The Works of Lord Byron. Vol. 2
Chapter 1
Aug. 6. Arrive Gibraltar. (Letters 127, 128.)
Aug. 17. Sail from Gibraltar in Malta packet. (Stanzas xvii.-xxviii.) Malta. (Stanzas xxix.-xxxv. Letter 130.)
Sept. 19. Sail from Malta in brig-of-war _Spider_. (Letter 131.)
Sept. 23. Between Cephalonia and Zante.
Sept. 26. Anchor off Patras.
Sept. 27. In the channel between Ithaca and the mainland. (Stanzas xxxix.-xlii.)
Sept. 28. Anchor off Prevesa (7 p.m.). (Stanza xlv.)
Oct. 1. Leave Prevesa, arrive Salakhora (Salagoura).
Oct. 3. Leave Salakhora, arrive Arta.
Oct. 4. Leave Arta, arrive han St. Demetre (H. Dhimittrios).
Oct. 5. Arrive Janina. (Stanza xlvii. Letter 131.)
Oct. 8. Ride into the country. First day of Ramazan.
Oct. 11. Leave Janina, arrive Zitza ("Lines written during a Thunderstorm"). (Stanzas xlviii.-li. Letter 131.)
Oct. 13. Leave Zitza, arrive Mossiani (Móseri).
Oct. 14. Leave Mossiani, arrive Delvinaki (Dhelvinaki). (Stanza liv.)
Oct. 15. Leave Delvinaki, arrive Libokhovo.
Oct. 17. Leave Libokhovo, arrive Cesarades (Kestourataes).
Oct. 18. Leave Cesarades, arrive Ereeneed (Irindi).
Oct. 19. Leave Ereeneed, arrive Tepeleni. (Stanzas lv.-lxi.)
Oct. 20. Reception by Ali Pacha. (Stanzas lxii.-lxiv.)
Oct. 23. Leave Tepeleni, arrive Locavo (Lacovon).
Oct. 24. Leave Locavo, arrive Delvinaki.
Oct. 25. Leave Delvinaki, arrive Zitza.
Oct. 26. Leave Zitza, arrive Janina.
Oct. 31. Byron begins the First Canto of _Childe Harold_.
Nov. 3. Leave Janina, arrive han St. Demetre.
Nov. 4. Leave han St. Demetre, arrive Arta.
Nov. 5. Leave Arta, arrive Salakhora.
Nov. 7. Leave Salakhora, arrive Prevesa.
Nov. 8. Sail from Prevesa, anchor off mainland near Parga. (Stanzas lxvii., lxviii.)
Nov. 9. Leave Parga, and, returning by land, arrive Volondorako (Valanidórakhon). (Stanza lxix.)
Nov. 10. Leave Volondorako, arrive Castrosikia (Kastrosykia).
Nov. 11. Leave Castrosikia, arrive Prevesa.
Nov. 13. Sail from Prevesa, anchor off Vonitsa.
Nov. 14. Sail from Vonitsa, arrive Lutraki (Loutráki). (Stanzas lxx., lxxii., Song "Tambourgi, Tambourgi;" stanza written in passing the Ambracian Gulph. Letter 131.)
Nov. 15. Leave Lutraki, arrive Katúna.
Nov. 16. Leave Katúna, arrive Makalá (? Machalas).
1809.
Nov. 18. Leave Makalá, arrive Guriá.
Nov. 19. Leave Guriá, arrive Ætolikon.
Nov. 20. Leave Ætolikon, arrive Mesolonghi.
Nov. 23. Sail from Mesolonghi, arrive Patras.
Dec. 4. Leave Patras, sleep at _Han_ on shore.
Dec. 5. Leave _Han_, arrive Vostitsa (Oegion).
Dec. 14. Sail from Vostitsa, arrive Larnáki (? Itea).
Dec. 15. Leave Larnáki (? Itea), arrive Chrysó.
Dec. 16. Visit Delphi, the Pythian Cave, and stream of Castaly. (Canto I. stanza i.)
Dec. 17. Leave Chrysó, arrive Arakhova (Rhakova).
Dec. 18. Leave Arakhova, arrive Livadia (Livadhia).
Dec. 21. Leave Livadia, arrive Mazee (Mazi).
Dec. 22. Leave Mazee, arrive Thebes.
Dec. 24. Leave Thebes, arrive Skurta.
Dec. 25. Leave Skurta, pass Phyle, arrive Athens. (Stanzas i.-xv., stanza lxxiv.)
Dec. 30. Byron finishes the First Canto of _Childe Harold_.
1810.
Jan. 13. Visit Eleusis.
Jan. 16. Visit Mendeli (Pentelicus). (Stanza lxxxvii.)
Jan. 18. Walk round the peninsula of Munychia.
Jan. 19. Leave Athens, arrive Vari.
Jan. 20. Leave Vari, arrive Keratéa.
Jan. 23. Visit temple of Athene at Sunium. (Stanza lxxxvi.)
Jan. 24. Leave Keratéa, arrive plain of Marathon.
Jan. 25. Visit plain of Marathon. (Stanzas lxxxix., xc.)
Jan. 26. Leave Marathon, arrive Athens.
Mar. 5. Leave Athens, embark on board the _Pylades_ (Letter 136.)
Mar. 7. Arrive Smyrna. (Letters 132, 133.)
Mar. 13. Leave Smyrna, sleep at _Han_, near the river Halesus.
Mar. 14. Leave _Han_, arrive Aiasaluk (near Ephesus).
Mar. 15. Visit site of temple of Artemis at Ephesus. (Letter 132.)
Mar. 16. Leave Ephesus, return to Smyrna. (Letter 132.)
Mar. 28. Byron finishes the Second Canto of _Childe Harold_.
April 11. Sail from Smyrna in the _Salsette_ frigate. (Letter 134.)
April 12. Anchor off Tenedos.
April 13. Visit ruins of Alexandria Troas.
April 14. Anchor off Cape Janissary.
April 16. Byron attempts to swim across the Hellespont, explores the Troad. (Letters 135, 136.)
April 30. Visit the springs of Bunarbashi (Bunarbási).
May 1. Weigh anchor from off Cape Janissary, anchor eight miles from Dardanelles.
May 2. Anchor off Castle Chanak Kalessia (Kale i Sultaniye).
May 3. Byron and Mr. Ekenhead swim across the Hellespont (lines "Written after swimming," etc.).
May 13. Anchor off Venaglio Point, arrive Constantinople. (Stanzas lxxvii.-lxxxii. Letters 138-145.)
July 14. Sail from Constantinople in _Salsette_ frigate.
July 18. Byron returns to Athens.
NOTE TO "ITINERARY."
[For dates and names of towns and villages, see _Travels in Albania, and other Provinces of Turkey, in 1809 and 1810_, by the Right Hon. Lord Broughton, G.C.B. [John Cam Hobhouse], two volumes, 1858. The orthography is based on that of Longmans' _Gazetteer of the World_, edited by G. G. Chisholm, 1895. The alternative forms are taken from Heinrich Kiepert's _Carte de l'Épire et de la Thessalie_, Berlin, 1897, and from Dr. Karl Peucker's _Griechenland_, Wien, 1897.]
CONTENTS OF VOL. II.
CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE.
Preface to Vol. II. of the Poems v
Introduction to the First and Second Cantos ix
Notes on the MSS. of the First and Second Cantos xvi
Itinerary xxi
Preface to the First and Second Cantos 3
To Ianthe 11
Canto the First 15
Notes 85
Canto the Second 97
Notes 165
Introduction to Canto the Third 211
Canto the Third 215
Notes 291
Introduction to Canto the Fourth 311
Original Draft, etc., of Canto the Fourth 316
Dedication 321
Canto the Fourth 327
Historical Notes by J. C. Hobhouse 465
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
1. Ianthe (Lady Charlotte Harley), from an Engraving _Frontispiece_ by W. Finden, after a Drawing by R. Westall, R.A.
2. The Duchess of Richmond, from a Miniature by Richard Cosway, in the Possession of His Grace the Duke of Richmond and Gordon, K.G. _To face p._ 228
3. Portrait of Lord Byron at Venice, from a Painting in Oils by Ruckard, in the Possession of Horatio F. Brown, Esq. 326
4. The Horses of St. Mark, from a Photograph by Alinari 338
5. S. Pantaleon, from a Woodcut published at Cremona in 1493 340
6. The Dying Gaul, from the Original in the Museum of the Capitol 432
CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE
_A ROMAUNT_.
"L'univers est une espèce de livre, dont on n'a lu que la première page quand on n'a vu que son pays. J'en ai feuilleté un assez grand nombre, que j'ai trouvé également mauvaises. Cet examen ne m'a point été infructueux. Je haïssais ma patrie. Toutes les impertinences des peuples divers, parmi lesquels j'ai vécu, m'ont reconcilié avec elle. Quand je n'aurais tiré d'autre bénéfice de mes voyages que celui-là, je n'en regretterais ni les frais ni les fatigues."--_Le Cosmopolite, ou, le Citoyen du Monde_, par Fougeret de Monbron. Londres, 1753.
PREFACE [a]
[TO THE FIRST AND SECOND CANTOS.]
The following poem was written, for the most part, amidst the scenes which it attempts[b] to describe. It was begun in Albania; and the parts relative to Spain and Portugal were composed from the author's observations in those countries. Thus much it may be necessary to state for the correctness of the descriptions. The scenes attempted to be sketched are in Spain, Portugal, Epirus, Acarnania and Greece. There, for the present, the poem stops: its reception will determine whether the author may venture to conduct his readers to the capital of the East, through Ionia and Phrygia: these two cantos are merely experimental.
A fictitious character is introduced for the sake of giving some connection to the piece; which, however, makes no pretension to regularity. It has been suggested to me by friends, on whose opinions I set a high value,[c]--that in this fictitious character, "Childe Harold," I may incur the suspicion of having intended some real personage: this I beg leave, once for all, to disclaim--Harold is the child of imagination, for the purpose I have stated.
In some very trivial particulars, and those merely local, there might be grounds for such a notion;[d] but in the main points, I should hope, none whatever.[e]
It is almost superfluous to mention that the appellation "Childe,"[2] as "Childe Waters," "Childe Childers," etc., is used as more consonant with the old structure of versification which I have adopted. The "Good Night" in the beginning of the first Canto, was suggested by Lord Maxwell's "Good Night"[3] in the _Border Minstrelsy_, edited by Mr. Scott.
With the different poems[4] which have been published on Spanish subjects, there may be found some slight coincidence[f] in the first part, which treats of the Peninsula, but it can only be casual; as, with the exception of a few concluding stanzas, the whole of the poem was written in the Levant.
The stanza of Spenser, according to one of our most successful poets, admits of every variety. Dr. Beattie makes the following observation:--
"Not long ago I began a poem in the style and stanza of Spenser, in which I propose to give full scope to my inclination, and be either droll or pathetic, descriptive or sentimental, tender or satirical, as the humour strikes me; for, if I mistake not, the measure which I have adopted admits equally of all these kinds of composition."[5] Strengthened in my opinion by such authority, and by the example of some in the highest order of Italian poets, I shall make no apology for attempts at similar variations in the following composition;[g] satisfied that, if they are unsuccessful, their failure must be in the execution, rather than in the design sanctioned by the practice of Ariosto, Thomson, and Beattie.
London, February, 1812.
ADDITION TO THE PREFACE.
