
i And all hands must ply the oar ;
■ Baggage from the quay is loAvering,
! We're impatient, push from shore.
" Have a care ! that case holds liquor —
Stop the boat — I'm sick — oh Lord !
;■ " Sick, ma'am, damme, you'll be sicker
i; ., Ere you've been an hour on board.''
i
-' ^ [Thus corrected by himself, in his mother's copy of Mr. Hobhouse's Miscellany ;
I the two last lines being originally —
ji " Though wheresoe'er my bark may inin,
!; I love but thee, I love but one."]
»
302
OCCASIONAL PIECES.
Thus are screaming
]Men and women,
Gemmen, ladies, servants, Jacks ;
Here entangling,
All are wrangling,
Stuck together close as wax. —
Such the general noise and racket.
Ere we reach the Lisbon Packet.
Now we've reacliM her, lo ! the captain.
Gallant Kidd, commands the crew ;
Passengers their berths are clapt in.
Some to grumble, some to spew.
" Heyday ! call you that a cabin ?
Why 'tis hardly three feet square ;
Not enough to stow Queen Mab in—
Who the deuce can harbour there ? "
"Who, sir? plenty-
Nobles twenty
Did at once my vessel fill." —
" Did they ? Jesus,
How you squeeze us !
AYould to God they did so still :
Tb.en I'd scape the heat and racket
Of the good ship, Lisbon Packet."
Fletcher ! Murray ! Bob ! ' where are you ?
Stretched along the deck like logs —
Bear a hand, you jolly tar, you !
Here's a rope's end for the dogs.
Hobhouse muttering fearful curses.
As the hatchway down he rolls.
Now his breakfast, now his verses.
Vomits forth — and damns our souls.
" Here's a stanza
On Braganza —
Help ! "—"A couplet ?"—" No, a cup
Of warm water — "
" What's the matter ? "
"Zounds ! my liver's comiug up;
' [Lord Byron's three servants.]
1S09.] OCCASIONAL PIECES.
I shall not survive tjie racket
Of this brutal Lisbon Packet."
Now at lengtb we're off for Turkey,
Lord knows when we sliall come back !
Breezes foul and tempests murkj
j\lay uuship us in a crack.
But, since life at most a jest is.
As pliilosopliers allow.
Still to laugli by far the best is,
Then laugh on — as I do now.
Laugli at all things.
Great and small things.
Sick or well, at sea or shore ;
WJiile we're quaffing,
Let's have laui^hini? —
Who the devil cares for more? — •
Some good wine ! and who would lack it,
Ev'n on board the Lisbon Packet ? -
Falmouth Roads, Juue 30, 1809.
803
TO FL0EENCE.3
On Lady ! when I left the shore.
The distant shore whicli gave me birth,
I hardly thought to grieve once more.
To quit another spot on earth :
2 [In the letter in which these lively verses were enclosed, Lord Byron says : — "I
leave England without regret— I shall retui-n to it without pleasure. I am like Adam,
the first cunvict sentenced to transportation ; but I have no Eve, and have eaten no
apple Lut what was as sour as a crab ; and thus ends my first chapter."]
^ [These lines were written at Malta. The lady to whom they were addressed, and
whom he afterwards aiiostrophises in the stanzas on the thundersturm of Zitza, and in
Childe Harold, is thus described in a letter to his mother : — "This letter is committed
to the charge of a very extraordinary lady, whom you have doubtless heard of, Mrs.
Spencer Smith, of whose escape the Marquis de Salvo published a narrative a few years
ago. She has since been shipwrecked ; and her life has been from its commencement
so fertile in remarkable incidents, that in a romance they would appear improbable.
She has born at Constantinople, where her father, Baron Herbert, was Austrian
Ambassador ; married unhappily, yet has never been impeached in point of character ;
excited the vengeance of Bonaparte, by taking a part in some conspiracy ; several
times risked her life ; and is not yet five and twenty. She is here on her way to
304 OCCASIONAL riEGES. [IS 09.
Yet here, amidst this barren isle,
^Vhere panting Nature droops the head,
AYhere only thou art seen to smile,
I view my parting hour with dread.
Though far from Albion's craggy shore.
Divided by the dark-blue main;
A few, brief, rolling seasons o'er.
Perchance I view her cliffs again :
But wheresoe'er I now may roam,
Through scorching clime, and varied sea,
Though Time restore me to my home,
I ne'er shall bend mine eyes on thee :
On thee, in whom at once conspire
All charms which heedless hearts can move,
Wliom but to see is to admire.
And, oh I forgive the word — to love.
Forgive the word, in one who ne'er
With such a word can more offend ;
And since thy heart I cannot slmre,
Believe me, what I am, thy friend.
And who so cold as look on thee.
Thou lovely wand'rer, and be less ?
Nor be, what man should ever be.
The friend of Beauty in distress ?
Ah ! who would think that form had past
Through Danger's most destructive path.
Had braved the death-wing'd tempest's blast.
And 'scaped a tyrant's fiercer wrath ?
England to join her husband, being obliged to leave Trieste, where she was paying a
visit to her mother, by the approach of the French, and embarks soon in a ship of war.
Since my arrival here I liave l\ad scarcely any other companion I have found her
very pretty, very accomplished, and extremely eccentric. Bonaparte is evea now so
incensed against her, that her life would be in danger if she were taken prisoner a
second time.'']
IS09.] OCCASIONAL PIECES. g05
Lady ! when I shall view the walls
Where free Byzantium once arose.
And Stamboul's Oriental halls
The Turkish tyrants now enclose ;
Though mightiest in the lists of fame.
That glorious city still shall be ;
On me 'twill hold a dearer claim,
As spot of thy nativity :
And though I bid thee now farewell,
When I behold that wondrous scene.
Since where thou art I mav not dwell,
'Twill soothe to be where thou hast been.
September, 1809.
LINES WRITTEN IN AN ALBUM, AT xMALTA.
As o'er the cold sepulchral stone
X, Some name arrests the passer-by ;
Thus, when thou view'st this page alone.
May mine attract thy pensive eye !
And when by thee that name is read.
Perchance in some succeeding year,
y^ Eeflect on me as on the dead.
And think my heart is buried here.
September 14. 1809.
STANZAS COMPOSED DURING A THUNDEI^STOKM."
^
Chill and mirk is the nightly blast,
Where Pindus' mountains rise.
And angry clouds are pouring fast
The vengeance of the skies.
'' [This thunderstorm occurred during the night of the 11th October, 1809, when
Lord Byron's guides had lost the road to Zitza, near the range of mountains foruierlj
VOL. II. X
30G OCCASIONAL PIECES. [1809.
Our guides are gone, our hope is lost,
And lightnings, ks they play,
^ But show where rocks our path have crost.
Or gild the torrent's spray.
Is yon a cot I saw, though low ?
Wlien lightning broke the gloom —
How welcome were its shade ! — ah, no !
'Tis but a Tui'kish tomb.
Through sounds of foaming waterfalls,
I hear a voice exclaim —
My way-worn countryman, who calls
On distant England's name.
A shot is fired — by foe or friend?
Another — 'tis to tell
The mountain-peasants to descend,
And lead us where they dwell.
Oh ! who in such a night will dare
To tempt the wilderness ?
And who 'mid thunder-peals can hear
Our signal of distress ?
And who that heard our shouts would rise
To try the dubious road ?
Nor rather deem from nightly cries
That outlaws were abroad.
called Pindus, in Albania. Mr. Hobhouse, who had rode on befoi'e tbe rest of the
party, and arrived at Zitza just as the evening set in, describes the thunder as
"rolling -without intermission, the echoes of one peal not ceasing to roll in the
mountains, before another tremendous crash burst over our heads, whilst the plains
and the distant hills appeared in a perpetual blaze." " The tempest," he says, "was
altogether terrific, and woi-thy of the Grecian Jove. My Friend, with the priest and
the servants, did not enter our hut till three in the morning. I now learnt from him
that they had lost their way, and that after wandering up and down in total ignorance
of their position, they had. stopped at last near some Turkish toml)stones and a toircnt,
which they saw by the flashes of lightniug. They had been thus exposed for nine
liours. It was long before we ceased to talk of the thunderstorm in the plain of
Zitza."]
1809.] OCCASIONAL PIECES. 307
Clouds burst, skies flash, oh, dreadfal hour ! ,
More fiercely pours the storm !
^ Yet here one thought has still the power
To keep my bosom warm.
While wandering through each broken path,
O'er brake and craggy brow ;
While elements exhaust their wrath.
Sweet Florence, where art thou ?
Not on the sea, not on the sea,
Thy bark hath long been gone :
Oh, may the storm that pours on me.
Bow down my head alone !
Full swiftly blew the swift Siroc,
When last I pressed thy lip ;
And long ere now, with foaming shock,
ImpellM thy gallant ship.
Now thou art safe ; nay, long ere now
Hast trod the shore of Spain ;
'Twere hard if aught so fair as thou
Should linger on the main.
And since I now remember th^e
In darkness and in dread.
As in those hours of revelry
Whicli mirth and music sped;*
Do thou, amid the fair white walls.
If Cadiz yet be free.
At times from out her latticed halls
Look o'er the dark blue sea ;
Then tliink upon Calypso's isles,
Endear'd by days gone by ;
To others give a thousand smiles,
To me a single sigh.
' ["This, and the two follovdng stanzas, have a music in thein, which, imkpendcntlj
of all meaning, is enchanting." — Moore.]
x2
303 OCCASIONAL PIKCES. [1809.
And when tlie admiring circle mark
The pa'eness of thy face,
A half-form'd tear, a transient spark
Of melancholy grace.
Again thoa'lt smile, and blushing shun
Some coxcomb's raillery ;
Nor own for once thou tliought'st on one.
Who ever thinks on thee.
P* Though smile and sigh alike are vain.
When sever'd hearts repine, y
My spirit flies o'er mount and main, T^
And mourns in search of thine.
X
f
STANZAS WRITTEN IN PASSING THE AMBllACIAN GULF.
Through cloudless skies, in silvery sheen.
Full beams the moon on Actium's coast :
And on these waves, for Egypt's queen.
The ancient world was won and lost.
And now upon the scene I look,
The azure grave of many a Roman;
Where stern Ambition once forsook
His wavering crown to follow woman,
Florence ! whom I will love as well
As ever yet was said or sung,
(Since Orpheus sung his spouse from hell)
Whilst (hou art fair and I am young ;
Sweet Florence ! those were pleasant times.
When worlds were staked for ladies' eyes :
Had bards as many realms as rhymes.
Thy charms might raise new Antonics.
1810.J OCCASIONx\L PIECES. 009
Though Fate forbids such things to be.
Yet, by thine eyes and ringlets curl'd !
1 cannot lose a world for thee.
But would not lose thee for a world.
November 14. 1809.
THE SPELL IS BROKE, THE CHARM IS FLOWN !
WRITTEN AT ATHENS, JANUARY 16, 1810.
The spell is broke, the charm is flown !
Thus is it with lifers fitful fever :
We madly smile when we should groan j
Delirium is our best deceiver.
Each lucid interval of thouglit
Recalls the woes of Nature's charter ;
And he that acts as wise men ought,
But lives, as saints have died, a martyr.
WRITTEN AFTER SWIMMING FROM SESTOS TO
ABYDOS.«
If, in the month of dark December,
Leander, who was nightly wont
(What maid will not the tale remember?)
To cross thy stream, broad Hellespont !
* On the 3rd of May, 1810, while tlie Salsette (Captain Bathurst) was lying in the
Dai'danelles, Lieutenant Ekenhead, of that frigate, and the writer of these rhymes,
swam from the European shore to the Asiatic — by the by, from Abydos to Sestos would
have been more correct. The whole distance, from the place whence we started to our
landing on the other side, including the length we were carried by the current, was
computed by those on board the frigate at upwards of four English miles, though the
actual breadth is barely one. The rapidity of the current is such that no boat can
row directly across, and it may, in some measure, be estimated from the circumstance
of the whole distance being accomplished by one of the parties in an hour and five, and
by the other in an hour and ten minutes. The water .was extremely cold, from the
melting of the mountain snows. About three weeks before, in April, we had made
an attempt ; but having ridden all the way from the Troad the same morning, and
the water being of an icy chillness, we found it necessary to postpone the completion
till the frigate anchored laelow the castles, wlieii we swam the straits as just stated,
810 OCCASIONAL PIECES. [1810.
If, when the wintry tempest roar'd,
He sped to Hero, nothing loth.
And thus of old thy current pour'd,
Fair Venus ! how I pity both !
For me, degenerate modern wretch.
Though in the genial month of May,
My dripping limbs I faintly stretch.
And think I've done a feat to-day.
But since he cross'd the rapid tide,
According to the doubtful story.
To woo, — and — Lord knows what beside.
And swam for Love, as I for Glory ;
'Twere hard to say who fared the best :
Sad mortals ! thus the Gods still plague you !
He lost liis labour, I my jest :
For he was drownM, and Tve the ague.'
May 9, 1810.
LINES IN THE TKAVELLEKS' BOOK AT ORCHOMENUS.
IN THIS BOOK A TRAVELLER HAD WRITTEN :
"Faik Albion, smiling, sees her son depart
To trace the birth and nursery of art :
Noble his object, glorious is his aim ;
He comes to Athens, and he writes his name."
entering a considerable way above the Em-opean, and landing below the Asiatic, fort.
Chevalier says that a young Jew swam the same distance for his mistress ; and Oliver
mentions its having been done by a Neapolitan ; but our consul, Tarragona, remembered
neither of these circumstances, and tried to dissuade us from the attempt. A number
of the Salsette's crew were kno^^Ti to have accomplished a greater distance ; and the
only thing that surprised me was that, as doubts had been entertained of the truth of
Leander's story, no traveller had ever endeavoured to ascertain its practicability.
^ ["My companion,"' says Mr. Hobhouse, " had before made a more perilous, but
less celebrated passage ; for I recollect that, when we were in Portugal, he swam from
Old Lisbon to Belcm Castle, and having to contend with a tide and counter-current,
the wind blowing fi-eshly, was but little less than two hours in crossing."]
1
1810.] OCCASIONAL PIECES. 311
BENEATH WHICH LOUD BIRON INSERTED THE FOLLOWING : —
1'hb modest bard, like many a bard unknown,
Ehjmes on our names, but wisely hides his own ;
But yet, whoe'er he be, to say no worse.
His name would bring more credit than his verse.
1810.
MAID OF ATHENS, ERE WE PART.
Zciir] /J-ov, eras ayuTroi.
Maid of Athens,' ere we part,
Give, oh give me back my heart !
Or, since that has left my breast.
Keep it now, and take the rest !
Hear my vow before I go,
Zwrj jjiov, era? ayairo).^
By those tresses unconfined,
Woo'd by each ^gean wind ;
By those lids whose jetty fringe
Kiss thy soft cheeks' blooming tinge ;
By those wild eyes like the roe,
ZwT] fjiov, eras ayaTT&.
By that lip I long to taste ;
By that zone-encircled waist;
^ [The lady supposed to be the' Maid of Athens, was the eldest of three lovely sistera,
who are thus described by Mr. Hugh Williams: — "Theresa, the Maid of Athens,
Catinco, and Mariana, ai'e of middle stature. The two eldest have black, or dark
hair and eyes ; their visage oval, and complexion somewhat pale, with teeth of dazzling
whiteness. Their cheeka are rounded, and noses straight, rather inclined to aquiline.
The youngest, Mariana, is very fair, her face not so finely rounded, but has a gayer
expression than her sisters', whose countenances, except when the conversation has
something of mirth in it, may be said to be rather pensive. Their persons are elegant,
and their manners pleasing and lady-like, such as would be fascinating in any country.
They possess very considerable powers of conversation, and their minds seem to be
more instructed than those of the Greek women in general."]
^ Romaic expression of tenderness : If I translate it, I shall affront the gentlemen,
as it may seem that I supposed they could not ; and if I do not, I may affront the
ladies. For fear of any misconstruction on the part of the latter, I shall do so, begging
pardon of the learned. It means, ' ' My life, I love you ! " wliich sounds very prettily
in all languages, and is as much in fashion iu Greece at this day as, Juvenal tells us,
the two first words were amongst the Roman ladies, whose erotic expressions were all
Hellenised.
812 OCCASIONAL PIECES. [1810,
Bv all the token-flowers ' that tell
What words can never speak so well ;
By love's alternate joy and woe,
Zcov; fjiov, eras ayairw.
Maid of Athens ! I am gone :
Think of me, sweet ! when alone.
Though I fly to Istambol,''
Athens liolds my heart and soul :
Can I cease to love thee ? No !
Zco?/ ixov, eras ayairoi.
Athens, 1810.
TRANSLATION OF THE NURSE'S DOLE IN THE MEDEA
OF EURIPIDES.
Oh how I wish that an embargo
Had kept in port the good ship Argo !
Who, still unlaunch'd from Grecian docks,
Had never passed the Azure rocks ;
But now I fear her trip will be a
Damn'd business for my Miss Medea, &c. &c.'
June, 1810.
^ lu the East (where ladies are not taught to wi-ite, lest they should sci-ibble
assignations) flowers, cinders, pebbles, &c. convey the sentiments of the parties by
that universal deputy of Mercury — an old woman. A cinder says, "I burn for thee ; "
a hunch of flowers tied with haii", "Take me and fly ;" hut a pebble declares — wluit
nothing else can.
- Constantinople.
^ [" I am just come from an expedition through the Bosphorus to the Black Sea
and the Cyanean Symplegades, up which last I scrambled with as great risk as ever
the Argonauts escaped in their hoy. You remember the beginning of the nurse's dole
in the Medea, of which I beg you to take the following translation, done on the summit .
A 'damn'd business' it very nearly was to me ; for, had not this sublime passage been
in my head, I sh,;uld never have dreamed of ascending the said rocks, and bruisini;
my carcass in honour of the ancients." — Lord B. to Mr. Hennj Dvurii, .Tune 17, 1810.]
1811.] OCCASIONAL PIECES. 313
MY EPITAPH.
Youth, Nature, and relenting Jove,
To keep my lam]) i7i strongly strove ;
But Romanelli was so stout.
He beat all three — and blew it out. *
October, 1810.
SUBSTITUTE FOR AN EPITAPH.
Kind Eeader, take your choice to cry or laugh;
Here Harold lies — but where's his Epitaph ?
If such you seek, try Westminster, and view
Ten thousand just as fit for him as you.
Athens.
LINES WRITTEN BENEATH A PICTURE.^
Dear object of defeated care !
Though now of Love and thee bereft,
To reconcile me with despair.
Thine image and ray tears are left.
'Tis said with Sorrow Time can cope ;
But this I feel can ne'er be true :
For by the death-blow of my Hope
My Memory immortal grew.
Athens, January, 1811.
* ["I have just escaped from a physician and a fever. In nite of my teeth and
Longue, the English consul, my Tartar, Albanian, dragoman, forced a physician upon
uie, and in three days brought me to the last gasp. In this state I made my epitaph."
—Lord B. to Mr. Hod(j>='>n, Oct. 3, 1810.]
* [These lines are copied from a leaf of the original MS. of the second canto of
"CMlde Harold."]
814 OCCASIONAL PIECES. [1811.
TEANSLATION OF THE FAMOUS GREEK WAR SONG,
" Afvre iraiSes roiv 'EW'fjvccv." ^
Sons of the Greeks, arise !
The glorious hour's gone forth.
And, worthy of such ties,
Display who gave us birth.
CHORUS.
Sons of Greeks ! let us go
In arms against the foe,
Till their hated blood shall flow
In a river pacst our feet.
Then manfully despising
The Turkish tyrant's yoke,
. Let your country see you rising,
And all her chains are broke.
Brave shades of chiefs and sages.
Behold the coming strife !
Hellenes of past ages,
Oh, start again to life !
At the sound of my trumpet, breaking
Your sleep, oh, join with me !
And the seven-hiird ' city seeking,
Fight, concpaer, till we're free. |-
Sons of Greeks, &c. ^
Sparta, Sparta,. why in slumbers
Lethargic dost thou lie ?
Awake, and join thy numbers
With Athens, old ally !
Leonidas recalling.
That chief of ancient song, '
^ The song AeCre iraTSes, &c., was written by Riga, who perished in the attempt to
revolutionise Greece. This translation is as literal as the author could make it in
verse. It is of the same measure as that of the original. [While at the Franciscan
convent, Lord Byron devoted some hours daily to the study of the Romaic]
^ Constantinople. "'E7rTo\o(/)os."
