Chapter 7

"Just half a Pedagogue, and half a Fop, Not formed to grace the pulpit, but the Shop; The 'Counter', not the 'Desk', should be his place, Who deals out precepts, as if dealing Lace; Servile in mind, from Elevation proud, In argument, less sensible than loud, Through half the continent, the Coxcomb's been, And stuns you with the Wonders he has seen: ''How' in Pompeii's vault he found the page, Of some long lost, and long lamented Sage, And doubtless he the Letters would have trac'd, Had they not been by age and dust effac'd: This single specimen will serve to shew, The weighty lessons of this reverend Beau, Bombast in vain would want of Genius cloke, For feeble fires evaporate in smoke; A Boy, o'er Boys he holds a trembling reign, More fit than they to seek some School again."]]

[Footnote 9: Lines 121-243 were added in 'Hours of Idleness'.]

[Footnote 10: During a rebellion at Harrow, the poet prevented the school-room from being burnt down, by pointing out to the boys the names of their fathers and grandfathers on the walls.--(Medwin's 'Conversations' (1824), p. 85.)

Byron elsewhere thus describes his usual course of life while at Harrow: "always cricketing, rebelling, 'rowing', and in all manner of mischiefs." One day he tore down the gratings from the window of the hall; and when asked by Dr. Butler his reason for the outrage, coolly answered, "because they darkened the room."--'Life', p. 29.]

[Footnote 11: "Lord Clare." (Annotated copy of 'P. on V. Occasions' in the British Museum.)

[Lines 243-264, as the note in Byron's handwriting explains, were originally intended to apply to Lord Clare. In 'Hours of Idleness' "Joannes" became "Alonzo," and the same lines were employed to celebrate the memory of his friend the Hon. John Wingfield, of the Coldstream Guards, brother to Richard, fourth Viscount Powerscourt. He died at Coimbra in 1811, in his twentieth year. Byron at one time gave him the preference over all other friends.]]

[Footnote 12: The Rev. John Cecil Tattersall, B.A., of Christ Church, Oxford, who died December 8, 1812, at Hall's Place, Kent, aged twenty-three.]

[Footnote 13: The "factious strife" was brought on by the breaking up of school, and the dismissal of some volunteers from drill, both happening at the same hour. The butt-end of a musket was aimed at Byron's head, and would have felled him to the ground, but for the interposition of Tattersall.--'Life', p. 25.]

[Footnote 14: John Fitzgibbon, second Earl of Clare (1792-1851), afterwards Governor of Bombay, of whom Byron said, in 1822,

"I have always loved him better than any 'male' thing in the world." "I never," was his language in 1821, "hear the word ''Clare'' without a beating of the heart even 'now'; and I write it with the feelings of 1803-4-5, ad infinitum."]

[Footnote 15: John Fitzgibbon, first Earl of Clare (1749-1802), became Attorney-General and Lord Chancellor of Ireland. In the latter years of the independent Irish Parliament, he took an active part in politics in opposition to Grattan and the national party, and was distinguished as a powerful, if bitter, speaker. He was made Earl of Clare in 1795.]

[Footnote 16: George John, fifth Earl of Delawarr.--

"I am happy enough, and comfortable here," says Byron, in a letter from Harrow of Oct. 25, 1804. "My friends are not numerous, but select. Among the principal, I rank Lord Delawarr, who is very amiable, and my particular friend."-- "Nov. 2, 1804. Lord Delawarr is considerably younger than me, but the most good-tempered, amiable, clever fellow in the universe. To all which he adds the quality (a good one in the eyes of women) of being remarkably handsome. Delawarr and myself are, in a manner, connected; for one of my forefathers, in Charles I's time, married into their family."

The allusion in the text to their subsequent quarrel, receives further light from a letter which the poet addressed to Lord Clare under date, February 6, 1807. (See, too, lines "To George, Earl Delawarr," p. 126.) The first Lord Byron was twice married. His first wife was Cecilie, widow of Sir Francis Bindlose, and daughter of Thomas, third Lord Delawarr. He died childless, and was succeeded by his brother Richard, the poet's ancestor. His younger brother, Sir Robert Byron, married Lucy, another daughter of the third Lord Delawarr.]