I have now waited till almost all our periodical journals have distributed their usual portion of criticism. To the justice of the generality of their criticisms I have nothing to object; it would ill become me to quarrel with their very slight degree of censure, when, perhaps, if they had been less kind they had been more candid. Returning, therefore, to all and each my best thanks for their liberality, on one point alone I shall venture an observation. Amongst the many objections justly urged to the very indifferent character of the "vagrant Childe" (whom, notwithstanding many hints to the contrary, I still maintain to be a fictitious personage), it has been stated, that, besides the anachronism, he is very _unknightly_, as the times of the Knights were times of Love, Honour, and so forth.[6] Now it so happens that the good old times, when "l'amour du bon vieux tems, l'amour antique," flourished, were the most profligate of all possible centuries. Those who have any doubts on this subject may consult Sainte-Palaye, _passim_, and more particularly vol. ii. p. 69.[7] The vows of chivalry were no better kept than any other vows whatsoever; and the songs of the Troubadours were not more decent, and certainly were much less refined, than those of Ovid. The "Cours d'Amour, parlemens d'amour, ou de courtoisie et de gentilesse" had much more of love than of courtesy or gentleness. See Rolland[8] on the same subject with Sainte-Palaye.
Whatever other objection may be urged to that most unamiable personage Childe Harold, he was so far perfectly knightly in his attributes--"No waiter, but a knight templar."[9] By the by, I fear that Sir Tristrem and Sir Lancelot were no better than they should be, although very poetical personages and true knights, "sans peur," though not "sans réproche." If the story of the institution of the "Garter" be not a fable, the knights of that order have for several centuries borne the badge of a Countess of Salisbury, of indifferent memory. So much for chivalry. Burke need not have regretted that its days are over, though Marie-Antoinette was quite as chaste as most of those in whose honour lances were shivered, and knights unhorsed.[10]
Before the days of Bayard, and down to those of Sir Joseph Banks[11] (the most chaste and celebrated of ancient and modern times) few exceptions will be found to this statement; and I fear a little investigation will teach us not to regret these monstrous mummeries of the middle ages.
I now leave "Childe Harold" to live his day such as he is; it had been more agreeable, and certainly more easy, to have drawn an amiable character. It had been easy to varnish over his faults, to make him do more and express less, but he never was intended as an example, further than to show, that early perversion of mind and morals leads to satiety of past pleasures and disappointment in new ones, and that even the beauties of nature and the stimulus of travel (except ambition, the most powerful of all excitements) are lost on a soul so constituted, or rather misdirected. Had I proceeded with the Poem, this character would have deepened as he drew to the close; for the outline which I once meant to fill up for him was, with some exceptions, the sketch of a modern Timon,[12] perhaps a poetical Zeluco.[13]
CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE
CANTO THE FIRST.
TO IANTHE.[h][14]
Not in those climes where I have late been straying, Though Beauty long hath there been matchless deemed, Not in those visions to the heart displaying Forms which it sighs but to have only dreamed, Hath aught like thee in Truth or Fancy seemed: Nor, having seen thee, shall I vainly seek To paint those charms which varied as they beamed-- To such as see thee not my words were weak; To those who gaze on thee what language could they speak?
Ah! may'st thou ever be what now thou art, Nor unbeseem the promise of thy Spring-- As fair in form, as warm yet pure in heart, Love's image upon earth without his wing,[15] And guileless beyond Hope's imagining! And surely she who now so fondly rears Thy youth, in thee, thus hourly brightening, Beholds the Rainbow of her future years, Before whose heavenly hues all Sorrow disappears.
Young Peri of the West!--'tis well for me My years already doubly number thine;[16] My loveless eye unmoved may gaze on thee, And safely view thy ripening beauties shine; Happy, I ne'er shall see them in decline; Happier, that, while all younger hearts shall bleed, Mine shall escape the doom thine eyes assign To those whose admiration shall succeed, But mixed with pangs to Love's even loveliest hours decreed.
Oh! let that eye, which, wild as the Gazelle's, Now brightly bold or beautifully shy, Wins as it wanders, dazzles where it dwells,[17] Glance o'er this page, nor to my verse deny That smile for which my breast might vainly sigh Could I to thee be ever more than friend: This much, dear Maid, accord; nor question why To one so young my strain I would commend, But bid me with my wreath one matchless Lily blend.
Such is thy name[18] with this my verse entwined; And long as kinder eyes a look shall cast[i] On Harold's page, Ianthe's here enshrined Shall thus be _first_ beheld, forgotten _last_: My days once numbered--should this homage past Attract thy fairy fingers near the Lyre Of him who hailed thee loveliest, as thou wast-- Such is the most my Memory may desire; Though more than Hope can claim, could Friendship less require?[j]
* * * * *
CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE.
A ROMAUNT.
* * * * *
CANTO THE FIRST.
I.[19]
Oh, thou! in Hellas deemed of heavenly birth,[k] Muse! formed or fabled at the Minstrel's will! Since shamed full oft by later lyres on earth,[l][20] Mine dares not call thee from thy sacred Hill: Yet there I've wandered by thy vaunted rill;[m] Yes! sighed o'er Delphi's long deserted shrine,[1.B.] Where, save that feeble fountain, all is still; Nor mote my shell awake the weary Nine To grace so plain a tale--this lowly lay of mine.
II.
Whilome in Albion's isle there dwelt a youth, Who ne in Virtue's ways did take delight; But spent his days in riot most uncouth, And vexed with mirth the drowsy ear of Night. Ah me! in sooth he was a shameless wight, Sore given to revel and ungodly glee;[n] Few earthly things found favour in his sight[o] Save concubines and carnal companie, And flaunting wassailers of high and low degree.[21]
III.
Childe Harold was he hight:[22]--but whence his name[p] And lineage long, it suits me not to say; Suffice it, that perchance they were of fame, And had been glorious in another day: But one sad losel soils a name for ay,[23] However mighty in the olden time; Nor all that heralds rake from coffined clay, Nor florid prose, nor honied lies of rhyme,[q] Can blazon evil deeds, or consecrate a crime.
IV.
Childe Harold basked him in the Noontide sun,[r] Disporting there like any other fly; Nor deemed before his little day was done One blast might chill him into misery. But long ere scarce a third of his passed by, Worse than Adversity the Childe befell; He felt the fulness of Satiety: Then loathed he in his native land to dwell, Which seemed to him more lone than Eremite's sad cell.
V.
For he through Sin's long labyrinth had run,[s] Nor made atonement when he did amiss, Had sighed to many though he loved but one,[t][24] And that loved one, alas! could ne'er be his. Ah, happy she! to 'scape from him whose kiss Had been pollution unto aught so chaste; Who soon had left her charms for vulgar bliss, And spoiled her goodly lands to gild his waste, Nor calm domestic peace had ever deigned to taste.
VI.
And now Childe Harold was sore sick at heart,[u] And from his fellow Bacchanals would flee; 'Tis said, at times the sullen tear would start, But Pride congealed the drop within his ee:[25] Apart he stalked in joyless reverie,[v] And from his native land resolved to go, And visit scorching climes beyond the sea;[26] With pleasure drugged, he almost longed for woe, And e'en for change of scene would seek the shades below.
VII.
The Childe departed from his father's hall: It was a vast and venerable pile; So old, it seeméd only not to fall, Yet strength was pillared in each massy aisle. Monastic dome! condemned to uses vile![w] Where Superstition once had made her den Now Paphian girls were known to sing and smile;[x] And monks might deem their time was come agen,[27] If ancient tales say true, nor wrong these holy men.
VIII.[y]
Yet oft-times in his maddest mirthful mood Strange pangs would flash along Childe Harold's brow,[z] As if the Memory of some deadly feud Or disappointed passion lurked below: But this none knew, nor haply cared to know; For his was not that open, artless soul That feels relief by bidding sorrow flow, Nor sought he friend to counsel or condole, Whate'er this grief mote be, which he could not control.
IX.[aa]
And none did love him!--though to hall and bower[28] He gathered revellers from far and near, He knew them flatterers of the festal hour, The heartless Parasites of present cheer. Yea! none did love him--not his lemans dear--[ab][29] But pomp and power alone are Woman's care, And where these are light Eros finds a feere;[30] Maidens, like moths, are ever caught by glare, And Mammon wins his way where Seraphs might despair.
X.
Childe Harold had a mother--not forgot,[ac] Though parting from that mother he did shun; A sister whom he loved, but saw her not[31] Before his weary pilgrimage begun: If friends he had, he bade adieu to none.[ad] Yet deem not thence his breast a breast of steel:[ae][32] Ye, who have known what 'tis to dote upon A few dear objects, will in sadness feel Such partings break the heart they fondly hope to heal.
XI.
His house, his home, his heritage, his lands,[af] The laughing dames in whom he did delight,[ag] Whose large blue eyes, fair locks, and snowy hands, Might shake the Saintship of an Anchorite, And long had fed his youthful appetite; His goblets brimmed with every costly wine, And all that mote to luxury invite, Without a sigh he left, to cross the brine, And traverse Paynim shores, and pass Earth's central line.[ah][33]
XII.
The sails were filled, and fair the light winds blew,[ai] As glad to waft him from his native home; And fast the white rocks faded from his view, And soon were lost in circumambient foam: And then, it may be, of his wish to roam Repented he, but in his bosom slept[34] The silent thought, nor from his lips did come One word of wail, whilst others sate and wept, And to the reckless gales unmanly moaning kept.
XIII.
But when the Sun was sinking in the sea He seized his harp, which he at times could string, And strike, albeit with untaught melody, When deemed he no strange ear was listening: And now his fingers o'er it he did fling, And tuned his farewell in the dim twilight; While flew the vessel on her snowy wing, And fleeting shores receded from his sight, Thus to the elements he poured his last "Good Night."[35]
CHILDE HAROLD'S GOOD NIGHT.
1.
"Adieu, adieu! my native shore Fades o'er the waters blue; The night-winds sigh, the breakers roar, And shrieks the wild sea-mew. Yon Sun that sets upon the sea We follow in his flight; Farewell awhile to him and thee, My native Land--Good Night!
2.
"A few short hours and He will rise To give the Morrow birth; And I shall hail the main and skies, But not my mother Earth. Deserted is my own good Hall, Its hearth is desolate; Wild weeds are gathering on the wall; My Dog howls at the gate.
3.
"Come hither, hither, my little page[36] Why dost thou weep and wail? Or dost thou dread the billows' rage, Or tremble at the gale? But dash the tear-drop from thine eye; Our ship is swift and strong: Our fleetest falcon scarce can fly[aj] More merrily along."[ak]
4.
"Let winds be shrill, let waves roll high,[al] I fear not wave nor wind: Yet marvel not, Sir Childe, that I Am sorrowful in mind;[37] For I have from my father gone, A mother whom I love, And have no friend, save these alone, But thee--and One above.
5.
'My father blessed me fervently, Yet did not much complain; But sorely will my mother sigh Till I come back again.'-- "Enough, enough, my little lad! Such tears become thine eye; If I thy guileless bosom had, Mine own would not be dry.
6.
"Come hither, hither, my staunch yeoman,[38] Why dost thou look so pale? Or dost thou dread a French foeman? Or shiver at the gale?"-- 'Deem'st thou I tremble for my life? Sir Childe, I'm not so weak; But thinking on an absent wife Will blanch a faithful cheek.
7.
'My spouse and boys dwell near thy hall, Along the bordering Lake, And when they on their father call, What answer shall she make?'-- "Enough, enough, my yeoman good,[am] Thy grief let none gainsay; But I, who am of lighter mood, Will laugh to flee away.
8.
