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The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Works of Lord
Byron. Vol. 3
This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and
most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms
of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at
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will have to check the laws of the country where you are located
before using this eBook.
Title: The Works of Lord Byron. Vol. 3
Author: Baron George Gordon Byron Byron
Editor: Ernest Hartley Coleridge
Release date: June 12, 2007 [eBook #21811]
Language: English
Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/21811
Credits: Produced by Jonathan Ingram, David Cortesi and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE WORKS OF
LORD BYRON. VOL. 3 ***
Byron. Vol. 3
This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and
most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms
of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at
www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you
will have to check the laws of the country where you are located
before using this eBook.
Title: The Works of Lord Byron. Vol. 3
Author: Baron George Gordon Byron Byron
Editor: Ernest Hartley Coleridge
Release date: June 12, 2007 [eBook #21811]
Language: English
Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/21811
Credits: Produced by Jonathan Ingram, David Cortesi and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE WORKS OF
LORD BYRON. VOL. 3 ***
Page 4
T h e Wo r k s
OF
LORD BYRON .
A NEW, REVISED AND ENLARGED EDITION,
WITH ILLUSTRATIONS.
P o e t r y. Vo l . I I I .
EDITED BY
ERNEST HARTLEY COLERIDGE, M.A.,
H O N . F. R . S . L .
LONDON:
J O H N M U R R AY, A L B E M A R L E S T R E E T.
NEW YORK: CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS.
1900.
OF
LORD BYRON .
A NEW, REVISED AND ENLARGED EDITION,
WITH ILLUSTRATIONS.
P o e t r y. Vo l . I I I .
EDITED BY
ERNEST HARTLEY COLERIDGE, M.A.,
H O N . F. R . S . L .
LONDON:
J O H N M U R R AY, A L B E M A R L E S T R E E T.
NEW YORK: CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS.
1900.
Page 5
TRANSCRIBER'S NOTES
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and ć (c with accent).
An important feature of this edition is its copious footnotes. Footnotes
are indicated by small raised keys in brackets; these are links to the
footnote's text. Footnotes indexed with arabic numbers (e.g. [17], [221]) are
informational. Any text in square brackets is the work of editor E. H.
Coleridge. Unbracketed note text is by Byron himself. Footnotes indexed
with letters (e.g. [c], [bf]) document variant forms of the text from
manuscripts and other sources.
In the original, footnotes were printed at the foot of the page on which
they were referenced, and their indices started over on each page. In this
etext, footnotes have been collected at the ends of each section, and have
been numbered consecutively throughout.
Navigation aids are provided as follows. Page numbers are displayed at
the right edge of the window. To jump directly to page nn, append
#Page_nn to the document URL. To jump directly to the text of footnote xx,
either search for [xx] or append #Footnote_xx to the document URL.
The source code for this HTML page contains only Latin-1 characters, but
it directs the browser to display some special characters. The original work
contained a few phrases or lines of Greek text. These are represented here
as Greek letters, for example Δεῦτε πῖδες, κ.τ.λ.. If the mouse is held still
over such phrases, a transliteration in Beta-code pops up. Aside from Greek
letters, the only unusual characters are ā (a with macron), ī (i with macron),
and ć (c with accent).
An important feature of this edition is its copious footnotes. Footnotes
are indicated by small raised keys in brackets; these are links to the
footnote's text. Footnotes indexed with arabic numbers (e.g. [17], [221]) are
informational. Any text in square brackets is the work of editor E. H.
Coleridge. Unbracketed note text is by Byron himself. Footnotes indexed
with letters (e.g. [c], [bf]) document variant forms of the text from
manuscripts and other sources.
In the original, footnotes were printed at the foot of the page on which
they were referenced, and their indices started over on each page. In this
etext, footnotes have been collected at the ends of each section, and have
been numbered consecutively throughout.
Navigation aids are provided as follows. Page numbers are displayed at
the right edge of the window. To jump directly to page nn, append
#Page_nn to the document URL. To jump directly to the text of footnote xx,
either search for [xx] or append #Footnote_xx to the document URL.
Page 6
Within the blocks of footnotes, numbers in braces such as {321}
represent the page number on which following notes originally appeared.
These numbers are also preserved as HTML anchors of the form Note_321.
To find notes originally printed on page nn, either search for the string {nn}
or append #Note_nn to the document URL.
represent the page number on which following notes originally appeared.
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Page 7
PREFACE TO THE THIRD VOLUME.
T he present volume contains the six metrical tales which were composed
within the years 1812 and 1815, the Hebrew Melodies, and the minor poems
of 1809-1816. With the exception of the first fifteen poems (1809-1811)—
Chansons de Voyage, as they might be called—the volume as a whole was
produced on English soil. Beginning with the Giaour; which followed in
the wake of Childe Harold and shared its triumph, and ending with the ill-
omened Domestic Pieces, or Poems of the Separation, the poems which
Byron wrote in his own country synchronize with his popularity as a poet
by the acclaim and suffrages of his own countrymen. His greatest work, by
which his lasting fame has been established, and by which his relative
merits as a great poet will be judged in the future, was yet to come; but the
work which made his name, which is stamped with his sign-manual, and
which has come to be regarded as distinctively and characteristically
Byronic, preceded maturity and achievement.
No poet of his own or other times, not Walter Scott, not Tennyson, not
Mr. Kipling, was ever in his own lifetime so widely, so amazingly popular.
Thousands of copies of the "Tales"—of the Bride of Abydos, of the Corsair,
of Lara—were sold in a day, and edition followed edition month in and
month out. Everywhere men talked about the "noble author"—in the
capitals of Europe, in literary circles in the United States, in the East Indies.
He was "the glass of fashion ... the observ'd of all observers," the swayer of
T he present volume contains the six metrical tales which were composed
within the years 1812 and 1815, the Hebrew Melodies, and the minor poems
of 1809-1816. With the exception of the first fifteen poems (1809-1811)—
Chansons de Voyage, as they might be called—the volume as a whole was
produced on English soil. Beginning with the Giaour; which followed in
the wake of Childe Harold and shared its triumph, and ending with the ill-
omened Domestic Pieces, or Poems of the Separation, the poems which
Byron wrote in his own country synchronize with his popularity as a poet
by the acclaim and suffrages of his own countrymen. His greatest work, by
which his lasting fame has been established, and by which his relative
merits as a great poet will be judged in the future, was yet to come; but the
work which made his name, which is stamped with his sign-manual, and
which has come to be regarded as distinctively and characteristically
Byronic, preceded maturity and achievement.
No poet of his own or other times, not Walter Scott, not Tennyson, not
Mr. Kipling, was ever in his own lifetime so widely, so amazingly popular.
Thousands of copies of the "Tales"—of the Bride of Abydos, of the Corsair,
of Lara—were sold in a day, and edition followed edition month in and
month out. Everywhere men talked about the "noble author"—in the
capitals of Europe, in literary circles in the United States, in the East Indies.
He was "the glass of fashion ... the observ'd of all observers," the swayer of
Page 8
sentiment, the master and creator of popular emotion. No other English poet
before or since has divided men's attention with generals and sea-captains
and statesmen, has attracted and fascinated and overcome the world so
entirely and potently as Lord Byron.
It was Childe Harold, the unfinished, immature Childe Harold, and the
Turkish and other "Tales," which raised this sudden and deafening storm of
applause when the century was young, and now, at its close (I refer, of
course, to the Tales, not to Byron's poetry as a whole, which, in spite of the
critics, has held and still holds its own), are ignored if not forgotten, passed
over if not despised—which but few know thoroughly, and "very few" are
found to admire or to love. Ubi lapsus, quid feci? might the questioning
spirit of the author exclaim with regard to his "Harrys and Larrys, Pilgrims
and Pirates," who once held the field, and now seem to have gone under in
the struggle for poetical existence!
To what, then, may we attribute the passing away of interest and
enthusiasm? To the caprice of fashion, to an insistence on a more faultless
technique, to a nicer taste in ethical sentiment, to a preference for a subtler
treatment of loftier themes? More certainly, and more particularly, I think,
to the blurring of outline and the blotting out of detail due to lapse of time
and the shifting of the intellectual standpoint.
However much the charm of novelty and the contagion of enthusiasm
may have contributed to the success of the Turkish and other Tales, it is in
the last degree improbable that our grandfathers and great-grandfathers
were enamoured, not of a reality, but of an illusion born of ignorance or of
vulgar bewilderment. They were carried away because they breathed the
same atmosphere as the singer; and being undistracted by ethical, or
grammatical, or metrical offences, they not only read these poems with
before or since has divided men's attention with generals and sea-captains
and statesmen, has attracted and fascinated and overcome the world so
entirely and potently as Lord Byron.
It was Childe Harold, the unfinished, immature Childe Harold, and the
Turkish and other "Tales," which raised this sudden and deafening storm of
applause when the century was young, and now, at its close (I refer, of
course, to the Tales, not to Byron's poetry as a whole, which, in spite of the
critics, has held and still holds its own), are ignored if not forgotten, passed
over if not despised—which but few know thoroughly, and "very few" are
found to admire or to love. Ubi lapsus, quid feci? might the questioning
spirit of the author exclaim with regard to his "Harrys and Larrys, Pilgrims
and Pirates," who once held the field, and now seem to have gone under in
the struggle for poetical existence!
To what, then, may we attribute the passing away of interest and
enthusiasm? To the caprice of fashion, to an insistence on a more faultless
technique, to a nicer taste in ethical sentiment, to a preference for a subtler
treatment of loftier themes? More certainly, and more particularly, I think,
to the blurring of outline and the blotting out of detail due to lapse of time
and the shifting of the intellectual standpoint.
However much the charm of novelty and the contagion of enthusiasm
may have contributed to the success of the Turkish and other Tales, it is in
the last degree improbable that our grandfathers and great-grandfathers
were enamoured, not of a reality, but of an illusion born of ignorance or of
vulgar bewilderment. They were carried away because they breathed the
same atmosphere as the singer; and being undistracted by ethical, or
grammatical, or metrical offences, they not only read these poems with
Page 9
avidity, but understood enough of what they read to be touched by their
vitality, to realize their verisimilitude.
Tout comprendre c'est tout pardonner. Nay, more, the knowledge, the
comprehension of essential greatness in art, in nature, or in man is not to
know that there is aught to forgive. But that sufficing knowledge which the
reader of average intelligence brings with him for the comprehension and
appreciation of contemporary literature has to be bought at the price of
close attention and patient study when the subject-matter of a poem and the
modes and movements of the poet's consciousness are alike unfamiliar.
Criticism, however subtle, however suggestive, however luminous, will
not bridge over the gap between the past and the present, will not supply the
sufficing knowledge. It is delightful and interesting and, in a measure,
instructive to know what great poets of his own time and of ours have
thought of Byron, how he "strikes" them; but unless we are ourselves
saturated with his thought and style, unless we learn to breathe his
atmosphere by reading the books which he read, picturing to ourselves the
scenes which he saw,—unless we aspire to his ideals and suffer his
limitations, we are in no way entitled to judge his poems, whether they be
good or bad.
Byron's metrical "Tales" come before us in the guise of light reading,
and may be "easily criticized" as melo-dramatic—the heroines conventional
puppets, the heroes reduplicated reflections of the author's personality, the
Oriental "properties" loosely arranged, and somewhat stage-worn. A
thorough and sympathetic study of these once extravagantly lauded and
now belittled poems will not, perhaps, reverse the deliberate judgment of
later generations, but it will display them for what they are, bold and rapid
and yet exact presentations of the "gorgeous East," vivid and fresh from the
vitality, to realize their verisimilitude.
Tout comprendre c'est tout pardonner. Nay, more, the knowledge, the
comprehension of essential greatness in art, in nature, or in man is not to
know that there is aught to forgive. But that sufficing knowledge which the
reader of average intelligence brings with him for the comprehension and
appreciation of contemporary literature has to be bought at the price of
close attention and patient study when the subject-matter of a poem and the
modes and movements of the poet's consciousness are alike unfamiliar.
Criticism, however subtle, however suggestive, however luminous, will
not bridge over the gap between the past and the present, will not supply the
sufficing knowledge. It is delightful and interesting and, in a measure,
instructive to know what great poets of his own time and of ours have
thought of Byron, how he "strikes" them; but unless we are ourselves
saturated with his thought and style, unless we learn to breathe his
atmosphere by reading the books which he read, picturing to ourselves the
scenes which he saw,—unless we aspire to his ideals and suffer his
limitations, we are in no way entitled to judge his poems, whether they be
good or bad.
Byron's metrical "Tales" come before us in the guise of light reading,
and may be "easily criticized" as melo-dramatic—the heroines conventional
puppets, the heroes reduplicated reflections of the author's personality, the
Oriental "properties" loosely arranged, and somewhat stage-worn. A
thorough and sympathetic study of these once extravagantly lauded and
now belittled poems will not, perhaps, reverse the deliberate judgment of
later generations, but it will display them for what they are, bold and rapid
and yet exact presentations of the "gorgeous East," vivid and fresh from the
Page 10
hand of the great artist who conceived them out of the abundance of
memory and observation, and wrought them into shape with the "pen of a
ready writer." They will be once more recognized as works of genius, an
integral portion of our literary inheritance, which has its proper value, and
will repay a more assiduous and a finer husbandry.
I have once more to acknowledge the generous assistance of the officials
of the British Museum, and, more especially, of Mr. A. G. Ellis, of the
Oriental Printed Books and MSS. Department, who has afforded me
invaluable instruction in the compilation of the notes to the Giaour and
Bride of Abydos.
I have also to thank Mr. R. L. Binyon, of the Department of Prints and
Drawings, for advice and assistance in the selection of illustrations.
I desire to express my cordial thanks to the Registrar of the Copyright
Office, Stationers' Hall; to Professor Jannaris, of the University of St.
Andrews; to Miss E. Dawes, M.A., D.L., of Heathfield Lodge, Weybridge;
to my cousin, Miss Edith Coleridge, of Goodrest, Torquay; and to my
friend, Mr. Frank E. Taylor, of Chertsey, for information kindly supplied
during the progress of the work.
For many of the "parallel passages" from the works of other poets, which
are to be found in the notes, I am indebted to a series of articles by A. A.
Watts, in the Literary Gazette, February and March, 1821; and to the notes
to the late Professor E. Kolbing's Siege of Corinth.
On behalf of the publisher, I beg to acknowledge the kindness of Lord
Glenesk, and of Sir Theodore Martin, K.C.B., who have permitted the
examination and collation of MSS. of the Siege of Corinth and of the
"Thyrza" poems, in their possession.
memory and observation, and wrought them into shape with the "pen of a
ready writer." They will be once more recognized as works of genius, an
integral portion of our literary inheritance, which has its proper value, and
will repay a more assiduous and a finer husbandry.
I have once more to acknowledge the generous assistance of the officials
of the British Museum, and, more especially, of Mr. A. G. Ellis, of the
Oriental Printed Books and MSS. Department, who has afforded me
invaluable instruction in the compilation of the notes to the Giaour and
Bride of Abydos.
I have also to thank Mr. R. L. Binyon, of the Department of Prints and
Drawings, for advice and assistance in the selection of illustrations.
I desire to express my cordial thanks to the Registrar of the Copyright
Office, Stationers' Hall; to Professor Jannaris, of the University of St.
Andrews; to Miss E. Dawes, M.A., D.L., of Heathfield Lodge, Weybridge;
to my cousin, Miss Edith Coleridge, of Goodrest, Torquay; and to my
friend, Mr. Frank E. Taylor, of Chertsey, for information kindly supplied
during the progress of the work.
For many of the "parallel passages" from the works of other poets, which
are to be found in the notes, I am indebted to a series of articles by A. A.
Watts, in the Literary Gazette, February and March, 1821; and to the notes
to the late Professor E. Kolbing's Siege of Corinth.
On behalf of the publisher, I beg to acknowledge the kindness of Lord
Glenesk, and of Sir Theodore Martin, K.C.B., who have permitted the
examination and collation of MSS. of the Siege of Corinth and of the
"Thyrza" poems, in their possession.
Page 11
The original of the miniature of H.R.H. the Princess Charlotte of Wales
(see p. 44) is in the Library of Windsor Castle. It has been reproduced for
this volume by the gracious permission of Her Majesty the Queen.
ERNEST HARTLEY COLERIDGE.
April 18, 1900.
(see p. 44) is in the Library of Windsor Castle. It has been reproduced for
this volume by the gracious permission of Her Majesty the Queen.
ERNEST HARTLEY COLERIDGE.
April 18, 1900.
Page 12
CONTENTS OF VOL. III.
Preface to Vol. III. of the Poems v
Introduction to Occasional Pieces (Poems 1809-1813;
Poems 1814-1816) xix
P oems 1809-1813.
The Girl of Cadiz. First published in Works of Lord
Byron, 1832, viii. 56 1
Lines written in an Album, at Malta. First published,
Childe Harold, 1812 (4to) 4
To Florence. First published, Childe Harold, 1812
(4to) 5
Stanzas composed during a Thunderstorm. First
published, Childe Harold, 1812 (4to) 7
Stanzas written in passing the Ambracian Gulf. First
published, Childe Harold, 1812 (4to) 11
The Spell is broke, the Charm is flown! First
published, Childe Harold, 1812 (4to) 12
Written after swimming from Sestos to Abydos. First
published, Childe Harold, 1812 (4to) 13
Lines in the Travellers' Book at Orchomenus. First
published, Travels in Italy, Greece, etc., by H. W.
Williams, 1820, ii. 290 15
Maid of Athens, ere we part. First published, Childe
Harold, 1812 (4to) 15
Preface to Vol. III. of the Poems v
Introduction to Occasional Pieces (Poems 1809-1813;
Poems 1814-1816) xix
P oems 1809-1813.
The Girl of Cadiz. First published in Works of Lord
Byron, 1832, viii. 56 1
Lines written in an Album, at Malta. First published,
Childe Harold, 1812 (4to) 4
To Florence. First published, Childe Harold, 1812
(4to) 5
Stanzas composed during a Thunderstorm. First
published, Childe Harold, 1812 (4to) 7
Stanzas written in passing the Ambracian Gulf. First
published, Childe Harold, 1812 (4to) 11
The Spell is broke, the Charm is flown! First
published, Childe Harold, 1812 (4to) 12
Written after swimming from Sestos to Abydos. First
published, Childe Harold, 1812 (4to) 13
Lines in the Travellers' Book at Orchomenus. First
published, Travels in Italy, Greece, etc., by H. W.
Williams, 1820, ii. 290 15
Maid of Athens, ere we part. First published, Childe
Harold, 1812 (4to) 15
Page 13
Fragment from the "Monk of Athos." First published,
Life of Lord Byron, by the Hon. Roden Noel,
1890, pp. 206, 207 18
Lines written beneath a Picture. First published, Childe
Harold, 1812 (4to) 19
Translation of the famous Greek War Song, Δεῦτε
πῖδες, κ.τ.λ. First published, Childe Harold, 1812
(4to) 20
Translation of the Romaic Song, Μνέπω μεσ' τὸ
περιβόλι, κ.τ.λ. First published, Childe Harold,
1812 (4to) 22
On Parting. First published, Childe Harold, 1812 (4to) 23
Farewell to Malta. First published, Poems on his
Domestic Circumstances, by W. Hone (Sixth
Edition, 1816) 24
Newstead Abbey. First published, Memoir of Rev. F.
Hodgson, 1878, i. 187 27
Epistle to a Friend, in answer to some Lines exhorting
the Author to be Cheerful, and to "banish Care."
First published, Letters and Journals, 1830, i. 301 28
To Thyrza ["Without a stone," etc.]. First published,
Childe Harold, 1812 (4to) 30
Stanzas ["Away, away," etc.]. First published, Childe
Harold, 1812 (4to) 35
Stanzas ["One struggle more," etc.]. First published,
Childe Harold, 1812 (4to) 36
Euthanasia. First published, Childe Harold, 1812
(Second Edition) 39
Stanzas ["And thou art dead," etc.]. First published,
Childe Harold, 1812 (Second Edition) 41
Life of Lord Byron, by the Hon. Roden Noel,
1890, pp. 206, 207 18
Lines written beneath a Picture. First published, Childe
Harold, 1812 (4to) 19
Translation of the famous Greek War Song, Δεῦτε
πῖδες, κ.τ.λ. First published, Childe Harold, 1812
(4to) 20
Translation of the Romaic Song, Μνέπω μεσ' τὸ
περιβόλι, κ.τ.λ. First published, Childe Harold,
1812 (4to) 22
On Parting. First published, Childe Harold, 1812 (4to) 23
Farewell to Malta. First published, Poems on his
Domestic Circumstances, by W. Hone (Sixth
Edition, 1816) 24
Newstead Abbey. First published, Memoir of Rev. F.
Hodgson, 1878, i. 187 27
Epistle to a Friend, in answer to some Lines exhorting
the Author to be Cheerful, and to "banish Care."
First published, Letters and Journals, 1830, i. 301 28
To Thyrza ["Without a stone," etc.]. First published,
Childe Harold, 1812 (4to) 30
Stanzas ["Away, away," etc.]. First published, Childe
Harold, 1812 (4to) 35
Stanzas ["One struggle more," etc.]. First published,
Childe Harold, 1812 (4to) 36
Euthanasia. First published, Childe Harold, 1812
(Second Edition) 39
Stanzas ["And thou art dead," etc.]. First published,
Childe Harold, 1812 (Second Edition) 41
Page 14
Lines to a Lady weeping. First published, Morning
Chronicle, March 7, 1812 45
Stanzas ["If sometimes," etc.]. First published, Childe
Harold, 1812 (Second Edition) 46
On a Cornelian Heart which was broken. First
published, Childe Harold, 1812 (Second Edition) 48
The Chain I gave was Fair to view. From the Turkish.
First published, Corsair, 1814 (Second Edition) 49
Lines written on a Blank Leaf of The Pleasures of
Memory. First published, Poems, 1816 50
Address, spoken at the Opening of Drury-Lane
Theatre, Saturday, October 10, 1812. First
published, Morning Chronicle, October 12, 1812 51
Parenthetical Address. By Dr. Plagiary. First published,
Morning Chronicle, October 23, 1812 55
Verses found in a Summer-house at Hales-Owen. First
published, Works of Lord Byron, 1832, xvii. 244 59
Remember thee! Remember thee! First published,
Conversations of Lord Byron, 1824, p. 330 59
To Time. First published, Childe Harold, 1814
(Seventh Edition) 60
Translation of a Romaic Love Song. First published,
Childe Harold, 1814 (Seventh Edition) 62
Stanzas ["Thou art not false," etc.]. First published,
Childe Harold, 1814 (Seventh Edition) 64
On being asked what was the "Origin of Love." First
published, Childe Harold, 1814 (Seventh Edition) 65
On the Quotation, "And my true faith," etc. MS. M. 65
Stanzas ["Remember him," etc.]. First published,
Childe Harold, 1814 (Seventh Edition) 69
Chronicle, March 7, 1812 45
Stanzas ["If sometimes," etc.]. First published, Childe
Harold, 1812 (Second Edition) 46
On a Cornelian Heart which was broken. First
published, Childe Harold, 1812 (Second Edition) 48
The Chain I gave was Fair to view. From the Turkish.
First published, Corsair, 1814 (Second Edition) 49
Lines written on a Blank Leaf of The Pleasures of
Memory. First published, Poems, 1816 50
Address, spoken at the Opening of Drury-Lane
Theatre, Saturday, October 10, 1812. First
published, Morning Chronicle, October 12, 1812 51
Parenthetical Address. By Dr. Plagiary. First published,
Morning Chronicle, October 23, 1812 55
Verses found in a Summer-house at Hales-Owen. First
published, Works of Lord Byron, 1832, xvii. 244 59
Remember thee! Remember thee! First published,
Conversations of Lord Byron, 1824, p. 330 59
To Time. First published, Childe Harold, 1814
(Seventh Edition) 60
Translation of a Romaic Love Song. First published,
Childe Harold, 1814 (Seventh Edition) 62
Stanzas ["Thou art not false," etc.]. First published,
Childe Harold, 1814 (Seventh Edition) 64
On being asked what was the "Origin of Love." First
published, Childe Harold, 1814 (Seventh Edition) 65
On the Quotation, "And my true faith," etc. MS. M. 65
Stanzas ["Remember him," etc.]. First published,
Childe Harold, 1814 (Seventh Edition) 69
Page 15
Impromptu, in Reply to a Friend. First published,
Childe Harold, 1814 (Seventh Edition) 67
Sonnet. To Genevra ["Thine eyes' blue tenderness,"
etc.]. First published, Corsair, 1814 (Second
Edition) 70
Sonnet. To Genevra ["Thy cheek is pale with thought,"
etc.]. First published, Corsair, 1814 (Second
Edition) 71
From the Portuguese ["Tu mi chamas"]. First
published, Childe Harold, 1814 (Seventh
Edition). "Another Version." First published,
1831 71
T he G iaour : A F ragment of a T urkish T ale .
Introduction to The Giaour 75
Bibliographical Note on The Giaour 78
Dedication 81
Advertisement 83
The Giaour 85
T he B ride of A bydos . A T urkish T ale .
Introduction to The Bride of Abydos 149
Note to the MSS. of The Bride of Abydos 151
Dedication 155
The Bride of Abydos. Canto the First 157
Canto the Second 178
Note to The Bride of Abydos 211
T he C orsair : A T ale .
Introduction to The Corsair 217
Bibliographical Note on The Corsair 220
Childe Harold, 1814 (Seventh Edition) 67
Sonnet. To Genevra ["Thine eyes' blue tenderness,"
etc.]. First published, Corsair, 1814 (Second
Edition) 70
Sonnet. To Genevra ["Thy cheek is pale with thought,"
etc.]. First published, Corsair, 1814 (Second
Edition) 71
From the Portuguese ["Tu mi chamas"]. First
published, Childe Harold, 1814 (Seventh
Edition). "Another Version." First published,
1831 71
T he G iaour : A F ragment of a T urkish T ale .
Introduction to The Giaour 75
Bibliographical Note on The Giaour 78
Dedication 81
Advertisement 83
The Giaour 85
T he B ride of A bydos . A T urkish T ale .
Introduction to The Bride of Abydos 149
Note to the MSS. of The Bride of Abydos 151
Dedication 155
The Bride of Abydos. Canto the First 157
Canto the Second 178
Note to The Bride of Abydos 211
T he C orsair : A T ale .
Introduction to The Corsair 217
Bibliographical Note on The Corsair 220
Page 16
Dedication 223
The Corsair. Canto the First 227
Canto the Second 249
Canto the Third 270
Introduction to the Ode to Napoleon Buonaparte 303
Ode to Napoleon Buonaparte 305
L ara : A T ale .
Introduction to Lara 319
Lara. Canto the First 323
Canto the Second 348
H ebrew M elodies .
Introduction to the Hebrew Melodies 375
Advertisement 379
She walks in Beauty 381
The Harp the Monarch Minstrel swept 382
If that High World 383
The Wild Gazelle 384
Oh! weep for those 385
On Jordan's Banks 386
Jephtha's Daughter 387
Oh! snatched away in Beauty's Bloom 388
My Soul is Dark 389
I saw thee weep 390
Thy Days are done 391
Saul 392
Song of Saul before his Last Battle 393
"All is Vanity, saith the Preacher" 394
The Corsair. Canto the First 227
Canto the Second 249
Canto the Third 270
Introduction to the Ode to Napoleon Buonaparte 303
Ode to Napoleon Buonaparte 305
L ara : A T ale .
Introduction to Lara 319
Lara. Canto the First 323
Canto the Second 348
H ebrew M elodies .
Introduction to the Hebrew Melodies 375
Advertisement 379
She walks in Beauty 381
The Harp the Monarch Minstrel swept 382
If that High World 383
The Wild Gazelle 384
Oh! weep for those 385
On Jordan's Banks 386
Jephtha's Daughter 387
Oh! snatched away in Beauty's Bloom 388
My Soul is Dark 389
I saw thee weep 390
Thy Days are done 391
Saul 392
Song of Saul before his Last Battle 393
"All is Vanity, saith the Preacher" 394
Page 17
When Coldness wraps this Suffering Clay 395
Vision of Belshazzar 397
Sun of the Sleepless! 399
Were my Bosom as False as thou deem'st it to be 399
Herod's Lament for Mariamne 400
On the Day of the Destruction of Jerusalem by Titus 401
By the Rivers of Babylon we sat down and wept 402
"By the Waters of Babylon" 404
The Destruction of Sennacherib 404
A Spirit passed before me 406
P oems 1814-1816.
Farewell! if ever Fondest Prayer. First published,
Corsair (Second Edition, 1814) 409
When we Two parted. First published, Poems, 1816 410
[Love and Gold.] MS. M. 411
Stanzas for Music ["I speak not, I trace not," etc.].
First published, Fugitive Pieces, 1829 413
Address intended to be recited at the Caledonian
Meeting. First published, Letters and Journals,
1830, i. 559 415
Elegiac Stanzas on the Death of Sir Peter Parker, Bart.
First published, Morning Chronicle, October 7,
1814 417
Julian [a Fragment]. MS. M. 419
To Belshazzar. First published, 1831 421
Stanzas for Music ["There's not a joy," etc.]. First
published, Poems, 1816 423
On the Death of the Duke of Dorset. MS. M 425
Vision of Belshazzar 397
Sun of the Sleepless! 399
Were my Bosom as False as thou deem'st it to be 399
Herod's Lament for Mariamne 400
On the Day of the Destruction of Jerusalem by Titus 401
By the Rivers of Babylon we sat down and wept 402
"By the Waters of Babylon" 404
The Destruction of Sennacherib 404
A Spirit passed before me 406
P oems 1814-1816.
Farewell! if ever Fondest Prayer. First published,
Corsair (Second Edition, 1814) 409
When we Two parted. First published, Poems, 1816 410
[Love and Gold.] MS. M. 411
Stanzas for Music ["I speak not, I trace not," etc.].
First published, Fugitive Pieces, 1829 413
Address intended to be recited at the Caledonian
Meeting. First published, Letters and Journals,
1830, i. 559 415
Elegiac Stanzas on the Death of Sir Peter Parker, Bart.
First published, Morning Chronicle, October 7,
1814 417
Julian [a Fragment]. MS. M. 419
To Belshazzar. First published, 1831 421
Stanzas for Music ["There's not a joy," etc.]. First
published, Poems, 1816 423
On the Death of the Duke of Dorset. MS. M 425
Page 18
Stanzas for Music ["Bright be the place of thy soul"].
First published, Examiner, June 4, 1815 426
Napoleon's Farewell. First published, Examiner, July
30, 1815 427
From the French ["Must thou go, my glorious
Chief?"]. First published, Poems, 1816 428
Ode from the French ["We do not curse thee,
Waterloo!"]. First published, Morning Chronicle,
March 15, 1816 431
Stanzas for Music ["There be none of Beauty's
daughters"]. First published, Poems, 1816 435
On the Star of "the Legion of Honour." First published,
Examiner, April 7, 1816 436
Stanzas for Music ["They say that Hope is
happiness"]. First published, Fugitive Pieces,
1829 438
T he S iege of C orinth .
Introduction to The Siege of Corinth 441
Dedication 445
Advertisement 447
Note on the MS. of The Siege of Corinth 448
The Siege of Corinth 449
P arisina .
Introduction to Parisina 499
Dedication 501
Advertisement 503
Parisina 505
P oems of the S eparation .
First published, Examiner, June 4, 1815 426
Napoleon's Farewell. First published, Examiner, July
30, 1815 427
From the French ["Must thou go, my glorious
Chief?"]. First published, Poems, 1816 428
Ode from the French ["We do not curse thee,
Waterloo!"]. First published, Morning Chronicle,
March 15, 1816 431
Stanzas for Music ["There be none of Beauty's
daughters"]. First published, Poems, 1816 435
On the Star of "the Legion of Honour." First published,
Examiner, April 7, 1816 436
Stanzas for Music ["They say that Hope is
happiness"]. First published, Fugitive Pieces,
1829 438
T he S iege of C orinth .
Introduction to The Siege of Corinth 441
Dedication 445
Advertisement 447
Note on the MS. of The Siege of Corinth 448
The Siege of Corinth 449
P arisina .
Introduction to Parisina 499
Dedication 501
Advertisement 503
Parisina 505
P oems of the S eparation .
Page 19
Introduction to Poems of the Separation 531
Fare Thee Well 537
A Sketch 540
Stanzas to Augusta 544
Fare Thee Well 537
A Sketch 540
Stanzas to Augusta 544
Page 20
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
1. L ord B yron in A lbanian D ress , from a
P ortrait in O ils by T. P hillips , R.A., in the
P ossession of M r . J ohn M urray Frontispiece
2. H.R.H. the P rincess C harlotte of W ales ,
from the M iniature in the P ossession of
H.M. the Q ueen , at W indsor C astle to face p. 44
3. L ady W ilmot H orton , from a S ketch by S ir
T homas L awrence 380
4. T emple of Z eus N emeus , from a D rawing by
W illiam P ars , A.R.A., in the B ritish
M useum 470
5. S amuel T aylor C oleridge , from a P ortrait in
O ils by T. P hillips , R.A., in the P ossession
of M r . J ohn M urray 472
6. T he H on . M rs . L eigh , from a S ketch by S ir
G eorge H ayter , in the B ritish M useum 544
1. L ord B yron in A lbanian D ress , from a
P ortrait in O ils by T. P hillips , R.A., in the
P ossession of M r . J ohn M urray Frontispiece
2. H.R.H. the P rincess C harlotte of W ales ,
from the M iniature in the P ossession of
H.M. the Q ueen , at W indsor C astle to face p. 44
3. L ady W ilmot H orton , from a S ketch by S ir
T homas L awrence 380
4. T emple of Z eus N emeus , from a D rawing by
W illiam P ars , A.R.A., in the B ritish
M useum 470
5. S amuel T aylor C oleridge , from a P ortrait in
O ils by T. P hillips , R.A., in the P ossession
of M r . J ohn M urray 472
6. T he H on . M rs . L eigh , from a S ketch by S ir
G eorge H ayter , in the B ritish M useum 544
Page 21
INTRODUCTION TO THE OCCASIONAL
PIECES
(POEMS 1809-1813; POEMS 1814-1816).
T he Poems afterwards entitled "Occasional Pieces," which were included in
the several editions of the Collected Works issued by Murray, 1819-1831,
numbered fifty-seven in all. They may be described as the aggregate of the
shorter poems written between the years 1809-1818, which the author
thought worthy of a permanent place among his poetical works. Of these
the first twenty-nine appeared in successive editions of Childe Harold
(Cantos I., II.) «viz. fourteen in the first edition, twenty in the second, and
twenty-nine in the seventh edition», while the thirtieth, the Ode on the
Death of Sir Peter Parker, was originally attached to Hebrew Melodies. The
remaining twenty-seven pieces consist of six poems first published in the
Second Edition of the Corsair, 1814; eleven which formed the collection
entitled "Poems," 1816; six which were appended to the Prisoner of
Chillon, December, 1816; the Very Mournful Ballad, and the Sonnet by
Vittorelli, which accompanied the Fourth Canto of Childe Harold, 1818; the
Sketch, first included by Murray in his edition of 1819; and the Ode to
Venice, which appeared in the same volume as Mazeppa.
PIECES
(POEMS 1809-1813; POEMS 1814-1816).
T he Poems afterwards entitled "Occasional Pieces," which were included in
the several editions of the Collected Works issued by Murray, 1819-1831,
numbered fifty-seven in all. They may be described as the aggregate of the
shorter poems written between the years 1809-1818, which the author
thought worthy of a permanent place among his poetical works. Of these
the first twenty-nine appeared in successive editions of Childe Harold
(Cantos I., II.) «viz. fourteen in the first edition, twenty in the second, and
twenty-nine in the seventh edition», while the thirtieth, the Ode on the
Death of Sir Peter Parker, was originally attached to Hebrew Melodies. The
remaining twenty-seven pieces consist of six poems first published in the
Second Edition of the Corsair, 1814; eleven which formed the collection
entitled "Poems," 1816; six which were appended to the Prisoner of
Chillon, December, 1816; the Very Mournful Ballad, and the Sonnet by
Vittorelli, which accompanied the Fourth Canto of Childe Harold, 1818; the
Sketch, first included by Murray in his edition of 1819; and the Ode to
Venice, which appeared in the same volume as Mazeppa.
Page 22
Thus matters stood till 1831, when seventy new poems (sixty had been
published by Moore, in Letters and Journals, 1830, six were republished
from Hobhouse's Imitations and Translations, 1809, and four derived from
other sources) were included in a sixth volume of the Collected Works.
In the edition of 1832-35, twenty-four new poems were added, but four
which had appeared in Letters and Journals, 1830, and in the sixth volume
of the edition of 1831 were omitted. In the one-volume edition (first issued
in 1837 and still in print), the four short pieces omitted in 1832 once more
found a place, and the lines on "John Keats," first published in Letters and
Journals, and the two stanzas to Lady Caroline Lamb, "Remember thee!
remember thee," first printed by Medwin, in the Conversations of Lord
Byron, 1824, were included in the Collection.
The third volume of the present issue includes all minor poems (with the
exception of epigrams and jeux d'esprit reserved for the sixth volume)
written after Byron's departure for the East in July, 1809, and before he left
England for good in April, 1816.
The "Separation" and its consequent exile afforded a pretext and an
opportunity for the publication of a crop of spurious verses. Of these
Madame Lavalette (first published in the Examiner, January 21, 1816,
under the signature B.B., and immediately preceding a genuine sonnet by
Wordsworth, "How clear, how keen, how marvellously bright!") and Oh
Shame to thee, Land of the Gaul! included by Hone, in Poems on his
Domestic Circumstances, 1816; and Farewell to England, Ode to the Isle of
St. Helena, To the Lily of France, On the Morning of my Daughter's Birth,
published by J. Johnston, 1816, were repudiated by Byron, in a letter to
Murray, dated July 22, 1816. A longer poem entitled The Tempest, which
was attached to the spurious Pilgrimage to the Holy Land, published by
published by Moore, in Letters and Journals, 1830, six were republished
from Hobhouse's Imitations and Translations, 1809, and four derived from
other sources) were included in a sixth volume of the Collected Works.
In the edition of 1832-35, twenty-four new poems were added, but four
which had appeared in Letters and Journals, 1830, and in the sixth volume
of the edition of 1831 were omitted. In the one-volume edition (first issued
in 1837 and still in print), the four short pieces omitted in 1832 once more
found a place, and the lines on "John Keats," first published in Letters and
Journals, and the two stanzas to Lady Caroline Lamb, "Remember thee!
remember thee," first printed by Medwin, in the Conversations of Lord
Byron, 1824, were included in the Collection.
The third volume of the present issue includes all minor poems (with the
exception of epigrams and jeux d'esprit reserved for the sixth volume)
written after Byron's departure for the East in July, 1809, and before he left
England for good in April, 1816.
The "Separation" and its consequent exile afforded a pretext and an
opportunity for the publication of a crop of spurious verses. Of these
Madame Lavalette (first published in the Examiner, January 21, 1816,
under the signature B.B., and immediately preceding a genuine sonnet by
Wordsworth, "How clear, how keen, how marvellously bright!") and Oh
Shame to thee, Land of the Gaul! included by Hone, in Poems on his
Domestic Circumstances, 1816; and Farewell to England, Ode to the Isle of
St. Helena, To the Lily of France, On the Morning of my Daughter's Birth,
published by J. Johnston, 1816, were repudiated by Byron, in a letter to
Murray, dated July 22, 1816. A longer poem entitled The Tempest, which
was attached to the spurious Pilgrimage to the Holy Land, published by
Page 23
Johnston, "the Cheapside impostor," in 1817, was also denounced by Byron
as a forgery in a letter to Murray, dated December 16, 1816.
The Triumph of the Whale, by Charles Lamb, and the Enigma on the
Letter H, by Harriet Fanshawe, were often included in piratical editions of
Byron's Poetical Works. Other attributed poems which found their way into
newspapers and foreign editions, viz. (i.) To my dear Mary Anne, 1804,
"Adieu to sweet Mary for ever;" and (ii.) To Miss Chaworth, "Oh, memory,
torture me no more," 1804, published in Works of Lord Byron, Paris, 1828;
(iii.) lines written In the Bible, "Within this awful volume lies," quoted in
Life, Writings, Opinions, etc., 1825, iii. 414; (iv.) lines addressed to (?)
George Anson Byron, "And dost thou ask the reason of my sadness?"
Nicnac, March 29, 1823; (v.) To Lady Caroline Lamb, "And sayst thou that
I have not felt," published in Works, etc., 1828; (vi.) lines To her who can
best understand them, "Be it so, we part for ever," published in the Works of
Lord Byron, In Verse and Prose, Hartford, 1847; (vii.) Lines found in the
Travellers' Book at Chamouni, "How many numbered are, how few
agreed!" published Works, etc., 1828; and (viii.) a second copy of verses
with the same title, "All hail, Mont Blanc! Mont-au-Vert, hail!" Life,
Writings, etc., 1825, ii. 384; (ix.) Lines addressed by Lord Byron to Mr.
Hobhouse on his Election for Westminster, "Would you get to the house by
the true gate?" Works, etc., 1828; and (x.) Enigma on the Letter I, "I am not
in youth, nor in manhood, nor age," Works, etc., Paris, p. 720, together with
sundry epigrams, must, failing the production of the original MSS., be
accounted forgeries, or, perhaps, in one or two instances, of doubtful
authenticity.
The following poems: On the Quotation, "And my true faith" etc.; [Love
and Gold]; Julian [a Fragment]; and On the Death of the Duke of Dorset,
as a forgery in a letter to Murray, dated December 16, 1816.
The Triumph of the Whale, by Charles Lamb, and the Enigma on the
Letter H, by Harriet Fanshawe, were often included in piratical editions of
Byron's Poetical Works. Other attributed poems which found their way into
newspapers and foreign editions, viz. (i.) To my dear Mary Anne, 1804,
"Adieu to sweet Mary for ever;" and (ii.) To Miss Chaworth, "Oh, memory,
torture me no more," 1804, published in Works of Lord Byron, Paris, 1828;
(iii.) lines written In the Bible, "Within this awful volume lies," quoted in
Life, Writings, Opinions, etc., 1825, iii. 414; (iv.) lines addressed to (?)
George Anson Byron, "And dost thou ask the reason of my sadness?"
Nicnac, March 29, 1823; (v.) To Lady Caroline Lamb, "And sayst thou that
I have not felt," published in Works, etc., 1828; (vi.) lines To her who can
best understand them, "Be it so, we part for ever," published in the Works of
Lord Byron, In Verse and Prose, Hartford, 1847; (vii.) Lines found in the
Travellers' Book at Chamouni, "How many numbered are, how few
agreed!" published Works, etc., 1828; and (viii.) a second copy of verses
with the same title, "All hail, Mont Blanc! Mont-au-Vert, hail!" Life,
Writings, etc., 1825, ii. 384; (ix.) Lines addressed by Lord Byron to Mr.
Hobhouse on his Election for Westminster, "Would you get to the house by
the true gate?" Works, etc., 1828; and (x.) Enigma on the Letter I, "I am not
in youth, nor in manhood, nor age," Works, etc., Paris, p. 720, together with
sundry epigrams, must, failing the production of the original MSS., be
accounted forgeries, or, perhaps, in one or two instances, of doubtful
authenticity.
The following poems: On the Quotation, "And my true faith" etc.; [Love
and Gold]; Julian [a Fragment]; and On the Death of the Duke of Dorset,
Page 24
are now published for the first time from MSS. in the possession of Mr.
John Murray.
John Murray.
Page 25
POEMS 1809-1813.
THE GIRL OF CADIZ. [1]
1.
never talk again to me
Of northern climes and British ladies;
as not been your lot to see,[a]
ike me, the lovely Girl of Cadiz.
hough her eye be not of blue,
Nor fair her locks, like English lasses,
w far its own expressive hue
he languid azure eye surpasses!
2.
metheus-like from heaven she stole
he fire that through those silken lashes
arkest glances seems to roll,
rom eyes that cannot hide their flashes:
d as along her bosom steal
n lengthened flow her raven tresses,
'd swear each clustering lock could feel,
And curled to give her neck caresses.
THE GIRL OF CADIZ. [1]
1.
never talk again to me
Of northern climes and British ladies;
as not been your lot to see,[a]
ike me, the lovely Girl of Cadiz.
hough her eye be not of blue,
Nor fair her locks, like English lasses,
w far its own expressive hue
he languid azure eye surpasses!
2.
metheus-like from heaven she stole
he fire that through those silken lashes
arkest glances seems to roll,
rom eyes that cannot hide their flashes:
d as along her bosom steal
n lengthened flow her raven tresses,
'd swear each clustering lock could feel,
And curled to give her neck caresses.
Page 26
3.
English maids are long to woo,[b][2]
And frigid even in possession;
d if their charms be fair to view,
heir lips are slow at Love's confession;
born beneath a brighter sun,
or love ordained the Spanish maid is,
d who,—when fondly, fairly won,—
nchants you like the Girl of Cadiz?
4.
Spanish maid is no coquette,
Nor joys to see a lover tremble,
d if she love, or if she hate,
Alike she knows not to dissemble.
heart can ne'er be bought or sold—
Howe'er it beats, it beats sincerely;
d, though it will not bend to gold,
Twill love you long and love you dearly.
5.
Spanish girl that meets your love
Ne'er taunts you with a mock denial,
every thought is bent to prove
Her passion in the hour of trial.
en thronging foemen menace Spain,
he dares the deed and shares the danger;
d should her lover press the plain,
he hurls the spear, her love's avenger.
6.
English maids are long to woo,[b][2]
And frigid even in possession;
d if their charms be fair to view,
heir lips are slow at Love's confession;
born beneath a brighter sun,
or love ordained the Spanish maid is,
d who,—when fondly, fairly won,—
nchants you like the Girl of Cadiz?
4.
Spanish maid is no coquette,
Nor joys to see a lover tremble,
d if she love, or if she hate,
Alike she knows not to dissemble.
heart can ne'er be bought or sold—
Howe'er it beats, it beats sincerely;
d, though it will not bend to gold,
Twill love you long and love you dearly.
5.
Spanish girl that meets your love
Ne'er taunts you with a mock denial,
every thought is bent to prove
Her passion in the hour of trial.
en thronging foemen menace Spain,
he dares the deed and shares the danger;
d should her lover press the plain,
he hurls the spear, her love's avenger.
6.
Page 27
d when, beneath the evening star,
he mingles in the gay Bolero,[3]
ings to her attuned guitar
Of Christian knight or Moorish hero,
counts her beads with fairy hand
eneath the twinkling rays of Hesper,[c]
oins Devotion's choral band,
o chaunt the sweet and hallowed vesper;—
7.
ach her charms the heart must move
Of all who venture to behold her;
n let not maids less fair reprove
ecause her bosom is not colder:
ough many a clime 'tis mine to roam
Where many a soft and melting maid is,
none abroad, and few at home,
May match the dark-eyed Girl of Cadiz.[d]
1809.
[First published, 1832.]
LINES WRITTEN IN AN ALBUM, AT MALTA. [e][4]
1.
o'er the cold sepulchral stone
ome name arrests the passer-by;
s, when thou view'st this page alone,
May mine attract thy pensive eye!
2.
he mingles in the gay Bolero,[3]
ings to her attuned guitar
Of Christian knight or Moorish hero,
counts her beads with fairy hand
eneath the twinkling rays of Hesper,[c]
oins Devotion's choral band,
o chaunt the sweet and hallowed vesper;—
7.
ach her charms the heart must move
Of all who venture to behold her;
n let not maids less fair reprove
ecause her bosom is not colder:
ough many a clime 'tis mine to roam
Where many a soft and melting maid is,
none abroad, and few at home,
May match the dark-eyed Girl of Cadiz.[d]
1809.
[First published, 1832.]
LINES WRITTEN IN AN ALBUM, AT MALTA. [e][4]
1.
o'er the cold sepulchral stone
ome name arrests the passer-by;
s, when thou view'st this page alone,
May mine attract thy pensive eye!
2.
Page 28
d when by thee that name is read,
erchance in some succeeding year,
lect on me as on the dead,
And think my Heart is buried here.
Malta, September 14, 1809.
[First published, Childe Harold, 1812 (4to).]
TO FLORENCE. [f]
1.
Lady! when I left the shore,
he distant shore which gave me birth,
rdly thought to grieve once more,
o quit another spot on earth:
2.
here, amidst this barren isle,
Where panting Nature droops the head,
ere only thou art seen to smile,
view my parting hour with dread.
3.
ugh far from Albin's craggy shore,
Divided by the dark-blue main;
w, brief, rolling seasons o'er,
erchance I view her cliffs again:
4.
wheresoe'er I now may roam,
erchance in some succeeding year,
lect on me as on the dead,
And think my Heart is buried here.
Malta, September 14, 1809.
[First published, Childe Harold, 1812 (4to).]
TO FLORENCE. [f]
1.
Lady! when I left the shore,
he distant shore which gave me birth,
rdly thought to grieve once more,
o quit another spot on earth:
2.
here, amidst this barren isle,
Where panting Nature droops the head,
ere only thou art seen to smile,
view my parting hour with dread.
3.
ugh far from Albin's craggy shore,
Divided by the dark-blue main;
w, brief, rolling seasons o'er,
erchance I view her cliffs again:
4.
wheresoe'er I now may roam,
Page 29
hrough scorching clime, and varied sea,
ugh Time restore me to my home,
ne'er shall bend mine eyes on thee:
5.
thee, in whom at once conspire
All charms which heedless hearts can move,
om but to see is to admire,
And, oh! forgive the word—to love.
6.
give the word, in one who ne'er
With such a word can more offend;
d since thy heart I cannot share,
elieve me, what I am, thy friend.
7.
d who so cold as look on thee,
hou lovely wand'rer, and be less?
be, what man should ever be,
he friend of Beauty in distress?
8.
who would think that form had past
hrough Danger's most destructive path,[g]
braved the death-winged tempest's blast,
And 'scaped a Tyrant's fiercer wrath?
9.
y! when I shall view the walls
ugh Time restore me to my home,
ne'er shall bend mine eyes on thee:
5.
thee, in whom at once conspire
All charms which heedless hearts can move,
om but to see is to admire,
And, oh! forgive the word—to love.
6.
give the word, in one who ne'er
With such a word can more offend;
d since thy heart I cannot share,
elieve me, what I am, thy friend.
7.
d who so cold as look on thee,
hou lovely wand'rer, and be less?
be, what man should ever be,
he friend of Beauty in distress?
8.
who would think that form had past
hrough Danger's most destructive path,[g]
braved the death-winged tempest's blast,
And 'scaped a Tyrant's fiercer wrath?
9.
y! when I shall view the walls
Page 30
Where free Byzantium once arose,
d Stamboul's Oriental halls
he Turkish tyrants now enclose;
10.
ugh mightiest in the lists of fame,
hat glorious city still shall be;
me 'twill hold a dearer claim,
As spot of thy nativity:
11.
d though I bid thee now farewell,
When I behold that wondrous scene—
ce where thou art I may not dwell—
Twill soothe to be where thou hast been.
September, 1809.
[First published, Childe Harold, 1812 (4to).]
STANZAS COMPOSED DURING A
THUNDERSTORM. [h][5]
1.
ll and mirk is the nightly blast,
Where Pindus' mountains rise,
d angry clouds are pouring fast
he vengeance of the skies.
2.
d Stamboul's Oriental halls
he Turkish tyrants now enclose;
10.
ugh mightiest in the lists of fame,
hat glorious city still shall be;
me 'twill hold a dearer claim,
As spot of thy nativity:
11.
d though I bid thee now farewell,
When I behold that wondrous scene—
ce where thou art I may not dwell—
Twill soothe to be where thou hast been.
September, 1809.
[First published, Childe Harold, 1812 (4to).]
STANZAS COMPOSED DURING A
THUNDERSTORM. [h][5]
1.
ll and mirk is the nightly blast,
Where Pindus' mountains rise,
d angry clouds are pouring fast
he vengeance of the skies.
2.
Page 31
guides are gone, our hope is lost,
And lightnings, as they play,
show where rocks our path have crost,
Or gild the torrent's spray.
3.
on a cot I saw, though low?
When lightning broke the gloom—
w welcome were its shade!—ah, no!
Tis but a Turkish tomb.
4.
ough sounds of foaming waterfalls,
hear a voice exclaim—
way-worn countryman, who calls
On distant England's name.
5.
hot is fired—by foe or friend?
Another—'tis to tell
mountain-peasants to descend,
And lead us where they dwell.
6.
who in such a night will dare
o tempt the wilderness?
d who 'mid thunder-peals can hear
Our signal of distress?
7.
And lightnings, as they play,
show where rocks our path have crost,
Or gild the torrent's spray.
3.
on a cot I saw, though low?
When lightning broke the gloom—
w welcome were its shade!—ah, no!
Tis but a Turkish tomb.
4.
ough sounds of foaming waterfalls,
hear a voice exclaim—
way-worn countryman, who calls
On distant England's name.
5.
hot is fired—by foe or friend?
Another—'tis to tell
mountain-peasants to descend,
And lead us where they dwell.
6.
who in such a night will dare
o tempt the wilderness?
d who 'mid thunder-peals can hear
Our signal of distress?
7.
Page 32
d who that heard our shouts would rise
o try the dubious road?
rather deem from nightly cries
hat outlaws were abroad.
8.
uds burst, skies flash, oh, dreadful hour!
More fiercely pours the storm!
here one thought has still the power
o keep my bosom warm.
9.
ile wandering through each broken path,
O'er brake and craggy brow;
ile elements exhaust their wrath,
weet Florence, where art thou?
10.
on the sea, not on the sea—
hy bark hath long been gone:
may the storm that pours on me,
ow down my head alone!
11.
swiftly blew the swift Siroc,
When last I pressed thy lip;
d long ere now, with foaming shock,
mpelled thy gallant ship.
12.
o try the dubious road?
rather deem from nightly cries
hat outlaws were abroad.
8.
uds burst, skies flash, oh, dreadful hour!
More fiercely pours the storm!
here one thought has still the power
o keep my bosom warm.
9.
ile wandering through each broken path,
O'er brake and craggy brow;
ile elements exhaust their wrath,
weet Florence, where art thou?
10.
on the sea, not on the sea—
hy bark hath long been gone:
may the storm that pours on me,
ow down my head alone!
11.
swiftly blew the swift Siroc,
When last I pressed thy lip;
d long ere now, with foaming shock,
mpelled thy gallant ship.
12.
Page 33
w thou art safe; nay, long ere now
Hast trod the shore of Spain;
ere hard if aught so fair as thou
hould linger on the main.
13.
d since I now remember thee
n darkness and in dread,
n those hours of revelry
Which Mirth and Music sped;
14.
thou, amid the fair white walls,
Cadiz yet be free,
imes from out her latticed halls
ook o'er the dark blue sea;
15.
n think upon Calypso's isles,
ndeared by days gone by;
others give a thousand smiles,
o me a single sigh.
16.
d when the admiring circle mark
he paleness of thy face,
alf-formed tear, a transient spark
Of melancholy grace,
17.
Hast trod the shore of Spain;
ere hard if aught so fair as thou
hould linger on the main.
13.
d since I now remember thee
n darkness and in dread,
n those hours of revelry
Which Mirth and Music sped;
14.
thou, amid the fair white walls,
Cadiz yet be free,
imes from out her latticed halls
ook o'er the dark blue sea;
15.
n think upon Calypso's isles,
ndeared by days gone by;
others give a thousand smiles,
o me a single sigh.
16.
d when the admiring circle mark
he paleness of thy face,
alf-formed tear, a transient spark
Of melancholy grace,
17.
Page 34
in thou'lt smile, and blushing shun
ome coxcomb's raillery;
own for once thou thought'st on one,
Who ever thinks on thee.
18.
ugh smile and sigh alike are vain,
When severed hearts repine,
spirit flies o'er Mount and Main,
And mourns in search of thine.
October 11, 1809.
[MS. M. First published, Childe Harold, 1812 (4to).]
STANZAS WRITTEN IN PASSING THE
AMBRACIAN GULF. [i]
1.
rough cloudless skies, in silvery sheen,
ull beams the moon on Actium's coast:
d on these waves, for Egypt's queen,
he ancient world was won and lost.
2.
d now upon the scene I look,
he azure grave of many a Roman;
ere stern Ambition once forsook
His wavering crown to follow Woman.
3.
ome coxcomb's raillery;
own for once thou thought'st on one,
Who ever thinks on thee.
18.
ugh smile and sigh alike are vain,
When severed hearts repine,
spirit flies o'er Mount and Main,
And mourns in search of thine.
October 11, 1809.
[MS. M. First published, Childe Harold, 1812 (4to).]
STANZAS WRITTEN IN PASSING THE
AMBRACIAN GULF. [i]
1.
rough cloudless skies, in silvery sheen,
ull beams the moon on Actium's coast:
d on these waves, for Egypt's queen,
he ancient world was won and lost.
2.
d now upon the scene I look,
he azure grave of many a Roman;
ere stern Ambition once forsook
His wavering crown to follow Woman.
3.
Page 35
ence! whom I will love as well
As ever yet was said or sung,
ce Orpheus sang his spouse from Hell)
Whilst thou art fair and I am young;
4.
eet Florence! those were pleasant times,
When worlds were staked for Ladies' eyes:
bards as many realms as rhymes,[j]
hy charms might raise new Antonies.[k]
5.
ugh Fate forbids such things to be,[l]
Yet, by thine eyes and ringlets curled!
nnot lose a world for thee,
ut would not lose thee for a World.[6]
November 14, 1809.
[MS. M. First published, Childe Harold, 1812 (4to).]
THE SPELL IS BROKE, THE CHARM IS FLOWN! [m]
WRITTEN AT ATHENS, JANUARY 16, 1810.
spell is broke, the charm is flown!
hus is it with Life's fitful fever:
madly smile when we should groan;
Delirium is our best deceiver.
h lucid interval of thought
ecalls the woes of Nature's charter;
d He that acts as wise men ought,
As ever yet was said or sung,
ce Orpheus sang his spouse from Hell)
Whilst thou art fair and I am young;
4.
eet Florence! those were pleasant times,
When worlds were staked for Ladies' eyes:
bards as many realms as rhymes,[j]
hy charms might raise new Antonies.[k]
5.
ugh Fate forbids such things to be,[l]
Yet, by thine eyes and ringlets curled!
nnot lose a world for thee,
ut would not lose thee for a World.[6]
November 14, 1809.
[MS. M. First published, Childe Harold, 1812 (4to).]
THE SPELL IS BROKE, THE CHARM IS FLOWN! [m]
WRITTEN AT ATHENS, JANUARY 16, 1810.
spell is broke, the charm is flown!
hus is it with Life's fitful fever:
madly smile when we should groan;
Delirium is our best deceiver.
h lucid interval of thought
ecalls the woes of Nature's charter;
d He that acts as wise men ought,
Page 36
ut lives—as Saints have died—a martyr.
[MS. M. First published, Childe Harold, 1812 (4to).]
WRITTEN AFTER SWIMMING FROM SESTOS
TO ABYDOS. [7]
1.
n the month of dark December,
eander, who was nightly wont
hat maid will not the tale remember?)
o cross thy stream, broad Hellespont!
2.
when the wintry tempest roared,
He sped to Hero, nothing loth,
d thus of old thy current poured,
air Venus! how I pity both!
3.
me, degenerate modern wretch,
hough in the genial month of May,
dripping limbs I faintly stretch,
And think I've done a feat to-day.
4.
since he crossed the rapid tide,
According to the doubtful story,
woo,—and—Lord knows what beside,
And swam for Love, as I for Glory;
[MS. M. First published, Childe Harold, 1812 (4to).]
WRITTEN AFTER SWIMMING FROM SESTOS
TO ABYDOS. [7]
1.
n the month of dark December,
eander, who was nightly wont
hat maid will not the tale remember?)
o cross thy stream, broad Hellespont!
2.
when the wintry tempest roared,
He sped to Hero, nothing loth,
d thus of old thy current poured,
air Venus! how I pity both!
3.
me, degenerate modern wretch,
hough in the genial month of May,
dripping limbs I faintly stretch,
And think I've done a feat to-day.
4.
since he crossed the rapid tide,
According to the doubtful story,
woo,—and—Lord knows what beside,
And swam for Love, as I for Glory;
Page 37
5.
ere hard to say who fared the best:
ad mortals! thus the Gods still plague you!
lost his labour, I my jest:
or he was drowned, and I've the ague.[8]
May 9, 1810.
[First published, Childe Harold, 1812 (4to).]
LINES IN THE TRAVELLERS' BOOK AT
ORCHOMENUS. [9]
IN THIS BOOK A TRAVELLER HAD WRITTEN:—
r Albion, smiling, sees her son depart
race the birth and nursery of art:
ble his object, glorious is his aim;
comes to Athens, and he—writes his name.”
BENEATH WHICH LORD BYRON INSERTED THE FOLLOWING:—
modest bard, like many a bard unknown,
mes on our names, but wisely hides his own;
yet, whoe'er he be, to say no worse,
name would bring more credit than his verse.
1810.
[First published, Life, 1830.]
MAID OF ATHENS, ERE WE PART. [n]
Ζωή μου, σᾶς ἀγαπῶ.
ere hard to say who fared the best:
ad mortals! thus the Gods still plague you!
lost his labour, I my jest:
or he was drowned, and I've the ague.[8]
May 9, 1810.
[First published, Childe Harold, 1812 (4to).]
LINES IN THE TRAVELLERS' BOOK AT
ORCHOMENUS. [9]
IN THIS BOOK A TRAVELLER HAD WRITTEN:—
r Albion, smiling, sees her son depart
race the birth and nursery of art:
ble his object, glorious is his aim;
comes to Athens, and he—writes his name.”
BENEATH WHICH LORD BYRON INSERTED THE FOLLOWING:—
modest bard, like many a bard unknown,
mes on our names, but wisely hides his own;
yet, whoe'er he be, to say no worse,
name would bring more credit than his verse.
1810.
[First published, Life, 1830.]
MAID OF ATHENS, ERE WE PART. [n]
Ζωή μου, σᾶς ἀγαπῶ.
Page 38
1.
[10]
id of Athens, ere we part,
e, oh give me back my heart!
since that has left my breast,
p it now, and take the rest!
r my vow before I go,
ή μου, σᾶς ἀγαπῶ.[11]
2.
those tresses unconfined,
oed by each Ægean wind;
those lids whose jetty fringe
s thy soft cheeks' blooming tinge;
those wild eyes like the roe,
ή μου, σᾶς ἀγαπῶ.
3.
that lip I long to taste;
that zone-encircled waist;
all the token-flowers[12] that tell
at words can never speak so well;
love's alternate joy and woe,
ή μου, σᾶς ἀγαπῶ.
4.
d of Athens! I am gone:
nk of me, sweet! when alone.
ugh I fly to Istambol,[13]
ens holds my heart and soul:
I cease to love thee? No!
[10]
id of Athens, ere we part,
e, oh give me back my heart!
since that has left my breast,
p it now, and take the rest!
r my vow before I go,
ή μου, σᾶς ἀγαπῶ.[11]
2.
those tresses unconfined,
oed by each Ægean wind;
those lids whose jetty fringe
s thy soft cheeks' blooming tinge;
those wild eyes like the roe,
ή μου, σᾶς ἀγαπῶ.
3.
that lip I long to taste;
that zone-encircled waist;
all the token-flowers[12] that tell
at words can never speak so well;
love's alternate joy and woe,
ή μου, σᾶς ἀγαπῶ.
4.
d of Athens! I am gone:
nk of me, sweet! when alone.
ugh I fly to Istambol,[13]
ens holds my heart and soul:
I cease to love thee? No!
Page 39
ή μου, σᾶς ἀγαπῶ.
Athens, 1810.
[First published, Childe Harold, 1812 (4to).]
FRAGMENT FROM THE "MONK OF ATHOS." [14]
1.
ide the confines of the Ægean main,
Where northward Macedonia bounds the flood,
d views opposed the Asiatic plain,
Where once the pride of lofty Ilion stood,
e the great Father of the giant brood,
With lowering port majestic Athos stands,
wned with the verdure of eternal wood,
As yet unspoiled by sacrilegious hands,
d throws his mighty shade o'er seas and distant lands.
2.
d deep embosomed in his shady groves
ull many a convent rears its glittering spire,
scenes where Heavenly Contemplation loves
o kindle in her soul her hallowed fire,
ere air and sea with rocks and woods conspire
o breathe a sweet religious calm around,
aning the thoughts from every low desire,
And the wild waves that break with murmuring sound
ng the rocky shore proclaim it holy ground.
3.
uestered shades where Piety has given
Athens, 1810.
[First published, Childe Harold, 1812 (4to).]
FRAGMENT FROM THE "MONK OF ATHOS." [14]
1.
ide the confines of the Ægean main,
Where northward Macedonia bounds the flood,
d views opposed the Asiatic plain,
Where once the pride of lofty Ilion stood,
e the great Father of the giant brood,
With lowering port majestic Athos stands,
wned with the verdure of eternal wood,
As yet unspoiled by sacrilegious hands,
d throws his mighty shade o'er seas and distant lands.
2.
d deep embosomed in his shady groves
ull many a convent rears its glittering spire,
scenes where Heavenly Contemplation loves
o kindle in her soul her hallowed fire,
ere air and sea with rocks and woods conspire
o breathe a sweet religious calm around,
aning the thoughts from every low desire,
And the wild waves that break with murmuring sound
ng the rocky shore proclaim it holy ground.
3.
uestered shades where Piety has given
Page 40
A quiet refuge from each earthly care,
ence the rapt spirit may ascend to Heaven!
ye condemned the ills of life to bear!
As with advancing age your woes increase,
at bliss amidst these solitudes to share
he happy foretaste of eternal Peace,
Heaven in mercy bids your pain and sorrows cease.
[First published in the Life of Lord Byron,
by the Hon. Roden Noel, London, 1890, pp. 206, 207.]
LINES WRITTEN BENEATH A PICTURE. [15]
1.
ar object of defeated care!
hough now of Love and thee bereft,
econcile me with despair
hine image and my tears are left.
2.
said with Sorrow Time can cope;
ut this I feel can ne'er be true:
by the death-blow of my Hope
My Memory immortal grew.
Athens, January, 1811.
[First published, Childe Harold, 1812 (4to).]
TRANSLATION OF THE FAMOUS GREEK WAR
SONG,
ence the rapt spirit may ascend to Heaven!
ye condemned the ills of life to bear!
As with advancing age your woes increase,
at bliss amidst these solitudes to share
he happy foretaste of eternal Peace,
Heaven in mercy bids your pain and sorrows cease.
[First published in the Life of Lord Byron,
by the Hon. Roden Noel, London, 1890, pp. 206, 207.]
LINES WRITTEN BENEATH A PICTURE. [15]
1.
ar object of defeated care!
hough now of Love and thee bereft,
econcile me with despair
hine image and my tears are left.
2.
said with Sorrow Time can cope;
ut this I feel can ne'er be true:
by the death-blow of my Hope
My Memory immortal grew.
Athens, January, 1811.
[First published, Childe Harold, 1812 (4to).]
TRANSLATION OF THE FAMOUS GREEK WAR
SONG,
Page 41
"Δεῦτε παῖδες τῶν Ἑλλήνων." [16]
s of the Greeks, arise!
he glorious hour's gone forth,
d, worthy of such ties,
Display who gave us birth.
CHORUS.
Sons of Greeks! let us go
In arms against the foe,
Till their hated blood shall flow
In a river past our feet.
n manfully despising
he Turkish tyrant's yoke,
your country see you rising,
And all her chains are broke.
ve shades of chiefs and sages,
ehold the coming strife!
lénes of past ages,
Oh, start again to life!
he sound of my trumpet, breaking
Your sleep, oh, join with me!
d the seven-hilled city[17] seeking,
ight, conquer, till we're free.
Sons of Greeks, etc.
rta, Sparta, why in slumbers
ethargic dost thou lie?
ake, and join thy numbers
With Athens, old ally!
s of the Greeks, arise!
he glorious hour's gone forth,
d, worthy of such ties,
Display who gave us birth.
CHORUS.
Sons of Greeks! let us go
In arms against the foe,
Till their hated blood shall flow
In a river past our feet.
n manfully despising
he Turkish tyrant's yoke,
your country see you rising,
And all her chains are broke.
ve shades of chiefs and sages,
ehold the coming strife!
lénes of past ages,
Oh, start again to life!
he sound of my trumpet, breaking
Your sleep, oh, join with me!
d the seven-hilled city[17] seeking,
ight, conquer, till we're free.
Sons of Greeks, etc.
rta, Sparta, why in slumbers
ethargic dost thou lie?
ake, and join thy numbers
With Athens, old ally!
Page 42
nidas recalling,
hat chief of ancient song,
o saved ye once from falling,
he terrible! the strong!
o made that bold diversion
n old Thermopylæ,
d warring with the Persian
o keep his country free;
h his three hundred waging
he battle, long he stood,
d like a lion raging,
xpired in seas of blood.
Sons of Greeks, etc.
[First published, Childe Harold, 1812 (4to).]
TRANSLATION OF THE ROMAIC SONG,
“Μπένω μεσ' τὸ περιβόλι
Ὡραιοτάτη Χαηδή,” κ.τ.λ.[18]
ter thy garden of roses,
elovéd and fair Haidée,
h morning where Flora reposes,
or surely I see her in thee.
Lovely! thus low I implore thee,
eceive this fond truth from my tongue,
ich utters its song to adore thee,
Yet trembles for what it has sung;
he branch, at the bidding of Nature,
Adds fragrance and fruit to the tree,
ough her eyes, through her every feature,
hat chief of ancient song,
o saved ye once from falling,
he terrible! the strong!
o made that bold diversion
n old Thermopylæ,
d warring with the Persian
o keep his country free;
h his three hundred waging
he battle, long he stood,
d like a lion raging,
xpired in seas of blood.
Sons of Greeks, etc.
[First published, Childe Harold, 1812 (4to).]
TRANSLATION OF THE ROMAIC SONG,
“Μπένω μεσ' τὸ περιβόλι
Ὡραιοτάτη Χαηδή,” κ.τ.λ.[18]
ter thy garden of roses,
elovéd and fair Haidée,
h morning where Flora reposes,
or surely I see her in thee.
Lovely! thus low I implore thee,
eceive this fond truth from my tongue,
ich utters its song to adore thee,
Yet trembles for what it has sung;
he branch, at the bidding of Nature,
Adds fragrance and fruit to the tree,
ough her eyes, through her every feature,
Page 43
hines the soul of the young Haidée.
the loveliest garden grows hateful
When Love has abandoned the bowers;
ng me hemlock—since mine is ungrateful,
hat herb is more fragrant than flowers.
poison, when poured from the chalice,
Will deeply embitter the bowl;
when drunk to escape from thy malice,
he draught shall be sweet to my soul.
cruel! in vain I implore thee
My heart from these horrors to save:
l nought to my bosom restore thee?
hen open the gates of the grave.
he chief who to combat advances
ecure of his conquest before,
s thou, with those eyes for thy lances,
Hast pierced through my heart to its core.
tell me, my soul! must I perish
y pangs which a smile would dispel?
uld the hope, which thou once bad'st me cherish,
or torture repay me too well?
w sad is the garden of roses,
elovéd but false Haidée!
re Flora all withered reposes,
And mourns o'er thine absence with me.
1811.
[First published, Childe Harold, 1812 (4to).]
ON PARTING.
1.
the loveliest garden grows hateful
When Love has abandoned the bowers;
ng me hemlock—since mine is ungrateful,
hat herb is more fragrant than flowers.
poison, when poured from the chalice,
Will deeply embitter the bowl;
when drunk to escape from thy malice,
he draught shall be sweet to my soul.
cruel! in vain I implore thee
My heart from these horrors to save:
l nought to my bosom restore thee?
hen open the gates of the grave.
he chief who to combat advances
ecure of his conquest before,
s thou, with those eyes for thy lances,
Hast pierced through my heart to its core.
tell me, my soul! must I perish
y pangs which a smile would dispel?
uld the hope, which thou once bad'st me cherish,
or torture repay me too well?
w sad is the garden of roses,
elovéd but false Haidée!
re Flora all withered reposes,
And mourns o'er thine absence with me.
1811.
[First published, Childe Harold, 1812 (4to).]
ON PARTING.
1.
Page 44
kiss, dear maid! thy lip has left
hall never part from mine,
happier hours restore the gift
Untainted back to thine.
2.
parting glance, which fondly beams,
An equal love may see:[o]
tear that from thine eyelid streams
an weep no change in me.
3.
k no pledge to make me blest
n gazing when alone;[p]
one memorial for a breast,
Whose thoughts are all thine own.
4.
need I write—to tell the tale
My pen were doubly weak:
what can idle words avail,[q]
Unless the heart could speak?
5.
day or night, in weal or woe,
hat heart, no longer free,
st bear the love it cannot show,
And silent ache for thee.
March, 1811.
[First published, Childe Harold, 1812(4to).]
hall never part from mine,
happier hours restore the gift
Untainted back to thine.
2.
parting glance, which fondly beams,
An equal love may see:[o]
tear that from thine eyelid streams
an weep no change in me.
3.
k no pledge to make me blest
n gazing when alone;[p]
one memorial for a breast,
Whose thoughts are all thine own.
4.
need I write—to tell the tale
My pen were doubly weak:
what can idle words avail,[q]
Unless the heart could speak?
5.
day or night, in weal or woe,
hat heart, no longer free,
st bear the love it cannot show,
And silent ache for thee.
March, 1811.
[First published, Childe Harold, 1812(4to).]
Page 45
FAREWELL TO MALTA. [19]
eu , ye joys of La Valette!
eu, Sirocco, sun, and sweat!
eu, thou palace rarely entered!
eu, ye mansions where—I've ventured!
eu, ye curséd streets of stairs![20]
w surely he who mounts them swears!)
eu, ye merchants often failing!
eu, thou mob for ever railing!
eu, ye packets—without letters!
eu, ye fools—who ape your betters! 10
eu, thou damned'st quarantine,
t gave me fever, and the spleen!
eu that stage which makes us yawn, Sirs,
eu his Excellency's dancers![21]
eu to Peter—whom no fault's in,
could not teach a colonel waltzing;
eu, ye females fraught with graces!
eu red coats, and redder faces!
eu the supercilious air
all that strut en militaire![22] 20
—but God knows when, or why,
moky towns and cloudy sky,
hings (the honest truth to say)
bad—but in a different way.
ewell to these, but not adieu,
umphant sons of truest blue!
ile either Adriatic shore,[23]
d fallen chiefs, and fleets no more,
eu , ye joys of La Valette!
eu, Sirocco, sun, and sweat!
eu, thou palace rarely entered!
eu, ye mansions where—I've ventured!
eu, ye curséd streets of stairs![20]
w surely he who mounts them swears!)
eu, ye merchants often failing!
eu, thou mob for ever railing!
eu, ye packets—without letters!
eu, ye fools—who ape your betters! 10
eu, thou damned'st quarantine,
t gave me fever, and the spleen!
eu that stage which makes us yawn, Sirs,
eu his Excellency's dancers![21]
eu to Peter—whom no fault's in,
could not teach a colonel waltzing;
eu, ye females fraught with graces!
eu red coats, and redder faces!
eu the supercilious air
all that strut en militaire![22] 20
—but God knows when, or why,
moky towns and cloudy sky,
hings (the honest truth to say)
bad—but in a different way.
ewell to these, but not adieu,
umphant sons of truest blue!
ile either Adriatic shore,[23]
d fallen chiefs, and fleets no more,
Page 46
d nightly smiles, and daily dinners,[24]
claim you war and women's winners. 30
don my Muse, who apt to prate is,
d take my rhyme—because 'tis "gratis."
d now I've got to Mrs. Fraser,[25]
haps you think I mean to praise her—
d were I vain enough to think
praise was worth this drop of ink,
ne—or two—were no hard matter,
here, indeed, I need not flatter:
she must be content to shine
etter praises than in mine, 40
h lively air, and open heart,
d fashion's ease, without its art;
hours can gaily glide along.
ask the aid of idle song.
d now, O Malta! since thou'st got us,
u little military hot-house!
not offend with words uncivil,
d wish thee rudely at the Devil,
only stare from out my casement,
d ask, "for what is such a place meant?" 50
n, in my solitary nook,
urn to scribbling, or a book,
ake my physic while I'm able
o spoonfuls hourly, by this label),
er my nightcap to my beaver,
d bless my stars I've got a fever.
May 26, 1811.[26]
[First published, 1816.]
claim you war and women's winners. 30
don my Muse, who apt to prate is,
d take my rhyme—because 'tis "gratis."
d now I've got to Mrs. Fraser,[25]
haps you think I mean to praise her—
d were I vain enough to think
praise was worth this drop of ink,
ne—or two—were no hard matter,
here, indeed, I need not flatter:
she must be content to shine
etter praises than in mine, 40
h lively air, and open heart,
d fashion's ease, without its art;
hours can gaily glide along.
ask the aid of idle song.
d now, O Malta! since thou'st got us,
u little military hot-house!
not offend with words uncivil,
d wish thee rudely at the Devil,
only stare from out my casement,
d ask, "for what is such a place meant?" 50
n, in my solitary nook,
urn to scribbling, or a book,
ake my physic while I'm able
o spoonfuls hourly, by this label),
er my nightcap to my beaver,
d bless my stars I've got a fever.
May 26, 1811.[26]
[First published, 1816.]
Page 47
NEWSTEAD ABBEY.
1.
he dome of my Sires as the clear moonbeam falls
ough Silence and Shade o'er its desolate walls,
hines from afar like the glories of old;
lds, but it warms not—'tis dazzling, but cold.
2.
the Sunbeam be bright for the younger of days:
the light that should shine on a race that decays,
en the Stars are on high and the dews on the ground,
d the long shadow lingers the ruin around.
3.
d the step that o'erechoes the gray floor of stone
s sullenly now, for 'tis only my own;
d sunk are the voices that sounded in mirth,
d empty the goblet, and dreary the hearth.
4.
d vain was each effort to raise and recall
brightness of old to illumine our Hall;
d vain was the hope to avert our decline,
d the fate of my fathers had faded to mine.
5.
d theirs was the wealth and the fulness of Fame,
d mine to inherit too haughty a name;[r]
1.
he dome of my Sires as the clear moonbeam falls
ough Silence and Shade o'er its desolate walls,
hines from afar like the glories of old;
lds, but it warms not—'tis dazzling, but cold.
2.
the Sunbeam be bright for the younger of days:
the light that should shine on a race that decays,
en the Stars are on high and the dews on the ground,
d the long shadow lingers the ruin around.
3.
d the step that o'erechoes the gray floor of stone
s sullenly now, for 'tis only my own;
d sunk are the voices that sounded in mirth,
d empty the goblet, and dreary the hearth.
4.
d vain was each effort to raise and recall
brightness of old to illumine our Hall;
d vain was the hope to avert our decline,
d the fate of my fathers had faded to mine.
5.
d theirs was the wealth and the fulness of Fame,
d mine to inherit too haughty a name;[r]
Page 48
d theirs were the times and the triumphs of yore,
d mine to regret, but renew them no more.
6.
d Ruin is fixed on my tower and my wall,
hoary to fade, and too massy to fall;
lls not of Time's or the tempest's decay,[s]
the wreck of the line that have held it in sway.
August 26, 1811.
[First published in Memoir of Rev. F. Hodgson, 1878, i. 187.]
EPISTLE TO A FRIEND, [27]
IN ANSWER TO SOME LINES EXHORTING THE AUTHOR
TO BE CHEERFUL, AND TO "BANISH CARE."
! banish care"—such ever be
motto of thy revelry!
chance of mine, when wassail nights
ew those riotous delights,
erewith the children of Despair
the lone heart, and "banish care."
not in Morn's reflecting hour,
en present, past, and future lower,
en all I loved is changed or gone,
ck with such taunts the woes of one,
ose every thought—but let them pass—
u know'st I am not what I was.
above all, if thou wouldst hold
ce in a heart that ne'er was cold,
all the powers that men revere,
d mine to regret, but renew them no more.
6.
d Ruin is fixed on my tower and my wall,
hoary to fade, and too massy to fall;
lls not of Time's or the tempest's decay,[s]
the wreck of the line that have held it in sway.
August 26, 1811.
[First published in Memoir of Rev. F. Hodgson, 1878, i. 187.]
EPISTLE TO A FRIEND, [27]
IN ANSWER TO SOME LINES EXHORTING THE AUTHOR
TO BE CHEERFUL, AND TO "BANISH CARE."
! banish care"—such ever be
motto of thy revelry!
chance of mine, when wassail nights
ew those riotous delights,
erewith the children of Despair
the lone heart, and "banish care."
not in Morn's reflecting hour,
en present, past, and future lower,
en all I loved is changed or gone,
ck with such taunts the woes of one,
ose every thought—but let them pass—
u know'st I am not what I was.
above all, if thou wouldst hold
ce in a heart that ne'er was cold,
all the powers that men revere,
Page 49
all unto thy bosom dear,
joys below, thy hopes above,
ak—speak of anything but Love.
Twere long to tell, and vain to hear,
tale of one who scorns a tear;
d there is little in that tale
ich better bosoms would bewail.
mine has suffered more than well
ould suit philosophy to tell.
seen my bride another's bride,—
e seen her seated by his side,—
e seen the infant, which she bore,
ar the sweet smile the mother wore,
en she and I in youth have smiled,
fond and faultless as her child;—
e seen her eyes, in cold disdain,
if I felt no secret pain;
d I have acted well my part,
d made my cheek belie my heart,
urned the freezing glance she gave,
felt the while that woman's slave;—
e kissed, as if without design,
babe which ought to have been mine,
d showed, alas! in each caress
e had not made me love the less.
ut let this pass—I'll whine no more,
seek again an eastern shore;
world befits a busy brain,—
hie me to its haunts again.
if, in some succeeding year,[28]
joys below, thy hopes above,
ak—speak of anything but Love.
Twere long to tell, and vain to hear,
tale of one who scorns a tear;
d there is little in that tale
ich better bosoms would bewail.
mine has suffered more than well
ould suit philosophy to tell.
seen my bride another's bride,—
e seen her seated by his side,—
e seen the infant, which she bore,
ar the sweet smile the mother wore,
en she and I in youth have smiled,
fond and faultless as her child;—
e seen her eyes, in cold disdain,
if I felt no secret pain;
d I have acted well my part,
d made my cheek belie my heart,
urned the freezing glance she gave,
felt the while that woman's slave;—
e kissed, as if without design,
babe which ought to have been mine,
d showed, alas! in each caress
e had not made me love the less.
ut let this pass—I'll whine no more,
seek again an eastern shore;
world befits a busy brain,—
hie me to its haunts again.
if, in some succeeding year,[28]
Page 50
en Britain's "May is in the sere,"
u hear'st of one, whose deepening crimes
with the sablest of the times,
one, whom love nor pity sways,
hope of fame, nor good men's praise;
, who in stern Ambition's pride,
chance not blood shall turn aside;
ranked in some recording page
h the worst anarchs of the age,
m wilt thou know—and knowing pause,
with the effect forget the cause.
Newstead Abbey, Oct. 11, 1811.
[First published, Life, 1830.]
TO THYRZA. [t][29]
[30]
thout a stone to mark the spot,
And say, what Truth might well have said,[u]
all, save one, perchance forgot,
Ah! wherefore art thou lowly laid?
many a shore and many a sea[v]
Divided, yet beloved in vain;
Past, the Future fled to thee,
o bid us meet—no—ne'er again!
ld this have been—a word, a look,
hat softly said, "We part in peace,"
taught my bosom how to brook,
With fainter sighs, thy soul's release.
d didst thou not, since Death for thee
repared a light and pangless dart,
e long for him thou ne'er shalt see,
u hear'st of one, whose deepening crimes
with the sablest of the times,
one, whom love nor pity sways,
hope of fame, nor good men's praise;
, who in stern Ambition's pride,
chance not blood shall turn aside;
ranked in some recording page
h the worst anarchs of the age,
m wilt thou know—and knowing pause,
with the effect forget the cause.
Newstead Abbey, Oct. 11, 1811.
[First published, Life, 1830.]
TO THYRZA. [t][29]
[30]
thout a stone to mark the spot,
And say, what Truth might well have said,[u]
all, save one, perchance forgot,
Ah! wherefore art thou lowly laid?
many a shore and many a sea[v]
Divided, yet beloved in vain;
Past, the Future fled to thee,
o bid us meet—no—ne'er again!
ld this have been—a word, a look,
hat softly said, "We part in peace,"
taught my bosom how to brook,
With fainter sighs, thy soul's release.
d didst thou not, since Death for thee
repared a light and pangless dart,
e long for him thou ne'er shalt see,
Page 51
Who held, and holds thee in his heart?
who like him had watched thee here?
Or sadly marked thy glazing eye,
hat dread hour ere Death appear,
When silent Sorrow fears to sigh,
all was past? But when no more
Twas thine to reck of human woe,
ection's heart-drops, gushing o'er,
Had flowed as fast—as now they flow.
ll they not flow, when many a day[w]
n these, to me, deserted towers,
called but for a time away,
Affection's mingling tears were ours?
s too the glance none saw beside;
he smile none else might understand;
whispered thought of hearts allied,[x]
he pressure of the thrilling hand;
kiss, so guiltless and refined,
hat Love each warmer wish forbore;
se eyes proclaimed so pure a mind,
v'n Passion blushed to plead for more.[y]
tone, that taught me to rejoice,
When prone, unlike thee, to repine;
song, celestial from thy voice,
ut sweet to me from none but thine;
pledge we wore—I wear it still,
ut where is thine?—Ah! where art thou?
have I borne the weight of ill,
ut never bent beneath till now!
l hast thou left in Life's best bloom[z]
he cup of Woe for me to drain.[aa]
who like him had watched thee here?
Or sadly marked thy glazing eye,
hat dread hour ere Death appear,
When silent Sorrow fears to sigh,
all was past? But when no more
Twas thine to reck of human woe,
ection's heart-drops, gushing o'er,
Had flowed as fast—as now they flow.
ll they not flow, when many a day[w]
n these, to me, deserted towers,
called but for a time away,
Affection's mingling tears were ours?
s too the glance none saw beside;
he smile none else might understand;
whispered thought of hearts allied,[x]
he pressure of the thrilling hand;
kiss, so guiltless and refined,
hat Love each warmer wish forbore;
se eyes proclaimed so pure a mind,
v'n Passion blushed to plead for more.[y]
tone, that taught me to rejoice,
When prone, unlike thee, to repine;
song, celestial from thy voice,
ut sweet to me from none but thine;
pledge we wore—I wear it still,
ut where is thine?—Ah! where art thou?
have I borne the weight of ill,
ut never bent beneath till now!
l hast thou left in Life's best bloom[z]
he cup of Woe for me to drain.[aa]
Page 52
st alone be in the tomb,
would not wish thee here again:
if in worlds more blest than this
hy virtues seek a fitter sphere,
art some portion of thy bliss,
o wean me from mine anguish here.
ch me—too early taught by thee!
o bear, forgiving and forgiven:
earth thy love was such to me;
fain would form my hope in Heaven![ab]
October 11, 1811.
[First published, Childe Harold, 1812 (4to).]
AWAY, AWAY, YE NOTES OF WOE! [ac][31]
1.
ay , away, ye notes of Woe!
e silent, thou once soothing Strain,
must flee from hence—for, oh!
dare not trust those sounds again.[ad]
me they speak of brighter days—
ut lull the chords, for now, alas![ae]
ust not think, I may not gaze,[af]
On what I am—on what I was.
2.
voice that made those sounds more sweet[ag]
s hushed, and all their charms are fled;
d now their softest notes repeat
A dirge, an anthem o'er the dead!
would not wish thee here again:
if in worlds more blest than this
hy virtues seek a fitter sphere,
art some portion of thy bliss,
o wean me from mine anguish here.
ch me—too early taught by thee!
o bear, forgiving and forgiven:
earth thy love was such to me;
fain would form my hope in Heaven![ab]
October 11, 1811.
[First published, Childe Harold, 1812 (4to).]
AWAY, AWAY, YE NOTES OF WOE! [ac][31]
1.
ay , away, ye notes of Woe!
e silent, thou once soothing Strain,
must flee from hence—for, oh!
dare not trust those sounds again.[ad]
me they speak of brighter days—
ut lull the chords, for now, alas![ae]
ust not think, I may not gaze,[af]
On what I am—on what I was.
2.
voice that made those sounds more sweet[ag]
s hushed, and all their charms are fled;
d now their softest notes repeat
A dirge, an anthem o'er the dead!
Page 53
Thyrza! yes, they breathe of thee,
elovéd dust! since dust thou art;
d all that once was Harmony
s worse than discord to my heart!
3.
silent all!—but on my ear[ah]
he well remembered Echoes thrill;
ar a voice I would not hear,
A voice that now might well be still:
oft my doubting Soul 'twill shake;
v'n Slumber owns its gentle tone,
Consciousness will vainly wake
o listen, though the dream be flown.
4.
eet Thyrza! waking as in sleep,
hou art but now a lovely dream;
tar that trembled o'er the deep,
hen turned from earth its tender beam.
he who through Life's dreary way
Must pass, when Heaven is veiled in wrath,
l long lament the vanished ray
hat scattered gladness o'er his path.
December 8, 1811.
[First published, Childe Harold, 1812 (4to).]
ONE STRUGGLE MORE, AND I AM FREE. [ai]
1.
elovéd dust! since dust thou art;
d all that once was Harmony
s worse than discord to my heart!
3.
silent all!—but on my ear[ah]
he well remembered Echoes thrill;
ar a voice I would not hear,
A voice that now might well be still:
oft my doubting Soul 'twill shake;
v'n Slumber owns its gentle tone,
Consciousness will vainly wake
o listen, though the dream be flown.
4.
eet Thyrza! waking as in sleep,
hou art but now a lovely dream;
tar that trembled o'er the deep,
hen turned from earth its tender beam.
he who through Life's dreary way
Must pass, when Heaven is veiled in wrath,
l long lament the vanished ray
hat scattered gladness o'er his path.
December 8, 1811.
[First published, Childe Harold, 1812 (4to).]
ONE STRUGGLE MORE, AND I AM FREE. [ai]
1.
Page 54
e struggle more, and I am free
rom pangs that rend my heart in twain;[aj]
last long sigh to Love and thee,
hen back to busy life again.
uits me well to mingle now
With things that never pleased before:[ak]
ugh every joy is fled below,
What future grief can touch me more?[al]
2.
n bring me wine, the banquet bring;
Man was not formed to live alone:
be that light unmeaning thing
hat smiles with all, and weeps with none.
as not thus in days more dear,
never would have been, but thou[am]
t fled, and left me lonely here;
hou'rt nothing,—all are nothing now.
3.
ain my lyre would lightly breathe!
he smile that Sorrow fain would wear
mocks the woe that lurks beneath,
ike roses o'er a sepulchre.
ugh gay companions o'er the bowl
Dispel awhile the sense of ill;
ugh Pleasure fires the maddening soul,
he Heart,—the Heart is lonely still!
4.
rom pangs that rend my heart in twain;[aj]
last long sigh to Love and thee,
hen back to busy life again.
uits me well to mingle now
With things that never pleased before:[ak]
ugh every joy is fled below,
What future grief can touch me more?[al]
2.
n bring me wine, the banquet bring;
Man was not formed to live alone:
be that light unmeaning thing
hat smiles with all, and weeps with none.
as not thus in days more dear,
never would have been, but thou[am]
t fled, and left me lonely here;
hou'rt nothing,—all are nothing now.
3.
ain my lyre would lightly breathe!
he smile that Sorrow fain would wear
mocks the woe that lurks beneath,
ike roses o'er a sepulchre.
ugh gay companions o'er the bowl
Dispel awhile the sense of ill;
ugh Pleasure fires the maddening soul,
he Heart,—the Heart is lonely still!
4.
Page 55
many a lone and lovely night
soothed to gaze upon the sky;
then I deemed the heavenly light
hone sweetly on thy pensive eye:
d oft I thought at Cynthia's noon,
When sailing o'er the Ægean wave,
w Thyrza gazes on that moon"—
Alas, it gleamed upon her grave!
5.
en stretched on Fever's sleepless bed,
And sickness shrunk my throbbing veins,
s comfort still," I faintly said,[an]
That Thyrza cannot know my pains:"
e freedom to the time-worn slave—[ao]
A boon 'tis idle then to give—
enting Nature vainly gave[32]
My life, when Thyrza ceased to live!
6.
Thyrza's pledge in better days,[ap]
When Love and Life alike were new!
w different now thou meet'st my gaze!
How tinged by time with Sorrow's hue!
heart that gave itself with thee
s silent—ah, were mine as still!
ugh cold as e'en the dead can be,
feels, it sickens with the chill.
7.
soothed to gaze upon the sky;
then I deemed the heavenly light
hone sweetly on thy pensive eye:
d oft I thought at Cynthia's noon,
When sailing o'er the Ægean wave,
w Thyrza gazes on that moon"—
Alas, it gleamed upon her grave!
5.
en stretched on Fever's sleepless bed,
And sickness shrunk my throbbing veins,
s comfort still," I faintly said,[an]
That Thyrza cannot know my pains:"
e freedom to the time-worn slave—[ao]
A boon 'tis idle then to give—
enting Nature vainly gave[32]
My life, when Thyrza ceased to live!
6.
Thyrza's pledge in better days,[ap]
When Love and Life alike were new!
w different now thou meet'st my gaze!
How tinged by time with Sorrow's hue!
heart that gave itself with thee
s silent—ah, were mine as still!
ugh cold as e'en the dead can be,
feels, it sickens with the chill.
7.
Page 56
u bitter pledge! thou mournful token!
hough painful, welcome to my breast!
, still, preserve that love unbroken,
Or break the heart to which thou'rt pressed.
e tempers Love, but not removes,
More hallowed when its Hope is fled:
what are thousand living loves
o that which cannot quit the dead?
[First published, Childe Harold, 1812 (4to).]
EUTHANASIA.
1.
en Time, or soon or late, shall bring
he dreamless sleep that lulls the dead,
ivion! may thy languid wing
Wave gently o'er my dying bed!
2.
band of friends or heirs be there,[33]
o weep, or wish, the coming blow:
maiden, with dishevelled hair,
o feel, or feign, decorous woe.
3.
silent let me sink to Earth,
With no officious mourners near:
ould not mar one hour of mirth,
Nor startle Friendship with a fear.
hough painful, welcome to my breast!
, still, preserve that love unbroken,
Or break the heart to which thou'rt pressed.
e tempers Love, but not removes,
More hallowed when its Hope is fled:
what are thousand living loves
o that which cannot quit the dead?
[First published, Childe Harold, 1812 (4to).]
EUTHANASIA.
1.
en Time, or soon or late, shall bring
he dreamless sleep that lulls the dead,
ivion! may thy languid wing
Wave gently o'er my dying bed!
2.
band of friends or heirs be there,[33]
o weep, or wish, the coming blow:
maiden, with dishevelled hair,
o feel, or feign, decorous woe.
3.
silent let me sink to Earth,
With no officious mourners near:
ould not mar one hour of mirth,
Nor startle Friendship with a fear.
Page 57
4.
Love, if Love in such an hour
ould nobly check its useless sighs,
ht then exert its latest power
n her who lives, and him who dies.
5.
ere sweet, my Psyche! to the last
hy features still serene to see:
getful of its struggles past,
'en Pain itself should smile on thee.
6.
vain the wish—for Beauty still
Will shrink, as shrinks the ebbing breath;
d Woman's tears, produced at will,
Deceive in life, unman in death.
7.
n lonely be my latest hour,
Without regret, without a groan;
thousands Death hath ceased to lower,
And pain been transient or unknown.
8.
e but to die, and go," alas!
Where all have gone, and all must go!
be the nothing that I was
re born to life and living woe!
Love, if Love in such an hour
ould nobly check its useless sighs,
ht then exert its latest power
n her who lives, and him who dies.
5.
ere sweet, my Psyche! to the last
hy features still serene to see:
getful of its struggles past,
'en Pain itself should smile on thee.
6.
vain the wish—for Beauty still
Will shrink, as shrinks the ebbing breath;
d Woman's tears, produced at will,
Deceive in life, unman in death.
7.
n lonely be my latest hour,
Without regret, without a groan;
thousands Death hath ceased to lower,
And pain been transient or unknown.
8.
e but to die, and go," alas!
Where all have gone, and all must go!
be the nothing that I was
re born to life and living woe!
Page 58
9.
nt o'er the joys thine hours have seen,
ount o'er thy days from anguish free,
d know, whatever thou hast been,
Tis something better not to be.
[First published, Childe Harold, 1812 (Second Edition).]
AND THOU ART DEAD, AS YOUNG AND FAIR. [aq]
"Heu, quanto minus est cum reliquis versari quam tui meminisse!"[34]
1.
d thou art dead, as young and fair
As aught of mortal birth;
d form so soft, and charms so rare,
oo soon returned to Earth![ar]
ugh Earth received them in her bed,
d o'er the spot the crowd may tread[as]
n carelessness or mirth,
re is an eye which could not brook
moment on that grave to look.
2.
ll not ask where thou liest low,[at]
Nor gaze upon the spot;
re flowers or weeds at will may grow,
o I behold them not:[au]
enough for me to prove
t what I loved, and long must love,
nt o'er the joys thine hours have seen,
ount o'er thy days from anguish free,
d know, whatever thou hast been,
Tis something better not to be.
[First published, Childe Harold, 1812 (Second Edition).]
AND THOU ART DEAD, AS YOUNG AND FAIR. [aq]
"Heu, quanto minus est cum reliquis versari quam tui meminisse!"[34]
1.
d thou art dead, as young and fair
As aught of mortal birth;
d form so soft, and charms so rare,
oo soon returned to Earth![ar]
ugh Earth received them in her bed,
d o'er the spot the crowd may tread[as]
n carelessness or mirth,
re is an eye which could not brook
moment on that grave to look.
2.
ll not ask where thou liest low,[at]
Nor gaze upon the spot;
re flowers or weeds at will may grow,
o I behold them not:[au]
enough for me to prove
t what I loved, and long must love,
Page 59
ike common earth can rot;[av]
me there needs no stone to tell,
Nothing that I loved so well[aw]
3.
did I love thee to the last
As fervently as thou,[ax]
o didst not change through all the past,
And canst not alter now.
love where Death has set his seal,
age can chill, nor rival steal,[ay]
Nor falsehood disavow:[az]
d, what were worse, thou canst not see[ba]
wrong, or change, or fault in me.[bb]
4.
better days of life were ours;
he worst can be but mine:
sun that cheers, the storm that lowers,[bc]
hall never more be thine.
silence of that dreamless sleep[bd]
vy now too much to weep;
Nor need I to repine,
t all those charms have passed away
ght have watched through long decay.
5.
flower in ripened bloom unmatched
Must fall the earliest prey;[be]
me there needs no stone to tell,
Nothing that I loved so well[aw]
3.
did I love thee to the last
As fervently as thou,[ax]
o didst not change through all the past,
And canst not alter now.
love where Death has set his seal,
age can chill, nor rival steal,[ay]
Nor falsehood disavow:[az]
d, what were worse, thou canst not see[ba]
wrong, or change, or fault in me.[bb]
4.
better days of life were ours;
he worst can be but mine:
sun that cheers, the storm that lowers,[bc]
hall never more be thine.
silence of that dreamless sleep[bd]
vy now too much to weep;
Nor need I to repine,
t all those charms have passed away
ght have watched through long decay.
5.
flower in ripened bloom unmatched
Must fall the earliest prey;[be]
Page 60
ugh by no hand untimely snatched,
he leaves must drop away:
d yet it were a greater grief
watch it withering, leaf by leaf,
han see it plucked to-day;
ce earthly eye but ill can bear
race the change to foul from fair.
6.
ow not if I could have borne[bf]
o see thy beauties fade;
night that followed such a morn
Had worn a deeper shade:
day without a cloud hath passed,[bg]
d thou wert lovely to the last;
xtinguished, not decayed;
stars that shoot along the sky[bh]
ne brightest as they fall from high.
7.
once I wept, if I could weep,
My tears might well be shed,
hink I was not near to keep
One vigil o'er thy bed;
gaze, how fondly! on thy face,
old thee in a faint embrace,
Uphold thy drooping head;
d show that love, however vain,
thou nor I can feel again.
8.
he leaves must drop away:
d yet it were a greater grief
watch it withering, leaf by leaf,
han see it plucked to-day;
ce earthly eye but ill can bear
race the change to foul from fair.
6.
ow not if I could have borne[bf]
o see thy beauties fade;
night that followed such a morn
Had worn a deeper shade:
day without a cloud hath passed,[bg]
d thou wert lovely to the last;
xtinguished, not decayed;
stars that shoot along the sky[bh]
ne brightest as they fall from high.
7.
once I wept, if I could weep,
My tears might well be shed,
hink I was not near to keep
One vigil o'er thy bed;
gaze, how fondly! on thy face,
old thee in a faint embrace,
Uphold thy drooping head;
d show that love, however vain,
thou nor I can feel again.
8.
Page 61
how much less it were to gain,
hough thou hast left me free,[bi]
loveliest things that still remain,
han thus remember thee!
all of thine that cannot die
ough dark and dread Eternity[bj]
eturns again to me,
d more thy buried love endears
n aught, except its living years.
February, 1812.
[First published, Childe Harold, 1812 (Second Edition).]
LINES TO A LADY WEEPING. [bk][35]
ep , daughter of a royal line,
A Sire's disgrace, a realm's decay;
happy if each tear of thine
ould wash a Father's fault away!
ep—for thy tears are Virtue's tears—
Auspicious to these suffering Isles;
d be each drop in future years
epaid thee by thy People's smiles!
March, 1812.
[MS. M. First published, Morning Chronicle, March 7, 1812
(Corsair, 1814, Second Edition).]
IF SOMETIMES IN THE HAUNTS OF MEN. [bl]
1.
ometimes in the haunts of men
hough thou hast left me free,[bi]
loveliest things that still remain,
han thus remember thee!
all of thine that cannot die
ough dark and dread Eternity[bj]
eturns again to me,
d more thy buried love endears
n aught, except its living years.
February, 1812.
[First published, Childe Harold, 1812 (Second Edition).]
LINES TO A LADY WEEPING. [bk][35]
ep , daughter of a royal line,
A Sire's disgrace, a realm's decay;
happy if each tear of thine
ould wash a Father's fault away!
ep—for thy tears are Virtue's tears—
Auspicious to these suffering Isles;
d be each drop in future years
epaid thee by thy People's smiles!
March, 1812.
[MS. M. First published, Morning Chronicle, March 7, 1812
(Corsair, 1814, Second Edition).]
IF SOMETIMES IN THE HAUNTS OF MEN. [bl]
1.
ometimes in the haunts of men
Page 62
hine image from my breast may fade,
lonely hour presents again
he semblance of thy gentle shade:
d now that sad and silent hour
hus much of thee can still restore,
d sorrow unobserved may pour
he plaint she dare not speak before.
2.
pardon that in crowds awhile
waste one thought I owe to thee,
d self-condemned, appear to smile,
Unfaithful to thy memory:
deem that memory less dear,
hat then I seem not to repine;
ould not fools should overhear
One sigh that should be wholly thine.
3.
ot the Goblet pass unquaffed,
is not drained to banish care;
cup must hold a deadlier draught
hat brings a Lethe for despair.
d could Oblivion set my soul
rom all her troubled visions free,
dash to earth the sweetest bowl
hat drowned a single thought of thee.
4.
wert thou vanished from my mind,
Where could my vacant bosom turn?
lonely hour presents again
he semblance of thy gentle shade:
d now that sad and silent hour
hus much of thee can still restore,
d sorrow unobserved may pour
he plaint she dare not speak before.
2.
pardon that in crowds awhile
waste one thought I owe to thee,
d self-condemned, appear to smile,
Unfaithful to thy memory:
deem that memory less dear,
hat then I seem not to repine;
ould not fools should overhear
One sigh that should be wholly thine.
3.
ot the Goblet pass unquaffed,
is not drained to banish care;
cup must hold a deadlier draught
hat brings a Lethe for despair.
d could Oblivion set my soul
rom all her troubled visions free,
dash to earth the sweetest bowl
hat drowned a single thought of thee.
4.
wert thou vanished from my mind,
Where could my vacant bosom turn?
Page 63
d who would then remain behind
o honour thine abandoned Urn?
no—it is my sorrow's pride
hat last dear duty to fulfil;
ugh all the world forget beside,
Tis meet that I remember still.
5.
well I know, that such had been
hy gentle care for him, who now
mourned shall quit this mortal scene,
Where none regarded him, but thou:
d, oh! I feel in that was given
A blessing never meant for me;
u wert too like a dream of Heaven,
or earthly Love to merit thee.
March 14, 1812.
[First published, Childe Harold, 1812 (Second Edition).]
ON A CORNELIAN HEART WHICH WAS BROKEN. [36]
1.
fated Heart! and can it be,
hat thou shouldst thus be rent in twain?
e years of care for thine and thee
Alike been all employed in vain?
2.
precious seems each shattered part,
And every fragment dearer grown,
o honour thine abandoned Urn?
no—it is my sorrow's pride
hat last dear duty to fulfil;
ugh all the world forget beside,
Tis meet that I remember still.
5.
well I know, that such had been
hy gentle care for him, who now
mourned shall quit this mortal scene,
Where none regarded him, but thou:
d, oh! I feel in that was given
A blessing never meant for me;
u wert too like a dream of Heaven,
or earthly Love to merit thee.
March 14, 1812.
[First published, Childe Harold, 1812 (Second Edition).]
ON A CORNELIAN HEART WHICH WAS BROKEN. [36]
1.
fated Heart! and can it be,
hat thou shouldst thus be rent in twain?
e years of care for thine and thee
Alike been all employed in vain?
2.
precious seems each shattered part,
And every fragment dearer grown,
Page 64
ce he who wears thee feels thou art
A fitter emblem of his own.
March 16, 1812.
[First published, Childe Harold, 1812 (Second Edition).]
THE CHAIN I GAVE.
FROM THE TURKISH.
1.
A fitter emblem of his own.
March 16, 1812.
[First published, Childe Harold, 1812 (Second Edition).]
THE CHAIN I GAVE.
FROM THE TURKISH.
1.
Page 65
chain I gave was fair to view,
he lute I added sweet in sound;
heart that offered both was true,
And ill deserved the fate it found.
2.
se gifts were charmed by secret spell,
hy truth in absence to divine;
d they have done their duty well,—
Alas! they could not teach thee thine.
3.
t chain was firm in every link,
ut not to bear a stranger's touch;
t lute was sweet—till thou couldst think
n other hands its notes were such.
4.
him who from thy neck unbound
he chain which shivered in his grasp,
o saw that lute refuse to sound,
estring the chords, renew the clasp.
5.
en thou wert changed, they altered too;
he chain is broke, the music mute,
past—to them and thee adieu—
alse heart, frail chain, and silent lute.
[MS. M. First published, Corsair, 1814 (Second Edition).]
he lute I added sweet in sound;
heart that offered both was true,
And ill deserved the fate it found.
2.
se gifts were charmed by secret spell,
hy truth in absence to divine;
d they have done their duty well,—
Alas! they could not teach thee thine.
3.
t chain was firm in every link,
ut not to bear a stranger's touch;
t lute was sweet—till thou couldst think
n other hands its notes were such.
4.
him who from thy neck unbound
he chain which shivered in his grasp,
o saw that lute refuse to sound,
estring the chords, renew the clasp.
5.
en thou wert changed, they altered too;
he chain is broke, the music mute,
past—to them and thee adieu—
alse heart, frail chain, and silent lute.
[MS. M. First published, Corsair, 1814 (Second Edition).]
Page 66
LINES WRITTEN ON A BLANK LEAF OF
THE PLEASURES OF MEMORY. [bm]
1.
ent or present, still to thee,
My friend, what magic spells belong!
all can tell, who share, like me,
n turn thy converse,[37] and thy song.
2.
when the dreaded hour shall come
y Friendship ever deemed too nigh,
d "M emory " o'er her Druid's tomb[38]
hall weep that aught of thee can die,
3.
w fondly will she then repay
hy homage offered at her shrine,
d blend, while ages roll away,
Her name immortally with thine!
April 19, 1812.
[First published, Poems, 1816.]
ADDRESS, SPOKEN AT THE OPENING OF
DRURY-LANE THEATRE, SATURDAY,
OCTOBER 10, 1812. [39]
THE PLEASURES OF MEMORY. [bm]
1.
ent or present, still to thee,
My friend, what magic spells belong!
all can tell, who share, like me,
n turn thy converse,[37] and thy song.
2.
when the dreaded hour shall come
y Friendship ever deemed too nigh,
d "M emory " o'er her Druid's tomb[38]
hall weep that aught of thee can die,
3.
w fondly will she then repay
hy homage offered at her shrine,
d blend, while ages roll away,
Her name immortally with thine!
April 19, 1812.
[First published, Poems, 1816.]
ADDRESS, SPOKEN AT THE OPENING OF
DRURY-LANE THEATRE, SATURDAY,
OCTOBER 10, 1812. [39]
Page 67
ne dread night our city saw, and sighed,
wed to the dust, the Drama's tower of pride;
ne short hour beheld the blazing fane,
ollo sink, and Shakespeare cease to reign.
Ye who beheld, (oh! sight admired and mourned,
ose radiance mocked the ruin it adorned!)
ough clouds of fire the massy fragments riven,
e Israel's pillar, chase the night from heaven;
w the long column of revolving flames
ke its red shadow o'er the startled Thames,[40] 10
ile thousands, thronged around the burning dome,
ank back appalled, and trembled for their home,
glared the volumed blaze, and ghastly shone[bn]
skies, with lightnings awful as their own,
blackening ashes and the lonely wall[bo]
rped the Muse's realm, and marked her fall;
—shall this new, nor less aspiring pile,
red where once rose the mightiest in our isle,
ow the same favour which the former knew,
hrine for Shakespeare—worthy him and you? 20
Yes—it shall be—the magic of that name
ies the scythe of time, the torch of flame;[bp]
the same spot still consecrates the scene,
d bids the Drama be where she hath been:
s fabric's birth attests the potent spell——
ulge our honest pride, and say, How well!
As soars this fane to emulate the last,
might we draw our omens from the past,
me hour propitious to our prayers may boast
wed to the dust, the Drama's tower of pride;
ne short hour beheld the blazing fane,
ollo sink, and Shakespeare cease to reign.
Ye who beheld, (oh! sight admired and mourned,
ose radiance mocked the ruin it adorned!)
ough clouds of fire the massy fragments riven,
e Israel's pillar, chase the night from heaven;
w the long column of revolving flames
ke its red shadow o'er the startled Thames,[40] 10
ile thousands, thronged around the burning dome,
ank back appalled, and trembled for their home,
glared the volumed blaze, and ghastly shone[bn]
skies, with lightnings awful as their own,
blackening ashes and the lonely wall[bo]
rped the Muse's realm, and marked her fall;
—shall this new, nor less aspiring pile,
red where once rose the mightiest in our isle,
ow the same favour which the former knew,
hrine for Shakespeare—worthy him and you? 20
Yes—it shall be—the magic of that name
ies the scythe of time, the torch of flame;[bp]
the same spot still consecrates the scene,
d bids the Drama be where she hath been:
s fabric's birth attests the potent spell——
ulge our honest pride, and say, How well!
As soars this fane to emulate the last,
might we draw our omens from the past,
me hour propitious to our prayers may boast
Page 68
mes such as hallow still the dome we lost. 30
Drury first your Siddons' thrilling art
rwhelmed the gentlest, stormed the sternest heart.
Drury, Garrick's latest laurels grew;
e your last tears retiring Roscius drew,
hed his last thanks, and wept his last adieu:
still for living wit the wreaths may bloom,
t only waste their odours o'er the tomb.
h Drury claimed and claims—nor you refuse
tribute to revive his slumbering muse;
h garlands deck your own Menander's head, 40
hoard your honours idly for the dead![bq]
r are the days which made our annals bright,
Garrick fled, or Brinsley[41] ceased to write[br]
rs to their labours, like all high-born heirs,
n of our ancestry as they of theirs;
ile thus Remembrance borrows Banquo's glass
claim the sceptred shadows as they pass,
d we the mirror hold, where imaged shine
mortal names, emblazoned on our line,
se—ere their feebler offspring you condemn, 50
lect how hard the task to rival them!
riends of the stage! to whom both Players and Plays
st sue alike for pardon or for praise,
ose judging voice and eye alone direct
boundless power to cherish or reject;
er frivolity has led to fame,
d made us blush that you forbore to blame—
er the sinking stage could condescend
oothe the sickly taste it dare not mend—
past reproach may present scenes refute, 60
Drury first your Siddons' thrilling art
rwhelmed the gentlest, stormed the sternest heart.
Drury, Garrick's latest laurels grew;
e your last tears retiring Roscius drew,
hed his last thanks, and wept his last adieu:
still for living wit the wreaths may bloom,
t only waste their odours o'er the tomb.
h Drury claimed and claims—nor you refuse
tribute to revive his slumbering muse;
h garlands deck your own Menander's head, 40
hoard your honours idly for the dead![bq]
r are the days which made our annals bright,
Garrick fled, or Brinsley[41] ceased to write[br]
rs to their labours, like all high-born heirs,
n of our ancestry as they of theirs;
ile thus Remembrance borrows Banquo's glass
claim the sceptred shadows as they pass,
d we the mirror hold, where imaged shine
mortal names, emblazoned on our line,
se—ere their feebler offspring you condemn, 50
lect how hard the task to rival them!
riends of the stage! to whom both Players and Plays
st sue alike for pardon or for praise,
ose judging voice and eye alone direct
boundless power to cherish or reject;
er frivolity has led to fame,
d made us blush that you forbore to blame—
er the sinking stage could condescend
oothe the sickly taste it dare not mend—
past reproach may present scenes refute, 60
Page 69
d censure, wisely loud, be justly mute![42]
since your fiat stamps the Drama's laws,
bear to mock us with misplaced applause;
Pride shall doubly nerve the actor's powers,
d Reason's voice be echoed back by ours!
his greeting o'er—the ancient rule obeyed,[43]
Drama's homage by her herald paid—
eive our welcome too—whose every tone
ngs from our hearts, and fain would win your own.
curtain rises—may our stage unfold 70
nes not unworthy Drury's days of old!
ons our judges, Nature for our guide,
may we please—long, long may you preside.
[First published, Morning Chronicle, Oct. 12, 1812.]
PARENTHETICAL ADDRESS. [44]
BY DR. PLAGIARY.
Half stolen, with acknowledgments, to be spoken in an inarticulate voice by
Master —— at the opening of the next new theatre. [Stolen parts marked with
the inverted commas of quotation—thus “——”.]
hen energising objects men pursue,"
n Lord knows what is writ by Lord knows who.
modest Monologue you here survey,
sed from the theatre the "other day,"
f Sir Fretful wrote "the slumberous" verse,
d gave his son "the rubbish" to rehearse.
t at the thing you'd never be amazed,"
w you the rumpus which the Author raised;
r even here your smiles would be represt,"
since your fiat stamps the Drama's laws,
bear to mock us with misplaced applause;
Pride shall doubly nerve the actor's powers,
d Reason's voice be echoed back by ours!
his greeting o'er—the ancient rule obeyed,[43]
Drama's homage by her herald paid—
eive our welcome too—whose every tone
ngs from our hearts, and fain would win your own.
curtain rises—may our stage unfold 70
nes not unworthy Drury's days of old!
ons our judges, Nature for our guide,
may we please—long, long may you preside.
[First published, Morning Chronicle, Oct. 12, 1812.]
PARENTHETICAL ADDRESS. [44]
BY DR. PLAGIARY.
Half stolen, with acknowledgments, to be spoken in an inarticulate voice by
Master —— at the opening of the next new theatre. [Stolen parts marked with
the inverted commas of quotation—thus “——”.]
hen energising objects men pursue,"
n Lord knows what is writ by Lord knows who.
modest Monologue you here survey,
sed from the theatre the "other day,"
f Sir Fretful wrote "the slumberous" verse,
d gave his son "the rubbish" to rehearse.
t at the thing you'd never be amazed,"
w you the rumpus which the Author raised;
r even here your smiles would be represt,"
Page 70
w you these lines—the badness of the best, 10
ame! fire! and flame!" (words borrowed from Lucretius.[45])
ead metaphors" which open wounds like issues!
d sleeping pangs awake—and——But away"—
nfound me if I know what next to say).
"Hope reviving re-expands her wings,"
d Master G—— recites what Dr. Busby sings!—
mighty things with small we may compare,"
anslated from the Grammar for the fair!)
matic "spirit drives a conquering car,"
d burn'd poor Moscow like a tub of "tar." 20
is spirit" "Wellington has shown in Spain,"
urnish Melodrames for Drury Lane.
other Marlborough points to Blenheim's story,"
d George and I will dramatise it for ye.
Arts and Sciences our Isle hath shone"
is deep discovery is mine alone).
"British poesy, whose powers inspire"
verse—or I'm a fool—and Fame's a liar,
ee we invoke, your Sister Arts implore"
h "smiles," and "lyres," and "pencils," and much more. 30
se, if we win the Graces, too, we gain
graces, too! "inseparable train!"
ree who have stolen their witching airs from Cupid"
u all know what I mean, unless you're stupid):
rmonious throng" that I have kept in petto
w to produce in a "divine sestetto"!!
hile Poesy," with these delightful doxies,
stains her part" in all the "upper" boxes!
us lifted gloriously, you'll sweep along,"
ne in the vast balloon of Busby's song; 40
ame! fire! and flame!" (words borrowed from Lucretius.[45])
ead metaphors" which open wounds like issues!
d sleeping pangs awake—and——But away"—
nfound me if I know what next to say).
"Hope reviving re-expands her wings,"
d Master G—— recites what Dr. Busby sings!—
mighty things with small we may compare,"
anslated from the Grammar for the fair!)
matic "spirit drives a conquering car,"
d burn'd poor Moscow like a tub of "tar." 20
is spirit" "Wellington has shown in Spain,"
urnish Melodrames for Drury Lane.
other Marlborough points to Blenheim's story,"
d George and I will dramatise it for ye.
Arts and Sciences our Isle hath shone"
is deep discovery is mine alone).
"British poesy, whose powers inspire"
verse—or I'm a fool—and Fame's a liar,
ee we invoke, your Sister Arts implore"
h "smiles," and "lyres," and "pencils," and much more. 30
se, if we win the Graces, too, we gain
graces, too! "inseparable train!"
ree who have stolen their witching airs from Cupid"
u all know what I mean, unless you're stupid):
rmonious throng" that I have kept in petto
w to produce in a "divine sestetto"!!
hile Poesy," with these delightful doxies,
stains her part" in all the "upper" boxes!
us lifted gloriously, you'll sweep along,"
ne in the vast balloon of Busby's song; 40
Page 71
ine in your farce, masque, scenery, and play"
r this last line George had a holiday).
d Drury never, never soar'd so high,"
ays the Manager, and so say I.
t hold," you say, "this self-complacent boast;"
his the Poem which the public lost?
ue—true—that lowers at once our mounting pride;"
lo;—the Papers print what you deride.
s ours to look on you—you hold the prize,"
twenty guineas, as they advertise! 50
double blessing your rewards impart"—
sh I had them, then, with all my heart.
r twofold feeling owns its twofold cause,"
y son and I both beg for your applause.
hen in your fostering beams you bid us live,"
next subscription list shall say how much you give!
[First published, Morning Chronicle, October 23, 1812.]
VERSES FOUND IN A SUMMER-HOUSE
AT HALES-OWEN. [46]
en Dryden's fool, "unknowing what he sought,"
hours in whistling spent, "for want of thought,"[47]
s guiltless oaf his vacancy of sense
plied, and amply too, by innocence:
modern swains, possessed of Cymon's powers,
Cymon's manner waste their leisure hours,
offended guests would not, with blushing, see
se fair green walks disgraced by infamy.
ere the fate of modern fools, alas!
en vice and folly mark them as they pass.
r this last line George had a holiday).
d Drury never, never soar'd so high,"
ays the Manager, and so say I.
t hold," you say, "this self-complacent boast;"
his the Poem which the public lost?
ue—true—that lowers at once our mounting pride;"
lo;—the Papers print what you deride.
s ours to look on you—you hold the prize,"
twenty guineas, as they advertise! 50
double blessing your rewards impart"—
sh I had them, then, with all my heart.
r twofold feeling owns its twofold cause,"
y son and I both beg for your applause.
hen in your fostering beams you bid us live,"
next subscription list shall say how much you give!
[First published, Morning Chronicle, October 23, 1812.]
VERSES FOUND IN A SUMMER-HOUSE
AT HALES-OWEN. [46]
en Dryden's fool, "unknowing what he sought,"
hours in whistling spent, "for want of thought,"[47]
s guiltless oaf his vacancy of sense
plied, and amply too, by innocence:
modern swains, possessed of Cymon's powers,
Cymon's manner waste their leisure hours,
offended guests would not, with blushing, see
se fair green walks disgraced by infamy.
ere the fate of modern fools, alas!
en vice and folly mark them as they pass.
Page 72
e noxious reptiles o'er the whitened wall,
filth they leave still points out where they crawl.
[First published, 1832, vol. xvii.]
REMEMBER THEE! REMEMBER THEE! [48]
1.
member thee! remember thee!
ill Lethe quench life's burning stream
morse and Shame shall cling to thee,
And haunt thee like a feverish dream!
2.
member thee! Aye, doubt it not.
hy husband too shall think of thee:
neither shalt thou be forgot,
hou false to him, thou fiend to me![49]
[First published, Conversations of Lord Byron, 1824.]
TO TIME.
e ! on whose arbitrary wing
he varying hours must flag or fly,
ose tardy winter, fleeting spring,
ut drag or drive us on to die—
l thou! who on my birth bestowed
hose boons to all that know thee known;
better I sustain thy load,
or now I bear the weight alone.
filth they leave still points out where they crawl.
[First published, 1832, vol. xvii.]
REMEMBER THEE! REMEMBER THEE! [48]
1.
member thee! remember thee!
ill Lethe quench life's burning stream
morse and Shame shall cling to thee,
And haunt thee like a feverish dream!
2.
member thee! Aye, doubt it not.
hy husband too shall think of thee:
neither shalt thou be forgot,
hou false to him, thou fiend to me![49]
[First published, Conversations of Lord Byron, 1824.]
TO TIME.
e ! on whose arbitrary wing
he varying hours must flag or fly,
ose tardy winter, fleeting spring,
ut drag or drive us on to die—
l thou! who on my birth bestowed
hose boons to all that know thee known;
better I sustain thy load,
or now I bear the weight alone.
Page 73
ould not one fond heart should share
he bitter moments thou hast given;
d pardon thee—since thou couldst spare
All that I loved, to peace or Heaven.
hem be joy or rest—on me
hy future ills shall press in vain;
thing owe but years to thee,
A debt already paid in pain.
even that pain was some relief;
felt, but still forgot thy power:[bs]
active agony of grief
etards, but never counts the hour.[bt]
oy I've sighed to think thy flight
Would soon subside from swift to slow;
cloud could overcast the light,
ut could not add a night to Woe;
then, however drear and dark,
My soul was suited to thy sky;
star alone shot forth a spark
o prove thee—not Eternity.
t beam hath sunk—and now thou art
A blank—a thing to count and curse
ough each dull tedious trifling part,
Which all regret, yet all rehearse.
scene even thou canst not deform—
he limit of thy sloth or speed
en future wanderers bear the storm
Which we shall sleep too sound to heed.
d I can smile to think how weak
hine efforts shortly shall be shown,
en all the vengeance thou canst wreak
Must fall upon—a nameless stone.
he bitter moments thou hast given;
d pardon thee—since thou couldst spare
All that I loved, to peace or Heaven.
hem be joy or rest—on me
hy future ills shall press in vain;
thing owe but years to thee,
A debt already paid in pain.
even that pain was some relief;
felt, but still forgot thy power:[bs]
active agony of grief
etards, but never counts the hour.[bt]
oy I've sighed to think thy flight
Would soon subside from swift to slow;
cloud could overcast the light,
ut could not add a night to Woe;
then, however drear and dark,
My soul was suited to thy sky;
star alone shot forth a spark
o prove thee—not Eternity.
t beam hath sunk—and now thou art
A blank—a thing to count and curse
ough each dull tedious trifling part,
Which all regret, yet all rehearse.
scene even thou canst not deform—
he limit of thy sloth or speed
en future wanderers bear the storm
Which we shall sleep too sound to heed.
d I can smile to think how weak
hine efforts shortly shall be shown,
en all the vengeance thou canst wreak
Must fall upon—a nameless stone.
Page 74
[MS. M. First published, Childe Harold, 1814 (Seventh Edition).]
TRANSLATION OF A ROMAIC LOVE SONG.
1.
Love was never yet without
pang, the agony, the doubt,
ich rends my heart with ceaseless sigh,
ile day and night roll darkling by.
2.
hout one friend to hear my woe,
nt, I die beneath the blow.
t Love had arrows, well I knew,
s! I find them poisoned too.
3.
ds, yet in freedom, shun the net
ich Love around your haunts hath set;
circled by his fatal fire,
r hearts shall burn, your hopes expire.
4.
ird of free and careless wing
I, through many a smiling spring;
caught within the subtle snare,
rn, and feebly flutter there.
5.
TRANSLATION OF A ROMAIC LOVE SONG.
1.
Love was never yet without
pang, the agony, the doubt,
ich rends my heart with ceaseless sigh,
ile day and night roll darkling by.
2.
hout one friend to hear my woe,
nt, I die beneath the blow.
t Love had arrows, well I knew,
s! I find them poisoned too.
3.
ds, yet in freedom, shun the net
ich Love around your haunts hath set;
circled by his fatal fire,
r hearts shall burn, your hopes expire.
4.
ird of free and careless wing
I, through many a smiling spring;
caught within the subtle snare,
rn, and feebly flutter there.
5.
Page 75
o ne'er have loved, and loved in vain,
neither feel nor pity pain,
cold repulse, the look askance,
lightning of Love's angry glance.
6.
lattering dreams I deemed thee mine;
w hope, and he who hoped, decline;
e melting wax, or withering flower,
el my passion, and thy power.
7.
light of Life! ah, tell me why
t pouting lip, and altered eye?
bird of Love! my beauteous mate!
d art thou changed, and canst thou hate?
8.
e eyes like wintry streams o'erflow:
at wretch with me would barter woe?
bird! relent: one note could give
harm to bid thy lover live.
9.
curdling blood, my madd'ning brain,
ilent anguish I sustain;
d still thy heart, without partaking
pang, exults—while mine is breaking.
10.
neither feel nor pity pain,
cold repulse, the look askance,
lightning of Love's angry glance.
6.
lattering dreams I deemed thee mine;
w hope, and he who hoped, decline;
e melting wax, or withering flower,
el my passion, and thy power.
7.
light of Life! ah, tell me why
t pouting lip, and altered eye?
bird of Love! my beauteous mate!
d art thou changed, and canst thou hate?
8.
e eyes like wintry streams o'erflow:
at wretch with me would barter woe?
bird! relent: one note could give
harm to bid thy lover live.
9.
curdling blood, my madd'ning brain,
ilent anguish I sustain;
d still thy heart, without partaking
pang, exults—while mine is breaking.
10.
Page 76
r me the poison; fear not thou!
u canst not murder more than now:
lived to curse my natal day,
d Love, that thus can lingering slay.
11.
wounded soul, my bleeding breast,
patience preach thee into rest?
s! too late, I dearly know
t Joy is harbinger of Woe.
[First published, Childe Harold, 1814 (Seventh Edition).]
THOU ART NOT FALSE, BUT THOU ART FICKLE. [bu]
[50]
1.
ou art not false, but thou art fickle,
o those thyself so fondly sought;
tears that thou hast forced to trickle
Are doubly bitter from that thought:
this which breaks the heart thou grievest,
well thou lov'st—too soon thou leavest.
2.
wholly false the heart despises,
And spurns deceiver and deceit;
she who not a thought disguises,[bv]
Whose love is as sincere as sweet,—
u canst not murder more than now:
lived to curse my natal day,
d Love, that thus can lingering slay.
11.
wounded soul, my bleeding breast,
patience preach thee into rest?
s! too late, I dearly know
t Joy is harbinger of Woe.
[First published, Childe Harold, 1814 (Seventh Edition).]
THOU ART NOT FALSE, BUT THOU ART FICKLE. [bu]
[50]
1.
ou art not false, but thou art fickle,
o those thyself so fondly sought;
tears that thou hast forced to trickle
Are doubly bitter from that thought:
this which breaks the heart thou grievest,
well thou lov'st—too soon thou leavest.
2.
wholly false the heart despises,
And spurns deceiver and deceit;
she who not a thought disguises,[bv]
Whose love is as sincere as sweet,—
Page 77
en she can change who loved so truly,
els what mine has felt so newly.
3.
dream of joy and wake to sorrow
s doomed to all who love or live;
d if, when conscious on the morrow,
We scarce our Fancy can forgive,
t cheated us in slumber only,
eave the waking soul more lonely,
4.
at must they feel whom no false vision
ut truest, tenderest Passion warmed?
cere, but swift in sad transition:
As if a dream alone had charmed?
sure such grief is Fancy's scheming,
d all thy Change can be but dreaming!
[MS. M. First published, Childe Harold, 1814 (Seventh Edition).]
ON BEING ASKED WHAT WAS THE "ORIGIN OF
LOVE." [bw]
"Origin of Love!"—Ah, why
hat cruel question ask of me,
en thou mayst read in many an eye
He starts to life on seeing thee?
d shouldst thou seek his end to know:
My heart forebodes, my fears foresee,
els what mine has felt so newly.
3.
dream of joy and wake to sorrow
s doomed to all who love or live;
d if, when conscious on the morrow,
We scarce our Fancy can forgive,
t cheated us in slumber only,
eave the waking soul more lonely,
4.
at must they feel whom no false vision
ut truest, tenderest Passion warmed?
cere, but swift in sad transition:
As if a dream alone had charmed?
sure such grief is Fancy's scheming,
d all thy Change can be but dreaming!
[MS. M. First published, Childe Harold, 1814 (Seventh Edition).]
ON BEING ASKED WHAT WAS THE "ORIGIN OF
LOVE." [bw]
"Origin of Love!"—Ah, why
hat cruel question ask of me,
en thou mayst read in many an eye
He starts to life on seeing thee?
d shouldst thou seek his end to know:
My heart forebodes, my fears foresee,
Page 78
l linger long in silent woe;
ut live until—I cease to be.
[First published, Childe Harold, 1814 (Seventh Edition).]
ON THE QUOTATION,
"And my true faith can alter never,
Though thou art gone perhaps for ever."
1.
d "thy true faith can alter never?"—
ndeed it lasted for a—week!
ow the length of Love's forever,
And just expected such a freak.
eace we met, in peace we parted,
n peace we vowed to meet again,
d though I find thee fickle-hearted
No pang of mine shall make thee vain.
2.
gone—'twas time to seek a second;
n sooth 'twere hard to blame thy haste.
d whatsoe'er thy love be reckoned,
At least thou hast improved in taste:
ugh one was young, the next was younger,
His love was new, mine too well known—
d what might make the charm still stronger,
he youth was present, I was flown.
3.
en days and nights of single sorrow!
ut live until—I cease to be.
[First published, Childe Harold, 1814 (Seventh Edition).]
ON THE QUOTATION,
"And my true faith can alter never,
Though thou art gone perhaps for ever."
1.
d "thy true faith can alter never?"—
ndeed it lasted for a—week!
ow the length of Love's forever,
And just expected such a freak.
eace we met, in peace we parted,
n peace we vowed to meet again,
d though I find thee fickle-hearted
No pang of mine shall make thee vain.
2.
gone—'twas time to seek a second;
n sooth 'twere hard to blame thy haste.
d whatsoe'er thy love be reckoned,
At least thou hast improved in taste:
ugh one was young, the next was younger,
His love was new, mine too well known—
d what might make the charm still stronger,
he youth was present, I was flown.
3.
en days and nights of single sorrow!
Page 79
oo much for human constancy!
ortnight past, why then to-morrow,
His turn is come to follow me:
d if each week you change a lover,
And so have acted heretofore,
ore a year or two is over
We'll form a very pretty corps.
4.
eu, fair thing! without upbraiding
fain would take a decent leave;
beauty still survives unfading,
And undeceived may long deceive.
h him unto thy bosom dearer
njoy the moments as they flee;
ly wish his love sincerer
han thy young heart has been to me.
1812.
[From a MS. in the possession of Mr. Murray, now for the first time printed.]
REMEMBER HIM, WHOM PASSION'S POWER. [51]
1.
member him, whom Passion's power
everely—deeply—vainly proved:
member thou that dangerous hour,
When neither fell, though both were loved.[bx]
2.
ortnight past, why then to-morrow,
His turn is come to follow me:
d if each week you change a lover,
And so have acted heretofore,
ore a year or two is over
We'll form a very pretty corps.
4.
eu, fair thing! without upbraiding
fain would take a decent leave;
beauty still survives unfading,
And undeceived may long deceive.
h him unto thy bosom dearer
njoy the moments as they flee;
ly wish his love sincerer
han thy young heart has been to me.
1812.
[From a MS. in the possession of Mr. Murray, now for the first time printed.]
REMEMBER HIM, WHOM PASSION'S POWER. [51]
1.
member him, whom Passion's power
everely—deeply—vainly proved:
member thou that dangerous hour,
When neither fell, though both were loved.[bx]
2.
Page 80
t yielding breast, that melting eye,[by]
oo much invited to be blessed:
t gentle prayer, that pleading sigh,
he wilder wish reproved, repressed.
3.
let me feel that all I lost[bz]
ut saved thee all that Conscience fears;
d blush for every pang it cost
o spare the vain remorse of years.
4.
think of this when many a tongue,
Whose busy accents whisper blame,
uld do the heart that loved thee wrong,
And brand a nearly blighted name.[ca]
5.
nk that, whate'er to others, thou
Hast seen each selfish thought subdued:
ess thy purer soul even now,
ven now, in midnight solitude.
6.
God! that we had met in time,
Our hearts as fond, thy hand more free;
en thou hadst loved without a crime,
And I been less unworthy thee![cb]
7.
oo much invited to be blessed:
t gentle prayer, that pleading sigh,
he wilder wish reproved, repressed.
3.
let me feel that all I lost[bz]
ut saved thee all that Conscience fears;
d blush for every pang it cost
o spare the vain remorse of years.
4.
think of this when many a tongue,
Whose busy accents whisper blame,
uld do the heart that loved thee wrong,
And brand a nearly blighted name.[ca]
5.
nk that, whate'er to others, thou
Hast seen each selfish thought subdued:
ess thy purer soul even now,
ven now, in midnight solitude.
6.
God! that we had met in time,
Our hearts as fond, thy hand more free;
en thou hadst loved without a crime,
And I been less unworthy thee![cb]
7.
Page 81
may thy days, as heretofore,[cc]
rom this our gaudy world be past!
d that too bitter moment o'er,
Oh! may such trial be thy last.
8.
s heart, alas! perverted long,
self destroyed might there destroy;
meet thee in the glittering throng,
Would wake Presumption's hope of joy.[cd]
9.
n to the things whose bliss or woe,
ike mine, is wild and worthless all,
t world resign—such scenes forego,
Where those who feel must surely fall.
10.
youth, thy charms, thy tenderness—
hy soul from long seclusion pure;
m what even here hath passed, may guess
What there thy bosom must endure.
11.
pardon that imploring tear,
ince not by Virtue shed in vain,
frenzy drew from eyes so dear;
or me they shall not weep again.
12.
rom this our gaudy world be past!
d that too bitter moment o'er,
Oh! may such trial be thy last.
8.
s heart, alas! perverted long,
self destroyed might there destroy;
meet thee in the glittering throng,
Would wake Presumption's hope of joy.[cd]
9.
n to the things whose bliss or woe,
ike mine, is wild and worthless all,
t world resign—such scenes forego,
Where those who feel must surely fall.
10.
youth, thy charms, thy tenderness—
hy soul from long seclusion pure;
m what even here hath passed, may guess
What there thy bosom must endure.
11.
pardon that imploring tear,
ince not by Virtue shed in vain,
frenzy drew from eyes so dear;
or me they shall not weep again.
12.
Page 82
ugh long and mournful must it be,
he thought that we no more may meet;
I deserve the stern decree,
And almost deem the sentence sweet.
13.
—had I loved thee less—my heart
Had then less sacrificed to thine;
lt not half so much to part
As if its guilt had made thee mine.
1813.
[MS. M. First published, Childe Harold, 1814 (Seventh Edition).]
IMPROMPTU, IN REPLY TO A FRIEND. [52]
en , from the heart where Sorrow sits,
Her dusky shadow mounts too high,
d o'er the changing aspect flits,
And clouds the brow, or fills the eye;
d not that gloom, which soon shall sink:
My Thoughts their dungeon know too well;
k to my breast the Wanderers shrink,
And droop within their silent cell.[ce]
September, 1813.
[MS. M. first published, Childe Harold, 1814 (Seventh Edition).]
SONNET.
TO GENEVRA.
he thought that we no more may meet;
I deserve the stern decree,
And almost deem the sentence sweet.
13.
—had I loved thee less—my heart
Had then less sacrificed to thine;
lt not half so much to part
As if its guilt had made thee mine.
1813.
[MS. M. First published, Childe Harold, 1814 (Seventh Edition).]
IMPROMPTU, IN REPLY TO A FRIEND. [52]
en , from the heart where Sorrow sits,
Her dusky shadow mounts too high,
d o'er the changing aspect flits,
And clouds the brow, or fills the eye;
d not that gloom, which soon shall sink:
My Thoughts their dungeon know too well;
k to my breast the Wanderers shrink,
And droop within their silent cell.[ce]
September, 1813.
[MS. M. first published, Childe Harold, 1814 (Seventh Edition).]
SONNET.
TO GENEVRA.
Page 83
ne eyes' blue tenderness, thy long fair hair,
And the warm lustre of thy features—caught
rom contemplation—where serenely wrought,
ms Sorrow's softness charmed from its despair—
e thrown such speaking sadness in thine air,
hat—but I know thy blessed bosom fraught
With mines of unalloyed and stainless thought—
ould have deemed thee doomed to earthly care.
h such an aspect, by his colours blent,
When from his beauty-breathing pencil born,
cept that thou hast nothing to repent)
he Magdalen of Guido saw the morn—
h seem'st thou—but how much more excellent!
With nought Remorse can claim—nor Virtue scorn.
December 17, 1813.[53]
[MS. M. First published, Corsair, 1814 (Second Edition).]
SONNET.
TO GENEVRA.
[cf]
y cheek is pale with thought, but not from woe,
And yet so lovely, that if Mirth could flush
s rose of whiteness with the brightest blush,
heart would wish away that ruder glow:
d dazzle not thy deep-blue eyes—but, oh!
While gazing on them sterner eyes will gush,
And into mine my mother's weakness rush,
as the last drops round Heaven's airy bow.
through thy long dark lashes low depending,
he soul of melancholy Gentleness
ams like a Seraph from the sky descending,
And the warm lustre of thy features—caught
rom contemplation—where serenely wrought,
ms Sorrow's softness charmed from its despair—
e thrown such speaking sadness in thine air,
hat—but I know thy blessed bosom fraught
With mines of unalloyed and stainless thought—
ould have deemed thee doomed to earthly care.
h such an aspect, by his colours blent,
When from his beauty-breathing pencil born,
cept that thou hast nothing to repent)
he Magdalen of Guido saw the morn—
h seem'st thou—but how much more excellent!
With nought Remorse can claim—nor Virtue scorn.
December 17, 1813.[53]
[MS. M. First published, Corsair, 1814 (Second Edition).]
SONNET.
TO GENEVRA.
[cf]
y cheek is pale with thought, but not from woe,
And yet so lovely, that if Mirth could flush
s rose of whiteness with the brightest blush,
heart would wish away that ruder glow:
d dazzle not thy deep-blue eyes—but, oh!