1811.J OCCASIONAL PIECES. 315
Who saved ye once from falling, -^
The terrible ! the strong ! ^
Who made that bold diversion . —
In old Thermopylae,
And warring with the Persian
To keep his country free ; ^
With his tliree hundred waging
The battle, long he stood.
And Hke a lion raging,
Expired in seas of blood. ^■
Sons of Greeks, &c.*
TEANSLATION OF THE KOMAIC SONG
'npaiSTarri XotjSt;," &c.'
I ENTER thy garden of roses,
„^. Beloved and fair Haidee, z J:^ -
-'^ ' Each morning where Flora reposes,
Eor surely I see her in thee.
Oh, Lovely ! thus low I implore thee,
Receive this fond truth from my tongue.
Which utters its song to adore thee.
Yet trembles for what it has sung;
As the branch, at the bidding of Nature,
Adds fragrance and fruit to the tree.
Through her eyes, through her every feature.
Shines the soul of the young Haidee.
* [Higa was a Thessalian, and passed the first part of his youth among his native
mountains in teaching ancient Greek to his countrymen. On the outbreak of the
French revolution, he and some other enthusiasts perambulated Greece, rousing the
bold, and encouraging the timid by their minstrelsy. He afterwards went to Vienna
to solicit aid for a rising, but was given up by the Austrian government to the Turks,
who vainly endeavom-ed by torture to force from Mm the names- of the other
conspirators. ]
^ The song from which this is taken is a gi-eat favourite with the young girls of
Athens of aU classes. Their manner of singing it is by verses in rotation, the whole
number present joining in the chorus. I have heard it frequently at our " x<^ooi " in
the winter of 1810-11. The air is plaintive and pretty.
316
OCCASIONAL riECES. [1811.
But the loveliest garden grows hateful
"When Love has abandoned the bowers ;
Bring me hemlock— since mine is ungrateful.
That herb is more fragrant than flowers.
The poison, when pour'd from the chalice.
Will deeply embitter the bowl ;
But when drunk to escape from thy mahce.
The draught shall be sweet to my soul.
Too cruel ! in vain I implore thee
My heart from these horrors to save :
Will nought to my bosom restore thee ?
Then open the gates of the grave.
As the chief who to combat advances
Secui-e of his conquest before,
Thus thoU; with those eyes for thy lances, ^
Hast pierced through my heart to its core. I
Ah, tell me, my soul ! must I perish
By pangs which a smile would dispel ?
Would the hope, which thou once bad'st me cherish.,
Eor torture repay me too well?
Now sad is the garden of roses,
Beloved but false Haidee !
There Flora all wither'd reposes.
And mourns o'er thine absence with me.
1811.
I
V
-^^""
ON PARTING. J-
The kiss, dear maid ! thy lip has left^^
Shall never part from mine,.^^ ^
Till happier hours restore the gift ■
Untainted back to thine.
Thy parting glance, which fondly beams.
An equal love may see :
The tear that from thine eyelid streams
Can weep no change in me.
1811.] OCCASIONAL PIECES. 317
I ask no pledge to make me blest
In gazing when alone ;
Nor one memorial for a breast.
Whose thoughts are all thine own.
Nor need I write — to tell the tale
My pen were doubly weak :
Oh ! what can idle words avail,
Unless the heart could speak ?
By day or night, in weal or woe.
That heart, no longer free,
Must bear the love it cannot show,
And silent ache for thee.
March, 1811.
EPITAPH FOR JOSEPH BLACKETT, LATE POET AND
SHOEMAKER.'
Stranger ! behold, iiiterr'd together.
The souls of learning and of leather.
Poor Joe is gone, but left his all :
You'll find his relics in a stall.
His works were neat, and often found
Well stitch'd, and with morocco bound.
Tread lightly — where the bard is laid
He cannot mend the shoe he made ;
Yet is he happy in his hole,
Willi verse immortal as his sole.
But ^;till to business he held fast.
And stuck to Phoebus to the last.
Then who shall say so good a fellow
Was oiily " leather and prunella ? "
Por character — he did not lack it ;
And if he did, 'twere shame to "Black-it."
Malta, May 16, 1811.
• [He died in 1810, and his works have followed him.]
318 OCCASIONAL PIECES. [1811.
FAREWELL TO MALTA.
Adieu, ye joys of La Valette !
Adieu, sirocco, sun, and sweat !
Adieu, thou palace rarely entered !
Adieu, ye mansions where — I've ventured !
Adieu, ye cursed streets of stairs !
(How surely he who mounts you swears !)
Adieu, ye merchants often failing !
Adieu, thou mob for ever railing !
Adieu, ye packets — without letters !
Adieu, ye fools — who ape your betters !
Adieu, thou damnedest quarantine.
That gave me fever, and the spleen !
Adieu that stage which makes us yawn, Sii-s,
Adieu his Excellency's dancers!
Adieu to Peter — whom no fault's in.
But could not teach a colonel waltzing ;
Adieu, ye females fraught with graces !
Adieu red coats, and redder faces !
Adieu the supercilious air
Of all that strut " en militaire ! "
I go — but God knows when, or why,
To smoky towns and cloudy sky.
To things (the honest truth to say)
As bad — but in a different way.
Farewell to these, but not adieu,
Triumphant sons of truest blue !
While either Adriatic shore.
And fallen chiefs, and fleets no more.
And nightly smiles, and daily dinners.
Proclaim you war and woman's winners.
Pardon my Muse, who apt to prate is.
And take my rhyme — because 'tis " gratis."
And now I've got to Mrs. Eraser,
Perhaps you tliink I mean to praise her —
1811.] OCCASIONAL PIECES. 319
And were I vain enough to think
My praise was worth this drop of ink,
A line — or two — were no hard matter,
As here, indeed, I need not flatter :
But she must be content to shine
In better praises than in mine.
With Kvely air, and open heart.
And fashion^s ease, without its art ;
Her hours can gaily ghde along.
Nor ask the aid of idle song.
And now, O Malta ! since thou'st got us.
Thou little military hothouse !
ril not offend with words uncivil,
And wish thee rudely at the Devil,
But only stare from out my casement.
And ask, for what is such a place meant ?
Then, in my solitary nook.
Return to scribbling, or a book.
Or take my physic while Tm able
(Two spoonfuls hourly by the label).
Prefer my nightcap to my beaver.
And bless the gods I've got a fever.
May 26, 1811. [First published 1832.]
TO DIVES.
A FRAGMENT.
Unhappy Dives ! in an evil hour
'Gainst Nature's voice seduced to deeds accursti
Once Fortune's minion, now thou feel'st her power;
Wrath's viol on thy lofty head hath burst.
In Wit, in Genius, as in Wealth the first.
How wondrous bright thy blooming morn arose !
But thou wert smitten with th' unhallow'd thirst
Of crime un-named, and thy sad noon must close
In scorn, and solitude unsought, the worst of woes.
1811. [First pubUshed 1832.]
820 OCCASIONAL PIECES. [ISll.
ON MOORE'S LAST OPERATIC FARCE, Oil FARCICAL
OPERA. 2
Good plays are scarce.
So Moore writes farce :
The poet's fame grows brittle —
We knew before
That Litre's Moore,
But now 'tis Moore that's little.
September 14, ] 811.
EPISTLE TO A FRIEND,'
IN ANSWER TO SOME LINES EXHORTING THE AUTHOR TO BE CnKaRB'UL,
AND TO " BANISH CARE."
" Oh ! banish care " — such ever be
The motto of thi/ revelry !
Perchance of mine, when wassail nights
Eenew those riotous delights,
Wherewith the children of Despair
Lull the lone heart, and " banish care."
But not in morn's reflecting hour.
When present, past, and future lower>
When all I loved is changed or gone,
Mock with such taunts the woes of one,
Whose every thought — but let them pass —
Thou know'st I am not what I was.
But, above all, if thou wouldst hold
Place in a heart that ne'er was cold.
By all the powers that men revere, |"|
By all unto thy bosom dear, "^^
Thy joys below, thy hopes above.
Speak — speak of anything but love.
- [The farce was called "M.P. ; or, the Blue Stocking," and came out at tlie
Lyceum Theatre, on the 9th of September. ]
^ [r. e. Mr. Francis Hodgson (not then the Reverend).]
1811. J OCCASIONAL PIECES. 321
'Twere long to tell, and vain to hear,
The tale of one who scorns a tear ;
And there is little in that tale
Which better bosoms would bewail.
But mine has suffer'd more than well
^Twould suit philosophy to tell.
I've seen my bride another's bride, —
Have seen her seated by his side, —
Have seen the infant, which she bore.
Wear the sweet smile the mother wore,
When she and I in youth have smiled,
As fond and faultless as her child ; —
Have seen her eyes, in cold disdain.
Ask if I felt no secret pain ;
And / have acted well my part.
And make my cheek belie my heart.
Returned the freezing glance she gave.
Yet felt the while i/iai woman's slave; —
Have kiss'd, as if without design.
The babe which ought to have been mine.
And show'd, alas ! in each caress
Time had not made me love the less."
But let this pass — I'll wliine no more.
Nor seek again an eastern shore ;
The world befits a busy brain, —
ril hie me to its haunts again.
But if, in some succeeding year,
AVhen Britain's " May is in the sere,"
Thou hear'st of one, whose deepening crimes
Suit with the sablest of the times,
Of one, whom love nor pity sways,
Nor hope of fame, nor good men's praise ;
One, who in stern ambition's pride.
Perchance not blood shall turn aside ;
One rank'd in some recording page
With the worst anarchs of the age,
* [These lines will show with what gloomy fidelity, even while under the pressure
of recent sorro w, the Poet i-everted to the disappointment of his early afTection as the
chief source of all his suffering and errors, present and to come. — Mooke.]
VOL. II. Y
OCCASIONAL PIECES. [1811.
Ilini wilt thou knoto—and knowing pause,
Nor with the effect forget the cause.'
Newstead Abbey, Oct. 11, 1811. [First pubUshed 1830.]
TO THYRZA.
Without a stone to mark the spot,
And say, what Truth might well have said.
By all, save one, perchance forgot,
All ! wherefore art thou lowly laid ?
By many a shore and many a sea
Divided, yet beloved in vain ;
The past, the future fled to thee.
To bid us meet — no — ne'er again !
Could this have been — a word, a look.
That softly said, " We part in peace,"
Had taught my bosom how to brook,
^Vith fainter sighs, thy soul's release.
And didst thou not, since Death for thee
Prepared a light and pangless dart,
0)ice long for him thou ne'er shalt see.
Who held, and holds thee in his heart?
Oh ! who like him had watch'd thee here ?
Or sadly mark'd thy glazing eye.
In that dread hour ere death appear.
When silent sorrow fears to sigh.
Till all was past? But wdien no more
'Twas thine to reck of human woe.
Affection's heart-drops, gushing o'er,
Had flow'd as fast— as now they flow.
* [Tlie anticipations of his own future career in tliese concluding lines are of a nature,
it must be owned, to awaken more of horror than of interest, were we not prciiared,
by so many instances of his exaggeration in this respect, not to be startled at any
lengths to wliich the spirit of sclf-libelling would carry him. — Moohe.]
ISll.J OCCASIONAL PIECES. 323
Shall they not flow, when many a day
In these, to ine, deserted towers.
Ere call'd but for a time away,
Aifectiou's mingling tears were ours ?
Ours too the glance none saw beside ;
The smile none else might understand ;
The whisper^ thought of hearts allied,
The pressure of the thrilling hand ;
The kiss, so guiltless and refined,
That Love each warmer wish forbore ;
Those eyes proclaim'd so pure a mind,
Even Passion blushM to plead for more.
The tone, that taught me to rejoice.
When prone, unlike thee, to repine ;
The song, celestial from thy voice,
But sw^eet to me from none but thine ;
The pledge we wore- — I wear it still,
But where is thine ? — Ah ! where art thou ?
Oft have I borne the weight of ill.
But never bent beneath till now !
Well hast thou left in hfe's best bloom
The cup of woe for me to drain.
If rest alone be in the tomb,
I would not wish thee here again ;
But if in worlds more blest than this
Thy virtues seek a fitter sphere.
Impart some portion of thy bliss.
To wean me from mine anguish here.
Teach me — too early taught by tliee !
To bear, forgiving and forgiven :
On earth thy love was such to me ;
It fain would form my hope in heaven !
October 11, 1811.«
'• [Mr. Moore considers "Thyi-za" to be a creature of the Poets brain. "It was,"
be says, "about the time when he was thus bitterly feeling the blight which his heart
Y 2
324 OCCASIONAL PIECES. . [1811.
AWAY, AWAY, YE NOTES OF WOE !
Away, away, ye notes of woe !
Be silent, thou once soothing strain,
Or I must flee from hence — for, oh !
I dare not trust those sounds again.
To me they speak of brighter days —
But lull the chords, for now, alas !
I must not think, I may not gaze.
On what I am — on what I was.
The voice that made those sounds more sweet
Is hush'd, and all their charms are fled ;
And now their softest notes repeat
A dirge, an anthem o'er the dead !
Yes, Thyrza ! yes, they breathe of thee.
Beloved dust ! since dust thou art ;
And all that once was harmony
Is worse than discord to my heart !
■"Tis silent all ! — but on my ear
The well remember'd echoes thrill ;
I hear a voice I would not hear,
A voice that now might well be still :
had suffered from a real object of affection, tliat his poems on the death of aa imaginarii
one were wTltten ; — nor is it any wonder when we consider the peculiar circumstances
under which these beautiful effusions flowed from his fancy, that, of all his strains of
pathos, they should be tlie most touching and most pure. They were, indeed, tlie
essence, the abstract spirit, as it were, of many griefs ; — a confluence of sad thoughts
from many sources of sorrow, refined and warmed in their passage through his fancy,
and forming thus one deep reservoir of mournful feeling." It is a pity to disturb a
sentiment thus beautifully expres.sed ; but Lord Byron, in a letter to Mr. Dallas,
bearing the exact date of these lines, viz., Oct. 11, 1811, writes as follows : — " 1 have
been again shocked with a death, and have lost one very dear to me in hai^pier times :
but ' I have aliuost forgot the taste of grief,' and ' supped full of horrors,' till I have
become callous ; nor have I a tear left for an event wliich, five years ago, would have
bowed my head to the earth." Several years after the poems on Thyrza were written,
Lord Byron, on being asked to whom they referred, by a jjcrson in whose tenderness
he never ceased to c mfide, refused to ans>\er, with marks of agitation, such as rendered
recurrence to the subject impossible. The five following pieces are all devoted to
Thyrza.]
• 312,] OCCASIONAL PIECES. 326
Yet oft my doubting soul 'twill shake ;
Even slumber owns its gentle tone.
Till consciousness will vainly wake
To listen, though the dream be flowii.
Sweet Tiiyrza ! waking as in sleep.
Thou art but now a lovely dream ;
A star that trembled o'er the deep,
Then turn'd from earth its tender beam.
But he who through life's dreary way
Must pass, when heaven is veil'd in wrath,
AVill long lament the vanish'd ray
That scatter'd gladness o'er his path.
Decembers, 1811.
ONE STRUGGLE MORE, AND I AaI FREE.
One struggle more, and I am free
From pangs that rend my heart in twain ;
One last long sigh to love and thee,
Then back to busy life again.
It suits me well to mingle now
With things that never pleased before :
Though every joy is fled below,
What future grief can touch me more ?
Then bring me wine, the banquet bring ;
Man Avas not form'd to live alone :
I'll be that light, unmeaning tiling
That smiles with all, and weeps with none.
It Wcis not thus in days more dear.
It never would have been, but thou
Hast fled, and left me lonely here ;
Thou'rt nothing, — all are nothing now.
? [" I wrote this a day or two ago, ou hearing a song of former days." — Lord B.
to Mr. Hodgson, Dec. 8, 1811.]
326 OCCASIONAL PIECES. [1812.
In vain my lyre would lightly breathe !
The smile that sorrow fain would wear
But mocks the woe that lurks beneath.
Like roses o'er a sepulchre.
Though gay companions o'er the bowl
Dispel awhile the sense of ill ;
Though pleasure fires the maddening soul.
The heart, — the heart is lonely still !
On many a lone and lovely uiglit
It sooth'd to gnze upon the sky ;
For then I deem'd the heavenly light
Shone sweetly on thy pensive eye :
And oft I thought at Cynthia's noon.
When sailing o'er the ^geah wave,
" Now Tliyrza gazes on that moon " —
Alas, it gleam' d upon her grave !
When stretch'd on fever's sleepless bed.
And sickness shrunk my throbbing veins,
«'Tis comfort still," I faintly said,
"That Thyrza cannot know my pains :*'
Like freedom to the time-worn slave,
A boon 'tis idle then to give,
Relenting Nature vainly gave
My life, when Thyrza ceased to live !
My Thyrza's pledge in better days.
When love and life alike were new !
How different now thou meet'st my gaze !
How tinged by time with sorrow's hue !
The heart that gave itself with thee
Is silent — ah, were mine as still !
Though cold as e'en the dead can be.
It feels, it sickens with the chill.
Tliou bitter pledge ! thou mournful token !
Though painful, welcome to my breast !
Still, still, preserve that love unbroken,
Or break the heart to which thou'rt press'd.
1812.] OCCASIONAL PIECES. 327
Time tempers love, but not removes,
More hallow'd when its hope is fled :
Oh ! what are thousand living loves
To that which cannot quit the dead.^^
EUTHANASIA.
When Time, or soon or late, shall bring
The dreamless sleep that lulls the dead.
Oblivion ! may thy languid wing
Wave gently o'er my dying bed !
No band of friends or heirs be there.
To weep, or wish, the coming blow :
No maiden, with dishevelled hair.
To feel, or feign, decorous woe.
But silent let me sink to earth.
With no officious mourners near :
1 would not mar one hour of mirth.
Nor startle friendship with a tear.
Yet Love, if Love in such an hour
Could nobly check its useless sighs.
Might then exert its latest power
In her who lives, and him who dies.
'Twere sweet, my Psyche ! to the last
Thy features still serene to see :
Forgetful of its struggles past.
E'en Pain itself should smile on thee.
But vain the wish — for Beauty still
Will slirink, as shrinks the ebbing breath;
And woman's tears, produced at will.
Deceive in life, unman in death.
828 OCCASIONAL PIECES. [1S12.
Then lonely be my latest hour,
Without regret, without a groan ;
Tor thousands Death hath ceas'd to lower,
And pain been transient or unknown,
" Ay, but to die, and go," alas !
\Vhere all have gone, and all must go !
To be the nothing that I was
Ere born to hfe and living woe !
Count o'er the joys thine hours have seen.
Count o'er thy days from anguish free.
And know, whatever thou hast been,
^Tis something better not to be.
AND THOU ART DEAD, AS YOUNG AND FAIR.
"Heu, quanto minus est cum reliquis versari quam tui meminisse ! "
And thou art dead, as young and fair
As aught of mortal birth ;
And form so soft, and charms so rare.
Too soon returned to Earth !
Though Earth received them in her bed.
And o'er the spot the crowd may tread
In carelessness or mirth.
There is an eye which could not brook
A moment on that grave to look.
I will not ask where thou liest low,
Nor gaze upon the spot ;
There flowers or weeds at will may grow,
So I behold them not :
It is enough for me to prove
That M'hat I loved, and long must love.
Like common earth can rot ;
To me there needs no stone to tell,
'Tis Ts'othing that I loved so well.
1812.] OCCASIONAL PIECES. 829
Yet did I love thee to the last
As fervently as thou,
Who didst not change through all the past.
And canst not alter now.
The love where Death has set his seal,
Nor age can chill, nor rival steal.
Nor falsehood disavow :
And, what were worse, thou canst not see
Or wrong, or change, or fault in me.
The better days of life were ours ;
The worst can be but mine :
The sun that clieers, the storm that lowers.
Shall never more be thine.
The silence of that dreamless sleep
I envy now too much to weep ;
Nor need I to repine.
That all those charms have pass'd away ;
I might have watcli'd through long decay.
The flower in ripen'd bloom unmatched
Must foil the earliest prey ;
Though by no hand untimely snatcli'd,
The leaves must drop away :
And yet it were a greater grief
To watch it withering, leaf by leaf.
Than see it pluck^l to-day ;
Since earthly eye but ill can bear
To trace the change to foul from fair.
