Chapter 12

[Footnote 2: This will not appear extraordinary to those who have been accustomed to the mountains. It is by no means uncommon, on attaining the top of Ben-e-vis, Ben-y-bourd, etc., to perceive, between the summit and the valley, clouds pouring down rain, and occasionally accompanied by lightning, while the spectator literally looks down upon the storm, perfectly secure from its effects.]

[Footnote 3: Byron, in early youth, was "unco' wastefu'" of Marys. There was his distant cousin, Mary Duff (afterwards Mrs. Robert Cockburn), who lived not far from the "Plain-Stanes" at Aberdeen. Her "brown, dark hair, and hazel eyes--her very dress," were long years after "a perfect image" in his memory (_Life_, p. 9). Secondly, there was the Mary of these stanzas, "with long-flowing ringlets of gold," the "Highland Mary" of local tradition. She was (writes the Rev. J. Michie, of The Manse, Dinnet) the daughter of James Robertson, of the farmhouse of Ballatrich on Deeside, where Byron used to spend his summer holidays (1796-98). She was of gentle birth, and through her mother, the daughter of Captain Macdonald of Rineton, traced her descent to the Lord of the Isles. "She died at Aberdeen, March 2, 1867, aged eighty-five years." A third Mary (see "Lines to Mary," etc., p. 32) flits through the early poems, evanescent but unspiritual. Last of all, there was Mary Anne Chaworth, of Annesley (see "A Fragment," etc., p. 210; "The Adieu," st. 6, p. 239, etc.), whose marriage, in 1805, "threw him out again--alone on a wide, wide sea" (Life, p. 85).]

[Footnote 4: "Breasting the lofty surge" (Shakespeare).]

[Footnote 5: The Dee is a beautiful river, which rises near Mar Lodge, and falls into the sea at New Aberdeen.]

[Footnote 6: Colbleen is a mountain near the verge of the Highlands, not far from the ruins of Dee Castle.]

[Footnote i:

_Song_.

[_Poems O. and T._]]

TO THE DUKE OF DORSET. [i] [1]

Dorset! whose early steps with mine have stray'd, [ii] Exploring every path of Ida's glade; Whom, still, affection taught me to defend, And made me less a tyrant than a friend, Though the harsh custom of our youthful band Bade _thee_ obey, and gave _me_ to command; [2] Thee, on whose head a few short years will shower The gift of riches, and the pride of power; E'en now a name illustrious is thine own, Renown'd in rank, not far beneath the throne. 10 Yet, Dorset, let not this seduce thy soul [iii] To shun fair science, or evade controul; Though passive tutors, [3] fearful to dispraise The titled child, whose future breath may raise, View ducal errors with indulgent eyes, And wink at faults they tremble to chastise. When youthful parasites, who bend the knee To wealth, their golden idol, not to thee,-- And even in simple boyhood's opening dawn Some slaves are found to flatter and to fawn,-- 20 When these declare, "that pomp alone should wait On one by birth predestin'd to be great; That books were only meant for drudging fools, That gallant spirits scorn the common rules;" Believe them not,--they point the path to shame, And seek to blast the honours of thy name: Turn to the few in Ida's early throng, Whose souls disdain not to condemn the wrong; Or if, amidst the comrades of thy youth, None dare to raise the sterner voice of truth, 30 Ask thine own heart--'twill bid thee, boy, forbear! For _well_ I know that virtue lingers there.

Yes! I have mark'd thee many a passing day, But now new scenes invite me far away; Yes! I have mark'd within that generous mind A soul, if well matur'd, to bless mankind; Ah! though myself, by nature haughty, wild, Whom Indiscretion hail'd her favourite child; Though every error stamps me for her own, And dooms my fall, I fain would fall alone; 40 Though my proud heart no precept, now, can tame, I love the virtues which I cannot claim.