While gazing on them sterner eyes will gush,
And into mine my mother's weakness rush,
as the last drops round Heaven's airy bow.
through thy long dark lashes low depending,
he soul of melancholy Gentleness
ams like a Seraph from the sky descending,
Page 84
Above all pain, yet pitying all distress;
once such majesty with sweetness blending,
worship more, but cannot love thee less.
December 17, 1813.
[MS. M. First published, Corsair, 1814 (Second Edition).]
FROM THE PORTUGUESE.
"TU MI CHAMAS."
1.
moments to delight devoted,[54]
My Life!" with tenderest tone, you cry;
r words! on which my heart had doted,
Youth could neither fade nor die.
1.
Death even hours like these must roll,
Ah! then repeat those accents never;
change "my Life!" into "my Soul!"
Which, like my Love, exists for ever.
[MS. M.]
ANOTHER VERSION.
u call me still your Life.—Oh! change the word—
ife is as transient as the inconstant sigh:
rather I'm your Soul; more just that name,
or, like the soul, my Love can never die.
[Stanzas 1, 2 first published, Childe Harold, 1814 (Seventh Edition).
"Another Version," first published, 1832.]
once such majesty with sweetness blending,
worship more, but cannot love thee less.
December 17, 1813.
[MS. M. First published, Corsair, 1814 (Second Edition).]
FROM THE PORTUGUESE.
"TU MI CHAMAS."
1.
moments to delight devoted,[54]
My Life!" with tenderest tone, you cry;
r words! on which my heart had doted,
Youth could neither fade nor die.
1.
Death even hours like these must roll,
Ah! then repeat those accents never;
change "my Life!" into "my Soul!"
Which, like my Love, exists for ever.
[MS. M.]
ANOTHER VERSION.
u call me still your Life.—Oh! change the word—
ife is as transient as the inconstant sigh:
rather I'm your Soul; more just that name,
or, like the soul, my Love can never die.
[Stanzas 1, 2 first published, Childe Harold, 1814 (Seventh Edition).
"Another Version," first published, 1832.]
Page 85
FOOTNOTES:
[1] [These stanzas were inserted in the first draft of the First Canto of Childe Harold, after
the eighty-sixth stanza. "The struggle 'gainst the Demon's sway" (see stanza lxxxiv.) had,
apparently, resulted in victory, for the "unpremeditated lay" poured forth at the time
betrays the youth and high spirits of the singer. But the inconsistency was detected in
time, and the lines, To Inez, dated January 25, 1810, with their "touches of dreariest
sadness," were substituted for the simple and cheerful strains of The Girl of Cadiz (see
Poetical Works, 1899, ii. 75, note 1; Life, p. 151).]
[a] {1} For thou hast never lived to see.—[MS. M. erased.]
[b] {2} The Saxon maids——.—[MS. M.]
[2] [Compare Childe Harold, Canto I. stanza lviii. lines 8, 9, Poetical Works, 1899, ii. 59,
note 1.]
[3] {3} [For "Bolero," see Poetical Works, 1898, i. 492, note 1.]
[c]
Or tells with light and fairy hand
Her beads beneath the rays of Hesper.—[MS. M. erased.]
[d] ——the lovely Girl of Cadiz.—[MS. M.]
[e] {4} Written in an Album.—[Editions 1812-1831.]
Written in Mrs. Spencer S.'s——.—[MS. M. erased]
Written at the request of a lady in her memorandum book.—[MS. B. M.]
"Mrs. S. S.'s request."—[Erased. MS. B.M.]
[4] [The possessor of the album was, doubtless, Mrs. Spencer Smith, the "Lady" of the
lines To Florence, "the sweet Florence" of the Stanzas composed during a Thunderstorm,
and of the Stanzas written in passing through the Ambracian Gulf, and, finally, when "The
Spell is broke, the Charm is flown," the "fair Florence" of stanzas xxxii., xxxiii. of the
Second Canto of Childe Harold. In a letter to his mother, dated September 15, 1809,
Byron writes, "This letter is committed to the charge of a very extraordinary woman,
whom you have doubtless heard of, Mrs. Spencer Smith, of whose escape the Marquis de
Salvo published a narrative a few years ago (Travels in the Year 1806, from Italy to
England through the Tyrol, etc., containing the particulars of the liberation of Mrs.
Spencer Smith from the hands of the French Police, London: 12mo, 1807). She has since
been shipwrecked, and her life has been from its commencement so fertile in remarkable
[1] [These stanzas were inserted in the first draft of the First Canto of Childe Harold, after
the eighty-sixth stanza. "The struggle 'gainst the Demon's sway" (see stanza lxxxiv.) had,
apparently, resulted in victory, for the "unpremeditated lay" poured forth at the time
betrays the youth and high spirits of the singer. But the inconsistency was detected in
time, and the lines, To Inez, dated January 25, 1810, with their "touches of dreariest
sadness," were substituted for the simple and cheerful strains of The Girl of Cadiz (see
Poetical Works, 1899, ii. 75, note 1; Life, p. 151).]
[a] {1} For thou hast never lived to see.—[MS. M. erased.]
[b] {2} The Saxon maids——.—[MS. M.]
[2] [Compare Childe Harold, Canto I. stanza lviii. lines 8, 9, Poetical Works, 1899, ii. 59,
note 1.]
[3] {3} [For "Bolero," see Poetical Works, 1898, i. 492, note 1.]
[c]
Or tells with light and fairy hand
Her beads beneath the rays of Hesper.—[MS. M. erased.]
[d] ——the lovely Girl of Cadiz.—[MS. M.]
[e] {4} Written in an Album.—[Editions 1812-1831.]
Written in Mrs. Spencer S.'s——.—[MS. M. erased]
Written at the request of a lady in her memorandum book.—[MS. B. M.]
"Mrs. S. S.'s request."—[Erased. MS. B.M.]
[4] [The possessor of the album was, doubtless, Mrs. Spencer Smith, the "Lady" of the
lines To Florence, "the sweet Florence" of the Stanzas composed during a Thunderstorm,
and of the Stanzas written in passing through the Ambracian Gulf, and, finally, when "The
Spell is broke, the Charm is flown," the "fair Florence" of stanzas xxxii., xxxiii. of the
Second Canto of Childe Harold. In a letter to his mother, dated September 15, 1809,
Byron writes, "This letter is committed to the charge of a very extraordinary woman,
whom you have doubtless heard of, Mrs. Spencer Smith, of whose escape the Marquis de
Salvo published a narrative a few years ago (Travels in the Year 1806, from Italy to
England through the Tyrol, etc., containing the particulars of the liberation of Mrs.
Spencer Smith from the hands of the French Police, London: 12mo, 1807). She has since
been shipwrecked, and her life has been from its commencement so fertile in remarkable
Page 86
incidents, that in a romance they would appear improbable. She was born at
Constantinople [circ. 1785], where her father, Baron Herbert, was Austrian Ambassador;
married unhappily, yet has never been impeached in point of character; excited the
vengeance of Buonaparte by a part in some conspiracy; several times risked her life; and
is not yet twenty-five."
John Spencer Smith, the "Lady's" husband, was a younger brother of Admiral Sir Sidney
Smith, the hero of the siege of Acre. He began life as a Page of Honour to Queen
Charlotte, was, afterwards, attached to the Turkish Embassy, and (May 4, 1798) appointed
Minister Plenipotentiary. On January 5, 1799, he concluded the treaty of defensive
alliance with the Porte; and, October 30, 1799, obtained the freedom of the Black Sea for
the English flag (see Remains of the late John Tweddell. London: 1815. See, too, for Mrs.
Spencer Smith, Letters, 1898, i. 244, 245, note 1).]
[f] {5} To——.—[Editions 1812-1832.]
[g] {6} Through giant Danger's rugged path.—[MS. M.]
[h] {7} Stanzas—[1812.]
[5] Composed Octr. 11, 1809, during the night in a thunderstorm, when the guides had
lost the road to Zitza, near the range of mountains formerly called Pindus, in Albania.
[Editions 1812-1831.]
[This thunderstorm occurred during the night of the 11th October, 1809, when Lord
Byron's guides had lost the road to Zitza, near the range of mountains formerly called
Pindus, in Albania. Hobhouse, who had ridden on before the rest of the party, and arrived
at Zitza just as the evening set in, describes the thunder as rolling "without intermission—
the echoes of one peal had not ceased to roll in the mountains, before another tremendous
crash burst over our heads, whilst the plains and the distant hills, visible through the
cracks in the cabin, appeared in a perpetual blaze. The tempest was altogether terrific, and
worthy of the Grecian Jove. Lord Byron, with the priest and the servants, did not enter our
hut before three (in the morning). I now learnt from him that they had lost their way, ...
and that after wandering up and down in total ignorance of their position, had, at last,
stopped near some Turkish tombstones and a torrent, which they saw by the flashes of
lightning. They had been thus exposed for nine hours. ... It was long before we ceased to
talk of the thunderstorm in the plain of Zitza."—Travels in Albania, 1858, i. 70, 72;
Childe Harold, Canto II. stanza xlviii., Poetical Works, 1899, ii. 129, note 1.]
[i] {11} Stanzas.—[1812.]
[j] {12} Had Bards but realms along with rhymes.—[MS. M.]
Constantinople [circ. 1785], where her father, Baron Herbert, was Austrian Ambassador;
married unhappily, yet has never been impeached in point of character; excited the
vengeance of Buonaparte by a part in some conspiracy; several times risked her life; and
is not yet twenty-five."
John Spencer Smith, the "Lady's" husband, was a younger brother of Admiral Sir Sidney
Smith, the hero of the siege of Acre. He began life as a Page of Honour to Queen
Charlotte, was, afterwards, attached to the Turkish Embassy, and (May 4, 1798) appointed
Minister Plenipotentiary. On January 5, 1799, he concluded the treaty of defensive
alliance with the Porte; and, October 30, 1799, obtained the freedom of the Black Sea for
the English flag (see Remains of the late John Tweddell. London: 1815. See, too, for Mrs.
Spencer Smith, Letters, 1898, i. 244, 245, note 1).]
[f] {5} To——.—[Editions 1812-1832.]
[g] {6} Through giant Danger's rugged path.—[MS. M.]
[h] {7} Stanzas—[1812.]
[5] Composed Octr. 11, 1809, during the night in a thunderstorm, when the guides had
lost the road to Zitza, near the range of mountains formerly called Pindus, in Albania.
[Editions 1812-1831.]
[This thunderstorm occurred during the night of the 11th October, 1809, when Lord
Byron's guides had lost the road to Zitza, near the range of mountains formerly called
Pindus, in Albania. Hobhouse, who had ridden on before the rest of the party, and arrived
at Zitza just as the evening set in, describes the thunder as rolling "without intermission—
the echoes of one peal had not ceased to roll in the mountains, before another tremendous
crash burst over our heads, whilst the plains and the distant hills, visible through the
cracks in the cabin, appeared in a perpetual blaze. The tempest was altogether terrific, and
worthy of the Grecian Jove. Lord Byron, with the priest and the servants, did not enter our
hut before three (in the morning). I now learnt from him that they had lost their way, ...
and that after wandering up and down in total ignorance of their position, had, at last,
stopped near some Turkish tombstones and a torrent, which they saw by the flashes of
lightning. They had been thus exposed for nine hours. ... It was long before we ceased to
talk of the thunderstorm in the plain of Zitza."—Travels in Albania, 1858, i. 70, 72;
Childe Harold, Canto II. stanza xlviii., Poetical Works, 1899, ii. 129, note 1.]
[i] {11} Stanzas.—[1812.]
[j] {12} Had Bards but realms along with rhymes.—[MS. M.]
Page 87
[k] Again we'd see some Antonies.—[MS. M.]
[l] Though Jove——.—[MS. M.]
[6] [Compare [A Woman's Hair] stanza 1, line 4, "I would not lose you for a world."—
Poetical Works, 1898, i. 233.]
[m] Written at Athens.—[1812.]
[7] {13} On the 3rd of May, 1810, while the Salsette (Captain Bathurst) was lying in the
Dardanelles, Lieutenant Ekenhead, of that frigate, and the writer of these rhymes, swam
from the European shore to the Asiatic—by the by, from Abydos to Sestos would have
been more correct. The whole distance, from the place whence we started to our landing
on the other side, including the length we were carried by the current, was computed by
those on board the frigate at upwards of four English miles, though the actual breadth is
barely one. The rapidity of the current is such that no boat can row directly across, and it
may, in some measure, be estimated from the circumstance of the whole distance being
accomplished by one of the parties in an hour and five, and by the other in an hour and ten
minutes. The water was extremely cold, from the melting of the mountain snows. About
three weeks before, in April, we had made an attempt; but having ridden all the way from
the Troad the same morning, and the water being of an icy chillness, we found it
necessary to postpone the completion till the frigate anchored below the castles, when we
swam the straits as just stated, entering a considerable way above the European, and
landing below the Asiatic, fort. [Le] Chevalier says that a young Jew swam the same
distance for his mistress; and Olivier mentions its having been done by a Neapolitan; but
our consul, Tarragona, remembered neither of these circumstances, and tried to dissuade
us from the attempt. A number of the Salsette's crew were known to have accomplished a
greater distance; and the only thing that surprised me was that, as doubts had been
entertained of the truth of Leander's story, no traveller had ever endeavoured to ascertain
its practicability. [See letter to Drury, dated May 3; to his mother, May 24, 1810, etc.
(Letters, 1898, i. 262, 275). Compare the well-known lines in Don Juan, Canto II. stanza
cv.—
"A better swimmer you could scarce see ever,
He could perhaps have passed the Hellespont,
As once (a feat on which ourselves we prided)
Leander, Mr. Ekenhead, and I did."
Compare, too, Childe Harold, Canto IV. stanza clxxxiv. line 3, and the Bride of Abydos,
Canto II. stanza i.: Poetical Works, 1899, ii. 461, note 2, et post, p. 178.]
[l] Though Jove——.—[MS. M.]
[6] [Compare [A Woman's Hair] stanza 1, line 4, "I would not lose you for a world."—
Poetical Works, 1898, i. 233.]
[m] Written at Athens.—[1812.]
[7] {13} On the 3rd of May, 1810, while the Salsette (Captain Bathurst) was lying in the
Dardanelles, Lieutenant Ekenhead, of that frigate, and the writer of these rhymes, swam
from the European shore to the Asiatic—by the by, from Abydos to Sestos would have
been more correct. The whole distance, from the place whence we started to our landing
on the other side, including the length we were carried by the current, was computed by
those on board the frigate at upwards of four English miles, though the actual breadth is
barely one. The rapidity of the current is such that no boat can row directly across, and it
may, in some measure, be estimated from the circumstance of the whole distance being
accomplished by one of the parties in an hour and five, and by the other in an hour and ten
minutes. The water was extremely cold, from the melting of the mountain snows. About
three weeks before, in April, we had made an attempt; but having ridden all the way from
the Troad the same morning, and the water being of an icy chillness, we found it
necessary to postpone the completion till the frigate anchored below the castles, when we
swam the straits as just stated, entering a considerable way above the European, and
landing below the Asiatic, fort. [Le] Chevalier says that a young Jew swam the same
distance for his mistress; and Olivier mentions its having been done by a Neapolitan; but
our consul, Tarragona, remembered neither of these circumstances, and tried to dissuade
us from the attempt. A number of the Salsette's crew were known to have accomplished a
greater distance; and the only thing that surprised me was that, as doubts had been
entertained of the truth of Leander's story, no traveller had ever endeavoured to ascertain
its practicability. [See letter to Drury, dated May 3; to his mother, May 24, 1810, etc.
(Letters, 1898, i. 262, 275). Compare the well-known lines in Don Juan, Canto II. stanza
cv.—
"A better swimmer you could scarce see ever,
He could perhaps have passed the Hellespont,
As once (a feat on which ourselves we prided)
Leander, Mr. Ekenhead, and I did."
Compare, too, Childe Harold, Canto IV. stanza clxxxiv. line 3, and the Bride of Abydos,
Canto II. stanza i.: Poetical Works, 1899, ii. 461, note 2, et post, p. 178.]
Page 88
[8] {14} [Hobhouse, who records the first attempt to cross the Hellespont, on April 16,
and the successful achievement of the feat, May 3, 1810, adds the following note: "In my
journal, in my friend's handwriting: 'The whole distance E. and myself swam was more
than four miles—the current very strong and cold—some large fish near us when half
across—we were not fatigued, but a little chilled—did it with little difficulty.—May, 6,
1810. Byron.'"—Travels in Albania, ii. 195.]
[9] {15} ["At Orchomenus, where stood the Temple of the Graces, I was tempted to
exclaim, 'Whither have the Graces fled?' Little did I expect to find them here. Yet here
comes one of them with golden cups and coffee, and another with a book. The book is a
register of names.... Among these is Lord Byron's connected with some lines which I shall
send you: 'Fair Albion,' etc." (See Travels in Italy, Greece, etc., by H. W. Williams, ii. 290,
291; Life, p. 101.)]
[n] Song.—[1812.]
[10] [The Maid of Athens was, it is supposed, the eldest of three sisters, daughters of
Theodora Macri, the widow of a former English vice-consul. Byron and Hobhouse lodged
at her house. The sisters were sought out and described by the artist, Hugh W. Williams,
who visited Athens in May, 1817: "Theresa, the Maid of Athens, Catinco, and Mariana,
are of middle stature.... The two eldest have black, or dark hair and eyes; their visage oval,
and complexion somewhat pale, with teeth of pearly whiteness. Their cheeks are rounded,
their noses straight, rather inclined to aquiline. The youngest, Mariana, is very fair, her
face not so finely rounded, but has a gayer expression than her sisters', whose
countenances, except when the conversation has something of mirth in it, may be said to
be rather pensive. Their persons are elegant, and their manners pleasing and lady-like,
such as would be fascinating in any country. They possess very considerable powers of
conversation, and their minds seem to be more instructed than those of the Greek women
in general."—Travels in Italy, Greece, etc., ii. 291, 292.
Other travellers, Hughes, who visited Athens in 1813, and Walsh (Narrative of a Resident
in Constantinople, i. 122), who saw Theresa in 1821, found her charming and interesting,
but speak of her beauty as a thing of the past. "She married an Englishman named Black,
employed in H.M. Consular Service at Mesolonghi. She survived her husband and fell
into great poverty.... Theresa Black died October 15, 1875, aged 80 years." (See Letters,
1898, i. 269, 270, note 1; and Life, p. 105, note.)
"Maid of Athens" is possibly the best-known of Byron's short poems, all over the English-
speaking world. This is no doubt due in part to its having been set to music by about half a
dozen composers—the latest of whom was Gounod.]
and the successful achievement of the feat, May 3, 1810, adds the following note: "In my
journal, in my friend's handwriting: 'The whole distance E. and myself swam was more
than four miles—the current very strong and cold—some large fish near us when half
across—we were not fatigued, but a little chilled—did it with little difficulty.—May, 6,
1810. Byron.'"—Travels in Albania, ii. 195.]
[9] {15} ["At Orchomenus, where stood the Temple of the Graces, I was tempted to
exclaim, 'Whither have the Graces fled?' Little did I expect to find them here. Yet here
comes one of them with golden cups and coffee, and another with a book. The book is a
register of names.... Among these is Lord Byron's connected with some lines which I shall
send you: 'Fair Albion,' etc." (See Travels in Italy, Greece, etc., by H. W. Williams, ii. 290,
291; Life, p. 101.)]
[n] Song.—[1812.]
[10] [The Maid of Athens was, it is supposed, the eldest of three sisters, daughters of
Theodora Macri, the widow of a former English vice-consul. Byron and Hobhouse lodged
at her house. The sisters were sought out and described by the artist, Hugh W. Williams,
who visited Athens in May, 1817: "Theresa, the Maid of Athens, Catinco, and Mariana,
are of middle stature.... The two eldest have black, or dark hair and eyes; their visage oval,
and complexion somewhat pale, with teeth of pearly whiteness. Their cheeks are rounded,
their noses straight, rather inclined to aquiline. The youngest, Mariana, is very fair, her
face not so finely rounded, but has a gayer expression than her sisters', whose
countenances, except when the conversation has something of mirth in it, may be said to
be rather pensive. Their persons are elegant, and their manners pleasing and lady-like,
such as would be fascinating in any country. They possess very considerable powers of
conversation, and their minds seem to be more instructed than those of the Greek women
in general."—Travels in Italy, Greece, etc., ii. 291, 292.
Other travellers, Hughes, who visited Athens in 1813, and Walsh (Narrative of a Resident
in Constantinople, i. 122), who saw Theresa in 1821, found her charming and interesting,
but speak of her beauty as a thing of the past. "She married an Englishman named Black,
employed in H.M. Consular Service at Mesolonghi. She survived her husband and fell
into great poverty.... Theresa Black died October 15, 1875, aged 80 years." (See Letters,
1898, i. 269, 270, note 1; and Life, p. 105, note.)
"Maid of Athens" is possibly the best-known of Byron's short poems, all over the English-
speaking world. This is no doubt due in part to its having been set to music by about half a
dozen composers—the latest of whom was Gounod.]
Page 89
[11] {16} Romaic expression of tenderness. If I translate it, I shall affront the gentlemen,
as it may seem that I supposed they could not; and if I do not, I may affront the ladies. For
fear of any misconstruction on the part of the latter, I shall do so, begging pardon of the
learned. It means, "My life, I love you!" which sounds very prettily in all languages, and
is as much in fashion in Greece at this day as, Juvenal tells us, the two first words were
amongst the Roman ladies, whose erotic expressions were all Hellenised. [The reference
is to the Ζωή καὶ Ψχὴ of Roman courtesans. Vide Juvenal, lib. ii., Sat. vi. line 195;
Martial, Epig. x. 68. 5.]
[12] {17} In the East (where ladies are not taught to write, lest they should scribble
assignations), flowers, cinders, pebbles, etc., convey the sentiments of the parties, by that
universal deputy of Mercury—an old woman. A cinder says, "I burn for thee;" a bunch of
flowers tied with hair, "Take me and fly;" but a pebble declares—what nothing else can.
[Compare The Bride of Abydos, line 295—
"What! not receive my foolish flower?"
See, too, Medwin's story of "one of the principal incidents in The Giaour." "I was in
despair, and could hardly contrive to get a cinder, or a token-flower sent to express it."—
Conversations of Lord Byron, 1824, p. 122.]
[13] Constantinople. [Compare—
"Tho' I am parted, yet my mind
That's more than self still stays behind."
Poems, by Thomas Carew, ed. 1640, p. 36.]
[14] {18} [Given to the Hon. Roden Noel by S. McCalmont Hill, who inherited it from
his great-grandfather, Robert Dallas. No date or occasion of the piece has been recorded.
—Life of Lord Byron, 1890, p. 5.]
[15] {19} [These lines are copied from a leaf of the original MS. of the Second Canto of
Childe Harold. They are headed, "Lines written beneath the Picture of J.U.D."
In a curious work of doubtful authority, entitled, The Life, Writings, Opinions and Times
of the Right Hon. G. G. Noel Byron, London, 1825 (iii. 123-132), there is a long and
circumstantial narrative of a "defeated" attempt of Byron's to rescue a Georgian girl,
whom he had bought in the slave-market for 800 piastres, from a life of shame and
degradation. It is improbable that these verses suggested the story; and, on the other hand,
the story, if true, does afford some clue to the verses.]
as it may seem that I supposed they could not; and if I do not, I may affront the ladies. For
fear of any misconstruction on the part of the latter, I shall do so, begging pardon of the
learned. It means, "My life, I love you!" which sounds very prettily in all languages, and
is as much in fashion in Greece at this day as, Juvenal tells us, the two first words were
amongst the Roman ladies, whose erotic expressions were all Hellenised. [The reference
is to the Ζωή καὶ Ψχὴ of Roman courtesans. Vide Juvenal, lib. ii., Sat. vi. line 195;
Martial, Epig. x. 68. 5.]
[12] {17} In the East (where ladies are not taught to write, lest they should scribble
assignations), flowers, cinders, pebbles, etc., convey the sentiments of the parties, by that
universal deputy of Mercury—an old woman. A cinder says, "I burn for thee;" a bunch of
flowers tied with hair, "Take me and fly;" but a pebble declares—what nothing else can.
[Compare The Bride of Abydos, line 295—
"What! not receive my foolish flower?"
See, too, Medwin's story of "one of the principal incidents in The Giaour." "I was in
despair, and could hardly contrive to get a cinder, or a token-flower sent to express it."—
Conversations of Lord Byron, 1824, p. 122.]
[13] Constantinople. [Compare—
"Tho' I am parted, yet my mind
That's more than self still stays behind."
Poems, by Thomas Carew, ed. 1640, p. 36.]
[14] {18} [Given to the Hon. Roden Noel by S. McCalmont Hill, who inherited it from
his great-grandfather, Robert Dallas. No date or occasion of the piece has been recorded.
—Life of Lord Byron, 1890, p. 5.]
[15] {19} [These lines are copied from a leaf of the original MS. of the Second Canto of
Childe Harold. They are headed, "Lines written beneath the Picture of J.U.D."
In a curious work of doubtful authority, entitled, The Life, Writings, Opinions and Times
of the Right Hon. G. G. Noel Byron, London, 1825 (iii. 123-132), there is a long and
circumstantial narrative of a "defeated" attempt of Byron's to rescue a Georgian girl,
whom he had bought in the slave-market for 800 piastres, from a life of shame and
degradation. It is improbable that these verses suggested the story; and, on the other hand,
the story, if true, does afford some clue to the verses.]
Page 90
[16] {20} The song Δεῦτε παῖδες, etc., was written by Riga, who perished in the attempt
to revolutionize Greece. This translation is as literal as the author could make it in verse.
It is of the same measure as that of the original. [For the original, see Poetical Works,
1891, Appendix, p. 792. For Constantine Rhigas, see Poetical Works, 1899, ii. 199, note 2.
Hobhouse (Travels in Albania, 1858, ii. 3) prints a version (Byron told Murray that it was
"well enough," Letters, 1899, iii. 13) of Δεῦτε παῖδες of his own composition. He explains
in a footnote that the metre is "a mixed trochaic, except the chorus." "This song," he adds,
"the chorus particularly, is sung to a tune very nearly the same as the Marseillois Hymn.
Strangely enough, Lord Byron, in his translation, has entirely mistaken the metre." The
first stanza runs as follows:—
"Greeks arise! the day of glory
Comes at last your swords to claim.
Let us all in future story
Rival our forefathers' fame.
Underfoot the yoke of tyrants
Let us now indignant trample,
Mindful of the great example,
And avenge our country's shame."]
[17] {21} Constantinople. "Ἑπτάλοφος."
[18] {22} The song from which this is taken is a great favourite with the young girls of
Athens of all classes. Their manner of singing it is by verses in rotation, the whole number
present joining in the chorus. I have heard it frequently at our "χόροι" in the winter of
1810-11. The air is plaintive and pretty.
[o] {23} Has bound my soul to thee——[MS. M.]
[p] When wandering forth alone——[MS. M.]
[q] {24}
Oh! what can tongue or pen avail
Unless my heart could speak.—[MS. M.]
[19] [These lines, which are undoubtedly genuine, were published for the first time in the
sixth edition of Poems on his Domestic Circumstances (W. Hone, 1816). They were first
included by Murray in the collected Poetical Works, in vol. xvii., 1832.]
[20] ["The principal streets of the city of Valetta are flights of stairs."—Gazetteer of the
World.]
to revolutionize Greece. This translation is as literal as the author could make it in verse.
It is of the same measure as that of the original. [For the original, see Poetical Works,
1891, Appendix, p. 792. For Constantine Rhigas, see Poetical Works, 1899, ii. 199, note 2.
Hobhouse (Travels in Albania, 1858, ii. 3) prints a version (Byron told Murray that it was
"well enough," Letters, 1899, iii. 13) of Δεῦτε παῖδες of his own composition. He explains
in a footnote that the metre is "a mixed trochaic, except the chorus." "This song," he adds,
"the chorus particularly, is sung to a tune very nearly the same as the Marseillois Hymn.
Strangely enough, Lord Byron, in his translation, has entirely mistaken the metre." The
first stanza runs as follows:—
"Greeks arise! the day of glory
Comes at last your swords to claim.
Let us all in future story
Rival our forefathers' fame.
Underfoot the yoke of tyrants
Let us now indignant trample,
Mindful of the great example,
And avenge our country's shame."]
[17] {21} Constantinople. "Ἑπτάλοφος."
[18] {22} The song from which this is taken is a great favourite with the young girls of
Athens of all classes. Their manner of singing it is by verses in rotation, the whole number
present joining in the chorus. I have heard it frequently at our "χόροι" in the winter of
1810-11. The air is plaintive and pretty.
[o] {23} Has bound my soul to thee——[MS. M.]
[p] When wandering forth alone——[MS. M.]
[q] {24}
Oh! what can tongue or pen avail
Unless my heart could speak.—[MS. M.]
[19] [These lines, which are undoubtedly genuine, were published for the first time in the
sixth edition of Poems on his Domestic Circumstances (W. Hone, 1816). They were first
included by Murray in the collected Poetical Works, in vol. xvii., 1832.]
[20] ["The principal streets of the city of Valetta are flights of stairs."—Gazetteer of the
World.]
Page 91
[21] {25} [Major-General Hildebrand Oakes (1754-1822) succeeded Admiral Sir Richard
Goodwin Keates as "his Majesty's commissioner for the affairs of Malta," April 27, 1810.
There was an outbreak of plague during his tenure of office (1810-13).—Annual Register,
1810, p. 320; Dict. Nat. Biog., art. "Oakes."]
[22] ["Lord Byron ... was once rather near fighting a duel—and that was with an officer
of the staff of General Oakes at Malta" (1809).—Westminster Review, January, 1825, iii.
21 (by J. C. Hobhouse). (See, too, Life (First Edition, 1830, 4to), i. 202, 222.)]
[23] [On March 13, 1811, Captain (Sir William) Hoste (1780-1828) defeated a combined
French and Italian squadron off the island of Lissa, on the Dalmatian coast. "The French
commodore's ship La Favorite was burnt, himself (Dubourdieu) being killed." The four
victorious frigates with their prizes arrived at Malta, March 31, when the garrison "ran out
unarmed to receive and hail them." The Volage, in which Byron returned to England, took
part in the engagement. Captain Hoste had taken a prize off Fiume in the preceding year.
—Annual Register, 1811; Memoirs and Letters of Sir W. Hoste, ii. 79.]
[24] {26} ["We have had balls and fetes given us by all classes here, and it is impossible
to convey to you the sensation our success has given rise to."—Memoirs and Letters of Sir
W. Hoste, ii. 82.]
[25] [Mrs. (Susan) Fraser published, in 1809, "Camilla de Florian (the scene is laid in
Valetta) and Other Poems. By an Officer's Wife." Byron was, no doubt, struck by her
admiration for Macpherson's Ossian, and had read with interest her version of "The
Address to the Sun," in Carthon, p. 31 (see Poetical Works, 1898, i. 229). He may, too,
have regarded with favour some stanzas in honour of the Bolero (p. 82), which begin,
"When, my Love, supinely laying."]
[26] {27} [Byron left Malta for England June 13, 1811. (See Letter to H. Drury, July 17,
1811, Letters, 1898, i. 318.)]
[r] {28} And mine was the pride and the worth of a name—[MS. M.]
[s] It tells not of time——.—[MS. M.]
[27] Francis Hodgson.
[28] {30} [Hodgson stipulated that the last twelve lines should be omitted, but Moore
disregarded his wishes, and included the poem as it stands in his Life. A marginal note ran
thus: "N.B. The poor dear soul meant nothing of this. F.H."—Memoir of Rev. Francis
Hodgson, 1878, i. 212.]
[t] On the death of——Thyrza.—[MS.]
Goodwin Keates as "his Majesty's commissioner for the affairs of Malta," April 27, 1810.
There was an outbreak of plague during his tenure of office (1810-13).—Annual Register,
1810, p. 320; Dict. Nat. Biog., art. "Oakes."]
[22] ["Lord Byron ... was once rather near fighting a duel—and that was with an officer
of the staff of General Oakes at Malta" (1809).—Westminster Review, January, 1825, iii.
21 (by J. C. Hobhouse). (See, too, Life (First Edition, 1830, 4to), i. 202, 222.)]
[23] [On March 13, 1811, Captain (Sir William) Hoste (1780-1828) defeated a combined
French and Italian squadron off the island of Lissa, on the Dalmatian coast. "The French
commodore's ship La Favorite was burnt, himself (Dubourdieu) being killed." The four
victorious frigates with their prizes arrived at Malta, March 31, when the garrison "ran out
unarmed to receive and hail them." The Volage, in which Byron returned to England, took
part in the engagement. Captain Hoste had taken a prize off Fiume in the preceding year.
—Annual Register, 1811; Memoirs and Letters of Sir W. Hoste, ii. 79.]
[24] {26} ["We have had balls and fetes given us by all classes here, and it is impossible
to convey to you the sensation our success has given rise to."—Memoirs and Letters of Sir
W. Hoste, ii. 82.]
[25] [Mrs. (Susan) Fraser published, in 1809, "Camilla de Florian (the scene is laid in
Valetta) and Other Poems. By an Officer's Wife." Byron was, no doubt, struck by her
admiration for Macpherson's Ossian, and had read with interest her version of "The
Address to the Sun," in Carthon, p. 31 (see Poetical Works, 1898, i. 229). He may, too,
have regarded with favour some stanzas in honour of the Bolero (p. 82), which begin,
"When, my Love, supinely laying."]
[26] {27} [Byron left Malta for England June 13, 1811. (See Letter to H. Drury, July 17,
1811, Letters, 1898, i. 318.)]
[r] {28} And mine was the pride and the worth of a name—[MS. M.]
[s] It tells not of time——.—[MS. M.]
[27] Francis Hodgson.
[28] {30} [Hodgson stipulated that the last twelve lines should be omitted, but Moore
disregarded his wishes, and included the poem as it stands in his Life. A marginal note ran
thus: "N.B. The poor dear soul meant nothing of this. F.H."—Memoir of Rev. Francis
Hodgson, 1878, i. 212.]
[t] On the death of——Thyrza.—[MS.]
Page 92
[29] [The following note on the identity of Thyrza has been communicated to the Editor:
—
"The identity of Thyrza and the question whether the person addressed
under this name really existed, or was an imaginary being, have given
rise to much speculation and discussion of a more or less futile kind.
"This difficulty is now incapable of definite and authoritative solution,
and the allusions in the verses in some respects disagree with things
said by Lord Byron later. According to the poems, Thyrza had met him
"' ... many a day
In these, to me, deserted towers.'
(Newstead, October 11, 1811.)
"'When stretched on fever's sleepless bed.'
(At Patras, about September, 1810.)
"'Death for thee
Prepared a light and pangless dart.'
"'And oft I thought at Cynthia's noon,
When sailing o'er the Ægean wave,
"Now Thyrza gazes on that moon"—
Alas, it gleam'd upon her grave!'
(One struggle more, and I am free.)
"Finally, in the verses of October 11, 1811—
"'The pledge we wore—I wear it still,
But where is thine?—Ah! where art thou?'
"There can be no doubt that Lord Byron referred to Thyrza in
conversation with Lady Byron, and probably also with Mrs. Leigh, as a
young girl who had existed, and the date of whose death almost
coincided with Lord Byron's landing in England in 1811. On one
occasion he showed Lady Byron a beautiful tress of hair, which she
understood to be Thyrza's. He said he had never mentioned her name,
and that now she was gone his breast was the sole depository of that
secret. 'I took the name of Thyrza from Gesner. She was Abel's wife.'
—
"The identity of Thyrza and the question whether the person addressed
under this name really existed, or was an imaginary being, have given
rise to much speculation and discussion of a more or less futile kind.
"This difficulty is now incapable of definite and authoritative solution,
and the allusions in the verses in some respects disagree with things
said by Lord Byron later. According to the poems, Thyrza had met him
"' ... many a day
In these, to me, deserted towers.'
(Newstead, October 11, 1811.)
"'When stretched on fever's sleepless bed.'
(At Patras, about September, 1810.)
"'Death for thee
Prepared a light and pangless dart.'
"'And oft I thought at Cynthia's noon,
When sailing o'er the Ægean wave,
"Now Thyrza gazes on that moon"—
Alas, it gleam'd upon her grave!'
(One struggle more, and I am free.)
"Finally, in the verses of October 11, 1811—
"'The pledge we wore—I wear it still,
But where is thine?—Ah! where art thou?'
"There can be no doubt that Lord Byron referred to Thyrza in
conversation with Lady Byron, and probably also with Mrs. Leigh, as a
young girl who had existed, and the date of whose death almost
coincided with Lord Byron's landing in England in 1811. On one
occasion he showed Lady Byron a beautiful tress of hair, which she
understood to be Thyrza's. He said he had never mentioned her name,
and that now she was gone his breast was the sole depository of that
secret. 'I took the name of Thyrza from Gesner. She was Abel's wife.'
Page 93
"Thyrza is mentioned in a letter from Elizabeth, Duchess of Devonshire,
to Augustus Foster (London, May 4, 1812): 'Your little friend, Caro
William (Lady Caroline Lamb), as usual, is doing all sorts of imprudent
things for him (Lord Byron) and with him; he admires her very much,
but is supposed by some to admire our Caroline (the Hon. Mrs. George
Lamb) more; he says she is like Thyrsa, and her singing is enchantment
to him.' From this extract it is obvious that Thyrza is alluded to in the
following lines, which, with the above quotation, may be reproduced,
by kind permission of Mr. Vere Foster, from his most interesting book,
The Two Duchesses (1898, pp. 362-374).
"'V erses A ddressed by L ord B yron in the year 1812
to the H on . M rs . G eorge L amb .
The sacred song that on my ear
Yet vibrates from that voice of thine
I heard before from one so dear,
'Tis strange it still appears divine.
But oh! so sweet that look and tone
To her and thee alike is given;
It seemed as if for me alone
That both had been recalled from Heaven.
And though I never can redeem
The vision thus endeared to me,
I scarcely can regret my dream
When realized again by thee.'"
(It may be noted that the name Thirza, or Thyrza, a variant of Theresa, had been familiar
to Byron in his childhood. In the Preface to Cain he writes, "Gesner's Death of Abel! I
have never read since I was eight years of age at Aberdeen. The general impression of my
recollection is delight; but of the contents I remember only that Cain's wife was called
Mahala, and Abel's Thirza." Another and more immediate suggestion of the name may be
traced to the following translation of Meleager's Epitaphium In Heliodoram, which one of
the "associate bards," Bland, or Merivale, or Hodgson, contributed to their Translations
chiefly from the Greek Anthology, 1806, p. 4, a work which Byron singles out for
commendation in English Bards, etc, (lines 881-890):—
"Tears o'er my parted Thyrza's grave I shed,
Affection's fondest tribute to the dead.
Break, break my heart, o'ercharged with bursting woe
to Augustus Foster (London, May 4, 1812): 'Your little friend, Caro
William (Lady Caroline Lamb), as usual, is doing all sorts of imprudent
things for him (Lord Byron) and with him; he admires her very much,
but is supposed by some to admire our Caroline (the Hon. Mrs. George
Lamb) more; he says she is like Thyrsa, and her singing is enchantment
to him.' From this extract it is obvious that Thyrza is alluded to in the
following lines, which, with the above quotation, may be reproduced,
by kind permission of Mr. Vere Foster, from his most interesting book,
The Two Duchesses (1898, pp. 362-374).
"'V erses A ddressed by L ord B yron in the year 1812
to the H on . M rs . G eorge L amb .
The sacred song that on my ear
Yet vibrates from that voice of thine
I heard before from one so dear,
'Tis strange it still appears divine.
But oh! so sweet that look and tone
To her and thee alike is given;
It seemed as if for me alone
That both had been recalled from Heaven.
And though I never can redeem
The vision thus endeared to me,
I scarcely can regret my dream
When realized again by thee.'"
(It may be noted that the name Thirza, or Thyrza, a variant of Theresa, had been familiar
to Byron in his childhood. In the Preface to Cain he writes, "Gesner's Death of Abel! I
have never read since I was eight years of age at Aberdeen. The general impression of my
recollection is delight; but of the contents I remember only that Cain's wife was called
Mahala, and Abel's Thirza." Another and more immediate suggestion of the name may be
traced to the following translation of Meleager's Epitaphium In Heliodoram, which one of
the "associate bards," Bland, or Merivale, or Hodgson, contributed to their Translations
chiefly from the Greek Anthology, 1806, p. 4, a work which Byron singles out for
commendation in English Bards, etc, (lines 881-890):—
"Tears o'er my parted Thyrza's grave I shed,
Affection's fondest tribute to the dead.
Break, break my heart, o'ercharged with bursting woe
Page 94
An empty offering to the shades below!
Ah, plant regretted! Death's remorseless power,
With dust unfruitful checked thy full-blown flower.
Take, earth, the gentle inmate to thy breast,
And soft-embosomed let my Thyrza rest."
The MSS. of "To Thyrza," "Away, away, ye notes of Woe!" "One struggle more, and I am
free," and, "And thou art dead, as young and fair," which belonged originally to Mrs.
Leigh, are now in the possession of Sir Theodore Martin, K.C.B.—E ditor .)]
[30] [For the substitution in the present issue of continuous lines for stanzas, Byron's own
authority and mandate may be quoted. "In reading the 4th vol.... I perceive that piece 12
('Without a Stone') is made nonsense of (that is, greater nonsense than usual) by dividing
it into stanzas 1, 2, etc."—Letter to John Murray, August 26, 1815, Letters, 1899, iii. 215.]
[u] And soothe if such could soothe thy shade.—[MS. erased.]
[v] {31} By many a land——.—[MS.]
[w] {33} And shall they not——.—[MS.]
[x] ——the walk aside.—[MS.]
[y]
(a) The kiss that left no sting behind
So guiltless Passion thus forbore;
Those eyes bespoke so pure a mind,
That Love forgot to { plead
ask }
for more.
(b) The kiss that left no sting behind,
So guiltless Love each wish forebore;
Those eyes proclaimed so pure a mind,
That Passion blushed to smile for more.—
[Pencilled alternative stanzas.]
[z] {34} Well hast thou fled——.—[MS. erased.]
[aa]
If judging from my present pain
That rest alone——.—[MS. erased.]
If rest alone is in the tomb.—[MS.]
Ah, plant regretted! Death's remorseless power,
With dust unfruitful checked thy full-blown flower.
Take, earth, the gentle inmate to thy breast,
And soft-embosomed let my Thyrza rest."
The MSS. of "To Thyrza," "Away, away, ye notes of Woe!" "One struggle more, and I am
free," and, "And thou art dead, as young and fair," which belonged originally to Mrs.
Leigh, are now in the possession of Sir Theodore Martin, K.C.B.—E ditor .)]
[30] [For the substitution in the present issue of continuous lines for stanzas, Byron's own
authority and mandate may be quoted. "In reading the 4th vol.... I perceive that piece 12
('Without a Stone') is made nonsense of (that is, greater nonsense than usual) by dividing
it into stanzas 1, 2, etc."—Letter to John Murray, August 26, 1815, Letters, 1899, iii. 215.]
[u] And soothe if such could soothe thy shade.—[MS. erased.]
[v] {31} By many a land——.—[MS.]
[w] {33} And shall they not——.—[MS.]
[x] ——the walk aside.—[MS.]
[y]
(a) The kiss that left no sting behind
So guiltless Passion thus forbore;
Those eyes bespoke so pure a mind,
That Love forgot to { plead
ask }
for more.
(b) The kiss that left no sting behind,
So guiltless Love each wish forebore;
Those eyes proclaimed so pure a mind,
That Passion blushed to smile for more.—
[Pencilled alternative stanzas.]
[z] {34} Well hast thou fled——.—[MS. erased.]
[aa]
If judging from my present pain
That rest alone——.—[MS. erased.]
If rest alone is in the tomb.—[MS.]
Page 95
[ab] So let it be my hope in Heaven.—[MS. erased]
[ac] {35} Stanzas.—[MS. Editions 1812-1832.]
[31] ["I wrote it a day or two ago, on hearing a song of former days."—Letter to Hodgson,
December 8, 1811, Letters, 1898, ii. 82.]
[ad] I dare not hear——.—[MS. erased.]
[ae] But hush the chords——.—[MS. erased.]
[af] ——I dare not gaze.—[MS. erased.]
[ag] The voice that made that song more sweet.—[MS.]
[ah] 'Tis silent now——.—[MS.]
[ai] {36} To Thyrza.—[Editions 1812-1831.]
[aj]
From pangs that tear——.—[MS.]
Such pangs that tear——.—[MS. erased.]
[ak] With things that moved me not before.—[MS. erased.]
[al] What sorrow cannot——.—[MS.]
[am]
It would not be, so hadst not thou
Withdrawn so soon——.—[MS. erased.]
[an] {38} —how oft I said.—[MS. erased.]
[ao]
Like freedom to the worn-out slave.—[MS.]
But Health and life returned and gave,
A boon 'twas idle then to give,
Relenting Health in mocking gave.—[MS. B. M. erased.]
[32] [Compare My Epitaph: "Youth, Nature and relenting Jove."—Letter to Hodgson,
October 3, 1810, Letters, 1898, i. 298.]
[ap] Dear simple gift——.—[MS. erased.]
[33] {39} Compare A Wish, by Matthew Arnold, stanza 3, etc.—
[ac] {35} Stanzas.—[MS. Editions 1812-1832.]
[31] ["I wrote it a day or two ago, on hearing a song of former days."—Letter to Hodgson,
December 8, 1811, Letters, 1898, ii. 82.]
[ad] I dare not hear——.—[MS. erased.]
[ae] But hush the chords——.—[MS. erased.]
[af] ——I dare not gaze.—[MS. erased.]
[ag] The voice that made that song more sweet.—[MS.]
[ah] 'Tis silent now——.—[MS.]
[ai] {36} To Thyrza.—[Editions 1812-1831.]
[aj]
From pangs that tear——.—[MS.]
Such pangs that tear——.—[MS. erased.]
[ak] With things that moved me not before.—[MS. erased.]
[al] What sorrow cannot——.—[MS.]
[am]
It would not be, so hadst not thou
Withdrawn so soon——.—[MS. erased.]
[an] {38} —how oft I said.—[MS. erased.]
[ao]
Like freedom to the worn-out slave.—[MS.]
But Health and life returned and gave,
A boon 'twas idle then to give,
Relenting Health in mocking gave.—[MS. B. M. erased.]
[32] [Compare My Epitaph: "Youth, Nature and relenting Jove."—Letter to Hodgson,
October 3, 1810, Letters, 1898, i. 298.]
[ap] Dear simple gift——.—[MS. erased.]
[33] {39} Compare A Wish, by Matthew Arnold, stanza 3, etc.—
Page 96
"Spare me the whispering, crowded room,
The friends who come and gape and go," etc.
[aq] {41} Stanzas.—[Editions 1812-1831.]
[34] ["The Lovers' Walk is terminated with an ornamental urn, inscribed to Miss Dolman,
a beautiful and amiable relation of Mr. Shenstone's, who died of the small-pox, about
twenty-one years of age, in the following words on one side:—
'Peramabili consobrinæ
M.D.'
On the other side—
'Ah! Maria!
pvellarvm elegantissima!
ah Flore venvstatis abrepta,
vale!
hev qvanto minvs est
cvm reliqvis versari
qvam tui
meminisse.'"
(From a Description of the Leasowes, by A. Dodsley; Poetical Works of William
Shenstone [1798], p. xxix.)]
[ar]
Are mingled with the Earth.—[MS.]
Were never meant for Earth.—[MS. erased.]
[as] Unhonoured with the vulgar dread.—[MS. erased.]
[at] {42}
I will not ask where thou art laid,
Nor look upon the name.—[MS. erased.]
[au] So I shall know it not.—[MS. erased.]
[av] Like common dust can rot.—[MS.]
[aw] I would not wish to see nor touch.—[MS. erased.]
[ax] As well as warm as thou.—[MS. erased.]
The friends who come and gape and go," etc.
[aq] {41} Stanzas.—[Editions 1812-1831.]
[34] ["The Lovers' Walk is terminated with an ornamental urn, inscribed to Miss Dolman,
a beautiful and amiable relation of Mr. Shenstone's, who died of the small-pox, about
twenty-one years of age, in the following words on one side:—
'Peramabili consobrinæ
M.D.'
On the other side—
'Ah! Maria!
pvellarvm elegantissima!
ah Flore venvstatis abrepta,
vale!
hev qvanto minvs est
cvm reliqvis versari
qvam tui
meminisse.'"
(From a Description of the Leasowes, by A. Dodsley; Poetical Works of William
Shenstone [1798], p. xxix.)]
[ar]
Are mingled with the Earth.—[MS.]
Were never meant for Earth.—[MS. erased.]
[as] Unhonoured with the vulgar dread.—[MS. erased.]
[at] {42}
I will not ask where thou art laid,
Nor look upon the name.—[MS. erased.]
[au] So I shall know it not.—[MS. erased.]
[av] Like common dust can rot.—[MS.]
[aw] I would not wish to see nor touch.—[MS. erased.]
[ax] As well as warm as thou.—[MS. erased.]
Page 97
[ay] MS. transposes lines 5 and 6 of stanza 3.
[az] Nor frailty disavow.—[MS.]
[ba] Nor canst thou fair and faultless see.—[MS. erased.]
[bb] Nor wrong, nor change, nor fault in me.—[MS.]
[bc] {43} The cloud that cheers——.—[MS.]
[bd] The sweetness of that silent deep.—[MS.]
[be]
The flower in beauty's bloom unmatched
Is still the earliest prey.—[MS.]
The rose by some rude fingers snatched,
Is earliest doomed to fade.—[MS. erased.]
[bf] I do not deem I could have borne.—[MS.]
[bg]
But night and day of thine are passed,
And thou wert lovely to the last;
Destroyed——.—[MS. erased.]
[bh] {44} As stars that seem to quit the sky.—[MS.]
[bi]
O how much less it were to gain,
All beauteous though they be.—[MS.]
[bj] Through dark and dull Eternity.—[MS.]
[bk] {45} Sympathetic Address to a Young Lady.— [Morning Chronicle, March 7, 1812.]
[35] [The scene which begat these memorable stanzas was enacted at a banquet at Carlton
House, February 22, 1812. On March 6 the following quatrain, entitled, "Impromptu on a
Recent Incident," appeared in the Morning Chronicle:—
"Blest omens of a happy reign,
In swift succession hourly rise,
Forsaken friends, vows made in vain—
A daughter's tears, a nation's sighs."
[az] Nor frailty disavow.—[MS.]
[ba] Nor canst thou fair and faultless see.—[MS. erased.]
[bb] Nor wrong, nor change, nor fault in me.—[MS.]
[bc] {43} The cloud that cheers——.—[MS.]
[bd] The sweetness of that silent deep.—[MS.]
[be]
The flower in beauty's bloom unmatched
Is still the earliest prey.—[MS.]
The rose by some rude fingers snatched,
Is earliest doomed to fade.—[MS. erased.]
[bf] I do not deem I could have borne.—[MS.]
[bg]
But night and day of thine are passed,
And thou wert lovely to the last;
Destroyed——.—[MS. erased.]
[bh] {44} As stars that seem to quit the sky.—[MS.]
[bi]
O how much less it were to gain,
All beauteous though they be.—[MS.]
[bj] Through dark and dull Eternity.—[MS.]
[bk] {45} Sympathetic Address to a Young Lady.— [Morning Chronicle, March 7, 1812.]
[35] [The scene which begat these memorable stanzas was enacted at a banquet at Carlton
House, February 22, 1812. On March 6 the following quatrain, entitled, "Impromptu on a
Recent Incident," appeared in the Morning Chronicle:—
"Blest omens of a happy reign,
In swift succession hourly rise,
Forsaken friends, vows made in vain—
A daughter's tears, a nation's sighs."
Page 98
Byron's lines, headed, "Sympathetic Address to a Young Lady," were published
anonymously in the Morning Chronicle of March 7, but it was not till March 10 that the
Courier ventured to insert a report of "The Fracas at Carlton House on the 22nd ult.,"
which had already been communicated to the Caledonian Mercury.
"The party consisted of the Princess Charlotte, the Duchess of York, the
Dukes of York and Cambridge, Lords Moira, Erskine, Lauderdale,
Messrs. Adams and Sheridan.
"The Prince Regent expressed 'his surprise and mortification' at the
conduct of Lords Grey and Grenville [who had replied unfavourably to
a letter addressed by the P.R. to the Duke of York, suggesting an united
administration]. Lord Lauderdale thereupon, with a freedom unusual in
courts, asserted that the reply did not express the opinions of Lords
Grey and Grenville only, but of every political friend of that way of
thinking, and that he had been present at and assisted in the drawing-up,
and that every sentence had his cordial assent. The Prince was suddenly
and deeply affected by Lord Lauderdale's reply, so much so, that the
Princess, observing his agitation, dropt her head and burst into tears—
upon which the Prince turned round and begged the female part of the
company to withdraw."
In the following June, at a ball at Miss Johnson's, Byron was "presented by order to our
gracious Regent, who honoured me with some conversation," and for a time he ignored
and perhaps regretted his anonymous jeu d'esprit. But early in 1814, either out of mere
bravado or in an access of political rancour, he determined to republish the stanzas under
his own name. The first edition of the Corsair was printed, if not published, but in
accordance with a peremptory direction (January 22, 1814), "eight lines on the little
Royalty weeping in 1812," were included among the poems printed at the end of the
second edition.
The "newspapers were in hysterics and town in an uproar on the avowal and
republication" of the stanzas (Diary, February 18), and during Byron's absence from town
"Murray omitted the Tears in several of the copies"—that is, in the Third Edition—but
yielding to force majeure, replaced them in a Fourth Edition, which was issued early in
February. (See Letters of July 6, 1812, January 22, February 2, and February 10, 1814
(Letters, 1898, ii. 134, etc.); and for "Newspaper Attacks upon Byron," see Letters, 1898,
ii. Appendix VII. pp. 463-492.)]
anonymously in the Morning Chronicle of March 7, but it was not till March 10 that the
Courier ventured to insert a report of "The Fracas at Carlton House on the 22nd ult.,"
which had already been communicated to the Caledonian Mercury.
"The party consisted of the Princess Charlotte, the Duchess of York, the
Dukes of York and Cambridge, Lords Moira, Erskine, Lauderdale,
Messrs. Adams and Sheridan.
"The Prince Regent expressed 'his surprise and mortification' at the
conduct of Lords Grey and Grenville [who had replied unfavourably to
a letter addressed by the P.R. to the Duke of York, suggesting an united
administration]. Lord Lauderdale thereupon, with a freedom unusual in
courts, asserted that the reply did not express the opinions of Lords
Grey and Grenville only, but of every political friend of that way of
thinking, and that he had been present at and assisted in the drawing-up,
and that every sentence had his cordial assent. The Prince was suddenly
and deeply affected by Lord Lauderdale's reply, so much so, that the
Princess, observing his agitation, dropt her head and burst into tears—
upon which the Prince turned round and begged the female part of the
company to withdraw."
In the following June, at a ball at Miss Johnson's, Byron was "presented by order to our
gracious Regent, who honoured me with some conversation," and for a time he ignored
and perhaps regretted his anonymous jeu d'esprit. But early in 1814, either out of mere
bravado or in an access of political rancour, he determined to republish the stanzas under
his own name. The first edition of the Corsair was printed, if not published, but in
accordance with a peremptory direction (January 22, 1814), "eight lines on the little
Royalty weeping in 1812," were included among the poems printed at the end of the
second edition.
The "newspapers were in hysterics and town in an uproar on the avowal and
republication" of the stanzas (Diary, February 18), and during Byron's absence from town
"Murray omitted the Tears in several of the copies"—that is, in the Third Edition—but
yielding to force majeure, replaced them in a Fourth Edition, which was issued early in
February. (See Letters of July 6, 1812, January 22, February 2, and February 10, 1814
(Letters, 1898, ii. 134, etc.); and for "Newspaper Attacks upon Byron," see Letters, 1898,
ii. Appendix VII. pp. 463-492.)]
Page 99
[bl] Stanzas.—[1812.]
[36] {48} [For allusion to the "Cornelian" see "The Cornelian," ["Pignus Amoris"], and
"The Adieu," stanza 7, Poetical Works, 1898, i. 66, 231, 240. See, too, Letters, 1898, i.
130, note 3.]
[bm] {50} To Samuel Rogers, Esq.—[Poems, 1816.]
[37] ["Rogers is silent,—and, it is said, severe. When he does talk, he talks well; and, on
all subjects of taste, his delicacy of expression is pure as his poetry. If you enter his house
—his drawing-room—his library—you of yourself say, this is not the dwelling of a
common mind. There is not a gem, a coin, a book thrown aside on his chimney-piece, his
sofa, his table, that does not bespeak an almost fastidious elegance in the possessor."—
Diary, 1813; Letters, 1898, ii. 331.]
[38] [Compare Collins' Ode on the Death of Mr. Thomson—"In yonder grave a Druid
lies."]
[39] {51} ["Mr. Elliston then came forward and delivered the following Prize address. We
cannot boast of the eloquence of the delivery. It was neither gracefully nor correctly
recited. The merits of the production itself we submit to the criticism of our readers. We
cannot suppose that it was selected as the most poetical composition of all the scores that
were submitted to the committee. But perhaps by its tenor, by its allusions to Garrick, to
Siddons, and to Sheridan, it was thought most applicable to the occasion, notwithstanding
its being in part unmusical, and in general tame."—Morning Chronicle, October 12,
1812.]
[40] ["By the by, the best view of the said fire [February 24, 1809] (which I myself saw
from a house-top in Covent-garden) was at Westminster Bridge, from the reflection on the
Thames."—Letter to Lord Holland, September 25, 1812, Letters, 1898, ii. 148.]
[bn]
As flashing far the new Volcano shone
And swept the skies with { lightnings
meteors
} not their own.
or, As flashed the volumed blaze, and { ghastly
sadly
} shone
The skies with lightnings awful as their own.—
[Letter to Lord Holland, Sept. 25, 1812.]
or, As glared each rising flash, and ghastly shone
[36] {48} [For allusion to the "Cornelian" see "The Cornelian," ["Pignus Amoris"], and
"The Adieu," stanza 7, Poetical Works, 1898, i. 66, 231, 240. See, too, Letters, 1898, i.
130, note 3.]
[bm] {50} To Samuel Rogers, Esq.—[Poems, 1816.]
[37] ["Rogers is silent,—and, it is said, severe. When he does talk, he talks well; and, on
all subjects of taste, his delicacy of expression is pure as his poetry. If you enter his house
—his drawing-room—his library—you of yourself say, this is not the dwelling of a
common mind. There is not a gem, a coin, a book thrown aside on his chimney-piece, his
sofa, his table, that does not bespeak an almost fastidious elegance in the possessor."—
Diary, 1813; Letters, 1898, ii. 331.]
[38] [Compare Collins' Ode on the Death of Mr. Thomson—"In yonder grave a Druid
lies."]
[39] {51} ["Mr. Elliston then came forward and delivered the following Prize address. We
cannot boast of the eloquence of the delivery. It was neither gracefully nor correctly
recited. The merits of the production itself we submit to the criticism of our readers. We
cannot suppose that it was selected as the most poetical composition of all the scores that
were submitted to the committee. But perhaps by its tenor, by its allusions to Garrick, to
Siddons, and to Sheridan, it was thought most applicable to the occasion, notwithstanding
its being in part unmusical, and in general tame."—Morning Chronicle, October 12,
1812.]
[40] ["By the by, the best view of the said fire [February 24, 1809] (which I myself saw
from a house-top in Covent-garden) was at Westminster Bridge, from the reflection on the
Thames."—Letter to Lord Holland, September 25, 1812, Letters, 1898, ii. 148.]
[bn]
As flashing far the new Volcano shone
And swept the skies with { lightnings
meteors
} not their own.
or, As flashed the volumed blaze, and { ghastly
sadly
} shone
The skies with lightnings awful as their own.—
[Letter to Lord Holland, Sept. 25, 1812.]
or, As glared each rising flash, and ghastly shone
Page 100
The skies with lightnings awful as their own.—
[Letter to Lord Holland, Sept. 27, 1812.]
[bo] {52}
Till slowly ebbed the { lava of the
spent volcanic } wave.
or, Till ebb'd the lava of { that molten }
the burning
wave,
And blackening ashes mark'd the Muse's grave.—
[Letter to Lord Holland, Sept. 28, 1812]
[bp] That scorns the scythe of Time, the torch of Flame.—[Letter to Lord Holland, Sept,
28, 1812.]
[bq] {53}
Far be from him that hour which asks in vain
Tears such as flow for Garrick in his strain;
or, Far be that hour that vainly asks in turn
Sad verse for him as {wept
crowned his
o'er } Garrick's urn.—
[Letter to Lord Holland, Sept. 30, 1812.]
[41] [Originally, "Ere Garrick died," etc. "By the by, one of my corrections in the fair
copy sent yesterday has dived into the bathos some sixty fathom—
'When Garrick died, and Brinsley ceased to write.'
Ceasing to live is a much more serious concern, and ought not to be first; therefore I will
let the old couplet stand, with its half rhymes 'sought' and 'wrote' [vide supra, variant ii.]
Second thoughts in every thing are best, but, in rhyme, third and fourth don't come
amiss.... I always scrawl in this way, and smooth as much as I can, but never
sufficiently."—Letter to Lord Holland, September 26, 1812, Letters, 1898, ii. 150.]
[br]
Such are the names that here your plaudits sought,
When Garrick acted, and when Brinsley wrote.—[MS.]
[42] {54} [The following lines were omitted by the Committee:—
[Letter to Lord Holland, Sept. 27, 1812.]
[bo] {52}
Till slowly ebbed the { lava of the
spent volcanic } wave.
or, Till ebb'd the lava of { that molten }
the burning
wave,
And blackening ashes mark'd the Muse's grave.—
[Letter to Lord Holland, Sept. 28, 1812]
[bp] That scorns the scythe of Time, the torch of Flame.—[Letter to Lord Holland, Sept,
28, 1812.]
[bq] {53}
Far be from him that hour which asks in vain
Tears such as flow for Garrick in his strain;
or, Far be that hour that vainly asks in turn
Sad verse for him as {wept
crowned his
o'er } Garrick's urn.—
[Letter to Lord Holland, Sept. 30, 1812.]
[41] [Originally, "Ere Garrick died," etc. "By the by, one of my corrections in the fair
copy sent yesterday has dived into the bathos some sixty fathom—
'When Garrick died, and Brinsley ceased to write.'
Ceasing to live is a much more serious concern, and ought not to be first; therefore I will
let the old couplet stand, with its half rhymes 'sought' and 'wrote' [vide supra, variant ii.]
Second thoughts in every thing are best, but, in rhyme, third and fourth don't come
amiss.... I always scrawl in this way, and smooth as much as I can, but never
sufficiently."—Letter to Lord Holland, September 26, 1812, Letters, 1898, ii. 150.]
[br]
Such are the names that here your plaudits sought,
When Garrick acted, and when Brinsley wrote.—[MS.]
[42] {54} [The following lines were omitted by the Committee:—
Page 101
"Nay, lower still, the Drama yet deplores
That late she deigned to crawl upon all-fours.
When Richard roars in Bosworth for a horse,
If you command, the steed must come in course.
If you decree, the Stage must condescend
To soothe the sickly taste we dare not mend.
Blame not our judgment should we acquiesce,
And gratify you more by showing less.
Oh, since your Fiat stamps the Drama's laws,
Forbear to mock us with misplaced applause;
That public praise be ne'er again disgraced,
From {babes and brutes redeem }
brutes to man recall
a nation's taste;
Then pride shall doubly nerve the actor's powers,
When Reason's voice is echoed back with ours."
The last couplet but one was altered in a later copy, thus—
"The past reproach let present scenes refute,
Nor shift from man to babe, from babe to brute."
"Is Whitbread," wrote Lord Byron, "determined to castrate all my cavalry lines?... I do
implore, for my own gratification, one lash on those accursed quadrupeds—'a long shot,
Sir Lucius, if you love me.'"—Letter to Lord Holland, September 28, 1812, Letters, 1898,
ii. 156. For "animal performers," vide ibid., note 1.]
[43] [Lines 66-69 were added on September 24, in a letter to Lord Holland.]
[44] {55} [The original of Dr. Busby's address, entitled "Monologue submitted to the
Committee of Drury Lane Theatre," which was published in the Morning Chronicle,
October 17, 1812, "will be found in the Genuine Rejected Addresses, as well as parodied
in Rejected Addresses ('Architectural Atoms'). On October 14 young Busby forced his
way on to the stage of Drury Lane, attempted to recite his father's address, and was taken
into custody. On the next night, Dr. Busby, speaking from one of the boxes, obtained a
hearing for his son, who could not, however, make his voice heard in the theatre.... To the
failure of the younger Busby (himself a competitor and the author of an 'Unalogue'...) to
make himself heard, Byron alludes in the stage direction, 'to be spoken in an inarticulate
voice.'" (See Letters, 1898, ii. 176; and for Dr. Busby, see Poetical Works, 1898, i. 481,
485.) Busby's "Address" ran as follows:—
"When energising objects men pursue,
What are the prodigies they cannot do?
That late she deigned to crawl upon all-fours.
When Richard roars in Bosworth for a horse,
If you command, the steed must come in course.
If you decree, the Stage must condescend
To soothe the sickly taste we dare not mend.
Blame not our judgment should we acquiesce,
And gratify you more by showing less.
Oh, since your Fiat stamps the Drama's laws,
Forbear to mock us with misplaced applause;
That public praise be ne'er again disgraced,
From {babes and brutes redeem }
brutes to man recall
a nation's taste;
Then pride shall doubly nerve the actor's powers,
When Reason's voice is echoed back with ours."
The last couplet but one was altered in a later copy, thus—
"The past reproach let present scenes refute,
Nor shift from man to babe, from babe to brute."
"Is Whitbread," wrote Lord Byron, "determined to castrate all my cavalry lines?... I do
implore, for my own gratification, one lash on those accursed quadrupeds—'a long shot,
Sir Lucius, if you love me.'"—Letter to Lord Holland, September 28, 1812, Letters, 1898,
ii. 156. For "animal performers," vide ibid., note 1.]
[43] [Lines 66-69 were added on September 24, in a letter to Lord Holland.]
[44] {55} [The original of Dr. Busby's address, entitled "Monologue submitted to the
Committee of Drury Lane Theatre," which was published in the Morning Chronicle,
October 17, 1812, "will be found in the Genuine Rejected Addresses, as well as parodied
in Rejected Addresses ('Architectural Atoms'). On October 14 young Busby forced his
way on to the stage of Drury Lane, attempted to recite his father's address, and was taken
into custody. On the next night, Dr. Busby, speaking from one of the boxes, obtained a
hearing for his son, who could not, however, make his voice heard in the theatre.... To the
failure of the younger Busby (himself a competitor and the author of an 'Unalogue'...) to
make himself heard, Byron alludes in the stage direction, 'to be spoken in an inarticulate
voice.'" (See Letters, 1898, ii. 176; and for Dr. Busby, see Poetical Works, 1898, i. 481,
485.) Busby's "Address" ran as follows:—
"When energising objects men pursue,
What are the prodigies they cannot do?
Page 102
A magic edifice you here survey,
Shot from the ruins of the other day!
As Harlequin had smote the slumberous heap,
And bade the rubbish to a fabric leap.
Yet at that speed you'd never be amazed,
Knew you the zeal with which the pile was raised;
Nor even here your smiles would be represt,
Knew you the rival flame that fires our breast, 10
Flame! fire and flame! sad heart-appalling sounds,
Dread metaphors that ope our healing wounds—
A sleeping pang awakes—and——But away
With all reflections that would cloud the day
That this triumphant, brilliant prospect brings,
Where Hope reviving re-expands her wings;
Where generous joy exults, where duteous ardour springs.
If mighty things with small we may compare,
This spirit drives Britannia's conquering car,
Burns in her ranks and kindles every tar.
Nelson displayed its power upon the main,
And Wellington exhibits it in Spain;
Another Marlborough points to Blenheim's story,
And with its lustre, blends his kindred glory. 40
In Arms and Science long our Isle hath shone,
And S hakespeare —wondrous S hakespeare —reared a throne
For British Poesy—whose powers inspire
The British pencil, and the British lyre—
Her we invoke—her Sister Arts implore:
Their smiles beseech whose charms yourselves adore,
These if we win, the Graces too we gain—
Their dear, beloved, inseparable train;
T hree who their witching arts from Cupid stole
And three acknowledged sovereigns of the soul: 50
Harmonious throng! with nature blending art!
Divine S estetto ! warbling to the heart
For Poesy shall here sustain the upper part.
Thus lifted gloriously we'll sweep along,
Shine in our music, scenery and song;
Shine in our farce, masque, opera and play,
And prove old D rury has not had her day,
Nay more—so stretch the wing the world shall cry,
Old D rury never, never soared so high.
Shot from the ruins of the other day!
As Harlequin had smote the slumberous heap,
And bade the rubbish to a fabric leap.
Yet at that speed you'd never be amazed,
Knew you the zeal with which the pile was raised;
Nor even here your smiles would be represt,
Knew you the rival flame that fires our breast, 10
Flame! fire and flame! sad heart-appalling sounds,
Dread metaphors that ope our healing wounds—
A sleeping pang awakes—and——But away
With all reflections that would cloud the day
That this triumphant, brilliant prospect brings,
Where Hope reviving re-expands her wings;
Where generous joy exults, where duteous ardour springs.
If mighty things with small we may compare,
This spirit drives Britannia's conquering car,
Burns in her ranks and kindles every tar.
Nelson displayed its power upon the main,
And Wellington exhibits it in Spain;
Another Marlborough points to Blenheim's story,
And with its lustre, blends his kindred glory. 40
In Arms and Science long our Isle hath shone,
And S hakespeare —wondrous S hakespeare —reared a throne
For British Poesy—whose powers inspire
The British pencil, and the British lyre—
Her we invoke—her Sister Arts implore:
Their smiles beseech whose charms yourselves adore,
These if we win, the Graces too we gain—
Their dear, beloved, inseparable train;
T hree who their witching arts from Cupid stole
And three acknowledged sovereigns of the soul: 50
Harmonious throng! with nature blending art!
Divine S estetto ! warbling to the heart
For Poesy shall here sustain the upper part.
Thus lifted gloriously we'll sweep along,
Shine in our music, scenery and song;
Shine in our farce, masque, opera and play,
And prove old D rury has not had her day,
Nay more—so stretch the wing the world shall cry,
Old D rury never, never soared so high.
Page 103
'But hold,' you'll say, 'this self-complacent boast; 60
Easy to reckon thus without your host.'
True, true—that lowers at once our mounting pride;
'Tis yours alone our merit to decide;
'Tis ours to look to you, you hold the prize
That bids our great, our best ambitions rise.
A double blessing your rewards impart,
Each good provide and elevate the heart.
Our twofold feeling owns its twofold cause,
Your bounty's comfort—rapture your applause;
When in your fostering beam you bid us live, 70
You give the means of life, and gild the means you give."
Morning Chronicle, October 17, 1812.]
[45] {57} [Busby's translation of Lucretius (The Nature of Things, a Didascalie Poem)
was published in 1813. Byron was a subscriber, and is mentioned in the preface as "one of
the most distinguished poets of the age." The passage in question is, perhaps, taken from
the Second Book, lines 880, 881, which Busby renders—
"Just as she quickens fuel into fire,
And bids it, flaming, to the skies aspire."]
[46] {59} [The Leasowes, the residence of the poet Shenstone, is near the village of
Halesowen, in Shropshire.]
[47] [See Dryden's Cymon and Iphigenia, lines 84, 85.]
[48] [The sequel of a temporary liaison formed by Lord Byron during his career in
London, occasioned this impromptu. On the cessation of the connection, the fair one
[Lady C. Lamb: see Letters, 1898, ii. 451] called one morning at her quondam lover's
apartments. His Lordship was from home; but finding Vathek on the table, the lady wrote
in the first page of the volume the words, "Remember me!" Byron immediately wrote
under the ominous warning these two stanzas.—Conversations of Lord Byron, by Thomas
Medwin, 1824, pp. 329, 330.
In Medwin's work the euphemisms false and fiend are represented by asterisks.]
[49] {60} ["To Bd., Feb. 22, 1813.
"'Remember thee,' nay—doubt it not—
Thy Husband too may 'think' of thee!
By neither canst thou be forgot,
Thou false to him—thou fiend to me!
Easy to reckon thus without your host.'
True, true—that lowers at once our mounting pride;
'Tis yours alone our merit to decide;
'Tis ours to look to you, you hold the prize
That bids our great, our best ambitions rise.
A double blessing your rewards impart,
Each good provide and elevate the heart.
Our twofold feeling owns its twofold cause,
Your bounty's comfort—rapture your applause;
When in your fostering beam you bid us live, 70
You give the means of life, and gild the means you give."
Morning Chronicle, October 17, 1812.]
[45] {57} [Busby's translation of Lucretius (The Nature of Things, a Didascalie Poem)
was published in 1813. Byron was a subscriber, and is mentioned in the preface as "one of
the most distinguished poets of the age." The passage in question is, perhaps, taken from
the Second Book, lines 880, 881, which Busby renders—
"Just as she quickens fuel into fire,
And bids it, flaming, to the skies aspire."]
[46] {59} [The Leasowes, the residence of the poet Shenstone, is near the village of
Halesowen, in Shropshire.]
[47] [See Dryden's Cymon and Iphigenia, lines 84, 85.]
[48] [The sequel of a temporary liaison formed by Lord Byron during his career in
London, occasioned this impromptu. On the cessation of the connection, the fair one
[Lady C. Lamb: see Letters, 1898, ii. 451] called one morning at her quondam lover's
apartments. His Lordship was from home; but finding Vathek on the table, the lady wrote
in the first page of the volume the words, "Remember me!" Byron immediately wrote
under the ominous warning these two stanzas.—Conversations of Lord Byron, by Thomas
Medwin, 1824, pp. 329, 330.
In Medwin's work the euphemisms false and fiend are represented by asterisks.]
[49] {60} ["To Bd., Feb. 22, 1813.
"'Remember thee,' nay—doubt it not—
Thy Husband too may 'think' of thee!
By neither canst thou be forgot,
Thou false to him—thou fiend to me!
Page 104
"'Remember thee'? Yes—yes—till Fate
In Lethe quench the guilty dream.
Yet then—e'en then—Remorse and Hate
Shall vainly quaff the vanquished stream."
From a MS. (in the possession of Mr. Hallam Murray) not in Byron's handwriting.]
[bs] {61} ——not confessed thy power.—[MS. M. erased.]
[bt] ——still forgets the hour.—[MS. M. erased.]
[bu] {64} Song.—[Childe Harold, 1814.]
[50] ["I send you some lines which may as well be called 'A Song' as anything else, and
will do for your new edition."—B.—(MS. M.)]
[bv] But her who not——.—[MS. M.]
[bw] {65} To Ianthe.—[MS. M. Compare "The Dedication" to Childe Harold.]
[51] {67} [It is possible that these lines, as well as the Sonnets "To Genevra," were
addressed to Lady Frances Wedderburn Webster.—See Letters, 1898, ii. 2, note 1; and
Letters, 1899, iii. 8, note 1.]
[bx] To him who loves and her who loved.—[MS. M.]
[by] That trembling form——.—[MS. M.]
[bz]
Resigning thee, alas! I lost
Joys bought too dear, if bright with tears,
Yet ne'er regret the pangs it cost.—[MS. M. erased.]
[ca] And crush——.—[MS. M.]
[cb] And I been not unworthy thee.—[MS. M.]
[cc] Long may thy days——.—[MS. M.]
[cd] Might make my hope of guilty joy.—[MS.]
[52] [Byron forwarded these lines to Moore in a postscript to a letter dated September 27,
1813. "Here's," he writes, "an impromptu for you by a 'person of quality,' written last
week, on being reproached for low spirits."—Letters, 1898, ii. 268. They were written at
Aston Hall, Rotherham, where he "stayed a week ... and behaved very well—though the
In Lethe quench the guilty dream.
Yet then—e'en then—Remorse and Hate
Shall vainly quaff the vanquished stream."
From a MS. (in the possession of Mr. Hallam Murray) not in Byron's handwriting.]
[bs] {61} ——not confessed thy power.—[MS. M. erased.]
[bt] ——still forgets the hour.—[MS. M. erased.]
[bu] {64} Song.—[Childe Harold, 1814.]
[50] ["I send you some lines which may as well be called 'A Song' as anything else, and
will do for your new edition."—B.—(MS. M.)]
[bv] But her who not——.—[MS. M.]
[bw] {65} To Ianthe.—[MS. M. Compare "The Dedication" to Childe Harold.]
[51] {67} [It is possible that these lines, as well as the Sonnets "To Genevra," were
addressed to Lady Frances Wedderburn Webster.—See Letters, 1898, ii. 2, note 1; and
Letters, 1899, iii. 8, note 1.]
[bx] To him who loves and her who loved.—[MS. M.]
[by] That trembling form——.—[MS. M.]
[bz]
Resigning thee, alas! I lost
Joys bought too dear, if bright with tears,
Yet ne'er regret the pangs it cost.—[MS. M. erased.]
[ca] And crush——.—[MS. M.]
[cb] And I been not unworthy thee.—[MS. M.]
[cc] Long may thy days——.—[MS. M.]
[cd] Might make my hope of guilty joy.—[MS.]
[52] [Byron forwarded these lines to Moore in a postscript to a letter dated September 27,
1813. "Here's," he writes, "an impromptu for you by a 'person of quality,' written last
week, on being reproached for low spirits."—Letters, 1898, ii. 268. They were written at
Aston Hall, Rotherham, where he "stayed a week ... and behaved very well—though the
Page 105
lady of the house [Lady F. Wedderburn Webster] is young, and religious, and pretty, and
the master is my particular friend."—Letters, 1898, ii. 267.]
[ce] {70} And bleed——.—[MS. M.]
[53] ["Redde some Italian, and wrote two Sonnets.... I never wrote but one sonnet before,
and that was not in earnest, and many years ago, as an exercise—and I will never write
another. They are the most puling, petrifying, stupidly platonic compositions."—Diary,
December 18, 1813; Letters, 1898, ii. 379.]
[cf] {71} ——Hope whispers not from woe.—[MS. M.]
[54]
["In moments to delight devoted
'My Life!' is still the name you give,
Dear words! on which my heart had doted
Had Man an endless term to live.
But, ah! so swift the seasons roll
That name must be repeated never,
For 'Life' in future say, 'My Soul,'
Which like my love exists for ever."
Byron wrote these lines in 1815, in Lady Lansdowne's album, at Bowood.—Note by Mr.
Richard Edgecombe, Notes and Queries, Sixth Series, vii. 46.]
the master is my particular friend."—Letters, 1898, ii. 267.]
[ce] {70} And bleed——.—[MS. M.]
[53] ["Redde some Italian, and wrote two Sonnets.... I never wrote but one sonnet before,
and that was not in earnest, and many years ago, as an exercise—and I will never write
another. They are the most puling, petrifying, stupidly platonic compositions."—Diary,
December 18, 1813; Letters, 1898, ii. 379.]
[cf] {71} ——Hope whispers not from woe.—[MS. M.]
[54]
["In moments to delight devoted
'My Life!' is still the name you give,
Dear words! on which my heart had doted
Had Man an endless term to live.
But, ah! so swift the seasons roll
That name must be repeated never,
For 'Life' in future say, 'My Soul,'
Which like my love exists for ever."
Byron wrote these lines in 1815, in Lady Lansdowne's album, at Bowood.—Note by Mr.
Richard Edgecombe, Notes and Queries, Sixth Series, vii. 46.]
Page 106
THE GIAOUR:
A FRAGMENT OF A
TURKISH TALE .
“One fatal remembrance—one sorrow that throws
Its bleak shade alike o'er our joys and our woes—
To which Life nothing darker nor brighter can bring,
For which joy hath no balm—and affliction no sting.”
M oore .
["As a beam o'er the face," etc.—Irish Melodies.]
A FRAGMENT OF A
TURKISH TALE .
“One fatal remembrance—one sorrow that throws
Its bleak shade alike o'er our joys and our woes—
To which Life nothing darker nor brighter can bring,
For which joy hath no balm—and affliction no sting.”
M oore .
["As a beam o'er the face," etc.—Irish Melodies.]
Page 107
INTRODUCTION TO THE GIAOUR
I n a letter to Murray, dated Pisa, December 12, 1821 (Life, p. 545), Byron
avows that the "Giaour Story" had actually "some foundation on facts."
Soon after the poem appeared (June 5, 1813), "a story was circulated by
some gentlewomen ... a little too close to the text" (Letters to Moore,
September 1, 1813, Letters, 1898, ii. 258), and in order to put himself right
with his friends or posterity, Byron wrote to his friend Lord Sligo, who in
July, 1810, was anchored off Athens in "a twelve-gun brig, with a crew of
fifty men" (see Letters, 1898, i. 289, note 1), requesting him to put on paper
not so much the narrative of an actual event, but "what he had heard at
Athens about the affair of that girl who was so near being put an end to
while you were there." According to the letter which Moore published (Life,
p. 178), and which is reprinted in the present issue (Letters, 1898, ii. 257),
Byron interposed on behalf of a girl, who "in compliance with the strict
letter of the Mohammedan law," had been sewn in a sack and was about to
be thrown into the sea. "I was told," adds Lord Sligo, "that you then
conveyed her in safety to the convent, and despatched her off at night to
Thebes." The letter, which Byron characterizes as "curious," is by no means
conclusive, and to judge from the designedly mysterious references in the
Journal, dated November 16 and December 5, and in the second postscript
to a letter to Professor Clarke, dated December 15, 1813 (Letters, 1898, ii.
321, 361, 311), "the circumstances which were the groundwork" are not
I n a letter to Murray, dated Pisa, December 12, 1821 (Life, p. 545), Byron
avows that the "Giaour Story" had actually "some foundation on facts."
Soon after the poem appeared (June 5, 1813), "a story was circulated by
some gentlewomen ... a little too close to the text" (Letters to Moore,
September 1, 1813, Letters, 1898, ii. 258), and in order to put himself right
with his friends or posterity, Byron wrote to his friend Lord Sligo, who in
July, 1810, was anchored off Athens in "a twelve-gun brig, with a crew of
fifty men" (see Letters, 1898, i. 289, note 1), requesting him to put on paper
not so much the narrative of an actual event, but "what he had heard at
Athens about the affair of that girl who was so near being put an end to
while you were there." According to the letter which Moore published (Life,
p. 178), and which is reprinted in the present issue (Letters, 1898, ii. 257),
Byron interposed on behalf of a girl, who "in compliance with the strict
letter of the Mohammedan law," had been sewn in a sack and was about to
be thrown into the sea. "I was told," adds Lord Sligo, "that you then
conveyed her in safety to the convent, and despatched her off at night to
Thebes." The letter, which Byron characterizes as "curious," is by no means
conclusive, and to judge from the designedly mysterious references in the
Journal, dated November 16 and December 5, and in the second postscript
to a letter to Professor Clarke, dated December 15, 1813 (Letters, 1898, ii.
321, 361, 311), "the circumstances which were the groundwork" are not
Page 108
before us. "An event," says John Wright (ed. 1832, ix. 145), "in which Lord
Byron was personally concerned, undoubtedly supplied the groundwork of
this tale; but for the story so circumstantially set forth (see Medwin's
Conversations, 1824, pp. 121, 124) of his having been the lover of this
female slave, there is no foundation. The girl whose life the poet saved at
Athens was not, we are assured by Sir John Hobhouse (Westminster Review,
January, 1825, iii. 27), an object of his Lordship's attachment, but of that of
his Turkish servant." Nevertheless, whatever Byron may have told
Hobhouse (who had returned to England), and he distinctly says (Letters,
1898, ii. 393) that he did not tell him everything, he avowed to Clarke that
he had been led "to the water's edge," and confided to his diary that to
"describe the feelings of that situation was impossible—it is icy even to
recollect them."
For the allusive and fragmentary style of the Giaour, The Voyage of
Columbus, which Rogers published in 1812, is in part responsible. "It is
sudden in its transitions," wrote the author, in the Preface to the first edition,
"... leaving much to be imagined by the reader." The story or a part of it is
told by a fellow-seaman of Columbus, who had turned "eremite" in his old
age, and though the narrative itself is in heroic verse, the prologue and
epilogue, as they may be termed, are in "the romance or ballad-measure of
the Spanish." The resemblance between the two poems is certainly more
than accidental. On the other hand, a vivid and impassioned description of
Oriental scenery and customs was, as Gifford observed, new and original,
and though, by his own admission, Byron was indebted to Vathek (or rather
S. Henley's notes to Vathek) and to D'Herbelot's Bibliothèque Orientale for
allusions and details, the "atmosphere" could only have been reproduced by
the creative fancy of an observant and enthusiastic traveller who had lived
under Eastern skies, and had come within ken of Eastern life and sentiment.
Byron was personally concerned, undoubtedly supplied the groundwork of
this tale; but for the story so circumstantially set forth (see Medwin's
Conversations, 1824, pp. 121, 124) of his having been the lover of this
female slave, there is no foundation. The girl whose life the poet saved at
Athens was not, we are assured by Sir John Hobhouse (Westminster Review,
January, 1825, iii. 27), an object of his Lordship's attachment, but of that of
his Turkish servant." Nevertheless, whatever Byron may have told
Hobhouse (who had returned to England), and he distinctly says (Letters,
1898, ii. 393) that he did not tell him everything, he avowed to Clarke that
he had been led "to the water's edge," and confided to his diary that to
"describe the feelings of that situation was impossible—it is icy even to
recollect them."
For the allusive and fragmentary style of the Giaour, The Voyage of
Columbus, which Rogers published in 1812, is in part responsible. "It is
sudden in its transitions," wrote the author, in the Preface to the first edition,
"... leaving much to be imagined by the reader." The story or a part of it is
told by a fellow-seaman of Columbus, who had turned "eremite" in his old
age, and though the narrative itself is in heroic verse, the prologue and
epilogue, as they may be termed, are in "the romance or ballad-measure of
the Spanish." The resemblance between the two poems is certainly more
than accidental. On the other hand, a vivid and impassioned description of
Oriental scenery and customs was, as Gifford observed, new and original,
and though, by his own admission, Byron was indebted to Vathek (or rather
S. Henley's notes to Vathek) and to D'Herbelot's Bibliothèque Orientale for
allusions and details, the "atmosphere" could only have been reproduced by
the creative fancy of an observant and enthusiastic traveller who had lived
under Eastern skies, and had come within ken of Eastern life and sentiment.
Page 109
In spite, however, of his love for the subject-matter of his poem, and the
facility, surprising even to himself, with which he spun his rhymes, Byron
could not persuade himself that a succession of fragments would sort
themselves and grow into a complete and connected whole. If his thrice-
repeated depreciation of the Giaour is not entirely genuine, it is plain that
he misdoubted himself. Writing to Murray (August 26, 1813) he says, "I
have, but with some difficulty, not added any more to this snake of a poem,
which has been lengthening its rattles every month;" to Moore (September
1), "The Giaour I have added to a good deal, but still in foolish fragments;"
and, again, to Moore (September 8), "By the coach I send you a copy of that
awful pamphlet the Giaour."
But while the author doubted and apologized, or deprecated "his love's
excess In words of wrong and bitterness," the public read, and edition
followed edition with bewildering speed.
The Giaour was reviewed by George Agar Ellis in the Quarterly (No.
xxxi., January, 1813 [published February 11, 1813]) and in the Edinburgh
Review by Jeffrey (No. 54, January, 1813 [published February 24, 1813]).
facility, surprising even to himself, with which he spun his rhymes, Byron
could not persuade himself that a succession of fragments would sort
themselves and grow into a complete and connected whole. If his thrice-
repeated depreciation of the Giaour is not entirely genuine, it is plain that
he misdoubted himself. Writing to Murray (August 26, 1813) he says, "I
have, but with some difficulty, not added any more to this snake of a poem,
which has been lengthening its rattles every month;" to Moore (September
1), "The Giaour I have added to a good deal, but still in foolish fragments;"
and, again, to Moore (September 8), "By the coach I send you a copy of that
awful pamphlet the Giaour."
But while the author doubted and apologized, or deprecated "his love's
excess In words of wrong and bitterness," the public read, and edition
followed edition with bewildering speed.
The Giaour was reviewed by George Agar Ellis in the Quarterly (No.
xxxi., January, 1813 [published February 11, 1813]) and in the Edinburgh
Review by Jeffrey (No. 54, January, 1813 [published February 24, 1813]).
Page 110
BIBLIOGRAPHICAL NOTE ON THE
GIAOUR
T he bibliography of the Giaour is beset with difficulties, and it is doubtful
if more than approximate accuracy can be secured. The composition of the
entire poem in its present shape was accomplished within six months, May-
November, 1813, but during that period it was expanded by successive
accretions from a first draft of 407 lines (extant in MS.) to a seventh edition
of 1334 lines. A proof is extant of an edition of 28 pages containing 460
lines, itself an enlargement on the MS.; but whether (as a note in the
handwriting of the late Mr. Murray affirms) this was or was not published is
uncertain. A portion of a second proof of 38 pages has been preserved, but
of the publication of the poem in this state there is no record. On June 5 a
first edition of 41 pages, containing 685 lines, was issued, and of this
numerous copies are extant. At the end of June, or the beginning of July,
1813, a second edition, entitled, a "New Edition with some Additions,"
appeared. This consisted of 47 pages, and numbered 816 lines. Among the
accretions is to be found the famous passage beginning, "He that hath bent
him o'er the dead." Two MS. copies of this pannus vere purpureus are in
Mr. Murray's possession. At the end of July, and during the first half of
August, two or more issues of a third edition were set up in type. The first
issue amounted to 53 pages, containing 950 lines, was certainly published
GIAOUR
T he bibliography of the Giaour is beset with difficulties, and it is doubtful
if more than approximate accuracy can be secured. The composition of the
entire poem in its present shape was accomplished within six months, May-
November, 1813, but during that period it was expanded by successive
accretions from a first draft of 407 lines (extant in MS.) to a seventh edition
of 1334 lines. A proof is extant of an edition of 28 pages containing 460
lines, itself an enlargement on the MS.; but whether (as a note in the
handwriting of the late Mr. Murray affirms) this was or was not published is
uncertain. A portion of a second proof of 38 pages has been preserved, but
of the publication of the poem in this state there is no record. On June 5 a
first edition of 41 pages, containing 685 lines, was issued, and of this
numerous copies are extant. At the end of June, or the beginning of July,
1813, a second edition, entitled, a "New Edition with some Additions,"
appeared. This consisted of 47 pages, and numbered 816 lines. Among the
accretions is to be found the famous passage beginning, "He that hath bent
him o'er the dead." Two MS. copies of this pannus vere purpureus are in
Mr. Murray's possession. At the end of July, and during the first half of
August, two or more issues of a third edition were set up in type. The first
issue amounted to 53 pages, containing 950 lines, was certainly published
Page 111
in this form, and possibly a second issue of 56 pages, containing 1004 lines,
may have followed at a brief interval. A revise of this second issue, dated
August 13, is extant. In the last fortnight of August a fourth edition of 58
pages, containing 1048 lines, undoubtedly saw the light. Scarcely more than
a few days can have elapsed before a fifth edition of 66 pages, containing
1215 lines, was ready to supplant the fourth edition. A sixth edition, a
reproduction of the fifth, may have appeared in October. A seventh edition
of 75 pages, containing 1334 lines, which presented the poem in its final
shape, was issued subsequently to November 27, 1813 (a seventh edition
was advertised in the Morning Chronicle, December 22, 1813), the date of
the last revise, or of an advance copy of the issue. The ninth, tenth,
eleventh, and twelfth editions belong to 1814, while a fourteenth edition is
known to have been issued in 1815. In that year and henceforward the
Giaour was included in the various collected editions of Byron's works. The
subjoined table assigns to their several editions the successive accretions in
their order as now published:—
Lines. Giaour. Edition of——
1—6. MS. First edition of 28 pages.
7—20. Second edition. [47 pages, 816 Approximate date, June
lines.] 24, 1813.
21—45. Third edition. [53 pages, 950 July 30, 1813.
lines.]
46—102. Second edition.
103—167. Fifth edition. [66 pages, 1215 August 25, 1813.
lines.]
168—199. MS. First edition of 28 pages.
200—250. Third edition.
251—252. Seventh edition. [75 pages, 1334 November 27, 1813.
lines.]
may have followed at a brief interval. A revise of this second issue, dated
August 13, is extant. In the last fortnight of August a fourth edition of 58
pages, containing 1048 lines, undoubtedly saw the light. Scarcely more than
a few days can have elapsed before a fifth edition of 66 pages, containing
1215 lines, was ready to supplant the fourth edition. A sixth edition, a
reproduction of the fifth, may have appeared in October. A seventh edition
of 75 pages, containing 1334 lines, which presented the poem in its final
shape, was issued subsequently to November 27, 1813 (a seventh edition
was advertised in the Morning Chronicle, December 22, 1813), the date of
the last revise, or of an advance copy of the issue. The ninth, tenth,
eleventh, and twelfth editions belong to 1814, while a fourteenth edition is
known to have been issued in 1815. In that year and henceforward the
Giaour was included in the various collected editions of Byron's works. The
subjoined table assigns to their several editions the successive accretions in
their order as now published:—
Lines. Giaour. Edition of——
1—6. MS. First edition of 28 pages.
7—20. Second edition. [47 pages, 816 Approximate date, June
lines.] 24, 1813.
21—45. Third edition. [53 pages, 950 July 30, 1813.
lines.]
46—102. Second edition.
103—167. Fifth edition. [66 pages, 1215 August 25, 1813.
lines.]
168—199. MS. First edition of 28 pages.
200—250. Third edition.
251—252. Seventh edition. [75 pages, 1334 November 27, 1813.
lines.]
Page 112
253—276. Third edition.
277—287. MS. First edition of 28 pages.
288—351. Third edition. (Second issue?) August 11, 1813.
[56 pages, 1004,? 1014 lines.]
352—503. MS. First edition of 28 pages.
504—518. Third edition.
519—619. MS. First edition of 28 pages.
620—654. Second edition.
655—688. MS. First edition of 28 pages.
689—722. Fourth edition. [58 pages, 1048 August 19.
lines.]
723—737. MS. First edition of 28 pages.
733-4 not in the MS., but in First
edition of 28 pages.
738—745. First edition of 41 pages. June 5, 1813.
746—786. First edition of 28 pages. Not in
the MS
787—831. MS. First edition of 28 pages.
832—915. Seventh edition.
916—998. First edition of 41 pages. 937-
970 no MS.
999—1023. Second edition.
1024—1028. Seventh edition.
1029—1079. First edition of 41 pages.
1080—1098. Third edition.
1099—1125. First edition of 41 pages.
1126—1130. Seventh edition.
1131—1191. Fifth edition.
277—287. MS. First edition of 28 pages.
288—351. Third edition. (Second issue?) August 11, 1813.
[56 pages, 1004,? 1014 lines.]
352—503. MS. First edition of 28 pages.
504—518. Third edition.
519—619. MS. First edition of 28 pages.
620—654. Second edition.
655—688. MS. First edition of 28 pages.
689—722. Fourth edition. [58 pages, 1048 August 19.
lines.]
723—737. MS. First edition of 28 pages.
733-4 not in the MS., but in First
edition of 28 pages.
738—745. First edition of 41 pages. June 5, 1813.
746—786. First edition of 28 pages. Not in
the MS
787—831. MS. First edition of 28 pages.
832—915. Seventh edition.
916—998. First edition of 41 pages. 937-
970 no MS.
999—1023. Second edition.
1024—1028. Seventh edition.
1029—1079. First edition of 41 pages.
1080—1098. Third edition.
1099—1125. First edition of 41 pages.
1126—1130. Seventh edition.
1131—1191. Fifth edition.
Page 113
1192—1217. Seventh edition.
1218—1256. Fifth edition.
1257—1318. First edition of 41 pages.
1319—1334. MS. First edition of 28 pages.
NOTE.
The first edition is advertised in the Morning Chronicle, June 5; a third
edition on August 11, 13, 16, 31; a fifth edition, with considerable
additions, on September 11; on November 29 a "new edition;" and on
December 27, 1813, a seventh edition, together with a repeated notice of the
Bride of Abydos. These dates do not exactly correspond with Murray's
contemporary memoranda of the dates of the successive issues.
TO
SAMUEL ROGERS, ESQ.
AS A SLIGHT BUT MOST SINCERE TOKEN
O F A D M I R AT I O N O F H I S G E N I U S ,
RESPECT FOR HIS CHARACTER,
A N D G R AT I T U D E F O R H I S F R I E N D S H I P,
THIS PRODUCTION IS INSCRIBED
1218—1256. Fifth edition.
1257—1318. First edition of 41 pages.
1319—1334. MS. First edition of 28 pages.
NOTE.
The first edition is advertised in the Morning Chronicle, June 5; a third
edition on August 11, 13, 16, 31; a fifth edition, with considerable
additions, on September 11; on November 29 a "new edition;" and on
December 27, 1813, a seventh edition, together with a repeated notice of the
Bride of Abydos. These dates do not exactly correspond with Murray's
contemporary memoranda of the dates of the successive issues.
TO
SAMUEL ROGERS, ESQ.
AS A SLIGHT BUT MOST SINCERE TOKEN
O F A D M I R AT I O N O F H I S G E N I U S ,
RESPECT FOR HIS CHARACTER,
A N D G R AT I T U D E F O R H I S F R I E N D S H I P,
THIS PRODUCTION IS INSCRIBED
Page 114
BY HIS OBLIGED
A N D A F F E C T I O N AT E S E RVA N T,
BYRON.
L ondon , May, 1813.
A N D A F F E C T I O N AT E S E RVA N T,
BYRON.
L ondon , May, 1813.
Page 115
ADVERTISEMENT.
T he tale which these disjointed fragments present, is founded upon
circumstances now less common in the East than formerly; either because
the ladies are more circumspect than in the "olden time," or because the
Christians have better fortune, or less enterprise. The story, when entire,
contained the adventures of a female slave, who was thrown, in the
Mussulman manner, into the sea for infidelity, and avenged by a young
Venetian, her lover, at the time the Seven Islands were possessed by the
Republic of Venice, and soon after the Arnauts were beaten back from the
Morea, which they had ravaged for some time subsequent to the Russian
invasion. The desertion of the Mainotes, on being refused the plunder of
Misitra, led to the abandonment of that enterprise, and to the desolation of
the Morea, during which the cruelty exercised on all sides was unparalleled
even in the annals of the faithful.
T he tale which these disjointed fragments present, is founded upon
circumstances now less common in the East than formerly; either because
the ladies are more circumspect than in the "olden time," or because the
Christians have better fortune, or less enterprise. The story, when entire,
contained the adventures of a female slave, who was thrown, in the
Mussulman manner, into the sea for infidelity, and avenged by a young
Venetian, her lover, at the time the Seven Islands were possessed by the
Republic of Venice, and soon after the Arnauts were beaten back from the
Morea, which they had ravaged for some time subsequent to the Russian
invasion. The desertion of the Mainotes, on being refused the plunder of
Misitra, led to the abandonment of that enterprise, and to the desolation of
the Morea, during which the cruelty exercised on all sides was unparalleled
even in the annals of the faithful.
Page 116
THE GIAOUR.
N o breath of air to break the wave
t rolls below the Athenian's grave,
t tomb[55] which, gleaming o'er the cliff,
t greets the homeward-veering skiff
h o'er the land he saved in vain;
en shall such Hero live again?
air clime! where every season smiles[cg]
ignant o'er those blessed isles,
ich, seen from far Colonna's height,
ke glad the heart that hails the sight,10
d lend to loneliness delight.
re mildly dimpling, Ocean's cheek
lects the tints of many a peak
ght by the laughing tides that lave
se Edens of the eastern wave:
d if at times a transient breeze
ak the blue crystal of the seas,
weep one blossom from the trees,
w welcome is each gentle air
t wakes and wafts the odours there!20
there the Rose, o'er crag or vale,
ana of the Nightingale,[56]
N o breath of air to break the wave
t rolls below the Athenian's grave,
t tomb[55] which, gleaming o'er the cliff,
t greets the homeward-veering skiff
h o'er the land he saved in vain;
en shall such Hero live again?
air clime! where every season smiles[cg]
ignant o'er those blessed isles,
ich, seen from far Colonna's height,
ke glad the heart that hails the sight,10
d lend to loneliness delight.
re mildly dimpling, Ocean's cheek
lects the tints of many a peak
ght by the laughing tides that lave
se Edens of the eastern wave:
d if at times a transient breeze
ak the blue crystal of the seas,
weep one blossom from the trees,
w welcome is each gentle air
t wakes and wafts the odours there!20
there the Rose, o'er crag or vale,
ana of the Nightingale,[56]
Page 117
he maid for whom his melody,
His thousand songs are heard on high,
oms blushing to her lover's tale:
queen, the garden queen, his Rose,
bent by winds, unchilled by snows,
from the winters of the west,
every breeze and season blest,
urns the sweets by Nature given30
oftest incense back to Heaven;
d grateful yields that smiling sky
fairest hue and fragrant sigh.
d many a summer flower is there,
d many a shade that Love might share,
d many a grotto, meant for rest,
t holds the pirate for a guest;
ose bark in sheltering cove below
ks for the passing peaceful prow,
the gay mariner's guitar[57]40
eard, and seen the Evening Star;
n stealing with the muffled oar,
shaded by the rocky shore,
h the night-prowlers on the prey,
d turn to groans his roundelay.
nge—that where Nature loved to trace,
f for Gods, a dwelling place,
d every charm and grace hath mixed
hin the Paradise she fixed,
re man, enamoured of distress,50
uld mar it into wilderness,[ch]
d trample, brute-like, o'er each flower
t tasks not one laborious hour;
His thousand songs are heard on high,
oms blushing to her lover's tale:
queen, the garden queen, his Rose,
bent by winds, unchilled by snows,
from the winters of the west,
every breeze and season blest,
urns the sweets by Nature given30
oftest incense back to Heaven;
d grateful yields that smiling sky
fairest hue and fragrant sigh.
d many a summer flower is there,
d many a shade that Love might share,
d many a grotto, meant for rest,
t holds the pirate for a guest;
ose bark in sheltering cove below
ks for the passing peaceful prow,
the gay mariner's guitar[57]40
eard, and seen the Evening Star;
n stealing with the muffled oar,
shaded by the rocky shore,
h the night-prowlers on the prey,
d turn to groans his roundelay.
nge—that where Nature loved to trace,
f for Gods, a dwelling place,
d every charm and grace hath mixed
hin the Paradise she fixed,
re man, enamoured of distress,50
uld mar it into wilderness,[ch]
d trample, brute-like, o'er each flower
t tasks not one laborious hour;
Page 118
claims the culture of his hand
bloom along the fairy land,
springs as to preclude his care,
d sweetly woos him—but to spare!
nge—that where all is Peace beside,
re Passion riots in her pride,
d Lust and Rapine wildly reign60
darken o'er the fair domain.
as though the Fiends prevailed
inst the Seraphs they assailed,
d, fixed on heavenly thrones, should dwell
freed inheritors of Hell;
oft the scene, so formed for joy,
curst the tyrants that destroy!
He who hath bent him o'er the dead[ci][58]
the first day of Death is fled,
first dark day of Nothingness,70
last of Danger and Distress,
fore Decay's effacing fingers
e swept the lines where Beauty lingers,)
d marked the mild angelic air,
rapture of Repose that's there,[cj]
fixed yet tender traits that streak
languor of the placid cheek,
d—but for that sad shrouded eye,
hat fires not, wins not, weeps not, now,
And but for that chill, changeless brow,80
Where cold Obstruction's apathy[59]
Appals the gazing mourner's heart,[ck]
As if to him it could impart
bloom along the fairy land,
springs as to preclude his care,
d sweetly woos him—but to spare!
nge—that where all is Peace beside,
re Passion riots in her pride,
d Lust and Rapine wildly reign60
darken o'er the fair domain.
as though the Fiends prevailed
inst the Seraphs they assailed,
d, fixed on heavenly thrones, should dwell
freed inheritors of Hell;
oft the scene, so formed for joy,
curst the tyrants that destroy!
He who hath bent him o'er the dead[ci][58]
the first day of Death is fled,
first dark day of Nothingness,70
last of Danger and Distress,
fore Decay's effacing fingers
e swept the lines where Beauty lingers,)
d marked the mild angelic air,
rapture of Repose that's there,[cj]
fixed yet tender traits that streak
languor of the placid cheek,
d—but for that sad shrouded eye,
hat fires not, wins not, weeps not, now,
And but for that chill, changeless brow,80
Where cold Obstruction's apathy[59]
Appals the gazing mourner's heart,[ck]
As if to him it could impart
Page 119
he doom he dreads, yet dwells upon;
Yes, but for these and these alone,
ome moments, aye, one treacherous hour,
He still might doubt the Tyrant's power;
o fair, so calm, so softly sealed,
he first, last look by Death revealed![60]
uch is the aspect of this shore;90
Tis Greece, but living Greece no more![61]
o coldly sweet, so deadly fair,
We start, for Soul is wanting there.
Hers is the loveliness in death,
hat parts not quite with parting breath;
ut beauty with that fearful bloom,
hat hue which haunts it to the tomb,
xpression's last receding ray,
A gilded Halo hovering round decay,
he farewell beam of Feeling past away!100
rk of that flame, perchance of heavenly birth,
ich gleams, but warms no more its cherished earth!
Clime of the unforgotten brave![62]
Whose land from plain to mountain-cave
Was Freedom's home or Glory's grave!
hrine of the mighty! can it be,[cl]
hat this is all remains of thee?
Approach, thou craven crouching slave:[63]
Say, is not this Thermopylæ?[cm]
hese waters blue that round you lave,—110
Oh servile offspring of the free—
ronounce what sea, what shore is this?
he gulf, the rock of Salamis!
Yes, but for these and these alone,
ome moments, aye, one treacherous hour,
He still might doubt the Tyrant's power;
o fair, so calm, so softly sealed,
he first, last look by Death revealed![60]
uch is the aspect of this shore;90
Tis Greece, but living Greece no more![61]
o coldly sweet, so deadly fair,
We start, for Soul is wanting there.
Hers is the loveliness in death,
hat parts not quite with parting breath;
ut beauty with that fearful bloom,
hat hue which haunts it to the tomb,
xpression's last receding ray,
A gilded Halo hovering round decay,
he farewell beam of Feeling past away!100
rk of that flame, perchance of heavenly birth,
ich gleams, but warms no more its cherished earth!
Clime of the unforgotten brave![62]
Whose land from plain to mountain-cave
Was Freedom's home or Glory's grave!
hrine of the mighty! can it be,[cl]
hat this is all remains of thee?
Approach, thou craven crouching slave:[63]
Say, is not this Thermopylæ?[cm]
hese waters blue that round you lave,—110
Oh servile offspring of the free—
ronounce what sea, what shore is this?
he gulf, the rock of Salamis!
Page 120
hese scenes, their story not unknown,
Arise, and make again your own;
natch from the ashes of your Sires
he embers of their former fires;
And he who in the strife expires[cn]
Will add to theirs a name of fear
hat Tyranny shall quake to hear,120
And leave his sons a hope, a fame,
hey too will rather die than shame:
or Freedom's battle once begun,
equeathed by bleeding Sire to Son,[co]
hough baffled oft is ever won.
ear witness, Greece, thy living page!
Attest it many a deathless age![cp]
While Kings, in dusty darkness hid,
Have left a nameless pyramid,
hy Heroes, though the general doom130
Hath swept the column from their tomb,
A mightier monument command,
he mountains of their native land!
here points thy Muse to stranger's eye[cq]
he graves of those that cannot die!
Twere long to tell, and sad to trace,
ach step from Splendour to Disgrace;
nough—no foreign foe could quell
hy soul, till from itself it fell;
Yet! Self-abasement paved the way140
o villain-bonds and despot sway.
What can he tell who treads thy shore?
No legend of thine olden time,
Arise, and make again your own;
natch from the ashes of your Sires
he embers of their former fires;
And he who in the strife expires[cn]
Will add to theirs a name of fear
hat Tyranny shall quake to hear,120
And leave his sons a hope, a fame,
hey too will rather die than shame:
or Freedom's battle once begun,
equeathed by bleeding Sire to Son,[co]
hough baffled oft is ever won.
ear witness, Greece, thy living page!
Attest it many a deathless age![cp]
While Kings, in dusty darkness hid,
Have left a nameless pyramid,
hy Heroes, though the general doom130
Hath swept the column from their tomb,
A mightier monument command,
he mountains of their native land!
here points thy Muse to stranger's eye[cq]
he graves of those that cannot die!
Twere long to tell, and sad to trace,
ach step from Splendour to Disgrace;
nough—no foreign foe could quell
hy soul, till from itself it fell;
Yet! Self-abasement paved the way140
o villain-bonds and despot sway.
What can he tell who treads thy shore?
No legend of thine olden time,
Page 121
No theme on which the Muse might soar
High as thine own in days of yore,
When man was worthy of thy clime.
he hearts within thy valleys bred,[cr]
he fiery souls that might have led
Thy sons to deeds sublime,
Now crawl from cradle to the Grave,150
laves—nay, the bondsmen of a Slave,[64]
And callous, save to crime;
tained with each evil that pollutes
Mankind, where least above the brutes;
Without even savage virtue blest,
Without one free or valiant breast,
till to the neighbouring ports they waft[cs]
roverbial wiles, and ancient craft;
n this the subtle Greek is found,
or this, and this alone, renowned.160
n vain might Liberty invoke
he spirit to its bondage broke
Or raise the neck that courts the yoke:
No more her sorrows I bewail,
Yet this will be a mournful tale,
And they who listen may believe,
Who heard it first had cause to grieve.
Far, dark, along the blue sea glancing,
he shadows of the rocks advancing
tart on the fisher's eye like boat170
Of island-pirate or Mainote;
And fearful for his light caïque,
He shuns the near but doubtful creek:[ct]
High as thine own in days of yore,
When man was worthy of thy clime.
he hearts within thy valleys bred,[cr]
he fiery souls that might have led
Thy sons to deeds sublime,
Now crawl from cradle to the Grave,150
laves—nay, the bondsmen of a Slave,[64]
And callous, save to crime;
tained with each evil that pollutes
Mankind, where least above the brutes;
Without even savage virtue blest,
Without one free or valiant breast,
till to the neighbouring ports they waft[cs]
roverbial wiles, and ancient craft;
n this the subtle Greek is found,
or this, and this alone, renowned.160
n vain might Liberty invoke
he spirit to its bondage broke
Or raise the neck that courts the yoke:
No more her sorrows I bewail,
Yet this will be a mournful tale,
And they who listen may believe,
Who heard it first had cause to grieve.
Far, dark, along the blue sea glancing,
he shadows of the rocks advancing
tart on the fisher's eye like boat170
Of island-pirate or Mainote;
And fearful for his light caïque,
He shuns the near but doubtful creek:[ct]
Page 122
hough worn and weary with his toil,
And cumbered with his scaly spoil,
lowly, yet strongly, plies the oar,
ill Port Leone's safer shore
eceives him by the lovely light
hat best becomes an Eastern night.
Who thundering comes on blackest steed,[65]180
With slackened bit and hoof of speed?
eneath the clattering iron's sound
he caverned Echoes wake around
n lash for lash, and bound for bound:
he foam that streaks the courser's side
eems gathered from the Ocean-tide:
hough weary waves are sunk to rest,
here's none within his rider's breast;
And though to-morrow's tempest lower,
Tis calmer than thy heart, young Giaour![66]190
know thee not, I loathe thy race,
ut in thy lineaments I trace
What Time shall strengthen, not efface:
hough young and pale, that sallow front
s scathed by fiery Passion's brunt;
hough bent on earth thine evil eye,[cu]
As meteor-like thou glidest by,
ight well I view and deem thee one
Whom Othman's sons should slay or shun.
On—on he hastened, and he drew200
My gaze of wonder as he flew:[cv]
hough like a Demon of the night
And cumbered with his scaly spoil,
lowly, yet strongly, plies the oar,
ill Port Leone's safer shore
eceives him by the lovely light
hat best becomes an Eastern night.
Who thundering comes on blackest steed,[65]180
With slackened bit and hoof of speed?
eneath the clattering iron's sound
he caverned Echoes wake around
n lash for lash, and bound for bound:
he foam that streaks the courser's side
eems gathered from the Ocean-tide:
hough weary waves are sunk to rest,
here's none within his rider's breast;
And though to-morrow's tempest lower,
Tis calmer than thy heart, young Giaour![66]190
know thee not, I loathe thy race,
ut in thy lineaments I trace
What Time shall strengthen, not efface:
hough young and pale, that sallow front
s scathed by fiery Passion's brunt;
hough bent on earth thine evil eye,[cu]
As meteor-like thou glidest by,
ight well I view and deem thee one
Whom Othman's sons should slay or shun.
On—on he hastened, and he drew200
My gaze of wonder as he flew:[cv]
hough like a Demon of the night
Page 123
He passed, and vanished from my sight,
His aspect and his air impressed
A troubled memory on my breast,
And long upon my startled ear
ung his dark courser's hoofs of fear.
He spurs his steed; he nears the steep,
hat, jutting, shadows o'er the deep;
He winds around; he hurries by;210
he rock relieves him from mine eye;
or, well I ween, unwelcome he
Whose glance is fixed on those that flee;
And not a star but shines too bright
On him who takes such timeless flight.[cw]
He wound along; but ere he passed
One glance he snatched, as if his last,
A moment checked his wheeling steed,[67]
A moment breathed him from his speed,
A moment on his stirrup stood—220
Why looks he o'er the olive wood?[cx]
he Crescent glimmers on the hill,
he Mosque's high lamps are quivering still
hough too remote for sound to wake
n echoes of the far tophaike,[68]
he flashes of each joyous peal
Are seen to prove the Moslem's zeal.
o-night, set Rhamazani's sun;
o-night, the Bairam feast's begun;
o-night—but who and what art thou230
Of foreign garb and fearful brow?
And what are these to thine or thee,
hat thou shouldst either pause or flee?
His aspect and his air impressed
A troubled memory on my breast,
And long upon my startled ear
ung his dark courser's hoofs of fear.
He spurs his steed; he nears the steep,
hat, jutting, shadows o'er the deep;
He winds around; he hurries by;210
he rock relieves him from mine eye;
or, well I ween, unwelcome he
Whose glance is fixed on those that flee;
And not a star but shines too bright
On him who takes such timeless flight.[cw]
He wound along; but ere he passed
One glance he snatched, as if his last,
A moment checked his wheeling steed,[67]
A moment breathed him from his speed,
A moment on his stirrup stood—220
Why looks he o'er the olive wood?[cx]
he Crescent glimmers on the hill,
he Mosque's high lamps are quivering still
hough too remote for sound to wake
n echoes of the far tophaike,[68]
he flashes of each joyous peal
Are seen to prove the Moslem's zeal.
o-night, set Rhamazani's sun;
o-night, the Bairam feast's begun;
o-night—but who and what art thou230
Of foreign garb and fearful brow?
And what are these to thine or thee,
hat thou shouldst either pause or flee?
Page 124
He stood—some dread was on his face,
oon Hatred settled in its place:
rose not with the reddening flush
Of transient Anger's hasty blush,[cy][69]
ut pale as marble o'er the tomb,
Whose ghastly whiteness aids its gloom.
His brow was bent, his eye was glazed;240
He raised his arm, and fiercely raised,
And sternly shook his hand on high,
As doubting to return or fly;[cz]
mpatient of his flight delayed,
Here loud his raven charger neighed—
Down glanced that hand, and grasped his blade;
hat sound had burst his waking dream,
As Slumber starts at owlet's scream.
he spur hath lanced his courser's sides;
Away—away—for life he rides:250
wift as the hurled on high jerreed[70]
prings to the touch his startled steed;
he rock is doubled, and the shore
hakes with the clattering tramp no more;
he crag is won, no more is seen
His Christian crest and haughty mien.
Twas but an instant he restrained
hat fiery barb so sternly reined;[da]
Twas but a moment that he stood,
hen sped as if by Death pursued;260
ut in that instant o'er his soul
Winters of Memory seemed to roll,
And gather in that drop of time
A life of pain, an age of crime.
oon Hatred settled in its place:
rose not with the reddening flush
Of transient Anger's hasty blush,[cy][69]
ut pale as marble o'er the tomb,
Whose ghastly whiteness aids its gloom.
His brow was bent, his eye was glazed;240
He raised his arm, and fiercely raised,
And sternly shook his hand on high,
As doubting to return or fly;[cz]
mpatient of his flight delayed,
Here loud his raven charger neighed—
Down glanced that hand, and grasped his blade;
hat sound had burst his waking dream,
As Slumber starts at owlet's scream.
he spur hath lanced his courser's sides;
Away—away—for life he rides:250
wift as the hurled on high jerreed[70]
prings to the touch his startled steed;
he rock is doubled, and the shore
hakes with the clattering tramp no more;
he crag is won, no more is seen
His Christian crest and haughty mien.
Twas but an instant he restrained
hat fiery barb so sternly reined;[da]
Twas but a moment that he stood,
hen sped as if by Death pursued;260
ut in that instant o'er his soul
Winters of Memory seemed to roll,
And gather in that drop of time
A life of pain, an age of crime.
Page 125
O'er him who loves, or hates, or fears,
uch moment pours the grief of years:[db]
What felt he then, at once opprest
y all that most distracts the breast?
hat pause, which pondered o'er his fate,
Oh, who its dreary length shall date!270
hough in Time's record nearly nought,
was Eternity to Thought![71]
or infinite as boundless space
he thought that Conscience must embrace,
Which in itself can comprehend
Woe without name, or hope, or end.[72]
The hour is past, the Giaour is gone:
And did he fly or fall alone?[dc]
Woe to that hour he came or went!
he curse for Hassan's sin was sent280
o turn a palace to a tomb;
He came, he went, like the Simoom,[73]
hat harbinger of Fate and gloom,
eneath whose widely-wasting breath
he very cypress droops to death—
k tree, still sad when others' grief is fled,
only constant mourner o'er the dead!
The steed is vanished from the stall;
No serf is seen in Hassan's hall;
he lonely Spider's thin gray pall[dd]290
Waves slowly widening o'er the wall;
he Bat builds in his Haram bower,[74]
And in the fortress of his power
uch moment pours the grief of years:[db]
What felt he then, at once opprest
y all that most distracts the breast?
hat pause, which pondered o'er his fate,
Oh, who its dreary length shall date!270
hough in Time's record nearly nought,
was Eternity to Thought![71]
or infinite as boundless space
he thought that Conscience must embrace,
Which in itself can comprehend
Woe without name, or hope, or end.[72]
The hour is past, the Giaour is gone:
And did he fly or fall alone?[dc]
Woe to that hour he came or went!
he curse for Hassan's sin was sent280
o turn a palace to a tomb;
He came, he went, like the Simoom,[73]
hat harbinger of Fate and gloom,
eneath whose widely-wasting breath
he very cypress droops to death—
k tree, still sad when others' grief is fled,
only constant mourner o'er the dead!
The steed is vanished from the stall;
No serf is seen in Hassan's hall;
he lonely Spider's thin gray pall[dd]290
Waves slowly widening o'er the wall;
he Bat builds in his Haram bower,[74]
And in the fortress of his power
Page 126
he Owl usurps the beacon-tower;
he wild-dog howls o'er the fountain's brim,
With baffled thirst, and famine, grim;
the stream has shrunk from its marble bed,
ere the weeds and the desolate dust are spread.
Twas sweet of yore to see it play
And chase the sultriness of day,300
As springing high the silver dew[de]
n whirls fantastically flew,
And flung luxurious coolness round
he air, and verdure o'er the ground.
Twas sweet, when cloudless stars were bright,
o view the wave of watery light,
And hear its melody by night.
And oft had Hassan's Childhood played
Around the verge of that cascade;
And oft upon his mother's breast310
hat sound had harmonized his rest;
And oft had Hassan's Youth along
s bank been soothed by Beauty's song;
And softer seemed each melting tone
Of Music mingled with its own.
ut ne'er shall Hassan's Age repose
Along the brink at Twilight's close:
he stream that filled that font is fled—
he blood that warmed his heart is shed![df]
And here no more shall human voice320
e heard to rage, regret, rejoice.
he last sad note that swelled the gale
Was woman's wildest funeral wail:
hat quenched in silence, all is still,
he wild-dog howls o'er the fountain's brim,
With baffled thirst, and famine, grim;
the stream has shrunk from its marble bed,
ere the weeds and the desolate dust are spread.
Twas sweet of yore to see it play
And chase the sultriness of day,300
As springing high the silver dew[de]
n whirls fantastically flew,
And flung luxurious coolness round
he air, and verdure o'er the ground.
Twas sweet, when cloudless stars were bright,
o view the wave of watery light,
And hear its melody by night.
And oft had Hassan's Childhood played
Around the verge of that cascade;
And oft upon his mother's breast310
hat sound had harmonized his rest;
And oft had Hassan's Youth along
s bank been soothed by Beauty's song;
And softer seemed each melting tone
Of Music mingled with its own.
ut ne'er shall Hassan's Age repose
Along the brink at Twilight's close:
he stream that filled that font is fled—
he blood that warmed his heart is shed![df]
And here no more shall human voice320
e heard to rage, regret, rejoice.
he last sad note that swelled the gale
Was woman's wildest funeral wail:
hat quenched in silence, all is still,
Page 127
ut the lattice that flaps when the wind is shrill:
hough raves the gust, and floods the rain,
No hand shall close its clasp again.
On desert sands 'twere joy to scan
he rudest steps of fellow man,
o here the very voice of Grief330
Might wake an Echo like relief—[dg]
At least 'twould say, "All are not gone;
here lingers Life, though but in one"—[dh]
or many a gilded chamber's there,
Which Solitude might well forbear;[75]
Within that dome as yet Decay
Hath slowly worked her cankering way—
ut gloom is gathered o'er the gate,
Nor there the Fakir's self will wait;
Nor there will wandering Dervise stay,340
or Bounty cheers not his delay;
Nor there will weary stranger halt
o bless the sacred "bread and salt."[di][76]
Alike must Wealth and Poverty
Pass heedless and unheeded by,
For Courtesy and Pity died
With Hassan on the mountain side.
His roof, that refuge unto men,
Is Desolation's hungry den.
guest flies the hall, and the vassal from labour,350
ce his turban was cleft by the infidel's sabre![dj][77]
I hear the sound of coming feet,
But not a voice mine ear to greet;
hough raves the gust, and floods the rain,
No hand shall close its clasp again.
On desert sands 'twere joy to scan
he rudest steps of fellow man,
o here the very voice of Grief330
Might wake an Echo like relief—[dg]
At least 'twould say, "All are not gone;
here lingers Life, though but in one"—[dh]
or many a gilded chamber's there,
Which Solitude might well forbear;[75]
Within that dome as yet Decay
Hath slowly worked her cankering way—
ut gloom is gathered o'er the gate,
Nor there the Fakir's self will wait;
Nor there will wandering Dervise stay,340
or Bounty cheers not his delay;
Nor there will weary stranger halt
o bless the sacred "bread and salt."[di][76]
Alike must Wealth and Poverty
Pass heedless and unheeded by,
For Courtesy and Pity died
With Hassan on the mountain side.
His roof, that refuge unto men,
Is Desolation's hungry den.
guest flies the hall, and the vassal from labour,350
ce his turban was cleft by the infidel's sabre![dj][77]
I hear the sound of coming feet,
But not a voice mine ear to greet;
Page 128
More near—each turban I can scan,
And silver-sheathèd ataghan;[78]
The foremost of the band is seen
An Emir by his garb of green:[79]
! who art thou?"—"This low salam[80]
lies of Moslem faith I am.[dk]
burthen ye so gently bear,360
ms one that claims your utmost care,
d, doubtless, holds some precious freight—
humble bark would gladly wait."[dl]
Thou speakest sooth: thy skiff unmoor,
d waft us from the silent shore;
, leave the sail still furled, and ply
nearest oar that's scattered by,
d midway to those rocks where sleep
channelled waters dark and deep.
t from your task—so—bravely done,370
course has been right swiftly run;
'tis the longest voyage, I trow,
t one of—[81] * * * "
ullen it plunged, and slowly sank,
calm wave rippled to the bank;
atched it as it sank, methought
me motion from the current caught
tirred it more,—'twas but the beam
t checkered o'er the living stream:
zed, till vanishing from view,380
e lessening pebble it withdrew;
less and less, a speck of white
And silver-sheathèd ataghan;[78]
The foremost of the band is seen
An Emir by his garb of green:[79]
! who art thou?"—"This low salam[80]
lies of Moslem faith I am.[dk]
burthen ye so gently bear,360
ms one that claims your utmost care,
d, doubtless, holds some precious freight—
humble bark would gladly wait."[dl]
Thou speakest sooth: thy skiff unmoor,
d waft us from the silent shore;
, leave the sail still furled, and ply
nearest oar that's scattered by,
d midway to those rocks where sleep
channelled waters dark and deep.
t from your task—so—bravely done,370
course has been right swiftly run;
'tis the longest voyage, I trow,
t one of—[81] * * * "
ullen it plunged, and slowly sank,
calm wave rippled to the bank;
atched it as it sank, methought
me motion from the current caught
tirred it more,—'twas but the beam
t checkered o'er the living stream:
zed, till vanishing from view,380
e lessening pebble it withdrew;
less and less, a speck of white
Page 129
t gemmed the tide, then mocked the sight;
d all its hidden secrets sleep,
own but to Genii of the deep,
ich, trembling in their coral caves,
y dare not whisper to the waves.
As rising on its purple wing
insect-queen[82] of Eastern spring,
r emerald meadows of Kashmeer390
tes the young pursuer near,
d leads him on from flower to flower
eary chase and wasted hour,
n leaves him, as it soars on high,
h panting heart and tearful eye:
Beauty lures the full-grown child,
h hue as bright, and wing as wild:
hase of idle hopes and fears,
un in folly, closed in tears.
on, to equal ills betrayed,[dm]400
e waits the insect and the maid;
fe of pain, the loss of peace;
m infant's play, and man's caprice:
lovely toy so fiercely sought
h lost its charm by being caught,
every touch that wooed its stay
h brushed its brightest hues away,
charm, and hue, and beauty gone,
left to fly or fall alone.
h wounded wing, or bleeding breast,410
where shall either victim rest?
this with faded pinion soar
d all its hidden secrets sleep,
own but to Genii of the deep,
ich, trembling in their coral caves,
y dare not whisper to the waves.
As rising on its purple wing
insect-queen[82] of Eastern spring,
r emerald meadows of Kashmeer390
tes the young pursuer near,
d leads him on from flower to flower
eary chase and wasted hour,
n leaves him, as it soars on high,
h panting heart and tearful eye:
Beauty lures the full-grown child,
h hue as bright, and wing as wild:
hase of idle hopes and fears,
un in folly, closed in tears.
on, to equal ills betrayed,[dm]400
e waits the insect and the maid;
fe of pain, the loss of peace;
m infant's play, and man's caprice:
lovely toy so fiercely sought
h lost its charm by being caught,
every touch that wooed its stay
h brushed its brightest hues away,
charm, and hue, and beauty gone,
left to fly or fall alone.
h wounded wing, or bleeding breast,410
where shall either victim rest?
this with faded pinion soar
Page 130
m rose to tulip as before?
Beauty, blighted in an hour,
d joy within her broken bower?
gayer insects fluttering by
er droop the wing o'er those that die,
d lovelier things have mercy shown
every failing but their own,
d every woe a tear can claim420
ept an erring Sister's shame.
Mind, that broods o'er guilty woes,
s like the Scorpion girt by fire;
ircle narrowing as it glows,[dn]
flames around their captive close,
inly searched by thousand throes,
And maddening in her ire,
sad and sole relief she knows—
sting she nourished for her foes,
ose venom never yet was vain,430
es but one pang, and cures all pain,
d darts into her desperate brain:
do the dark in soul expire,
ive like Scorpion girt by fire;[83]
writhes the mind Remorse hath riven,[do]
it for earth, undoomed for heaven,
kness above, despair beneath,
und it flame, within it death!
lack Hassan from the Haram flies,
bends on woman's form his eyes;440
Beauty, blighted in an hour,
d joy within her broken bower?
gayer insects fluttering by
er droop the wing o'er those that die,
d lovelier things have mercy shown
every failing but their own,
d every woe a tear can claim420
ept an erring Sister's shame.
Mind, that broods o'er guilty woes,
s like the Scorpion girt by fire;
ircle narrowing as it glows,[dn]
flames around their captive close,
inly searched by thousand throes,
And maddening in her ire,
sad and sole relief she knows—
sting she nourished for her foes,
ose venom never yet was vain,430
es but one pang, and cures all pain,
d darts into her desperate brain:
do the dark in soul expire,
ive like Scorpion girt by fire;[83]
writhes the mind Remorse hath riven,[do]
it for earth, undoomed for heaven,
kness above, despair beneath,
und it flame, within it death!
lack Hassan from the Haram flies,
bends on woman's form his eyes;440
Page 131
unwonted chase each hour employs,
shares he not the hunter's joys.
thus was Hassan wont to fly
en Leila dwelt in his Serai.
h Leila there no longer dwell?
t tale can only Hassan tell:
nge rumours in our city say
on that eve she fled away
en Rhamazan's[84] last sun was set,
d flashing from each Minaret450
lions of lamps proclaimed the feast
Bairam through the boundless East.
as then she went as to the bath,
ich Hassan vainly searched in wrath;
she was flown her master's rage
keness of a Georgian page,
d far beyond the Moslem's power
wronged him with the faithless Giaour.
mewhat of this had Hassan deemed;
still so fond, so fair she seemed,460
well he trusted to the slave
ose treachery deserved a grave:
d on that eve had gone to Mosque,
d thence to feast in his Kiosk.
h is the tale his Nubians tell,
o did not watch their charge too well;
others say, that on that night,
pale Phingari's[85] trembling light,
Giaour upon his jet-black steed
seen, but seen alone to speed470
h bloody spur along the shore,
shares he not the hunter's joys.
thus was Hassan wont to fly
en Leila dwelt in his Serai.
h Leila there no longer dwell?
t tale can only Hassan tell:
nge rumours in our city say
on that eve she fled away
en Rhamazan's[84] last sun was set,
d flashing from each Minaret450
lions of lamps proclaimed the feast
Bairam through the boundless East.
as then she went as to the bath,
ich Hassan vainly searched in wrath;
she was flown her master's rage
keness of a Georgian page,
d far beyond the Moslem's power
wronged him with the faithless Giaour.
mewhat of this had Hassan deemed;
still so fond, so fair she seemed,460
well he trusted to the slave
ose treachery deserved a grave:
d on that eve had gone to Mosque,
d thence to feast in his Kiosk.
h is the tale his Nubians tell,
o did not watch their charge too well;
others say, that on that night,
pale Phingari's[85] trembling light,
Giaour upon his jet-black steed
seen, but seen alone to speed470
h bloody spur along the shore,
Page 132
maid nor page behind him bore.
Her eye's dark charm 'twere vain to tell,
gaze on that of the Gazelle,
ill assist thy fancy well;
arge, as languishingly dark,
Soul beamed forth in every spark
t darted from beneath the lid,
ght as the jewel of Giamschid.[86]
, Soul, and should our prophet say480
t form was nought but breathing clay,
Alla! I would answer nay;
ugh on Al-Sirat's[87] arch I stood,
ich totters o'er the fiery flood,
h Paradise within my view,
d all his Houris beckoning through.
who young Leila's glance could read
d keep that portion of his creed
ich saith that woman is but dust,
oulless toy for tyrant's lust?[88]490
her might Muftis gaze, and own
t through her eye the Immortal shone;
her fair cheek's unfading hue
young pomegranate's[89] blossoms strew
ir bloom in blushes ever new;
hair in hyacinthine flow,[90]
en left to roll its folds below,
midst her handmaids in the hall
stood superior to them all,
h swept the marble where her feet500
Her eye's dark charm 'twere vain to tell,
gaze on that of the Gazelle,
ill assist thy fancy well;
arge, as languishingly dark,
Soul beamed forth in every spark
t darted from beneath the lid,
ght as the jewel of Giamschid.[86]
, Soul, and should our prophet say480
t form was nought but breathing clay,
Alla! I would answer nay;
ugh on Al-Sirat's[87] arch I stood,
ich totters o'er the fiery flood,
h Paradise within my view,
d all his Houris beckoning through.
who young Leila's glance could read
d keep that portion of his creed
ich saith that woman is but dust,
oulless toy for tyrant's lust?[88]490
her might Muftis gaze, and own
t through her eye the Immortal shone;
her fair cheek's unfading hue
young pomegranate's[89] blossoms strew
ir bloom in blushes ever new;
hair in hyacinthine flow,[90]
en left to roll its folds below,
midst her handmaids in the hall
stood superior to them all,
h swept the marble where her feet500
Page 133
amed whiter than the mountain sleet
from the cloud that gave it birth
ll, and caught one stain of earth.
cygnet nobly walks the water;
moved on earth Circassia's daughter,
loveliest bird of Franguestan![91]
rears her crest the ruffled Swan,
And spurns the wave with wings of pride,
en pass the steps of stranger man
Along the banks that bound her tide;510
s rose fair Leila's whiter neck:—
s armed with beauty would she check
usion's glance, till Folly's gaze
unk from the charms it meant to praise.
s high and graceful was her gait;
heart as tender to her mate;
mate—stern Hassan, who was he?
s! that name was not for thee![92]
tern Hassan hath a journey ta'en
h twenty vassals in his train,520
h armed, as best becomes a man,
h arquebuss and ataghan;
chief before, as decked for war,
rs in his belt the scimitar
ned with the best of Arnaut blood,
en in the pass the rebels stood,
d few returned to tell the tale
what befell in Parne's vale.
pistols which his girdle bore
e those that once a Pasha wore,530
from the cloud that gave it birth
ll, and caught one stain of earth.
cygnet nobly walks the water;
moved on earth Circassia's daughter,
loveliest bird of Franguestan![91]
rears her crest the ruffled Swan,
And spurns the wave with wings of pride,
en pass the steps of stranger man
Along the banks that bound her tide;510
s rose fair Leila's whiter neck:—
s armed with beauty would she check
usion's glance, till Folly's gaze
unk from the charms it meant to praise.
s high and graceful was her gait;
heart as tender to her mate;
mate—stern Hassan, who was he?
s! that name was not for thee![92]
tern Hassan hath a journey ta'en
h twenty vassals in his train,520
h armed, as best becomes a man,
h arquebuss and ataghan;
chief before, as decked for war,
rs in his belt the scimitar
ned with the best of Arnaut blood,
en in the pass the rebels stood,
d few returned to tell the tale
what befell in Parne's vale.
pistols which his girdle bore
e those that once a Pasha wore,530
Page 134
ich still, though gemmed and bossed with gold,
n robbers tremble to behold.
said he goes to woo a bride
re true than her who left his side;
faithless slave that broke her bower,
d—worse than faithless—for a Giaour!
he sun's last rays are on the hill,
d sparkle in the fountain rill,
ose welcome waters, cool and clear,
w blessings from the mountaineer:540
e may the loitering merchant Greek
d that repose 'twere vain to seek
ities lodged too near his lord,
d trembling for his secret hoard—
e may he rest where none can see,
rowds a slave, in deserts free;
d with forbidden wine may stain
bowl a Moslem must not drain
he foremost Tartar's in the gap
spicuous by his yellow cap;550
rest in lengthening line the while
d slowly through the long defile:
ove, the mountain rears a peak,
ere vultures whet the thirsty beak,
d theirs may be a feast to-night,
ll tempt them down ere morrow's light;
eath, a river's wintry stream
shrunk before the summer beam,
d left a channel bleak and bare,
n robbers tremble to behold.
said he goes to woo a bride
re true than her who left his side;
faithless slave that broke her bower,
d—worse than faithless—for a Giaour!
he sun's last rays are on the hill,
d sparkle in the fountain rill,
ose welcome waters, cool and clear,
w blessings from the mountaineer:540
e may the loitering merchant Greek
d that repose 'twere vain to seek
ities lodged too near his lord,
d trembling for his secret hoard—
e may he rest where none can see,
rowds a slave, in deserts free;
d with forbidden wine may stain
bowl a Moslem must not drain
he foremost Tartar's in the gap
spicuous by his yellow cap;550
rest in lengthening line the while
d slowly through the long defile:
ove, the mountain rears a peak,
ere vultures whet the thirsty beak,
d theirs may be a feast to-night,
ll tempt them down ere morrow's light;
eath, a river's wintry stream
shrunk before the summer beam,
d left a channel bleak and bare,
Page 135
e shrubs that spring to perish there:560
h side the midway path there lay
all broken crags of granite gray,
time, or mountain lightning, riven
m summits clad in mists of heaven;
where is he that hath beheld
peak of Liakura[93] unveiled?
hey reach the grove of pine at last;
smillah![94] now the peril's past;
yonder view the opening plain,
d there we'll prick our steeds amain:"570
Chiaus[95] spake, and as he said,
ullet whistled o'er his head;
foremost Tartar bites the ground!
carce had they time to check the rein,
ft from their steeds the riders bound;
ut three shall never mount again:
een the foes that gave the wound,
he dying ask revenge in vain.
h steel unsheathed, and carbine bent,
me o'er their courser's harness leant,580
Half sheltered by the steed;
me fly beneath the nearest rock,
d there await the coming shock,
Nor tamely stand to bleed
eath the shaft of foes unseen,
o dare not quit their craggy screen.
n Hassan only from his horse
dains to light, and keeps his course,
fiery flashes in the van
h side the midway path there lay
all broken crags of granite gray,
time, or mountain lightning, riven
m summits clad in mists of heaven;
where is he that hath beheld
peak of Liakura[93] unveiled?
hey reach the grove of pine at last;
smillah![94] now the peril's past;
yonder view the opening plain,
d there we'll prick our steeds amain:"570
Chiaus[95] spake, and as he said,
ullet whistled o'er his head;
foremost Tartar bites the ground!
carce had they time to check the rein,
ft from their steeds the riders bound;
ut three shall never mount again:
een the foes that gave the wound,
he dying ask revenge in vain.
h steel unsheathed, and carbine bent,
me o'er their courser's harness leant,580
Half sheltered by the steed;
me fly beneath the nearest rock,
d there await the coming shock,
Nor tamely stand to bleed
eath the shaft of foes unseen,
o dare not quit their craggy screen.
n Hassan only from his horse
dains to light, and keeps his course,
fiery flashes in the van
Page 136
claim too sure the robber-clan590
e well secured the only way
ld now avail the promised prey;
n curled his very beard[96] with ire,
d glared his eye with fiercer fire;
ough far and near the bullets hiss,
scaped a bloodier hour than this."
d now the foe their covert quit,
d call his vassals to submit;
Hassan's frown and furious word
dreaded more than hostile sword,600
of his little band a man
igned carbine or ataghan,
raised the craven cry, Amaun![97]
uller sight, more near and near,
lately ambushed foes appear,
d, issuing from the grove, advance
me who on battle-charger prance.
o leads them on with foreign brand
flashing in his red right hand?
s he!'tis he! I know him now;610
ow him by his pallid brow;
ow him by the evil eye[98]
t aids his envious treachery;
ow him by his jet-black barb;
ugh now arrayed in Arnaut garb,
ostate from his own vile faith,
hall not save him from the death:
he! well met in any hour,
t Leila's love—accursed Giaour!"
e well secured the only way
ld now avail the promised prey;
n curled his very beard[96] with ire,
d glared his eye with fiercer fire;
ough far and near the bullets hiss,
scaped a bloodier hour than this."
d now the foe their covert quit,
d call his vassals to submit;
Hassan's frown and furious word
dreaded more than hostile sword,600
of his little band a man
igned carbine or ataghan,
raised the craven cry, Amaun![97]
uller sight, more near and near,
lately ambushed foes appear,
d, issuing from the grove, advance
me who on battle-charger prance.
o leads them on with foreign brand
flashing in his red right hand?
s he!'tis he! I know him now;610
ow him by his pallid brow;
ow him by the evil eye[98]
t aids his envious treachery;
ow him by his jet-black barb;
ugh now arrayed in Arnaut garb,
ostate from his own vile faith,
hall not save him from the death:
he! well met in any hour,
t Leila's love—accursed Giaour!"