[Footnote 17: Edward Noel Long, who was drowned by the foundering of a transport on the voyage to Lisbon with his regiment, in 1809. (See lines "To Edward Noel Long, Esq.," 'post', p. 184.)]

[Footnote 18: This alludes to the public speeches delivered at the school where the author was educated.]

[Footnote 19:

"My qualities were much more oratorical than poetical, and Dr. Drury, my grand patron, had a great notion that I should turn out an orator from my fluency, my turbulence, my voice, my copiousness of declamation, and my action. I remember that my first declamation astonished Dr. Drury into some unwonted (for he was economical of such) and sudden compliments, before the declaimers at our first rehearsal."

'Byron Diary'.

"I certainly was much pleased with Lord Byron's attitude, gesture, and delivery, as well as with his composition. To my surprise, he suddenly diverged from the written composition, with a boldness and rapidity sufficient to alarm me, lest he should fail in memory as to the conclusion. I questioned him, why he had altered his declamation? He declared he had made no alteration, and did not know, in speaking, that he had deviated from it one letter. I believed him, and from a knowledge of his temperament, am convinced that he was hurried on to expressions and colourings more striking than what his pen had expressed."

DR. DRURY, 'Life', p. 20.]

[Footnote 20: "L'Amitié est l'Amour sans ailes," is a French proverb. (See the lines so entitled, p. 220.)]

[Footnote i:

'Hence! thou unvarying song, of varied loves, Which youth commends, maturer age reproves; Which every rhyming bard repeats by rote, By thousands echo'd to the self-same note! Tir'd of the dull, unceasing, copious strain, My soul is panting to be free again. Farewell! ye nymphs, propitious to my verse, Some other Damon, will your charms rehearse; Some other paint his pangs, in hope of bliss, Or dwell in rapture on your nectar'd kiss. Those beauties, grateful to my ardent sight, No more entrance my senses in delight; Those bosoms, form'd of animated snow, Alike are tasteless and unfeeling now. These to some happier lover, I resign; The memory of those joys alone is mine. Censure no more shall brand my humble name, The child of passion and the fool of fame. Weary of love, of life, devoured with spleen, I rest a perfect Timon, not nineteen; World! I renounce thee! all my hope's o'ercast! One sigh I give thee, but that sigh's the last. Friends, foes, and females, now alike, adieu! Would I could add remembrance of you, too! Yet though the future, dark and cheerless gleams, The curse of memory, hovering in my dreams, Depicts with glowing pencil all those years, Ere yet, my cup, empoison'd, flow'd with tears, Still rules my senses with tyrannic sway, The past confounding with the present day.

Alas! in vain I check the maddening thought; It still recurs, unlook'd for and unsought: My soul to Fancy's', etc., etc., as at line 29.--]

[Footnote ii: 'Cunning with age.' ['MS. Newstead'.]]

[Footnote iii: 'Nor shrunk before.' ['Hours of Idleness'.]]

[Footnote iv:

'Careless to soothe the pedant's furious frown, Scarcely respecting his majestic gown; By which, in vain, he gain'd a borrow'd grace, Adding new terror to his sneering face,'

['P. on V. Occasions'.]]

[Footnote v:

'With him for years I search'd the classic page, Culling the treasures of the letter'd sage,'

['P. on V. Occasions'.]]

[Footnote vi:

'Contempt, in silence, be the pedant's lot, Soon shall his shallow precepts be forgot; No more his mention shall my pen degrade-- My tribute to his name's already paid.'

['P. on V. Occasions'.]

Another variant for a new edition ran--

'Another fills his magisterial chair; Reluctant Ida owns a stranger's care; Oh! may like honours crown his future name: If such his virtues, such shall be his fame.'

['MS. M.']

[Footnote vii:

'Joannes! best and dearest of my friends.'

['P. on V. Occasions.']]

[Footnote viii:

'Could aught inspire me with poetic fire, For thee, alone, I'd strike the hallow'd lyre; But, to some abler hand, the task I wave, Whose strains immortal may outlive the grave'.--

['P. on V. Occasions.']]

[Footnote ix:

'Our lusty limbs.'

['P. on V. Occasions.']

'--the buoyant waters bore.'

['Hours of Idleness.']]

[Footnote x:

'Thus did you save that life I scarcely prize-- A life unworthy such a sacrifice. Oh! when my breast forgets the generous deed.'