I know not if I could have borne
To see thy beauties fade ;
The night that foUow'd sucli a morn
Had worn a deeper shade :
Thy day without a cloud hath passed.
And thou wert lovely to the last ;
Extinguished, not decayed;
As stars that shoot along the sky
Shine brightest as they fall from high.
330 OCCASIONAL PIECES. [1812.
As once I wept, if I could weep,
My tears might well be shed,
To think I was not near to keep
One vigil o^er thy bed ;
To gaze, how fondly ! on thy face,
To fold thee in a faint embrace,
Uphold thy drooping head ;
And show that love, however vain.
Nor thou nor I can feel again.
Yet how much less it were to gain,
Though thou hast left me free.
The loveliest things that still remain,
Than thus remember thee !
The all of thine that cannot die
Through dark and dread Eternity
Returns again to me,
And more thy buried love endears
Than aught, except its living years.
Febrvary, 1812,
IF SOMETIMES IN THE HAUNTS OF MEN.
If sometimes in the haunts of men
Thine image from my breast may fade.
The lonely hour presents again
The semblance of thy gentle shade :
And now that sad and silent hour
Thus much of thee can still restore.
And sorrow unobserved may pour
The plaint she dare not speak before.
Oh, pardon that in crowds awhile
I waste one thought I owe to thee,
And self-condemnM, appear to smile,
Unfaitliful to thy memory :
1812.] OCCASIONAL PIECES. 881
Nor deem that memory less dear,
That then I seem not to repine ;
I would not fools should overhear
One sigh that should be wholly thine.
If not the goblet pass unquaffM,
It is not drain'd to banish carej
The cup must hold a deadlier draught,
That brings a Lethe for despair.
And could oblivion set my soul
From all her troubled visions free,
I'd dash to earth the sweetest bowl
That drownM a single thought of thee.
For wert thou vanished from my mind.
Where could my vacant bosom turn ?
And who would then remain behind
To honour thine abandoned Urn ?
No, no — it is my sorrow's pride
That last dear duty to fulfil ;
Though all the world forget beside,
'Tis meet that I remember still.
For well I know, that such had been
Thy gentle care for him, who now
Unmourn'd shall quit this mortal scene.
Where none regarded him, but thou :
And, oh ! I feel in that was given
A blessing never meant for me ;
Thou wert too like a dream of Heaven,
For eartlily Love to merit thee.
March 14, 1812.
FEOM THE FEENCH.
iEoLE, beauty and poet, has two little crimes ;
She makes her own face, and does not make her rhymes.
33-2 OCCASIONAL PIECES. [1812.
ON" A CORNELIAN HEART WHICH WAS BROKEN.
Ill-fated Heart ! and can it be,
That thou shouldst tlius be rent in twain ?
Have years of care for thine and thee
Alike been all employed in vain ?
Yet precious seems each shatterM part.
And every fragment dearer grown,
Since he who wears thee feels thou art
A fitter emblem of his own.
March 16, 1S12.
LINES TO A LADY WEEPING."
Weep, daughter of a royal line,
A Sire's disgrace, a realm's decay;
Ah ! hajjpy if each tear of thine
Could wash a father's fault away !
Weep — for thy tears are Virtue's tears —
Auspicious to these suffering isles ;
And be each drop in future years
Eepaid thee by thy people's smiles !
March, 1812.
^ [This impromptu owed its birth to an on dif, that the Princess Charlotte of Wales
burst into tears on hearing that the Whigs had found it impossible to form a cabinet
at the period of Perceval's death. They were appended to the first edition of tlie
''Corsair," and excited a sensation, piarvellously disproportionate to their length or
their merit. The ministerial prints raved for two months in the most foul-mouthed
vituperation of tlie poet— the Morning Post even announced a motion in the House of
Lords— "and all this," Lord Byron writes, "as Bedreddin in the Arabian Nights
remarks, for making a cream tart with pepper : how odd, that eight lines should have
given birth, I really think, to eight thousand ! " The Regent, who thought them
Moore s till their republication in "The Corsair," said he was "affected in sori-ow
rather than auger," having shown Lord Byron some civility on the appearance of the
hrst two cantos of ' ' Childe Harold." ' ' I feel, " wrote the Poet, ' ' a little compunctious
as to the Regent's regret ; would he had been only angry."]
1812.] . OCCASIONAL PIECES. 333
THE CHAIN 1 GA^TE.
FROM THE TURKISH.
The chain I gave was fair to view,
The lute 1 added sweet in sound ;
The heart that offered both was true.
And ill deserved the fate it found.
These gifts were charm' d by secret spell,
Thy truth in absence to divine ;
And they have done their duty well, —
Alas ! they could not teach thee thine.
That cliain was firm in every link.
But not to bear a stranger's toucli ;
That lute was sweet — till thou couldst think
In other hands its notes were such.
Let him who from thy neck unbound
The chain which shiver'd in his grasp,
Who saw that lute refuse to sound,
Eestring the chords, renew tlie clasp.
When thou wert changed, tliey alter'd too ;
The chain is broke, the music mute.
'Tis past — to them and thee adieu —
False heart, frail chain, and silent lute.
LINES WRITTEN ON A BLANK LEAF OF "THE
PLEASURES OF MEMORY."
Absent or present, still to thee,
My friend, what magic spells belong !
As all can tell, who share, like me,
In turn thy converse,' and thy song,
' ["When Kogers does talk, he talks well ; and, on all subjects of taste, his delicacy
of expression is pure as his poetry. If you enter his house — his drawing-room — his
334 OCCASIONAL PIECES. [1812.
But wlieii the dreaded hour shall come
15y Friendship ever deem'd too nigh,
And "Memory" o'er her Druid's tomb
Shall weep that aught of thee can die.
How fondly will she then repay
Thy liomage oft'er'd at her shrine.
And blend, while ages roll away.
Her name immortally with thine !
April 19, 1S12,
ADDKESS, SPOKEN AT THE OPENING OF DRURY-LANE "
THEATEE, SATURDAY, OCTOBER 10, 1812.'
In one dread night our city saw, and sigh'd,
Bow'd to the dust, the Drama's to^^er of pride ;
In one short hour beheld the blazing fane,
Apollo sink, and Shakspeare cease to reign.
Ye who beheld, (oh ! sight admired and mourn'd,
Whose radiance mock'd the ruin it adorn'd!)
Through clouds of fire the massy fragments riven.
Like Israel's pillar, chase the night from heaven ;
Saw the long column of revolving flames
Shake its red shadow o'er the startled Thames,'
While thousands, throng'd around the burning dome,
Slirank back appall'd, and trembled for their home,
library — you of yourself say, this is not the dwelling of a common mind. There is not
a gem, a coin, a book thrown aside on his chimney-piece, his sofa, his table, that docs
not bespeak an almost fastidious' elegance in the possessor." — B. Diary, 1813.]
' [The theatre in Drury Lane, which was opened, in 1747, witli Dr. Jdhnson's
masterly address, and witnessed the glories of Garrick, was rebuilt in 179-1. The new
building perished by fire in 1811 ; and the managers, anxious that the present edifice
should bo opened with some composition of equal merit, invited a general competition.
Scores of addresses, not one tolerable, showered on their desk, and they were in
despair till Lord Holland prevailed on Lord Byron to write these verses— ' ' at the risk, "
as he said, " of offending a hundred scribblers and a discerning public." The admirable
jcu (Tcsj^'it of the Messrs. Smith will long preserve the memory of the " Rejected
Addresses."]
* ["By the by, the best view of the said fire (which I myself saw from a house-top
in Covent Garden) was at Westminster Bridge, from the reflection of the Thames." —
Lord Byron to Lord Holland.^
1S12.] OCCASIONAL PIECES. 335
As glared the volumed blaze, and ghastly shone
The skies, with lightnings awful as their own.
Till blackening ashes and the lonely wall
Usurped the Muse's realm, and marked her fall ;
Say — shall this new, nor less aspiring pile,
Eear'd where once rose the mightiest in our isle.
Know the same favour which the former knew,
A shrine for Shakspeare — worthy him and you ?
Yes — it shall be — the magic of that name
Defies the scythe of time, the torch of flame;
On the same spot still consecrates the scene.
And bids the Drama he where she hath been :
This fabric's birth attests the potent spell —
Indulge our honest pride, and say. How ivelll
As soars this fane to emulate the last.
Oh ! might we draw our omens from the past.
Some hour propitious to our prayers may boast
Names such as hallow still the dome we lost.
On Drury first your Siddous' thrilling art
O'erwhelm'd the gentlest, storm'd the sternest heart.
On Drury, Garrick's latest laurels grew;
Here your last tears retiring Eoscius drew,
Sigh'd his last thanks, and wept his last adieu :
But still for living wit tlie wreaths may bloom.
That only waste their odours o'er the tomb.
Such Drury claim'd and claims — nor you refuse
One tribute to revive his slumbering muse ;
With garlands deck your own Menander's head,
Nor hoard your honours idly for the dead.
Dear are the days which made our annals bright.
Ere Garrick fled, or Brinsley' ceased to write.
^ [Originally, " Ere Garrick died," &c. — '"By the by, one of my corrections in the
copy sent yesterday has dived into the bathos some sixty fathom —
When Garrick died, and Brinsley ceased to wiite.
Ceasing to live is a much more serious concern, and ought not to be first. Second thoughts
in everything are best ; but, in rhjTne, third and fourth don't come amiss. I always
scrawl in this way, and smooth as last as I can, but never suffiL-iently ; and, latterly,
I can weave a nine-line stanza faster than a couplet, for which measure I have not the
cunning. When I began 'ChilJe Harold,' I had never tried Spenser's measure, and
now I cannot scribble in any other." — Lord Byron to Lord Holland.^
336 OCCASIONAL PIECES. [1812.
Heirs to their labours, like all high-born heirs,
Yaiii of o^ir ancestry as they of theirs ;
AVhile thus Remembrance borrows Banquo^s glass
To claim the sceptred shadows as they pass.
And we the mirror hold, where imaged shine
Immortal names, emblazon'd on our line.
Pause — ere tlieir feebler offspring you condemn.
Reflect how hard the task to rival them !
Friends of the stage ! to whom both Players and Plays
Must sue alike for pardon or for praise.
Whose judging voice and eye alone direct
The boundless power to cherish or reject ;
If e'er frivolity has led to fame,
And made us blush that you forbore to blame;
If e'er the sinking stage could condescend
To soothe the sickly taste it dare not mend.
All past reproach may present scenes refute.
And censure, wisely loud, be justly mute ! *
Oh ! since your fiat stamps the Drama's laws,
Forbear to mock us with misplaced applause ;
So pride shall doubly nerve the actor's powers,
And reason's voice be echo'd back by ours !
This greeting o'er, the ancient rule obey'd.
The Drama's homage by her herald paid,
Receive our welcome too, whose every tone
Springs from our hearts, and fain would win your own.
♦ [The following lines were omitted by tte Committee—
"Xay, lower still, the Drama yet deplores
Tbat late she deigu'd to crawl upon all-fours.
"When Richard roars iii Bosworth for a horse,
If you command, the steed must come in course,
If you decree, the stage must condescend
To soothe the sickly taste we dare not mend.
Blame not our judgment should we acquiesce,
And gratify you more by showing less.
The past reproach let jiresent scenes refute,
Nor shift from man to babe, from babe to brute."
" Is Whitbrc-ad," said Lord Byron, "determined to castrate all my cavalry lines ?
, ' '"\P'o''e.*or my ovm gratification, one lash on those accursed quadinipeds— ' a loDg
bhot, Sir Luaus, if you love me.' "]
1
18T2.] • OCCASIONAL PIECES. 387
The curtain rises — may our stage unfold
Scenes not unworthy Drury^s days of old !
Britons our judges, Nature for our guide,
Still may toe please — long, long may you preside.
PARENTHETICAL ADDRESS.*
BY DR. PLAGIARY.
Ualf stolen, vdih acknowledgments, to be spoken in an inarticulate voice by Master P.
at the opening of the next new theatre. Stolen parts marked with the inverted
commas of quotation— thus " ".
" When energising objects men pursue,"
Then Lord knows what is writ by Lord knows wlio.
" A modest monologue you here survey,"
Hiss'd from the theatre the " other day,"
As if Sir Fretful wrote " the slumberous " verse.
And gave his son " the rubbish " to rehearse.
" Yet at the thing you'd never be amazed,"
Knew you the rumpus which the author raised;
" Nor even here your smiles would be represt,"
Knew you these lines — tlie badness o-f the best,
" Flame! hre ! and flame !" (words borrowed from Lucretius.)
" Dread metaphors which open wounds " like issues !
" And sleeping pangs awake — and— but away "
(Confound me if 1 know what next to say).
" Lo Hope reviving re-expands her wings,"
And Master G — recites what Dr. Busby sings ! —
"If mighty things with small we may compare,"
(Translated from the grammar for the fair !)
Dramatic " spirit drives a conquering car,"
And burn'd poor Moscow like a tub of " tar."
"This spirit ^Ve^ington has shown in Spain,"
To furnish melodrames for Drury Lane.
" [Among the addresses sent in to the Drury Lane Committee was one by Dr. IJusby,
entitled ** A Monologue," of which the above is a parody. It began as follows ; —
"When energising objects men pursue,
What are the prodigies they cannot do ?
A magic edifice you here survey,
iShot from the ruins of the other day, &;c."]
VOL. II. %
333 OCCASIONAL FIECES. [1S12.
"Another Marlborough points to Blenheim's sloiy,"
And George and I will dramatise it for ve.
" In arts and sciences our isle hath shone "
(Tliis deep discovery is mine alone).
" Oh British poesy, whose powers inspire "
]\Iy verse — or Tm a fool — and Fame's a liar,
" Thee we invoke, your sister arts implore "
With "smiles,'' and "lyres," and " pencils/' and much more.
These, if we win the Graces, too, we gain
Disgraces, too ! " inseparable train ! "
" Three who have stolen their witching airs from Cupid "
(You all know what I mean, unless you're stupid) :
" Harmonious throng" that I have kept in petto
Now to produce in a " divine sestetto " ! !
" While Poesy," with these delightful doxies,
" Sustains her part" in all the " upper " boxes !
" Thus lifted gloriously, you'll soar along,"
Borne in the vast balloon of Busby's song ;
" Shine in your farce, masque, scenery, and play"
(For this last line George had a holiday).
" Old Drury never, never soar'd so higli,"
So says the manager, and so say I.
"But hold, you say, tliis self-complacent boast;"
Is this the poem which the public lost ?
" True — true — that lowers at once our mounting pride ; "
But lo ; — the papers print what you deride.
" 'Tis ours to look on you — you liold the prize/'
'Tis tioentij guineas, as they advertise !
" A double blessing your rewards impart " —
1 wish I had them, then, with all my heart.
" Our twofold feeling owns its twofold cause,"
AVhy son and I both beg for your applause.
" When in your fostering beams you l)id us live/'
My next subscription list shall say how much you give !
October, 1812.
>
1312.] OCCASIONAL PIECES. 339
VERSES FOUND IN A SUMMER-HOUSE AT HALE3-0WEN'
\Yhen Drydeu^s fool, " unknowing what he sought/'
His liours in whistling spent, " for want of thought,"'
This guiltless oaf his vacancy of sense
Supplied, and amply too, by innocence :
Did modern swains, possess'd of Cymon's powers.
In Cymon's manner waste their leisure liours,
Th' offended guests would not, with blushing, see
These fair green v/alks disgraced by infamy.
Severe the fate of modern fools, alas !
When vice and folly mark them as they pass.
Like noxious reptiles o'er the whiten'd wall,
The filth they leave still points out where they crawl.
REMEMBER THEE! REMEMBER THEE!
Remember thee ! remember thee !
Till Lethe quench life's burning stream
Eemorse and shame shall cling to thee,
And haunt thee like a feverish dream !
Eemember thee ! Ay, doubt it not.
Thy husband too shall think of thee :
By neither shalt thou be forgot,
Thou false to him, ihon Jiend to me ! "
^ In Warwickshire.
" See Cymon and Iphigenia.
* [Oa tiie cessation of a temporary liaison formed by Lord Bvron iluring his London
careor, the fair one called one morning at lier quondam lover's apartments. Uis
Lordsliip was from home ; but finding Vathek on the table, the lady wrote in the first
page of the volume the words ' Remember me ! ' Byron immediately wrote under the
Dminous warning these two stanzas. — Medwin.]
z 2
340
OCCASIONAL PIECES. [1812.
TO TIME.
Time ! on whose arbitrary wing
The varynig hours must flag or fly.
Whose tardy winter, fleeting spring,
But drag or drive us on to die —
Hail thou ! who on my birth bestow'd
Those boons to all that know thee known ;
Yet better I sustain thy load,
Eor now^ I bear the weight alone.
I would not one fond heart should share
The bitter moments thou hast given ;
And pardon thee, since thou couldst spare
All that I loved, to peace or heaven.
To them be joy or rest, on me
Thy future ills shall press in vain ;
1 nothing owe but years to thee,
A debt already paid in pain.
Yet even that pain was some relief
It felt, but still forgot thy power:
Tlie active agony of grief
Retards, but never counts the hour.
In joy Tve sigh'd to think thy flight
Would soon subside from swift to slow ;
Thy cloud could overcast tlie hght.
But could not add a night to woe ;
For then, however drear and dark.
My soul was suited to thy sky ;
One star alone shot forth a sjiark
To prove thee— not Eternity.
Tiint beam liatli sunk, and now thou art
A blank; a thing to count and curse,
'I'hroiigh each dull tedious trifling part.
Which all regret, yet all rehearse.
\2.] OCCASIONAL PIECES. 3 41
One scene even thou canst not deform ;
The limit of thy sloth or speed
When future wanderers bear the storm
Which we shall sleep too sound to heed.
And I can smile to think how weak
Thine efforts shortly shall be shown,
When all the vengeance thou canst wreak
Must fall upon — a nameless stone.
TRANSLATION OF A ROMAIC LOVE SONG.
All ! Love was never yet without
The pang, the agony, the doubt,
AVhich rends my heart with ceaseless sigh.
While day and night roll darkling by.
Without one friend to hear my woe,
I faint, I die beneath the blow.
That Love had arrows, well I knew,
Alas ! I find them poisonM too.
Birds, yet in freedom, shun the net
Which Love around your haunts hath set ;
Or, circled by his fatal fire.
Your hearts shall burn, your hopes expire.
A bird of free and careless wing
Was I, through many a smiling spring;
But caught within the subtle snare,
I bum, and feebly flutter there.
Who ne'er have loved, and loved in vain,
Can neither feel nor pity pain.
The cold repulse, the look askance,
The lightning of Love's angry glance.
p
342 OCCASIONAL PIECES. [1813.
Ill flattering dreams I deem'd tliee mine;
Now hope, and he who lioped, decHrie ;
Like melting wax, or withering Hower,
I feel my passion, and tliy power.
My light of life ! ah, tell me why
That pouting lip, and alter'd eye ?
My hird of love ! my beauteous mate !
And art thou changed, and canst thou ]iat<er
Mine eyes like wintry streams overflow :
What wretch with me would barter woe ?
My bird ! relent : one note could give
A charm to bid thy lover live.
My curdling blood, my maddening brain,
In silent anguish I sustain ;
And still thy heart, without partaking
One pang, exults — while mine is breaking.
Pour me the poison ; fear not thou !
Thou canst not murder more than now :
I've lived to curse my natal day,
And Love, that thus can lingering slay.
My wounded soul, my bleeding breast,
Can patience preach thee into rest ?
Alas ! too late, I dearly know
That joy is harbinger of woe.
THOU ART NOT FALSE, BUT THOU ART VJ('R}.K
Thou art not false, but thou art fickle.
To those thyself so fondly sought ;
The tears that thou hast forced to trickle
Are doubly bitter from that thought :
'Tis this which breaks the heart thou grievest, S:
Too well thou lov'st — too soon thou leavest.
1813.] OCCASIONAL PIECES. 843
The wholly false the heart despises,
And spurns deceiver and deceit ;
But she who not a thouglit disguises,
Whose love is as sincere as sweet, —
When she can change who loved so truly,
It feels what mine has felt so newly.
To dream of joy and wake to sorrow
Is doom'd to all who love or live ;
And if, when conscious on the morrow,
We scarce our fancy can forgive.
That cheated us in slumber only.
To leave the waking soul more lonely.