"For who would trust the seeming sighs[an] Of wife or paramour? Fresh feeres will dry the bright blue eyes We late saw streaming o'er. For pleasures past I do not grieve, Nor perils gathering near; My greatest grief is that I leave No thing that claims a tear.[39]
9.
"And now I'm in the world alone, Upon the wide, wide sea: But why should I for others groan, When none will sigh for me? Perchance my Dog will whine in vain, Till fed by stranger hands; But long ere I come back again, He'd tear me where he stands.[ao][40]
10.
"With thee, my bark, I'll swiftly go Athwart the foaming brine; Nor care what land thou bear'st me to, So not again to mine. Welcome, welcome, ye dark-blue waves! And when you fail my sight, Welcome, ye deserts, and ye caves! My native Land--Good Night!"
XIV.
On, on the vessel flies, the land is gone, And winds are rude in Biscay's sleepless bay. Four days are sped, but with the fifth, anon, New shores descried make every bosom gay; And Cintra's mountain[41] greets them on their way, And Tagus dashing onward to the Deep, His fabled golden tribute[42] bent to pay; And soon on board the Lusian pilots leap, And steer 'twixt fertile shores where yet few rustics reap.[ap]
XV.
Oh, Christ! it is a goodly sight to see What Heaven hath done for this delicious land![aq] What fruits of fragrance blush on every tree! What goodly prospects o'er the hills expand! But man would mar them with an impious hand: And when the Almighty lifts his fiercest scourge 'Gainst those who most transgress his high command, With treble vengeance will his hot shafts urge Gaul's locust host, and earth from fellest foemen purge[ar]
XVI.
What beauties doth Lisboa[43] first unfold![as] Her image floating on that noble tide, Which poets vainly pave with sands of gold,[at] But now whereon a thousand keels did ride Of mighty strength, since Albion was allied, And to the Lusians did her aid afford: A nation swoln with ignorance and pride,[44] Who lick yet loathe the hand that waves the sword[au] To save them from the wrath of Gaul's unsparing lord.
XVII.
But whoso entereth within this town, That, sheening far, celestial seems to be, Disconsolate will wander up and down, 'Mid many things unsightly to strange ee;[av] For hut and palace show like filthily:[aw] The dingy denizens are reared in dirt;[ax] Ne personage of high or mean degree Doth care for cleanness of surtout or shirt, Though shent with Egypt's plague, unkempt, unwashed, unhurt.
XVIII.
Poor, paltry slaves! yet born 'midst noblest scenes-- Why, Nature, waste thy wonders on such men? Lo! Cintra's glorious Eden intervenes[45] In variegated maze of mount and glen. Ah, me! what hand can pencil guide, or pen, To follow half on which the eye dilates Through views more dazzling unto mortal ken[ay] Than those whereof such things the Bard relates, Who to the awe-struck world unlocked Elysium's gates.
XIX.
The horrid crags, by toppling convent crowned,[az] The cork-trees hoar that clothe the shaggy steep, The mountain-moss by scorching skies imbrowned, The sunken glen, whose sunless shrubs must weep, The tender azure[46] of the unruffled deep, The orange tints that gild the greenest bough, The torrents that from cliff to valley leap,[ba] The vine on high, the willow branch below, Mixed in one mighty scene, with varied beauty glow.
XX.
Then slowly climb the many-winding way, And frequent turn to linger as you go, From loftier rocks new loveliness survey, And rest ye at "Our Lady's house of Woe;"[47][2.B.] Where frugal monks their little relics show, And sundry legends to the stranger tell: Here impious men have punished been, and lo! Deep in yon cave Honorius long did dwell, In hope to merit Heaven by making earth a Hell.
XXI.
And here and there, as up the crags you spring, Mark many rude-carved crosses near the path:[48] Yet deem not these Devotion's offering-- These are memorials frail of murderous wrath: For wheresoe'er the shrieking victim hath Pour'd forth his blood beneath the assassin's knife, Some hand erects a cross of mouldering lath; And grove and glen with thousand such are rife Throughout this purple land, where Law secures not life.[3.B.]
XXII.
On sloping mounds, or in the vale beneath,[49] Are domes where whilome kings did make repair; But now the wild flowers round them only breathe: Yet ruined Splendour still is lingering there. And yonder towers the Prince's palace fair: There thou too, Vathek! England's wealthiest son,[bb][50] Once formed thy Paradise, as not aware When wanton Wealth her mightiest deeds hath done,[bc] Meek Peace voluptuous lures was ever wont to shun.
XXIII.
Here didst thou dwell, here schemes of pleasure plan, Beneath yon mountain's ever beauteous brow: But now, as if a thing unblest by Man,[bd] Thy fairy dwelling is as lone as Thou! Here giant weeds a passage scarce allow To Halls deserted, portals gaping wide: Fresh lessons to the thinking bosom, how Vain are the pleasaunces on earth supplied;[be] Swept into wrecks anon by Time's ungentle tide!
XXIV.
Behold the hall where chiefs were late convened![4.B.] Oh! dome displeasing unto British eye! With diadem hight Foolscap, lo! a Fiend, A little Fiend that scoffs incessantly, There sits in parchment robe arrayed, and by[bf] His side is hung a seal and sable scroll, Where blazoned glare names known to chivalry,[bg] And sundry signatures adorn the roll,[bh] Whereat the Urchin points and laughs with all his soul.[bi]
XXV.
Convention is the dwarfish demon styled[51] That foiled the knights in Marialva's dome: Of brains (if brains they had) he them beguiled, And turned a nation's shallow joy to gloom. Here Folly dashed to earth the victor's plume, And Policy regained what arms had lost: For chiefs like ours in vain may laurels bloom! Woe to the conquering, not the conquered host, Since baffled Triumph droops on Lusitania's coast.
XXVI.
And ever since that martial Synod met, Britannia sickens, Cintra! at thy name; And folks in office at the mention fret,[bj] And fain would blush, if blush they could, for shame. How will Posterity the deed proclaim! Will not our own and fellow-nations sneer, To view these champions cheated of their fame, By foes in fight o'erthrown, yet victors here, Where Scorn her finger points through many a coming year?
XXVII.
So deemed the Childe, as o'er the mountains he Did take his way in solitary guise: Sweet was the scene, yet soon he thought to flee, More restless than the swallow in the skies:[bk] Though here awhile he learned to moralise, For Meditation fixed at times on him; And conscious Reason whispered to despise His early youth, misspent in maddest whim; But as he gazed on truth his aching eyes grew dim.[52]
XXVIII.
To horse! to horse! he quits, for ever quits[53] A scene of peace, though soothing to his soul:[bl] Again he rouses from his moping fits, But seeks not now the harlot and the bowl.[bm] Onward he flies, nor fixed as yet the goal Where he shall rest him on his pilgrimage; And o'er him many changing scenes must roll Ere toil his thirst for travel can assuage,[bn] Or he shall calm his breast, or learn experience sage.
XXIX.
Yet Mafra shall one moment claim delay,[5.B.] Where dwelt of yore the Lusians' luckless queen;[bo][54] And Church and Court did mingle their array, And Mass and revel were alternate seen; Lordlings and freres--ill-sorted fry I ween! But here the Babylonian Whore hath built A dome, where flaunts she in such glorious sheen, That men forget the blood which she hath spilt, And bow the knee to Pomp that loves to varnish guilt.
XXX.
O'er vales that teem with fruits, romantic hills, (Oh, that such hills upheld a freeborn race!) Whereon to gaze the eye with joyaunce fills, Childe Harold wends through many a pleasant place.[bp] Though sluggards deem it but a foolish chase, And marvel men should quit their easy chair, The toilsome way, and long, long league to trace, Oh! there is sweetness in the mountain air, And Life, that bloated Ease can never hope to share.
XXXI.
More bleak to view the hills at length recede, And, less luxuriant, smoother vales extend:[bq] Immense horizon-bounded plains succeed! Far as the eye discerns, withouten end, Spain's realms appear whereon her shepherds tend Flocks, whose rich fleece right well the trader knows-- Now must the Pastor's arm his _lambs_ defend: For Spain is compassed by unyielding foes, And _all_ must shield their _all_, or share Subjection's woes.
XXXII.
Where Lusitania and her Sister meet, Deem ye what bounds the rival realms divide?[br] Or ere the jealous Queens of Nations greet, Doth Tayo interpose his mighty tide? Or dark Sierras rise in craggy pride? Or fence of art, like China's vasty wall?-- Ne barrier wall, ne river deep and wide, Ne horrid crags, nor mountains dark and tall, Rise like the rocks that part Hispania's land from Gaul:[55]
XXXIII.
But these between a silver streamlet[56] glides, And scarce a name distinguisheth the brook, Though rival kingdoms press its verdant sides: Here leans the idle shepherd on his crook, And vacant on the rippling waves doth look, That peaceful still 'twixt bitterest foemen flow; For proud each peasant as the noblest duke: Well doth the Spanish hind the difference know 'Twixt him and Lusian slave, the lowest of the low.[6.B.]
XXXIV.
But ere the mingling bounds have far been passed,[bs] Dark Guadiana rolls his power along In sullen billows, murmuring and vast, So noted ancient roundelays among.[bt] Whilome upon his banks did legions throng Of Moor and Knight, in mailéd splendour drest: Here ceased the swift their race, here sunk the strong; The Paynim turban and the Christian crest Mixed on the bleeding stream, by floating hosts oppressed.[57]
XXXV.
Oh, lovely Spain! renowned, romantic Land! Where is that standard[58] which Pelagio bore,[bu] When Cava's traitor-sire first called the band That dyed thy mountain streams with Gothic gore?[7.B.] Where are those bloody Banners which of yore Waved o'er thy sons, victorious to the gale, And drove at last the spoilers to their shore?[59] Red gleamed the Cross, and waned the Crescent pale,[bv] While Afric's echoes thrilled with Moorish matrons' wail.
XXXVI.
Teems not each ditty with the glorious tale?[60] Ah! such, alas! the hero's amplest fate! When granite moulders and when records fail, A peasant's plaint prolongs his dubious date.[bw] Pride! bend thine eye from Heaven to thine estate, See how the Mighty shrink into a song! Can Volume, Pillar, Pile preserve thee great? Or must thou trust Tradition's simple tongue, When Flattery sleeps with thee, and History does thee wrong?
XXXVII.
Awake, ye Sons of Spain! awake! advance! Lo! Chivalry, your ancient Goddess, cries, But wields not, as of old, her thirsty lance, Nor shakes her crimson plumage in the skies: Now on the smoke of blazing bolts she flies, And speaks in thunder through yon engine's roar: In every peal she calls--"Awake! arise!" Say, is her voice more feeble than of yore, When her war-song was heard on Andalusia's shore?
XXXVIII.
Hark!--heard you not those hoofs of dreadful note? Sounds not the clang of conflict on the heath? Saw ye not whom the reeking sabre smote, Nor saved your brethren ere they sank beneath Tyrants and Tyrants' slaves?--the fires of Death, The Bale-fires flash on high:--from rock to rock![bx] Each volley tells that thousands cease to breathe; Death rides upon the sulphury Siroc,[61] Red Battle stamps his foot, and Nations feel the shock.
XXXIX.
Lo! where the Giant on the mountain stands, His blood-red tresses deepening in the Sun, With death-shot glowing in his fiery hands, And eye that scorcheth all it glares upon; Restless it rolls, now fixed, and now anon Flashing afar,--and at his iron feet Destruction cowers, to mark what deeds are done; For on this morn three potent Nations meet, To shed before his Shrine the blood he deems most sweet.
XL.