['P. on V. Occasions'.] ]

[Footnote xi:

'For ever to possess a friend in thee, Was bliss unhop'd, though not unsought by me; Thy softer soul was form'd for love alone, To ruder passions and to hate unknown; Thy mind, in union with thy beauteous form, Was gentle, but unfit to stem the storm; That face, an index of celestial worth, Proclaim'd a heart abstracted from the earth. Oft, when depress'd with sad, foreboding gloom, I sat reclin'd upon our favourite tomb, I've seen those sympathetic eyes o'erflow With kind compassion for thy comrade's woe; Or, when less mournful subjects form'd our themes, We tried a thousand fond romantic schemes, Oft hast thou sworn, in friendship's soothing tone. Whatever wish was mine, must be thine own. The next can boast to lead in senates fit, A Spartan firmness,--with Athenian wit; Tho' yet, in embryo, these perfections shine, Clarus! thy father's fame will soon be thine.'--

['P. on V. Occasions'.]

A remonstrance which Lord Clare addressed to him at school; was found among his papers (as were most of the notes of his early favourites), and on the back of it was an endorsement which is a fresh testimony of his affection:--

"This and another letter were written at Harrow, by my 'then' and, I hope, 'ever' beloved friend, Lord Clare, when we were both schoolboys; and sent to my study in consequence of some 'childish' misunderstanding,--the only one which ever arose between us. It was of short duration, and I retain this note solely for the purpose of submitting it to his perusal, that we may smile over the recollection of the insignificance of our first and last quarrel."

See, also, Byron's account of his accidental meeting with Lord Clare in Italy in 1821, as recorded in 'Detached Thoughts', Nov. 5, 1821; in letters to Moore, March 1 and June 8, 1822; and Mme. Guiccioli's description of his emotion on seeing Clare ('My Recollections of Lord Byron', ed. 1869, p. 156).]

[Footnote xii:

'Where is the restless fool, would wish for more?'

['P. on V. Occasions.']]

[Footnote xiii:

'As speakers, each supports a rival name, Though neither seeks to damn the other's fame, Pomposus sits, unequal to decide, With youthful candour, we the palm divide.'--

['P. on V. Occasions']]

[Footnote xiv:

'Yet in the retrospection finds relief, And revels in the luxury of grief.'--

['P. on V. Occasions.']]

[Footnote xv:

'When, yet a novice in the mimic art, I feign'd the transports of a vengeful heart; When, as the Royal Slave, I trod the stage, To vent in Zanga, more than mortal rage; The praise of Probus, made me feel more proud, Than all the plaudits of the list'ning crowd.

Ah! vain endeavour in this childish strain To soothe the woes of which I thus complain! What can avail this fruitless loss of time, To measure sorrow, in a jingling rhyme! No social solace from a friend, is near, And heartless strangers drop no feeling tear. I seek not joy in Woman's sparkling eye, The smiles of Beauty cannot check the sigh. Adieu, thou world! thy pleasure's still a dream, Thy virtue, but a visionary theme; Thy years of vice, on years of folly roll, Till grinning death assigns the destin'd goal,' 'Where all are hastening to the dread abode, To meet the judgment of a righteous God; Mix'd in the concourse of a thoughtless throng, A mourner, midst of mirth, I glide along; A wretched, isolated, gloomy thing, Curst by reflection's deep corroding sting; But not that mental sting, which stabs within, The dark avenger of unpunish'd sin; The silent shaft, which goads the guilty wretch Extended on a rack's untiring stretch: Conscience that sting, that shaft to him supplies-- His mind the rack, from which he ne'er can rise, For me, whatever my folly, or my fear, One cheerful comfort still is cherish'd here. No dread internal, haunts my hours of rest, No dreams of injured innocence infest; Of hope, of peace, of almost all bereft, Conscience, my last but welcome guest, is left. Slander's empoison'd breath, may blast my name, Envy delights to blight the buds of fame: Deceit may chill the current of my blood, And freeze affection's warm impassion'd flood; Presaging horror, darken every sense, Even here will conscience be my best defence; My bosom feeds no "worm which ne'er can die:" Not crimes I mourn, but happiness gone by. Thus crawling on with many a reptile vile, My heart is bitter, though my cheek may smile; No more with former bliss, my heart is glad; Hope yields to anguish and my soul is sad; From fond regret, no future joy can save; Remembrance slumbers only in the grave.'