'Tis not enough, with other sons of power, To gleam the lambent meteor of an hour; To swell some peerage page in feeble pride, With long-drawn names that grace no page beside; Then share with titled crowds the common lot-- In life just gaz'd at, in the grave forgot; While nought divides thee from the vulgar dead, Except the dull cold stone that hides thy head, 50 The mouldering 'scutcheon, or the Herald's roll, That well-emblazon'd but neglected scroll, Where Lords, unhonour'd, in the tomb may find One spot, to leave a worthless name behind. There sleep, unnotic'd as the gloomy vaults That veil their dust, their follies, and their faults, A race, with old armorial lists o'erspread, In records destin'd never to be read. Fain would I view thee, with prophetic eyes, Exalted more among the good and wise; 60 A glorious and a long career pursue, As first in Rank, the first in Talent too: Spurn every vice, each little meanness shun; Not Fortune's minion, but her noblest son. Turn to the annals of a former day; Bright are the deeds thine earlier Sires display; One, though a courtier, lived a man of worth, And call'd, proud boast! the British drama forth. [4] Another view! not less renown'd for Wit; Alike for courts, and camps, or senates fit; 70 Bold in the field, and favour'd by the Nine; In every splendid part ordain'd to shine; Far, far distinguished from the glittering throng, The pride of Princes, and the boast of Song. [5] Such were thy Fathers; thus preserve their name, Not heir to titles only, but to Fame. The hour draws nigh, a few brief days will close, To me, this little scene of joys and woes; Each knell of Time now warns me to resign Shades where Hope, Peace, and Friendship all were mine: 80 Hope, that could vary like the rainbow's hue, And gild their pinions, as the moments flew; Peace, that reflection never frown'd away, By dreams of ill to cloud some future day; Friendship, whose truth let Childhood only tell; Alas! they love not long, who love so well.

To these adieu! nor let me linger o'er Scenes hail'd, as exiles hail their native shore, Receding slowly, through the dark-blue deep, Beheld by eyes that mourn, yet cannot weep. 90

Dorset, farewell! I will not ask one part [iv] Of sad remembrance in so young a heart; The coming morrow from thy youthful mind Will sweep my name, nor leave a trace behind. And, yet, perhaps, in some maturer year, Since chance has thrown us in the self-same sphere, Since the same senate, nay, the same debate, May one day claim our suffrage for the state, We hence may meet, and pass each other by With faint regard, or cold and distant eye. 100 For me, in future, neither friend nor foe, A stranger to thyself, thy weal or woe-- With thee no more again I hope to trace The recollection of our early race; No more, as once, in social hours rejoice, Or hear, unless in crowds, thy well-known voice; Still, if the wishes of a heart untaught To veil those feelings, which, perchance, it ought, If these,--but let me cease the lengthen'd strain,-- Oh! if these wishes are not breath'd in vain, 110 The Guardian Seraph who directs thy fate Will leave thee glorious, as he found thee great.

1805.

[Footnote 1: In looking over my papers to select a few additional poems for this second edition, I found the above lines, which I had totally forgotten, composed in the summer of 1805, a short time previous to my departure from H[arrow]. They were addressed to a young schoolfellow of high rank, who had been my frequent companion in some rambles through the neighbouring country: however, he never saw the lines, and most probably never will. As, on a re-perusal, I found them not worse than some other pieces in the collection, I have now published them, for the first time, after a slight revision. [The foregoing note was prefixed to the poem in 'Poems O. and T'. George John Frederick, 4th Duke of Dorset, born 1793, was killed by a fall from his horse when hunting, in 1815, while on a visit to his step-father the Earl of Whitworth, Lord-Lieutenant of Ireland. (See Byron's letter to Moore, Feb. 22, 1815).]]

[Footnote 2: At every public school the junior boys are completely subservient to the upper forms till they attain a seat in the higher classes. From this state of probation, very properly, no rank is exempt; but after a certain period, they command in turn those who succeed.]

[Footnote 3: Allow me to disclaim any personal allusions, even the most distant. I merely mention generally what is too often the weakness of preceptors.]

[Footnote 4: "Thomas Sackville, Lord Buckhurst, was born in 1527. While a student of the Inner Temple, he wrote his tragedy of 'Gorboduc', which was played before Queen Elizabeth at Whitehall, in 1561. This tragedy, and his contribution of the Induction and legend of the Duke of Buckingham to the 'Mirrour for Magistraytes', compose the poetical history of Sackville. The rest of it was political. In 1604, he was created Earl of Dorset by James I. He died suddenly at the council-table, in consequence of a dropsy on the brain."--'Specimens of the British Poets', by Thomas Campbell, London, 1819, ii. 134, 'sq'.]

[Footnote 5: Charles Sackville, Earl of Dorset [1637-1706], esteemed the most accomplished man of his day, was alike distinguished in the voluptuous court of Charles II. and the gloomy one of William III. He behaved with great gallantry in the sea-fight with the Dutch in 1665; on the day previous to which he composed his celebrated song ["'To all you Ladies now at Land'"]. His character has been drawn in the highest colours by Dryden, Pope, Prior, and Congreve. 'Vide' Anderson's 'British Poets', 1793, vi. 107, 108.]