Page 137
As rolls the river into Ocean,[99]620
able torrent wildly streaming;
As the sea-tide's opposing motion,
zure column proudly gleaming,
ts back the current many a rood,
urling foam and mingling flood,
ile eddying whirl, and breaking wave,
sed by the blast of winter, rave;
ough sparkling spray, in thundering clash,
lightnings of the waters flash
wful whiteness o'er the shore,630
t shines and shakes beneath the roar;
s—as the stream and Ocean greet,
h waves that madden as they meet—
s join the bands, whom mutual wrong,
d fate, and fury, drive along.
bickering sabres' shivering jar;
And pealing wide or ringing near
s echoes on the throbbing ear,
deathshot hissing from afar;
shock, the shout, the groan of war,640
everberate along that vale,
More suited to the shepherd's tale:
ugh few the numbers—theirs the strife,
t neither spares nor speaks for life![dp]
fondly youthful hearts can press,
eize and share the dear caress;
Love itself could never pant
all that Beauty sighs to grant
h half the fervour Hate bestows
on the last embrace of foes,650
able torrent wildly streaming;
As the sea-tide's opposing motion,
zure column proudly gleaming,
ts back the current many a rood,
urling foam and mingling flood,
ile eddying whirl, and breaking wave,
sed by the blast of winter, rave;
ough sparkling spray, in thundering clash,
lightnings of the waters flash
wful whiteness o'er the shore,630
t shines and shakes beneath the roar;
s—as the stream and Ocean greet,
h waves that madden as they meet—
s join the bands, whom mutual wrong,
d fate, and fury, drive along.
bickering sabres' shivering jar;
And pealing wide or ringing near
s echoes on the throbbing ear,
deathshot hissing from afar;
shock, the shout, the groan of war,640
everberate along that vale,
More suited to the shepherd's tale:
ugh few the numbers—theirs the strife,
t neither spares nor speaks for life![dp]
fondly youthful hearts can press,
eize and share the dear caress;
Love itself could never pant
all that Beauty sighs to grant
h half the fervour Hate bestows
on the last embrace of foes,650
Page 138
en grappling in the fight they fold
se arms that ne'er shall lose their hold:
nds meet to part; Love laughs at faith;
e foes, once met, are joined till death!
With sabre shivered to the hilt,
dripping with the blood he spilt;
strained within the severed hand
ich quivers round that faithless brand;
turban far behind him rolled,
d cleft in twain its firmest fold;660
flowing robe by falchion torn,
d crimson as those clouds of morn
t, streaked with dusky red, portend
day shall have a stormy end;
ain on every bush that bore
agment of his palampore;[100]
breast with wounds unnumbered riven,
back to earth, his face to Heaven,
'n Hassan lies—his unclosed eye
lowering on his enemy,670
f the hour that sealed his fate[101]
viving left his quenchless hate;
d o'er him bends that foe with brow
dark as his that bled below.
Yes, Leila sleeps beneath the wave,
his shall be a redder grave;
spirit pointed well the steel
ich taught that felon heart to feel.
se arms that ne'er shall lose their hold:
nds meet to part; Love laughs at faith;
e foes, once met, are joined till death!
With sabre shivered to the hilt,
dripping with the blood he spilt;
strained within the severed hand
ich quivers round that faithless brand;
turban far behind him rolled,
d cleft in twain its firmest fold;660
flowing robe by falchion torn,
d crimson as those clouds of morn
t, streaked with dusky red, portend
day shall have a stormy end;
ain on every bush that bore
agment of his palampore;[100]
breast with wounds unnumbered riven,
back to earth, his face to Heaven,
'n Hassan lies—his unclosed eye
lowering on his enemy,670
f the hour that sealed his fate[101]
viving left his quenchless hate;
d o'er him bends that foe with brow
dark as his that bled below.
Yes, Leila sleeps beneath the wave,
his shall be a redder grave;
spirit pointed well the steel
ich taught that felon heart to feel.
Page 139
called the Prophet, but his power
vain against the vengeful Giaour:680
called on Alla—but the word
se unheeded or unheard.
u Paynim fool! could Leila's prayer
passed, and thine accorded there?
atched my time, I leagued with these,
traitor in his turn to seize;
wrath is wreaked, the deed is done,
d now I go—but go alone."
he browsing camels' bells are tinkling:[dq]
mother looked from her lattice high—[102]690
he saw the dews of eve besprinkling
pasture green beneath her eye,
he saw the planets faintly twinkling:
s twilight—sure his train is nigh."
could not rest in the garden-bower,
gazed through the grate of his steepest tower.
hy comes he not? his steeds are fleet,
shrink they from the summer heat;
y sends not the Bridegroom his promised gift?
is heart more cold, or his barb less swift?700
false reproach! yon Tartar now
gained our nearest mountain's brow,
d warily the steep descends,
d now within the valley bends;[dr]
d he bears the gift at his saddle bow—
w could I deem his courser slow?[ds]
ht well my largess shall repay
vain against the vengeful Giaour:680
called on Alla—but the word
se unheeded or unheard.
u Paynim fool! could Leila's prayer
passed, and thine accorded there?
atched my time, I leagued with these,
traitor in his turn to seize;
wrath is wreaked, the deed is done,
d now I go—but go alone."
he browsing camels' bells are tinkling:[dq]
mother looked from her lattice high—[102]690
he saw the dews of eve besprinkling
pasture green beneath her eye,
he saw the planets faintly twinkling:
s twilight—sure his train is nigh."
could not rest in the garden-bower,
gazed through the grate of his steepest tower.
hy comes he not? his steeds are fleet,
shrink they from the summer heat;
y sends not the Bridegroom his promised gift?
is heart more cold, or his barb less swift?700
false reproach! yon Tartar now
gained our nearest mountain's brow,
d warily the steep descends,
d now within the valley bends;[dr]
d he bears the gift at his saddle bow—
w could I deem his courser slow?[ds]
ht well my largess shall repay
Page 140
welcome speed, and weary way."
he Tartar lighted at the gate,
scarce upheld his fainting weight![dt]710
swarthy visage spake distress,
this might be from weariness;
garb with sanguine spots was dyed,
these might be from his courser's side;
drew the token from his vest—
gel of Death! 'tis Hassan's cloven crest!
calpac[103] rent—his caftan red—
dy, a fearful bride thy Son hath wed:
not from mercy, did they spare,
this empurpled pledge to bear.720
ce to the brave! whose blood is spilt:
e to the Giaour! for his the guilt."
A Turban[104] carved in coarsest stone,
illar with rank weeds o'ergrown,
ereon can now be scarcely read
Koran verse that mourns the dead,
nt out the spot where Hassan fell
ictim in that lonely dell.
re sleeps as true an Osmanlie
e'er at Mecca bent the knee;730
ever scorned forbidden wine,
prayed with face towards the shrine,
risons resumed anew
olemn sound of "Alla Hu!"[105]
died he by a stranger's hand,
d stranger in his native land;
he Tartar lighted at the gate,
scarce upheld his fainting weight![dt]710
swarthy visage spake distress,
this might be from weariness;
garb with sanguine spots was dyed,
these might be from his courser's side;
drew the token from his vest—
gel of Death! 'tis Hassan's cloven crest!
calpac[103] rent—his caftan red—
dy, a fearful bride thy Son hath wed:
not from mercy, did they spare,
this empurpled pledge to bear.720
ce to the brave! whose blood is spilt:
e to the Giaour! for his the guilt."
A Turban[104] carved in coarsest stone,
illar with rank weeds o'ergrown,
ereon can now be scarcely read
Koran verse that mourns the dead,
nt out the spot where Hassan fell
ictim in that lonely dell.
re sleeps as true an Osmanlie
e'er at Mecca bent the knee;730
ever scorned forbidden wine,
prayed with face towards the shrine,
risons resumed anew
olemn sound of "Alla Hu!"[105]
died he by a stranger's hand,
d stranger in his native land;
Page 141
died he as in arms he stood,
d unavenged, at least in blood.
him the maids of Paradise
mpatient to their halls invite,740
d the dark heaven of Houris' eyes
On him shall glance for ever bright;
y come—their kerchiefs green they wave,[106]
d welcome with a kiss the brave!
o falls in battle 'gainst a Giaour
worthiest an immortal bower.
ut thou, false Infidel! shall writhe
eath avenging Monkir's[107] scythe;
d from its torments 'scape alone
wander round lost Eblis'[108] throne;750
d fire unquenched, unquenchable,
und, within, thy heart shall dwell;
ear can hear nor tongue can tell
tortures of that inward hell!
first, on earth as Vampire[109] sent,
corse shall from its tomb be rent:
n ghastly haunt thy native place,
d suck the blood of all thy race;
re from thy daughter, sister, wife,
midnight drain the stream of life;760
loathe the banquet which perforce
st feed thy livid living corse:
victims ere they yet expire
ll know the demon for their sire,
cursing thee, thou cursing them,
flowers are withered on the stem.
d unavenged, at least in blood.
him the maids of Paradise
mpatient to their halls invite,740
d the dark heaven of Houris' eyes
On him shall glance for ever bright;
y come—their kerchiefs green they wave,[106]
d welcome with a kiss the brave!
o falls in battle 'gainst a Giaour
worthiest an immortal bower.
ut thou, false Infidel! shall writhe
eath avenging Monkir's[107] scythe;
d from its torments 'scape alone
wander round lost Eblis'[108] throne;750
d fire unquenched, unquenchable,
und, within, thy heart shall dwell;
ear can hear nor tongue can tell
tortures of that inward hell!
first, on earth as Vampire[109] sent,
corse shall from its tomb be rent:
n ghastly haunt thy native place,
d suck the blood of all thy race;
re from thy daughter, sister, wife,
midnight drain the stream of life;760
loathe the banquet which perforce
st feed thy livid living corse:
victims ere they yet expire
ll know the demon for their sire,
cursing thee, thou cursing them,
flowers are withered on the stem.
Page 142
one that for thy crime must fall,
youngest, most beloved of all,
ll bless thee with a father's name—
t word shall wrap thy heart in flame!770
must thou end thy task, and mark
cheek's last tinge, her eye's last spark,
d the last glassy glance must view
ich freezes o'er its lifeless blue;
n with unhallowed hand shalt tear
tresses of her yellow hair,
which in life a lock when shorn
ection's fondest pledge was worn,
now is borne away by thee,
morial of thine agony!780
with thine own best blood shall drip
gnashing tooth and haggard lip;[110]
n stalking to thy sullen grave,
—and with Gouls and Afrits rave;
these in horror shrink away
m Spectre more accursed than they!
w name ye yon lone Caloyer?[111]
His features I have scanned before
mine own land: 'tis many a year,
ince, dashing by the lonely shore,790
w him urge as fleet a steed
ever served a horseman's need.
once I saw that face, yet then
as so marked with inward pain,
uld not pass it by again;
reathes the same dark spirit now,
youngest, most beloved of all,
ll bless thee with a father's name—
t word shall wrap thy heart in flame!770
must thou end thy task, and mark
cheek's last tinge, her eye's last spark,
d the last glassy glance must view
ich freezes o'er its lifeless blue;
n with unhallowed hand shalt tear
tresses of her yellow hair,
which in life a lock when shorn
ection's fondest pledge was worn,
now is borne away by thee,
morial of thine agony!780
with thine own best blood shall drip
gnashing tooth and haggard lip;[110]
n stalking to thy sullen grave,
—and with Gouls and Afrits rave;
these in horror shrink away
m Spectre more accursed than they!
w name ye yon lone Caloyer?[111]
His features I have scanned before
mine own land: 'tis many a year,
ince, dashing by the lonely shore,790
w him urge as fleet a steed
ever served a horseman's need.
once I saw that face, yet then
as so marked with inward pain,
uld not pass it by again;
reathes the same dark spirit now,
Page 143
death were stamped upon his brow.[du]
s twice three years at summer tide
ince first among our freres he came;
d here it soothes him to abide800
or some dark deed he will not name.
never at our Vesper prayer,
e'er before Confession chair
els he, nor recks he when arise
ense or anthem to the skies,
broods within his cell alone,
faith and race alike unknown.
sea from Paynim land he crost,
d here ascended from the coast;
seems he not of Othman race,810
only Christian in his face:
udge him some stray renegade,
entant of the change he made,
e that he shuns our holy shrine,
tastes the sacred bread and wine.
at largess to these walls he brought,
d thus our Abbot's favour bought;
were I Prior, not a day
uld brook such stranger's further stay,
pent within our penance cell820
uld doom him there for aye to dwell.
ch in his visions mutters he
maiden whelmed beneath the sea;[dv]
abres clashing, foemen flying,
ongs avenged, and Moslem dying.
cliff he hath been known to stand,
d rave as to some bloody hand
s twice three years at summer tide
ince first among our freres he came;
d here it soothes him to abide800
or some dark deed he will not name.
never at our Vesper prayer,
e'er before Confession chair
els he, nor recks he when arise
ense or anthem to the skies,
broods within his cell alone,
faith and race alike unknown.
sea from Paynim land he crost,
d here ascended from the coast;
seems he not of Othman race,810
only Christian in his face:
udge him some stray renegade,
entant of the change he made,
e that he shuns our holy shrine,
tastes the sacred bread and wine.
at largess to these walls he brought,
d thus our Abbot's favour bought;
were I Prior, not a day
uld brook such stranger's further stay,
pent within our penance cell820
uld doom him there for aye to dwell.
ch in his visions mutters he
maiden whelmed beneath the sea;[dv]
abres clashing, foemen flying,
ongs avenged, and Moslem dying.
cliff he hath been known to stand,
d rave as to some bloody hand
Page 144
sh severed from its parent limb,
sible to all but him,
ich beckons onward to his grave,830
d lures to leap into the wave."
Dark and unearthly is the scowl
t glares beneath his dusky cowl:
flash of that dilating eye
eals too much of times gone by;
ugh varying, indistinct its hue,
with his glance the gazer rue,
in it lurks that nameless spell,
ich speaks, itself unspeakable,
pirit yet unquelled and high,840
t claims and keeps ascendancy;
d like the bird whose pinions quake,
cannot fly the gazing snake,
l others quail beneath his look,
'scape the glance they scarce can brook.
m him the half-affrighted Friar
en met alone would fain retire,
f that eye and bitter smile
nsferred to others fear and guile:
oft to smile descendeth he,850
d when he doth 'tis sad to see
t he but mocks at Misery.
w that pale lip will curl and quiver!
n fix once more as if for ever;
f his sorrow or disdain
bade him e'er to smile again.
sible to all but him,
ich beckons onward to his grave,830
d lures to leap into the wave."
Dark and unearthly is the scowl
t glares beneath his dusky cowl:
flash of that dilating eye
eals too much of times gone by;
ugh varying, indistinct its hue,
with his glance the gazer rue,
in it lurks that nameless spell,
ich speaks, itself unspeakable,
pirit yet unquelled and high,840
t claims and keeps ascendancy;
d like the bird whose pinions quake,
cannot fly the gazing snake,
l others quail beneath his look,
'scape the glance they scarce can brook.
m him the half-affrighted Friar
en met alone would fain retire,
f that eye and bitter smile
nsferred to others fear and guile:
oft to smile descendeth he,850
d when he doth 'tis sad to see
t he but mocks at Misery.
w that pale lip will curl and quiver!
n fix once more as if for ever;
f his sorrow or disdain
bade him e'er to smile again.
Page 145
l were it so—such ghastly mirth
m joyaunce ne'er derived its birth.
sadder still it were to trace
at once were feelings in that face:860
e hath not yet the features fixed,
brighter traits with evil mixed;
d there are hues not always faded,
ich speak a mind not all degraded
n by the crimes through which it waded:
common crowd but see the gloom
wayward deeds, and fitting doom;
close observer can espy
oble soul, and lineage high:
s! though both bestowed in vain,870
ich Grief could change, and Guilt could stain,
as no vulgar tenement
which such lofty gifts were lent,
d still with little less than dread
such the sight is riveted.
roofless cot, decayed and rent,
Will scarce delay the passer-by;
tower by war or tempest bent,
ile yet may frown one battlement,
Demands and daunts the stranger's eye;880
h ivied arch, and pillar lone,
ads haughtily for glories gone!
s floating robe around him folding,
low sweeps he through the columned aisle;
h dread beheld, with gloom beholding
he rites that sanctify the pile.
when the anthem shakes the choir,
d kneel the monks, his steps retire;
m joyaunce ne'er derived its birth.
sadder still it were to trace
at once were feelings in that face:860
e hath not yet the features fixed,
brighter traits with evil mixed;
d there are hues not always faded,
ich speak a mind not all degraded
n by the crimes through which it waded:
common crowd but see the gloom
wayward deeds, and fitting doom;
close observer can espy
oble soul, and lineage high:
s! though both bestowed in vain,870
ich Grief could change, and Guilt could stain,
as no vulgar tenement
which such lofty gifts were lent,
d still with little less than dread
such the sight is riveted.
roofless cot, decayed and rent,
Will scarce delay the passer-by;
tower by war or tempest bent,
ile yet may frown one battlement,
Demands and daunts the stranger's eye;880
h ivied arch, and pillar lone,
ads haughtily for glories gone!
s floating robe around him folding,
low sweeps he through the columned aisle;
h dread beheld, with gloom beholding
he rites that sanctify the pile.
when the anthem shakes the choir,
d kneel the monks, his steps retire;
Page 146
yonder lone and wavering torch
aspect glares within the porch;890
re will he pause till all is done—
d hear the prayer, but utter none.
—by the half-illumined wall[dw]
hood fly back, his dark hair fall,
t pale brow wildly wreathing round,
f the Gorgon there had bound
sablest of the serpent-braid
t o'er her fearful forehead strayed:
he declines the convent oath,
d leaves those locks unhallowed growth,900
wears our garb in all beside;
d, not from piety but pride,
es wealth to walls that never heard
his one holy vow nor word.
—mark ye, as the harmony[dx]
ls louder praises to the sky,
t livid cheek, that stony air
mixed defiance and despair!
nt Francis, keep him from the shrine![dy]
e may we dread the wrath divine910
de manifest by awful sign.
ver evil angel bore
form of mortal, such he wore;
all my hope of sins forgiven,
h looks are not of earth nor heaven!"
o Love the softest hearts are prone,
such can ne'er be all his own;
timid in his woes to share,
meek to meet, or brave despair;
aspect glares within the porch;890
re will he pause till all is done—
d hear the prayer, but utter none.
—by the half-illumined wall[dw]
hood fly back, his dark hair fall,
t pale brow wildly wreathing round,
f the Gorgon there had bound
sablest of the serpent-braid
t o'er her fearful forehead strayed:
he declines the convent oath,
d leaves those locks unhallowed growth,900
wears our garb in all beside;
d, not from piety but pride,
es wealth to walls that never heard
his one holy vow nor word.
—mark ye, as the harmony[dx]
ls louder praises to the sky,
t livid cheek, that stony air
mixed defiance and despair!
nt Francis, keep him from the shrine![dy]
e may we dread the wrath divine910
de manifest by awful sign.
ver evil angel bore
form of mortal, such he wore;
all my hope of sins forgiven,
h looks are not of earth nor heaven!"
o Love the softest hearts are prone,
such can ne'er be all his own;
timid in his woes to share,
meek to meet, or brave despair;
Page 147
d sterner hearts alone may feel920
wound that Time can never heal.
rugged metal of the mine
st burn before its surface shine,[dz][112]
plunged within the furnace-flame,
ends and melts—though still the same;
n tempered to thy want, or will,
ill serve thee to defend or kill—
reast-plate for thine hour of need,
blade to bid thy foeman bleed;
if a dagger's form it bear,930
those who shape its edge, beware!
s Passion's fire, and Woman's art,
turn and tame the sterner heart;
m these its form and tone are ta'en,
d what they make it, must remain,
break—before it bend again.
solitude succeed to grief,
ease from pain is slight relief;
vacant bosom's wilderness
ht thank the pang that made it less.[113]940
loathe what none are left to share:
n bliss—'twere woe alone to bear;
heart once left thus desolate
st fly at last for ease—to hate.
as if the dead could feel[114]
icy worm around them steal,
d shudder, as the reptiles creep
evel o'er their rotting sleep,
wound that Time can never heal.
rugged metal of the mine
st burn before its surface shine,[dz][112]
plunged within the furnace-flame,
ends and melts—though still the same;
n tempered to thy want, or will,
ill serve thee to defend or kill—
reast-plate for thine hour of need,
blade to bid thy foeman bleed;
if a dagger's form it bear,930
those who shape its edge, beware!
s Passion's fire, and Woman's art,
turn and tame the sterner heart;
m these its form and tone are ta'en,
d what they make it, must remain,
break—before it bend again.
solitude succeed to grief,
ease from pain is slight relief;
vacant bosom's wilderness
ht thank the pang that made it less.[113]940
loathe what none are left to share:
n bliss—'twere woe alone to bear;
heart once left thus desolate
st fly at last for ease—to hate.
as if the dead could feel[114]
icy worm around them steal,
d shudder, as the reptiles creep
evel o'er their rotting sleep,
Page 148
hout the power to scare away
cold consumers of their clay!950
as if the desert bird,[115]
Whose beak unlocks her bosom's stream
o still her famished nestlings' scream,
mourns a life to them transferred,
uld rend her rash devoted breast,
d find them flown her empty nest.
keenest pangs the wretched find
Are rapture to the dreary void,
leafless desert of the mind,
he waste of feelings unemployed.960
o would be doomed to gaze upon
ky without a cloud or sun?
s hideous far the tempest's roar,
n ne'er to brave the billows more—[ea]
own, when the war of winds is o'er,
nely wreck on Fortune's shore,
d sullen calm, and silent bay,
een to drop by dull decay;—
er to sink beneath the shock
n moulder piecemeal on the rock!970
Father! thy, days have passed in peace,
'Mid counted beads, and countless prayer;
o bid the sins of others cease,
Thyself without a crime or care,
ave transient ills that all must bear,
Has been thy lot from youth to age;
And thou wilt bless thee from the rage
Of passions fierce and uncontrolled,
cold consumers of their clay!950
as if the desert bird,[115]
Whose beak unlocks her bosom's stream
o still her famished nestlings' scream,
mourns a life to them transferred,
uld rend her rash devoted breast,
d find them flown her empty nest.
keenest pangs the wretched find
Are rapture to the dreary void,
leafless desert of the mind,
he waste of feelings unemployed.960
o would be doomed to gaze upon
ky without a cloud or sun?
s hideous far the tempest's roar,
n ne'er to brave the billows more—[ea]
own, when the war of winds is o'er,
nely wreck on Fortune's shore,
d sullen calm, and silent bay,
een to drop by dull decay;—
er to sink beneath the shock
n moulder piecemeal on the rock!970
Father! thy, days have passed in peace,
'Mid counted beads, and countless prayer;
o bid the sins of others cease,
Thyself without a crime or care,
ave transient ills that all must bear,
Has been thy lot from youth to age;
And thou wilt bless thee from the rage
Of passions fierce and uncontrolled,
Page 149
uch as thy penitents unfold,
Whose secret sins and sorrows rest980
Within thy pure and pitying breast.
My days, though few, have passed below
n much of Joy, but more of Woe;
Yet still in hours of love or strife,
ve 'scaped the weariness of Life:
Now leagued with friends, now girt by foes,
loathed the languor of repose.
Now nothing left to love or hate,
No more with hope or pride elate,
d rather be the thing that crawls990
Most noxious o'er a dungeon's walls,[116]
han pass my dull, unvarying days,
ondemned to meditate and gaze.
Yet, lurks a wish within my breast
or rest—but not to feel 'tis rest.
oon shall my Fate that wish fulfil;
And I shall sleep without the dream
Of what I was, and would be still
Dark as to thee my deeds may seem:[eb]
My memory now is but the tomb1000
Of joys long dead; my hope, their doom:
Though better to have died with those
han bear a life of lingering woes.
My spirit shrunk not to sustain
he searching throes of ceaseless pain;
Nor sought the self-accorded grave
Of ancient fool and modern knave:
Yet death I have not feared to meet;
And in the field it had been sweet,
Whose secret sins and sorrows rest980
Within thy pure and pitying breast.
My days, though few, have passed below
n much of Joy, but more of Woe;
Yet still in hours of love or strife,
ve 'scaped the weariness of Life:
Now leagued with friends, now girt by foes,
loathed the languor of repose.
Now nothing left to love or hate,
No more with hope or pride elate,
d rather be the thing that crawls990
Most noxious o'er a dungeon's walls,[116]
han pass my dull, unvarying days,
ondemned to meditate and gaze.
Yet, lurks a wish within my breast
or rest—but not to feel 'tis rest.
oon shall my Fate that wish fulfil;
And I shall sleep without the dream
Of what I was, and would be still
Dark as to thee my deeds may seem:[eb]
My memory now is but the tomb1000
Of joys long dead; my hope, their doom:
Though better to have died with those
han bear a life of lingering woes.
My spirit shrunk not to sustain
he searching throes of ceaseless pain;
Nor sought the self-accorded grave
Of ancient fool and modern knave:
Yet death I have not feared to meet;
And in the field it had been sweet,
Page 150
Had Danger wooed me on to move1010
he slave of Glory, not of Love.
ve braved it—not for Honour's boast;
smile at laurels won or lost;
o such let others carve their way,
or high renown, or hireling pay:
ut place again before my eyes
Aught that I deem a worthy prize—
he maid I love, the man I hate—
And I will hunt the steps of fate,
o save or slay, as these require,1020
hrough rending steel, and rolling fire:[ec]
Nor needst thou doubt this speech from one
Who would but do—what he hath done.
Death is but what the haughty brave,
he weak must bear, the wretch must crave;
hen let life go to Him who gave:
have not quailed to Danger's brow
When high and happy—need I now?
I loved her, Friar! nay, adored—
But these are words that all can use—1030
proved it more in deed than word;
here's blood upon that dinted sword,
A stain its steel can never lose:
Twas shed for her, who died for me,
It warmed the heart of one abhorred:
Nay, start not—no—nor bend thy knee,
Nor midst my sin such act record;
hou wilt absolve me from the deed,
or he was hostile to thy creed!
he slave of Glory, not of Love.
ve braved it—not for Honour's boast;
smile at laurels won or lost;
o such let others carve their way,
or high renown, or hireling pay:
ut place again before my eyes
Aught that I deem a worthy prize—
he maid I love, the man I hate—
And I will hunt the steps of fate,
o save or slay, as these require,1020
hrough rending steel, and rolling fire:[ec]
Nor needst thou doubt this speech from one
Who would but do—what he hath done.
Death is but what the haughty brave,
he weak must bear, the wretch must crave;
hen let life go to Him who gave:
have not quailed to Danger's brow
When high and happy—need I now?
I loved her, Friar! nay, adored—
But these are words that all can use—1030
proved it more in deed than word;
here's blood upon that dinted sword,
A stain its steel can never lose:
Twas shed for her, who died for me,
It warmed the heart of one abhorred:
Nay, start not—no—nor bend thy knee,
Nor midst my sin such act record;
hou wilt absolve me from the deed,
or he was hostile to thy creed!
Page 151
he very name of Nazarene1040
Was wormwood to his Paynim spleen.
Ungrateful fool! since but for brands
Well wielded in some hardy hands,
And wounds by Galileans given—
he surest pass to Turkish heaven—
or him his Houris still might wait
mpatient at the Prophet's gate.
loved her—Love will find its way
hrough paths where wolves would fear to prey;
And if it dares enough,'twere hard1050
Passion met not some reward—
No matter how, or where, or why,
did not vainly seek, nor sigh:
Yet sometimes, with remorse, in vain
wish she had not loved again.
he died—I dare not tell thee how;
ut look—'tis written on my brow!
here read of Cain the curse and crime,
n characters unworn by Time:
till, ere thou dost condemn me, pause;1060
Not mine the act, though I the cause.
Yet did he but what I had done
Had she been false to more than one.
aithless to him—he gave the blow;
ut true to me—I laid him low:
Howe'er deserved her doom might be,
Her treachery was truth to me;
o me she gave her heart, that all
Which Tyranny can ne'er enthrall;
And I, alas! too late to save!1070
Yet all I then could give, I gave—
Was wormwood to his Paynim spleen.
Ungrateful fool! since but for brands
Well wielded in some hardy hands,
And wounds by Galileans given—
he surest pass to Turkish heaven—
or him his Houris still might wait
mpatient at the Prophet's gate.
loved her—Love will find its way
hrough paths where wolves would fear to prey;
And if it dares enough,'twere hard1050
Passion met not some reward—
No matter how, or where, or why,
did not vainly seek, nor sigh:
Yet sometimes, with remorse, in vain
wish she had not loved again.
he died—I dare not tell thee how;
ut look—'tis written on my brow!
here read of Cain the curse and crime,
n characters unworn by Time:
till, ere thou dost condemn me, pause;1060
Not mine the act, though I the cause.
Yet did he but what I had done
Had she been false to more than one.
aithless to him—he gave the blow;
ut true to me—I laid him low:
Howe'er deserved her doom might be,
Her treachery was truth to me;
o me she gave her heart, that all
Which Tyranny can ne'er enthrall;
And I, alas! too late to save!1070
Yet all I then could give, I gave—
Page 152
Twas some relief—our foe a grave.[ed]
His death sits lightly; but her fate
Has made me—what thou well mayst hate.
His doom was sealed—he knew it well,
Warned by the voice of stern Taheer,
Deep in whose darkly boding ear[117]
he deathshot pealed of murder near,
As filed the troop to where they fell!
He died too in the battle broil,1080
A time that heeds nor pain nor toil;
One cry to Mahomet for aid,
One prayer to Alla all he made:
He knew and crossed me in the fray—
gazed upon him where he lay,
And watched his spirit ebb away:
hough pierced like pard by hunter's steel,
He felt not half that now I feel.
searched, but vainly searched, to find
he workings of a wounded mind;1090
ach feature of that sullen corse
etrayed his rage, but no remorse.[118]
Oh, what had Vengeance given to trace
Despair upon his dying face!
he late repentance of that hour
When Penitence hath lost her power
o tear one terror from the grave,[ee]
And will not soothe, and cannot save.
The cold in clime are cold in blood,
heir love can scarce deserve the name;1100
ut mine was like the lava flood
His death sits lightly; but her fate
Has made me—what thou well mayst hate.
His doom was sealed—he knew it well,
Warned by the voice of stern Taheer,
Deep in whose darkly boding ear[117]
he deathshot pealed of murder near,
As filed the troop to where they fell!
He died too in the battle broil,1080
A time that heeds nor pain nor toil;
One cry to Mahomet for aid,
One prayer to Alla all he made:
He knew and crossed me in the fray—
gazed upon him where he lay,
And watched his spirit ebb away:
hough pierced like pard by hunter's steel,
He felt not half that now I feel.
searched, but vainly searched, to find
he workings of a wounded mind;1090
ach feature of that sullen corse
etrayed his rage, but no remorse.[118]
Oh, what had Vengeance given to trace
Despair upon his dying face!
he late repentance of that hour
When Penitence hath lost her power
o tear one terror from the grave,[ee]
And will not soothe, and cannot save.
The cold in clime are cold in blood,
heir love can scarce deserve the name;1100
ut mine was like the lava flood
Page 153
That boils in Ætna's breast of flame.
cannot prate in puling strain
Of Ladye-love, and Beauty's chain:
changing cheek, and scorching vein,[ef]
ips taught to writhe, but not complain,
bursting heart, and maddening brain,
And daring deed, and vengeful steel,
And all that I have felt, and feel,
etoken love—that love was mine,1110
And shown by many a bitter sign.
Tis true, I could not whine nor sigh,
knew but to obtain or die.
die—but first I have possessed,
And come what may, I have been blessed.
hall I the doom I sought upbraid?
No—reft of all, yet undismayed[eg]
ut for the thought of Leila slain,
Give me the pleasure with the pain,
o would I live and love again.1120
grieve, but not, my holy Guide!
or him who dies, but her who died:
he sleeps beneath the wandering wave—
Ah! had she but an earthly grave,
his breaking heart and throbbing head
hould seek and share her narrow bed.
he was a form of Life and Light,[119]
hat, seen, became a part of sight;
And rose, where'er I turned mine eye,
he Morning-star of Memory!1130
Yes, Love indeed is light from heaven;[eh][120]
cannot prate in puling strain
Of Ladye-love, and Beauty's chain:
changing cheek, and scorching vein,[ef]
ips taught to writhe, but not complain,
bursting heart, and maddening brain,
And daring deed, and vengeful steel,
And all that I have felt, and feel,
etoken love—that love was mine,1110
And shown by many a bitter sign.
Tis true, I could not whine nor sigh,
knew but to obtain or die.
die—but first I have possessed,
And come what may, I have been blessed.
hall I the doom I sought upbraid?
No—reft of all, yet undismayed[eg]
ut for the thought of Leila slain,
Give me the pleasure with the pain,
o would I live and love again.1120
grieve, but not, my holy Guide!
or him who dies, but her who died:
he sleeps beneath the wandering wave—
Ah! had she but an earthly grave,
his breaking heart and throbbing head
hould seek and share her narrow bed.
he was a form of Life and Light,[119]
hat, seen, became a part of sight;
And rose, where'er I turned mine eye,
he Morning-star of Memory!1130
Yes, Love indeed is light from heaven;[eh][120]
Page 154
A spark of that immortal fire
With angels shared, by Alia given,
To lift from earth our low desire.
Devotion wafts the mind above,
ut Heaven itself descends in Love;
A feeling from the Godhead caught,
o wean from self each sordid thought;
A ray of Him who formed the whole;
A Glory circling round the soul!1140
grant my love imperfect, all
hat mortals by the name miscall;
hen deem it evil, what thou wilt;
ut say, oh say, hers was not Guilt!
he was my Life's unerring Light:
hat quenched—what beam shall break my night?[ei]
Oh! would it shone to lead me still,
Although to death or deadliest ill!
Why marvel ye, if they who lose
This present joy, this future hope,1150
No more with Sorrow meekly cope;
n phrensy then their fate accuse;
n madness do those fearful deeds
That seem to add but Guilt to Woe?
Alas! the breast that inly bleeds
Hath nought to dread from outward blow:
Who falls from all he knows of bliss,
ares little into what abyss.[ej]
ierce as the gloomy vulture's now
To thee, old man, my deeds appear:1160
read abhorrence on thy brow,
And this too was I born to bear!
With angels shared, by Alia given,
To lift from earth our low desire.
Devotion wafts the mind above,
ut Heaven itself descends in Love;
A feeling from the Godhead caught,
o wean from self each sordid thought;
A ray of Him who formed the whole;
A Glory circling round the soul!1140
grant my love imperfect, all
hat mortals by the name miscall;
hen deem it evil, what thou wilt;
ut say, oh say, hers was not Guilt!
he was my Life's unerring Light:
hat quenched—what beam shall break my night?[ei]
Oh! would it shone to lead me still,
Although to death or deadliest ill!
Why marvel ye, if they who lose
This present joy, this future hope,1150
No more with Sorrow meekly cope;
n phrensy then their fate accuse;
n madness do those fearful deeds
That seem to add but Guilt to Woe?
Alas! the breast that inly bleeds
Hath nought to dread from outward blow:
Who falls from all he knows of bliss,
ares little into what abyss.[ej]
ierce as the gloomy vulture's now
To thee, old man, my deeds appear:1160
read abhorrence on thy brow,
And this too was I born to bear!
Page 155
Tis true, that, like that bird of prey,
With havock have I marked my way:
ut this was taught me by the dove,
o die—and know no second love.
his lesson yet hath man to learn,
aught by the thing he dares to spurn:
he bird that sings within the brake,
he swan that swims upon the lake,1170
One mate, and one alone, will take.
And let the fool still prone to range,[ek]
And sneer on all who cannot change,
artake his jest with boasting boys;
envy not his varied joys,
ut deem such feeble, heartless man,
ess than yon solitary swan;
ar, far beneath the shallow maid[el]
He left believing and betrayed.
uch shame at least was never mine—1180
eila! each thought was only thine!
My good, my guilt, my weal, my woe,
My hope on high—my all below.
ach holds no other like to thee,
Or, if it doth, in vain for me:
or worlds I dare not view the dame
esembling thee, yet not the same.
he very crimes that mar my youth,
his bed of death—attest my truth!
Tis all too late—thou wert, thou art1190
he cherished madness of my heart![em]
And she was lost—and yet I breathed,
But not the breath of human life:
With havock have I marked my way:
ut this was taught me by the dove,
o die—and know no second love.
his lesson yet hath man to learn,
aught by the thing he dares to spurn:
he bird that sings within the brake,
he swan that swims upon the lake,1170
One mate, and one alone, will take.
And let the fool still prone to range,[ek]
And sneer on all who cannot change,
artake his jest with boasting boys;
envy not his varied joys,
ut deem such feeble, heartless man,
ess than yon solitary swan;
ar, far beneath the shallow maid[el]
He left believing and betrayed.
uch shame at least was never mine—1180
eila! each thought was only thine!
My good, my guilt, my weal, my woe,
My hope on high—my all below.
ach holds no other like to thee,
Or, if it doth, in vain for me:
or worlds I dare not view the dame
esembling thee, yet not the same.
he very crimes that mar my youth,
his bed of death—attest my truth!
Tis all too late—thou wert, thou art1190
he cherished madness of my heart![em]
And she was lost—and yet I breathed,
But not the breath of human life:
Page 156
A serpent round my heart was wreathed,
And stung my every thought to strife.
Alike all time, abhorred all place,[en]
huddering I shrank from Nature's face,
Where every hue that charmed before
he blackness of my bosom wore.
he rest thou dost already know,1200
And all my sins, and half my woe.
ut talk no more of penitence;
hou seest I soon shall part from hence:
And if thy holy tale were true,
he deed that's done canst thou undo?
hink me not thankless—but this grief
ooks not to priesthood for relief.[eo][121]
My soul's estate in secret guess:
ut wouldst thou pity more, say less.
When thou canst bid my Leila live,1210
hen will I sue thee to forgive;
hen plead my cause in that high place
Where purchased masses proffer grace.[ep]
Go, when the hunter's hand hath wrung
rom forest-cave her shrieking young,
And calm the lonely lioness:
soothe not—mock not my distress!
In earlier days, and calmer hours,
When heart with heart delights to blend,
Where bloom my native valley's bowers,[eq]1220
I had—Ah! have I now?—a friend![er]
o him this pledge I charge thee send,[es]
Memorial of a youthful vow;
And stung my every thought to strife.
Alike all time, abhorred all place,[en]
huddering I shrank from Nature's face,
Where every hue that charmed before
he blackness of my bosom wore.
he rest thou dost already know,1200
And all my sins, and half my woe.
ut talk no more of penitence;
hou seest I soon shall part from hence:
And if thy holy tale were true,
he deed that's done canst thou undo?
hink me not thankless—but this grief
ooks not to priesthood for relief.[eo][121]
My soul's estate in secret guess:
ut wouldst thou pity more, say less.
When thou canst bid my Leila live,1210
hen will I sue thee to forgive;
hen plead my cause in that high place
Where purchased masses proffer grace.[ep]
Go, when the hunter's hand hath wrung
rom forest-cave her shrieking young,
And calm the lonely lioness:
soothe not—mock not my distress!
In earlier days, and calmer hours,
When heart with heart delights to blend,
Where bloom my native valley's bowers,[eq]1220
I had—Ah! have I now?—a friend![er]
o him this pledge I charge thee send,[es]
Memorial of a youthful vow;
Page 157
would remind him of my end:
Though souls absorbed like mine allow
rief thought to distant Friendship's claim,
Yet dear to him my blighted name.
Tis strange—he prophesied my doom,
And I have smiled—I then could smile—
When Prudence would his voice assume,1230
And warn—I recked not what—the while:
ut now Remembrance whispers o'er[et]
hose accents scarcely marked before.
ay—that his bodings came to pass,
And he will start to hear their truth,
And wish his words had not been sooth:
ell him—unheeding as I was,
Through many a busy bitter scene
Of all our golden youth had been,
n pain, my faltering tongue had tried1240
o bless his memory—ere I died;
ut Heaven in wrath would turn away,
Guilt should for the guiltless pray.
do not ask him not to blame,
oo gentle he to wound my name;
And what have I to do with Fame?
do not ask him not to mourn,
uch cold request might sound like scorn;
And what than Friendship's manly tear
May better grace a brother's bier?1250
ut bear this ring, his own of old,
And tell him—what thou dost behold!
he withered frame, the ruined mind,
he wrack by passion left behind,
A shrivelled scroll, a scattered leaf,
Though souls absorbed like mine allow
rief thought to distant Friendship's claim,
Yet dear to him my blighted name.
Tis strange—he prophesied my doom,
And I have smiled—I then could smile—
When Prudence would his voice assume,1230
And warn—I recked not what—the while:
ut now Remembrance whispers o'er[et]
hose accents scarcely marked before.
ay—that his bodings came to pass,
And he will start to hear their truth,
And wish his words had not been sooth:
ell him—unheeding as I was,
Through many a busy bitter scene
Of all our golden youth had been,
n pain, my faltering tongue had tried1240
o bless his memory—ere I died;
ut Heaven in wrath would turn away,
Guilt should for the guiltless pray.
do not ask him not to blame,
oo gentle he to wound my name;
And what have I to do with Fame?
do not ask him not to mourn,
uch cold request might sound like scorn;
And what than Friendship's manly tear
May better grace a brother's bier?1250
ut bear this ring, his own of old,
And tell him—what thou dost behold!
he withered frame, the ruined mind,
he wrack by passion left behind,
A shrivelled scroll, a scattered leaf,
Page 158
eared by the autumn blast of Grief!
"Tell me no more of Fancy's gleam,
No, father, no,'twas not a dream;
Alas! the dreamer first must sleep,
only watched, and wished to weep;1260
ut could not, for my burning brow
hrobbed to the very brain as now:
wished but for a single tear,
As something welcome, new, and dear:
wished it then, I wish it still;
Despair is stronger than my will.
Waste not thine orison, despair[eu]
s mightier than thy pious prayer:
would not, if I might, be blest;
want no Paradise, but rest.1270
Twas then—I tell thee—father! then
saw her; yes, she lived again;
And shining in her white symar[122]
As through yon pale gray cloud the star
Which now I gaze on, as on her,
Who looked and looks far lovelier;
Dimly I view its trembling spark;[ev]
o-morrow's night shall be more dark;
And I, before its rays appear,
hat lifeless thing the living fear.1280
wander—father! for my soul
s fleeting towards the final goal.
saw her—friar! and I rose
orgetful of our former woes;
And rushing from my couch, I dart,
"Tell me no more of Fancy's gleam,
No, father, no,'twas not a dream;
Alas! the dreamer first must sleep,
only watched, and wished to weep;1260
ut could not, for my burning brow
hrobbed to the very brain as now:
wished but for a single tear,
As something welcome, new, and dear:
wished it then, I wish it still;
Despair is stronger than my will.
Waste not thine orison, despair[eu]
s mightier than thy pious prayer:
would not, if I might, be blest;
want no Paradise, but rest.1270
Twas then—I tell thee—father! then
saw her; yes, she lived again;
And shining in her white symar[122]
As through yon pale gray cloud the star
Which now I gaze on, as on her,
Who looked and looks far lovelier;
Dimly I view its trembling spark;[ev]
o-morrow's night shall be more dark;
And I, before its rays appear,
hat lifeless thing the living fear.1280
wander—father! for my soul
s fleeting towards the final goal.
saw her—friar! and I rose
orgetful of our former woes;
And rushing from my couch, I dart,
Page 159
And clasp her to my desperate heart;
clasp—what is it that I clasp?
No breathing form within my grasp,
No heart that beats reply to mine—
Yet, Leila! yet the form is thine!1290
And art thou, dearest, changed so much
As meet my eye, yet mock my touch?
Ah! were thy beauties e'er so cold,
care not—so my arms enfold
he all they ever wished to hold.
Alas! around a shadow prest
hey shrink upon my lonely breast;
Yet still 'tis there! In silence stands,
And beckons with beseeching hands!
With braided hair, and bright-black eye—1300
knew 'twas false—she could not die!
ut he is dead! within the dell
saw him buried where he fell;
He comes not—for he cannot break
rom earth;—why then art thou awake?
hey told me wild waves rolled above
he face I view—the form I love;
hey told me—'twas a hideous tale!—
d tell it, but my tongue would fail:
true, and from thine ocean-cave1310
hou com'st to claim a calmer grave,
Oh! pass thy dewy fingers o'er
his brow that then will burn no more;
Or place them on my hopeless heart:
ut, Shape or Shade! whate'er thou art,
n mercy ne'er again depart!
Or farther with thee bear my soul
clasp—what is it that I clasp?
No breathing form within my grasp,
No heart that beats reply to mine—
Yet, Leila! yet the form is thine!1290
And art thou, dearest, changed so much
As meet my eye, yet mock my touch?
Ah! were thy beauties e'er so cold,
care not—so my arms enfold
he all they ever wished to hold.
Alas! around a shadow prest
hey shrink upon my lonely breast;
Yet still 'tis there! In silence stands,
And beckons with beseeching hands!
With braided hair, and bright-black eye—1300
knew 'twas false—she could not die!
ut he is dead! within the dell
saw him buried where he fell;
He comes not—for he cannot break
rom earth;—why then art thou awake?
hey told me wild waves rolled above
he face I view—the form I love;
hey told me—'twas a hideous tale!—
d tell it, but my tongue would fail:
true, and from thine ocean-cave1310
hou com'st to claim a calmer grave,
Oh! pass thy dewy fingers o'er
his brow that then will burn no more;
Or place them on my hopeless heart:
ut, Shape or Shade! whate'er thou art,
n mercy ne'er again depart!
Or farther with thee bear my soul
Page 160
han winds can waft or waters roll!
Such is my name, and such my tale.
Confessor! to thy secret ear1320
breathe the sorrows I bewail,
And thank thee for the generous tear
his glazing eye could never shed.
hen lay me with the humblest dead,[ew]
And, save the cross above my head,
e neither name nor emblem spread,
y prying stranger to be read,
Or stay the passing pilgrim's tread."[123]
passed—nor of his name and race
left a token or a trace,1330
e what the Father must not say
o shrived him on his dying day:
s broken tale was all we knew[ex]
her he loved, or him he slew.
Such is my name, and such my tale.
Confessor! to thy secret ear1320
breathe the sorrows I bewail,
And thank thee for the generous tear
his glazing eye could never shed.
hen lay me with the humblest dead,[ew]
And, save the cross above my head,
e neither name nor emblem spread,
y prying stranger to be read,
Or stay the passing pilgrim's tread."[123]
passed—nor of his name and race
left a token or a trace,1330
e what the Father must not say
o shrived him on his dying day:
s broken tale was all we knew[ex]
her he loved, or him he slew.
Page 161
FOOTNOTES:
[55] {85} A tomb above the rocks on the promontory, by some supposed the sepulchre of
Themistocles.
["There are," says Cumberland, in his Observer, "a few lines by Plato upon the tomb of
Themistocles, which have a turn of elegant and pathetic simplicity in them, that deserves a
better translation than I can give—
"'By the sea's margin, on the watery strand,
Thy monument, Themistocles, shall stand:
By this directed to thy native shore,
The merchant shall convey his freighted store;
And when our fleets are summoned to the fight
Athens shall conquer with thy tomb in sight.'"
Note to Edition 1832.
The traditional site of the tomb of Themistocles, "a rock-hewn grave on the very margin
of the sea generally covered with water," adjoins the lighthouse, which stands on the
westernmost promontory of the Piræus, some three quarters of a mile from the entrance to
the harbour. Plutarch, in his Themistocles (cap. xxxii.), is at pains to describe the exact
site of the "altar-like tomb," and quotes the passage from Plato (the comic poet, B.C. 428-
389) which Cumberland paraphrases. Byron and Hobhouse "made the complete circuit of
the peninsula of Munychia," January 18, 1810.—Travels in Albania, 1858, i. 317, 318.]
[cg] {86}
Fair clime! where ceaseless summer smiles
Benignant o'er those blessed isles,
Which seen from far Colonna's height,
Make glad the heart that hails the sight,
And lend to loneliness delight.
There shine the bright abodes ye seek,
Like dimples upon Occan's cheek,
So smiling round the waters lave
These Edens of the Eastern wave.
Or if, at times, the transient breeze
Break the smooth crystal of the seas,
Or brush one blossom from the trees,
[55] {85} A tomb above the rocks on the promontory, by some supposed the sepulchre of
Themistocles.
["There are," says Cumberland, in his Observer, "a few lines by Plato upon the tomb of
Themistocles, which have a turn of elegant and pathetic simplicity in them, that deserves a
better translation than I can give—
"'By the sea's margin, on the watery strand,
Thy monument, Themistocles, shall stand:
By this directed to thy native shore,
The merchant shall convey his freighted store;
And when our fleets are summoned to the fight
Athens shall conquer with thy tomb in sight.'"
Note to Edition 1832.
The traditional site of the tomb of Themistocles, "a rock-hewn grave on the very margin
of the sea generally covered with water," adjoins the lighthouse, which stands on the
westernmost promontory of the Piræus, some three quarters of a mile from the entrance to
the harbour. Plutarch, in his Themistocles (cap. xxxii.), is at pains to describe the exact
site of the "altar-like tomb," and quotes the passage from Plato (the comic poet, B.C. 428-
389) which Cumberland paraphrases. Byron and Hobhouse "made the complete circuit of
the peninsula of Munychia," January 18, 1810.—Travels in Albania, 1858, i. 317, 318.]
[cg] {86}
Fair clime! where ceaseless summer smiles
Benignant o'er those blessed isles,
Which seen from far Colonna's height,
Make glad the heart that hails the sight,
And lend to loneliness delight.
There shine the bright abodes ye seek,
Like dimples upon Occan's cheek,
So smiling round the waters lave
These Edens of the Eastern wave.
Or if, at times, the transient breeze
Break the smooth crystal of the seas,
Or brush one blossom from the trees,
Page 162
How grateful is each gentle air
That wakes and wafts the fragrance there.—[MS.]
——the fragrance there.—[Second Edition.]
[56] The attachment of the nightingale to the rose is a well-known Persian fable. If I
mistake not, the "Bulbul of a thousand tales" is one of his appellations.
[Thus Mesihi, as translated by Sir William Jones—
"Come, charming maid! and hear thy poet sing,
Thyself the rose and he the bird of spring:
Love bids him sing, and Love will be obey'd.
Be gay: too soon the flowers of spring will fade."
"The full style and title of the Persian nightingale (Pycnonotus hæmorrhous) is 'Bulbul-i-
hazár-dástán,' usually shortened to 'Hazar' (bird of a thousand tales = the thousand),
generally called 'Andalib.'" (See Arabian Nights, by Richard F. Burton, 1887;
Supplemental Nights, iii. 506.) For the nightingale's attachment to the rose, compare
Moore's Lalla Rookh—
"Oh! sooner shall the rose of May
Mistake her own sweet nightingale," etc.
(Ed. "Chandos Classics," p. 423)
and Fitzgerald's translation of the Rubáiyát of Omar Khayyám (stanza vi.)—
"And David's lips are lockt; but in divine
High piping Pehlevi, with 'Wine! Wine! Wine!
Red Wine!'—the Nightingale cries to the Rose
That sallow cheek of hers to incarnadine."
Rubáiyát, etc., 1899, p. 29, and note, p. 62.
Byron was indebted for his information to a note on a passage in Vathek, by S. Henley
(Vathek, 1893, p. 217).]
[57] {87} The guitar is the constant amusement of the Greek sailor by night; with a steady
fair wind, and during a calm, it is accompanied always by the voice, and often by dancing.
[ch] {88} Should wanton in a wilderness.—[MS.]
[ci] The first draft of this celebrated passage differs in many particulars from the Fair
Copy, which, with the exception of the passages marked as vars. i. (p. 89) and i. (p. 90), is
the same as the text. It ran as follows:—
That wakes and wafts the fragrance there.—[MS.]
——the fragrance there.—[Second Edition.]
[56] The attachment of the nightingale to the rose is a well-known Persian fable. If I
mistake not, the "Bulbul of a thousand tales" is one of his appellations.
[Thus Mesihi, as translated by Sir William Jones—
"Come, charming maid! and hear thy poet sing,
Thyself the rose and he the bird of spring:
Love bids him sing, and Love will be obey'd.
Be gay: too soon the flowers of spring will fade."
"The full style and title of the Persian nightingale (Pycnonotus hæmorrhous) is 'Bulbul-i-
hazár-dástán,' usually shortened to 'Hazar' (bird of a thousand tales = the thousand),
generally called 'Andalib.'" (See Arabian Nights, by Richard F. Burton, 1887;
Supplemental Nights, iii. 506.) For the nightingale's attachment to the rose, compare
Moore's Lalla Rookh—
"Oh! sooner shall the rose of May
Mistake her own sweet nightingale," etc.
(Ed. "Chandos Classics," p. 423)
and Fitzgerald's translation of the Rubáiyát of Omar Khayyám (stanza vi.)—
"And David's lips are lockt; but in divine
High piping Pehlevi, with 'Wine! Wine! Wine!
Red Wine!'—the Nightingale cries to the Rose
That sallow cheek of hers to incarnadine."
Rubáiyát, etc., 1899, p. 29, and note, p. 62.
Byron was indebted for his information to a note on a passage in Vathek, by S. Henley
(Vathek, 1893, p. 217).]
[57] {87} The guitar is the constant amusement of the Greek sailor by night; with a steady
fair wind, and during a calm, it is accompanied always by the voice, and often by dancing.
[ch] {88} Should wanton in a wilderness.—[MS.]
[ci] The first draft of this celebrated passage differs in many particulars from the Fair
Copy, which, with the exception of the passages marked as vars. i. (p. 89) and i. (p. 90), is
the same as the text. It ran as follows:—
Page 163
He who hath bent him o'er the dead
Ere the first day of death is fled—
The first dark day of Nothingness
The last of doom and of distress—
Before Corruption's cankering fingers
Hath tinged the hue where Beauty lingers
And marked the soft and settled air
That dwells with all but Spirit there
The fixed yet tender lines that speak
Of Peace along the placid cheek
And—but for that sad shrouded eye
That fires not—pleads not—weeps not—now—
And but for that pale chilling brow
Whose touch tells of Mortality
And curdles to the Gazer's heart
As if to him it could impart
The doom he only looks upon—
Yes but for these and these alone,
A moment—yet—a little hour
We still might doubt the Tyrant's power.
The eleven lines following (88-98) were not emended in the Fair Copy, and are included
in the text. The Fair Copy is the sole MS. authority for the four concluding lines of the
paragraph.
[58] [Compare "Beyond Milan the country wore the aspect of a wider devastation; and
though everything seemed more quiet, the repose was like that of death spread over
features which retain the impression of the last convulsions."—Mysteries of Udolpho, by
Mrs. Ann Radcliffe, 1794, ii. 29.]
[cj] {89}
And marked the almost dreaming air,
Which speaks the sweet repose that's there.—
[MS. of Fair Copy.]
[59] {90}
"Aye, but to die, and go we know not where;
To lie in cold obstruction?"
Measure for Measure, act iii. sc. I, lines 115, 116.
[Compare, too, Childe Harold, Canto II. stanza iv. line 5.]
Ere the first day of death is fled—
The first dark day of Nothingness
The last of doom and of distress—
Before Corruption's cankering fingers
Hath tinged the hue where Beauty lingers
And marked the soft and settled air
That dwells with all but Spirit there
The fixed yet tender lines that speak
Of Peace along the placid cheek
And—but for that sad shrouded eye
That fires not—pleads not—weeps not—now—
And but for that pale chilling brow
Whose touch tells of Mortality
And curdles to the Gazer's heart
As if to him it could impart
The doom he only looks upon—
Yes but for these and these alone,
A moment—yet—a little hour
We still might doubt the Tyrant's power.
The eleven lines following (88-98) were not emended in the Fair Copy, and are included
in the text. The Fair Copy is the sole MS. authority for the four concluding lines of the
paragraph.
[58] [Compare "Beyond Milan the country wore the aspect of a wider devastation; and
though everything seemed more quiet, the repose was like that of death spread over
features which retain the impression of the last convulsions."—Mysteries of Udolpho, by
Mrs. Ann Radcliffe, 1794, ii. 29.]
[cj] {89}
And marked the almost dreaming air,
Which speaks the sweet repose that's there.—
[MS. of Fair Copy.]
[59] {90}
"Aye, but to die, and go we know not where;
To lie in cold obstruction?"
Measure for Measure, act iii. sc. I, lines 115, 116.
[Compare, too, Childe Harold, Canto II. stanza iv. line 5.]
Page 164
[ck]
Whose touch thrills with mortality,
And curdles to the gazer's heart.—[MS. of Fair Copy.]
[60] I trust that few of my readers have ever had an opportunity of witnessing what is here
attempted in description; but those who have will probably retain a painful remembrance
of that singular beauty which pervades, with few exceptions, the features of the dead, a
few hours, and but for a few hours, after "the spirit is not there." It is to be remarked in
cases of violent death by gun-shot wounds, the expression is always that of languor,
whatever the natural energy of the sufferer's character; but in death from a stab the
countenance preserves its traits of feeling or ferocity, and the mind its bias, to the last.
[According to Medwin (1824, 4to, p. 223), an absurd charge, based on the details of this
note, was brought against Byron, that he had been guilty of murder, and spoke from
experience.]
[61] [In Dallaway's Constantinople (p. 2) [Rev. James Dallaway (1763-1834) published
Constantinople Ancient and Modern, etc., in 1797], a book which Lord Byron is not
unlikely to have consulted, I find a passage quoted from Gillies' History of Greece(vol. i.
p. 335), which contains, perhaps, the first seed of the thought thus expanded into full
perfection by genius: "The present state of Greece, compared to the ancient, is the silent
obscurity of the grave contrasted with the vivid lustre of active life."—Moore, Note to
Edition 1832.]
[62] {91} [From hence to the conclusion of the paragraph, the MS. is written in a hurried
and almost illegible hand, as if these splendid lines had been poured forth in one
continuous burst of poetic feeling, which would hardly allow time for the pen to follow
the imagination.—(Note to Edition 1837. The lines were added to the Second Edition.)]
[cl] Fountain of Wisdom! can it be.—[MS. erased.]
[63] [Compare—"Son of the Morning, rise! approach you here!" Childe Harold, Canto II.
stanza iii. line 1.]
[cm]
Why is not this Thermopylæ;
These waters blue that round you lave
Degenerate offspring of the free—
How name ye them what shore is this?
The wave, the rock of Salamis?—[MS.]
[cn] {92}
Whose touch thrills with mortality,
And curdles to the gazer's heart.—[MS. of Fair Copy.]
[60] I trust that few of my readers have ever had an opportunity of witnessing what is here
attempted in description; but those who have will probably retain a painful remembrance
of that singular beauty which pervades, with few exceptions, the features of the dead, a
few hours, and but for a few hours, after "the spirit is not there." It is to be remarked in
cases of violent death by gun-shot wounds, the expression is always that of languor,
whatever the natural energy of the sufferer's character; but in death from a stab the
countenance preserves its traits of feeling or ferocity, and the mind its bias, to the last.
[According to Medwin (1824, 4to, p. 223), an absurd charge, based on the details of this
note, was brought against Byron, that he had been guilty of murder, and spoke from
experience.]
[61] [In Dallaway's Constantinople (p. 2) [Rev. James Dallaway (1763-1834) published
Constantinople Ancient and Modern, etc., in 1797], a book which Lord Byron is not
unlikely to have consulted, I find a passage quoted from Gillies' History of Greece(vol. i.
p. 335), which contains, perhaps, the first seed of the thought thus expanded into full
perfection by genius: "The present state of Greece, compared to the ancient, is the silent
obscurity of the grave contrasted with the vivid lustre of active life."—Moore, Note to
Edition 1832.]
[62] {91} [From hence to the conclusion of the paragraph, the MS. is written in a hurried
and almost illegible hand, as if these splendid lines had been poured forth in one
continuous burst of poetic feeling, which would hardly allow time for the pen to follow
the imagination.—(Note to Edition 1837. The lines were added to the Second Edition.)]
[cl] Fountain of Wisdom! can it be.—[MS. erased.]
[63] [Compare—"Son of the Morning, rise! approach you here!" Childe Harold, Canto II.
stanza iii. line 1.]
[cm]
Why is not this Thermopylæ;
These waters blue that round you lave
Degenerate offspring of the free—
How name ye them what shore is this?
The wave, the rock of Salamis?—[MS.]
[cn] {92}
Page 165
And he who in the cause expires,
Will add a name and fate to them
Well worthy of his noble stem.—[MS.]
[co] Commenced by Sire—renewed by Son.—[MS.]
[cp]
Attest it many a former age
While kings in dark oblivion hid.—[MS.]
[cq] There let the Muse direct thine eye.—[MS.]
[cr] {93} The hearts amid thy mountains bred.—[MS.]
[64] Athens is the property of the Kislar Aga [kizlar-aghasî] (the slave of the Seraglio and
guardian of the women), who appoints the Waywode. A pander and eunuch—these are not
polite, yet true appellations—now governs the governor of Athens!
[Hobhouse maintains that this subordination of the waiwodes (or vaivodes = the Sclavic
βοεβόδα (Turkish governors of Athens) to a higher Turkish official, was on the whole
favourable to the liberties and well-being of the Athenians.—Travels in Albania, 1858, i.
246.]
[cs]
Now to the neighbouring shores they waft
Their ancient and proverbial craft.—[MS. erased.]
[ct] {94} he silent slants the doubtful creek.—[MS]
[65] [The reciter of the tale is a Turkish fisherman, who has been employed during the day
in the gulf of Ægina, and in the evening, apprehensive of the Mainote pirates who infest
the coast of Attica, lands with his boat on the harbour of Port Leone, the ancient Piræus.
He becomes the eye-witness of nearly all the incidents in the story, and in one of them is a
principal agent. It is to his feelings, and particularly to his religious prejudices, that we are
indebted for some of the most forcible and splendid parts of the poem.—Note by George
Agar Ellis, 1797-1833.]
[66] [In Dr. Clarke's Travels (Edward Daniel Clarke, 1769-1822, published Travels in
Europe, Asia, Africa, 1810-24), this word, which means infidel, is always written
according to its English pronunciation, Djour. Byron adopted the Italian spelling usual
among the Franks of the Levant.—Note to Edition 1832.
Will add a name and fate to them
Well worthy of his noble stem.—[MS.]
[co] Commenced by Sire—renewed by Son.—[MS.]
[cp]
Attest it many a former age
While kings in dark oblivion hid.—[MS.]
[cq] There let the Muse direct thine eye.—[MS.]
[cr] {93} The hearts amid thy mountains bred.—[MS.]
[64] Athens is the property of the Kislar Aga [kizlar-aghasî] (the slave of the Seraglio and
guardian of the women), who appoints the Waywode. A pander and eunuch—these are not
polite, yet true appellations—now governs the governor of Athens!
[Hobhouse maintains that this subordination of the waiwodes (or vaivodes = the Sclavic
βοεβόδα (Turkish governors of Athens) to a higher Turkish official, was on the whole
favourable to the liberties and well-being of the Athenians.—Travels in Albania, 1858, i.
246.]
[cs]
Now to the neighbouring shores they waft
Their ancient and proverbial craft.—[MS. erased.]
[ct] {94} he silent slants the doubtful creek.—[MS]
[65] [The reciter of the tale is a Turkish fisherman, who has been employed during the day
in the gulf of Ægina, and in the evening, apprehensive of the Mainote pirates who infest
the coast of Attica, lands with his boat on the harbour of Port Leone, the ancient Piræus.
He becomes the eye-witness of nearly all the incidents in the story, and in one of them is a
principal agent. It is to his feelings, and particularly to his religious prejudices, that we are
indebted for some of the most forcible and splendid parts of the poem.—Note by George
Agar Ellis, 1797-1833.]
[66] [In Dr. Clarke's Travels (Edward Daniel Clarke, 1769-1822, published Travels in
Europe, Asia, Africa, 1810-24), this word, which means infidel, is always written
according to its English pronunciation, Djour. Byron adopted the Italian spelling usual
among the Franks of the Levant.—Note to Edition 1832.
Page 166
The pronunciation of the word depends on its origin. If it is associated with the Arabic
jawr, a "deviating" or "erring," the initial consonant would be soft, but if with the Persian
gawr, or guebre, "a fire-worshipper," the word should be pronounced Gow-er—as Gower
Street has come to be pronounced. It is to be remarked that to the present day the
Nestorians of Urumiah are contemned as Gy-ours (the G hard), by their Mohammedan
countrymen.—(From information kindly supplied by Mr. A. G. Ellis, of the Oriental
Printed Books and MSS. Department, British Museum.)]
[cu] {95} Though scarcely marked——.—[MS.]
[cv]
With him my wonder as he flew.—[MS.]
With him my roused and wondering view.—[MS. erased.]
[cw] {96} For him who takes so fast a flight.—[MS. erased.]
[67] [Compare—
"A moment now he slacked his speed,
A moment breathed his panting steed."
Scott's Lay of the Last Minstrel, Canto I. stanza xxvii. lines 1, 2.]
[cx] And looked along the olive wood.—[MS.]
[68] "Tophaike," musket. The Bairam is announced by the cannon at sunset: the
illumination of the mosques, and the firing of all kinds of small arms, loaded with ball,
proclaim it during the night. [The Bairâm, the Moslem Easter, a festival of three days,
succeeded the Ramazân.]
For the illumination of the mosques during the fast of the Ramazân, see Childe Harold,
Canto II. stanza lv. line 5, Poetical Works, 1899, ii. 134, note 2.
[cy] {97} Of transient Anger's Darkening blush.—[MS.]
[69] [For "hasty," all the editions till the twelfth read "darkening blush." On the back of a
copy of the eleventh, Lord Byron has written, "Why did not the printer attend to the
solitary correction so repeatedly made? I have no copy of this, and desire to have none till
my request is complied with." Notes to Editions 1832, 1837.]
[cz]
As doubting if to stay or fly—
Then turned it swiftly to his blade;
jawr, a "deviating" or "erring," the initial consonant would be soft, but if with the Persian
gawr, or guebre, "a fire-worshipper," the word should be pronounced Gow-er—as Gower
Street has come to be pronounced. It is to be remarked that to the present day the
Nestorians of Urumiah are contemned as Gy-ours (the G hard), by their Mohammedan
countrymen.—(From information kindly supplied by Mr. A. G. Ellis, of the Oriental
Printed Books and MSS. Department, British Museum.)]
[cu] {95} Though scarcely marked——.—[MS.]
[cv]
With him my wonder as he flew.—[MS.]
With him my roused and wondering view.—[MS. erased.]
[cw] {96} For him who takes so fast a flight.—[MS. erased.]
[67] [Compare—
"A moment now he slacked his speed,
A moment breathed his panting steed."
Scott's Lay of the Last Minstrel, Canto I. stanza xxvii. lines 1, 2.]
[cx] And looked along the olive wood.—[MS.]
[68] "Tophaike," musket. The Bairam is announced by the cannon at sunset: the
illumination of the mosques, and the firing of all kinds of small arms, loaded with ball,
proclaim it during the night. [The Bairâm, the Moslem Easter, a festival of three days,
succeeded the Ramazân.]
For the illumination of the mosques during the fast of the Ramazân, see Childe Harold,
Canto II. stanza lv. line 5, Poetical Works, 1899, ii. 134, note 2.
[cy] {97} Of transient Anger's Darkening blush.—[MS.]
[69] [For "hasty," all the editions till the twelfth read "darkening blush." On the back of a
copy of the eleventh, Lord Byron has written, "Why did not the printer attend to the
solitary correction so repeatedly made? I have no copy of this, and desire to have none till
my request is complied with." Notes to Editions 1832, 1837.]
[cz]
As doubting if to stay or fly—
Then turned it swiftly to his blade;
Page 167
As loud his raven charger neighed—
That sound dispelled his waking dream,
As sleepers start at owlet's scream.—[MS.]
[70] Jerreed, or Djerrid [Jarid], a blunted Turkish javelin, which is darted from horseback
with great force and precision. It is a favourite exercise of the Mussulmans; but I know
not if it can be called a manly one, since the most expert in the art are the Black Eunuchs
of Constantinople. I think, next to these, a Mamlouk at Smyrna was the most skilful that
came within my observation. [Lines 250, 251, together with the note, were inserted in the
Third Edition.]
[da] {98}
'Twas but an instant, though so long
When thus dilated in my song.
'Twas but an instant——.—[MS.]
[db]
Such moment holds a thousand years.
or, Such moment proves the grief of years.—[MS.]
[71] ["Lord Byron told Mr. Murray that he took this idea from one of the Arabian tales—
that in which the Sultan puts his head into a butt of water, and, though it remains there for
only two or three minutes, he imagines that he lives many years during that time. The
story had been quoted by Addison in the Spectator" [No. 94, June 18, 1711].—Memoir of
John Murray, 1891, i. 219, note.]
[72] [Lines 271-276 were added in the Third Edition. The MS. proceeds with a direction
(dated July 31, 1813) to the printer—"And alter
'A life of woe—an age of crime—'
to
'A life of pain—an age of crime.'
Alter also the lines
'On him who loves or hates or fears
Such moment holds a thousand years,'
to
'O'er him who loves or hates or fears
That sound dispelled his waking dream,
As sleepers start at owlet's scream.—[MS.]
[70] Jerreed, or Djerrid [Jarid], a blunted Turkish javelin, which is darted from horseback
with great force and precision. It is a favourite exercise of the Mussulmans; but I know
not if it can be called a manly one, since the most expert in the art are the Black Eunuchs
of Constantinople. I think, next to these, a Mamlouk at Smyrna was the most skilful that
came within my observation. [Lines 250, 251, together with the note, were inserted in the
Third Edition.]
[da] {98}
'Twas but an instant, though so long
When thus dilated in my song.
'Twas but an instant——.—[MS.]
[db]
Such moment holds a thousand years.
or, Such moment proves the grief of years.—[MS.]
[71] ["Lord Byron told Mr. Murray that he took this idea from one of the Arabian tales—
that in which the Sultan puts his head into a butt of water, and, though it remains there for
only two or three minutes, he imagines that he lives many years during that time. The
story had been quoted by Addison in the Spectator" [No. 94, June 18, 1711].—Memoir of
John Murray, 1891, i. 219, note.]
[72] [Lines 271-276 were added in the Third Edition. The MS. proceeds with a direction
(dated July 31, 1813) to the printer—"And alter
'A life of woe—an age of crime—'
to
'A life of pain—an age of crime.'
Alter also the lines
'On him who loves or hates or fears
Such moment holds a thousand years,'
to
'O'er him who loves or hates or fears
Page 168
Such moment pours the grief of years.'"]
[dc] {99} But neither fled nor fell alone.—[MS.]
[73] The blast of the desert, fatal to everything living, and often alluded to in Eastern
poetry.
[James Bruce, 1730-1794 (nicknamed "Abyssinian Bruce"), gives a remarkable
description of the simoom: "I saw from the south-east a haze come, in colour like the
purple part of the rainbow, but not so compressed or thick. It did not occupy twenty yards
in breadth, and was about twelve feet high from the ground. It was a kind of blush upon
the air, and it moved very rapidly.... We all lay flat on the ground ... till it was blown over.
The meteor, or purple haze, which I saw was, indeed, passed, but the light air which still
blew was of a heat to threaten suffocation." He goes on to say that he did not recover the
effect of the sandblast on his chest for nearly two years (Brace's Life and Travels, ed.
1830, p. 470).—Note to Edition 1832.]
[dd] There are two MS. versions of lines 290-298: (A) a rough copy, and (B) a fair copy—
(A) And wide the Spider's thin grey pall
Is curtained on the splendid wall—
The Bat hath built in his mother's bower,
And in the fortress of his power
The Owl hath fixed her beacon tower,
The wild dogs howl on the fountain's brim
With baffled thirst and famine grim,
For the stream is shrunk from its marble bed
Where Desolation's dust is spread.—[MS.]
B. ["August 5, 1813, in last of 3rd or first of 4th ed."]
The lonely Spider's thin grey pall
Is curtained o'er the splendid wall—
The Bat builds in his mother's bower;
And in the fortress of his power
The Owl hath fixed her beacon-tower,
The wild dog howls o'er the fountain's brink,
But vainly lolls his tongue to drink.—[MS.]
[74] {100} [Compare "The walls of Balclutha were desolated.... The stream of Clutha was
removed from its place by the fall of the walls. The fox looked out from the windows"
(Ossian's Balclutha). "The dreary night-owl screams in the solitary retreat of his
mouldering ivy-covered tower" (Larnul, or the Song of Despair: Poems of Ossian,
discovered by the Baron de Harold, 1787, p. 172). Compare, too, the well-known lines,
[dc] {99} But neither fled nor fell alone.—[MS.]
[73] The blast of the desert, fatal to everything living, and often alluded to in Eastern
poetry.
[James Bruce, 1730-1794 (nicknamed "Abyssinian Bruce"), gives a remarkable
description of the simoom: "I saw from the south-east a haze come, in colour like the
purple part of the rainbow, but not so compressed or thick. It did not occupy twenty yards
in breadth, and was about twelve feet high from the ground. It was a kind of blush upon
the air, and it moved very rapidly.... We all lay flat on the ground ... till it was blown over.
The meteor, or purple haze, which I saw was, indeed, passed, but the light air which still
blew was of a heat to threaten suffocation." He goes on to say that he did not recover the
effect of the sandblast on his chest for nearly two years (Brace's Life and Travels, ed.
1830, p. 470).—Note to Edition 1832.]
[dd] There are two MS. versions of lines 290-298: (A) a rough copy, and (B) a fair copy—
(A) And wide the Spider's thin grey pall
Is curtained on the splendid wall—
The Bat hath built in his mother's bower,
And in the fortress of his power
The Owl hath fixed her beacon tower,
The wild dogs howl on the fountain's brim
With baffled thirst and famine grim,
For the stream is shrunk from its marble bed
Where Desolation's dust is spread.—[MS.]
B. ["August 5, 1813, in last of 3rd or first of 4th ed."]
The lonely Spider's thin grey pall
Is curtained o'er the splendid wall—
The Bat builds in his mother's bower;
And in the fortress of his power
The Owl hath fixed her beacon-tower,
The wild dog howls o'er the fountain's brink,
But vainly lolls his tongue to drink.—[MS.]
[74] {100} [Compare "The walls of Balclutha were desolated.... The stream of Clutha was
removed from its place by the fall of the walls. The fox looked out from the windows"
(Ossian's Balclutha). "The dreary night-owl screams in the solitary retreat of his
mouldering ivy-covered tower" (Larnul, or the Song of Despair: Poems of Ossian,
discovered by the Baron de Harold, 1787, p. 172). Compare, too, the well-known lines,
Page 169
"The spider holds the veil in the palace of Cæsar; the owl stands sentinel on the watch-
tower of Afrasyab" (A Grammar of the Persian Language, by Sir W. Jones, 1809, p.
106).]
[de]
The silver dew of coldness sprinkling
In drops fantastically twinkling
As from the spring the silver dew
In whirls fantastically flew
And dashed luxurions coolness round
The air—and verdure on the ground.—[MS.]
[df] {101}
For thirsty Fox and Jackal gaunt
May vainly for its waters pant.—[MS.]
or, The famished fox the wild dog gaunt
May vainly for its waters pant.—[MS.]
[dg] Might strike an echo——.—[MS.]
[dh] {102}
And welcome Life though but in one
For many a gilded chamber's there
Unmeet for Solitude to share.—- [MS.]
[75] ["I have just recollected an alteration you may make in the proof.... Among the lines
on Hassan's Serai, is this—'Unmeet for Solitude to share.' Now, to share implies more
than one, and Solitude is a single gentlewoman: it must be thus—
'For many a gilded chamber's there,
Which Solitude might well forbear;'
and so on. Will you adopt this correction? and pray accept a cheese from me for your
trouble."—Letter to John Murray, Stilton, October 3, 1813, Letters, 1898, ii. 274.]
[di] To share the Master's "bread and salt."—[MS.]
[76] [To partake of food—to break bread and taste salt with your host, ensures the safety
of the guest: even though an enemy, his person from that moment becomes sacred.—
(Note appended to Letter of October 3, 1813.)
tower of Afrasyab" (A Grammar of the Persian Language, by Sir W. Jones, 1809, p.
106).]
[de]
The silver dew of coldness sprinkling
In drops fantastically twinkling
As from the spring the silver dew
In whirls fantastically flew
And dashed luxurions coolness round
The air—and verdure on the ground.—[MS.]
[df] {101}
For thirsty Fox and Jackal gaunt
May vainly for its waters pant.—[MS.]
or, The famished fox the wild dog gaunt
May vainly for its waters pant.—[MS.]
[dg] Might strike an echo——.—[MS.]
[dh] {102}
And welcome Life though but in one
For many a gilded chamber's there
Unmeet for Solitude to share.—- [MS.]
[75] ["I have just recollected an alteration you may make in the proof.... Among the lines
on Hassan's Serai, is this—'Unmeet for Solitude to share.' Now, to share implies more
than one, and Solitude is a single gentlewoman: it must be thus—
'For many a gilded chamber's there,
Which Solitude might well forbear;'
and so on. Will you adopt this correction? and pray accept a cheese from me for your
trouble."—Letter to John Murray, Stilton, October 3, 1813, Letters, 1898, ii. 274.]
[di] To share the Master's "bread and salt."—[MS.]
[76] [To partake of food—to break bread and taste salt with your host, ensures the safety
of the guest: even though an enemy, his person from that moment becomes sacred.—
(Note appended to Letter of October 3, 1813.)
Page 170
"I leave this (vide supra, note 1) to your discretion; if anybody thinks the old line a good
one or the cheese a bad one, don't accept either. But in that case the word share is repeated
soon after in the line—
'To share the master's bread and salt;'
and must be altered to—
'To break the master's bread and salt.'
This is not so well, though—confound it!
If the old line ['Unmeet for Solitude to share'] stands, let the other run thus—
'Nor there will weary traveller halt,
To bless the sacred bread and salt.'"
(P.S. to Murray, October 3, 1813.)
The emendation of line 335 made that of line 343 unnecessary, but both emendations were
accepted.
(Moore says (Life; p. 191, note) that the directions are written on a separate slip of paper
from the letter to Murray of October 3, 1813).]
[dj] {103}
And cold Hospitality shrinks from the labour,
The slave fled his halter and the serf left his labour.—[MS.]
or, Ah! there Hospitality light is thy labour,
or, Ah! who for the traveller's solace will labour?—[MS.]
[77] I need hardly observe, that Charity and Hospitality are the first duties enjoined by
Mahomet; and to say truth, very generally practised by his disciples. The first praise that
can be bestowed on a chief is a panegyric on his bounty; the next, on his valour. ["Serve
God ... and show kindness unto parents, and relations, and orphans, and the poor, and your
neighbour who is of kin to you ... and the traveller, and the captives," etc.—Korân, cap. iv.
Lines 350, 351 were inserted in the Fifth Edition.]
[78] The ataghan, a long dagger worn with pistols in the belt, in a metal scabbard,
generally of silver; and, among the wealthier, gilt, or of gold.
[79] Green is the privileged colour of the prophet's numerous pretended descendants; with
them, as here, faith (the family inheritance) is supposed to supersede the necessity of good
works: they are the worst of a very indifferent brood.
one or the cheese a bad one, don't accept either. But in that case the word share is repeated
soon after in the line—
'To share the master's bread and salt;'
and must be altered to—
'To break the master's bread and salt.'
This is not so well, though—confound it!
If the old line ['Unmeet for Solitude to share'] stands, let the other run thus—
'Nor there will weary traveller halt,
To bless the sacred bread and salt.'"
(P.S. to Murray, October 3, 1813.)
The emendation of line 335 made that of line 343 unnecessary, but both emendations were
accepted.
(Moore says (Life; p. 191, note) that the directions are written on a separate slip of paper
from the letter to Murray of October 3, 1813).]
[dj] {103}
And cold Hospitality shrinks from the labour,
The slave fled his halter and the serf left his labour.—[MS.]
or, Ah! there Hospitality light is thy labour,
or, Ah! who for the traveller's solace will labour?—[MS.]
[77] I need hardly observe, that Charity and Hospitality are the first duties enjoined by
Mahomet; and to say truth, very generally practised by his disciples. The first praise that
can be bestowed on a chief is a panegyric on his bounty; the next, on his valour. ["Serve
God ... and show kindness unto parents, and relations, and orphans, and the poor, and your
neighbour who is of kin to you ... and the traveller, and the captives," etc.—Korân, cap. iv.
Lines 350, 351 were inserted in the Fifth Edition.]
[78] The ataghan, a long dagger worn with pistols in the belt, in a metal scabbard,
generally of silver; and, among the wealthier, gilt, or of gold.
[79] Green is the privileged colour of the prophet's numerous pretended descendants; with
them, as here, faith (the family inheritance) is supposed to supersede the necessity of good
works: they are the worst of a very indifferent brood.
Page 171
[80] {104} "Salam aleikoum! aleikoum salam!" peace be with you; be with you peace—
the salutation reserved for the faithful:—to a Christian, "Urlarula!" a good journey; or
"saban hiresem, saban serula," good morn, good even; and sometimes, "may your end be
happy!" are the usual salutes.
["After both sets of prayers, Farz and Sunnah, the Moslem looks over his right shoulder,
and says, 'The Peace (of Allah) be upon you and the ruth of Allah,' and repeats the words
over the left shoulder. The salutation is addressed to the Guardian Angels, or to the
bystanders (Moslem), who, however, do not return it."—Arabian Nights, by Richard F.
Burton, 1887: Supplemental Nights, i. 14, note.]
[dk]
Take ye and give ye that salam,
That says of Moslem faith I am.—[MS.]
[dl] Which one of yonder barks may wait.—[MS.]
[81] [In the MS. and the first five editions the broken line (373) consisted of two words
only, "That one."]
[82] The blue-winged butterfly of Kashmeer, the most rare and beautiful of the species.
[The same insects (butterflies of Cachemir) are celebrated in an unpublished poem of
Mesihi.... Sir Anthony Shirley relates that it was customary in Persia "to hawk after
butterflies with sparrows, made to that use."—Note by S. Henley to Vathek, ed. 1893, p.
222. Byron, in his Journal, December 1, 1813, speaks of Lady Charlemont as "that blue-
winged Kashmirian butterfly of book-learning."]
[dm] If caught, to fate alike betrayed.-[MS.]
[dn] {106} The gathering flames around her close.-[MS. erased.]
[83] {107} Alluding to the dubious suicide of the scorpion, so placed for experiment by
gentle philosophers. Some maintain that the position of the sting, when turned towards the
head, is merely a convulsive movement; but others have actually brought in the verdict
"Felo de se." The scorpions are surely interested in a speedy decision of the question; as,
if once fairly established as insect Catos, they will probably be allowed to live as long as
they think proper, without being martyred for the sake of an hypothesis.
[Byron assured Dallas that the simile of the scorpion was imagined in his sleep.—
Recollections of the Life of Lord Byron, by R. C. Dallas, p. 264.
the salutation reserved for the faithful:—to a Christian, "Urlarula!" a good journey; or
"saban hiresem, saban serula," good morn, good even; and sometimes, "may your end be
happy!" are the usual salutes.
["After both sets of prayers, Farz and Sunnah, the Moslem looks over his right shoulder,
and says, 'The Peace (of Allah) be upon you and the ruth of Allah,' and repeats the words
over the left shoulder. The salutation is addressed to the Guardian Angels, or to the
bystanders (Moslem), who, however, do not return it."—Arabian Nights, by Richard F.
Burton, 1887: Supplemental Nights, i. 14, note.]
[dk]
Take ye and give ye that salam,
That says of Moslem faith I am.—[MS.]
[dl] Which one of yonder barks may wait.—[MS.]
[81] [In the MS. and the first five editions the broken line (373) consisted of two words
only, "That one."]
[82] The blue-winged butterfly of Kashmeer, the most rare and beautiful of the species.
[The same insects (butterflies of Cachemir) are celebrated in an unpublished poem of
Mesihi.... Sir Anthony Shirley relates that it was customary in Persia "to hawk after
butterflies with sparrows, made to that use."—Note by S. Henley to Vathek, ed. 1893, p.
222. Byron, in his Journal, December 1, 1813, speaks of Lady Charlemont as "that blue-
winged Kashmirian butterfly of book-learning."]
[dm] If caught, to fate alike betrayed.-[MS.]
[dn] {106} The gathering flames around her close.-[MS. erased.]
[83] {107} Alluding to the dubious suicide of the scorpion, so placed for experiment by
gentle philosophers. Some maintain that the position of the sting, when turned towards the
head, is merely a convulsive movement; but others have actually brought in the verdict
"Felo de se." The scorpions are surely interested in a speedy decision of the question; as,
if once fairly established as insect Catos, they will probably be allowed to live as long as
they think proper, without being martyred for the sake of an hypothesis.
[Byron assured Dallas that the simile of the scorpion was imagined in his sleep.—
Recollections of the Life of Lord Byron, by R. C. Dallas, p. 264.
Page 172
"Probably in some instances the poor scorpion has been burnt to death; and the well-
known habit of these creatures to raise the tail over the back and recurve it so that the
extremity touches the fore part of the cephalo-thorax, has led to the idea that it was
stinging itself."—Encycl. Brit., art. "Arachnida," by Rev. O. P. Cambridge, ii. 281.]
[do] So writhes the mind by Conscience riven.—[MS.]
[84] The cannon at sunset close the Rhamazan. [Compare Childe Harold, Canto II. stanza
Iv. line 5, Poetical Works, 1899, ii. 134. note 2.]
[85] {108} Phingari, the moon. φεγγάρι is derived from φεγγάριον, dim. of φέγγος.
[86] The celebrated fabulous ruby of Sultan Giamschid, the embellisher of Istakhar; from
its splendour, named Schebgerag [Schabchirāgh], "the torch of night;" also "the cup of the
sun," etc. In the First Edition, "Giamschid" was written as a word of three syllables; so
D'Herbelot has it; but I am told Richardson reduces it to a dissyllable, and writes
"Jamshid." I have left in the text the orthography of the one with the pronunciation of the
other.
[The MS. and First Edition read, "Bright as the gem of Giamschid." Byron's first intention
was to change the line into "Bright as the ruby of Giamschid;" but to this Moore objected,
"that as the comparison of his heroine's eye to a ruby might unluckily call up the idea of
its being bloodshot, he had better change the line to 'Bright as the jewel,' etc."
For the original of Byron's note, see S. Henley's note, Vathek, 1893, p. 230. See, too,
D'Herbelot's Bibliothèque Orientale, 1781, iii. 27.
Sir Richard Burton (Arabian Nights, S.N., iii. 440) gives the following résumé of the
conflicting legends: "Jám-i-jámshid is a well-known commonplace in Moslem folk-lore;
but commentators cannot agree whether 'Jám' be a mirror or a cup. In the latter sense it
would represent the Cyathomantic cup of the Patriarch Joseph, and the symbolic bowl of
Nestor. Jamshid may be translated either 'Jam the bright,' or 'the Cup of the Sun;' this
ancient king is the Solomon of the grand old Guebres."
Fitzgerald, "in a very composite quatrain (stanza v.) which cannot be claimed as a
translation at all" (see the Rubáiyát of Omar Khayyaām, by Edward Heron Allen, 1898),
embodies a late version of the myth—
"Iram is gone and all his Rose,
And Jamshyd's sev'n-ringed Cup where no one knows."]
[87] {109} Al-Sirat, the bridge of breadth narrower than the thread of a famished spider,
and sharper than the edge of a sword, over which the Mussulmans must skate into
known habit of these creatures to raise the tail over the back and recurve it so that the
extremity touches the fore part of the cephalo-thorax, has led to the idea that it was
stinging itself."—Encycl. Brit., art. "Arachnida," by Rev. O. P. Cambridge, ii. 281.]
[do] So writhes the mind by Conscience riven.—[MS.]
[84] The cannon at sunset close the Rhamazan. [Compare Childe Harold, Canto II. stanza
Iv. line 5, Poetical Works, 1899, ii. 134. note 2.]
[85] {108} Phingari, the moon. φεγγάρι is derived from φεγγάριον, dim. of φέγγος.
[86] The celebrated fabulous ruby of Sultan Giamschid, the embellisher of Istakhar; from
its splendour, named Schebgerag [Schabchirāgh], "the torch of night;" also "the cup of the
sun," etc. In the First Edition, "Giamschid" was written as a word of three syllables; so
D'Herbelot has it; but I am told Richardson reduces it to a dissyllable, and writes
"Jamshid." I have left in the text the orthography of the one with the pronunciation of the
other.
[The MS. and First Edition read, "Bright as the gem of Giamschid." Byron's first intention
was to change the line into "Bright as the ruby of Giamschid;" but to this Moore objected,
"that as the comparison of his heroine's eye to a ruby might unluckily call up the idea of
its being bloodshot, he had better change the line to 'Bright as the jewel,' etc."
For the original of Byron's note, see S. Henley's note, Vathek, 1893, p. 230. See, too,
D'Herbelot's Bibliothèque Orientale, 1781, iii. 27.
Sir Richard Burton (Arabian Nights, S.N., iii. 440) gives the following résumé of the
conflicting legends: "Jám-i-jámshid is a well-known commonplace in Moslem folk-lore;
but commentators cannot agree whether 'Jám' be a mirror or a cup. In the latter sense it
would represent the Cyathomantic cup of the Patriarch Joseph, and the symbolic bowl of
Nestor. Jamshid may be translated either 'Jam the bright,' or 'the Cup of the Sun;' this
ancient king is the Solomon of the grand old Guebres."
Fitzgerald, "in a very composite quatrain (stanza v.) which cannot be claimed as a
translation at all" (see the Rubáiyát of Omar Khayyaām, by Edward Heron Allen, 1898),
embodies a late version of the myth—
"Iram is gone and all his Rose,
And Jamshyd's sev'n-ringed Cup where no one knows."]
[87] {109} Al-Sirat, the bridge of breadth narrower than the thread of a famished spider,
and sharper than the edge of a sword, over which the Mussulmans must skate into
Page 173
Paradise, to which it is the only entrance; but this is not the worst, the river beneath being
hell itself, into which, as may be expected, the unskilful and tender of foot contrive to
tumble with a "facilis descensus Averni," not very pleasing in prospect to the next
passenger. There is a shorter cut downwards for the Jews and Christians.
[Byron is again indebted to Vathek, and S. Henley on Vathek, p. 237, for his information.
The authority for the legend of the Bridge of Paradise is not the Koran, but the Book of
Mawakef, quoted by Edward Pococke, in his Commentary (Notæ Miscellaneæ) on the
Porta Mosis of Moses Maimonides (Oxford, 1654, p. 288)—
"Stretched across the back of Hell, it is narrower than a javelin, sharper than the edge of a
sword. But all must essay the passage, believers as well as infidels, and it baffles the
understanding to imagine in what manner they keep their foothold."
The legend, or rather allegory, to which there would seem to be some allusion in the
words of Scripture, "Strait is the gate," etc., is of Zoroastrian origin. Compare the Zend-
Avesta, Yasna xix. 6 (Sacred Books of the East, edited by F. Max Muller, 1887, xxxi. 261),
"With even threefold (safety and with speed) I will bring his soul over the Bridge of
Kinvat," etc.]
[88] {110} A vulgar error: the Koran allots at least a third of Paradise to well-behaved
women; but by far the greater number of Mussulmans interpret the text their own way,
and exclude their moieties from heaven. Being enemies to Platonics, they cannot discern
"any fitness of things" in the souls of the other sex, conceiving them to be superseded by
the Houris.
[Sale, in his Preliminary Discourse ("Chandos Classics," p. 80), in dealing with this
question, notes "that there are several passages in the Koran which affirm that women, in
the next life, will not only be punished for their evil actions, but will also receive the
rewards of their good deeds, as well as the men, and that in this case God will make no
distinction of sexes." A single quotation will suffice: "God has promised to believers, men
and women, gardens beneath which rivers flow, to dwell therein for aye; and goodly
places in the garden of Eden."—The Qur'ân, translated by E. H. Palmer, 1880, vi. 183.]
[89] An Oriental simile, which may, perhaps, though fairly stolen, be deemed "plus Arabe
qu'en Arabie."
[Gulnár (the heroine of the Corsair is named Gulnare) is Persian for a pomegranate
flower.]
[90] Hyacinthine, in Arabic "Sunbul;" as common a thought in the Eastern poets as it was
among the Greeks.
hell itself, into which, as may be expected, the unskilful and tender of foot contrive to
tumble with a "facilis descensus Averni," not very pleasing in prospect to the next
passenger. There is a shorter cut downwards for the Jews and Christians.
[Byron is again indebted to Vathek, and S. Henley on Vathek, p. 237, for his information.
The authority for the legend of the Bridge of Paradise is not the Koran, but the Book of
Mawakef, quoted by Edward Pococke, in his Commentary (Notæ Miscellaneæ) on the
Porta Mosis of Moses Maimonides (Oxford, 1654, p. 288)—
"Stretched across the back of Hell, it is narrower than a javelin, sharper than the edge of a
sword. But all must essay the passage, believers as well as infidels, and it baffles the
understanding to imagine in what manner they keep their foothold."
The legend, or rather allegory, to which there would seem to be some allusion in the
words of Scripture, "Strait is the gate," etc., is of Zoroastrian origin. Compare the Zend-
Avesta, Yasna xix. 6 (Sacred Books of the East, edited by F. Max Muller, 1887, xxxi. 261),
"With even threefold (safety and with speed) I will bring his soul over the Bridge of
Kinvat," etc.]
[88] {110} A vulgar error: the Koran allots at least a third of Paradise to well-behaved
women; but by far the greater number of Mussulmans interpret the text their own way,
and exclude their moieties from heaven. Being enemies to Platonics, they cannot discern
"any fitness of things" in the souls of the other sex, conceiving them to be superseded by
the Houris.
[Sale, in his Preliminary Discourse ("Chandos Classics," p. 80), in dealing with this
question, notes "that there are several passages in the Koran which affirm that women, in
the next life, will not only be punished for their evil actions, but will also receive the
rewards of their good deeds, as well as the men, and that in this case God will make no
distinction of sexes." A single quotation will suffice: "God has promised to believers, men
and women, gardens beneath which rivers flow, to dwell therein for aye; and goodly
places in the garden of Eden."—The Qur'ân, translated by E. H. Palmer, 1880, vi. 183.]
[89] An Oriental simile, which may, perhaps, though fairly stolen, be deemed "plus Arabe
qu'en Arabie."
[Gulnár (the heroine of the Corsair is named Gulnare) is Persian for a pomegranate
flower.]
[90] Hyacinthine, in Arabic "Sunbul;" as common a thought in the Eastern poets as it was
among the Greeks.
Page 174
[S. Henley (Vathek, 1893, p. 208) quotes two lines from the Solima (lines 5, 6) of Sir W.
Jones—
"The fragrant hyacinths of Azza's hair
That wanton with the laughing summer-air;"
and refers Milton's "Hyacinthine locks" (Paradise Lost, iv. 301) to Lucian's Pro
Imaginibus, cap. v.]
[91] {111} "Franguestan," Circassia. [Or Europe generally—the land of the Frank.]
[92] [Lines 504-518 were inserted in the second revise of the Third Edition, July 31,
1813.]
[93] {113} [Parnassus.]
[94] "In the name of God;" the commencement of all the chapters of the Koran but one
[the ninth], and of prayer and thanksgiving. ["Bismillah" (in full, Bismillahi 'rrahmani
'rrahiem, i.e. "In the name of Allah the God of Mercy, the Merciful") is often used as a
deprecatory formula. Sir R. Burton (Arabian Nights, i. 40) cites as an equivalent the
"remembering Iddio e' Santí," of Boccaccio's Decameron, viii. 9.
The MS. reads, "Thank Alla! now the peril's past."]
[95] [A Turkish messenger, sergeant or lictor. The proper sixteen-seventeenth century
pronunciation would have been chaush, but apparently the nearest approach to this was
chaus, whence chouse and chiaush, and the vulgar form chiaus (N. Eng. Dict., art.
"Chiaus"). The peculations of a certain "chiaus" in the year A.D. 1000 are said to have
been the origin of the word "to chouse."]
[96] {114} A phenomenon not uncommon with an angry Mussulman. In 1809 the Capitan
Pacha's whiskers at a diplomatic audience were no less lively with indignation than a tiger
cat's, to the horror of all the dragomans; the portentous mustachios twisted, they stood
erect of their own accord, and were expected every moment to change their colour, but at
last condescended to subside, which, probably, saved more heads than they contained
hairs.
[97] {115} "Amaun," quarter, pardon.
[Line 603 was inserted in a proof of the Second Edition, dated July 24, 1813: "Nor raised
the coward cry, Amaun!"]
[98] The "evil eye," a common superstition in the Levant, and of which the imaginary
effects are yet very singular on those who conceive themselves affected.
Jones—
"The fragrant hyacinths of Azza's hair
That wanton with the laughing summer-air;"
and refers Milton's "Hyacinthine locks" (Paradise Lost, iv. 301) to Lucian's Pro
Imaginibus, cap. v.]
[91] {111} "Franguestan," Circassia. [Or Europe generally—the land of the Frank.]
[92] [Lines 504-518 were inserted in the second revise of the Third Edition, July 31,
1813.]
[93] {113} [Parnassus.]
[94] "In the name of God;" the commencement of all the chapters of the Koran but one
[the ninth], and of prayer and thanksgiving. ["Bismillah" (in full, Bismillahi 'rrahmani
'rrahiem, i.e. "In the name of Allah the God of Mercy, the Merciful") is often used as a
deprecatory formula. Sir R. Burton (Arabian Nights, i. 40) cites as an equivalent the
"remembering Iddio e' Santí," of Boccaccio's Decameron, viii. 9.
The MS. reads, "Thank Alla! now the peril's past."]
[95] [A Turkish messenger, sergeant or lictor. The proper sixteen-seventeenth century
pronunciation would have been chaush, but apparently the nearest approach to this was
chaus, whence chouse and chiaush, and the vulgar form chiaus (N. Eng. Dict., art.
"Chiaus"). The peculations of a certain "chiaus" in the year A.D. 1000 are said to have
been the origin of the word "to chouse."]
[96] {114} A phenomenon not uncommon with an angry Mussulman. In 1809 the Capitan
Pacha's whiskers at a diplomatic audience were no less lively with indignation than a tiger
cat's, to the horror of all the dragomans; the portentous mustachios twisted, they stood
erect of their own accord, and were expected every moment to change their colour, but at
last condescended to subside, which, probably, saved more heads than they contained
hairs.
[97] {115} "Amaun," quarter, pardon.
[Line 603 was inserted in a proof of the Second Edition, dated July 24, 1813: "Nor raised
the coward cry, Amaun!"]
[98] The "evil eye," a common superstition in the Levant, and of which the imaginary
effects are yet very singular on those who conceive themselves affected.
Page 175
[99] [Compare "As with a thousand waves to the rocks, so Swaran's host came on."—
Fingal, bk. i., Ossian's Works, 1807, i. 19.]
[dp] {116} That neither gives nor asks for life.—[MS.]
[100] {117} The flowered shawls generally worn by persons of rank.
[101] [Compare "Catilina vero longè a suis, inter hostium cadavera repertus est, paululum
etiam spirans ferociamque animi, quam habuerat vivus, in vultu retinens."—Catilina, cap.
61, Opera, 1820, i. 124.]
[dq] {118}
His mother looked from the lattice high,
With throbbing heart and eager eye;
The browsing camel bells are tinkling,
And the last beam of twilight twinkling:
'Tis eve; his train should now be nigh.
She could not rest in her garden bower,
And gazed through the loop of her steepest tower.
"Why comes he not? his steeds are fleet,
And well are they train'd to the summer's heat."—[MS.]
Another copy began—
The browsing camel bells are tinkling,
And the first beam of evening twinkling;
His mother looked from her lattice high,
With throbbing breast and eager eye—
"'Tis twilight—sure his train is nigh."—[MS. Aug. 11, 1813.]
The browsing camel's bells are tinkling
The dews of eve the pasture sprinkling
And rising planets feebly twinkling:
His mother looked from the lattice high
With throbbing heart and eager eye.—[Fourth Edition.]
[These lines were erased, and lines 689-692 were substituted. They appeared first in the
Fifth Edition.]
[102] ["The mother of Sisera looked out at a window, and cried through the lattice, Why is
his chariot so long in coming? why tarry the wheels of his chariot?"—Judges v. 28.]
[dr] {119} And now his courser's pace amends.—[MS. erased.]
Fingal, bk. i., Ossian's Works, 1807, i. 19.]
[dp] {116} That neither gives nor asks for life.—[MS.]
[100] {117} The flowered shawls generally worn by persons of rank.
[101] [Compare "Catilina vero longè a suis, inter hostium cadavera repertus est, paululum
etiam spirans ferociamque animi, quam habuerat vivus, in vultu retinens."—Catilina, cap.
61, Opera, 1820, i. 124.]
[dq] {118}
His mother looked from the lattice high,
With throbbing heart and eager eye;
The browsing camel bells are tinkling,
And the last beam of twilight twinkling:
'Tis eve; his train should now be nigh.
She could not rest in her garden bower,
And gazed through the loop of her steepest tower.
"Why comes he not? his steeds are fleet,
And well are they train'd to the summer's heat."—[MS.]
Another copy began—
The browsing camel bells are tinkling,
And the first beam of evening twinkling;
His mother looked from her lattice high,
With throbbing breast and eager eye—
"'Tis twilight—sure his train is nigh."—[MS. Aug. 11, 1813.]
The browsing camel's bells are tinkling
The dews of eve the pasture sprinkling
And rising planets feebly twinkling:
His mother looked from the lattice high
With throbbing heart and eager eye.—[Fourth Edition.]
[These lines were erased, and lines 689-692 were substituted. They appeared first in the
Fifth Edition.]
[102] ["The mother of Sisera looked out at a window, and cried through the lattice, Why is
his chariot so long in coming? why tarry the wheels of his chariot?"—Judges v. 28.]
[dr] {119} And now his courser's pace amends.—[MS. erased.]
Page 176
[ds] I could not deem my son was slow.—[MS. erased.]
[dt]
The Tartar sped beneath the gate
And flung to earth his fainting weight.—[MS.]
[103] The calpac is the solid cap or centre part of the head-dress; the shawl is wound
round it, and forms the turban.
[104] The turban, pillar, and inscriptive verse, decorate the tombs of the Osmanlies,
whether in the cemetery or the wilderness. In the mountains you frequently pass similar
mementos; and on inquiry you are informed that they record some victim of rebellion,
plunder, or revenge.
[The following is a "Koran verse:" "Every one that is upon it (the earth) perisheth; but the
person of thy Lord abideth, the possessor of glory and honour" (Sur. lv. 26, 27). (See
"Kufic Tombstones in the British Museum," by Professor Wright, Proceedings of the
Biblical Archæological Society, 1887, ix. 337, sq.)]
[105] {120} "Alla Hu!" the concluding words of the Muezzin's call to prayer from the
highest gallery on the exterior of the Minaret. On a still evening, when the Muezzin has a
fine voice, which is frequently the case, the effect is solemn and beautiful beyond all the
bells in Christendom. [Valid, the son of Abdalmalek, was the first who erected a minaret
or turret; and this he placed on the grand mosque at Damascus, for the muezzin or crier to
announce from it the hour of prayer. (See D'Herbelot, Bibliothèque Orientale, 1783, vi.
473, art. "Valid." See, too, Childe Harold, Canto II. stanza lix. line 9, Poetical Works,
1899, ii. 136, note 1.)]
[106] The following is part of a battle-song of the Turks:—"I see—I see a dark-eyed girl
of Paradise, and she waves a handkerchief, a kerchief of green; and cries aloud, 'Come,
kiss me, for I love thee,'" etc.
[107] {121} Monkir and Nekir are the inquisitors of the dead, before whom the corpse
undergoes a slight noviciate and preparatory training for damnation. If the answers are
none of the clearest, he is hauled up with a scythe and thumped down with a red-hot mace
till properly seasoned, with a variety of subsidiary probations. The office of these angels
is no sinecure; there are but two, and the number of orthodox deceased being in a small
proportion to the remainder, their hands are always full.—See Relig. Ceremon., v. 290;
vii. 59,68, 118, and Sale's Preliminary Discourse to the Koran, p. 101.
[dt]
The Tartar sped beneath the gate
And flung to earth his fainting weight.—[MS.]
[103] The calpac is the solid cap or centre part of the head-dress; the shawl is wound
round it, and forms the turban.
[104] The turban, pillar, and inscriptive verse, decorate the tombs of the Osmanlies,
whether in the cemetery or the wilderness. In the mountains you frequently pass similar
mementos; and on inquiry you are informed that they record some victim of rebellion,
plunder, or revenge.
[The following is a "Koran verse:" "Every one that is upon it (the earth) perisheth; but the
person of thy Lord abideth, the possessor of glory and honour" (Sur. lv. 26, 27). (See
"Kufic Tombstones in the British Museum," by Professor Wright, Proceedings of the
Biblical Archæological Society, 1887, ix. 337, sq.)]
[105] {120} "Alla Hu!" the concluding words of the Muezzin's call to prayer from the
highest gallery on the exterior of the Minaret. On a still evening, when the Muezzin has a
fine voice, which is frequently the case, the effect is solemn and beautiful beyond all the
bells in Christendom. [Valid, the son of Abdalmalek, was the first who erected a minaret
or turret; and this he placed on the grand mosque at Damascus, for the muezzin or crier to
announce from it the hour of prayer. (See D'Herbelot, Bibliothèque Orientale, 1783, vi.
473, art. "Valid." See, too, Childe Harold, Canto II. stanza lix. line 9, Poetical Works,
1899, ii. 136, note 1.)]
[106] The following is part of a battle-song of the Turks:—"I see—I see a dark-eyed girl
of Paradise, and she waves a handkerchief, a kerchief of green; and cries aloud, 'Come,
kiss me, for I love thee,'" etc.
[107] {121} Monkir and Nekir are the inquisitors of the dead, before whom the corpse
undergoes a slight noviciate and preparatory training for damnation. If the answers are
none of the clearest, he is hauled up with a scythe and thumped down with a red-hot mace
till properly seasoned, with a variety of subsidiary probations. The office of these angels
is no sinecure; there are but two, and the number of orthodox deceased being in a small
proportion to the remainder, their hands are always full.—See Relig. Ceremon., v. 290;
vii. 59,68, 118, and Sale's Preliminary Discourse to the Koran, p. 101.
Page 177
[Byron is again indebted to S. Henley (see Vathek, 1893, p. 236). According to Pococke
(Porta Mosis, 1654, Notæ Miscellaneæ, p. 241), the angels Moncar and Nacir are black,
ghastly, and of fearsome aspect. Their function is to hold inquisition on the corpse. If his
replies are orthodox (de Mohammede), he is bidden to sleep sweetly and soundly in his
tomb, but if his views are lax and unsound, he is cudgelled between the ears with iron
rods. Loud are his groans, and audible to the whole wide world, save to those deaf
animals, men and genii. Finally, the earth is enjoined to press him tight and keep him
close till the crack of doom.]
[108] Eblis, the Oriental Prince of Darkness.
[109] The Vampire superstition is still general in the Levant. Honest Tournefort [Relation
d'un Voyage du Levant, par Joseph Pitton de Tournefort, 1717, i. 131] tells a long story,
which Mr. Southey, in the notes on Thalaba [book viii., notes, ed. 1838, iv. 297-300],
quotes about these "Vroucolochas" ["Vroucolocasses"], as he calls them. The Romaic
term is "Vardoulacha." I recollect a whole family being terrified by the scream of a child,
which they imagined must proceed from such a visitation. The Greeks never mention the
word without horror. I find that "Broucolokas" is an old legitimate Hellenic appellation—
at least is so applied to Arsenius, who, according to the Greeks, was after his death
animated by the Devil. The moderns, however, use the word I mention.
Βουρκόλακας or Βρυκόλακας (= the Bohemian and Slovak Vrholak) is modern Greek for
a ghost or vampire. George Bentotes, in his Λεξικον Τρίγλωσσον, published in Vienna in
1790 (see Childe Harold, Canto II. Notes, Papers, etc., No. III., Poetical Works, 1899, ii.
197), renders Βρουκόλακας "lutin," and Βρουκολιασμένος, "devenu un spectre."
Arsenius, Archbishop of Monembasia (circ. 1530), was famous for his scholarship. He
prefaced his Scholia in Septem Euripidis Tragædias (Basileæ, 1544) by a dedicatory
epistle in Greek to his friend Pope Paul III. "He submitted to the Church of Rome, which
made him so odious to the Greek schismatics that the Patriarch of Constantinople
excommunicated him; and the Greeks reported that Arsenius, after his death, was
Broukolakas, that is, that the Devil hovered about his corps and re-animated him" (Bayle,
Dictionary, 1724, i. 508, art. "Arsenius"). Martinus Crusius, in his Turco-Græcia, lib. ii.
(Basileæ, 1584, p. 151) records the death of Arsenius while under sentence of
excommunication, and adds that "his miserable corpse turned black, and swelled to the
size of a drum, so that all who beheld it were horror-stricken, and trembled exceedingly."
Hence, no doubt, the legend which Bayle takes verbatim from Guillet, "Les Grecs disent
qu' Arsenius, apres la mort fust Broukolakas," etc. (Lacédémone, Ancienne et Nouvelle,
par Le Sieur de la Guilletiére, 1676, ii. 586. See, too, for "Arsenius," Fabricii Script. Gr.
Var., 1808, xi. 581, and Gesneri Bibliotheca Univ., ed. 1545, fol. 96.) Byron, no doubt, got
(Porta Mosis, 1654, Notæ Miscellaneæ, p. 241), the angels Moncar and Nacir are black,
ghastly, and of fearsome aspect. Their function is to hold inquisition on the corpse. If his
replies are orthodox (de Mohammede), he is bidden to sleep sweetly and soundly in his
tomb, but if his views are lax and unsound, he is cudgelled between the ears with iron
rods. Loud are his groans, and audible to the whole wide world, save to those deaf
animals, men and genii. Finally, the earth is enjoined to press him tight and keep him
close till the crack of doom.]
[108] Eblis, the Oriental Prince of Darkness.
[109] The Vampire superstition is still general in the Levant. Honest Tournefort [Relation
d'un Voyage du Levant, par Joseph Pitton de Tournefort, 1717, i. 131] tells a long story,
which Mr. Southey, in the notes on Thalaba [book viii., notes, ed. 1838, iv. 297-300],
quotes about these "Vroucolochas" ["Vroucolocasses"], as he calls them. The Romaic
term is "Vardoulacha." I recollect a whole family being terrified by the scream of a child,
which they imagined must proceed from such a visitation. The Greeks never mention the
word without horror. I find that "Broucolokas" is an old legitimate Hellenic appellation—
at least is so applied to Arsenius, who, according to the Greeks, was after his death
animated by the Devil. The moderns, however, use the word I mention.
Βουρκόλακας or Βρυκόλακας (= the Bohemian and Slovak Vrholak) is modern Greek for
a ghost or vampire. George Bentotes, in his Λεξικον Τρίγλωσσον, published in Vienna in
1790 (see Childe Harold, Canto II. Notes, Papers, etc., No. III., Poetical Works, 1899, ii.
197), renders Βρουκόλακας "lutin," and Βρουκολιασμένος, "devenu un spectre."
Arsenius, Archbishop of Monembasia (circ. 1530), was famous for his scholarship. He
prefaced his Scholia in Septem Euripidis Tragædias (Basileæ, 1544) by a dedicatory
epistle in Greek to his friend Pope Paul III. "He submitted to the Church of Rome, which
made him so odious to the Greek schismatics that the Patriarch of Constantinople
excommunicated him; and the Greeks reported that Arsenius, after his death, was
Broukolakas, that is, that the Devil hovered about his corps and re-animated him" (Bayle,
Dictionary, 1724, i. 508, art. "Arsenius"). Martinus Crusius, in his Turco-Græcia, lib. ii.
(Basileæ, 1584, p. 151) records the death of Arsenius while under sentence of
excommunication, and adds that "his miserable corpse turned black, and swelled to the
size of a drum, so that all who beheld it were horror-stricken, and trembled exceedingly."
Hence, no doubt, the legend which Bayle takes verbatim from Guillet, "Les Grecs disent
qu' Arsenius, apres la mort fust Broukolakas," etc. (Lacédémone, Ancienne et Nouvelle,
par Le Sieur de la Guilletiére, 1676, ii. 586. See, too, for "Arsenius," Fabricii Script. Gr.
Var., 1808, xi. 581, and Gesneri Bibliotheca Univ., ed. 1545, fol. 96.) Byron, no doubt, got
Page 178
his information from Bayle. By "old legitimate Hellenic" he must mean literary as
opposed to klephtic Greek.]
[110] {123} The freshness of the face [? "The paleness of the face," MS.] and the wetness
of the lip with blood, are the never-failing signs of a Vampire. The stories told in Hungary
and Greece of these foul feeders are singular, and some of them most incredibly attested.
[Vampires were the reanimated corpses of persons newly buried, which were supposed to
suck the blood and suck out the life of their selected victims. The marks by which a
vampire corpse was recognized were the apparent non-putrefaction of the body and
effusion of blood from the lips. A suspected vampire was exhumed, and if the marks were
perceived or imagined to be present, a stake was driven through the heart, and the body
was burned. This, if Southey's authorities (J. B. Boyer, Marquis d'Argens, in Lettres
Juives) may be believed, "laid" the vampire, and the community might sleep in peace.
(See, too, Dissertations sur les Apparitions, par Augustine Calmet, 1746, p. 395, sq., and
Russian Folk-Tales, by W. R. S. Ralston, 1873, pp. 318-324.)]
[111] [For "Caloyer," see Childe Harold, Canto II. stanza xlix. line 6, and note 21,
Poetical Works, 1899, ii. 130, 181. It is a hard matter to piece together the "fragments"
which make up the rest of the poem. Apparently the question, "How name ye?" is put by
the fisherman, the narrator of the first part of the Fragment, and answered by a monk of
the fraternity, with whom the Giaour has been pleased to "abide" during the past six years,
under conditions and after a fashion of which the monk disapproves. Hereupon the
fisherman disappears, and a kind of dialogue between the author and the protesting monk
ensues. The poem concludes with the Giaour's confession, which is addressed to the
monk, or perhaps to the interested and more tolerant Prior of the community.]
[du] {124} As Time were wasted on his brow.—[MS.]
[dv] {125} Of foreign maiden lost at sea.—[MS.]
[dw] {127}
Behold—as turns he from the—wall
His cowl fly back, his dark hair fall.—[ms]
[A variant of the copy sent for insertion in the Seventh Edition differs alike from the MS.
and the text—]
Behold as turns him from the wall—
His Cowl flies back—his tresses fall—
That pallid aspect wreathing round.
opposed to klephtic Greek.]
[110] {123} The freshness of the face [? "The paleness of the face," MS.] and the wetness
of the lip with blood, are the never-failing signs of a Vampire. The stories told in Hungary
and Greece of these foul feeders are singular, and some of them most incredibly attested.
[Vampires were the reanimated corpses of persons newly buried, which were supposed to
suck the blood and suck out the life of their selected victims. The marks by which a
vampire corpse was recognized were the apparent non-putrefaction of the body and
effusion of blood from the lips. A suspected vampire was exhumed, and if the marks were
perceived or imagined to be present, a stake was driven through the heart, and the body
was burned. This, if Southey's authorities (J. B. Boyer, Marquis d'Argens, in Lettres
Juives) may be believed, "laid" the vampire, and the community might sleep in peace.
(See, too, Dissertations sur les Apparitions, par Augustine Calmet, 1746, p. 395, sq., and
Russian Folk-Tales, by W. R. S. Ralston, 1873, pp. 318-324.)]
[111] [For "Caloyer," see Childe Harold, Canto II. stanza xlix. line 6, and note 21,
Poetical Works, 1899, ii. 130, 181. It is a hard matter to piece together the "fragments"
which make up the rest of the poem. Apparently the question, "How name ye?" is put by
the fisherman, the narrator of the first part of the Fragment, and answered by a monk of
the fraternity, with whom the Giaour has been pleased to "abide" during the past six years,
under conditions and after a fashion of which the monk disapproves. Hereupon the
fisherman disappears, and a kind of dialogue between the author and the protesting monk
ensues. The poem concludes with the Giaour's confession, which is addressed to the
monk, or perhaps to the interested and more tolerant Prior of the community.]
[du] {124} As Time were wasted on his brow.—[MS.]
[dv] {125} Of foreign maiden lost at sea.—[MS.]
[dw] {127}
Behold—as turns he from the—wall
His cowl fly back, his dark hair fall.—[ms]
[A variant of the copy sent for insertion in the Seventh Edition differs alike from the MS.
and the text—]
Behold as turns him from the wall—
His Cowl flies back—his tresses fall—
That pallid aspect wreathing round.
Page 179
[dx] Lo! mark him as the harmony.—[MS.]
[dy] Thank heaven—he stands without the shrine.—[MS. erased.]
[dz] {128}
Must burn before it smite or shine.—[MS.]
Appears unfit to smite or shine.—[MS. erased]
[112] [In defence of lines 922-927, which had been attacked by a critic in the British
Review, October, 1813, vol. v. p. 139, who compared them with some lines in Crabbe's
Resentment (lines 11—16, Tales, 1812, p. 309), Byron wrote to Murray, October 12, 1813,
"I have ... read the British Review. I really think the writer in most points very right. The
only mortifying thing is the accusation of imitation. Crabbe's passage I never saw; and
Scott I no further meant to follow than in his lyric measure, which is Gray's, Milton's, and
any one's who like it." The lines, which Moore quotes (Life, p. 191), have only a formal
and accidental resemblance to the passage in question.]
[113] {129} [Compare—
"To surfeit on the same [our pleasures]
And yawn our joys. Or thank a misery
For change, though sad?"
Night Thoughts, iii., by Edward Young; Anderson's British Poets, x. 72. Compare, too,
Childe Harold, Canto I. stanza vi, line 8—"With pleasure drugged, he almost longed for
woe."]
[114] [Byron was wont to let his imagination dwell on these details of the charnel-house.
In a letter to Dallas, August 12, 1811, he writes, "I am already too familiar with the dead.
It is strange that I look on the skulls which stand beside me (I have always had four in my
study) without emotion, but I cannot strip the features of those I have known of their
fleshy covering, even in idea, without a hideous sensation; but the worms are less
ceremonious." See, too, his "Lines inscribed upon a Cup formed from a Skull," Poetical
Works, 1898, i. 276.]
[115] {130} The pelican is, I believe, the bird so libelled, by the imputation of feeding her
chickens with her blood. [It has been suggested that the curious bloody secretion ejected
from the mouth of the flamingo may have given rise to the belief, through that bird having
been mistaken for the "pelican of the wilderness."—Encycl. Brit., art. "Pelican" (by
Professor A. Newton), xviii. 474.]
[ea] Than feeling we must feel no more.—[MS.]
[dy] Thank heaven—he stands without the shrine.—[MS. erased.]
[dz] {128}
Must burn before it smite or shine.—[MS.]
Appears unfit to smite or shine.—[MS. erased]
[112] [In defence of lines 922-927, which had been attacked by a critic in the British
Review, October, 1813, vol. v. p. 139, who compared them with some lines in Crabbe's
Resentment (lines 11—16, Tales, 1812, p. 309), Byron wrote to Murray, October 12, 1813,
"I have ... read the British Review. I really think the writer in most points very right. The
only mortifying thing is the accusation of imitation. Crabbe's passage I never saw; and
Scott I no further meant to follow than in his lyric measure, which is Gray's, Milton's, and
any one's who like it." The lines, which Moore quotes (Life, p. 191), have only a formal
and accidental resemblance to the passage in question.]
[113] {129} [Compare—
"To surfeit on the same [our pleasures]
And yawn our joys. Or thank a misery
For change, though sad?"
Night Thoughts, iii., by Edward Young; Anderson's British Poets, x. 72. Compare, too,
Childe Harold, Canto I. stanza vi, line 8—"With pleasure drugged, he almost longed for
woe."]
[114] [Byron was wont to let his imagination dwell on these details of the charnel-house.
In a letter to Dallas, August 12, 1811, he writes, "I am already too familiar with the dead.
It is strange that I look on the skulls which stand beside me (I have always had four in my
study) without emotion, but I cannot strip the features of those I have known of their
fleshy covering, even in idea, without a hideous sensation; but the worms are less
ceremonious." See, too, his "Lines inscribed upon a Cup formed from a Skull," Poetical
Works, 1898, i. 276.]
[115] {130} The pelican is, I believe, the bird so libelled, by the imputation of feeding her
chickens with her blood. [It has been suggested that the curious bloody secretion ejected
from the mouth of the flamingo may have given rise to the belief, through that bird having
been mistaken for the "pelican of the wilderness."—Encycl. Brit., art. "Pelican" (by
Professor A. Newton), xviii. 474.]
[ea] Than feeling we must feel no more.—[MS.]
Page 180
[116] {131} [Compare—
"I'd rather be a toad,
And live upon the vapours of a dungeon."
Othello, act iii. sc. 3, lines 274, 275.]
[eb] Though hope hath long withdrawn her beam.—[MS.] [This line was omitted in the
Third and following Editions.]
[ec] {132}
Through ranks of steel and tracks of fire,
And all she threatens in her ire;
And these are but the words of one
Who thus would do—who thus hath done.—[MS. erased.]
[ed] {134} My hope a tomb, our foe a grave.—[MS.]
[117] This superstition of a second-hearing (for I never met with downright second-sight
in the East) fell once under my own observation. On my third journey to Cape Colonna,
early in 1811, as we passed through the defile that leads from the hamlet between Keratia
and Colonna, I observed Dervish Tahiri riding rather out of the path and leaning his head
upon his hand, as if in pain. I rode up and inquired. "We are in peril," he answered. "What
peril? We are not now in Albania, nor in the passes to Ephesus, Messalunghi, or Lepanto;
there are plenty of us, well armed, and the Choriates have not courage to be
thieves."—"True, Affendi, but nevertheless the shot is ringing in my ears."—"The shot.
Not a tophaike has been fired this morning."—"I hear it notwithstanding—Bom—Bom—
as plainly as I hear your voice."—"Psha!"—"As you please, Affendi; if it is written, so
will it be."—I left this quick-eared predestinarian, and rode up to Basili, his Christian
compatriot, whose ears, though not at all prophetic, by no means relished the intelligence.
We all arrived at Colonna, remained some hours, and returned leisurely, saying a variety
of brilliant things, in more languages than spoiled the building of Babel, upon the
mistaken seer. Romaic, Arnaout, Turkish, Italian, and English were all exercised, in
various conceits, upon the unfortunate Mussulman. While we were contemplating the
beautiful prospect, Dervish was occupied about the columns. I thought he was deranged
into an antiquarian, and asked him if he had become a "Palaocastro" man? "No," said he;
"but these pillars will be useful in making a stand;" and added other remarks, which at
least evinced his own belief in his troublesome faculty of forehearing. On our return to
Athens we heard from Leoné (a prisoner set ashore some days after) of the intended attack
of the Mainotes, mentioned, with the cause of its not taking place, in the notes to Childe
Harold, Canto 2nd [Poetical Works, 1899, ii. 169]. I was at some pains to question the
"I'd rather be a toad,
And live upon the vapours of a dungeon."
Othello, act iii. sc. 3, lines 274, 275.]
[eb] Though hope hath long withdrawn her beam.—[MS.] [This line was omitted in the
Third and following Editions.]
[ec] {132}
Through ranks of steel and tracks of fire,
And all she threatens in her ire;
And these are but the words of one
Who thus would do—who thus hath done.—[MS. erased.]
[ed] {134} My hope a tomb, our foe a grave.—[MS.]
[117] This superstition of a second-hearing (for I never met with downright second-sight
in the East) fell once under my own observation. On my third journey to Cape Colonna,
early in 1811, as we passed through the defile that leads from the hamlet between Keratia
and Colonna, I observed Dervish Tahiri riding rather out of the path and leaning his head
upon his hand, as if in pain. I rode up and inquired. "We are in peril," he answered. "What
peril? We are not now in Albania, nor in the passes to Ephesus, Messalunghi, or Lepanto;
there are plenty of us, well armed, and the Choriates have not courage to be
thieves."—"True, Affendi, but nevertheless the shot is ringing in my ears."—"The shot.
Not a tophaike has been fired this morning."—"I hear it notwithstanding—Bom—Bom—
as plainly as I hear your voice."—"Psha!"—"As you please, Affendi; if it is written, so
will it be."—I left this quick-eared predestinarian, and rode up to Basili, his Christian
compatriot, whose ears, though not at all prophetic, by no means relished the intelligence.
We all arrived at Colonna, remained some hours, and returned leisurely, saying a variety
of brilliant things, in more languages than spoiled the building of Babel, upon the
mistaken seer. Romaic, Arnaout, Turkish, Italian, and English were all exercised, in
various conceits, upon the unfortunate Mussulman. While we were contemplating the
beautiful prospect, Dervish was occupied about the columns. I thought he was deranged
into an antiquarian, and asked him if he had become a "Palaocastro" man? "No," said he;
"but these pillars will be useful in making a stand;" and added other remarks, which at
least evinced his own belief in his troublesome faculty of forehearing. On our return to
Athens we heard from Leoné (a prisoner set ashore some days after) of the intended attack
of the Mainotes, mentioned, with the cause of its not taking place, in the notes to Childe
Harold, Canto 2nd [Poetical Works, 1899, ii. 169]. I was at some pains to question the
Page 181
man, and he described the dresses, arms, and marks of the horses of our party so
accurately, that, with other circumstances, we could not doubt of his having been in
"villanous company" [I Henry IV., act iii. sc. 3, line 11] and ourselves in a bad
neighbourhood. Dervish became a soothsayer for life, and I dare say is now hearing more
musketry than ever will be fired, to the great refreshment of the Arnaouts of Berat, and his
native mountains.—I shall mention one trait more of this singular race. In March, 1811, a
remarkably stout and active Arnaout came (I believe the fiftieth on the same errand) to
offer himself as an attendant, which was declined. "Well, Affendi," quoth he, "may you
live!—you would have found me useful. I shall leave the town for the hills to-morrow; in
the winter I return, perhaps you will then receive me."—Dervish, who was present,
remarked as a thing of course, and of no consequence, "in the mean time he will join the
Klephtes" (robbers), which was true to the letter. If not cut off, they come down in the
winter, and pass it unmolested in some town, where they are often as well known as their
exploits.
[118] {135} [Vide ante, p. 90, line 89, note 2, "In death from a stab the countenance
preserves its traits of feeling or ferocity."]
[ee]
Her power to soothe—her skill to save—
And doubly darken o'er the grave,—[MS.]
[ef] {136}
Of Ladye-love—and dart—and chain—
And fire that raged in every vein.—[MS.]
[eg]
Even now alone, yet undismayed,—
I know no friend, and ask no aid.—[MS.]
[119] [Lines 1127-1130 were inserted in the Seventh Edition. They recall the first line of
Plato's epitaph, Ἀστὴρ πριν μὲν ἔλαμπες ἐνι ζωοῖσιν ἑῷος, which Byron prefixed to his
"Epitaph on a Beloved Friend" (Poetical Works, 1898, i. 18), and which, long afterwards,
Shelley chose as the motto to his Adonais.]
[eh] {137}
doth spring
Yes
If } Love indeed { descend
be born
} from heaven:
accurately, that, with other circumstances, we could not doubt of his having been in
"villanous company" [I Henry IV., act iii. sc. 3, line 11] and ourselves in a bad
neighbourhood. Dervish became a soothsayer for life, and I dare say is now hearing more
musketry than ever will be fired, to the great refreshment of the Arnaouts of Berat, and his
native mountains.—I shall mention one trait more of this singular race. In March, 1811, a
remarkably stout and active Arnaout came (I believe the fiftieth on the same errand) to
offer himself as an attendant, which was declined. "Well, Affendi," quoth he, "may you
live!—you would have found me useful. I shall leave the town for the hills to-morrow; in
the winter I return, perhaps you will then receive me."—Dervish, who was present,
remarked as a thing of course, and of no consequence, "in the mean time he will join the
Klephtes" (robbers), which was true to the letter. If not cut off, they come down in the
winter, and pass it unmolested in some town, where they are often as well known as their
exploits.
[118] {135} [Vide ante, p. 90, line 89, note 2, "In death from a stab the countenance
preserves its traits of feeling or ferocity."]
[ee]
Her power to soothe—her skill to save—
And doubly darken o'er the grave,—[MS.]
[ef] {136}
Of Ladye-love—and dart—and chain—
And fire that raged in every vein.—[MS.]
[eg]
Even now alone, yet undismayed,—
I know no friend, and ask no aid.—[MS.]
[119] [Lines 1127-1130 were inserted in the Seventh Edition. They recall the first line of
Plato's epitaph, Ἀστὴρ πριν μὲν ἔλαμπες ἐνι ζωοῖσιν ἑῷος, which Byron prefixed to his
"Epitaph on a Beloved Friend" (Poetical Works, 1898, i. 18), and which, long afterwards,
Shelley chose as the motto to his Adonais.]
[eh] {137}
doth spring
Yes
If } Love indeed { descend
be born
} from heaven:
Page 182
immortal
A spark of that { eternal
celestial
} fire
To human hearts in mercy given,
To lift from earth our low desire,
A feeling from the Godhead caught,
To wean from self { each
our }
sordid thought:
Devotion sends the soul above,
But Heaven itself descends to love,
Yet marvel not, if they who love
This present joy, this future hope
Which taught them with all ill to cope,
No more with anguish bravely cope.—[MS.]
[120] [The hundred and twenty-six lines which follow, down to "Tell me no more of
Fancy's gleam," first appeared in the Fifth Edition. In returning the proof to Murray,
Byron writes, August 26, 1813, "The last lines Hodgson likes—it is not often he does—
and when he don't, he tells me with great energy, and I fret and alter. I have thrown them
in to soften the ferocity of our Infidel, and, for a dying man, have given him a good deal
to say for himself."—Letters, 1898, ii. 252.]
[ei] {138}
That quenched, I wandered far in night,
or, 'Tis quenched, and I am lost in night.—[MS.]
[ej] Must plunge into a dark abyss.—[MS.]
[ek] {139}
And let the light, inconstant fool
That sneers his coxcomb ridicule.—[MS.]
[el] Less than the soft and shallow maid.—[MS. erased.]
[em] The joy—the madness of my heart.—[MS.]
[en]
To me alike all time and place—
Scarce could I gaze on Nature's face
For every hue——.—[MS.]
or, All, all was changed on Nature's face
A spark of that { eternal
celestial
} fire
To human hearts in mercy given,
To lift from earth our low desire,
A feeling from the Godhead caught,
To wean from self { each
our }
sordid thought:
Devotion sends the soul above,
But Heaven itself descends to love,
Yet marvel not, if they who love
This present joy, this future hope
Which taught them with all ill to cope,
No more with anguish bravely cope.—[MS.]
[120] [The hundred and twenty-six lines which follow, down to "Tell me no more of
Fancy's gleam," first appeared in the Fifth Edition. In returning the proof to Murray,
Byron writes, August 26, 1813, "The last lines Hodgson likes—it is not often he does—
and when he don't, he tells me with great energy, and I fret and alter. I have thrown them
in to soften the ferocity of our Infidel, and, for a dying man, have given him a good deal
to say for himself."—Letters, 1898, ii. 252.]
[ei] {138}
That quenched, I wandered far in night,
or, 'Tis quenched, and I am lost in night.—[MS.]
[ej] Must plunge into a dark abyss.—[MS.]
[ek] {139}
And let the light, inconstant fool
That sneers his coxcomb ridicule.—[MS.]
[el] Less than the soft and shallow maid.—[MS. erased.]
[em] The joy—the madness of my heart.—[MS.]
[en]
To me alike all time and place—
Scarce could I gaze on Nature's face
For every hue——.—[MS.]
or, All, all was changed on Nature's face
Page 183
To me alike all time and place.—[MS. erased.]
[eo] {140}
——but this grief
In truth is not for thy relief.
My state thy thought can never guess.—[MS.]
[121] The monk's sermon is omitted. It seems to have had so little effect upon the patient,
that it could have no hopes from the reader. It may be sufficient to say that it was of a
customary length (as may be perceived from the interruptions and uneasiness of the
patient), and was delivered in the usual tone of all orthodox preachers.
[ep] Where thou, it seems, canst offer grace.—[MS. erased.]
[eq] Where rise my native city's towers.—[MS.]
[er] I had, and though but one—a friend!—[MS.]
[es] {141}
I have no heart to love him now
And 'tis but to declare my end.—[ms]
[et]
But now Remembrance murmurs o'er
Of all our early youth had been—
In pain, I now had turned aside
To bless his memory ere I died,
But Heaven would mark the vain essay,
If Guilt should for the guiltless fray—
I do not ask him not to blame—
Too gentle he to wound my name—
I do not ask him not to mourn,
For such request might sound like scorn—
And what like Friendship's manly tear
So well can grace a brother's bier?
But bear this ring he gave of old,
And tell him—what thou didst behold—
The withered frame—the ruined mind,
The wreck that Passion leaves behind—
The shrivelled and discoloured leaf
Seared by the Autumn blast of Grief.—[MS., First Copy.]
[eo] {140}
——but this grief
In truth is not for thy relief.
My state thy thought can never guess.—[MS.]
[121] The monk's sermon is omitted. It seems to have had so little effect upon the patient,
that it could have no hopes from the reader. It may be sufficient to say that it was of a
customary length (as may be perceived from the interruptions and uneasiness of the
patient), and was delivered in the usual tone of all orthodox preachers.
[ep] Where thou, it seems, canst offer grace.—[MS. erased.]
[eq] Where rise my native city's towers.—[MS.]
[er] I had, and though but one—a friend!—[MS.]
[es] {141}
I have no heart to love him now
And 'tis but to declare my end.—[ms]
[et]
But now Remembrance murmurs o'er
Of all our early youth had been—
In pain, I now had turned aside
To bless his memory ere I died,
But Heaven would mark the vain essay,
If Guilt should for the guiltless fray—
I do not ask him not to blame—
Too gentle he to wound my name—
I do not ask him not to mourn,
For such request might sound like scorn—
And what like Friendship's manly tear
So well can grace a brother's bier?
But bear this ring he gave of old,
And tell him—what thou didst behold—
The withered frame—the ruined mind,
The wreck that Passion leaves behind—
The shrivelled and discoloured leaf
Seared by the Autumn blast of Grief.—[MS., First Copy.]
Page 184
[eu] {142} Nay—kneel not, father, rise—despair.—[MS.]
[122] {143} "Symar," a shroud. [Cymar, or simar, is a long loose robe worn by women. It
is, perhaps, the same word as the Spanish camarra (Arabic camârra), a sheep-skin cloak.
It is equivalent to "shroud" only in the primary sense of a "covering."]
[ev] Which now I view with trembling spark.—[MS.]
[ew] {144} Then lay me with the nameless dead.—[MS.]
[123] The circumstance to which the above story relates was not very uncommon in
Turkey. A few years ago the wife of Muchtar Pacha complained to his father of his son's
supposed infidelity; he asked with whom, and she had the barbarity to give in a list of the
twelve handsomest women in Yanina. They were seized, fastened up in sacks, and
drowned in the lake the same night! One of the guards who was present informed me that
not one of the victims uttered a cry, or showed a symptom of terror at so sudden a
"wrench from all we know, from all we love." The fate of Phrosine, the fairest of this
sacrifice, is the subject of many a Romaic and Arnaout ditty. The story in the text is one
told of a young Venetian many years ago, and now nearly forgotten. I heard it by accident
recited by one of the coffee-house story-tellers who abound in the Levant, and sing or
recite their narratives. The additions and interpolations by the translator will be easily
distinguished from the rest, by the want of Eastern imagery; and I regret that my memory
has retained so few fragments of the original. For the contents of some of the notes I am
indebted partly to D'Herbelot, and partly to that most Eastern, and, as Mr. Weber justly
entitles it, "sublime tale," the "Caliph Vathek." I do not know from what source the author
of that singular volume may have drawn his materials; some of his incidents are to be
found in the Bibliothèque Orientale; but for correctness of costume, beauty of description,
and power of imagination, it far surpasses all European imitations, and bears such marks
of originality that those who have visited the East will find some difficulty in believing it
to be more than a translation. As an Eastern tale, even Rasselas must bow before it; his
"Happy Valley" will not bear a comparison with the "Hall of Eblis." [See Childe Harold,
Canto II. stanza xxii. line 6, Poetical Works, 1899, ii. 37, note 1.
"Mansour Effendi tells the story (vide supra, line 6) thus: Frosini was niece of the
Archbishop of Joannina. Mouctar Pasha ordered her to come to his harem, and her father
advised her to go; she did so. Mouctar, among other presents, gave her a ring of great
value, which she wished to sell, and gave it for that purpose to a merchant, who offered it
to the wife of Mouctar. That lady recognized the jewel as her own, and, discovering the
intrigue, complained to Ali Pasha, who, the next night, seized her himself in his own
house, and ordered her to be drowned. Mansour Effendi says he had the story from the
[122] {143} "Symar," a shroud. [Cymar, or simar, is a long loose robe worn by women. It
is, perhaps, the same word as the Spanish camarra (Arabic camârra), a sheep-skin cloak.
It is equivalent to "shroud" only in the primary sense of a "covering."]
[ev] Which now I view with trembling spark.—[MS.]
[ew] {144} Then lay me with the nameless dead.—[MS.]
[123] The circumstance to which the above story relates was not very uncommon in
Turkey. A few years ago the wife of Muchtar Pacha complained to his father of his son's
supposed infidelity; he asked with whom, and she had the barbarity to give in a list of the
twelve handsomest women in Yanina. They were seized, fastened up in sacks, and
drowned in the lake the same night! One of the guards who was present informed me that
not one of the victims uttered a cry, or showed a symptom of terror at so sudden a
"wrench from all we know, from all we love." The fate of Phrosine, the fairest of this
sacrifice, is the subject of many a Romaic and Arnaout ditty. The story in the text is one
told of a young Venetian many years ago, and now nearly forgotten. I heard it by accident
recited by one of the coffee-house story-tellers who abound in the Levant, and sing or
recite their narratives. The additions and interpolations by the translator will be easily
distinguished from the rest, by the want of Eastern imagery; and I regret that my memory
has retained so few fragments of the original. For the contents of some of the notes I am
indebted partly to D'Herbelot, and partly to that most Eastern, and, as Mr. Weber justly
entitles it, "sublime tale," the "Caliph Vathek." I do not know from what source the author
of that singular volume may have drawn his materials; some of his incidents are to be
found in the Bibliothèque Orientale; but for correctness of costume, beauty of description,
and power of imagination, it far surpasses all European imitations, and bears such marks
of originality that those who have visited the East will find some difficulty in believing it
to be more than a translation. As an Eastern tale, even Rasselas must bow before it; his
"Happy Valley" will not bear a comparison with the "Hall of Eblis." [See Childe Harold,
Canto II. stanza xxii. line 6, Poetical Works, 1899, ii. 37, note 1.