By Heaven! it is a splendid sight to see[62] (For one who hath no friend, no brother there) Their rival scarfs of mixed embroidery,[by] Their various arms that glitter in the air! What gallant War-hounds rouse them from their lair, And gnash their fangs, loud yelling for the prey! All join the chase, but few the triumph share;[63] The Grave shall bear the chiefest prize away, And Havoc scarce for joy can number their array.
XLI.
Three hosts combine to offer sacrifice; Three tongues prefer strange orisons on high; Three gaudy standards flout the pale blue skies;[64] The shouts are France, Spain, Albion, Victory! The Foe, the Victim, and the fond Ally That fights for all, but ever fights in vain,[65] Are met--as if at home they could not die-- To feed the crow on Talavera's plain, And fertilise the field that each pretends to gain.
XLII.
There shall they rot--Ambition's honoured fools![bz] Yes, Honour decks the turf that wraps their clay![66] Vain Sophistry! in these behold the tools,[ca] The broken tools, that Tyrants cast away By myriads, when they dare to pave their way With human hearts--to what?--a dream alone. Can Despots compass aught that hails their sway?[cb] Or call with truth one span of earth their own, Save that wherein at last they crumble bone by bone?
XLIII.
Oh, Albuera! glorious field of grief![cc][67] As o'er thy plain the Pilgrim pricked his steed, Who could foresee thee, in a space so brief, A scene where mingling foes should boast and bleed![cd] Peace to the perished! may the warrior's meed[ce] And tears of triumph their reward prolong![cf] Till others fall where other chieftains lead Thy name shall circle round the gaping throng, And shine in worthless lays, the theme of transient song.[cg][68]
XLIV.
Enough of Battle's minions! let them play Their game of lives, and barter breath for fame: Fame that will scarce reanimate their clay, Though thousands fall to deck some single name. In sooth 'twere sad to thwart their noble aim Who strike, blest hirelings! for their country's good,[ch] And die, that living might have proved her shame; Perished, perchance, in some domestic feud, Or in a narrower sphere wild Rapine's path pursued.[ci]
XLV.
Full swiftly Harold wends his lonely way[cj][69] Where proud Sevilla triumphs unsubdued:[ck] Yet is she free? the Spoiler's wished-for prey! Soon, soon shall Conquest's fiery foot intrude, Blackening her lovely domes with traces rude. Inevitable hour! 'Gainst fate to strive Where Desolation plants her famished brood Is vain, or Ilion, Tyre might yet survive, And Virtue vanquish all, and Murder cease to thrive
XLVI.
But all unconscious of the coming doom,[70] The feast, the song, the revel here abounds; Strange modes of merriment the hours consume, Nor bleed these patriots with their country's wounds: Nor here War's clarion, but Love's rebeck[71] sounds;[cl] Here Folly still his votaries inthralls; And young-eyed Lewdness walks her midnight rounds:[cm] Girt with the silent crimes of Capitals, Still to the last kind Vice clings to the tott'ring walls.
XLVII.
Not so the rustic--with his trembling mate He lurks, nor casts his heavy eye afar, Lest he should view his vineyard desolate, Blasted below the dun hot breath of War. No more beneath soft Eve's consenting star Fandango twirls his jocund castanet:[72] Ah, Monarchs! could ye taste the mirth ye mar, Not in the toils of Glory would ye fret;[cn] The hoarse dull drum would sleep, and Man be happy yet!
XLVIII.
How carols now the lusty muleteer? Of Love, Romance, Devotion is his lay, As whilome he was wont the leagues to cheer, His quick bells wildly jingling on the way? No! as he speeds, he chants "Vivā el Rey!"[8.B.] And checks his song to execrate Godoy, The royal wittol Charles, and curse the day When first Spain's queen beheld the black-eyed boy, And gore-faced Treason sprung from her adulterate joy.
XLIX.
On yon long level plain, at distance crowned[73] With crags, whereon those Moorish turrets rest, Wide-scattered hoof-marks dint the wounded ground; And, scathed by fire, the greensward's darkened vest Tells that the foe was Andalusia's guest: Here was the camp, the watch-flame, and the host, Here the bold peasant stormed the Dragon's nest; Still does he mark it with triumphant boast, And points to yonder cliffs, which oft were won and lost.
L.
And whomsoe'er along the path you meet Bears in his cap the badge of crimson hue, Which tells you whom to shun and whom to greet:[9.B.] Woe to the man that walks in public view Without of loyalty this token true: Sharp is the knife, and sudden is the stroke; And sorely would the Gallic foeman rue, If subtle poniards, wrapt beneath the cloke, Could blunt the sabre's edge, or clear the cannon's smoke.
LI.
At every turn Morena's dusky height[74] Sustains aloft the battery's iron load; And, far as mortal eye can compass sight, The mountain-howitzer, the broken road, The bristling palisade, the fosse o'erflowed, The stationed bands, the never-vacant watch,[co] The magazine in rocky durance stowed, The bolstered steed beneath the shed of thatch, The ball-piled pyramid, the ever-blazing match,[10.B.]
LII.
Portend the deeds to come:--but he whose nod Has tumbled feebler despots from their sway, A moment pauseth ere he lifts the rod; A little moment deigneth to delay: Soon will his legions sweep through these their way; The West must own the Scourger of the world.[cp] Ah! Spain! how sad will be thy reckoning-day, When soars Gaul's Vulture, with his wings unfurled,[cq] And thou shall view thy sons in crowds to Hades hurled.
LIII.
And must they fall? the young, the proud, the brave, To swell one bloated Chiefs unwholesome reign?[75] No step between submission and a grave? The rise of Rapine and the fall of Spain? And doth the Power that man adores ordain Their doom, nor heed the suppliant's appeal? Is all that desperate Valour acts in vain? And Counsel sage, and patriotic Zeal-- The Veteran's skill--Youth's fire--and Manhood's heart of steel?
LIV.
Is it for this the Spanish maid, aroused, Hangs on the willow her unstrung guitar, And, all unsexed, the Anlace[76] hath espoused, Sung the loud song, and dared the deed of war? And she, whom once the semblance of a scar Appalled, an owlet's 'larum chilled with dread,[77] Now views the column-scattering bay'net jar,[cr] The falchion flash, and o'er the yet warm dead Stalks with Minerva's step where Mars might quake to tread.
LV.
Ye who shall marvel when you hear her tale, Oh! had you known her in her softer hour, Marked her black eye that mocks her coal-black veil, Heard her light, lively tones in Lady's bower, Seen her long locks that foil the painter's power, Her fairy form, with more than female grace, Scarce would you deem that Saragoza's tower Beheld her smile in Danger's Gorgon face, Thin the closed ranks, and lead in Glory's fearful chase.
LVI.
Her lover sinks--she sheds no ill-timed tear; Her Chief is slain--she fills his fatal post; Her fellows flee--she checks their base career; The Foe retires--she heads the sallying host: Who can appease like her a lover's ghost? Who can avenge so well a leader's fall? What maid retrieve when man's flushed hope is lost? Who hang so fiercely on the flying Gaul, Foiled by a woman's hand, before a battered wall?[11.B.]
LVII.
Yet are Spain's maids no race of Amazons, But formed for all the witching arts of love: Though thus in arms they emulate her sons, And in the horrid phalanx dare to move, 'Tis but the tender fierceness of the dove, Pecking the hand that hovers o'er her mate: In softness as in firmness far above Remoter females, famed for sickening prate; Her mind is nobler sure, her charms perchance as great.
LVIII.
The seal Love's dimpling finger hath impressed[cs] Denotes how soft that chin which bears his touch:[12.B.] Her lips, whose kisses pout to leave their nest, Bid man be valiant ere he merit such: Her glance how wildly beautiful! how much Hath Phoebus wooed in vain to spoil her cheek, Which glows yet smoother from his amorous clutch! Who round the North for paler dames would seek? How poor their forms appear! how languid, wan, and weak![78]
LIX.
Match me, ye climes! which poets love to laud; Match me, ye harems of the land! where now I strike my strain, far distant, to applaud Beauties that ev'n a cynic must avow;[ct] Match me those Houries, whom ye scarce allow To taste the gale lest Love should ride the wind, With Spain's dark-glancing daughters--deign to know, There your wise Prophet's Paradise we find, His black-eyed maids of Heaven, angelically kind.
LX.
Oh, thou Parnassus! whom I now survey,[79][13.B.] Not in the phrensy of a dreamer's eye, Not in the fabled landscape of a lay,[cu] But soaring snow-clad through thy native sky, In the wild pomp of mountain-majesty! What marvel if I thus essay to sing? The humblest of thy pilgrims passing by Would gladly woo thine Echoes with his string, Though from thy heights no more one Muse will wave her wing.
LXI.
Oft have I dreamed of Thee! whose glorious name Who knows not, knows not man's divinest lore: And now I view thee--'tis, alas, with shame That I in feeblest accents must adore. When I recount thy worshippers of yore I tremble, and can only bend the knee; Nor raise my voice, nor vainly dare to soar, But gaze beneath thy cloudy canopy In silent joy to think at last I look on Thee![80]
LXII.
Happier in this than mightiest Bards have been, Whose Fate to distant homes confined their lot, Shall I unmoved behold the hallowed scene, Which others rave of, though they know it not? Though here no more Apollo haunts his Grot, And thou, the Muses' seat, art now their grave, Some gentle Spirit still pervades the spot, Sighs in the gale, keeps silence in the Cave, And glides with glassy foot o'er yon melodious wave.[cv]
LXIII.
Of thee hereafter.--Ev'n amidst my strain I turned aside to pay my homage here; Forgot the land, the sons, the maids of Spain; Her fate, to every freeborn bosom dear; And hailed thee, not perchance without a tear. Now to my theme--but from thy holy haunt Let me some remnant, some memorial bear;[cw] Yield me one leaf of Daphne's deathless plant, Nor let thy votary's hope be deemed an idle vaunt.
LXIV.
But ne'er didst thou, fair Mount! when Greece was young, See round thy giant base a brighter choir,[81] Nor e'er did Delphi, when her Priestess sung The Pythian hymn with more than mortal fire, Behold a train more fitting to inspire The song of love, than Andalusia's maids, Nurst in the glowing lap of soft Desire: Ah! that to these were given such peaceful shades As Greece can still bestow, though Glory fly her glades.
LXV.
Fair is proud Seville; let her country boast Her strength, her wealth, her site of ancient days;[14.B.] But Cadiz, rising on the distant coast,[82] Calls forth a sweeter, though ignoble praise. Ah, Vice! how soft are thy voluptuous ways! While boyish blood is mantling, who can 'scape[cx] The fascination of thy magic gaze? A Cherub-Hydra round us dost thou gape, And mould to every taste thy dear delusive shape.
LXVI.
When Paphos fell by Time--accurséd Time! The Queen who conquers all must yield to thee-- The Pleasures fled, but sought as warm a clime; And Venus, constant to her native Sea, To nought else constant, hither deigned to flee, And fixed her shrine within these walls of white: Though not to one dome circumscribeth She Her worship, but, devoted to her rite, A thousand Altars rise, for ever blazing bright.[83]
LXVII.
From morn till night, from night till startled Morn[84] Peeps blushing on the Revel's laughing crew, The Song is heard, the rosy Garland worn; Devices quaint, and Frolics ever new, Tread on each other's kibes.[85] A long adieu He bids to sober joy that here sojourns: Nought interrupts the riot, though in lieu[cy] Of true devotion monkish incense burns, And Love and Prayer unite, or rule the hour by turns.[cz]
LXVIII.
