The Works of Lord Byron, Vol. 1. Poetry
Chapter 8
Candour compels me, BECHER! to commend The verse, which blends the censor with the friend; Your strong yet just reproof extorts applause From me, the heedless and imprudent cause; [i] For this wild error, which pervades my strain, [ii] I sue for pardon,--must I sue in vain? The wise sometimes from Wisdom's ways depart; Can youth then hush the dictates of the heart? Precepts of prudence curb, but can't controul, The fierce emotions of the flowing soul. When Love's delirium haunts the glowing mind, Limping Decorum lingers far behind; Vainly the dotard mends her prudish pace, Outstript and vanquish'd in the mental chase. The young, the old, have worn the chains of love; Let those, they ne'er confined, my lay reprove; Let those, whose souls contemn the pleasing power, Their censures on the hapless victim shower. Oh! how I hate the nerveless, frigid song, The ceaseless echo of the rhyming throng, Whose labour'd lines, in chilling numbers flow, To paint a pang the author ne'er can know! The artless Helicon, I boast, is youth;-- My Lyre, the Heart--my Muse, the simple Truth. Far be't from me the "virgin's mind" to "taint:" Seduction's dread is here no slight restraint: The maid whose virgin breast is void of guile, Whose wishes dimple in a modest smile, Whose downcast eye disdains the wanton leer, Firm in her virtue's strength, yet not severe; She, whom a conscious grace shall thus refine, Will ne'er be "tainted" by a strain of mine. But, for the nymph whose premature desires Torment her bosom with unholy fires, No net to snare her willing heart is spread; She would have fallen, though she ne'er had read. For me, I fain would please the chosen few, Whose souls, to feeling and to nature true, Will spare the childish verse, and not destroy The light effusions of a heedless boy. [iii] I seek not glory from the senseless crowd; Of fancied laurels, I shall ne'er be proud; Their warmest plaudits I would scarcely prize, Their sneers or censures, I alike despise.
November 26, 1806.
[Footnote i:
_the heedless and unworthy cause._
[_P. on V. Occasions._]]
[Footnote ii:
_For this sole error._
[_P. on V. Occasions._]]
[Footnote iii:
_The light effusions of an amorous boy._
[_P. on V. Occasions._]]
ELEGY ON NEWSTEAD ABBEY. [1]
"It is the voice of years, that are gone! they roll before me, with all their deeds."
Ossian. [i]
1.
NEWSTEAD! fast-falling, once-resplendent dome! Religion's shrine! repentant HENRY'S [2] pride! Of Warriors, Monks, and Dames the cloister'd tomb, Whose pensive shades around thy ruins glide,
2.
Hail to thy pile! more honour'd in thy fall, Than modern mansions, in their pillar'd state; Proudly majestic frowns thy vaulted hall, Scowling defiance on the blasts of fate.
3.
No mail-clad Serfs, [3] obedient to their Lord, In grim array, the crimson cross [4] demand; Or gay assemble round the festive board, Their chief's retainers, an immortal band.
4.
Else might inspiring Fancy's magic eye Retrace their progress, through the lapse of time; Marking each ardent youth, ordain'd to die, A votive pilgrim, in Judea's clime.
5.
But not from thee, dark pile! departs the Chief; His feudal realm in other regions lay: In thee the wounded conscience courts relief, Retiring from the garish blaze of day.
6.
Yes! in thy gloomy cells and shades profound, The monk abjur'd a world, he ne'er could view; Or blood-stain'd Guilt repenting, solace found, Or Innocence, from stern Oppression, flew.
7.
A Monarch bade thee from that wild arise, Where Sherwood's outlaws, once, were wont to prowl; And Superstition's crimes, of various dyes, Sought shelter in the Priest's protecting cowl.
8.
Where, now, the grass exhales a murky dew, The humid pall of life-extinguish'd clay, In sainted fame, the sacred Fathers grew, Nor raised their pious voices, but to pray.
9.
Where, now, the bats their wavering wings extend, Soon as the gloaming [5] spreads her waning shade;[ii] The choir did, oft, their mingling vespers blend, Or matin orisons to Mary [6] paid.
10.
Years roll on years; to ages, ages yield; Abbots to Abbots, in a line, succeed: Religion's charter, their protecting shield, Till royal sacrilege their doom decreed.
11.
One holy HENRY rear'd the Gothic walls, And bade the pious inmates rest in peace; Another HENRY [7] the kind gift recalls, And bids devotion's hallow'd echoes cease.
12.