"Mansour Effendi tells the story (vide supra, line 6) thus: Frosini was niece of the
Archbishop of Joannina. Mouctar Pasha ordered her to come to his harem, and her father
advised her to go; she did so. Mouctar, among other presents, gave her a ring of great
value, which she wished to sell, and gave it for that purpose to a merchant, who offered it
to the wife of Mouctar. That lady recognized the jewel as her own, and, discovering the
intrigue, complained to Ali Pasha, who, the next night, seized her himself in his own
house, and ordered her to be drowned. Mansour Effendi says he had the story from the
Page 185
brother and son of Frosini. This son was a child of six years old, and was in bed in his
mother's chamber when Ali came to carry away his mother to death. He had a confused
recollection of the horrid scene."—Travels in Albania, 1858, i. Ill, note 6.
The concluding note, like the poem, was built up sentence by sentence. Lines 1-12,
"forgotten," are in the MS. Line 12, "I heard," to line 17, "original," were added in the
Second Edition. The next sentence, "For the contents" to "Vathek," was inserted in the
Third; and the concluding paragraph, "I do not know" to the end, in the Fourth Editions.]
[ex] {146}
Nor whether most he mourned none knew.
For her he loved—or him he slew.—[MS.]
mother's chamber when Ali came to carry away his mother to death. He had a confused
recollection of the horrid scene."—Travels in Albania, 1858, i. Ill, note 6.
The concluding note, like the poem, was built up sentence by sentence. Lines 1-12,
"forgotten," are in the MS. Line 12, "I heard," to line 17, "original," were added in the
Second Edition. The next sentence, "For the contents" to "Vathek," was inserted in the
Third; and the concluding paragraph, "I do not know" to the end, in the Fourth Editions.]
[ex] {146}
Nor whether most he mourned none knew.
For her he loved—or him he slew.—[MS.]
Page 186
THE BRIDE OF ABYDOS.
A TURKISH TALE .
"Had we never loved sae kindly,
Had we never loved sae blindly,
Never met—or never parted,
We had ne'er been broken-hearted."—
B urns [Farewell to Nancy].
A TURKISH TALE .
"Had we never loved sae kindly,
Had we never loved sae blindly,
Never met—or never parted,
We had ne'er been broken-hearted."—
B urns [Farewell to Nancy].
Page 187
INTRODUCTION TO THE THE BRIDE OF
ABYDOS.
M any poets—Wordsworth, for instance—have been conscious in their old
age that an interest attaches to the circumstances of the composition of their
poems, and have furnished their friends and admirers with explanatory
notes. Byron recorded the motif and occasion of the Bride of Abydos while
the poem was still in the press. It was written, he says, to divert his mind,
"to wring his thoughts from reality to imagination—from selfish regrets to
vivid recollections" (Diary, December 5, 1813, Letters, ii. 361), "to distract
his dreams from ..." (Diary, November 16) "for the sake of employment"
(Letter to Moore, November 30, 1813). He had been staying during part of
October and November at Aston Hall, Rotherham, with his friend James
Wedderburn Webster, and had fallen in love with his friend's wife, Lady
Frances. From a brief note to his sister, dated November 5, we learn that he
was in a scrape, but in "no immediate peril," and from the lines,
"Remember him, whom Passion's power" (vide ante, p. 67), we may infer
that he had sought safety in flight. The Bride of Abydos, or Zuleika, as it
was first entitled, was written early in November, "in four nights" (Diary,
November 16), or in a week (Letter to Gifford, November 12)—the
reckoning goes for little—as a counter-irritant to the pain and distress of
amour interrompu.
ABYDOS.
M any poets—Wordsworth, for instance—have been conscious in their old
age that an interest attaches to the circumstances of the composition of their
poems, and have furnished their friends and admirers with explanatory
notes. Byron recorded the motif and occasion of the Bride of Abydos while
the poem was still in the press. It was written, he says, to divert his mind,
"to wring his thoughts from reality to imagination—from selfish regrets to
vivid recollections" (Diary, December 5, 1813, Letters, ii. 361), "to distract
his dreams from ..." (Diary, November 16) "for the sake of employment"
(Letter to Moore, November 30, 1813). He had been staying during part of
October and November at Aston Hall, Rotherham, with his friend James
Wedderburn Webster, and had fallen in love with his friend's wife, Lady
Frances. From a brief note to his sister, dated November 5, we learn that he
was in a scrape, but in "no immediate peril," and from the lines,
"Remember him, whom Passion's power" (vide ante, p. 67), we may infer
that he had sought safety in flight. The Bride of Abydos, or Zuleika, as it
was first entitled, was written early in November, "in four nights" (Diary,
November 16), or in a week (Letter to Gifford, November 12)—the
reckoning goes for little—as a counter-irritant to the pain and distress of
amour interrompu.
Page 188
The confession or apology is eminently characteristic. Whilst the Giaour
was still in process of evolution, still "lengthening its rattles," another
Turkish poem is offered to the public, and the natural explanation, that the
author is in vein, and can score another trick, is felt to be inadequate and
dishonouring—"To withdraw myself from myself," he confides to his
Diary(November 27), "has ever been my sole, my entire, my sincere motive
for scribbling at all."
It is more than probable that in his twenty-sixth year Byron had not
attained to perfect self-knowledge, but there is no reason to question his
sincerity. That Byron loved to surround himself with mystery, and to
dissociate himself from "the general," is true enough; but it does not follow
that at all times and under all circumstances he was insincere. "Once a
poseur always a poseur" is a rough-and-ready formula not invariably
applicable even to a poet.
But the Bride of Abydos was a tonic as well as a styptic. Like the Giaour,
it embodied a personal experience, and recalled "a country replete with the
darkest and brightest, but always the most lively colours of my memory"
(Diary, December 5, 1813).
In a letter to Galt (December 11, 1813, Letters, 1898, ii. 304, reprinted
from Life of Byron, pp. 181, 182) Byron maintains that the first part of the
Bride was drawn from "observations" of his own, "from existence." He had,
it would appear, intended to make the story turn on the guilty love of a
brother for a sister, a tragic incident of life in a Harem, which had come
under his notice during his travels in the East, but "on second thoughts" had
reflected that he lived "two centuries at least too late for the subject," and
that not even the authority of the "finest works of the Greeks," or of Schiller
(in the Bride of Messina), or of Alfieri (in Mirra), "in modern times," would
was still in process of evolution, still "lengthening its rattles," another
Turkish poem is offered to the public, and the natural explanation, that the
author is in vein, and can score another trick, is felt to be inadequate and
dishonouring—"To withdraw myself from myself," he confides to his
Diary(November 27), "has ever been my sole, my entire, my sincere motive
for scribbling at all."
It is more than probable that in his twenty-sixth year Byron had not
attained to perfect self-knowledge, but there is no reason to question his
sincerity. That Byron loved to surround himself with mystery, and to
dissociate himself from "the general," is true enough; but it does not follow
that at all times and under all circumstances he was insincere. "Once a
poseur always a poseur" is a rough-and-ready formula not invariably
applicable even to a poet.
But the Bride of Abydos was a tonic as well as a styptic. Like the Giaour,
it embodied a personal experience, and recalled "a country replete with the
darkest and brightest, but always the most lively colours of my memory"
(Diary, December 5, 1813).
In a letter to Galt (December 11, 1813, Letters, 1898, ii. 304, reprinted
from Life of Byron, pp. 181, 182) Byron maintains that the first part of the
Bride was drawn from "observations" of his own, "from existence." He had,
it would appear, intended to make the story turn on the guilty love of a
brother for a sister, a tragic incident of life in a Harem, which had come
under his notice during his travels in the East, but "on second thoughts" had
reflected that he lived "two centuries at least too late for the subject," and
that not even the authority of the "finest works of the Greeks," or of Schiller
(in the Bride of Messina), or of Alfieri (in Mirra), "in modern times," would
Page 189
sanction the intrusion of the μισητὸν into English literature. The early drafts
and variants of the MS. do not afford any evidence of this alteration of the
plot which, as Byron thought, was detrimental to the poem as a work of art,
but the undoubted fact that the Bride of Abydos, as well as the Giaour,
embody recollections of actual scenes and incidents which had burnt
themselves into the memory of an eye-witness, accounts not only for the
fervent heat at which these Turkish tales were written, but for the
extraordinary glamour which they threw over contemporary readers, to
whom the local colouring was new and attractive, and who were not out of
conceit with "good Monsieur Melancholy."
Byron was less dissatisfied with his second Turkish tale than he had been
with the Giaour. He apologizes for the rapidity with which it had been
composed—stans pede in uno—but he announced to Murray (November
20) that "he was doing his best to beat the Giaour," and (November 29) he
appraises the Bride as "my first entire composition of any length."
Moreover, he records (November 15), with evident gratification, the
approval of his friend Hodgson, "a very sincere and by no means (at times)
a flattering critic of mine," and modestly accepts the praise of such masters
of letters as "Mr. Canning," Hookham Frere, Heber, Lord Holland, and of
the traveller Edward Daniel Clarke.
The Bride of Abydos was advertised in the Morning Chronicle, among
"Books published this day," on November 29, 1813. It was reviewed by
George Agar Ellis in the Quarterly Review of January, 1814 (vol. x. p. 331),
and, together with the Corsair, by Jeffrey in the Edinburgh Review of April,
1814 (vol. xxiii. p. 198).
and variants of the MS. do not afford any evidence of this alteration of the
plot which, as Byron thought, was detrimental to the poem as a work of art,
but the undoubted fact that the Bride of Abydos, as well as the Giaour,
embody recollections of actual scenes and incidents which had burnt
themselves into the memory of an eye-witness, accounts not only for the
fervent heat at which these Turkish tales were written, but for the
extraordinary glamour which they threw over contemporary readers, to
whom the local colouring was new and attractive, and who were not out of
conceit with "good Monsieur Melancholy."
Byron was less dissatisfied with his second Turkish tale than he had been
with the Giaour. He apologizes for the rapidity with which it had been
composed—stans pede in uno—but he announced to Murray (November
20) that "he was doing his best to beat the Giaour," and (November 29) he
appraises the Bride as "my first entire composition of any length."
Moreover, he records (November 15), with evident gratification, the
approval of his friend Hodgson, "a very sincere and by no means (at times)
a flattering critic of mine," and modestly accepts the praise of such masters
of letters as "Mr. Canning," Hookham Frere, Heber, Lord Holland, and of
the traveller Edward Daniel Clarke.
The Bride of Abydos was advertised in the Morning Chronicle, among
"Books published this day," on November 29, 1813. It was reviewed by
George Agar Ellis in the Quarterly Review of January, 1814 (vol. x. p. 331),
and, together with the Corsair, by Jeffrey in the Edinburgh Review of April,
1814 (vol. xxiii. p. 198).
Page 190
NOTE TO THE MSS. OF THE BRIDE OF ABYDOS.
T he MSS. of the Bride of Abydos are contained in a bound volume, and in
two packets of loose sheets, numbering thirty-two in all, of which eighteen
represent additions, etc., to the First Canto; and fourteen additions, etc., to
the Second Canto.
The bound volume consists of a rough copy and a fair copy of the first
draft of the Bride; the fair copy beginning with the sixth stanza of Canto I.
The "additions" in the bound volume consist of—
1. Stanza xxviii. of Canto II.—here called "Conclusion" (fifty-eight
lines). And note on "Sir Orford's Letters."
2. Eight lines beginning, "Eve saw it placed," at the end of stanza xxviii.
3. An emendation of six lines to stanza v. of Canto II., with reference to
the comboloio, the Turkish rosary.
4. Forty additional lines to stanza xx. of Canto II., beginning, "For thee
in those bright isles," and being the first draft of the addition as printed in
the Revises of November 13, etc.
5. Stanza xxvii. of Canto II., twenty-eight lines.
6. Ten additional lines to stanza xxvii., "Ah! happy!"—"depart."
T he MSS. of the Bride of Abydos are contained in a bound volume, and in
two packets of loose sheets, numbering thirty-two in all, of which eighteen
represent additions, etc., to the First Canto; and fourteen additions, etc., to
the Second Canto.
The bound volume consists of a rough copy and a fair copy of the first
draft of the Bride; the fair copy beginning with the sixth stanza of Canto I.
The "additions" in the bound volume consist of—
1. Stanza xxviii. of Canto II.—here called "Conclusion" (fifty-eight
lines). And note on "Sir Orford's Letters."
2. Eight lines beginning, "Eve saw it placed," at the end of stanza xxviii.
3. An emendation of six lines to stanza v. of Canto II., with reference to
the comboloio, the Turkish rosary.
4. Forty additional lines to stanza xx. of Canto II., beginning, "For thee
in those bright isles," and being the first draft of the addition as printed in
the Revises of November 13, etc.
5. Stanza xxvii. of Canto II., twenty-eight lines.
6. Ten additional lines to stanza xxvii., "Ah! happy!"—"depart."
Page 191
7. Affixed to the rough Copy in stanza xxviii., fifty-eight lines, here
called "Continuation." This is the rough Copy of No. 1.
The eighteen loose sheets of additions to Canto I. consist of—
1. The Dedication.
2. Two revisions of "Know ye the land."
3. Seven sheets, Canto I. stanzas i.-v., being the commencement of the
Fair Copy in the bound volume.
4. Two sheets of the additional twelve lines to Canto I. stanza vi., "Who
hath not proved,"—"Soul."
5. Four sheets of notes to Canto I. stanza vi., dated November 20,
November 22, 1813.
6. Two sheets of notes to stanza xvi.
7. Sixteen additional lines to stanza xiii.
The fourteen additional sheets to Canto II. consist of—
1. Ten lines of stanza iv., and four lines of stanza xvii.
2. Two lines and note of stanza v.
3. Sheets of additions, etc., to stanza xx. (eight sheets).
(α) Eight lines, "Or, since that hope,"—"thy command."
(β) "For thee in those bright isles" (twenty-four lines).
called "Continuation." This is the rough Copy of No. 1.
The eighteen loose sheets of additions to Canto I. consist of—
1. The Dedication.
2. Two revisions of "Know ye the land."
3. Seven sheets, Canto I. stanzas i.-v., being the commencement of the
Fair Copy in the bound volume.
4. Two sheets of the additional twelve lines to Canto I. stanza vi., "Who
hath not proved,"—"Soul."
5. Four sheets of notes to Canto I. stanza vi., dated November 20,
November 22, 1813.
6. Two sheets of notes to stanza xvi.
7. Sixteen additional lines to stanza xiii.
The fourteen additional sheets to Canto II. consist of—
1. Ten lines of stanza iv., and four lines of stanza xvii.
2. Two lines and note of stanza v.
3. Sheets of additions, etc., to stanza xx. (eight sheets).
(α) Eight lines, "Or, since that hope,"—"thy command."
(β) "For thee in those bright isles" (twenty-four lines).
Page 192
(γ) "For thee," etc. (thirty-six lines).
(δ) "Blest as the call" (three variants).
(ε) "For thee in those bright isles" (seven lines).
(ζ) Fourteen lines, "There ev'n thy soul,"—"Zuleika's name," "Aye—let
the loud winds,"—"bars escape," additional to stanza xx.
4. Two sheets of five variants of "Ah! wherefore did he turn to look?"
being six additional lines to stanza xxv.
5. Thirty-five lines of stanza xxvi.
6. Ten lines, "Ah! happy! but,"—"depart." And eleven lines, "Woe to
thee, rash,"—"hast shed," being a continuous addition to stanza xxvii.
REVISES.
Endorsed—
ovember 13, 1813.
November 15, 1813.
November 16, 1813.
November 18, 1813.
ovember 19, 1813.
November 21, 1813.
November 23, 1813.
November 24, 1813. A wrong date,
November 25, 1813.
n imperfect revise = Nos. i.-v.
(δ) "Blest as the call" (three variants).
(ε) "For thee in those bright isles" (seven lines).
(ζ) Fourteen lines, "There ev'n thy soul,"—"Zuleika's name," "Aye—let
the loud winds,"—"bars escape," additional to stanza xx.
4. Two sheets of five variants of "Ah! wherefore did he turn to look?"
being six additional lines to stanza xxv.
5. Thirty-five lines of stanza xxvi.
6. Ten lines, "Ah! happy! but,"—"depart." And eleven lines, "Woe to
thee, rash,"—"hast shed," being a continuous addition to stanza xxvii.
REVISES.
Endorsed—
ovember 13, 1813.
November 15, 1813.
November 16, 1813.
November 18, 1813.
ovember 19, 1813.
November 21, 1813.
November 23, 1813.
November 24, 1813. A wrong date,
November 25, 1813.
n imperfect revise = Nos. i.-v.
Page 193
TO
T HE R I GH T H ONOU RAB L E
LORD HOLLAND,
T HI S TA L E
I S I N S C RI B E D, WI T H
E V E RY S E N T I ME NT O F RE GA RD
AND RE S P E C T,
B Y HI S GR AT E F UL LY OB L I G E D
AND S I NC E R E F R I E ND ,
BYRON.[ey]
T HE R I GH T H ONOU RAB L E
LORD HOLLAND,
T HI S TA L E
I S I N S C RI B E D, WI T H
E V E RY S E N T I ME NT O F RE GA RD
AND RE S P E C T,
B Y HI S GR AT E F UL LY OB L I G E D
AND S I NC E R E F R I E ND ,
BYRON.[ey]
Page 194
THE BRIDE OF ABYDOS. [124]
CANTO THE FIRST.
I.
[125]
ow ye the land where the cypress and myrtle
Are emblems of deeds that are done in their clime?
ere the rage of the vulture, the love of the turtle,
Now melt into sorrow, now madden to crime?
ow ye the land of the cedar and vine,
ere the flowers ever blossom, the beams ever shine;
ere the light wings of Zephyr, oppressed with perfume,
x faint o'er the gardens of Gúl[126] in her bloom;
ere the citron and olive are fairest of fruit,
d the voice of the nightingale never is mute;[127] 10
ere the tints of the earth, and the hues of the sky,
olour though varied, in beauty may vie,
d the purple of Ocean is deepest in dye;
ere the virgins are soft as the roses they twine,
d all, save the spirit of man, is divine—
the clime of the East—'tis the land of the Sun—
he smile on such deeds as his children have done?[128]
wild as the accents of lovers' farewell[ez]
the hearts which they bear, and the tales which they tell.
CANTO THE FIRST.
I.
[125]
ow ye the land where the cypress and myrtle
Are emblems of deeds that are done in their clime?
ere the rage of the vulture, the love of the turtle,
Now melt into sorrow, now madden to crime?
ow ye the land of the cedar and vine,
ere the flowers ever blossom, the beams ever shine;
ere the light wings of Zephyr, oppressed with perfume,
x faint o'er the gardens of Gúl[126] in her bloom;
ere the citron and olive are fairest of fruit,
d the voice of the nightingale never is mute;[127] 10
ere the tints of the earth, and the hues of the sky,
olour though varied, in beauty may vie,
d the purple of Ocean is deepest in dye;
ere the virgins are soft as the roses they twine,
d all, save the spirit of man, is divine—
the clime of the East—'tis the land of the Sun—
he smile on such deeds as his children have done?[128]
wild as the accents of lovers' farewell[ez]
the hearts which they bear, and the tales which they tell.
Page 195
II.[fa]
Begirt with many a gallant slave,20
Apparelled as becomes the brave,
Awaiting each his Lord's behest
To guide his steps, or guard his rest,
Old Giaffir sate in his Divan:
Deep thought was in his agéd eye;
And though the face of Mussulman
Not oft betrays to standers by
he mind within, well skilled to hide
All but unconquerable pride,
His pensive cheek and pondering brow[fb]30
Did more than he was wont avow.
III.
t the chamber be cleared."—The train disappeared—
Now call me the chief of the Haram guard"—
h Giaffir is none but his only son,
And the Nubian awaiting the sire's award.
Haroun—when all the crowd that wait
Are passed beyond the outer gate,
Woe to the head whose eye beheld
My child Zuleika's face unveiled!)
Hence, lead my daughter from her tower—[fc]40
Her fate is fixed this very hour;
Yet not to her repeat my thought—
y me alone be duty taught!"
Pacha! to hear is to obey."—
No more must slave to despot say—
hen to the tower had ta'en his way:
Begirt with many a gallant slave,20
Apparelled as becomes the brave,
Awaiting each his Lord's behest
To guide his steps, or guard his rest,
Old Giaffir sate in his Divan:
Deep thought was in his agéd eye;
And though the face of Mussulman
Not oft betrays to standers by
he mind within, well skilled to hide
All but unconquerable pride,
His pensive cheek and pondering brow[fb]30
Did more than he was wont avow.
III.
t the chamber be cleared."—The train disappeared—
Now call me the chief of the Haram guard"—
h Giaffir is none but his only son,
And the Nubian awaiting the sire's award.
Haroun—when all the crowd that wait
Are passed beyond the outer gate,
Woe to the head whose eye beheld
My child Zuleika's face unveiled!)
Hence, lead my daughter from her tower—[fc]40
Her fate is fixed this very hour;
Yet not to her repeat my thought—
y me alone be duty taught!"
Pacha! to hear is to obey."—
No more must slave to despot say—
hen to the tower had ta'en his way:
Page 196
ut here young Selim silence brake,
First lowly rendering reverence meet;
And downcast looked, and gently spake,
Still standing at the Pacha's feet:50
or son of Moslem must expire,
re dare to sit before his sire!
Father! for fear that thou shouldst chide
My sister, or her sable guide—
Know—for the fault, if fault there be,
Was mine—then fall thy frowns on me!
o lovelily the morning shone,
That—let the old and weary sleep—
could not; and to view alone
The fairest scenes of land and deep,60
With none to listen and reply
o thoughts with which my heart beat high
Were irksome—for whate'er my mood,
n sooth I love not solitude;
on Zuleika's slumber broke,
And, as thou knowest that for me
Soon turns the Haram's grating key,
efore the guardian slaves awoke
We to the cypress groves had flown,
And made earth, main, and heaven our own!70
here lingered we, beguiled too long
With Mejnoun's tale, or Sadi's song;[fd][129]
ill I, who heard the deep tambour[130]
eat thy Divan's approaching hour,
o thee, and to my duty true,
Warned by the sound, to greet thee flew:
ut there Zuleika wanders yet—
First lowly rendering reverence meet;
And downcast looked, and gently spake,
Still standing at the Pacha's feet:50
or son of Moslem must expire,
re dare to sit before his sire!
Father! for fear that thou shouldst chide
My sister, or her sable guide—
Know—for the fault, if fault there be,
Was mine—then fall thy frowns on me!
o lovelily the morning shone,
That—let the old and weary sleep—
could not; and to view alone
The fairest scenes of land and deep,60
With none to listen and reply
o thoughts with which my heart beat high
Were irksome—for whate'er my mood,
n sooth I love not solitude;
on Zuleika's slumber broke,
And, as thou knowest that for me
Soon turns the Haram's grating key,
efore the guardian slaves awoke
We to the cypress groves had flown,
And made earth, main, and heaven our own!70
here lingered we, beguiled too long
With Mejnoun's tale, or Sadi's song;[fd][129]
ill I, who heard the deep tambour[130]
eat thy Divan's approaching hour,
o thee, and to my duty true,
Warned by the sound, to greet thee flew:
ut there Zuleika wanders yet—
Page 197
Nay, Father, rage not—nor forget
hat none can pierce that secret bower
ut those who watch the women's tower."80
IV.
n of a slave"—the Pacha said—
om unbelieving mother bred,
n were a father's hope to see
ght that beseems a man in thee.
u, when thine arm should bend the bow,
And hurl the dart, and curb the steed,
hou, Greek in soul if not in creed,
st pore where babbling waters flow,[fe]
d watch unfolding roses blow.
uld that yon Orb, whose matin glow90
listless eyes so much admire,
uld lend thee something of his fire!
u, who woulds't see this battlement
Christian cannon piecemeal rent;
, tamely view old Stambol's wall
ore the dogs of Moscow fall,
strike one stroke for life and death
inst the curs of Nazareth!
—let thy less than woman's hand
ume the distaff—not the brand.100
Haroun!—to my daughter speed:
d hark—of thine own head take heed—
hus Zuleika oft takes wing—
u see'st yon bow—it hath a string!"
V.
hat none can pierce that secret bower
ut those who watch the women's tower."80
IV.
n of a slave"—the Pacha said—
om unbelieving mother bred,
n were a father's hope to see
ght that beseems a man in thee.
u, when thine arm should bend the bow,
And hurl the dart, and curb the steed,
hou, Greek in soul if not in creed,
st pore where babbling waters flow,[fe]
d watch unfolding roses blow.
uld that yon Orb, whose matin glow90
listless eyes so much admire,
uld lend thee something of his fire!
u, who woulds't see this battlement
Christian cannon piecemeal rent;
, tamely view old Stambol's wall
ore the dogs of Moscow fall,
strike one stroke for life and death
inst the curs of Nazareth!
—let thy less than woman's hand
ume the distaff—not the brand.100
Haroun!—to my daughter speed:
d hark—of thine own head take heed—
hus Zuleika oft takes wing—
u see'st yon bow—it hath a string!"
V.
Page 198
sound from Selim's lip was heard,
At least that met old Giaffir's ear,
every frown and every word
ced keener than a Christian's sword.
Son of a slave!—reproached with fear!
hose gibes had cost another dear.110
of a slave!—and who my Sire?"
hus held his thoughts their dark career;
d glances ev'n of more than ire[ff]
lash forth, then faintly disappear.
Giaffir gazed upon his son
And started; for within his eye
read how much his wrath had done;
saw rebellion there begun:
Come hither, boy—what, no reply?
ark thee—and I know thee too;120
there be deeds thou dar'st not do:
if thy beard had manlier length,
d if thy hand had skill and strength,
oy to see thee break a lance,
eit against my own perchance."
sneeringly these accents fell,
Selim's eye he fiercely gazed:
hat eye returned him glance for glance,
d proudly to his Sire's was raised[fg],
ill Giaffir's quailed and shrunk askance—130
d why—he felt, but durst not tell.
uch I misdoubt this wayward boy
l one day work me more annoy:
ver loved him from his birth,
d—but his arm is little worth,
At least that met old Giaffir's ear,
every frown and every word
ced keener than a Christian's sword.
Son of a slave!—reproached with fear!
hose gibes had cost another dear.110
of a slave!—and who my Sire?"
hus held his thoughts their dark career;
d glances ev'n of more than ire[ff]
lash forth, then faintly disappear.
Giaffir gazed upon his son
And started; for within his eye
read how much his wrath had done;
saw rebellion there begun:
Come hither, boy—what, no reply?
ark thee—and I know thee too;120
there be deeds thou dar'st not do:
if thy beard had manlier length,
d if thy hand had skill and strength,
oy to see thee break a lance,
eit against my own perchance."
sneeringly these accents fell,
Selim's eye he fiercely gazed:
hat eye returned him glance for glance,
d proudly to his Sire's was raised[fg],
ill Giaffir's quailed and shrunk askance—130
d why—he felt, but durst not tell.
uch I misdoubt this wayward boy
l one day work me more annoy:
ver loved him from his birth,
d—but his arm is little worth,
Page 199
d scarcely in the chase could cope
h timid fawn or antelope,
less would venture into strife
ere man contends for fame and life—
would not trust that look or tone:140
—nor the blood so near my own.[fh]
t blood—he hath not heard—no more—
watch him closer than before.
is an Arab[131] to my sight,
Christian crouching in the fight—[fi]
hark!—I hear Zuleika's voice;
ike Houris' hymn it meets mine ear:
is the offspring of my choice;
Oh! more than ev'n her mother dear,
h all to hope, and nought to fear—150
Peri! ever welcome here![fj]
eet, as the desert fountain's wave
ips just cooled in time to save—
uch to my longing sight art thou;
can they waft to Mecca's shrine
re thanks for life, than I for thine,
Who blest thy birth and bless thee now."[fk]
VI.
, as the first that fell of womankind,
When on that dread yet lovely serpent smiling,
ose Image then was stamped upon her mind—160
ut once beguiled—and ever more beguiling;
zling, as that, oh! too transcendent vision
o Sorrow's phantom-peopled slumber given,
en heart meets heart again in dreams Elysian,
h timid fawn or antelope,
less would venture into strife
ere man contends for fame and life—
would not trust that look or tone:140
—nor the blood so near my own.[fh]
t blood—he hath not heard—no more—
watch him closer than before.
is an Arab[131] to my sight,
Christian crouching in the fight—[fi]
hark!—I hear Zuleika's voice;
ike Houris' hymn it meets mine ear:
is the offspring of my choice;
Oh! more than ev'n her mother dear,
h all to hope, and nought to fear—150
Peri! ever welcome here![fj]
eet, as the desert fountain's wave
ips just cooled in time to save—
uch to my longing sight art thou;
can they waft to Mecca's shrine
re thanks for life, than I for thine,
Who blest thy birth and bless thee now."[fk]
VI.
, as the first that fell of womankind,
When on that dread yet lovely serpent smiling,
ose Image then was stamped upon her mind—160
ut once beguiled—and ever more beguiling;
zling, as that, oh! too transcendent vision
o Sorrow's phantom-peopled slumber given,
en heart meets heart again in dreams Elysian,
Page 200
And paints the lost on Earth revived in Heaven;
, as the memory of buried love;
e, as the prayer which Childhood wafts above;
she—the daughter of that rude old Chief,
o met the maid with tears—but not of grief.
o hath not proved how feebly words essay[132]170
ix one spark of Beauty's heavenly ray?
o doth not feel, until his failing sight[fl]
nts into dimness with its own delight,
changing cheek, his sinking heart confess
might—the majesty of Loveliness?
h was Zuleika—such around her shone
nameless charms unmarked by her alone—
light of Love, the purity of Grace,[fm]
mind, the Music[133] breathing from her face,
heart whose softness harmonized the whole,180
d oh! that eye was in itself a Soul!
graceful arms in meekness bending
Across her gently-budding breast;
one kind word those arms extending
o clasp the neck of him who blest
His child caressing and carest,
uleika came—and Giaffir felt
His purpose half within him melt:
Not that against her fancied weal
His heart though stern could ever feel;190
Affection chained her to that heart;
Ambition tore the links apart.
VII.
, as the memory of buried love;
e, as the prayer which Childhood wafts above;
she—the daughter of that rude old Chief,
o met the maid with tears—but not of grief.
o hath not proved how feebly words essay[132]170
ix one spark of Beauty's heavenly ray?
o doth not feel, until his failing sight[fl]
nts into dimness with its own delight,
changing cheek, his sinking heart confess
might—the majesty of Loveliness?
h was Zuleika—such around her shone
nameless charms unmarked by her alone—
light of Love, the purity of Grace,[fm]
mind, the Music[133] breathing from her face,
heart whose softness harmonized the whole,180
d oh! that eye was in itself a Soul!
graceful arms in meekness bending
Across her gently-budding breast;
one kind word those arms extending
o clasp the neck of him who blest
His child caressing and carest,
uleika came—and Giaffir felt
His purpose half within him melt:
Not that against her fancied weal
His heart though stern could ever feel;190
Affection chained her to that heart;
Ambition tore the links apart.
VII.
Page 201
leika! child of Gentleness!
How dear this very day must tell,
en I forget my own distress,
n losing what I love so well,
bid thee with another dwell:
other! and a braver man
never seen in battle's van.
Moslem reck not much of blood:200
ut yet the line of Carasman[134]
hanged, unchangeable hath stood
irst of the bold Timariot bands
t won and well can keep their lands.[fn]
ugh that he who comes to woo[fo]
insman of the Bey Oglou:[135]
years need scarce a thought employ;
ould not have thee wed a boy.
d thou shalt have a noble dower:
d his and my united power210
l laugh to scorn the death-firman,
ich others tremble but to scan,
d teach the messenger[136] what fate
bearer of such boon may wait.
d now thou know'st thy father's will;
All that thy sex hath need to know:
as mine to teach obedience still—
he way to love, thy Lord may show."
VIII.
n silence bowed the virgin's head;
And if her eye was filled with tears220
hat stifled feeling dare not shed,
How dear this very day must tell,
en I forget my own distress,
n losing what I love so well,
bid thee with another dwell:
other! and a braver man
never seen in battle's van.
Moslem reck not much of blood:200
ut yet the line of Carasman[134]
hanged, unchangeable hath stood
irst of the bold Timariot bands
t won and well can keep their lands.[fn]
ugh that he who comes to woo[fo]
insman of the Bey Oglou:[135]
years need scarce a thought employ;
ould not have thee wed a boy.
d thou shalt have a noble dower:
d his and my united power210
l laugh to scorn the death-firman,
ich others tremble but to scan,
d teach the messenger[136] what fate
bearer of such boon may wait.
d now thou know'st thy father's will;
All that thy sex hath need to know:
as mine to teach obedience still—
he way to love, thy Lord may show."
VIII.
n silence bowed the virgin's head;
And if her eye was filled with tears220
hat stifled feeling dare not shed,
Page 202
And changed her cheek from pale to red,
And red to pale, as through her ears
hose wingéd words like arrows sped,
What could such be but maiden fears?
o bright the tear in Beauty's eye,
ove half regrets to kiss it dry;
o sweet the blush of Bashfulness,
ven Pity scarce can wish it less!
Whate'er it was the sire forgot:230
Or if remembered, marked it not;
hrice clapped his hands, and called his steed,[137]
Resigned his gem-adorned chibouque,[138]
And mounting featly for the mead,
With Maugrabeel[139] and Mamaluke,
His way amid his Delis took,[140]
o witness many an active deed
With sabre keen, or blunt jerreed.
he Kislar only and his Moors[141]
Watch well the Haram's massy doors.240
IX.
head was leant upon his hand,
His eye looked o'er the dark blue water
t swiftly glides and gently swells
ween the winding Dardanelles;
yet he saw nor sea nor strand,
even his Pacha's turbaned band
Mix in the game of mimic slaughter,
eering cleave the folded felt[142]
h sabre stroke right sharply dealt;
And red to pale, as through her ears
hose wingéd words like arrows sped,
What could such be but maiden fears?
o bright the tear in Beauty's eye,
ove half regrets to kiss it dry;
o sweet the blush of Bashfulness,
ven Pity scarce can wish it less!
Whate'er it was the sire forgot:230
Or if remembered, marked it not;
hrice clapped his hands, and called his steed,[137]
Resigned his gem-adorned chibouque,[138]
And mounting featly for the mead,
With Maugrabeel[139] and Mamaluke,
His way amid his Delis took,[140]
o witness many an active deed
With sabre keen, or blunt jerreed.
he Kislar only and his Moors[141]
Watch well the Haram's massy doors.240
IX.
head was leant upon his hand,
His eye looked o'er the dark blue water
t swiftly glides and gently swells
ween the winding Dardanelles;
yet he saw nor sea nor strand,
even his Pacha's turbaned band
Mix in the game of mimic slaughter,
eering cleave the folded felt[142]
h sabre stroke right sharply dealt;
Page 203
marked the javelin-darting crowd,250
heard their Ollahs[143] wild and loud—
He thought but of old Giaffir's daughter!
X.
word from Selim's bosom broke;
sigh Zuleika's thought bespoke:
gazed he through the lattice grate,
e, mute, and mournfully sedate.
him Zuleika's eye was turned,
little from his aspect learned:
al her grief, yet not the same;
heart confessed a gentler flame:[fp] 260
yet that heart, alarmed or weak,
knew not why, forbade to speak.
speak she must—but when essay?
w strange he thus should turn away!
thus we e'er before have met;
thus shall be our parting yet."
ice paced she slowly through the room,
And watched his eye—it still was fixed:
he snatched the urn wherein was mixed
Persian Atar-gul's perfume,[144] 270
d sprinkled all its odours o'er
pictured roof[145] and marble floor:
drops, that through his glittering vest[fq]
playful girl's appeal addressed,
heeded o'er his bosom flew,
f that breast were marble too.
hat, sullen yet? it must not be—
gentle Selim, this from thee!"
heard their Ollahs[143] wild and loud—
He thought but of old Giaffir's daughter!
X.
word from Selim's bosom broke;
sigh Zuleika's thought bespoke:
gazed he through the lattice grate,
e, mute, and mournfully sedate.
him Zuleika's eye was turned,
little from his aspect learned:
al her grief, yet not the same;
heart confessed a gentler flame:[fp] 260
yet that heart, alarmed or weak,
knew not why, forbade to speak.
speak she must—but when essay?
w strange he thus should turn away!
thus we e'er before have met;
thus shall be our parting yet."
ice paced she slowly through the room,
And watched his eye—it still was fixed:
he snatched the urn wherein was mixed
Persian Atar-gul's perfume,[144] 270
d sprinkled all its odours o'er
pictured roof[145] and marble floor:
drops, that through his glittering vest[fq]
playful girl's appeal addressed,
heeded o'er his bosom flew,
f that breast were marble too.
hat, sullen yet? it must not be—
gentle Selim, this from thee!"
Page 204
saw in curious order set
he fairest flowers of Eastern land— 280
loved them once; may touch them yet,
offered by Zuleika's hand."
childish thought was hardly breathed
ore the rose was plucked and wreathed;
next fond moment saw her seat
fairy form at Selim's feet:
is rose to calm my brother's cares
message from the Bulbul[146] bears;
ays to-night he will prolong
Selim's ear his sweetest song; 290
d though his note is somewhat sad,
l try for once a strain more glad,
h some faint hope his altered lay
y sing these gloomy thoughts away.
XI.
What! not receive my foolish flower?
Nay then I am indeed unblest:
On me can thus thy forehead lower?
And know'st thou not who loves thee best?[fr]
Oh, Selim dear! oh, more than dearest!
ay, is it me thou hat'st or fearest?300
ome, lay thy head upon my breast,
And I will kiss thee into rest,
ince words of mine, and songs must fail,
v'n from my fabled nightingale.
knew our sire at times was stern,
ut this from thee had yet to learn:
oo well I know he loves thee not;
he fairest flowers of Eastern land— 280
loved them once; may touch them yet,
offered by Zuleika's hand."
childish thought was hardly breathed
ore the rose was plucked and wreathed;
next fond moment saw her seat
fairy form at Selim's feet:
is rose to calm my brother's cares
message from the Bulbul[146] bears;
ays to-night he will prolong
Selim's ear his sweetest song; 290
d though his note is somewhat sad,
l try for once a strain more glad,
h some faint hope his altered lay
y sing these gloomy thoughts away.
XI.
What! not receive my foolish flower?
Nay then I am indeed unblest:
On me can thus thy forehead lower?
And know'st thou not who loves thee best?[fr]
Oh, Selim dear! oh, more than dearest!
ay, is it me thou hat'st or fearest?300
ome, lay thy head upon my breast,
And I will kiss thee into rest,
ince words of mine, and songs must fail,
v'n from my fabled nightingale.
knew our sire at times was stern,
ut this from thee had yet to learn:
oo well I know he loves thee not;
Page 205
ut is Zuleika's love forgot?
Ah! deem I right? the Pacha's plan—
his kinsman Bey of Carasman310
erhaps may prove some foe of thine.
so, I swear by Mecca's shrine,—[fs]
shrines that ne'er approach allow
o woman's step admit her vow,—
Without thy free consent—command—
he Sultan should not have my hand!
hink'st thou that I could bear to part
With thee, and learn to halve my heart?
Ah! were I severed from thy side,
Where were thy friend—and who my guide?320
Years have not seen, Time shall not see,
he hour that tears my soul from thee:[ft]
v'n Azrael,[147] from his deadly quiver
When flies that shaft, and fly it must,[fu]
hat parts all else, shall doom for ever
Our hearts to undivided dust!"
XII.
lived—he breathed—he moved—he felt;
raised the maid from where she knelt;
trance was gone, his keen eye shone
h thoughts that long in darkness dwelt;330
h thoughts that burn—in rays that melt.
he stream late concealed
y the fringe of its willows,
en it rushes reveal'd
n the light of its billows;
he bolt bursts on high
Ah! deem I right? the Pacha's plan—
his kinsman Bey of Carasman310
erhaps may prove some foe of thine.
so, I swear by Mecca's shrine,—[fs]
shrines that ne'er approach allow
o woman's step admit her vow,—
Without thy free consent—command—
he Sultan should not have my hand!
hink'st thou that I could bear to part
With thee, and learn to halve my heart?
Ah! were I severed from thy side,
Where were thy friend—and who my guide?320
Years have not seen, Time shall not see,
he hour that tears my soul from thee:[ft]
v'n Azrael,[147] from his deadly quiver
When flies that shaft, and fly it must,[fu]
hat parts all else, shall doom for ever
Our hearts to undivided dust!"
XII.
lived—he breathed—he moved—he felt;
raised the maid from where she knelt;
trance was gone, his keen eye shone
h thoughts that long in darkness dwelt;330
h thoughts that burn—in rays that melt.
he stream late concealed
y the fringe of its willows,
en it rushes reveal'd
n the light of its billows;
he bolt bursts on high
Page 206
rom the black cloud that bound it,
hed the soul of that eye
hrough the long lashes round it.
ar-horse at the trumpet's sound,340
on roused by heedless hound,
yrant waked to sudden strife
graze of ill-directed knife,[fv]
ts not to more convulsive life
n he, who heard that vow, displayed,
d all, before repressed, betrayed:
w thou art mine, for ever mine,
h life to keep, and scarce with life resign;[fw]
w thou art mine, that sacred oath,
ugh sworn by one, hath bound us both.350
fondly, wisely hast thou done;
t vow hath saved more heads than one:
blench not thou—thy simplest tress
ms more from me than tenderness;
ould not wrong the slenderest hair
t clusters round thy forehead fair,[fx]
all the treasures buried far
hin the caves of Istakar.[148]
s morning clouds upon me lowered,
roaches on my head were showered,360
d Giaffir almost called me coward!
w I have motive to be brave;
son of his neglected slave,
, start not,'twas the term he gave,
y show, though little apt to vaunt,
eart his words nor deeds can daunt.
son, indeed!—yet, thanks to thee,
hed the soul of that eye
hrough the long lashes round it.
ar-horse at the trumpet's sound,340
on roused by heedless hound,
yrant waked to sudden strife
graze of ill-directed knife,[fv]
ts not to more convulsive life
n he, who heard that vow, displayed,
d all, before repressed, betrayed:
w thou art mine, for ever mine,
h life to keep, and scarce with life resign;[fw]
w thou art mine, that sacred oath,
ugh sworn by one, hath bound us both.350
fondly, wisely hast thou done;
t vow hath saved more heads than one:
blench not thou—thy simplest tress
ms more from me than tenderness;
ould not wrong the slenderest hair
t clusters round thy forehead fair,[fx]
all the treasures buried far
hin the caves of Istakar.[148]
s morning clouds upon me lowered,
roaches on my head were showered,360
d Giaffir almost called me coward!
w I have motive to be brave;
son of his neglected slave,
, start not,'twas the term he gave,
y show, though little apt to vaunt,
eart his words nor deeds can daunt.
son, indeed!—yet, thanks to thee,
Page 207
chance I am, at least shall be;
let our plighted secret vow
only known to us as now.370
ow the wretch who dares demand
m Giaffir thy reluctant hand;
re ill-got wealth, a meaner soul
ds not a Musselim's[149] control;
he not bred in Egripo?[150]
iler race let Israel show!
let that pass—to none be told
oath; the rest shall time unfold.
me and mine leave Osman Bey!
partisans for Peril's day:380
nk not I am what I appear;
arms—and friends—and vengeance near."
XIII.
ink not thou art what thou appearest!
My Selim, thou art sadly changed:
s morn I saw thee gentlest—dearest—
ut now thou'rt from thyself estranged.
love thou surely knew'st before,
e'er was less—nor can be more.
ee thee—hear thee—near thee stay—
And hate the night—I know not why,390
e that we meet not but by day;
With thee to live, with thee to die,
dare not to my hope deny:
cheek—thine eyes—thy lips to kiss—
e this—and this—no more than this;[fy]
Allah! sure thy lips are flame:
let our plighted secret vow
only known to us as now.370
ow the wretch who dares demand
m Giaffir thy reluctant hand;
re ill-got wealth, a meaner soul
ds not a Musselim's[149] control;
he not bred in Egripo?[150]
iler race let Israel show!
let that pass—to none be told
oath; the rest shall time unfold.
me and mine leave Osman Bey!
partisans for Peril's day:380
nk not I am what I appear;
arms—and friends—and vengeance near."
XIII.
ink not thou art what thou appearest!
My Selim, thou art sadly changed:
s morn I saw thee gentlest—dearest—
ut now thou'rt from thyself estranged.
love thou surely knew'st before,
e'er was less—nor can be more.
ee thee—hear thee—near thee stay—
And hate the night—I know not why,390
e that we meet not but by day;
With thee to live, with thee to die,
dare not to my hope deny:
cheek—thine eyes—thy lips to kiss—
e this—and this—no more than this;[fy]
Allah! sure thy lips are flame:
Page 208
What fever in thy veins is flushing?
own have nearly caught the same,
At least I feel my cheek, too, blushing.
oothe thy sickness, watch thy health,400
ake, but never waste thy wealth,
tand with smiles unmurmuring by,
d lighten half thy poverty;
all but close thy dying eye,
that I could not live to try;
hese alone my thoughts aspire:
re can I do? or thou require?
Selim, thou must answer why[fz]
need so much of mystery?
cause I cannot dream nor tell,410
be it, since thou say'st 'tis well;
what thou mean'st by 'arms' and 'friends,'
ond my weaker sense extends.
eant that Giaffir should have heard
he very vow I plighted thee;
wrath would not revoke my word:
ut surely he would leave me free.
an this fond wish seem strange in me,
be what I have ever been?
at other hath Zuleika seen420
m simple childhood's earliest hour?
What other can she seek to see
n thee, companion of her bower,
he partner of her infancy?
se cherished thoughts with life begun,
ay, why must I no more avow?
at change is wrought to make me shun
he truth—my pride, and thine till now?
own have nearly caught the same,
At least I feel my cheek, too, blushing.
oothe thy sickness, watch thy health,400
ake, but never waste thy wealth,
tand with smiles unmurmuring by,
d lighten half thy poverty;
all but close thy dying eye,
that I could not live to try;
hese alone my thoughts aspire:
re can I do? or thou require?
Selim, thou must answer why[fz]
need so much of mystery?
cause I cannot dream nor tell,410
be it, since thou say'st 'tis well;
what thou mean'st by 'arms' and 'friends,'
ond my weaker sense extends.
eant that Giaffir should have heard
he very vow I plighted thee;
wrath would not revoke my word:
ut surely he would leave me free.
an this fond wish seem strange in me,
be what I have ever been?
at other hath Zuleika seen420
m simple childhood's earliest hour?
What other can she seek to see
n thee, companion of her bower,
he partner of her infancy?
se cherished thoughts with life begun,
ay, why must I no more avow?
at change is wrought to make me shun
he truth—my pride, and thine till now?
Page 209
meet the gaze of stranger's eyes
law—our creed—our God denies;430
shall one wandering thought of mine
uch, our Prophet's will, repine:
happier made by that decree,
left me all in leaving thee.
p were my anguish, thus compelled[ga]
wed with one I ne'er beheld:
s wherefore should I not reveal?
y wilt thou urge me to conceal?[gb]
ow the Pacha's haughty mood
hee hath never boded good;440
d he so often storms at nought,
ah! forbid that e'er he ought!
d why I know not, but within
heart concealment weighs like sin.[gc]
hen such secrecy be crime,
And such it feels while lurking here;
Selim! tell me yet in time,
Nor leave me thus to thoughts of fear.
yonder see the Tchocadar,[151]
father leaves the mimic war;450
mble now to meet his eye—
Selim, canst thou tell me why?"
XIV.
leika—to thy tower's retreat
ake thee—Giaffir I can greet:
d now with him I fain must prate
irmans, imposts, levies, state.
re's fearful news from Danube's banks,
law—our creed—our God denies;430
shall one wandering thought of mine
uch, our Prophet's will, repine:
happier made by that decree,
left me all in leaving thee.
p were my anguish, thus compelled[ga]
wed with one I ne'er beheld:
s wherefore should I not reveal?
y wilt thou urge me to conceal?[gb]
ow the Pacha's haughty mood
hee hath never boded good;440
d he so often storms at nought,
ah! forbid that e'er he ought!
d why I know not, but within
heart concealment weighs like sin.[gc]
hen such secrecy be crime,
And such it feels while lurking here;
Selim! tell me yet in time,
Nor leave me thus to thoughts of fear.
yonder see the Tchocadar,[151]
father leaves the mimic war;450
mble now to meet his eye—
Selim, canst thou tell me why?"
XIV.
leika—to thy tower's retreat
ake thee—Giaffir I can greet:
d now with him I fain must prate
irmans, imposts, levies, state.
re's fearful news from Danube's banks,
Page 210
Vizier nobly thins his ranks
which the Giaour may give him thanks!
Sultan hath a shorter way460
h costly triumph to repay.
mark me, when the twilight drum
Hath warned the troops to food and sleep,
o thy cell with Selim come;
hen softly from the Haram creep
Where we may wander by the deep:
Our garden battlements are steep;
these will rash intruder climb
ist our words, or stint our time;
d if he doth, I want not steel470
ich some have felt, and more may feel.
n shalt thou learn of Selim more
n thou hast heard or thought before:
st me, Zuleika—fear not me!
u know'st I hold a Haram key."
ar thee, my Selim! ne'er till now
words like this——"
"Delay not thou;[gd]
ep the key—and Haroun's guard
e some, and hope of more reward.
night, Zuleika, thou shalt hear480
tale, my purpose, and my fear:
m not, love! what I appear."
which the Giaour may give him thanks!
Sultan hath a shorter way460
h costly triumph to repay.
mark me, when the twilight drum
Hath warned the troops to food and sleep,
o thy cell with Selim come;
hen softly from the Haram creep
Where we may wander by the deep:
Our garden battlements are steep;
these will rash intruder climb
ist our words, or stint our time;
d if he doth, I want not steel470
ich some have felt, and more may feel.
n shalt thou learn of Selim more
n thou hast heard or thought before:
st me, Zuleika—fear not me!
u know'st I hold a Haram key."
ar thee, my Selim! ne'er till now
words like this——"
"Delay not thou;[gd]
ep the key—and Haroun's guard
e some, and hope of more reward.
night, Zuleika, thou shalt hear480
tale, my purpose, and my fear:
m not, love! what I appear."
Page 211
CANTO THE SECOND. [ge]
I.
I.
Page 212
winds are high on Helle's wave,
As on that night of stormy water
en Love, who sent, forgot to save
young—the beautiful—the brave—
he lonely hope of Sestos' daughter.
when alone along the sky
turret-torch was blazing high,
ugh rising gale, and breaking foam, 490
d shrieking sea-birds warned him home;
d clouds aloft and tides below,
h signs and sounds, forbade to go,
could not see, he would not hear,
ound or sign foreboding fear;
eye but saw that light of Love,
only star it hailed above;
ear but rang with Hero's song,
waves, divide not lovers long!"—
t tale is old, but Love anew[152] 500
y nerve young hearts to prove as true.
II.
winds are high and Helle's tide
olls darkly heaving to the main;
d Night's descending shadows hide
hat field with blood bedewed in vain,
desert of old Priam's pride;
he tombs, sole relics of his reign,
—save immortal dreams that could beguile
blind old man of Scio's rocky isle!
III.
As on that night of stormy water
en Love, who sent, forgot to save
young—the beautiful—the brave—
he lonely hope of Sestos' daughter.
when alone along the sky
turret-torch was blazing high,
ugh rising gale, and breaking foam, 490
d shrieking sea-birds warned him home;
d clouds aloft and tides below,
h signs and sounds, forbade to go,
could not see, he would not hear,
ound or sign foreboding fear;
eye but saw that light of Love,
only star it hailed above;
ear but rang with Hero's song,
waves, divide not lovers long!"—
t tale is old, but Love anew[152] 500
y nerve young hearts to prove as true.
II.
winds are high and Helle's tide
olls darkly heaving to the main;
d Night's descending shadows hide
hat field with blood bedewed in vain,
desert of old Priam's pride;
he tombs, sole relics of his reign,
—save immortal dreams that could beguile
blind old man of Scio's rocky isle!
III.
Page 213
yet—for there my steps have been; 510
hese feet have pressed the sacred shore,
se limbs that buoyant wave hath borne—
strel! with thee to muse, to mourn,
o trace again those fields of yore,
eving every hillock green
ontains no fabled hero's ashes,
d that around the undoubted scene
hine own "broad Hellespont"[153] still dashes,
ong my lot! and cold were he
o there could gaze denying thee! 520
IV.
Night hath closed on Helle's stream,
Nor yet hath risen on Ida's hill
t Moon, which shone on his high theme:
warrior chides her peaceful beam,
ut conscious shepherds bless it still.
ir flocks are grazing on the Mound
Of him who felt the Dardan's arrow:
t mighty heap of gathered ground
ich Ammon's son ran proudly round,[154]
nations raised, by monarchs crowned, 530
s now a lone and nameless barrow!
hin—thy dwelling-place how narrow![155]
hout—can only strangers breathe
name of him that was beneath:
t long outlasts the storied stone;
Thou—thy very dust is gone!
V.
hese feet have pressed the sacred shore,
se limbs that buoyant wave hath borne—
strel! with thee to muse, to mourn,
o trace again those fields of yore,
eving every hillock green
ontains no fabled hero's ashes,
d that around the undoubted scene
hine own "broad Hellespont"[153] still dashes,
ong my lot! and cold were he
o there could gaze denying thee! 520
IV.
Night hath closed on Helle's stream,
Nor yet hath risen on Ida's hill
t Moon, which shone on his high theme:
warrior chides her peaceful beam,
ut conscious shepherds bless it still.
ir flocks are grazing on the Mound
Of him who felt the Dardan's arrow:
t mighty heap of gathered ground
ich Ammon's son ran proudly round,[154]
nations raised, by monarchs crowned, 530
s now a lone and nameless barrow!
hin—thy dwelling-place how narrow![155]
hout—can only strangers breathe
name of him that was beneath:
t long outlasts the storied stone;
Thou—thy very dust is gone!
V.
Page 214
e, late to-night will Dian cheer
swain, and chase the boatman's fear;
then—no beacon on the cliff
y shape the course of struggling skiff; 540
scattered lights that skirt the bay,
one by one, have died away;
only lamp of this lone hour
limmering in Zuleika's tower.
! there is light in that lone chamber,
And o'er her silken ottoman
thrown the fragrant beads of amber,
O'er which her fairy fingers ran;[156]
r these, with emerald rays beset,[157]
w could she thus that gem forget?) 550
mother's sainted amulet,[158]
ereon engraved the Koorsee text,
ld smooth this life, and win the next;
d by her Comboloio[159] lies
oran of illumined dyes;
d many a bright emblazoned rhyme
Persian scribes redeemed from Time;
d o'er those scrolls, not oft so mute,
lines her now neglected lute;
d round her lamp of fretted gold 560
om flowers in urns of China's mould;
richest work of Iran's loom,
d Sheeraz[160] tribute of perfume;
that can eye or sense delight
Are gathered in that gorgeous room:
ut yet it hath an air of gloom.
swain, and chase the boatman's fear;
then—no beacon on the cliff
y shape the course of struggling skiff; 540
scattered lights that skirt the bay,
one by one, have died away;
only lamp of this lone hour
limmering in Zuleika's tower.
! there is light in that lone chamber,
And o'er her silken ottoman
thrown the fragrant beads of amber,
O'er which her fairy fingers ran;[156]
r these, with emerald rays beset,[157]
w could she thus that gem forget?) 550
mother's sainted amulet,[158]
ereon engraved the Koorsee text,
ld smooth this life, and win the next;
d by her Comboloio[159] lies
oran of illumined dyes;
d many a bright emblazoned rhyme
Persian scribes redeemed from Time;
d o'er those scrolls, not oft so mute,
lines her now neglected lute;
d round her lamp of fretted gold 560
om flowers in urns of China's mould;
richest work of Iran's loom,
d Sheeraz[160] tribute of perfume;
that can eye or sense delight
Are gathered in that gorgeous room:
ut yet it hath an air of gloom.
Page 215
, of this Peri cell the sprite,
at doth she hence, and on so rude a night?
VI.
pt in the darkest sable vest,
Which none save noblest Moslem wear,570
guard from winds of Heaven the breast
As Heaven itself to Selim dear,
h cautious steps the thicket threading,
And starting oft, as through the glade
he gust its hollow moanings made,
on the smoother pathway treading,
re free her timid bosom beat,
he maid pursued her silent guide;
d though her terror urged retreat,
How could she quit her Selim's side?580
How teach her tender lips to chide?
VII.
y reached at length a grotto, hewn
y nature, but enlarged by art,
ere oft her lute she wont to tune,
And oft her Koran conned apart;
d oft in youthful reverie
dreamed what Paradise might be:
ere Woman's parted soul shall go
Prophet had disdained to show;[gf][161]
Selim's mansion was secure, 590
deemed she, could he long endure
bower in other worlds of bliss
hout her, most beloved in this!
at doth she hence, and on so rude a night?
VI.
pt in the darkest sable vest,
Which none save noblest Moslem wear,570
guard from winds of Heaven the breast
As Heaven itself to Selim dear,
h cautious steps the thicket threading,
And starting oft, as through the glade
he gust its hollow moanings made,
on the smoother pathway treading,
re free her timid bosom beat,
he maid pursued her silent guide;
d though her terror urged retreat,
How could she quit her Selim's side?580
How teach her tender lips to chide?
VII.
y reached at length a grotto, hewn
y nature, but enlarged by art,
ere oft her lute she wont to tune,
And oft her Koran conned apart;
d oft in youthful reverie
dreamed what Paradise might be:
ere Woman's parted soul shall go
Prophet had disdained to show;[gf][161]
Selim's mansion was secure, 590
deemed she, could he long endure
bower in other worlds of bliss
hout her, most beloved in this!
Page 216
who so dear with him could dwell?
at Houri soothe him half so well?
VIII.
ce last she visited the spot
me change seemed wrought within the grot:
ight be only that the night
guised things seen by better light:
t brazen lamp but dimly threw 600
ay of no celestial hue;
in a nook within the cell
eye on stranger objects fell.
re arms were piled, not such as wield
turbaned Delis in the field;
brands of foreign blade and hilt,
d one was red—perchance with guilt![gg]
how without can blood be spilt?
up too on the board was set
t did not seem to hold sherbet. 610
at may this mean? she turned to see
Selim—"Oh! can this be he?"[gh]
IX.
robe of pride was thrown aside,
His brow no high-crowned turban bore,
in its stead a shawl of red,
Wreathed lightly round, his temples wore:
t dagger, on whose hilt the gem
e worthy of a diadem,
longer glittered at his waist,
ere pistols unadorned were braced; 620
at Houri soothe him half so well?
VIII.
ce last she visited the spot
me change seemed wrought within the grot:
ight be only that the night
guised things seen by better light:
t brazen lamp but dimly threw 600
ay of no celestial hue;
in a nook within the cell
eye on stranger objects fell.
re arms were piled, not such as wield
turbaned Delis in the field;
brands of foreign blade and hilt,
d one was red—perchance with guilt![gg]
how without can blood be spilt?
up too on the board was set
t did not seem to hold sherbet. 610
at may this mean? she turned to see
Selim—"Oh! can this be he?"[gh]
IX.
robe of pride was thrown aside,
His brow no high-crowned turban bore,
in its stead a shawl of red,
Wreathed lightly round, his temples wore:
t dagger, on whose hilt the gem
e worthy of a diadem,
longer glittered at his waist,
ere pistols unadorned were braced; 620
Page 217
d from his belt a sabre swung,
d from his shoulder loosely hung
cloak of white, the thin capote
t decks the wandering Candiote;
eath—his golden plated vest
ng like a cuirass to his breast;
greaves below his knee that wound
h silvery scales were sheathed and bound.
were it not that high command
ke in his eye, and tone, and hand, 630
that a careless eye could see
im was some young Galiongée.[162]
X.
aid I was not what I seemed;
And now thou see'st my words were true:
ve a tale thou hast not dreamed,
sooth—its truth must others rue.
story now 'twere vain to hide,
ust not see thee Osman's bride:
had not thine own lips declared
w much of that young heart I shared, 640
uld not, must not, yet have shown
darker secret of my own.
his I speak not now of love;
t—let Time—Truth—and Peril prove:
first—Oh! never wed another—
eika! I am not thy brother!"
XI.
! not my brother!—yet unsay—
d from his shoulder loosely hung
cloak of white, the thin capote
t decks the wandering Candiote;
eath—his golden plated vest
ng like a cuirass to his breast;
greaves below his knee that wound
h silvery scales were sheathed and bound.
were it not that high command
ke in his eye, and tone, and hand, 630
that a careless eye could see
im was some young Galiongée.[162]
X.
aid I was not what I seemed;
And now thou see'st my words were true:
ve a tale thou hast not dreamed,
sooth—its truth must others rue.
story now 'twere vain to hide,
ust not see thee Osman's bride:
had not thine own lips declared
w much of that young heart I shared, 640
uld not, must not, yet have shown
darker secret of my own.
his I speak not now of love;
t—let Time—Truth—and Peril prove:
first—Oh! never wed another—
eika! I am not thy brother!"
XI.
! not my brother!—yet unsay—
Page 218
God! am I left alone on earth
mourn—I dare not curse—the day[gi]
hat saw my solitary birth?650
thou wilt love me now no more!
My sinking heart foreboded ill;
know me all I was before,
hy sister—friend—Zuleika still.
u led'st me here perchance to kill;
thou hast cause for vengeance, see!
breast is offered—take thy fill!
ar better with the dead to be
han live thus nothing now to thee:
haps far worse, for now I know660
y Giaffir always seemed thy foe;
d I, alas! am Giaffir's child,
whom thou wert contemned, reviled.
ot thy sister—would'st thou save
life—Oh! bid me be thy slave!"
XII.
y slave, Zuleika!—nay, I'm thine:
ut, gentle love, this transport calm,
lot shall yet be linked with mine;
wear it by our Prophet's shrine,[gj]
And be that thought thy sorrow's balm.670
may the Koran[163] verse displayed
on its steel direct my blade,
anger's hour to guard us both,
preserve that awful oath!
name in which thy heart hath prided
Must change; but, my Zuleika, know,
mourn—I dare not curse—the day[gi]
hat saw my solitary birth?650
thou wilt love me now no more!
My sinking heart foreboded ill;
know me all I was before,
hy sister—friend—Zuleika still.
u led'st me here perchance to kill;
thou hast cause for vengeance, see!
breast is offered—take thy fill!
ar better with the dead to be
han live thus nothing now to thee:
haps far worse, for now I know660
y Giaffir always seemed thy foe;
d I, alas! am Giaffir's child,
whom thou wert contemned, reviled.
ot thy sister—would'st thou save
life—Oh! bid me be thy slave!"
XII.
y slave, Zuleika!—nay, I'm thine:
ut, gentle love, this transport calm,
lot shall yet be linked with mine;
wear it by our Prophet's shrine,[gj]
And be that thought thy sorrow's balm.670
may the Koran[163] verse displayed
on its steel direct my blade,
anger's hour to guard us both,
preserve that awful oath!
name in which thy heart hath prided
Must change; but, my Zuleika, know,
Page 219
t tie is widened, not divided,
Although thy Sire's my deadliest foe.
father was to Giaffir all
hat Selim late was deemed to thee;680
t brother wrought a brother's fall,
ut spared, at least, my infancy!
d lulled me with a vain deceit
t yet a like return may meet.
reared me, not with tender help,
ut like the nephew of a Cain;[164]
watched me like a lion's whelp,
hat gnaws and yet may break his chain.
My father's blood in every vein
oiling! but for thy dear sake690
present vengeance will I take;
hough here I must no more remain.
first, beloved Zuleika! hear
w Giaffir wrought this deed of fear.
XIII.
w first their strife to rancour grew,
Love or Envy made them foes,
atters little if I knew;
iery spirits, slights, though few
And thoughtless, will disturb repose.
war Abdallah's arm was strong, 700
membered yet in Bosniac song,[165]
d Paswan's[166] rebel hordes attest
w little love they bore such guest:
death is all I need relate,
stern effect of Giaffir's hate;
Although thy Sire's my deadliest foe.
father was to Giaffir all
hat Selim late was deemed to thee;680
t brother wrought a brother's fall,
ut spared, at least, my infancy!
d lulled me with a vain deceit
t yet a like return may meet.
reared me, not with tender help,
ut like the nephew of a Cain;[164]
watched me like a lion's whelp,
hat gnaws and yet may break his chain.
My father's blood in every vein
oiling! but for thy dear sake690
present vengeance will I take;
hough here I must no more remain.
first, beloved Zuleika! hear
w Giaffir wrought this deed of fear.
XIII.
w first their strife to rancour grew,
Love or Envy made them foes,
atters little if I knew;
iery spirits, slights, though few
And thoughtless, will disturb repose.
war Abdallah's arm was strong, 700
membered yet in Bosniac song,[165]
d Paswan's[166] rebel hordes attest
w little love they bore such guest:
death is all I need relate,
stern effect of Giaffir's hate;
Page 220
d how my birth disclosed to me,[gk]
ate'er beside it makes, hath made me free.
XIV.
hen Paswan, after years of strife,
ast for power, but first for life,
Widdin's walls too proudly sate, 710
Pachas rallied round the state;
last nor least in high command,
h brother led a separate band;
y gave their Horse-tails[167] to the wind,
And mustering in Sophia's plain
ir tents were pitched, their post assigned;
o one, alas! assigned in vain!
at need of words? the deadly bowl,
y Giaffir's order drugged and given,
h venom subtle as his soul,[gl]
Dismissed Abdallah's hence to heaven. 720
lined and feverish in the bath,
when the hunter's sport was up,
little deemed a brother's wrath
o quench his thirst had such a cup:
bowl a bribed attendant bore;
drank one draught,[168] nor needed more!
hou my tale, Zuleika, doubt,
Haroun—he can tell it out.
XV.
e deed once done, and Paswan's feud 730
art suppressed, though ne'er subdued,
ate'er beside it makes, hath made me free.
XIV.
hen Paswan, after years of strife,
ast for power, but first for life,
Widdin's walls too proudly sate, 710
Pachas rallied round the state;
last nor least in high command,
h brother led a separate band;
y gave their Horse-tails[167] to the wind,
And mustering in Sophia's plain
ir tents were pitched, their post assigned;
o one, alas! assigned in vain!
at need of words? the deadly bowl,
y Giaffir's order drugged and given,
h venom subtle as his soul,[gl]
Dismissed Abdallah's hence to heaven. 720
lined and feverish in the bath,
when the hunter's sport was up,
little deemed a brother's wrath
o quench his thirst had such a cup:
bowl a bribed attendant bore;
drank one draught,[168] nor needed more!
hou my tale, Zuleika, doubt,
Haroun—he can tell it out.
XV.
e deed once done, and Paswan's feud 730
art suppressed, though ne'er subdued,
Page 221
Abdallah's Pachalick was gained:—
u know'st not what in our Divan
wealth procure for worse than man—
Abdallah's honours were obtained
him a brother's murder stained;
true, the purchase nearly drained
ill-got treasure, soon replaced.
uld'st question whence? Survey the waste,
d ask the squalid peasant how 740
gains repay his broiling brow!—
y me the stern Usurper spared,
y thus with me his palace spared,
ow not. Shame—regret—remorse—
d little fear from infant's force—
ides, adoption as a son
him whom Heaven accorded none,
ome unknown cabal, caprice,
served me thus:—but not in peace:
cannot curb his haughty mood,[gm] 750
I forgive a father's blood.
XVI.
thin thy Father's house are foes;
Not all who break his bread are true:
hese should I my birth disclose,
His days-his very hours were few:
y only want a heart to lead,
and to point them to the deed.
Haroun only knows, or knew
his tale, whose close is almost nigh:
in Abdallah's palace grew, 760
u know'st not what in our Divan
wealth procure for worse than man—
Abdallah's honours were obtained
him a brother's murder stained;
true, the purchase nearly drained
ill-got treasure, soon replaced.
uld'st question whence? Survey the waste,
d ask the squalid peasant how 740
gains repay his broiling brow!—
y me the stern Usurper spared,
y thus with me his palace spared,
ow not. Shame—regret—remorse—
d little fear from infant's force—
ides, adoption as a son
him whom Heaven accorded none,
ome unknown cabal, caprice,
served me thus:—but not in peace:
cannot curb his haughty mood,[gm] 750
I forgive a father's blood.
XVI.
thin thy Father's house are foes;
Not all who break his bread are true:
hese should I my birth disclose,
His days-his very hours were few:
y only want a heart to lead,
and to point them to the deed.
Haroun only knows, or knew
his tale, whose close is almost nigh:
in Abdallah's palace grew, 760
Page 222
And held that post in his Serai
Which holds he here—he saw him die;
what could single slavery do?
nge his lord? alas! too late;
ave his son from such a fate?
chose the last, and when elate
With foes subdued, or friends betrayed,
ud Giaffir in high triumph sate,
led me helpless to his gate,
And not in vain it seems essayed 770
o save the life for which he prayed.
knowledge of my birth secured
rom all and each, but most from me;
s Giaffir's safety was ensured.
emoved he too from Roumelie
his our Asiatic side,
from our seats by Danube's tide,
With none but Haroun, who retains
h knowledge—and that Nubian feels
A Tyrant's secrets are but chains, 780
m which the captive gladly steals,
d this and more to me reveals:
h still to guilt just Allah sends—
ves, tools, accomplices—no friends!
XVII.
this, Zuleika, harshly sounds;
ut harsher still my tale must be:
we'er my tongue thy softness wounds,
Yet I must prove all truth to thee."[gn]
saw thee start this garb to see,
Which holds he here—he saw him die;
what could single slavery do?
nge his lord? alas! too late;
ave his son from such a fate?
chose the last, and when elate
With foes subdued, or friends betrayed,
ud Giaffir in high triumph sate,
led me helpless to his gate,
And not in vain it seems essayed 770
o save the life for which he prayed.
knowledge of my birth secured
rom all and each, but most from me;
s Giaffir's safety was ensured.
emoved he too from Roumelie
his our Asiatic side,
from our seats by Danube's tide,
With none but Haroun, who retains
h knowledge—and that Nubian feels
A Tyrant's secrets are but chains, 780
m which the captive gladly steals,
d this and more to me reveals:
h still to guilt just Allah sends—
ves, tools, accomplices—no friends!
XVII.
this, Zuleika, harshly sounds;
ut harsher still my tale must be:
we'er my tongue thy softness wounds,
Yet I must prove all truth to thee."[gn]
saw thee start this garb to see,
Page 223
is it one I oft have worn,790
And long must wear: this Galiongée,
whom thy plighted vow is sworn,
s leader of those pirate hordes,
Whose laws and lives are on their swords;
hear whose desolating tale
uld make thy waning cheek more pale:
se arms thou see'st my band have brought,
hands that wield are not remote;
s cup too for the rugged knaves
s filled—once quaffed, they ne'er repine:800
Prophet might forgive the slaves;
hey're only infidels in wine.
XVIII.
hat could I be? Proscribed at home,
d taunted to a wish to roam;
d listless left—for Giaffir's fear
ied the courser and the spear—
ugh oft—Oh, Mahomet! how oft!—
ull Divan the despot scoffed,
f my weak unwilling hand
used the bridle or the brand: 810
ever went to war alone,
d pent me here untried—unknown;
Haroun's care with women left,[go]
hope unblest, of fame bereft,
ile thou—whose softness long endeared,
ugh it unmanned me, still had cheered—
Brusa's walls for safety sent,
aited'st there the field's event.
And long must wear: this Galiongée,
whom thy plighted vow is sworn,
s leader of those pirate hordes,
Whose laws and lives are on their swords;
hear whose desolating tale
uld make thy waning cheek more pale:
se arms thou see'st my band have brought,
hands that wield are not remote;
s cup too for the rugged knaves
s filled—once quaffed, they ne'er repine:800
Prophet might forgive the slaves;
hey're only infidels in wine.
XVIII.
hat could I be? Proscribed at home,
d taunted to a wish to roam;
d listless left—for Giaffir's fear
ied the courser and the spear—
ugh oft—Oh, Mahomet! how oft!—
ull Divan the despot scoffed,
f my weak unwilling hand
used the bridle or the brand: 810
ever went to war alone,
d pent me here untried—unknown;
Haroun's care with women left,[go]
hope unblest, of fame bereft,
ile thou—whose softness long endeared,
ugh it unmanned me, still had cheered—
Brusa's walls for safety sent,
aited'st there the field's event.
Page 224
oun who saw my spirit pining[gp]
eneath inaction's sluggish yoke, 820
captive, though with dread resigning,
My thraldom for a season broke,
promise to return before
day when Giaffir's charge was o'er.
vain—my tongue can not impart[gq]
almost drunkenness of heart,[169]
en first this liberated eye
veyed Earth—Ocean—Sun—and Sky—
f my Spirit pierced them through,
d all their inmost wonders knew! 830
word alone can paint to thee
t more than feeling—I was Free!
n for thy presence ceased to pine;
World—nay, Heaven itself was mine!
XIX.
e shallop of a trusty Moor
veyed me from this idle shore;
nged to see the isles that gem
Ocean's purple diadem:
ught by turns, and saw them all;[170]
ut when and where I joined the crew,840
h whom I'm pledged to rise or fall,
When all that we design to do
one,'twill then be time more meet
ell thee, when the tale's complete.
XX.
eneath inaction's sluggish yoke, 820
captive, though with dread resigning,
My thraldom for a season broke,
promise to return before
day when Giaffir's charge was o'er.
vain—my tongue can not impart[gq]
almost drunkenness of heart,[169]
en first this liberated eye
veyed Earth—Ocean—Sun—and Sky—
f my Spirit pierced them through,
d all their inmost wonders knew! 830
word alone can paint to thee
t more than feeling—I was Free!
n for thy presence ceased to pine;
World—nay, Heaven itself was mine!
XIX.
e shallop of a trusty Moor
veyed me from this idle shore;
nged to see the isles that gem
Ocean's purple diadem:
ught by turns, and saw them all;[170]
ut when and where I joined the crew,840
h whom I'm pledged to rise or fall,
When all that we design to do
one,'twill then be time more meet
ell thee, when the tale's complete.
XX.
Page 225
s true, they are a lawless brood,
rough in form, nor mild in mood;
d every creed, and every race,
h them hath found—may find a place:
open speech, and ready hand,
dience to their Chief's command; 850
oul for every enterprise,
t never sees with Terror's eyes;
ndship for each, and faith to all,
d vengeance vowed for those who fall,
e made them fitting instruments
more than e'en my own intents.
d some—and I have studied all
Distinguished from the vulgar rank,
chiefly to my council call
he wisdom of the cautious Frank:— 860
d some to higher thoughts aspire.
he last of Lambro's[171] patriots there
Anticipated freedom share;
d oft around the cavern fire
visionary schemes debate,
natch the Rayahs[172] from their fate.
et them ease their hearts with prate
equal rights, which man ne'er knew;
ve a love for freedom too.
! let me like the ocean-Patriarch[173] roam, 870
only know on land the Tartar's home![174]
tent on shore, my galley on the sea,
more than cities and Serais to me:[175]
ne by my steed, or wafted by my sail,
oss the desert, or before the gale,
rough in form, nor mild in mood;
d every creed, and every race,
h them hath found—may find a place:
open speech, and ready hand,
dience to their Chief's command; 850
oul for every enterprise,
t never sees with Terror's eyes;
ndship for each, and faith to all,
d vengeance vowed for those who fall,
e made them fitting instruments
more than e'en my own intents.
d some—and I have studied all
Distinguished from the vulgar rank,
chiefly to my council call
he wisdom of the cautious Frank:— 860
d some to higher thoughts aspire.
he last of Lambro's[171] patriots there
Anticipated freedom share;
d oft around the cavern fire
visionary schemes debate,
natch the Rayahs[172] from their fate.
et them ease their hearts with prate
equal rights, which man ne'er knew;
ve a love for freedom too.
! let me like the ocean-Patriarch[173] roam, 870
only know on land the Tartar's home![174]
tent on shore, my galley on the sea,
more than cities and Serais to me:[175]
ne by my steed, or wafted by my sail,
oss the desert, or before the gale,
Page 226
nd where thou wilt, my barb! or glide, my prow!
be the Star that guides the wanderer, Thou!
u, my Zuleika, share and bless my bark;
Dove of peace and promise to mine ark![176]
since that hope denied in worlds of strife, 880
hou the rainbow to the storms of life!
evening beam that smiles the clouds away,
d tints to-morrow with prophetic ray![177]
st—as the Muezzin's strain from Mecca's wall
pilgrims pure and prostrate at his call;
—as the melody of youthful days,
t steals the trembling tear of speechless praise;
r—as his native song to Exile's ears,[gr]
ll sound each tone thy long-loved voice endears.
thee in those bright isles is built a bower 890
oming as Aden[178] in its earliest hour.
housand swords, with Selim's heart and hand,
t—wave—defend—destroy—at thy command![gs]
by my band, Zuleika at my side,
spoil of nations shall bedeck my bride.
Haram's languid years of listless ease
well resigned for cares—for joys like these:
blind to Fate, I see, where'er I rove,
numbered perils,—but one only love!
well my toils shall that fond breast repay, 900
ugh Fortune frown, or falser friends betray.
w dear the dream in darkest hours of ill,
uld all be changed, to find thee faithful still!
but thy soul, like Selim's firmly shown;
hee be Selim's tender as thine own;
oothe each sorrow, share in each delight,[gt]
be the Star that guides the wanderer, Thou!
u, my Zuleika, share and bless my bark;
Dove of peace and promise to mine ark![176]
since that hope denied in worlds of strife, 880
hou the rainbow to the storms of life!
evening beam that smiles the clouds away,
d tints to-morrow with prophetic ray![177]
st—as the Muezzin's strain from Mecca's wall
pilgrims pure and prostrate at his call;
—as the melody of youthful days,
t steals the trembling tear of speechless praise;
r—as his native song to Exile's ears,[gr]
ll sound each tone thy long-loved voice endears.
thee in those bright isles is built a bower 890
oming as Aden[178] in its earliest hour.
housand swords, with Selim's heart and hand,
t—wave—defend—destroy—at thy command![gs]
by my band, Zuleika at my side,
spoil of nations shall bedeck my bride.
Haram's languid years of listless ease
well resigned for cares—for joys like these:
blind to Fate, I see, where'er I rove,
numbered perils,—but one only love!
well my toils shall that fond breast repay, 900
ugh Fortune frown, or falser friends betray.
w dear the dream in darkest hours of ill,
uld all be changed, to find thee faithful still!
but thy soul, like Selim's firmly shown;
hee be Selim's tender as thine own;
oothe each sorrow, share in each delight,[gt]
Page 227
nd every thought, do all—but disunite!
e free, 'tis mine our horde again to guide;
nds to each other, foes to aught beside:[179]
there we follow but the bent assigned 910
fatal Nature to man's warring kind:[gu]
k! where his carnage and his conquests cease!
makes a solitude, and calls it—peace![gv][180]
e the rest must use my skill or strength,
ask no land beyond my sabre's length:
wer sways but by division—her resource[gw]
blest alternative of fraud or force!
s be the last; in time Deceit may come
en cities cage us in a social home:
re ev'n thy soul might err—how oft the heart 920
ruption shakes which Peril could not part!
d Woman, more than Man, when Death or Woe,
even Disgrace, would lay her lover low,
k in the lap of Luxury will shame—
ay suspicion!—not Zuleika's name!
life is hazard at the best; and here
more remains to win, and much to fear:
fear!—the doubt, the dread of losing thee,
Osman's power, and Giaffir's stern decree.
t dread shall vanish with the favouring gale, 930
ich Love to-night hath promised to my sail:[gx]
danger daunts the pair his smile hath blest,
ir steps still roving, but their hearts at rest.
h thee all toils are sweet, each clime hath charms;
h—sea alike—our world within our arms!
—let the loud winds whistle o'er the deck,[181]
hat those arms cling closer round my neck:
e free, 'tis mine our horde again to guide;
nds to each other, foes to aught beside:[179]
there we follow but the bent assigned 910
fatal Nature to man's warring kind:[gu]
k! where his carnage and his conquests cease!
makes a solitude, and calls it—peace![gv][180]
e the rest must use my skill or strength,
ask no land beyond my sabre's length:
wer sways but by division—her resource[gw]
blest alternative of fraud or force!
s be the last; in time Deceit may come
en cities cage us in a social home:
re ev'n thy soul might err—how oft the heart 920
ruption shakes which Peril could not part!
d Woman, more than Man, when Death or Woe,
even Disgrace, would lay her lover low,
k in the lap of Luxury will shame—
ay suspicion!—not Zuleika's name!
life is hazard at the best; and here
more remains to win, and much to fear:
fear!—the doubt, the dread of losing thee,
Osman's power, and Giaffir's stern decree.
t dread shall vanish with the favouring gale, 930
ich Love to-night hath promised to my sail:[gx]
danger daunts the pair his smile hath blest,
ir steps still roving, but their hearts at rest.
h thee all toils are sweet, each clime hath charms;
h—sea alike—our world within our arms!
—let the loud winds whistle o'er the deck,[181]
hat those arms cling closer round my neck:
Page 228
deepest murmur of this lip shall be,[gy][182]
sigh for safety, but a prayer for thee!
war of elements no fears impart 940
Love, whose deadliest bane is human Art:
re lie the only rocks our course can check;
e moments menace—there are years of wreck!
hence ye thoughts that rise in Horror's shape!
s hour bestows, or ever bars escape.[gz]
w words remain of mine my tale to close;
hine but one to waft us from our foes;
—foes—to me will Giaffir's hate decline?
d is not Osman, who would part us, thine?
XXI.
s head and faith from doubt and death950
eturned in time my guard to save;
ew heard, none told, that o'er the wave
m isle to isle I roved the while:
d since, though parted from my band
seldom now I leave the land,
deed they've done, nor deed shall do,
I have heard and doomed it too:
rm the plan—decree the spoil—
fit I oftener share the toil.
now too long I've held thine ear;960
e presses—floats my bark—and here
leave behind but hate and fear.
morrow Osman with his train
ves—to-night must break thy chain:
d would'st thou save that haughty Bey,—
erchance his life who gave thee thine,—
sigh for safety, but a prayer for thee!
war of elements no fears impart 940
Love, whose deadliest bane is human Art:
re lie the only rocks our course can check;
e moments menace—there are years of wreck!
hence ye thoughts that rise in Horror's shape!
s hour bestows, or ever bars escape.[gz]
w words remain of mine my tale to close;
hine but one to waft us from our foes;
—foes—to me will Giaffir's hate decline?
d is not Osman, who would part us, thine?
XXI.
s head and faith from doubt and death950
eturned in time my guard to save;
ew heard, none told, that o'er the wave
m isle to isle I roved the while:
d since, though parted from my band
seldom now I leave the land,
deed they've done, nor deed shall do,
I have heard and doomed it too:
rm the plan—decree the spoil—
fit I oftener share the toil.
now too long I've held thine ear;960
e presses—floats my bark—and here
leave behind but hate and fear.
morrow Osman with his train
ves—to-night must break thy chain:
d would'st thou save that haughty Bey,—
erchance his life who gave thee thine,—
Page 229
h me this hour away—away!
ut yet, though thou art plighted mine,
uld'st thou recall thy willing vow,
palled by truths imparted now,970
e rest I—not to see thee wed:
be that peril on my head!"
XXII.
eika, mute and motionless,
od like that Statue of Distress,
en, her last hope for ever gone,
Mother hardened into stone;
in the maid that eye could see
but a younger Niobé.
ere her lip, or even her eye,
ayed to speak, or look reply, 980
eath the garden's wicket porch
flashed on high a blazing torch!
other—and another—and another—[183]
! fly—no more—yet now my more than brother!"
wide, through every thicket spread
fearful lights are gleaming red;
these alone—for each right hand
eady with a sheathless brand.
y part—pursue—return, and wheel
h searching flambeau, shining steel; 990
d last of all, his sabre waving,
n Giaffir in his fury raving:
d now almost they touch the cave—
must that grot be Selim's grave?
XXIII.
ut yet, though thou art plighted mine,
uld'st thou recall thy willing vow,
palled by truths imparted now,970
e rest I—not to see thee wed:
be that peril on my head!"
XXII.
eika, mute and motionless,
od like that Statue of Distress,
en, her last hope for ever gone,
Mother hardened into stone;
in the maid that eye could see
but a younger Niobé.
ere her lip, or even her eye,
ayed to speak, or look reply, 980
eath the garden's wicket porch
flashed on high a blazing torch!
other—and another—and another—[183]
! fly—no more—yet now my more than brother!"
wide, through every thicket spread
fearful lights are gleaming red;
these alone—for each right hand
eady with a sheathless brand.
y part—pursue—return, and wheel
h searching flambeau, shining steel; 990
d last of all, his sabre waving,
n Giaffir in his fury raving:
d now almost they touch the cave—
must that grot be Selim's grave?
XXIII.
Page 230
ntless he stood—"'Tis come—soon past—
kiss, Zuleika—'tis my last:
ut yet my band not far from shore
y hear this signal, see the flash;
now too few—the attempt were rash:
No matter—yet one effort more."1000
h to the cavern mouth he stept;
His pistol's echo rang on high,
eika started not, nor wept,
Despair benumbed her breast and eye!—
ey hear me not, or if they ply
ir oars,'tis but to see me die;
t sound hath drawn my foes more nigh.
n forth my father's scimitar,
u ne'er hast seen less equal war!
ewell, Zuleika!—Sweet! retire:1010
Yet stay within—here linger safe,
At thee his rage will only chafe.
not—lest even to thee perchance
me erring blade or ball should glance.
r'st them for him?—may I expire
n this strife I seek thy sire!
—though by him that poison poured;
—though again he call me coward!
tamely shall I meet their steel?
—as each crest save his may feel!"1020
XXIV.
bound he made, and gained the sand:
Already at his feet hath sunk
foremost of the prying band,
kiss, Zuleika—'tis my last:
ut yet my band not far from shore
y hear this signal, see the flash;
now too few—the attempt were rash:
No matter—yet one effort more."1000
h to the cavern mouth he stept;
His pistol's echo rang on high,
eika started not, nor wept,
Despair benumbed her breast and eye!—
ey hear me not, or if they ply
ir oars,'tis but to see me die;
t sound hath drawn my foes more nigh.
n forth my father's scimitar,
u ne'er hast seen less equal war!
ewell, Zuleika!—Sweet! retire:1010
Yet stay within—here linger safe,
At thee his rage will only chafe.
not—lest even to thee perchance
me erring blade or ball should glance.
r'st them for him?—may I expire
n this strife I seek thy sire!
—though by him that poison poured;
—though again he call me coward!
tamely shall I meet their steel?
—as each crest save his may feel!"1020
XXIV.
bound he made, and gained the sand:
Already at his feet hath sunk
foremost of the prying band,
Page 231
A gasping head, a quivering trunk:
other falls—but round him close
warming circle of his foes;
m right to left his path he cleft,
And almost met the meeting wave:
boat appears—not five oars' length—
comrades strain with desperate strength—1030
Oh! are they yet in time to save?
His feet the foremost breakers lave;
band are plunging in the bay,
ir sabres glitter through the spray;
—wild—unwearied to the strand
y struggle—now they touch the land!
y come—'tis but to add to slaughter—
heart's best blood is on the water.
XXV.
aped from shot, unharmed by steel,
carcely grazed its force to feel,[ha] 1040
Selim won, betrayed, beset,
where the strand and billows met;
re as his last step left the land,
d the last death-blow dealt his hand—
wherefore did he turn to look[hb]
or her his eye but sought in vain?
t pause, that fatal gaze he took,
Hath doomed his death, or fixed his chain.
proof, in peril and in pain,
w late will Lover's hope remain! 1050
back was to the dashing spray;
ind, but close, his comrades lay,
other falls—but round him close
warming circle of his foes;
m right to left his path he cleft,
And almost met the meeting wave:
boat appears—not five oars' length—
comrades strain with desperate strength—1030
Oh! are they yet in time to save?
His feet the foremost breakers lave;
band are plunging in the bay,
ir sabres glitter through the spray;
—wild—unwearied to the strand
y struggle—now they touch the land!
y come—'tis but to add to slaughter—
heart's best blood is on the water.
XXV.
aped from shot, unharmed by steel,
carcely grazed its force to feel,[ha] 1040
Selim won, betrayed, beset,
where the strand and billows met;
re as his last step left the land,
d the last death-blow dealt his hand—
wherefore did he turn to look[hb]
or her his eye but sought in vain?
t pause, that fatal gaze he took,
Hath doomed his death, or fixed his chain.
proof, in peril and in pain,
w late will Lover's hope remain! 1050
back was to the dashing spray;
ind, but close, his comrades lay,
Page 232
en, at the instant, hissed the ball—
may the foes of Giaffir fall!"
ose voice is heard? whose carbine rang?
ose bullet through the night-air sang,
nearly, deadly aimed to err?
thine—Abdallah's Murderer!
father slowly rued thy hate,
son hath found a quicker fate: 1060
from his breast the blood is bubbling,
whiteness of the sea-foam troubling—
ught his lips essayed to groan,
rushing billows choked the tone!
XXVI.
rn slowly rolls the clouds away;
ew trophies of the fight are there:
shouts that shook the midnight-bay
silent; but some signs of fray
hat strand of strife may bear,
d fragments of each shivered brand;1070
ps stamped; and dashed into the sand
print of many a struggling hand
May there be marked; nor far remote
A broken torch, an oarless boat;
d tangled on the weeds that heap
beach where shelving to the deep
here lies a white capote!
rent in twain—one dark-red stain
wave yet ripples o'er in vain:
ut where is he who wore?1080
who would o'er his relics weep,
may the foes of Giaffir fall!"
ose voice is heard? whose carbine rang?
ose bullet through the night-air sang,
nearly, deadly aimed to err?
thine—Abdallah's Murderer!
father slowly rued thy hate,
son hath found a quicker fate: 1060
from his breast the blood is bubbling,
whiteness of the sea-foam troubling—
ught his lips essayed to groan,
rushing billows choked the tone!
XXVI.
rn slowly rolls the clouds away;
ew trophies of the fight are there:
shouts that shook the midnight-bay
silent; but some signs of fray
hat strand of strife may bear,
d fragments of each shivered brand;1070
ps stamped; and dashed into the sand
print of many a struggling hand
May there be marked; nor far remote
A broken torch, an oarless boat;
d tangled on the weeds that heap
beach where shelving to the deep
here lies a white capote!
rent in twain—one dark-red stain
wave yet ripples o'er in vain:
ut where is he who wore?1080
who would o'er his relics weep,
Page 233
seek them where the surges sweep
ir burthen round Sigæum's steep
And cast on Lemnos' shore:
sea-birds shriek above the prey,
r which their hungry beaks delay,[hc]
shaken on his restless pillow,
head heaves with the heaving billow;
t hand, whose motion is not life,[hd]
feebly seems to menace strife,1090
ng by the tossing tide on high,
hen levelled with the wave—[184]
at recks it, though that corse shall lie
Within a living grave?
bird that tears that prostrate form
h only robbed the meaner worm;
only heart, the only eye
bled or wept to see him die,
seen those scattered limbs composed,
And mourned above his turban-stone,[185]1100
t heart hath burst—that eye was closed—
Yea—closed before his own!
XXVII.
Helle's stream there is a voice of wail!
d Woman's eye is wet—Man's cheek is pale:
eika! last of Giaffir's race,
hy destined lord is come too late:
sees not—ne'er shall see thy face!
Can he not hear
loud Wul-wulleh[186] warn his distant ear?
hy handmaids weeping at the gate,1110
ir burthen round Sigæum's steep
And cast on Lemnos' shore:
sea-birds shriek above the prey,
r which their hungry beaks delay,[hc]
shaken on his restless pillow,
head heaves with the heaving billow;
t hand, whose motion is not life,[hd]
feebly seems to menace strife,1090
ng by the tossing tide on high,
hen levelled with the wave—[184]
at recks it, though that corse shall lie
Within a living grave?
bird that tears that prostrate form
h only robbed the meaner worm;
only heart, the only eye
bled or wept to see him die,
seen those scattered limbs composed,
And mourned above his turban-stone,[185]1100
t heart hath burst—that eye was closed—
Yea—closed before his own!
XXVII.
Helle's stream there is a voice of wail!
d Woman's eye is wet—Man's cheek is pale:
eika! last of Giaffir's race,
hy destined lord is come too late:
sees not—ne'er shall see thy face!
Can he not hear
loud Wul-wulleh[186] warn his distant ear?
hy handmaids weeping at the gate,1110
Page 234
he Koran-chanters of the Hymn of Fate,[he][187]
he silent slaves with folded arms that wait,
hs in the hall, and shrieks upon the gale,
Tell him thy tale!
u didst not view thy Selim fall!
hat fearful moment when he left the cave
Thy heart grew chill:
He was thy hope—thy joy—thy love—thine all,
And that last thought on him thou could'st not save
Sufficed to kill;1120
st forth in one wild cry—and all was still.
eace to thy broken heart—and virgin grave!
happy! but of life to lose the worst!
t grief—though deep—though fatal—was thy first!
ice happy! ne'er to feel nor fear the force
absence—shame—pride—hate—revenge—remorse!
d, oh! that pang where more than Madness lies
Worm that will not sleep—and never dies;
ught of the gloomy day and ghastly night,
t dreads the darkness, and yet loathes the light,1130
t winds around, and tears the quivering heart!
wherefore not consume it—and depart!
e to thee, rash and unrelenting Chief!
Vainly thou heap'st the dust upon thy head,
Vainly the sackcloth o'er thy limbs dost spread:[188]
y that same hand Abdallah—Selim bled.
w let it tear thy beard in idle grief:
pride of heart, thy bride for Osman's bed,
, whom thy Sultan had but seen to wed,[hf]
Thy Daughter's dead!1140
Hope of thine age, thy twilight's lonely beam,
he silent slaves with folded arms that wait,
hs in the hall, and shrieks upon the gale,
Tell him thy tale!
u didst not view thy Selim fall!
hat fearful moment when he left the cave
Thy heart grew chill:
He was thy hope—thy joy—thy love—thine all,
And that last thought on him thou could'st not save
Sufficed to kill;1120
st forth in one wild cry—and all was still.
eace to thy broken heart—and virgin grave!
happy! but of life to lose the worst!
t grief—though deep—though fatal—was thy first!
ice happy! ne'er to feel nor fear the force
absence—shame—pride—hate—revenge—remorse!
d, oh! that pang where more than Madness lies
Worm that will not sleep—and never dies;
ught of the gloomy day and ghastly night,
t dreads the darkness, and yet loathes the light,1130
t winds around, and tears the quivering heart!
wherefore not consume it—and depart!
e to thee, rash and unrelenting Chief!
Vainly thou heap'st the dust upon thy head,
Vainly the sackcloth o'er thy limbs dost spread:[188]
y that same hand Abdallah—Selim bled.
w let it tear thy beard in idle grief:
pride of heart, thy bride for Osman's bed,
, whom thy Sultan had but seen to wed,[hf]
Thy Daughter's dead!1140
Hope of thine age, thy twilight's lonely beam,
Page 235
he Star hath set that shone on Helle's stream.
at quenched its ray?—the blood that thou hast shed!
k! to the hurried question of Despair:[189]
here is my child?"—an Echo answers—"Where?"[190]
XXVIII.
Within the place of thousand tombs
That shine beneath, while dark above
he sad but living cypress glooms[hg]
And withers not, though branch and leaf
Are stamped with an eternal grief, 1150
Like early unrequited Love,
One spot exists, which ever blooms,
Ev'n in that deadly grove—
A single rose is shedding there
Its lonely lustre, meek and pale:
looks as planted by Despair—
So white—so faint—the slightest gale
Might whirl the leaves on high;
And yet, though storms and blight assail,
And hands more rude than wintry sky 1160
May wring it from the stem—in vain—
To-morrow sees it bloom again!
he stalk some Spirit gently rears,
And waters with celestial tears;
For well may maids of Helle deem
hat this can be no earthly flower,
Which mocks the tempest's withering hour,
And buds unsheltered by a bower;
Nor droops, though Spring refuse her shower,
Nor woos the Summer beam: 1170
at quenched its ray?—the blood that thou hast shed!
k! to the hurried question of Despair:[189]
here is my child?"—an Echo answers—"Where?"[190]
XXVIII.
Within the place of thousand tombs
That shine beneath, while dark above
he sad but living cypress glooms[hg]
And withers not, though branch and leaf
Are stamped with an eternal grief, 1150
Like early unrequited Love,
One spot exists, which ever blooms,
Ev'n in that deadly grove—
A single rose is shedding there
Its lonely lustre, meek and pale:
looks as planted by Despair—
So white—so faint—the slightest gale
Might whirl the leaves on high;
And yet, though storms and blight assail,
And hands more rude than wintry sky 1160
May wring it from the stem—in vain—
To-morrow sees it bloom again!
he stalk some Spirit gently rears,
And waters with celestial tears;
For well may maids of Helle deem
hat this can be no earthly flower,
Which mocks the tempest's withering hour,
And buds unsheltered by a bower;
Nor droops, though Spring refuse her shower,
Nor woos the Summer beam: 1170
Page 236
o it the livelong night there sings
A Bird unseen—but not remote:
nvisible his airy wings,
ut soft as harp that Houri strings
His long entrancing note!
were the Bulbul; but his throat,
Though mournful, pours not such a strain:
or they who listen cannot leave
he spot, but linger there and grieve,
As if they loved in vain! 1180
And yet so sweet the tears they shed,
Tis sorrow so unmixed with dread,
hey scarce can bear the morn to break
That melancholy spell,
And longer yet would weep and wake,
He sings so wild and well!
ut when the day-blush bursts from high[hh]
Expires that magic melody.
And some have been who could believe,[hi]
So fondly youthful dreams deceive, 1190
Yet harsh be they that blame,)
hat note so piercing and profound
Will shape and syllable[191] its sound
Into Zuleika's name.
Tis from her cypress summit heard,
hat melts in air the liquid word:
Tis from her lowly virgin earth
hat white rose takes its tender birth.
here late was laid a marble stone;
ve saw it placed—the Morrow gone! 1200
was no mortal arm that bore
A Bird unseen—but not remote:
nvisible his airy wings,
ut soft as harp that Houri strings
His long entrancing note!
were the Bulbul; but his throat,
Though mournful, pours not such a strain:
or they who listen cannot leave
he spot, but linger there and grieve,
As if they loved in vain! 1180
And yet so sweet the tears they shed,
Tis sorrow so unmixed with dread,
hey scarce can bear the morn to break
That melancholy spell,
And longer yet would weep and wake,
He sings so wild and well!
ut when the day-blush bursts from high[hh]
Expires that magic melody.
And some have been who could believe,[hi]
So fondly youthful dreams deceive, 1190
Yet harsh be they that blame,)
hat note so piercing and profound
Will shape and syllable[191] its sound
Into Zuleika's name.
Tis from her cypress summit heard,
hat melts in air the liquid word:
Tis from her lowly virgin earth
hat white rose takes its tender birth.
here late was laid a marble stone;
ve saw it placed—the Morrow gone! 1200
was no mortal arm that bore
Page 237
hat deep fixed pillar to the shore;
or there, as Helle's legends tell,
Next morn 'twas found where Selim fell;
ashed by the tumbling tide, whose wave
Denied his bones a holier grave:
And there by night, reclined, 'tis said.
s seen a ghastly turbaned head:[192]
And hence extended by the billow,
'Tis named the "Pirate-phantom's pillow!" 1210
Where first it lay that mourning flower
Hath flourished; flourisheth this hour,
Alone and dewy—coldly pure and pale;
As weeping Beauty's cheek at Sorrow's tale![hj][193]
or there, as Helle's legends tell,
Next morn 'twas found where Selim fell;
ashed by the tumbling tide, whose wave
Denied his bones a holier grave:
And there by night, reclined, 'tis said.
s seen a ghastly turbaned head:[192]
And hence extended by the billow,
'Tis named the "Pirate-phantom's pillow!" 1210
Where first it lay that mourning flower
Hath flourished; flourisheth this hour,
Alone and dewy—coldly pure and pale;
As weeping Beauty's cheek at Sorrow's tale![hj][193]
Page 238
NOTE TO THE BRIDE OF ABYDOS.
CANTO II. STANZA XX.
A fter the completion of the fair copy of the MS. of the Bride of Abydos,
seventy lines were added to stanza xx. of Canto II. In both MSS. the rough
and fair copies, the stanza ends with the line, "The Dove of peace and
promise to mine ark!"
Seven MS. sheets are extant, which make up the greater portion of these
additional lines.
The First Addition amounts to eight lines, and takes the narrative from
line 880 to line 893, "Wait—wave—defend— destroy—at thy command!"
Lines 884-889 do not appear in the first MS. Fragment, but are given in
three variants on separate sheets. Two of these are dated December 2 and
December 3, 1813.
The Second Fragment begins with line 890, "For thee in those bright
isles is built a bower," and, numbering twenty-two lines, ends with a variant
of line 907, "Blend every thought, do all—but disunite!" Two lines of this
addition, "With thee all toils are sweet," find a place in the text as lines 934,
935.
CANTO II. STANZA XX.
A fter the completion of the fair copy of the MS. of the Bride of Abydos,
seventy lines were added to stanza xx. of Canto II. In both MSS. the rough
and fair copies, the stanza ends with the line, "The Dove of peace and
promise to mine ark!"
Seven MS. sheets are extant, which make up the greater portion of these
additional lines.
The First Addition amounts to eight lines, and takes the narrative from
line 880 to line 893, "Wait—wave—defend— destroy—at thy command!"
Lines 884-889 do not appear in the first MS. Fragment, but are given in
three variants on separate sheets. Two of these are dated December 2 and
December 3, 1813.
The Second Fragment begins with line 890, "For thee in those bright
isles is built a bower," and, numbering twenty-two lines, ends with a variant
of line 907, "Blend every thought, do all—but disunite!" Two lines of this
addition, "With thee all toils are sweet," find a place in the text as lines 934,
935.
Page 239
The Third Fragment amounts to thirty-six lines, and may be taken as the
first draft of the whole additions—lines 880-949.
Lines 908-925 and 936-945 of the text are still later additions, but a
fourth MS. fragment supplies lines 920-925 and lines 936-945. (A fair copy
of this fragment gives text for Revise of November 13.) Between November
13 and November 25 no less than ten revises of the Bride were submitted to
Lord Byron. In the earliest of these, dated November 13, the thirty-six lines
of the Third Fragment have been expanded into forty lines—four lines of
the MS. being omitted, and twelve lines, 908-919, "Once free,"—"social
home," being inserted. The text passed through five revises and remained
unaltered till November 21, when eighteen lines were added to the forty,
viz.: (4) "Mark! where his carnage,"—"sabre's length;" (6) "There ev'n thy
soul,"—"Zuleika's name;" and (8) "Aye—let the loud winds,"—"bars
escape." Of these the two latter additions belong to the Fourth Fragment.
The text in this state passed through three more revises, but before the first
edition was issued two more lines were added—lines 938, 939,
e deepest murmur of this lip shall be,
sigh for safety, but a prayer for thee!"
Even then the six lines, "Blest—as the Muezzin's,"—"endears," are
wanting in the text; but the four lines, "Soft—as the melody,"—"endears,"
are inserted in MS. in the margin. The text as it stands first appears in the
Seventh Edition.
[F irst D raft of 880, sq ., of C anto II. S tanz xx . of the B ride of
A bydos .]
first draft of the whole additions—lines 880-949.
Lines 908-925 and 936-945 of the text are still later additions, but a
fourth MS. fragment supplies lines 920-925 and lines 936-945. (A fair copy
of this fragment gives text for Revise of November 13.) Between November
13 and November 25 no less than ten revises of the Bride were submitted to
Lord Byron. In the earliest of these, dated November 13, the thirty-six lines
of the Third Fragment have been expanded into forty lines—four lines of
the MS. being omitted, and twelve lines, 908-919, "Once free,"—"social
home," being inserted. The text passed through five revises and remained
unaltered till November 21, when eighteen lines were added to the forty,
viz.: (4) "Mark! where his carnage,"—"sabre's length;" (6) "There ev'n thy
soul,"—"Zuleika's name;" and (8) "Aye—let the loud winds,"—"bars
escape." Of these the two latter additions belong to the Fourth Fragment.
The text in this state passed through three more revises, but before the first
edition was issued two more lines were added—lines 938, 939,
e deepest murmur of this lip shall be,
sigh for safety, but a prayer for thee!"
Even then the six lines, "Blest—as the Muezzin's,"—"endears," are
wanting in the text; but the four lines, "Soft—as the melody,"—"endears,"
are inserted in MS. in the margin. The text as it stands first appears in the
Seventh Edition.
[F irst D raft of 880, sq ., of C anto II. S tanz xx . of the B ride of
A bydos .]
Page 240
thee in those bright isles is built a bower
Aden, in its earliest hour
oming as Eden—guarded like a tower
housand swords—thy Selim's soul and hand
t on thy voice, and bow to thy command
pair
Danger daunts—the souls that Love hath blest
steps still roving
h feet long-wandering—but with hearts at rest.
thee my blade shall shine—my hand shall toil
h thee all toils were sweet—each clime hath charms {line 934}
h—sea—alike—one World within our arms {line 935}
by my hand—Zuleika at my side—
Spoil of nations shall bedeck my bride
slumbring
Haram's sluggish life of listless ease
well exchanged for cares and joys like these
e be the lot to know where'er I rove
housand perils wait where-er I rove,
blind to fate I view where-er I rove
housand perils—but one only love—
well my labor shall fond breast repay
en Fortune frowns or falser friends betray
w dear the thought in darkest hours of ill
uld all be changed to find thee faithful still
but thy soul like Selim's firmly shown
mine in firmness
m as my own I deem thy tender heart
hee be Selim's tender as thine own
hange, or mingle every thought with his
d all our future days unite in this.
Aden, in its earliest hour
oming as Eden—guarded like a tower
housand swords—thy Selim's soul and hand
t on thy voice, and bow to thy command
pair
Danger daunts—the souls that Love hath blest
steps still roving
h feet long-wandering—but with hearts at rest.
thee my blade shall shine—my hand shall toil
h thee all toils were sweet—each clime hath charms {line 934}
h—sea—alike—one World within our arms {line 935}
by my hand—Zuleika at my side—
Spoil of nations shall bedeck my bride
slumbring
Haram's sluggish life of listless ease
well exchanged for cares and joys like these
e be the lot to know where'er I rove
housand perils wait where-er I rove,
blind to fate I view where-er I rove
housand perils—but one only love—
well my labor shall fond breast repay
en Fortune frowns or falser friends betray
w dear the thought in darkest hours of ill
uld all be changed to find thee faithful still
but thy soul like Selim's firmly shown
mine in firmness
m as my own I deem thy tender heart
hee be Selim's tender as thine own
hange, or mingle every thought with his
d all our future days unite in this.
Page 241
n I may lead—but trust not—I may fall
those now friends to me—yet foes to all—
his they follow but the bent assigned
fatal Nature
savage Nature to our warning kind
there—oh, far be every thought of fear
is but peril at the best—and here
more remains to win and much to fear
fear—the doubt the dread of losing thee—
t dread must vanish.
FOOTNOTES:
[ey]
To the Right Honble
Henry Richard Vassal
Lord Holland
This Tale
Is inscribed with
Every sentiment of the
Most affectionate respect
by his gratefully obliged servt.
And sincere Friend
Byron.
[Proof and Revise.—See Letters to Murray, November 13, 17, 1813.]
[124] {157} ["Murray tells me that Croker asked him why the thing was called the Bride
of Abydos? It is a cursed awkward question, being unanswerable. She is not a bride, only
about to become one. I don't wonder at his finding out the Bull; but the detection ... is too
late to do any good. I was a great fool to make it, and am ashamed of not being an
Irishman."—Journal, December 6, 1813; Letters, 1898, ii. 365.
Byron need not have been dismayed. "The term is particularly applied on the day of
marriage and during the 'honeymoon,' but is frequently used from the proclamation of the
banns.... In the debate on Prince Leopold's allowance, Mr. Gladstone, being criticized for
those now friends to me—yet foes to all—
his they follow but the bent assigned
fatal Nature
savage Nature to our warning kind
there—oh, far be every thought of fear
is but peril at the best—and here
more remains to win and much to fear
fear—the doubt the dread of losing thee—
t dread must vanish.
FOOTNOTES:
[ey]
To the Right Honble
Henry Richard Vassal
Lord Holland
This Tale
Is inscribed with
Every sentiment of the
Most affectionate respect
by his gratefully obliged servt.
And sincere Friend
Byron.
[Proof and Revise.—See Letters to Murray, November 13, 17, 1813.]
[124] {157} ["Murray tells me that Croker asked him why the thing was called the Bride
of Abydos? It is a cursed awkward question, being unanswerable. She is not a bride, only
about to become one. I don't wonder at his finding out the Bull; but the detection ... is too
late to do any good. I was a great fool to make it, and am ashamed of not being an
Irishman."—Journal, December 6, 1813; Letters, 1898, ii. 365.
Byron need not have been dismayed. "The term is particularly applied on the day of
marriage and during the 'honeymoon,' but is frequently used from the proclamation of the
banns.... In the debate on Prince Leopold's allowance, Mr. Gladstone, being criticized for
Page 242
speaking of the Princess Helena as the 'bride,' said he believed that colloquially a lady
when engaged was often called a 'bride.' This was met with 'Hear! Hear!' from some, and
'No! No!' from others."—N. Engl. Dict., art. "Bride."]
[125] [The opening lines were probably suggested by Goethe's—"Kennst du das Land wo
die citronen blühn?"]
[126] "Gúl," the rose.
[127] {158} ["'Where the Citron,' etc. These lines are in the MS., and omitted by the
Printer, whom I again request to look over it, and see that no others are omitted.—B."
(Revise No. 1, November 13, 1813.)
"I ought and do apologise to Mr.—— the Printer for charging him with an omission of the
lines which I find was my own—but I also wish he would not print such a stupid word as
finest for fairest." (Revise, November 15, 1813.)
The lines, "Where the Citron," etc., are absent from a fair copy dated November 11, but
are inserted as an addition in an earlier draft.]
[128]
"Souls made of fire, and children of the Sun,
With whom revenge is virtue."
Y oung ' s Revenge, act v. sc. 2 (British Theatre, 1792, p. 84).
[ez] For wild as the moment of lovers' farewell.—[MS.]
[fa] Canto 1st The Bride of Abydos. Nov. 1st 1813.—[MS.]
[fb] {159} The changing cheek and knitting brow.—[MS. i.]
[fc]
Hence—bid my daughter hither come
This hour decides her future doom—
Yet not to her these words express
But lead her from the tower's recess.—[MSS. i., ii.]
[These lines must have been altered in proof, for all the revises accord with the text.]
[fd] {160} With many a tale and mutual song.—[ms]
[129] Mejnoun and Leila, the Romeo and Juliet of the East. Sadi, the moral poet of Persia.
[For the "story of Leila and Mujnoon," see The Gulistan, or Rose Garden of ... Saadi,
when engaged was often called a 'bride.' This was met with 'Hear! Hear!' from some, and
'No! No!' from others."—N. Engl. Dict., art. "Bride."]
[125] [The opening lines were probably suggested by Goethe's—"Kennst du das Land wo
die citronen blühn?"]
[126] "Gúl," the rose.
[127] {158} ["'Where the Citron,' etc. These lines are in the MS., and omitted by the
Printer, whom I again request to look over it, and see that no others are omitted.—B."
(Revise No. 1, November 13, 1813.)
"I ought and do apologise to Mr.—— the Printer for charging him with an omission of the
lines which I find was my own—but I also wish he would not print such a stupid word as
finest for fairest." (Revise, November 15, 1813.)
The lines, "Where the Citron," etc., are absent from a fair copy dated November 11, but
are inserted as an addition in an earlier draft.]
[128]
"Souls made of fire, and children of the Sun,
With whom revenge is virtue."
Y oung ' s Revenge, act v. sc. 2 (British Theatre, 1792, p. 84).
[ez] For wild as the moment of lovers' farewell.—[MS.]
[fa] Canto 1st The Bride of Abydos. Nov. 1st 1813.—[MS.]
[fb] {159} The changing cheek and knitting brow.—[MS. i.]
[fc]
Hence—bid my daughter hither come
This hour decides her future doom—
Yet not to her these words express
But lead her from the tower's recess.—[MSS. i., ii.]
[These lines must have been altered in proof, for all the revises accord with the text.]
[fd] {160} With many a tale and mutual song.—[ms]
[129] Mejnoun and Leila, the Romeo and Juliet of the East. Sadi, the moral poet of Persia.
[For the "story of Leila and Mujnoon," see The Gulistan, or Rose Garden of ... Saadi,
Page 243
translated by Francis Gladwin, Boston, 1865, Tale xix. pp. 288, 289; and Gulistan ... du
Cheikh Sa'di ... Traduit par W. Semelet, Paris, 1834, Notes on Chapitre V. p. 304. Sa'di
"moralizes" the tale, to the effect that love dwells in the eye of the beholder. See, too,
Jāmī's Medjnoun et Leila, translated by A. L. Chezy, Paris, 1807.]
[130] Tambour. Turkish drum, which sounds at sunrise, noon, and twilight. [The
"tambour" is a kind of mandoline. It is the large kettle-drum (nagaré) which sounds the
hours.]
[fe] {161}
Must walk forsooth where waters flow
And pore on every flower below.—[MS. erased.]
[ff] {162} For looks of peace and hearts of ire.—[MS.]
[fg] And calmly to his Sire's was raised.—[MS.]
[fh] {163} No—nor the blood I call my own.—[MS.]
[131] The Turks abhor the Arabs (who return the compliment a hundredfold) even more
than they hate the Christians.
[fi] Or Christian flying from the fight.—[MS.]
[fj] Zuleika! ever welcome here.—[MS.]
[fk] Who never was more blest than now.—[MS.]
[132] {164} [Lines 170-181 were added in the course of printing. They were received by
the publisher on November 22, 1813.]
[fl]
Who hath not felt his very power of sight
Faint with the languid dimness of delight?—[MS.]
[fm]
The light of life—the purity of grace
The mind of Music breathing in her face
or, Mind on her lip and music in her face.
A heart where softness harmonized the whole
And oh! her eye was in itself a Soul!—[MS.]
Cheikh Sa'di ... Traduit par W. Semelet, Paris, 1834, Notes on Chapitre V. p. 304. Sa'di
"moralizes" the tale, to the effect that love dwells in the eye of the beholder. See, too,
Jāmī's Medjnoun et Leila, translated by A. L. Chezy, Paris, 1807.]
[130] Tambour. Turkish drum, which sounds at sunrise, noon, and twilight. [The
"tambour" is a kind of mandoline. It is the large kettle-drum (nagaré) which sounds the
hours.]
[fe] {161}
Must walk forsooth where waters flow
And pore on every flower below.—[MS. erased.]
[ff] {162} For looks of peace and hearts of ire.—[MS.]
[fg] And calmly to his Sire's was raised.—[MS.]
[fh] {163} No—nor the blood I call my own.—[MS.]
[131] The Turks abhor the Arabs (who return the compliment a hundredfold) even more
than they hate the Christians.
[fi] Or Christian flying from the fight.—[MS.]
[fj] Zuleika! ever welcome here.—[MS.]
[fk] Who never was more blest than now.—[MS.]
[132] {164} [Lines 170-181 were added in the course of printing. They were received by
the publisher on November 22, 1813.]
[fl]
Who hath not felt his very power of sight
Faint with the languid dimness of delight?—[MS.]
[fm]
The light of life—the purity of grace
The mind of Music breathing in her face
or, Mind on her lip and music in her face.
A heart where softness harmonized the whole
And oh! her eye was in itself a Soul!—[MS.]
Page 244
[133] This expression has met with objections. I will not refer to "Him who hath not
Music in his soul," but merely request the reader to recollect, for ten seconds, the features
of the woman whom he believes to be the most beautiful; and, if he then does not
comprehend fully what is feebly expressed in the above line, I shall be sorry for us both.
For an eloquent passage in the latest work of the first female writer of this, perhaps of any,
age, on the analogy (and the immediate comparison excited by that analogy) between
"painting and music," see vol. iii. cap. 10, D e l 'A llemagne . And is not this connection
still stronger with the original than the copy? with the colouring of Nature than of Art?
After all, this is rather to be felt than described; still I think there are some who will
understand it, at least they would have done had they beheld the countenance whose
speaking harmony suggested the idea; for this passage is not drawn from imagination but
memory,[A] that mirror which Affliction dashes to the earth, and looking down upon the
fragments, only beholds the reflection multiplied!
[A] In this line I have not drawn from fiction but memory—that mirror of regret memory—
the too faithful mirror of affliction the long vista through which we gaze. Someone has
said that the perfection of Architecture is frozen music—the perfection of Beauty to my
mind always presented the idea of living Music.—[MS. erased.]
[For the simile of the broken mirror, compare Childe Harold, Canto III. stanza xxxiii. line
1 (Poetical Works, ii. 236, note 2); and for "the expression," "music breathing from her
face," compare Sir Thomas Browne's Religio Medici, Part II. sect, ix., Works, 1835, ii.
106, "And sure there is musick, even in the beauty and the silent note which Cupid strikes,
far sweeter than the sound of any instrument;" and Lovelace's "Song," Orpheus to Beasts
—
"Oh could you view the melody
Of ev'ry grace,
And music of her face!"
The effect of the appeal to Madame de Staël is thus recorded in Byron's Journal of
December 7, 1813 (Letters, 1898, ii. 369): "This morning, a very pretty billet from the
Staël," (for passage in De L'Allemagne, Part III. chap, x., and the "billet," see Letters, ii.
354, note 1) ... "She has been pleased to be pleased with my slight eulogy in the note
annexed to The Bride."]
[134] {166} Carasman Oglou, or Kara Osman Oglou, is the principal landholder in
Turkey; he governs Magnesia: those who, by a kind of feudal tenure, possess land on
condition of service, are called Timariots: they serve as Spahis, according to the extent of
territory, and bring a certain number into the field, generally cavalry.
Music in his soul," but merely request the reader to recollect, for ten seconds, the features
of the woman whom he believes to be the most beautiful; and, if he then does not
comprehend fully what is feebly expressed in the above line, I shall be sorry for us both.
For an eloquent passage in the latest work of the first female writer of this, perhaps of any,
age, on the analogy (and the immediate comparison excited by that analogy) between
"painting and music," see vol. iii. cap. 10, D e l 'A llemagne . And is not this connection
still stronger with the original than the copy? with the colouring of Nature than of Art?
After all, this is rather to be felt than described; still I think there are some who will
understand it, at least they would have done had they beheld the countenance whose
speaking harmony suggested the idea; for this passage is not drawn from imagination but
memory,[A] that mirror which Affliction dashes to the earth, and looking down upon the
fragments, only beholds the reflection multiplied!
[A] In this line I have not drawn from fiction but memory—that mirror of regret memory—
the too faithful mirror of affliction the long vista through which we gaze. Someone has
said that the perfection of Architecture is frozen music—the perfection of Beauty to my
mind always presented the idea of living Music.—[MS. erased.]
[For the simile of the broken mirror, compare Childe Harold, Canto III. stanza xxxiii. line
1 (Poetical Works, ii. 236, note 2); and for "the expression," "music breathing from her
face," compare Sir Thomas Browne's Religio Medici, Part II. sect, ix., Works, 1835, ii.
106, "And sure there is musick, even in the beauty and the silent note which Cupid strikes,
far sweeter than the sound of any instrument;" and Lovelace's "Song," Orpheus to Beasts
—
"Oh could you view the melody
Of ev'ry grace,
And music of her face!"
The effect of the appeal to Madame de Staël is thus recorded in Byron's Journal of
December 7, 1813 (Letters, 1898, ii. 369): "This morning, a very pretty billet from the
Staël," (for passage in De L'Allemagne, Part III. chap, x., and the "billet," see Letters, ii.
354, note 1) ... "She has been pleased to be pleased with my slight eulogy in the note
annexed to The Bride."]
[134] {166} Carasman Oglou, or Kara Osman Oglou, is the principal landholder in
Turkey; he governs Magnesia: those who, by a kind of feudal tenure, possess land on
condition of service, are called Timariots: they serve as Spahis, according to the extent of
territory, and bring a certain number into the field, generally cavalry.
Page 245
[The "line of Carasman" dates back to Kara Youlouk, the founder of the dynasty of the
"White Sheep," at the close of the fourteenth century. Hammer-Purgstall (Hist. de l'Emp.
Ottoman, iii. 151) gives sang-sue, "blood-sucker," as the equivalent of Youlouk, which
should, however, be interpreted "smooth-face." Of the Magnesian Kara Osman Oglou
("Black Osman-son"), Dallaway (Constantinople Ancient and Modern, 1797, p. 190)
writes, "He is the most powerful and opulent derè bey ('lord of the valley'), or feudal
tenant, in the empire, and, though inferior to the pashas in rank, possesses more wealth
and influence, and offers them an example of administration and patriotic government
which they have rarely the virtue to follow." For the Timariots, who formed the third class
of the feudal cavalry of the Ottoman Empire, see Finlay's Greece under Othoman ...
Domination, 1856, pp. 50, 51.]
[fn] Who won of yore paternal lands.—[MS.]
[fo] Enough if that thy bridesman true.—[MS. erased.]
[135] [The Bey Oglou (Begzāde) is "the nobleman," "the high-born chief."]
[136] {167} When a Pacha is sufficiently strong to resist, the single messenger, who is
always the first bearer of the order for his death, is strangled instead, and sometimes five
or six, one after the other, on the same errand, by command of the refractory patient; if, on
the contrary, he is weak or loyal, he bows, kisses the Sultan's respectable signature, and is
bowstrung with great complacency. In 1810, several of these presents were exhibited in
the niche of the Seraglio gate; among others, the head of the Pacha of Bagdat, a brave
young man, cut off by treachery, after a desperate resistance.
[137] Clapping of the hands calls the servants. The Turks hate a superfluous expenditure
of voice, and they have no bells.
[138] "Chibouque," the Turkish pipe, of which the amber mouthpiece, and sometimes the
ball which contains the leaf, is adorned with precious stones, if in possession of the
wealthier orders.
[139] {168} "Maugrabee" [Maghrabī, Moors], Moorish mercenaries.
[140] "Delis," bravos who form the forlorn hope of the cavalry, and always begin the
action. [See Childe Harold, Canto II., Poetical Works, 1899, ii. 149, note 1.]
[141] [The Kizlar aghasi was the head of the black eunuchs; kislar, by itself, is Turkish for
"girls," "virgins."]
[142] A twisted fold of felt is used for scimitar practice by the Turks, and few but
Mussulman arms can cut through it at a single stroke: sometimes a tough turban is used
"White Sheep," at the close of the fourteenth century. Hammer-Purgstall (Hist. de l'Emp.
Ottoman, iii. 151) gives sang-sue, "blood-sucker," as the equivalent of Youlouk, which
should, however, be interpreted "smooth-face." Of the Magnesian Kara Osman Oglou
("Black Osman-son"), Dallaway (Constantinople Ancient and Modern, 1797, p. 190)
writes, "He is the most powerful and opulent derè bey ('lord of the valley'), or feudal
tenant, in the empire, and, though inferior to the pashas in rank, possesses more wealth
and influence, and offers them an example of administration and patriotic government
which they have rarely the virtue to follow." For the Timariots, who formed the third class
of the feudal cavalry of the Ottoman Empire, see Finlay's Greece under Othoman ...
Domination, 1856, pp. 50, 51.]
[fn] Who won of yore paternal lands.—[MS.]
[fo] Enough if that thy bridesman true.—[MS. erased.]
[135] [The Bey Oglou (Begzāde) is "the nobleman," "the high-born chief."]
[136] {167} When a Pacha is sufficiently strong to resist, the single messenger, who is
always the first bearer of the order for his death, is strangled instead, and sometimes five
or six, one after the other, on the same errand, by command of the refractory patient; if, on
the contrary, he is weak or loyal, he bows, kisses the Sultan's respectable signature, and is
bowstrung with great complacency. In 1810, several of these presents were exhibited in
the niche of the Seraglio gate; among others, the head of the Pacha of Bagdat, a brave
young man, cut off by treachery, after a desperate resistance.
[137] Clapping of the hands calls the servants. The Turks hate a superfluous expenditure
of voice, and they have no bells.
[138] "Chibouque," the Turkish pipe, of which the amber mouthpiece, and sometimes the
ball which contains the leaf, is adorned with precious stones, if in possession of the
wealthier orders.
[139] {168} "Maugrabee" [Maghrabī, Moors], Moorish mercenaries.
[140] "Delis," bravos who form the forlorn hope of the cavalry, and always begin the
action. [See Childe Harold, Canto II., Poetical Works, 1899, ii. 149, note 1.]
[141] [The Kizlar aghasi was the head of the black eunuchs; kislar, by itself, is Turkish for
"girls," "virgins."]
[142] A twisted fold of felt is used for scimitar practice by the Turks, and few but
Mussulman arms can cut through it at a single stroke: sometimes a tough turban is used
Page 246
for the same purpose. The jerreed [jarīd] is a game of blunt javelins, animated and
graceful.
[143] "Ollahs," Alla il Allah [La ilāh ill 'llāh], the "Leilies," as the Spanish poets call
them, the sound is Ollah: a cry of which the Turks, for a silent people, are somewhat
profuse, particularly during the jerreed [jarīd], or in the chase, but mostly in battle. Their
animation in the field, and gravity in the chamber, with their pipes and comboloios [vide
post, p. 181, note 4], form an amusing contrast.
[fp] {169} Her heart confessed no cause of shame.—[MS.]
[144] "Atar-gul," ottar of roses. The Persian is the finest.
[145] The ceiling and wainscots, or rather walls, of the Mussulman apartments are
generally painted, in great houses, with one eternal and highly-coloured view of
Constantinople, wherein the principal feature is a noble contempt of perspective; below,
arms, scimitars, etc., are, in general, fancifully and not inelegantly disposed.
[fq]
The drops that flow upon his vest
Unheeded fell upon his breast.—[MS.]
[146] {170} It has been much doubted whether the notes of this "Lover of the rose" are
sad or merry; and Mr. Fox's remarks on the subject have provoked some learned
controversy as to the opinions of the ancients on the subject. I dare not venture a
conjecture on the point, though a little inclined to the "errare mallem," etc., if Mr. Fox was
mistaken.
[Fox, writing to Grey (see Lord Holland's Preface (p. xii.) to the History ... of James the
Second, by ... C. J. Fox, London, 1808), remarks, "In defence of my opinion about the
nightingale, I find Chaucer, who of all poets seems to have been the fondest of the singing
of birds, calls it a 'merry note,'" etc. Fox's contention was attacked and disproved by
Martin Davy (1763-1839, physician and Master of Caius College, Cambridge), in an
interesting and scholarly pamphlet entitled, Observations upon Mr. Fox's Letter to Mr.
Grey, 1809.]
[fr]
Would I had never seen this hour
What knowest thou not who loves thee best.—[MS.]
[fs] {171} If so by Mecca's hidden shrine.—[MS.]
graceful.
[143] "Ollahs," Alla il Allah [La ilāh ill 'llāh], the "Leilies," as the Spanish poets call
them, the sound is Ollah: a cry of which the Turks, for a silent people, are somewhat
profuse, particularly during the jerreed [jarīd], or in the chase, but mostly in battle. Their
animation in the field, and gravity in the chamber, with their pipes and comboloios [vide
post, p. 181, note 4], form an amusing contrast.
[fp] {169} Her heart confessed no cause of shame.—[MS.]
[144] "Atar-gul," ottar of roses. The Persian is the finest.
[145] The ceiling and wainscots, or rather walls, of the Mussulman apartments are
generally painted, in great houses, with one eternal and highly-coloured view of
Constantinople, wherein the principal feature is a noble contempt of perspective; below,
arms, scimitars, etc., are, in general, fancifully and not inelegantly disposed.
[fq]
The drops that flow upon his vest
Unheeded fell upon his breast.—[MS.]
[146] {170} It has been much doubted whether the notes of this "Lover of the rose" are
sad or merry; and Mr. Fox's remarks on the subject have provoked some learned
controversy as to the opinions of the ancients on the subject. I dare not venture a
conjecture on the point, though a little inclined to the "errare mallem," etc., if Mr. Fox was
mistaken.
[Fox, writing to Grey (see Lord Holland's Preface (p. xii.) to the History ... of James the
Second, by ... C. J. Fox, London, 1808), remarks, "In defence of my opinion about the
nightingale, I find Chaucer, who of all poets seems to have been the fondest of the singing
of birds, calls it a 'merry note,'" etc. Fox's contention was attacked and disproved by
Martin Davy (1763-1839, physician and Master of Caius College, Cambridge), in an
interesting and scholarly pamphlet entitled, Observations upon Mr. Fox's Letter to Mr.
Grey, 1809.]
[fr]
Would I had never seen this hour
What knowest thou not who loves thee best.—[MS.]
[fs] {171} If so by Mecca's hidden shrine.—[MS.]
Page 247
[ft] The day that teareth thee from me.—[MS.]
[147] "Azrael," the angel of death.
[fu] When comes that hour and come it must.—[MS. erased.]
[fv] {172}
Which thanks to terror and the dark
Hath missed a trifle of its mark.—[MS.]
[The couplet was expunged in a revise dated November 19.]
[fw] With life to keep but not with life resign.—[MS.]
[fx] {173}
That strays along that head so fair.—[MS.]
or, That strays along that neck so fair.—[MS.]
[148] The treasures of the Pre-Adamite Sultans. See D'Herbelot [1781, ii. 405], article
Istakar [Estekhar ou Istekhar].
[149] "Musselim," a governor, the next in rank after a Pacha; a Waywode is the third; and
then come the Agas.
[This table of precedence applies to Ottoman officials in Greece and other dependencies.
The Musselim [Mutaselline] is the governor or commander of a city (e.g. Hobhouse,
Travels in Albania, ii. 41, speaks of the "Musselim of Smyrna"); Aghas, i.e. heads of
departments in the army or civil service, or the Sultan's household, here denote mayors of
small towns, or local magnates.]
[150] "Egripo," the Negropont. According to the proverb, the Turks of Egripo, the Jews of
Salonica, and the Greeks of Athens, are the worst of their respective races.
[See Gibbon's Decline and Fall, 1855, viii. 386.]
[fy] Like this—and more than this.—[MS.]
[fz] {175}
But—Selim why my heart's reply
Should need so much of mystery
Is more than I can guess or tell,
But since thou say'st 'tis so—'tis well.—[MS.]
[The fourth line erased.]
[147] "Azrael," the angel of death.
[fu] When comes that hour and come it must.—[MS. erased.]
[fv] {172}
Which thanks to terror and the dark
Hath missed a trifle of its mark.—[MS.]
[The couplet was expunged in a revise dated November 19.]
[fw] With life to keep but not with life resign.—[MS.]
[fx] {173}
That strays along that head so fair.—[MS.]
or, That strays along that neck so fair.—[MS.]
[148] The treasures of the Pre-Adamite Sultans. See D'Herbelot [1781, ii. 405], article
Istakar [Estekhar ou Istekhar].
[149] "Musselim," a governor, the next in rank after a Pacha; a Waywode is the third; and
then come the Agas.
[This table of precedence applies to Ottoman officials in Greece and other dependencies.
The Musselim [Mutaselline] is the governor or commander of a city (e.g. Hobhouse,
Travels in Albania, ii. 41, speaks of the "Musselim of Smyrna"); Aghas, i.e. heads of
departments in the army or civil service, or the Sultan's household, here denote mayors of
small towns, or local magnates.]
[150] "Egripo," the Negropont. According to the proverb, the Turks of Egripo, the Jews of
Salonica, and the Greeks of Athens, are the worst of their respective races.
[See Gibbon's Decline and Fall, 1855, viii. 386.]
[fy] Like this—and more than this.—[MS.]
[fz] {175}
But—Selim why my heart's reply
Should need so much of mystery
Is more than I can guess or tell,
But since thou say'st 'tis so—'tis well.—[MS.]
[The fourth line erased.]
Page 248
[ga]
He blest me more in leaving thee.
Much should I suffer thus compelled.—[MS.]
[gb] {176}
This vow I should no more conceal
And wherefore should I not reveal?—[MS.]
[gc]
My breast is consciousness of sin
But when and where and what the crime
I almost feel is lurking here.—[MS.]
[151] "Tchocadar"—one of the attendants who precedes a man of authority.
[See D'Ohsson's Tableau Générale, etc., 1787, ii. 159, and Plates 87, 88. The Turks seem
to have used the Persian word chawki-dār, an officer of the guard-house, a policeman
(whence our slang word "chokey"), for a "valet de pied," or, in the case of the Sultan, for
an apparitor. The French spelling points to D'Ohsson as Byron's authority.]
[gd] {177} Be silent thou.—[MS.]
[ge] {178} Nov. 9th 1813.—[MS.]
[152] [Vide Ovid, Heroïdes, Ep. xix.; and the De Herone atque Leandro of Musæus.]
[153] {179} The wrangling about this epithet, "the broad Hellespont" or the "boundless
Hellespont," whether it means one or the other, or what it means at all, has been beyond
all possibility of detail. I have even heard it disputed on the spot; and not foreseeing a
speedy conclusion to the controversy, amused myself with swimming across it in the
mean time; and probably may again, before the point is settled. Indeed, the question as to
the truth of "the tale of Troy divine" still continues, much of it resting upon the talismanic
word "ἄπειρος:" probably Homer had the same notion of distance that a coquette has of
time; and when he talks of boundless, means half a mile; as the latter, by a like figure,
when she says eternal attachment, simply specifies three weeks.
[For a defence of the Homeric ἀπείρων, and for a résumé of the "wrangling" of the
topographers, Jean Baptiste Le Chevalier (1752-1836) and Jacob Bryant (1715-1804),
etc., see Travels in Albania, 1858, ii. 179-185.]
He blest me more in leaving thee.
Much should I suffer thus compelled.—[MS.]
[gb] {176}
This vow I should no more conceal
And wherefore should I not reveal?—[MS.]
[gc]
My breast is consciousness of sin
But when and where and what the crime
I almost feel is lurking here.—[MS.]
[151] "Tchocadar"—one of the attendants who precedes a man of authority.
[See D'Ohsson's Tableau Générale, etc., 1787, ii. 159, and Plates 87, 88. The Turks seem
to have used the Persian word chawki-dār, an officer of the guard-house, a policeman
(whence our slang word "chokey"), for a "valet de pied," or, in the case of the Sultan, for
an apparitor. The French spelling points to D'Ohsson as Byron's authority.]
[gd] {177} Be silent thou.—[MS.]
[ge] {178} Nov. 9th 1813.—[MS.]
[152] [Vide Ovid, Heroïdes, Ep. xix.; and the De Herone atque Leandro of Musæus.]
[153] {179} The wrangling about this epithet, "the broad Hellespont" or the "boundless
Hellespont," whether it means one or the other, or what it means at all, has been beyond
all possibility of detail. I have even heard it disputed on the spot; and not foreseeing a
speedy conclusion to the controversy, amused myself with swimming across it in the
mean time; and probably may again, before the point is settled. Indeed, the question as to
the truth of "the tale of Troy divine" still continues, much of it resting upon the talismanic
word "ἄπειρος:" probably Homer had the same notion of distance that a coquette has of
time; and when he talks of boundless, means half a mile; as the latter, by a like figure,
when she says eternal attachment, simply specifies three weeks.
[For a defence of the Homeric ἀπείρων, and for a résumé of the "wrangling" of the
topographers, Jean Baptiste Le Chevalier (1752-1836) and Jacob Bryant (1715-1804),
etc., see Travels in Albania, 1858, ii. 179-185.]
Page 249
[154] {180} Before his Persian invasion, and crowned the altar with laurel, etc. He was
afterwards imitated by Caracalla in his race. It is believed that the last also poisoned a
friend, named Festus, for the sake of new Patroclan games. I have seen the sheep feeding
on the tombs of Æyietes and Antilochus: the first is in the centre of the plain.
[Alexander placed a garland on the tomb of Achilles, and "went through the ceremony of
anointing himself with oil, and running naked up to it."—Plut. Vitæ, "Alexander M.," cap.
xv. line 25, Lipsiæ, 1814, vi. 187. For the tombs of Æsyetes, etc., see Travels in Albania,
ii. 149-151.]
[155] [Compare—
"Or narrow if needs must be,
Outside are the storms and the strangers."
Never the Time, etc., lines 19, 20, by Robert Browning.]
[156] {181} When rubbed, the amber is susceptible of a perfume, which is slight, but not
disagreeable. [Letter to Murray, December 6, 1813, Letters, 1898, ii. 300.]
[157] ["Coeterum castitatis hieroglyphicum gemma est."—Hoffmann, Lexic. Univ., art.
"Smaragdus." Compare, too, Lalla Rookh ("Chandos Classics," p. 406), "The emerald's
virgin blaze."]
[158] The belief in amulets engraved on gems, or enclosed in gold boxes, containing
scraps from the Koran, worn round the neck, wrist, or arm, is still universal in the East.
The Koorsee (throne) verse in the second cap. of the Koran describes the attributes of the
Most High, and is engraved in this manner, and worn by the pious, as the most esteemed
and sublime of all sentences.
[The âyatu 'l kursîy, or verse of the throne (Sura II. "Chapter of the Heifer," v. 257), runs
thus: "God, there is no God but He, the living and self-subsistent. Slumber takes Him not,
nor sleep. His is what is in the heavens and what is in the earth. Who is it that intercedes
with Him, save by His permission? He knows what is before them, and what behind them,
and they comprehend not aught of His knowledge but of what He pleases. His throne
extends over the heavens and the earth, and it tires Him not to guard them both, for He is
high and grand."—The Qur'ân, translated by E. H. Palmer, 1880, Part I., Sacred Books of
the East, vi. 40.]
[159] "Comboloio"—a Turkish rosary. The MSS., particularly those of the Persians, are
richly adorned and illuminated. The Greek females are kept in utter ignorance; but many
afterwards imitated by Caracalla in his race. It is believed that the last also poisoned a
friend, named Festus, for the sake of new Patroclan games. I have seen the sheep feeding
on the tombs of Æyietes and Antilochus: the first is in the centre of the plain.
[Alexander placed a garland on the tomb of Achilles, and "went through the ceremony of
anointing himself with oil, and running naked up to it."—Plut. Vitæ, "Alexander M.," cap.
xv. line 25, Lipsiæ, 1814, vi. 187. For the tombs of Æsyetes, etc., see Travels in Albania,
ii. 149-151.]
[155] [Compare—
"Or narrow if needs must be,
Outside are the storms and the strangers."
Never the Time, etc., lines 19, 20, by Robert Browning.]
[156] {181} When rubbed, the amber is susceptible of a perfume, which is slight, but not
disagreeable. [Letter to Murray, December 6, 1813, Letters, 1898, ii. 300.]
[157] ["Coeterum castitatis hieroglyphicum gemma est."—Hoffmann, Lexic. Univ., art.
"Smaragdus." Compare, too, Lalla Rookh ("Chandos Classics," p. 406), "The emerald's
virgin blaze."]
[158] The belief in amulets engraved on gems, or enclosed in gold boxes, containing
scraps from the Koran, worn round the neck, wrist, or arm, is still universal in the East.
The Koorsee (throne) verse in the second cap. of the Koran describes the attributes of the
Most High, and is engraved in this manner, and worn by the pious, as the most esteemed
and sublime of all sentences.
[The âyatu 'l kursîy, or verse of the throne (Sura II. "Chapter of the Heifer," v. 257), runs
thus: "God, there is no God but He, the living and self-subsistent. Slumber takes Him not,
nor sleep. His is what is in the heavens and what is in the earth. Who is it that intercedes
with Him, save by His permission? He knows what is before them, and what behind them,
and they comprehend not aught of His knowledge but of what He pleases. His throne
extends over the heavens and the earth, and it tires Him not to guard them both, for He is
high and grand."—The Qur'ân, translated by E. H. Palmer, 1880, Part I., Sacred Books of
the East, vi. 40.]
[159] "Comboloio"—a Turkish rosary. The MSS., particularly those of the Persians, are
richly adorned and illuminated. The Greek females are kept in utter ignorance; but many
Page 250
of the Turkish girls are highly accomplished, though not actually qualified for a Christian
coterie. Perhaps some of our own "blues" might not be the worse for bleaching.