The Sabbath comes, a day of blessed rest: What hallows it upon this Christian shore? Lo! it is sacred to a solemn Feast: Hark! heard you not the forest-monarch's roar? Crashing the lance, he snuffs the spouting gore Of man and steed, o'erthrown beneath his horn; The thronged arena shakes with shouts for more; Yells the mad crowd o'er entrails freshly torn, Nor shrinks the female eye, nor ev'n affects to mourn.
LXIX.[86]
The seventh day this--the Jubilee of man! London! right well thou know'st the day of prayer: Then thy spruce citizen, washed artisan, And smug apprentice gulp their weekly air: Thy coach of hackney, whiskey,[87] one-horse chair, And humblest gig through sundry suburbs whirl,[da] To Hampstead, Brentford, Harrow make repair; Till the tired jade the wheel forgets to hurl, Provoking envious gibe from each pedestrian churl.[db]
LXX.
Some o'er thy Thamis row the ribboned fair,[dc] Others along the safer turnpike fly; Some Richmond-hill ascend, some scud to Ware, And many to the steep of Highgate hie. Ask ye, Boeotian Shades! the reason why?[15.B.] 'Tis to the worship of the solemn Horn,[88] Grasped in the holy hand of Mystery, In whose dread name both men and maids are sworn, And consecrate the oath with draught, and dance till morn.
LXXI.
All have their fooleries--not alike are thine, Fair Cadiz, rising o'er the dark blue sea![89] Soon as the Matin bell proclaimeth nine, Thy Saint-adorers count the Rosary: Much is the VIRGIN teased to shrive them free (Well do I ween the only virgin there) From crimes as numerous as her beadsmen be; Then to the crowded circus forth they fare: Young, old, high, low, at once the same diversion share.
LXXII.
The lists are oped, the spacious area cleared,[90] Thousands on thousands piled are seated round; Long ere the first loud trumpet's note is heard, Ne vacant space for lated wight is found: Here Dons, Grandees, but chiefly Dames abound, Skilled in the ogle of a roguish eye, Yet ever well inclined to heal the wound; None through their cold disdain are doomed to die, As moon-struck bards complain, by Love's sad archery.
LXXIII.
Hushed is the din of tongues--on gallant steeds, With milk-white crest, gold spur, and light-poised lance, Four cavaliers prepare for venturous deeds, And lowly-bending to the lists advance; Rich are their scarfs, their chargers featly prance: If in the dangerous game they shine to-day, The crowd's loud shout and ladies' lovely glance, Best prize of better acts! they bear away, And all that kings or chiefs e'er gain their toils repay.
LXXIV.
In costly sheen and gaudy cloak arrayed. But all afoot, the light-limbed Matadore Stands in the centre, eager to invade The lord of lowing herds; but not before The ground, with cautious tread, is traversed o'er, Lest aught unseen should lurk to thwart his speed: His arms a dart, he fights aloof, nor more Can Man achieve without the friendly steed-- Alas! too oft condemned for him to bear and bleed.
LXXV.
Thrice sounds the Clarion; lo! the signal falls, The den expands, and Expectation mute Gapes round the silent circle's peopled walls. Bounds with one lashing spring the mighty brute, And, wildly staring, spurns, with sounding foot, The sand, nor blindly rushes on his foe: Here, there, he points his threatening front, to suit His first attack, wide-waving to and fro His angry tail; red rolls his eye's dilated glow.
LXXVI.
Sudden he stops--his eye is fixed--away-- Away, thou heedless boy! prepare the spear: Now is thy time, to perish, or display The skill that yet may check his mad career! With well-timed croupe[91] the nimble coursers veer; On foams the Bull, but not unscathed he goes; Streams from his flank the crimson torrent clear: He flies, he wheels, distracted with his throes; Dart follows dart--lance, lance--loud bellowings speak his woes.
LXXVII.
Again he comes; nor dart nor lance avail, Nor the wild plunging of the tortured horse; Though Man and Man's avenging arms assail, Vain are his weapons, vainer is his force. One gallant steed is stretched a mangled corse; Another, hideous sight! unseamed appears, His gory chest unveils life's panting source; Though death-struck, still his feeble frame he rears; Staggering, but stemming all, his Lord unharmed he bears.
LXXVIII.
Foiled, bleeding, breathless, furious to the last, Full in the centre stands the Bull at bay, Mid wounds, and clinging darts, and lances brast,[92] And foes disabled in the brutal fray: And now the Matadores[93] around him play, Shake the red cloak, and poise the ready brand: Once more through all he bursts his thundering way-- Vain rage! the mantle quits the conynge hand, Wraps his fierce eye--'tis past--he sinks upon the sand![dd]
LXXIX.
Where his vast neck just mingles with the spine, Sheathed in his form the deadly weapon lies. He stops--he starts--disdaining to decline: Slowly he falls, amidst triumphant cries, Without a groan, without a struggle dies. The decorated car appears--on high The corse is piled--sweet sight for vulgar eyes--[de][94] Four steeds that spurn the rein, as swift as shy, Hurl the dark bulk along, scarce seen in dashing by.
LXXX.
Such the ungentle sport that oft invites The Spanish maid, and cheers the Spanish swain. Nurtured in blood betimes, his heart delights In vengeance, gloating on another's pain. What private feuds the troubled village stain! Though now one phalanxed host should meet the foe, Enough, alas! in humble homes remain, To meditate 'gainst friend the secret blow, For some slight cause of wrath, whence Life's warm stream must flow.[95]
LXXXI.
But Jealousy has fled: his bars, his bolts, His withered Centinel,[96] Duenna sage! And all whereat the generous soul revolts,[df] Which the stern dotard deemed he could encage, Have passed to darkness with the vanished age. Who late so free as Spanish girls were seen, (Ere War uprose in his volcanic rage,) With braided tresses bounding o'er the green, While on the gay dance shone Night's lover-loving Queen?
LXXXII.
Oh! many a time and oft, had Harold loved, Or dreamed he loved, since Rapture is a dream; But now his wayward bosom was unmoved, For not yet had he drunk of Lethe's stream; And lately had he learned with truth to deem Love has no gift so grateful as his wings: How fair, how young, how soft soe'er he seem, Full from the fount of Joy's delicious springs[dg] Some bitter o'er the flowers its bubbling venom flings.[16.B.]
LXXXIII.
Yet to the beauteous form he was not blind, Though now it moved him as it moves the wise; Not that Philosophy on such a mind E'er deigned to bend her chastely-awful eyes: But Passion raves herself[97] to rest, or flies; And Vice, that digs her own voluptuous tomb, Had buried long his hopes, no more to rise:[dh] Pleasure's palled Victim! life-abhorring Gloom Wrote on his faded brow curst Cain's unresting doom.[98]
LXXXIV.
Still he beheld, nor mingled with the throng; But viewed them not with misanthropic hate: Fain would he now have joined the dance, the song; But who may smile that sinks beneath his fate? Nought that he saw his sadness could abate: Yet once he struggled 'gainst the Demon's sway, And as in Beauty's bower he pensive sate, Poured forth his unpremeditated lay, To charms as fair as those that soothed his happier day.
TO INEZ.[99]
1.
Nay, smile not at my sullen brow; Alas! I cannot smile again: Yet Heaven avert that ever thou Shouldst weep, and haply weep in vain.
2.
And dost thou ask what secret woe I bear, corroding Joy and Youth? And wilt thou vainly seek to know A pang, ev'n thou must fail to soothe?
3.
It is not love, it is not hate, Nor low Ambition's honours lost, That bids me loathe my present state, And fly from all I prized the most:
4.
It is that weariness which springs From all I meet, or hear, or see: To me no pleasure Beauty brings; Thine eyes have scarce a charm for me.
5.
It is that settled, ceaseless gloom The fabled Hebrew Wanderer bore; That will not look beyond the tomb, But cannot hope for rest before.
6.
What Exile from himself can flee?[100] To zones though more and more remote,[di] Still, still pursues, where'er I be, The blight of Life--the Demon Thought.[101]
7.
Yet others rapt in pleasure seem, And taste of all that I forsake; Oh! may they still of transport dream, And ne'er--at least like me--awake!
8.
Through many a clime 'tis mine to go, With many a retrospection curst; And all my solace is to know, Whate'er betides, I've known the worst.
9.
What is that worst? Nay do not ask-- In pity from the search forbear: Smile on--nor venture to unmask Man's heart, and view the Hell that's there.
Jan. 25. 1810.--[MS.]
LXXXV.
Adieu, fair Cadiz! yea, a long adieu! Who may forget how well thy walls have stood? When all were changing thou alone wert true, First to be free and last to be subdued;[102] And if amidst a scene, a shock so rude, Some native blood was seen thy streets to dye, A Traitor only fell beneath the feud: [17.B.] Here all were noble, save Nobility; None hugged a Conqueror's chain, save fallen Chivalry!
LXXXVI.
Such be the sons of Spain, and strange her Fate! They fight for Freedom who were never free, A Kingless people for a nerveless state;[103] Her vassals combat when their Chieftains flee, True to the veriest slaves of Treachery: Fond of a land which gave them nought but life, Pride points the path that leads to Liberty; Back to the struggle, baffled in the strife, War, war is still the cry, "War even to the knife!"[18.B.]
LXXXVII.
Ye, who would more of Spain and Spaniards know[dj] Go, read whate'er is writ of bloodiest strife: Whate'er keen Vengeance urged on foreign foe Can act, is acting there against man's life: From flashing scimitar to secret knife, War mouldeth there each weapon to his need-- So may he guard the sister and the wife, So may he make each curst oppressor bleed-- So may such foes deserve the most remorseless deed!
LXXXVIII.[104]
Flows there a tear of Pity for the dead? Look o'er the ravage of the reeking plain; Look on the hands with female slaughter red; Then to the dogs resign the unburied slain, Then to the vulture let each corse remain, Albeit unworthy of the prey-bird's maw; Let their bleached bones, and blood's unbleaching stain, Long mark the battle-field with hideous awe: Thus only may our sons conceive the scenes we saw!
LXXXIX.
Nor yet, alas! the dreadful work is done; Fresh legions pour adown the Pyrenees: It deepens still, the work is scarce begun, Nor mortal eye the distant end foresees. Fall'n nations gaze on Spain; if freed, she frees More than her fell Pizarros once enchained: Strange retribution! now Columbia's ease Repairs the wrongs that Quito's sons sustained,[105] While o'er the parent clime prowls Murder unrestrained.
XC.
Not all the blood at Talavera shed, Not all the marvels of Barossa's fight, Not Albuera lavish of the dead, Have won for Spain her well asserted right. When shall her Olive-Branch be free from blight? When shall she breathe her from the blushing toil? How many a doubtful day shall sink in night, Ere the Frank robber turn him from his spoil, And Freedom's stranger-tree grow native of the soil![106]
XCI.
And thou, my friend!--since unavailing woe[dk][107][19.B.] Bursts from my heart, and mingles with the strain-- Had the sword laid thee with the mighty low, Pride might forbid e'en Friendship to complain: But thus unlaurelled to descend in vain, By all forgotten, save the lonely breast, And mix unbleeding with the boasted slain, While Glory crowns so many a meaner crest! What hadst thou done to sink so peacefully to rest?
XCII.
Oh, known the earliest, and esteemed the most![dl][108] Dear to a heart where nought was left so dear![dm] Though to my hopeless days for ever lost, In dreams deny me not to see thee here! And Morn in secret shall renew the tear Of Consciousness awaking to her woes, And Fancy hover o'er thy bloodless bier,[dn] Till my frail frame return to whence it rose, And mourned and mourner lie united in repose.