Vain is each threat, or supplicating prayer; He drives them exiles from their blest abode, To roam a dreary world, in deep despair-- No friend, no home, no refuge, but their God. [8]
13.
Hark! how the hall, resounding to the strain, Shakes with the martial music's novel din! The heralds of a warrior's haughty reign, High crested banners wave thy walls within.
14.
Of changing sentinels the distant hum, The mirth of feasts, the clang of burnish'd arms, The braying trumpet, and the hoarser drum, Unite in concert with increas'd alarms.
15.
An abbey once, a regal fortress [9] now, Encircled by insulting rebel powers; War's dread machines o'erhang thy threat'ning brow, And dart destruction, in sulphureous showers.
16.
Ah! vain defence! the hostile traitor's siege, Though oft repuls'd, by guile o'ercomes the brave; His thronging foes oppress the faithful Liege, Rebellion's reeking standards o'er him wave.
17.
Not unaveng'd the raging Baron yields; The blood of traitors smears the purple plain; Unconquer'd still, his falchion there he wields, And days of glory, yet, for him remain.
18.
Still, in that hour, the warrior wish'd to strew Self-gather'd laurels on a self-sought grave; But Charles' protecting genius hither flew, The monarch's friend, the monarch's hope, to save.
19.
Trembling, she snatch'd him [10] from th' unequal strife, In other fields the torrent to repel; For nobler combats, here, reserv'd his life, To lead the band, where godlike FALKLAND [11] fell.
20.
From thee, poor pile! to lawless plunder given, While dying groans their painful requiem sound, Far different incense, now, ascends to Heaven, Such victims wallow on the gory ground.
21.
There many a pale and ruthless Robber's corse, Noisome and ghast, defiles thy sacred sod; O'er mingling man, and horse commix'd with horse, Corruption's heap, the savage spoilers trod.
22.
Graves, long with rank and sighing weeds o'erspread, Ransack'd resign, perforce, their mortal mould: From ruffian fangs, escape not e'en the dead, Racked from repose, in search for buried gold.
23.
Hush'd is the harp, unstrung the warlike lyre, The minstrel's palsied hand reclines in death; No more he strikes the quivering chords with fire, Or sings the glories of the martial wreath. [iii]
24.
At length the sated murderers, gorged with prey, Retire: the clamour of the fight is o'er; Silence again resumes her awful sway, And sable Horror guards the massy door.
25.
Here, Desolation holds her dreary court: What satellites declare her dismal reign! Shrieking their dirge, ill-omen'd birds resort, To flit their vigils, in the hoary fane.
26.
Soon a new Morn's restoring beams dispel The clouds of Anarchy from Britain's skies; The fierce Usurper seeks his native hell, And Nature triumphs, as the Tyrant dies.
27.
With storms she welcomes his expiring groans; Whirlwinds, responsive, greet his labouring breath; Earth shudders, as her caves receive his bones, Loathing [12] the offering of so dark a death.
28.
The legal Ruler [13] now resumes the helm, He guides through gentle seas, the prow of state; Hope cheers, with wonted smiles, the peaceful realm, And heals the bleeding wounds of wearied Hate.
29.
The gloomy tenants, Newstead! of thy cells, Howling, resign their violated nest; [iv] Again, the Master on his tenure dwells, Enjoy'd, from absence, with enraptured zest.
30.
Vassals, within thy hospitable pale, Loudly carousing, bless their Lord's return; Culture, again, adorns the gladdening vale, And matrons, once lamenting, cease to mourn.
31.
A thousand songs, on tuneful echo, float, Unwonted foliage mantles o'er the trees; And, hark! the horns proclaim a mellow note, The hunters' cry hangs lengthening on the breeze.
32.
Beneath their coursers' hoofs the valleys shake; What fears! what anxious hopes! attend the chase! The dying stag seeks refuge in the lake; Exulting shouts announce the finish'd race.
33.
Ah happy days! too happy to endure! Such simple sports our plain forefathers knew: No splendid vices glitter'd to allure; Their joys were many, as their cares were few.
34.
From these descending, Sons to Sires succeed; Time steals along, and Death uprears his dart; Another Chief impels the foaming steed, Another Crowd pursue the panting hart.
35.
Newstead! what saddening change of scene is thine! Thy yawning arch betokens slow decay; The last and youngest of a noble line, Now holds thy mouldering turrets in his sway.
36.
Deserted now, he scans thy gray worn towers; Thy vaults, where dead of feudal ages sleep; Thy cloisters, pervious to the wintry showers; These, these he views, and views them but to weep.
37.