What must they feel whom no false vision
13ut truest, tenderest passion warm'd ?
Sincere, but swift in sad transition :
As if a dream alone had charm'd ?
Ah ! sure such grief is fancy's scheming.
And all thy change can be but dreaming !
ON BEING ASKED WHAT WAS THE "ORIGIN OF LOVE."
Thk " Origin of Love ! " — Ah, why
That cruel question ask of me.
When thou mayst read in many an eye
He starts to life on seeing thee ?
And shoxildst thou seek his end to know :
My heart forebodes, my fears foresee,
He'll liuger long in sileut woe ;
But live — until I cease to be.
S44
OCCASIONAL PIECES. [18K
REMEMBER HIM, WHOM PASSIONS POWER.
llEMEMBKii him, whom passion's power
Severely, deeply, vainly proved :
Kemember thou that dangerous hour,
When neither fell, though both were loved.
That yielding breast, that melting eye.
Too much invited to be bless'd :
'I'hnt gentle prayer, that pleading sigh.
The wilder wish reproved, repress'd.
Oh ! let me feel that all I lost
But saved thee all that conscience fears ;
And blush for every pang it cost
To spare the vain remorse of years.
Yet think of this when many a tongue.
Whose busy accents wliisper blame.
Would do the heart that loved thee wrong.
And brand a nearly blighted name.
Think that, whate'er to others, thou
Hast seen each selfish thought subdiied :
I bless thy purer soul even now.
Even now, in midnight solitude.
Oh, God ! that we had met in time,
Our hearts as fond, thy hand more free;
When thou hadst loved without a crime,
And I been less unworthy thee !
Tar may thy days, as heretofore,
Erom this our gaudy world be past 1
And that too bitter momerit o'er.
Oil ! inny such trial be thy last.
1813.1 OCCASIONAL PIECES. 345
This heart, alas ! perverted long.
Itself destroyed might there destroy ;
To meet thee in the glittering throng.
Would wake Presumption's hope of joy.
Then to the things whose bliss or woe.
Like mine, is wild and worthless all.
That world resign — such scenes forego,
Where those who feel must surely fall.
Thy youth, thy charms, thy tenderness.
Thy soul from long seclusion pure ;
Prom what even here hath pass'd, may guess
What there thy bosom must endune.
Oh ! pardon that imploring tear.
Since not by Virtue shed in vain.
My frenzy drew from eyes so dear ;
For me they shall not weep again.
Though long and mournful must it be,
The thought that we no more may meet ;
Yet I deserve the stern decree.
And almost deem the sentence sweet.
Still, had 1 loved thee less, my heart
Had then less sacrificed to thine ;
It felt not half so much to part
As if its guilt had made thee mine.
1813.
ON LOBD THURLOW'S POEMS.'
When Thurlow this damn'd nonsense sent,
(I hope I am not violent)
Nor men nor gods knew what he meant.
' [One evening, in 1813, Lord Byron and Moore were ridiculing a volume of poetry,
which they chanced to take up at the house of Ropo'i. While their host was palliating
faults and pointing out beauties, their mirth, received it fresh impulse by the discovery
I
310
OCCASIONAL PIECES. [1S13.
Aiu] since not even our Eoger's praise
To common sense his thoughts coukl raise —
Why would they let him print his lays ?
To me, divine Apollo, grant — 0 !
Hermilda's first and second canto,
I'm fitting up a new portmanteau ;
And thus to furnish decent lining,
My own and others' bays I'm twining, —
So, gentle Thurlow, throw me thine in.
TO LOKD THURLOW.
* ' I lay my branch of laurel down,
Then thus to form Apollo's crown,
Let every other bring his own."
Lord Thurlotv's lines to Mr. Boilers.
" I lay my branch of laurel down."
Tsov " lay thy branch of laurel down ! '*
Why, what thou'st stole is not enow ;
And, were it lawfully thine own.
Does Rogers want it most, or thou ?
Keep to thyself thy wither'd bough.
Or send it back to Doctor Donne :
Were justice done to both, I trow,
He'd have but little, and thou — none.
of a piece in which the author had loudly sung the praises of Rogers himself. "The
opening line of the poem," says Moore, "was, 'When Rogers o'er this labour bent ; '
aud Lord Byron undertook to read it aloud ; — but he found it im))ossible to get beyond
the first two words. Our laughter had now increased to such a pitch that nothing
could restrain it. Two or three times he began ; but no sooner had the words ' When
Rogers' passed his lips, than our fit burst forth afresh, — till even Mr. Rogers himself
found it impossible not to join us. A day or two after, Lord Byron sent me the
following : — 'My dear Moore, ' When Rogers' must not see the enclosed, which I send
for your perusal.' "]
1313.1 OCCASIONAL PIECES. 347
" Then thus to form Apollo's crown."
A crown ! why, twist it how you will,
Thy chapk't must be foolscap still.
When next you visit Delphi's town,
Enquire amongst your fellow-lodgers,
They'll tell you Phoebus gave his crown,
Some years before your birth, to Kogers.
" Let ever?/ other bring his 02on."
When coals to Newcastle are carried,
And owls sent to Athens, as wonders,
From his spouse when the Regent's unmarried.
Or Liverpool weeps o'er his blunders ;
When Tories and Whigs cease to quarrel
When Castlereagh's wife has an heir,
Tiien Rogers shall ask us for laurel.
And thou shalt have plenty to spare.
TO THOMAS MOORE.
WRITTEN THE EVENING BEFORE HIS VISIT TO MR. LEIGH HCNT IN
nORSEMONGER LANE GAOL, MAY 19, 1813.
Oh you, who in all names can tickle the town,
Anacreon, Tom Little, Tom Moore, or Tom Brown, —
For hang me if I know of which you may most brag,
Your Quarto two-pounds, or your Two-penny Post Bag;
******
But now to my letter — to yours 'tis an answer —
To-morrow be with me, as soon as you can, sir.
All ready and dress'd for proceeding to spunge on
(According to compact) the wit in the dungeon —
Pray Phoebus at length our political malice
May not get us lodgings witliin the same palace !
I suppose that to-night you're engaged with some codgers,
And for Sotheby's Blues have deserted Sam Rogers ;
34S OCCASIONAL PIECES. [1813.
And T, tliough with cold T have nearly my death got,
Must put on ray breeches^ and wait on the Heathcote ;
But to-morrow, at four, we will both play the Scurra,
And you'll be Catullus, the Regent Mamurra."
[First published in 1830.]
IMPEOMPTU, IN REPLY TO A FPJEND.
Whkn, from the heart where Sorrow sits.
Her duskv shadow mounts too high.
And o'er the clianging aspect flits,
And clouds the brow, or fills the eye;
Heed not that gloom, which soon shall sink:
My thoughts their dungeon know too well ;
Back to my breast the wanderers shrink.
And droop within their silent cell.^
Sejotember, 1813.
SONNET, TO GENEVRA.
Thine eyes' blue tenderness, thy long fair hair.
And the warm lustre of thy features — caught
From contemplation — where serenely wrought,
Seems Sorrow's softness charm'd from its despair — -
Have thrown such speaking sadness in thine air.
That — but I know thy blessed bosom fraught
With mines of unalloy'd and stainless thought —
I should have deem'd thee doom'd to earthly care.
With such an aspect, by his colours blent.
When from his beauty-breathing pencil born,
[The reader who wishes to understand the full force of this scandalous insinuation,
is referred to Muretus's notes on a celebrated poem of Catullus, entitled hi Ccesarem ;
but consisting, in fact, of savagely scornful abuse of the favourite Mamiirra : —
' ' Quis hoc potest videre ? quis potest pati,
Nisi impudicus et vorax et helluo ?
Mamurram habere quod comata Gallia
Habebat unctum, et ultima Britannia ? " &c.]
[These verses are said to have drop[)ed from the poet's pen to excuse a transient
expression of melancholy which overclouded the general gaiety.— Sir Walter Scott.]
1814.] OCCASIONAL PIECES. 349
(Except that thou hast nothing to repent)
Tlie Magdalen of Guiclo saw the morn —
Such seem'st thou — but how inucli more excellent !
With nought lieraorse can claim — nor Virtue scorn.
Decemher 17, 1813.3
SONNET, TO THE SAME.
Thy cheek is pale with tliought, but not from woe,
And yet so lovely, that if Mirth could flush
Its rose of whiteness with the brightest blush.
My heart would wish away that ruder glow :
And dazzle not thy deep-blue eyes — but, oh !
While gazing on them sterner eyes will gush.
And into mine my mother's weakness rush.
Soft as the last drops round heaven's airy bow.
l^or, tlu-ough thy long dark lashes low depending.
The soul of melancholy Gentleness
Gleams like a seraph from the sky descending,
Above all pain, yet pitying all distress;
At once such majesty with sweetness blending,
I worship more, but cannot love thee less.
December 17, 1818.
FEOM THE PORTUGUESE.
" TU MI ClIAMAS."
In moments to delight devoted,
"My life !" with tenderest tone, you cry;
Dear words ! on which my heart had doted.
If youth could neither fade nor die.
To death even hours like these must roll.
Ah ! then repeat those accents never ;
Or change "my life!" into "my soul!"
Which, like my love, exists for ever.
3 ["Eedde some Italian, and wrote two sonnets. I never wrote but one sonnet
before, and tiiat was nut in earnest, and many years ago, as an exercise — and I will
never write another. They are the most puling, petrifying, stupidly platonic cum-
j)usitions.'" — B. Diary, 1811!.]
350
OCCASIONAL PIECES. [1814.
ANOTHER VERSION.
You call me still your life.—0\\ ! change the word-
Life is as transient as the inconstant sigh :
Say rather Tni your soul; more just that name,
For, like the soul, my love can never die.
THE DEVIL'S DRIVE.
AN UNFINISHED RHAPSODY.*
The Devil return'd to hell by two.
And he stayM at home till five ;
When he dined on some homicides done in ragout,
And a rebel or so in an Irish stew.
And sausages made of a self- slain Jew —
And bethought himself what next to do,
"And," quoth he, "Til take a drive.
I walked in the moriiing, TU ride to-night ;
In darkness my children take most delight.
And I'll see how my favourites thrive.
"And what shall I ride in?" quoth Lucifer then—
" If I followed my taste, indeed,
I should mount in a waggon of Avounded men.
And smile to see them bleed.
But these will be fiirnish'd again and again.
And at present my purpose is speed ;
To see my manor as much as I may.
And watch that no souls shall be poach'd away.
" I have a state-coach at Carlton House,
A chariot in Seymour Place ;
But they're lent to two friends, who make me amends,
By driving my favourite pace :
["I have lately written a wild, rambling, unfinished rhapsody, called 'The
I's Drive,' the notion of which I took from Porson's ' Devil's Walk.' "—B. Diari/,
4 [.
Devil'i
181 a. " Though with a good deal of vigour and imagination, it is," says Moore, "for
the most part rather clumsily executed, wanting the point and condensation of those
cifver verses of Coleridge and Southey, which Lord Byron, adapting a notion long
prevalent, ha.s attributed to Porson.]
IS 14.] OCCASIONAL PIECES, 35l
And they handle their reins with s\u\\ a grace,
I have something for both at the end of their race.
" So now for the earth to take my chance :"
Then up to the earth sprung he ;
And making a jump from Moscow to France,
He stepp'd across the sea,
And rested his hoof on a turnpike road.
No very great way from a bishop^s abode.
Bat first as he flew, I forgot to say,
Tliat he hover'd a moment upon his way,
To look upon Leipsic phiin ;
And so sweet to his eye was its sulplmry glare.
And so soft to liis ear was the cry of despair
That he perch'd on a mountainof slain;
And he gazed with delight from its growing height.
Nor often on earth had he seen such a sight.
Nor his work done half as well :
For the field ran so red with the blood of the dead.
That it blush'd like the waves of hell !
Then loudly, and wildly, and long laugh'd he :
" Methinks they have here little need of me !"
But the softest note that sooth'd his ear
Was the sound of a widow sighing ;
And the sweetest sight was the icy tear,
\Yhich horror froze in the blue eye clear
Of a maid by her lover lying —
As round her fell her long fair hair ;
And she look'd to heaven with that frenzied air.
Which seem'd to ask if a God were there!
And, stretch' d by the wall of a ruin'd hut.
With its lioUow cheek, and eyes half shut,
A child of famine dying :
And the carnage begun, when resistance is dons.
And the fall of the vainly flying 1
S-,2 OCCASIONAL PIECES. [1814.
But the Devil has reachM our cliffs so white.
And what did he there, I pray ?
If his eyes were good, lie but saw by night
What we see every day :
But he made a tour, and kept a journal
Of all the wondrous sights, nocturnal,
And he sold it in shares to the Meti of the Bow,
Who bid pretty well — but they cheated him, though !
The Devil first saw, as he thought, the Mall,
Its coachman and his coat;
So instead of a pistol he cock'd his tail.
And seized him by the throat :
" Aha \" quoth he, " what have we here ?
^Tis a new barouche, and an ancient peer ?''
So he sat him on his box again.
And bade him have no fear,
But be true to his club, and stanch to his rein.
His brothel, and his beer ;
"Next to seeing a lord at the council board,
I would rather see him here."
*
The Devil gat next to Westminster,
And he turn'd to "the room'^ of tlie Commons;
But he heard, as he purposed to enter in there.
That "the Lords" had received a summons;
And he thought, as a " quondain aristocrat,"
He might peep at the peers, though to hear them were flat ;
And he walk'd up- the house so like one of our own,
That they say that he stood pretty near tlie throne.
He saw the Lord Liverpool seemingly wise.
The Lord AVestmoreland certainly silly,
And Johnny of Norfolk — a man of some size —
And Chatham, so like his friend Billy;
And he saw the tears in Lord Eldon^s eyes.
Because the Catholics would not rise,
In spite of his i)rayers and his prophecies;
UU.] OCCASIONAL PIECES. 3?8
And he lieard — wliicli set Satan liimself a-stariiitr —
A certain chief Justice say something like swearivg.
And the Devil was shocked — and quoth he, " I must go,
Por I find we have much better manners below:
If thus he harangues when he passes ray border,
I shall hint to friend Moloch to call him to order/*
WINDSOE POETICS.
Lines comprised on the occasion of His Royal Highness the Prince Regent being seen
Btaiuling between the coffins of Henry VIII. and Charles I., in the royal vault
at Windsor.
Famed for contemptuons breach of sacred ties,
By hendless Charles see heartless Henry lies ;
Between them stands another sceptred thing —
It moves, it reigns — in all but name, a king :
Charles to his people, Henry to his wife,
— In him the double tyrant starts to life :
Justice and death have mix^d their dust in vain.
Each royal vampire wakes to life again.
Ah, what can tombs avail ! — since these disgorge
The blood and dust of both — to mould a George.'
STANZAS FOR MUSIC."
I SPEAK not, I trace not, I breathe not thy name,
There is grief iu the sound, there is guilt in the fame : )
But the tear which now burns on my cheek may impart
The deep thoughts that dwell in that silence of heart.
' ["I cannot conceive how the FttM^ has got about ; butsoitis. It is too/aro»r,^«;
but truth to say, my sallies are not very playful." — Lord B. to Mr. Moore, March 12,
1814.]
* [" Thoii hast asted me for a song, and I enclose you an experiment, which has cost
me something more tlian trouble, and is, therefore, less likely to be worth your takiug
any in your proposed setting. Now, if it be so, throw it into the fire without^j/o-asc." —
Lord B. to Mr. Moore, I^lay 10, 1814.]
VOL. II. A A
354 OCCASIONAL PIECES. [1314
Too brief for our passion, too long for our peace,
AVere those liours — can their joy or their bitterness cease?
"We repent, we abjure, we will break from our chain, — •'
We will part, we will fly to — unite it again !
Oh ! thine be the gladness, and mine be the guilt !
Forgive me, adored one ! — forsake, if thou Avilt ; —
But the heart which is thine shall expire undebased
And man shall not break it — whatever thou mayst.
And stern to the haughty, but liumble to tliee,
This soul, in its bitterest blackness, shall be :
And our days seem as swift, and our moments more sweet.
With thee by my side, th'an with worlds at our feet.
One sigh of thy sorrow, one look of thy love.
Shall turn me or fix, shall reward or reprove ;
And the heartless may wonder at all I resign —
Thy lip shall reply, not to them, but to mine.
May, I SI 4.
ADDRESS INTENDED TO BE RECITED AT THE
CALEDONIAN MEETING.
Who hat1i not glow'd above the page where fame
llath fix'd high Calcdon's unconquer'd name ;
The mountain-land which spurn'd the Eoman chain,
And baffled back the fiery-crested Dane,
Whose bright claymore and hardihood of hand
]Mo foe could tame— no tyrant could command?
That race is gone — but still their children breathe.
And glory crowns them with redoubled wreath :
O'er Gael and Saxon mingling banners shine.
And, England ! add their stubborn strength to thine.
The blood which flowed with Wallace flows as free,
But now ^tis only shed for fame and thee !
Oh ! pass not by the northern veteran's claim,
But give support — the M'orld hath given him fame !
1S14.J OCCASIONAL HECES.
The humbler ranks^ the lowly brave, wlio bled
AA hile cheerly following where the mighty led —
Who sleep beneath the undistinguish'd sod
Where happier comrades in their triumph trod.
To us bequeath — 'tis all their fate allows — ■
The sireless ofl'spring and the lonely spouse :
She on high Albyn's dusky hills may raise
The tearful eye in melancholy gaze,
Or view, while shadowy auguries disclose
The Highland Seer's anticipated woes.
The bleeding phantom of each martial form
Dim in the cloud, or darkling in the storm ;
While sad, she chants the solitary song,
The soft lament for him who tarries long —
Eor him, whose distant relics vainly crave
Tlie Coronach's wild requiem to the brave !
'Tis Heaven — not man — must charm away the woe,
Wliich bursts when Nature's feelings newly flow ;
Yet tenderness and time may rob the tear
Of half its bitterness for one so dear ;
A nation's gratitude perchance may spread
A thornless pillow for the widow'd head ;
May lighten well her heart's maternal care.
And wean from penury the soldier's heir.
May, 1814.
o^'O
FRAGMENT OF AN EPISTLE TO THOMAS MOORE.
"What say li"' — not a syllable further in prose;
I'm your man " of all measures," dear Tom, — so, here goes !
Here goes, for a swim on the stream of old Time,
On those buoyant supporters, the bladders of rhyme.
If our weight breaks them down, and we sink in the flood.
We are smother'd, at least, in respectable mud.
Where the Divers of Bathos lie drown'd in a heap.
And Southey's last Pa^an has pillow'd his sleep ; —
That "Felo de se," who, half drunk with his malmsey,
Walk'd out of his depth and was lost in a calm sea,
-56 OCCASIONAL PIECES. [181 J.
Singing ''Glory to God " in a spick and span stanza,
The like (since Tom Sternliold was choked) never man sa"
The papers have told you, no doubt, of the fusses.
The fetes, and the gapings to get at these Russes,'
Of his Majesty's suite, up from coachman to Hetnian,
And what dignity decks the flat face of the great man.
I saw him, last week, at two balls and a party, —
!For a prince, his demeanour was rather too hearty.
You know, we are used to quite different graces,
The Czar's look, I own, was mucli brighter and brisker.
But then he is sadly deficient in whisker;
And wore but a starless blue coat, and in kersey-
-mere breeches whisk'd round, in a waltz with Ihc Jersey,
Who, lovely as ever, seem'd just as delighted
With Majesty's presence as those she invited.
June, 181 4.
CONDOLATORY ADDRESS TO SARAH, COUNTESS OF
JERSEY,
ON THE RESKNT's RETURNING HER PICTURE TO MRS. MEE.^
When the vain triumph of the imperial lord.
Whom servile Eome obey'd, and yet abhorr'd.
Gave to the vulgar gaze each glorious bust,
Tliat left a likeness of the brave, or just;
What most admired each scrutinising eye
Of all that deck'd that passing pageantry .?
7 ["The newspapers will tell you all that is to be told of emperors, kc. They hare
flineil, atui sup]>ed, and shown their flat facts in all thoroughfares, and several saloons.
Their uniforms are very becoming, but rather short in the skirts ; and their conversation
is a catechism, for which, and the answers, I refer you to those who have heard it." —
L,rd B. to Mr. Moore, June 14, 1814.]