[Footnote i:

'To the Duke of D-----'.

['Poems O. and T.']]

[Footnote ii:

'D-r-t'-----.

['Poems O. and T.']]

[Footnote iii:

Yet D-r-t-----.

['Poems O. and T.']

[Footnote iv:

'D--r--t farewell.'

['Poems O. and T.']]

TO THE EARL OF CLARE. [i]

Tu semper amoris Sis memor, et cari comitis ne abscedat imago.

VAL. FLAC. 'Argonaut', iv. 36.

1.

Friend of my youth! when young we rov'd, Like striplings, mutually belov'd, With Friendship's purest glow; The bliss, which wing'd those rosy hours, Was such as Pleasure seldom showers On mortals here below.

2.

The recollection seems, alone, Dearer than all the joys I've known, When distant far from you: Though pain, 'tis still a pleasing pain, To trace those days and hours again, And sigh again, adieu!

3.

My pensive mem'ry lingers o'er, Those scenes to be enjoy'd no more, Those scenes regretted ever; The measure of our youth is full, Life's evening dream is dark and dull, And we may meet--ah! never!

4.

As when one parent spring supplies Two streams, which from one fountain rise, Together join'd in vain; How soon, diverging from their source, Each, murmuring, seeks another course, Till mingled in the Main!

5.

Our vital streams of weal or woe, Though near, alas! distinctly flow, Nor mingle as before: Now swift or slow, now black or clear, Till Death's unfathom'd gulph appear, And both shall quit the shore.

6.

Our souls, my Friend! which once supplied One wish, nor breathed a thought beside, Now flow in different channels: Disdaining humbler rural sports, 'Tis yours to mix in polish'd courts, And shine in Fashion's annals;

7.

'Tis mine to waste on love my time, Or vent my reveries in rhyme, Without the aid of Reason; For Sense and Reason (critics know it) Have quitted every amorous Poet, Nor left a thought to seize on.

8.

Poor LITTLE! sweet, melodious bard! Of late esteem'd it monstrous hard That he, who sang before all; He who the lore of love expanded, By dire Reviewers should be branded, As void of wit and moral. [1]

9.

And yet, while Beauty's praise is thine, Harmonious favourite of the Nine! Repine not at thy lot. Thy soothing lays may still be read, When Persecution's arm is dead, And critics are forgot.

10.

Still I must yield those worthies merit Who chasten, with unsparing spirit, Bad rhymes, and those who write them: And though myself may be the next By critic sarcasm to be vext, I really will not fight them. [2]

11.

Perhaps they would do quite as well To break the rudely sounding shell Of such a young beginner: He who offends at pert nineteen, Ere thirty may become, I ween, A very harden'd sinner.

12.

Now, Clare, I must return to you; [ii] And, sure, apologies are due: Accept, then, my concession. In truth, dear Clare, in Fancy's flight [iii] I soar along from left to right; My Muse admires digression.

13.

I think I said 'twould be your fate To add one star to royal state;-- May regal smiles attend you! And should a noble Monarch reign, You will not seek his smiles in vain, If worth can recommend you.

14.

Yet since in danger courts abound, Where specious rivals glitter round, From snares may Saints preserve you; And grant your love or friendship ne'er From any claim a kindred care, But those who best deserve you!

15.

Not for a moment may you stray From Truth's secure, unerring way! May no delights decoy! O'er roses may your footsteps move, Your smiles be ever smiles of love, Your tears be tears of joy!

16.

Oh! if you wish that happiness Your coming days and years may bless, And virtues crown your brow; Be still as you were wont to be, Spotless as you've been known to me,-- Be still as you are now. [3]

17.

And though some trifling share of praise, To cheer my last declining days, To me were doubly dear; Whilst blessing your beloved name, I'd _waive_ at once a _Poet's_ fame, To _prove_ a _Prophet_ here.

1807.

[Footnote 1: These stanzas were written soon after the appearance of a severe critique in a northern review, on a new publication of the British Anacreon. (Byron refers to the article in the 'Edinburgh Review', of July, 1807, on "'Epistles, Odes, and other Poems', by Thomas Little, Esq.")]