Yet are his tears no emblem of regret: Cherish'd Affection only bids them flow; Pride, Hope, and Love, forbid him to forget, But warm his bosom, with impassion'd glow.
38.
Yet he prefers thee, to the gilded domes, [14] Or gewgaw grottos, of the vainly great; Yet lingers 'mid thy damp and mossy tombs, Nor breathes a murmur 'gainst the will of Fate.
39.
Haply thy sun, emerging, yet, may shine, Thee to irradiate with meridian ray; Hours, splendid as the past, may still be thine, And bless thy future, as thy former day. [v]
[Footnote 1: As one poem on this subject is already printed, the author had, originally, no intention of inserting the following. It is now added at the particular request of some friends.]
[Footnote 2: Henry II. founded Newstead soon after the murder of Thomas à Becket.]
[Footnote 3: This word is used by Walter Scott, in his poem, 'The Wild Huntsman', as synonymous with "vassal."]
[Footnote 4: The red cross was the badge of the Crusaders.]
[Footnote 5: As "gloaming," the Scottish word for twilight, is far more poetical, and has been recommended by many eminent literary men, particularly by Dr. Moore in his Letters to Burns, I have ventured to use it on account of its harmony.]
[Footnote 6: The priory was dedicated to the Virgin.--['Hours of Idleness'.]]
[Footnote 7: At the dissolution of the monasteries, Henry VIII. bestowed Newstead Abbey on Sir John Byron.]
[Footnote 8: During the lifetime of Lord Byron's predecessor in the title there was found in the lake a large brass eagle, in the body of which were concealed a number of ancient deeds and documents. This eagle is supposed to have been thrown into the lake by the retreating monks.--'Life', p. 2, note. It is now a lectern in Southwell Minster.]
[Footnote 9: Newstead sustained a considerable siege in the war between Charles I. and his parliament.]
[Footnote 10: Lord Byron and his brother Sir William held high commands in the royal army. The former was general-in-chief in Ireland, lieutenant of the Tower, and governor to James, Duke of York, afterwards the unhappy James II; the latter had a principal share in many actions. ['Vide ante', p. 3, 'note' 1.]]
[Footnote 11: Lucius Cary, Lord Viscount Falkland, the most accomplished man of his age, was killed at the Battle of Newbury, charging in the ranks of Lord Byron's regiment of cavalry.]
[Footnote 12: This is an historical fact. A violent tempest occurred immediately subsequent to the death or interment of Cromwell, which occasioned many disputes between his partisans and the cavaliers: both interpreted the circumstance into divine interposition; but whether as approbation or condemnation, we leave to the casuists of that age to decide. I have made such use of the occurrence as suited the subject of my poem.]
[Footnote 13: Charles II.]
[Footnote 14: An indication of Byron's feelings towards Newstead in his younger days will be found in his letter to his mother of March 6, 1809.]
[Footnote i: 'Hours of Idleness.']
[Footnote ii:
'Soon as the twilight winds a waning shade.'--
['P. on V. Occasions'.]]
[Footnote iii:
'--of the laurel'd wreath.'
['P. on V. Occasions'.]]
[Footnote iv:
'Howling, forsake--.'
['P. on V. Occasions']]
[Footnote v:
'Fortune may smile upon a future line, And heaven restore an ever-cloudless day,'
['P. on V. Occasions.', 'Hours of Idleness.']]
* * * * * * * * *
HOURS OF IDLENESS
TO GEORGE, EARL DELAWARR. [i]
1.
Oh! yes, I will own we were dear to each other; The friendships of childhood, though fleeting, are true; The love which you felt was the love of a brother, Nor less the affection I cherish'd for you.
2.
But Friendship can vary her gentle dominion; The attachment of years, in a moment expires: Like Love, too, she moves on a swift-waving pinion, But glows not, like Love, with unquenchable fires.
3.
Full oft have we wander'd through Ida together, And blest were the scenes of our youth, I allow: In the spring of our life, how serene is the weather! But Winter's rude tempests are gathering now.
4.
No more with Affection shall Memory blending, The wonted delights of our childhood retrace: When Pride steels the bosom, the heart is unbending, And what would be Justice appears a disgrace.
5.
However, dear George, for I still must esteem you--[ii] The few, whom I love, I can never upbraid; The chance, which has lost, may in future redeem you, Repentance will cancel the vow you have made.
6.
I will not complain, and though chill'd is affection, With me no corroding resentment shall live: My bosom is calm'd by the simple reflection, That both may be wrong, and that both should forgive.
7.
You knew, that my soul, that my heart, my existence, If danger demanded, were wholly your own; You knew me unalter'd, by years or by distance, Devoted to love and to friendship alone.