*• ["The newspapers have got hold (I know not how of the Coudolat'iry Address to
Lady Jersey on the picture-abduction by our Kegent, and Lave published them— with
my name, too, smmdc— without even iiskin;r b:a\e, or inquiring whether or no! It
hiis put me out of patience, and so — I shall say no more about \i."— Byron Letters. \
M
ISU.] OCCASIONAL PIECES. 357
What spread from face to face that wondering air ?
The thought of Brutus — for his was not there !
That absence proved his worthy — that absence fix'd.
His memory on the longing mind, unmix'd
And more decreed his glory to endure.
Than all a gold Colossus could secure.
If thus, fair Jersey, our desiring gaze
Search for thy form, in vain and mute amaze,
Amidst those pictur'd charms, whose loveliness.
Bright though they be, thine own had render'd less;
If he, that vain old man, whom truth admits
Heir of his father's crown, and of his wits.
If his corrupted eye, and wither'd heart.
Could with thy gentle image bear depart;
That tasteless shame be his, and ours the grief,
To gaze on Beauty's band without its chief:
Yet comfort still one selfish thought imparts,
"We lose the portrait, but preserve our hearts.
What can his vaulted gallery now disclose ?
A garden with all flowers — except the rose ; —
A fount that only wants its living stream ;
A night, with every star, save Dian's beam.
Lost to our eyes the present form shall be,
That turn from tracing them to dream of thee;
And more on that recall'd resemblance pause.
Than all he shall not force on our applause.
Long may thy yet meridian lustre shine.
With all that Virtue asks of Homage thine :
The symmetry of youth, the grace of mien,
The eye that gladdens, and the brow serene ;
The glossy darkness of that clustering hair.
Which shades, yet shows that forehead more than fair !
Each glance that wins us, and the life that throws
A spell which will not let our looks repose,
But turn to gaze again, and find anew
Some charm that well rewards another view.
These are not lessen'd, these are still as bright,
Albeit too dazzling for a dotard's sight ;
And those must wait till ev'ry charm is gone.
To please the paltry heart that pleases none ; —
3f,s OCCASIONAL riECES. [1814.
Thai dull cold sensualist, whose sickly eye
In envious dimness passM thy portrait by ;
AVlio rack'd his little spirit to combine
Its hate of Freedom's loveliness, and thine.
August, 1814.
TO BELSHAZZAE.
Belshazzar ! from the banquet turn,
Nor in thy sensual fulness fall ;
Behold ! while yet before thee burn
The graven words, the glowing wall.
Many a despot men miscall
Crown'd and anointed from on high ;
But thou, the weakest, worst of all —
Is it not written, thou must die ?
Go ! dash the roses from thy brow —
Grey hairs but poorly wreathe with them ;
Youth's garlands misbecome thee now,
More than thy very diadem,
Where thou hast tarnish'd every gem : —
Then throw the worthless bauble by.
Which, worn by tliee, ev'n slaves contemn;
And learn like better men to die !
Oh ! early in the balance weigh'd.
And ever light of word and worth.
Whose soul expired ere youth decay'd,
And left thee but a mass of eartli.
To see thee moves the scorner's mirth :
But tears in Hope's averted eye
Lament that even thou hadst birth-
Unfit to govern, live, or die.
1814.] • OCCASIONAL PIECES. 3.^9
ELEGIAC STANZAS ON THE DEATH OF SIR PETEK
PAEKER, BART.3
Thbue is a tear for all that die,
A mourner o'er the humblest grave ;
But nations swell the funeral cry.
And Triumph weeps above the brave.
Tor them is Sorrow's purest sigh
O'er Ocean's heaving bosom sent :
In vain their bones unburied lie,
All earth becomes their monument !
A tomb is theirs on every page,
An epitaph on every tongue :
Tlie present hours, the future age,
Por them bewail, to them belong.
For them the voice of festal mirth
Grows hush'd, tlieir name the only sound ;
While deep Eemembrance pours to Worth
The goblet's tributary round.
A theme to crowds that knew them not.
Lamented by admiring foes.
Who would not share their glorious lot ?
Who would not die the death they chose ?
Aud, gallant Parker ! thus enshrined
Thy Hfe, tliy fall, thy fame shall be;
And early valour, glowing, find
A model in thy memory.
9 [This gallant officer fell in August, 1814, in his twenty-ninth year, whilst
animating on shore a party from his shi]) at the storming of the Anicrieaii camp near
Baltimore. He was Lord Byron's first cousin ; but they had never met since
boyhood.]
SCO
OCCxVSIONAL PIECES. [iSli^
But there are breasts that bleed with thee
In woe, that glory cannot quell ;
And shuddering hear of victory,
AViiere one so dear, so dauntless, fell.
Where shall they turn to mourn thee less ?
When cease to hear thy cherish'd name ?
Time cannot teacli forgetfulness,
AVhile Griefs full heart is fed by Pame.
Alas ! for them, though not for thee,
Tliey cannot choose but weep the more ;
Deep for the dead the grief must be,
Who ne'er gave cause to mourn before.
October, 1814.
I
STANZAS FOR MUSIC^
" 0 Lachrymarum fons, tenero sacros
Ducentinm ortas ex animo : quater
Felix ! in imo qui scatentem
Pectore te, pia Nyinpha, sensit."
Gkay's Poemala.
Thehk's not a joy the world can give like thnt it takes awny.
When tlie glow of early thought declines in feeling's dull decay;
'Tis not on youth's smooth cheek the blush alone, which fades so fast.
But the tender bloom of heart is gone, ere youth itself be past.
Then the few whose spirits float above the wreck of happiness
Are driven o'er tlie shoals of guilt or ocean of exces^s :
The magnet of their course is gone, or oidy points in vaisi
The shore to which their shiver'd sail shall never stretch again.
' [Tliese verses were given to Moore by Lord BjTon for Mr. Power of the Strnnrl,
■who published them, with lieautilul music by 8ir John Stevenson. — "I feel merry
enough," Lord Byron wrote, "to send you a sad song. An event, the death of pour
Dorset, and the recollection of what I once felt, and ought to have felt now, but could
not — set me jiondering, and finally into the train of thought which ycu have in your
liands." In ar)'.t)icr letter to Moore he says, "I pique niyself on these lines as being
the truest though the most melancholy I ever wrote." (March, 181(3.)]
isio.] OCCASIONAL PIECKS. ?,G1
Then the mortal coldness of the sonl like death itself comes down ;
It cannot feel for others' woes^ it dare not dreani its own;
That heavy chill has frozen o'er the fountain of our tears.
And though the eye may sparkle still, 'tis where the ice appears.
Though wit may flash from fluent lips, and mirth distract the breast,
Through midnight hours that yield no more their former hope of rest;
' Tis but as ivy-leaves around the ruin'd turret wreath,
All green and wildly fresh without, but worn and grey beneatli.
Oh, could I feel as I have felt, — or be "what I have been.
Or weep as I could once have wept, o'er many a vauish'd scene ;
As springs in deserts found seem sweet, all brackish though they be.
So, midst the witlier'd waste of life, those tears would flow to me.
March, 1815.
STANZAS FOR MUSIC.
There be none of Beauty's daughters
\A^ith a magic like tliee ;
And like music on the waters
Is thy sweet voice to me :
When, as if its sound were causing
The charmed ocean's pausing,
The waves lie still and gleaming.
And the luU'd winds seem di-eaming :
And the midnight moon is weaving
Her bright chain o'er the deep ;
Whose breast is gently heaving.
As an infant's asleep :
So the spirit bows before thee.
To listen and adore thee ;
With a full but soft emotion.
Like the swell of Summer's ocean.
862 OCCASIONAL PIECES. [1S15.
ON NAPOLEON'S ESCAPE FEOM ELBA.
Once fairly set out on his party of pleasure,
Taking towns at his liking, and crowns at his leisure,
From Elba to Lyons and Paris he goes,
Making balls for the ladies, and hoivs to his foes.
March 27, 1S15.
ODE FEOM THE FEENCH.
I.
We do not curse thee, Waterloo !
Though Freedom's blood thy plain bedew ;
There 'twas shed, but is not sunk —
Eising from each gory trunk,
Like the water-spout from ocean,
With a strong and growing motion —
It soars, and mingles in tlie air.
With that of lost Labedoyere —
AVith that of him whose honour'd giave
Contains the " bravest of the brave."
A crimson cloud it spreads and glows,
But shall return to whence it rose ;
When 'tis full 'twill burst asunder —
Never yet was heard such thunder
As then shall shake the world with wonder — •
Never yet was seen such liglitning
As o'er heaven shall then be bright'ning !
Like the Wormwood Star foretold
By the sainted Seer of old,
Show' ring down a fiery flood.
Turning rivers into blood.*
'■' See Rev. cliap. viii. v. 7, &c. "Tbe first augel soumlcd, and there folliwed
hail and fire n)in;^led with blood," &c. v. 8. " And the scomid augel sounded, and as
it were a gi-eat mountain burning with fire was cast into the sea ; and the tliird part
of tlie sea became blood," &c. v. 10. "And the third angel sounded, and tliere fell
a great star from heaven, burning as it were a lamp : and it fell upon the third part
of tlio rivers, and upon the fountains of waters." v. 11. "And the name of the star
is called Wurniwood : and the third part of the waters became wormwood ; and many
uieu died of the waters because they were made bitter."
1815.] OCCASIONAL PIECES. 363
IT.
The Chief has fallen, but not by you.
Vanquishers of Waterloo !
AYhen the soldier citizen
Sway'd not o'er his fellow-men —
Save in deeds that led them on
Where Glory smiled on l^reedom's son —
Who, of all the despots banded.
With that youthful chief competed ?
Who could boast o'er France defeated,
Till lone Tyranny commanded?
Till, goaded by ambition's sting,
The Hero sunk into the King ?
Then he fell : — so perish all, '
Who would men by man enthral !
III.
And thon, too, of the snow-white plume !
Whose realm refused thee ev'n a tomb ; '
Better hadst thou still been leading
France o'er hosts of hirelings bleeding,
Thau sold thyself to death and shame
For a meanly royal name ;
Such as he of Naples wears,
Who thy blood-bought title bears.
Little didst thou deem, when dashing
On thy war-horse through the ranks.
Like a stream which burst its banks,
While helmets cleft, and sabres clashing.
Shone and shiver'd fast around thee —
Of the fate at last which found thee :
Was that haughty plume laid low
By a slave's dishonest blow ?
Once — as the Moon sways o'er the tide.
It roll'd in air, the warrior's guide ;
Through the smoke-created night
Of the black and sulphurous fight,
' Murat's remains are said to have been torn from the grave and burnt, ["roor
deiir Murat, what an end ! His white phime used to be a rallying point in battle,
like Henry the Fourth's. He refused a confe.ssor and a bnndage ; so would neither
sufler Ms soul nor body to be bandaged." — B. Letter.s.']
364 ■ OCCASIONAL PIECES, [1S15.
The soldier raised his seeking eye
To catch that crest's ascendancj, —
And, as it onward rolling rose.
So moved his heart upon our foes. "
There, where death's brief pang was quickest,
And the battle's wreck lay thickest,
Strew'd beneath the advancing banner
Of the eagle's burning crest —
(There with thunder-clouds to fan her,
Who could then her wiug arrest —
Yictory beaming from her breast ?)
While the broken line enlarging
Fell, or fled along the plain ;
There be sure was Murat charging !
There he ne'er shall charge again !
IV,
O'er glories gone the invaders march,
AVeeps Ti'iumph o'er each levell'd arch-
But let Preedom rejoice,
With her heart in her voice ;
But, her hand on her sword.
Doubly shall she be adored ;
France hath twice too well been taught
The " moral lesson " dearly bought —
Her safety sits not on a throne,
- With Capet or Napoleon !
But in equal rights and laws.
Hearts and hands in one great cause —
Freedom, such as God hath given
Unto all beneath his heaven.
With their breath, and from their birth,
Though guilt would sweep it from the earth j
With a fierce and lavish hand
Scattering nations' wealth like sand;
Pouring nations' blood like water.
In imperial seas of slaugliter !
V.
But tlie lieart and the mind.
And the voice of mankind.
1315.] OCCASIONAL PIECES.
Shall arise in communion —
And who shall resist that proud union ?
The time is past when swords subdued —
Man may die — the soul's renew'd :
Even in this low world of care
Freedom ne'er shall want an heir ;
Millions breathe but to inherit
Her for ever bounding spirit —
"When once more her hosts assemble.
Tyrants shall believe and tremble —
Smile they at this idle threat ?
Crimsoji tears will follow yet."
FROM THE FRENCH.^
I.
Must thou go, my glorious Chief,
Sever'd from thy faithful few ?
"Who can tell thy warrior's grief,
Maddening o'er that long adieu ?
Woman's love, and friendship's zenl,
Dear as botli have been to me —
"What are they to all I feel.
With a soldier's faith for thee ?
IT.
Idol of the soldier's soul !
First in fight, but mightiest now ;
Many could a world control;
Thee alone no doom can bow.
^ ["Talking of politics, pray look at the conclusion of my 'Ode on Waterloo,'
written in the year 1815, and comparing it with the Duke d^ Berri's catastrophe in
1S"20, tell me il' I have not as good a right to the character of ' Va/es,' in both senses
of the word, as Fitzgerald and Coleridge ? —
' Crimson tears will follow yet ; '
and have they not ?"— 5. Letters, 1820.]
^ " All wept, but particularly Savary, and a Polish ofHcer who liad been exalted
from the ranks by Buonaparte. He clung to his master's knets ; wrote a letter to
Lord Keith, entreating permission to accompany him, even in the most menial capacity,
which could not be admitted."
350
OCCASIONAL PIECES. [1515.
By thy side for years I dared
Death ; and envied those wlio fell,
"\Ylien their dying shout was heard, |
Blessing him they served so Mell.*
I
III.
"Would that I were cold with those,
Since this hour I live to see ;
AVhen the doubts of coward foes
Scarce dare trust a man with tlu>e.
Dreading each shonld set thee free !
Oh ! although in dungeons pent.
All their chains were light to me.
Gazing on thy soul unbent. 4
IV.
Would the sycophants of him ,,
Now so deaf to duty's prayer, |
Were his borrow'd glories dim.
In his native darkness share ?
Were that world this hour his own,
All thou calmly dost resign,
Could he purchase with that throne
Hearts like those which still are thine ?
My chief, my king, my friend, adieu !
Never did I droop before ;
Never to my sovereign sue.
As his foes I now implore :
All I ask is to divide
Every peril he must brave ;
Sharing by the hero's side
His fall, his exile, and his grave.
' "At Waterloo one man was seen, whose left arm was shattered by a cannou hall,
to wrench it off with the other, and throwing it up in the air, exclaimed to his com-
rades, ' Vive r Emperexrr, jusqu' a la mort ! ' There were many other instances of the
like : this you may, however, depend on as true." — Private Letter from lirue^cla.
181i^.] OCCASIONAL riECLS. 367
ON THE STAR OF "THE LEGION OF HONOUR."
[from the FRENCH .]
Star of the brave ! — whose beam hath shed
Such glory o'er the quick and dead —
Thou radiant and adored deceit !
"Which millions rush'd in arms to greet, —
Wild meteor of immortal birth !
"Why rise in Heaven to set on Earth ?
Souls of slain heroes form'd thy rays ;
Eternity flash'd through thy blaze ;
The music of thy martial sphere
Was fame on high and honour here ;
And thy light broke on human eyes.
Like a volcano of the skies.
Like lava rolFd thy stream of blood.
And swept down empires with its Hood ;
Earth rock'd beneath thee to her base.
As thou didst lighten through all space ;
And the shorn Sun grew dim in air.
And set while thou wert dwellini^ there.
Before thee rose, and with thee grew,
A rainbow of the loveliest hue
Of three bright colours,' each divine.
And fit for that celestial sign ;
Pur Ereedom's hand had blended them,
Like tints in an immortal gem.
One tint was of the sunbeam^s dyes ;
One, the blue depth of Seraph's eyes ;
One, the pure Spirit's veil of white
Had robed in radiance of its light :
Tlie three so mingled did beseem
The texture of a heavenly dream.
' The tricolor.
U8
OCCASIONAL riECKS. [1815.
Star of tlic l)ra\e ! tliy ray is pale.
And darkness must again prevail !
But, oh thou Rr.^nbow of the free !
Our tears and blood must flow for thee.
When thy bright promise fades aM'ay,
Our life is but a load of clay.
And Freedom hallows with her tread
The silent cities of the dead ;
For beautiful in death are tliey
Who proudly fall in her array ;
And soon, oh, Goddess ! may we be
For evermore with them or thee !
NAPOLEON'S FAEEWELL.
[from the rHEHCH.]
I.
Farewell to the Land, wher.e the gloom of my Glory
iViose and o'ershadow'd the earth witli her name —
She abandons me now — but the page of her story,
The brififhtest or blackest, is fiU'd with mv fame.
I. have warr'd with a world M'hich vauquish'd me only
Wh'.n tlie meteor of conquest allured me too far;
I have coped with the nations which dread me thus '.tine.v,
The last single Captive to millions in war.
n.
^
Farewell to thee, France! when thy diadem rrown'd me,
1 made thee the gem and the Monder of earl!'.
Put thy weakness decrees I should leave as T formd tl'.ce,
Decay'd in tliy glory, and sunk in thy wortli.
Oh ! for the veteran hearts that were wasted
In strife with the storm, when their battles were won — <'
Then the Eagle, whose gaze in that moment was blasted,
Had still soar'd with eves fix'd on victory's sun !
1S16.] OCCASIONAL PIECES. :l.;o
III.
Farewell to thee, France !— but when Liberty rallies
Once more in thy regions, remember me then, —
Tlie violet still grows in the deiith of thy valleys ;
Though wither' d, thy tear will unfold it again —
Yet, yet, I may baffle the hosts that surround us,
And yet may thy heart leap awake to my voice —
There are links which must break in the chain that has bound us,
Then turn thee and call on the Chief of thy choice !
ENDORSEMENT TO THE DEED OF SEPARATION,
IN THE APRIL OF 1816.*
A YEAR ago, you swore, fond she !
" To love, to honour," and so forth :
Such was the vow you pledged to me.
And here's exactly what 'tis worth.
DARKNESS."
I HAD a dream, which was not all a dream.
The bright sun was extinguished, and the stars
Did wander darkling in the eternal space,
Rayless, and pathless, and the icy earth
Swung blind and blackening in the moonless air ;
Morn came and went — and came, and brought no day.
And men forgot their passions in the dread
Of this their desolation ; and all hearts
Were chill'd into a selfish prayer for light :
And they did live by watchfires — and the thrones.
The palaces of crowned kings — the huts,
The habitations of all things which dwell.
Were burnt for beacons ; cities were consumed.
And men were gather'd round their blazing homes
^ ["Here is an epigram I wrote for the Endorsement of the Deed of Separation in
18] 6: but the lawyers objected to it, as superfluous. It wm wi-itten as wc were
getting up the signing and sealing." — Lord B. to Mr. Moore.]
^ [In the original US. — "A Dream."]
VOL. II. B B
370
OCCASIONAL PIECES. 11816.
To look once more into each other's face ;
Happy were those who dwelt withm the eye
Of the volcanos, and their mountain-torch :
A fearful hope was all the world containM ;
Forests were set on fire— but hour by hour
They fell and faded— and the craclding trunks
Extingaish'd with a crash — and all was black.
The brows of men by the despairing light
"Wore an unearthly aspect, as by fits
The flashes fell upon them ; some lay down
And hid their eyes and wept ; and some did rest
Their chins upon their clenched hands, and smiled ;
And others hurried to and fro, and fed
Their funeral piles with fuel, and look'd up
With mad disquietude on the dull sky.
The pall of a past world ; and then again
With curses cast them down upon the dust.
And gnash'd their teeth and howl'd : the wild birds shriek'd
And, terrified, did flutter on the ground.
And flap their useless wings ; the wildest brutes
Came tame and tremulous ; and vipers crawl'd
And twined themselves among the multitude.
Hissing, but stingless — they were slain for food :
And War, which for a moment was no more.
Did glut himself again : — a meal was bought
With blood, and each sate sullenly apart
Gorging himself in gloom : no love was left ;
All eai'th was but one thought — and that was death
Immediate and inglorious ; and the pang
Of famine fed upon all entrails — men
Died, and their bones were tombless as their flesh ;
The meagre by the meagre ,were devour' d,
Even dogs assail'd their masters, all save one.