XCIII.
Here is one fytte[109] of Harold's pilgrimage: Ye who of him may further seek to know, Shall find some tidings in a future page, If he that rhymeth now may scribble moe. Is this too much? stern Critic! say not so: Patience! and ye shall hear what he beheld In other lands, where he was doomed to go: Lands that contain the monuments of Eld, Ere Greece and Grecian arts by barbarous hands were quelled.
FOOTNOTES:
[1] "The first and second cantos of _Childe Harold_ were written in separate portions by the noble author. They were afterwards arranged for publication; and when thus arranged, the whole was copied. This copy was placed in Lord Byron's hands, and he made various alterations, corrections, and large additions. These, together with the notes, are in his Lordship's own handwriting. The manuscript thus corrected was sent to the press, and was printed under the direction of Robt. Chas. Dallas, Esq., to whom Lord Byron had given the copyright of the poem. The MS., as it came from the printers, was preserved by Mr. Dallas, and is now in the possession of his son, the Rev. Alex. Dallas."
[See Dallas Transcript, p. 1. Mus. Brit. Bibl. Egerton, 2027. Press 526. H. T.]
[a] {3} _Advertisement to be prefixed y^e Poem_.--[MS. B.M.]
[b] _Professes to describe_.--[MS. B.M.]
[c] ----_that in the fictitious character of "Childe Harold" I may incur the suspicion of having drawn "from myself." This I beg leave once for all to disclaim. I wanted a character to give some connection to the poem, and the one adopted suited my purpose as well as any other_.--[MS. B.M.]
[d] {4} _Such an idea_.--[MS. B.M.]
[e] _My readers will observe that where the author speaks in his own person he assumes a very different tone from that of_
"_The cheerless thing, the man without a friend_,"
_at least, till death had deprived him of his nearest connections_.
_I crave pardon for this Egotism, which proceeds from my wish to discard any probable imputation of it to the text_.--[MS. B.M.]
[2] ["In the 13th and 14th centuries the word 'child,' which signifies a youth of gentle birth, appears to have been applied to a young noble awaiting knighthood, e.g. in the romances of _Ipomydon_, _Sir Tryamour_, etc. It is frequently used by our old writers as a title, and is repeatedly given to Prince Arthur in the _Faërie Queene_"--(_N. Eng. Dict._, art. "Childe").
Byron uses the word in the Spenserian sense, as a title implying youth and nobility.]
[3] [John, Lord Maxwell, slew Sir James Johnstone at Achmanhill, April 6, 1608, in revenge for his father's defeat and death at Dryffe Sands, in 1593. He was forced to flee to France. Hence his "Good Night." Scott's ballad is taken, with "some slight variations," from a copy in Glenriddel's MSS.--_Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border_, 1810, i. 290-300.]
[4] [Amongst others, _The Battle of Talavera_, by John Wilson Croker, appeared in 1809; _The Vision of Don Roderick_, by Walter Scott, in 1811; and _Portugal, a Poem_, by Lord George Grenville, in 1812.]
[f] _Some casual coincidence_.--[MS. B.M.]
[5] {5} Beattie's Letters. [See letter to Dr. Blacklock, September 22, 1766 (_Life of Beattie_, by Sir W. Forbes, 1806, i. 89).]
[g] _Satisfied that their failure_.--[MS. B.M.]
[6] [See _Quarterly Review_, March, 1812, vol. vii. p. 191: "The moral code of chivalry was not, we admit, quite pure and spotless, but its laxity on some points was redeemed by the noble spirit of gallantry which courted personal danger in the defence of the sovereign ... of women because they are often lovely, and always helpless; and of the priesthood.... Now, _Childe Harold_, if not absolutely craven and recreant, is at least a mortal enemy to all martial exertion, a scoffer at the fair sex, and, apparently, disposed to consider all religions as different modes of superstition." The tone of the review is severer than the Preface indicates. Nor does Byron attempt to reply to the main issue of the indictment, an unknightly aversion from war, but rides off on a minor point, the licentiousness of the Troubadours.]
[7] {6} [See _Mémoires sur l'Ancienne Chevalerie_, par M. De la Curne de Sainte-Palaye, Paris, 1781: "Qu'on lise dans l'auteur du roman de Gérard de Roussillon, en Provençal, les détails très-circonstanciés dans lesquels il entre sur la réception faite par le Comte Gérard à l'ambassadeur du roi Charles; on y verra des particularités singulières qui donnent une etrange idée des moeurs et de la politesse de ces siècles aussi corrompus qu'ignorans" (ii. 69). See, too, _ibid., ante_, p. 65: "Si l'on juge des moeurs d'un siècle par les écrits qui nous en sont restés, nous serons en droit de juger que nos ancêtres observèrent mal les loix que leur prescrivirent la décence et l'honnêteté."]
[8] [See _Recherches sur les Prérogatives des Dames chez les Gaulois sur les Cours d'Amours_, par M. le Président Rolland [d'Erceville], de l'Académie d'Amiens. Paris, 1787, pp. 18-30, 117, etc.]
[9] [The phrase occurs in _The Rovers, or the Double Arrangement_ (_Poetry of the Anti-Jacobin_, 1854, p. 199), by J. Hookham Frere, a skit on the "moral inculcated by the German dramas--the reciprocal duties of one or more husbands to one or more wives." The waiter at the Golden Eagle at Weimar is a warrior in disguise, and rescues the hero, who is imprisoned in the abbey of Quedlinburgh.]
[10] {7} ["But the age of chivalry is gone--the unbought grace of life, the cheap defence of nations," etc. (_Reflections on the Revolution in France_, by the Right Hon. Edmund Burke, M.P., 1868, p. 89).]
[11] [Passages relating to the Queen of Tahiti, in _Hawkesworth's Voyages, drawn from journals kept by the several commanders, and from the papers of Joseph Banks, Esq._ (1773, ii. 106), gave occasion to malicious and humorous comment. (See _An Epistle from Mr. Banks, Voyager, Monster-hunter, and Amoroso, To Oberea, Queen of Otaheite_, by A.B.C.) The lampoon, "printed at Batavia for Jacobus Opani" (the Queen's Tahitian for "Banks"), was published in 1773. The authorship is assigned to Major John Scott Waring (1747-1819).]
[12] {8} [Compare _Childish Recollections: Poetical Works_, 1898, i. 84, _var_. i.--
"Weary of love, of life, devour'd with spleen, I rest a perfect Timon, not nineteen."]
[13] [John Moore (1729-1802), the father of the celebrated Sir John Moore, published _Zeluco. Various views of Human Nature, taken from Life and Manners, Foreign and Domestic_, in 1789. Zeluco was an unmitigated scoundrel, who led an adventurous life; but the prolix narrative of his villanies does not recall _Childe Harold_. There is, perhaps, some resemblance between Zeluco's unbridled childhood and youth, due to the indulgence of a doting mother, and Byron's early emancipation from discipline and control.]
[h] {11} _To the Lady Charlotte Harley_.--[MS. M.]
[14] [The Lady Charlotte Mary Harley, second daughter of Edward, fifth Earl of Oxford and Mortimer, was born 1801. She married, in 1823, Captain Anthony Bacon (died July 2, 1864), who had followed "young, gallant Howard" (see _Childe Harold_, III. xxix.) in his last fatal charge at Waterloo, and who, subsequently, during the progress of the civil war between Dom Miguel and Maria da Gloria of Portugal (1828-33), held command as colonel of cavalry in the Queen's forces, and finally as a general officer. Lady Charlotte Bacon died May 9, 1880. Byron's acquaintance with her probably dated from his visit to Lord and Lady Oxford, at Eywood House, in Herefordshire, in October-November, 1812. Her portrait, by Westall, which was painted at his request, is included among the illustrations in Finden's _Illustrations of the Life and Works of Lord Byron_, ii. See _Gent. Mag_., N.S., vol. xvii. (1864) p. 261; and an obituary notice in the Times, May 10, 1880, See, too, letter to Murray, March 29, 1813 (_Letters_, 1898, ii. 200).]
[15] {12} [The reference is to the French proverb, _L'Amitié est l'Amour sans Ailes_, which suggested the last line (line 412) of _Childish Recollections_, "And Love, without his pinion, smil'd on youth," and forms the title of one of the early poems, first published in 1832 (_Poetical Works_, 1898, i. 106, 220).]
[16] [In 1814, when the dedication was published, Byron completed his twenty-sixth year, Ianthe her thirteenth.]
[17] {13} [For the modulation of the verse, compare Pope's lines--
"Correctly cold, and regularly low." _Essay on Criticism_, line 240.
"Glows while he reads, but trembles as he writes." _Ibid_., line 198.]
[18] [Ianthe ("Flower o' the Narcissus") was the name of a Cretan girl wedded to one Iphis (_vid_. Ovid., _Metamorph_., ix. 714). Perhaps Byron's dedication was responsible for the Ianthe of _Queen Mab_ (1812, 1813), who in turn bestowed her name on Shelley's eldest daughter (Mrs. Esdaile, d. 1876), who was born June 28, 1813.]
[i] _And long as kinder eyes shall deign to cast_ _A look along my page, that name enshrined_ _Shalt thou be_ first _beheld, forgotten_ last.--[MS.]
[j] {13} _Though more than Hope can claim--Ah! less could I require?_--[MS.]
[19] {15} [The MS. does not open with stanza i., which was written after Byron returned to England, and appears first in the Dallas Transcript (see letter to Murray, September 5, 1811). Byron and Hobhouse visited Delphi, December 16, 1809, when the First Canto (see stanza lx.) was approaching completion (_Travels in Albania_, by Lord Broughton, 1858, i. 199).]
[k] _Oh, thou of yore esteemed_----.--[D.]
[l] _Since later lyres are only strung on earth_.--[D.]
[20] [For the substitution of the text for _vars_. ii., iii., see letter to Dallas, September 21, 1811 (_Letters_, 1898, ii. 43).]
[m] ----_thy glorious rill_.--[D.] or, --_wooed thee, drank the vaunted rill_.--[D.]
[n] {16} _Sore given to revel and to Pageantry_.--[MS. erased.]
[o] _He chused the bad, and did the good affright_ _With concubines_----.--[MS.] _No earthly things_----.--[D.]
[21] ["We [i.e. Byron and C.S. Matthews] went down [April, 1809] to Newstead together, where I had got a famous cellar, and _Monks'_ dresses from a masquerade warehouse. We were a company of some seven or eight, ... and used to sit up late in our friars' dresses, drinking burgundy, claret, champagne, and what not, out of the _skull-cup_, and all sorts of glasses, and buffooning all round the house, in our conventual garments" (letter to Murray, November 19, 1820. See, too, the account of this visit which Matthews wrote to his sister in a letter dated May 22, 1809 [_Letters_, 1898, i. 150-160, and 153, note]). Moore (_Life_, p. 86) and other apologists are anxious to point out that the Newstead "wassailers" were, on the whole, a harmless crew of rollicking schoolboys "--were, indeed, of habits and tastes too intellectual for mere vulgar debauchery." And as to the "alleged 'harems,'" the "Paphian girls," there were only one or two, says Moore, "among the ordinary menials." But, even so, the "wassailers" were not impeccable, and it is best to leave the story, fact or fable, to speak for itself.]