[The comboloio consists of ninety-nine beads. Compare Lalla Rookh ("Chandos
Classics," p. 420), "Her ruby rosary," etc., and note on "Le Tespih." Lord Byron's
Comboloio is the title of a metrical jeu d'esprit, a rhymed catalogue of the Poetical Works,
beginning with Hours of Idleness, and ending with Cain, a Mystery.—Blackwood's
Magazine, 1822, xi. 162-165.]
[160] {182} [Shiraz, capital of the Persian province of Fars, is celebrated for the attar-gûl,
or attar of roses.]
[gf] {183}
Her Prophet did not clearly show
But Selim's place was quite secure.—[MS.]
[161] [Compare The Giaour, line 490, note 1, vide ante, p. 110.]
[gg] And one seemed red with recent guilt.—[MS.]
[gh] {184} Her Selim—"Alla—is it he?"—[MS.]
[162] "Galiongée" or Galiongi [i.e. a Galleon-er], a sailor, that is, a Turkish sailor; the
Greeks navigate, the Turks work the guns. Their dress is picturesque; and I have seen the
Capitan Pacha, more than once, wearing it as a kind of incog. Their legs, however, are
generally naked. The buskins described in the text as sheathed behind with silver are those
of an Arnaut robber, who was my host (he had quitted the profession) at his Pyrgo, near
Gastouni in the Morea; they were plated in scales one over the other, like the back of an
armadillo.
[Gastuni lies some eight miles S.W. of Palæopolis, the site of the ancient Elis. The
"Pyrgo" must be the Castle of Chlemutzi (Castel Tornese), built by Geoffrey II. of
Villehouardin, circ. A.D. 1218.]
[gi] {185}
What—have I lived to curse the day?—[MS. M.]
To curse—if I could curse—the day.—[MS., ed. 1892.]
[gj] {186} I swear it by Medina's shrine.—[MS. erased.]
[163] The characters on all Turkish scimitars contain sometimes the name of the place of
their manufacture, but more generally a text from the Koran, in letters of gold. Amongst
coterie. Perhaps some of our own "blues" might not be the worse for bleaching.
[The comboloio consists of ninety-nine beads. Compare Lalla Rookh ("Chandos
Classics," p. 420), "Her ruby rosary," etc., and note on "Le Tespih." Lord Byron's
Comboloio is the title of a metrical jeu d'esprit, a rhymed catalogue of the Poetical Works,
beginning with Hours of Idleness, and ending with Cain, a Mystery.—Blackwood's
Magazine, 1822, xi. 162-165.]
[160] {182} [Shiraz, capital of the Persian province of Fars, is celebrated for the attar-gûl,
or attar of roses.]
[gf] {183}
Her Prophet did not clearly show
But Selim's place was quite secure.—[MS.]
[161] [Compare The Giaour, line 490, note 1, vide ante, p. 110.]
[gg] And one seemed red with recent guilt.—[MS.]
[gh] {184} Her Selim—"Alla—is it he?"—[MS.]
[162] "Galiongée" or Galiongi [i.e. a Galleon-er], a sailor, that is, a Turkish sailor; the
Greeks navigate, the Turks work the guns. Their dress is picturesque; and I have seen the
Capitan Pacha, more than once, wearing it as a kind of incog. Their legs, however, are
generally naked. The buskins described in the text as sheathed behind with silver are those
of an Arnaut robber, who was my host (he had quitted the profession) at his Pyrgo, near
Gastouni in the Morea; they were plated in scales one over the other, like the back of an
armadillo.
[Gastuni lies some eight miles S.W. of Palæopolis, the site of the ancient Elis. The
"Pyrgo" must be the Castle of Chlemutzi (Castel Tornese), built by Geoffrey II. of
Villehouardin, circ. A.D. 1218.]
[gi] {185}
What—have I lived to curse the day?—[MS. M.]
To curse—if I could curse—the day.—[MS., ed. 1892.]
[gj] {186} I swear it by Medina's shrine.—[MS. erased.]
[163] The characters on all Turkish scimitars contain sometimes the name of the place of
their manufacture, but more generally a text from the Koran, in letters of gold. Amongst
Page 251
those in my possession is one with a blade of singular construction: it is very broad, and
the edge notched into serpentine curves like the ripple of water, or the wavering of flame.
I asked the Armenian who sold it, what possible use such a figure could add: he said, in
Italian, that he did not know; but the Mussulmans had an idea that those of this form gave
a severer wound; and liked it because it was "piu feroce." I did not much admire the
reason, but bought it for its peculiarity.
[Compare Lalla Rookh ("Chandos Classics," p. 373)—"The flashing of their swords' rich
marquetry."]
[164] {187} It is to be observed, that every allusion to any thing or personage in the Old
Testament, such as the Ark, or Cain, is equally the privilege of Mussulman and Jew:
indeed, the former profess to be much better acquainted with the lives, true and fabulous,
of the patriarchs, than is warranted by our own sacred writ; and not content with Adam,
they have a biography of Pre-Adamites. Solomon is the monarch of all necromancy, and
Moses a prophet inferior only to Christ and Mahomet. Zuleika is the Persian name of
Potiphar's wife; and her amour with Joseph constitutes one of the finest poems in their
language. It is, therefore, no violation of costume to put the names of Cain, or Noah, into
the mouth of a Moslem.
[À propos of this note "for the ignorant," Byron writes to Murray (November 13, 1813),
"Do you suppose that no one but the Galileans are acquainted with Adam, and Eve, and
Cain, and Noah?—Zuleika is the Persian poetical name for Potiphar's wife;" and, again,
November 14, "I don't care one lump of sugar for my poetry; but for my costume, and my
correctness on these points ... I will combat lustily."—Letters, 1898, ii. 282, 283.]
[165] {188} [Karajić (Vuk Stefanović, born 1787), secretary to Kara George, published
Narodne Srpske Pjesme, at Vienna, 1814, 1815. See, too, Languages and Literature of the
Slavic Nations, by Talvi, New York, 1850, pp. 366-382; Volkslieder der Serben, von Talvi,
Leipzig, 1835, ii. 245, etc., and Chants Populaires des Servics, Recueillis par Wuk
Stephanowitsch, et Traduits d'après Talvy, par Madame Élise Voïart, Paris, 1834, ii. 183,
etc.]
[166] Paswan Oglou, the rebel of Widdin; who, for the last years of his life, set the whole
power of the Porte at defiance.
[Passwan Oglou (1758-1807) [Passewend's, or the Watchman's son, according to
Hobhouse] was born and died at Widdin. He first came into notice in 1788, in alliance
with certain disbanded Turkish levies, named Krdschalies. "It was their pride to ride along
on stately horses, with trappings of gold and silver, and bearing costly arms. In their train
were female slaves, Giuvendi, in male attire, who not only served to amuse them in their
the edge notched into serpentine curves like the ripple of water, or the wavering of flame.
I asked the Armenian who sold it, what possible use such a figure could add: he said, in
Italian, that he did not know; but the Mussulmans had an idea that those of this form gave
a severer wound; and liked it because it was "piu feroce." I did not much admire the
reason, but bought it for its peculiarity.
[Compare Lalla Rookh ("Chandos Classics," p. 373)—"The flashing of their swords' rich
marquetry."]
[164] {187} It is to be observed, that every allusion to any thing or personage in the Old
Testament, such as the Ark, or Cain, is equally the privilege of Mussulman and Jew:
indeed, the former profess to be much better acquainted with the lives, true and fabulous,
of the patriarchs, than is warranted by our own sacred writ; and not content with Adam,
they have a biography of Pre-Adamites. Solomon is the monarch of all necromancy, and
Moses a prophet inferior only to Christ and Mahomet. Zuleika is the Persian name of
Potiphar's wife; and her amour with Joseph constitutes one of the finest poems in their
language. It is, therefore, no violation of costume to put the names of Cain, or Noah, into
the mouth of a Moslem.
[À propos of this note "for the ignorant," Byron writes to Murray (November 13, 1813),
"Do you suppose that no one but the Galileans are acquainted with Adam, and Eve, and
Cain, and Noah?—Zuleika is the Persian poetical name for Potiphar's wife;" and, again,
November 14, "I don't care one lump of sugar for my poetry; but for my costume, and my
correctness on these points ... I will combat lustily."—Letters, 1898, ii. 282, 283.]
[165] {188} [Karajić (Vuk Stefanović, born 1787), secretary to Kara George, published
Narodne Srpske Pjesme, at Vienna, 1814, 1815. See, too, Languages and Literature of the
Slavic Nations, by Talvi, New York, 1850, pp. 366-382; Volkslieder der Serben, von Talvi,
Leipzig, 1835, ii. 245, etc., and Chants Populaires des Servics, Recueillis par Wuk
Stephanowitsch, et Traduits d'après Talvy, par Madame Élise Voïart, Paris, 1834, ii. 183,
etc.]
[166] Paswan Oglou, the rebel of Widdin; who, for the last years of his life, set the whole
power of the Porte at defiance.
[Passwan Oglou (1758-1807) [Passewend's, or the Watchman's son, according to
Hobhouse] was born and died at Widdin. He first came into notice in 1788, in alliance
with certain disbanded Turkish levies, named Krdschalies. "It was their pride to ride along
on stately horses, with trappings of gold and silver, and bearing costly arms. In their train
were female slaves, Giuvendi, in male attire, who not only served to amuse them in their
Page 252
hours of ease with singing and dancing, but also followed them to battle (as Kaled
followed Lara, see Lara, Canto II. stanza xv., etc.), for the purpose of holding their horses
when they fought." On one occasion he is reported to have addressed these "rebel hordes"
much in the spirit of the "Corsair," "The booty be yours, and mine the glory." "After
having for some time suffered a Pacha to be associated with him, he at length expelled his
superior, and demanded 'the three horse-tails' for himself." In 1798 the Porte despatched
another army, but Passwan was completely victorious, and "at length the Porte resolved to
make peace, and actually sent him the 'three horse-tails'" (i.e. made him commander-in-
chief of the Janissaries at Widdin). (See History of Servia, by Leopold von Ranke, Bohn,
1853, pp. 68-71. See, too, Voyage dans l'Empire Othoman, par G. A. Olivier, an. 9 (1801),
i. 108-125; and Madame Voïart's "Abrégé de l'histoire du royaume de Servie," prefixed to
Chants Populaires, etc., Paris, 1834.)]
[gk]
And how that death made known to me
Hath made me what thou now shalt see.—[MS.]
[167] {189} "Horse-tail,"—the standard of a Pacha.
[gl] With venom blacker than his soul.—[MS.]
[168] Giaffir, Pacha of Argyro Castro, or Scutari, I am not sure which, was actually taken
off by the Albanian Ali, in the manner described in the text. Ali Pacha, while I was in the
country, married the daughter of his victim, some years after the event had taken place at a
bath in Sophia or Adrianople. The poison was mixed in the cup of coffee, which is
presented before the sherbet by the bath keeper, after dressing.
[gm] {190}
Nor, if his sullen spirit could,
Can I forgive a parent's blood.—[MS.]
[gn] {191} Yet I must be all truth to thee.—[MS.]
[go] {192}
To Haroun's care in idlesse left,
In spirit bound, of fame bereft.—[MS. erased.]
[gp] {193}
That slave who saw my spirit pining
Beneath Inaction's heavy yoke,
followed Lara, see Lara, Canto II. stanza xv., etc.), for the purpose of holding their horses
when they fought." On one occasion he is reported to have addressed these "rebel hordes"
much in the spirit of the "Corsair," "The booty be yours, and mine the glory." "After
having for some time suffered a Pacha to be associated with him, he at length expelled his
superior, and demanded 'the three horse-tails' for himself." In 1798 the Porte despatched
another army, but Passwan was completely victorious, and "at length the Porte resolved to
make peace, and actually sent him the 'three horse-tails'" (i.e. made him commander-in-
chief of the Janissaries at Widdin). (See History of Servia, by Leopold von Ranke, Bohn,
1853, pp. 68-71. See, too, Voyage dans l'Empire Othoman, par G. A. Olivier, an. 9 (1801),
i. 108-125; and Madame Voïart's "Abrégé de l'histoire du royaume de Servie," prefixed to
Chants Populaires, etc., Paris, 1834.)]
[gk]
And how that death made known to me
Hath made me what thou now shalt see.—[MS.]
[167] {189} "Horse-tail,"—the standard of a Pacha.
[gl] With venom blacker than his soul.—[MS.]
[168] Giaffir, Pacha of Argyro Castro, or Scutari, I am not sure which, was actually taken
off by the Albanian Ali, in the manner described in the text. Ali Pacha, while I was in the
country, married the daughter of his victim, some years after the event had taken place at a
bath in Sophia or Adrianople. The poison was mixed in the cup of coffee, which is
presented before the sherbet by the bath keeper, after dressing.
[gm] {190}
Nor, if his sullen spirit could,
Can I forgive a parent's blood.—[MS.]
[gn] {191} Yet I must be all truth to thee.—[MS.]
[go] {192}
To Haroun's care in idlesse left,
In spirit bound, of fame bereft.—[MS. erased.]
[gp] {193}
That slave who saw my spirit pining
Beneath Inaction's heavy yoke,
Page 253
Compassionate his charge resigning.—[MS.]
[gq]
Oh could my tongue to thee impart
That liberation of my heart.—[MS. erased.]
[169] I must here shelter myself with the Psalmist—is it not David that makes the "Earth
reel to and fro like a Drunkard"? If the Globe can be thus lively on seeing its Creator, a
liberated captive can hardly feel less on a first view of his work.—[Note, MS. erased.]
[170] The Turkish notions of almost all islands are confined to the Archipelago, the sea
alluded to.
[171] {194} Lambro Canzani, a Greek, famous for his efforts, in 1789-90, for the
independence of his country. Abandoned by the Russians, he became a pirate, and the
Archipelago was the scene of his enterprises. He is said to be still alive at Petersburgh. He
and Riga are the two most celebrated of the Greek revolutionists.
[For Lambros Katzones (Hobhouse, Travels in Albania, ii. 5, calls him Canziani), see
Finlay's Greece under Othoman ... Domination, 1856, pp. 330-334. Finlay dwells on his
piracies rather than his patriotism.]
[172] {195} "Rayahs,"—all who pay the capitation tax, called the "Haratch."
["This tax was levied on the whole male unbelieving population," except children under
ten, old men, Christian and Jewish priests.—Finlay, Greece under Ottoman ...
Domination, 1856, p. 26. See, too, the Qur'ân, cap. ix., "The Declaration of Immunity."]
[173] This first of voyages is one of the few with which the Mussulmans profess much
acquaintance.
[174] The wandering life of the Arabs, Tartars, and Turkomans, will be found well
detailed in any book of Eastern travels. That it possesses a charm peculiar to itself, cannot
be denied. A young French renegado confessed to Châteaubriand, that he never found
himself alone, galloping in the desert, without a sensation approaching to rapture which
was indescribable.
[175] [Inns, caravanserais. From sarāy, a palace or inn.]
[176] [The remaining seventy lines of stanza xx. were not included in the original MS.,
but were sent to the publisher in successive instalments while the poem was passing
through the press.]
[gq]
Oh could my tongue to thee impart
That liberation of my heart.—[MS. erased.]
[169] I must here shelter myself with the Psalmist—is it not David that makes the "Earth
reel to and fro like a Drunkard"? If the Globe can be thus lively on seeing its Creator, a
liberated captive can hardly feel less on a first view of his work.—[Note, MS. erased.]
[170] The Turkish notions of almost all islands are confined to the Archipelago, the sea
alluded to.
[171] {194} Lambro Canzani, a Greek, famous for his efforts, in 1789-90, for the
independence of his country. Abandoned by the Russians, he became a pirate, and the
Archipelago was the scene of his enterprises. He is said to be still alive at Petersburgh. He
and Riga are the two most celebrated of the Greek revolutionists.
[For Lambros Katzones (Hobhouse, Travels in Albania, ii. 5, calls him Canziani), see
Finlay's Greece under Othoman ... Domination, 1856, pp. 330-334. Finlay dwells on his
piracies rather than his patriotism.]
[172] {195} "Rayahs,"—all who pay the capitation tax, called the "Haratch."
["This tax was levied on the whole male unbelieving population," except children under
ten, old men, Christian and Jewish priests.—Finlay, Greece under Ottoman ...
Domination, 1856, p. 26. See, too, the Qur'ân, cap. ix., "The Declaration of Immunity."]
[173] This first of voyages is one of the few with which the Mussulmans profess much
acquaintance.
[174] The wandering life of the Arabs, Tartars, and Turkomans, will be found well
detailed in any book of Eastern travels. That it possesses a charm peculiar to itself, cannot
be denied. A young French renegado confessed to Châteaubriand, that he never found
himself alone, galloping in the desert, without a sensation approaching to rapture which
was indescribable.
[175] [Inns, caravanserais. From sarāy, a palace or inn.]
[176] [The remaining seventy lines of stanza xx. were not included in the original MS.,
but were sent to the publisher in successive instalments while the poem was passing
through the press.]
Page 254
[177] [In the first draft of a supplementary fragment, line 883 ran thus—
"and tints tomorrow with { aanfancied
airy }
ray."
A note was appended—
"Mr. My. Choose which of the 2 epithets 'fancied' or 'airy' may be best—or if neither will
do—tell me and I will dream another—
"Yours,
"Bn"
The epithet ("prophetic") which stands in the text was inserted in a revise dated December
3, 1813. Two other versions were also sent, that Gifford might select that which was "best,
or rather not worst"—
"and { gilds
tints }
the hope of morning with its ray."
"And gilds to-morrow's hope with heavenly ray."
(Letters, 1898, ii. 282.)
On the same date, December 3rd, two additional lines were affixed to the quatrain (lines
886-889)—
"Soft as the Mecca Muezzin's strains invite
Him who hath journeyed far to join the rite."
And in a later revise, as "a last alteration"—
"Blest as the call which from Medina's dome
Invites devotion to her Prophet's tomb."
An erased version of this "last alteration" ran thus—
"Blest as the Muezzin's strain from Mecca's dome
Which welcomes Faith to view her Prophet's tomb."[A]
[A] [It is probable that Byron, who did not trouble himself to distinguish between "lie"
and "lay," and who, as the MS. of English Bards, and Scotch Reviewers (see line 732,
Poetical Works, 1898, i. 355) reveals, pronounced "petit maître" anglicé in four syllables,
"and tints tomorrow with { aanfancied
airy }
ray."
A note was appended—
"Mr. My. Choose which of the 2 epithets 'fancied' or 'airy' may be best—or if neither will
do—tell me and I will dream another—
"Yours,
"Bn"
The epithet ("prophetic") which stands in the text was inserted in a revise dated December
3, 1813. Two other versions were also sent, that Gifford might select that which was "best,
or rather not worst"—
"and { gilds
tints }
the hope of morning with its ray."
"And gilds to-morrow's hope with heavenly ray."
(Letters, 1898, ii. 282.)
On the same date, December 3rd, two additional lines were affixed to the quatrain (lines
886-889)—
"Soft as the Mecca Muezzin's strains invite
Him who hath journeyed far to join the rite."
And in a later revise, as "a last alteration"—
"Blest as the call which from Medina's dome
Invites devotion to her Prophet's tomb."
An erased version of this "last alteration" ran thus—
"Blest as the Muezzin's strain from Mecca's dome
Which welcomes Faith to view her Prophet's tomb."[A]
[A] [It is probable that Byron, who did not trouble himself to distinguish between "lie"
and "lay," and who, as the MS. of English Bards, and Scotch Reviewers (see line 732,
Poetical Works, 1898, i. 355) reveals, pronounced "petit maître" anglicé in four syllables,
Page 255
regarded "dome" (vide supra) as a true and exact rhyme to "tomb," but, with his wonted
compliance, was persuaded to make yet another alteration.] ]
[gr] {196} Of lines 886-889, two, if not three, variants were sent to the publisher—
(1) Dear as the Melody of better days
That steals the trembling tear of speechless praise—
Sweet as his native song to Exile's ears
Shall sound each tone thy long-loved voice endears.—
[December 2, 1813.]
(2) { Dear
Soft }
as the melody of {
youthful }
better
days
That steals { athesilent
trembling }
tear of speechless praise—
[178] {197} "Jannat-al-Aden," the perpetual abode, the Mussulman paradise. [See Sale's
Koran, "Preliminary Discourse," sect. i.; and Journal, November 17, 1813, Letters, 1898,
ii. 326.]
[gs] Wait on thy voice and bow at thy command.—[MS.]
[gt]
Oh turn and mingle every thought with his,
And all our future days unite in this.—[MS.]
[179] ["You wanted some reflections, and I send you per Selim, eighteen lines in decent
couplets, of a pensive, if not an ethical tendency.... Mr. Canning's approbation (if he did
approve) I need not say makes me proud."—Letter to Murray, November 23, 1813,
Letters, 1898, ii. 286.]
[gu]
Man I may lead but trust not—I may fall
By those now friends to me, yet foes to all—
In this they follow but the bent assigned,
By fatal Nature to our warring kind.—[MS.]
[gv] {198}
Behold a wilderness and call it peace,—[MS. erased.]
Look round our earth and lo! where battles cease,
compliance, was persuaded to make yet another alteration.] ]
[gr] {196} Of lines 886-889, two, if not three, variants were sent to the publisher—
(1) Dear as the Melody of better days
That steals the trembling tear of speechless praise—
Sweet as his native song to Exile's ears
Shall sound each tone thy long-loved voice endears.—
[December 2, 1813.]
(2) { Dear
Soft }
as the melody of {
youthful }
better
days
That steals { athesilent
trembling }
tear of speechless praise—
[178] {197} "Jannat-al-Aden," the perpetual abode, the Mussulman paradise. [See Sale's
Koran, "Preliminary Discourse," sect. i.; and Journal, November 17, 1813, Letters, 1898,
ii. 326.]
[gs] Wait on thy voice and bow at thy command.—[MS.]
[gt]
Oh turn and mingle every thought with his,
And all our future days unite in this.—[MS.]
[179] ["You wanted some reflections, and I send you per Selim, eighteen lines in decent
couplets, of a pensive, if not an ethical tendency.... Mr. Canning's approbation (if he did
approve) I need not say makes me proud."—Letter to Murray, November 23, 1813,
Letters, 1898, ii. 286.]
[gu]
Man I may lead but trust not—I may fall
By those now friends to me, yet foes to all—
In this they follow but the bent assigned,
By fatal Nature to our warring kind.—[MS.]
[gv] {198}
Behold a wilderness and call it peace,—[MS. erased.]
Look round our earth and lo! where battles cease,
Page 256
"Behold a Solitude and call it" peace.—[MS.]
or, Mark even where Conquest's deeds of carnage cease
She leaves a solitude and calls it peace.—[November 21, 1813].
[For the final alteration to the present text, see letter to Murray of November 24, 1813.]
[180] [Compare Tacitus, Agricola, cap. 30—"Solitudinem faciun—pacem appellant." See
letter to Murray, November 24, 1813, Letters, 1898, ii. 287.]
[gw] Power sways but by distrust—her sole source.—[MS. erased.]
[gx] Which Love to-night hath lent by swelling sail.—[MS.]
[181] {199} [Compare—
"Quam juvat immites ventos audire cubantem,
Et dominam tenero detinuisse sinu."
Tibullus, Eleg., Lib. I. i. 45, 46.]
[gy] Then if my lip once murmurs, it must be.—[MS.]
[182] [The omission of lines 938, 939 drew from Byron an admission (Letter to Murray,
November 29, 1813) that "the passage is an imitation altogether from Medea in Ovid"
(Metamorph., vii. 66-69)—
"My love possest, in Jason's bosom laid,
Let seas swell high;—I cannot be dismay'd
While I infold my husband in my arms:
Or should I fear, I should but fear his harms."
Englished by Sandys, 1632.]
[gz] This hour decides my doom or thy escape.—[MS.]
[183] {200} [Compare—
"That thought has more of hell than had the former.
Another, and another, and another!"
The Revenge, by Edward Young, act iv.
(Modern British Drama, 1811, ii. 17).]
[ha] {202} Or grazed by wounds he scorned to feel.—[MS.]
[hb] {203} Three MS. variants of these lines were rejected in turn before the text was
finally adopted—
or, Mark even where Conquest's deeds of carnage cease
She leaves a solitude and calls it peace.—[November 21, 1813].
[For the final alteration to the present text, see letter to Murray of November 24, 1813.]
[180] [Compare Tacitus, Agricola, cap. 30—"Solitudinem faciun—pacem appellant." See
letter to Murray, November 24, 1813, Letters, 1898, ii. 287.]
[gw] Power sways but by distrust—her sole source.—[MS. erased.]
[gx] Which Love to-night hath lent by swelling sail.—[MS.]
[181] {199} [Compare—
"Quam juvat immites ventos audire cubantem,
Et dominam tenero detinuisse sinu."
Tibullus, Eleg., Lib. I. i. 45, 46.]
[gy] Then if my lip once murmurs, it must be.—[MS.]
[182] [The omission of lines 938, 939 drew from Byron an admission (Letter to Murray,
November 29, 1813) that "the passage is an imitation altogether from Medea in Ovid"
(Metamorph., vii. 66-69)—
"My love possest, in Jason's bosom laid,
Let seas swell high;—I cannot be dismay'd
While I infold my husband in my arms:
Or should I fear, I should but fear his harms."
Englished by Sandys, 1632.]
[gz] This hour decides my doom or thy escape.—[MS.]
[183] {200} [Compare—
"That thought has more of hell than had the former.
Another, and another, and another!"
The Revenge, by Edward Young, act iv.
(Modern British Drama, 1811, ii. 17).]
[ha] {202} Or grazed by wounds he scorned to feel.—[MS.]
[hb] {203} Three MS. variants of these lines were rejected in turn before the text was
finally adopted—
Page 257
(1) { Ah! wherefore did he turn to look
I know not why he turned to look
Since fatal was the gaze he took?
So far escaped from death or chain,
To search for her and search in vain:
Sad proof in peril and in pain
How late will Lover's hope remain.
(2) Thus far escaped from death or chain
Ah! wherefore did he turn to look?
For her his eye must seek in vain,
Since fatal was the gaze he took.
Sad proof, etc.—
(3) Ah! wherefore did he turn to look
So far escaped from death or chain?
Since fatal was the gaze he took
For her his eye but sought in vain,
Sad proof, etc.—
A fourth variant of lines 1046, 1047 was inserted in a revise dated November 16—
That glance he paused to send again
To her for whom he dies in vain.
[hc] {204} O'er which their talons yet delay.—[MS. erased.]
[hd] {205}
And that changed hand whose only life
Is motion-seems to menace strife.—[MS.]
[184] ["While the Salsette lay off the Dardanelles, Lord Byron saw the body of a man
who had been executed by being cast into the sea, floating on the stream, moving to and
fro with the tumbling of the water, which gave to his arms the effect of scaring away
several sea-fowl that were hovering to devour. This incident he has strikingly depicted in
the Bride of Abydos."—Life of Lord Byron, by John Galt, 1830, p. 144.]
[185] A turban is carved in stone above the graves of men only.
[186] The death-song of the Turkish women. The "silent slaves" are the men, whose
notions of decorum forbid complaint in public.
[he] {206} The Koran-chapter chaunts thy fate.—[MS.]
I know not why he turned to look
Since fatal was the gaze he took?
So far escaped from death or chain,
To search for her and search in vain:
Sad proof in peril and in pain
How late will Lover's hope remain.
(2) Thus far escaped from death or chain
Ah! wherefore did he turn to look?
For her his eye must seek in vain,
Since fatal was the gaze he took.
Sad proof, etc.—
(3) Ah! wherefore did he turn to look
So far escaped from death or chain?
Since fatal was the gaze he took
For her his eye but sought in vain,
Sad proof, etc.—
A fourth variant of lines 1046, 1047 was inserted in a revise dated November 16—
That glance he paused to send again
To her for whom he dies in vain.
[hc] {204} O'er which their talons yet delay.—[MS. erased.]
[hd] {205}
And that changed hand whose only life
Is motion-seems to menace strife.—[MS.]
[184] ["While the Salsette lay off the Dardanelles, Lord Byron saw the body of a man
who had been executed by being cast into the sea, floating on the stream, moving to and
fro with the tumbling of the water, which gave to his arms the effect of scaring away
several sea-fowl that were hovering to devour. This incident he has strikingly depicted in
the Bride of Abydos."—Life of Lord Byron, by John Galt, 1830, p. 144.]
[185] A turban is carved in stone above the graves of men only.
[186] The death-song of the Turkish women. The "silent slaves" are the men, whose
notions of decorum forbid complaint in public.
[he] {206} The Koran-chapter chaunts thy fate.—[MS.]
Page 258
[187] [At a Turkish funeral, after the interment has taken place, the Imâm "assis sur les
genoux à côté de la tombe," offers the prayer Telkin, and at the conclusion of the prayer
recites the Fathah, or "opening chapter" of the Korân. ("In the name of the merciful and
compassionate God. Praise belongs to God, the Lord of the worlds, the Merciful, the
Compassionate, the Ruler of the day of judgment. Thee we serve, and Thee we ask for
aid. Guide us in the right path, the path of those Thou art gracious to; not of those Thou
art wroth with; nor of those who err."—The Qur'ân, p. 1, translated by E. H. Palmer,
Oxford, 1880): Tableau Générale de l'Empire Ottoman, par Mouradja D'Ohsson, Paris,
1787, i. 235-248. Writing to Murray, November 14, 1813, Byron instances the funeral (in
the Bride of Abydos) as proof of his correctness with regard to local colouring.—Letters,
1898, ii. 283.]
[188] {207} ["I one evening witnessed a funeral in the vast cemetery of Scutari. An old
man, with a venerable beard, threw himself by the side of the narrow grave, and strewing
the earth on his head, cried aloud, 'He was my son! my only son!'"—Constantinople in
1828, by Charles Macfarlane, 1829, p. 233, note.]
[hf] She whom thy Sultan had been fain to wed.—[MS.]
[189] ["The body of a Moslemin is ordered to be carried to the grave in haste, with
hurried steps."—Ibid., p. 233, note.]
[190] "I came to the place of my birth, and cried, 'The friends of my Youth, where are
they?' and an Echo answered, 'Where are they?'"—From an Arabic MS. The above
quotation (from which the idea in the text is taken) must be already familiar to every
reader: it is given in the second annotation, p. 67, of The Pleasures of Memory [note to
Part I. line 103]; a poem so well known as to render a reference almost superfluous: but to
whose pages all will be delighted to recur [Poems, by Samuel Rogers, 1852, i. 48].
[hg] There the sad cypress ever glooms.—[MS.]
[hh] {209} But with the day blush of the sky.—[MS.]
[hi] And some there be who could believe.—[MS.]
[191]
"And airy tongues that syllable men's names."
M ilton , Comus, line 208.
For a belief that the souls of the dead inhabit the form of birds, we need not travel to the
East. Lord Lyttleton's ghost story, the belief of the Duchess of Kendal, that George I. flew
genoux à côté de la tombe," offers the prayer Telkin, and at the conclusion of the prayer
recites the Fathah, or "opening chapter" of the Korân. ("In the name of the merciful and
compassionate God. Praise belongs to God, the Lord of the worlds, the Merciful, the
Compassionate, the Ruler of the day of judgment. Thee we serve, and Thee we ask for
aid. Guide us in the right path, the path of those Thou art gracious to; not of those Thou
art wroth with; nor of those who err."—The Qur'ân, p. 1, translated by E. H. Palmer,
Oxford, 1880): Tableau Générale de l'Empire Ottoman, par Mouradja D'Ohsson, Paris,
1787, i. 235-248. Writing to Murray, November 14, 1813, Byron instances the funeral (in
the Bride of Abydos) as proof of his correctness with regard to local colouring.—Letters,
1898, ii. 283.]
[188] {207} ["I one evening witnessed a funeral in the vast cemetery of Scutari. An old
man, with a venerable beard, threw himself by the side of the narrow grave, and strewing
the earth on his head, cried aloud, 'He was my son! my only son!'"—Constantinople in
1828, by Charles Macfarlane, 1829, p. 233, note.]
[hf] She whom thy Sultan had been fain to wed.—[MS.]
[189] ["The body of a Moslemin is ordered to be carried to the grave in haste, with
hurried steps."—Ibid., p. 233, note.]
[190] "I came to the place of my birth, and cried, 'The friends of my Youth, where are
they?' and an Echo answered, 'Where are they?'"—From an Arabic MS. The above
quotation (from which the idea in the text is taken) must be already familiar to every
reader: it is given in the second annotation, p. 67, of The Pleasures of Memory [note to
Part I. line 103]; a poem so well known as to render a reference almost superfluous: but to
whose pages all will be delighted to recur [Poems, by Samuel Rogers, 1852, i. 48].
[hg] There the sad cypress ever glooms.—[MS.]
[hh] {209} But with the day blush of the sky.—[MS.]
[hi] And some there be who could believe.—[MS.]
[191]
"And airy tongues that syllable men's names."
M ilton , Comus, line 208.
For a belief that the souls of the dead inhabit the form of birds, we need not travel to the
East. Lord Lyttleton's ghost story, the belief of the Duchess of Kendal, that George I. flew
Page 259
into her window in the shape of a raven (see Orford's Reminiscences, Lord Orford's
Works, 1798, iv. 283), and many other instances, bring this superstition nearer home. The
most singular was the whim of a Worcester lady, who, believing her daughter to exist in
the shape of a singing bird, literally furnished her pew in the cathedral with cages full of
the kind; and as she was rich, and a benefactress in beautifying the church, no objection
was made to her harmless folly. For this anecdote, see Orford's Letters.
["But here (at Gloucester) is a modernity, which beats all antiquities for curiosity. Just by
the high altar is a small pew hung with green damask, with curtains of the same; a small
corner-cupboard, painted, carved, and gilt, for books, in one corner, and two troughs of a
bird-cage, with seeds and water. If any mayoress on earth was small enough to inclose
herself in this tabernacle, or abstemious enough to feed on rape and canary, I should have
sworn that it was the shrine of the queen of the aldermen. It belongs to a Mrs. Cotton,
who, having lost a favourite daughter, is convinced her soul is transmigrated into a robin
redbreast, for which reason she passes her life in making an aviary of the cathedral of
Gloucester."—Letter to Richard Bentley, September, 1753 (Lord Orford's Works, 1798, v.
279).]
[192] {210} [According to J. B. Le Chevalier (Voyage de La Propontide, etc., an. viii.
(1800), p. 17), the Turkish name for a small bay which formed the ancient port of Sestos,
is Ak-Bachi-Liman (Port de la Tête blanche).]
[hj]
And in its stead that mourning flower
Hath flourished—flourisheth this hour,
Alone and coldly pure and pale
As the young cheek that saddens to the tale.
And withers not, though branch and leaf
Are stamped with an eternal grief.—[MS.]
An earlier version of the final text reads—
As weeping Childhood's cheek at Sorrow's tale!
[193] ["The Bride, such as it is is my first entire composition of any length (except the
Satire, and be damned to it), for The Giaour is but a string of passages, and Childe Harold
is, and I rather think always will be, unconcluded" (Letter to Murray, November 29,
1813). It (the Bride) "was published on Thursday the second of December; but how it is
liked or disliked, I know not. Whether it succeeds or not is no fault of the public, against
whom I can have no complaint. But I am much more indebted to the tale than I can ever
be to the most partial reader; as it wrung my thoughts from reality to imagination—from
selfish regrets to vivid recollections—and recalled me to a country replete with the
Works, 1798, iv. 283), and many other instances, bring this superstition nearer home. The
most singular was the whim of a Worcester lady, who, believing her daughter to exist in
the shape of a singing bird, literally furnished her pew in the cathedral with cages full of
the kind; and as she was rich, and a benefactress in beautifying the church, no objection
was made to her harmless folly. For this anecdote, see Orford's Letters.
["But here (at Gloucester) is a modernity, which beats all antiquities for curiosity. Just by
the high altar is a small pew hung with green damask, with curtains of the same; a small
corner-cupboard, painted, carved, and gilt, for books, in one corner, and two troughs of a
bird-cage, with seeds and water. If any mayoress on earth was small enough to inclose
herself in this tabernacle, or abstemious enough to feed on rape and canary, I should have
sworn that it was the shrine of the queen of the aldermen. It belongs to a Mrs. Cotton,
who, having lost a favourite daughter, is convinced her soul is transmigrated into a robin
redbreast, for which reason she passes her life in making an aviary of the cathedral of
Gloucester."—Letter to Richard Bentley, September, 1753 (Lord Orford's Works, 1798, v.
279).]
[192] {210} [According to J. B. Le Chevalier (Voyage de La Propontide, etc., an. viii.
(1800), p. 17), the Turkish name for a small bay which formed the ancient port of Sestos,
is Ak-Bachi-Liman (Port de la Tête blanche).]
[hj]
And in its stead that mourning flower
Hath flourished—flourisheth this hour,
Alone and coldly pure and pale
As the young cheek that saddens to the tale.
And withers not, though branch and leaf
Are stamped with an eternal grief.—[MS.]
An earlier version of the final text reads—
As weeping Childhood's cheek at Sorrow's tale!
[193] ["The Bride, such as it is is my first entire composition of any length (except the
Satire, and be damned to it), for The Giaour is but a string of passages, and Childe Harold
is, and I rather think always will be, unconcluded" (Letter to Murray, November 29,
1813). It (the Bride) "was published on Thursday the second of December; but how it is
liked or disliked, I know not. Whether it succeeds or not is no fault of the public, against
whom I can have no complaint. But I am much more indebted to the tale than I can ever
be to the most partial reader; as it wrung my thoughts from reality to imagination—from
selfish regrets to vivid recollections—and recalled me to a country replete with the
Page 260
brightest and darkest, but always most lively colours of my memory" (Journal, December
5, 1813, Letters, 1898, ii. 291, 361).]
5, 1813, Letters, 1898, ii. 291, 361).]
Page 261
THE CORSAIR:
A TALE.
——"I suoi pensieri in lui dormir non ponno."
T asso , Gerusalemme Liberata, Canto X. [stanza lxxviii. line 8].
A TALE.
——"I suoi pensieri in lui dormir non ponno."
T asso , Gerusalemme Liberata, Canto X. [stanza lxxviii. line 8].
Page 262
INTRODUCTION TO THE CORSAIR.
A seventh edition of the Giaour, including the final additions, and the first
edition of the Bride of Abydos, were published on the twenty-ninth of
November, 1813. In less than three weeks (December 18) Byron began the
Corsair, and completed the fair copy of the first draft by the last day of the
year. The Corsair in all but its final shape, together with the sixth edition of
the Bride of Abydos, the seventh of Childe Harold, and the ninth of the
Giaour, was issued on the first of February, 1814.
A letter from John Murray to Lord Byron, dated February 3, 1814
(Memoir of John Murray, 1891, i. 223), presents a vivid picture of a great
literary triumph—
"M y L ord ,—I have been unwilling to write until I had something to say.... I
am most happy to tell you that your last poem is—what Mr. Southey's is called
—a Carmen Triumphale. Never in my recollection has any work ... excited such
a ferment ... I sold on the day of publication—a thing perfectly unprecedented—
10,000 copies.... Mr. Moore says it is masterly—a wonderful performance. Mr.
Hammond, Mr. Heber, D'Israeli, every one who comes ... declare their unlimited
approbation. Mr. Ward was here with Mr. Gifford yesterday, and mingled his
admiration with the rest ... and Gifford did, what I never knew him do before—
he repeated several stanzas from memory, particularly the closing stanza—
"'His death yet dubious, deeds too widely known.'
"I have the highest encomiums in letters from Croker and Mr. Hay; but I rest
most upon the warm feeling it has created in Gifford's critic heart.... You have no
A seventh edition of the Giaour, including the final additions, and the first
edition of the Bride of Abydos, were published on the twenty-ninth of
November, 1813. In less than three weeks (December 18) Byron began the
Corsair, and completed the fair copy of the first draft by the last day of the
year. The Corsair in all but its final shape, together with the sixth edition of
the Bride of Abydos, the seventh of Childe Harold, and the ninth of the
Giaour, was issued on the first of February, 1814.
A letter from John Murray to Lord Byron, dated February 3, 1814
(Memoir of John Murray, 1891, i. 223), presents a vivid picture of a great
literary triumph—
"M y L ord ,—I have been unwilling to write until I had something to say.... I
am most happy to tell you that your last poem is—what Mr. Southey's is called
—a Carmen Triumphale. Never in my recollection has any work ... excited such
a ferment ... I sold on the day of publication—a thing perfectly unprecedented—
10,000 copies.... Mr. Moore says it is masterly—a wonderful performance. Mr.
Hammond, Mr. Heber, D'Israeli, every one who comes ... declare their unlimited
approbation. Mr. Ward was here with Mr. Gifford yesterday, and mingled his
admiration with the rest ... and Gifford did, what I never knew him do before—
he repeated several stanzas from memory, particularly the closing stanza—
"'His death yet dubious, deeds too widely known.'
"I have the highest encomiums in letters from Croker and Mr. Hay; but I rest
most upon the warm feeling it has created in Gifford's critic heart.... You have no
Page 263
notion of the sensation which the publication has occasioned; and my only regret
is that you were not present to witness it."
For some time before and after the poem appeared, Byron was, as he
told Leigh Hunt (February 9, 1814; Letters, 1899, iii. 27), "snow-bound and
thaw-swamped in 'the valley of the shadow' of Newstead Abbey," and it was
not till he had returned to town that he resumed his journal, and bethought
him of placing on record some dark sayings with regard to the story of the
Corsair and the personality of Conrad. Under date February 18, 1814, he
writes—
"The Corsair has been conceived, written, published, etc., since I last took up
this journal [?last day but one]. They tell me it has great success; it was written
con amore [i.e. during the reign of Lady Frances Wedderburn Webster], and
much from existence."
And again, Journal, March 10 (Letters, 1898, ii. 399),
"He [Hobhouse] told me an odd report,—that I am the actual Conrad, the
veritable Corsair, and that part of my travels are supposed to have passed in
privacy [sic;?piracy]. Um! people sometimes hit near the truth; but never the
whole truth. H. don't know what I was about the year after he left the Levant; nor
does any one—nor—nor—nor—however, it is a lie—but, 'I doubt the
equivocation of the fiend that lies like truth.'"
Very little weight can be attached to these "I could an I would"
pronouncements, deliberately framed to provoke curiosity, and destined, no
doubt, sooner or later to see the light; but the fact remains that Conrad is not
a mere presentation of Byron in a fresh disguise, or "The Pirate's Tale"
altogether a "painting of the imagination."
That the Corsair is founded upon fact is argued at some length by the
author (an "English Gentleman in the Greek Military Service") of the Life,
is that you were not present to witness it."
For some time before and after the poem appeared, Byron was, as he
told Leigh Hunt (February 9, 1814; Letters, 1899, iii. 27), "snow-bound and
thaw-swamped in 'the valley of the shadow' of Newstead Abbey," and it was
not till he had returned to town that he resumed his journal, and bethought
him of placing on record some dark sayings with regard to the story of the
Corsair and the personality of Conrad. Under date February 18, 1814, he
writes—
"The Corsair has been conceived, written, published, etc., since I last took up
this journal [?last day but one]. They tell me it has great success; it was written
con amore [i.e. during the reign of Lady Frances Wedderburn Webster], and
much from existence."
And again, Journal, March 10 (Letters, 1898, ii. 399),
"He [Hobhouse] told me an odd report,—that I am the actual Conrad, the
veritable Corsair, and that part of my travels are supposed to have passed in
privacy [sic;?piracy]. Um! people sometimes hit near the truth; but never the
whole truth. H. don't know what I was about the year after he left the Levant; nor
does any one—nor—nor—nor—however, it is a lie—but, 'I doubt the
equivocation of the fiend that lies like truth.'"
Very little weight can be attached to these "I could an I would"
pronouncements, deliberately framed to provoke curiosity, and destined, no
doubt, sooner or later to see the light; but the fact remains that Conrad is not
a mere presentation of Byron in a fresh disguise, or "The Pirate's Tale"
altogether a "painting of the imagination."
That the Corsair is founded upon fact is argued at some length by the
author (an "English Gentleman in the Greek Military Service") of the Life,
Page 264
Writings, Opinions, and Times of the R. H. George Gordon Noel Byron,
which was published in 1825. The point of the story (i. 197-201), which
need not be repeated at length, is that Byron, on leaving Constantinople and
reaching the island of Zea (July, 1810), visited ["strolled about"] the islands
of the Archipelago, in company with a Venetian gentleman who had turned
buccaneer malgré lui, and whose history and adventures, amatory and
piratical, prefigured and inspired the "gestes" of Conrad. The tale must be
taken for what it is worth; but it is to be remarked that it affords a clue to
Byron's mysterious entries in a journal which did not see the light till 1830,
five years after the "English Gentleman" published his volumes of
gossiping anecdote. It may, too, be noted that, although, in his
correspondence of 1810, 1811, there is no mention of any tour among the
"Isles of Greece," in a letter to Moore dated February 2, 1815 (Letters,
1899, iii. 176), Byron recalls "the interesting white squalls and short seas of
Archipelago memory."
How far Byron may have drawn on personal experience for his picture
of a pirate chez lui, it is impossible to say; but during the year 1809-11,
when he was travelling in Greece, the exploits of Lambros Katzones and
other Greek pirates sailing under the Russian flag must have been within
the remembrance and on the lips of the islanders and the "patriots" of the
mainland. The "Pirate's Island," from which "Ariadne's isle" (line 444) was
visible, may be intended for Paros or Anti-Paros.
For the inception of Conrad (see Canto I. stanza ii.), the paradoxical
hero, an assortment rather than an amalgam of incongruous characteristics,
Byron may, perhaps, have been in some measure indebted to the description
of Malefort, junior, in Massinger's Unnatural Combat, act i. sc. 2, line 20,
sq.—
which was published in 1825. The point of the story (i. 197-201), which
need not be repeated at length, is that Byron, on leaving Constantinople and
reaching the island of Zea (July, 1810), visited ["strolled about"] the islands
of the Archipelago, in company with a Venetian gentleman who had turned
buccaneer malgré lui, and whose history and adventures, amatory and
piratical, prefigured and inspired the "gestes" of Conrad. The tale must be
taken for what it is worth; but it is to be remarked that it affords a clue to
Byron's mysterious entries in a journal which did not see the light till 1830,
five years after the "English Gentleman" published his volumes of
gossiping anecdote. It may, too, be noted that, although, in his
correspondence of 1810, 1811, there is no mention of any tour among the
"Isles of Greece," in a letter to Moore dated February 2, 1815 (Letters,
1899, iii. 176), Byron recalls "the interesting white squalls and short seas of
Archipelago memory."
How far Byron may have drawn on personal experience for his picture
of a pirate chez lui, it is impossible to say; but during the year 1809-11,
when he was travelling in Greece, the exploits of Lambros Katzones and
other Greek pirates sailing under the Russian flag must have been within
the remembrance and on the lips of the islanders and the "patriots" of the
mainland. The "Pirate's Island," from which "Ariadne's isle" (line 444) was
visible, may be intended for Paros or Anti-Paros.
For the inception of Conrad (see Canto I. stanza ii.), the paradoxical
hero, an assortment rather than an amalgam of incongruous characteristics,
Byron may, perhaps, have been in some measure indebted to the description
of Malefort, junior, in Massinger's Unnatural Combat, act i. sc. 2, line 20,
sq.—
Page 265
ave sat with him in his cabin a day together,
h he did often, as if inward grief
d melancholy at that instant would
ke up his vital spirits....
When from the maintop
ail's descried, all thoughts that do concern
mself laid by, no lion pinched with hunger
ses himself more fiercely from his den,
n he comes on the deck; and then how wisely
gives directions," etc.
The Corsair, together with the Bride of Abydos, was reviewed by Jeffrey
in the Edinburgh Review of April, 1814, vol. xxiii. p. 198; and together with
Lara, by George Agar Ellis in the Quarterly Review of July, 1814, vol. ii. p.
428.
h he did often, as if inward grief
d melancholy at that instant would
ke up his vital spirits....
When from the maintop
ail's descried, all thoughts that do concern
mself laid by, no lion pinched with hunger
ses himself more fiercely from his den,
n he comes on the deck; and then how wisely
gives directions," etc.
The Corsair, together with the Bride of Abydos, was reviewed by Jeffrey
in the Edinburgh Review of April, 1814, vol. xxiii. p. 198; and together with
Lara, by George Agar Ellis in the Quarterly Review of July, 1814, vol. ii. p.
428.
Page 266
BIBLIOGRAPHICAL NOTE ON THE
CORSAIR.
I n comparison with the Giaour, the additions made to the Corsair whilst it
was passing through the press were inconsiderable. The original MS., which
numbers 1737 lines, is probably the fair copy of a number of loose sheets
which have not been preserved. The erasures are few and far between, and
the variations between the copy and the text are neither numerous nor
important.
In one of the latest revises stanza x. was added to the First Canto. The
last four lines of stanza xi. first appeared in the Seventh Edition.
The Second Canto suffered no alteration except the substitution of lines
1131-1133 for two lines which were expunged.
Larger additions were made to the Third Canto. Lines 1299-1375, or
stanza v. (included in a revise dated January 6, 1814), stanzas xvii. and
xxiii., numbering respectively 77, 32, and 16 lines, and the two last lines of
stanza x., 127 lines in all, represent the difference between the text as it now
stands and the original MS.
In a note to Byron's Poetical Works, 1832, ix. 257, it is stated that the
Corsair was begun on the 18th and finished on the 31st of December, 1813.
CORSAIR.
I n comparison with the Giaour, the additions made to the Corsair whilst it
was passing through the press were inconsiderable. The original MS., which
numbers 1737 lines, is probably the fair copy of a number of loose sheets
which have not been preserved. The erasures are few and far between, and
the variations between the copy and the text are neither numerous nor
important.
In one of the latest revises stanza x. was added to the First Canto. The
last four lines of stanza xi. first appeared in the Seventh Edition.
The Second Canto suffered no alteration except the substitution of lines
1131-1133 for two lines which were expunged.
Larger additions were made to the Third Canto. Lines 1299-1375, or
stanza v. (included in a revise dated January 6, 1814), stanzas xvii. and
xxiii., numbering respectively 77, 32, and 16 lines, and the two last lines of
stanza x., 127 lines in all, represent the difference between the text as it now
stands and the original MS.
In a note to Byron's Poetical Works, 1832, ix. 257, it is stated that the
Corsair was begun on the 18th and finished on the 31st of December, 1813.
Page 267
In the Introduction to the Corsair prefixed to the Library Edition, the poem
is said to have been composed in ten days, "at the rate of 200 lines a day."
The first page of the MS. is dated "27th of December, 1813," and the last
page "December 31, 1813, January 1, 1814." It is probable that the
composition of the first draft was begun on the 18th and finished on the
27th of December, and that the work of transcription occupied the last five
days of the month. Stanza v. of Canto III. reached the publisher on the 6th,
and stanzas xvii. and xxiii. on the 11th and 12th of January, 1814.
The First Edition amounted to 1859 lines (the numeration, owing to the
inclusion of broken lines, is given as 1863), and falls short of the existing
text by the last four lines of stanza xi. It contains the first dedication to
Moore, and numbers 100 pages. To the Second Edition, which numbers 108
pages, the following poems were appended:—
To a Lady Weeping.
From the Turkish.
Sonnet to Genevra ("Thine eyes' blue tenderness," etc.).
Sonnet to Genevra ("Thy cheek is pale with thought," etc.).
Inscription on the Monument of a Newfoundland Dog.
Farewell.
These occasional poems were not appended to the Third Edition, which
only numbered 100 pages; but they reappeared in the Fourth and subsequent
editions.
The Seventh Edition contained four additional lines (the last four of
stanza xi.), and a note (unnumbered) to line 226, in defence of the
is said to have been composed in ten days, "at the rate of 200 lines a day."
The first page of the MS. is dated "27th of December, 1813," and the last
page "December 31, 1813, January 1, 1814." It is probable that the
composition of the first draft was begun on the 18th and finished on the
27th of December, and that the work of transcription occupied the last five
days of the month. Stanza v. of Canto III. reached the publisher on the 6th,
and stanzas xvii. and xxiii. on the 11th and 12th of January, 1814.
The First Edition amounted to 1859 lines (the numeration, owing to the
inclusion of broken lines, is given as 1863), and falls short of the existing
text by the last four lines of stanza xi. It contains the first dedication to
Moore, and numbers 100 pages. To the Second Edition, which numbers 108
pages, the following poems were appended:—
To a Lady Weeping.
From the Turkish.
Sonnet to Genevra ("Thine eyes' blue tenderness," etc.).
Sonnet to Genevra ("Thy cheek is pale with thought," etc.).
Inscription on the Monument of a Newfoundland Dog.
Farewell.
These occasional poems were not appended to the Third Edition, which
only numbered 100 pages; but they reappeared in the Fourth and subsequent
editions.
The Seventh Edition contained four additional lines (the last four of
stanza xi.), and a note (unnumbered) to line 226, in defence of the
Page 268
vraisemblance of the Corsair's misanthropy. The Ninth Edition numbered
112 pages. The additional matter consists of a long note to the last line of
the poem ("Linked with one virtue, and a thousand crimes") on the pirates
of Barataria.
Twenty-five thousand copies of the Corsair were sold between January
and March, 1814. An Eighth Edition of fifteen hundred copies was printed
in March, and sold before the end of the year. A Ninth Edition of three
thousand copies was printed in the beginning of 1815.
TO THOMAS MOORE, ESQ.
M y dear M oore ,
I dedicate to you the last production with which I shall trespass on
public patience, and your indulgence, for some years; and I own that I feel
anxious to avail myself of this latest and only opportunity of adorning my
pages with a name, consecrated by unshaken public principle, and the most
undoubted and various talents. While Ireland ranks you among the firmest
of her patriots; while you stand alone the first of her bards in her estimation,
and Britain repeats and ratifies the decree, permit one, whose only regret,
since our first acquaintance, has been the years he had lost before it
commenced, to add the humble but sincere suffrage of friendship, to the
voice of more than one nation. It will at least prove to you, that I have
neither forgotten the gratification derived from your society, nor abandoned
the prospect of its renewal, whenever your leisure or inclination allows you
to atone to your friends for too long an absence. It is said among those
friends, I trust truly, that you are engaged in the composition of a poem
112 pages. The additional matter consists of a long note to the last line of
the poem ("Linked with one virtue, and a thousand crimes") on the pirates
of Barataria.
Twenty-five thousand copies of the Corsair were sold between January
and March, 1814. An Eighth Edition of fifteen hundred copies was printed
in March, and sold before the end of the year. A Ninth Edition of three
thousand copies was printed in the beginning of 1815.
TO THOMAS MOORE, ESQ.
M y dear M oore ,
I dedicate to you the last production with which I shall trespass on
public patience, and your indulgence, for some years; and I own that I feel
anxious to avail myself of this latest and only opportunity of adorning my
pages with a name, consecrated by unshaken public principle, and the most
undoubted and various talents. While Ireland ranks you among the firmest
of her patriots; while you stand alone the first of her bards in her estimation,
and Britain repeats and ratifies the decree, permit one, whose only regret,
since our first acquaintance, has been the years he had lost before it
commenced, to add the humble but sincere suffrage of friendship, to the
voice of more than one nation. It will at least prove to you, that I have
neither forgotten the gratification derived from your society, nor abandoned
the prospect of its renewal, whenever your leisure or inclination allows you
to atone to your friends for too long an absence. It is said among those
friends, I trust truly, that you are engaged in the composition of a poem
Page 269
whose scene will be laid in the East; none can do those scenes so much
justice. The wrongs of your own country,[194] the magnificent and fiery spirit
of her sons, the beauty and feeling of her daughters, may there be found;
and Collins, when he denominated his Oriental his Irish Eclogues, was not
aware how true, at least, was a part of his parallel. Your imagination will
create a warmer sun, and less clouded sky; but wildness, tenderness, and
originality, are part of your national claim of oriental descent, to which you
have already thus far proved your title more clearly than the most zealous of
your country's antiquarians.
May I add a few words on a subject on which all men are supposed to be
fluent, and none agreeable?—Self. I have written much, and published more
than enough to demand a longer silence than I now meditate; but, for some
years to come, it is my intention to tempt no further the award of "Gods,
men, nor columns." In the present composition I have attempted not the
most difficult, but, perhaps, the best adapted measure to our language, the
good old and now neglected heroic couplet. The stanza of Spenser is
perhaps too slow and dignified for narrative; though, I confess, it is the
measure most after my own heart; Scott alone,[195] of the present generation,
has hitherto completely triumphed over the fatal facility of the octosyllabic
verse; and this is not the least victory of his fertile and mighty genius: in
blank verse, Milton, Thomson, and our dramatists, are the beacons that
shine along the deep, but warn us from the rough and barren rock on which
they are kindled. The heroic couplet is not the most popular measure
certainly; but as I did not deviate into the other from a wish to flatter what
is called public opinion, I shall quit it without further apology, and take my
chance once more with that versification, in which I have hitherto published
nothing but compositions whose former circulation is part of my present,
and will be of my future regret.
justice. The wrongs of your own country,[194] the magnificent and fiery spirit
of her sons, the beauty and feeling of her daughters, may there be found;
and Collins, when he denominated his Oriental his Irish Eclogues, was not
aware how true, at least, was a part of his parallel. Your imagination will
create a warmer sun, and less clouded sky; but wildness, tenderness, and
originality, are part of your national claim of oriental descent, to which you
have already thus far proved your title more clearly than the most zealous of
your country's antiquarians.
May I add a few words on a subject on which all men are supposed to be
fluent, and none agreeable?—Self. I have written much, and published more
than enough to demand a longer silence than I now meditate; but, for some
years to come, it is my intention to tempt no further the award of "Gods,
men, nor columns." In the present composition I have attempted not the
most difficult, but, perhaps, the best adapted measure to our language, the
good old and now neglected heroic couplet. The stanza of Spenser is
perhaps too slow and dignified for narrative; though, I confess, it is the
measure most after my own heart; Scott alone,[195] of the present generation,
has hitherto completely triumphed over the fatal facility of the octosyllabic
verse; and this is not the least victory of his fertile and mighty genius: in
blank verse, Milton, Thomson, and our dramatists, are the beacons that
shine along the deep, but warn us from the rough and barren rock on which
they are kindled. The heroic couplet is not the most popular measure
certainly; but as I did not deviate into the other from a wish to flatter what
is called public opinion, I shall quit it without further apology, and take my
chance once more with that versification, in which I have hitherto published
nothing but compositions whose former circulation is part of my present,
and will be of my future regret.
Page 270
With regard to my story, and stories in general, I should have been glad
to have rendered my personages more perfect and amiable, if possible,
inasmuch as I have been sometimes criticised, and considered no less
responsible for their deeds and qualities than if all had been personal. Be it
so—if I have deviated into the gloomy vanity of "drawing from self," the
pictures are probably like, since they are unfavourable: and if not, those
who know me are undeceived, and those who do not, I have little interest in
undeceiving. I have no particular desire that any but my acquaintance
should think the author better than the beings of his imagining; but I cannot
help a little surprise, and perhaps amusement, at some odd critical
exceptions in the present instance, when I see several bards (far more
deserving, I allow) in very reputable plight, and quite exempted from all
participation in the faults of those heroes, who, nevertheless, might be
found with little more morality than The Giaour, and perhaps—but no—I
must admit Childe Harold to be a very repulsive personage; and as to his
identity, those who like it must give him whatever "alias" they please.[196]
If, however, it were worth while to remove the impression, it might be of
some service to me, that the man who is alike the delight of his readers and
his friends, the poet of all circles, and the idol of his own, permits me here
and elsewhere to subscribe myself,
Most truly,
And affectionately,
His obedient servant,
BYR
ON.
January 2, 1814.
to have rendered my personages more perfect and amiable, if possible,
inasmuch as I have been sometimes criticised, and considered no less
responsible for their deeds and qualities than if all had been personal. Be it
so—if I have deviated into the gloomy vanity of "drawing from self," the
pictures are probably like, since they are unfavourable: and if not, those
who know me are undeceived, and those who do not, I have little interest in
undeceiving. I have no particular desire that any but my acquaintance
should think the author better than the beings of his imagining; but I cannot
help a little surprise, and perhaps amusement, at some odd critical
exceptions in the present instance, when I see several bards (far more
deserving, I allow) in very reputable plight, and quite exempted from all
participation in the faults of those heroes, who, nevertheless, might be
found with little more morality than The Giaour, and perhaps—but no—I
must admit Childe Harold to be a very repulsive personage; and as to his
identity, those who like it must give him whatever "alias" they please.[196]
If, however, it were worth while to remove the impression, it might be of
some service to me, that the man who is alike the delight of his readers and
his friends, the poet of all circles, and the idol of his own, permits me here
and elsewhere to subscribe myself,
Most truly,
And affectionately,
His obedient servant,
BYR
ON.
January 2, 1814.
Page 271
Page 272
THE CORSAIR. [197]
CANTO THE FIRST.
"——nessun maggior dolore,
Che ricordarsi del tempo felice
Nella miseria,——"
D ante , Inferno, v. 121.
I.
er the glad waters of the dark blue sea,
thoughts as boundless, and our souls as free,
as the breeze can bear, the billows foam,
vey our empire, and behold our home![198]
se are our realms, no limits to their sway—
flag the sceptre all who meet obey.
s the wild life in tumult still to range
m toil to rest, and joy in every change.
who can tell? not thou, luxurious slave!
ose soul would sicken o'er the heaving wave; 10
thou, vain lord of Wantonness and Ease!
om Slumber soothes not—Pleasure cannot please—
who can tell, save he whose heart hath tried,
d danced in triumph o'er the waters wide,
CANTO THE FIRST.
"——nessun maggior dolore,
Che ricordarsi del tempo felice
Nella miseria,——"
D ante , Inferno, v. 121.
I.
er the glad waters of the dark blue sea,
thoughts as boundless, and our souls as free,
as the breeze can bear, the billows foam,
vey our empire, and behold our home![198]
se are our realms, no limits to their sway—
flag the sceptre all who meet obey.
s the wild life in tumult still to range
m toil to rest, and joy in every change.
who can tell? not thou, luxurious slave!
ose soul would sicken o'er the heaving wave; 10
thou, vain lord of Wantonness and Ease!
om Slumber soothes not—Pleasure cannot please—
who can tell, save he whose heart hath tried,
d danced in triumph o'er the waters wide,
Page 273
exulting sense—the pulse's maddening play,
t thrills the wanderer of that trackless way?
t for itself can woo the approaching fight,
d turn what some deem danger to delight;
t seeks what cravens shun with more than zeal,
d where the feebler faint can only feel— 20
l—to the rising bosom's inmost core,
hope awaken and its spirit soar?
dread of Death—if with us die our foes—
e that it seems even duller than repose;
me when it will—we snatch the life of Life—
en lost—what recks it by disease or strife?
him who crawls, enamoured of decay,
ng to his couch, and sicken years away;[hk]
ve his thick breath, and shake his palsied head;
s the fresh turf, and not the feverish bed,— 30
ile gasp by gasp he falters forth his soul,
s with one pang—one bound—escapes control.
corse may boast its urn and narrow cave,
d they who loathed his life may gild his grave:
s are the tears, though few, sincerely shed,
en Ocean shrouds and sepulchres our dead.
us, even banquets fond regret supply
he red cup that crowns our memory;
d the brief epitaph in Danger's day,
en those who win at length divide the prey, 40
d cry, Remembrance saddening o'er each brow,
w had the brave who fell exulted now!"
II.
h were the notes that from the Pirate's isle
t thrills the wanderer of that trackless way?
t for itself can woo the approaching fight,
d turn what some deem danger to delight;
t seeks what cravens shun with more than zeal,
d where the feebler faint can only feel— 20
l—to the rising bosom's inmost core,
hope awaken and its spirit soar?
dread of Death—if with us die our foes—
e that it seems even duller than repose;
me when it will—we snatch the life of Life—
en lost—what recks it by disease or strife?
him who crawls, enamoured of decay,
ng to his couch, and sicken years away;[hk]
ve his thick breath, and shake his palsied head;
s the fresh turf, and not the feverish bed,— 30
ile gasp by gasp he falters forth his soul,
s with one pang—one bound—escapes control.
corse may boast its urn and narrow cave,
d they who loathed his life may gild his grave:
s are the tears, though few, sincerely shed,
en Ocean shrouds and sepulchres our dead.
us, even banquets fond regret supply
he red cup that crowns our memory;
d the brief epitaph in Danger's day,
en those who win at length divide the prey, 40
d cry, Remembrance saddening o'er each brow,
w had the brave who fell exulted now!"
II.
h were the notes that from the Pirate's isle
Page 274
und the kindling watch-fire rang the while:
h were the sounds that thrilled the rocks along,
d unto ears as rugged seemed a song!
cattered groups upon the golden sand,
y game—carouse—converse—or whet the brand;
ect the arms—to each his blade assign,
d careless eye the blood that dims its shine; 50
air the boat, replace the helm or oar,
ile others straggling muse along the shore;
the wild bird the busy springes set,
pread beneath the sun the dripping net:
e where some distant sail a speck supplies,
h all the thirsting eye of Enterprise;
o'er the tales of many a night of toil,
d marvel where they next shall seize a spoil:
matter where—their chief's allotment this;
irs to believe no prey nor plan amiss. 60
who that C hief ? his name on every shore
amed and feared—they ask and know no more
h these he mingles not but to command;
w are his words, but keen his eye and hand.
er seasons he with mirth their jovial mess,
they forgive his silence for success.
er for his lip the purpling cup they fill,
t goblet passes him untasted still—
d for his fare—the rudest of his crew
uld that, in turn, have passed untasted too; 70
h's coarsest bread, the garden's homeliest roots,
d scarce the summer luxury of fruits,
short repast in humbleness supply
h all a hermit's board would scarce deny.
while he shuns the grosser joys of sense,
h were the sounds that thrilled the rocks along,
d unto ears as rugged seemed a song!
cattered groups upon the golden sand,
y game—carouse—converse—or whet the brand;
ect the arms—to each his blade assign,
d careless eye the blood that dims its shine; 50
air the boat, replace the helm or oar,
ile others straggling muse along the shore;
the wild bird the busy springes set,
pread beneath the sun the dripping net:
e where some distant sail a speck supplies,
h all the thirsting eye of Enterprise;
o'er the tales of many a night of toil,
d marvel where they next shall seize a spoil:
matter where—their chief's allotment this;
irs to believe no prey nor plan amiss. 60
who that C hief ? his name on every shore
amed and feared—they ask and know no more
h these he mingles not but to command;
w are his words, but keen his eye and hand.
er seasons he with mirth their jovial mess,
they forgive his silence for success.
er for his lip the purpling cup they fill,
t goblet passes him untasted still—
d for his fare—the rudest of his crew
uld that, in turn, have passed untasted too; 70
h's coarsest bread, the garden's homeliest roots,
d scarce the summer luxury of fruits,
short repast in humbleness supply
h all a hermit's board would scarce deny.
while he shuns the grosser joys of sense,
Page 275
mind seems nourished by that abstinence.
er to that shore!"—they sail. "Do this!"—'tis done:
w form and follow me!"—the spoil is won.
s prompt his accents and his actions still,
d all obey and few inquire his will; 80
uch, brief answer and contemptuous eye
vey reproof, nor further deign reply.
III.
sail!—a sail!"—a promised prize to Hope!
nation—flag—how speaks the telescope?[hl]
prize, alas! but yet a welcome sail:
blood-red signal glitters in the gale.
—she is ours—a home-returning bark—
w fair, thou breeze!—she anchors ere the dark.
eady doubled is the cape—our bay
eives that prow which proudly spurns the spray. 90
w gloriously her gallant course she goes!
white wings flying—never from her foes—
walks the waters like a thing of Life![199]
d seems to dare the elements to strife.
o would not brave the battle-fire, the wreck,
move the monarch of her peopled deck!
IV.
rse o'er her side the rustling cable rings:
sails are furled; and anchoring round she swings;
d gathering loiterers on the land discern
boat descending from the latticed stern. 100
manned—the oars keep concert to the strand,
grates her keel upon the shallow sand.[hm]
er to that shore!"—they sail. "Do this!"—'tis done:
w form and follow me!"—the spoil is won.
s prompt his accents and his actions still,
d all obey and few inquire his will; 80
uch, brief answer and contemptuous eye
vey reproof, nor further deign reply.
III.
sail!—a sail!"—a promised prize to Hope!
nation—flag—how speaks the telescope?[hl]
prize, alas! but yet a welcome sail:
blood-red signal glitters in the gale.
—she is ours—a home-returning bark—
w fair, thou breeze!—she anchors ere the dark.
eady doubled is the cape—our bay
eives that prow which proudly spurns the spray. 90
w gloriously her gallant course she goes!
white wings flying—never from her foes—
walks the waters like a thing of Life![199]
d seems to dare the elements to strife.
o would not brave the battle-fire, the wreck,
move the monarch of her peopled deck!
IV.
rse o'er her side the rustling cable rings:
sails are furled; and anchoring round she swings;
d gathering loiterers on the land discern
boat descending from the latticed stern. 100
manned—the oars keep concert to the strand,
grates her keel upon the shallow sand.[hm]
Page 276
l to the welcome shout!—the friendly speech!
en hand grasps hand uniting on the beach;
smile, the question, and the quick reply,
d the Heart's promise of festivity!
V.
tidings spread, and gathering grows the crowd:
hum of voices, and the laughter loud,
d Woman's gentler anxious tone is heard—
nds'—husbands'—lovers' names in each dear word: 110
! are they safe? we ask not of success—
shall we see them? will their accents bless?
m where the battle roars, the billows chafe,
y doubtless boldly did—but who are safe?
e let them haste to gladden and surprise,
d kiss the doubt from these delighted eyes!"
VI.
here is our Chief? for him we bear report—
d doubt that joy—which hails our coming—short;
thus sincere—'tis cheering, though so brief;
Juan! instant guide us to our Chief: 120
greeting paid, we'll feast on our return,
d all shall hear what each may wish to learn."
ending slowly by the rock-hewn way,
where his watch-tower beetles o'er the bay,
bushy brake, the wild flowers blossoming,
d freshness breathing from each silver spring,
ose scattered streams from granite basins burst,
p into life, and sparkling woo your thirst;
m crag to cliff they mount—Near yonder cave,
en hand grasps hand uniting on the beach;
smile, the question, and the quick reply,
d the Heart's promise of festivity!
V.
tidings spread, and gathering grows the crowd:
hum of voices, and the laughter loud,
d Woman's gentler anxious tone is heard—
nds'—husbands'—lovers' names in each dear word: 110
! are they safe? we ask not of success—
shall we see them? will their accents bless?
m where the battle roars, the billows chafe,
y doubtless boldly did—but who are safe?
e let them haste to gladden and surprise,
d kiss the doubt from these delighted eyes!"
VI.
here is our Chief? for him we bear report—
d doubt that joy—which hails our coming—short;
thus sincere—'tis cheering, though so brief;
Juan! instant guide us to our Chief: 120
greeting paid, we'll feast on our return,
d all shall hear what each may wish to learn."
ending slowly by the rock-hewn way,
where his watch-tower beetles o'er the bay,
bushy brake, the wild flowers blossoming,
d freshness breathing from each silver spring,
ose scattered streams from granite basins burst,
p into life, and sparkling woo your thirst;
m crag to cliff they mount—Near yonder cave,
Page 277
at lonely straggler looks along the wave? 130
ensive posture leaning on the brand,
oft a resting-staff to that red hand?
s he—'tis Conrad—here—as wont—alone;
—Juan!—on—and make our purpose known.
bark he views—and tell him we would greet
ear with tidings he must quickly meet:
dare not yet approach—thou know'st his mood,
en strange or uninvited steps intrude."
VII.
m Juan sought, and told of their intent;—
spake not, but a sign expressed assent, 140
se Juan calls—they come—to their salute
bends him slightly, but his lips are mute.
ese letters, Chief, are from the Greek—the spy,
o still proclaims our spoil or peril nigh:
ate'er his tidings, we can well report,
ch that"—"Peace, peace!"—he cuts their prating short.
ndering they turn, abashed, while each to each
jecture whispers in his muttering speech:
y watch his glance with many a stealing look,
gather how that eye the tidings took; 150
this as if he guessed, with head aside,
chance from some emotion, doubt, or pride,
read the scroll—"My tablets, Juan, hark—
ere is Gonsalvo?"
"In the anchored bark."
ere let him stay—to him this order bear—
k to your duty—for my course prepare:
self this enterprise to-night will share."
ensive posture leaning on the brand,
oft a resting-staff to that red hand?
s he—'tis Conrad—here—as wont—alone;
—Juan!—on—and make our purpose known.
bark he views—and tell him we would greet
ear with tidings he must quickly meet:
dare not yet approach—thou know'st his mood,
en strange or uninvited steps intrude."
VII.
m Juan sought, and told of their intent;—
spake not, but a sign expressed assent, 140
se Juan calls—they come—to their salute
bends him slightly, but his lips are mute.
ese letters, Chief, are from the Greek—the spy,
o still proclaims our spoil or peril nigh:
ate'er his tidings, we can well report,
ch that"—"Peace, peace!"—he cuts their prating short.
ndering they turn, abashed, while each to each
jecture whispers in his muttering speech:
y watch his glance with many a stealing look,
gather how that eye the tidings took; 150
this as if he guessed, with head aside,
chance from some emotion, doubt, or pride,
read the scroll—"My tablets, Juan, hark—
ere is Gonsalvo?"
"In the anchored bark."
ere let him stay—to him this order bear—
k to your duty—for my course prepare:
self this enterprise to-night will share."
Page 278
-night, Lord Conrad?"
"Aye! at set of sun:
breeze will freshen when the day is done.
corslet—cloak—one hour and we are gone. 160
g on thy bugle—see that free from rust
carbine-lock springs worthy of my trust;
he edge sharpened of my boarding-brand,
d give its guard more room to fit my hand.
s let the Armourer with speed dispose;
t time, it more fatigued my arm than foes;
k that the signal-gun be duly fired,
ell us when the hour of stay's expired."
VIII.
y make obeisance, and retire in haste,
soon to seek again the watery waste: 170
they repine not—so that Conrad guides;
d who dare question aught that he decides?
t man of loneliness and mystery,
rce seen to smile, and seldom heard to sigh;
ose name appals the fiercest of his crew,
d tints each swarthy cheek with sallower hue;
sways their souls with that commanding art
t dazzles, leads, yet chills the vulgar heart.
at is that spell, that thus his lawless train
fess and envy—yet oppose in vain? 180
at should it be, that thus their faith can bind?
power of Thought—the magic of the Mind!
ked with success, assumed and kept with skill,
t moulds another's weakness to its will;
lds with their hands, but, still to these unknown,
"Aye! at set of sun:
breeze will freshen when the day is done.
corslet—cloak—one hour and we are gone. 160
g on thy bugle—see that free from rust
carbine-lock springs worthy of my trust;
he edge sharpened of my boarding-brand,
d give its guard more room to fit my hand.
s let the Armourer with speed dispose;
t time, it more fatigued my arm than foes;
k that the signal-gun be duly fired,
ell us when the hour of stay's expired."
VIII.
y make obeisance, and retire in haste,
soon to seek again the watery waste: 170
they repine not—so that Conrad guides;
d who dare question aught that he decides?
t man of loneliness and mystery,
rce seen to smile, and seldom heard to sigh;
ose name appals the fiercest of his crew,
d tints each swarthy cheek with sallower hue;
sways their souls with that commanding art
t dazzles, leads, yet chills the vulgar heart.
at is that spell, that thus his lawless train
fess and envy—yet oppose in vain? 180
at should it be, that thus their faith can bind?
power of Thought—the magic of the Mind!
ked with success, assumed and kept with skill,
t moulds another's weakness to its will;
lds with their hands, but, still to these unknown,
Page 279
kes even their mightiest deeds appear his own.
h hath it been—shall be—beneath the Sun
many still must labour for the one!
Nature's doom—but let the wretch who toils,
use not—hate not—him who wears the spoils. 190
if he knew the weight of splendid chains,
w light the balance of his humbler pains!
IX.
ike the heroes of each ancient race,
mons in act, but Gods at least in face,
Conrad's form seems little to admire,
ugh his dark eyebrow shades a glance of fire:
ust but not Herculean—to the sight
giant frame sets forth his common height;
in the whole, who paused to look again,
w more than marks the crowd of vulgar men; 200
y gaze and marvel how—and still confess
t thus it is, but why they cannot guess.
-burnt his cheek, his forehead high and pale
sable curls in wild profusion veil;
d oft perforce his rising lip reveals
haughtier thought it curbs, but scarce conceals.[hn]
ugh smooth his voice, and calm his general mien,
seems there something he would not have seen:
features' deepening lines and varying hue
imes attracted, yet perplexed the view, 210
f within that murkiness of mind
rked feelings fearful, and yet undefined;
h might it be—that none could truly tell—
close inquiry his stern glance would quell.
h hath it been—shall be—beneath the Sun
many still must labour for the one!
Nature's doom—but let the wretch who toils,
use not—hate not—him who wears the spoils. 190
if he knew the weight of splendid chains,
w light the balance of his humbler pains!
IX.
ike the heroes of each ancient race,
mons in act, but Gods at least in face,
Conrad's form seems little to admire,
ugh his dark eyebrow shades a glance of fire:
ust but not Herculean—to the sight
giant frame sets forth his common height;
in the whole, who paused to look again,
w more than marks the crowd of vulgar men; 200
y gaze and marvel how—and still confess
t thus it is, but why they cannot guess.
-burnt his cheek, his forehead high and pale
sable curls in wild profusion veil;
d oft perforce his rising lip reveals
haughtier thought it curbs, but scarce conceals.[hn]
ugh smooth his voice, and calm his general mien,
seems there something he would not have seen:
features' deepening lines and varying hue
imes attracted, yet perplexed the view, 210
f within that murkiness of mind
rked feelings fearful, and yet undefined;
h might it be—that none could truly tell—
close inquiry his stern glance would quell.
Page 280
re breathe but few whose aspect might defy
full encounter of his searching eye;
had the skill, when Cunning's gaze would seek[ho]
probe his heart and watch his changing cheek,
once the observer's purpose to espy,
d on himself roll back his scrutiny, 220
t he to Conrad rather should betray
me secret thought, than drag that Chief's to day.
re was a laughing Devil in his sneer,
t raised emotions both of rage and fear;
d where his frown of hatred darkly fell,
pe withering fled—and Mercy sighed farewell![200]
X.[201]
ht are the outward signs of evil thought,
hin—within—'twas there the spirit wrought!
e shows all changes—Hate, Ambition, Guile,
ray no further than the bitter smile; 230
lip's least curl, the lightest paleness thrown
ng the governed aspect, speak alone
deeper passions; and to judge their mien,
who would see, must be himself unseen.
n—with the hurried tread, the upward eye,
clenchéd hand, the pause of agony,
t listens, starting, lest the step too near
proach intrusive on that mood of fear:
n—with each feature working from the heart,
h feelings, loosed to strengthen—not depart, 240
t rise—convulse—contend—that freeze or glow,[hp]
sh in the cheek, or damp upon the brow;
n—Stranger! if thou canst, and tremblest not,
full encounter of his searching eye;
had the skill, when Cunning's gaze would seek[ho]
probe his heart and watch his changing cheek,
once the observer's purpose to espy,
d on himself roll back his scrutiny, 220
t he to Conrad rather should betray
me secret thought, than drag that Chief's to day.
re was a laughing Devil in his sneer,
t raised emotions both of rage and fear;
d where his frown of hatred darkly fell,
pe withering fled—and Mercy sighed farewell![200]
X.[201]
ht are the outward signs of evil thought,
hin—within—'twas there the spirit wrought!
e shows all changes—Hate, Ambition, Guile,
ray no further than the bitter smile; 230
lip's least curl, the lightest paleness thrown
ng the governed aspect, speak alone
deeper passions; and to judge their mien,
who would see, must be himself unseen.
n—with the hurried tread, the upward eye,
clenchéd hand, the pause of agony,
t listens, starting, lest the step too near
proach intrusive on that mood of fear:
n—with each feature working from the heart,
h feelings, loosed to strengthen—not depart, 240
t rise—convulse—contend—that freeze or glow,[hp]
sh in the cheek, or damp upon the brow;
n—Stranger! if thou canst, and tremblest not,
Page 281
old his soul—the rest that soothes his lot![hq]
k how that lone and blighted bosom sears
scathing thought of execrated years!
old—but who hath seen, or e'er shall see,
n as himself—the secret spirit free?
XI.
was not Conrad thus by Nature sent
ead the guilty—Guilt's worse instrument— 250
soul was changed, before his deeds had driven
m forth to war with Man and forfeit Heaven.
ped by the world in Disappointment's school,
words too wise—in conduct there a fool;
firm to yield, and far too proud to stoop,
omed by his very virtues for a dupe,
cursed those virtues as the cause of ill,
d not the traitors who betrayed him still;
deemed that gifts bestowed on better men
left him joy, and means to give again. 260
red—shunned—belied—ere Youth had lost her force,
hated Man too much to feel remorse,
d thought the voice of Wrath a sacred call,
pay the injuries of some on all.
knew himself a villain—but he deemed
rest no better than the thing he seemed;
d scorned the best as hypocrites who hid
se deeds the bolder spirit plainly did.
knew himself detested, but he knew
hearts that loathed him, crouched and dreaded too. 270
e, wild, and strange, he stood alike exempt
m all affection and from all contempt:
k how that lone and blighted bosom sears
scathing thought of execrated years!
old—but who hath seen, or e'er shall see,
n as himself—the secret spirit free?
XI.
was not Conrad thus by Nature sent
ead the guilty—Guilt's worse instrument— 250
soul was changed, before his deeds had driven
m forth to war with Man and forfeit Heaven.
ped by the world in Disappointment's school,
words too wise—in conduct there a fool;
firm to yield, and far too proud to stoop,
omed by his very virtues for a dupe,
cursed those virtues as the cause of ill,
d not the traitors who betrayed him still;
deemed that gifts bestowed on better men
left him joy, and means to give again. 260
red—shunned—belied—ere Youth had lost her force,
hated Man too much to feel remorse,
d thought the voice of Wrath a sacred call,
pay the injuries of some on all.
knew himself a villain—but he deemed
rest no better than the thing he seemed;
d scorned the best as hypocrites who hid
se deeds the bolder spirit plainly did.
knew himself detested, but he knew
hearts that loathed him, crouched and dreaded too. 270
e, wild, and strange, he stood alike exempt
m all affection and from all contempt:
Page 282
name could sadden, and his acts surprise;
they that feared him dared not to despise:
n spurns the worm, but pauses ere he wake
slumbering venom of the folded snake:
first may turn, but not avenge the blow;
last expires, but leaves no living foe;
to the doomed offender's form it clings,
d he may crush—not conquer—still it stings![202] 280
XII.
ne are all evil—quickening round his heart,
softer feeling would not yet depart;
could he sneer at others as beguiled
passions worthy of a fool or child;
'gainst that passion vainly still he strove,
d even in him it asks the name of Love!
it was love—unchangeable—unchanged,
but for one from whom he never ranged;
ugh fairest captives daily met his eye,
shunned, nor sought, but coldly passed them by; 290
ugh many a beauty drooped in prisoned bower,
ne ever soothed his most unguarded hour,
—it was Love—if thoughts of tenderness,
d in temptation, strengthened by distress,
moved by absence, firm in every clime,
d yet—Oh more than all!—untired by Time;
ich nor defeated hope, nor baffled wile,
ld render sullen were She near to smile,
rage could fire, nor sickness fret to vent
her one murmur of his discontent; 300
ich still would meet with joy, with calmness part,
they that feared him dared not to despise:
n spurns the worm, but pauses ere he wake
slumbering venom of the folded snake:
first may turn, but not avenge the blow;
last expires, but leaves no living foe;
to the doomed offender's form it clings,
d he may crush—not conquer—still it stings![202] 280
XII.
ne are all evil—quickening round his heart,
softer feeling would not yet depart;
could he sneer at others as beguiled
passions worthy of a fool or child;
'gainst that passion vainly still he strove,
d even in him it asks the name of Love!
it was love—unchangeable—unchanged,
but for one from whom he never ranged;
ugh fairest captives daily met his eye,
shunned, nor sought, but coldly passed them by; 290
ugh many a beauty drooped in prisoned bower,
ne ever soothed his most unguarded hour,
—it was Love—if thoughts of tenderness,
d in temptation, strengthened by distress,
moved by absence, firm in every clime,
d yet—Oh more than all!—untired by Time;
ich nor defeated hope, nor baffled wile,
ld render sullen were She near to smile,
rage could fire, nor sickness fret to vent
her one murmur of his discontent; 300
ich still would meet with joy, with calmness part,
Page 283
t that his look of grief should reach her heart;
ich nought removed, nor menaced to remove—
here be Love in mortals—this was Love!
was a villain—aye, reproaches shower
him—but not the Passion, nor its power,
ich only proved—all other virtues gone—
Guilt itself could quench this loveliest one![hr]
XIII.
paused a moment—till his hastening men
sed the first winding downward to the glen. 310
ange tidings!—many a peril have I passed,
know I why this next appears the last!
so my heart forebodes, but must not fear,
shall my followers find me falter here.
rash to meet—but surer death to wait
here they hunt us to undoubted fate;
d, if my plan but hold, and Fortune smile,
ll furnish mourners for our funeral pile.
, let them slumber—peaceful be their dreams!
rn ne'er awoke them with such brilliant beams 320
kindle high to-night (but blow, thou breeze!)
warm these slow avengers of the seas.
w to Medora—Oh! my sinking heart,[hs]
g may her own be lighter than thou art!
was I brave—mean boast where all are brave!
n insects sting for aught they seek to save.
s common courage which with brutes we share,
t owes its deadliest efforts to Despair,
all merit claims—but 'twas my nobler hope
each my few with numbers still to cope; 330
ich nought removed, nor menaced to remove—
here be Love in mortals—this was Love!
was a villain—aye, reproaches shower
him—but not the Passion, nor its power,
ich only proved—all other virtues gone—
Guilt itself could quench this loveliest one![hr]
XIII.
paused a moment—till his hastening men
sed the first winding downward to the glen. 310
ange tidings!—many a peril have I passed,
know I why this next appears the last!
so my heart forebodes, but must not fear,
shall my followers find me falter here.
rash to meet—but surer death to wait
here they hunt us to undoubted fate;
d, if my plan but hold, and Fortune smile,
ll furnish mourners for our funeral pile.
, let them slumber—peaceful be their dreams!
rn ne'er awoke them with such brilliant beams 320
kindle high to-night (but blow, thou breeze!)
warm these slow avengers of the seas.
w to Medora—Oh! my sinking heart,[hs]
g may her own be lighter than thou art!
was I brave—mean boast where all are brave!
n insects sting for aught they seek to save.
s common courage which with brutes we share,
t owes its deadliest efforts to Despair,
all merit claims—but 'twas my nobler hope
each my few with numbers still to cope; 330
Page 284
g have I led them—not to vainly bleed:
medium now—we perish or succeed!
et it be—it irks not me to die;
thus to urge them whence they cannot fly.
lot hath long had little of my care,
chafes my pride thus baffled in the snare:
his my skill? my craft? to set at last
pe, Power and Life upon a single cast?
Fate!—accuse thy folly—not thy fate;
may redeem thee still—nor yet too late." 340
XIV.
s with himself communion held he, till
reached the summit of his tower-crowned hill:
re at the portal paused—for wild and soft
heard those accents never heard too oft!
ough the high lattice far yet sweet they rung,
d these the notes his Bird of Beauty sung:
1.
ep in my soul that tender secret dwells,
onely and lost to light for evermore,
e when to thine my heart responsive swells,
hen trembles into silence as before. 350
2.
ere, in its centre, a sepulchral lamp
urns the slow flame, eternal—but unseen;
ich not the darkness of Despair can damp,
hough vain its ray as it had never been.
medium now—we perish or succeed!
et it be—it irks not me to die;
thus to urge them whence they cannot fly.
lot hath long had little of my care,
chafes my pride thus baffled in the snare:
his my skill? my craft? to set at last
pe, Power and Life upon a single cast?
Fate!—accuse thy folly—not thy fate;
may redeem thee still—nor yet too late." 340
XIV.
s with himself communion held he, till
reached the summit of his tower-crowned hill:
re at the portal paused—for wild and soft
heard those accents never heard too oft!
ough the high lattice far yet sweet they rung,
d these the notes his Bird of Beauty sung:
1.
ep in my soul that tender secret dwells,
onely and lost to light for evermore,
e when to thine my heart responsive swells,
hen trembles into silence as before. 350
2.
ere, in its centre, a sepulchral lamp
urns the slow flame, eternal—but unseen;
ich not the darkness of Despair can damp,
hough vain its ray as it had never been.
Page 285
3.
member me—Oh! pass not thou my grave
Without one thought whose relics there recline:
only pang my bosom dare not brave
Must be to find forgetfulness in thine.
4.
y fondest—faintest—latest accents hear—[ht]
Grief for the dead not Virtue can reprove; 360
n give me all I ever asked—a tear,[203]
he first—last—sole reward of so much love!"
passed the portal, crossed the corridor,
d reached the chamber as the strain gave o'er:
y own Medora! sure thy song is sad—"
Conrad's absence would'st thou have it glad?
hout thine ear to listen to my lay,
must my song my thoughts, my soul betray:
must each accent to my bosom suit,
heart unhushed—although my lips were mute! 370
many a night on this lone couch reclined,
dreaming fear with storms hath winged the wind,
d deemed the breath that faintly fanned thy sail
murmuring prelude of the ruder gale;
ugh soft—it seemed the low prophetic dirge,
t mourned thee floating on the savage surge:
would I rise to rouse the beacon fire,
t spies less true should let the blaze expire;
d many a restless hour outwatched each star,
d morning came—and still thou wert afar. 380
member me—Oh! pass not thou my grave
Without one thought whose relics there recline:
only pang my bosom dare not brave
Must be to find forgetfulness in thine.
4.
y fondest—faintest—latest accents hear—[ht]
Grief for the dead not Virtue can reprove; 360
n give me all I ever asked—a tear,[203]
he first—last—sole reward of so much love!"
passed the portal, crossed the corridor,
d reached the chamber as the strain gave o'er:
y own Medora! sure thy song is sad—"
Conrad's absence would'st thou have it glad?
hout thine ear to listen to my lay,
must my song my thoughts, my soul betray:
must each accent to my bosom suit,
heart unhushed—although my lips were mute! 370
many a night on this lone couch reclined,
dreaming fear with storms hath winged the wind,
d deemed the breath that faintly fanned thy sail
murmuring prelude of the ruder gale;
ugh soft—it seemed the low prophetic dirge,
t mourned thee floating on the savage surge:
would I rise to rouse the beacon fire,
t spies less true should let the blaze expire;
d many a restless hour outwatched each star,
d morning came—and still thou wert afar. 380
Page 286
how the chill blast on my bosom blew,
d day broke dreary on my troubled view,
d still I gazed and gazed—and not a prow
granted to my tears—my truth—my vow!
ength—'twas noon—I hailed and blest the mast
t met my sight—it neared—Alas! it passed!
other came—Oh God! 'twas thine at last!
uld that those days were over! wilt thou ne'er,
Conrad! learn the joys of peace to share?
e thou hast more than wealth, and many a home 390
bright as this invites us not to roam:
u know'st it is not peril that I fear,
ly tremble when thou art not here;
n not for mine, but that far dearer life,
ich flies from love and languishes for strife—
w strange that heart, to me so tender still,
uld war with Nature and its better will!"
a, strange indeed—that heart hath long been changed;
rm-like 'twas trampled—adder-like avenged—
hout one hope on earth beyond thy love, 400
d scarce a glimpse of mercy from above.
the same feeling which thou dost condemn,
very love to thee is hate to them,
closely mingling here, that disentwined,
ase to love thee when I love Mankind:
dread not this—the proof of all the past
ures the future that my love will last;
—Oh, Medora! nerve thy gentler heart;
s hour again—but not for long—we part."
is hour we part!—my heart foreboded this: 410
d day broke dreary on my troubled view,
d still I gazed and gazed—and not a prow
granted to my tears—my truth—my vow!
ength—'twas noon—I hailed and blest the mast
t met my sight—it neared—Alas! it passed!
other came—Oh God! 'twas thine at last!
uld that those days were over! wilt thou ne'er,
Conrad! learn the joys of peace to share?
e thou hast more than wealth, and many a home 390
bright as this invites us not to roam:
u know'st it is not peril that I fear,
ly tremble when thou art not here;
n not for mine, but that far dearer life,
ich flies from love and languishes for strife—
w strange that heart, to me so tender still,
uld war with Nature and its better will!"
a, strange indeed—that heart hath long been changed;
rm-like 'twas trampled—adder-like avenged—
hout one hope on earth beyond thy love, 400
d scarce a glimpse of mercy from above.
the same feeling which thou dost condemn,
very love to thee is hate to them,
closely mingling here, that disentwined,
ase to love thee when I love Mankind:
dread not this—the proof of all the past
ures the future that my love will last;
—Oh, Medora! nerve thy gentler heart;
s hour again—but not for long—we part."
is hour we part!—my heart foreboded this: 410
Page 287
s ever fade my fairy dreams of bliss.
s hour—it cannot be—this hour away!
bark hath hardly anchored in the bay:
consort still is absent, and her crew
e need of rest before they toil anew;
Love! thou mock'st my weakness; and wouldst steel
breast before the time when it must feel;
trifle now no more with my distress,
h mirth hath less of play than bitterness.
silent, Conrad!—dearest! come and share 420
feast these hands delighted to prepare;
ht toil! to cull and dress thy frugal fare!
I have plucked the fruit that promised best,
d where not sure, perplexed, but pleased, I guessed
uch as seemed the fairest; thrice the hill
steps have wound to try the coolest rill;
! thy Sherbet to-night will sweetly flow,
how it sparkles in its vase of snow!
grapes' gay juice thy bosom never cheers;
u more than Moslem when the cup appears: 430
nk not I mean to chide—for I rejoice
at others deem a penance is thy choice.
come, the board is spread; our silver lamp
immed, and heeds not the Sirocco's damp:
n shall my handmaids while the time along,
d join with me the dance, or wake the song;
my guitar, which still thou lov'st to hear,
ll soothe or lull—or, should it vex thine ear,
ll turn the tale, by Ariosto told,
air Olympia loved and left of old.[204] 440
y, thou wert worse than he who broke his vow
hat lost damsel, should thou leave me now—
s hour—it cannot be—this hour away!
bark hath hardly anchored in the bay:
consort still is absent, and her crew
e need of rest before they toil anew;
Love! thou mock'st my weakness; and wouldst steel
breast before the time when it must feel;
trifle now no more with my distress,
h mirth hath less of play than bitterness.
silent, Conrad!—dearest! come and share 420
feast these hands delighted to prepare;
ht toil! to cull and dress thy frugal fare!
I have plucked the fruit that promised best,
d where not sure, perplexed, but pleased, I guessed
uch as seemed the fairest; thrice the hill
steps have wound to try the coolest rill;
! thy Sherbet to-night will sweetly flow,
how it sparkles in its vase of snow!
grapes' gay juice thy bosom never cheers;
u more than Moslem when the cup appears: 430
nk not I mean to chide—for I rejoice
at others deem a penance is thy choice.
come, the board is spread; our silver lamp
immed, and heeds not the Sirocco's damp:
n shall my handmaids while the time along,
d join with me the dance, or wake the song;
my guitar, which still thou lov'st to hear,
ll soothe or lull—or, should it vex thine ear,
ll turn the tale, by Ariosto told,
air Olympia loved and left of old.[204] 440
y, thou wert worse than he who broke his vow
hat lost damsel, should thou leave me now—
Page 288
even that traitor chief—I've seen thee smile,
en the clear sky showed Ariadne's Isle,
ich I have pointed from these cliffs the while:
d thus half sportive—half in fear—I said,
t Time should raise that doubt to more than dread,
s Conrad, too, will quit me for the main:
d he deceived me—for—he came again!"
ain, again—and oft again—my Love! 450
here be life below, and hope above,
will return—but now, the moments bring
time of parting with redoubled wing:
why, the where—what boots it now to tell?
ce all must end in that wild word—Farewell!
would I fain—did time allow—disclose—
r not—these are no formidable foes!
d here shall watch a more than wonted guard,
sudden siege and long defence prepared:
be thou lonely, though thy Lord's away, 460
matrons and thy handmaids with thee stay;
d this thy comfort—that, when next we meet,
urity shall make repose more sweet.
!—'tis the bugle!"—Juan shrilly blew—
e kiss—one more—another—Oh! Adieu!"
rose—she sprung—she clung to his embrace,
his heart heaved beneath her hidden face:
dared not raise to his that deep-blue eye,
ich downcast drooped in tearless agony.
long fair hair lay floating o'er his arms, 470
ll the wildness of dishevelled charms;
rce beat that bosom where his image dwelt
ull—that feeling seem'd almost unfelt!
en the clear sky showed Ariadne's Isle,
ich I have pointed from these cliffs the while:
d thus half sportive—half in fear—I said,
t Time should raise that doubt to more than dread,
s Conrad, too, will quit me for the main:
d he deceived me—for—he came again!"
ain, again—and oft again—my Love! 450
here be life below, and hope above,
will return—but now, the moments bring
time of parting with redoubled wing:
why, the where—what boots it now to tell?
ce all must end in that wild word—Farewell!
would I fain—did time allow—disclose—
r not—these are no formidable foes!
d here shall watch a more than wonted guard,
sudden siege and long defence prepared:
be thou lonely, though thy Lord's away, 460
matrons and thy handmaids with thee stay;
d this thy comfort—that, when next we meet,
urity shall make repose more sweet.
!—'tis the bugle!"—Juan shrilly blew—
e kiss—one more—another—Oh! Adieu!"
rose—she sprung—she clung to his embrace,
his heart heaved beneath her hidden face:
dared not raise to his that deep-blue eye,
ich downcast drooped in tearless agony.
long fair hair lay floating o'er his arms, 470
ll the wildness of dishevelled charms;
rce beat that bosom where his image dwelt
ull—that feeling seem'd almost unfelt!
Page 289
k—peals the thunder of the signal-gun!
ld 'twas sunset, and he cursed that sun.
in—again—that form he madly pressed,
ich mutely clasped, imploringly caressed![hu]
d tottering to the couch his bride he bore,
moment gazed—as if to gaze no more;
that for him Earth held but her alone, 480
sed her cold forehead—turned—is Conrad gone?
XV.
d is he gone?"—on sudden solitude
w oft that fearful question will intrude!
was but an instant past, and here he stood!
d now"—without the portal's porch she rushed,
d then at length her tears in freedom gushed;
bright, and fast, unknown to her they fell;
still her lips refused to send—"Farewell!"
in that word—that fatal word—howe'er
promise—hope—believe—there breathes Despair. 490
r every feature of that still, pale face,
Sorrow fixed what Time can ne'er erase:
tender blue of that large loving eye
w frozen with its gaze on vacancy,
—Oh, how far!—it caught a glimpse of him,
d then it flowed, and phrensied seemed to swim
ough those long, dark, and glistening lashes dewed
h drops of sadness oft to be renewed.
's gone!"—against her heart that hand is driven,
vulsed and quick—then gently raised to Heaven: 500
looked and saw the heaving of the main:
white sail set—she dared not look again;
ld 'twas sunset, and he cursed that sun.
in—again—that form he madly pressed,
ich mutely clasped, imploringly caressed![hu]
d tottering to the couch his bride he bore,
moment gazed—as if to gaze no more;
that for him Earth held but her alone, 480
sed her cold forehead—turned—is Conrad gone?
XV.
d is he gone?"—on sudden solitude
w oft that fearful question will intrude!
was but an instant past, and here he stood!
d now"—without the portal's porch she rushed,
d then at length her tears in freedom gushed;
bright, and fast, unknown to her they fell;
still her lips refused to send—"Farewell!"
in that word—that fatal word—howe'er
promise—hope—believe—there breathes Despair. 490
r every feature of that still, pale face,
Sorrow fixed what Time can ne'er erase:
tender blue of that large loving eye
w frozen with its gaze on vacancy,
—Oh, how far!—it caught a glimpse of him,
d then it flowed, and phrensied seemed to swim
ough those long, dark, and glistening lashes dewed
h drops of sadness oft to be renewed.
's gone!"—against her heart that hand is driven,
vulsed and quick—then gently raised to Heaven: 500
looked and saw the heaving of the main:
white sail set—she dared not look again;
Page 290
turned with sickening soul within the gate—
s no dream—and I am desolate!"
XVI.
m crag to crag descending, swiftly sped
n Conrad down, nor once he turned his head;
shrunk whene'er the windings of his way
ced on his eye what he would not survey,
lone, but lovely dwelling on the steep,
t hailed him first when homeward from the deep: 510
d she—the dim and melancholy Star,
ose ray of Beauty reached him from afar,
her he must not gaze, he must not think—
re he might rest—but on Destruction's brink:
once almost he stopped—and nearly gave
fate to chance, his projects to the wave:
no—it must not be—a worthy chief
y melt, but not betray to Woman's grief.
sees his bark, he notes how fair the wind,
d sternly gathers all his might of mind: 520
in he hurries on—and as he hears
clang of tumult vibrate on his ears,
busy sounds, the bustle of the shore,
shout, the signal, and the dashing oar;
marks his eye the seaboy on the mast,
anchors rise, the sails unfurling fast,
waving kerchiefs of the crowd that urge
t mute Adieu to those who stem the surge;
d more than all, his blood-red flag aloft,
marvelled how his heart could seem so soft. 530
in his glance, and wildness in his breast,
s no dream—and I am desolate!"
XVI.
m crag to crag descending, swiftly sped
n Conrad down, nor once he turned his head;
shrunk whene'er the windings of his way
ced on his eye what he would not survey,
lone, but lovely dwelling on the steep,
t hailed him first when homeward from the deep: 510
d she—the dim and melancholy Star,
ose ray of Beauty reached him from afar,
her he must not gaze, he must not think—
re he might rest—but on Destruction's brink:
once almost he stopped—and nearly gave
fate to chance, his projects to the wave:
no—it must not be—a worthy chief
y melt, but not betray to Woman's grief.
sees his bark, he notes how fair the wind,
d sternly gathers all his might of mind: 520
in he hurries on—and as he hears
clang of tumult vibrate on his ears,
busy sounds, the bustle of the shore,
shout, the signal, and the dashing oar;
marks his eye the seaboy on the mast,
anchors rise, the sails unfurling fast,
waving kerchiefs of the crowd that urge
t mute Adieu to those who stem the surge;
d more than all, his blood-red flag aloft,
marvelled how his heart could seem so soft. 530
in his glance, and wildness in his breast,
Page 291
feels of all his former self possest;
bounds—he flies—until his footsteps reach
verge where ends the cliff, begins the beach,
re checks his speed; but pauses less to breathe
breezy freshness of the deep beneath,
n there his wonted statelier step renew;
rush, disturbed by haste, to vulgar view:
well had Conrad learned to curb the crowd,
arts that veil, and oft preserve the proud; 540
was the lofty port, the distant mien,
t seems to shun the sight—and awes if seen:
solemn aspect, and the high-born eye,
t checks low mirth, but lacks not courtesy;
these he wielded to command assent:
where he wished to win, so well unbent,
t Kindness cancelled fear in those who heard,
d others' gifts showed mean beside his word,
en echoed to the heart as from his own
deep yet tender melody of tone: 550
such was foreign to his wonted mood,
cared not what he softened, but subdued;
evil passions of his youth had made
m value less who loved—than what obeyed.
XVII.
und him mustering ranged his ready guard.
ore him Juan stands—"Are all prepared?"
ey are—nay more—embarked: the latest boat
ts but my chief——"
"My sword, and my capote."
n firmly girded on, and lightly slung,
bounds—he flies—until his footsteps reach
verge where ends the cliff, begins the beach,
re checks his speed; but pauses less to breathe
breezy freshness of the deep beneath,
n there his wonted statelier step renew;
rush, disturbed by haste, to vulgar view:
well had Conrad learned to curb the crowd,
arts that veil, and oft preserve the proud; 540
was the lofty port, the distant mien,
t seems to shun the sight—and awes if seen:
solemn aspect, and the high-born eye,
t checks low mirth, but lacks not courtesy;
these he wielded to command assent:
where he wished to win, so well unbent,
t Kindness cancelled fear in those who heard,
d others' gifts showed mean beside his word,
en echoed to the heart as from his own
deep yet tender melody of tone: 550
such was foreign to his wonted mood,
cared not what he softened, but subdued;
evil passions of his youth had made
m value less who loved—than what obeyed.
XVII.
und him mustering ranged his ready guard.
ore him Juan stands—"Are all prepared?"
ey are—nay more—embarked: the latest boat
ts but my chief——"
"My sword, and my capote."
n firmly girded on, and lightly slung,
Page 292
belt and cloak were o'er his shoulders flung: 560
ll Pedro here!" He comes—and Conrad bends,
h all the courtesy he deigned his friends;
ceive these tablets, and peruse with care,
rds of high trust and truth are graven there;
uble the guard, and when Anselmo's bark
ves, let him alike these orders mark:
hree days (serve the breeze) the sun shall shine
our return—till then all peace be thine!"
s said, his brother Pirate's hand he wrung,
n to his boat with haughty gesture sprung. 570
hed the dipt oars, and sparkling with the stroke,
und the waves' phosphoric[205] brightness broke;
y gain the vessel—on the deck he stands,—
eks the shrill whistle, ply the busy hands—
marks how well the ship her helm obeys,
w gallant all her crew, and deigns to praise.
eyes of pride to young Gonsalvo turn—
y doth he start, and inly seem to mourn?
s! those eyes beheld his rocky tower,
d live a moment o'er the parting hour; 580
—his Medora—did she mark the prow?
never loved he half so much as now!
much must yet be done ere dawn of day—
in he mans himself and turns away;
wn to the cabin with Gonsalvo bends,
d there unfolds his plan—his means, and ends;
ore them burns the lamp, and spreads the chart,
d all that speaks and aids the naval art;
y to the midnight watch protract debate;
anxious eyes what hour is ever late? 590
antime, the steady breeze serenely blew,
ll Pedro here!" He comes—and Conrad bends,
h all the courtesy he deigned his friends;
ceive these tablets, and peruse with care,
rds of high trust and truth are graven there;
uble the guard, and when Anselmo's bark
ves, let him alike these orders mark:
hree days (serve the breeze) the sun shall shine
our return—till then all peace be thine!"
s said, his brother Pirate's hand he wrung,
n to his boat with haughty gesture sprung. 570
hed the dipt oars, and sparkling with the stroke,
und the waves' phosphoric[205] brightness broke;
y gain the vessel—on the deck he stands,—
eks the shrill whistle, ply the busy hands—
marks how well the ship her helm obeys,
w gallant all her crew, and deigns to praise.
eyes of pride to young Gonsalvo turn—
y doth he start, and inly seem to mourn?
s! those eyes beheld his rocky tower,
d live a moment o'er the parting hour; 580
—his Medora—did she mark the prow?
never loved he half so much as now!
much must yet be done ere dawn of day—
in he mans himself and turns away;
wn to the cabin with Gonsalvo bends,
d there unfolds his plan—his means, and ends;
ore them burns the lamp, and spreads the chart,
d all that speaks and aids the naval art;
y to the midnight watch protract debate;
anxious eyes what hour is ever late? 590
antime, the steady breeze serenely blew,
Page 293
d fast and falcon-like the vessel flew;
sed the high headlands of each clustering isle,
gain their port—long—long ere morning smile:
d soon the night-glass through the narrow bay
covers where the Pacha's galleys lay.
nt they each sail, and mark how there supine
lights in vain o'er heedless Moslem shine.
ure, unnoted, Conrad's prow passed by,
d anchored where his ambush meant to lie; 600
eened from espial by the jutting cape,
t rears on high its rude fantastic shape.[206]
n rose his band to duty—not from sleep—
ipped for deeds alike on land or deep;
ile leaned their Leader o'er the fretting flood,
d calmly talked—and yet he talked of blood!
CANTO THE SECOND.
"Conosceste i dubbiosi desiri?"
D ante , Inferno, v, 120.
I.
Coron's bay floats many a galley light,
ough Coron's lattices the lamps are bright,[207]
Seyd, the Pacha, makes a feast to-night:
ast for promised triumph yet to come, 610
en he shall drag the fettered Rovers home;
s hath he sworn by Allah and his sword,
d faithful to his firman and his word,
sed the high headlands of each clustering isle,
gain their port—long—long ere morning smile:
d soon the night-glass through the narrow bay
covers where the Pacha's galleys lay.
nt they each sail, and mark how there supine
lights in vain o'er heedless Moslem shine.
ure, unnoted, Conrad's prow passed by,
d anchored where his ambush meant to lie; 600
eened from espial by the jutting cape,
t rears on high its rude fantastic shape.[206]
n rose his band to duty—not from sleep—
ipped for deeds alike on land or deep;
ile leaned their Leader o'er the fretting flood,
d calmly talked—and yet he talked of blood!
CANTO THE SECOND.
"Conosceste i dubbiosi desiri?"
D ante , Inferno, v, 120.
I.
Coron's bay floats many a galley light,
ough Coron's lattices the lamps are bright,[207]
Seyd, the Pacha, makes a feast to-night:
ast for promised triumph yet to come, 610
en he shall drag the fettered Rovers home;
s hath he sworn by Allah and his sword,
d faithful to his firman and his word,
Page 294
summoned prows collect along the coast,
d great the gathering crews, and loud the boast;
eady shared the captives and the prize,
ugh far the distant foe they thus despise;
but to sail—no doubt to-morrow's Sun
l see the Pirates bound—their haven won!
antime the watch may slumber, if they will, 620
only wake to war, but dreaming kill.
ugh all, who can, disperse on shore and seek
lesh their glowing valour on the Greek;
w well such deed becomes the turbaned brave—
bare the sabre's edge before a slave!
st his dwelling—but forbear to slay,
ir arms are strong, yet merciful to-day,
d do not deign to smite because they may!
ess some gay caprice suggests the blow,
keep in practice for the coming foe. 630
el and rout the evening hours beguile,
d they who wish to wear a head must smile;
Moslem mouths produce their choicest cheer,
d hoard their curses, till the coast is clear.
II.
h in his hall reclines the turbaned Seyd;
und—the bearded chiefs he came to lead.
moved the banquet, and the last pilaff—
bidden draughts, 'tis said, he dared to quaff,
ugh to the rest the sober berry's juice[208]
slaves bear round for rigid Moslems' use; 640
long chibouque's[209] dissolving cloud supply,
ile dance the Almas[210] to wild minstrelsy.
d great the gathering crews, and loud the boast;
eady shared the captives and the prize,
ugh far the distant foe they thus despise;
but to sail—no doubt to-morrow's Sun
l see the Pirates bound—their haven won!
antime the watch may slumber, if they will, 620
only wake to war, but dreaming kill.
ugh all, who can, disperse on shore and seek
lesh their glowing valour on the Greek;
w well such deed becomes the turbaned brave—
bare the sabre's edge before a slave!
st his dwelling—but forbear to slay,
ir arms are strong, yet merciful to-day,
d do not deign to smite because they may!
ess some gay caprice suggests the blow,
keep in practice for the coming foe. 630
el and rout the evening hours beguile,
d they who wish to wear a head must smile;
Moslem mouths produce their choicest cheer,
d hoard their curses, till the coast is clear.
II.
h in his hall reclines the turbaned Seyd;
und—the bearded chiefs he came to lead.
moved the banquet, and the last pilaff—
bidden draughts, 'tis said, he dared to quaff,
ugh to the rest the sober berry's juice[208]
slaves bear round for rigid Moslems' use; 640
long chibouque's[209] dissolving cloud supply,
ile dance the Almas[210] to wild minstrelsy.
Page 295
rising morn will view the chiefs embark;
waves are somewhat treacherous in the dark:
d revellers may more securely sleep
silken couch than o'er the rugged deep:
st there who can—nor combat till they must,
d less to conquest than to Korans trust;
d yet the numbers crowded in his host
ht warrant more than even the Pacha's boast. 650
III.
h cautious reverence from the outer gate
w stalks the slave, whose office there to wait,
ws his bent head—his hand salutes the floor,
yet his tongue the trusted tidings bore:
captive Dervise, from the Pirate's nest
aped, is here—himself would tell the rest."[211]
took the sign from Seyd's assenting eye,
d led the holy man in silence nigh.
arms were folded on his dark-green vest,
step was feeble, and his look deprest; 660
worn he seemed of hardship more than years,
d pale his cheek with penance, not from fears.
wed to his God—his sable locks he wore,
d these his lofty cap rose proudly o'er:
und his form his loose long robe was thrown,
d wrapt a breast bestowed on heaven alone;
missive, yet with self-possession manned,
calmly met the curious eyes that scanned;
d question of his coming fain would seek,
ore the Pacha's will allowed to speak. 670
IV.
waves are somewhat treacherous in the dark:
d revellers may more securely sleep
silken couch than o'er the rugged deep:
st there who can—nor combat till they must,
d less to conquest than to Korans trust;
d yet the numbers crowded in his host
ht warrant more than even the Pacha's boast. 650
III.
h cautious reverence from the outer gate
w stalks the slave, whose office there to wait,
ws his bent head—his hand salutes the floor,
yet his tongue the trusted tidings bore:
captive Dervise, from the Pirate's nest
aped, is here—himself would tell the rest."[211]
took the sign from Seyd's assenting eye,
d led the holy man in silence nigh.
arms were folded on his dark-green vest,
step was feeble, and his look deprest; 660
worn he seemed of hardship more than years,
d pale his cheek with penance, not from fears.
wed to his God—his sable locks he wore,
d these his lofty cap rose proudly o'er:
und his form his loose long robe was thrown,
d wrapt a breast bestowed on heaven alone;
missive, yet with self-possession manned,
calmly met the curious eyes that scanned;
d question of his coming fain would seek,
ore the Pacha's will allowed to speak. 670
IV.
Page 296
hence com'st thou, Dervise?"
"From the Outlaw's den
ugitive—"
"Thy capture where and when?"
om Scalanova's port[212] to Scio's isle,
Saick[213] was bound; but Allah did not smile
on our course—the Moslem merchant's gains
Rovers won; our limbs have worn their chains.
d no death to fear, nor wealth to boast,
ond the wandering freedom which I lost;
ength a fisher's humble boat by night
orded hope, and offered chance of flight; 680
ized the hour, and find my safety here—
h thee—most mighty Pacha! who can fear?"
w speed the outlaws? stand they well prepared,
ir plundered wealth, and robber's rock, to guard?
am they of this our preparation, doomed
view with fire their scorpion nest consumed?"
cha! the fettered captive's mourning eye,
t weeps for flight, but ill can play the spy;
ly heard the reckless waters roar,
se waves that would not bear me from the shore; 690
ly marked the glorious Sun and sky,
bright—too blue—for my captivity;
d felt that all which Freedom's bosom cheers
st break my chain before it dried my tears.
s mayst thou judge, at least, from my escape,
y little deem of aught in Peril's shape;
e vainly had I prayed or sought the Chance
t leads me here—if eyed with vigilance:
"From the Outlaw's den
ugitive—"
"Thy capture where and when?"
om Scalanova's port[212] to Scio's isle,
Saick[213] was bound; but Allah did not smile
on our course—the Moslem merchant's gains
Rovers won; our limbs have worn their chains.
d no death to fear, nor wealth to boast,
ond the wandering freedom which I lost;
ength a fisher's humble boat by night
orded hope, and offered chance of flight; 680
ized the hour, and find my safety here—
h thee—most mighty Pacha! who can fear?"
w speed the outlaws? stand they well prepared,
ir plundered wealth, and robber's rock, to guard?
am they of this our preparation, doomed
view with fire their scorpion nest consumed?"
cha! the fettered captive's mourning eye,
t weeps for flight, but ill can play the spy;
ly heard the reckless waters roar,
se waves that would not bear me from the shore; 690
ly marked the glorious Sun and sky,
bright—too blue—for my captivity;
d felt that all which Freedom's bosom cheers
st break my chain before it dried my tears.
s mayst thou judge, at least, from my escape,
y little deem of aught in Peril's shape;
e vainly had I prayed or sought the Chance
t leads me here—if eyed with vigilance:
Page 297
careless guard that did not see me fly,
y watch as idly when thy power is nigh. 700
ha! my limbs are faint—and nature craves
d for my hunger, rest from tossing waves:
mit my absence—peace be with thee! Peace
h all around!—now grant repose—release."
ay, Dervise! I have more to question—stay,
command thee—sit—dost hear?—obey!
re I must ask, and food the slaves shall bring;
u shall not pine where all are banqueting:
supper done—prepare thee to reply,
arly and full—I love not mystery." 710
ere vain to guess what shook the pious man,
o looked not lovingly on that Divan;
showed high relish for the banquet prest,
d less respect for every fellow guest.
as but a moment's peevish hectic passed
ng his cheek, and tranquillised as fast:
sate him down in silence, and his look
umed the calmness which before forsook:
feast was ushered in—but sumptuous fare
shunned as if some poison mingled there. 720
one so long condemned to toil and fast,
hinks he strangely spares the rich repast.
hat ails thee, Dervise? eat—dost thou suppose
s feast a Christian's? or my friends thy foes?
y dost thou shun the salt? that sacred pledge,[214]
ich, once partaken, blunts the sabre's edge,
kes even contending tribes in peace unite,
d hated hosts seem brethren to the sight!"
y watch as idly when thy power is nigh. 700
ha! my limbs are faint—and nature craves
d for my hunger, rest from tossing waves:
mit my absence—peace be with thee! Peace
h all around!—now grant repose—release."
ay, Dervise! I have more to question—stay,
command thee—sit—dost hear?—obey!
re I must ask, and food the slaves shall bring;
u shall not pine where all are banqueting:
supper done—prepare thee to reply,
arly and full—I love not mystery." 710
ere vain to guess what shook the pious man,
o looked not lovingly on that Divan;
showed high relish for the banquet prest,
d less respect for every fellow guest.
as but a moment's peevish hectic passed
ng his cheek, and tranquillised as fast:
sate him down in silence, and his look
umed the calmness which before forsook:
feast was ushered in—but sumptuous fare
shunned as if some poison mingled there. 720
one so long condemned to toil and fast,
hinks he strangely spares the rich repast.
hat ails thee, Dervise? eat—dost thou suppose
s feast a Christian's? or my friends thy foes?
y dost thou shun the salt? that sacred pledge,[214]
ich, once partaken, blunts the sabre's edge,
kes even contending tribes in peace unite,
d hated hosts seem brethren to the sight!"
Page 298
t seasons dainties—and my food is still
humblest root, my drink the simplest rill; 730
d my stern vow and Order's[215] laws oppose
break or mingle bread with friends or foes;
ay seem strange—if there be aught to dread
t peril rests upon my single head;
for thy sway—nay more—thy Sultan's throne,
te nor bread nor banquet—save alone;
inged our Order's rule, the Prophet's rage
Mecca's dome might bar my pilgrimage."
ell—as thou wilt—ascetic as thou art—
question answer; then in peace depart. 740
w many?—Ha! it cannot sure be day?
at Star—what Sun is bursting on the bay?
hines a lake of fire!—away—away!
treachery! my guards! my scimitar!
galleys feed the flames—and I afar!
urséd Dervise!—these thy tidings—thou
me villain spy—seize—cleave him—slay him now!"
rose the Dervise with that burst of light,
less his change of form appalled the sight:
rose that Dervise—not in saintly garb, 750
like a warrior bounding on his barb,
hed his high cap, and tore his robe away—
ne his mailed breast, and flashed his sabre's ray!
close but glittering casque, and sable plume,
re glittering eye, and black brow's sabler gloom,
red on the Moslems' eyes some Afrit Sprite,
ose demon death-blow left no hope for fight.
wild confusion, and the swarthy glow
humblest root, my drink the simplest rill; 730
d my stern vow and Order's[215] laws oppose
break or mingle bread with friends or foes;
ay seem strange—if there be aught to dread
t peril rests upon my single head;
for thy sway—nay more—thy Sultan's throne,
te nor bread nor banquet—save alone;
inged our Order's rule, the Prophet's rage
Mecca's dome might bar my pilgrimage."
ell—as thou wilt—ascetic as thou art—
question answer; then in peace depart. 740
w many?—Ha! it cannot sure be day?
at Star—what Sun is bursting on the bay?
hines a lake of fire!—away—away!
treachery! my guards! my scimitar!
galleys feed the flames—and I afar!
urséd Dervise!—these thy tidings—thou
me villain spy—seize—cleave him—slay him now!"
rose the Dervise with that burst of light,
less his change of form appalled the sight:
rose that Dervise—not in saintly garb, 750
like a warrior bounding on his barb,
hed his high cap, and tore his robe away—
ne his mailed breast, and flashed his sabre's ray!
close but glittering casque, and sable plume,
re glittering eye, and black brow's sabler gloom,
red on the Moslems' eyes some Afrit Sprite,
ose demon death-blow left no hope for fight.
wild confusion, and the swarthy glow
Page 299
lames on high, and torches from below;
shriek of terror, and the mingling yell— 760
swords began to clash, and shouts to swell—
ng o'er that spot of earth the air of Hell!
racted, to and fro, the flying slaves
old but bloody shore and fiery waves;
ught heeded they the Pacha's angry cry,
y seize that Dervise!—seize on Zatanai![216]
saw their terror—checked the first despair
t urged him but to stand and perish there,
ce far too early and too well obeyed,
flame was kindled ere the signal made; 770
saw their terror—from his baldric drew
bugle—brief the blast—but shrilly blew;
answered—"Well ye speed, my gallant crew!
y did I doubt their quickness of career?
d deem design had left me single here?"
eeps his long arm—that sabre's whirling sway
ds fast atonement for its first delay;
mpletes his fury, what their fear begun,
d makes the many basely quail to one.
cloven turbans o'er the chamber spread, 780
d scarce an arm dare rise to guard its head:
n Seyd, convulsed, o'erwhelmed, with rage, surprise,
reats before him, though he still defies.
craven he—and yet he dreads the blow,
much Confusion magnifies his foe!
blazing galleys still distract his sight,
tore his beard, and foaming fled the fight;[217]
now the pirates passed the Haram gate,
d burst within—and it were death to wait;
shriek of terror, and the mingling yell— 760
swords began to clash, and shouts to swell—
ng o'er that spot of earth the air of Hell!
racted, to and fro, the flying slaves
old but bloody shore and fiery waves;
ught heeded they the Pacha's angry cry,
y seize that Dervise!—seize on Zatanai![216]
saw their terror—checked the first despair
t urged him but to stand and perish there,
ce far too early and too well obeyed,
flame was kindled ere the signal made; 770
saw their terror—from his baldric drew
bugle—brief the blast—but shrilly blew;
answered—"Well ye speed, my gallant crew!
y did I doubt their quickness of career?
d deem design had left me single here?"
eeps his long arm—that sabre's whirling sway
ds fast atonement for its first delay;
mpletes his fury, what their fear begun,
d makes the many basely quail to one.
cloven turbans o'er the chamber spread, 780
d scarce an arm dare rise to guard its head:
n Seyd, convulsed, o'erwhelmed, with rage, surprise,
reats before him, though he still defies.
craven he—and yet he dreads the blow,
much Confusion magnifies his foe!
blazing galleys still distract his sight,
tore his beard, and foaming fled the fight;[217]
now the pirates passed the Haram gate,
d burst within—and it were death to wait;
Page 300
ere wild Amazement shrieking—kneeling—throws 790
sword aside—in vain—the blood o'erflows!
Corsairs pouring, haste to where within
ted Conrad's bugle, and the din
groaning victims, and wild cries for life,
claimed how well he did the work of strife.
y shout to find him grim and lonely there,
lutted tiger mangling in his lair!
short their greeting, shorter his reply—
s well—but Seyd escapes—and he must die—
ch hath been done—but more remains to do— 800
ir galleys blaze—why not their city too?"
V.
ck at the word they seized him each a torch,
d fire the dome from minaret to porch.
ern delight was fixed in Conrad's eye,
sudden sunk—for on his ear the cry
women struck, and like a deadly knell
ocked at that heart unmoved by Battle's yell.
! burst the Haram—wrong not on your lives
female form—remember—we have wives.
them such outrage Vengeance will repay; 810
n is our foe, and such 'tis ours to slay:
still we spared—must spare the weaker prey.
I forgot—but Heaven will not forgive
my word the helpless cease to live;
ow who will—I go—we yet have time
souls to lighten of at least a crime."
climbs the crackling stair—he bursts the door,
feels his feet glow scorching with the floor;
sword aside—in vain—the blood o'erflows!
Corsairs pouring, haste to where within
ted Conrad's bugle, and the din
groaning victims, and wild cries for life,
claimed how well he did the work of strife.
y shout to find him grim and lonely there,
lutted tiger mangling in his lair!
short their greeting, shorter his reply—
s well—but Seyd escapes—and he must die—
ch hath been done—but more remains to do— 800
ir galleys blaze—why not their city too?"
V.
ck at the word they seized him each a torch,
d fire the dome from minaret to porch.
ern delight was fixed in Conrad's eye,
sudden sunk—for on his ear the cry
women struck, and like a deadly knell
ocked at that heart unmoved by Battle's yell.
! burst the Haram—wrong not on your lives
female form—remember—we have wives.
them such outrage Vengeance will repay; 810
n is our foe, and such 'tis ours to slay:
still we spared—must spare the weaker prey.
I forgot—but Heaven will not forgive
my word the helpless cease to live;
ow who will—I go—we yet have time
souls to lighten of at least a crime."
climbs the crackling stair—he bursts the door,
feels his feet glow scorching with the floor;
Page 301
breath choked gasping with the volumed smoke,
still from room to room his way he broke. 820
y search—they find—they save: with lusty arms
h bears a prize of unregarded charms;
m their loud fears; sustain their sinking frames
h all the care defenceless Beauty claims:
well could Conrad tame their fiercest mood,
d check the very hands with gore imbrued.
who is she? whom Conrad's arms convey,
m reeking pile and combat's wreck, away—
o but the love of him he dooms to bleed?
Haram queen—but still the slave of Seyd! 830
VI.
ef time had Conrad now to greet Gulnare,[218]
w words to reassure the trembling Fair;
in that pause Compassion snatched from War,
foe before retiring, fast and far,
h wonder saw their footsteps unpursued,
t slowlier fled—then rallied—then withstood.
s Seyd perceives, then first perceives how few,
mpared with his, the Corsair's roving crew,
d blushes o'er his error, as he eyes
ruin wrought by Panic and Surprise. 840
a il Alla! Vengeance swells the cry—
me mounts to rage that must atone or die!
d flame for flame and blood for blood must tell.
tide of triumph ebbs that flowed too well—
en Wrath returns to renovated strife,
d those who fought for conquest strike for life.
rad beheld the danger—he beheld
still from room to room his way he broke. 820
y search—they find—they save: with lusty arms
h bears a prize of unregarded charms;
m their loud fears; sustain their sinking frames
h all the care defenceless Beauty claims:
well could Conrad tame their fiercest mood,
d check the very hands with gore imbrued.
who is she? whom Conrad's arms convey,
m reeking pile and combat's wreck, away—
o but the love of him he dooms to bleed?
Haram queen—but still the slave of Seyd! 830
VI.
ef time had Conrad now to greet Gulnare,[218]
w words to reassure the trembling Fair;
in that pause Compassion snatched from War,
foe before retiring, fast and far,
h wonder saw their footsteps unpursued,
t slowlier fled—then rallied—then withstood.
s Seyd perceives, then first perceives how few,
mpared with his, the Corsair's roving crew,
d blushes o'er his error, as he eyes
ruin wrought by Panic and Surprise. 840
a il Alla! Vengeance swells the cry—
me mounts to rage that must atone or die!
d flame for flame and blood for blood must tell.
tide of triumph ebbs that flowed too well—
en Wrath returns to renovated strife,
d those who fought for conquest strike for life.
rad beheld the danger—he beheld
Page 302
followers faint by freshening foes repelled:
e effort—one—to break the circling host!"
y form—unite—charge—waver—all is lost! 850
hin a narrower ring compressed, beset,
peless, not heartless, strive and struggle yet—
now they fight in firmest file no more,
mmed in—cut off—cleft down and trampled o'er;
each strikes singly—silently—and home,
d sinks outwearied rather than o'ercome—
last faint quittance rendering with his breath,
the blade glimmers in the grasp of Death!
VII.
first, ere came the rallying host to blows,
d rank to rank, and hand to hand oppose, 860
nare and all her Haram handmaids freed,
e in the dome of one who held their creed,
Conrad's mandate safely were bestowed,
d dried those tears for life and fame that flowed:
d when that dark-eyed lady, young Gulnare,
alled those thoughts late wandering in despair,
ch did she marvel o'er the courtesy
t smoothed his accents, softened in his eye—
as strange—that robber thus with gore bedewed,
med gentler then than Seyd in fondest mood. 870
Pacha wooed as if he deemed the slave
st seem delighted with the heart he gave;
Corsair vowed protection, soothed affright,
f his homage were a Woman's right.
e wish is wrong—nay, worse for female—vain:
much I long to view that Chief again;
e effort—one—to break the circling host!"
y form—unite—charge—waver—all is lost! 850
hin a narrower ring compressed, beset,
peless, not heartless, strive and struggle yet—
now they fight in firmest file no more,
mmed in—cut off—cleft down and trampled o'er;
each strikes singly—silently—and home,
d sinks outwearied rather than o'ercome—
last faint quittance rendering with his breath,
the blade glimmers in the grasp of Death!
VII.
first, ere came the rallying host to blows,
d rank to rank, and hand to hand oppose, 860
nare and all her Haram handmaids freed,
e in the dome of one who held their creed,
Conrad's mandate safely were bestowed,
d dried those tears for life and fame that flowed:
d when that dark-eyed lady, young Gulnare,
alled those thoughts late wandering in despair,
ch did she marvel o'er the courtesy
t smoothed his accents, softened in his eye—
as strange—that robber thus with gore bedewed,
med gentler then than Seyd in fondest mood. 870
Pacha wooed as if he deemed the slave
st seem delighted with the heart he gave;
Corsair vowed protection, soothed affright,
f his homage were a Woman's right.
e wish is wrong—nay, worse for female—vain:
much I long to view that Chief again;
Page 303
ut to thank for, what my fear forgot,
life—my loving Lord remembered not!"
VIII.
d him she saw, where thickest carnage spread,
gathered breathing from the happier dead; 880
from his band, and battling with a host
t deem right dearly won the field he lost,
ed—bleeding—baffled of the death he sought,
d snatched to expiate all the ills he wrought;
served to linger and to live in vain,
ile Vengeance pondered o'er new plans of pain,
d stanched the blood she saves to shed again—
drop by drop, for Seyd's unglutted eye
uld doom him ever dying—ne'er to die!
this be he? triumphant late she saw, 890
en his red hand's wild gesture waved, a law!
he indeed—disarmed but undeprest,
sole regret the life he still possest;
wounds too slight, though taken with that will,
ich would have kissed the hand that then could kill.
were there none, of all the many given,
end his soul—he scarcely asked to Heaven?[219]
st he alone of all retain his breath,
o more than all had striven and struck for death?
deeply felt—what mortal hearts must feel, 900
en thus reversed on faithless Fortune's wheel,
crimes committed, and the victor's threat
ingering tortures to repay the debt—
deeply, darkly felt; but evil Pride
t led to perpetrate—now serves to hide.
life—my loving Lord remembered not!"
VIII.
d him she saw, where thickest carnage spread,
gathered breathing from the happier dead; 880
from his band, and battling with a host
t deem right dearly won the field he lost,
ed—bleeding—baffled of the death he sought,
d snatched to expiate all the ills he wrought;
served to linger and to live in vain,
ile Vengeance pondered o'er new plans of pain,
d stanched the blood she saves to shed again—
drop by drop, for Seyd's unglutted eye
uld doom him ever dying—ne'er to die!
this be he? triumphant late she saw, 890
en his red hand's wild gesture waved, a law!
he indeed—disarmed but undeprest,
sole regret the life he still possest;
wounds too slight, though taken with that will,
ich would have kissed the hand that then could kill.
were there none, of all the many given,
end his soul—he scarcely asked to Heaven?[219]
st he alone of all retain his breath,
o more than all had striven and struck for death?
deeply felt—what mortal hearts must feel, 900
en thus reversed on faithless Fortune's wheel,
crimes committed, and the victor's threat
ingering tortures to repay the debt—
deeply, darkly felt; but evil Pride
t led to perpetrate—now serves to hide.
Page 304
in his stern and self-collected mien
onqueror's more than captive's air is seen,
ugh faint with wasting toil and stiffening wound,
few that saw—so calmly gazed around:
ugh the far shouting of the distant crowd, 910
ir tremors o'er, rose insolently loud,
better warriors who beheld him near,
ulted not the foe who taught them fear;
d the grim guards that to his durance led,
ilence eyed him with a secret dread.
IX.
Leech was sent—but not in mercy—there,
note how much the life yet left could bear;
found enough to load with heaviest chain,
d promise feeling for the wrench of Pain;
morrow—yea—to-morrow's evening Sun 920
l, sinking, see Impalement's pangs begun,
d rising with the wonted blush of morn
old how well or ill those pangs are borne.
orments this the longest and the worst,
ich adds all other agony to thirst,
t day by day Death still forbears to slake,
ile famished vultures flit around the stake.
! water—water!"—smiling Hate denies
victim's prayer, for if he drinks he dies.
s was his doom;—the Leech, the guard, were gone, 930
d left proud Conrad fettered and alone.
X.
ere vain to paint to what his feelings grew—
onqueror's more than captive's air is seen,
ugh faint with wasting toil and stiffening wound,
few that saw—so calmly gazed around:
ugh the far shouting of the distant crowd, 910
ir tremors o'er, rose insolently loud,
better warriors who beheld him near,
ulted not the foe who taught them fear;
d the grim guards that to his durance led,
ilence eyed him with a secret dread.
IX.
Leech was sent—but not in mercy—there,
note how much the life yet left could bear;
found enough to load with heaviest chain,
d promise feeling for the wrench of Pain;
morrow—yea—to-morrow's evening Sun 920
l, sinking, see Impalement's pangs begun,
d rising with the wonted blush of morn
old how well or ill those pangs are borne.
orments this the longest and the worst,
ich adds all other agony to thirst,
t day by day Death still forbears to slake,
ile famished vultures flit around the stake.
! water—water!"—smiling Hate denies
victim's prayer, for if he drinks he dies.
s was his doom;—the Leech, the guard, were gone, 930
d left proud Conrad fettered and alone.
X.
ere vain to paint to what his feelings grew—
Page 305
ven were doubtful if their victim knew.
re is a war, a chaos of the mind,[220]
en all its elements convulsed, combined
dark and jarring with perturbéd force,
d gnashing with impenitent Remorse—
t juggling fiend, who never spake before,
cries "I warned thee!" when the deed is o'er.
n voice! the spirit burning but unbent, 940
y writhe—rebel—the weak alone repent!
n in that lonely hour when most it feels,
d, to itself, all—all that self reveals,—
single passion, and no ruling thought
t leaves the rest, as once, unseen, unsought,
the wild prospect when the Soul reviews,
rushing through their thousand avenues—
bition's dreams expiring, Love's regret,
angered Glory, Life itself beset;
joy untasted, the contempt or hate 950
nst those who fain would triumph in our fate;
hopeless past, the hasting future driven
quickly on to guess if Hell or Heaven;
ds—thoughts—and words, perhaps remembered not
keenly till that hour, but ne'er forgot;
ngs light or lovely in their acted time,
now to stern Reflection each a crime;
withering sense of Evil unrevealed,
cankering less because the more concealed;
in a word, from which all eyes must start, 960
t opening sepulchre, the naked heart[221]
es with its buried woes—till Pride awake,
natch the mirror from the soul, and break.
re is a war, a chaos of the mind,[220]
en all its elements convulsed, combined
dark and jarring with perturbéd force,
d gnashing with impenitent Remorse—
t juggling fiend, who never spake before,
cries "I warned thee!" when the deed is o'er.
n voice! the spirit burning but unbent, 940
y writhe—rebel—the weak alone repent!
n in that lonely hour when most it feels,
d, to itself, all—all that self reveals,—
single passion, and no ruling thought
t leaves the rest, as once, unseen, unsought,
the wild prospect when the Soul reviews,
rushing through their thousand avenues—
bition's dreams expiring, Love's regret,
angered Glory, Life itself beset;
joy untasted, the contempt or hate 950
nst those who fain would triumph in our fate;
hopeless past, the hasting future driven
quickly on to guess if Hell or Heaven;
ds—thoughts—and words, perhaps remembered not
keenly till that hour, but ne'er forgot;
ngs light or lovely in their acted time,
now to stern Reflection each a crime;
withering sense of Evil unrevealed,
cankering less because the more concealed;
in a word, from which all eyes must start, 960
t opening sepulchre, the naked heart[221]
es with its buried woes—till Pride awake,
natch the mirror from the soul, and break.
Page 306
, Pride can veil, and Courage brave it all—
—all—before—beyond—the deadliest fall.
h hath some fear, and he who least betrays,
only hypocrite deserving praise:
the loud recreant wretch who boasts and flies;
he who looks on Death—and silent dies:
steeled by pondering o'er his far career, 970
half-way meets Him should He menace near!
XI.
he high chamber of his highest tower
e Conrad, fettered in the Pacha's power.
palace perished in the flame—this fort
tained at once his captive and his court.
much could Conrad of his sentence blame,
foe, if vanquished, had but shared the same:—
ne he sate—in solitude had scanned
guilty bosom, but that breast he manned:
thought alone he could not—dared not meet— 980
, how these tidings will Medora greet?"
n—only then—his clanking hands he raised,
d strained with rage the chain on which he gazed;
soon he found, or feigned, or dreamed relief,
d smiled in self-derision of his grief,
d now come Torture when it will, or may—
re need of rest to nerve me for the day!"
s said, with langour to his mat he crept,
d, whatso'er his visions, quickly slept.
as hardly midnight when that fray begun, 990
Conrad's plans matured, at once were done,
d Havoc loathes so much the waste of time,
—all—before—beyond—the deadliest fall.
h hath some fear, and he who least betrays,
only hypocrite deserving praise:
the loud recreant wretch who boasts and flies;
he who looks on Death—and silent dies:
steeled by pondering o'er his far career, 970
half-way meets Him should He menace near!
XI.
he high chamber of his highest tower
e Conrad, fettered in the Pacha's power.
palace perished in the flame—this fort
tained at once his captive and his court.
much could Conrad of his sentence blame,
foe, if vanquished, had but shared the same:—
ne he sate—in solitude had scanned
guilty bosom, but that breast he manned:
thought alone he could not—dared not meet— 980
, how these tidings will Medora greet?"
n—only then—his clanking hands he raised,
d strained with rage the chain on which he gazed;
soon he found, or feigned, or dreamed relief,
d smiled in self-derision of his grief,
d now come Torture when it will, or may—
re need of rest to nerve me for the day!"
s said, with langour to his mat he crept,
d, whatso'er his visions, quickly slept.
as hardly midnight when that fray begun, 990
Conrad's plans matured, at once were done,
d Havoc loathes so much the waste of time,
Page 307
scarce had left an uncommitted crime.
hour beheld him since the tide he stemmed—
guised—discovered—conquering—ta'en—condemned—
hief on land—an outlaw on the deep—
troying—saving—prisoned—and asleep!