And he was faithful to a corse, and kept
The birds and beasts and famish'd men at bay,
Till hunger clung them,' or the dropping dead
' [ " If thou speak' st false,
Upon the next tree shalt thou hang alive,
Till famine cling thee." — Macbeth.
Fruit is said to l)e clung when the skin shrivels, and a corpse when tiie faoo
bccomeH wasted and gaunt.]
I
1816.] OCCASIONAL FIECES. 371
Lured their lank jaws ; himself sonj^ht out no food,
But with a piteous and perpetual moan.
And a quick desolate cry, licking the hand
Which answer'd not with a caress — he died.
The crowd was famish'd by degrees ; but two
Of an enormous city did survive,
And they were enemies : they met beside
The dying embers of an altar-place
"Where had been heap'd a mass of holy things
For an unholy usage ; they raked up.
And shivering scraped with their cold skeleton hands
The feeble ashes, and their feeble breath
Blew for a little life, and made a flame
Which was a mockery; then they lifted up
Their eyes as it grew lighter, and beheld
Each other's aspects — saw, and shrieked, and died —
Even of their mutual hideousness they died.
Unknowing who he was upon Avhose brow
Famine had written Fiend. The world was void.
The populous and the powerful was a lump,
Seasonless, herbless, treeless, manless, hfeless —
A lump of death — a chaos of hard clay.
The rivers, lakes, and ocean all stood still.
And nothing stirr'd within their silent depths ;
Ships sailorless lay rotting on the sea.
And their masts fell down piecemeal : as they dropp'd
They slept on the abyss without a surge —
The waves were dead ; the tides were in their grave.
The moon, their mistress, had expired before ;
The winds were withered in the stagnant air.
And the clouds perish'd ; Darkness had no need
Of aid from them — She was the Universe.^
Diodati, Jwhj, 1816.
" ["Darkness" is a grand and gloomy sketch of the suppo.sed consequences of the
final extinction of the Sun and the heavenly bodies ; executed, undoubtedly, with
great and fearful force, but with something of German exaggeration, and a fantastical
solution of incidents. The very conception is terrible above all conception of known
calamity, and is too oppressive to the imagination to be contemplated with pleasure even
in the faint reflection of poetry. — Jeffrey.]
B 2 2
OCCASIONAL PIECES. [1S16.
CHUECHILL'S GEAVE ;
A FACT LITERAIiliT RENDERED.^
I STOOD beside the grave of him who blazed
The comet of a season^ and I saw
The humblest of all sepulchres^ and gazed
With not the less of sorrow and of awe
On that neglected turf and quiet stone,
Witli name no clearer than the names unknown.
Which lay unread around it ; and I askM
The Gardener of that ground, why it might be
That for this plant strangers liis memory task'd,
Through the thick deaths of half a century ?
And thus he ansAver'd — " Well, I do not know
Why frequent travellers turn to pilgrims so;
He died before my day of Sextonship,
And I had not the digging of this grave."
And is this all ? I thought, — and do we rip
The veil of Immortality, and crave
I know not what of honour and of light
Through unborn ages, to endure this blight.
So soon, and so successless ? As I said.
The Architect of all on which we tread.
For Earth is but a tombstone, did essay
To extricate remembrance from the clay.
Whose minglings might confuse a Newton's thought
Were it not that all life must end in one.
Of which we are but dreamers ; — as he caught
As 'twere the twilight of a former Sun,
Thus spoke he, — " I believe the man of whom ^
You wot, who lies in this selected tomb, ^
* [On tlie sheet containing the original draugtt of these lines Lord Byron has
written : — " The following poem (as most that I have endeavoured to writt ) is founded
on a fact ; and this detail is an attempt at a serious imitation of the style of a great poet
— its heauties and its defects : I say the siyle ; for the thoughts I claim as ray own.
Ill lliis, if there be anything ridiculous, let it be attributed to me, at least as much as
to Mr. Wordswortli ; of whom tl'ere can exist few greater admirers tluui myself. I
have blended what I would deem to be the beauties as well as defects of his style ;
ai d it ought to be remembered, that, in such things, whether there be praise or
di.spraiiie, there is always what is called a compliment, however unintentional."]
1810.] OCCASIONAL PIECES. ?.73
Was a most famous writer in In's dav,
And tlierefore travellers step from out their Avay
To pay him honour,— and myself Mliate'er
Your honour pleases ; " — then most pleased I shook*
From out my pocket's avaricious nook
Some certain coins of silver, which as 'twere
Perforce I gave this man, though I could spare
So much but inconveniently: — Ye smile,
I see ye, ye profane ones ! all the while.
Because my homely phrase the truth would tell.
You are the fools, not I — for I did dwell
With a deep thought, and with a soften'd eye,
On that Old Sexton's natural homily.
In which there w^as Obscurity and Fame, —
The Glory and the Nothing of a Name.'
Diodali, 1816.
PEOMETHEUS.
Titan ! to whose immortal eyes
The sufferings of mortality.
Seen in their sad reality.
Were not as things that gods despise ;
* [Originally —
"then most pleased, I shook
My inmost pocket's most retired nook,
And out fell five and sixpence."]
^ ["The Grave of Churchill might have called from Lord Byi-on a deeper commemo-
ration ; for, though they generally diflered in character and genius, there was a
resemblance between their history and character. The satire of Chun liill flowed with
a more profuse, though not a more embittered, stream ; while, on the other hand, he
cannot be compared to Lord Byron in point of tenderness or imagination. But botli these
poets held themselves above the opinion of the world, and both were followed by the fame
and popularity which they seemed to despise. The writings of both exhibit an inborn,
though sometimes ill-regulated, generosity of miad, and a spirit of proud iudeiiendence,
frequently pushed to extremes. Both carried their hatred of hypocrisy beyond the
verge of prudence, and indulged their vein of satire to the borders of licentiousness."
— Sir Walter Scott. Churchill, like Lord Byron, breathed his last in a foreign
land. He died at Boulogne, but was buried at Dover, and this sensual line of his own
was engraved upon his tomb : —
" Life to the last enjoy' d, here Churchill lies."]
374
OCCASIONAL PIECES. [1816.
What was thy pity's recompense ?
A silent suffering, and intense ;
The rock, the vulture, and the chain.
All that the proud can feel of pain,
The agony they do not show.
The suffocating sense of woe,
Which speaks but in its loneliness.
And then is jealous lest the sky
Should have a listener, nor will sigh
Until its voice is echoless.
II.
Titan ! to thee the strife was given
Between the suffering and the will,
AVhich torture where they cannot kill j
And the inexorable Heaven,
And the deaf tyranny of Fate,
The ruling principle of Hate,
Which for its pleasure dotli create
The things it may annihilate,
Refused thee even the boon to die :
The wretched gift eternity
Was thine — and thou hast borne it well.
All that the Thunderer wrung from thee
Was but the menace which flung back
On him the torments of thy rack ;
The fate thou didst so well foresee.
But would not to appease him tell ;
And in thy Silence was his Sentence,
And in his Soul a vain repentance.
And evil dread so ill dissembled.
That in his hand the lightnings trembled.
Thy Godlike crime was to be kind.
To render with thy precepts less
The sum of human wretchedness.
And strengthen Man with his own mind ;
But baffled as thou wert from high.
Still ill thy patient energy.
1816.] OCCASIONAL PIECES. 371
In the endurance, and repulse
Of thine impenetrable Spirit,
Which Earth and Heaven could not convulse
A mighty lesson we inherit :
Thou art a symbol and a sign
To Mortals of their fate and force ;
Like tliee, Man is in part divine,
A troubled stream from a pure source ;
And Man in portions can foresee
His own funereal destiny ;
His wretchedness, and his resistance.
And his sad unallied existence :
To which his Spirit may oppose
Itself — and equal to all woes,
And a firm will, and a deep sense,
"Which even in torture can descry
Its own conceuter'd recompense.
Triumphant where it dares defy.
And making Death a Victory.
Diodati, July, 1816,
A FRAGMENT.
Could I remount the river of my years
To the first fountain of our smiles and tears,
I would not trace again the stream of hours
Between their outworn banks of withered flowers.
But bid it flow as now — until it glides
Into the number of the nameless tides.
What is this Death ? — a quiet of the heart ?
The whole of that of which we are a part ?
For life is but a vision — what I see
Of all which lives alone is life to me,
And being so — the absent are the dead.
Who haunt us from tranquillity, and spread
A dreary shroud around us, and invest
With sad remembrancers our hours of rest.
S7d OCCASIONAL PIECES. [1816.
The abseiit are the dead — for they are cold,
And ne^er can be what once we did behold ;
And they are changed, and cheerless, — or if yet
The unforgotten do not all forget,
Since thus divided — equal must it be
If the deep barrier be of earth, or sea ;
It may be both — but one day end it must
In the dark union of insensate dust.
The uuder-earth inhabitants — are they
But mingled millions decomposed to clay ?
The ashes of a thousand ages spread
Wherever man has trodden or shall tread ?
Or do they in their silent cities dwell
Each in his incommunicative cell ?
Or have they their own language ? and a sense
Of breathless being ? — darkened and intense
As midnight in her solitude ? — Oh Earth !
Where are the past ? — and wherefore had they birth ?
The dead are thy inheritors — and we
But bubbles on thy surface ; and the key
Of thy profundity is in the grave,
The ebon portal of thy peopled cave.
Where I w^ould walk in spirit, and behold
Our elements resolved to things untold.
And fathom hidden wonders, and explore
The essence of great bosoms now no more.
Diodati, Jaly, 1816.
SONNET TO LAKE LEMAN.
HoussEAU — Voltaire — our Gibbon — and De Stael —
Leman ! ^ these names are worthy of tliy shore.
Thy sliore of names like these ! wert thou no more
Their memory thy remembrance would recall :
To them thy banks were lovely as to all,
^ Geneva, Ferney, Copet, Lausanne.
i816.1 " OCCASIONAL PIECES. 377
But they have made them lovelier, for the lore
Of mighty minds doth hallow in the core
Of human hearts the ruin of a wall
Where dwelt the wise and wondrous ; but by thee
How much more. Lake of Beauty ! do we feel.
In sweetly gliding o'er thy crystal sea.
The wild glow of that not ungentle zeal.
Which of the heirs of immortality
Is proud, and makes the breath of glory real !
Diodati, July, 1816.
STANZAS FOE MUSIC.
Bright be the place of thy soul !
No loveHer spirit than thine
E'er burst from its mortal control.
In the orbs of the blessed to shine.
On earth thou wert all but divine,
As thy soul shall immortally be ;
And our sorrow may cease to repine
When we know that thy God is with thee.
II.
Light be the turf of thy tomb !
May its verdure Hke emeralds be !
There should not be the shadow of gloom
In aught that reminds us of thee.
Young flowers and an evergreen tree
May spring from the spot of thy rest :
But nor cypress nor yew let us see ;
For why should we mourn for the blest ?
378
OCCASIONAL PIECES. [1816.
IIOMANCE MUY DOLOEOSO DEL SITIO Y TOMA DE
ALHAMA.7
El qiial dezia en A ravifjo assi.
Passeavase el Eey Moro
Por la ciiadad de Granada,
Desde las puertas de Elvira
Hasta las de Bivarambla. ^•
Ay de mi, Alliama !
II.
Cartas le fueroii venidas
Que Alhama era ganada.
Las cartas eclio en el fuego,
Y al mensagero matava.
Ay de mi, AUiama !
III.
Descavalga de una mula,
Y en un cavallo cavalga.
Por el Zacatin arriba
Subido se avia al Alhambra.
Ay de mi, Alhama !
IV.
Como en el Alhambra estuvo,
Al mismo punto mandava
Que se toquen las trompetas
Con auafiles de plata.
Ay de mi, Alhama !
Y que atambores de guerra
Apriessa toquen alarm a ;
Por que lo oygan sus Moros,
Los de la Vega y Granada.
Ay de mi, Alhama !
^ The effect of the original ballad— which existed both in Spanish and Arabic — waa
•uch, that it was forbidden to be sung by the Moors, on pain of death, -within Granada.
1816.] OCCASIONAL PIECES. 370
A VERY MOURNFUL BALLAD ON THE SIEGE AND
CONQUEST OF ALHAMA.
Which, m the Arabic language, is to the following purpm-t,
I.
The Moorish King rides up and down,
Through Granada's royal town ;
From Elvira's gates to those
Of Bivarambla on he goes.
Woe is mCj Alhama !
II.
Letters to the monarch tell
How Alhama's city fell :
In the fire the scroll he threw.
And the messenger he slew.
AVoe is me, Alhama !
in.
He quits his mule, and mounts his horse,
And through the street directs his course ;
Through the street of Zacatin
To the Alliambra spurring in.
Woe is me, Alhama !
IV.
When the Alhambra walls he gain'd,
On the moment he ordain'd
That the trumpet straight should sound
With the silver clarion round.
Woe is me, Alhama !
V.
A.nd when the hollow drums of war
Beat the loud alarm afar.
That the Moors of town and plain
Might answer to the martial strain.
Woe is me, Alhama !
880 OCCASIONAL PIECES. [1816.
TI.
Los Moros que el son oyeron.
Que al sangriento Marte llama,
Uno a uno, y dos a dos,
Un gran esquadron forinavan.
Ay de mi, Alliama !
TII.
Alii hablb un Moro viejo ;
Desta manera liablava : —
Para que nos llamas, Rey ?
Para que es este llamada ?
Av de mi, Alliama !
VIII.
Aveys de saber, amigos,
Una nueva desdicliada :
Que Christianos, con braveza,
Ya nos ban tomado Alhama.
Ay de mi, Alhama !
IX.
Alii bablo un viejo Alfaqui,
De barba crecida y cana : — ■
Bien se te emplea, buen Eey,
Buen Rey ; bien se empleava.
Ay de mi, Alliama !
Mataste los 'Bencerrages,
Que era la flor de Granada ;
Cogiste los tornadizos
De Cordova la nombrada.
Ay de mi, Alhama !
XI.
Per esso mereces, Rey,
Una pena bien doblada ;
Que te picrdas tu y el reyno,
y que se pierda Granada.
Ay de mi, iUhama !
181 f.] OCCASIONAL PIECES.
381
VI.
Then the Moors^ by this aware.
That bloody Mars recaird them there.
One by one, and two by two,
To a mighty squadron grew.
Woe is me, Alhama !
VII.
Out then spake an aged Moor
In these words the king before,
" V/lierefore call on us, oh King ?
What may mean this gathering?"
Woe is me, Alhama !
VIII.
" Friends ! ye have, alas ! to know
Of a most disastrous blow :
That the Christians, stern and bold.
Have obtain'd Alhama's hold."
Woe is me, Alhama !
IX.
Out then spake old Alfaqui,
With his beard so white to see,
" Good King ! thou art justly served.
Good King ! this thou hast deserved.
V*''oe is me, Alhama !
X.
" By thee were slain, in evil hour.
The Abencerrage, Granada's flower ;
And strangers were received by thee
Of Cordova the Chivalry.
AYoe is me, Alhama !
XI.
" And for this, oh King ! is sent
On thee a double chastisement •
Thee and thine, thy crown and realm.
One last wreck shall overwhelm.
Woe is me, xllhama !
OCCASIONAL PIECES. |-1816.
XII.
Si no se respetan leyes,
Es ley que todo se pierda ;
Y que se pierdas Granada,
Y que te pierdas en ella.
Ay de mi, Alhama !
XIII.
Fuego por los ojos vierte.
El Rey que esto oyera.
Y como el otro de leyes
De leyes tambien hablava.
Ay de mi, Alhama !
XIV.
Sabe un Rey que no ay leyes ^
De darle a Reyes disgusto — ™
Esso dize el Rey Moro
Relincliando de colera. !
Ay de mi, Alliama !
XV.
Moro Alfaqui, Moro Alfaqui,
El de la vellida barba.
El Rey te manda prender,
Por la perdida de Alhama.
Ay de mi, Alhama 1
XVI.
Y cortarte la cabeza,
Y ponerla en el Alhambra,
Por que a ti castigo sea,
Y otros tiemblen en miralla.
Ay de mi, Alhama !
XVII,
Cavalleros, hombres buenos,
Dezid de mi parte al fiey,
Al Rey Moro de Granada,
Como no le devo nada.
Ay de mi, Alhama !
1S16,] OCCASIONAL PIECES. 383
XII.
" He who holds no laws in awe, - ^
He must perish by the law ;
And Granada must be won,
And thyself with her undone."
"Woe is me, Alliama !
XIII.
Pire flashed irom out tlie old Moor's eyes.
The monarch's wrath began to rise.
Because he answer' d, and because
He spake exceeding well of laws.
Woe is me, Alhama !
XIV.
" There is no law to say such things
As may disgust the ear of kings : " —
Thus, snorting with his choler, said
The Moorish King, and doom'd him dead.
"Woe is me, Alhama !
XV.
Moor Alfaqui ! Moor Alfaqui !
Though thy beard so hoary be.
The King hath sent to have thee seized,
Tor Alhama's loss displeased.
Woe is me, Alhama !
XVI.
And to fix thy head upon
High Alhambra's loftiest stone ;
That this for thee should be the law.
And others tremble when they saw.
Woe is me, Alhama !
XVII.
" Cavalier, and man of worth !
Let these words of mine go forth ;
Let the Moorish Monarch know.
That to him I nothing owe.
Woe is me, Alhama !
«Si OCCASIONAL riKCES.
xviir.
De averse Alhama perdjVo
A mi me pcsa en al alma.
Que si el Rey perdio su tierra,
Otro mucho mas perdiera.
Ay de mi, Alhama !
XIX.
Perdieran hijos padres,
Y casados las casadas :
Las cosas que mas amara
Perdio 1' un y el otro fama.
Ay de mi, Alhama !
XX.
Perdi una hija donzella
Que era la flor d-'esta tierra,
Cien doblas dava por el la.
No me las estimo en nada.
Ay de mi, Alhama !
XXI.
Diziendo assi al hacen Alfacpi),
Le cortaron la cabe^a,
Y la elevan al Alhambra,
Assi come el Eey lo manda.
Ay de mi, Alliama !
XXII.
lis 16.
Hombres, ninos y mugeres,
Lloran tan grande perdida.
Lloravan todas las damas
Quantas en Granada avia.
Ay de mi, Alhama !
XXIII.
Por Ins calles y ventanas
Mucho luto parecia ;
Llora el Rey como fembra,
Qu' es mucho lo que perdia.
Ay (le mi, Alhama !
1810.] OCCASIONAL PIECES. JiSf)
XVIII.
''But on my soul Alhama weighs,
And on my iiuuost spirit preys ;
And if the King his laud hath lost,
Yet others may have lost the most.
Woe is me, Alhama !
XIX.
" Sires have lost their children, wives
Their lords, and valiant men their lives !
One what best his love might claim
Hath lost, another wealth, or fame.
Woe is me, iUhama !
XX.
" I lost a damsel in that hour.
Of all the land the loveliest flower;
Doubloons a hundred I would pay.
And think her ransom cheap that day."
Woe is me, Alhama !
XXI.
And as these things the old Moor said,
They severM from the trunk his head ;
And to the Alhambra's wall with speed
'Twas carried, as the King decreed.
Woe is me, Alhama !
XXII.
And men and infants therein weep
Their loss, so heavy and so deep ;
Granada's ladies, all she rears
Within her walls, burst into tears.
Woe is me, Alhama !
XXIII.
And from the windows o'er the walls
The sable web of mourning falls ;
The King weeps as a woman o'er
llis loss, for it is much atul sore.
Woe is me, Alliania !
VOL. II. 0 0
886
OCCASIONAL PIECES. \\^)<l
SONETTO DI VITTORELLI.
PER MONACA.
Souetto composto iu nome di un genitore, a cui era morta poco inuanzi uua figUa
appena maritata : e diretto al genitore della sacra sposa.
Di due vaglie donzelle, oneste, accorte
Lieti e miseri padri il ciel ne feo,
II ciel, die degne di piu nobil sovte
L' una e V altra veggendo, ambo cliiedeo.
La mia fu tolta da veloce morte
A le fuinanti tede d' imeneo :
La tua, Francesco, in suggeilate porta
Eterna prigioniera or si rendeo.
Ma tu almeno potrai de la gelosa
Trremeabil soglia, ove s' ascoiide,
La sua tenera udir voce pielosa.
lo verso un fiume d' amarissim' onde,
Corro a quel marmo, in cui la figiia or posa,
Batto, e ribatto, ma nessun risponde.