['P. on V. Occasions']]

[Footnote xvi:

'The song might perish, but the theme must live.'

['Hours of Idleness.']]

[Footnote xvii:

'----his venom'd tooth.'

['Hours of Idleness'.]]

ANSWER TO A BEAUTIFUL POEM, WRITTEN BY MONTGOMERY, AUTHOR OF "THE WANDERER OF SWITZERLAND," ETC., ENTITLED "THE COMMON LOT." [1]

1.

Montgomery! true, the common lot Of mortals lies in Lethe's wave; Yet some shall never be forgot, Some shall exist beyond the grave.

2.

"Unknown the region of his birth," The hero [2] rolls the tide of war; Yet not unknown his martial worth, Which glares a meteor from afar.

3.

His joy or grief, his weal or woe, Perchance may 'scape the page of fame; Yet nations, now unborn, will know The record of his deathless name.

4.

The Patriot's and the Poet's frame Must share the common tomb of all: Their glory will not sleep the same; 'That' will arise, though Empires fall.

5.

The lustre of a Beauty's eye Assumes the ghastly stare of death; The fair, the brave, the good must die, And sink the yawning grave beneath.

6.

Once more, the speaking eye revives, Still beaming through the lover's strain; For Petrarch's Laura still survives: She died, but ne'er will die again.

7.

The rolling seasons pass away, And Time, untiring, waves his wing; Whilst honour's laurels ne'er decay, But bloom in fresh, unfading spring.

8.

All, all must sleep in grim repose, Collected in the silent tomb; The old, the young, with friends and foes, Fest'ring alike in shrouds, consume.

9.

The mouldering marble lasts its day, Yet falls at length an useless fane; To Ruin's ruthless fangs a prey, The wrecks of pillar'd Pride remain.

10.

What, though the sculpture be destroy'd, From dark Oblivion meant to guard; A bright renown shall be enjoy'd, By those, whose virtues claim reward.

11.

Then do not say the common lot Of all lies deep in Lethe's wave; Some few who ne'er will be forgot Shall burst the bondage of the grave.

1806.

[Footnote 1: Montgomery (James), 1771-1854, poet and hymn-writer, published: 'Prison Amusements' (1797), 'The Ocean; a Poem' (1805), 'The Wanderer of Switzerland, and other Poems' (1806), 'The West Indies, and other Poems' (1810), 'Songs of Sion' (1822), 'The Christian Psalmist' (1825), 'The Pelican Island, and other Poems' (1827), 'etc.' ('vide post'), 'English Bards', 'etc.', line 418, and 'note'.]

[Footnote 2: No particular hero is here alluded to. The exploits of Bayard, Nemours, Edward the Black Prince, and, in more modern times, the fame of Marlborough, Frederick the Great, Count Saxe, Charles of Sweden, etc., are familiar to every historical reader, but the exact places of their birth are known to a very small proportion of their admirers.]

LOVE'S LAST ADIEU.

[Greek: Aeì d' aeí me pheugei.]--[Pseud.] ANACREON, [Greek: Eis chruson].

1.

The roses of Love glad the garden of life, Though nurtur'd 'mid weeds dropping pestilent dew, Till Time crops the leaves with unmerciful knife, Or prunes them for ever, in Love's last adieu!

2.

In vain, with endearments, we soothe the sad heart, In vain do we vow for an age to be true; The chance of an hour may command us to part, Or Death disunite us, in Love's last adieu!

3.

Still Hope, breathing peace, through the grief-swollen breast, [i] Will whisper, "Our meeting we yet may renew:" With this dream of deceit, half our sorrow's represt, Nor taste we the poison, of Love's last adieu!

4.

Oh! mark you yon pair, in the sunshine of youth, Love twin'd round their childhood his flow'rs as they grew; They flourish awhile, in the season of truth, Till chill'd by the winter of Love's last adieu!

5.

Sweet lady! why thus doth a tear steal its way, Down a cheek which outrivals thy bosom in hue? Yet why do I ask?--to distraction a prey, Thy reason has perish'd, with Love's last adieu!

6.

Oh! who is yon Misanthrope, shunning mankind? From cities to caves of the forest he flew: There, raving, he howls his complaint to the wind; The mountains reverberate Love's last adieu!