XII.
slept in calmest seeming, for his breath[222]
hushed so deep—Ah! happy if in death!
slept—Who o'er his placid slumber bends? 1000
foes are gone—and here he hath no friends;
some Seraph sent to grant him grace?
tis an earthly form with heavenly face!
white arm raised a lamp—yet gently hid,
t the ray flash abruptly on the lid
hat closed eye, which opens but to pain,
d once unclosed—but once may close again.
t form, with eye so dark, and cheek so fair,
d auburn waves of gemmed and braided hair;
h shape of fairy lightness—naked foot, 1010
t shines like snow, and falls on earth as mute—
ough guards and dunnest night how came it there?
rather ask what will not Woman dare?
om Youth and Pity lead like thee, Gulnare!
could not sleep—and while the Pacha's rest
muttering dreams yet saw his pirate-guest,
left his side—his signet-ring she bore,
ich oft in sport adorned her hand before—
d with it, scarcely questioned, won her way
ough drowsy guards that must that sign obey. 1020
rn out with toil, and tired with changing blows,
hour beheld him since the tide he stemmed—
guised—discovered—conquering—ta'en—condemned—
hief on land—an outlaw on the deep—
troying—saving—prisoned—and asleep!
XII.
slept in calmest seeming, for his breath[222]
hushed so deep—Ah! happy if in death!
slept—Who o'er his placid slumber bends? 1000
foes are gone—and here he hath no friends;
some Seraph sent to grant him grace?
tis an earthly form with heavenly face!
white arm raised a lamp—yet gently hid,
t the ray flash abruptly on the lid
hat closed eye, which opens but to pain,
d once unclosed—but once may close again.
t form, with eye so dark, and cheek so fair,
d auburn waves of gemmed and braided hair;
h shape of fairy lightness—naked foot, 1010
t shines like snow, and falls on earth as mute—
ough guards and dunnest night how came it there?
rather ask what will not Woman dare?
om Youth and Pity lead like thee, Gulnare!
could not sleep—and while the Pacha's rest
muttering dreams yet saw his pirate-guest,
left his side—his signet-ring she bore,
ich oft in sport adorned her hand before—
d with it, scarcely questioned, won her way
ough drowsy guards that must that sign obey. 1020
rn out with toil, and tired with changing blows,
Page 308
ir eyes had envied Conrad his repose;
d chill and nodding at the turret door,
y stretch their listless limbs, and watch no more;
raised their heads to hail the signet-ring,
ask or what or who the sign may bring.
XIII.
gazed in wonder, "Can he calmly sleep,
ile other eyes his fall or ravage weep?
d mine in restlessness are wandering here—
at sudden spell hath made this man so dear? 1030
e—'tis to him my life, and more, I owe,
d me and mine he spared from worse than woe:
late to think—but soft—his slumber breaks—
w heavily he sighs!—he starts—awakes!"
raised his head, and dazzled with the light,
eye seemed dubious if it saw aright:
moved his hand—the grating of his chain
harshly told him that he lived again.
hat is that form? if not a shape of air,
hinks, my jailor's face shows wondrous fair!" 1040
ate! thou know'st me not, but I am one,
teful for deeds thou hast too rarely done;
k on me—and remember her, thy hand
tched from the flames, and thy more fearful band.
me through darkness—and I scarce know why—
not to hurt—I would not see thee die."
so, kind lady! thine the only eye
t would not here in that gay hope delight:
irs is the chance—and let them use their right.
still I thank their courtesy or thine, 1050
d chill and nodding at the turret door,
y stretch their listless limbs, and watch no more;
raised their heads to hail the signet-ring,
ask or what or who the sign may bring.
XIII.
gazed in wonder, "Can he calmly sleep,
ile other eyes his fall or ravage weep?
d mine in restlessness are wandering here—
at sudden spell hath made this man so dear? 1030
e—'tis to him my life, and more, I owe,
d me and mine he spared from worse than woe:
late to think—but soft—his slumber breaks—
w heavily he sighs!—he starts—awakes!"
raised his head, and dazzled with the light,
eye seemed dubious if it saw aright:
moved his hand—the grating of his chain
harshly told him that he lived again.
hat is that form? if not a shape of air,
hinks, my jailor's face shows wondrous fair!" 1040
ate! thou know'st me not, but I am one,
teful for deeds thou hast too rarely done;
k on me—and remember her, thy hand
tched from the flames, and thy more fearful band.
me through darkness—and I scarce know why—
not to hurt—I would not see thee die."
so, kind lady! thine the only eye
t would not here in that gay hope delight:
irs is the chance—and let them use their right.
still I thank their courtesy or thine, 1050
Page 309
t would confess me at so fair a shrine!"
nge though it seem—yet with extremest grief
nked a mirth—it doth not bring relief—
t playfulness of Sorrow ne'er beguiles,
d smiles in bitterness—but still it smiles;
d sometimes with the wisest and the best,
even the scaffold[223] echoes with their jest!
not the joy to which it seems akin—
ay deceive all hearts, save that within.
ate'er it was that flashed on Conrad, now 1060
ughing wildness half unbent his brow:
d these his accents had a sound of mirth,
f the last he could enjoy on earth;
'gainst his nature—for through that short life,
w thoughts had he to spare from gloom and strife.
XIV.
rsair! thy doom is named—but I have power
oothe the Pacha in his weaker hour.
e would I spare—nay more—would save thee now,
this—Time—Hope—nor even thy strength allow;
all I can,—I will—at least delay 1070
sentence that remits thee scarce a day.
re now were ruin—even thyself were loth
vain attempt should bring but doom to both."
s!—loth indeed:—my soul is nerved to all,
all'n too low to fear a further fall:
mpt not thyself with peril—me with hope
light from foes with whom I could not cope:
it to vanquish—shall I meanly fly,
nge though it seem—yet with extremest grief
nked a mirth—it doth not bring relief—
t playfulness of Sorrow ne'er beguiles,
d smiles in bitterness—but still it smiles;
d sometimes with the wisest and the best,
even the scaffold[223] echoes with their jest!
not the joy to which it seems akin—
ay deceive all hearts, save that within.
ate'er it was that flashed on Conrad, now 1060
ughing wildness half unbent his brow:
d these his accents had a sound of mirth,
f the last he could enjoy on earth;
'gainst his nature—for through that short life,
w thoughts had he to spare from gloom and strife.
XIV.
rsair! thy doom is named—but I have power
oothe the Pacha in his weaker hour.
e would I spare—nay more—would save thee now,
this—Time—Hope—nor even thy strength allow;
all I can,—I will—at least delay 1070
sentence that remits thee scarce a day.
re now were ruin—even thyself were loth
vain attempt should bring but doom to both."
s!—loth indeed:—my soul is nerved to all,
all'n too low to fear a further fall:
mpt not thyself with peril—me with hope
light from foes with whom I could not cope:
it to vanquish—shall I meanly fly,
Page 310
one of all my band that would not die?
there is one—to whom my Memory clings, 1080
to these eyes her own wild softness springs.
sole resources in the path I trod
e these—my bark—my sword—my love—my God!
last I left in youth!—He leaves me now—
d Man but works his will to lay me low.
ve no thought to mock his throne with prayer
ung from the coward crouching of Despair;
enough—I breathe—and I can bear.
sword is shaken from the worthless hand
t might have better kept so true a brand; 1090
bark is sunk or captive—but my Love—
her in sooth my voice would mount above:
she is all that still to earth can bind—
d this will break a heart so more than kind,
d blight a form—till thine appeared, Gulnare!
e eye ne'er asked if others were as fair."
ou lov'st another then?—but what to me
his—'tis nothing—nothing e'er can be:
yet—thou lov'st—and—Oh! I envy those
ose hearts on hearts as faithful can repose, 1100
o never feel the void—the wandering thought
t sighs o'er visions—such as mine hath wrought."
dy—methought thy love was his, for whom
s arm redeemed thee from a fiery tomb."
y love stern Seyd's! Oh—No—No—not my love—
much this heart, that strives no more, once strove
meet his passion—but it would not be.
t—I feel—Love dwells with—with the free.
there is one—to whom my Memory clings, 1080
to these eyes her own wild softness springs.
sole resources in the path I trod
e these—my bark—my sword—my love—my God!
last I left in youth!—He leaves me now—
d Man but works his will to lay me low.
ve no thought to mock his throne with prayer
ung from the coward crouching of Despair;
enough—I breathe—and I can bear.
sword is shaken from the worthless hand
t might have better kept so true a brand; 1090
bark is sunk or captive—but my Love—
her in sooth my voice would mount above:
she is all that still to earth can bind—
d this will break a heart so more than kind,
d blight a form—till thine appeared, Gulnare!
e eye ne'er asked if others were as fair."
ou lov'st another then?—but what to me
his—'tis nothing—nothing e'er can be:
yet—thou lov'st—and—Oh! I envy those
ose hearts on hearts as faithful can repose, 1100
o never feel the void—the wandering thought
t sighs o'er visions—such as mine hath wrought."
dy—methought thy love was his, for whom
s arm redeemed thee from a fiery tomb."
y love stern Seyd's! Oh—No—No—not my love—
much this heart, that strives no more, once strove
meet his passion—but it would not be.
t—I feel—Love dwells with—with the free.
Page 311
m a slave, a favoured slave at best,
hare his splendour, and seem very blest! 1110
must my soul the question undergo,
—'Dost thou love?' and burn to answer, 'No!'
hard it is that fondness to sustain,
d struggle not to feel averse in vain;
harder still the heart's recoil to bear,
d hide from one—perhaps another there.
takes the hand I give not—nor withhold—
pulse nor checked—nor quickened—calmly cold:
d when resigned, it drops a lifeless weight
m one I never loved enough to hate. 1120
warmth these lips return by his imprest,
d chilled Remembrance shudders o'er the rest.
—had I ever proved that Passion's zeal,
change to hatred were at least to feel:
still—he goes unmourned—returns unsought—
d oft when present—absent from my thought.
when Reflection comes—and come it must—
ar that henceforth 'twill but bring disgust;
m his slave—but, in despite of pride,
ere worse than bondage to become his bride. 1130
that this dotage of his breast would cease!
eek another and give mine release,
yesterday—I could have said, to peace!
if unwonted fondness now I feign,[hv]
member—Captive! 'tis to break thy chain;
ay the life that to thy hand I owe;
give thee back to all endeared below,
o share such love as I can never know.
ewell—Morn breaks—and I must now away:
ill cost me dear—but dread no death to-day!" 1140
hare his splendour, and seem very blest! 1110
must my soul the question undergo,
—'Dost thou love?' and burn to answer, 'No!'
hard it is that fondness to sustain,
d struggle not to feel averse in vain;
harder still the heart's recoil to bear,
d hide from one—perhaps another there.
takes the hand I give not—nor withhold—
pulse nor checked—nor quickened—calmly cold:
d when resigned, it drops a lifeless weight
m one I never loved enough to hate. 1120
warmth these lips return by his imprest,
d chilled Remembrance shudders o'er the rest.
—had I ever proved that Passion's zeal,
change to hatred were at least to feel:
still—he goes unmourned—returns unsought—
d oft when present—absent from my thought.
when Reflection comes—and come it must—
ar that henceforth 'twill but bring disgust;
m his slave—but, in despite of pride,
ere worse than bondage to become his bride. 1130
that this dotage of his breast would cease!
eek another and give mine release,
yesterday—I could have said, to peace!
if unwonted fondness now I feign,[hv]
member—Captive! 'tis to break thy chain;
ay the life that to thy hand I owe;
give thee back to all endeared below,
o share such love as I can never know.
ewell—Morn breaks—and I must now away:
ill cost me dear—but dread no death to-day!" 1140
Page 312
XV.
pressed his fettered fingers to her heart,
d bowed her head, and turned her to depart,
d noiseless as a lovely dream is gone.
d was she here? and is he now alone?
at gem hath dropped and sparkles o'er his chain?
tear most sacred, shed for others' pain,
t starts at once—bright—pure—from Pity's mine,
eady polished by the hand divine!
too convincing—dangerously dear—
Woman's eye the unanswerable tear! 1150
t weapon of her weakness she can wield,
ave, subdue—at once her spear and shield:
id it—Virtue ebbs and Wisdom errs,
fondly gazing on that grief of hers!
at lost a world, and bade a hero fly?
timid tear in Cleopatra's eye.
be the soft Triumvir's fault forgiven;
this—how many lose not earth—but Heaven!
sign their souls to Man's eternal foe,
d seal their own to spare some Wanton's woe! 1160
XVI.
Morn—and o'er his altered features play
beams—without the Hope of yesterday.
at shall he be ere night? perchance a thing
r which the raven flaps her funeral wing,
his closed eye unheeded and unfelt;
ile sets that Sun, and dews of Evening melt,
ll, wet, and misty round each stiffened limb,
reshing earth—reviving all but him!
pressed his fettered fingers to her heart,
d bowed her head, and turned her to depart,
d noiseless as a lovely dream is gone.
d was she here? and is he now alone?
at gem hath dropped and sparkles o'er his chain?
tear most sacred, shed for others' pain,
t starts at once—bright—pure—from Pity's mine,
eady polished by the hand divine!
too convincing—dangerously dear—
Woman's eye the unanswerable tear! 1150
t weapon of her weakness she can wield,
ave, subdue—at once her spear and shield:
id it—Virtue ebbs and Wisdom errs,
fondly gazing on that grief of hers!
at lost a world, and bade a hero fly?
timid tear in Cleopatra's eye.
be the soft Triumvir's fault forgiven;
this—how many lose not earth—but Heaven!
sign their souls to Man's eternal foe,
d seal their own to spare some Wanton's woe! 1160
XVI.
Morn—and o'er his altered features play
beams—without the Hope of yesterday.
at shall he be ere night? perchance a thing
r which the raven flaps her funeral wing,
his closed eye unheeded and unfelt;
ile sets that Sun, and dews of Evening melt,
ll, wet, and misty round each stiffened limb,
reshing earth—reviving all but him!
Page 313
CANTO THE THIRD.
"Come vedi—ancor non m'abbandona."
D ante , Inferno, v. 105.
I.
[224]
w sinks, more lovely ere his race be run,
ng Morea's hills the setting Sun; 1170
, as in Northern climes, obscurely bright,
one unclouded blaze of living light!
r the hushed deep the yellow beam he throws,
ds the green wave, that trembles as it glows.
old Ægina's rock, and Idra's isle,[225]
God of gladness sheds his parting smile;
r his own regions lingering, loves to shine,
ugh there his altars are no more divine.
cending fast the mountain shadows kiss
glorious gulf, unconquered Salamis! 1180
ir azure arches through the long expanse
re deeply purpled met his mellowing glance,
d tenderest tints, along their summits driven,
k his gay course, and own the hues of Heaven;
darkly shaded from the land and deep,
ind his Delphian cliff he sinks to sleep.
such an eve, his palest beam he cast,
en—Athens! here thy Wisest looked his last.
w watched thy better sons his farewell ray,
t closed their murdered Sage's[226] latest day! 1190
"Come vedi—ancor non m'abbandona."
D ante , Inferno, v. 105.
I.
[224]
w sinks, more lovely ere his race be run,
ng Morea's hills the setting Sun; 1170
, as in Northern climes, obscurely bright,
one unclouded blaze of living light!
r the hushed deep the yellow beam he throws,
ds the green wave, that trembles as it glows.
old Ægina's rock, and Idra's isle,[225]
God of gladness sheds his parting smile;
r his own regions lingering, loves to shine,
ugh there his altars are no more divine.
cending fast the mountain shadows kiss
glorious gulf, unconquered Salamis! 1180
ir azure arches through the long expanse
re deeply purpled met his mellowing glance,
d tenderest tints, along their summits driven,
k his gay course, and own the hues of Heaven;
darkly shaded from the land and deep,
ind his Delphian cliff he sinks to sleep.
such an eve, his palest beam he cast,
en—Athens! here thy Wisest looked his last.
w watched thy better sons his farewell ray,
t closed their murdered Sage's[226] latest day! 1190
Page 314
yet—not yet—Sol pauses on the hill—
precious hour of parting lingers still;
sad his light to agonising eyes,
d dark the mountain's once delightful dyes:
om o'er the lovely land he seemed to pour,
land, where Phoebus never frowned before:
ere he sunk below Cithæron's head,
cup of woe was quaffed—the Spirit fled;
Soul of him who scorned to fear or fly—
o lived and died, as none can live or die! 1200
lo! from high Hymettus to the plain,
Queen of night asserts her silent reign.[227]
murky vapour, herald of the storm,
es her fair face, nor girds her glowing form;
h cornice glimmering as the moon-beams play,
re the white column greets her grateful ray,
d bright around with quivering beams beset,
emblem sparkles o'er the Minaret:
groves of olive scattered dark and wide
ere meek Cephisus pours his scanty tide; 1210
cypress saddening by the sacred Mosque,
gleaming turret of the gay Kiosk;[228]
d, dun and sombre 'mid the holy calm,
r Theseus' fane yon solitary palm,
tinged with varied hues arrest the eye—
d dull were his that passed him heedless by.
in the Ægean, heard no more afar,
s his chafed breast from elemental war;
in his waves in milder tints unfold
ir long array of sapphire and of gold, 1220
precious hour of parting lingers still;
sad his light to agonising eyes,
d dark the mountain's once delightful dyes:
om o'er the lovely land he seemed to pour,
land, where Phoebus never frowned before:
ere he sunk below Cithæron's head,
cup of woe was quaffed—the Spirit fled;
Soul of him who scorned to fear or fly—
o lived and died, as none can live or die! 1200
lo! from high Hymettus to the plain,
Queen of night asserts her silent reign.[227]
murky vapour, herald of the storm,
es her fair face, nor girds her glowing form;
h cornice glimmering as the moon-beams play,
re the white column greets her grateful ray,
d bright around with quivering beams beset,
emblem sparkles o'er the Minaret:
groves of olive scattered dark and wide
ere meek Cephisus pours his scanty tide; 1210
cypress saddening by the sacred Mosque,
gleaming turret of the gay Kiosk;[228]
d, dun and sombre 'mid the holy calm,
r Theseus' fane yon solitary palm,
tinged with varied hues arrest the eye—
d dull were his that passed him heedless by.
in the Ægean, heard no more afar,
s his chafed breast from elemental war;
in his waves in milder tints unfold
ir long array of sapphire and of gold, 1220
Page 315
ed with the shades of many a distant isle,
t frown—where gentler Ocean seems to smile.
II.
now my theme—why turn my thoughts to thee?
who can look along thy native sea,
dwell upon thy name, whate'er the tale,
much its magic must o'er all prevail?
o that beheld that Sun upon thee set,
Athens! could thine evening face forget?
he—whose heart nor time nor distance frees,
ll-bound within the clustering Cyclades! 1230
seems this homage foreign to its strain,
Corsair's isle was once thine own domain—[229]
uld that with freedom it were thine again!
III.
Sun hath sunk—and, darker than the night,
ks with its beam upon the beacon height
dora's heart—the third day's come and gone—
h it he comes not—sends not—faithless one!
wind was fair though light! and storms were none.
t eve Anselmo's bark returned, and yet
only tidings that they had not met! 1240
ugh wild, as now, far different were the tale
Conrad waited for that single sail.
night-breeze freshens—she that day had passed
watching all that Hope proclaimed a mast;
ly she sate on high—Impatience bore
ast her footsteps to the midnight shore,
d there she wandered, heedless of the spray
t frown—where gentler Ocean seems to smile.
II.
now my theme—why turn my thoughts to thee?
who can look along thy native sea,
dwell upon thy name, whate'er the tale,
much its magic must o'er all prevail?
o that beheld that Sun upon thee set,
Athens! could thine evening face forget?
he—whose heart nor time nor distance frees,
ll-bound within the clustering Cyclades! 1230
seems this homage foreign to its strain,
Corsair's isle was once thine own domain—[229]
uld that with freedom it were thine again!
III.
Sun hath sunk—and, darker than the night,
ks with its beam upon the beacon height
dora's heart—the third day's come and gone—
h it he comes not—sends not—faithless one!
wind was fair though light! and storms were none.
t eve Anselmo's bark returned, and yet
only tidings that they had not met! 1240
ugh wild, as now, far different were the tale
Conrad waited for that single sail.
night-breeze freshens—she that day had passed
watching all that Hope proclaimed a mast;
ly she sate on high—Impatience bore
ast her footsteps to the midnight shore,
d there she wandered, heedless of the spray
Page 316
t dashed her garments oft, and warned away:
saw not, felt not this—nor dared depart,
deemed it cold—her chill was at her heart; 1250
grew such certainty from that suspense—
very Sight had shocked from life or sense!
ame at last—a sad and shattered boat,
ose inmates first beheld whom first they sought;
me bleeding—all most wretched—these the few—
rce knew they how escaped—this all they knew.
ilence, darkling, each appeared to wait
fellow's mournful guess at Conrad's fate:
mething they would have said; but seemed to fear
rust their accents to Medora's ear. 1260
saw at once, yet sunk not—trembled not—
eath that grief, that loneliness of lot,
hin that meek fair form, were feelings high,
t deemed not till they found their energy.
ile yet was Hope they softened, fluttered, wept—
lost—that Softness died not—but it slept;
d o'er its slumber rose that Strength which said,
th nothing left to love, there's nought to dread."
more than Nature's—like the burning might
irium gathers from the fever's height. 1270
ent you stand—nor would I hear you tell
at—speak not—breathe not—for I know it well—
would I ask—almost my lip denies
—quick your answer—tell me where he lies."
dy! we know not—scarce with life we fled;
here is one denies that he is dead:
saw him bound; and bleeding—but alive."
saw not, felt not this—nor dared depart,
deemed it cold—her chill was at her heart; 1250
grew such certainty from that suspense—
very Sight had shocked from life or sense!
ame at last—a sad and shattered boat,
ose inmates first beheld whom first they sought;
me bleeding—all most wretched—these the few—
rce knew they how escaped—this all they knew.
ilence, darkling, each appeared to wait
fellow's mournful guess at Conrad's fate:
mething they would have said; but seemed to fear
rust their accents to Medora's ear. 1260
saw at once, yet sunk not—trembled not—
eath that grief, that loneliness of lot,
hin that meek fair form, were feelings high,
t deemed not till they found their energy.
ile yet was Hope they softened, fluttered, wept—
lost—that Softness died not—but it slept;
d o'er its slumber rose that Strength which said,
th nothing left to love, there's nought to dread."
more than Nature's—like the burning might
irium gathers from the fever's height. 1270
ent you stand—nor would I hear you tell
at—speak not—breathe not—for I know it well—
would I ask—almost my lip denies
—quick your answer—tell me where he lies."
dy! we know not—scarce with life we fled;
here is one denies that he is dead:
saw him bound; and bleeding—but alive."
Page 317
heard no further—'twas in vain to strive—
hrobbed each vein—each thought—till then withstood;
own dark soul—these words at once subdued: 1280
totters—falls—and senseless had the wave
chance but snatched her from another grave;
that with hands though rude, yet weeping eyes,
y yield such aid as Pity's haste supplies:[hw]
h o'er her deathlike cheek the ocean dew,
se, fan, sustain—till life returns anew;
ake her handmaids, with the matrons leave
t fainting form o'er which they gaze and grieve;
n seek Anselmo's cavern, to report
tale too tedious—when the triumph short. 1290
IV.
hat wild council words waxed warm and strange,[hx]
h thoughts of ransom, rescue, and revenge;
save repose or flight: still lingering there
athed Conrad's spirit, and forbade despair;
ate'er his fate—the breasts he formed and led
l save him living, or appease him dead.
e to his foes! there yet survive a few,
ose deeds are daring, as their hearts are true.
V.
hin the Haram's secret chamber sate[230]
n Seyd, still pondering o'er his Captive's fate; 1300
thoughts on love and hate alternate dwell,
w with Gulnare, and now in Conrad's cell;
e at his feet the lovely slave reclined
veys his brow—would soothe his gloom of mind;
hrobbed each vein—each thought—till then withstood;
own dark soul—these words at once subdued: 1280
totters—falls—and senseless had the wave
chance but snatched her from another grave;
that with hands though rude, yet weeping eyes,
y yield such aid as Pity's haste supplies:[hw]
h o'er her deathlike cheek the ocean dew,
se, fan, sustain—till life returns anew;
ake her handmaids, with the matrons leave
t fainting form o'er which they gaze and grieve;
n seek Anselmo's cavern, to report
tale too tedious—when the triumph short. 1290
IV.
hat wild council words waxed warm and strange,[hx]
h thoughts of ransom, rescue, and revenge;
save repose or flight: still lingering there
athed Conrad's spirit, and forbade despair;
ate'er his fate—the breasts he formed and led
l save him living, or appease him dead.
e to his foes! there yet survive a few,
ose deeds are daring, as their hearts are true.
V.
hin the Haram's secret chamber sate[230]
n Seyd, still pondering o'er his Captive's fate; 1300
thoughts on love and hate alternate dwell,
w with Gulnare, and now in Conrad's cell;
e at his feet the lovely slave reclined
veys his brow—would soothe his gloom of mind;
Page 318
ile many an anxious glance her large dark eye
ds in its idle search for sympathy,
only bends in seeming o'er his beads,[231]
inly views his victim as he bleeds.
cha! the day is thine; and on thy crest
Triumph—Conrad taken—fall'n the rest! 1310
doom is fixed—he dies; and well his fate
earned—yet much too worthless for thy hate:
hinks, a short release, for ransom told[hy]
h all his treasure, not unwisely sold;
ort speaks largely of his pirate-hoard—
uld that of this my Pacha were the lord!
ile baffled, weakened by this fatal fray—
ched—followed—he were then an easier prey;
once cut off—the remnant of his band
bark their wealth, and seek a safer strand." 1320
lnare!—if for each drop of blood a gem
ere offered rich as Stamboul's diadem;
or each hair of his a massy mine
virgin ore should supplicating shine;
l our Arab tales divulge or dream
wealth were here—that gold should not redeem!
ad not now redeemed a single hour,
that I know him fettered, in my power;
d, thirsting for revenge, I ponder still
pangs that longest rack—and latest kill." 1330
y, Seyd! I seek not to restrain thy rage,
justly moved for Mercy to assuage;
thoughts were only to secure for thee
ds in its idle search for sympathy,
only bends in seeming o'er his beads,[231]
inly views his victim as he bleeds.
cha! the day is thine; and on thy crest
Triumph—Conrad taken—fall'n the rest! 1310
doom is fixed—he dies; and well his fate
earned—yet much too worthless for thy hate:
hinks, a short release, for ransom told[hy]
h all his treasure, not unwisely sold;
ort speaks largely of his pirate-hoard—
uld that of this my Pacha were the lord!
ile baffled, weakened by this fatal fray—
ched—followed—he were then an easier prey;
once cut off—the remnant of his band
bark their wealth, and seek a safer strand." 1320
lnare!—if for each drop of blood a gem
ere offered rich as Stamboul's diadem;
or each hair of his a massy mine
virgin ore should supplicating shine;
l our Arab tales divulge or dream
wealth were here—that gold should not redeem!
ad not now redeemed a single hour,
that I know him fettered, in my power;
d, thirsting for revenge, I ponder still
pangs that longest rack—and latest kill." 1330
y, Seyd! I seek not to restrain thy rage,
justly moved for Mercy to assuage;
thoughts were only to secure for thee
Page 319
riches—thus released, he were not free:
abled—shorn of half his might and band,
capture could but wait thy first command."
s capture could!—and shall I then resign
day to him—the wretch already mine?
ease my foe!—at whose remonstrance?—thine!
suitor!—to thy virtuous gratitude, 1340
t thus repays this Giaour's relenting mood,
ich thee and thine alone of all could spare—
doubt, regardless—if the prize were fair—
thanks and praise alike are due—now hear!
ve a counsel for thy gentler ear:
mistrust thee, Woman! and each word
hine stamps truth on all Suspicion heard.[hz]
ne in his arms through fire from yon Serai—
wert thou lingering there with him to fly?
u need'st not answer—thy confession speaks, 1350
eady reddening on thy guilty cheeks:
n—lovely Dame—bethink thee! and beware:
not his life alone may claim such care!
other word and—nay—I need no more.
ursed was the moment when he bore
e from the flames, which better far—but no—
en had mourned thee with a lover's woe—
w 'tis thy lord that warns—deceitful thing!
ow'st thou that I can clip thy wanton wing?
words alone I am not wont to chafe: 1360
k to thyself—nor deem thy falsehood safe!"
rose—and slowly, sternly thence withdrew,
e in his eye, and threats in his adieu:
abled—shorn of half his might and band,
capture could but wait thy first command."
s capture could!—and shall I then resign
day to him—the wretch already mine?
ease my foe!—at whose remonstrance?—thine!
suitor!—to thy virtuous gratitude, 1340
t thus repays this Giaour's relenting mood,
ich thee and thine alone of all could spare—
doubt, regardless—if the prize were fair—
thanks and praise alike are due—now hear!
ve a counsel for thy gentler ear:
mistrust thee, Woman! and each word
hine stamps truth on all Suspicion heard.[hz]
ne in his arms through fire from yon Serai—
wert thou lingering there with him to fly?
u need'st not answer—thy confession speaks, 1350
eady reddening on thy guilty cheeks:
n—lovely Dame—bethink thee! and beware:
not his life alone may claim such care!
other word and—nay—I need no more.
ursed was the moment when he bore
e from the flames, which better far—but no—
en had mourned thee with a lover's woe—
w 'tis thy lord that warns—deceitful thing!
ow'st thou that I can clip thy wanton wing?
words alone I am not wont to chafe: 1360
k to thyself—nor deem thy falsehood safe!"
rose—and slowly, sternly thence withdrew,
e in his eye, and threats in his adieu:
Page 320
little recked that Chief of womanhood—
ich frowns ne'er quelled, nor menaces subdued;
d little deemed he what thy heart, Gulnare!
en soft could feel—and when incensed could dare!
doubts appeared to wrong—nor yet she knew
w deep the root from whence Compassion grew—
was a slave—from such may captives claim 1370
llow-feeling, differing but in name;
half unconscious—heedless of his wrath,
in she ventured on the dangerous path,
in his rage repelled—until arose
t strife of thought, the source of Woman's woes!
VI.
anwhile—long—anxious—weary—still the same
led day and night: his soul could Terror tame—
s fearful interval of doubt and dread,
en every hour might doom him worse than dead;[ia]
en every step that echoed by the gate, 1380
ht entering lead where axe and stake await;
en every voice that grated on his ear
ht be the last that he could ever hear;
ld Terror tame—that Spirit stern and high
proved unwilling as unfit to die;
as worn—perhaps decayed—yet silent bore
t conflict, deadlier far than all before:
heat of fight, the hurry of the gale,
ve scarce one thought inert enough to quail:
bound and fixed in fettered solitude, 1390
pine, the prey of every changing mood;
gaze on thine own heart—and meditate
ich frowns ne'er quelled, nor menaces subdued;
d little deemed he what thy heart, Gulnare!
en soft could feel—and when incensed could dare!
doubts appeared to wrong—nor yet she knew
w deep the root from whence Compassion grew—
was a slave—from such may captives claim 1370
llow-feeling, differing but in name;
half unconscious—heedless of his wrath,
in she ventured on the dangerous path,
in his rage repelled—until arose
t strife of thought, the source of Woman's woes!
VI.
anwhile—long—anxious—weary—still the same
led day and night: his soul could Terror tame—
s fearful interval of doubt and dread,
en every hour might doom him worse than dead;[ia]
en every step that echoed by the gate, 1380
ht entering lead where axe and stake await;
en every voice that grated on his ear
ht be the last that he could ever hear;
ld Terror tame—that Spirit stern and high
proved unwilling as unfit to die;
as worn—perhaps decayed—yet silent bore
t conflict, deadlier far than all before:
heat of fight, the hurry of the gale,
ve scarce one thought inert enough to quail:
bound and fixed in fettered solitude, 1390
pine, the prey of every changing mood;
gaze on thine own heart—and meditate
Page 321
vocable faults, and coming fate—
late the last to shun—the first to mend—
count the hours that struggle to thine end,
h not a friend to animate and tell
other ears that Death became thee well;
und thee foes to forge the ready lie,
d blot Life's latest scene with calumny;
ore thee tortures, which the Soul can dare, 1400
doubts how well the shrinking flesh may bear;
deeply feels a single cry would shame,
Valour's praise thy last and dearest claim;
life thou leav'st below, denied above
kind monopolists of heavenly love;
d more than doubtful Paradise—thy Heaven
earthly hope—thy loved one from thee riven.
h were the thoughts that outlaw must sustain,
d govern pangs surpassing mortal pain:
d those sustained he—boots it well or ill? 1410
ce not to sink beneath, is something still!
VII.
first day passed—he saw not her—Gulnare—
second, third—and still she came not there;
what her words avouched, her charms had done,
else he had not seen another Sun.
fourth day rolled along, and with the night
me storm and darkness in their mingling might.
how he listened to the rushing deep,
t ne'er till now so broke upon his sleep;
d his wild Spirit wilder wishes sent, 1420
sed by the roar of his own element!
late the last to shun—the first to mend—
count the hours that struggle to thine end,
h not a friend to animate and tell
other ears that Death became thee well;
und thee foes to forge the ready lie,
d blot Life's latest scene with calumny;
ore thee tortures, which the Soul can dare, 1400
doubts how well the shrinking flesh may bear;
deeply feels a single cry would shame,
Valour's praise thy last and dearest claim;
life thou leav'st below, denied above
kind monopolists of heavenly love;
d more than doubtful Paradise—thy Heaven
earthly hope—thy loved one from thee riven.
h were the thoughts that outlaw must sustain,
d govern pangs surpassing mortal pain:
d those sustained he—boots it well or ill? 1410
ce not to sink beneath, is something still!
VII.
first day passed—he saw not her—Gulnare—
second, third—and still she came not there;
what her words avouched, her charms had done,
else he had not seen another Sun.
fourth day rolled along, and with the night
me storm and darkness in their mingling might.
how he listened to the rushing deep,
t ne'er till now so broke upon his sleep;
d his wild Spirit wilder wishes sent, 1420
sed by the roar of his own element!
Page 322
had he ridden on that wingéd wave,
d loved its roughness for the speed it gave;
d now its dashing echoed on his ear,
ng known voice—alas! too vainly near!
d sung the wind above; and, doubly loud,
ok o'er his turret cell the thunder-cloud;[232]
d flashed the lightning by the latticed bar,
him more genial than the Midnight Star:
se to the glimmering grate he dragged his chain, 1430
d hoped that peril might not prove in vain.
rais'd his iron hand to Heaven, and prayed
pitying flash to mar the form it made:
steel and impious prayer attract alike—
storm rolled onward, and disdained to strike;
peal waxed fainter—ceased—he felt alone,
f some faithless friend had spurned his groan!
VIII.
midnight passed, and to the massy door
ght step came—it paused—it moved once more;
w turns the grating bolt and sullen key: 1440
as his heart foreboded—that fair She!
ate'er her sins, to him a Guardian Saint,
d beauteous still as hermit's hope can paint;
changed since last within that cell she came,
re pale her cheek, more tremulous her frame:
him she cast her dark and hurried eye,
ich spoke before her accents—"Thou must die!
thou must die—there is but one resource,
last—the worst—if torture were not worse."
d loved its roughness for the speed it gave;
d now its dashing echoed on his ear,
ng known voice—alas! too vainly near!
d sung the wind above; and, doubly loud,
ok o'er his turret cell the thunder-cloud;[232]
d flashed the lightning by the latticed bar,
him more genial than the Midnight Star:
se to the glimmering grate he dragged his chain, 1430
d hoped that peril might not prove in vain.
rais'd his iron hand to Heaven, and prayed
pitying flash to mar the form it made:
steel and impious prayer attract alike—
storm rolled onward, and disdained to strike;
peal waxed fainter—ceased—he felt alone,
f some faithless friend had spurned his groan!
VIII.
midnight passed, and to the massy door
ght step came—it paused—it moved once more;
w turns the grating bolt and sullen key: 1440
as his heart foreboded—that fair She!
ate'er her sins, to him a Guardian Saint,
d beauteous still as hermit's hope can paint;
changed since last within that cell she came,
re pale her cheek, more tremulous her frame:
him she cast her dark and hurried eye,
ich spoke before her accents—"Thou must die!
thou must die—there is but one resource,
last—the worst—if torture were not worse."
Page 323
dy! I look to none; my lips proclaim 1450
at last proclaimed they—Conrad still the same:
y should'st thou seek an outlaw's life to spare,
d change the sentence I deserve to bear?
l have I earned—nor here alone—the meed
Seyd's revenge, by many a lawless deed."
hy should I seek? because—Oh! did'st thou not
eem my life from worse than Slavery's lot?
y should I seek?—hath Misery made thee blind
he fond workings of a woman's mind?
d must I say?—albeit my heart rebel 1460
h all that Woman feels, but should not tell—
ause—despite thy crimes—that heart is moved:
ared thee—thanked thee—pitied—maddened—loved.
ly not, tell not now thy tale again,
u lov'st another—and I love in vain:
ugh fond as mine her bosom, form more fair,
sh through peril which she would not dare.
hat thy heart to hers were truly dear,
e I thine own—thou wert not lonely here:
outlaw's spouse—and leave her Lord to roam! 1470
at hath such gentle dame to do with home?
speak not now—o'er thine and o'er my head
gs the keen sabre by a single thread;[ib]
hou hast courage still, and would'st be free,
eive this poniard—rise and follow me!"
e—in my chains! my steps will gently tread,
h these adornments, o'er such slumbering head!
u hast forgot—is this a garb for flight?
s that instrument more fit for fight?"
at last proclaimed they—Conrad still the same:
y should'st thou seek an outlaw's life to spare,
d change the sentence I deserve to bear?
l have I earned—nor here alone—the meed
Seyd's revenge, by many a lawless deed."
hy should I seek? because—Oh! did'st thou not
eem my life from worse than Slavery's lot?
y should I seek?—hath Misery made thee blind
he fond workings of a woman's mind?
d must I say?—albeit my heart rebel 1460
h all that Woman feels, but should not tell—
ause—despite thy crimes—that heart is moved:
ared thee—thanked thee—pitied—maddened—loved.
ly not, tell not now thy tale again,
u lov'st another—and I love in vain:
ugh fond as mine her bosom, form more fair,
sh through peril which she would not dare.
hat thy heart to hers were truly dear,
e I thine own—thou wert not lonely here:
outlaw's spouse—and leave her Lord to roam! 1470
at hath such gentle dame to do with home?
speak not now—o'er thine and o'er my head
gs the keen sabre by a single thread;[ib]
hou hast courage still, and would'st be free,
eive this poniard—rise and follow me!"
e—in my chains! my steps will gently tread,
h these adornments, o'er such slumbering head!
u hast forgot—is this a garb for flight?
s that instrument more fit for fight?"
Page 324
sdoubting Corsair! I have gained the guard, 1480
e for revolt, and greedy for reward.
ngle word of mine removes that chain:
hout some aid how here could I remain?
l, since we met, hath sped my busy time,
n aught evil, for thy sake the crime:
crime—'tis none to punish those of Seyd.
t hatred tyrant, Conrad—he must bleed!
e thee shudder, but my soul is changed—
onged—spurned—reviled—and it shall be avenged—
used of what till now my heart disdained— 1490
faithful, though to bitter bondage chained.
smile!—but he had little cause to sneer,
as not treacherous then, nor thou too dear:
he has said it—and the jealous well,—
se tyrants—teasing—tempting to rebel,—
erve the fate their fretting lips foretell.
ver loved—he bought me—somewhat high—
ce with me came a heart he could not buy.
as a slave unmurmuring; he hath said,
for his rescue I with thee had fled. 1500
as false thou know'st—but let such Augurs rue,
ir words are omens Insult renders true.
was thy respite granted to my prayer;
s fleeting grace was only to prepare
w torments for thy life, and my despair.
e too he threatens; but his dotage still
uld fain reserve me for his lordly will:
en wearier of these fleeting charms and me,
re yawns the sack—and yonder rolls the sea!
at, am I then a toy for dotard's play, 1510
wear but till the gilding frets away?
e for revolt, and greedy for reward.
ngle word of mine removes that chain:
hout some aid how here could I remain?
l, since we met, hath sped my busy time,
n aught evil, for thy sake the crime:
crime—'tis none to punish those of Seyd.
t hatred tyrant, Conrad—he must bleed!
e thee shudder, but my soul is changed—
onged—spurned—reviled—and it shall be avenged—
used of what till now my heart disdained— 1490
faithful, though to bitter bondage chained.
smile!—but he had little cause to sneer,
as not treacherous then, nor thou too dear:
he has said it—and the jealous well,—
se tyrants—teasing—tempting to rebel,—
erve the fate their fretting lips foretell.
ver loved—he bought me—somewhat high—
ce with me came a heart he could not buy.
as a slave unmurmuring; he hath said,
for his rescue I with thee had fled. 1500
as false thou know'st—but let such Augurs rue,
ir words are omens Insult renders true.
was thy respite granted to my prayer;
s fleeting grace was only to prepare
w torments for thy life, and my despair.
e too he threatens; but his dotage still
uld fain reserve me for his lordly will:
en wearier of these fleeting charms and me,
re yawns the sack—and yonder rolls the sea!
at, am I then a toy for dotard's play, 1510
wear but till the gilding frets away?
Page 325
w thee—loved thee—owe thee all—would save,
ut to show how grateful is a slave.
had he not thus menaced fame and life,—
d well he keeps his oaths pronounced in strife—
ll had saved thee—but the Pacha spared:
w I am all thine own—for all prepared:
u lov'st me not—nor know'st—or but the worst.
s! this love—that hatred—are the first—
could'st thou prove my truth, thou would'st not start, 1520
fear the fire that lights an Eastern heart;
now the beacon of thy safety—now
oints within the port a Mainote prow:
in one chamber, where our path must lead,
re sleeps—he must not wake—the oppressor Seyd!"
lnare—Gulnare—I never felt till now
abject fortune, withered fame so low:
d is mine enemy; had swept my band
m earth with ruthless but with open hand,
d therefore came I, in my bark of war,1530
mite the smiter with the scimitar;
h is my weapon—not the secret knife;
o spares a Woman's seeks not Slumber's life.
ne saved I gladly, Lady—not for this;
me not deem that mercy shown amiss.
w fare thee well—more peace be with thy breast!
ht wears apace, my last of earthly rest!"[ic]
st! rest! by sunrise must thy sinews shake,
d thy limbs writhe around the ready stake,
ard the order—saw—I will not see— 1540
hou wilt perish, I will fall with thee.
ut to show how grateful is a slave.
had he not thus menaced fame and life,—
d well he keeps his oaths pronounced in strife—
ll had saved thee—but the Pacha spared:
w I am all thine own—for all prepared:
u lov'st me not—nor know'st—or but the worst.
s! this love—that hatred—are the first—
could'st thou prove my truth, thou would'st not start, 1520
fear the fire that lights an Eastern heart;
now the beacon of thy safety—now
oints within the port a Mainote prow:
in one chamber, where our path must lead,
re sleeps—he must not wake—the oppressor Seyd!"
lnare—Gulnare—I never felt till now
abject fortune, withered fame so low:
d is mine enemy; had swept my band
m earth with ruthless but with open hand,
d therefore came I, in my bark of war,1530
mite the smiter with the scimitar;
h is my weapon—not the secret knife;
o spares a Woman's seeks not Slumber's life.
ne saved I gladly, Lady—not for this;
me not deem that mercy shown amiss.
w fare thee well—more peace be with thy breast!
ht wears apace, my last of earthly rest!"[ic]
st! rest! by sunrise must thy sinews shake,
d thy limbs writhe around the ready stake,
ard the order—saw—I will not see— 1540
hou wilt perish, I will fall with thee.
Page 326
life—my love—my hatred—all below
on this cast—Corsair! 'tis but a blow!
hout it flight were idle—how evade
sure pursuit?—my wrongs too unrepaid,
youth disgraced—the long, long wasted years,
blow shall cancel with our future fears;
since the dagger suits thee less than brand,
ry the firmness of a female hand.
guards are gained—one moment all were o'er— 1550
sair! we meet in safety or no more;
rrs my feeble hand, the morning cloud
l hover o'er thy scaffold, and my shroud."
IX.
on this cast—Corsair! 'tis but a blow!
hout it flight were idle—how evade
sure pursuit?—my wrongs too unrepaid,
youth disgraced—the long, long wasted years,
blow shall cancel with our future fears;
since the dagger suits thee less than brand,
ry the firmness of a female hand.
guards are gained—one moment all were o'er— 1550
sair! we meet in safety or no more;
rrs my feeble hand, the morning cloud
l hover o'er thy scaffold, and my shroud."
IX.
Page 327
turned, and vanished ere he could reply,
his glance followed far with eager eye;
d gathering, as he could, the links that bound
form, to curl their length, and curb their sound,
ce bar and bolt no more his steps preclude,
fast as fettered limbs allow, pursued.
as dark and winding, and he knew not where 1560
t passage led; nor lamp nor guard was there:
sees a dusky glimmering—shall he seek
hun that ray so indistinct and weak?
nce guides his steps—a freshness seems to bear
on his brow as if from morning air;
reached an open gallery—on his eye
amed the last star of night, the clearing sky:
scarcely heeded these—another light
m a lone chamber struck upon his sight.
wards it he moved; a scarcely closing door 1570
ealed the ray within, but nothing more.
h hasty step a figure outward passed,
n paused, and turned—and paused—'tis She at last!
poniard in that hand, nor sign of ill—
anks to that softening heart—she could not kill!"
in he looked, the wildness of her eye
ts from the day abrupt and fearfully.
stopped—threw back her dark far-floating hair,
t nearly veiled her face and bosom fair,
f she late had bent her leaning head 1580
ove some object of her doubt or dread.
y meet—upon her brow—unknown—forgot—
hurrying hand had left—'twas but a spot—
hue was all he saw, and scarce withstood—
his glance followed far with eager eye;
d gathering, as he could, the links that bound
form, to curl their length, and curb their sound,
ce bar and bolt no more his steps preclude,
fast as fettered limbs allow, pursued.
as dark and winding, and he knew not where 1560
t passage led; nor lamp nor guard was there:
sees a dusky glimmering—shall he seek
hun that ray so indistinct and weak?
nce guides his steps—a freshness seems to bear
on his brow as if from morning air;
reached an open gallery—on his eye
amed the last star of night, the clearing sky:
scarcely heeded these—another light
m a lone chamber struck upon his sight.
wards it he moved; a scarcely closing door 1570
ealed the ray within, but nothing more.
h hasty step a figure outward passed,
n paused, and turned—and paused—'tis She at last!
poniard in that hand, nor sign of ill—
anks to that softening heart—she could not kill!"
in he looked, the wildness of her eye
ts from the day abrupt and fearfully.
stopped—threw back her dark far-floating hair,
t nearly veiled her face and bosom fair,
f she late had bent her leaning head 1580
ove some object of her doubt or dread.
y meet—upon her brow—unknown—forgot—
hurrying hand had left—'twas but a spot—
hue was all he saw, and scarce withstood—
Page 328
slight but certain pledge of crime—'tis Blood!
X.
had seen battle—he had brooded lone
r promised pangs to sentenced Guilt foreshown;
had been tempted—chastened—and the chain
on his arms might ever there remain:
ne'er from strife—captivity—remorse— 1590
m all his feelings in their inmost force—
hrilled, so shuddered every creeping vein,
now they froze before that purple stain.
t spot of blood, that light but guilty streak,
banished all the beauty from her cheek!
od he had viewed—could view unmoved—but then
owed in combat, or was shed by men![id]
XI.
s done—he nearly waked—but it is done.
sair! he perished—thou art dearly won.
words would now be vain—away—away! 1600
bark is tossing—'tis already day.
few gained over, now are wholly mine,
d these thy yet surviving band shall join:
on my voice shall vindicate my hand,
en once our sail forsakes this hated strand."
XII.
clapped her hands, and through the gallery pour,
ipped for flight, her vassals—Greek and Moor;
nt but quick they stoop, his chains unbind;
X.
had seen battle—he had brooded lone
r promised pangs to sentenced Guilt foreshown;
had been tempted—chastened—and the chain
on his arms might ever there remain:
ne'er from strife—captivity—remorse— 1590
m all his feelings in their inmost force—
hrilled, so shuddered every creeping vein,
now they froze before that purple stain.
t spot of blood, that light but guilty streak,
banished all the beauty from her cheek!
od he had viewed—could view unmoved—but then
owed in combat, or was shed by men![id]
XI.
s done—he nearly waked—but it is done.
sair! he perished—thou art dearly won.
words would now be vain—away—away! 1600
bark is tossing—'tis already day.
few gained over, now are wholly mine,
d these thy yet surviving band shall join:
on my voice shall vindicate my hand,
en once our sail forsakes this hated strand."
XII.
clapped her hands, and through the gallery pour,
ipped for flight, her vassals—Greek and Moor;
nt but quick they stoop, his chains unbind;
Page 329
e more his limbs are free as mountain wind!
on his heavy heart such sadness sate, 1610
f they there transferred that iron weight.
words are uttered—at her sign, a door
eals the secret passage to the shore;
city lies behind—they speed, they reach
glad waves dancing on the yellow beach;
d Conrad following, at her beck, obeyed,
cared he now if rescued or betrayed;
istance were as useless as if Seyd
lived to view the doom his ire decreed.
XIII.
barked—the sail unfurled—the light breeze blew— 1620
w much had Conrad's memory to review![ie]
k he in contemplation, till the Cape
ere last he anchored reared its giant shape.
—since that fatal night, though brief the time,
swept an age of terror, grief, and crime.
ts far shadow frowned above the mast,
veiled his face, and sorrowed as he passed;
thought of all—Gonsalvo and his band,
fleeting triumph and his failing hand;
thought on her afar, his lonely bride: 1630
turned and saw—Gulnare, the Homicide!
XIV.
watched his features till she could not bear
ir freezing aspect and averted air;
d that strange fierceness foreign to her eye
quenched in tears, too late to shed or dry.[if]
on his heavy heart such sadness sate, 1610
f they there transferred that iron weight.
words are uttered—at her sign, a door
eals the secret passage to the shore;
city lies behind—they speed, they reach
glad waves dancing on the yellow beach;
d Conrad following, at her beck, obeyed,
cared he now if rescued or betrayed;
istance were as useless as if Seyd
lived to view the doom his ire decreed.
XIII.
barked—the sail unfurled—the light breeze blew— 1620
w much had Conrad's memory to review![ie]
k he in contemplation, till the Cape
ere last he anchored reared its giant shape.
—since that fatal night, though brief the time,
swept an age of terror, grief, and crime.
ts far shadow frowned above the mast,
veiled his face, and sorrowed as he passed;
thought of all—Gonsalvo and his band,
fleeting triumph and his failing hand;
thought on her afar, his lonely bride: 1630
turned and saw—Gulnare, the Homicide!
XIV.
watched his features till she could not bear
ir freezing aspect and averted air;
d that strange fierceness foreign to her eye
quenched in tears, too late to shed or dry.[if]
Page 330
knelt beside him and his hand she pressed,
ou may'st forgive though Allah's self detest;
for that deed of darkness what wert thou?
roach me—but not yet—Oh! spare me now!
m not what I seem—this fearful night 1640
brain bewildered—do not madden quite!
had never loved—though less my guilt—
u hadst not lived to—hate me—if thou wilt."
XV.
wrongs his thoughts—they more himself upbraid
n her—though undesigned—the wretch he made;
speechless all, deep, dark, and unexprest,
y bleed within that silent cell—his breast.
onward, fair the breeze, nor rough the surge,
blue waves sport around the stern they urge;
on the Horizon's verge appears a speck, 1650
pot—a mast—a sail—an arméd deck!
ir little bark her men of watch descry,
d ampler canvass woos the wind from high;
bears her down majestically near,
ed on her prow, and terror in her tier;[ig][233]
ash is seen—the ball beyond her bow
ms harmless, hissing to the deep below.
rose keen Conrad from his silent trance,
ng, long absent gladness in his glance;
s mine—my blood-rag flag! again—again— 1660
m not all deserted on the main!"
y own the signal, answer to the hail,
st out the boat at once, and slacken sail.
s Conrad! Conrad!" shouting from the deck,
ou may'st forgive though Allah's self detest;
for that deed of darkness what wert thou?
roach me—but not yet—Oh! spare me now!
m not what I seem—this fearful night 1640
brain bewildered—do not madden quite!
had never loved—though less my guilt—
u hadst not lived to—hate me—if thou wilt."
XV.
wrongs his thoughts—they more himself upbraid
n her—though undesigned—the wretch he made;
speechless all, deep, dark, and unexprest,
y bleed within that silent cell—his breast.
onward, fair the breeze, nor rough the surge,
blue waves sport around the stern they urge;
on the Horizon's verge appears a speck, 1650
pot—a mast—a sail—an arméd deck!
ir little bark her men of watch descry,
d ampler canvass woos the wind from high;
bears her down majestically near,
ed on her prow, and terror in her tier;[ig][233]
ash is seen—the ball beyond her bow
ms harmless, hissing to the deep below.
rose keen Conrad from his silent trance,
ng, long absent gladness in his glance;
s mine—my blood-rag flag! again—again— 1660
m not all deserted on the main!"
y own the signal, answer to the hail,
st out the boat at once, and slacken sail.
s Conrad! Conrad!" shouting from the deck,
Page 331
mmand nor Duty could their transport check!
h light alacrity and gaze of Pride,
y view him mount once more his vessel's side;
mile relaxing in each rugged face,
ir arms can scarce forbear a rough embrace.
half forgetting danger and defeat, 1670
urns their greeting as a Chief may greet,
ngs with a cordial grasp Anselmo's hand,
d feels he yet can conquer and command!
XVI.
se greetings o'er, the feelings that o'erflow,
grieve to win him back without a blow;
y sailed prepared for vengeance—had they known
oman's hand secured that deed her own,
were their Queen—less scrupulous are they
n haughty Conrad how they win their way.
h many an asking smile, and wondering stare, 1680
y whisper round, and gaze upon Gulnare;
d her, at once above—beneath her sex,
om blood appalled not, their regards perplex.[ih]
Conrad turns her faint imploring eye,
drops her veil, and stands in silence by;
arms are meekly folded on that breast,
ich—Conrad safe—to Fate resigned the rest.
ugh worse than frenzy could that bosom fill,
reme in love or hate, in good or ill,
worst of crimes had left her Woman still! 1690
XVII.
s Conrad marked, and felt—ah! could he less?—
h light alacrity and gaze of Pride,
y view him mount once more his vessel's side;
mile relaxing in each rugged face,
ir arms can scarce forbear a rough embrace.
half forgetting danger and defeat, 1670
urns their greeting as a Chief may greet,
ngs with a cordial grasp Anselmo's hand,
d feels he yet can conquer and command!
XVI.
se greetings o'er, the feelings that o'erflow,
grieve to win him back without a blow;
y sailed prepared for vengeance—had they known
oman's hand secured that deed her own,
were their Queen—less scrupulous are they
n haughty Conrad how they win their way.
h many an asking smile, and wondering stare, 1680
y whisper round, and gaze upon Gulnare;
d her, at once above—beneath her sex,
om blood appalled not, their regards perplex.[ih]
Conrad turns her faint imploring eye,
drops her veil, and stands in silence by;
arms are meekly folded on that breast,
ich—Conrad safe—to Fate resigned the rest.
ugh worse than frenzy could that bosom fill,
reme in love or hate, in good or ill,
worst of crimes had left her Woman still! 1690
XVII.
s Conrad marked, and felt—ah! could he less?—
Page 332
e of that deed—but grief for her distress;
at she has done no tears can wash away,
d Heaven must punish on its angry day:
—it was done: he knew, whate'er her guilt,
him that poniard smote, that blood was spilt;
d he was free!—and she for him had given
all on earth, and more than all in heaven![234]
d now he turned him to that dark-eyed slave
ose brow was bowed beneath the glance he gave, 1700
o now seemed changed and humbled, faint and meek,
varying oft the colour of her cheek
deeper shades of paleness—all its red
t fearful spot which stained it from the dead!
took that hand—it trembled—now too late—
oft in love—so wildly nerved in hate;
clasped that hand—it trembled—and his own
lost its firmness, and his voice its tone.
lnare!"—but she replied not—"dear Gulnare!"[ii]
raised her eye—her only answer there— 1710
once she sought and sunk in his embrace:
e had driven her from that resting-place,
had been more or less than mortal heart,
—good or ill—it bade her not depart.
chance, but for the bodings of his breast,
latest virtue then had joined the rest.
even Medora might forgive the kiss[ij]
t asked from form so fair no more than this,
first, the last that Frailty stole from Faith—
ips where Love had lavished all his breath, 1720
ips—whose broken sighs such fragrance fling,
he had fanned them freshly with his wing![ik]
at she has done no tears can wash away,
d Heaven must punish on its angry day:
—it was done: he knew, whate'er her guilt,
him that poniard smote, that blood was spilt;
d he was free!—and she for him had given
all on earth, and more than all in heaven![234]
d now he turned him to that dark-eyed slave
ose brow was bowed beneath the glance he gave, 1700
o now seemed changed and humbled, faint and meek,
varying oft the colour of her cheek
deeper shades of paleness—all its red
t fearful spot which stained it from the dead!
took that hand—it trembled—now too late—
oft in love—so wildly nerved in hate;
clasped that hand—it trembled—and his own
lost its firmness, and his voice its tone.
lnare!"—but she replied not—"dear Gulnare!"[ii]
raised her eye—her only answer there— 1710
once she sought and sunk in his embrace:
e had driven her from that resting-place,
had been more or less than mortal heart,
—good or ill—it bade her not depart.
chance, but for the bodings of his breast,
latest virtue then had joined the rest.
even Medora might forgive the kiss[ij]
t asked from form so fair no more than this,
first, the last that Frailty stole from Faith—
ips where Love had lavished all his breath, 1720
ips—whose broken sighs such fragrance fling,
he had fanned them freshly with his wing![ik]
Page 333
XVIII.
y gain by twilight's hour their lonely isle.
hem the very rocks appear to smile;
haven hums with many a cheering sound,
beacons blaze their wonted stations round,
boats are darting o'er the curly bay,
d sportive Dolphins bend them through the spray;
n the hoarse sea-bird's shrill, discordant shriek,
ets like the welcome of his tuneless beak! 1730
eath each lamp that through its lattice gleams,
ir fancy paints the friends that trim the beams.
what can sanctify the joys of home,
e Hope's gay glance from Ocean's troubled foam?[il]
XIX.
lights are high on beacon and from bower,
d 'midst them Conrad seeks Medora's tower:
looks in vain—'tis strange—and all remark,
id so many, hers alone is dark.
strange—of yore its welcome never failed,
now, perchance, extinguished—only veiled. 1740
h the first boat descends he for the shore,
d looks impatient on the lingering oar.
for a wing beyond the falcon's flight,
bear him like an arrow to that height!
h the first pause the resting rowers gave,
waits not—looks not—leaps into the wave,
ves through the surge, bestrides the beach, and high
ends the path familiar to his eye.
reached his turret door—he paused—no sound
y gain by twilight's hour their lonely isle.
hem the very rocks appear to smile;
haven hums with many a cheering sound,
beacons blaze their wonted stations round,
boats are darting o'er the curly bay,
d sportive Dolphins bend them through the spray;
n the hoarse sea-bird's shrill, discordant shriek,
ets like the welcome of his tuneless beak! 1730
eath each lamp that through its lattice gleams,
ir fancy paints the friends that trim the beams.
what can sanctify the joys of home,
e Hope's gay glance from Ocean's troubled foam?[il]
XIX.
lights are high on beacon and from bower,
d 'midst them Conrad seeks Medora's tower:
looks in vain—'tis strange—and all remark,
id so many, hers alone is dark.
strange—of yore its welcome never failed,
now, perchance, extinguished—only veiled. 1740
h the first boat descends he for the shore,
d looks impatient on the lingering oar.
for a wing beyond the falcon's flight,
bear him like an arrow to that height!
h the first pause the resting rowers gave,
waits not—looks not—leaps into the wave,
ves through the surge, bestrides the beach, and high
ends the path familiar to his eye.
reached his turret door—he paused—no sound
Page 334
ke from within; and all was night around. 1750
knocked, and loudly—footstep nor reply
nounced that any heard or deemed him nigh:
knocked, but faintly—for his trembling hand
used to aid his heavy heart's demand.
portal opens—'tis a well known face—
not the form he panted to embrace.
ips are silent—twice his own essayed,
d failed to frame the question they delayed;
snatched the lamp—its light will answer all—
uits his grasp, expiring in the fall. 1760
would not wait for that reviving ray—
soon could he have lingered there for day;
glimmering through the dusky corridor,
other chequers o'er the shadowed floor;
steps the chamber gain—his eyes behold
that his heart believed not—yet foretold!
XX.
turned not—spoke not—sunk not—fixed his look,
d set the anxious frame that lately shook:
gazed—how long we gaze despite of pain,
d know, but dare not own, we gaze in vain! 1770
fe itself she was so still and fair,
t Death with gentler aspect withered there;
d the cold flowers[235] her colder hand contained,
hat last grasp as tenderly were strained
f she scarcely felt, but feigned a sleep—
d made it almost mockery yet to weep:
long dark lashes fringed her lids of snow,
d veiled—Thought shrinks from all that lurked below—Oh!
knocked, and loudly—footstep nor reply
nounced that any heard or deemed him nigh:
knocked, but faintly—for his trembling hand
used to aid his heavy heart's demand.
portal opens—'tis a well known face—
not the form he panted to embrace.
ips are silent—twice his own essayed,
d failed to frame the question they delayed;
snatched the lamp—its light will answer all—
uits his grasp, expiring in the fall. 1760
would not wait for that reviving ray—
soon could he have lingered there for day;
glimmering through the dusky corridor,
other chequers o'er the shadowed floor;
steps the chamber gain—his eyes behold
that his heart believed not—yet foretold!
XX.
turned not—spoke not—sunk not—fixed his look,
d set the anxious frame that lately shook:
gazed—how long we gaze despite of pain,
d know, but dare not own, we gaze in vain! 1770
fe itself she was so still and fair,
t Death with gentler aspect withered there;
d the cold flowers[235] her colder hand contained,
hat last grasp as tenderly were strained
f she scarcely felt, but feigned a sleep—
d made it almost mockery yet to weep:
long dark lashes fringed her lids of snow,
d veiled—Thought shrinks from all that lurked below—Oh!
Page 335
the eye Death most exerts his might,[236]
d hurls the Spirit from her throne of light; 1780
ks those blue orbs in that long last eclipse,
spares, as yet, the charm around her lips—
yet they seem as they forebore to smile,
d wished repose,—but only for a while;
the white shroud, and each extended tress,
g, fair—but spread in utter lifelessness,
ich, late the sport of every summer wind,
aped the baffled wreath that strove to bind;[im]
se—and the pale pure cheek, became the bier—
She is nothing—wherefore is he here? 1790
XXI.
asked no question—all were answered now
the first glance on that still, marble brow.[in]
as enough—she died—what recked it how?
love of youth, the hope of better years,
source of softest wishes, tenderest fears,
only living thing he could not hate,
reft at once—and he deserved his fate,
did not feel it less;—the Good explore,
peace, those realms where Guilt can never soar:
proud, the wayward—who have fixed below 1800
ir joy, and find this earth enough for woe,
e in that one their all—perchance a mite—
who in patience parts with all delight?
many a stoic eye and aspect stern
sk hearts where Grief hath little left to learn;
d many a withering thought lies hid, not lost,
miles that least befit who wear them most.
d hurls the Spirit from her throne of light; 1780
ks those blue orbs in that long last eclipse,
spares, as yet, the charm around her lips—
yet they seem as they forebore to smile,
d wished repose,—but only for a while;
the white shroud, and each extended tress,
g, fair—but spread in utter lifelessness,
ich, late the sport of every summer wind,
aped the baffled wreath that strove to bind;[im]
se—and the pale pure cheek, became the bier—
She is nothing—wherefore is he here? 1790
XXI.
asked no question—all were answered now
the first glance on that still, marble brow.[in]
as enough—she died—what recked it how?
love of youth, the hope of better years,
source of softest wishes, tenderest fears,
only living thing he could not hate,
reft at once—and he deserved his fate,
did not feel it less;—the Good explore,
peace, those realms where Guilt can never soar:
proud, the wayward—who have fixed below 1800
ir joy, and find this earth enough for woe,
e in that one their all—perchance a mite—
who in patience parts with all delight?
many a stoic eye and aspect stern
sk hearts where Grief hath little left to learn;
d many a withering thought lies hid, not lost,
miles that least befit who wear them most.
Page 336
XXII.
those, that deepest feel, is ill exprest
indistinctness of the suffering breast;
ere thousand thoughts begin to end in one, 1810
ich seeks from all the refuge found in none;
words suffice the secret soul to show,
Truth denies all eloquence to Woe.
Conrad's stricken soul Exhaustion prest,
d Stupor almost lulled it into rest;
eeble now—his mother's softness crept
hose wild eyes, which like an infant's wept:
as the very weakness of his brain,
ich thus confessed without relieving pain.
ne saw his trickling tears—perchance, if seen, 1820
t useless flood of grief had never been:
long they flowed—he dried them to depart,
elpless—hopeless—brokenness of heart:
Sun goes forth, but Conrad's day is dim:
d the night cometh—ne'er to pass from him.[io]
re is no darkness like the cloud of mind,
Grief's vain eye—the blindest of the blind!
ich may not—dare not see—but turns aside
blackest shade—nor will endure a guide!
XXIII.[237]
heart was formed for softness—warped to wrong, 1830
rayed too early, and beguiled too long;
h feeling pure—as falls the dropping dew
hin the grot—like that had hardened too;
s clear, perchance, its earthly trials passed,
those, that deepest feel, is ill exprest
indistinctness of the suffering breast;
ere thousand thoughts begin to end in one, 1810
ich seeks from all the refuge found in none;
words suffice the secret soul to show,
Truth denies all eloquence to Woe.
Conrad's stricken soul Exhaustion prest,
d Stupor almost lulled it into rest;
eeble now—his mother's softness crept
hose wild eyes, which like an infant's wept:
as the very weakness of his brain,
ich thus confessed without relieving pain.
ne saw his trickling tears—perchance, if seen, 1820
t useless flood of grief had never been:
long they flowed—he dried them to depart,
elpless—hopeless—brokenness of heart:
Sun goes forth, but Conrad's day is dim:
d the night cometh—ne'er to pass from him.[io]
re is no darkness like the cloud of mind,
Grief's vain eye—the blindest of the blind!
ich may not—dare not see—but turns aside
blackest shade—nor will endure a guide!
XXIII.[237]
heart was formed for softness—warped to wrong, 1830
rayed too early, and beguiled too long;
h feeling pure—as falls the dropping dew
hin the grot—like that had hardened too;
s clear, perchance, its earthly trials passed,
Page 337
sunk, and chilled, and petrified at last.[238]
tempests wear, and lightning cleaves the rock;
uch his heart, so shattered it the shock.
re grew one flower beneath its rugged brow,
ugh dark the shade—it sheltered—saved till now.
thunder came—that bolt hath blasted both, 1840
Granite's firmness, and the Lily's growth:
gentle plant hath left no leaf to tell
ale, but shrunk and withered where it fell;
d of its cold protector, blacken round
shivered fragments on the barren ground!
XXIV.
morn—to venture on his lonely hour
w dare; though now Anselmo sought his tower.
was not there, nor seen along the shore;
night, alarmed, their isle is traversed o'er:
other morn—another bids them seek, 1850
d shout his name till Echo waxeth weak;
unt—grotto—cavern—valley searched in vain,
y find on shore a sea-boat's broken chain:
ir hope revives—they follow o'er the main.
idle all—moons roll on moons away,
d Conrad comes not, came not since that day:
trace nor tidings of his doom declare
ere lives his grief, or perished his despair!
g mourned his band whom none could mourn beside;
d fair the monument they gave his Bride: 1860
him they raise not the recording stone—
death yet dubious, deeds too widely known;
left a Corsair's name to other times,
tempests wear, and lightning cleaves the rock;
uch his heart, so shattered it the shock.
re grew one flower beneath its rugged brow,
ugh dark the shade—it sheltered—saved till now.
thunder came—that bolt hath blasted both, 1840
Granite's firmness, and the Lily's growth:
gentle plant hath left no leaf to tell
ale, but shrunk and withered where it fell;
d of its cold protector, blacken round
shivered fragments on the barren ground!
XXIV.
morn—to venture on his lonely hour
w dare; though now Anselmo sought his tower.
was not there, nor seen along the shore;
night, alarmed, their isle is traversed o'er:
other morn—another bids them seek, 1850
d shout his name till Echo waxeth weak;
unt—grotto—cavern—valley searched in vain,
y find on shore a sea-boat's broken chain:
ir hope revives—they follow o'er the main.
idle all—moons roll on moons away,
d Conrad comes not, came not since that day:
trace nor tidings of his doom declare
ere lives his grief, or perished his despair!
g mourned his band whom none could mourn beside;
d fair the monument they gave his Bride: 1860
him they raise not the recording stone—
death yet dubious, deeds too widely known;
left a Corsair's name to other times,
Page 338
ked with one virtue, and a thousand crimes.[239]
FOOTNOTES:
[194] {223} [This political allusion having been objected to by a friend, Byron composed
a second dedication, which he sent to Moore, with a request that he would "take his
choice." Moore chose the original dedication, which was accordingly prefixed to the First
Edition. The alternative ran as follows:—
"January 7th, 1814.
M y dear M oore ,
I had written to you a long letter of dedication, which I suppress, because, though it
contained something relating to you, which every one had been glad to hear, yet there was
too much about politics and poesy, and all things whatsoever, ending with that topic on
which most men are fluent, and none very amusing,—one's self. It might have been re-
written; but to what purpose? My praise could add nothing to your well-earned and firmly
established fame; and with my most hearty admiration of your talents, and delight in your
conversation, you are already acquainted. In availing myself of your friendly permission
to inscribe this poem to you, I can only wish the offering were as worthy your acceptance,
as your regard is dear to
Yours, most affectionately and faithfully,
Byron."]
[195] {224} [After the words, "Scott alone," Byron had inserted, in a parenthesis, "He
will excuse the 'Mr.'—we do not say Mr. Cæsar."]
[196] {225} ["It is difficult to say whether we are to receive this passage as an admission
or a denial of the opinion to which it refers; but Lord Byron certainly did the public
injustice, if he supposed it imputed to him the criminal actions with which many of his
heroes were stained. Men no more expected to meet in Lord Byron the Corsair, who 'knew
himself a villain,' than they looked for the hypocrisy of Kehama on the shores of the
Derwent Water; yet even in the features of Conrad, those who had looked on Lord Byron
will recognize the likeness—
"'To the sight
No giant frame sets forth his common height;
FOOTNOTES:
[194] {223} [This political allusion having been objected to by a friend, Byron composed
a second dedication, which he sent to Moore, with a request that he would "take his
choice." Moore chose the original dedication, which was accordingly prefixed to the First
Edition. The alternative ran as follows:—
"January 7th, 1814.
M y dear M oore ,
I had written to you a long letter of dedication, which I suppress, because, though it
contained something relating to you, which every one had been glad to hear, yet there was
too much about politics and poesy, and all things whatsoever, ending with that topic on
which most men are fluent, and none very amusing,—one's self. It might have been re-
written; but to what purpose? My praise could add nothing to your well-earned and firmly
established fame; and with my most hearty admiration of your talents, and delight in your
conversation, you are already acquainted. In availing myself of your friendly permission
to inscribe this poem to you, I can only wish the offering were as worthy your acceptance,
as your regard is dear to
Yours, most affectionately and faithfully,
Byron."]
[195] {224} [After the words, "Scott alone," Byron had inserted, in a parenthesis, "He
will excuse the 'Mr.'—we do not say Mr. Cæsar."]
[196] {225} ["It is difficult to say whether we are to receive this passage as an admission
or a denial of the opinion to which it refers; but Lord Byron certainly did the public
injustice, if he supposed it imputed to him the criminal actions with which many of his
heroes were stained. Men no more expected to meet in Lord Byron the Corsair, who 'knew
himself a villain,' than they looked for the hypocrisy of Kehama on the shores of the
Derwent Water; yet even in the features of Conrad, those who had looked on Lord Byron
will recognize the likeness—
"'To the sight
No giant frame sets forth his common height;
Page 339
Sun-burnt his cheek, his forehead high and pale
The sable curls in wild profusion veil....'"
Canto I. stanza ix.
—Sir Walter Scott, Quart. Rev., No. xxxi. October, 1816.]
[197] {227} The time in this poem may seem too short for the occurrences, but the whole
of the Ægean isles are within a few hours' sail of the continent, and the reader must be
kind enough to take the wind as I have often found it.
[198] [Compare—"Survey the region, and confess her home." Windsor Forest, by A.
Pope, line 256.]
[hk] {228} Protract to age his painful doting day.—[MS. erased.]
[hl] {230} Her nation—flag—how tells the telescope.—[MS.]
[199] [Compare The Isle of Palms, by John Wilson, Canto I. (1812, p. 8)—
"She sailed amid the loveliness
Like a thing with heart and mind."]
[hm] {231} Till creaks her keel upon the shallow sand.—[MS.]
[hn] {234} The haughtier thought his bosom ill conceals.—[MS.]
[ho]
He had the skill when prying souls would seek,
To watch his words and trace his pensive cheek.—[MS.]
His was the skill when prying, etc.—[Revise.]
[200] {235} That Conrad is a character not altogether out of nature, I shall attempt to
prove by some historical coincidences which I have met with since writing The Corsair.
"Eccelin, prisonnier," dit Rolandini, "s'enfermoit dans un silence menaçant; il fixoit sur la
terre son visage féroce, et ne donnoit point d'essor à sa profonde indignation. De toutes
partes cependant les soldats et les peuples accouroient; ils vouloient voir cet homme, jadis
si puissant ... et la joie universelle éclatoit de toutes partes.... Eccelino étoit d'une petite
taille; mais tout l'aspect de sa personne, tous ses mouvemens, indiquoient un soldat. Son
langage étoit amer, son déportement superbe, et par son seul regard, il faisoit trembler les
plus hardis."—Simonde de Sismondi, Histoire des Républiques Italiennes du Moyen Age,
1809, iii. 219.
The sable curls in wild profusion veil....'"
Canto I. stanza ix.
—Sir Walter Scott, Quart. Rev., No. xxxi. October, 1816.]
[197] {227} The time in this poem may seem too short for the occurrences, but the whole
of the Ægean isles are within a few hours' sail of the continent, and the reader must be
kind enough to take the wind as I have often found it.
[198] [Compare—"Survey the region, and confess her home." Windsor Forest, by A.
Pope, line 256.]
[hk] {228} Protract to age his painful doting day.—[MS. erased.]
[hl] {230} Her nation—flag—how tells the telescope.—[MS.]
[199] [Compare The Isle of Palms, by John Wilson, Canto I. (1812, p. 8)—
"She sailed amid the loveliness
Like a thing with heart and mind."]
[hm] {231} Till creaks her keel upon the shallow sand.—[MS.]
[hn] {234} The haughtier thought his bosom ill conceals.—[MS.]
[ho]
He had the skill when prying souls would seek,
To watch his words and trace his pensive cheek.—[MS.]
His was the skill when prying, etc.—[Revise.]
[200] {235} That Conrad is a character not altogether out of nature, I shall attempt to
prove by some historical coincidences which I have met with since writing The Corsair.
"Eccelin, prisonnier," dit Rolandini, "s'enfermoit dans un silence menaçant; il fixoit sur la
terre son visage féroce, et ne donnoit point d'essor à sa profonde indignation. De toutes
partes cependant les soldats et les peuples accouroient; ils vouloient voir cet homme, jadis
si puissant ... et la joie universelle éclatoit de toutes partes.... Eccelino étoit d'une petite
taille; mais tout l'aspect de sa personne, tous ses mouvemens, indiquoient un soldat. Son
langage étoit amer, son déportement superbe, et par son seul regard, il faisoit trembler les
plus hardis."—Simonde de Sismondi, Histoire des Républiques Italiennes du Moyen Age,
1809, iii. 219.
Page 340
Again, "Gizericus [Genseric, king of the Vandals, the conqueror of both Carthage and
Rome] ... staturâ mediocris, et equi casu claudicans, animo profundus, sermone ratus,
luxuriæ contemptor, irâ turbidus, habendi cupidus, ad sollicitandas gentes
providentissimus," etc., etc.—Jornandes, De Getarum Origine ("De Rebus Geticis"), cap.
33, ed. 1597, p. 92.
I beg leave to quote those gloomy realities to keep in countenance my Giaour and Corsair.
—[Added to the Ninth Edition.]
[201] [Stanza x. was an after-thought. It is included in a sixth revise, in which lines 244-
246 have been erased, and the present reading superscribed. A seventh revise gives the
text as above.]
[hp] {236}
Released but to convulse or freeze or glow!
Fire in the veins, or damps upon the brow.—[MS.]
[hq]
Behold his soul once seen not soon forgot!
All that there burns its hour away—but sears
The scathed Remembrance of long coming years.—[MS.]
[202] {237} [Lines 277-280 are not in the MS. They were inserted on a detached printed
sheet, with a view to publication in the Seventh Edition.]
[hr] {238} Not Guilt itself could quench this earliest one.—[MS. erased.]
[hs] {239}
Now to Francesca.—[MS.]
Now to Ginevra.—[Revise of January 6, 1814.]
Now to Medora.—[Revise of January 15, 1814.]
[ht] Yet heed my prayer—my latest accents hear.—[MS.]
[203] [Compare—
"He gave to Misery all he had, a tear,
He gained from Heaven ('twas all he wished) a friend."
Gray's Elegy in a Country Churchyard.]
Rome] ... staturâ mediocris, et equi casu claudicans, animo profundus, sermone ratus,
luxuriæ contemptor, irâ turbidus, habendi cupidus, ad sollicitandas gentes
providentissimus," etc., etc.—Jornandes, De Getarum Origine ("De Rebus Geticis"), cap.
33, ed. 1597, p. 92.
I beg leave to quote those gloomy realities to keep in countenance my Giaour and Corsair.
—[Added to the Ninth Edition.]
[201] [Stanza x. was an after-thought. It is included in a sixth revise, in which lines 244-
246 have been erased, and the present reading superscribed. A seventh revise gives the
text as above.]
[hp] {236}
Released but to convulse or freeze or glow!
Fire in the veins, or damps upon the brow.—[MS.]
[hq]
Behold his soul once seen not soon forgot!
All that there burns its hour away—but sears
The scathed Remembrance of long coming years.—[MS.]
[202] {237} [Lines 277-280 are not in the MS. They were inserted on a detached printed
sheet, with a view to publication in the Seventh Edition.]
[hr] {238} Not Guilt itself could quench this earliest one.—[MS. erased.]
[hs] {239}
Now to Francesca.—[MS.]
Now to Ginevra.—[Revise of January 6, 1814.]
Now to Medora.—[Revise of January 15, 1814.]
[ht] Yet heed my prayer—my latest accents hear.—[MS.]
[203] [Compare—
"He gave to Misery all he had, a tear,
He gained from Heaven ('twas all he wished) a friend."
Gray's Elegy in a Country Churchyard.]
Page 341
[204] {243} [For Bireno's desertion of Olympia, see] Orlando Funoso, Canto X. [stanzas
1-27].
[hu] {244}
Oh! he could bear no more—but madly grasped
Her form—and trembling there his own unclasped.—[MS.]
[205] {247} By night, particularly in a warm latitude, every stroke of the oar, every
motion of the boat or ship, is followed by a slight flash like sheet lightning from the water.
[206] {248} [Cape Gallo is at least eight miles to the south of Corone; but Point Lividia,
the promontory on which part of the town is built, can hardly be described as a "jutting
cape," or as (see line 1623) a "giant shape."]
[207] {249} [Coron, or Corone, the ancient Colonides, is situated a little to the north of a
promontory, Point Lividia, on the western shore of the Gulf of Kalamata, or Coron, or
Messenia.
Antoine Louis Castellan (1772-1838), with whose larger work on Turkey Byron professed
himself familiar (Letter to Moore, August 28, 1813), gives a vivid description of Coron
and the bey's palace in his Lettres sur la Morée, etc. (first published, Paris, 1808), 3 vols.,
1820. Whether Byron had or had not consulted the "Letters," the following passages may
help to illustrate the scene:—
"La châine caverneuse du Taygete s'élève en face de Coron, à l'autre
extrémité du golfe" (iii. 181).
"Nous avons aussi été faire une visite au bey, qui nous a permis de
parcourir la citadelle" (p. 187).
"Le bey fait a exécuter en notre présence une danse singuliére, qu'on
peut nommer danse pantomime" (p. 189; see line 642).
"La maison est assez bien distribuée et proprement meublée à la
manière des Turcs. La principale pièce est grande, ornée d'une boisserie
ciselée sur les dessins arabesques, et même marquetée. Les fenêtres
donnent sur le jardin ... les volets sont ordinairement fermés, dans le
milieu de la journée, et le jour ne pénètre alors qu'a travers des
ouvertures pratiquées, au dessus des fenêtres et garnis de vitraux
colorés" (p. 200).
1-27].
[hu] {244}
Oh! he could bear no more—but madly grasped
Her form—and trembling there his own unclasped.—[MS.]
[205] {247} By night, particularly in a warm latitude, every stroke of the oar, every
motion of the boat or ship, is followed by a slight flash like sheet lightning from the water.
[206] {248} [Cape Gallo is at least eight miles to the south of Corone; but Point Lividia,
the promontory on which part of the town is built, can hardly be described as a "jutting
cape," or as (see line 1623) a "giant shape."]
[207] {249} [Coron, or Corone, the ancient Colonides, is situated a little to the north of a
promontory, Point Lividia, on the western shore of the Gulf of Kalamata, or Coron, or
Messenia.
Antoine Louis Castellan (1772-1838), with whose larger work on Turkey Byron professed
himself familiar (Letter to Moore, August 28, 1813), gives a vivid description of Coron
and the bey's palace in his Lettres sur la Morée, etc. (first published, Paris, 1808), 3 vols.,
1820. Whether Byron had or had not consulted the "Letters," the following passages may
help to illustrate the scene:—
"La châine caverneuse du Taygete s'élève en face de Coron, à l'autre
extrémité du golfe" (iii. 181).
"Nous avons aussi été faire une visite au bey, qui nous a permis de
parcourir la citadelle" (p. 187).
"Le bey fait a exécuter en notre présence une danse singuliére, qu'on
peut nommer danse pantomime" (p. 189; see line 642).
"La maison est assez bien distribuée et proprement meublée à la
manière des Turcs. La principale pièce est grande, ornée d'une boisserie
ciselée sur les dessins arabesques, et même marquetée. Les fenêtres
donnent sur le jardin ... les volets sont ordinairement fermés, dans le
milieu de la journée, et le jour ne pénètre alors qu'a travers des
ouvertures pratiquées, au dessus des fenêtres et garnis de vitraux
colorés" (p. 200).
Page 342
Castellan saw the palace and bay illuminated (p. 203).]
[208] {250} Coffee.
[209] "Chibouque" [chibûk], pipe.
[210] {251} Dancing girls. [Compare The Waltz, line 127, Poetical Works, 1898, i. 492,
note 1.]
[211] It has been observed, that Conrad's entering disguised as a spy is out of nature.
Perhaps so. I find something not unlike it in history.—"Anxious to explore with his own
eyes the state of the Vandals, Majorian ventured, after disguising the colour of his hair, to
visit Carthage in the character of his own ambassador; and Genseric was afterwards
mortified by the discovery, that he had entertained and dismissed the Emperor of the
Romans. Such an anecdote may be rejected as an improbable fiction; but it is a fiction
which would not have been imagined unless in the life of a hero."—See Gibbon's Decline
and Fall [1854, iv. 272.]
[212] {252} [On the coast of Asia Minor, twenty-one miles south of Smyrna.]
[213] [A Levantine bark—"a kind of ketch without top-gallant sail, or mizzen-top sail."]
[214] {254} [Compare the Giaour, line 343, note 2; vide ante, p. 102.]
[215] The Dervises [Dervish, Persian darvesh, poor] are in colleges, and of different
orders, as the monks.
[216] {255} "Zatanai," Satan. [Probably a phonetic rendering of σατανὰ(ς). The Turkish
form would be sheytan. Compare letter to Moore, April 9, 1814, Letters, 1899, iii. 66,
note 1.]
[217] {256} A common and not very novel effect of Mussulman anger. See Prince
Eugene's Mémoires, 1811, p. 6, "The Seraskier received a wound in the thigh; he plucked
up his beard by the roots, because he was obliged to quit the field." ["Le séraskier est
blessé a la cuisse; il s'arrache la barbe, parce qu'il est obligé de fuir." A contemporary
translation (Sherwood, Neely, and Jones, 1811), renders "il s'arrache la barbe" he tore out
the arrow.]
[218] {257} Gulnare, a female name; it means, literally, the flower of the pomegranate.
[219] {259} [The word "to" had been left out by the printer, and in a late revise Byron
supplies the omission, and writes—
[208] {250} Coffee.
[209] "Chibouque" [chibûk], pipe.
[210] {251} Dancing girls. [Compare The Waltz, line 127, Poetical Works, 1898, i. 492,
note 1.]
[211] It has been observed, that Conrad's entering disguised as a spy is out of nature.
Perhaps so. I find something not unlike it in history.—"Anxious to explore with his own
eyes the state of the Vandals, Majorian ventured, after disguising the colour of his hair, to
visit Carthage in the character of his own ambassador; and Genseric was afterwards
mortified by the discovery, that he had entertained and dismissed the Emperor of the
Romans. Such an anecdote may be rejected as an improbable fiction; but it is a fiction
which would not have been imagined unless in the life of a hero."—See Gibbon's Decline
and Fall [1854, iv. 272.]
[212] {252} [On the coast of Asia Minor, twenty-one miles south of Smyrna.]
[213] [A Levantine bark—"a kind of ketch without top-gallant sail, or mizzen-top sail."]
[214] {254} [Compare the Giaour, line 343, note 2; vide ante, p. 102.]
[215] The Dervises [Dervish, Persian darvesh, poor] are in colleges, and of different
orders, as the monks.
[216] {255} "Zatanai," Satan. [Probably a phonetic rendering of σατανὰ(ς). The Turkish
form would be sheytan. Compare letter to Moore, April 9, 1814, Letters, 1899, iii. 66,
note 1.]
[217] {256} A common and not very novel effect of Mussulman anger. See Prince
Eugene's Mémoires, 1811, p. 6, "The Seraskier received a wound in the thigh; he plucked
up his beard by the roots, because he was obliged to quit the field." ["Le séraskier est
blessé a la cuisse; il s'arrache la barbe, parce qu'il est obligé de fuir." A contemporary
translation (Sherwood, Neely, and Jones, 1811), renders "il s'arrache la barbe" he tore out
the arrow.]
[218] {257} Gulnare, a female name; it means, literally, the flower of the pomegranate.
[219] {259} [The word "to" had been left out by the printer, and in a late revise Byron
supplies the omission, and writes—
Page 343
"To Mr. Murray or Mr. Davison.
Do not omit words—it is quite enough to alter or mis-spell them.
B n ."
In the MS. the line ran—
"To send his soul—he scarcely cared to Heaven."
"Asked" is written over in pencil, but "cared" has not been erased.]
[220] {261} [Compare—"One anarchy, one chaos of the mind." The Wanderer, by
Richard Savage, Canto V. (1761, p. 86).]
[221] {262} [Compare—"That hideous sight, a naked human heart." Night Thoughts, by
Edward Young (Night III.) (Anderson's British Poets, x. 71).]
[222] {263} [Compare—
"When half the world lay wrapt in sleepless night,
A jarring sound the startled hero wakes.
He hears a step draw near—in beauty's pride
A female comes—wide floats her glistening gown—
Her hand sustains a lamp...."
Wieland's Oberon, translated by W. Sotheby, Canto XII. stanza xxxi., et seq.]
[223] {265} In Sir Thomas More, for instance, on the scaffold, and Anne Boleyn, in the
Tower, when, grasping her neck, she remarked, that it "was too slender to trouble the
headsman much." During one part of the French Revolution, it became a fashion to leave
some "mot" as a legacy; and the quantity of facetious last words spoken during that period
would form a melancholy jest-book of a considerable size.
[hv] {268}
I breathe but in the hope—his altered breast
May seek another—and have mine at rest.
Or if unwonted fondness now I feign.[*]—[MS.]
[*] [The alteration was sent to the publishers on a separate quarto sheet, with a
memorandum, "In Canto first—nearly the end," etc.—a rare instance of inaccuracy on the
part of the author.]
Do not omit words—it is quite enough to alter or mis-spell them.
B n ."
In the MS. the line ran—
"To send his soul—he scarcely cared to Heaven."
"Asked" is written over in pencil, but "cared" has not been erased.]
[220] {261} [Compare—"One anarchy, one chaos of the mind." The Wanderer, by
Richard Savage, Canto V. (1761, p. 86).]
[221] {262} [Compare—"That hideous sight, a naked human heart." Night Thoughts, by
Edward Young (Night III.) (Anderson's British Poets, x. 71).]
[222] {263} [Compare—
"When half the world lay wrapt in sleepless night,
A jarring sound the startled hero wakes.
He hears a step draw near—in beauty's pride
A female comes—wide floats her glistening gown—
Her hand sustains a lamp...."
Wieland's Oberon, translated by W. Sotheby, Canto XII. stanza xxxi., et seq.]
[223] {265} In Sir Thomas More, for instance, on the scaffold, and Anne Boleyn, in the
Tower, when, grasping her neck, she remarked, that it "was too slender to trouble the
headsman much." During one part of the French Revolution, it became a fashion to leave
some "mot" as a legacy; and the quantity of facetious last words spoken during that period
would form a melancholy jest-book of a considerable size.
[hv] {268}
I breathe but in the hope—his altered breast
May seek another—and have mine at rest.
Or if unwonted fondness now I feign.[*]—[MS.]
[*] [The alteration was sent to the publishers on a separate quarto sheet, with a
memorandum, "In Canto first—nearly the end," etc.—a rare instance of inaccuracy on the
part of the author.]
Page 344
[224] {270} The opening lines, as far as section ii., have, perhaps, little business here, and
were annexed to an unpublished (though printed) poem [The Curse of Minerva]; but they
were written on the spot, in the Spring of 1811, and—I scarce know why—the reader
must excuse their appearance here—if he can. [See letter to Murray, October 23, 1812.]
[225] [See Curse of Minerva, line 7, Poetical Works, 1898, i. 457. For Hydra, see A. L.
Castellan's Lettres sur la Morée, 1820, i. 155-176. He gives (p. 174) a striking description
of a sunrise off the Cape of Sunium.]
[226] {271} Socrates drank the hemlock a short time before sunset (the hour of
execution), notwithstanding the entreaties of his disciples to wait till the sun went down.
[227] The twilight in Greece is much shorter than in our own country: the days in winter
are longer, but in summer of shorter duration.
[228] {272} The Kiosk is a Turkish summer house: the palm is without the present walls
of Athens, not far from the temple of Theseus, between which and the tree, the wall
intervenes.—Cephisus' stream is indeed scanty, and Ilissus has no stream at all.
[E. Dodwell (Classical Tour, 1819, i. 371) speaks of "a magnificent palm tree, which
shoots among the ruins of the Ptolemaion," a short distance to the east of the Theseion.
There is an illustration in its honour. The Theseion—which was "within five minutes'
walk" of Byron's lodgings (Travels in Albania, 1858, i. 259)—contains the remains of the
scholar, John Tweddell, died 1793, "over which a stone was placed, owing to the exertions
of Lord Byron" (Clarke's Travels, Part II. sect. i. p. 534). When Byron died, Colonel
Stanhope proposed, and the chief Odysseus decreed, that he should be buried in the same
spot.—Life, p. 640.]
[229] {273} [After the battle of Salamis, B.C. 480, Paros fell under the dominion of
Athens.]
[hw] {274}
They gather round and each his aid supplies.—[MS.]
[hx] {275}
Within that cave Debate waxed warm and strange.—[MS.]
Loud in the cave Debate waxed warm and strange.—
[January 6, 1814.]
In that dark Council words waxed warm and strange.—
[January 13, 1814.]
were annexed to an unpublished (though printed) poem [The Curse of Minerva]; but they
were written on the spot, in the Spring of 1811, and—I scarce know why—the reader
must excuse their appearance here—if he can. [See letter to Murray, October 23, 1812.]
[225] [See Curse of Minerva, line 7, Poetical Works, 1898, i. 457. For Hydra, see A. L.
Castellan's Lettres sur la Morée, 1820, i. 155-176. He gives (p. 174) a striking description
of a sunrise off the Cape of Sunium.]
[226] {271} Socrates drank the hemlock a short time before sunset (the hour of
execution), notwithstanding the entreaties of his disciples to wait till the sun went down.
[227] The twilight in Greece is much shorter than in our own country: the days in winter
are longer, but in summer of shorter duration.
[228] {272} The Kiosk is a Turkish summer house: the palm is without the present walls
of Athens, not far from the temple of Theseus, between which and the tree, the wall
intervenes.—Cephisus' stream is indeed scanty, and Ilissus has no stream at all.
[E. Dodwell (Classical Tour, 1819, i. 371) speaks of "a magnificent palm tree, which
shoots among the ruins of the Ptolemaion," a short distance to the east of the Theseion.
There is an illustration in its honour. The Theseion—which was "within five minutes'
walk" of Byron's lodgings (Travels in Albania, 1858, i. 259)—contains the remains of the
scholar, John Tweddell, died 1793, "over which a stone was placed, owing to the exertions
of Lord Byron" (Clarke's Travels, Part II. sect. i. p. 534). When Byron died, Colonel
Stanhope proposed, and the chief Odysseus decreed, that he should be buried in the same
spot.—Life, p. 640.]
[229] {273} [After the battle of Salamis, B.C. 480, Paros fell under the dominion of
Athens.]
[hw] {274}
They gather round and each his aid supplies.—[MS.]
[hx] {275}
Within that cave Debate waxed warm and strange.—[MS.]
Loud in the cave Debate waxed warm and strange.—
[January 6, 1814.]
In that dark Council words waxed warm and strange.—
[January 13, 1814.]
Page 345
[230] [Lines 1299-1375 were written after the completion of the poem. They were
forwarded to the publisher in time for insertion in a revise dated January 6, 1814.]
[231] The comboloio, or Mahometan rosary; the beads are in number ninety-nine. [Vide
ante, p. 181, The Bride of Abydos, Canto II. line 554.]
[hy] {276}
Methinks a short release by ransom wrought
Of all his treasures not too cheaply bought.—[MS. erased.]
Methinks a short release for ransom—gold.—[MS.]
[hz] {277}
Of thine adds certainty to all I heard.—[MS.]
[ia] {278}
When every coming hour might view him dead.—[MS.]
[232] ["By the way—I have a charge against you. As the great Mr. Dennis roared out on a
similar occasion—'By G-d, that is my thunder!' so do I exclaim, 'This is my lightning!' I
allude to a speech of Ivan's, in the scene with Petrowna and the Empress, where the
thought and almost expression are similar to Conrad's in the 3d canto of The Corsair. I,
however, do not say this to accuse you, but to exempt myself from suspicion, as there is a
priority of six months' publication, on my part, between the appearance of that
composition and of your tragedies" (Letter to W. Sotheby, September 25, 1815, Letters,
1899, iii. 219). The following are the lines in question:—
"And I have leapt
In transport from my flinty couch, to welcome
The thunder as it burst upon my roof,
And beckon'd to the lightning, as it flash'd
And sparkled on these fetters."
Act iv. sc. 3 (Ivan, 1816, p. 64).
According to Moore, this passage in The Corsair, as Byron seemed to fear, was included
by "some scribblers"—i.e. the "lumbering Goth" (see John Bull's Letter), A. A. Watts, in
the Literary Gazette, February and March, 1821—among his supposed plagiarisms.
Sotheby informed Moore that his lines had been written, though not published, before the
appearance of the Corsair. The Confession, and Orestes, reappeared with three hitherto
forwarded to the publisher in time for insertion in a revise dated January 6, 1814.]
[231] The comboloio, or Mahometan rosary; the beads are in number ninety-nine. [Vide
ante, p. 181, The Bride of Abydos, Canto II. line 554.]
[hy] {276}
Methinks a short release by ransom wrought
Of all his treasures not too cheaply bought.—[MS. erased.]
Methinks a short release for ransom—gold.—[MS.]
[hz] {277}
Of thine adds certainty to all I heard.—[MS.]
[ia] {278}
When every coming hour might view him dead.—[MS.]
[232] ["By the way—I have a charge against you. As the great Mr. Dennis roared out on a
similar occasion—'By G-d, that is my thunder!' so do I exclaim, 'This is my lightning!' I
allude to a speech of Ivan's, in the scene with Petrowna and the Empress, where the
thought and almost expression are similar to Conrad's in the 3d canto of The Corsair. I,
however, do not say this to accuse you, but to exempt myself from suspicion, as there is a
priority of six months' publication, on my part, between the appearance of that
composition and of your tragedies" (Letter to W. Sotheby, September 25, 1815, Letters,
1899, iii. 219). The following are the lines in question:—
"And I have leapt
In transport from my flinty couch, to welcome
The thunder as it burst upon my roof,
And beckon'd to the lightning, as it flash'd
And sparkled on these fetters."
Act iv. sc. 3 (Ivan, 1816, p. 64).
According to Moore, this passage in The Corsair, as Byron seemed to fear, was included
by "some scribblers"—i.e. the "lumbering Goth" (see John Bull's Letter), A. A. Watts, in
the Literary Gazette, February and March, 1821—among his supposed plagiarisms.
Sotheby informed Moore that his lines had been written, though not published, before the
appearance of the Corsair. The Confession, and Orestes, reappeared with three hitherto
Page 346
unpublished tragedies, Ivan, The Death of Darnley, and Zamorin and Zama, under the
general title, Five Unpublished Tragedies, in 1814.
The story of the critic John Dennis (1657-1734) and the "thunder" is related in Cibber's
Lives, iv. 234. Dennis was, or feigned to be, the inventor of a new method of producing
stage-thunder, by troughs of wood and stops. Shortly after a play (Appius and Virginia)
which he had put upon the stage had been withdrawn, he was present at a performance of
Macbeth, at which the new "thunder" was inaugurated. "That is my thunder, by God!"
exclaimed Dennis. "The villains will play my thunder, but not my plays."—Dict. Nat.
Biog., art. "Dennis."]
[ib] {282}
But speak not now—on thine and on my head
O'erhangs the sabre——.—[MS.]
[ic] {284}
Night wears apace—and I have need of rest.—[MS.]
[id] {286} A variant of lines 1596, 1597 first appeared in MS. in a revise numbering 1780
lines—
Blood he had viewed, could view unmoved—but then
It reddened on the scarfs and swords of men.
In a later revise line 1597 was altered to—
It flowed a token of the deeds of men.
[ie] {287} His silent thoughts the present, past review.—[MS. erased.]
[if] Fell quenched in tears of more than misery.—[MS.]
[ig] {288} They count the Dragon-teeth around her tier.—[MS.]
[233] ["Tier" must stand for "hold." The "cable-tier" is the place in the hold where the
cable is stowed.]
[ih] {289} Whom blood appalled not, their rude eyes perplex.—[MS. erased.]
[234] [Compare—
"And I the cause—for whom were given
Her peace on earth, her hopes in heaven."
general title, Five Unpublished Tragedies, in 1814.
The story of the critic John Dennis (1657-1734) and the "thunder" is related in Cibber's
Lives, iv. 234. Dennis was, or feigned to be, the inventor of a new method of producing
stage-thunder, by troughs of wood and stops. Shortly after a play (Appius and Virginia)
which he had put upon the stage had been withdrawn, he was present at a performance of
Macbeth, at which the new "thunder" was inaugurated. "That is my thunder, by God!"
exclaimed Dennis. "The villains will play my thunder, but not my plays."—Dict. Nat.
Biog., art. "Dennis."]
[ib] {282}
But speak not now—on thine and on my head
O'erhangs the sabre——.—[MS.]
[ic] {284}
Night wears apace—and I have need of rest.—[MS.]
[id] {286} A variant of lines 1596, 1597 first appeared in MS. in a revise numbering 1780
lines—
Blood he had viewed, could view unmoved—but then
It reddened on the scarfs and swords of men.
In a later revise line 1597 was altered to—
It flowed a token of the deeds of men.
[ie] {287} His silent thoughts the present, past review.—[MS. erased.]
[if] Fell quenched in tears of more than misery.—[MS.]
[ig] {288} They count the Dragon-teeth around her tier.—[MS.]
[233] ["Tier" must stand for "hold." The "cable-tier" is the place in the hold where the
cable is stowed.]
[ih] {289} Whom blood appalled not, their rude eyes perplex.—[MS. erased.]
[234] [Compare—
"And I the cause—for whom were given
Her peace on earth, her hopes in heaven."
Page 347
Marmion, Canto III. stanza xvii. lines 9, 10.]
[ii] {290}
"Gulnare"—she answered not again—"Gulnare"
She raised her glance—her sole reply was there.—[M.S.]
[ij]
That sought from form so fair no more than this
That kiss—the first that Frailty wrung from Faith
That last—on lips so warm with rosy breath.—[MS. erased.]
[ik] As he had fanned them with his rosy wing.—[MS.]
[il] {291}
Oh! none so prophesy the joys of home
As they who hail it from the Ocean-foam.—[MS.]
Oh—what can sanctify the joys of home
Like the first glance from Ocean's troubled foam.—[Revise.]
[235] {292} In the Levant it is the custom to strew flowers on the bodies of the dead, and
in the hands of young persons to place a nosegay.
[Compare—"There shut it inside the sweet cold hand." Evelyn Hope, by Robert
Browning.]
[236] {293} [Compare—"And—but for that sad shrouded eye," etc. and the whole of the
famous passage in the Giaour (line 68, sq., vide ante, p. 88), beginning—"He who hath
bent him o'er the dead."]
[im] Escaped the idle braid that could not bind.—[MS.]
[in] By the first glance on that cold soulless brow.—[MS.]
[io] {294} And the night cometh—'tis the same to him.—[M.S.]
[237] [Stanza xxiii. is not in the MS. It was forwarded on a separate sheet, with the
following directions:— (1814, January 10, 11.) "Let the following lines be sent
immediately, and form the last section (number it) but one of the 3rd (last) Canto."]
[238] {295} [Byron had, perhaps, explored the famous stalactite cavern in the island of
Anti-Paros, which is described by Tournefort, Clarke, Choiseul-Gouffier, and other
travellers.]
[ii] {290}
"Gulnare"—she answered not again—"Gulnare"
She raised her glance—her sole reply was there.—[M.S.]
[ij]
That sought from form so fair no more than this
That kiss—the first that Frailty wrung from Faith
That last—on lips so warm with rosy breath.—[MS. erased.]
[ik] As he had fanned them with his rosy wing.—[MS.]
[il] {291}
Oh! none so prophesy the joys of home
As they who hail it from the Ocean-foam.—[MS.]
Oh—what can sanctify the joys of home
Like the first glance from Ocean's troubled foam.—[Revise.]
[235] {292} In the Levant it is the custom to strew flowers on the bodies of the dead, and
in the hands of young persons to place a nosegay.
[Compare—"There shut it inside the sweet cold hand." Evelyn Hope, by Robert
Browning.]
[236] {293} [Compare—"And—but for that sad shrouded eye," etc. and the whole of the
famous passage in the Giaour (line 68, sq., vide ante, p. 88), beginning—"He who hath
bent him o'er the dead."]
[im] Escaped the idle braid that could not bind.—[MS.]
[in] By the first glance on that cold soulless brow.—[MS.]
[io] {294} And the night cometh—'tis the same to him.—[M.S.]
[237] [Stanza xxiii. is not in the MS. It was forwarded on a separate sheet, with the
following directions:— (1814, January 10, 11.) "Let the following lines be sent
immediately, and form the last section (number it) but one of the 3rd (last) Canto."]
[238] {295} [Byron had, perhaps, explored the famous stalactite cavern in the island of
Anti-Paros, which is described by Tournefort, Clarke, Choiseul-Gouffier, and other
travellers.]
Page 348
[239] {296} That the point of honour which is represented in one instance of Conrad's
character has not been carried beyond the bounds of probability, may perhaps be in some
degree confirmed by the following anecdote of a brother buccaneer in the year 1814:
—"Our readers have all seen the account of the enterprise against the pirates of Barataria;
but few, we believe, were informed of the situation, history, or nature of that
establishment. For the information of such as were unacquainted with it, we have
procured from a friend the following interesting narrative of the main facts, of which he
has personal knowledge, and which cannot fail to interest some of our readers:—Barataria
is a bayou, or a narrow arm of the Gulf of Mexico; it runs through a rich but very flat
country, until it reaches within a mile of the Mississippi river, fifteen miles below the city
of New Orleans. This bayou has branches almost innumerable, in which persons can lie
concealed from the severest scrutiny. It communicates with three lakes which lie on the
south-west side, and these, with the lake of the same name, and which lies contiguous to
the sea, where there is an island formed by the two arms of this lake and the sea. The east
and west points of this island were fortified, in the year 1811, by a band of pirates, under
the command of one Monsieur La Fitte. A large majority of these outlaws are of that class
of the population of the state of Louisiana who fled from the island of St. Domingo during
the troubles there, and took refuge in the island of Cuba; and when the last war between
France and Spain commenced, they were compelled to leave that island with the short
notice of a few days. Without ceremony they entered the United States, the most of them
the state of Louisiana, with all the negroes they had possessed in Cuba. They were
notified by the Governor of that State of the clause in the constitution which forbade the
importation of slaves; but, at the same time, received the assurance of the Governor that
he would obtain, if possible, the approbation of the General Government for their
retaining this property.—The island of Barataria is situated about lat. 29 deg. 15 min., lon.
92. 30.; and is as remarkable for its health as for the superior scale and shell fish with
which its waters abound. The chief of this horde, like Charles de Moor, had, mixed with
his many vices, some transcendant virtues. In the year 1813, this party had, from its
turpitude and boldness, claimed the attention of the Governor of Louisiana; and to break
up the establishment he thought proper to strike at the head. He therefore, offered a
reward of 500 dollars for the head of Monsieur La Fitte, who was well known to the
inhabitants of the city of New Orleans, from his immediate connection, and his once
having been a fencing-master in that city of great reputation, which art he learnt in
Buonaparte's army, where he was a captain. The reward which was offered by the
Governor for the head of La Fitte was answered by the offer of a reward from the latter of
15,000 for the head of the Governor. The Governor ordered out a company to march from
the city to La Fitte's island, and to burn and destroy all the property, and to bring to the
city of New Orleans all his banditti. This company, under the command of a man who had
character has not been carried beyond the bounds of probability, may perhaps be in some
degree confirmed by the following anecdote of a brother buccaneer in the year 1814:
—"Our readers have all seen the account of the enterprise against the pirates of Barataria;
but few, we believe, were informed of the situation, history, or nature of that
establishment. For the information of such as were unacquainted with it, we have
procured from a friend the following interesting narrative of the main facts, of which he
has personal knowledge, and which cannot fail to interest some of our readers:—Barataria
is a bayou, or a narrow arm of the Gulf of Mexico; it runs through a rich but very flat
country, until it reaches within a mile of the Mississippi river, fifteen miles below the city
of New Orleans. This bayou has branches almost innumerable, in which persons can lie
concealed from the severest scrutiny. It communicates with three lakes which lie on the
south-west side, and these, with the lake of the same name, and which lies contiguous to
the sea, where there is an island formed by the two arms of this lake and the sea. The east
and west points of this island were fortified, in the year 1811, by a band of pirates, under
the command of one Monsieur La Fitte. A large majority of these outlaws are of that class
of the population of the state of Louisiana who fled from the island of St. Domingo during
the troubles there, and took refuge in the island of Cuba; and when the last war between
France and Spain commenced, they were compelled to leave that island with the short
notice of a few days. Without ceremony they entered the United States, the most of them
the state of Louisiana, with all the negroes they had possessed in Cuba. They were
notified by the Governor of that State of the clause in the constitution which forbade the
importation of slaves; but, at the same time, received the assurance of the Governor that
he would obtain, if possible, the approbation of the General Government for their
retaining this property.—The island of Barataria is situated about lat. 29 deg. 15 min., lon.
92. 30.; and is as remarkable for its health as for the superior scale and shell fish with
which its waters abound. The chief of this horde, like Charles de Moor, had, mixed with
his many vices, some transcendant virtues. In the year 1813, this party had, from its
turpitude and boldness, claimed the attention of the Governor of Louisiana; and to break
up the establishment he thought proper to strike at the head. He therefore, offered a
reward of 500 dollars for the head of Monsieur La Fitte, who was well known to the
inhabitants of the city of New Orleans, from his immediate connection, and his once
having been a fencing-master in that city of great reputation, which art he learnt in
Buonaparte's army, where he was a captain. The reward which was offered by the
Governor for the head of La Fitte was answered by the offer of a reward from the latter of
15,000 for the head of the Governor. The Governor ordered out a company to march from
the city to La Fitte's island, and to burn and destroy all the property, and to bring to the
city of New Orleans all his banditti. This company, under the command of a man who had
Page 349
been the intimate associate of this bold Captain, approached very near to the fortified
island, before he saw a man, or heard a sound, until he heard a whistle, not unlike a
boatswain's call. Then it was he found himself surrounded by armed men who had
emerged from the secret avenues which led to this bayou. Here it was that this modern
Charles de Moor developed his few noble traits; for to this man, who had come to destroy
his life and all that was dear to him, he not only spared his life, but offered him that which
would have made the honest soldier easy for the remainder of his days, which was
indignantly refused. He then, with the approbation of his captor, returned to the city. This
circumstance, and some concomitant events, proved that this band of pirates was not to be
taken by land. Our naval force having always been small in that quarter, exertions for the
destruction of this illicit establishment could not be expected from them until augmented;
for an officer of the navy, with most of the gun-boats on that station, had to retreat from
an overwhelming force of La Fitte's. So soon as the augmentation of the navy authorised
an attack, one was made; the overthrow of this banditti has been the result: and now this
almost invulnerable point and key to New Orleans is clear of an enemy, it is to be hoped
the government will hold it by a strong military force."—American Newspaper.
[The story of the "Pirates of Barataria," which an American print, the National
Intelligencer, was the first to make public, is quoted in extenso by the Weekly Messenger
(published at Boston) of November 4, 1814. It is remarkable that a tale which was
destined to pass into the domain of historical romance should have been instantly seized
upon and turned to account by Byron, whilst it was as yet half-told, while the legend was
still in the making. Jean Lafitte, the Franco-American Conrad, was born either at Bayonne
or Bordeaux, circ. 1780, emigrated with his elder brother Pierre, and settled at New
Orleans, in 1809, as a blacksmith. Legitimate trade was flat, but the delta of the
Mississippi, with its labyrinth of creeks and islands and bayous, teemed with pirates or
merchant-smugglers. Accordingly, under the nominal sanction of letters of marque from
the Republic of Cartagena, and as belligerents of Spain, the brothers, who had taken up
their quarters on Grande Terre, an island to the east of the "Grand Pass," or channel of the
Bay of Barataria, swept the Gulph of Mexico with an organised flotilla of privateers, and
acquired vast booty in the way of specie and living cargoes of claves. Hence the
proclamation of the Governor of Louisiana, W. C. C. Claiborne, in which (November 24,
1813) he offered a sum of $500 for the capture of Jean Lafitte. For the sequel of this first
act of the drama the "American newspaper" is the sole authority. The facts, however, if
facts they be, which are pieced together by Charles Étienne Arthur Gayarré, in the History
of Louisiana (1885, iv. 301, sq.), and in two articles contributed to the American
Magazine of History, October and November, 1883, are as curious and romantic as the
legend. It would appear that early in September, 1814, a British officer, Colonel E.
island, before he saw a man, or heard a sound, until he heard a whistle, not unlike a
boatswain's call. Then it was he found himself surrounded by armed men who had
emerged from the secret avenues which led to this bayou. Here it was that this modern
Charles de Moor developed his few noble traits; for to this man, who had come to destroy
his life and all that was dear to him, he not only spared his life, but offered him that which
would have made the honest soldier easy for the remainder of his days, which was
indignantly refused. He then, with the approbation of his captor, returned to the city. This
circumstance, and some concomitant events, proved that this band of pirates was not to be
taken by land. Our naval force having always been small in that quarter, exertions for the
destruction of this illicit establishment could not be expected from them until augmented;
for an officer of the navy, with most of the gun-boats on that station, had to retreat from
an overwhelming force of La Fitte's. So soon as the augmentation of the navy authorised
an attack, one was made; the overthrow of this banditti has been the result: and now this
almost invulnerable point and key to New Orleans is clear of an enemy, it is to be hoped
the government will hold it by a strong military force."—American Newspaper.
[The story of the "Pirates of Barataria," which an American print, the National
Intelligencer, was the first to make public, is quoted in extenso by the Weekly Messenger
(published at Boston) of November 4, 1814. It is remarkable that a tale which was
destined to pass into the domain of historical romance should have been instantly seized
upon and turned to account by Byron, whilst it was as yet half-told, while the legend was
still in the making. Jean Lafitte, the Franco-American Conrad, was born either at Bayonne
or Bordeaux, circ. 1780, emigrated with his elder brother Pierre, and settled at New
Orleans, in 1809, as a blacksmith. Legitimate trade was flat, but the delta of the
Mississippi, with its labyrinth of creeks and islands and bayous, teemed with pirates or
merchant-smugglers. Accordingly, under the nominal sanction of letters of marque from
the Republic of Cartagena, and as belligerents of Spain, the brothers, who had taken up
their quarters on Grande Terre, an island to the east of the "Grand Pass," or channel of the
Bay of Barataria, swept the Gulph of Mexico with an organised flotilla of privateers, and
acquired vast booty in the way of specie and living cargoes of claves. Hence the
proclamation of the Governor of Louisiana, W. C. C. Claiborne, in which (November 24,
1813) he offered a sum of $500 for the capture of Jean Lafitte. For the sequel of this first
act of the drama the "American newspaper" is the sole authority. The facts, however, if
facts they be, which are pieced together by Charles Étienne Arthur Gayarré, in the History
of Louisiana (1885, iv. 301, sq.), and in two articles contributed to the American
Magazine of History, October and November, 1883, are as curious and romantic as the
legend. It would appear that early in September, 1814, a British officer, Colonel E.
Page 350
Nicholls, made overtures to Jean Lafitte, offering him the rank of captain in the British
army, a grant of lands, and a sum of $30,000 if he would join forces with the British
squadron then engaged in an attack on the coast of Louisiana. Lafitte begged for time to
consider Colonel Nicholls's proposal, but immediately put himself in communication with
Claiborne, offering, on condition of immunity for past offences, to place his resources at
the disposal of the United States. Claiborne's reply to this patriotic offer seems to have
been to despatch a strong naval force, under Commander Daniel Patterson, with orders to
exterminate the pirates, and seize their fort on Grande Terre; and, on this occasion, though
the brothers escaped, the authorities were successful. A proclamation was issued by
General Andrew Jackson, in which the pirates were denounced as "hellish banditti," and,
to all appearances, their career was at an end. But circumstances were in their favour, and
a few weeks later Jackson not only went back on his own mandate, but accepted the
alliance and services of the brothers Lafitte and their captains at the siege of New Orleans,
January 8, 1815. Finally, when peace with Great Britain was concluded, President
Madison publicly acknowledged the "unequivocal traits of courage and fidelity" which
had been displayed by the brothers Lafitte, and the once proscribed band of outlaws.
Thenceforth Pierre Lafitte disappears from history; but Jean is believed to have settled
first at Galveston, in Texas, and afterwards, in 1820, on the coast of Yucatan, whence "he
continued his depredations on Spanish commerce." He died game, a pirate to the last, in
1826. See, for what purports to be documentary evidence of the correspondence between
Colonel E. Nicholls and Jean Lafitte, Historical Memoirs of the War in West Florida and
Louisiana, by Major A. La Carriére Latour, 1816, Appendix III. pp. vii.-xv. See, too,
Fernando de Lemos (an historical novel), by Charles Gayarré, 1872, pp. 347-361.]
In [the Rev. Mark] Noble's continuation of "Granger's Biographical History" [of England,
1806, iii. 68], there is a singular passage in his account of Archbishop Blackbourne [1658-
1743]; and as in some measure connected with the profession of the hero of the foregoing
poem, I cannot resist the temptation of extracting it.—"There is something mysterious in
the history and character of Dr. Blackbourne. The former is but imperfectly known; and
report has even asserted he was a buccaneer; and that one of his brethren in that
profession having asked, on his arrival in England, what had become of his old chum,
Blackbourne, was answered, he is Archbishop of York. We are informed, that Blackbourne
was installed sub-dean of Exeter in 1694, which office he resigned in 1702; but after his
successor Lewis Barnet's death, in 1704, he regained it. In the following year he became
dean; and in 1714 held with it the archdeanery [i.e. archdeaconry] of Cornwall. He was
consecrated Bishop of Exeter, February 24, 1716; and translated to York, November 28,
1724, as a reward, according to court scandal, for uniting George I. to the Duchess of
Munster. This, however, appears to have been an unfounded calumny. As archbishop he
army, a grant of lands, and a sum of $30,000 if he would join forces with the British
squadron then engaged in an attack on the coast of Louisiana. Lafitte begged for time to
consider Colonel Nicholls's proposal, but immediately put himself in communication with
Claiborne, offering, on condition of immunity for past offences, to place his resources at
the disposal of the United States. Claiborne's reply to this patriotic offer seems to have
been to despatch a strong naval force, under Commander Daniel Patterson, with orders to
exterminate the pirates, and seize their fort on Grande Terre; and, on this occasion, though
the brothers escaped, the authorities were successful. A proclamation was issued by
General Andrew Jackson, in which the pirates were denounced as "hellish banditti," and,
to all appearances, their career was at an end. But circumstances were in their favour, and
a few weeks later Jackson not only went back on his own mandate, but accepted the
alliance and services of the brothers Lafitte and their captains at the siege of New Orleans,
January 8, 1815. Finally, when peace with Great Britain was concluded, President
Madison publicly acknowledged the "unequivocal traits of courage and fidelity" which
had been displayed by the brothers Lafitte, and the once proscribed band of outlaws.
Thenceforth Pierre Lafitte disappears from history; but Jean is believed to have settled
first at Galveston, in Texas, and afterwards, in 1820, on the coast of Yucatan, whence "he
continued his depredations on Spanish commerce." He died game, a pirate to the last, in
1826. See, for what purports to be documentary evidence of the correspondence between
Colonel E. Nicholls and Jean Lafitte, Historical Memoirs of the War in West Florida and
Louisiana, by Major A. La Carriére Latour, 1816, Appendix III. pp. vii.-xv. See, too,
Fernando de Lemos (an historical novel), by Charles Gayarré, 1872, pp. 347-361.]
In [the Rev. Mark] Noble's continuation of "Granger's Biographical History" [of England,
1806, iii. 68], there is a singular passage in his account of Archbishop Blackbourne [1658-
1743]; and as in some measure connected with the profession of the hero of the foregoing
poem, I cannot resist the temptation of extracting it.—"There is something mysterious in
the history and character of Dr. Blackbourne. The former is but imperfectly known; and
report has even asserted he was a buccaneer; and that one of his brethren in that
profession having asked, on his arrival in England, what had become of his old chum,
Blackbourne, was answered, he is Archbishop of York. We are informed, that Blackbourne
was installed sub-dean of Exeter in 1694, which office he resigned in 1702; but after his
successor Lewis Barnet's death, in 1704, he regained it. In the following year he became
dean; and in 1714 held with it the archdeanery [i.e. archdeaconry] of Cornwall. He was
consecrated Bishop of Exeter, February 24, 1716; and translated to York, November 28,
1724, as a reward, according to court scandal, for uniting George I. to the Duchess of
Munster. This, however, appears to have been an unfounded calumny. As archbishop he
Page 351
behaved with great prudence, and was equally respectable as the guardian of the revenues
of the see. Rumour whispered he retained the vices of his youth, and that a passion for the
fair sex formed an item in the list of his weaknesses; but so far from being convicted by
seventy witnesses, he does not appear to have been directly criminated by one. In short, I
look upon these aspersions as the effects of mere malice. How is it possible a buccaneer
should have been so good a scholar as Blackbourne certainly was? He who had so perfect
a knowledge of the classics (particularly of the Greek tragedians), as to be able to read
them with the same ease as he could Shakespeare, must have taken great pains to acquire
the learned languages; and have had both leisure and good masters. But he was
undoubtedly educated at Christ-church College, Oxford. He is allowed to have been a
pleasant man; this, however, was turned against him, by its being said, 'he gained more
hearts than souls.'"
[Walpole, in his Memoirs of the Reign of King George II., 1847, i. 87, who makes himself
the mouthpiece of these calumnies, says that Hayter, Bishop of Norwich, was "a natural
son of Blackbourne, the jolly old Archbishop of York, who had all the manners of a man
of quality, though he had been a Buccaneer, and was a clergyman; but he retained nothing
of his first profession except his seraglio."]
"The only voice that could soothe the passions of the savage (Alphonso III.) was that of
an amiable and virtuous wife, the sole object of his love; the voice of Donna Isabella, the
daughter of the Duke of Savoy, and the grand-daughter of Philip II. King of Spain. Her
dying words sunk deep into his memory [A.D. 1626, August 22]; his fierce spirit melted
into tears; and, after the last embrace, Alphonso retired into his chamber to bewail his
irreparable loss, and to meditate on the vanity of human life."—Gibbon's Miscellaneous
Works [1837, p. 831].
[This final note was added to the Tenth Edition.]
of the see. Rumour whispered he retained the vices of his youth, and that a passion for the
fair sex formed an item in the list of his weaknesses; but so far from being convicted by
seventy witnesses, he does not appear to have been directly criminated by one. In short, I
look upon these aspersions as the effects of mere malice. How is it possible a buccaneer
should have been so good a scholar as Blackbourne certainly was? He who had so perfect
a knowledge of the classics (particularly of the Greek tragedians), as to be able to read
them with the same ease as he could Shakespeare, must have taken great pains to acquire
the learned languages; and have had both leisure and good masters. But he was
undoubtedly educated at Christ-church College, Oxford. He is allowed to have been a
pleasant man; this, however, was turned against him, by its being said, 'he gained more
hearts than souls.'"
[Walpole, in his Memoirs of the Reign of King George II., 1847, i. 87, who makes himself
the mouthpiece of these calumnies, says that Hayter, Bishop of Norwich, was "a natural
son of Blackbourne, the jolly old Archbishop of York, who had all the manners of a man
of quality, though he had been a Buccaneer, and was a clergyman; but he retained nothing
of his first profession except his seraglio."]
"The only voice that could soothe the passions of the savage (Alphonso III.) was that of
an amiable and virtuous wife, the sole object of his love; the voice of Donna Isabella, the
daughter of the Duke of Savoy, and the grand-daughter of Philip II. King of Spain. Her
dying words sunk deep into his memory [A.D. 1626, August 22]; his fierce spirit melted
into tears; and, after the last embrace, Alphonso retired into his chamber to bewail his
irreparable loss, and to meditate on the vanity of human life."—Gibbon's Miscellaneous
Works [1837, p. 831].
[This final note was added to the Tenth Edition.]
Page 352
ODE TO NAPOLEON
BUONAPARTE. [240]
"Expende Annibalem:—quot libras in duce summo Invenies?"
J uvenal , [Lib. iv.] Sat. x. line 147. [241]
"The Emperor Nepos was acknowledged by the Senate, by the
Italians, and by the Provincials of Gaul; his moral virtues, and
military talents, were loudly celebrated; and those who derived any
private benefit from his government announced in prophetic strains
the restoration of the public felicity. * * By this shameful
abdication, he protracted his life about five years, in a very
ambiguous state, between an Emperor and an Exile, till!!!"—
Gibbon's Decline and Fall, two vols. notes by Milman, i. 979.[242]
BUONAPARTE. [240]
"Expende Annibalem:—quot libras in duce summo Invenies?"
J uvenal , [Lib. iv.] Sat. x. line 147. [241]
"The Emperor Nepos was acknowledged by the Senate, by the
Italians, and by the Provincials of Gaul; his moral virtues, and
military talents, were loudly celebrated; and those who derived any
private benefit from his government announced in prophetic strains
the restoration of the public felicity. * * By this shameful
abdication, he protracted his life about five years, in a very
ambiguous state, between an Emperor and an Exile, till!!!"—
Gibbon's Decline and Fall, two vols. notes by Milman, i. 979.[242]
Page 353
INTRODUCTION TO THE ODE TO
NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE.
T he dedication of the Corsair, dated January 2, 1814, contains one of
Byron's periodical announcements that he is about, for a time, to have done
with authorship—some years are to elapse before he will again "trespass on
public patience."
Three months later he was, or believed himself to be, in the same mind.
In a letter to Moore, dated April 9, 1814 (Letters, 1899, iii. 64), he writes,
"No more rhyme for—or rather, from—me. I have taken my leave of that
stage, and henceforth will mountebank it no longer." He had already—
Journal, April 8 (Letters, 1898, ii. 408)—heard a rumour "that his poor little
pagod, Napoleon" was "pushed off his pedestal," and before or after he
began his letter to Moore he must have read an announcement in the
Gazette Extraordinary (April 9, 1814—the abdication was signed April 11)
that Napoleon had abdicated the "throne of the world," and declined upon
the kingdom of Elba. On the next day, April 10, he wrote two notes to
Murray, to inform him that he had written an "ode on the fall of Napoleon,"
that Murray could print it or not as he pleased; but that if it appeared by
itself, it was to be published anonymously. A first edition consisting of
fifteen stanzas, and numbering fourteen pages, was issued on the 16th of
April, 1814. A second edition followed immediately, but as publications of
NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE.
T he dedication of the Corsair, dated January 2, 1814, contains one of
Byron's periodical announcements that he is about, for a time, to have done
with authorship—some years are to elapse before he will again "trespass on
public patience."
Three months later he was, or believed himself to be, in the same mind.
In a letter to Moore, dated April 9, 1814 (Letters, 1899, iii. 64), he writes,
"No more rhyme for—or rather, from—me. I have taken my leave of that
stage, and henceforth will mountebank it no longer." He had already—
Journal, April 8 (Letters, 1898, ii. 408)—heard a rumour "that his poor little
pagod, Napoleon" was "pushed off his pedestal," and before or after he
began his letter to Moore he must have read an announcement in the
Gazette Extraordinary (April 9, 1814—the abdication was signed April 11)
that Napoleon had abdicated the "throne of the world," and declined upon
the kingdom of Elba. On the next day, April 10, he wrote two notes to
Murray, to inform him that he had written an "ode on the fall of Napoleon,"
that Murray could print it or not as he pleased; but that if it appeared by
itself, it was to be published anonymously. A first edition consisting of
fifteen stanzas, and numbering fourteen pages, was issued on the 16th of
April, 1814. A second edition followed immediately, but as publications of
Page 354
less than a sheet were liable to the stamp tax on newspapers, at Murray's
request, another stanza, the fifth, was inserted in a later (between the second
and the twelfth) edition, and, by this means, the pamphlet was extended to
seventeen pages. The concluding stanzas xvii., xviii., xix., which Moore
gives in a note (Life, p. 249), were not printed in Byron's lifetime, but were
first included, in a separate poem, in Murray's edition of 1831, and first
appended to the Ode in the seventeen-volume edition of 1832.
Although he had stipulated that the Ode should be published
anonymously, Byron had no objection to "its being said to be mine." There
was, in short, no secret about it, and notices on the whole favourable
appeared in the Morning Chronicle, April 21, in the Examiner, April 24 (in
which Leigh Hunt combated Byron's condemnation of Buonaparte for not
"dying as honour dies"), and in the Anti-Jacobin for May, 1814 (Letters,
1899, iii. 73, note 3).
Byron's repeated resolutions and promises to cease writing and
publishing, which sound as if they were only made to be broken, are
somewhat exasperating, and if, as he pleaded in his own behalf, the
occasion (of Napoleon's abdication) was physically irresistible, it is to be
regretted that he did not swerve from his self-denying ordinance to better
purpose. The note of disillusionment and disappointment in the Ode is but
an echo of the sentiments of the "general." Napoleon on his own "fall" is
more original and more interesting: "Il céda," writes Léonard Gallois
(Histoire de Napoléon d'après lui-même, 1825, pp. 546, 547), "non sans de
grands combats intérieurs, et la dicta en ces termes.
'Les puissances alliées ayant proclamé que l'empereur Napoléon était le seul
obstacle au rétablissement, de la paix en Europe, l'empereur Napoléon fidèle à
son serment, déclare qu'il renonce, pour lui et ses héritiers, aux trônes de France
request, another stanza, the fifth, was inserted in a later (between the second
and the twelfth) edition, and, by this means, the pamphlet was extended to
seventeen pages. The concluding stanzas xvii., xviii., xix., which Moore
gives in a note (Life, p. 249), were not printed in Byron's lifetime, but were
first included, in a separate poem, in Murray's edition of 1831, and first
appended to the Ode in the seventeen-volume edition of 1832.
Although he had stipulated that the Ode should be published
anonymously, Byron had no objection to "its being said to be mine." There
was, in short, no secret about it, and notices on the whole favourable
appeared in the Morning Chronicle, April 21, in the Examiner, April 24 (in
which Leigh Hunt combated Byron's condemnation of Buonaparte for not
"dying as honour dies"), and in the Anti-Jacobin for May, 1814 (Letters,
1899, iii. 73, note 3).
Byron's repeated resolutions and promises to cease writing and
publishing, which sound as if they were only made to be broken, are
somewhat exasperating, and if, as he pleaded in his own behalf, the
occasion (of Napoleon's abdication) was physically irresistible, it is to be
regretted that he did not swerve from his self-denying ordinance to better
purpose. The note of disillusionment and disappointment in the Ode is but
an echo of the sentiments of the "general." Napoleon on his own "fall" is
more original and more interesting: "Il céda," writes Léonard Gallois
(Histoire de Napoléon d'après lui-même, 1825, pp. 546, 547), "non sans de
grands combats intérieurs, et la dicta en ces termes.
'Les puissances alliées ayant proclamé que l'empereur Napoléon était le seul
obstacle au rétablissement, de la paix en Europe, l'empereur Napoléon fidèle à
son serment, déclare qu'il renonce, pour lui et ses héritiers, aux trônes de France
Page 355
et d'Italie, parce qu'il n'est aucun sacrifice personnel, même celui de la vie, qu'il
ne soit prêt à faire à l'intérêt de la France.
N apoléon .'"
ne soit prêt à faire à l'intérêt de la France.
N apoléon .'"
Page 356
ODE TO NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE.
I.
done—but yesterday a King!
And armed with Kings to strive—
d now thou art a nameless thing:
o abject—yet alive!
his the man of thousand thrones,
o strewed our earth with hostile bones,
And can he thus survive?[243]
ce he, miscalled the Morning Star,[244]
man nor fiend hath fallen so far.
II.[245]
minded man! why scourge thy kind
Who bowed so low the knee?
gazing on thyself grown blind,
hou taught'st the rest to see.
h might unquestioned,—power to save,—
ne only gift hath been the grave
o those that worshipped thee;
till thy fall could mortals guess
bition's less than littleness!
III.
I.
done—but yesterday a King!
And armed with Kings to strive—
d now thou art a nameless thing:
o abject—yet alive!
his the man of thousand thrones,
o strewed our earth with hostile bones,
And can he thus survive?[243]
ce he, miscalled the Morning Star,[244]
man nor fiend hath fallen so far.
II.[245]
minded man! why scourge thy kind
Who bowed so low the knee?
gazing on thyself grown blind,
hou taught'st the rest to see.
h might unquestioned,—power to save,—
ne only gift hath been the grave
o those that worshipped thee;
till thy fall could mortals guess
bition's less than littleness!
III.
Page 357
nks for that lesson—it will teach
o after-warriors more
n high Philosophy can preach,
And vainly preached before.
t spell upon the minds of men[246]
aks never to unite again,
hat led them to adore
se Pagod things of sabre-sway,
h fronts of brass, and feet of clay.
IV.
triumph, and the vanity,
he rapture of the strife—[247]
earthquake-voice of Victory,
o thee the breath of life;
sword, the sceptre, and that sway
ich man seemed made but to obey,
Wherewith renown was rife—
quelled!—Dark Spirit! what must be
madness of thy memory!
V.[248]
Desolator desolate![249]
he Victor overthrown!
Arbiter of others' fate
A Suppliant for his own!
some yet imperial hope
t with such change can calmly cope?
Or dread of death alone?
die a Prince—or live a slave—
choice is most ignobly brave!
o after-warriors more
n high Philosophy can preach,
And vainly preached before.
t spell upon the minds of men[246]
aks never to unite again,
hat led them to adore
se Pagod things of sabre-sway,
h fronts of brass, and feet of clay.
IV.
triumph, and the vanity,
he rapture of the strife—[247]
earthquake-voice of Victory,
o thee the breath of life;
sword, the sceptre, and that sway
ich man seemed made but to obey,
Wherewith renown was rife—
quelled!—Dark Spirit! what must be
madness of thy memory!
V.[248]
Desolator desolate![249]
he Victor overthrown!
Arbiter of others' fate
A Suppliant for his own!
some yet imperial hope
t with such change can calmly cope?
Or dread of death alone?
die a Prince—or live a slave—
choice is most ignobly brave!
Page 358
VI.
who of old would rend the oak,
Dreamed not of the rebound;[250]
ined by the trunk he vainly broke—
Alone—how looked he round?
u, in the sternness of thy strength,
equal deed hast done at length.
And darker fate hast found:
fell, the forest prowlers' prey;
thou must eat thy heart away!
VII.
Roman,[251] when his burning heart
Was slaked with blood of Rome,
ew down the dagger—dared depart,
n savage grandeur, home.—
dared depart in utter scorn
men that such a yoke had borne,
Yet left him such a doom!
only glory was that hour
elf-upheld abandoned power.
VIII.
Spaniard, when the lust of sway
Had lost its quickening spell,[252]
t crowns for rosaries away,
An empire for a cell;
rict accountant of his beads,
ubtle disputant on creeds,
His dotage trifled well:[253]
who of old would rend the oak,
Dreamed not of the rebound;[250]
ined by the trunk he vainly broke—
Alone—how looked he round?
u, in the sternness of thy strength,
equal deed hast done at length.
And darker fate hast found:
fell, the forest prowlers' prey;
thou must eat thy heart away!
VII.
Roman,[251] when his burning heart
Was slaked with blood of Rome,
ew down the dagger—dared depart,
n savage grandeur, home.—
dared depart in utter scorn
men that such a yoke had borne,
Yet left him such a doom!
only glory was that hour
elf-upheld abandoned power.
VIII.
Spaniard, when the lust of sway
Had lost its quickening spell,[252]
t crowns for rosaries away,
An empire for a cell;
rict accountant of his beads,
ubtle disputant on creeds,
His dotage trifled well:[253]
Page 359
better had he neither known
igot's shrine, nor despot's throne.
IX.
thou—from thy reluctant hand
he thunderbolt is wrung—
late thou leav'st the high command
o which thy weakness clung;
Evil Spirit as thou art,
enough to grieve the heart
o see thine own unstrung;
hink that God's fair world hath been
footstool of a thing so mean;
X.
d Earth hath spilt her blood for him,
Who thus can hoard his own!
d Monarchs bowed the trembling limb,
And thanked him for a throne!
Freedom! we may hold thee dear,
en thus thy mightiest foes their fear
n humblest guise have shown.
ne'er may tyrant leave behind
righter name to lure mankind!
XI.
ne evil deeds are writ in gore,
Nor written thus in vain—
triumphs tell of fame no more,
Or deepen every stain:
hou hadst died as Honour dies,
igot's shrine, nor despot's throne.
IX.
thou—from thy reluctant hand
he thunderbolt is wrung—
late thou leav'st the high command
o which thy weakness clung;
Evil Spirit as thou art,
enough to grieve the heart
o see thine own unstrung;
hink that God's fair world hath been
footstool of a thing so mean;
X.
d Earth hath spilt her blood for him,
Who thus can hoard his own!
d Monarchs bowed the trembling limb,
And thanked him for a throne!
Freedom! we may hold thee dear,
en thus thy mightiest foes their fear
n humblest guise have shown.
ne'er may tyrant leave behind
righter name to lure mankind!
XI.
ne evil deeds are writ in gore,
Nor written thus in vain—
triumphs tell of fame no more,
Or deepen every stain:
hou hadst died as Honour dies,
Page 360
me new Napoleon might arise,
o shame the world again—
who would soar the solar height,
et in such a starless night?[ip]
XII.
gh'd in the balance, hero dust
s vile as vulgar clay;[iq]
scales, Mortality! are just
o all that pass away:
yet methought the living great
me higher sparks should animate,
o dazzle and dismay:
deem'd Contempt could thus make mirth
hese, the Conquerors of the earth.
XIII.[254]
d she, proud Austria's mournful flower,
hy still imperial bride;
w bears her breast the torturing hour?
till clings she to thy side?
st she too bend, must she too share
late repentance, long despair,
hou throneless Homicide?
ill she loves thee, hoard that gem,—
worth thy vanished diadem![255]
XIV.
n haste thee to thy sullen Isle,
And gaze upon the sea;[ir]
o shame the world again—
who would soar the solar height,
et in such a starless night?[ip]
XII.
gh'd in the balance, hero dust
s vile as vulgar clay;[iq]
scales, Mortality! are just
o all that pass away:
yet methought the living great
me higher sparks should animate,
o dazzle and dismay:
deem'd Contempt could thus make mirth
hese, the Conquerors of the earth.
XIII.[254]
d she, proud Austria's mournful flower,
hy still imperial bride;
w bears her breast the torturing hour?
till clings she to thy side?
st she too bend, must she too share
late repentance, long despair,
hou throneless Homicide?
ill she loves thee, hoard that gem,—
worth thy vanished diadem![255]
XIV.
n haste thee to thy sullen Isle,
And gaze upon the sea;[ir]
Page 361
t element may meet thy smile—
ne'er was ruled by thee!
race with thine all idle hand[is]
oitering mood upon the sand
hat Earth is now as free!
t Corinth's pedagogue[256] hath now
nsferred his by-word to thy brow.
XV.
u Timour! in his captive's cage[257][it]
What thoughts will there be thine,
ile brooding in thy prisoned rage?
ut one—"The world was mine!"
ess, like he of Babylon,[258]
sense is with thy sceptre gone,[259]
ife will not long confine
t spirit poured so widely forth—
ong obeyed—so little worth!
XVI.
like the thief of fire from heaven,[260]
Wilt thou withstand the shock?
d share with him, the unforgiven,
His vulture and his rock!
edoomed by God—by man accurst,[iu]
d that last act, though not thy worst,
he very Fiend's arch mock;[261]
in his fall preserved his pride,
d, if a mortal, had as proudly died![iv][262]
ne'er was ruled by thee!
race with thine all idle hand[is]
oitering mood upon the sand
hat Earth is now as free!
t Corinth's pedagogue[256] hath now
nsferred his by-word to thy brow.
XV.
u Timour! in his captive's cage[257][it]
What thoughts will there be thine,
ile brooding in thy prisoned rage?
ut one—"The world was mine!"
ess, like he of Babylon,[258]
sense is with thy sceptre gone,[259]
ife will not long confine
t spirit poured so widely forth—
ong obeyed—so little worth!
XVI.
like the thief of fire from heaven,[260]
Wilt thou withstand the shock?
d share with him, the unforgiven,
His vulture and his rock!
edoomed by God—by man accurst,[iu]
d that last act, though not thy worst,
he very Fiend's arch mock;[261]
in his fall preserved his pride,
d, if a mortal, had as proudly died![iv][262]
Page 362
XVII.
re was a day—there was an hour,
While earth was Gaul's—Gaul thine—[iw]
en that immeasurable power
Unsated to resign
been an act of purer fame
n gathers round Marengo's name
And gilded thy decline,
ough the long twilight of all time,
pite some passing clouds of crime.
XVIII.
thou forsooth must be a King
And don the purple vest,
f that foolish robe could wring
emembrance from thy breast.
ere is that faded garment? where[ix]
gewgaws thou wert fond to wear,
he star, the string, the crest?[iy][263]
n froward child of Empire! say,
all thy playthings snatched away?