ON THE BUST OF HELEN BY CANOVA.«
In this beloved marble view,
Above the works and thoughts of man,
"What Nature coidd, but would not, do.
And Beautv and Canova can !
Beyond imagination's power.
Beyond the Bard's defeated art.
With immortality her dower,
Behold the Helen of the heart !
November, 1816.
" ["The Helen of Canova is," says Lord Byron, " without exception, to my mind,
the most perfectly beautiful of liuman conceptions, and far beyond my ideas of human
execution." — Lord B. to Mr. Murray, Nov. 25, 1816.]
!
1816.] OCCASIONAL PIECES. 387
TRANSLATION FROM VITTORELLI.
ON A NUN.
Sonnet composed in tte name of a father, whose daughter had recently died shortly
after her marriage ; and addressed to the father of her who had lately taken the
veil.
Op two fair virgius, modest, though admired,
Heaven made us happy ; and now, wretched sires,
Heaven for a nobler doom their worth desires.
And gazing upon either, both required.
Mine, while the torch of Hymen newly fired
Becomes extinguish^, — soon — too soon expires :
But thine, within the closing grate retired,
Eternal captive, to her God aspires.
But thou at least from out the jealous door.
Which shuts between your never-meeting ^"^^^^
May'st hear her sweet and pious voice once more :
I to the marble, where my daughter lies,
Eush, — the swoln flood of bitterness I pour.
And knock, and knock, and knock — but none replies.
■~f
STANZAS FOR MUSIC. >^
They say that Hope is happiness ;
But genuine Love must prize the past.
And Memory wakes the thoughts that bless :
They rose the first — they set the last ;
II.
And all that Memory loves the most
Was once our only Hope to be.
And all that Hope adored and lost
Hath melted into Memory.
CO 2
>
888 OCCASIONAL PIECES. [1S1«,
III.
Alas ! it is delusion all :
The future cheats us from afar.
Nor can we be what we recall.
Nor dare we think on what we are.
SONG FOE THE LUDDITES."
I.
As the Liberty lads o'er the sea
Bought their freedom, and cheaply with blood.
So we, boys, we
Will die fighting, or live free.
And down with all kings but King Ludd !
II.
When the web that we weave is complete,
And the shuttle exchanged for the sword,
We will fling the winding sheet
O'er the despot at our feet.
And dye it deep in the gore he has pour'd.
in.
Though black as his heart its hue.
Since his veins are corrupted to mud.
Yet this is the dew
AVhich tlie tree shall renew
Of Liberty, planted by Ludd !
December, 1816.
' [The term "Luddites" dates from 1811, and was applied first to frame-breakers,
and then to the disaffected in general. It was derived from one Ned Ludd, an idiot,
•who entered a house in a fit of passion, and destroyed a couple of stool; ing-franu'S.
The song was an impromptu, which flowed from Lord Byron's pen in a letter to Mnire
Bf December, 1816. "I have written it principally," he says, "to shock your
leighbour Bowles, who is all clergy and loyalty — mirth and iuuocence — milk and
water."]
181 7. J OCCASIONAL PIECES. 38:1
VERSICLES.'
I KEAD the " Cliristabel ; "
Very well :
I read tlie " Missionary ; "
Pretty — very :
I tried at 'aiderim";"
Ahem !
I read a sheet of " Marg'ret of Anjo?i ; "
Can, you ?
I turu'd a page of Scott^s " Waterloo ; "
Pooh ! pooh !
I lookM at Wordsworth's milk-white " llylstone Doe ; "
Hillo !
&c. &c. &c.
March, 1SI7.
SO, WE'LL GO NO MORE A-ROVING.
I,
So, we'll go no more a-roving
So late into the night,
Though the heart be still as loving,
And the moon be still as bright.
11.
For the sword outwears its sheath.
And the soul wears out the breast.
And the heart must pause to breathe.
And love itseK have rest.
III.
Though the night was made for loving,
And the day returns too soon,
Yet we'll go no more a-roving
J3y the light of the moon. I817.
' ["I have been ill with a slow fever. Here are some versicles which I made one
sleepless night." — Lord B. to Mr. Moore, March 25, 1817. The "Missionary"
was written by Mr. Bowles, "llderim" by Mr. Gaily Knight, and "Margaret of
Anjou" by Miss Ilolford.]
390
OCCASIONAL riECES. [1617-
TO THOMAS MOORE.
What are you doing now.
Oh Thomas Moore ?
What are you doing now.
Oh Thomas Moore ?
Sighing or suing now,
Ehyming or wooing now.
Billing or cooing now.
Which, Thomas Moore ?
But the CarnivaFs coming.
Oh Thomas Moore !
The CarnivaFs coming,
Oh Thomas Moore !
Masking and humming,
Fifing and drumming,
Guitarring and strumming,
Oh Thomas Moore !
TO MR. MURRAY.
To hook the reader, you, John Murray,
Have publish'd " Anjou's Margaret,"
Which won't be sold off in a hurry
(At least, it has not been as yet) ;
And then, stiU fui-ther to bewilder 'em.
Without remorse, you set up " Ilderim ; '■
So mind you don't get into debt.
Because as how, if you should fail.
These books would be but baddish bail.
And mind you do not let escape
These rhymes to Morning Post or Perry,
Which would be very treacherous — venj,
And get me into such a scrape !
I
1817.] OCCASIONAL PIECES. 3&1
For, firstly, I should have to sally,
All in my little boat, against a Galleij ;
And, should I chance to slay the Assyrian wight,
Have next to combat with the female knight.
March 25, 1817.
TO THOMAS MOORE.
I.
My boat is on the shore.
And my bark is on the sea ;
But, before I go, Tom Moore,
Here's a double health to thee !
II.
Here's a sigh to those who love me.
And a smile to those who hate :
And, whatever sky's above me.
Here's a heart for every fate.
III.
Though the ocean roar around me.
Yet it still shall bear me on ;
Though a desert should surround me.
It hath springs that may be won.
IV.
Were't the last drop in the well.
As I gasp'd upon the brink.
Ere my fainting spirit fell,
'Tis to thee that I woidd drink.
V.
With that water, as this wine.
The libation I would pour
Should be — peace with thine and mine.
And a health to thee, Tom IMoore."
Jidy, 1817
' [" This should have heen written fifteen months ago; the first stanza was."-
Lord B. to Mr. Moore, July 10, 1817.]
392 OCCASIONAL PIECES. [1S17.
EPISTLE FPvOM MR MURRAY TO DR. POLIDORI.^*
Dkae Doctor, I have read your play,
Which is a good one in its way, —
Purges the eyes and moves tlie bowels,
j\i)d drenches handkerchiefs like towi'ls
With tears, that, in a flux of grief,
Atl'ord hysterical relief
To sliatter'd nerves and quicken'd pulses.
Which your caiastrophe convuhes.
I like your moral and machinery ;
Your plot, too, has such scope for scenery ;
Your dialogue is apt and smart;
The play's concoction full of art ; J;
Your hero raves, your heroine cries.
All stab, and every body dies.
In short, your tragedy would be
The very thing to hear and see :
And for a piece of publication.
If I decline on this occasion,
It is not that I am not sensible
To liierits in themselves ostensible,
But — and I grieve to speak it — plays
Are drugs — mere drugs, sir — now-a-days.
I had a heavy loss by " Manuel,^' —
Too lucky if it prove not annual, —
And Sothcby, with liis " Orestes,"
(Whicli, by the bye, the author's best is,)
Has lain so very long on hand,
That I despair of all demand.
I've advertised, but see my books.
Or only watch my shopm.au's looks ; —
•' ["I never," s-ays Lord Byron, "was much more disgusted with any human pro-
duction than with the eternal nonsense, and tracasscrks, and emptiness, and ill-liumovir,
and vanity of tliis yuuiig person ; but he has some taleut, and is a man of lionour, and
has disjKii-itions of amendment. Therefore use your interest for him, for he is improved
and ini])rovable. You want a 'civil and delicate declension' for the medical tragedy ?
Take it."— Lord B. to Mr. Murray, August 21, 1817.]
1817.] OCCASIONAL PIECRS. ?.9:$
Still Ivan, lua, and such lumber,
My back-shop glut, my shelves encumber.
There's Byron too, who once did better
Has sent me, folded in a letter,
A sort of — it's no more a drama
Than Darnley, Ivan, or Kehama ;
So alter'd since last year his pen is,
1 think he's lost his wits at Venice.
In short, sir, what with one and t'other,
I dare not venture on another,
I write in haste ; excuse each blunder ;
The coaches through the street so thunder !
My room's so full — we've Gilford here
Eeading MS., with Hookham Erere,
Pronouncing on the nouns and particles.
Of some of our forthcoming Articles.
The Quarterly — Ah, sir, if you
Had but the genius to review ! —
A smart critique upon St. Helena,
Or if you only would but tell in a
Short compass what but to resume :
As I was saying, sir, the room —
The room's so full of wits and bards,
Crabbes, Campbells, Crokers, Freres, and \\ ards
And others, neither bards nor wits :
My humble tenement admits
All persons in the dress of gent..
From Mr. Hammond to Dog Dent.
A party dines with me to-day.
All clever men, who make their way :
Crabbe, Malcolm, Hamilton, and Chantrey,
Are all partakers of my pantry.
They're at this moment in discussion
On poor De StaeFs late dissolution.
Her book, they say, was in advance — •
Pray Heaven, she tell the truth of France !
Thus run our time and tongues away ; —
But, to return, sir, to your play :
394 OCCASIONAL PIECES. [1817.
Sorry, sir, but I cannot deal,
Unless ^twere acted by O'Neill ;
My bands so full, my bead so busy,
I'm almost dead, and always dizzy ;
And so, witb endless trutb and liurry.
Dear Doctor, I am yours,
John Murbat.
Aiiyusf, 1817.
EPISTLE TO MR. MURRAY.
My dear Mr. Murray,
You're in a damn'd liurry
To set up tliis ultimate Canto ; "
But (if tbey don't rob us)
You'll see Mr. Ilobbouse
Will bring it safe in his portmanteau.
Tor the Journal you hint of.
As ready to print off.
No doubt you do right to commend it ;
But as yet I have writ off
The devil a bit of
Our " Beppo : " — M'hen copied, I'll send it.
Then you've * * ^ ^ 's Tour,—
No great things, to be sure, —
You could hardly begin with a less work ;
Por the pompous rascallion.
Who don't speak Italian
Nor French, must liave scribbled by guesswork.
You can make any loss up
With " Spcnce " and his gossip,
A work which must surely succeed ;
Then Queen Mary's Epistle- craft.
With the new " Eytte " of " Whistlecraft,"
Must make people purchase and read.
* [The fourth Canto of "Cliilde Harold."]
1818.] OCCASIONAL PIECES. 395
Then you've General Gordon,
Who girded his sword on,
To serve with a Muscovite master.
And help him to polish
A nation so owlish,
They thought shaving their beards a disaster.
For the man, " poor and shrewd," '
With whom you'd conclude
A compact without more delay,
Perhaps some such pen is
Still extant in Venice ;
But please, sir, to mention yo^ir pay.
Venice, January 8, 1818.
TO ME. MURRAY.
Stkahan, Tonson, Lintot of the times,
Patron and publisher of rhymes.
For thee the bard up Pindus climbs,
My Murray.
To thee, with hope and terror dumb,
The unfledged MS. authors come ;
Thou printest all — and sellest some —
My Murray.
Upon thy table's baize so green
The last new Quarterly is seen, —
But where is thy new Magazine,
My Murray?
Along thy sprucest bookshelves shine
The works thou deemest most divine —
The " Art of Cookery," and mine.
My Murray.
^ Vide ynur lettei'.
396 OOUASlOiN-AL PIECES. [1818.
Tours, Travels, Essays, too, I wist.
And Sermons, to thy mill bring grist ;
And then thou hast the "Navy List,'^
My Murray.
And Heaven forbid I should conclude.
Without " the Board of Longitude,"
Although this narrow paper would.
My Murray.
Venice, March 25, 1818,
ON THE BIRTH OF JOHN WILLIAM RIZZO HOPPNER.
His father's sense, liis mother's grace,
In him, I hope, will always fit so ;
With — stiU to keep him in good case —
The health and appetite of Hizzo.*
Fehruarij, 1818.
STANZAS TO THE PO. •
RiVKR, that rollest by the ancient walls,"
Where dwells the lady of my love, when she
Walks by tliy brink, and there j)erchance recalls
A faint and fleeting memory of me ;
{These lines, wliicli were written by Lord Byron on tlie birth of the son of the
British vice-consul at Venice, are no otherwise remarkable, than that they were thought
wortliy of being metrically translated into ten languages : namely, Greek, Latin,
Italian_ (also in the Venetian dialect), German, French, Spanish, Illyrian, Hebrew,
Aniifnian, and Samaritan. The original lines, with the different versions, were
l.rinted, in a small neat volume, in the seminary of Padua.]
' [About tlie middle of April, 1819, Lord Byron travelled from Venice to Eavenna,
at which last city he expected to find the Countess Guiccioli. The above stanza.s,
which have been as much admired as anything of the kind he ever wrote, were com-
posed during the journey, while he was sailing on the Po. In transmitting them to
England, in JLay, 1820, he says,— "They must not be published : pray recollect this,
as they are mere verses of society, and written upon private feelings and passions."
They were first printed in 1824.]
[Raventia— a city to which Lord Byrou afterwards declared himself more attached jj
than to any other place, e.Kcept Greece.] P
1819.1 OCCASIONAL PIECES. 3^7
W hat if thy deep and ample stream sliouhl be
A mirror of my heart, wliere she may read
The thousand thoughts I now betray to thee.
Wild as thy wave, and headlong as thy speed !
What do I say — a mirror of my heart ?
Are not thy waters sweeping, dark, and strong ?
Such as ray feelings were and are, thou art;
And such as thou art were my passions long.
Time may have somewhat tamed them, — not for ever ;
Thou overflow'st thy banks, and not for aye
Thy bosom overboils, congenial river !
Thy floods subside, and mine have sunk away :
But left long wrecks behind, and now again.
Borne in our old unchanged career, we move :
Thou tendest wildly onwards to the main.
And I — to loving one I should not love.
^&
The current I behold will sweep beneath
Her native walls, and murmur at her feet ;
Her eyes will look on thee, when she shall breatlie
The twilight air, unharm'd by summer's heat.
She will look on thee, — I have look'd on thee,
Full of that tliought : and, from that moment, ne'er
Thy waters could I dream of, name, or see,
Without the inseparable sigh for her !
Her bright eyes will be imaged in thy stream, —
Yes ! they will meet the wave I gaze on now :
Mine cannot witness, even in a dream,
That happy wave repass me in its flow !
The wave that bears my tears returns no more :
Will she return by whom that wave shall sweep ?—
Both tread thy banks, both wander on thy shore,
I by thy source, she by the dark-blue deep.
398 OCCASIONAL PIECES.
But that wliicli kee])eth us apart is not
Distance, nor deptli of wave, nor space of earth,
Eut the distraction of a various lot.
As various as the climates of our birth.
A stranger loves the ladj of the land,
Born far beyond the mountains, but his blood
Is all meridian, as if never fanned
By the black wind that chills the polar flood.
'My blood is all meridian ; were it not,
I had not left my clime, nor should I be,
Jn spite of tortures, ne'er to be forgot,
A slave again of love, — at least of thee.
[1819
"V
Tis vain to struggle — let me perish young —
Live as I lived, and love as I have loved;
To dust if I return, from dust I sprung.
And then, at least, ray heart can ne'er be moved.
Anvil, 1819.
EPIGRAM.
FROM THE FRENCH OF RULHIERES.^
If, for silver or for gold,
You could melt ten thousand pimples
Into half a dozen dimples.
Then your face we might behold.
Looking, doubtless, mucli more snugly ;
Yet even f/ieu 'twould be d d ugly.
Aiirjaitf 12, 1819.
woman Trifniv" ^'""Vk .^P'S^f,""-^ translation ? It was written on some French-
woman, by Hullueres, I bcLeve. "-Zorci B. to Mr. Murray, Aug. 12, 1S19.]
1819.] OCCASIONAL PIECES. 399
SOXXET TO GEORGE THE FOUiiTET.
OK THE REPEAL OF LOED EDWAED FITZGEEALD's FORPEITUBE,
To be the father of the fatherless.
To stretch the hand from the throne's height, and raise
His offspring, who expired in other days
To make tiiy sire's sway by a kingdom less, —
This is to be a monarch, and repress
Envy into unutterable praise.
Dismiss thy guard, and trust thee to such traits.
For who would lift a hand, except to bless ?
Were it not easy, sir, and is't not sweet
To make thyself beloved ? and to be
Omnipotent by mercy's means ? for thus
Thy sovereignty would grow but more complete :
A despot thou, and yet thy people free,
And by the heart, not hand, enslaving us.
Bologna, Augugt 12, 1819.'
STANZAS. ''
Could Love for ever
liun like a river.
And Time's endeavour
Be tried in vain —
No other pleasure
' ["So the prince has been repealing Lord Fitzgerald's forfeiture ? Ecconn' sonetto!
There, you dogs ! there's a sonaet for you : you won't have duch as that in a hurry
from Fitzgerald. Ton may publish it with my name, an' ye wool. He deserves all
praise, bad and good ; it was a very noble piece of principality." — Lord B. to Mr.
Murray. '\
- [A friend of Lord Byron's, who was with him at Bavenna when he wrote these
stanzas, says, — " They were composed like many others, with no view of publication,
but merely to relieve himself in a moment of suffering. He had been painfully excited
by some circumstances which api)eared to make it necessary that he should immcliately
quit Italy ; and in the day and the hour that he wrote the song was labouring under
an access of fever."]
400 OCCASIONAL PIECES.
With this could measure ;
And like a treasure
We/d hug the chain.
But since our sighing
Ends not in dying,
And, form'd for flying.
Love plumes his wing ;
Then for this reason
Let's love a season ;
But let that season be only Spring.
When lovers parted
Feel broken-hearted,
And, all hopes thwarted.
Expect to die ;
A few years older.
Ah ! how much colder
They might behold her
For whom they sigh !
When linkM together,
hi every weatlier.
They pluck Love's feather
Erom out his winsr —
He'll stay for ever.
But sadly shiver
Without his plumage, when past tlie Spring.'
Like chiefs of Faction,
His life is action —
A formal paction
That curbs his reign.
Obscures his glory,
Despot no more; he
Sucli territory
Quits with disdain.
Still, still advancing.
With bnnners glancing.
His power enhancing,
3 [V. L. — " That sped his Spring '•]
[1319.
^^^^•J OCCASIONAL PIECES. 49j
He must move on — .
Hepose but cloys him,
Ivetreat destroys him,
Love brooks not a degraded throne.
Wait not, fond lover !
Till years are over,
And then recover
As from a dream.
While each bewailing
The other's failing,
With wrath and railing.
All hideous seem —
While first decreasing.
Yet not quite ceasing,
A\'ait not till teasing.
All passion blight :
If once dimi]iish\l
Love's reign is fmisli'd —
Then part in friendship,— and bid good-nia-ht.
So shall Affection
To recollection
Tlie dear connection
Bring back with joy :
You had not v.'aited
T'^U, tired or hated.
Your passions sated
Began to cloy.
Your last embraces
Leave no cold traces —
The same fond faces
As through the past :
And eyes, the mirrors
Of your sweet errors.
Reflect but rapture — not least though last.
■• [V. L.— "Oue last embrace, then, and bid good night."]
4o2
OCCASIONAL PIECES.
True, scporations
Ask more than patience ;
AYhat desperations
Trom sucli liave risen !
But yet remaining,
■\Yliat is't but chaining _
Hearts which, once waning,
Beat 'gainst their prison ?
Time can but cloy love
And use destroy love :
The winged boy. Love,
Is but for boys —
You'll find it torture
Though sharper, shorter.
To wean, and not wear out your joys. ^^^^
ON MY WEDDING-DAY.
Here's a happy new year ! but with reason
I beg you'll permit me to say —
Wish me mmii/ returns of the season,
But 2.^ few as you please of the druj.
'^ •' '■ January 2, 18 -.0.
EPITAPH POB WILLIAM PITT.