[22] {17} ["Hight" is the preterite of the passive "hote," and means "was called." "Childe Harold he hight" would be more correct. Compare Spenser's _Faërie Queene_, bk. i. c. ix. 14. 9, "She Queene of Faeries hight." But "hight" was occasionally used with the common verbs "is," "was." Compare _The Ordinary_, 1651, act iii. sc. 1--
"... the goblin That is _hight_ Good-fellow Robin." Dodsley (ed. Hazlitt), xii. 253.]
[p] _Childe Burun_------.--[MS.]
[23] [William, fifth Lord Byron (the poet's grand-uncle), mortally wounded his kinsman, Mr. Chaworth, in a duel which was fought, without seconds or witnesses, at the Star and Garter Tavern, Pall Mall, January 29, 1765. He was convicted of wilful murder by the coroner's jury, and of manslaughter by the House of Lords; but, pleading his privilege as a peer, he was set at liberty. He was known to the country-side as the "wicked Lord," and many tales, true and apocryphal, were told to his discredit (_Life of Lord Byron_, by Karl Elze, 1872, pp. 5, 6).]
[q] ------_nor honied glose of rhyme_.--[D. pencil.]
[r] _Childe Burun_------.--[MS.]
[s] {18} _For he had on the course too swiftly run_.--[MS. erased.]
[t] _Had courted many_----.--[MS. erased.]
[24] [Mary Chaworth. (Compare "Stanzas to a Lady, on leaving England," passim: _Poetical Works_, 1898, i. 285.)]
[u] ----_Childe Burun_----.--[MS.]
[25] {19} [Compare _The Lay of the Last Minstrel_, Canto I, stanza ix. 9--
"And burning pride and high disdain Forbade the rising tears to flow."]
[v] _And strait he fell into a reverie_.--[MS.] ----_sullen reverie_.--[D.]
[26] [_Vide post_, stanza xi. line 9, note.]
[w] _Strange fate directed still to uses vile_.--[MS. erased.]
[x] _Now Paphian jades were heard to sing and smile_.--[MS. erased.] _Now Paphian nymphs_----.--[D. pencil.]
[27] [The brass eagle which was fished out of the lake at Newstead in the time of Byron's predecessor contained, among other documents, "a grant of full pardon from Henry V. of every possible crime ... which the monks might have committed previous to the 8th of December preceding (_Murdris_, per ipsos _post decimum nonum Diem Novembris_, ultimo præteritum perpetratis, si quæ fuerint, _exceptis_)" (_Life_, p. 2, note). The monks were a constant source of delight to the Newstead "revellers." Francis Hodgson, in his "Lines on a Ruined Abbey in a Romantic Country" (_Poems_, 1809), does not spare them--
"'Hail, venerable pile!' whose ivied walls Proclaim the desolating lapse of years: And hail, ye hills, and murmuring waterfalls, Where yet her head the ruin'd Abbey rears. No longer now the matin tolling bell, Re-echoing loud among the woody glade, Calls the fat abbot from his drowsy cell, And warns the maid to flee, if yet a maid. No longer now the festive bowl goes round, Nor monks get drunk in honour of their God."]
[y] {20} The original MS. inserts two stanzas which were rejected during the composition of the poem:--
_Of all his train there was a henchman page,_ _peasant_ _served_ _A {-dark eyed-} boy, who {-loved-} his master well;_ _And often would his pranksome prate engage_ _Harold's_ _Childe {-Burun's-} ear, when his proud heart did swell_ _With sable thoughts that he disdained to tell_. _Alwin_ _Then would he smile on him, as {-Rupert-} smiled,_ _{-Robin-}_ _When aught that from his young lips archly fell_ _Harold's_ _The gloomy film from {-Burun's-} eye beguiled;_ _And pleased the Childe appeared nor ere the boy reviled_.} _And pleased for a glimpse appeared the woeful Childe_. }
_Him and one yeoman only did he take_ _To travel Eastward to a far countree;_ _And though the boy was grieved to leave the lake_ _On whose firm banks he grew from Infancy,_ _Eftsoons his little heart beat merrily_ _With hope of foreign nations to behold,_ _And many things right marvellous to see,_ _vaunting_ _Of which our {-lying-} voyagers oft have told,_ _{-From Mandevilles' and scribes of similar mold.-}_ } or, _In tomes pricked out with prints to monied ... sold_} _In many a tome as true as Mandeville's of old_. }
[z] ----_Childe Burun_----.--[MS.]
[aa] {21} Stanza ix. was the result of much elaboration. The first draft, which was pasted over the rejected stanzas (_vide supra_, p. 20, _var_. i.), retains the numerous erasures and emendations. It ran as follows:--
_And none did love him though to hall and bower_ _{-few could-}_ _Haughty he gathered revellers from far and near_ _{-An evil smile just bordering on a sneer-}_ _He knew them flatterers of the festal hour_ _{-Curled on his lip-}_ _The heartless Parasites of present cheer,_ _As if_ _{-And deemed no mortal wight his peer-}_ _Yea! none did love him not his lemmans dear_ _{-To gentle Dames still less he could be dear-}_ _{-Were aught-} But pomp and power alone are Woman's care_ _{-But-} And where these are let no Possessor fear_ _{-The sex are slaves-} Maidens like moths are ever caught by glare_ _{-Love shrinks outshone by Mammons dazzling-} glare_ _And Mammon_ _{-That Demon-} wins his_ [MS. torn] _where Angels might despair._
[28] [The "trivial particular" which suggested to Byron the friendlessness and desolation of the Childe may be explained by the refusal of an old schoolfellow to spend the last day with him before he set out on his travels. The friend, possibly Lord Delawarr, excused himself on the plea that "he was engaged with his mother and some ladies to go shopping." "Friendship!" he exclaimed to Dallas. "I do not believe I shall leave behind me, yourself and family excepted, and, perhaps, my mother, a single being who will care what becomes of me" (Dallas, _Recollections, etc._, pp. 63, 64). Byron, to quote Charles Lamb's apology for Coleridge, was "full of fun," and must not be taken too seriously. Doubtless he was piqued at the moment, and afterwards, to heighten the tragedy of Childe Harold's exile, expanded a single act of negligence into general abandonment and desertion at the hour of trial.]
[ab] {22} _No! none did love him_----.--[D. pencil.]
[29] The word "lemman" is used by Chaucer in both senses, but more frequently in the feminine.--[_MS. M._]
[30] "Feere," a consort or mate. [Compare the line, "What when lords go with their _feires_, she said," in "The Ancient Fragment of the Marriage of Sir Gawaine" (Percy's _Reliques_, 1812, iii. 416), and the lines--
"As with the woful _fere_, And father of that chaste dishonoured dame." _Titus Andronicus_, act iv. sc. 1.
Compare, too, "That woman and her fleshless Pheere" (_The Rime of the Ancyent Marinere_, line 180 of the reprint from the first version in the _Lyrical Ballads_, 1798; _Poems_ by S. T. Coleridge, 1893, App. E, p. 515).]
[ac] {23} _Childe Burun_----.--[MS.]
[31] [In a suppressed stanza of "Childe Harold's Good Night" (see p. 27, _var._ ii.), the Childe complains that he has not seen his sister for "three long years and moe." Before her marriage, in 1807, Augusta Byron divided her time between her mother's children, Lady Chichester and the Duke of Leeds; her cousin, Lord Carlisle; and General and Mrs. Harcourt. After her marriage to Colonel Leigh, she lived at Newmarket. From the end of 1805 Byron corresponded with her more or less regularly, but no meeting took place. In a letter to his sister, dated November 30, 1808 (_Letters_, 1898, i. 203), he writes, "I saw Col. Leigh at Brighton in July, where I should have been glad to have seen you; I only know your husband by sight." Colonel Leigh was his first cousin, as well as his half-sister's husband, and the incidental remark that "he only knew him by sight" affords striking proof that his relations and connections were at no pains to seek him out, but left him to fight his own way to social recognition and distinction. (For particulars of "the Hon. Augusta Byron," see _Letters_, 1898, i. 18, note.)]
[ad] _Of friends he had but few, embracing none_.--[MS. erased.]
[ae] _Yet deem him not from this with breast of steel_.--[MS. D.]
[32] [Compare Campbell's _Gertrude of Wyoming_, ii. 8. 1--"Yet deem not Gertrude sighed for foreign joy."]
[af] {24} _His house, his home, his vassals, and his lands_.--[MS. D.]
[ag]
_The Dalilahs_----.--[MS. D.] _His damsels all_----.--[MS. erased.]
[ah] ----_where brighter sunbeams shine_.--[MS. erased.]
[33] "Your objection to the expression 'central line' I can only meet by saying that, before Childe Harold left England, it was his full intention to traverse Persia, and return by India, which he could not have done without passing the equinoctial" (letter to Dallas, September 7, 1811; see, too, letter to his mother, October 7, 1808: _Letters_, 1898, i. 193; ii. 27).
[ai] _The sails are filled_----.--[MS.]
[34] He experienced no such emotion on the resumption of his Pilgrimage in 1816. With reference to the confession, he writes (Canto III. stanza i. lines 6-9)--
"... I depart, Whither I know not; but the hour's gone by, When Albion's lessening shores could grieve or glad mine eye."
[35] {25} [See Lord Maxwell's "Good Night" in Scott's _Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border_ (_Poetical Works_, ii. 141, ed. 1834): "Adieu, madam, my mother dear," etc. [MS.]. Compare, too, Armstrong's "Good Night" _ibid._--
"This night is my departing night, For here nae langer mun I stay; There's neither friend nor foe of mine, But wishes me away. What I have done thro' lack of will, I never, never can recall; I hope ye're a' my friends as yet. Good night, and joy be with you all."]
[36] {26} [Robert Rushton, the son of one of the Newstead tenants. "Robert I take with me; I like him, because, like myself, he seems a friendless animal. Tell Mr. Rushton his son is well, and doing well" (letter to Mrs. Byron, Falmouth, June 22, 1809: _Letters_, 1898, i. 224).]
[aj] {27}
_Our best gos-hawk can hardly fly_ _So merrily along_.--[MS.] _Our best greyhound can hardly fly_.--[D. erased.]
[ak] Here follows in the MS. the following erased stanza:--
_My mother is a high-born dame_, _And much misliketh me;_ _She saith my riot bringeth shame_ _On all my ancestry_. _I had a sister once I ween_, _Whose tears perhaps will flow;_ _But her fair face I have not seen_ _For three long years and moe._
[al] _Oh master dear I do not cry_ _From fear of wave or wind_.--[MS.]
[37] [Robert was sent back from Gibraltar under the care of Joe Murray (see letter to Mr. Rushton, August 15, 1809: _Letters_, 1898, i. 242).]
[38] {28} [William Fletcher, Byron's valet. He was anything but "staunch" in the sense of the song (see Byron's letters of November 12, 1809, and June 28, 1810) (_Letters_, 1898, i. 246, 279); but for twenty years he remained a loyal and faithful servant, helped to nurse his master in his last illness, and brought his remains back to England.]
[am] {29} _Enough, enough, my yeoman good_. _All this is well to say;_ _But if I in thy sandals stood_ _I'd laugh to get away_.--[MS. erased, D.]
[an] _For who would trust a paramour_ _Or e'en a wedded feere_-- _Though her blue eyes were streaming o'er_, _And torn her yellow hair?_--[MS.]
[39] ["I leave England without regret--I shall return to it without pleasure. I am like Adam, the first convict sentenced to transportation, but I have no Eve, and have eaten no apple but what was sour as a crab" (letter to F. Hodgson, Falmouth, June 25, 1809, _Letters_, 1898, i. 230). If this _Confessio Amantis_, with which compare the "Stanzas to a Lady, on leaving England," is to be accepted as _bonâ fide_, he leaves England heart-whole, but for the bitter memory of Mary Chaworth.]