XIX.
ere may the wearied eye repose[iz]
When gazing on the Great;
ere neither guilty glory glows,
Nor despicable state?
—One—the first—the last—the best—
Cincinnatus of the West,
Whom Envy dared not hate,
re was a day—there was an hour,
While earth was Gaul's—Gaul thine—[iw]
en that immeasurable power
Unsated to resign
been an act of purer fame
n gathers round Marengo's name
And gilded thy decline,
ough the long twilight of all time,
pite some passing clouds of crime.
XVIII.
thou forsooth must be a King
And don the purple vest,
f that foolish robe could wring
emembrance from thy breast.
ere is that faded garment? where[ix]
gewgaws thou wert fond to wear,
he star, the string, the crest?[iy][263]
n froward child of Empire! say,
all thy playthings snatched away?
XIX.
ere may the wearied eye repose[iz]
When gazing on the Great;
ere neither guilty glory glows,
Nor despicable state?
—One—the first—the last—the best—
Cincinnatus of the West,
Whom Envy dared not hate,
Page 363
ueathed the name of Washington,
make man blush there was but one![ja][264]
FOOTNOTES:
[240] {301}
[ODE TO NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE.
——
By
——
London: Printed for J. Murray, Albemarle Street, By W. Bulmer and Co. Cleveland-Row,
St. James's, 1814.—First Proof, title-page.]
[241] [The quotation from Juvenal was added in Second Proof.
"Produce the urn that Hannibal contains,
And weigh the mighty dust which yet remains;
A nd is T his A ll !"
"I know not that this was ever done in the old world; at least with regard to Hannibal: but
in the statistical account of Scotland, I find that Sir John Paterson had the curiosity to
collect and weigh the ashes of a person discovered a few years since in the parish of
Eccles.... Wonderful to relate, he found the whole did not exceed in weight one ounce and
a half! A nd is T his A ll ? Alas! the quot libras itself is a satirical exaggeration."—
Gifford's Translation of Juvenal (ed. 1817), ii. 26, 27.
The motto, "Expende—Quot Libras In Duce Summo Invenies," was inscribed on one side
of the silver urn presented by Byron to Walter Scott in April, 1815. (See Letters, 1899, iii.
414, Appendix IV.)]
[242] ["I send you ... an additional motto from Gibbon, which you will find singularly
appropriate."—Letter to Murray, April 12, 1814, ibid., p. 68.]
[243] {305} ["I don't know—but I think I, even I (an insect compared with this creature),
have set my life on casts not a millionth part of this man's. But, after all, a crown may not
be worth dying for. Yet, to outlive Lodi for this!!! Oh that Juvenal or Johnson could rise
from the dead! 'Expende—quot libras in duce summo invenies?' I knew they were light in
make man blush there was but one![ja][264]
FOOTNOTES:
[240] {301}
[ODE TO NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE.
——
By
——
London: Printed for J. Murray, Albemarle Street, By W. Bulmer and Co. Cleveland-Row,
St. James's, 1814.—First Proof, title-page.]
[241] [The quotation from Juvenal was added in Second Proof.
"Produce the urn that Hannibal contains,
And weigh the mighty dust which yet remains;
A nd is T his A ll !"
"I know not that this was ever done in the old world; at least with regard to Hannibal: but
in the statistical account of Scotland, I find that Sir John Paterson had the curiosity to
collect and weigh the ashes of a person discovered a few years since in the parish of
Eccles.... Wonderful to relate, he found the whole did not exceed in weight one ounce and
a half! A nd is T his A ll ? Alas! the quot libras itself is a satirical exaggeration."—
Gifford's Translation of Juvenal (ed. 1817), ii. 26, 27.
The motto, "Expende—Quot Libras In Duce Summo Invenies," was inscribed on one side
of the silver urn presented by Byron to Walter Scott in April, 1815. (See Letters, 1899, iii.
414, Appendix IV.)]
[242] ["I send you ... an additional motto from Gibbon, which you will find singularly
appropriate."—Letter to Murray, April 12, 1814, ibid., p. 68.]
[243] {305} ["I don't know—but I think I, even I (an insect compared with this creature),
have set my life on casts not a millionth part of this man's. But, after all, a crown may not
be worth dying for. Yet, to outlive Lodi for this!!! Oh that Juvenal or Johnson could rise
from the dead! 'Expende—quot libras in duce summo invenies?' I knew they were light in
Page 364
the balance of mortality; but I thought their living dust weighed more carats. Alas! this
imperial diamond hath a flaw in it, and is now hardly fit to stick in a glazier's pencil;—the
pen of the historian won't rate it worth a ducat. Psha! 'something too much of this.' But I
won't give him up even now; though all his admirers have, 'like the thanes, fallen from
him.'"—Journal, April 9, 1814, Letters, 1898, ii. 409.]
[244] [Compare "How art thou fallen from heaven, O Lucifer, son of the morning!"—
Isaiah xiv. 12.]
[245] {306} [Stanzas ii. and iii. were added in Proof iv.]
[246] [A "spell" may be broken, but it is difficult to understand how, like the two halves of
a seal or amulet, a broken spell can "unite again."]
[247] "Certaminis gaudia"—the expression of Attila in his harangue to his army, previous
to the battle of Chalons, given in Cassiodorus. ["Nisi ad certaminis hujus gaudia
præparasset."—Attilæ Oratio ad Hunnos, caput xxxix., Appendix ad Opera Cassiodori,
Migne, lxix. 1279.]
[248] {307} [Added in Proof v.]
[249] [The first four lines of stanza v. were quoted by "Mr. Miller in the House of
Representatives of the United States," in a debate on the Militia Draft Bill (Weekly
Messenger, Boston, February 10, 1815). "Take warning," he went on to say, "by this
example. Bonaparte split on this rock of conscription," etc. This would have pleased
Byron, who confided to his Journal, December 3, 1813 (Letters, 1898, ii. 360), that the
statement that "my rhymes are very popular in the United States," was "the first tidings
that have ever sounded like Fame to my ears."]
[250] ["Like Milo, he would rend the oak; but it closed again, wedged his hands, and now
the beasts—lion, bear, down to the dirtiest jackal—may all tear him."—Journal, April 8,
1814, Letters, 1898, ii. 408. For the story of Milo and the Oak, see Valerius Maximus,
Factorum, Dictorumque Memorabilium, lib. ix. cap. xii. Part II. example 9.]
[251] {308} Sylla. [We find the germ of this stanza in the Diary of the evening before it
was written: "I mark this day! Napoleon Buonaparte has abdicated the throne of the
world. 'Excellent well.' Methinks Sylla did better; for he revenged, and resigned in the
height of his sway, red with the slaughter of his foes—the finest instance of glorious
contempt of the rascals upon record. Dioclesian did well too—Amurath not amiss, had he
become aught except a dervise—Charles the Fifth but so so; but Napoleon worst of all."—
Journal, April 9, 1814, Letters, 1898, ii. 409.]
imperial diamond hath a flaw in it, and is now hardly fit to stick in a glazier's pencil;—the
pen of the historian won't rate it worth a ducat. Psha! 'something too much of this.' But I
won't give him up even now; though all his admirers have, 'like the thanes, fallen from
him.'"—Journal, April 9, 1814, Letters, 1898, ii. 409.]
[244] [Compare "How art thou fallen from heaven, O Lucifer, son of the morning!"—
Isaiah xiv. 12.]
[245] {306} [Stanzas ii. and iii. were added in Proof iv.]
[246] [A "spell" may be broken, but it is difficult to understand how, like the two halves of
a seal or amulet, a broken spell can "unite again."]
[247] "Certaminis gaudia"—the expression of Attila in his harangue to his army, previous
to the battle of Chalons, given in Cassiodorus. ["Nisi ad certaminis hujus gaudia
præparasset."—Attilæ Oratio ad Hunnos, caput xxxix., Appendix ad Opera Cassiodori,
Migne, lxix. 1279.]
[248] {307} [Added in Proof v.]
[249] [The first four lines of stanza v. were quoted by "Mr. Miller in the House of
Representatives of the United States," in a debate on the Militia Draft Bill (Weekly
Messenger, Boston, February 10, 1815). "Take warning," he went on to say, "by this
example. Bonaparte split on this rock of conscription," etc. This would have pleased
Byron, who confided to his Journal, December 3, 1813 (Letters, 1898, ii. 360), that the
statement that "my rhymes are very popular in the United States," was "the first tidings
that have ever sounded like Fame to my ears."]
[250] ["Like Milo, he would rend the oak; but it closed again, wedged his hands, and now
the beasts—lion, bear, down to the dirtiest jackal—may all tear him."—Journal, April 8,
1814, Letters, 1898, ii. 408. For the story of Milo and the Oak, see Valerius Maximus,
Factorum, Dictorumque Memorabilium, lib. ix. cap. xii. Part II. example 9.]
[251] {308} Sylla. [We find the germ of this stanza in the Diary of the evening before it
was written: "I mark this day! Napoleon Buonaparte has abdicated the throne of the
world. 'Excellent well.' Methinks Sylla did better; for he revenged, and resigned in the
height of his sway, red with the slaughter of his foes—the finest instance of glorious
contempt of the rascals upon record. Dioclesian did well too—Amurath not amiss, had he
become aught except a dervise—Charles the Fifth but so so; but Napoleon worst of all."—
Journal, April 9, 1814, Letters, 1898, ii. 409.]
Page 365
[252] ["Alter 'potent spell' to 'quickening spell:' the first (as Polonius says) 'is a vile
phrase,' and means nothing, besides being commonplace and Rosa-Matildaish."—Letter
to Murray, April 11, 1814, Letters, 1899, iii. 68.]
[253] {309} [Charles V. resigned the kingdom to his son Philip, circ. October, 1555, and
the imperial crown to his brother Ferdinand, August 27, 1556, and entered the Jeronymite
Monastery of St. Justus at Placencia in Estremadura. Before his death (September 21,
1558) he dressed himself in his shroud, was laid in his coffin, "joined in the prayers which
were offered up for the rest of his soul, mingling his tears with those which his attendants
shed, as if they had been celebrating a real funeral."—Robertson's Charles V., 1798, iv.
180, 205, 254.]
[ip] {310}
But who would rise in brightest day
To set without one parting ray?—[MS.]
[iq] ——common clay.—[First Proof.]
[254] [Added in Proof v.]
[255] {311} [Count Albert Adam de Neipperg, born 1774, an officer in the Austrian Army,
and, 1811, Austrian envoy to the Court of Stockholm, was presented to Marie Louise a
few days after Napoleon's abdication, became her chamberlain; and, according to the
Nouvelle Biographie Universelle, "plus tard il l'épousa." The count, who is said to have
been remarkably plain (he had lost an eye in a scrimmage with the French), died April 12,
1829.]
[ir]
And look along the sea;
That element may meet thy smile,
For Albion kept it free.
But gaze not on the land for there
Walks crownless Power with temples bare
And shakes the head at thee
And Corinth's Pedagogue hath now.—[Proof ii.]
[is]
Or sit thee down upon the sand
And trace with thine all idle hand.—
[A final correction made in Proof ii.]
phrase,' and means nothing, besides being commonplace and Rosa-Matildaish."—Letter
to Murray, April 11, 1814, Letters, 1899, iii. 68.]
[253] {309} [Charles V. resigned the kingdom to his son Philip, circ. October, 1555, and
the imperial crown to his brother Ferdinand, August 27, 1556, and entered the Jeronymite
Monastery of St. Justus at Placencia in Estremadura. Before his death (September 21,
1558) he dressed himself in his shroud, was laid in his coffin, "joined in the prayers which
were offered up for the rest of his soul, mingling his tears with those which his attendants
shed, as if they had been celebrating a real funeral."—Robertson's Charles V., 1798, iv.
180, 205, 254.]
[ip] {310}
But who would rise in brightest day
To set without one parting ray?—[MS.]
[iq] ——common clay.—[First Proof.]
[254] [Added in Proof v.]
[255] {311} [Count Albert Adam de Neipperg, born 1774, an officer in the Austrian Army,
and, 1811, Austrian envoy to the Court of Stockholm, was presented to Marie Louise a
few days after Napoleon's abdication, became her chamberlain; and, according to the
Nouvelle Biographie Universelle, "plus tard il l'épousa." The count, who is said to have
been remarkably plain (he had lost an eye in a scrimmage with the French), died April 12,
1829.]
[ir]
And look along the sea;
That element may meet thy smile,
For Albion kept it free.
But gaze not on the land for there
Walks crownless Power with temples bare
And shakes the head at thee
And Corinth's Pedagogue hath now.—[Proof ii.]
[is]
Or sit thee down upon the sand
And trace with thine all idle hand.—
[A final correction made in Proof ii.]
Page 366
[256] ["Dionysius at Corinth was yet a king to this."—Diary, April 9. Dionysius the
Younger, on being for the second time banished from Syracuse, retired to Corinth (B.C.
344), where "he is said to have opened a school for teaching boys to read" (see Plut.,
Timal., c. 14), but not, apparently, with a view to making a living by pedagogy.—Grote's
Hist. of Greece, 1872, ix. 152.]
[257] {312} The cage of Bajazet, by order of Tamerlane.
[The story of the cage is said to be a fable. After the battle of Angora, July 20, 1402,
Bajazet, whose escape from prison had been planned by one of his sons, was chained
during the night, and placed in a kafes (kàfess), a Turkish word, which signifies either a
cage or a grated room or bed. Hence the legend.—Hist. de l'Empire Othoman, par J. von
Hammer-Purgstall, 1836, ii. 97.]
[it] There Timour in his captive cage.—[First Proof.]
[258] [Presumably another instance of "careless and negligent ease."]
[259] ["Have you heard that Bertrand has returned to Paris with the account of Napoleon's
having lost his senses? It is a report; but, if true, I must, like Mr. Fitzgerald and Jeremiah
(of lamentable memory), lay claim to prophecy."—Letter to Murray, June 14, 1814,
Letters, 1899, iii. 95.]
[260] Prometheus.
[iu]
He suffered for kind acts to men
Who have not seen his like again,
At least of kingly stock
Since he was good, and thou but great
Thou canst not quarrel with thy fate.—[First Proof, stanza x.]
[261] {313}
"O! 'tis the spite of hell, the fiend's arch-mock,
To lip a wanton in a secure couch,
And to suppose her chaste!"
Othello, act iv. sc. 1, lines 69-71.
[We believe there is no doubt of the truth of the anecdote here alluded to—of Napoleon's
having found leisure for an unworthy amour, the very evening of his arrival at
Fontainebleau.—Note to Edition 1832.
Younger, on being for the second time banished from Syracuse, retired to Corinth (B.C.
344), where "he is said to have opened a school for teaching boys to read" (see Plut.,
Timal., c. 14), but not, apparently, with a view to making a living by pedagogy.—Grote's
Hist. of Greece, 1872, ix. 152.]
[257] {312} The cage of Bajazet, by order of Tamerlane.
[The story of the cage is said to be a fable. After the battle of Angora, July 20, 1402,
Bajazet, whose escape from prison had been planned by one of his sons, was chained
during the night, and placed in a kafes (kàfess), a Turkish word, which signifies either a
cage or a grated room or bed. Hence the legend.—Hist. de l'Empire Othoman, par J. von
Hammer-Purgstall, 1836, ii. 97.]
[it] There Timour in his captive cage.—[First Proof.]
[258] [Presumably another instance of "careless and negligent ease."]
[259] ["Have you heard that Bertrand has returned to Paris with the account of Napoleon's
having lost his senses? It is a report; but, if true, I must, like Mr. Fitzgerald and Jeremiah
(of lamentable memory), lay claim to prophecy."—Letter to Murray, June 14, 1814,
Letters, 1899, iii. 95.]
[260] Prometheus.
[iu]
He suffered for kind acts to men
Who have not seen his like again,
At least of kingly stock
Since he was good, and thou but great
Thou canst not quarrel with thy fate.—[First Proof, stanza x.]
[261] {313}
"O! 'tis the spite of hell, the fiend's arch-mock,
To lip a wanton in a secure couch,
And to suppose her chaste!"
Othello, act iv. sc. 1, lines 69-71.
[We believe there is no doubt of the truth of the anecdote here alluded to—of Napoleon's
having found leisure for an unworthy amour, the very evening of his arrival at
Fontainebleau.—Note to Edition 1832.
Page 367
A consultation of numerous lives and memoirs of Napoleon has not revealed the
particulars of this "unworthy amour." It is possible that Murray may have discovered the
source of Byron's allusion among the papers "in the possession of one of Napoleon's
generals, a friend of Miss Waldie," which were offered him "for purchase and
publication," in 1815.—See Memoir of John Murray, 1891, i. 279.]
[iv] And—were he mortal had as proudly died,—[Alteration in First Proof.]
[262] [Of Prometheus—
"Unlike the offence, though like would be the fate—
His to give life, but thine to desolate;
He stole from Heaven the flame for which he fell,
Whilst thine be stolen from thy native Hell."
—Attached to Proof v., April 25.]
[iw] While earth was Gallia's, Gallia thine.—[MS.]
[ix] {314} Where is that tattered——.—[MS.]
[iy] ——the laurel-circled crest.—[MS.]
[263] [Byron had recently become possessed of a "fine print" (by Raphael Morghen, after
Gérard) of Napoleon in his imperial robes, which (see Journal, March 6, 1814, Letters,
1898, ii. 393, note 2) became him "as if he had been hatched in them." According to the
catalogue of Morghen's works, the engraving represents "the head nearly full-face,
looking to the right, crowned with laurel. He wears an enormous velvet robe embroidered
with bees—hanging over it the collar and jewel of the Legion of Honour." It was no doubt
this "fine print" which suggested "the star, the string [i.e. the chain of enamelled eagles],
the crest."]
[iz] Where may the eye of man repose.—[MS.]
[ja] Alas! and must there be but one!—[MS.]
[264] ["The two stanzas which I now send you were, by some mistake, omitted in the
copies of Lord Byron's spirited and poetical 'Ode to Napoleon Buonaparte,' already
published. One of 'the devils' in Mr. Davison's employ procured a copy of this for me, and
I give you the chance of first discovering them to the world.
Your obedient servant,
J. R."
"Yes! better to have stood the storm,
particulars of this "unworthy amour." It is possible that Murray may have discovered the
source of Byron's allusion among the papers "in the possession of one of Napoleon's
generals, a friend of Miss Waldie," which were offered him "for purchase and
publication," in 1815.—See Memoir of John Murray, 1891, i. 279.]
[iv] And—were he mortal had as proudly died,—[Alteration in First Proof.]
[262] [Of Prometheus—
"Unlike the offence, though like would be the fate—
His to give life, but thine to desolate;
He stole from Heaven the flame for which he fell,
Whilst thine be stolen from thy native Hell."
—Attached to Proof v., April 25.]
[iw] While earth was Gallia's, Gallia thine.—[MS.]
[ix] {314} Where is that tattered——.—[MS.]
[iy] ——the laurel-circled crest.—[MS.]
[263] [Byron had recently become possessed of a "fine print" (by Raphael Morghen, after
Gérard) of Napoleon in his imperial robes, which (see Journal, March 6, 1814, Letters,
1898, ii. 393, note 2) became him "as if he had been hatched in them." According to the
catalogue of Morghen's works, the engraving represents "the head nearly full-face,
looking to the right, crowned with laurel. He wears an enormous velvet robe embroidered
with bees—hanging over it the collar and jewel of the Legion of Honour." It was no doubt
this "fine print" which suggested "the star, the string [i.e. the chain of enamelled eagles],
the crest."]
[iz] Where may the eye of man repose.—[MS.]
[ja] Alas! and must there be but one!—[MS.]
[264] ["The two stanzas which I now send you were, by some mistake, omitted in the
copies of Lord Byron's spirited and poetical 'Ode to Napoleon Buonaparte,' already
published. One of 'the devils' in Mr. Davison's employ procured a copy of this for me, and
I give you the chance of first discovering them to the world.
Your obedient servant,
J. R."
"Yes! better to have stood the storm,
Page 368
A Monarch to the last!
Although that heartless fireless form
Had crumbled in the blast:
Than stoop to drag out Life's last years,
The nights of terror, days of tears
For all the splendour past;
Then,—after ages would have read
Thy awful death with more than dread.
"A lion in the conquering hour!
In wild defeat a hare!
Thy mind hath vanished with thy power,
For Danger brought despair.
The dreams of sceptres now depart,
And leave thy desolated heart
The Capitol of care!
Dark Corsican, 'tis strange to trace
Thy long deceit and last disgrace."
Morning Chronicle, April 27, 1814.]
Although that heartless fireless form
Had crumbled in the blast:
Than stoop to drag out Life's last years,
The nights of terror, days of tears
For all the splendour past;
Then,—after ages would have read
Thy awful death with more than dread.
"A lion in the conquering hour!
In wild defeat a hare!
Thy mind hath vanished with thy power,
For Danger brought despair.
The dreams of sceptres now depart,
And leave thy desolated heart
The Capitol of care!
Dark Corsican, 'tis strange to trace
Thy long deceit and last disgrace."
Morning Chronicle, April 27, 1814.]
Page 369
LARA:
A TALE.
A TALE.
Page 370
INTRODUCTION TO LARA
T he MS. of Lara is dated May 14, 1814. The opening lines, which were not
prefixed to the published poem, and were first printed in Murray's
Magazine (January, 1887), are of the nature of a Dedication. They were
probably written a few days after the well-known song, "I speak not, I trace
not, I breathe not thy name," which was enclosed to Moore in a letter dated
May 4, 1814. There can be little doubt that both song and dedication were
addressed to Lady Frances Wedderburn Webster, and that Lara, like the
Corsair and the Bride of Abydos, was written con amore, and because the
poet was "eating his heart away."
By the 14th of June Byron was able to announce to Moore that "Lara
was finished, and that he had begun copying." It was written, owing to the
length of the London season, "amidst balls and fooleries, and after coming
home from masquerades and routs, in the summer of the sovereigns" (Letter
to Moore, June 8, 1822, Life, p. 561).
By way of keeping his engagement—already broken by the publication
of the Ode to Napoleon Buonaparte—not to "trespass on public patience,"
Byron began by protesting (June 14) that Lara was not to be published
separately, but "might be included in a third volume now collecting." A
fortnight later (June 27) an interchange of unpublished poems between
himself and Rogers, "two cantos of darkness and dismay" in return for a
T he MS. of Lara is dated May 14, 1814. The opening lines, which were not
prefixed to the published poem, and were first printed in Murray's
Magazine (January, 1887), are of the nature of a Dedication. They were
probably written a few days after the well-known song, "I speak not, I trace
not, I breathe not thy name," which was enclosed to Moore in a letter dated
May 4, 1814. There can be little doubt that both song and dedication were
addressed to Lady Frances Wedderburn Webster, and that Lara, like the
Corsair and the Bride of Abydos, was written con amore, and because the
poet was "eating his heart away."
By the 14th of June Byron was able to announce to Moore that "Lara
was finished, and that he had begun copying." It was written, owing to the
length of the London season, "amidst balls and fooleries, and after coming
home from masquerades and routs, in the summer of the sovereigns" (Letter
to Moore, June 8, 1822, Life, p. 561).
By way of keeping his engagement—already broken by the publication
of the Ode to Napoleon Buonaparte—not to "trespass on public patience,"
Byron began by protesting (June 14) that Lara was not to be published
separately, but "might be included in a third volume now collecting." A
fortnight later (June 27) an interchange of unpublished poems between
himself and Rogers, "two cantos of darkness and dismay" in return for a
Page 371
privately printed copy of Jacqueline, who is "all grace and softness and
poetry" (Letter to Rogers, Letters, 1899, iii. 101), suggested another and
happier solution of the difficulty, a coalescing with Rogers, and, if possible,
Moore (Life, 1892, p. 257, note 2), "into a joint invasion of the public"
(Letter to Moore, July 8, 1814, Letters, 1899, iii. 102). But Rogers
hesitated, and Moore refused to embark on so doubtful a venture, with the
result that, as late as the 3rd of August, Byron thought fit to remonstrate
with Murray for "advertising Lara and Jacqueline," and confessed to
Moore that he was "still demurring and delaying and in a fuss" (Letters,
1899, iii. 115, 119). Murray knew his man, and, though he waited for
Byron's formal and ostensibly reluctant word of command, "Out with Lara,
since it must be" (August 5, 1814, Letters, 1899, iii. 122), he admitted
(August 6, Memoir of John Murray, 1891, i. 230) that he had "anticipated
his consent," and "had done everything but actually deliver the copies of
Lara." "The moment," he adds, "I received your letter, for for it I waited, I
cut the last cord of my aerial work, and at this instant 6000 copies are sold."
Lara, a Tale; Jacqueline, a Tale, was published on Saturday, August 6,
1814.
Jacqueline is a somewhat insipid pastoral, betraying the influence of the
Lake School, more especially Coleridge, on a belated and irresponsive
disciple, and wholly out of place as contrast or foil to the melodramatic
Lara.
No sooner had the "lady," as Byron was pleased to call her, played her
part as decoy, than she was discharged as emerita. A week after publication
(August 12, 1814, Letters, iii. 125) Byron told Moore that "Murray talks of
divorcing Larry and Jacky—a bad sign for the authors, who will, I suppose,
be divorced too.... Seriously, I don't care a cigar about it." The divorce was
poetry" (Letter to Rogers, Letters, 1899, iii. 101), suggested another and
happier solution of the difficulty, a coalescing with Rogers, and, if possible,
Moore (Life, 1892, p. 257, note 2), "into a joint invasion of the public"
(Letter to Moore, July 8, 1814, Letters, 1899, iii. 102). But Rogers
hesitated, and Moore refused to embark on so doubtful a venture, with the
result that, as late as the 3rd of August, Byron thought fit to remonstrate
with Murray for "advertising Lara and Jacqueline," and confessed to
Moore that he was "still demurring and delaying and in a fuss" (Letters,
1899, iii. 115, 119). Murray knew his man, and, though he waited for
Byron's formal and ostensibly reluctant word of command, "Out with Lara,
since it must be" (August 5, 1814, Letters, 1899, iii. 122), he admitted
(August 6, Memoir of John Murray, 1891, i. 230) that he had "anticipated
his consent," and "had done everything but actually deliver the copies of
Lara." "The moment," he adds, "I received your letter, for for it I waited, I
cut the last cord of my aerial work, and at this instant 6000 copies are sold."
Lara, a Tale; Jacqueline, a Tale, was published on Saturday, August 6,
1814.
Jacqueline is a somewhat insipid pastoral, betraying the influence of the
Lake School, more especially Coleridge, on a belated and irresponsive
disciple, and wholly out of place as contrast or foil to the melodramatic
Lara.
No sooner had the "lady," as Byron was pleased to call her, played her
part as decoy, than she was discharged as emerita. A week after publication
(August 12, 1814, Letters, iii. 125) Byron told Moore that "Murray talks of
divorcing Larry and Jacky—a bad sign for the authors, who will, I suppose,
be divorced too.... Seriously, I don't care a cigar about it." The divorce was
Page 372
soon pronounced, and, contrary to Byron's advice (September 2, 1814,
Letters, iii. 131), at least four separate editions of Lara were published
during the autumn of 1814.
The "advertisement" to Lara and Jacqueline contains the plain statement
that "the reader ... may probably regard it [Lara] as a sequel to the
Corsair"—an admission on the author's part which forestalls and renders
nugatory any prolonged discussion on the subject. It is evident that Lara is
Conrad, and that Kaled, the "darkly delicate" and mysterious page, whose
"hand is femininely white," is Gulnare in a transparent and temporary
disguise.
If the facts which the "English Gentleman in the Greek Military Service"
(Life, Writings, etc., of Lord Byron, 1825, i. 191-201) gives in detail with
regard to the sources of the Corsair are not wholly imaginary, it is possible
that the original Conrad's determination to "quit so horrible a mode of life"
and return to civilization may have suggested to Byron the possible
adventures and fate of a grand seigneur who had played the pirate in his
time, and resumed his ancestral dignities only to be detected and exposed
by some rival or victim of his wild and lawless youth.
Lara was reviewed together with the Corsair, by George Agar Ellis in
the Quarterly Review for July, 1814, vol. xi. p. 428; and in the Portfolio,
vol. xiv. p. 33.
Letters, iii. 131), at least four separate editions of Lara were published
during the autumn of 1814.
The "advertisement" to Lara and Jacqueline contains the plain statement
that "the reader ... may probably regard it [Lara] as a sequel to the
Corsair"—an admission on the author's part which forestalls and renders
nugatory any prolonged discussion on the subject. It is evident that Lara is
Conrad, and that Kaled, the "darkly delicate" and mysterious page, whose
"hand is femininely white," is Gulnare in a transparent and temporary
disguise.
If the facts which the "English Gentleman in the Greek Military Service"
(Life, Writings, etc., of Lord Byron, 1825, i. 191-201) gives in detail with
regard to the sources of the Corsair are not wholly imaginary, it is possible
that the original Conrad's determination to "quit so horrible a mode of life"
and return to civilization may have suggested to Byron the possible
adventures and fate of a grand seigneur who had played the pirate in his
time, and resumed his ancestral dignities only to be detected and exposed
by some rival or victim of his wild and lawless youth.
Lara was reviewed together with the Corsair, by George Agar Ellis in
the Quarterly Review for July, 1814, vol. xi. p. 428; and in the Portfolio,
vol. xiv. p. 33.
Page 373
LARA. [jb]
CANTO THE FIRST. [265]
I.
Serfs[266] are glad through Lara's wide domain,[267]
d Slavery half forgets her feudal chain;
their unhoped, but unforgotten lord,
long self-exiled Chieftain, is restored:
re be bright faces in the busy hall,
wls on the board, and banners on the wall;
checkering o'er the pictured window, plays
unwonted faggot's hospitable blaze;
d gay retainers gather round the hearth,
h tongues all loudness, and with eyes all mirth. 10
II.
Chief of Lara is returned again:
d why had Lara crossed the bounding main?
by his Sire, too young such loss to know,[268]
d of himself,—that heritage of woe,
t fearful empire which the human breast
CANTO THE FIRST. [265]
I.
Serfs[266] are glad through Lara's wide domain,[267]
d Slavery half forgets her feudal chain;
their unhoped, but unforgotten lord,
long self-exiled Chieftain, is restored:
re be bright faces in the busy hall,
wls on the board, and banners on the wall;
checkering o'er the pictured window, plays
unwonted faggot's hospitable blaze;
d gay retainers gather round the hearth,
h tongues all loudness, and with eyes all mirth. 10
II.
Chief of Lara is returned again:
d why had Lara crossed the bounding main?
by his Sire, too young such loss to know,[268]
d of himself,—that heritage of woe,
t fearful empire which the human breast
Page 374
holds to rob the heart within of rest!—
h none to check, and few to point in time
thousand paths that slope the way to crime;
n, when he most required commandment, then
Lara's daring boyhood governed men.[jc] 20
kills not, boots not step by step to trace
youth through all the mazes of its race;
rt was the course his restlessness had run,[jd]
long enough to leave him half undone.
III.
d Lara left in youth his father-land;
from the hour he waved his parting hand
h trace waxed fainter of his course, till all
nearly ceased his memory to recall.
sire was dust, his vassals could declare,
as all they knew, that Lara was not there; 30
sent, nor came he, till conjecture grew
d in the many, anxious in the few.
hall scarce echoes with his wonted name,
portrait darkens in its fading frame,
other chief consoled his destined bride,[je]
young forgot him, and the old had died;[jf]
t doth he live!" exclaims the impatient heir,
d sighs for sables which he must not wear.[jg]
undred scutcheons deck with gloomy grace
Laras' last and longest dwelling-place; 40
one is absent from the mouldering file,
t now were welcome in that Gothic pile.[jh]
IV.
h none to check, and few to point in time
thousand paths that slope the way to crime;
n, when he most required commandment, then
Lara's daring boyhood governed men.[jc] 20
kills not, boots not step by step to trace
youth through all the mazes of its race;
rt was the course his restlessness had run,[jd]
long enough to leave him half undone.
III.
d Lara left in youth his father-land;
from the hour he waved his parting hand
h trace waxed fainter of his course, till all
nearly ceased his memory to recall.
sire was dust, his vassals could declare,
as all they knew, that Lara was not there; 30
sent, nor came he, till conjecture grew
d in the many, anxious in the few.
hall scarce echoes with his wonted name,
portrait darkens in its fading frame,
other chief consoled his destined bride,[je]
young forgot him, and the old had died;[jf]
t doth he live!" exclaims the impatient heir,
d sighs for sables which he must not wear.[jg]
undred scutcheons deck with gloomy grace
Laras' last and longest dwelling-place; 40
one is absent from the mouldering file,
t now were welcome in that Gothic pile.[jh]
IV.
Page 375
comes at last in sudden loneliness,
d whence they know not, why they need not guess;
y more might marvel, when the greeting's o'er
that he came, but came not long before:
train is his beyond a single page,
oreign aspect, and of tender age.
rs had rolled on, and fast they speed away
hose that wander as to those that stay; 50
lack of tidings from another clime
lent a flagging wing to weary Time.
y see, they recognise, yet almost deem
present dubious, or the past a dream.
lives, nor yet is past his Manhood's prime,
ugh seared by toil, and something touched by Time;
faults, whate'er they were, if scarce forgot,
ht be untaught him by his varied lot;
good nor ill of late were known, his name
ht yet uphold his patrimonial fame: 60
soul in youth was haughty, but his sins[269]
more than pleasure from the stripling wins;
d such, if not yet hardened in their course,
ht be redeemed, nor ask a long remorse.
V.
d they indeed were changed—'tis quickly seen,
ate'er he be, 'twas not what he had been:
t brow in furrowed lines had fixed at last,
d spake of passions, but of passion past:
pride, but not the fire, of early days,
dness of mien, and carelessness of praise; 70
d whence they know not, why they need not guess;
y more might marvel, when the greeting's o'er
that he came, but came not long before:
train is his beyond a single page,
oreign aspect, and of tender age.
rs had rolled on, and fast they speed away
hose that wander as to those that stay; 50
lack of tidings from another clime
lent a flagging wing to weary Time.
y see, they recognise, yet almost deem
present dubious, or the past a dream.
lives, nor yet is past his Manhood's prime,
ugh seared by toil, and something touched by Time;
faults, whate'er they were, if scarce forgot,
ht be untaught him by his varied lot;
good nor ill of late were known, his name
ht yet uphold his patrimonial fame: 60
soul in youth was haughty, but his sins[269]
more than pleasure from the stripling wins;
d such, if not yet hardened in their course,
ht be redeemed, nor ask a long remorse.
V.
d they indeed were changed—'tis quickly seen,
ate'er he be, 'twas not what he had been:
t brow in furrowed lines had fixed at last,
d spake of passions, but of passion past:
pride, but not the fire, of early days,
dness of mien, and carelessness of praise; 70
Page 376
igh demeanour, and a glance that took
ir thoughts from others by a single look;
d that sarcastic levity of tongue,
stinging of a heart the world hath stung,
t darts in seeming playfulness around,
d makes those feel that will not own the wound;
these seemed his, and something more beneath
n glance could well reveal, or accent breathe.
bition, Glory, Love, the common aim,
t some can conquer, and that all would claim, 80
hin his breast appeared no more to strive,
seemed as lately they had been alive;
d some deep feeling it were vain to trace
moments lightened o'er his livid face.
VI.
much he loved long question of the past,
told of wondrous wilds, and deserts vast,
hose far lands where he had wandered lone,
d—as himself would have it seem—unknown:
these in vain his eye could scarcely scan,
glean experience from his fellow man; 90
what he had beheld he shunned to show,
hardly worth a stranger's care to know;
ill more prying such inquiry grew,
brow fell darker, and his words more few.
VII.
unrejoiced to see him once again,
m was his welcome to the haunts of men;
n of high lineage, linked in high command,
ir thoughts from others by a single look;
d that sarcastic levity of tongue,
stinging of a heart the world hath stung,
t darts in seeming playfulness around,
d makes those feel that will not own the wound;
these seemed his, and something more beneath
n glance could well reveal, or accent breathe.
bition, Glory, Love, the common aim,
t some can conquer, and that all would claim, 80
hin his breast appeared no more to strive,
seemed as lately they had been alive;
d some deep feeling it were vain to trace
moments lightened o'er his livid face.
VI.
much he loved long question of the past,
told of wondrous wilds, and deserts vast,
hose far lands where he had wandered lone,
d—as himself would have it seem—unknown:
these in vain his eye could scarcely scan,
glean experience from his fellow man; 90
what he had beheld he shunned to show,
hardly worth a stranger's care to know;
ill more prying such inquiry grew,
brow fell darker, and his words more few.
VII.
unrejoiced to see him once again,
m was his welcome to the haunts of men;
n of high lineage, linked in high command,
Page 377
mingled with the Magnates of his land;
ed the carousals of the great and gay,
d saw them smile or sigh their hours away; 100
still he only saw, and did not share,
common pleasure or the general care;
did not follow what they all pursued
h hope still baffled still to be renewed;
shadowy Honour, nor substantial Gain,
Beauty's preference, and the rival's pain:
und him some mysterious circle thrown
elled approach, and showed him still alone;
on his eye sat something of reproof,
t kept at least Frivolity aloof; 110
d things more timid that beheld him near
ilence gazed, or whispered mutual fear;
d they the wiser, friendlier few confessed
y deemed him better than his air expressed.
VIII.
as strange—in youth all action and all life,
ning for pleasure, not averse from strife;
man—the Field—the Ocean, all that gave
mise of gladness, peril of a grave,
urn he tried—he ransacked all below,
d found his recompense in joy or woe, 120
tame, trite medium; for his feelings sought
hat intenseness an escape from thought:[ji]
Tempest of his Heart in scorn had gazed
that the feebler Elements hath raised;
Rapture of his Heart had looked on high,
d asked if greater dwelt beyond the sky:
ed the carousals of the great and gay,
d saw them smile or sigh their hours away; 100
still he only saw, and did not share,
common pleasure or the general care;
did not follow what they all pursued
h hope still baffled still to be renewed;
shadowy Honour, nor substantial Gain,
Beauty's preference, and the rival's pain:
und him some mysterious circle thrown
elled approach, and showed him still alone;
on his eye sat something of reproof,
t kept at least Frivolity aloof; 110
d things more timid that beheld him near
ilence gazed, or whispered mutual fear;
d they the wiser, friendlier few confessed
y deemed him better than his air expressed.
VIII.
as strange—in youth all action and all life,
ning for pleasure, not averse from strife;
man—the Field—the Ocean, all that gave
mise of gladness, peril of a grave,
urn he tried—he ransacked all below,
d found his recompense in joy or woe, 120
tame, trite medium; for his feelings sought
hat intenseness an escape from thought:[ji]
Tempest of his Heart in scorn had gazed
that the feebler Elements hath raised;
Rapture of his Heart had looked on high,
d asked if greater dwelt beyond the sky:
Page 378
ined to excess, the slave of each extreme,
w woke he from the wildness of that dream!
s! he told not—but he did awake
curse the withered heart that would not break. 130
IX.
ks, for his volume heretofore was Man,
h eye more curious he appeared to scan,
d oft in sudden mood, for many a day,
m all communion he would start away:
d then, his rarely called attendants said,
ough night's long hours would sound his hurried tread
r the dark gallery, where his fathers frowned
ude but antique portraiture around:
y heard, but whispered—"that must not be known—
sound of words less earthly than his own.[jj] 140
they who chose might smile, but some had seen
y scarce knew what, but more than should have been.
y gazed he so upon the ghastly head[270]
ich hands profane had gathered from the dead,
t still beside his opened volume lay,
f to startle all save him away?
y slept he not when others were at rest?
y heard no music, and received no guest?
was not well, they deemed—but where the wrong?[271]
me knew perchance—but 'twere a tale too long; 150
d such besides were too discreetly wise,
more than hint their knowledge in surmise;
if they would—they could"—around the board
s Lara's vassals prattled of their lord.
w woke he from the wildness of that dream!
s! he told not—but he did awake
curse the withered heart that would not break. 130
IX.
ks, for his volume heretofore was Man,
h eye more curious he appeared to scan,
d oft in sudden mood, for many a day,
m all communion he would start away:
d then, his rarely called attendants said,
ough night's long hours would sound his hurried tread
r the dark gallery, where his fathers frowned
ude but antique portraiture around:
y heard, but whispered—"that must not be known—
sound of words less earthly than his own.[jj] 140
they who chose might smile, but some had seen
y scarce knew what, but more than should have been.
y gazed he so upon the ghastly head[270]
ich hands profane had gathered from the dead,
t still beside his opened volume lay,
f to startle all save him away?
y slept he not when others were at rest?
y heard no music, and received no guest?
was not well, they deemed—but where the wrong?[271]
me knew perchance—but 'twere a tale too long; 150
d such besides were too discreetly wise,
more than hint their knowledge in surmise;
if they would—they could"—around the board
s Lara's vassals prattled of their lord.
Page 379
X.
Page 380
as the night—and Lara's glassy stream
stars are studding, each with imaged beam;
calm, the waters scarcely seem to stray,
d yet they glide like Happiness away;[272]
lecting far and fairy-like from high
immortal lights that live along the sky: 160
banks are fringed with many a goodly tree,
d flowers the fairest that may feast the bee;
h in her chaplet infant Dian wove,
d Innocence would offer to her love.
se deck the shore; the waves their channel make
windings bright and mazy like the snake.
was so still, so soft in earth and air,
scarce would start to meet a spirit there;
ure that nought of evil could delight
walk in such a scene, on such a night! 170
as a moment only for the good:
Lara deemed, nor longer there he stood,
turned in silence to his castle-gate;
h scene his soul no more could contemplate:
h scene reminded him of other days,
kies more cloudless, moons of purer blaze,
nights more soft and frequent, hearts that now—
—no—the storm may beat upon his brow,
elt, unsparing—but a night like this,
ight of Beauty, mocked such breast as his. 180
XI.
turned within his solitary hall,
d his high shadow shot along the wall:
stars are studding, each with imaged beam;
calm, the waters scarcely seem to stray,
d yet they glide like Happiness away;[272]
lecting far and fairy-like from high
immortal lights that live along the sky: 160
banks are fringed with many a goodly tree,
d flowers the fairest that may feast the bee;
h in her chaplet infant Dian wove,
d Innocence would offer to her love.
se deck the shore; the waves their channel make
windings bright and mazy like the snake.
was so still, so soft in earth and air,
scarce would start to meet a spirit there;
ure that nought of evil could delight
walk in such a scene, on such a night! 170
as a moment only for the good:
Lara deemed, nor longer there he stood,
turned in silence to his castle-gate;
h scene his soul no more could contemplate:
h scene reminded him of other days,
kies more cloudless, moons of purer blaze,
nights more soft and frequent, hearts that now—
—no—the storm may beat upon his brow,
elt, unsparing—but a night like this,
ight of Beauty, mocked such breast as his. 180
XI.
turned within his solitary hall,
d his high shadow shot along the wall:
Page 381
re were the painted forms of other times,[273]
as all they left of virtues or of crimes,
e vague tradition; and the gloomy vaults
t hid their dust, their foibles, and their faults;
d half a column of the pompous page,
t speeds the specious tale from age to age;
ere History's pen its praise or blame supplies,
d lies like Truth, and still most truly lies. 190
wandering mused, and as the moonbeam shone
ough the dim lattice, o'er the floor of stone,
d the high fretted roof, and saints, that there
r Gothic windows knelt in pictured prayer,[jk]
lected in fantastic figures grew,
e life, but not like mortal life, to view;
bristling locks of sable, brow of gloom,
d the wide waving of his shaken plume,
nced like a spectre's attributes—and gave
aspect all that terror gives the grave.[jl] 200
XII.
as midnight—all was slumber; the lone light
mmed in the lamp, as both to break the night.
k! there be murmurs heard in Lara's hall—
ound—a voice—a shriek—a fearful call!
ng, loud shriek—and silence—did they hear
t frantic echo burst the sleeping ear?
y heard and rose, and, tremulously brave,
h where the sound invoked their aid to save;
y come with half-lit tapers in their hands,
d snatched in startled haste unbelted brands. 210
as all they left of virtues or of crimes,
e vague tradition; and the gloomy vaults
t hid their dust, their foibles, and their faults;
d half a column of the pompous page,
t speeds the specious tale from age to age;
ere History's pen its praise or blame supplies,
d lies like Truth, and still most truly lies. 190
wandering mused, and as the moonbeam shone
ough the dim lattice, o'er the floor of stone,
d the high fretted roof, and saints, that there
r Gothic windows knelt in pictured prayer,[jk]
lected in fantastic figures grew,
e life, but not like mortal life, to view;
bristling locks of sable, brow of gloom,
d the wide waving of his shaken plume,
nced like a spectre's attributes—and gave
aspect all that terror gives the grave.[jl] 200
XII.
as midnight—all was slumber; the lone light
mmed in the lamp, as both to break the night.
k! there be murmurs heard in Lara's hall—
ound—a voice—a shriek—a fearful call!
ng, loud shriek—and silence—did they hear
t frantic echo burst the sleeping ear?
y heard and rose, and, tremulously brave,
h where the sound invoked their aid to save;
y come with half-lit tapers in their hands,
d snatched in startled haste unbelted brands. 210
Page 382
XIII.
d as the marble where his length was laid,
e as the beam that o'er his features played,
Lara stretched; his half-drawn sabre near,
pped it should seem in more than Nature's fear;
he was firm, or had been firm till now,
d still Defiance knit his gathered brow;
ugh mixed with terror, senseless as he lay,
re lived upon his lip the wish to slay;
me half formed threat in utterance there had died,
me imprecation of despairing Pride; 220
eye was almost sealed, but not forsook,
n in its trance, the gladiator's look,
t oft awake his aspect could disclose,
d now was fixed in horrible repose.
y raise him—bear him;—hush! he breathes, he speaks,
swarthy blush recolours in his cheeks,
lip resumes its red, his eye, though dim,
ls wide and wild, each slowly quivering limb
alls its function, but his words are strung
erms that seem not of his native tongue; 230
inct but strange, enough they understand
deem them accents of another land;
d such they were, and meant to meet an ear
t hears him not—alas! that cannot hear!
XIV.
page approached, and he alone appeared
know the import of the words they heard;
d, by the changes of his cheek and brow,
y were not such as Lara should avow,
d as the marble where his length was laid,
e as the beam that o'er his features played,
Lara stretched; his half-drawn sabre near,
pped it should seem in more than Nature's fear;
he was firm, or had been firm till now,
d still Defiance knit his gathered brow;
ugh mixed with terror, senseless as he lay,
re lived upon his lip the wish to slay;
me half formed threat in utterance there had died,
me imprecation of despairing Pride; 220
eye was almost sealed, but not forsook,
n in its trance, the gladiator's look,
t oft awake his aspect could disclose,
d now was fixed in horrible repose.
y raise him—bear him;—hush! he breathes, he speaks,
swarthy blush recolours in his cheeks,
lip resumes its red, his eye, though dim,
ls wide and wild, each slowly quivering limb
alls its function, but his words are strung
erms that seem not of his native tongue; 230
inct but strange, enough they understand
deem them accents of another land;
d such they were, and meant to meet an ear
t hears him not—alas! that cannot hear!
XIV.
page approached, and he alone appeared
know the import of the words they heard;
d, by the changes of his cheek and brow,
y were not such as Lara should avow,
Page 383
he interpret,—yet with less surprise
n those around their Chieftain's state he eyes, 240
Lara's prostrate form he bent beside,
d in that tongue which seemed his own replied;
d Lara heeds those tones that gently seem
oothe away the horrors of his dream—
ream it were, that thus could overthrow
reast that needed not ideal woe.
XV.
ate'er his frenzy dreamed or eye beheld,—
et remembered ne'er to be revealed,—
ts at his heart: the customed morning came,
d breathed new vigour in his shaken frame; 250
d solace sought he none from priest nor leech,
d soon the same in movement and in speech,
heretofore he filled the passing hours,
less he smiles, nor more his forehead lowers,
n these were wont; and if the coming night
peared less welcome now to Lara's sight,
to his marvelling vassals showed it not,
ose shuddering proved their fear was less forgot.
rembling pairs (alone they dared not) crawl[jm]
astonished slaves, and shun the fated hall; 260
waving banner, and the clapping door,
rustling tapestry, and the echoing floor;
long dim shadows of surrounding trees,
flapping bat, the night song of the breeze;
ght they behold or hear their thought appals,
evening saddens o'er the dark grey walls.
XVI.
n those around their Chieftain's state he eyes, 240
Lara's prostrate form he bent beside,
d in that tongue which seemed his own replied;
d Lara heeds those tones that gently seem
oothe away the horrors of his dream—
ream it were, that thus could overthrow
reast that needed not ideal woe.
XV.
ate'er his frenzy dreamed or eye beheld,—
et remembered ne'er to be revealed,—
ts at his heart: the customed morning came,
d breathed new vigour in his shaken frame; 250
d solace sought he none from priest nor leech,
d soon the same in movement and in speech,
heretofore he filled the passing hours,
less he smiles, nor more his forehead lowers,
n these were wont; and if the coming night
peared less welcome now to Lara's sight,
to his marvelling vassals showed it not,
ose shuddering proved their fear was less forgot.
rembling pairs (alone they dared not) crawl[jm]
astonished slaves, and shun the fated hall; 260
waving banner, and the clapping door,
rustling tapestry, and the echoing floor;
long dim shadows of surrounding trees,
flapping bat, the night song of the breeze;
ght they behold or hear their thought appals,
evening saddens o'er the dark grey walls.
XVI.
Page 384
n thought! that hour of ne'er unravelled gloom
me not again, or Lara could assume
eeming of forgetfulness, that made
vassals more amazed nor less afraid. 270
Memory vanished then with sense restored?
ce word, nor look, nor gesture of their lord
rayed a feeling that recalled to these
t fevered moment of his mind's disease.
it a dream? was his the voice that spoke
se strange wild accents; his the cry that broke
ir slumber? his the oppressed, o'erlaboured heart
t ceased to beat, the look that made them start?
ld he who thus had suffered so forget,
en such as saw that suffering shudder yet? 280
did that silence prove his memory fixed
deep for words, indelible, unmixed
hat corroding secrecy which gnaws
heart to show the effect, but not the cause?
so in him; his breast had buried both,
common gazers could discern the growth
houghts that mortal lips must leave half told;
y choke the feeble words that would unfold.
XVII.
im inexplicably mixed appeared
ch to be loved and hated, sought and feared; 290
nion varying o'er his hidden lot,[jn]
raise or railing ne'er his name forgot:
silence formed a theme for others' prate—
y guessed—they gazed—they fain would know his fate.
at had he been? what was he, thus unknown,
me not again, or Lara could assume
eeming of forgetfulness, that made
vassals more amazed nor less afraid. 270
Memory vanished then with sense restored?
ce word, nor look, nor gesture of their lord
rayed a feeling that recalled to these
t fevered moment of his mind's disease.
it a dream? was his the voice that spoke
se strange wild accents; his the cry that broke
ir slumber? his the oppressed, o'erlaboured heart
t ceased to beat, the look that made them start?
ld he who thus had suffered so forget,
en such as saw that suffering shudder yet? 280
did that silence prove his memory fixed
deep for words, indelible, unmixed
hat corroding secrecy which gnaws
heart to show the effect, but not the cause?
so in him; his breast had buried both,
common gazers could discern the growth
houghts that mortal lips must leave half told;
y choke the feeble words that would unfold.
XVII.
im inexplicably mixed appeared
ch to be loved and hated, sought and feared; 290
nion varying o'er his hidden lot,[jn]
raise or railing ne'er his name forgot:
silence formed a theme for others' prate—
y guessed—they gazed—they fain would know his fate.
at had he been? what was he, thus unknown,
Page 385
o walked their world, his lineage only known?
ater of his kind? yet some would say,
h them he could seem gay amidst the gay;[jo]
owned that smile, if oft observed and near,
ned in its mirth, and withered to a sneer; 300
t smile might reach his lip, but passed not by,
e'er could trace its laughter to his eye:
there was softness too in his regard,
imes, a heart as not by nature hard,
once perceived, his Spirit seemed to chide
h weakness, as unworthy of its pride,
d steeled itself, as scorning to redeem
doubt from others' half withheld esteem;
elf-inflicted penance of a breast
ich Tenderness might once have wrung from Rest; 310
igilance of Grief that would compel
soul to hate for having loved too well.[274]
XVIII.
re was in him a vital scorn of all:[jp]
f the worst had fallen which could befall,
stood a stranger in this breathing world,
erring Spirit from another hurled;
hing of dark imaginings, that shaped
choice the perils he by chance escaped;
'scaped in vain, for in their memory yet
mind would half exult and half regret: 320
h more capacity for love than Earth
tows on most of mortal mould and birth.
early dreams of good outstripped the truth,[275]
d troubled Manhood followed baffled Youth;
ater of his kind? yet some would say,
h them he could seem gay amidst the gay;[jo]
owned that smile, if oft observed and near,
ned in its mirth, and withered to a sneer; 300
t smile might reach his lip, but passed not by,
e'er could trace its laughter to his eye:
there was softness too in his regard,
imes, a heart as not by nature hard,
once perceived, his Spirit seemed to chide
h weakness, as unworthy of its pride,
d steeled itself, as scorning to redeem
doubt from others' half withheld esteem;
elf-inflicted penance of a breast
ich Tenderness might once have wrung from Rest; 310
igilance of Grief that would compel
soul to hate for having loved too well.[274]
XVIII.
re was in him a vital scorn of all:[jp]
f the worst had fallen which could befall,
stood a stranger in this breathing world,
erring Spirit from another hurled;
hing of dark imaginings, that shaped
choice the perils he by chance escaped;
'scaped in vain, for in their memory yet
mind would half exult and half regret: 320
h more capacity for love than Earth
tows on most of mortal mould and birth.
early dreams of good outstripped the truth,[275]
d troubled Manhood followed baffled Youth;
Page 386
h thought of years in phantom chase misspent,
d wasted powers for better purpose lent;
d fiery passions that had poured their wrath
urried desolation o'er his path,
d left the better feelings all at strife[jq]
wild reflection o'er his stormy life; 330
haughty still, and loth himself to blame,
called on Nature's self to share the shame,
d charged all faults upon the fleshly form
gave to clog the soul, and feast the worm:
he at last confounded good and ill,
d half mistook for fate the acts of will:[jr][276]
high for common selfishness, he could
imes resign his own for others' good,
not in pity—not because he ought,
in some strange perversity of thought, 340
t swayed him onward with a secret pride
do what few or none would do beside;
d this same impulse would, in tempting time,
lead his spirit equally to crime;
much he soared beyond, or sunk beneath,
men with whom he felt condemned to breathe,
d longed by good or ill to separate
mself from all who shared his mortal state;
mind abhorring this had fixed her throne
from the world, in regions of her own: 350
s coldly passing all that passed below,
blood in temperate seeming now would flow:
happier if it ne'er with guilt had glowed,
ever in that icy smoothness flowed!
true, with other men their path he walked,
d wasted powers for better purpose lent;
d fiery passions that had poured their wrath
urried desolation o'er his path,
d left the better feelings all at strife[jq]
wild reflection o'er his stormy life; 330
haughty still, and loth himself to blame,
called on Nature's self to share the shame,
d charged all faults upon the fleshly form
gave to clog the soul, and feast the worm:
he at last confounded good and ill,
d half mistook for fate the acts of will:[jr][276]
high for common selfishness, he could
imes resign his own for others' good,
not in pity—not because he ought,
in some strange perversity of thought, 340
t swayed him onward with a secret pride
do what few or none would do beside;
d this same impulse would, in tempting time,
lead his spirit equally to crime;
much he soared beyond, or sunk beneath,
men with whom he felt condemned to breathe,
d longed by good or ill to separate
mself from all who shared his mortal state;
mind abhorring this had fixed her throne
from the world, in regions of her own: 350
s coldly passing all that passed below,
blood in temperate seeming now would flow:
happier if it ne'er with guilt had glowed,
ever in that icy smoothness flowed!
true, with other men their path he walked,
Page 387
d like the rest in seeming did and talked,
outraged Reason's rules by flaw nor start,
Madness was not of the head, but heart;
d rarely wandered in his speech, or drew
thoughts so forth as to offend the view. 360
XIX.
h all that chilling mystery of mien,
d seeming gladness to remain unseen,
had (if 'twere not nature's boon) an art
ixing memory on another's heart:
as not love perchance—nor hate—nor aught
t words can image to express the thought;
they who saw him did not see in vain,
d once beheld—would ask of him again:
d those to whom he spake remembered well,
d on the words, however light, would dwell: 370
ne knew, nor how, nor why, but he entwined
mself perforce around the hearer's mind;[js]
re he was stamped, in liking, or in hate,
reeted once; however brief the date
t friendship, pity, or aversion knew,[jt]
there within the inmost thought he grew.
could not penetrate his soul, but found,
pite your wonder, to your own he wound;
presence haunted still; and from the breast[ju]
forced an all unwilling interest: 380
n was the struggle in that mental net—
Spirit seemed to dare you to forget!
XX.
outraged Reason's rules by flaw nor start,
Madness was not of the head, but heart;
d rarely wandered in his speech, or drew
thoughts so forth as to offend the view. 360
XIX.
h all that chilling mystery of mien,
d seeming gladness to remain unseen,
had (if 'twere not nature's boon) an art
ixing memory on another's heart:
as not love perchance—nor hate—nor aught
t words can image to express the thought;
they who saw him did not see in vain,
d once beheld—would ask of him again:
d those to whom he spake remembered well,
d on the words, however light, would dwell: 370
ne knew, nor how, nor why, but he entwined
mself perforce around the hearer's mind;[js]
re he was stamped, in liking, or in hate,
reeted once; however brief the date
t friendship, pity, or aversion knew,[jt]
there within the inmost thought he grew.
could not penetrate his soul, but found,
pite your wonder, to your own he wound;
presence haunted still; and from the breast[ju]
forced an all unwilling interest: 380
n was the struggle in that mental net—
Spirit seemed to dare you to forget!
XX.
Page 388
re is a festival, where knights and dames,
d aught that wealth or lofty lineage claims,
pear—a high-born and a welcome guest
Otho's hall came Lara with the rest.
long carousal shakes the illumined hall,
l speeds alike the banquet and the ball;
d the gay dance of bounding Beauty's train
ks grace and harmony in happiest chain: 390
st are the early hearts and gentle hands
t mingle there in well according bands;
a sight the careful brow might smooth,
d make Age smile, and dream itself to youth,
d Youth forget such hour was past on earth,
prings the exulting bosom to that mirth![jv]
XXI.
d Lara gazed on these, sedately glad,
brow belied him if his soul was sad;
d his glance followed fast each fluttering fair,
ose steps of lightness woke no echo there: 400
leaned against the lofty pillar nigh,
h folded arms and long attentive eye,
marked a glance so sternly fixed on his—
rooked high Lara scrutiny like this:
ength he caught it—'tis a face unknown,
seems as searching his, and his alone;
ng and dark, a stranger's by his mien,
o still till now had gazed on him unseen:
ength encountering meets the mutual gaze
keen enquiry, and of mute amaze; 410
Lara's glance emotion gathering grew,
d aught that wealth or lofty lineage claims,
pear—a high-born and a welcome guest
Otho's hall came Lara with the rest.
long carousal shakes the illumined hall,
l speeds alike the banquet and the ball;
d the gay dance of bounding Beauty's train
ks grace and harmony in happiest chain: 390
st are the early hearts and gentle hands
t mingle there in well according bands;
a sight the careful brow might smooth,
d make Age smile, and dream itself to youth,
d Youth forget such hour was past on earth,
prings the exulting bosom to that mirth![jv]
XXI.
d Lara gazed on these, sedately glad,
brow belied him if his soul was sad;
d his glance followed fast each fluttering fair,
ose steps of lightness woke no echo there: 400
leaned against the lofty pillar nigh,
h folded arms and long attentive eye,
marked a glance so sternly fixed on his—
rooked high Lara scrutiny like this:
ength he caught it—'tis a face unknown,
seems as searching his, and his alone;
ng and dark, a stranger's by his mien,
o still till now had gazed on him unseen:
ength encountering meets the mutual gaze
keen enquiry, and of mute amaze; 410
Lara's glance emotion gathering grew,
Page 389
f distrusting that the stranger threw;
ng the stranger's aspect, fixed and stern,
hed more than thence the vulgar eye could learn.
XXII.
s he!" the stranger cried, and those that heard
echoed fast and far the whispered word.
s he!"—"'Tis who?" they question far and near,
louder accents rung on Lara's ear;
widely spread, few bosoms well could brook
general marvel, or that single look: 420
Lara stirred not, changed not, the surprise
t sprung at first to his arrested eyes
med now subsided—neither sunk nor raised
nced his eye round, though still the stranger gazed;
d drawing nigh, exclaimed, with haughty sneer,
s he!—how came he thence?—what doth he here?"
XXIII.
ere too much for Lara to pass by
h questions, so repeated fierce and high;[jw]
h look collected, but with accent cold,
re mildly firm than petulantly bold, 430
turned, and met the inquisitorial tone—
y name is Lara—when thine own is known,
ubt not my fitting answer to requite
unlooked for courtesy of such a knight.
Lara!—further wouldst thou mark or ask?
un no question, and I wear no mask."
ou shunn'st no question! Ponder—is there none
ng the stranger's aspect, fixed and stern,
hed more than thence the vulgar eye could learn.
XXII.
s he!" the stranger cried, and those that heard
echoed fast and far the whispered word.
s he!"—"'Tis who?" they question far and near,
louder accents rung on Lara's ear;
widely spread, few bosoms well could brook
general marvel, or that single look: 420
Lara stirred not, changed not, the surprise
t sprung at first to his arrested eyes
med now subsided—neither sunk nor raised
nced his eye round, though still the stranger gazed;
d drawing nigh, exclaimed, with haughty sneer,
s he!—how came he thence?—what doth he here?"
XXIII.
ere too much for Lara to pass by
h questions, so repeated fierce and high;[jw]
h look collected, but with accent cold,
re mildly firm than petulantly bold, 430
turned, and met the inquisitorial tone—
y name is Lara—when thine own is known,
ubt not my fitting answer to requite
unlooked for courtesy of such a knight.
Lara!—further wouldst thou mark or ask?
un no question, and I wear no mask."
ou shunn'st no question! Ponder—is there none
Page 390
heart must answer, though thine ear would shun?
d deem'st thou me unknown too? Gaze again!
east thy memory was not given in vain. 440
never canst thou cancel half her debt—
nity forbids thee to forget."
h slow and searching glance upon his face
w Lara's eyes, but nothing there could trace
y knew, or chose to know—with dubious look
deigned no answer, but his head he shook,
d half contemptuous turned to pass away;
the stern stranger motioned him to stay.
word!—I charge thee stay, and answer here
one, who, wert thou noble, were thy peer, 450
as thou wast and art—nay, frown not, Lord,
alse, 'tis easy to disprove the word—
as thou wast and art, on thee looks down,
rusts thy smiles, but shakes not at thy frown.
thou not he? whose deeds——"[jx]
"Whate'er I be,
rds wild as these, accusers like to thee,
t no further; those with whom they weigh
y hear the rest, nor venture to gainsay
wondrous tale no doubt thy tongue can tell,
ich thus begins so courteously and well. 460
Otho cherish here his polished guest,
him my thanks and thoughts shall be expressed."
d here their wondering host hath interposed—
hate'er there be between you undisclosed,
s is no time nor fitting place to mar
mirthful meeting with a wordy war.
hou, Sir Ezzelin, hast aught to show
d deem'st thou me unknown too? Gaze again!
east thy memory was not given in vain. 440
never canst thou cancel half her debt—
nity forbids thee to forget."
h slow and searching glance upon his face
w Lara's eyes, but nothing there could trace
y knew, or chose to know—with dubious look
deigned no answer, but his head he shook,
d half contemptuous turned to pass away;
the stern stranger motioned him to stay.
word!—I charge thee stay, and answer here
one, who, wert thou noble, were thy peer, 450
as thou wast and art—nay, frown not, Lord,
alse, 'tis easy to disprove the word—
as thou wast and art, on thee looks down,
rusts thy smiles, but shakes not at thy frown.
thou not he? whose deeds——"[jx]
"Whate'er I be,
rds wild as these, accusers like to thee,
t no further; those with whom they weigh
y hear the rest, nor venture to gainsay
wondrous tale no doubt thy tongue can tell,
ich thus begins so courteously and well. 460
Otho cherish here his polished guest,
him my thanks and thoughts shall be expressed."
d here their wondering host hath interposed—
hate'er there be between you undisclosed,
s is no time nor fitting place to mar
mirthful meeting with a wordy war.
hou, Sir Ezzelin, hast aught to show
Page 391
ich it befits Count Lara's ear to know,
morrow, here, or elsewhere, as may best
eem your mutual judgment, speak the rest; 470
edge myself for thee, as not unknown,
ugh, like Count Lara, now returned alone
m other lands, almost a stranger grown;
d if from Lara's blood and gentle birth
gur right of courage and of worth,
will not that untainted line belie,
aught that Knighthood may accord, deny."
-morrow be it," Ezzelin replied,
d here our several worth and truth be tried;
ge my life, my falchion to attest 480
words, so may I mingle with the blest!"
at answers Lara? to its centre shrunk
soul, in deep abstraction sudden sunk;
words of many, and the eyes of all
t there were gathered, seemed on him to fall;
his were silent, his appeared to stray
ar forgetfulness away—away—
s! that heedlessness of all around
poke remembrance only too profound.
XXIV.
-morrow!—aye, to-morrow!" further word[jy] 490
n those repeated none from Lara heard;
on his brow no outward passion spoke;
m his large eye no flashing anger broke;
there was something fixed in that low tone,
ich showed resolve, determined, though unknown.
morrow, here, or elsewhere, as may best
eem your mutual judgment, speak the rest; 470
edge myself for thee, as not unknown,
ugh, like Count Lara, now returned alone
m other lands, almost a stranger grown;
d if from Lara's blood and gentle birth
gur right of courage and of worth,
will not that untainted line belie,
aught that Knighthood may accord, deny."
-morrow be it," Ezzelin replied,
d here our several worth and truth be tried;
ge my life, my falchion to attest 480
words, so may I mingle with the blest!"
at answers Lara? to its centre shrunk
soul, in deep abstraction sudden sunk;
words of many, and the eyes of all
t there were gathered, seemed on him to fall;
his were silent, his appeared to stray
ar forgetfulness away—away—
s! that heedlessness of all around
poke remembrance only too profound.
XXIV.
-morrow!—aye, to-morrow!" further word[jy] 490
n those repeated none from Lara heard;
on his brow no outward passion spoke;
m his large eye no flashing anger broke;
there was something fixed in that low tone,
ich showed resolve, determined, though unknown.
Page 392
seized his cloak—his head he slightly bowed,
d passing Ezzelin, he left the crowd;
d, as he passed him, smiling met the frown
h which that Chieftain's brow would bear him down:
as nor smile of mirth, nor struggling pride 500
t curbs to scorn the wrath it cannot hide;
that of one in his own heart secure
all that he would do, or could endure.
ld this mean peace? the calmness of the good?
guilt grown old in desperate hardihood?
s! too like in confidence are each,
man to trust to mortal look or speech;
m deeds, and deeds alone, may he discern
ths which it wrings the unpractised heart to learn.
XXV.
d Lara called his page, and went his way— 510
l could that stripling word or sign obey:
only follower from those climes afar,
ere the Soul glows beneath a brighter star:
Lara left the shore from whence he sprung,
uty patient, and sedate though young;
nt as him he served, his faith appears
ove his station, and beyond his years.
ugh not unknown the tongue of Lara's land,
uch from him he rarely heard command;
fleet his step, and clear his tones would come, 520
en Lara's lip breathed forth the words of home:
se accents, as his native mountains dear,
ake their absent echoes in his ear,[jz]
nds'—kindred's—parents'—wonted voice recall,
d passing Ezzelin, he left the crowd;
d, as he passed him, smiling met the frown
h which that Chieftain's brow would bear him down:
as nor smile of mirth, nor struggling pride 500
t curbs to scorn the wrath it cannot hide;
that of one in his own heart secure
all that he would do, or could endure.
ld this mean peace? the calmness of the good?
guilt grown old in desperate hardihood?
s! too like in confidence are each,
man to trust to mortal look or speech;
m deeds, and deeds alone, may he discern
ths which it wrings the unpractised heart to learn.
XXV.
d Lara called his page, and went his way— 510
l could that stripling word or sign obey:
only follower from those climes afar,
ere the Soul glows beneath a brighter star:
Lara left the shore from whence he sprung,
uty patient, and sedate though young;
nt as him he served, his faith appears
ove his station, and beyond his years.
ugh not unknown the tongue of Lara's land,
uch from him he rarely heard command;
fleet his step, and clear his tones would come, 520
en Lara's lip breathed forth the words of home:
se accents, as his native mountains dear,
ake their absent echoes in his ear,[jz]
nds'—kindred's—parents'—wonted voice recall,
Page 393
w lost, abjured, for one—his friend, his all:
him earth now disclosed no other guide;
at marvel then he rarely left his side?
XXVI.
ht was his form, and darkly delicate
t brow whereon his native sun had sate,
had not marred, though in his beams he grew, 530
cheek where oft the unbidden blush shone through;
not such blush as mounts when health would show
the heart's hue in that delighted glow;
'twas a hectic tint of secret care
t for a burning moment fevered there;
d the wild sparkle of his eye seemed caught
m high, and lightened with electric thought,[ka]
ugh its black orb those long low lashes' fringe
tempered with a melancholy tinge;
less of sorrow than of pride was there, 540
if 'twere grief, a grief that none should share:
d pleased not him the sports that please his age,
tricks of Youth, the frolics of the Page;
hours on Lara he would fix his glance,
all-forgotten in that watchful trance;
d from his chief withdrawn, he wandered lone,
ef were his answers, and his questions none;
walk the wood, his sport some foreign book;
resting-place the bank that curbs the brook:
seemed, like him he served, to live apart 550
m all that lures the eye, and fills the heart;
know no brotherhood, and take from earth
gift beyond that bitter boon—our birth.
him earth now disclosed no other guide;
at marvel then he rarely left his side?
XXVI.
ht was his form, and darkly delicate
t brow whereon his native sun had sate,
had not marred, though in his beams he grew, 530
cheek where oft the unbidden blush shone through;
not such blush as mounts when health would show
the heart's hue in that delighted glow;
'twas a hectic tint of secret care
t for a burning moment fevered there;
d the wild sparkle of his eye seemed caught
m high, and lightened with electric thought,[ka]
ugh its black orb those long low lashes' fringe
tempered with a melancholy tinge;
less of sorrow than of pride was there, 540
if 'twere grief, a grief that none should share:
d pleased not him the sports that please his age,
tricks of Youth, the frolics of the Page;
hours on Lara he would fix his glance,
all-forgotten in that watchful trance;
d from his chief withdrawn, he wandered lone,
ef were his answers, and his questions none;
walk the wood, his sport some foreign book;
resting-place the bank that curbs the brook:
seemed, like him he served, to live apart 550
m all that lures the eye, and fills the heart;
know no brotherhood, and take from earth
gift beyond that bitter boon—our birth.
Page 394
XXVII.
ught he loved, 'twas Lara; but was shown
faith in reverence and in deeds alone;
mute attention; and his care, which guessed
h wish, fulfilled it ere the tongue expressed.
there was haughtiness in all he did,
pirit deep that brooked not to be chid;
zeal, though more than that of servile hands,[kb] 560
ct alone obeys, his air commands;
f 'twas Lara's less than his desire
t thus he served, but surely not for hire.
ht were the tasks enjoined him by his Lord,
hold the stirrup, or to bear the sword;
une his lute, or, if he willed it more,[kc]
tomes of other times and tongues to pore;
ne'er to mingle with the menial train,
whom he showed nor deference nor disdain,
that well-worn reserve which proved he knew 570
sympathy with that familiar crew:
soul, whate'er his station or his stem,
ld bow to Lara, not descend to them.
higher birth he seemed, and better days,
mark of vulgar toil that hand betrays,
emininely white it might bespeak
other sex, when matched with that smooth cheek,
for his garb, and something in his gaze,
re wild and high than Woman's eye betrays;
tent fierceness that far more became 580
fiery climate than his tender frame:
e, in his words it broke not from his breast,
from his aspect might be more than guessed.[kd]
ught he loved, 'twas Lara; but was shown
faith in reverence and in deeds alone;
mute attention; and his care, which guessed
h wish, fulfilled it ere the tongue expressed.
there was haughtiness in all he did,
pirit deep that brooked not to be chid;
zeal, though more than that of servile hands,[kb] 560
ct alone obeys, his air commands;
f 'twas Lara's less than his desire
t thus he served, but surely not for hire.
ht were the tasks enjoined him by his Lord,
hold the stirrup, or to bear the sword;
une his lute, or, if he willed it more,[kc]
tomes of other times and tongues to pore;
ne'er to mingle with the menial train,
whom he showed nor deference nor disdain,
that well-worn reserve which proved he knew 570
sympathy with that familiar crew:
soul, whate'er his station or his stem,
ld bow to Lara, not descend to them.
higher birth he seemed, and better days,
mark of vulgar toil that hand betrays,
emininely white it might bespeak
other sex, when matched with that smooth cheek,
for his garb, and something in his gaze,
re wild and high than Woman's eye betrays;
tent fierceness that far more became 580
fiery climate than his tender frame:
e, in his words it broke not from his breast,
from his aspect might be more than guessed.[kd]
Page 395
ed his name, though rumour said he bore
other ere he left his mountain-shore;
sometimes he would hear, however nigh,
t name repeated loud without reply,
unfamiliar—or, if roused again,
t to the sound, as but remembered then;
ess 'twas Lara's wonted voice that spake, 590
then—ear—eyes—and heart would all awake.
XXVIII.
had looked down upon the festive hall,
d mark'd that sudden strife so marked of all:
d when the crowd around and near him told[ke]
ir wonder at the calmness of the bold,
ir marvel how the high-born Lara bore
h insult from a stranger, doubly sore,
colour of young Kaled went and came,
lip of ashes, and the cheek of flame;
d o'er his brow the dampening heart-drops threw 600
sickening iciness of that cold dew,
t rises as the busy bosom sinks
h heavy thoughts from which Reflection shrinks.
—there be things which we must dream and dare,
d execute ere thought be half aware:[277]
ate'er might Kaled's be, it was enow
eal his lip, but agonise his brow.
gazed on Ezzelin till Lara cast
t sidelong smile upon the knight he past;
en Kaled saw that smile his visage fell, 610
f on something recognised right well:
memory read in such a meaning more
other ere he left his mountain-shore;
sometimes he would hear, however nigh,
t name repeated loud without reply,
unfamiliar—or, if roused again,
t to the sound, as but remembered then;
ess 'twas Lara's wonted voice that spake, 590
then—ear—eyes—and heart would all awake.
XXVIII.
had looked down upon the festive hall,
d mark'd that sudden strife so marked of all:
d when the crowd around and near him told[ke]
ir wonder at the calmness of the bold,
ir marvel how the high-born Lara bore
h insult from a stranger, doubly sore,
colour of young Kaled went and came,
lip of ashes, and the cheek of flame;
d o'er his brow the dampening heart-drops threw 600
sickening iciness of that cold dew,
t rises as the busy bosom sinks
h heavy thoughts from which Reflection shrinks.
—there be things which we must dream and dare,
d execute ere thought be half aware:[277]
ate'er might Kaled's be, it was enow
eal his lip, but agonise his brow.
gazed on Ezzelin till Lara cast
t sidelong smile upon the knight he past;
en Kaled saw that smile his visage fell, 610
f on something recognised right well:
memory read in such a meaning more
Page 396
n Lara's aspect unto others wore:
ward he sprung—a moment, both were gone,
d all within that hall seemed left alone;
h had so fixed his eye on Lara's mien,
had so mixed their feelings with that scene,
t when his long dark shadow through the porch
more relieves the glare of yon high torch,
h pulse beats quicker, and all bosoms seem 620
bound as doubting from too black a dream,
h as we know is false, yet dread in sooth,
ause the worst is ever nearest truth.
d they are gone—but Ezzelin is there,
h thoughtful visage and imperious air;
long remained not; ere an hour expired
waved his hand to Otho, and retired.
XXIX.
crowd are gone, the revellers at rest;
courteous host, and all-approving guest,
in to that accustomed couch must creep 630
ere Joy subsides, and Sorrow sighs to sleep,
d Man, o'erlaboured with his Being's strife,
nks to that sweet forgetfulness of life:
re lie Love's feverish hope, and Cunning's guile,[kf]
e's working brain, and lulled Ambition's wile;
r each vain eye Oblivion's pinions wave,
d quenched Existence crouches in a grave.[kg]
at better name may Slumber's bed become?
ht's sepulchre, the universal home,
ere Weakness—Strength—Vice—Virtue—sunk supine, 640
ke in naked helplessness recline;
ward he sprung—a moment, both were gone,
d all within that hall seemed left alone;
h had so fixed his eye on Lara's mien,
had so mixed their feelings with that scene,
t when his long dark shadow through the porch
more relieves the glare of yon high torch,
h pulse beats quicker, and all bosoms seem 620
bound as doubting from too black a dream,
h as we know is false, yet dread in sooth,
ause the worst is ever nearest truth.
d they are gone—but Ezzelin is there,
h thoughtful visage and imperious air;
long remained not; ere an hour expired
waved his hand to Otho, and retired.
XXIX.
crowd are gone, the revellers at rest;
courteous host, and all-approving guest,
in to that accustomed couch must creep 630
ere Joy subsides, and Sorrow sighs to sleep,
d Man, o'erlaboured with his Being's strife,
nks to that sweet forgetfulness of life:
re lie Love's feverish hope, and Cunning's guile,[kf]
e's working brain, and lulled Ambition's wile;
r each vain eye Oblivion's pinions wave,
d quenched Existence crouches in a grave.[kg]
at better name may Slumber's bed become?
ht's sepulchre, the universal home,
ere Weakness—Strength—Vice—Virtue—sunk supine, 640
ke in naked helplessness recline;
Page 397
d for a while to heave unconscious breath,
wake to wrestle with the dread of Death,
d shun—though Day but dawn on ills increased—
t sleep,—the loveliest, since it dreams the least.
CANTO THE SECOND.
I.
[278]
ht wanes—the vapours round the mountains curled
t into morn, and Light awakes the world,
n has another day to swell the past,
d lead him near to little, but his last;
mighty Nature bounds as from her birth, 650
Sun is in the heavens, and Life on earth;[279]
wers in the valley, splendour in the beam,
lth on the gale, and freshness in the stream.
mortal Man! behold her glories shine,
d cry, exulting inly, "They are thine!"
e on, while yet thy gladdened eye may see:
morrow comes when they are not for thee:
d grieve what may above thy senseless bier,
earth nor sky will yield a single tear;
cloud shall gather more, nor leaf shall fall, 660
gale breathe forth one sigh for thee, for all;[280]
creeping things shall revel in their spoil,
d fit thy clay to fertilise the soil.
II.
wake to wrestle with the dread of Death,
d shun—though Day but dawn on ills increased—
t sleep,—the loveliest, since it dreams the least.
CANTO THE SECOND.
I.
[278]
ht wanes—the vapours round the mountains curled
t into morn, and Light awakes the world,
n has another day to swell the past,
d lead him near to little, but his last;
mighty Nature bounds as from her birth, 650
Sun is in the heavens, and Life on earth;[279]
wers in the valley, splendour in the beam,
lth on the gale, and freshness in the stream.
mortal Man! behold her glories shine,
d cry, exulting inly, "They are thine!"
e on, while yet thy gladdened eye may see:
morrow comes when they are not for thee:
d grieve what may above thy senseless bier,
earth nor sky will yield a single tear;
cloud shall gather more, nor leaf shall fall, 660
gale breathe forth one sigh for thee, for all;[280]
creeping things shall revel in their spoil,
d fit thy clay to fertilise the soil.
II.
Page 398
morn—'tis noon—assembled in the hall,
gathered Chieftains come to Otho's call;
now the promised hour, that must proclaim
life or death of Lara's future fame;
d Ezzelin his charge may here unfold,[kh]
d whatsoe'er the tale, it must be told.
faith was pledged, and Lara's promise given, 670
meet it in the eye of Man and Heaven.
y comes he not? Such truths to be divulged,
hinks the accuser's rest is long indulged.
III.
hour is past, and Lara too is there,
h self-confiding, coldly patient air;
y comes not Ezzelin? The hour is past,
d murmurs rise, and Otho's brow's o'ercast.
now my friend! his faith I cannot fear,
et he be on earth, expect him here;
roof that held him in the valley stands 680
ween my own and noble Lara's lands;
halls from such a guest had honour gained,
had Sir Ezzelin his host disdained,
that some previous proof forbade his stay,
d urged him to prepare against to-day;
word I pledged for his I pledge again,
will myself redeem his knighthood's stain."
ceased—and Lara answered, "I am here
end at thy demand a listening ear
ales of evil from a stranger's tongue, 690
ose words already might my heart have wrung,
that I deemed him scarcely less than mad,
gathered Chieftains come to Otho's call;
now the promised hour, that must proclaim
life or death of Lara's future fame;
d Ezzelin his charge may here unfold,[kh]
d whatsoe'er the tale, it must be told.
faith was pledged, and Lara's promise given, 670
meet it in the eye of Man and Heaven.
y comes he not? Such truths to be divulged,
hinks the accuser's rest is long indulged.
III.
hour is past, and Lara too is there,
h self-confiding, coldly patient air;
y comes not Ezzelin? The hour is past,
d murmurs rise, and Otho's brow's o'ercast.
now my friend! his faith I cannot fear,
et he be on earth, expect him here;
roof that held him in the valley stands 680
ween my own and noble Lara's lands;
halls from such a guest had honour gained,
had Sir Ezzelin his host disdained,
that some previous proof forbade his stay,
d urged him to prepare against to-day;
word I pledged for his I pledge again,
will myself redeem his knighthood's stain."
ceased—and Lara answered, "I am here
end at thy demand a listening ear
ales of evil from a stranger's tongue, 690
ose words already might my heart have wrung,
that I deemed him scarcely less than mad,
Page 399
at the worst, a foe ignobly bad.
ow him not—but me it seems he knew
ands where—but I must not trifle too:
duce this babbler—or redeem the pledge;
e in thy hold, and with thy falchion's edge."[ki]
ud Otho on the instant, reddening, threw
glove on earth, and forth his sabre flew.
e last alternative befits me best, 700
d thus I answer for mine absent guest."
h cheek unchanging from its sallow gloom,
wever near his own or other's tomb;
h hand, whose almost careless coolness spoke
grasp well-used to deal the sabre-stroke;
h eye, though calm, determined not to spare,
Lara too his willing weapon bare.
ain the circling Chieftains round them closed,
Otho's frenzy would not be opposed;
d from his lip those words of insult fell— 710
sword is good who can maintain them well.
IV.
rt was the conflict; furious, blindly rash,
n Otho gave his bosom to the gash:
bled, and fell; but not with deadly wound,
tched by a dextrous sleight along the ground.
mand thy life!" He answered not: and then
m that red floor he ne'er had risen again,
Lara's brow upon the moment grew
most to blackness in its demon hue;[281]
d fiercer shook his angry falchion now 720
ow him not—but me it seems he knew
ands where—but I must not trifle too:
duce this babbler—or redeem the pledge;
e in thy hold, and with thy falchion's edge."[ki]
ud Otho on the instant, reddening, threw
glove on earth, and forth his sabre flew.
e last alternative befits me best, 700
d thus I answer for mine absent guest."
h cheek unchanging from its sallow gloom,
wever near his own or other's tomb;
h hand, whose almost careless coolness spoke
grasp well-used to deal the sabre-stroke;
h eye, though calm, determined not to spare,
Lara too his willing weapon bare.
ain the circling Chieftains round them closed,
Otho's frenzy would not be opposed;
d from his lip those words of insult fell— 710
sword is good who can maintain them well.
IV.
rt was the conflict; furious, blindly rash,
n Otho gave his bosom to the gash:
bled, and fell; but not with deadly wound,
tched by a dextrous sleight along the ground.
mand thy life!" He answered not: and then
m that red floor he ne'er had risen again,
Lara's brow upon the moment grew
most to blackness in its demon hue;[281]
d fiercer shook his angry falchion now 720
Page 400
n when his foe's was levelled at his brow;
n all was stern collectedness and art,
w rose the unleavened hatred of his heart;
ittle sparing to the foe he felled,[kj]
t when the approaching crowd his arm withheld,
almost turned the thirsty point on those
o thus for mercy dared to interpose;
to a moment's thought that purpose bent;
looked he on him still with eye intent,
f he loathed the ineffectual strife 730
t left a foe, howe'er o'erthrown, with life;
f to search how far the wound he gave
sent its victim onward to his grave.
V.
y raised the bleeding Otho, and the Leech
bade all present question, sign, and speech;
others met within a neighbouring hall,
d he, incensed, and heedless of them all,[kk]
cause and conqueror in this sudden fray,
aughty silence slowly strode away;
backed his steed, his homeward path he took, 740
cast on Otho's towers a single look.
VI.
where was he? that meteor of a night,
o menaced but to disappear with light.
ere was this Ezzelin? who came and went,
eave no other trace of his intent.
left the dome of Otho long ere morn,
arkness, yet so well the path was worn
n all was stern collectedness and art,
w rose the unleavened hatred of his heart;
ittle sparing to the foe he felled,[kj]
t when the approaching crowd his arm withheld,
almost turned the thirsty point on those
o thus for mercy dared to interpose;
to a moment's thought that purpose bent;
looked he on him still with eye intent,
f he loathed the ineffectual strife 730
t left a foe, howe'er o'erthrown, with life;
f to search how far the wound he gave
sent its victim onward to his grave.
V.
y raised the bleeding Otho, and the Leech
bade all present question, sign, and speech;
others met within a neighbouring hall,
d he, incensed, and heedless of them all,[kk]
cause and conqueror in this sudden fray,
aughty silence slowly strode away;
backed his steed, his homeward path he took, 740
cast on Otho's towers a single look.
VI.
where was he? that meteor of a night,
o menaced but to disappear with light.
ere was this Ezzelin? who came and went,
eave no other trace of his intent.
left the dome of Otho long ere morn,
arkness, yet so well the path was worn
Page 401
could not miss it: near his dwelling lay;
there he was not, and with coming day
me fast inquiry, which unfolded nought, 750
ept the absence of the Chief it sought.
hamber tenantless, a steed at rest,
host alarmed, his murmuring squires distressed:
ir search extends along, around the path,
read to meet the marks of prowlers' wrath:
none are there, and not a brake hath borne
gout of blood, nor shred of mantle torn;
fall nor struggle hath defaced the grass,
ich still retains a mark where Murder was;
dabbling fingers left to tell the tale, 760
bitter print of each convulsive nail,
en agoniséd hands that cease to guard,
und in that pang the smoothness of the sward.
me such had been, if here a life was reft,
these were not; and doubting Hope is left;
d strange Suspicion, whispering Lara's name,
w daily mutters o'er his blackened fame;
n sudden silent when his form appeared,
aits the absence of the thing it feared
in its wonted wondering to renew, 770
d dye conjecture with a darker hue.
VII.
s roll along, and Otho's wounds are healed,
not his pride; and hate no more concealed:
was a man of power, and Lara's foe,
friend of all who sought to work him woe,
d from his country's justice now demands
there he was not, and with coming day
me fast inquiry, which unfolded nought, 750
ept the absence of the Chief it sought.
hamber tenantless, a steed at rest,
host alarmed, his murmuring squires distressed:
ir search extends along, around the path,
read to meet the marks of prowlers' wrath:
none are there, and not a brake hath borne
gout of blood, nor shred of mantle torn;
fall nor struggle hath defaced the grass,
ich still retains a mark where Murder was;
dabbling fingers left to tell the tale, 760
bitter print of each convulsive nail,
en agoniséd hands that cease to guard,
und in that pang the smoothness of the sward.
me such had been, if here a life was reft,
these were not; and doubting Hope is left;
d strange Suspicion, whispering Lara's name,
w daily mutters o'er his blackened fame;
n sudden silent when his form appeared,
aits the absence of the thing it feared
in its wonted wondering to renew, 770
d dye conjecture with a darker hue.
VII.
s roll along, and Otho's wounds are healed,
not his pride; and hate no more concealed:
was a man of power, and Lara's foe,
friend of all who sought to work him woe,
d from his country's justice now demands
Page 402
ount of Ezzelin at Lara's hands.
o else than Lara could have cause to fear
presence? who had made him disappear,
ot the man on whom his menaced charge 780
sate too deeply were he left at large?
general rumour ignorantly loud,
mystery dearest to the curious crowd;
seeming friendliness of him who strove
win no confidence, and wake no love;
sweeping fierceness which his soul betrayed,
skill with which he wielded his keen blade;
ere had his arm unwarlike caught that art?
ere had that fierceness grown upon his heart?
it was not the blind capricious rage[kl] 790
ord can kindle and a word assuage;
the deep working of a soul unmixed
h aught of pity where its wrath had fixed;
h as long power and overgorged success
centrates into all that's merciless:
se, linked with that desire which ever sways
nkind, the rather to condemn than praise,
nst Lara gathering raised at length a storm,
h as himself might fear, and foes would form,
d he must answer for the absent head 800
one that haunts him still, alive or dead.
VIII.
hin that land was many a malcontent,
o cursed the tyranny to which he bent;
t soil full many a wringing despot saw,
o worked his wantonness in form of law;
o else than Lara could have cause to fear
presence? who had made him disappear,
ot the man on whom his menaced charge 780
sate too deeply were he left at large?
general rumour ignorantly loud,
mystery dearest to the curious crowd;
seeming friendliness of him who strove
win no confidence, and wake no love;
sweeping fierceness which his soul betrayed,
skill with which he wielded his keen blade;
ere had his arm unwarlike caught that art?
ere had that fierceness grown upon his heart?
it was not the blind capricious rage[kl] 790
ord can kindle and a word assuage;
the deep working of a soul unmixed
h aught of pity where its wrath had fixed;
h as long power and overgorged success
centrates into all that's merciless:
se, linked with that desire which ever sways
nkind, the rather to condemn than praise,
nst Lara gathering raised at length a storm,
h as himself might fear, and foes would form,
d he must answer for the absent head 800
one that haunts him still, alive or dead.
VIII.
hin that land was many a malcontent,
o cursed the tyranny to which he bent;
t soil full many a wringing despot saw,
o worked his wantonness in form of law;
Page 403
g war without and frequent broil within
made a path for blood and giant sin,
t waited but a signal to begin
w havoc, such as civil discord blends,
ich knows no neuter, owns but foes or friends; 810
ed in his feudal fortress each was lord,
word and deed obeyed, in soul abhorred.
s Lara had inherited his lands,
d with them pining hearts and sluggish hands;
that long absence from his native clime
left him stainless of Oppression's crime,
d now, diverted by his milder sway,[km]
dread by slow degrees had worn away.
menials felt their usual awe alone,
more for him than them that fear was grown; 820
y deemed him now unhappy, though at first
ir evil judgment augured of the worst,
d each long restless night, and silent mood,
traced to sickness, fed by solitude:
d though his lonely habits threw of late
om o'er his chamber, cheerful was his gate;[kn]
thence the wretched ne'er unsoothed withdrew,
them, at least, his soul compassion knew.
d to the great, contemptuous to the high,
humble passed not his unheeding eye; 830
ch he would speak not, but beneath his roof
y found asylum oft, and ne'er reproof.
d they who watched might mark that, day by day,
me new retainers gathered to his sway;
most of late, since Ezzelin was lost,
played the courteous lord and bounteous host:
made a path for blood and giant sin,
t waited but a signal to begin
w havoc, such as civil discord blends,
ich knows no neuter, owns but foes or friends; 810
ed in his feudal fortress each was lord,
word and deed obeyed, in soul abhorred.
s Lara had inherited his lands,
d with them pining hearts and sluggish hands;
that long absence from his native clime
left him stainless of Oppression's crime,
d now, diverted by his milder sway,[km]
dread by slow degrees had worn away.
menials felt their usual awe alone,
more for him than them that fear was grown; 820
y deemed him now unhappy, though at first
ir evil judgment augured of the worst,
d each long restless night, and silent mood,
traced to sickness, fed by solitude:
d though his lonely habits threw of late
om o'er his chamber, cheerful was his gate;[kn]
thence the wretched ne'er unsoothed withdrew,
them, at least, his soul compassion knew.
d to the great, contemptuous to the high,
humble passed not his unheeding eye; 830
ch he would speak not, but beneath his roof
y found asylum oft, and ne'er reproof.
d they who watched might mark that, day by day,
me new retainers gathered to his sway;
most of late, since Ezzelin was lost,
played the courteous lord and bounteous host:
Page 404
chance his strife with Otho made him dread
me snare prepared for his obnoxious head;
ate'er his view, his favour more obtains
h these, the people, than his fellow thanes. 840
his were policy, so far 'twas sound,
million judged but of him as they found;
m him by sterner chiefs to exile driven
y but required a shelter, and 'twas given.
him no peasant mourned his rifled cot,
d scarce the Serf could murmur o'er his lot;
h him old Avarice found its hoard secure,
h him contempt forbore to mock the poor;
th present cheer and promised recompense
ained, till all too late to part from thence: 850
Hate he offered, with the coming change,
deep reversion of delayed revenge;
Love, long baffled by the unequal match,
well-won charms success was sure to snatch.[ko]
now was ripe, he waits but to proclaim
t slavery nothing which was still a name.
moment came, the hour when Otho thought
ure at last the vengeance which he sought:
summons found the destined criminal
irt by thousands in his swarming hall; 860
sh from their feudal fetters newly riven,
ying earth, and confident of heaven.
t morning he had freed the soil-bound slaves,
o dig no land for tyrants but their graves!
h is their cry—some watchword for the fight
st vindicate the wrong, and warp the right;
gion—Freedom—Vengeance—what you will,
me snare prepared for his obnoxious head;
ate'er his view, his favour more obtains
h these, the people, than his fellow thanes. 840
his were policy, so far 'twas sound,
million judged but of him as they found;
m him by sterner chiefs to exile driven
y but required a shelter, and 'twas given.
him no peasant mourned his rifled cot,
d scarce the Serf could murmur o'er his lot;
h him old Avarice found its hoard secure,
h him contempt forbore to mock the poor;
th present cheer and promised recompense
ained, till all too late to part from thence: 850
Hate he offered, with the coming change,
deep reversion of delayed revenge;
Love, long baffled by the unequal match,
well-won charms success was sure to snatch.[ko]
now was ripe, he waits but to proclaim
t slavery nothing which was still a name.
moment came, the hour when Otho thought
ure at last the vengeance which he sought:
summons found the destined criminal
irt by thousands in his swarming hall; 860
sh from their feudal fetters newly riven,
ying earth, and confident of heaven.
t morning he had freed the soil-bound slaves,
o dig no land for tyrants but their graves!
h is their cry—some watchword for the fight
st vindicate the wrong, and warp the right;
gion—Freedom—Vengeance—what you will,
Page 405
ord's enough to raise Mankind to kill;[kp]
me factious phrase by cunning caught and spread,
t Guilt may reign-and wolves and worms be fed! 870
IX.
oughout that clime the feudal Chiefs had gained
h sway, their infant monarch hardly reigned;
w was the hour for Faction's rebel growth,
Serfs contemned the one, and hated both:
y waited but a leader, and they found
to their cause inseparably bound;
circumstance compelled to plunge again,
elf-defence, amidst the strife of men.
off by some mysterious fate from those
om Birth and Nature meant not for his foes, 880
Lara from that night, to him accurst,
pared to meet, but not alone, the worst:
me reason urged, whate'er it was, to shun
uiry into deeds at distance done;
mingling with his own the cause of all,
n if he failed, he still delayed his fall.
sullen calm that long his bosom kept,
storm that once had spent itself and slept,
sed by events that seemed foredoomed to urge
gloomy fortunes to their utmost verge, 890
st forth, and made him all he once had been,
d is again; he only changed the scene.
ht care had he for life, and less for fame,
not less fitted for the desperate game:
deemed himself marked out for others' hate,
d mocked at Ruin so they shared his fate.
me factious phrase by cunning caught and spread,
t Guilt may reign-and wolves and worms be fed! 870
IX.
oughout that clime the feudal Chiefs had gained
h sway, their infant monarch hardly reigned;
w was the hour for Faction's rebel growth,
Serfs contemned the one, and hated both:
y waited but a leader, and they found
to their cause inseparably bound;
circumstance compelled to plunge again,
elf-defence, amidst the strife of men.
off by some mysterious fate from those
om Birth and Nature meant not for his foes, 880
Lara from that night, to him accurst,
pared to meet, but not alone, the worst:
me reason urged, whate'er it was, to shun
uiry into deeds at distance done;
mingling with his own the cause of all,
n if he failed, he still delayed his fall.
sullen calm that long his bosom kept,
storm that once had spent itself and slept,
sed by events that seemed foredoomed to urge
gloomy fortunes to their utmost verge, 890
st forth, and made him all he once had been,
d is again; he only changed the scene.
ht care had he for life, and less for fame,
not less fitted for the desperate game:
deemed himself marked out for others' hate,
d mocked at Ruin so they shared his fate.
Page 406
d cared he for the freedom of the crowd?
raised the humble but to bend the proud.
had hoped quiet in his sullen lair,
Man and Destiny beset him there: 900
ed to hunters, he was found at bay;
d they must kill, they cannot snare the prey.
n, unambitious, silent, he had been
ceforth a calm spectator of Life's scene;
dragged again upon the arena, stood
ader not unequal to the feud;
oice—mien—gesture—savage nature spoke,
d from his eye the gladiator broke.
X.
at boots the oft-repeated tale of strife,
feast of vultures, and the waste of life? 910
varying fortune of each separate field,
fierce that vanquish, and the faint that yield?
smoking ruin, and the crumbled wall?
his the struggle was the same with all;
e that distempered passions lent their force
itterness that banished all remorse.
ne sued, for Mercy knew her cry was vain,
captive died upon the battle-plain:[kq]
ither cause, one rage alone possessed
empire of the alternate victor's breast; 920
d they that smote for freedom or for sway,
med few were slain, while more remained to slay.
as too late to check the wasting brand,
d Desolation reaped the famished land;
torch was lighted, and the flame was spread,
raised the humble but to bend the proud.
had hoped quiet in his sullen lair,
Man and Destiny beset him there: 900
ed to hunters, he was found at bay;
d they must kill, they cannot snare the prey.
n, unambitious, silent, he had been
ceforth a calm spectator of Life's scene;
dragged again upon the arena, stood
ader not unequal to the feud;
oice—mien—gesture—savage nature spoke,
d from his eye the gladiator broke.
X.
at boots the oft-repeated tale of strife,
feast of vultures, and the waste of life? 910
varying fortune of each separate field,
fierce that vanquish, and the faint that yield?
smoking ruin, and the crumbled wall?
his the struggle was the same with all;
e that distempered passions lent their force
itterness that banished all remorse.
ne sued, for Mercy knew her cry was vain,
captive died upon the battle-plain:[kq]
ither cause, one rage alone possessed
empire of the alternate victor's breast; 920
d they that smote for freedom or for sway,
med few were slain, while more remained to slay.
as too late to check the wasting brand,
d Desolation reaped the famished land;
torch was lighted, and the flame was spread,
Page 407
d Carnage smiled upon her daily dead.
XI.
sh with the nerve the new-born impulse strung,
first success to Lara's numbers clung:
that vain victory hath ruined all;
y form no longer to their leader's call: 930
lind confusion on the foe they press,
d think to snatch is to secure success.
lust of booty, and the thirst of hate,
e on the broken brigands to their fate:
ain he doth whate'er a chief may do,
check the headlong fury of that crew;
ain their stubborn ardour he would tame,
hand that kindles cannot quench the flame;
wary foe alone hath turned their mood,
d shown their rashness to that erring brood: 940
feigned retreat, the nightly ambuscade,
daily harass, and the fight delayed,
long privation of the hoped supply,
tentless rest beneath the humid sky,
stubborn wall that mocks the leaguer's art,
d palls the patience of his baffled art,
hese they had not deemed: the battle-day
y could encounter as a veteran may;
more preferred the fury of the strife,[kr]
d present death, to hourly suffering life: 950
d Famine wrings, and Fever sweeps away
numbers melting fast from their array;
mperate triumph fades to discontent,
d Lara's soul alone seems still unbent;
XI.
sh with the nerve the new-born impulse strung,
first success to Lara's numbers clung:
that vain victory hath ruined all;
y form no longer to their leader's call: 930
lind confusion on the foe they press,
d think to snatch is to secure success.
lust of booty, and the thirst of hate,
e on the broken brigands to their fate:
ain he doth whate'er a chief may do,
check the headlong fury of that crew;
ain their stubborn ardour he would tame,
hand that kindles cannot quench the flame;
wary foe alone hath turned their mood,
d shown their rashness to that erring brood: 940
feigned retreat, the nightly ambuscade,
daily harass, and the fight delayed,
long privation of the hoped supply,
tentless rest beneath the humid sky,
stubborn wall that mocks the leaguer's art,
d palls the patience of his baffled art,
hese they had not deemed: the battle-day
y could encounter as a veteran may;
more preferred the fury of the strife,[kr]
d present death, to hourly suffering life: 950
d Famine wrings, and Fever sweeps away
numbers melting fast from their array;
mperate triumph fades to discontent,
d Lara's soul alone seems still unbent;
Page 408
few remain to aid his voice and hand,
d thousands dwindled to a scanty band:
perate, though few, the last and best remained
mourn the discipline they late disdained.
hope survives, the frontier is not far,
d thence they may escape from native war: 960
d bear within them to the neighbouring state
exile's sorrows, or an outlaw's hate:
d is the task their father-land to quit,
harder still to perish or submit.
XII.
resolved—they march—consenting Night
des with her star their dim and torchless flight;
eady they perceive its tranquil beam
ep on the surface of the barrier stream;
eady they descry—Is yon the bank?
ay! 'tis lined with many a hostile rank. 970
urn or fly!—What glitters in the rear?
Otho's banner—the pursuer's spear!
those the shepherds' fires upon the height?
s! they blaze too widely for the flight:
off from hope, and compassed in the toil,
s blood perchance hath bought a richer spoil!
XIII.
moment's pause—'tis but to breathe their band,
hall they onward press, or here withstand?
atters little—if they charge the foes
o by their border-stream their march oppose, 980
me few, perchance, may break and pass the line,
d thousands dwindled to a scanty band:
perate, though few, the last and best remained
mourn the discipline they late disdained.
hope survives, the frontier is not far,
d thence they may escape from native war: 960
d bear within them to the neighbouring state
exile's sorrows, or an outlaw's hate:
d is the task their father-land to quit,
harder still to perish or submit.
XII.
resolved—they march—consenting Night
des with her star their dim and torchless flight;
eady they perceive its tranquil beam
ep on the surface of the barrier stream;
eady they descry—Is yon the bank?
ay! 'tis lined with many a hostile rank. 970
urn or fly!—What glitters in the rear?
Otho's banner—the pursuer's spear!
those the shepherds' fires upon the height?
s! they blaze too widely for the flight:
off from hope, and compassed in the toil,
s blood perchance hath bought a richer spoil!
XIII.
moment's pause—'tis but to breathe their band,
hall they onward press, or here withstand?
atters little—if they charge the foes
o by their border-stream their march oppose, 980
me few, perchance, may break and pass the line,
Page 409
wever linked to baffle such design.
e charge be ours! to wait for their assault
e fate well worthy of a coward's halt."
h flies each sabre, reined is every steed,
d the next word shall scarce outstrip the deed:
he next tone of Lara's gathering breath
w many shall but hear the voice of Death!
XIV.
blade is bared,—in him there is an air
deep, but far too tranquil for despair; 990
omething of indifference more than then
omes the bravest, if they feel for men—
turned his eye on Kaled, ever near,
d still too faithful to betray one fear;
chance 'twas but the moon's dim twilight threw
ng his aspect an unwonted hue
mournful paleness, whose deep tint expressed
truth, and not the terror of his breast.
s Lara marked, and laid his hand on his:
embled not in such an hour as this; 1000
lip was silent, scarcely beat his heart,
eye alone proclaimed, "We will not part!
band may perish, or thy friends may flee,
ewell to Life—but not Adieu to thee!"
word hath passed his lips, and onward driven,
rs the linked band through ranks asunder riven:
l has each steed obeyed the arméd heel,
d flash the scimitars, and rings the steel;
numbered, not outbraved, they still oppose
pair to daring, and a front to foes; 1010
e charge be ours! to wait for their assault
e fate well worthy of a coward's halt."
h flies each sabre, reined is every steed,
d the next word shall scarce outstrip the deed:
he next tone of Lara's gathering breath
w many shall but hear the voice of Death!
XIV.
blade is bared,—in him there is an air
deep, but far too tranquil for despair; 990
omething of indifference more than then
omes the bravest, if they feel for men—
turned his eye on Kaled, ever near,
d still too faithful to betray one fear;
chance 'twas but the moon's dim twilight threw
ng his aspect an unwonted hue
mournful paleness, whose deep tint expressed
truth, and not the terror of his breast.
s Lara marked, and laid his hand on his:
embled not in such an hour as this; 1000
lip was silent, scarcely beat his heart,
eye alone proclaimed, "We will not part!
band may perish, or thy friends may flee,
ewell to Life—but not Adieu to thee!"
word hath passed his lips, and onward driven,
rs the linked band through ranks asunder riven:
l has each steed obeyed the arméd heel,
d flash the scimitars, and rings the steel;
numbered, not outbraved, they still oppose
pair to daring, and a front to foes; 1010
Page 410
d blood is mingled with the dashing stream,
ich runs all redly till the morning beam.[ks]
XV.[282]
mmanding—aiding—animating all,[283]
ere foe appeared to press, or friend to fall,
ers Lara's voice, and waves or strikes his steel,
piring hope, himself had ceased to feel.
ne fled, for well they knew that flight were vain;
those that waver turn to smite again,
ile yet they find the firmest of the foe
oil before their leader's look and blow: 1020
w girt with numbers, now almost alone,
foils their ranks, or re-unites his own;
mself he spared not—once they seemed to fly—
w was the time, he waved his hand on high,
d shook—Why sudden droops that pluméd crest?
shaft is sped—the arrow's in his breast!
t fatal gesture left the unguarded side,
d Death has stricken down yon arm of pride.
word of triumph fainted from his tongue;
t hand, so raised, how droopingly it hung! 1030
yet the sword instinctively retains,
ugh from its fellow shrink the falling reins;
se Kaled snatches: dizzy with the blow,
d senseless bending o'er his saddle-bow,
ceives not Lara that his anxious page
uiles his charger from the combat's rage:
antime his followers charge, and charge again;
mixed the slayers now to heed the slain!
XVI.
ich runs all redly till the morning beam.[ks]
XV.[282]
mmanding—aiding—animating all,[283]
ere foe appeared to press, or friend to fall,
ers Lara's voice, and waves or strikes his steel,
piring hope, himself had ceased to feel.
ne fled, for well they knew that flight were vain;
those that waver turn to smite again,
ile yet they find the firmest of the foe
oil before their leader's look and blow: 1020
w girt with numbers, now almost alone,
foils their ranks, or re-unites his own;
mself he spared not—once they seemed to fly—
w was the time, he waved his hand on high,
d shook—Why sudden droops that pluméd crest?
shaft is sped—the arrow's in his breast!
t fatal gesture left the unguarded side,
d Death has stricken down yon arm of pride.
word of triumph fainted from his tongue;
t hand, so raised, how droopingly it hung! 1030
yet the sword instinctively retains,
ugh from its fellow shrink the falling reins;
se Kaled snatches: dizzy with the blow,
d senseless bending o'er his saddle-bow,
ceives not Lara that his anxious page
uiles his charger from the combat's rage:
antime his followers charge, and charge again;
mixed the slayers now to heed the slain!
XVI.
Page 411
glimmers on the dying and the dead,
cloven cuirass, and the helmless head; 1040
war-horse masterless is on the earth,[kt][284]
d that last gasp hath burst his bloody girth;
d near, yet quivering with what life remained,
heel that urged him and the hand that reined;
d some too near that rolling torrent lie,[ku]
ose waters mock the lip of those that die;
t panting thirst which scorches in the breath
hose that die the soldier's fiery death,
ain impels the burning mouth to crave
drop—the last—to cool it for the grave; 1050
h feeble and convulsive effort swept,
ir limbs along the crimsoned turf have crept;
faint remains of life such struggles waste,
yet they reach the stream, and bend to taste:
y feel its freshness, and almost partake—
y pause? No further thirst have they to slake—
unquenched, and yet they feel it not;
as an agony—but now forgot!
XVII.
eath a lime, remoter from the scene,
ere but for him that strife had never been, 1060
reathing but devoted warrior lay:
as Lara bleeding fast from life away.
follower once, and now his only guide,
els Kaled watchful o'er his welling side,
d with his scarf would staunch the tides that rush,
h each convulsion, in a blacker gush;
d then, as his faint breathing waxes low,
cloven cuirass, and the helmless head; 1040
war-horse masterless is on the earth,[kt][284]
d that last gasp hath burst his bloody girth;
d near, yet quivering with what life remained,
heel that urged him and the hand that reined;
d some too near that rolling torrent lie,[ku]
ose waters mock the lip of those that die;
t panting thirst which scorches in the breath
hose that die the soldier's fiery death,
ain impels the burning mouth to crave
drop—the last—to cool it for the grave; 1050
h feeble and convulsive effort swept,
ir limbs along the crimsoned turf have crept;
faint remains of life such struggles waste,
yet they reach the stream, and bend to taste:
y feel its freshness, and almost partake—
y pause? No further thirst have they to slake—
unquenched, and yet they feel it not;
as an agony—but now forgot!
XVII.
eath a lime, remoter from the scene,
ere but for him that strife had never been, 1060
reathing but devoted warrior lay:
as Lara bleeding fast from life away.
follower once, and now his only guide,
els Kaled watchful o'er his welling side,
d with his scarf would staunch the tides that rush,
h each convulsion, in a blacker gush;
d then, as his faint breathing waxes low,
Page 412
eebler, not less fatal tricklings flow:
scarce can speak, but motions him 'tis vain,
d merely adds another throb to pain. 1070
clasps the hand that pang which would assuage,
d sadly smiles his thanks to that dark page,
o nothing fears—nor feels—nor heeds—nor sees—
e that damp brow which rests upon his knees;
e that pale aspect, where the eye, though dim,
d all the light that shone on earth for him.
XVIII.
foe arrives, who long had searched the field,
ir triumph nought till Lara too should yield:
y would remove him, but they see 'twere vain,
d he regards them with a calm disdain, 1080
t rose to reconcile him with his fate,
d that escape to death from living hate:
d Otho comes, and leaping from his steed,
ks on the bleeding foe that made him bleed,
d questions of his state; he answers not,
rce glances on him as on one forgot,
d turns to Kaled:—each remaining word
y understood not, if distinctly heard;
dying tones are in that other tongue,
which some strange remembrance wildly clung. 1090
y spake of other scenes, but what—is known
Kaled, whom their meaning reached alone;
d he replied, though faintly, to their sound,
ile gazed the rest in dumb amazement round:
y seemed even then—that twain—unto the last
half forget the present in the past;
scarce can speak, but motions him 'tis vain,
d merely adds another throb to pain. 1070
clasps the hand that pang which would assuage,
d sadly smiles his thanks to that dark page,
o nothing fears—nor feels—nor heeds—nor sees—
e that damp brow which rests upon his knees;
e that pale aspect, where the eye, though dim,
d all the light that shone on earth for him.
XVIII.
foe arrives, who long had searched the field,
ir triumph nought till Lara too should yield:
y would remove him, but they see 'twere vain,
d he regards them with a calm disdain, 1080
t rose to reconcile him with his fate,
d that escape to death from living hate:
d Otho comes, and leaping from his steed,
ks on the bleeding foe that made him bleed,
d questions of his state; he answers not,
rce glances on him as on one forgot,
d turns to Kaled:—each remaining word
y understood not, if distinctly heard;
dying tones are in that other tongue,
which some strange remembrance wildly clung. 1090
y spake of other scenes, but what—is known
Kaled, whom their meaning reached alone;
d he replied, though faintly, to their sound,
ile gazed the rest in dumb amazement round:
y seemed even then—that twain—unto the last
half forget the present in the past;
Page 413
hare between themselves some separate fate,
ose darkness none beside should penetrate.
XIX.[285]
ir words though faint were many—from the tone
ir import those who heard could judge alone; 1100
m this, you might have deemed young Kaled's death
re near than Lara's by his voice and breath,
ad—so deep—and hesitating broke
accents his scarce-moving pale lips spoke;[kv]
Lara's voice, though low, at first was clear
d calm, till murmuring Death gasped hoarsely near;
from his visage little could we guess,
unrepentant—dark—and passionless,[kw]
e that when struggling nearer to his last,
on that page his eye was kindly cast; 1110
d once, as Kaled's answering accents ceased,
e Lara's hand, and pointed to the East:
ether (as then the breaking Sun from high
led back the clouds) the morrow caught his eye,
hat 'twas chance—or some remembered scene,
t raised his arm to point where such had been,
rce Kaled seemed to know, but turned away,
f his heart abhorred that coming day,
d shrunk his glance before that morning light,
ook on Lara's brow—where all grew night. 1120
sense seemed left, though better were its loss;
when one near displayed the absolving Cross,
d proffered to his touch the holy bead,
which his parting soul might own the need,
looked upon it with an eye profane,
ose darkness none beside should penetrate.
XIX.[285]
ir words though faint were many—from the tone
ir import those who heard could judge alone; 1100
m this, you might have deemed young Kaled's death
re near than Lara's by his voice and breath,
ad—so deep—and hesitating broke
accents his scarce-moving pale lips spoke;[kv]
Lara's voice, though low, at first was clear
d calm, till murmuring Death gasped hoarsely near;
from his visage little could we guess,
unrepentant—dark—and passionless,[kw]
e that when struggling nearer to his last,
on that page his eye was kindly cast; 1110
d once, as Kaled's answering accents ceased,
e Lara's hand, and pointed to the East:
ether (as then the breaking Sun from high
led back the clouds) the morrow caught his eye,
hat 'twas chance—or some remembered scene,
t raised his arm to point where such had been,
rce Kaled seemed to know, but turned away,
f his heart abhorred that coming day,
d shrunk his glance before that morning light,
ook on Lara's brow—where all grew night. 1120
sense seemed left, though better were its loss;
when one near displayed the absolving Cross,
d proffered to his touch the holy bead,
which his parting soul might own the need,
looked upon it with an eye profane,
Page 414
d smiled—Heaven pardon! if 'twere with disdain:
d Kaled, though he spoke not, nor withdrew
m Lara's face his fixed despairing view,
h brow repulsive, and with gesture swift,
ng back the hand which held the sacred gift, 1130
f such but disturbed the expiring man,
seemed to know his life but then began—
t Life of Immortality, secure[kx]
none, save them whose faith in Christ is sure.
XX.
gasping heaved the breath that Lara drew,[ky]
d dull the film along his dim eye grew;
limbs stretched fluttering, and his head drooped o'er
weak yet still untiring knee that bore;
pressed the hand he held upon his heart—
eats no more, but Kaled will not part 1140
h the cold grasp, but feels, and feels in vain,
that faint throb which answers not again.
beats!"—Away, thou dreamer! he is gone—
nce was Lara which thou look'st upon.
XXI.
gazed, as if not yet had passed away[kz]
haughty spirit of that humbled clay;
d those around have roused him from his trance,
cannot tear from thence his fixéd glance;
d when, in raising him from where he bore
hin his arms the form that felt no more, 1150
saw the head his breast would still sustain,
l down like earth to earth upon the plain;
d Kaled, though he spoke not, nor withdrew
m Lara's face his fixed despairing view,
h brow repulsive, and with gesture swift,
ng back the hand which held the sacred gift, 1130
f such but disturbed the expiring man,
seemed to know his life but then began—
t Life of Immortality, secure[kx]
none, save them whose faith in Christ is sure.
XX.
gasping heaved the breath that Lara drew,[ky]
d dull the film along his dim eye grew;
limbs stretched fluttering, and his head drooped o'er
weak yet still untiring knee that bore;
pressed the hand he held upon his heart—
eats no more, but Kaled will not part 1140
h the cold grasp, but feels, and feels in vain,
that faint throb which answers not again.
beats!"—Away, thou dreamer! he is gone—
nce was Lara which thou look'st upon.
XXI.
gazed, as if not yet had passed away[kz]
haughty spirit of that humbled clay;
d those around have roused him from his trance,
cannot tear from thence his fixéd glance;
d when, in raising him from where he bore
hin his arms the form that felt no more, 1150
saw the head his breast would still sustain,
l down like earth to earth upon the plain;
Page 415
did not dash himself thereby, nor tear
glossy tendrils of his raven hair,
strove to stand and gaze, but reeled and fell,
rce breathing more than that he loved so well.
n that he loved! Oh! never yet beneath
breast of man such trusty love may breathe!
t trying moment hath at once revealed
secret long and yet but half concealed; 1160
aring to revive that lifeless breast,
grief seemed ended, but the sex confessed;
d life returned, and Kaled felt no shame—
at now to her was Womanhood or Fame?
XXII.
d Lara sleeps not where his fathers sleep,
where he died his grave was dug as deep;
is his mortal slumber less profound,
ugh priest nor blessed nor marble decked the mound,
d he was mourned by one whose quiet grief,
s loud, outlasts a people's for their Chief. 1170
n was all question asked her of the past,
d vain e'en menace—silent to the last;
told nor whence, nor why she left behind
all for one who seemed but little kind.
y did she love him? Curious fool!—be still—
uman love the growth of human will?
her he might be gentleness; the stern
e deeper thoughts than your dull eyes discern,
d when they love, your smilers guess not how
ts the strong heart, though less the lips avow. 1180
y were not common links, that formed the chain
glossy tendrils of his raven hair,
strove to stand and gaze, but reeled and fell,
rce breathing more than that he loved so well.
n that he loved! Oh! never yet beneath
breast of man such trusty love may breathe!
t trying moment hath at once revealed
secret long and yet but half concealed; 1160
aring to revive that lifeless breast,
grief seemed ended, but the sex confessed;
d life returned, and Kaled felt no shame—
at now to her was Womanhood or Fame?
XXII.
d Lara sleeps not where his fathers sleep,
where he died his grave was dug as deep;
is his mortal slumber less profound,
ugh priest nor blessed nor marble decked the mound,
d he was mourned by one whose quiet grief,
s loud, outlasts a people's for their Chief. 1170
n was all question asked her of the past,
d vain e'en menace—silent to the last;
told nor whence, nor why she left behind
all for one who seemed but little kind.
y did she love him? Curious fool!—be still—
uman love the growth of human will?
her he might be gentleness; the stern
e deeper thoughts than your dull eyes discern,
d when they love, your smilers guess not how
ts the strong heart, though less the lips avow. 1180
y were not common links, that formed the chain
Page 416
t bound to Lara Kaled's heart and brain;
that wild tale she brooked not to unfold,
d sealed is now each lip that could have told.
XXIII.
y laid him in the earth, and on his breast,
ides the wound that sent his soul to rest,
y found the scattered dints of many a scar,
ich were not planted there in recent war;
ere'er had passed his summer years of life,
ems they vanished in a land of strife; 1190
all unknown his Glory or his Guilt,[la]
se only told that somewhere blood was spilt,
d Ezzelin, who might have spoke the past,
urned no more—that night appeared his last.
XXIV.
on that night (a peasant's is the tale)
erf that crossed the intervening vale,[286]
en Cynthia's light almost gave way to morn,
d nearly veiled in mist her waning horn;
erf, that rose betimes to thread the wood,
d hew the bough that bought his children's food, 1200
sed by the river that divides the plain
Otho's lands and Lara's broad domain:
heard a tramp—a horse and horseman broke
m out the wood—before him was a cloak
pt round some burthen at his saddle-bow,
t was his head, and hidden was his brow.
sed by the sudden sight at such a time,
d some foreboding that it might be crime,
that wild tale she brooked not to unfold,
d sealed is now each lip that could have told.
XXIII.
y laid him in the earth, and on his breast,
ides the wound that sent his soul to rest,
y found the scattered dints of many a scar,
ich were not planted there in recent war;
ere'er had passed his summer years of life,
ems they vanished in a land of strife; 1190
all unknown his Glory or his Guilt,[la]
se only told that somewhere blood was spilt,
d Ezzelin, who might have spoke the past,
urned no more—that night appeared his last.
XXIV.
on that night (a peasant's is the tale)
erf that crossed the intervening vale,[286]
en Cynthia's light almost gave way to morn,
d nearly veiled in mist her waning horn;
erf, that rose betimes to thread the wood,
d hew the bough that bought his children's food, 1200
sed by the river that divides the plain
Otho's lands and Lara's broad domain:
heard a tramp—a horse and horseman broke
m out the wood—before him was a cloak
pt round some burthen at his saddle-bow,
t was his head, and hidden was his brow.
sed by the sudden sight at such a time,
d some foreboding that it might be crime,
Page 417
mself unheeded watched the stranger's course,
o reached the river, bounded from his horse, 1210
d lifting thence the burthen which he bore,
ved up the bank, and dashed it from the shore,
n paused—and looked—and turned—and seemed to watch,
d still another hurried glance would snatch,
d follow with his step the stream that flowed,
f even yet too much its surface showed;
once he started—stooped—around him strown
winter floods had scattered heaps of stone:
hese the heaviest thence he gathered there,
d slung them with a more than common care. 1220
antime the Serf had crept to where unseen
mself might safely mark what this might mean;
caught a glimpse, as of a floating breast,
d something glittered starlike on the vest;
ere he well could mark the buoyant trunk,
massy fragment smote it, and it sunk:[lb]
se again, but indistinct to view,
d left the waters of a purple hue,
n deeply disappeared: the horseman gazed
ebbed the latest eddy it had raised; 1230
n turning, vaulted on his pawing steed,
d instant spurred him into panting speed.
face was masked—the features of the dead,
ead it were, escaped the observer's dread;
if in sooth a Star its bosom bore,
h is the badge that Knighthood ever wore,
d such 'tis known Sir Ezzelin had worn
on the night that led to such a morn.
hus he perished, Heaven receive his soul!
undiscovered limbs to ocean roll; 1240
o reached the river, bounded from his horse, 1210
d lifting thence the burthen which he bore,
ved up the bank, and dashed it from the shore,
n paused—and looked—and turned—and seemed to watch,
d still another hurried glance would snatch,
d follow with his step the stream that flowed,
f even yet too much its surface showed;
once he started—stooped—around him strown
winter floods had scattered heaps of stone:
hese the heaviest thence he gathered there,
d slung them with a more than common care. 1220
antime the Serf had crept to where unseen
mself might safely mark what this might mean;
caught a glimpse, as of a floating breast,
d something glittered starlike on the vest;
ere he well could mark the buoyant trunk,
massy fragment smote it, and it sunk:[lb]
se again, but indistinct to view,
d left the waters of a purple hue,
n deeply disappeared: the horseman gazed
ebbed the latest eddy it had raised; 1230
n turning, vaulted on his pawing steed,
d instant spurred him into panting speed.
face was masked—the features of the dead,
ead it were, escaped the observer's dread;
if in sooth a Star its bosom bore,
h is the badge that Knighthood ever wore,
d such 'tis known Sir Ezzelin had worn
on the night that led to such a morn.
hus he perished, Heaven receive his soul!
undiscovered limbs to ocean roll; 1240
Page 418
d charity upon the hope would dwell
as not Lara's hand by which he fell.[lc]
XXV.
d Kaled—Lara—Ezzelin, are gone,
ke without their monumental stone!
first, all efforts vainly strove to wean
m lingering where her Chieftain's blood had been:
ef had so tamed a spirit once too proud,
tears were few, her wailing never loud;
furious would you tear her from the spot
ere yet she scarce believed that he was not, 1250
eye shot forth with all the living fire
t haunts the tigress in her whelpless ire;
left to waste her weary moments there,
talked all idly unto shapes of air,
h as the busy brain of Sorrow paints,
d woos to listen to her fond complaints:
d she would sit beneath the very tree
ere lay his drooping head upon her knee;
d in that posture where she saw him fall,
words, his looks, his dying grasp recall; 1260
d she had shorn, but saved her raven hair,
d oft would snatch it from her bosom there,
d fold, and press it gently to the ground,
f she staunched anew some phantom's wound.[ld]
self would question, and for him reply;
n rising, start, and beckon him to fly
m some imagined Spectre in pursuit;
n seat her down upon some linden's root,
d hide her visage with her meagre hand,
as not Lara's hand by which he fell.[lc]
XXV.
d Kaled—Lara—Ezzelin, are gone,
ke without their monumental stone!
first, all efforts vainly strove to wean
m lingering where her Chieftain's blood had been:
ef had so tamed a spirit once too proud,
tears were few, her wailing never loud;
furious would you tear her from the spot
ere yet she scarce believed that he was not, 1250
eye shot forth with all the living fire
t haunts the tigress in her whelpless ire;
left to waste her weary moments there,
talked all idly unto shapes of air,
h as the busy brain of Sorrow paints,
d woos to listen to her fond complaints:
d she would sit beneath the very tree
ere lay his drooping head upon her knee;
d in that posture where she saw him fall,
words, his looks, his dying grasp recall; 1260
d she had shorn, but saved her raven hair,
d oft would snatch it from her bosom there,
d fold, and press it gently to the ground,
f she staunched anew some phantom's wound.[ld]
self would question, and for him reply;
n rising, start, and beckon him to fly
m some imagined Spectre in pursuit;
n seat her down upon some linden's root,
d hide her visage with her meagre hand,
Page 419
race strange characters along the sand— 1270
s could not last—she lies by him she loved;
tale untold—her truth too dearly proved.
FOOTNOTES:
[jb] {323} Lara the sequel of "the Corsair."—[MS. erased.]
[265] [A revised version of the following "Advertisement" was prefixed to the First
Edition (Printed for J. Murray, Albemarle Street, By T. Davison, Whitefriars, 1814),
which was accompanied by Jacqueline:—
"The Reader—if the tale of Lara has the fortune to meet with one—may
probably regard it as a sequel to the Corsair;—the colouring is of a
similar cast, and although the situations of the characters are changed,
the stories are in some measure connected. The countenance is nearly
the same—but with a different expression. To the readers' conjecture are
left the name of the writer and the failure or success of his attempt—the
latter are the only points upon which the author or his judges can feel
interested.
"The Poem of Jaqueline is the production of a different author and is
added at the request of the writer of the former tale, whose wish and
entreaty it was that it should occupy the first pages of the following
volume, and he regrets that the tenacious courtesy of his friend would
not permit him to place it where the judgement of the reader concurring
with his own will suggest its more appropriate station."]
[266] The reader is apprised, that the name of Lara being Spanish, and no circumstance of
local and natural description fixing the scene or hero of the poem to any country or age,
the word "Serf," which could not be correctly applied to the lower classes in Spain, who
were never vassals of the soil, has nevertheless been employed to designate the followers
of our fictitious chieftain.
[Byron, writing to Murray, July 14, 1814, says, "The name only is Spanish; the country is
not Spain, but the Moon" (not "Morea," as hitherto printed).—Letters, 1899, iii. 110. The
MS. is dated May 15, 1814.]
s could not last—she lies by him she loved;
tale untold—her truth too dearly proved.
FOOTNOTES:
[jb] {323} Lara the sequel of "the Corsair."—[MS. erased.]
[265] [A revised version of the following "Advertisement" was prefixed to the First
Edition (Printed for J. Murray, Albemarle Street, By T. Davison, Whitefriars, 1814),
which was accompanied by Jacqueline:—
"The Reader—if the tale of Lara has the fortune to meet with one—may
probably regard it as a sequel to the Corsair;—the colouring is of a
similar cast, and although the situations of the characters are changed,
the stories are in some measure connected. The countenance is nearly
the same—but with a different expression. To the readers' conjecture are
left the name of the writer and the failure or success of his attempt—the
latter are the only points upon which the author or his judges can feel
interested.
"The Poem of Jaqueline is the production of a different author and is
added at the request of the writer of the former tale, whose wish and
entreaty it was that it should occupy the first pages of the following
volume, and he regrets that the tenacious courtesy of his friend would
not permit him to place it where the judgement of the reader concurring
with his own will suggest its more appropriate station."]
[266] The reader is apprised, that the name of Lara being Spanish, and no circumstance of
local and natural description fixing the scene or hero of the poem to any country or age,
the word "Serf," which could not be correctly applied to the lower classes in Spain, who
were never vassals of the soil, has nevertheless been employed to designate the followers
of our fictitious chieftain.
[Byron, writing to Murray, July 14, 1814, says, "The name only is Spanish; the country is
not Spain, but the Moon" (not "Morea," as hitherto printed).—Letters, 1899, iii. 110. The
MS. is dated May 15, 1814.]
Page 420
[267] {324} [For the opening lines to Lara, see Murray's Magazine, January, 1887, vol. i.
p. 3.]
[268] [Compare Childish Recollections, lines 221-224—
"Can Rank, or e'en a Guardian's name supply
The love, which glistens in a Father's eye?
For this, can Wealth, or Title's sound atone,
Made, by a Parent's early loss, my own?"
Compare, too, English Bards, etc., lines 689-694, Poetical Works, 1898, i. 95, 352.]
[jc] First in each folly—nor the last in vice.—[MS. erased]
[jd] {325} Short was the course the beardless wanderer run.—[MS.]
[je] Another chief had won——.—[MS. erased.]
[jf] His friends forgot him—and his dog had died.—[MS.]
[jg] Without one rumour to relieve his care.—[MS. erased.]
[jh] That most might decorate that gloomy pile.—[MS. erased.]
[269] {326} [The construction is harsh and obscure, but the meaning is, perhaps, that,
though Lara's soul was haughty, his sins were due to nothing worse than pleasure, that
they were the natural sins of youth.]
[ji] {328} Their refuge in intensity of thought.—[MS.]
[jj] {329} The sound of other voices than his own.—[MS.]
[270] ["The circumstance of his having at this time [1808-9] among the ornaments of his
study, a number of skulls highly polished, and placed on light stands round the room,
would seem to indicate that he rather courted than shunned such gloomy associations."—
Life, p. 87.]
[271] [Compare—
"His train but deemed the favourite page
Was left behind to spare his age,
Or other if they deemed, none dared
To mutter what he thought or heard."
Marmion, Canto III. stanza xv. lines 19-22.]
[272] [Compare—
p. 3.]
[268] [Compare Childish Recollections, lines 221-224—
"Can Rank, or e'en a Guardian's name supply
The love, which glistens in a Father's eye?
For this, can Wealth, or Title's sound atone,
Made, by a Parent's early loss, my own?"
Compare, too, English Bards, etc., lines 689-694, Poetical Works, 1898, i. 95, 352.]
[jc] First in each folly—nor the last in vice.—[MS. erased]
[jd] {325} Short was the course the beardless wanderer run.—[MS.]
[je] Another chief had won——.—[MS. erased.]
[jf] His friends forgot him—and his dog had died.—[MS.]
[jg] Without one rumour to relieve his care.—[MS. erased.]
[jh] That most might decorate that gloomy pile.—[MS. erased.]
[269] {326} [The construction is harsh and obscure, but the meaning is, perhaps, that,
though Lara's soul was haughty, his sins were due to nothing worse than pleasure, that
they were the natural sins of youth.]
[ji] {328} Their refuge in intensity of thought.—[MS.]
[jj] {329} The sound of other voices than his own.—[MS.]
[270] ["The circumstance of his having at this time [1808-9] among the ornaments of his
study, a number of skulls highly polished, and placed on light stands round the room,
would seem to indicate that he rather courted than shunned such gloomy associations."—
Life, p. 87.]
[271] [Compare—
"His train but deemed the favourite page
Was left behind to spare his age,
Or other if they deemed, none dared
To mutter what he thought or heard."
Marmion, Canto III. stanza xv. lines 19-22.]
[272] [Compare—
Page 421
"Sweetly shining on the eye,
A rivulet gliding smoothly by;
Which shows with what an easy tide
The moments of the happy glide."
Dyer's Country Walk (Poetical Works of Armstrong, Dyer, and Green, 1858, p. 221).]
[273] {331} ["He used, at first, though offered a bed at Annesley, to return every night to
Newstead, to sleep; alleging as a reason that he was afraid of the family pictures of the
Chaworths."—Life, p. 27.]
[jk] ——knelt in painted prayer.—[MS.]
[jl] His aspect all that best becomes the grave.—[MS.]
[jm] {333} ——along the gallery crawl.—[MS.]
[jn] {334}
Opinion various as his varying eye
In praise or railing—never passed him by.—[MS.]
[jo] {335} ——gayest of the gay.—[MS.]
[274] [The MS. omits lines 313-382. Stanza xviii. is written on a loose sheet belonging to
the Murray MSS.; stanza xix. on a sheet inserted in the MS. Both stanzas must have been
composed after the first draft of the poem was completed.]
[jp] ——an inward scorn of all.—[MS.]
[275] {336} [Compare Coleridge's Lines to a Gentleman [William Wordsworth] (written
in 1807, but not published till 1817), lines 69, 70—
"Sense of past youth, and manhood come in vain,
And genius given, and knowledge won in vain."]
[jq]
And left Reflection: loth himself to blame,
He called on Nature's self to share the shame.—[MS.]
[jr] And half mistook for fate his wayward will.—[MS.]
[276] [For Byron's belief or half-persuasion that he was predestined to evil, compare
Childe Harold, Canto I. stanza lxxxiii. lines 8, 9, and note. Compare, too, Canto III.
A rivulet gliding smoothly by;
Which shows with what an easy tide
The moments of the happy glide."
Dyer's Country Walk (Poetical Works of Armstrong, Dyer, and Green, 1858, p. 221).]
[273] {331} ["He used, at first, though offered a bed at Annesley, to return every night to
Newstead, to sleep; alleging as a reason that he was afraid of the family pictures of the
Chaworths."—Life, p. 27.]
[jk] ——knelt in painted prayer.—[MS.]
[jl] His aspect all that best becomes the grave.—[MS.]
[jm] {333} ——along the gallery crawl.—[MS.]
[jn] {334}
Opinion various as his varying eye
In praise or railing—never passed him by.—[MS.]
[jo] {335} ——gayest of the gay.—[MS.]
[274] [The MS. omits lines 313-382. Stanza xviii. is written on a loose sheet belonging to
the Murray MSS.; stanza xix. on a sheet inserted in the MS. Both stanzas must have been
composed after the first draft of the poem was completed.]
[jp] ——an inward scorn of all.—[MS.]
[275] {336} [Compare Coleridge's Lines to a Gentleman [William Wordsworth] (written
in 1807, but not published till 1817), lines 69, 70—
"Sense of past youth, and manhood come in vain,
And genius given, and knowledge won in vain."]
[jq]
And left Reflection: loth himself to blame,
He called on Nature's self to share the shame.—[MS.]
[jr] And half mistook for fate his wayward will.—[MS.]
[276] [For Byron's belief or half-persuasion that he was predestined to evil, compare
Childe Harold, Canto I. stanza lxxxiii. lines 8, 9, and note. Compare, too, Canto III.
Page 422
stanza lxx. lines 8 and 9; and Canto IV. stanza xxxiv. line 6: Poetical Works, 1899, ii, 74,
260, 354.]
[js] {337}
——around another's mind;
There he was fixed——.—[MS.]
[jt] {338}
That friendship, interest, aversion knew
But there within your inmost——.—[MS.]
[ju]
Yes you might hate abhor, but from the breast
He wrung an all unwilling interest—
Vain was the struggle, in that sightless net.—[MS.]
[jv] So springs the exulting spirit—.—[MS.]
[jw] {339} That question thus repeated—Thrice and high.—[MS.]
[jx] {340}
Art thou not he who——"
"Whatso'eer I be.—[MS.]
[jy] {342}
"Tomorrow!—aye—tomorrow" these were all
The words from Lara's answering lip that fall.—[MS.]
[jz] {343} That brought their native echoes to his ear.—[MS.]
[ka] From high and quickened into life and thought.—[MS.]
[kb] {344}
Though no reluctance checked his willing hand,
He still obeyed as others would command.—[MS.]
[kc]
To tune his lute and, if none else were there,
To fill the cup in which himself might share.—[MS.]
260, 354.]
[js] {337}
——around another's mind;
There he was fixed——.—[MS.]
[jt] {338}
That friendship, interest, aversion knew
But there within your inmost——.—[MS.]
[ju]
Yes you might hate abhor, but from the breast
He wrung an all unwilling interest—
Vain was the struggle, in that sightless net.—[MS.]
[jv] So springs the exulting spirit—.—[MS.]
[jw] {339} That question thus repeated—Thrice and high.—[MS.]
[jx] {340}
Art thou not he who——"
"Whatso'eer I be.—[MS.]
[jy] {342}
"Tomorrow!—aye—tomorrow" these were all
The words from Lara's answering lip that fall.—[MS.]
[jz] {343} That brought their native echoes to his ear.—[MS.]
[ka] From high and quickened into life and thought.—[MS.]
[kb] {344}
Though no reluctance checked his willing hand,
He still obeyed as others would command.—[MS.]
[kc]
To tune his lute and, if none else were there,
To fill the cup in which himself might share.—[MS.]
Page 423
[kd] {345} Yet still existed there though still supprest.—[ms]
[ke] And when the slaves and pages round him told.—[ms]
[277] {346} [Compare—
"Strange things I have in head, that will to hand,
Which must be acted, ere they may be scanned."
Macbeth, act iii. sc. 4, lines 139, 140.]
[kf] {347} There lie the lover's hope—the watcher's toil.—[MS.]
[kg] And half-Existence melts within a grave.—[MS.]
[278] {348} [Compare—
"Now slowly melting into day,
Vapour and mist dissolved away."
Sotheby's Constance de Castile, Canto III. stanza v. lines 17, 18.]
[279] [Compare the last lines of Pippa's song in Browning's Pippa Passes—"God's in His
Heaven, all's right with the world!"]
[280] [Mr. Alexander Dyce points out the resemblance between these lines and a passage
in one of Pope's letters to Steele (July 15, 1712, Works, 1754, viii. 226): "The morning
after my exit the sun will rise as bright as ever, the flowers smell as sweet, the plants
spring as green."]
[kh] {349} When Ezzelin——.—[Ed. 1831.]
[ki] Here in thy hall——.—[MS.]
[281] {351} [Compare Mysteries of Udolpho, by Mrs. Ann Radcliffe, 1794, ii. 279: "The
Count then fell back into the arms of his servants, while Montoni held his sword over him
and bade him ask his life ... his complexion changed almost to blackness as he looked
upon his fallen adversary."]
[kj] And turned to smite a foe already felled.—[MS.]
[kk] And he less calm—yet calmer than them all.—[MS.]
[kl] {353} ——the blind and headlong rage.—[MS.]
[km] {354}
[ke] And when the slaves and pages round him told.—[ms]
[277] {346} [Compare—
"Strange things I have in head, that will to hand,
Which must be acted, ere they may be scanned."
Macbeth, act iii. sc. 4, lines 139, 140.]
[kf] {347} There lie the lover's hope—the watcher's toil.—[MS.]
[kg] And half-Existence melts within a grave.—[MS.]
[278] {348} [Compare—
"Now slowly melting into day,
Vapour and mist dissolved away."
Sotheby's Constance de Castile, Canto III. stanza v. lines 17, 18.]
[279] [Compare the last lines of Pippa's song in Browning's Pippa Passes—"God's in His
Heaven, all's right with the world!"]
[280] [Mr. Alexander Dyce points out the resemblance between these lines and a passage
in one of Pope's letters to Steele (July 15, 1712, Works, 1754, viii. 226): "The morning
after my exit the sun will rise as bright as ever, the flowers smell as sweet, the plants
spring as green."]