With death doom'd to grapple,
Beneath this cold slab, he
Who lied in the Chapel
Now lies in the Abbey. ^^^^^^^^ ^^^^^
1S20.] OCCASIOXAL PIECES. 403
EPIGRAM.
In dig'^ang np your bones^ Tom Paine,
AYilL Cobbett has clone well :
You visit him on earth again.
He'll visit you in hell.'
January, 1820,'
STANZAS.
When a man hath no freedom to fight for at home.
Let him combat for tliat of his neighbours ;
Let him think of the glories of Greece and of Rome,
And get knock'd on the head for his labours.
To do good to mankind is the chivalrous plan.
And is always as nobly requited ;
Then battle for freedom wherever you can.
And, if not shot or hang'd, you'll get knighted.
November, 1820.
EPIGRAM.
The world is a bundle of hav,
Mankind are the asses who pull ;
Each tugs it a different wa}^.
And the greatest of all is John Bull.
[Or,
" You come to him on earth again,
He'll go with you to hell."]
' ["Pray let not these versiculi go forth with my name, except among the initiated,
because my friend Hobliouse has foamed into a reformer, and, I greatly fear, will
subside into Newgate." — Lord B. to Mr. Moore.\
D D 2
404 OCCASIONAL PIECES. L1S21.
THE CHAETTY BALL.
What matter the pangs of a husband and father.
If his sorrows in exile be great or be small,
So the Pharisee's glories around her she gather,
And the saint patronises her " charity ball ! "
"What matters — a heart which, though faulty, was feeling,
Be driven to excesses which once could appal —
That the sinner should suffer is only fair dealing.
As the saiut keeps her charity back for " the ball ! " '
EPIGRAM.
ON THE braziers' COMPANY HAVING KESOI.VEI> TO PRESENT AN
ADDRESS TO QUEEN CAROLINE.
The braziers, it seems, are preparing to pass
An address, and present it themselves all in brass ; —
A superfluous pageant — for, by the Lord Harry !
They'll find where they're going much more than they carry.
EPIGRAM ON MY WEDDING-DAY.
TO PENELOPE.
This day, of all our days, has done
The worst for me and you : —
'Tis just six years s^ince we were one,
And Jive since we were two.
January 2, 1821.
' [These lines were written on reading in the newspapers, that Lady Byron had been
patniness of a ball in aid of some chanty at Hinckley.]
^ L" There is au epigram for you, is it not ? — worthy
Of Wordsworth, the grand metaquizzical poet,
A man of vast merit, though few people know it ;
The perusal cf whom (as I told you at Mestri)
I owe, in great part, to my passion for pastry."
£. Letters, January 22, 1821.
The procession of the Braziers to Brandenburgh HouBe was one of the fooleries at the
time uf Queen Caroline's trial.]
1821.] OCCASIONAL riECES. 405
ON MY THIETY-THIRD BIRTHDAY.
January 22, 1821.9
Through life's dull road, so dim and dirty,
I have dragg'd to three and thirty.
What have these years left to me ?
Nothing — except thirty-three.
MARTIAL, Lib. I., Epig. I.
"Hie est, quern legis, ille, quern requiris,
Tota notus in orbe Martialis, '' &c.
He, unto whom thou art so partial.
Oh, reader ! is the well-known Martial,
The Epigramuiatist : while living.
Give him the fame thou would'st be giving ;
So shall lie hear, and feel, and know it —
Post-obits rarely reach a poet.
BOWLES AND CAMPBELL.
To the tune of " Why, how now, saucy jade ? "
Why, how now, saucy Tom ?
If you thus must ramble,
I will publish some
Remarks on Mister Campbell.
^ [In Lord Byron's MS. Diaiy of the preceding day, we fii^d the following entry : —
*• To-morrow is my birthday — that is to say, at twelve o' the clock, midnight ; i. e. in
twelve minutes I shall have completed thirty and three years of age ! ! ! and I go to
my bed with a heaviness of heart at having lived so long, and to so little purpose.
* * It is three minutes past twelve — "Tis the middle of night by the castle
clock,' and am now thirty-three ! —
'Ehen, fugaces, Posthnme, Posthume,
Labuntur anni ; ' —
but I don't regret them so much for what I have done, as for what I might have
done."]
406
OCCASIONAL riECES. [1821.
ANSWER.
Why, how now, Billy Bowles ?
Sure the priest is maudlin !
{To f lie ]} lib lie) How can you, d — n your souls !
Listen to his twaddling ?
February 22, 1S21.
EPIGRAMS,
Oil, Castlereagh ! thou art a patriot now ;
Cato died for his country, so didst tliou :
He perish'd rather than see Home enslaved,
Thou cutt'st thy throat that Britain may be saved !
So Castlereagh has cut his throat ! — The worst
Of this is, — that his own was not the first.
So He has cut his throat at last !— He ! AYlio ?
The man who cut his country^s knig ago.
EPITAPH.
Posterity will ne'er survey
A nobler grave than this :
Here lie the bones of Castlereagh :
Stop, traveller
JOHN KEATS.'
Who kill\l John Keats ?
" I," says the Quarterly,
So savage and Tartarly ;
*Twas one of my feats.''
« >rr
' [It waa pretended at the time, that tlie death of Keats was occasioned by a
Kir.astic article on his poetry in the Quarterly Review. All the world knows nuw
that he died of consumption ai\d not of criticism.]
1821.] OCCASIONAL PIECES. 407
Who shot the arrow ?
"The poet priest Mihnan
(So ready to kill man),
" Or Southey, or Barrow."
Juhj, 1821.
THE C0NQUEST.2
March 8—9, 1823.
The Son of Love and Lord of War I sing ;
Him who bade England bow to Normand}',
And left the name of conqueror more than king
To his unconquerable dynasty.
Not fann^l alone by Victory's fleeting wing,
He rear'd his bold and brilliant throne on high :
The bastard kept, like lions, his prey fast.
And Britain^s bravest victor was the last.
TO MR. MUHRAY.
Eou Orford ' and for Waldegrave *
You give mucli more than me you gave;
Which is not fairly to behave.
My Murray.
Because if a live dog, ^tis said,
Be worth a lion fairly sped,
A live lord must be worth two dead,
]\Iy Murray.
And if, as the opinion goes,
Yerse hath a better sale than pros^, —
Certes, I should have more than those,
My j\luiTay.
2 [This fragment was found amongst Lord Byron's papers, after his dejmrture from
Greiioa for Greece. ]
^ [Horace Walpule's Memoirs of the last nine Years of the Reign of George II.]
■* [Memoirs by James Earl Waldegrave, Governor of George III. when Prince of
Wales.]
40S OCCASIONAL PIECES. [1821
But HOW this sheet is nearly crarnmM,
So, M you toill, /shan't be sbamm'd.
And if you won't, yon, may be danm'd.
My ]\Iurray.'
THE IKISH AVATARS
"And Ireland, like a bastinadoed elephant, kneeling to receive the paltry
rider." — Curkan.
Ere tlie daughter of Brunswick is cold in her grave.
And her ashes still float to their home o^er the tide,
Lo ! George the triumphant speeds over the wave.
To the long-cherish'd isle which he loved like his — bride.
True, the great of her bright and brief era are gone.
The rain-bow-like epoch where Freedom could pause
For the few little years, out of centuries won,
Wliich betrayed not, or crush'd not, or wept not her cause.
True, the chahis of the Catholic clank o'er his rags,
The castle still stands, and the senate's no more.
And the famine which dwelt on her freedomless crags
Is extending its steps to her desolate shore.
To her desolate shore — where the emigrant stands
For a moment to gaze ere he flies from his hearth ;
Tears fall on his chain, though it drops from his hands.
For the dungeon he quits is the place of his birth.
' [" Can't accept yonr courteous offer. These matters must he arranged with Mr.
Douglas Kinnaird. He is my trustee, and a man of honour. To him you can state
all your mercantile reasons, which you might not like to state to me personally, such as
' heavj- season ' — ' flat public ' — ' don't go off ' — ' lordship writes too much ' — ' won't
take advice' — 'declining popularity' — 'deduction for the trade' — 'make very little' —
' generally lose by him' — 'pirated edition' — 'foreign edition' — 'severe criticisms,*
&c., with other hints and howls for an oration, which I leave Douglas, who is an orator,
to answer."— Zon/ B. to Mr. Murray, August 23, 1821.]
'' [" The enclosed lines, as you will directly perceive, are written by the Rev. W. L.
Bowles. Of course it is for him to deny them, if they are not." — Lord B. to Mr. Moore,
B'ptember 17, 1821.]
1821.] OCCASIONAL PlL'CES. 400
But he comes ! the Messiali of royalty comes !
Like a goodly Leviuthau roird from the waves ;
Then receive liim as best such an advent becomes,
With a legion of cooks, and an army of slaves !
He comes in the promise and bloom of threescore,
To perform in the pageant the sovereign's part-
But long live the shamrock, which shadows him o'er !
Could the green in his hat be transferred to his heart !
Could that long-wither'd spot but be verdant again.
And a new spring of ni:)ble affections arise —
Then might freedom forgive thee this dance in thy chain.
And this shout of thy slavery which saddens the skies.
Is it madness or meanness which clings to thee now ?
Where he God — as he is but the commonest clay.
With scarce fewer wrinkles than sins on his brow-
Such servile devotion might shame him away.
Av, roar in his train ! let thine orators lash
Their fanciful spirits to pamper his pride —
Not thus did thy Grattan indignantly flash
His soul o'er the freedom implored and denied/
Ever glorious Grattan ! the best of the good !
So simple in heart, so sublime in the rest !
With all which Demosthenes wanted endued.
And his rival or victor in all he possessed.
Ere Tully arose in the zenith of Rome,
Though unequall'd, preceded, the task was begun —
But Grattan sprung up like a god from the tomb
Of ages, the first, last, the saviour, the one !
7 [" After the stanza ou Grattan, will it please you to cause to msert the following
addenda, which I dreamed of during to-day's siesta." — Lord B. to Mr. Moure,
September 20, 1S21.]
410
OOCASIOISAL PIECES.
[1821.
"Witli the skill of an Orplieus to soften the brute;
AVith the fire of Prometheus to kindle mankind j
Even Tyranny listening sate melted or mute.
And Corruption shrunk scorch'd from the glance of his mind.
But back to our theme ! Back to despots and slaves !
Feasts furnish'd by Fiunine ! rejoicings by Pain !
True freedom but welcomes, while slavery still raves,
When a week's saturnalia hath loosen^l her chain.
Let the poor squalid splendour thy wreck can afford,
(As the bankrupt's profusion his ruin would hide)
Gild over the j)alace, Lo ! Erin, thy lord !
Kiss his foot with thy blessing, his blessings denied !
Or //"freedom past hope be extorted at last.
If the idol of brass find his feet are of clay.
Must what terror or policy wring forth be classed
With what monarchs ne'er give, but as wolves yield t^ieir prey ?
Each brute hath its nature ; a king's is to reir/u, —
To reign ! in that word see, ye ages, comprised
The cause of the curses all annals contain.
From Caesar the dreaded to George the despised !
Wear, Eingal, thy trapping ! O'Connell, proclaim
His accomplishments ! His ! ! ! and thy country convince
Half an age's contempt was an error of fame,
And that " Hal is the rascaliest, sweetest i/oung prince ! "
^
Will thy yard of blue riband, poor Fingal, recall
The fetters from millions of Catholic limbs ?
Or, has it not bound tliee the fastest of all
The slaves, who now hail their betrayer with hymns ?
Ay ! "build him a dwelling ! " let each give his mite !
Till, like Babel, the new royal doom hath arisen !
TiCt tliy beggars and helots their pittance unite—
And a palace bestow for a poor-house and pri.sun !
1S21.] OCCASIONAL PIECES. 411
Spread — spread for Vitellius, the royal repast,
Till the gluttonous despot be stutt"d to the gorge !
And the roar of his drunkards proclaim him at last
The Tourth of the fools and oppressors call'd "George ! "
Let the tables be loaded with feasts till they groan!
Till they groan like thy people, through ages of woe !
Let the wine flow around the old Bacchanal's throne,
Like their blood which has flowed, and which yet has to How,
But let not his name be thine idol alone —
On his right hand behold a Sejanus appears !
Thine own Castlereagh ! let him still be tliine own !
A wretch never named but with curses and jeers ! '
Till now, when the isle which should blush for his birth.
Deep, deep as the gore which he shed on her soil,
'Seems proud of the reptile which crawPd from her earth.
And for murder repays him with shouts and a smile.
Without one single ray of her genius, without
The fancy, the manhood, the fire of her race —
The miscreant who well might plunge Erin in doubt
If she ever gave birth to a being so base.
If she did — let her long-boasted proverb be hush'd,
Which proclaims that from Erin no reptile can spring —
See the cold-blooded serpent, with venom full flush' d.
Still warming its folds in the breast of a king !
Shout, drink, feast, and flatter ! Oh ! Erin, how low
Wert thou sunk by misfortune and tyr>-nny, till
Thy welcome of tyrants hath plunged thee below
The depth of thy deep in a deeper gulf still.
s [" The last line — ' A name never spoke but witli curses or jeers,' must run, either
' A name only uttered with curses or jeers,' or, ' A wretch never named but with
curs-s or jeers,' hecase as h-xo 'spoke' is not grammar, except in the House of
Commons So pray put your poetical pen through the MS., and take the least bad of
the emendations. Also, if there be any furtlier breaking of Priscian's head, will you
apply a plaster ?" — Lord B. to Mr. Moore, September 19.]
■112 OCCASIONAL PIECES. [1821.
]\Iy voice, thongli but liumble, was raised for thy right,
i\Iy vote, as a freeman's, still voted thee free,
This hand, though but feeble, would arm in thy fight,
And this heart, though outworn, had a throb still for thee !
Yes, I loved thee and thine, though thou art not my land,
I have known noble hearts and great souls in thy sons.
And I wept with the world, o'er the patriot band
"Who are gone, but I weep them no longer as once. «
For happy are they now reposing afar, —
Thy G rattan, thy Curran, thy Sheridan, all
"Who, for years, were the chiefs in the eloquent war.
And redeemed, if they have not retarded, thy fall.
Yes, happy are they in their cold English graves !
Their shades cannot start to thy shouts of to-day —
Nor the steps of enslavers and chain-kissing slaves
Be stamp'd in the turf o'er their fetterless clay.
Till now I had envied thy sons and their shore.
Though their virtues were hunted, their liberties fled ;
There was something so warm and sublime in the core
Of an Irishman's heart, that I envy — thy dead.
Or, if aught in my bosom can quench for an hour
My contempt for a nation so servile, though sore^
Which though trod like the worm will not turn upon power,
'Tis the glory of Grattan, and genius of Moore !
' September, 1821.
STANZAS WKITTEN ON THE ROAD BETWEEN FLORENCE
AND PISA. 9
On, talk not to me of a name great in story ;
The days of our youth are the days of our glory ;
And the myrtle and ivy of sweet two-and-twenty
Are worth all your laurels, though ever so plenty.
' [" I composed these stanzas (except the fourth, added now) a few days ago,
road from Florence to Pisa."— iJ. Diary, Pisa, 6th November, 1821.]
on the
1821. J OCCASIOxVAL PIECES. 413
Whnt are garlands and crowns to the brow that is wrinkled ?
'Tis but as a dead flower with May-dew besprinkled.
Then away with all such from the head that is hoary !
"What care I for the wreaths that can only give glory ?
Oh Fame ! — if I e'er took delight in thy praises,
'Twas less for the sake of thy high-sounding phrases,
Tlian to see the bright eyes of the dear one discover,
She thought that 1 was not unworthy to love her.
There chiefly I sought thee, there only I found thee ;
Her glance was the best of the rays that surround thee;
"When it sparkled o'er aught that was bright in my story,
I knew it was love, and I felt it was glory.
Novemher, 1821.
STANZAS TO A HINDOO AIR'
Oh ! my lonely — lonely — lonely — Pillow !
Where is my lover ? where is my lover ?
Is it his bark which ray dreary dreams discover ?
Ear — far away ! and alone along tlie billow ?
Oh ! my lonely — lonely — lonely — Pillow !
Why must my head ache where his gentle brow lay ?
How the long night flags lovelessly and slowly,
And my head droops over thee like tlie willow !
Oh ! thou, my sad and solitary Pillow !
Send me kind dreams to keep my heart from breaking,
In return for the tears I shed upon thee waking ;
Let me not die till he comes back o'er the billow.
Then if thou wilt — no more my lonely Pillow,
In one embrace let these arms again enfold him,
And then expire of the joy — but to behold him !
Oh ! my lone bosom ! — oh ! my lonely Pillow !
^ [These verses were written by Lord Byron a little before he left Italy for Greece.
They were meant to suit the Hindostanee air — " Alia Malla Punca," whicli the Countess
Guiociuli was fond of singing.]
411 OCCASIONAL PIECES. [18-23.
IMPE0MPTU.2
Beneath Blessinijton's eves
The reclaimed Paradise
Should be free as the former from evil ;
But if the new Eve
For an Apple should grieve.
What mortal would not play the Devil ?
1823.
TO THE COUNTESS OF BLESSINGTON.
You have ask'd for a verse : — the request
In a rhymer 'twere strange to deny ;
But my Hippocrene was but my breast,.
And my feelings (its fountain) are dry.
Were I now as I was, I had sung
What Lawrence has painted so well ;
But the strain would expire on my tongue,
And the theme is too soft for my shell.
I am ashes where once T was fire.
And the bard in my bosom is dead ;
What I loved I now merely admire.
And my heart is as grey as my head.
My life is not dated by years —
There are moments wliich act as a plough.
And there is not a furrow appears
But is deep in my soul as my brow.
_^ [This impromptu was uttered by Lord Byron on soin? with Lord and Lady
Blessington to a villa at Genoa called " 11 Paradiso," which his companions thought
of renting.]
• i' IT''^ ^enoese wits had already applied this threadbare jest to himself. Taking it
inu, thoir hr-ads that this villa had been the one fixed on for his owa residence, they
haul, 11 JJiavolo c ancora entrato in Taradiso."— Mooue ]
1824.] OCCASIONAL PIECES. 41j
Let the young and the brilliant aspire
To sing what I gaze on in vain ;
For sorrow has torn from my lyre
The string which was worthy the strain.
►
ON THIS DAY I COMPLETE MY THIRTY-SIXTH YEAR.
MissoLONQHi, Jan. 22, 1824. ■•
'Tis time this heart shoald be unmoved.
Since others it hath ceased to move :
Yet, though I cannot be beloved,
Still let me love !
My days are in the yellow leaf;
The flowers and fruits of love are gone ;
The worm, the canker, and the grief
Are mine alone !
The fire that on my bosom preys
Is lone as some volcanic isle ;
No torch is kindled at its blaze —
A funeral pile.
The hope, the fear, the jealous care.
The exalted portion of the ])aiu
And power of love, I cannot share.
But wear the chain.
But 'tis not thn^ — and 'tis not here —
Such thoughts should shake my soul, nor now
Where glory decks the hero's bier.
Or binds his brow.
* [Tliis morning Lord Byron came from his bedroom into the apartment where
Colonel Stanhope and some friends were assembled, and said with a smile — " You
were complaining, the other day, that I never write any poetry now. This is ray
birthday, and I have just finished something, which, I think, is better than wliat I
usually write." He then produced these noble and affecting verses. — Count Gamba.]
i\G OCCASIONAL PIECES. [1824.
The sword, the banner, and the field.
Glory and Greece, around me see !
The Spartan, borne upon his shield.
Was not more free.
Awake ! (not Greece — she is awake !)
Awake, my spirit ! Think through w/wrn,
Thy life-blood tracks its parent lake.
And then strike home !
Tread those reviving passions down.
Unworthy manhood ! — unto thee
IndiiTerent should the smile or frown
Of beauty be.
If thou regret'st thy youth, w//?/ live ?
The laud of honourable death
Is here : — up to the field, and give
Away thy breath !
Seek out — less often sought than found —
A soldier's grave, for thee the best ;
Then look around, and choose thy ground.
And take thy rest.^
* [Taking into consideration everj'tliing connected witli these verses,— the last
tender aspirations of a loving spirit which they breathe, the self-devotion to a noble
cause which tliey so nobly express, and that consciousness of a near grave glinimeriug
sadly through the vhole, — ^there is perhaps no production within the range of mere
human composition, round which the circumstances and feelings under which it was
written cast so touching an interest. — Moore.]
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