[ao] {30} Here follows in the MS., erased:--
_Methinks it would my bosom glad_, _To change my proud estate_, _And be again a laughing lad_ _With one beloved playmate_. _Since youth I scarce have pass'd an hour_ _Without disgust or pain_, _Except sometimes in Lady's bower_, _Or when the bowl I drain_.
[40] ["I do not mean to exchange the ninth verse of the 'Good Night.' I have no reason to suppose my dog better than his brother brutes, mankind; and Argus we know to be a fable" (letter to Dallas, September 23, 1811: _Letters_, 1898, ii. 44).
Byron was recalling an incident which had befallen him some time previously (see letter to Moore, January 19, 1815): "When I thought he was going to enact Argus, he bit away the backside of my breeches, and never would consent to any kind of recognition, in despite of all kinds of bones which I offered him." See, too, for another thrust at Argus, _Don Juan_, Canto III. stanza xxiii. But he should have remembered that this particular Argus "was half a _wolf_ by the she side." His portrait is preserved at Newstead (see _Poetical Works_, 1898, i. 280, _Edition de Luxe_).
For the expression of a different sentiment, compare _The Inscription on the Monument of a Newfoundland Dog_ (first published in Hobhouse's _Imit. and Transl_., 1809), and the prefatory inscription on Boatswain's grave in the gardens of Newstead, dated November 16, 1808 (_Life_, p. 73).]
[41] {31} [Cintra's "needle-like peaks," to the north-west of Lisbon, are visible from the mouth of the Tagus.]
[42] [Compare Ovid, _Amores_, i. 15, and Pliny, _Hist. Nat._, iv. 22. Small particles of gold are still to be found in the sands of the Tagus, but the quantity is, and perhaps always was, inconsiderable.]
[ap] ----_where thronging rustics reap_.--[MS. erased.]
[aq] {32} _What God hath done_--[MS. D.]
[ar] _Those Lusian brutes and earth from worst of wretches purge_.--[MS.]
[43] ["_Lisboa_ is the Portuguese word, consequently the very best. Ulissipont is pedantic; and as I have _Hellas_ and _Eros_ not very long before, there would be something like an affectation of Greek terms, which I wish to avoid" (letter to Dallas, September 23, 1811: _Letters_, 1898, ii. 44. See, too, _Poetical Works_, 1883, p. 5).]
[as] _Ulissipont, or Lisbona_.--[MS. pencil.]
[at] _Which poets, prone to lie, have paved with gold_.--[MS.] _Which poets sprinkle o'er with sands of gold_.--[MS. pencil.] _Which fabling poets_--[D. pencil.]
[44] {33} [For Byron's estimate of the Portuguese, see _The Curse of Minerva_, lines 233, 234, and note to line 231 (_Poetical Works_, 1898, i. 469, 470). In the last line of the preceding stanza, the substitution of the text for _var._ i. was no doubt suggested by Dallas in the interests of prudence.]
[au] _Who hate the very hand that waves the sword_ _To shield them, etc_.--[MS. D.] _To guard them, etc_.--[MS. pencil.]
[av] _Mid many things that grieve both nose and ee_.--[MS.] _Midst many_----.--[MS. D.]
[aw] ----_smelleth filthily_.--[MS. D.]
[ax] ----_dammed with dirt_.--[MS. erased.]
[45] {34} [For a fuller description of Cintra, see letter to Mrs. Byron, dated August 11, 1808 (_Life_, p. 92; _Letters_, 1898, i. 237). Southey, not often in accord with Byron, on his return from Spain (1801) testified that "for beauty all English, perhaps all existing, scenery must yield to Cintra" (_Life and Corr. of R. Southey_, ii. 161).]
[ay] ----_views too sweet and vast_----.--[MS. erased.]
[az] ----_by tottering convent crowned_.--[MS. erased.] _Alcornoque_.--[Note (pencil).]
[46] "The sky-worn robes of tenderest blue." Collins' _Ode to Pity_ [MS. and D.].
[ba] _The murmur that the sparkling torrents keep_.--[MS. erased.]
[47] {35} [The convent of Nossa Señora (now the Palazio) da Peña, and the Cork Convent, were visited by Beckford (circ. 1780), and are described in his _Italy, with Sketches of Spain and Portugal_ (8vo, 1834), the reissue of his _Letters Picturesque and Poetical_ (4to, 1783).
"Our first object was the convent of Nossa Senhora da Penha, the little romantic pile of white building I had seen glittering from afar when I first sailed by the coast of Lisbon. From this pyramidical elevation the view is boundless; you look immediately down upon an immense expanse of sea.
... A long series of detached clouds of a dazzling whiteness suspended low over the waves had a magic effect, and in pagan times might have appeared, without any great stretch of fancy, the cars of marine divinities, just risen from the bosom of their element."--_Italy, etc._, p. 249.
"Before the entrance, formed by two ledges of ponderous rock, extends a smooth level of greensward.... The Hermitage, its cell, chapel, and refectory, are all scooped out of the native marble, and lined with the bark of the cork tree. Several of the passages are not only roofed, but floored with the same material ... The shrubberies and garden-plots dispersed amongst the mossy rocks ... are delightful, and I took great pleasure in ... following the course of a transparent rill, which was conducted through a rustic water-shoot, between bushes of lavender and roses, many of the tenderest green."--_Ibid._, p. 250.
The inscription to the memory of Honorius (d. 159, æt. 95) is on a stone in front of the cave--
"Hic Honorius vitam finivit; Et ideo cum Deo in coelis revivit."]
[48] {36} "I don't remember any crosses there."--[Pencilled note by J.C. Hobhouse.]
[The crosses made no impression upon Hobhouse, who, no doubt, had realized that they were nothing but guideposts. For an explanation, see letter of Mr. Matthew Lewtas to the _Athenæum_, July 19, 1873: "The track from the main road to the convent, rugged and devious, leading up to the mountain, is marked out by numerous crosses now, just as it was when Byron rode along it in 1809, and it would appear he fell into the mistake of considering that the crosses were erected to show where assassinations had been committed."]
[49] [Beckford, describing the view from the convent, notices the wild flowers which adorned "the ruined splendour." "Amidst the crevices of the mouldering walls ... I noticed some capillaries and polypodiums of infinite delicacy; and on a little flat space before the convent a numerous tribe of pinks, gentians, and other Alpine plants, fanned and invigorated by the fresh mountain air."--_Italy, etc.,_ 1834, p. 229.
The "Prince's palace" (line 5) may be the royal palace at Cintra, "the Alhambra of the Moorish kings," or, possibly, the palace (_vide post_, stanza xxix. line 7) at Mafra, ten miles from Cintra.]
[bb] {37} _There too proud Vathek--England's wealthiest son_.--[MS. D.]
[50] [William Beckford, 1760 (?1759)-1844, published _Vathek_ in French in 1784, and in English in 1787. He spent two years (1794-96) in retirement at Quinta da Monserrate, three miles from Cintra. Byron thought highly of _Vathek_. "I do not know," he writes (_The Giaour_, l. 1328, note), "from what source the author ... may have drawn his materials ... but for correctness of costume ... and power of imagination, it surpasses all European imitations.... As an Eastern tale, even _Rasselas_ must bow before it; his happy valley will not bear a comparison with the 'Hall of Eblis.'" In the MS. there is an additional stanza reflecting on Beckford, which Dallas induced him to omit. It was afterwards included by Moore among the _Occasional Pieces_, under the title of _To Dives: a Fragment_ (_Poetical Works_, 1883, p. 548). (For Beckford, see _Letters_, 1898, i. 228, note 1; and with regard to the "Stanzas on Vathek," see letter to Dallas, September 26, 1811: _Letters_, 1898, ii. 47.)]
[bc] _When Wealth and Taste their worst and best have done_, _Meek Peace pollution's lure voluptuous still must shun_.--[MS.]
[bd] _But now thou blasted Beacon unto man_.--[MS.] ----_thou Beacon unto erring man_.--[MS. D.]
[be] {38} _Vain are the pleasaunces by art supplied_.--[MS. D.]
[bf] ----_yclad, and by_.--[MS. D.]
[bg] _Where blazoned glares a name spelt "Wellesley."_--[MS. D.]
[bh] ----_are on the roll_.--[MS. erased, D.]
[bi] The following stanzas, which appear in the MS., were excluded at the request of Dallas (see his letter of October 10, 1811, _Recollections of the Life of Lord Byron_, 1824, pp. 173-187), _Letters_, 1898, ii. 51:--
In golden characters right well designed First on the list appeareth one "Junot;" Then certain other glorious names we find, (Which Rhyme compelleth me to place below:) Dull victors! baffled by a vanquished foe, Wheedled by conynge tongues of laurels due, Stand, worthy of each other in a row-- Sirs Arthur, Harry, and the dizzard Hew Dalrymple, seely wight, sore dupe of t'other tew.
Convention is the dwarfy demon styled That failed the knights in Marialva's dome: Of brains (if brains they had) he them beguiled, And turned a nation's shallow joy to gloom. For well I wot, when first the news did come That Vimiera's field by Gaul was lost, For paragraph ne paper scarce had room, Such Pæans teemed for our triumphant host, In Courier, Chronicle, and eke in Morning Post.
But when Convention sent his handy work Pens, tongues, feet, hands combined in wild uproar; Mayor, Aldermen, laid down the uplifted fork; The Bench of Bishops half forgot to snore; Stern Cobbett,[§]--who for one whole week forbore To question aught, once more with transport leapt, And bit his devilish quill agen, and swore With foes such treaty never should be kept, While roared the blatant Beast,[§§] and roared, and raged, and--slept!!
Thus unto Heaven appealed the people: Heaven Which loves the lieges of our gracious King, Decreed that ere our Generals were forgiven, Enquiry should be held about the thing. But Mercy cloaked the babes beneath her wing; And as they spared our foes so spared we them; (Where was the pity of our Sires for Byng?)[§§§] Yet knaves, not idiots should the law condemn; Then live ye gallant Knights! and bless your Judges' phlegm!
[§] [Sir Hew Dalrymple's despatch on the so-called Convention of Cintra is dated September 3, and was published in the _London Gazette Extraordinary_, September 16, 1808. The question is not alluded to in the _Weekly Political Register_ of September 17, but on the 24th Cobbett opened fire with a long article (pp. 481-502) headed, "Conventions in Portugal," which was followed up by articles on the same subject in the four succeeding issues. Articles iii., iv., v., vi., of the "Definitive Convention" provided for the restoration of the French troops and their safe convoy to France, with their artillery, equipments, and cavalry. "Did the men," asks Cobbett (September 24), "who made this promise beat the Duke d'Abrantés [Junot], or were they like curs, who, having felt the bite of the mastiff, lose all confidence in their number, and, though they bark victory, suffer him to retire in quiet, carrying off his bone to be disposed of at his leisure? No, not so; for they complaisantly carry the bone for him." The rest of the article is written in a similar strain.]
[§§] "'Blatant beast.'[*] A figure for the mob. I think first used by Smollett, in his _Adventures of an Atom_.[**] Horace has the 'bellua multorum capitum.'[***] In England, fortunately enough, the illustrious mobility has not even one."--[MS.]
[*] [Spenser (_Faërie Queene_, bk. vi. cantos iii. 24; xii. 27, sq.) personifies the _vox populi_, with its thousand tongues, as the "blatant beast."]
[**][In _The History and Adventures of an Atom_ (Smollett's Works, 1872,