7.

Now Hate rules a heart which in Love's easy chains, Once Passion's tumultuous blandishments knew; Despair now inflames the dark tide of his veins, He ponders, in frenzy, on Love's last adieu!

8.

How he envies the wretch, with a soul wrapt in steel! His pleasures are scarce, yet his troubles are few, Who laughs at the pang that he never can feel, And dreads not the anguish of Love's last adieu!

9.

Youth flies, life decays, even hope is o'ercast; No more, with Love's former devotion, we sue: He spreads his young wing, he retires with the blast; The shroud of affection is Love's last adieu!

10.

In this life of probation, for rapture divine, Astrea[1] declares that some penance is due; From him, who has worshipp'd at Love's gentle shrine, The atonement is ample, in Love's last adieu!

11.

Who kneels to the God, on his altar of light Must myrtle and cypress alternately strew: His myrtle, an emblem of purest delight, His cypress, the garland of Love's last adieu!

[Footnote 1: The Goddess of Justice.]

[Footnote i:

_Still, hope-beaming peace._

['P. on V. Occasions.']]

LINES. [i] ADDRESSED TO THE REV. J. T. BECHER, [1] ON HIS ADVISING THE AUTHOR TO MIX MORE WITH SOCIETY.

1.

Dear BECHER, you tell me to mix with mankind; I cannot deny such a precept is wise; But retirement accords with the tone of my mind: I will not descend to a world I despise.

2.

Did the Senate or Camp my exertions require, Ambition might prompt me, at once, to go forth; When Infancy's years of probation expire, Perchance, I may strive to distinguish my birth.

3.

The fire, in the cavern of Etna, conceal'd, Still mantles unseen in its secret recess; At length, in a volume terrific, reveal'd, No torrent can quench it, no bounds can repress.

4.

Oh! thus, the desire, in my bosom, for fame [i] Bids me live, but to hope for Posterity's praise. Could I soar with the Phoenix on pinions of flame, With him I would wish to expire in the blaze.

5.

For the life of a Fox, of a Chatham the death, What censure, what danger, what woe would I brave! Their lives did not end, when they yielded their breath, Their glory illumines the gloom of their grave.[ii]

6.

Yet why should I mingle in Fashion's full herd? Why crouch to her leaders, or cringe to her rules? Why bend to the proud, or applaud the absurd? Why search for delight, in the friendship of fools?

7.

I have tasted the sweets, and the bitters, of love, In friendship I early was taught to believe; My passion the matrons of prudence reprove, I have found that a friend may profess, yet deceive.

8.

To me what is wealth?--it may pass in an hour, If Tyrants prevail, or if Fortune should frown: To me what is title?--the phantom of power; To me what is fashion?--I seek but renown.

9.

Deceit is a stranger, as yet, to my soul; I, still, am unpractised to varnish the truth: Then, why should I live in a hateful controul? Why waste, upon folly, the days of my youth?

1806.

[Footnote 1: The Rev. John Thomas Becher (1770-1848) was Vicar of Rumpton and Midsomer Norton, Notts., and made the acquaintance of Byron when he was living at Southwell. To him was submitted an early copy of the 'Quarto', and on his remonstrance at the tone of some of the verses, the whole edition (save one or two copies) was burnt. Becher assisted in the revision of 'P. on V. Occasions', published in 1807. He was in 1818 appointed Prebendary of Southwell, and, all his life, took an active interest and prominent part in the administration of the poor laws and the welfare of the poor. (See Byron's letters to him of February 26 and March 28, 1808.)]

[Footnote i:

'To the Rev. J. T. Becher.'

['P. on V. Occasions']]

[Footnote ii:

'Oh! such the desire.'

['P. on V. Occasions']]

[Footnote iii:

'--the gloom of the grave.'

['P. on V. Occasions'.]]

ANSWER TO SOME ELEGANT VERSES SENT BY A FRIEND TO THE AUTHOR, COMPLAINING THAT ONE OF HIS DESCRIPTIONS WAS RATHER TOO WARMLY DRAWN.

"But if any old Lady, Knight, Priest, or Physician, Should condemn me for printing a second edition; If good Madam Squintum my work should abuse, May I venture to give her a smack of my muse?"

Anstey's 'New Bath Guide', p. 169.