[Footnote 2: A bard [Moore] ('Horresco referens') defied his reviewer [Jeffrey] to mortal combat. If this example becomes prevalent, our Periodical Censors must be dipped in the river Styx: for what else can secure them from the numerous host of their enraged assailants? [Cf. 'English Bards', l. 466, 'note'.]]

[Footnote 3:

"Of all I have ever known, Clare has always been the least altered in everything from the excellent qualities and kind affections which attached me to him so strongly at school. I should hardly have thought it possible for society (or the world, as it is called) to leave a being with so little of the leaven of bad passions. I do not speak from personal experience only, but from all I have ever heard of him from others, during absence and distance."

'Detached Thoughts', Nov. 5, 1821; 'Life', p. 540.]

[Footnote i:

'To the Earl of-----'.

['Poems O. and T.']]

[Footnote ii:

'Now----I must'.

['Poems O. and T.']]

[Footnote iii:

'In truth dear----in fancy's flight'.

['Poems O. and T.']]

I WOULD I WERE A CARELESS CHILD. [i]

1

I would I were a careless child, Still dwelling in my Highland cave, Or roaming through the dusky wild, Or bounding o'er the dark blue wave; The cumbrous pomp of Saxon [1] pride, Accords not with the freeborn soul, Which loves the mountain's craggy side, And seeks the rocks where billows roll.

2.

Fortune! take back these cultur'd lands, Take back this name of splendid sound! I hate the touch of servile hands, I hate the slaves that cringe around: Place me among the rocks I love, Which sound to Ocean's wildest roar; I ask but this--again to rove Through scenes my youth hath known before.

3.

Few are my years, and yet I feel The World was ne'er design'd for me: Ah! why do dark'ning shades conceal The hour when man must cease to be? Once I beheld a splendid dream, A visionary scene of bliss: Truth!--wherefore did thy hated beam Awake me to a world like this?

4.

I lov'd--but those I lov'd are gone; Had friends--my early friends are fled: How cheerless feels the heart alone, When all its former hopes are dead! Though gay companions, o'er the bowl Dispel awhile the sense of ill; Though Pleasure stirs the maddening soul, The heart--the heart--is lonely still.

5.

How dull! to hear the voice of those Whom Rank or Chance, whom Wealth or Power, Have made, though neither friends nor foes, Associates of the festive hour. Give me again a faithful few, In years and feelings still the same, And I will fly the midnight crew, Where boist'rous Joy is but a name.

6.

And Woman, lovely Woman! thou, My hope, my comforter, my all! How cold must be my bosom now, When e'en thy smiles begin to pall! Without a sigh would I resign, This busy scene of splendid Woe, To make that calm contentment mine, Which Virtue knows, or seems to know.

7.

Fain would I fly the haunts of men [2]-- I seek to shun, not hate mankind; My breast requires the sullen glen, Whose gloom may suit a darken'd mind. Oh! that to me the wings were given, Which bear the turtle to her nest! Then would I cleave the vault of Heaven, To flee away, and be at rest. [3]

[Footnote 1: Sassenach, or Saxon, a Gaelic word, signifying either Lowland or English.]

[Footnote 2: Shyness was a family characteristic of the Byrons. The poet continued in later years to have a horror of being observed by unaccustomed eyes, and in the country would, if possible, avoid meeting strangers on the road.]

[Footnote 3:

"And I said, O that I had wings like a dove, for then would I fly away, and be at rest."

(Psalm iv. 6.) This verse also constitutes a part of the most beautiful anthem in our language.]

[Footnote i:

'Stanzas'.

['Poems O. and T.']]

LINES WRITTEN BENEATH AN ELM IN THE CHURCHYARD OF HARROW. [1] [i]

Spot of my youth! whose hoary branches sigh, Swept by the breeze that fans thy cloudless sky; Where now alone I muse, who oft have trod, With those I loved, thy soft and verdant sod; With those who, scatter'd far, perchance deplore, Like me, the happy scenes they knew before: Oh! as I trace again thy winding hill, Mine eyes admire, my heart adores thee still, Thou drooping Elm! beneath whose boughs I lay, And frequent mus'd the twilight hours away; Where, as they once were wont, my limbs recline, But, ah! without the thoughts which then were mine: How do thy branches, moaning to the blast, Invite the bosom to recall the past, And seem to whisper, as they gently swell, "Take, while thou canst, a lingering, last farewell!"