8.
You knew,--but away with the vain retrospection! The bond of affection no longer endures; Too late you may droop o'er the fond recollection, And sigh for the friend, who was formerly yours.
9.
For the present, we part,--I will hope not for ever; [1] For time and regret will restore you at last: To forget our dissension we both should endeavour, I ask no atonement, but days like the past.
[Footnote 1: See Byron's Letter to Lord Clare of February 6, 1807, referred to in 'note' 2, p. 100.]
[Footnote i:
'To----'.
['Hours of Idleness, Poems O. and Translated]]
[Footnote ii.
'However, dear S----'.
['Hours of Idleness, Poems O. and Translated'.]]
DAMÆTAS. [1]
In law an infant, [2] and in years a boy, In mind a slave to every vicious joy; From every sense of shame and virtue wean'd, In lies an adept, in deceit a fiend; Vers'd in hypocrisy, while yet a child; Fickle as wind, of inclinations wild; Woman his dupe, his heedless friend a tool; Old in the world, though scarcely broke from school; Damætas ran through all the maze of sin, And found the goal, when others just begin: Ev'n still conflicting passions shake his soul, And bid him drain the dregs of Pleasure's bowl; But, pall'd with vice, he breaks his former chain, And what was once his bliss appears his bane.
[Footnote 1: Moore appears to have regarded these lines as applying to Byron himself. It is, however, very unlikely that, with all his passion for painting himself in the darkest colours, he would have written himself down "a hypocrite." Damætas is, probably, a satirical sketch of a friend or acquaintance. (Compare the solemn denunciation of Lord Falkland in 'English Bards, and Scotch Reviewers', lines 668-686.)]]
[Footnote 2: In law, every person is an infant who has not attained the age of twenty-one.]
TO MARION. [1]
MARION! why that pensive brow? [i] What disgust to life hast thou? Change that discontented air; Frowns become not one so fair. 'Tis not Love disturbs thy rest, Love's a stranger to thy breast: _He_, in dimpling smiles, appears, Or mourns in sweetly timid tears; Or bends the languid eyelid down, But _shuns_ the cold forbidding 'frown'. Then resume thy former fire, Some will _love_, and all admire! While that icy aspect chills us, Nought but cool Indiff'rence thrills us. Would'st thou wand'ring hearts beguile, Smile, at least, or _seem_ to _smile_; Eyes like _thine_ were never meant To hide their orbs in dark restraint; Spite of all thou fain wouldst say, Still in _truant_ beams they play. Thy lips--but here my _modest_ Muse Her impulse _chaste_ must needs refuse: She _blushes, curtsies, frowns,_--in short She Dreads lest the _Subject_ should transport me; And flying off, in search of _Reason_, Brings Prudence back in proper season. _All_ I shall, therefore, say (whate'er [ii] I think, is neither here nor there,) Is, that such _lips_, of looks endearing, Were form'd for _better things_ than _sneering_. Of soothing compliments divested, Advice at least's disinterested; Such is my artless song to thee, From all the flow of Flatt'ry free; Counsel like _mine_ is as a brother's, _My_ heart is given to some others; That is to say, unskill'd to cozen, It shares itself among a dozen.
Marion, adieu! oh, pr'ythee slight not This warning, though it may delight not; And, lest my precepts be displeasing, [iii] To those who think remonstrance teazing, At once I'll tell thee our opinion, Concerning Woman's soft Dominion: Howe'er we gaze, with admiration, On eyes of blue or lips carnation; Howe'er the flowing locks attract us, Howe'er those beauties may distract us; Still fickle, we are prone to rove, _These_ cannot fix our souls to love; It is not too _severe_ a stricture, To say they form a _pretty picture_; But would'st thou see the secret chain, Which binds us in your humble train, To hail you Queens of all Creation, Know, in a _word, 'tis Animation_.
BYRON, _January_ 10, 1807.
[Footnote 1: The MS. of this Poem is preserved at Newstead. "This was to Harriet Maltby, afterwards Mrs. Nichols, written upon her meeting Byron, and, 'being 'cold, silent', and 'reserved' to him,' by the advice of a Lady with whom she was staying; quite foreign to her 'usual' manner, which was gay, lively, and full of flirtation."--Note by Miss E. Pigot. (See p. 130, var. ii.)]
[Footnote a:
'Harriet'.
['MS. Newstead'.]]
[Footnote b:
'All I shall therefore say of these', ('Thy pardon if my words displease').
['MS. Newstead'.]]
[Footnote c:
'And lest my precepts be found fault, by Those who approved the frown of M--lt-by'.
['MS. Newstead'.]]
OSCAR OF ALVA. [1]
1.
How sweetly shines, through azure skies, The lamp of Heaven on Lora's shore; Where Alva's hoary turrets rise, And hear the din of arms no more!
2.
But often has yon rolling moon, On Alva's casques of silver play'd; And view'd, at midnight's silent noon, Her chiefs in gleaming mail array'd:
3.
And, on the crimson'd rocks beneath, Which scowl o'er ocean's sullen flow, Pale in the scatter'd ranks of death, She saw the gasping warrior low; [i]
4.
While many an eye, which ne'er again [ii] Could mark the rising orb of day, Turn'd feebly from the gory plain, Beheld in death her fading ray.
5.
Once, to those eyes the lamp of Love, They blest her dear propitious light; But, now, she glimmer'd from above, A sad, funereal torch of night.
6.
Faded is Alva's noble race, And grey her towers are seen afar; No more her heroes urge the chase, Or roll the crimson tide of war.
7.
But, who was last of Alva's clan? Why grows the moss on Alva's stone? Her towers resound no steps of man, They echo to the gale alone.
8.
And, when that gale is fierce and high, A sound is heard in yonder hall; It rises hoarsely through the sky, And vibrates o'er the mould'ring wall.
9.
Yes, when the eddying tempest sighs, It shakes the shield of Oscar brave; But, there, no more his banners rise, No more his plumes of sable wave.
10.
Fair shone the sun on Oscar's birth, When Angus hail'd his eldest born; The vassals round their chieftain's hearth Crowd to applaud the happy morn.
11.
They feast upon the mountain deer, The Pibroch rais'd its piercing note, [2] To gladden more their Highland cheer, The strains in martial numbers float.
12.
And they who heard the war-notes wild, Hop'd that, one day, the Pibroch's strain Should play before the Hero's child, While he should lead the Tartan train.
13.
Another year is quickly past, And Angus hails another son; His natal day is like the last, Nor soon the jocund feast was done.
14.
Taught by their sire to bend the bow, On Alva's dusky hills of wind, The boys in childhood chas'd the roe, And left their hounds in speed behind.
15.
But ere their years of youth are o'er, They mingle in the ranks of war; They lightly wheel the bright claymore, And send the whistling arrow far.
16.
Dark was the flow of Oscar's hair, Wildly it stream'd along the gale; But Allan's locks were bright and fair, And pensive seem'd his cheek, and pale.
17.
But Oscar own'd a hero's soul, His dark eye shone through beams of truth; Allan had early learn'd controul, And smooth his words had been from youth.
18.
Both, both were brave; the Saxon spear Was shiver'd oft beneath their steel; And Oscar's bosom scorn'd to fear, But Oscar's bosom knew to feel;
19.
While Allan's soul belied his form, Unworthy with such charms to dwell: Keen as the lightning of the storm, On foes his deadly vengeance fell.
20.
From high Southannon's distant tower Arrived a young and noble dame; With Kenneth's lands to form her dower, Glenalvon's blue-eyed daughter came;
21.
And Oscar claim'd the beauteous bride, And Angus on his Oscar smil'd: It soothed the father's feudal pride Thus to obtain Glenalvon's child.
22.
Hark! to the Pibroch's pleasing note, Hark! to the swelling nuptial song, In joyous strains the voices float, And, still, the choral peal prolong.
23.
See how the Heroes' blood-red plumes Assembled wave in Alva's hall; Each youth his varied plaid assumes, Attending on their chieftain's call.
24.
It is not war their aid demands, The Pibroch plays the song of peace; To Oscar's nuptials throng the bands Nor yet the sounds of pleasure cease.
25.
But where is Oscar? sure 'tis late: Is this a bridegroom's ardent flame? While thronging guests and ladies wait, Nor Oscar nor his brother came.
26.
At length young Allan join'd the bride; "Why comes not Oscar?" Angus said: "Is he not here?" the Youth replied; "With me he rov'd not o'er the glade:
27.
"Perchance, forgetful of the day, 'Tis his to chase the bounding roe; Or Ocean's waves prolong his stay: Yet, Oscar's bark is seldom slow."
28.
"Oh, no!" the anguish'd Sire rejoin'd, "Nor chase, nor wave, my Boy delay; Would he to Mora seem unkind? Would aught to her impede his way?
29.
"Oh, search, ye Chiefs! oh, search around! Allan, with these, through Alva fly; Till Oscar, till my son is found, Haste, haste, nor dare attempt reply."
30.