When Fate shall chill, at length, this fever'd breast, And calm its cares and passions into rest, Oft have I thought, 'twould soothe my dying hour,-- If aught may soothe, when Life resigns her power,-- To know some humbler grave, some narrow cell, Would hide my bosom where it lov'd to dwell; With this fond dream, methinks 'twere sweet to die-- And here it linger'd, here my heart might lie; Here might I sleep where all my hopes arose, Scene of my youth, and couch of my repose; For ever stretch'd beneath this mantling shade, Press'd by the turf where once my childhood play'd; Wrapt by the soil that veils the spot I lov'd, Mix'd with the earth o'er which my footsteps mov'd; Blest by the tongues that charm'd my youthful ear, Mourn'd by the few my soul acknowledged here; Deplor'd by those in early days allied, And unremember'd by the world beside.

September 2, 1807.

[Footnote 1: On the death of his daughter, Allegra, in April, 1822, Byron sent her remains to be buried at Harrow, "where," he says, in a letter to Murray, "I once hoped to have laid my own." "There is," he wrote, May 26, "a spot in the church'yard', near the footpath, on the brow of the hill looking towards Windsor, and a tomb under a large tree (bearing the name of Peachie, or Peachey), where I used to sit for hours and hours when a boy. This was my favourite spot; but as I wish to erect a tablet to her memory, the body had better be deposited in the 'church'." No tablet was, however, erected, and Allegra sleeps in her unmarked grave inside the church, a few feet to the right of the entrance.]

[Footnote i:

'Lines written beneath an Elm In the Churchyard of Harrow on the Hill September 2, 1807'.

['Poems O. and T.']]

FRAGMENT.

WRITTEN SHORTLY AFTER THE MARRIAGE OF MISS CHAWORTH. [1]

First published in Moore's 'Letters and Journals of Lord Byron', 1830, i. 56

1.

Hills of Annesley, Bleak and Barren, Where my thoughtless Childhood stray'd, How the northern Tempests, warring, Howl above thy tufted Shade!

2.

Now no more, the Hours beguiling, Former favourite Haunts I see; Now no more my Mary smiling, Makes ye seem a Heaven to Me.

1805.

[Footnote 1: Miss Chaworth was married to John Musters, Esq., in August, 1805. The stanzas were first published in Moore's _Letters and Journals of Lord Byron_, 1830, i. 56. (See, too, _The Dream_, st. ii. 1. 9.) The original MS. (which is in the possession of Mrs. Chaworth Musters) formerly belonged to Miss E. B. Pigot, according to whom they "were written by Lord Byron in 1804." "We were reading Burns' _Farewell to Ayrshire_--

Scenes of woe and Scenes of pleasure Scenes that former thoughts renew Scenes of woe and scenes of pleasure Now a sad and last adieu, etc.

when he said, 'I like that metre; let me try it,' and taking up a pencil, wrote those on the other side in an instant. I read them to Moore, and at his particular request I copied them for him."-E. B. Pigot, 1859.

On the fly-leaf of the same volume (_Poetry of Robert Burns_, vol. iv. Third Edition, 1802), containing the _Farewell to Ayrshire_, Byron wrote in pencil the two stanzas "Oh! little lock of golden hue," in 1806 (_vide post_, p. 233).

It may be noted that the verses quoted, though included until recently among his poems, were not written by Burns, but by Richard Gall, who died in 1801, aged 25.]

REMEMBRANCE.

'Tis done!--I saw it in my dreams: No more with Hope the future beams; My days of happiness are few: Chill'd by Misfortune's wintry blast, My dawn of Life is overcast; Love, Hope, and Joy, alike adieu! Would I could add Remembrance too!

1806. [First published, 1832.]

TO A LADY

WHO PRESENTED THE AUTHOR WITH THE VELVET BAND WHICH BOUND HER TRESSES.

1.

This Band, which bound thy yellow hair Is mine, sweet girl! thy pledge of love; It claims my warmest, dearest care, Like relics left of saints above.

2.

Oh! I will wear it next my heart; 'Twill bind my soul in bonds to thee: From me again 'twill ne'er depart, But mingle in the grave with me.

3.

The dew I gather from thy lip Is not so dear to me as this; _That_ I but for a moment sip, And banquet on a transient bliss: [i]

4.

_This_ will recall each youthful scene, E'en when our lives are on the wane; The leaves of Love will still be green When Memory bids them bud again.

1806. [First published, 1832.]

[Footnote i:

_on a transient kiss._

['MS. Newstead'.]

TO A KNOT OF UNGENEROUS CRITICS. [1]