[kh] {349} When Ezzelin——.—[Ed. 1831.]
[ki] Here in thy hall——.—[MS.]
[281] {351} [Compare Mysteries of Udolpho, by Mrs. Ann Radcliffe, 1794, ii. 279: "The
Count then fell back into the arms of his servants, while Montoni held his sword over him
and bade him ask his life ... his complexion changed almost to blackness as he looked
upon his fallen adversary."]
[kj] And turned to smite a foe already felled.—[MS.]
[kk] And he less calm—yet calmer than them all.—[MS.]
[kl] {353} ——the blind and headlong rage.—[MS.]
[km] {354}
Page 424
The first impressions with his milder sway
Of dread——.—[MS.]
[kn] Mysterious gloom around his hall and state.—[MS.]
[ko] {355} The Beauty—which the first success would snatch.—[MS.]
[kp] {356}
A word's enough to rouse mankind to kill
Some factions phrase by cunning raised and spread.—[MS.]
[kq] {357} ——upon the battle slain.—[Ed. 1831.]
[kr] {358} But not endure the long protracted strife.—[MS. erased.]
[ks] {360} And raged the combat till——.—[MS.]
[282] {361} [Stanza XV. was added after the completion of the first draft of the poem.]
[283] [Compare—
"Il s'excite, il s'empresse, il inspire aux soldats
Cet espoir généreux que lui-même il n'a pas."
Voltaire, Henriade, Chant. viii. lines 127, 128,
Oeuvres Complêtes, Paris, 1837, ii. 325.]
[kt] {362} The stiffening steed is on the dinted earth.—[MS.]
[284] [Compare—
"There lay a horse, another through the field
Ran masterless."
Tasso's Jerusalem (translated by Edward Fairfax),
Bk. VII. stanza cvi. lines 3, 4.]
[ku] ——that glassy river lie.—[MS.]
[285] {364} [Stanza xix. was added after the completion of the poem. The MS. is extant.]
[kv] ——white lips spoke.—[MS.]
[kw] ——pale—and passionless.—[MS.]
[kx] {365}
That Life—immortal—infinite secure
Of dread——.—[MS.]
[kn] Mysterious gloom around his hall and state.—[MS.]
[ko] {355} The Beauty—which the first success would snatch.—[MS.]
[kp] {356}
A word's enough to rouse mankind to kill
Some factions phrase by cunning raised and spread.—[MS.]
[kq] {357} ——upon the battle slain.—[Ed. 1831.]
[kr] {358} But not endure the long protracted strife.—[MS. erased.]
[ks] {360} And raged the combat till——.—[MS.]
[282] {361} [Stanza XV. was added after the completion of the first draft of the poem.]
[283] [Compare—
"Il s'excite, il s'empresse, il inspire aux soldats
Cet espoir généreux que lui-même il n'a pas."
Voltaire, Henriade, Chant. viii. lines 127, 128,
Oeuvres Complêtes, Paris, 1837, ii. 325.]
[kt] {362} The stiffening steed is on the dinted earth.—[MS.]
[284] [Compare—
"There lay a horse, another through the field
Ran masterless."
Tasso's Jerusalem (translated by Edward Fairfax),
Bk. VII. stanza cvi. lines 3, 4.]
[ku] ——that glassy river lie.—[MS.]
[285] {364} [Stanza xix. was added after the completion of the poem. The MS. is extant.]
[kv] ——white lips spoke.—[MS.]
[kw] ——pale—and passionless.—[MS.]
[kx] {365}
That Life—immortal—infinite secure
Page 425
To All for whom that Cross hath made it sure.—
[MS. First ed. 1814.]
or,
That life immortal, infinite and sure
To all whose faith the eternal boon secure.—[MS.]
[ky] But faint the dying Lara's accents grew.—[MS.]
[kz]
He gazed as doubtful that the thing he saw
Had something more to ask from Lone or awe.—[MS.]
[la] {367}
But all unknown the blood he lost or spilt
These only told his Glory or his Guilt.—[MS.]
[286] The event in this section was suggested by the description of the death or rather
burial of the Duke of Gandia. "The most interesting and particular account of it is given
by Burchard, and is in substance as follows:—'On the eighth day of June, the Cardinal of
Valenza and the Duke of Gandia, sons of the pope, supped with their mother, Vanozza,
near the church of S. Pietro ad vincula: several other persons being present at the
entertainment. A late hour approaching, and the cardinal having reminded his brother that
it was time to return to the apostolic palace, they mounted their horses or mules, with only
a few attendants, and proceeded together as far as the palace of Cardinal Ascanio Sforza,
when the duke informed the cardinal that, before he returned home, he had to pay a visit
of pleasure. Dismissing therefore all his attendants, excepting his staffiero, or footman,
and a person in a mask, who had paid him a visit whilst at supper, and who, during the
space of a month or thereabouts, previous to this time, had called upon him almost daily
at the apostolic palace, he took this person behind him on his mule, and proceeded to the
street of the Jews, where he quitted his servant, directing him to remain there until a
certain hour; when, if he did not return, he might repair to the palace. The duke then
seated the person in the mask behind him, and rode I know not whither; but in that night
he was assassinated, and thrown into the river. The servant, after having been dismissed,
was also assaulted and mortally wounded; and although he was attended with great care,
yet such was his situation, that he could give no intelligible account of what had befallen
his master. In the morning, the duke not having returned to the palace, his servants began
to be alarmed; and one of them informed the pontiff of the evening excursion of his sons,
and that the duke had not yet made his appearance. This gave the pope no small anxiety;
but he conjectured that the duke had been attracted by some courtesan to pass the night
[MS. First ed. 1814.]
or,
That life immortal, infinite and sure
To all whose faith the eternal boon secure.—[MS.]
[ky] But faint the dying Lara's accents grew.—[MS.]
[kz]
He gazed as doubtful that the thing he saw
Had something more to ask from Lone or awe.—[MS.]
[la] {367}
But all unknown the blood he lost or spilt
These only told his Glory or his Guilt.—[MS.]
[286] The event in this section was suggested by the description of the death or rather
burial of the Duke of Gandia. "The most interesting and particular account of it is given
by Burchard, and is in substance as follows:—'On the eighth day of June, the Cardinal of
Valenza and the Duke of Gandia, sons of the pope, supped with their mother, Vanozza,
near the church of S. Pietro ad vincula: several other persons being present at the
entertainment. A late hour approaching, and the cardinal having reminded his brother that
it was time to return to the apostolic palace, they mounted their horses or mules, with only
a few attendants, and proceeded together as far as the palace of Cardinal Ascanio Sforza,
when the duke informed the cardinal that, before he returned home, he had to pay a visit
of pleasure. Dismissing therefore all his attendants, excepting his staffiero, or footman,
and a person in a mask, who had paid him a visit whilst at supper, and who, during the
space of a month or thereabouts, previous to this time, had called upon him almost daily
at the apostolic palace, he took this person behind him on his mule, and proceeded to the
street of the Jews, where he quitted his servant, directing him to remain there until a
certain hour; when, if he did not return, he might repair to the palace. The duke then
seated the person in the mask behind him, and rode I know not whither; but in that night
he was assassinated, and thrown into the river. The servant, after having been dismissed,
was also assaulted and mortally wounded; and although he was attended with great care,
yet such was his situation, that he could give no intelligible account of what had befallen
his master. In the morning, the duke not having returned to the palace, his servants began
to be alarmed; and one of them informed the pontiff of the evening excursion of his sons,
and that the duke had not yet made his appearance. This gave the pope no small anxiety;
but he conjectured that the duke had been attracted by some courtesan to pass the night
Page 426
with her, and, not choosing to quit the house in open day, had waited till the following
evening to return home. When, however, the evening arrived, and he found himself
disappointed in his expectations, he became deeply afflicted, and began to make inquiries
from different persons, whom he ordered to attend him for that purpose. Amongst these
was a man named Giorgio Schiavoni, who, having discharged some timber from a bark in
the river, had remained on board the vessel to watch it; and being interrogated whether he
had seen any one thrown into the river on the night preceding, he replied, that he saw two
men on foot, who came down the street, and looked diligently about to observe whether
any person was passing. That seeing no one, they returned, and a short time afterwards
two others came, and looked around in the same manner as the former: no person still
appearing, they gave a sign to their companions, when a man came, mounted on a white
horse, having behind him a dead body, the head and arms of which hung on one side, and
the feet on the other side of the horse; the two persons on foot supporting the body, to
prevent its falling. They thus proceeded towards that part where the filth of the city is
usually discharged into the river, and turning the horse, with his tail towards the water, the
two persons took the dead body by the arms and feet, and with all their strength flung it
into the river. The person on horseback then asked if they had thrown it in; to which they
replied, Signor, si (yes, Sir). He then looked towards the river, and seeing a mantle
floating on the stream, he enquired what it was that appeared black, to which they
answered, it was a mantle; and one of them threw stones upon it, in consequence of which
it sunk. The attendants of the pontiff then enquired from Giorgio, why he had not revealed
this to the governor of the city; to which he replied, that he had seen in his time a hundred
dead bodies thrown into the river at the same place, without any inquiry being made
respecting them; and that he had not, therefore, considered it as a matter of any
importance. The fishermen and seamen were then collected, and ordered to search the
river, where, on the following evening, they found the body of the duke, with his habit
entire, and thirty ducats in his purse. He was pierced with nine wounds, one of which was
in his throat, the others in his head, body, and limbs. No sooner was the pontiff informed
of the death of his son, and that he had been thrown, like filth, into the river, than, giving
way to his grief, he shut himself up in a chamber, and wept bitterly. The Cardinal of
Segovia, and other attendants on the pope, went to the door, and after many hours spent in
persuasions and exhortations, prevailed upon him to admit them. From the evening of
Wednesday till the following Saturday the pope took no food; nor did he sleep from
Thursday morning till the same hour on the ensuing day. At length, however, giving way
to the entreaties of his attendants, he began to restrain his sorrow, and to consider the
injury which his own health might sustain by the further indulgence of his grief.'"—
Roscoe's Life and Pontificate of Leo Tenth, 1805, i. 265. [See, too, for the original in
evening to return home. When, however, the evening arrived, and he found himself
disappointed in his expectations, he became deeply afflicted, and began to make inquiries
from different persons, whom he ordered to attend him for that purpose. Amongst these
was a man named Giorgio Schiavoni, who, having discharged some timber from a bark in
the river, had remained on board the vessel to watch it; and being interrogated whether he
had seen any one thrown into the river on the night preceding, he replied, that he saw two
men on foot, who came down the street, and looked diligently about to observe whether
any person was passing. That seeing no one, they returned, and a short time afterwards
two others came, and looked around in the same manner as the former: no person still
appearing, they gave a sign to their companions, when a man came, mounted on a white
horse, having behind him a dead body, the head and arms of which hung on one side, and
the feet on the other side of the horse; the two persons on foot supporting the body, to
prevent its falling. They thus proceeded towards that part where the filth of the city is
usually discharged into the river, and turning the horse, with his tail towards the water, the
two persons took the dead body by the arms and feet, and with all their strength flung it
into the river. The person on horseback then asked if they had thrown it in; to which they
replied, Signor, si (yes, Sir). He then looked towards the river, and seeing a mantle
floating on the stream, he enquired what it was that appeared black, to which they
answered, it was a mantle; and one of them threw stones upon it, in consequence of which
it sunk. The attendants of the pontiff then enquired from Giorgio, why he had not revealed
this to the governor of the city; to which he replied, that he had seen in his time a hundred
dead bodies thrown into the river at the same place, without any inquiry being made
respecting them; and that he had not, therefore, considered it as a matter of any
importance. The fishermen and seamen were then collected, and ordered to search the
river, where, on the following evening, they found the body of the duke, with his habit
entire, and thirty ducats in his purse. He was pierced with nine wounds, one of which was
in his throat, the others in his head, body, and limbs. No sooner was the pontiff informed
of the death of his son, and that he had been thrown, like filth, into the river, than, giving
way to his grief, he shut himself up in a chamber, and wept bitterly. The Cardinal of
Segovia, and other attendants on the pope, went to the door, and after many hours spent in
persuasions and exhortations, prevailed upon him to admit them. From the evening of
Wednesday till the following Saturday the pope took no food; nor did he sleep from
Thursday morning till the same hour on the ensuing day. At length, however, giving way
to the entreaties of his attendants, he began to restrain his sorrow, and to consider the
injury which his own health might sustain by the further indulgence of his grief.'"—
Roscoe's Life and Pontificate of Leo Tenth, 1805, i. 265. [See, too, for the original in
Page 427
Burchard Diar, in Gordon's Life of Alex. VI., Append., "De Cæde Ducis Gandiæ," Append.
No. xlviii., ib., pp. 90, 91.]
[lb] {370} A mighty pebble——.—[MS.]
[lc] That not unarmed in combat fair he fell.—[MS. erased.]
[ld] {371} ——some phantom wound.—[MS.]
No. xlviii., ib., pp. 90, 91.]
[lb] {370} A mighty pebble——.—[MS.]
[lc] That not unarmed in combat fair he fell.—[MS. erased.]
[ld] {371} ——some phantom wound.—[MS.]
Page 428
HEBREW MELODIES
Page 429
INTRODUCTION TO HEBREW MELODIES
A ccording to the "Advertisement" prefixed to Murray's First Edition of
the Hebrew Melodies, London, 1815 (the date, January, 1815, was appended
in 1832), the "poems were written at the request of the author's friend, the
Hon. D. Kinnaird, for a selection of Hebrew Melodies, and have been
published, with the music, arranged by Mr. Braham and Mr. Nathan."
Byron's engagement to Miss Milbanke took place in September, 1814,
and the remainder of the year was passed in London, at his chambers in the
Albany. The so-called Hebrew Melodies were, probably, begun in the late
autumn of that year, and were certainly finished at Seaham, after his
marriage had taken place, in January-February, 1815. It is a natural and
pardonable conjecture that Byron took to writing sacred or, at any rate,
scriptural verses by way of giving pleasure and doing honour to his future
wife, "the girl who gave to song What gold could never buy." They were, so
to speak, the first-fruits of a seemlier muse.
It is probable that the greater number of these poems were in MS. before
it occurred to Byron's friend and banker, the Honble. Douglas James
William Kinnaird (1788-1830), to make him known to Isaac Nathan (1792-
1864), a youthful composer of "musical farces and operatic works," who
had been destined by his parents for the Hebrew priesthood, but had broken
A ccording to the "Advertisement" prefixed to Murray's First Edition of
the Hebrew Melodies, London, 1815 (the date, January, 1815, was appended
in 1832), the "poems were written at the request of the author's friend, the
Hon. D. Kinnaird, for a selection of Hebrew Melodies, and have been
published, with the music, arranged by Mr. Braham and Mr. Nathan."
Byron's engagement to Miss Milbanke took place in September, 1814,
and the remainder of the year was passed in London, at his chambers in the
Albany. The so-called Hebrew Melodies were, probably, begun in the late
autumn of that year, and were certainly finished at Seaham, after his
marriage had taken place, in January-February, 1815. It is a natural and
pardonable conjecture that Byron took to writing sacred or, at any rate,
scriptural verses by way of giving pleasure and doing honour to his future
wife, "the girl who gave to song What gold could never buy." They were, so
to speak, the first-fruits of a seemlier muse.
It is probable that the greater number of these poems were in MS. before
it occurred to Byron's friend and banker, the Honble. Douglas James
William Kinnaird (1788-1830), to make him known to Isaac Nathan (1792-
1864), a youthful composer of "musical farces and operatic works," who
had been destined by his parents for the Hebrew priesthood, but had broken
Page 430
away, and, after some struggles, succeeded in qualifying himself as a
musician.
Byron took a fancy to Nathan, and presented him with the copyright of
his "poetical effusions," on the understanding that they were to be set to
music and sung in public by John Braham. "Professional occupations"
prevented Braham from fulfilling his part of the engagement, but a guinea
folio (Part. I.) ("Selections of Hebrew Melodies, Ancient and Modern, with
appropriate symphonies and accompaniments, by I. Braham and I. Nathan,
the poetry written expressly for the work by the Right Honourable Lord
Byron")—with an ornamental title-page designed by the architect Edward
Blore (1789-1879), and dedicated to the Princess Charlotte of Wales—was
published in April, 1815. A second part was issued in 1816.
The preface, part of which was reprinted (p. vi.) by Nathan, in his
Fugitive Pieces and Reminiscences of Lord Byron, London, 1829, is not
without interest—
"The Hebrew Melodies are a selection from the favourite airs which are still
sung in the religious ceremonies of the Jews. Some of these have, in common
with all their Sacred airs, been preserved by memory and tradition alone, without
the assistance of written characters. Their age and originality, therefore, must be
left to conjecture. But the latitude given to the taste and genius of their
performers has been the means of engrafting on the original Melodies a certain
wildness and pathos, which have at length become the chief characteristics of the
sacred songs of the Jews....
"Of the poetry it is necessary to speak, in order thus publicly to acknowledge
the kindness with which Lord Byron has condescended to furnish the most
valuable part of the work. It has been our endeavour to select such melodies as
would best suit the style and sentiment of the poetry."
musician.
Byron took a fancy to Nathan, and presented him with the copyright of
his "poetical effusions," on the understanding that they were to be set to
music and sung in public by John Braham. "Professional occupations"
prevented Braham from fulfilling his part of the engagement, but a guinea
folio (Part. I.) ("Selections of Hebrew Melodies, Ancient and Modern, with
appropriate symphonies and accompaniments, by I. Braham and I. Nathan,
the poetry written expressly for the work by the Right Honourable Lord
Byron")—with an ornamental title-page designed by the architect Edward
Blore (1789-1879), and dedicated to the Princess Charlotte of Wales—was
published in April, 1815. A second part was issued in 1816.
The preface, part of which was reprinted (p. vi.) by Nathan, in his
Fugitive Pieces and Reminiscences of Lord Byron, London, 1829, is not
without interest—
"The Hebrew Melodies are a selection from the favourite airs which are still
sung in the religious ceremonies of the Jews. Some of these have, in common
with all their Sacred airs, been preserved by memory and tradition alone, without
the assistance of written characters. Their age and originality, therefore, must be
left to conjecture. But the latitude given to the taste and genius of their
performers has been the means of engrafting on the original Melodies a certain
wildness and pathos, which have at length become the chief characteristics of the
sacred songs of the Jews....
"Of the poetry it is necessary to speak, in order thus publicly to acknowledge
the kindness with which Lord Byron has condescended to furnish the most
valuable part of the work. It has been our endeavour to select such melodies as
would best suit the style and sentiment of the poetry."
Page 431
Moore, for whose benefit the Melodies had been rehearsed, was by no
means impressed by their "wildness and pathos," and seems to have twitted
Byron on the subject, or, as he puts it (Life, p. 276), to have taken the liberty
of "laughing a little at the manner in which some of the Hebrew Melodies
had been set to music." The author of Sacred Songs (1814) set to airs by
Beethoven, Mozart, Haydn, etc., was a critic not to be gainsaid, but from
the half-comical petulance with which he "curses" and "sun-burns" (Letters
to Moore, February 22, March 8, 1815, Letters, 1899, iii. 179, 183) Nathan,
and his "vile Ebrew nasalities," it is evident that Byron winced under
Moore's "chaff."
Apart from the merits or demerits of the setting, the title Hebrew
Melodies is somewhat misleading. Three love-songs, "She walks in Beauty
like the Night," "Oh! snatched away in Beauty's Bloom," and "I saw thee
weep," still form part of the collection; and, in Nathan's folio (which does
not contain "A spirit passed before me"), two fragments, "It is the hour
when from the boughs" and "Francesca walks in the shadow of night,"
which were afterwards incorporated in Parisina, were included. The
Fugitive Pieces, 1829, retain the fragments from Parisina, and add the
following hitherto unpublished poems: "I speak not, I trace not," etc., "They
say that Hope is Happiness," and the genuine but rejected Hebrew Melody
"In the valley of waters we wept on the day."
It is uncertain when Murray's first edition appeared. Byron wrote to
Nathan with regard to the copyright in January, 1815 (Letters, 1899, iii.
167), but it is unlikely that the volume was put on the market before
Nathan's folio, which was advertised for the first time in the Morning
Chronicle, April 6, 1815; and it is possible that the first public
means impressed by their "wildness and pathos," and seems to have twitted
Byron on the subject, or, as he puts it (Life, p. 276), to have taken the liberty
of "laughing a little at the manner in which some of the Hebrew Melodies
had been set to music." The author of Sacred Songs (1814) set to airs by
Beethoven, Mozart, Haydn, etc., was a critic not to be gainsaid, but from
the half-comical petulance with which he "curses" and "sun-burns" (Letters
to Moore, February 22, March 8, 1815, Letters, 1899, iii. 179, 183) Nathan,
and his "vile Ebrew nasalities," it is evident that Byron winced under
Moore's "chaff."
Apart from the merits or demerits of the setting, the title Hebrew
Melodies is somewhat misleading. Three love-songs, "She walks in Beauty
like the Night," "Oh! snatched away in Beauty's Bloom," and "I saw thee
weep," still form part of the collection; and, in Nathan's folio (which does
not contain "A spirit passed before me"), two fragments, "It is the hour
when from the boughs" and "Francesca walks in the shadow of night,"
which were afterwards incorporated in Parisina, were included. The
Fugitive Pieces, 1829, retain the fragments from Parisina, and add the
following hitherto unpublished poems: "I speak not, I trace not," etc., "They
say that Hope is Happiness," and the genuine but rejected Hebrew Melody
"In the valley of waters we wept on the day."
It is uncertain when Murray's first edition appeared. Byron wrote to
Nathan with regard to the copyright in January, 1815 (Letters, 1899, iii.
167), but it is unlikely that the volume was put on the market before
Nathan's folio, which was advertised for the first time in the Morning
Chronicle, April 6, 1815; and it is possible that the first public
Page 432
announcement of the Hebrew Melodies, as a separate issue, was made in the
Courier, June 22, 1815.
The Hebrew Melodies were reviewed in the Christian Observer, August,
1815, vol. xiv. p. 542; in the Analectic Magazine, October, 1815, vol. vi. p.
292; and were noticed by Jeffrey [The Hebrew Melodies, though "obviously
inferior" to Lord Byron's other works, "display a skill in versification and a
mastery in diction which would have raised an inferior artist to the very
summit of distinction"] in the Edinburgh Review, December, 1816, vol.
xxvii. p. 291.
ADVERTISEMENT
The subsequent poems were written at the request of my friend, the Hon.
Douglas Kinnaird, for a Selection of Hebrew Melodies, and have been
published, with the music, arranged by Mr. Braham and Mr. Nathan.
January, 1815.
Courier, June 22, 1815.
The Hebrew Melodies were reviewed in the Christian Observer, August,
1815, vol. xiv. p. 542; in the Analectic Magazine, October, 1815, vol. vi. p.
292; and were noticed by Jeffrey [The Hebrew Melodies, though "obviously
inferior" to Lord Byron's other works, "display a skill in versification and a
mastery in diction which would have raised an inferior artist to the very
summit of distinction"] in the Edinburgh Review, December, 1816, vol.
xxvii. p. 291.
ADVERTISEMENT
The subsequent poems were written at the request of my friend, the Hon.
Douglas Kinnaird, for a Selection of Hebrew Melodies, and have been
published, with the music, arranged by Mr. Braham and Mr. Nathan.
January, 1815.
Page 433
HEBREW MELODIES
SHE WALKS IN BEAUTY. [287]
I.
walks in Beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
d all that's best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes:
s mellowed to that tender light
Which Heaven to gaudy day denies.
II.
shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impaired the nameless grace
ich waves in every raven tress,
Or softly lightens o'er her face;
ere thoughts serenely sweet express,
How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.
III.
d on that cheek, and o'er that brow,
o soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
SHE WALKS IN BEAUTY. [287]
I.
walks in Beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
d all that's best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes:
s mellowed to that tender light
Which Heaven to gaudy day denies.
II.
shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impaired the nameless grace
ich waves in every raven tress,
Or softly lightens o'er her face;
ere thoughts serenely sweet express,
How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.
III.
d on that cheek, and o'er that brow,
o soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
Page 434
smiles that win, the tints that glow,
ut tell of days in goodness spent,
mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent!
June 12, 1814.
THE HARP THE MONARCH MINSTREL SWEPT.
I.
ut tell of days in goodness spent,
mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent!
June 12, 1814.
THE HARP THE MONARCH MINSTREL SWEPT.
I.
Page 435
[le]
he Harp the Monarch Minstrel swept,
The King of men, the loved of Heaven!
Which Music hallowed while she wept
O'er tones her heart of hearts had given—
oubled be her tears, its chords are riven!
softened men of iron mould,
It gave them virtues not their own;
No ear so dull, no soul so cold,
That felt not—fired not to the tone,
David's Lyre grew mightier than his Throne!
II.
told the triumphs of our King,[lf]
It wafted glory to our God;
made our gladdened valleys ring,
The cedars bow, the mountains nod;
ound aspired to Heaven and there abode![288]
ince then, though heard on earth no more,[lg]
Devotion and her daughter Love
till bid the bursting spirit soar
To sounds that seem as from above,
reams that day's broad light can not remove.
IF THAT HIGH WORLD.
I.
hat high world,[289] which lies beyond
Our own, surviving Love endears;
here the cherished heart be fond,
he Harp the Monarch Minstrel swept,
The King of men, the loved of Heaven!
Which Music hallowed while she wept
O'er tones her heart of hearts had given—
oubled be her tears, its chords are riven!
softened men of iron mould,
It gave them virtues not their own;
No ear so dull, no soul so cold,
That felt not—fired not to the tone,
David's Lyre grew mightier than his Throne!
II.
told the triumphs of our King,[lf]
It wafted glory to our God;
made our gladdened valleys ring,
The cedars bow, the mountains nod;
ound aspired to Heaven and there abode![288]
ince then, though heard on earth no more,[lg]
Devotion and her daughter Love
till bid the bursting spirit soar
To sounds that seem as from above,
reams that day's broad light can not remove.
IF THAT HIGH WORLD.
I.
hat high world,[289] which lies beyond
Our own, surviving Love endears;
here the cherished heart be fond,
Page 436
he eye the same, except in tears—
w welcome those untrodden spheres!
How sweet this very hour to die!
oar from earth and find all fears
ost in thy light—Eternity!
II.
ust be so: 'tis not for self
hat we so tremble on the brink;
d striving to o'erleap the gulf,
Yet cling to Being's severing link.[lh]
in that future let us think
o hold each heart the heart that shares,
h them the immortal waters drink,
And soul in soul grow deathless theirs!
THE WILD GAZELLE.
I.
wild gazelle on Judah's hills
xulting yet may bound,
d drink from all the living rills
hat gush on holy ground;
airy step and glorious eye[290]
y glance in tameless transport by:—
II.
ep as fleet, an eye more bright,
Hath Judah witnessed there;
d o'er her scenes of lost delight
w welcome those untrodden spheres!
How sweet this very hour to die!
oar from earth and find all fears
ost in thy light—Eternity!
II.
ust be so: 'tis not for self
hat we so tremble on the brink;
d striving to o'erleap the gulf,
Yet cling to Being's severing link.[lh]
in that future let us think
o hold each heart the heart that shares,
h them the immortal waters drink,
And soul in soul grow deathless theirs!
THE WILD GAZELLE.
I.
wild gazelle on Judah's hills
xulting yet may bound,
d drink from all the living rills
hat gush on holy ground;
airy step and glorious eye[290]
y glance in tameless transport by:—
II.
ep as fleet, an eye more bright,
Hath Judah witnessed there;
d o'er her scenes of lost delight
Page 437
nhabitants more fair.
cedars wave on Lebanon,
Judah's statelier maids are gone!
III.
re blest each palm that shades those plains
han Israel's scattered race;
taking root, it there remains
n solitary grace:
annot quit its place of birth,
ill not live in other earth.
IV.
we must wander witheringly,
n other lands to die;
d where our fathers' ashes be,
Our own may never lie:
temple hath not left a stone,
d Mockery sits on Salem's throne.
OH! WEEP FOR THOSE.
I.
weep for those that wept by Babel's stream,
ose shrines are desolate, whose land a dream;
ep for the harp of Judah's broken shell;
urn—where their God hath dwelt the godless dwell!
II.
cedars wave on Lebanon,
Judah's statelier maids are gone!
III.
re blest each palm that shades those plains
han Israel's scattered race;
taking root, it there remains
n solitary grace:
annot quit its place of birth,
ill not live in other earth.
IV.
we must wander witheringly,
n other lands to die;
d where our fathers' ashes be,
Our own may never lie:
temple hath not left a stone,
d Mockery sits on Salem's throne.
OH! WEEP FOR THOSE.
I.
weep for those that wept by Babel's stream,
ose shrines are desolate, whose land a dream;
ep for the harp of Judah's broken shell;
urn—where their God hath dwelt the godless dwell!
II.
Page 438
d where shall Israel lave her bleeding feet?
d when shall Zion's songs again seem sweet?
d Judah's melody once more rejoice
hearts that leaped before its heavenly voice?
III.
es of the wandering foot and weary breast,
w shall ye flee away and be at rest!
wild-dove hath her nest, the fox his cave,
nkind their country—Israel but the grave!
ON JORDAN'S BANKS.
I.
Jordan's banks the Arab's camels stray,
Sion's hill the False One's votaries pray,
Baal-adorer bows on Sinai's steep—
there—even there—Oh God! thy thunders sleep:
II.
re—where thy finger scorched the tablet stone!
re—where thy shadow to thy people shone!
glory shrouded in its garb of fire:
self—none living see and not expire!
III.
in the lightning let thy glance appear;
eep from his shivered hand the oppressor's spear!
w long by tyrants shall thy land be trod?
d when shall Zion's songs again seem sweet?
d Judah's melody once more rejoice
hearts that leaped before its heavenly voice?
III.
es of the wandering foot and weary breast,
w shall ye flee away and be at rest!
wild-dove hath her nest, the fox his cave,
nkind their country—Israel but the grave!
ON JORDAN'S BANKS.
I.
Jordan's banks the Arab's camels stray,
Sion's hill the False One's votaries pray,
Baal-adorer bows on Sinai's steep—
there—even there—Oh God! thy thunders sleep:
II.
re—where thy finger scorched the tablet stone!
re—where thy shadow to thy people shone!
glory shrouded in its garb of fire:
self—none living see and not expire!
III.
in the lightning let thy glance appear;
eep from his shivered hand the oppressor's spear!
w long by tyrants shall thy land be trod?
Page 439
w long thy temple worshipless, Oh God?
JEPHTHA'S DAUGHTER. [291]
I.
ce our Country, our God—Oh, my Sire!
mand that thy Daughter expire;
ce thy triumph was bought by thy vow—
ke the bosom that's bared for thee now!
II.
d the voice of my mourning is o'er,
d the mountains behold me no more:
he hand that I love lay me low,
re cannot be pain in the blow!
III.
d of this, oh, my Father! be sure—
t the blood of thy child is as pure
he blessing I beg ere it flow,
d the last thought that soothes me below.
IV.
ugh the virgins of Salem lament,
he judge and the hero unbent!
ve won the great battle for thee,
d my Father and Country are free!
V.
JEPHTHA'S DAUGHTER. [291]
I.
ce our Country, our God—Oh, my Sire!
mand that thy Daughter expire;
ce thy triumph was bought by thy vow—
ke the bosom that's bared for thee now!
II.
d the voice of my mourning is o'er,
d the mountains behold me no more:
he hand that I love lay me low,
re cannot be pain in the blow!
III.
d of this, oh, my Father! be sure—
t the blood of thy child is as pure
he blessing I beg ere it flow,
d the last thought that soothes me below.
IV.
ugh the virgins of Salem lament,
he judge and the hero unbent!
ve won the great battle for thee,
d my Father and Country are free!
V.
Page 440
en this blood of thy giving hath gushed,
en the voice that thou lovest is hushed,
my memory still be thy pride,
d forget not I smiled as I died!
OH! SNATCHED AWAY IN BEAUTY'S BLOOM. [292]
I.
O h ! snatched away in beauty's bloom,
On thee shall press no ponderous tomb;
But on thy turf shall roses rear
Their leaves, the earliest of the year;
d the wild cypress wave in tender gloom:[li]
II.
And oft by yon blue gushing stream
Shall Sorrow lean her drooping head,[lj]
And feed deep thought with many a dream,
And lingering pause and lightly tread;
d wretch! as if her step disturbed the dead!
III.
ay! we know that tears are vain,
hat Death nor heeds nor hears distress:
l this unteach us to complain?
Or make one mourner weep the less?
d thou—who tell'st me to forget,[lk]
looks are wan, thine eyes are wet.[ll][293]
[Published in the Examiner, April 23, 1815.]
en the voice that thou lovest is hushed,
my memory still be thy pride,
d forget not I smiled as I died!
OH! SNATCHED AWAY IN BEAUTY'S BLOOM. [292]
I.
O h ! snatched away in beauty's bloom,
On thee shall press no ponderous tomb;
But on thy turf shall roses rear
Their leaves, the earliest of the year;
d the wild cypress wave in tender gloom:[li]
II.
And oft by yon blue gushing stream
Shall Sorrow lean her drooping head,[lj]
And feed deep thought with many a dream,
And lingering pause and lightly tread;
d wretch! as if her step disturbed the dead!
III.
ay! we know that tears are vain,
hat Death nor heeds nor hears distress:
l this unteach us to complain?
Or make one mourner weep the less?
d thou—who tell'st me to forget,[lk]
looks are wan, thine eyes are wet.[ll][293]
[Published in the Examiner, April 23, 1815.]
Page 441
MY SOUL IS DARK.
I.
soul is dark—Oh! quickly string[294]
he harp I yet can brook to hear;
d let thy gentle fingers fling
s melting murmurs o'er mine ear.
n this heart a hope be dear,
hat sound shall charm it forth again:
n these eyes there lurk a tear,
Twill flow, and cease to burn my brain.
II.
bid the strain be wild and deep,
Nor let thy notes of joy be first:
l thee, minstrel, I must weep,
Or else this heavy heart will burst;
it hath been by sorrow nursed,
And ached in sleepless silence long;
d now 'tis doomed to know the worst,
And break at once—or yield to song.[295]
I SAW THEE WEEP.
I.
w thee weep—the big bright tear
ame o'er that eye of blue;[296]
d then methought it did appear
A violet dropping dew:
I.
soul is dark—Oh! quickly string[294]
he harp I yet can brook to hear;
d let thy gentle fingers fling
s melting murmurs o'er mine ear.
n this heart a hope be dear,
hat sound shall charm it forth again:
n these eyes there lurk a tear,
Twill flow, and cease to burn my brain.
II.
bid the strain be wild and deep,
Nor let thy notes of joy be first:
l thee, minstrel, I must weep,
Or else this heavy heart will burst;
it hath been by sorrow nursed,
And ached in sleepless silence long;
d now 'tis doomed to know the worst,
And break at once—or yield to song.[295]
I SAW THEE WEEP.
I.
w thee weep—the big bright tear
ame o'er that eye of blue;[296]
d then methought it did appear
A violet dropping dew:
Page 442
w thee smile—the sapphire's blaze
eside thee ceased to shine;
ould not match the living rays
hat filled that glance of thine.
II.
clouds from yonder sun receive
A deep and mellow dye,
ich scarce the shade of coming eve
an banish from the sky,
se smiles unto the moodiest mind
heir own pure joy impart;
ir sunshine leaves a glow behind
hat lightens o'er the heart.
THY DAYS ARE DONE.
I.
y days are done, thy fame begun;
hy country's strains record
triumphs of her chosen Son,
he slaughters of his sword!
deeds he did, the fields he won,
he freedom he restored!
II.
ugh thou art fall'n, while we are free
hou shall not taste of death!
generous blood that flowed from thee
Disdained to sink beneath:
eside thee ceased to shine;
ould not match the living rays
hat filled that glance of thine.
II.
clouds from yonder sun receive
A deep and mellow dye,
ich scarce the shade of coming eve
an banish from the sky,
se smiles unto the moodiest mind
heir own pure joy impart;
ir sunshine leaves a glow behind
hat lightens o'er the heart.
THY DAYS ARE DONE.
I.
y days are done, thy fame begun;
hy country's strains record
triumphs of her chosen Son,
he slaughters of his sword!
deeds he did, the fields he won,
he freedom he restored!
II.
ugh thou art fall'n, while we are free
hou shall not taste of death!
generous blood that flowed from thee
Disdained to sink beneath:
Page 443
hin our veins its currents be,
hy spirit on our breath!
III.
name, our charging hosts along,
hall be the battle-word!
fall, the theme of choral song
rom virgin voices poured!
weep would do thy glory wrong:
hou shalt not be deplored.
SAUL.
I.
T hou whose spell can raise the dead,
Bid the Prophet's form appear.
"Samuel, raise thy buried head!
King, behold the phantom Seer!"
h yawned; he stood the centre of a cloud:
ht changed its hue, retiring from his shroud.[lm]
th stood all glassy in his fixéd eye;
hand was withered, and his veins were dry;
foot, in bony whiteness, glittered there,
unken and sinewless, and ghastly bare;
m lips that moved not and unbreathing frame,
e caverned winds, the hollow accents came.
l saw, and fell to earth, as falls the oak,
once, and blasted by the thunder-stroke.[ln]
II.
hy spirit on our breath!
III.
name, our charging hosts along,
hall be the battle-word!
fall, the theme of choral song
rom virgin voices poured!
weep would do thy glory wrong:
hou shalt not be deplored.
SAUL.
I.
T hou whose spell can raise the dead,
Bid the Prophet's form appear.
"Samuel, raise thy buried head!
King, behold the phantom Seer!"
h yawned; he stood the centre of a cloud:
ht changed its hue, retiring from his shroud.[lm]
th stood all glassy in his fixéd eye;
hand was withered, and his veins were dry;
foot, in bony whiteness, glittered there,
unken and sinewless, and ghastly bare;
m lips that moved not and unbreathing frame,
e caverned winds, the hollow accents came.
l saw, and fell to earth, as falls the oak,
once, and blasted by the thunder-stroke.[ln]
II.
Page 444
"Why is my sleep disquieted?
Who is he that calls the dead?
Is it thou, O King? Behold,
Bloodless are these limbs, and cold:[lo]
Such are mine; and such shall be
Thine to-morrow, when with me:
Ere the coming day is done,
Such shalt thou be—such thy Son.
Fare thee well, but for a day,
Then we mix our mouldering clay.
Thou—thy race, lie pale and low,
Pierced by shafts of many a bow;
And the falchion by thy side
To thy heart thy hand shall guide:
Crownless—breathless—headless fall,
Son and Sire—the house of Saul!"[297]
Seaham, Feb., 1815.
SONG OF SAUL BEFORE HIS LAST BATTLE.
I.
rriors and chiefs! should the shaft or the sword
ce me in leading the host of the Lord,
d not the corse, though a King's, in your path:[lp]
y your steel in the bosoms of Gath!
II.
u who art bearing my buckler and bow,[lq]
uld the soldiers of Saul look away from the foe,
Who is he that calls the dead?
Is it thou, O King? Behold,
Bloodless are these limbs, and cold:[lo]
Such are mine; and such shall be
Thine to-morrow, when with me:
Ere the coming day is done,
Such shalt thou be—such thy Son.
Fare thee well, but for a day,
Then we mix our mouldering clay.
Thou—thy race, lie pale and low,
Pierced by shafts of many a bow;
And the falchion by thy side
To thy heart thy hand shall guide:
Crownless—breathless—headless fall,
Son and Sire—the house of Saul!"[297]
Seaham, Feb., 1815.
SONG OF SAUL BEFORE HIS LAST BATTLE.
I.
rriors and chiefs! should the shaft or the sword
ce me in leading the host of the Lord,
d not the corse, though a King's, in your path:[lp]
y your steel in the bosoms of Gath!
II.
u who art bearing my buckler and bow,[lq]
uld the soldiers of Saul look away from the foe,
Page 445
tch me that moment in blood at thy feet!
e be the doom which they dared not to meet.
III.
ewell to others, but never we part,
r to my Royalty—Son of my heart![lr]
ght is the diadem, boundless the sway,
kingly the death, which awaits us to-day!
Seaham, 1815.
"ALL IS VANITY, SAITH THE PREACHER."
I.
F ame , Wisdom, Love, and Power were mine,
And Health and Youth possessed me;
My goblets blushed from every vine,
And lovely forms caressed me;
I sunned my heart in Beauty's eyes,
And felt my soul grow tender;
All Earth can give, or mortal prize,
Was mine of regal splendour.
II.
I strive to number o'er what days[ls]
Remembrance can discover,
Which all that Life or Earth displays
Would lure me to live over.
There rose no day, there rolled no hour
Of pleasure unembittered;[298]
e be the doom which they dared not to meet.
III.
ewell to others, but never we part,
r to my Royalty—Son of my heart![lr]
ght is the diadem, boundless the sway,
kingly the death, which awaits us to-day!
Seaham, 1815.
"ALL IS VANITY, SAITH THE PREACHER."
I.
F ame , Wisdom, Love, and Power were mine,
And Health and Youth possessed me;
My goblets blushed from every vine,
And lovely forms caressed me;
I sunned my heart in Beauty's eyes,
And felt my soul grow tender;
All Earth can give, or mortal prize,
Was mine of regal splendour.
II.
I strive to number o'er what days[ls]
Remembrance can discover,
Which all that Life or Earth displays
Would lure me to live over.
There rose no day, there rolled no hour
Of pleasure unembittered;[298]
Page 446
And not a trapping decked my Power
That galled not while it glittered.
III.[lt]
The serpent of the field, by art
And spells, is won from harming;
But that which coils around the heart,
Oh! who hath power of charming?
It will not list to Wisdom's lore,
Nor Music's voice can lure it;
But there it stings for evermore
The soul that must endure it.
Seaham, 1815.
WHEN COLDNESS WRAPS THIS SUFFERING CLAY.
I.
[lu]
en coldness wraps this suffering clay,
Ah! whither strays the immortal mind?
annot die, it cannot stay,
ut leaves its darkened dust behind.
n, unembodied, doth it trace
y steps each planet's heavenly way?[lv]
ill at once the realms of space,
A thing of eyes, that all survey?
II.
nal—boundless,—undecayed,
A thought unseen, but seeing all,
That galled not while it glittered.
III.[lt]
The serpent of the field, by art
And spells, is won from harming;
But that which coils around the heart,
Oh! who hath power of charming?
It will not list to Wisdom's lore,
Nor Music's voice can lure it;
But there it stings for evermore
The soul that must endure it.
Seaham, 1815.
WHEN COLDNESS WRAPS THIS SUFFERING CLAY.
I.
[lu]
en coldness wraps this suffering clay,
Ah! whither strays the immortal mind?
annot die, it cannot stay,
ut leaves its darkened dust behind.
n, unembodied, doth it trace
y steps each planet's heavenly way?[lv]
ill at once the realms of space,
A thing of eyes, that all survey?
II.
nal—boundless,—undecayed,
A thought unseen, but seeing all,
Page 447
all in earth, or skies displayed,[lw]
hall it survey, shall it recall:
h fainter trace that Memory holds
o darkly of departed years,
ne broad glance the Soul beholds,
And all, that was, at once appears.
III.
ore Creation peopled earth,
s eye shall roll through chaos back;
d where the farthest heaven had birth,
he Spirit trace its rising track.
d where the future mars or makes,
s glance dilate o'er all to be,
ile Sun is quenched—or System breaks,
ixed in its own Eternity.
IV.
ove or Love—Hope—Hate—or Fear,
lives all passionless and pure:
age shall fleet like earthly year;
s years as moments shall endure.
ay—away—without a wing,
O'er all—through all—its thought shall fly,
ameless and eternal thing,
orgetting what it was to die.
Seaham, 1815.
VISION OF BELSHAZZAR. [299]
hall it survey, shall it recall:
h fainter trace that Memory holds
o darkly of departed years,
ne broad glance the Soul beholds,
And all, that was, at once appears.
III.
ore Creation peopled earth,
s eye shall roll through chaos back;
d where the farthest heaven had birth,
he Spirit trace its rising track.
d where the future mars or makes,
s glance dilate o'er all to be,
ile Sun is quenched—or System breaks,
ixed in its own Eternity.
IV.
ove or Love—Hope—Hate—or Fear,
lives all passionless and pure:
age shall fleet like earthly year;
s years as moments shall endure.
ay—away—without a wing,
O'er all—through all—its thought shall fly,
ameless and eternal thing,
orgetting what it was to die.
Seaham, 1815.
VISION OF BELSHAZZAR. [299]
Page 448
I.
King was on his throne,
he Satraps thronged the hall:[lx]
housand bright lamps shone
O'er that high festival.
housand cups of gold,
n Judah deemed divine—[ly]
ovah's vessels hold
he godless Heathen's wine!
II.
hat same hour and hall,
he fingers of a hand
me forth against the wall,
And wrote as if on sand:
fingers of a man;—
A solitary hand
ng the letters ran,
And traced them like a wand.
III.
monarch saw, and shook,
And bade no more rejoice;
bloodless waxed his look,
And tremulous his voice.
t the men of lore appear,
he wisest of the earth,
d expound the words of fear,
Which mar our royal mirth."
IV.
King was on his throne,
he Satraps thronged the hall:[lx]
housand bright lamps shone
O'er that high festival.
housand cups of gold,
n Judah deemed divine—[ly]
ovah's vessels hold
he godless Heathen's wine!
II.
hat same hour and hall,
he fingers of a hand
me forth against the wall,
And wrote as if on sand:
fingers of a man;—
A solitary hand
ng the letters ran,
And traced them like a wand.
III.
monarch saw, and shook,
And bade no more rejoice;
bloodless waxed his look,
And tremulous his voice.
t the men of lore appear,
he wisest of the earth,
d expound the words of fear,
Which mar our royal mirth."
IV.
Page 449
ldea's seers are good,
ut here they have no skill;
d the unknown letters stood
Untold and awful still.
d Babel's men of age
Are wise and deep in lore;
now they were not sage,
hey saw—but knew no more.
V.
aptive in the land,
A stranger and a youth,[300]
heard the King's command,
He saw that writing's truth.
lamps around were bright,
he prophecy in view;
read it on that night,—
he morrow proved it true.
VI.
lshazzar's grave is made,[lz]
His kingdom passed away.
in the balance weighed,
s light and worthless clay;
shroud, his robe of state,
His canopy the stone;
Mede is at his gate!
he Persian on his throne!"
SUN OF THE SLEEPLESS!
ut here they have no skill;
d the unknown letters stood
Untold and awful still.
d Babel's men of age
Are wise and deep in lore;
now they were not sage,
hey saw—but knew no more.
V.
aptive in the land,
A stranger and a youth,[300]
heard the King's command,
He saw that writing's truth.
lamps around were bright,
he prophecy in view;
read it on that night,—
he morrow proved it true.
VI.
lshazzar's grave is made,[lz]
His kingdom passed away.
in the balance weighed,
s light and worthless clay;
shroud, his robe of state,
His canopy the stone;
Mede is at his gate!
he Persian on his throne!"
SUN OF THE SLEEPLESS!
Page 450
of the sleepless! melancholy star!
ose tearful beam glows tremulously far,
t show'st the darkness thou canst not dispel,
w like art thou to Joy remembered well!
gleams the past, the light of other days,
ich shines, but warms not with its powerless rays:
ight-beam Sorrow watcheth to behold,
inct, but distant—clear—but, oh how cold!
WERE MY BOSOM AS FALSE AS THOU
DEEM'ST IT TO BE.
I.
re my bosom as false as thou deem'st it to be,
ed not have wandered from far Galilee;
as but abjuring my creed to efface
curse which, thou say'st, is the crime of my race.
II.
he bad never triumph, then God is with thee!
he slave only sin—thou art spotless and free!
he Exile on earth is an Outcast on high,
e on in thy faith—but in mine I will die.
III.
ve lost for that faith more than thou canst bestow,
he God who permits thee to prosper doth know;
is hand is my heart and my hope—and in thine
land and the life which for him I resign.
ose tearful beam glows tremulously far,
t show'st the darkness thou canst not dispel,
w like art thou to Joy remembered well!
gleams the past, the light of other days,
ich shines, but warms not with its powerless rays:
ight-beam Sorrow watcheth to behold,
inct, but distant—clear—but, oh how cold!
WERE MY BOSOM AS FALSE AS THOU
DEEM'ST IT TO BE.
I.
re my bosom as false as thou deem'st it to be,
ed not have wandered from far Galilee;
as but abjuring my creed to efface
curse which, thou say'st, is the crime of my race.
II.
he bad never triumph, then God is with thee!
he slave only sin—thou art spotless and free!
he Exile on earth is an Outcast on high,
e on in thy faith—but in mine I will die.
III.
ve lost for that faith more than thou canst bestow,
he God who permits thee to prosper doth know;
is hand is my heart and my hope—and in thine
land and the life which for him I resign.
Page 451
Seaham, 1815.
HEROD'S LAMENT FOR MARIAMNE. [301]
I.
Mariamne! now for thee
he heart for which thou bled'st is bleeding;
enge is lost in Agony[ma]
And wild Remorse to rage succeeding.[mb]
Mariamne! where art thou?
hou canst not hear my bitter pleading:[mc]
could'st thou—thou would'st pardon now,
hough Heaven were to my prayer unheeding.
II.
d is she dead?—and did they dare
Obey my Frenzy's jealous raving?[md]
Wrath but doomed my own despair:
he sword that smote her 's o'er me waving.—
thou art cold, my murdered Love!
And this dark heart is vainly craving[me]
he who soars alone above,
And leaves my soul unworthy saving.
III.
s gone, who shared my diadem;
he sunk, with her my joys entombing;
wept that flower from Judah's stem,
Whose leaves for me alone were blooming;
HEROD'S LAMENT FOR MARIAMNE. [301]
I.
Mariamne! now for thee
he heart for which thou bled'st is bleeding;
enge is lost in Agony[ma]
And wild Remorse to rage succeeding.[mb]
Mariamne! where art thou?
hou canst not hear my bitter pleading:[mc]
could'st thou—thou would'st pardon now,
hough Heaven were to my prayer unheeding.
II.
d is she dead?—and did they dare
Obey my Frenzy's jealous raving?[md]
Wrath but doomed my own despair:
he sword that smote her 's o'er me waving.—
thou art cold, my murdered Love!
And this dark heart is vainly craving[me]
he who soars alone above,
And leaves my soul unworthy saving.
III.
s gone, who shared my diadem;
he sunk, with her my joys entombing;
wept that flower from Judah's stem,
Whose leaves for me alone were blooming;
Page 452
d mine's the guilt, and mine the hell,
his bosom's desolation dooming;
d I have earned those tortures well,[mf]
Which unconsumed are still consuming!
Jan. 15, 1815.
ON THE DAY OF THE DESTRUCTION OF
JERUSALEM BY TITUS.
I.
[mg]
m the last hill that looks on thy once holy dome,
held thee, oh Sion! when rendered to Rome:[mh]
as thy last sun went down, and the flames of thy fall
hed back on the last glance I gave to thy wall.
II.
oked for thy temple—I looked for my home,
d forgot for a moment my bondage to come;[mi]
held but the death-fire that fed on thy fane,
d the fast-fettered hands that made vengeance in vain.
III.
many an eve, the high spot whence I gazed
reflected the last beam of day as it blazed;
ile I stood on the height, and beheld the decline
he rays from the mountain that shone on thy shrine.
IV.
his bosom's desolation dooming;
d I have earned those tortures well,[mf]
Which unconsumed are still consuming!
Jan. 15, 1815.
ON THE DAY OF THE DESTRUCTION OF
JERUSALEM BY TITUS.
I.
[mg]
m the last hill that looks on thy once holy dome,
held thee, oh Sion! when rendered to Rome:[mh]
as thy last sun went down, and the flames of thy fall
hed back on the last glance I gave to thy wall.
II.
oked for thy temple—I looked for my home,
d forgot for a moment my bondage to come;[mi]
held but the death-fire that fed on thy fane,
d the fast-fettered hands that made vengeance in vain.
III.
many an eve, the high spot whence I gazed
reflected the last beam of day as it blazed;
ile I stood on the height, and beheld the decline
he rays from the mountain that shone on thy shrine.
IV.
Page 453
d now on that mountain I stood on that day,
I marked not the twilight beam melting away;
would that the lightning had glared in its stead,
d the thunderbolt burst on the Conqueror's head![mj]
V.
the Gods of the Pagan shall never profane
shrine where Jehovah disdained not to reign;
d scattered and scorned as thy people may be,
worship, oh Father! is only for thee.
1815.
BY THE RIVERS OF BABYLON WE SAT
DOWN AND WEPT. [302]
I.
sate down and wept by the waters[303]
Of Babel, and thought of the day
en our foe, in the hue of his slaughters,
Made Salem's high places his prey;
d Ye, oh her desolate daughters!
Were scattered all weeping away.
II.
ile sadly we gazed on the river
Which rolled on in freedom below,
y demanded the song; but, oh never
hat triumph the Stranger shall know![mk]
I marked not the twilight beam melting away;
would that the lightning had glared in its stead,
d the thunderbolt burst on the Conqueror's head![mj]
V.
the Gods of the Pagan shall never profane
shrine where Jehovah disdained not to reign;
d scattered and scorned as thy people may be,
worship, oh Father! is only for thee.
1815.
BY THE RIVERS OF BABYLON WE SAT
DOWN AND WEPT. [302]
I.
sate down and wept by the waters[303]
Of Babel, and thought of the day
en our foe, in the hue of his slaughters,
Made Salem's high places his prey;
d Ye, oh her desolate daughters!
Were scattered all weeping away.
II.
ile sadly we gazed on the river
Which rolled on in freedom below,
y demanded the song; but, oh never
hat triumph the Stranger shall know![mk]
Page 454
y this right hand be withered for ever,
re it string our high harp for the foe!
III.
the willow that harp is suspended,
Oh Salem! its sound should be free;[ml]
d the hour when thy glories were ended
ut left me that token of thee:
d ne'er shall its soft tones be blended
With the voice of the Spoiler by me!
Jan. 15, 1813.
"BY THE WATERS OF BABYLON."
I.
he valley of waters we wept on the day
en the host of the Stranger made Salem his prey;
d our heads on our bosoms all droopingly lay,
d our hearts were so full of the land far away!
II.
song they demanded in vain—it lay still
ur souls as the wind that hath died on the hill—
y called for the harp—but our blood they shall spill
our right hands shall teach them one tone of their skill.
III.
stringlessly hung in the willow's sad tree,
dead as her dead-leaf, those mute harps must be:
re it string our high harp for the foe!
III.
the willow that harp is suspended,
Oh Salem! its sound should be free;[ml]
d the hour when thy glories were ended
ut left me that token of thee:
d ne'er shall its soft tones be blended
With the voice of the Spoiler by me!
Jan. 15, 1813.
"BY THE WATERS OF BABYLON."
I.
he valley of waters we wept on the day
en the host of the Stranger made Salem his prey;
d our heads on our bosoms all droopingly lay,
d our hearts were so full of the land far away!
II.
song they demanded in vain—it lay still
ur souls as the wind that hath died on the hill—
y called for the harp—but our blood they shall spill
our right hands shall teach them one tone of their skill.
III.
stringlessly hung in the willow's sad tree,
dead as her dead-leaf, those mute harps must be:
Page 455
hands may be fettered—our tears still are free
our God—and our Glory—and Sion, Oh Thee!
1815.
THE DESTRUCTION OF SENNACHERIB.
I.
Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold,
d his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold;
d the sheen of their spears was like stars on the sea,
en the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee.
II.
e the leaves of the forest when Summer is green,
t host with their banners at sunset were seen:
e the leaves of the forest when Autumn hath blown,[304]
t host on the morrow lay withered and strown.
III.
the Angel of Death spread his wings on the blast,
d breathed in the face of the foe as he passed;
d the eyes of the sleepers waxed deadly and chill,
d their hearts but once heaved—and for ever grew still!
IV.
d there lay the steed with his nostril all wide,
through it there rolled not the breath of his pride;
d the foam of his gasping lay white on the turf,[mm]
d cold as the spray of the rock-beating surf.[mn]
our God—and our Glory—and Sion, Oh Thee!
1815.
THE DESTRUCTION OF SENNACHERIB.
I.
Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold,
d his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold;
d the sheen of their spears was like stars on the sea,
en the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee.
II.
e the leaves of the forest when Summer is green,
t host with their banners at sunset were seen:
e the leaves of the forest when Autumn hath blown,[304]
t host on the morrow lay withered and strown.
III.
the Angel of Death spread his wings on the blast,
d breathed in the face of the foe as he passed;
d the eyes of the sleepers waxed deadly and chill,
d their hearts but once heaved—and for ever grew still!
IV.
d there lay the steed with his nostril all wide,
through it there rolled not the breath of his pride;
d the foam of his gasping lay white on the turf,[mm]
d cold as the spray of the rock-beating surf.[mn]
Page 456
V.
d there lay the rider distorted and pale,
h the dew on his brow, and the rust on his mail:[mo]
d the tents were all silent—the banners alone—
lances unlifted—the trumpet unblown.
VI.
d the widows of Ashur are loud in their wail,[mp]
d the idols are broke in the temple of Baal;
d the might of the Gentile, unsmote by the sword,[mq]
h melted like snow in the glance of the Lord!
Seaham, Feb. 17, 1815.
A SPIRIT PASSED BEFORE ME.
FROM JOB.
I.
pirit passed before me: I beheld
face of Immortality unveiled—
p Sleep came down on every eye save mine—
d there it stood,—all formless—but divine:
ng my bones the creeping flesh did quake;
d as my damp hair stiffened, thus it spake:
II.
man more just than God? Is man more pure
n he who deems even Seraphs insecure?
atures of clay—vain dwellers in the dust!
d there lay the rider distorted and pale,
h the dew on his brow, and the rust on his mail:[mo]
d the tents were all silent—the banners alone—
lances unlifted—the trumpet unblown.
VI.
d the widows of Ashur are loud in their wail,[mp]
d the idols are broke in the temple of Baal;
d the might of the Gentile, unsmote by the sword,[mq]
h melted like snow in the glance of the Lord!
Seaham, Feb. 17, 1815.
A SPIRIT PASSED BEFORE ME.
FROM JOB.
I.
pirit passed before me: I beheld
face of Immortality unveiled—
p Sleep came down on every eye save mine—
d there it stood,—all formless—but divine:
ng my bones the creeping flesh did quake;
d as my damp hair stiffened, thus it spake:
II.
man more just than God? Is man more pure
n he who deems even Seraphs insecure?
atures of clay—vain dwellers in the dust!
Page 457
moth survives you, and are ye more just?
ngs of a day! you wither ere the night,
dless and blind to Wisdom's wasted light!"
FOOTNOTES:
[287] {381} [In a manuscript note to a letter of Byron's, dated June 11, 1814, Wedderburn
Webster writes, "I did take him to Lady Sitwell's party.... He there for the first time saw
his cousin, the beautiful Mrs. Wilmot [who had appeared in mourning with numerous
spangles in her dress]. When we returned to ... the Albany, he ... desired Fletcher to give
him a tumbler of brandy, which he drank at once to Mrs. Wilmot's health.... The next day
he wrote some charming lines upon her, 'She walks in beauty,' etc."—Letters, 1899, iii.
92, note 1.
Anne Beatrix, daughter and co-heiress of Eusebius Horton, of Catton Hall, Derbyshire,
married Byron's second cousin, Robert John Wilmot (1784-1841), son of Sir Robert
Wilmot of Osmaston, by Juliana, second daughter of the Hon. John Byron, and widow of
the Hon. William Byron. She died February 4, 1871.
Nathan (Fugitive Pieces, 1829, pp. 2, 3) has a note to the effect that Byron, while
arranging the first edition of the Melodies, used to ask for this song, and would not
unfrequently join in its execution.]
[le] {382}
The Harp the Minstrel Monarch swept,
The first of men, the loved of Heaven,
Which Music cherished while she wept.—[MS. M.]
[lf] {383} It told the Triumph——.—[MS. M.]
[288] ["When Lord Byron put the copy into my hand, it terminated with this line. This,
however, did not complete the verse, and I asked him to help out the melody. He replied,
'Why, I have sent you to Heaven—it would be difficult to go further!' My attention for a
few moments was called to some other person, and his Lordship, whom I had hardly
missed, exclaimed, 'Here, Nathan, I have brought you down again;' and immediately
presented me the beautiful and sublime lines which conclude the melody."—Fugitive
Pieces, 1829, p. 33.]
ngs of a day! you wither ere the night,
dless and blind to Wisdom's wasted light!"
FOOTNOTES:
[287] {381} [In a manuscript note to a letter of Byron's, dated June 11, 1814, Wedderburn
Webster writes, "I did take him to Lady Sitwell's party.... He there for the first time saw
his cousin, the beautiful Mrs. Wilmot [who had appeared in mourning with numerous
spangles in her dress]. When we returned to ... the Albany, he ... desired Fletcher to give
him a tumbler of brandy, which he drank at once to Mrs. Wilmot's health.... The next day
he wrote some charming lines upon her, 'She walks in beauty,' etc."—Letters, 1899, iii.
92, note 1.
Anne Beatrix, daughter and co-heiress of Eusebius Horton, of Catton Hall, Derbyshire,
married Byron's second cousin, Robert John Wilmot (1784-1841), son of Sir Robert
Wilmot of Osmaston, by Juliana, second daughter of the Hon. John Byron, and widow of
the Hon. William Byron. She died February 4, 1871.
Nathan (Fugitive Pieces, 1829, pp. 2, 3) has a note to the effect that Byron, while
arranging the first edition of the Melodies, used to ask for this song, and would not
unfrequently join in its execution.]
[le] {382}
The Harp the Minstrel Monarch swept,
The first of men, the loved of Heaven,
Which Music cherished while she wept.—[MS. M.]
[lf] {383} It told the Triumph——.—[MS. M.]
[288] ["When Lord Byron put the copy into my hand, it terminated with this line. This,
however, did not complete the verse, and I asked him to help out the melody. He replied,
'Why, I have sent you to Heaven—it would be difficult to go further!' My attention for a
few moments was called to some other person, and his Lordship, whom I had hardly
missed, exclaimed, 'Here, Nathan, I have brought you down again;' and immediately
presented me the beautiful and sublime lines which conclude the melody."—Fugitive
Pieces, 1829, p. 33.]
Page 458
[lg]
It there abode, and there it rings,
But ne'er on earth its sound shall be;
The prophets' race hath passed away;
And all the hallowed minstrelsy—
From earth the sound and soul are fled,
And shall we never hear again?—[MS. M. erased.]
[289] [According to Nathan, the monosyllable "if" at the beginning of the first line led to
"numerous attacks on the noble author's religion, and in some an inference of atheism was
drawn."
Needless to add, "in a subsequent conversation," Byron repels this charge, and delivers
himself of some admirable if commonplace sentiments on the "grand perhaps."-Fugitive
Pieces, 1829, pp. 5, 6.]
[lh] {384} ——breaking link.—[Nathan, 1815, 1829.]
[290] [Compare To Ianthe, stanza iv. lines 1, 2—
"Oh! let that eye, which, wild as the Gazelle's,
Now brightly bold or beautifully shy."
Compare, too, The Giaour, lines 473, 474—
"Her eye's dark charm 'twere vain to tell,
But gaze on that of the Gazelle."
Poetical Works, 1899, ii. 13; et ante, p. 108.]
[291] {387} [Nathan (Fugitive Pieces, 1829, pp. 11, 12) seems to have tried to draw
Byron into a discussion on the actual fate of Jephtha's daughter—death at her father's
hand, or "perpetual seclusion"—and that Byron had no opinion to offer. "Whatever may
be the absolute state of the case, I am innocent of her blood; she has been killed to my
hands;" and again, "Well, my hands are not imbrued in her blood!"]
[292] {388} ["In submitting the melody to his Lordship's judgment, I once inquired in
what manner they might refer to any scriptural subject: he appeared for a moment affected
—at last replied, 'Every mind must make its own references; there is scarcely one of us
who could not imagine that the affliction belongs to himself, to me it certainly belongs.'
'She is no more, and perhaps the only vestige of her existence is the feeling I sometimes
fondly indulge.'"—Fugitive Pieces, 1829, p. 30. It has been surmised that the lines contain
a final reminiscence of the mysterious Thyrza.]
It there abode, and there it rings,
But ne'er on earth its sound shall be;
The prophets' race hath passed away;
And all the hallowed minstrelsy—
From earth the sound and soul are fled,
And shall we never hear again?—[MS. M. erased.]
[289] [According to Nathan, the monosyllable "if" at the beginning of the first line led to
"numerous attacks on the noble author's religion, and in some an inference of atheism was
drawn."
Needless to add, "in a subsequent conversation," Byron repels this charge, and delivers
himself of some admirable if commonplace sentiments on the "grand perhaps."-Fugitive
Pieces, 1829, pp. 5, 6.]
[lh] {384} ——breaking link.—[Nathan, 1815, 1829.]
[290] [Compare To Ianthe, stanza iv. lines 1, 2—
"Oh! let that eye, which, wild as the Gazelle's,
Now brightly bold or beautifully shy."
Compare, too, The Giaour, lines 473, 474—
"Her eye's dark charm 'twere vain to tell,
But gaze on that of the Gazelle."
Poetical Works, 1899, ii. 13; et ante, p. 108.]
[291] {387} [Nathan (Fugitive Pieces, 1829, pp. 11, 12) seems to have tried to draw
Byron into a discussion on the actual fate of Jephtha's daughter—death at her father's
hand, or "perpetual seclusion"—and that Byron had no opinion to offer. "Whatever may
be the absolute state of the case, I am innocent of her blood; she has been killed to my
hands;" and again, "Well, my hands are not imbrued in her blood!"]
[292] {388} ["In submitting the melody to his Lordship's judgment, I once inquired in
what manner they might refer to any scriptural subject: he appeared for a moment affected
—at last replied, 'Every mind must make its own references; there is scarcely one of us
who could not imagine that the affliction belongs to himself, to me it certainly belongs.'
'She is no more, and perhaps the only vestige of her existence is the feeling I sometimes
fondly indulge.'"—Fugitive Pieces, 1829, p. 30. It has been surmised that the lines contain
a final reminiscence of the mysterious Thyrza.]
Page 459
[li] ——in gentle gloom.—[MS. M.]
[lj]
Shall Sorrow on the waters gaze,
And lost in deep remembrance dream,
As if her footsteps could disturb the dead.—[MS. M.]
[lk] {389} Even thou——.—[MS. M.]
[ll]
IV.
Nor need I write to tell the tale,
My pen were doubly weak;
Oh what can idle words avail,
Unless my heart could speak?
V.
By day or night, in weal or woe,
That heart no longer free
Must bear the love it cannot show,
And silent turn for thee.—[MS. M.]
[293] [Compare "Nay, now, pry'thee weep no more! you know, ... that 'tis sinful to
murmur at ... Providence."—"And should not that reflection check your own, my
Blanche?"—"Why are your cheeks so wet? Fie! fie, my child!"—Romantic Tales, by M.
G. Lewis, 1808, i. 53.]
[294] [Compare "My soul is dark."—Ossian, "Oina-Morul," The Works of Ossian, 1765,
ii. 279.]
[295] {390} ["It was generally conceived that Lord Byron's reported singularities
approached on some occasions to derangement; and at one period, indeed, it was very
currently asserted that his intellects were actually impaired. The report only served to
amuse his Lordship. He referred to the circumstance, and declared that he would try how
a Madman could write: seizing the pen with eagerness, he for a moment fixed his eyes in
majestic wildness on vacancy; when, like a flash of inspiration, without erasing a single
word, the above verses were the result."—Fugitive Pieces, 1829, p. 37.]
[296] [Compare the first Sonnet to Genevra (addressed to Lady Frances Wedderburn
Webster), "Thine eye's blue tenderness."]
[lm] {392}
[lj]
Shall Sorrow on the waters gaze,
And lost in deep remembrance dream,
As if her footsteps could disturb the dead.—[MS. M.]
[lk] {389} Even thou——.—[MS. M.]
[ll]
IV.
Nor need I write to tell the tale,
My pen were doubly weak;
Oh what can idle words avail,
Unless my heart could speak?
V.
By day or night, in weal or woe,
That heart no longer free
Must bear the love it cannot show,
And silent turn for thee.—[MS. M.]
[293] [Compare "Nay, now, pry'thee weep no more! you know, ... that 'tis sinful to
murmur at ... Providence."—"And should not that reflection check your own, my
Blanche?"—"Why are your cheeks so wet? Fie! fie, my child!"—Romantic Tales, by M.
G. Lewis, 1808, i. 53.]
[294] [Compare "My soul is dark."—Ossian, "Oina-Morul," The Works of Ossian, 1765,
ii. 279.]
[295] {390} ["It was generally conceived that Lord Byron's reported singularities
approached on some occasions to derangement; and at one period, indeed, it was very
currently asserted that his intellects were actually impaired. The report only served to
amuse his Lordship. He referred to the circumstance, and declared that he would try how
a Madman could write: seizing the pen with eagerness, he for a moment fixed his eyes in
majestic wildness on vacancy; when, like a flash of inspiration, without erasing a single
word, the above verses were the result."—Fugitive Pieces, 1829, p. 37.]
[296] [Compare the first Sonnet to Genevra (addressed to Lady Frances Wedderburn
Webster), "Thine eye's blue tenderness."]
[lm] {392}
Page 460
He stands amidst an earthly cloud,
And the mist mantled o'er his floating shroud.—[MS. erased.]
[ln] At once and scorched beneath——.—[MS. Copy (1, 2).]
[lo] Bloodless are these bones——.—[MS.]
[297] ["Since we have spoken of witches," said Lord Byron at Cephalonia, in 1823, "what
think you of the witch of Endor? I have always thought this the finest and most finished
witch-scene that ever was written or conceived; and you will be of my opinion, if you
consider all the circumstances and the actors in the case, together with the gravity,
simplicity, and dignity of the language."—Conversations on Religion with Lord Byron, by
James Kennedy, M.D., London, 1830, p. 154.]
[lp] {393} Heed not the carcase that lies in your path.—[MS. Copy (1).]
[lq]
——my shield and my bow,
Should the ranks of your king look away from the foe.—[MS.]
[lr] {394}
Heir to my monarchy——.—[MS.]
Note to Heir—Jonathan.—[Copy.]
[ls]
My father was the shepherd's son,
Ah were my lot as lowly
My earthly course had softly run.—[MS.]
[298] {395} [Compare Childe Harold, Canto I. stanza lxxxii. lines 8, 9—
"Full from the fount of Joy's delicious springs
Some bitter o'er the flowers its bubbling venom flings."
Poetical Works, 1899, ii. 73, and note 16, p. 93.]
[lt]
Ah! what hath been but what shall be,
The same dull scene renewing?
And all our fathers were are we
In erring and undoing.—[MS.]
And the mist mantled o'er his floating shroud.—[MS. erased.]
[ln] At once and scorched beneath——.—[MS. Copy (1, 2).]
[lo] Bloodless are these bones——.—[MS.]
[297] ["Since we have spoken of witches," said Lord Byron at Cephalonia, in 1823, "what
think you of the witch of Endor? I have always thought this the finest and most finished
witch-scene that ever was written or conceived; and you will be of my opinion, if you
consider all the circumstances and the actors in the case, together with the gravity,
simplicity, and dignity of the language."—Conversations on Religion with Lord Byron, by
James Kennedy, M.D., London, 1830, p. 154.]
[lp] {393} Heed not the carcase that lies in your path.—[MS. Copy (1).]
[lq]
——my shield and my bow,
Should the ranks of your king look away from the foe.—[MS.]
[lr] {394}
Heir to my monarchy——.—[MS.]
Note to Heir—Jonathan.—[Copy.]
[ls]
My father was the shepherd's son,
Ah were my lot as lowly
My earthly course had softly run.—[MS.]
[298] {395} [Compare Childe Harold, Canto I. stanza lxxxii. lines 8, 9—
"Full from the fount of Joy's delicious springs
Some bitter o'er the flowers its bubbling venom flings."
Poetical Works, 1899, ii. 73, and note 16, p. 93.]
[lt]
Ah! what hath been but what shall be,
The same dull scene renewing?
And all our fathers were are we
In erring and undoing.—[MS.]
Page 461
[lu] When this corroding clay is gone.—[MS. erased.]
[lv] The stars in their eternal way.—[MS. L. erased.]
[lw] {396} A conscious light that can pervade.—[MS. erased.]
[299] {397} [Compare the lines entitled "Belshazzar" (vide post, p. 421), and Don Juan,
Canto III. stanza lxv.]
[lx] ——in the hall.—[Copy.]
[ly] In Israel——.—[Copy.]
[300] {398} [It was not in his youth, but in extreme old age, that Daniel interpreted the
"writing on the wall."]
[lz] Oh king thy grave——.—[Copy erased.]
[301] {400} [Mariamne, the wife of Herod the Great, falling under the suspicion of
infidelity, was put to death by his order. Ever after, Herod was haunted by the image of
the murdered Mariamne, until disorder of the mind brought on disorder of body, which led
to temporary derangement. See History of the Jews, by H. H. Milman, 1878, pp. 236, 237.
See, too, Voltaire's drama, Mariamne, passim.
Nathan, wishing "to be favoured with so many lines pathetic, some playful, others martial,
etc.... one evening ... unfortunately (while absorbed for a moment in worldly affairs)
requested so many dull lines—meaning plaintive." Byron instantly caught at the
expression, and exclaimed, "Well, Nathan! you have at length set me an easy task," and
before parting presented him with "these beautifully pathetic lines, saying, 'Here, Nathan,
I think you will find these dull enough.'"—Fugitive Pieces, 1829, p. 51.]
[ma]
And what was rage is agony.—[MS. erased.]
Revenge is turned——.—[MS.]
[mb] And deep Remorse——.—[MS.]
[mc] And what am I thy tyrant pleading.—[MS. erased.]
[md]
Thou art not dead—they could not dare
Obey my jealous Frenzy's raving.—[MS.]
[me] But yet in death my soul enslaving.—[MS. erased.]
[lv] The stars in their eternal way.—[MS. L. erased.]
[lw] {396} A conscious light that can pervade.—[MS. erased.]
[299] {397} [Compare the lines entitled "Belshazzar" (vide post, p. 421), and Don Juan,
Canto III. stanza lxv.]
[lx] ——in the hall.—[Copy.]
[ly] In Israel——.—[Copy.]
[300] {398} [It was not in his youth, but in extreme old age, that Daniel interpreted the
"writing on the wall."]
[lz] Oh king thy grave——.—[Copy erased.]
[301] {400} [Mariamne, the wife of Herod the Great, falling under the suspicion of
infidelity, was put to death by his order. Ever after, Herod was haunted by the image of
the murdered Mariamne, until disorder of the mind brought on disorder of body, which led
to temporary derangement. See History of the Jews, by H. H. Milman, 1878, pp. 236, 237.
See, too, Voltaire's drama, Mariamne, passim.
Nathan, wishing "to be favoured with so many lines pathetic, some playful, others martial,
etc.... one evening ... unfortunately (while absorbed for a moment in worldly affairs)
requested so many dull lines—meaning plaintive." Byron instantly caught at the
expression, and exclaimed, "Well, Nathan! you have at length set me an easy task," and
before parting presented him with "these beautifully pathetic lines, saying, 'Here, Nathan,
I think you will find these dull enough.'"—Fugitive Pieces, 1829, p. 51.]
[ma]
And what was rage is agony.—[MS. erased.]
Revenge is turned——.—[MS.]
[mb] And deep Remorse——.—[MS.]
[mc] And what am I thy tyrant pleading.—[MS. erased.]
[md]
Thou art not dead—they could not dare
Obey my jealous Frenzy's raving.—[MS.]
[me] But yet in death my soul enslaving.—[MS. erased.]
Page 462
[mf] {401} Oh I have earned——.—[MS.]
[mg] ——that looks o'er thy once holy dome.—[MS.]
[mh]
——o'er thy once holy wall
I beheld thee O Sion the day of thy fall.—[MS. erased.]
[mi] And forgot in their ruin——.—[MS. erased.]
[mj] {402}
And the red bolt——.—[MS. erased.]
And the thunderbolt crashed——.—[MS.]
[302] [The following note, in Byron's handwriting, is prefixed to the copy in Lady Byron's
handwriting:—
"Dear Kinnaird,—Take only one of these marked 1 and 2 [i.e. 'By the
Rivers,' etc.; and 'By the waters,' vide p. 404], as both are but different
versions of the same thought—leave the choice to any important person
you like.
Yours,
B."]
[303] [Landor, in his "Dialogue between Southey and Porson" (Works, 1846, i. 69),
attempted to throw ridicule on the opening lines of this "Melody."
"A prey in 'the hue of his slaughters'! This is very pathetic; but not more so than the
thought it suggested to me, which is plainer—
'We sat down and wept by the waters
Of Camus, and thought of the day
When damsels would show their red garters
In their hurry to scamper away.'"]
[mk] {403}
Our mute harps were hung on the willow
That grew by the stream of our foe,
And in sadness we gazed on each billow
That rolled on in freedom below.—[MS, erased.]
[mg] ——that looks o'er thy once holy dome.—[MS.]
[mh]
——o'er thy once holy wall
I beheld thee O Sion the day of thy fall.—[MS. erased.]
[mi] And forgot in their ruin——.—[MS. erased.]
[mj] {402}
And the red bolt——.—[MS. erased.]
And the thunderbolt crashed——.—[MS.]
[302] [The following note, in Byron's handwriting, is prefixed to the copy in Lady Byron's
handwriting:—
"Dear Kinnaird,—Take only one of these marked 1 and 2 [i.e. 'By the
Rivers,' etc.; and 'By the waters,' vide p. 404], as both are but different
versions of the same thought—leave the choice to any important person
you like.
Yours,
B."]
[303] [Landor, in his "Dialogue between Southey and Porson" (Works, 1846, i. 69),
attempted to throw ridicule on the opening lines of this "Melody."
"A prey in 'the hue of his slaughters'! This is very pathetic; but not more so than the
thought it suggested to me, which is plainer—
'We sat down and wept by the waters
Of Camus, and thought of the day
When damsels would show their red garters
In their hurry to scamper away.'"]
[mk] {403}
Our mute harps were hung on the willow
That grew by the stream of our foe,
And in sadness we gazed on each billow
That rolled on in freedom below.—[MS, erased.]
Page 463
[ml]
On the willow that harp still hangs mutely
Oh Salem its sound was for thee.—[MS. erased.]
[304] {405} [Compare—"As leaves in autumn, so the bodies fell." The Barons' Wars, by
Michael Drayton, Bk. II. stanza lvii.; Anderson's British Poets, iii. 38.]
[mm] And the foam of his bridle lay cold on the earth.—[MS.]
[mn] ——of the cliff-beating surf.—[MS.]
[mo] With the crow on his breast——.—[MS.]
[mp] And the widows of Babel——.—[MS. erased.]
[mq] And the voices of Israel are joyous and high.—[MS. erased.]
On the willow that harp still hangs mutely
Oh Salem its sound was for thee.—[MS. erased.]
[304] {405} [Compare—"As leaves in autumn, so the bodies fell." The Barons' Wars, by
Michael Drayton, Bk. II. stanza lvii.; Anderson's British Poets, iii. 38.]
[mm] And the foam of his bridle lay cold on the earth.—[MS.]
[mn] ——of the cliff-beating surf.—[MS.]
[mo] With the crow on his breast——.—[MS.]
[mp] And the widows of Babel——.—[MS. erased.]
[mq] And the voices of Israel are joyous and high.—[MS. erased.]
Page 464
POEMS 1814-1816.
Page 465
POEMS 1814-1816.
FAREWELL! IF EVER FONDEST PRAYER.
1.
ewell ! if ever fondest prayer
or other's weal availed on high,
e will not all be lost in air,
ut waft thy name beyond the sky.
ere vain to speak—to weep—to sigh:
Oh! more than tears of blood can tell,
en wrung from Guilt's expiring eye,[305]
Are in that word—Farewell!—Farewell!
2.
se lips are mute, these eyes are dry;
ut in my breast and in my brain,
ake the pangs that pass not by,
he thought that ne'er shall sleep again.
soul nor deigns nor dares complain,
hough Grief and Passion there rebel:
ly know we loved in vain—
only feel—Farewell!—Farewell!
FAREWELL! IF EVER FONDEST PRAYER.
1.
ewell ! if ever fondest prayer
or other's weal availed on high,
e will not all be lost in air,
ut waft thy name beyond the sky.
ere vain to speak—to weep—to sigh:
Oh! more than tears of blood can tell,
en wrung from Guilt's expiring eye,[305]
Are in that word—Farewell!—Farewell!
2.
se lips are mute, these eyes are dry;
ut in my breast and in my brain,
ake the pangs that pass not by,
he thought that ne'er shall sleep again.
soul nor deigns nor dares complain,
hough Grief and Passion there rebel:
ly know we loved in vain—
only feel—Farewell!—Farewell!
Page 466
[First published, Corsair, Second Edition, 1814.]
WHEN WE TWO PARTED.
1.
en we two parted
n silence and tears,
f broken-hearted
o sever for years,
e grew thy cheek and cold,
older thy kiss;
y that hour foretold[mr]
orrow to this.
2.
dew of the morning[ms]
unk chill on my brow—
lt like the warning
Of what I feel now.
vows are all broken,[mt]
And light is thy fame:
ar thy name spoken,
And share in its shame.
3.[mu]
y name thee before me,
A knell to mine ear;
hudder comes o'er me—
Why wert thou so dear?
y know not I knew thee,
WHEN WE TWO PARTED.
1.
en we two parted
n silence and tears,
f broken-hearted
o sever for years,
e grew thy cheek and cold,
older thy kiss;
y that hour foretold[mr]
orrow to this.
2.
dew of the morning[ms]
unk chill on my brow—
lt like the warning
Of what I feel now.
vows are all broken,[mt]
And light is thy fame:
ar thy name spoken,
And share in its shame.
3.[mu]
y name thee before me,
A knell to mine ear;
hudder comes o'er me—
Why wert thou so dear?
y know not I knew thee,
Page 467
Who knew thee too well:—
g, long shall I rue thee,
oo deeply to tell.
4.
ecret we met—
n silence I grieve.
t thy heart could forget,
hy spirit deceive.
should meet thee[mv]
After long years,
w should I greet thee?—
With silence and tears.
[First published, Poems, 1816.]
[LOVE AND GOLD. [306]]
1.
annot talk of Love to thee,
hough thou art young and free and fair!
re is a spell thou dost not see,
hat bids a genuine love despair.
2.
d yet that spell invites each youth,
or thee to sigh, or seem to sigh;
kes falsehood wear the garb of truth,
And Truth itself appear a lie.
g, long shall I rue thee,
oo deeply to tell.
4.
ecret we met—
n silence I grieve.
t thy heart could forget,
hy spirit deceive.
should meet thee[mv]
After long years,
w should I greet thee?—
With silence and tears.
[First published, Poems, 1816.]
[LOVE AND GOLD. [306]]
1.
annot talk of Love to thee,
hough thou art young and free and fair!
re is a spell thou dost not see,
hat bids a genuine love despair.
2.
d yet that spell invites each youth,
or thee to sigh, or seem to sigh;
kes falsehood wear the garb of truth,
And Truth itself appear a lie.
Page 468
3.
ver Doubt a place possest
n woman's heart, 'twere wise in thine:
mit not Love into thy breast,
Doubt others' love, nor trust in mine.
4.
chance 'tis feigned, perchance sincere,
ut false or true thou canst not tell;
much hast thou from all to fear,
n that unconquerable spell.
5.
all the herd that throng around,
hy simpering or thy sighing train,
me tell me who to thee is bound
y Love's or Plutus' heavier chain.
6.
ome 'tis Nature, some 'tis Art
hat bids them worship at thy shrine;
thou deserv'st a better heart,
han they or I can give for thine.
7.
thee, and such as thee, behold,
s Fortune painted truly—blind!
o doomed thee to be bought or sold,
Has proved too bounteous to be kind.
ver Doubt a place possest
n woman's heart, 'twere wise in thine:
mit not Love into thy breast,
Doubt others' love, nor trust in mine.
4.
chance 'tis feigned, perchance sincere,
ut false or true thou canst not tell;
much hast thou from all to fear,
n that unconquerable spell.
5.
all the herd that throng around,
hy simpering or thy sighing train,
me tell me who to thee is bound
y Love's or Plutus' heavier chain.
6.
ome 'tis Nature, some 'tis Art
hat bids them worship at thy shrine;
thou deserv'st a better heart,
han they or I can give for thine.
7.
thee, and such as thee, behold,
s Fortune painted truly—blind!
o doomed thee to be bought or sold,
Has proved too bounteous to be kind.
Page 469
8.
h day some tempter's crafty suit
Would woo thee to a loveless bed:
e thee to the altar's foot
A decorated victim led.
9.
eu, dear maid! I must not speak
Whate'er my secret thoughts may be;
ugh thou art all that man can reck
dare not talk of Love to thee.
STANZAS FOR MUSIC. [307]
1.
[mw]
eak not, I trace not, I breathe not thy name,
re is grief in the sound, there is guilt in the fame:
the tear which now burns on my cheek may impart
deep thoughts that dwell in that silence of heart.
2.[mx]
brief for our passion, too long for our peace,
e those hours—can their joy or their bitterness cease?
repent, we abjure, we will break from our chain,—
will part, we will fly to—unite it again!
3.
thine be the gladness, and mine be the guilt![my]
h day some tempter's crafty suit
Would woo thee to a loveless bed:
e thee to the altar's foot
A decorated victim led.
9.
eu, dear maid! I must not speak
Whate'er my secret thoughts may be;
ugh thou art all that man can reck
dare not talk of Love to thee.
STANZAS FOR MUSIC. [307]
1.
[mw]
eak not, I trace not, I breathe not thy name,
re is grief in the sound, there is guilt in the fame:
the tear which now burns on my cheek may impart
deep thoughts that dwell in that silence of heart.
2.[mx]
brief for our passion, too long for our peace,
e those hours—can their joy or their bitterness cease?
repent, we abjure, we will break from our chain,—
will part, we will fly to—unite it again!
3.
thine be the gladness, and mine be the guilt![my]
Page 470
give me, adored one!—forsake, if thou wilt;—
the heart which is thine shall expire undebased[mz]
d man shall not break it—whatever thou mayst.[na]
4.
d stern to the haughty, but humble to thee,
s soul, in its bitterest blackness, shall be:[nb]
d our days seem as swift, and our moments more sweet,
h thee by my side, than with worlds at our feet.
5.[nc]
sigh of thy sorrow, one look of thy love,[nd]
ll turn me or fix, shall reward or reprove;
d the heartless may wonder at all I resign—
lip shall reply, not to them, but to mine.
May 4, 1814.
[First published, Letters and Journals, 1830, i. 554.]
ADDRESS INTENDED TO BE RECITED AT
THE CALEDONIAN MEETING. [308]
o hath not glowed above the page where Fame
h fixed high Caledon's unconquered name;
mountain-land which spurned the Roman chain,
d baffled back the fiery-crested Dane,
ose bright claymore and hardihood of hand
foe could tame—no tyrant could command?
t race is gone—but still their children breathe,
d Glory crowns them with redoubled wreath:
the heart which is thine shall expire undebased[mz]
d man shall not break it—whatever thou mayst.[na]
4.
d stern to the haughty, but humble to thee,
s soul, in its bitterest blackness, shall be:[nb]
d our days seem as swift, and our moments more sweet,
h thee by my side, than with worlds at our feet.
5.[nc]
sigh of thy sorrow, one look of thy love,[nd]
ll turn me or fix, shall reward or reprove;
d the heartless may wonder at all I resign—
lip shall reply, not to them, but to mine.
May 4, 1814.
[First published, Letters and Journals, 1830, i. 554.]
ADDRESS INTENDED TO BE RECITED AT
THE CALEDONIAN MEETING. [308]
o hath not glowed above the page where Fame
h fixed high Caledon's unconquered name;
mountain-land which spurned the Roman chain,
d baffled back the fiery-crested Dane,
ose bright claymore and hardihood of hand
foe could tame—no tyrant could command?
t race is gone—but still their children breathe,
d Glory crowns them with redoubled wreath:
Page 471
r Gael and Saxon mingling banners shine,
d, England! add their stubborn strength to thine.
blood which flowed with Wallace flows as free,
now 'tis only shed for Fame and thee!
pass not by the northern veteran's claim,
give support—the world hath given him fame!
humbler ranks, the lowly brave, who bled
ile cheerly following where the Mighty led—[309]
o sleep beneath the undistinguished sod
ere happier comrades in their triumph trod,
us bequeath—'tis all their fate allows—
sireless offspring and the lonely spouse:
on high Albyn's dusky hills may raise
tearful eye in melancholy gaze,
view, while shadowy auguries disclose
Highland Seer's anticipated woes,
bleeding phantom of each martial form
m in the cloud, or darkling in the storm;[310]
ile sad, she chaunts the solitary song,
soft lament for him who tarries long—
him, whose distant relics vainly crave
Coronach's wild requiem to the brave!
Heaven—not man—must charm away the woe,
ich bursts when Nature's feelings newly flow;
Tenderness and Time may rob the tear
half its bitterness for one so dear;
ation's gratitude perchance may spread
hornless pillow for the widowed head;
y lighten well her heart's maternal care,
d wean from Penury the soldier's heir;
d, England! add their stubborn strength to thine.
blood which flowed with Wallace flows as free,
now 'tis only shed for Fame and thee!
pass not by the northern veteran's claim,
give support—the world hath given him fame!
humbler ranks, the lowly brave, who bled
ile cheerly following where the Mighty led—[309]
o sleep beneath the undistinguished sod
ere happier comrades in their triumph trod,
us bequeath—'tis all their fate allows—
sireless offspring and the lonely spouse:
on high Albyn's dusky hills may raise
tearful eye in melancholy gaze,
view, while shadowy auguries disclose
Highland Seer's anticipated woes,
bleeding phantom of each martial form
m in the cloud, or darkling in the storm;[310]
ile sad, she chaunts the solitary song,
soft lament for him who tarries long—
him, whose distant relics vainly crave
Coronach's wild requiem to the brave!
Heaven—not man—must charm away the woe,
ich bursts when Nature's feelings newly flow;
Tenderness and Time may rob the tear
half its bitterness for one so dear;
ation's gratitude perchance may spread
hornless pillow for the widowed head;
y lighten well her heart's maternal care,
d wean from Penury the soldier's heir;
Page 472
deem to living war-worn Valour just[311]
h wounded remnant—Albion's cherished trust—
m his decline with those endearing rays,
ose bounteous sunshine yet may gild his days—
hall that Country—while he sinks to rest—
hand hath fought for—by his heart be blest!
May, 1814.
[First published, Letters and Journals, 1830, i. 559.]
ELEGIAC STANZAS ON THE DEATH OF
SIR PETER PARKER, BART. [312]
I.
[313]
re is a tear for all that die,
A mourner o'er the humblest grave;
nations swell the funeral cry,
And Triumph weeps above the brave.
2.
them is Sorrow's purest sigh
O'er Ocean's heaving bosom sent:
ain their bones unburied lie,
All earth becomes their monument!
3.
mb is theirs on every page,
An epitaph on every tongue:
present hours, the future age,
or them bewail, to them belong.
h wounded remnant—Albion's cherished trust—
m his decline with those endearing rays,
ose bounteous sunshine yet may gild his days—
hall that Country—while he sinks to rest—
hand hath fought for—by his heart be blest!
May, 1814.
[First published, Letters and Journals, 1830, i. 559.]
ELEGIAC STANZAS ON THE DEATH OF
SIR PETER PARKER, BART. [312]
I.
[313]
re is a tear for all that die,
A mourner o'er the humblest grave;
nations swell the funeral cry,
And Triumph weeps above the brave.
2.
them is Sorrow's purest sigh
O'er Ocean's heaving bosom sent:
ain their bones unburied lie,
All earth becomes their monument!
3.
mb is theirs on every page,
An epitaph on every tongue:
present hours, the future age,
or them bewail, to them belong.
Page 473
4.
them the voice of festal mirth
Grows hushed, their name the only sound;
ile deep Remembrance pours to Worth
he goblet's tributary round.
5.
heme to crowds that knew them not,
amented by admiring foes,
o would not share their glorious lot?
Who would not die the death they chose?
6.
d, gallant Parker! thus enshrined
hy life, thy fall, thy fame shall be;
d early valour, glowing, find
A model in thy memory.
7.
there are breasts that bleed with thee
n woe, that glory cannot quell;
d shuddering hear of victory,
Where one so dear, so dauntless, fell.
8.
ere shall they turn to mourn thee less?
When cease to hear thy cherished name?
e cannot teach forgetfulness,
While Grief's full heart is fed by Fame.
them the voice of festal mirth
Grows hushed, their name the only sound;
ile deep Remembrance pours to Worth
he goblet's tributary round.
5.
heme to crowds that knew them not,
amented by admiring foes,
o would not share their glorious lot?
Who would not die the death they chose?
6.
d, gallant Parker! thus enshrined
hy life, thy fall, thy fame shall be;
d early valour, glowing, find
A model in thy memory.
7.
there are breasts that bleed with thee
n woe, that glory cannot quell;
d shuddering hear of victory,
Where one so dear, so dauntless, fell.
8.
ere shall they turn to mourn thee less?
When cease to hear thy cherished name?
e cannot teach forgetfulness,
While Grief's full heart is fed by Fame.
Page 474
9.
s! for them, though not for thee,
hey cannot choose but weep the more;
p for the dead the grief must be,
Who ne'er gave cause to mourn before.
October 7, 1814.
[First published, Morning Chronicle, October 7, 1814.]
JULIAN [A FRAGMENT]. [314]
1.
Night came on the Waters—all was rest
Earth—but Rage on Ocean's troubled Heart.
Waves arose and rolled beneath the blast;
Sailors gazed upon their shivered Mast.
hat dark Hour a long loud gathered cry
m out the billows pierced the sable sky,
d borne o'er breakers reached the craggy shore—
Sea roars on—that Cry is heard no more.
2.
re is no vestige, in the Dawning light,
hose that shrieked thro' shadows of the Night.
Bark—the Crew—the very Wreck is gone,
red—mutilated—traceless—all save one.
im there still is Life, the Wave that dashed
shore the plank to which his form was lashed,
urned unheeding of its helpless Prey—
lone survivor of that Yesterday—
s! for them, though not for thee,
hey cannot choose but weep the more;
p for the dead the grief must be,
Who ne'er gave cause to mourn before.
October 7, 1814.
[First published, Morning Chronicle, October 7, 1814.]
JULIAN [A FRAGMENT]. [314]
1.
Night came on the Waters—all was rest
Earth—but Rage on Ocean's troubled Heart.
Waves arose and rolled beneath the blast;
Sailors gazed upon their shivered Mast.
hat dark Hour a long loud gathered cry
m out the billows pierced the sable sky,
d borne o'er breakers reached the craggy shore—
Sea roars on—that Cry is heard no more.
2.
re is no vestige, in the Dawning light,
hose that shrieked thro' shadows of the Night.
Bark—the Crew—the very Wreck is gone,
red—mutilated—traceless—all save one.
im there still is Life, the Wave that dashed
shore the plank to which his form was lashed,
urned unheeding of its helpless Prey—
lone survivor of that Yesterday—
Page 475
one of Many whom the withering Gale
h left unpunished to record their Tale.
who shall hear it? on that barren Sand
ne comes to stretch the hospitable hand.
t shore reveals no print of human foot,
e'en the pawing of the wilder Brute;
d niggard vegetation will not smile,
sunless on that solitary Isle.
3.
naked Stranger rose, and wrung his hair,
d that first moment passed in silent prayer.
s! the sound—he sunk into Despair—
was on Earth—but what was Earth to him,
useless and homeless—bare both breast and limb?
off from all but Memory he curst
fate—his folly—but himself the worst.
at was his hope? he looked upon the Wave—
pite—of all—it still may be his Grave!
4.
rose and with a feeble effort shaped
course unto the billows—late escaped:
weakness conquered—swam his dizzy glance,
d down to Earth he sunk in silent trance.
w long his senses bore its chilling chain,
knew not—but, recalled to Life again,
ranger stood beside his shivering form—
d what was he? had he too scaped the storm?
5.
h left unpunished to record their Tale.
who shall hear it? on that barren Sand
ne comes to stretch the hospitable hand.
t shore reveals no print of human foot,
e'en the pawing of the wilder Brute;
d niggard vegetation will not smile,
sunless on that solitary Isle.
3.
naked Stranger rose, and wrung his hair,
d that first moment passed in silent prayer.
s! the sound—he sunk into Despair—
was on Earth—but what was Earth to him,
useless and homeless—bare both breast and limb?
off from all but Memory he curst
fate—his folly—but himself the worst.
at was his hope? he looked upon the Wave—
pite—of all—it still may be his Grave!
4.
rose and with a feeble effort shaped
course unto the billows—late escaped:
weakness conquered—swam his dizzy glance,
d down to Earth he sunk in silent trance.
w long his senses bore its chilling chain,
knew not—but, recalled to Life again,
ranger stood beside his shivering form—
d what was he? had he too scaped the storm?
5.
Page 476
raised young Julian. "Is thy Cup so full
bitterness—thy Hope—thy heart so dull
t thou shouldst from Thee dash the Draught of Life,
ate escaped the elemental strife!
e—tho' these shores few aids to Life supply,
k upon me, and know thou shalt not die.
u gazest in mute wonder—more may be
marvel when thou knowest mine and me.
come—The bark that bears us hence shall find
Haven, soon, despite the warning Wind."
6.
raised young Julian from the sand, and such
nge power of healing dwelt within the touch,
t his weak limbs grew light with freshened Power,
he had slept not fainted in that hour,
d woke from Slumber—as the Birds awake,
alled at morning from the branchéd brake,
en the day's promise heralds early Spring,
d Heaven unfolded woos their soaring wing:
Julian felt, and gazed upon his Guide,
h honest Wonder what might next betide.
Dec. 12, 1814.
TO BELSHAZZAR.
1.[ne]
shazzar ! from the banquet turn,
Nor in thy sensual fulness fall;
old! while yet before thee burn
bitterness—thy Hope—thy heart so dull
t thou shouldst from Thee dash the Draught of Life,
ate escaped the elemental strife!
e—tho' these shores few aids to Life supply,
k upon me, and know thou shalt not die.
u gazest in mute wonder—more may be
marvel when thou knowest mine and me.
come—The bark that bears us hence shall find
Haven, soon, despite the warning Wind."
6.
raised young Julian from the sand, and such
nge power of healing dwelt within the touch,
t his weak limbs grew light with freshened Power,
he had slept not fainted in that hour,
d woke from Slumber—as the Birds awake,
alled at morning from the branchéd brake,
en the day's promise heralds early Spring,
d Heaven unfolded woos their soaring wing:
Julian felt, and gazed upon his Guide,
h honest Wonder what might next betide.
Dec. 12, 1814.
TO BELSHAZZAR.
1.[ne]
shazzar ! from the banquet turn,
Nor in thy sensual fulness fall;
old! while yet before thee burn
Page 477
he graven words, the glowing wall,[nf]
ny a despot men miscall
rowned and anointed from on high;
thou, the weakest, worst of all—
s it not written, thou must die?[ng]
2.
dash the roses from thy brow—
Grey hairs but poorly wreathe with them;
th's garlands misbecome thee now,
More than thy very diadem,[nh]
ere thou hast tarnished every gem:—
hen throw the worthless bauble by,
ich, worn by thee, ev'n slaves contemn;
And learn like better men to die!
3.
early in the balance weighed,
And ever light of word and worth,
ose soul expired ere youth decayed,
And left thee but a mass of earth.
ee thee moves the scorner's mirth:
ut tears in Hope's averted eye
ment that even thou hadst birth—
Unfit to govern, live, or die.
February 12, 1815.
[First published, 1831.]
STANZAS FOR MUSIC. [315]
ny a despot men miscall
rowned and anointed from on high;
thou, the weakest, worst of all—
s it not written, thou must die?[ng]
2.
dash the roses from thy brow—
Grey hairs but poorly wreathe with them;
th's garlands misbecome thee now,
More than thy very diadem,[nh]
ere thou hast tarnished every gem:—
hen throw the worthless bauble by,
ich, worn by thee, ev'n slaves contemn;
And learn like better men to die!
3.
early in the balance weighed,
And ever light of word and worth,
ose soul expired ere youth decayed,
And left thee but a mass of earth.
ee thee moves the scorner's mirth:
ut tears in Hope's averted eye
ment that even thou hadst birth—
Unfit to govern, live, or die.
February 12, 1815.
[First published, 1831.]
STANZAS FOR MUSIC. [315]
Page 478
"O Lachrymarum fons, tenero sacros
Ducentium ortus ex animo: quater
Felix! in imo qui scatentem
Pectore te, pia Nympha, sensit."
G ray ' s Poemata.
[Motto to "The Tear," Poetical Works, 1898, i. 49.]
1.
re ' s not a joy the world can give like that it takes away,
en the glow of early thought declines in Feeling's dull decay;
not on Youth's smooth cheek the blush alone, which fades so fast,[ni]
the tender bloom of heart is gone, ere Youth itself be past.
2.
n the few whose spirits float above the wreck of happiness
driven o'er the shoals of guilt or ocean of excess:
magnet of their course is gone, or only points in vain
shore to which their shivered sail shall never stretch again.
3.
n the mortal coldness of the soul like Death itself comes down;
annot feel for others' woes, it dare not dream its own;
t heavy chill has frozen o'er the fountain of our tears,
d though the eye may sparkle still, 'tis where the ice appears.
4.
ugh wit may flash from fluent lips, and mirth distract the breast,
ough midnight hours that yield no more their former hope of rest;
but as ivy-leaves around the ruined turret wreath[nj][316]
green and wildly fresh without, but worn and grey beneath.
Ducentium ortus ex animo: quater
Felix! in imo qui scatentem
Pectore te, pia Nympha, sensit."
G ray ' s Poemata.
[Motto to "The Tear," Poetical Works, 1898, i. 49.]
1.
re ' s not a joy the world can give like that it takes away,
en the glow of early thought declines in Feeling's dull decay;
not on Youth's smooth cheek the blush alone, which fades so fast,[ni]
the tender bloom of heart is gone, ere Youth itself be past.
2.
n the few whose spirits float above the wreck of happiness
driven o'er the shoals of guilt or ocean of excess:
magnet of their course is gone, or only points in vain
shore to which their shivered sail shall never stretch again.
3.
n the mortal coldness of the soul like Death itself comes down;
annot feel for others' woes, it dare not dream its own;
t heavy chill has frozen o'er the fountain of our tears,
d though the eye may sparkle still, 'tis where the ice appears.
4.
ugh wit may flash from fluent lips, and mirth distract the breast,
ough midnight hours that yield no more their former hope of rest;
but as ivy-leaves around the ruined turret wreath[nj][316]
green and wildly fresh without, but worn and grey beneath.
Page 479
5.
could I feel as I have felt,—or be what I have been,
weep as I could once have wept, o'er many a vanished scene;
springs in deserts found seem sweet, all brackish though they be,
midst the withered waste of life, those tears would flow to me.
March, 1815.
[First published, Poems, 1816.]
ON THE DEATH OF THE DUKE OF DORSET. [317]
1.
ard thy fate without a tear,
hy loss with scarce a sigh;
d yet thou wast surpassing dear,
oo loved of all to die.
ow not what hath seared my eye—
s tears refuse to start;
every drop, it bids me dry,
alls dreary on my heart.
2.
dull and heavy, one by one,
hey sink and turn to care,
caverned waters wear the stone,
Yet dropping harden there:
y cannot petrify more fast,
han feelings sunk remain,
ich coldly fixed regard the past,
ut never melt again.
could I feel as I have felt,—or be what I have been,
weep as I could once have wept, o'er many a vanished scene;
springs in deserts found seem sweet, all brackish though they be,
midst the withered waste of life, those tears would flow to me.
March, 1815.
[First published, Poems, 1816.]
ON THE DEATH OF THE DUKE OF DORSET. [317]
1.
ard thy fate without a tear,
hy loss with scarce a sigh;
d yet thou wast surpassing dear,
oo loved of all to die.
ow not what hath seared my eye—
s tears refuse to start;
every drop, it bids me dry,
alls dreary on my heart.
2.
dull and heavy, one by one,
hey sink and turn to care,
caverned waters wear the stone,
Yet dropping harden there:
y cannot petrify more fast,
han feelings sunk remain,
ich coldly fixed regard the past,
ut never melt again.
Page 480
[1815.]
STANZAS FOR MUSIC.
1.
ght be the place of thy soul!
No lovelier spirit than thine
burst from its mortal control,
n the orbs of the blessed to shine.
earth thou wert all but divine,
As thy soul shall immortally be;[nk]
d our sorrow may cease to repine
When we know that thy God is with thee.
2.
ht be the turf of thy tomb![nl][318]
May its verdure like emeralds be![nm]
re should not be the shadow of gloom
n aught that reminds us of thee.
ng flowers and an evergreen tree[nn]
May spring from the spot of thy rest:
nor cypress nor yew let us see;
or why should we mourn for the blest?
[First published, Examiner, June 4, 1815.]
NAPOLEON'S FAREWELL. [319]
[FROM THE FRENCH.]
STANZAS FOR MUSIC.
1.
ght be the place of thy soul!
No lovelier spirit than thine
burst from its mortal control,
n the orbs of the blessed to shine.
earth thou wert all but divine,
As thy soul shall immortally be;[nk]
d our sorrow may cease to repine
When we know that thy God is with thee.
2.
ht be the turf of thy tomb![nl][318]
May its verdure like emeralds be![nm]
re should not be the shadow of gloom
n aught that reminds us of thee.
ng flowers and an evergreen tree[nn]
May spring from the spot of thy rest:
nor cypress nor yew let us see;
or why should we mourn for the blest?
[First published, Examiner, June 4, 1815.]
NAPOLEON'S FAREWELL. [319]
[FROM THE FRENCH.]
Page 481
1.
ewell to the Land, where the gloom of my Glory
se and o'ershadowed the earth with her name—
abandons me now—but the page of her story,
brightest or blackest, is filled with my fame.[no]
ve warred with a World which vanquished me only
en the meteor of conquest allured me too far;
ve coped with the nations which dread me thus lonely,
last single Captive to millions in war.
2.
ewell to thee, France! when thy diadem crowned me,
ade thee the gem and the wonder of earth,—
thy weakness decrees I should leave as I found thee,[np]
ayed in thy glory, and sunk in thy worth.
for the veteran hearts that were wasted
trife with the storm, when their battles were won—
n the Eagle, whose gaze in that moment was blasted
still soared with eyes fixed on Victory's sun![nq]
3.
ewell to thee, France!—but when Liberty rallies
e more in thy regions, remember me then,—
Violet still grows in the depth of thy valleys;
ugh withered, thy tear will unfold it again—
yet, I may baffle the hosts that surround us,
d yet may thy heart leap awake to my voice—
re are links which must break in the chain that has bound us,
n turn thee and call on the Chief of thy choice!
July 25, 1815. London.
ewell to the Land, where the gloom of my Glory
se and o'ershadowed the earth with her name—
abandons me now—but the page of her story,
brightest or blackest, is filled with my fame.[no]
ve warred with a World which vanquished me only
en the meteor of conquest allured me too far;
ve coped with the nations which dread me thus lonely,
last single Captive to millions in war.
2.
ewell to thee, France! when thy diadem crowned me,
ade thee the gem and the wonder of earth,—
thy weakness decrees I should leave as I found thee,[np]
ayed in thy glory, and sunk in thy worth.
for the veteran hearts that were wasted
trife with the storm, when their battles were won—
n the Eagle, whose gaze in that moment was blasted
still soared with eyes fixed on Victory's sun![nq]
3.
ewell to thee, France!—but when Liberty rallies
e more in thy regions, remember me then,—
Violet still grows in the depth of thy valleys;
ugh withered, thy tear will unfold it again—
yet, I may baffle the hosts that surround us,
d yet may thy heart leap awake to my voice—
re are links which must break in the chain that has bound us,
n turn thee and call on the Chief of thy choice!
July 25, 1815. London.
Page 482
[First published, Examiner, July 30, 1815.]
FROM THE FRENCH. [320]
I.
st thou go, my glorious Chief,
evered from thy faithful few?
o can tell thy warrior's grief,
Maddening o'er that long adieu?[nr]
man's love, and Friendship's zeal,
Dear as both have been to me—[ns]
at are they to all I feel,
With a soldier's faith for thee?[nt]
II.
of the soldier's soul!
irst in fight, but mightiest now;[nu]
ny could a world control;
hee alone no doom can bow.
thy side for years I dared
Death; and envied those who fell,
en their dying shout was heard,
lessing him they served so well.[321]
III.
uld that I were cold with those,
ince this hour I live to see;
en the doubts of coward foes[nv]
carce dare trust a man with thee,
FROM THE FRENCH. [320]
I.
st thou go, my glorious Chief,
evered from thy faithful few?
o can tell thy warrior's grief,
Maddening o'er that long adieu?[nr]
man's love, and Friendship's zeal,
Dear as both have been to me—[ns]
at are they to all I feel,
With a soldier's faith for thee?[nt]
II.
of the soldier's soul!
irst in fight, but mightiest now;[nu]
ny could a world control;
hee alone no doom can bow.
thy side for years I dared
Death; and envied those who fell,
en their dying shout was heard,
lessing him they served so well.[321]
III.
uld that I were cold with those,
ince this hour I live to see;
en the doubts of coward foes[nv]
carce dare trust a man with thee,
Page 483
ading each should set thee free!
Oh! although in dungeons pent,
their chains were light to me,
Gazing on thy soul unbent.
IV.
uld the sycophants of him
Now so deaf to duty's prayer,[nw]
e his borrowed glories dim,
n his native darkness share?
e that world this hour his own,
All thou calmly dost resign,
ld he purchase with that throne
Hearts like those which still are thine?[nx]
V.
Chief, my King, my Friend, adieu!
Never did I droop before;
er to my Sovereign sue,
As his foes I now implore:
I ask is to divide
very peril he must brave;
ring by the hero's side
His fall—his exile—and his grave.[ny]
[First published, Poems, 1816,]
ODE FROM THE FRENCH. [322]
I.
Oh! although in dungeons pent,
their chains were light to me,
Gazing on thy soul unbent.
IV.
uld the sycophants of him
Now so deaf to duty's prayer,[nw]
e his borrowed glories dim,
n his native darkness share?
e that world this hour his own,
All thou calmly dost resign,
ld he purchase with that throne
Hearts like those which still are thine?[nx]
V.
Chief, my King, my Friend, adieu!
Never did I droop before;
er to my Sovereign sue,
As his foes I now implore:
I ask is to divide
very peril he must brave;
ring by the hero's side
His fall—his exile—and his grave.[ny]
[First published, Poems, 1816,]
ODE FROM THE FRENCH. [322]
I.
Page 484
do not curse thee, Waterloo!
ugh Freedom's blood thy plain bedew;
re 'twas shed, but is not sunk—
ng from each gory trunk,
e the water-spout from ocean,
h a strong and growing motion—
oars, and mingles in the air,
h that of lost La Bédoyère—[323]
h that of him whose honoured grave
tains the "bravest of the brave."
rimson cloud it spreads and glows,
shall return to whence it rose;
en 'tis full 'twill burst asunder—
er yet was heard such thunder
hen shall shake the world with wonder—
er yet was seen such lightning
o'er heaven shall then be bright'ning!
e the Wormwood Star foretold
y the sainted Seer of old,
w'ring down a fiery flood,
ning rivers into blood.[324]
II.
Chief has fallen, but not by you,
quishers of Waterloo!
en the soldier citizen
ayed not o'er his fellow-men—
e in deeds that led them on
ere Glory smiled on Freedom's son—
o, of all the despots banded,
With that youthful chief competed?
ugh Freedom's blood thy plain bedew;
re 'twas shed, but is not sunk—
ng from each gory trunk,
e the water-spout from ocean,
h a strong and growing motion—
oars, and mingles in the air,
h that of lost La Bédoyère—[323]
h that of him whose honoured grave
tains the "bravest of the brave."
rimson cloud it spreads and glows,
shall return to whence it rose;
en 'tis full 'twill burst asunder—
er yet was heard such thunder
hen shall shake the world with wonder—
er yet was seen such lightning
o'er heaven shall then be bright'ning!
e the Wormwood Star foretold
y the sainted Seer of old,
w'ring down a fiery flood,
ning rivers into blood.[324]
II.
Chief has fallen, but not by you,
quishers of Waterloo!
en the soldier citizen
ayed not o'er his fellow-men—
e in deeds that led them on
ere Glory smiled on Freedom's son—
o, of all the despots banded,
With that youthful chief competed?
Page 485
Who could boast o'er France defeated,
lone Tyranny commanded?
goaded by Ambition's sting,
Hero sunk into the King?
n he fell:—so perish all,
o would men by man enthral!
III.
d thou, too, of the snow-white plume!
ose realm refused thee ev'n a tomb;[325]
er hadst thou still been leading
nce o'er hosts of hirelings bleeding,
n sold thyself to death and shame
a meanly royal name;
h as he of Naples wears,
o thy blood-bought title bears.
le didst thou deem, when dashing
On thy war-horse through the ranks.
ike a stream which burst its banks,
ile helmets cleft, and sabres clashing,
ne and shivered fast around thee—
he fate at last which found thee:
that haughty plume laid low
a slave's dishonest blow?
e—as the Moon sways o'er the tide,
lled in air, the warrior's guide;
ough the smoke-created night
he black and sulphurous fight,
soldier raised his seeking eye
catch that crest's ascendancy,—
d, as it onward rolling rose,
lone Tyranny commanded?
goaded by Ambition's sting,
Hero sunk into the King?
n he fell:—so perish all,
o would men by man enthral!
III.
d thou, too, of the snow-white plume!
ose realm refused thee ev'n a tomb;[325]
er hadst thou still been leading
nce o'er hosts of hirelings bleeding,
n sold thyself to death and shame
a meanly royal name;
h as he of Naples wears,
o thy blood-bought title bears.
le didst thou deem, when dashing
On thy war-horse through the ranks.
ike a stream which burst its banks,
ile helmets cleft, and sabres clashing,
ne and shivered fast around thee—
he fate at last which found thee:
that haughty plume laid low
a slave's dishonest blow?
e—as the Moon sways o'er the tide,
lled in air, the warrior's guide;
ough the smoke-created night
he black and sulphurous fight,
soldier raised his seeking eye
catch that crest's ascendancy,—
d, as it onward rolling rose,
Page 486
moved his heart upon our foes.
re, where death's brief pang was quickest,
d the battle's wreck lay thickest,
wed beneath the advancing banner
Of the eagle's burning crest—
ere with thunder-clouds to fan her,
Who could then her wing arrest—
Victory beaming from her breast?)
ile the broken line enlarging
ell, or fled along the plain;
re be sure was Murat charging!
here he ne'er shall charge again!
IV.
r glories gone the invaders march,
eps Triumph o'er each levelled arch—
let Freedom rejoice,
h her heart in her voice;
her hand on her sword,
ubly shall she be adored;
nce hath twice too well been taught
"moral lesson"[326] dearly bought—
safety sits not on a throne,
h Capet or Napoleon!
in equal rights and laws,
rts and hands in one great cause—
edom, such as God hath given
o all beneath his heaven,
h their breath, and from their birth,
ugh guilt would sweep it from the earth;
h a fierce and lavish hand
re, where death's brief pang was quickest,
d the battle's wreck lay thickest,
wed beneath the advancing banner
Of the eagle's burning crest—
ere with thunder-clouds to fan her,
Who could then her wing arrest—
Victory beaming from her breast?)
ile the broken line enlarging
ell, or fled along the plain;
re be sure was Murat charging!
here he ne'er shall charge again!
IV.
r glories gone the invaders march,
eps Triumph o'er each levelled arch—
let Freedom rejoice,
h her heart in her voice;
her hand on her sword,
ubly shall she be adored;
nce hath twice too well been taught
"moral lesson"[326] dearly bought—
safety sits not on a throne,
h Capet or Napoleon!
in equal rights and laws,
rts and hands in one great cause—
edom, such as God hath given
o all beneath his heaven,
h their breath, and from their birth,
ugh guilt would sweep it from the earth;
h a fierce and lavish hand
Page 487
ttering nations' wealth like sand;
ring nations' blood like water,
mperial seas of slaughter!
V.
the heart and the mind,
d the voice of mankind,
ll arise in communion—
d who shall resist that proud union?
time is past when swords subdued—
n may die—the soul's renewed:
n in this low world of care
edom ne'er shall want an heir;
lions breathe but to inherit
for ever bounding spirit—
en once more her hosts assemble,
ants shall believe and tremble—
le they at this idle threat?
mson tears will follow yet.[327]
[First published, Morning Chronicle, March 15, 1816.]
STANZAS FOR MUSIC.
1.
re be none of Beauty's daughters
With a magic like thee;
d like music on the waters
s thy sweet voice to me:
en, as if its sound were causing
charméd Ocean's pausing,
ring nations' blood like water,
mperial seas of slaughter!
V.
the heart and the mind,
d the voice of mankind,
ll arise in communion—
d who shall resist that proud union?
time is past when swords subdued—
n may die—the soul's renewed:
n in this low world of care
edom ne'er shall want an heir;
lions breathe but to inherit
for ever bounding spirit—
en once more her hosts assemble,
ants shall believe and tremble—
le they at this idle threat?
mson tears will follow yet.[327]
[First published, Morning Chronicle, March 15, 1816.]
STANZAS FOR MUSIC.
1.
re be none of Beauty's daughters
With a magic like thee;
d like music on the waters
s thy sweet voice to me:
en, as if its sound were causing
charméd Ocean's pausing,
Page 488
waves lie still and gleaming,
d the lulled winds seem dreaming:
2.
d the midnight Moon is weaving
Her bright chain o'er the deep;
ose breast is gently heaving,
As an infant's asleep:
he spirit bows before thee,
isten and adore thee;
h a full but soft emotion,
e the swell of Summer's ocean.
March 28 [1816].
[First published, Poems, 1816.]
ON THE STAR OF "THE LEGION OF HONOUR." [328]
[FROM THE FRENCH.]
1.
r of the brave!—whose beam hath shed
h glory o'er the quick and dead—
u radiant and adored deceit!
ich millions rushed in arms to greet,—
d meteor of immortal birth!
y rise in Heaven to set on Earth?
2.
ls of slain heroes formed thy rays;
nity flashed through thy blaze;
d the lulled winds seem dreaming:
2.
d the midnight Moon is weaving
Her bright chain o'er the deep;
ose breast is gently heaving,
As an infant's asleep:
he spirit bows before thee,
isten and adore thee;
h a full but soft emotion,
e the swell of Summer's ocean.
March 28 [1816].
[First published, Poems, 1816.]
ON THE STAR OF "THE LEGION OF HONOUR." [328]
[FROM THE FRENCH.]
1.
r of the brave!—whose beam hath shed
h glory o'er the quick and dead—
u radiant and adored deceit!
ich millions rushed in arms to greet,—
d meteor of immortal birth!
y rise in Heaven to set on Earth?
2.
ls of slain heroes formed thy rays;
nity flashed through thy blaze;
Page 489
music of thy martial sphere
fame on high and honour here;
d thy light broke on human eyes,
e a Volcano of the skies.
3.
e lava rolled thy stream of blood,
d swept down empires with its flood;
h rocked beneath thee to her base,
hou didst lighten through all space;
d the shorn Sun grew dim in air,
d set while thou wert dwelling there.
4.
ore thee rose, and with thee grew,
ainbow of the loveliest hue
hree bright colours,[329] each divine,
d fit for that celestial sign;
Freedom's hand had blended them,
e tints in an immortal gem.
5.
tint was of the sunbeam's dyes;
, the blue depth of Seraph's eyes;
, the pure Spirit's veil of white
robed in radiance of its light:
three so mingled did beseem
texture of a heavenly dream.
6.
fame on high and honour here;
d thy light broke on human eyes,
e a Volcano of the skies.
3.
e lava rolled thy stream of blood,
d swept down empires with its flood;
h rocked beneath thee to her base,
hou didst lighten through all space;
d the shorn Sun grew dim in air,
d set while thou wert dwelling there.
4.
ore thee rose, and with thee grew,
ainbow of the loveliest hue
hree bright colours,[329] each divine,
d fit for that celestial sign;
Freedom's hand had blended them,
e tints in an immortal gem.
5.
tint was of the sunbeam's dyes;
, the blue depth of Seraph's eyes;
, the pure Spirit's veil of white
robed in radiance of its light:
three so mingled did beseem
texture of a heavenly dream.
6.
Page 490
of the brave! thy ray is pale,
d darkness must again prevail!
oh thou Rainbow of the free!
tears and blood must flow for thee.
en thy bright promise fades away,
life is but a load of clay.
7.
d Freedom hallows with her tread
silent cities of the dead;
beautiful in death are they
o proudly fall in her array;
d soon, oh, Goddess! may we be
evermore with them or thee!
[First published, Examiner, April 7, 1816.]
STANZAS FOR MUSIC.
I.
y say that Hope is happiness;
ut genuine Love must prize the past,
d Memory wakes the thoughts that bless:
hey rose the first—they set the last;
II.
d all that Memory loves the most
Was once our only Hope to be,
d all that Hope adored and lost
Hath melted into Memory.
d darkness must again prevail!
oh thou Rainbow of the free!
tears and blood must flow for thee.
en thy bright promise fades away,
life is but a load of clay.
7.
d Freedom hallows with her tread
silent cities of the dead;
beautiful in death are they
o proudly fall in her array;
d soon, oh, Goddess! may we be
evermore with them or thee!
[First published, Examiner, April 7, 1816.]
STANZAS FOR MUSIC.
I.
y say that Hope is happiness;
ut genuine Love must prize the past,
d Memory wakes the thoughts that bless:
hey rose the first—they set the last;
II.
d all that Memory loves the most
Was once our only Hope to be,
d all that Hope adored and lost
Hath melted into Memory.
Page 491
III.
s! it is delusion all:
he future cheats us from afar,
can we be what we recall,
Nor dare we think on what we are.
[First published, Fugitive Pieces, 1829.]
FOOTNOTES:
[305] {409} [Compare The Corsair, Canto I. stanza xv. lines 480-490.]
[mr] {410}
Never may I behold
Moment like this.—[MS.]
[ms]
The damp of the morning
Clung chill on my brow.—[MS. erased.]
[mt] Thy vow hath been broken.—[MS.]
[mu]
——lies hidden
Our secret of sorrow—
And deep in my soul—
But deed more forbidden,
Our secret lies hidden,
But never forgot.—[Erasures, stanza 3, MS.]
[mv] {411}
If one should meet thee
How should we greet thee?
In silence and tears.—[MS.]
s! it is delusion all:
he future cheats us from afar,
can we be what we recall,
Nor dare we think on what we are.
[First published, Fugitive Pieces, 1829.]
FOOTNOTES:
[305] {409} [Compare The Corsair, Canto I. stanza xv. lines 480-490.]
[mr] {410}
Never may I behold
Moment like this.—[MS.]
[ms]
The damp of the morning
Clung chill on my brow.—[MS. erased.]
[mt] Thy vow hath been broken.—[MS.]
[mu]
——lies hidden
Our secret of sorrow—
And deep in my soul—
But deed more forbidden,
Our secret lies hidden,
But never forgot.—[Erasures, stanza 3, MS.]
[mv] {411}
If one should meet thee
How should we greet thee?
In silence and tears.—[MS.]
Page 492
[306] [From an autograph MS. in the possession of Mr. Murray, now for the first time
printed.
The water-mark of the paper on which a much-tortured rough copy of these lines has been
scrawled, is 1809, but, with this exception, there is no hint as to the date of composition.
An entry in the Diary for November 30, 1813, in which Annabella (Miss Milbanke) is
described "as an heiress, a girl of twenty, a peeress that is to be," etc., and a letter (Byron
to Miss Milbanke) dated November 29, 1813 (see Letters, 1898, ii. 357, and 1899, iii.
407), in which there is more than one allusion to her would-be suitors, "your thousand and
one pretendants," etc., suggest the idea that the lines were addressed to his future wife,
when he first made her acquaintance in 1812 or 1813.]
[307] {413} ["Thou hast asked me for a song, and I enclose you an experiment, which has
cost me something more than trouble, and is, therefore, less likely to be worth your taking
any in your proposed setting. Now, if it be so, throw it into the fire without phrase."—
Letter to Moore, May 4, 1814, Letters, 1899, iii. 80.]
[mw] I speak not—I breathe not—I write not that name.—[MS. erased.]
[mx] {414}
We have loved—and oh, still, my adored one we love!
Oh the moment is past, when that Passion might cease.—
[MS. erased.]
[my] The thought may be madness—the wish may be—guilt.—[MS. erased.]
[mz]
{ ButButIthecannot repent what we ne'er can recall.
heart which is thine would disdain to recall
[MS. erased.]
[na] ——though I feel that thou mayst.—[MS. L. erased.]
[nb]
This soul in its bitterest moments shall be,
And our days run as swift—and our moments more sweet,
With thee at my side, than the world at my feet.—[MS.]
[nc] {415}
And thine is that love which I will never forego
printed.
The water-mark of the paper on which a much-tortured rough copy of these lines has been
scrawled, is 1809, but, with this exception, there is no hint as to the date of composition.
An entry in the Diary for November 30, 1813, in which Annabella (Miss Milbanke) is
described "as an heiress, a girl of twenty, a peeress that is to be," etc., and a letter (Byron
to Miss Milbanke) dated November 29, 1813 (see Letters, 1898, ii. 357, and 1899, iii.
407), in which there is more than one allusion to her would-be suitors, "your thousand and
one pretendants," etc., suggest the idea that the lines were addressed to his future wife,
when he first made her acquaintance in 1812 or 1813.]
[307] {413} ["Thou hast asked me for a song, and I enclose you an experiment, which has
cost me something more than trouble, and is, therefore, less likely to be worth your taking
any in your proposed setting. Now, if it be so, throw it into the fire without phrase."—
Letter to Moore, May 4, 1814, Letters, 1899, iii. 80.]
[mw] I speak not—I breathe not—I write not that name.—[MS. erased.]
[mx] {414}
We have loved—and oh, still, my adored one we love!
Oh the moment is past, when that Passion might cease.—
[MS. erased.]
[my] The thought may be madness—the wish may be—guilt.—[MS. erased.]
[mz]
{ ButButIthecannot repent what we ne'er can recall.
heart which is thine would disdain to recall
[MS. erased.]
[na] ——though I feel that thou mayst.—[MS. L. erased.]
[nb]
This soul in its bitterest moments shall be,
And our days run as swift—and our moments more sweet,
With thee at my side, than the world at my feet.—[MS.]
[nc] {415}
And thine is that love which I will never forego
Page 493
Though the price which I pay be Eternity's woe.—[MS. erased]
[nd] One tear of thy sorrow, one smile——.—[MS. erased]
[308] [The "Caledonian Meeting," at which these lines were, or were intended to be,
recited (see Life, p. 254), was a meeting of subscribers to the Highland Society, held
annually in London, in support of the [Royal] Caledonian Asylum "for educating and
supporting children of soldiers, sailors, and marines, natives of Scotland." "To soothe,"
says the compiler of the Report for 1814, p. 4, "by the assurance that their offspring will
be reared in virtue and comfort, the minds of those brave men, through whose exposure to
hardship and danger the independence of the Empire has been preserved, is no less an act
of sound policy than of gratitude."]
[309] {416} [As an instance of Scottish gallantry in the Peninsular War it is sufficient to
cite the following list of "casualties" at the battle of Vittoria, June 21, 1813: "The battalion
[the seventy-first Highland Light Infantry] suffered very severely, having had 1 field
officer, 1 captain, 2 lieutenants, 6 sergeants, 1 bugler, and 78 rank and file killed; 1 field
officer, 3 captains, 7 lieutenants, 13 sergeants, 2 buglers, and 255 rank and file were
wounded."—Historical Record of the 71st Highland Light Infantry, by Lieut. Henry J. T.
Hildyard, 1876, p. 91.]
[310] [Compare Temora, bk. vii., "The king took his deathful spear, and struck the deeply-
sounding shield.... Ghosts fled on every side, and rolled their gathered forms on the wind.
—Thrice from the winding vale arose the voices of death."—Works of Ossian, 1765, ii.
160.]
[311] {417} [The last six lines are printed from the MS.]
[312] [Sir P. Parker fell in August, 1814, in his twenty-ninth year, whilst leading a party
from his ship, the Menelaus, at the storming of the American camp near Baltimore. He
was Byron's first cousin (his father, Christopher Parker (1761-1804), married Charlotte
Augusta, daughter of Admiral the Hon. John Byron); but they had never met since
boyhood. (See letter to Moore, Letters, 1899, iii. 150; see too Letters, i. 6, note 1.) The
stanzas were included in Hebrew Melodies, 1815, and in the Ninth Edition of Childe
Harold, 1818.]
[313] [Compare Tasso's sonnet—"Questa Tomba non è, ehe non è morto," etc. Rime
Eroiche, Parte Seconda, No. 38, Opere di Torquato Tasso, Venice, 1736, vi. 169.]
[314] {419} [From an autograph MS. in the possession of Mr. Murray, now for the first
time printed.]
[ne] {421}
[nd] One tear of thy sorrow, one smile——.—[MS. erased]
[308] [The "Caledonian Meeting," at which these lines were, or were intended to be,
recited (see Life, p. 254), was a meeting of subscribers to the Highland Society, held
annually in London, in support of the [Royal] Caledonian Asylum "for educating and
supporting children of soldiers, sailors, and marines, natives of Scotland." "To soothe,"
says the compiler of the Report for 1814, p. 4, "by the assurance that their offspring will
be reared in virtue and comfort, the minds of those brave men, through whose exposure to
hardship and danger the independence of the Empire has been preserved, is no less an act
of sound policy than of gratitude."]
[309] {416} [As an instance of Scottish gallantry in the Peninsular War it is sufficient to
cite the following list of "casualties" at the battle of Vittoria, June 21, 1813: "The battalion
[the seventy-first Highland Light Infantry] suffered very severely, having had 1 field
officer, 1 captain, 2 lieutenants, 6 sergeants, 1 bugler, and 78 rank and file killed; 1 field
officer, 3 captains, 7 lieutenants, 13 sergeants, 2 buglers, and 255 rank and file were
wounded."—Historical Record of the 71st Highland Light Infantry, by Lieut. Henry J. T.
Hildyard, 1876, p. 91.]
[310] [Compare Temora, bk. vii., "The king took his deathful spear, and struck the deeply-
sounding shield.... Ghosts fled on every side, and rolled their gathered forms on the wind.
—Thrice from the winding vale arose the voices of death."—Works of Ossian, 1765, ii.
160.]
[311] {417} [The last six lines are printed from the MS.]
[312] [Sir P. Parker fell in August, 1814, in his twenty-ninth year, whilst leading a party
from his ship, the Menelaus, at the storming of the American camp near Baltimore. He
was Byron's first cousin (his father, Christopher Parker (1761-1804), married Charlotte
Augusta, daughter of Admiral the Hon. John Byron); but they had never met since
boyhood. (See letter to Moore, Letters, 1899, iii. 150; see too Letters, i. 6, note 1.) The
stanzas were included in Hebrew Melodies, 1815, and in the Ninth Edition of Childe
Harold, 1818.]
[313] [Compare Tasso's sonnet—"Questa Tomba non è, ehe non è morto," etc. Rime
Eroiche, Parte Seconda, No. 38, Opere di Torquato Tasso, Venice, 1736, vi. 169.]
[314] {419} [From an autograph MS. in the possession of Mr. Murray, now for the first
time printed.]
[ne] {421}
Page 494
1.
The red light glows, the wassail flows,
Around the royal hall;
And who, on earth, dare mar the mirth
Of that high festival?
The prophet dares—before thee glows—
Belshazzar rise, nor dare despise
The writing on the wall!
2
Thy vice might raise th' avenging steel,
Thy meanness shield thee from the blow—
And they who loathe thee proudly feel.—[MS.]
[nf] {422}
The words of God along the wall.—[MS. erased.]
The word of God—the graven wall.—[MS.]
[ng] Behold it written——.—[MS.]
[nh] ——thy sullied diadem.—[MS.]
[315] {423} [Byron gave these verses to Moore for Mr. Power of the Strand, who
published them, with music by Sir John Stevenson. "I feel merry enough," he wrote,
March 2, "to send you a sad song." And again, March 8, 1815, "An event—the death of
poor Dorset—and the recollection of what I once felt, and ought to have felt now, but
could not—set me pondering, and finally into the train of thought which you have in your
hands." A year later, in another letter to Moore, he says, "I pique myself on these lines as
being the truest, though the most melancholy, I ever wrote." (March 8, 1816.)—Letters,
1899, iii. 181, 183, 274.]
[ni] 'Tis not the blush alone that fades from Beauty's cheek.—[MS.]
[nj] {424} As ivy o'er the mouldering wall that heavily hath crept.—[MS.]
[316] [Compare—
"And oft we see gay ivy's wreath
The tree with brilliant bloom o'erspread,
When, part its leaves and gaze beneath,
We find the hidden tree is dead."
"To Anna," The Warrior's Return, etc.,
by Mrs. Opie, 1808, p. 144.]
The red light glows, the wassail flows,
Around the royal hall;
And who, on earth, dare mar the mirth
Of that high festival?
The prophet dares—before thee glows—
Belshazzar rise, nor dare despise
The writing on the wall!
2
Thy vice might raise th' avenging steel,
Thy meanness shield thee from the blow—
And they who loathe thee proudly feel.—[MS.]
[nf] {422}
The words of God along the wall.—[MS. erased.]
The word of God—the graven wall.—[MS.]
[ng] Behold it written——.—[MS.]
[nh] ——thy sullied diadem.—[MS.]
[315] {423} [Byron gave these verses to Moore for Mr. Power of the Strand, who
published them, with music by Sir John Stevenson. "I feel merry enough," he wrote,
March 2, "to send you a sad song." And again, March 8, 1815, "An event—the death of
poor Dorset—and the recollection of what I once felt, and ought to have felt now, but
could not—set me pondering, and finally into the train of thought which you have in your
hands." A year later, in another letter to Moore, he says, "I pique myself on these lines as
being the truest, though the most melancholy, I ever wrote." (March 8, 1816.)—Letters,
1899, iii. 181, 183, 274.]
[ni] 'Tis not the blush alone that fades from Beauty's cheek.—[MS.]
[nj] {424} As ivy o'er the mouldering wall that heavily hath crept.—[MS.]
[316] [Compare—
"And oft we see gay ivy's wreath
The tree with brilliant bloom o'erspread,
When, part its leaves and gaze beneath,
We find the hidden tree is dead."
"To Anna," The Warrior's Return, etc.,
by Mrs. Opie, 1808, p. 144.]
Page 495
[317] {425} [From an autograph MS. in the possession of Mr. Murray, now for the first
time printed. The MS. is headed, in pencil, "Lines written on the Death of the Duke of
Dorset, a College Friend of Lord Byron's, who was killed by a fall from his horse while
hunting." It is endorsed, "Bought of Markham Thorpe, August 29, 1844." (For Duke of
Dorset, see Poetical Works, 1898, i. 194, note 2; and Letters, 1899, in. 181, note 1.)]
[nk] {426} ——shall eternally be.—[MS. erased.]
[nl] Green be the turf——.—[MS.]
[318] [Compare "O lay me, ye that see the light, near some rock of my hills: let the thick
hazels be around, let the rustling oaks be near. Green be the place of my rest."—"The War
of Inis-Thona," Works of Ossin, 1765, i. 156.]
[nm] May its verdure be sweetest to see.—[MS.]
[nn] {427}
Young flowers and a far-spreading tree
May wave on the spot of thy rest;
But nor cypress nor yew let it be.—[MS.]
[319] ["We need scarcely remind our readers that there are points in these spirited lines,
with which our opinions do not accord; and, indeed, the author himself has told us that he
rather adapted them to what he considered the speaker's feelings than his own."—
Examiner, July 30, 1815.]
[no] The brightest and blackest are due to my fame.—[MS.]
[np] But thy destiny wills——.—[MS.]
[nq] {428}
Oh for the thousands of Those who have perished
By elements blasted, unvanquished by man—
Then the hope which till now I have fearlessly cherished,
Had waved o'er thine eagles in Victory's van.—[MS.]
[320] ["All wept, but particularly Savary, and a Polish officer who had been exalted from
the ranks by Buonaparte. He clung to his master's knees; wrote a letter to Lord Keith,
entreating permission to accompany him, even in the most menial capacity, which could
not be admitted."—Private Letter from Brussels.]
[nr] {429} ——that mute adieu.—[MS.]
time printed. The MS. is headed, in pencil, "Lines written on the Death of the Duke of
Dorset, a College Friend of Lord Byron's, who was killed by a fall from his horse while
hunting." It is endorsed, "Bought of Markham Thorpe, August 29, 1844." (For Duke of
Dorset, see Poetical Works, 1898, i. 194, note 2; and Letters, 1899, in. 181, note 1.)]
[nk] {426} ——shall eternally be.—[MS. erased.]
[nl] Green be the turf——.—[MS.]
[318] [Compare "O lay me, ye that see the light, near some rock of my hills: let the thick
hazels be around, let the rustling oaks be near. Green be the place of my rest."—"The War
of Inis-Thona," Works of Ossin, 1765, i. 156.]
[nm] May its verdure be sweetest to see.—[MS.]
[nn] {427}
Young flowers and a far-spreading tree
May wave on the spot of thy rest;
But nor cypress nor yew let it be.—[MS.]
[319] ["We need scarcely remind our readers that there are points in these spirited lines,
with which our opinions do not accord; and, indeed, the author himself has told us that he
rather adapted them to what he considered the speaker's feelings than his own."—
Examiner, July 30, 1815.]
[no] The brightest and blackest are due to my fame.—[MS.]
[np] But thy destiny wills——.—[MS.]
[nq] {428}
Oh for the thousands of Those who have perished
By elements blasted, unvanquished by man—
Then the hope which till now I have fearlessly cherished,
Had waved o'er thine eagles in Victory's van.—[MS.]
[320] ["All wept, but particularly Savary, and a Polish officer who had been exalted from
the ranks by Buonaparte. He clung to his master's knees; wrote a letter to Lord Keith,
entreating permission to accompany him, even in the most menial capacity, which could
not be admitted."—Private Letter from Brussels.]
[nr] {429} ——that mute adieu.—[MS.]
Page 496
[ns] Dear as they have seemed to me.—[MS.]
[nt] In the faith I pledged to thee.—[MS.]
[nu]
Glory lightened from thy soul.
Never did I grieve till now.—[MS.]
[321] ["At Waterloo one man was seen, whose left arm was shattered by a cannon-ball, to
wrench it off with the other, and, throwing it up in the air, exclaimed to his comrades,
'Vive l'Empereur, jusqu'à la mort!' There were many other instances of the like: this you
may, however, depend on as true."—Private Letter from Brussels.]
[nv] When the hearts of coward foes.—[MS.]
[nw] {430} ——to Friendship's prayer.—[MS.]
[nx]
'Twould not gather round his throne
Half the hearts that still are thine.—[MS.]
[ny]
Let me but partake his doom,
Be it exile or the grave.
or, All I ask is to abide
All the perils he must brave,
All my hope was to divide.—[MS.]
or, Let me still partake his gloom,
Late his soldier, now his slave—
Grant me but to share the gloom
Of his exile or his grave.—[MS.]
[322] {431} [These lines "are said to have been done into English verse by R. S. —— P.
L. P. R., Master of the Royal Spanish Inqn., etc., etc."—Morning Chronicle, March 15,
1816. "The French have their Poems and Odes on the famous Battle of Waterloo, as well
as ourselves. Nay, they seem to glory in the battle as the source of great events to come.
We have received the following poetical version of a poem, the original of which is
circulating in Paris, and which is ascribed (we know not with what justice) to the Muse of
M. de Chateaubriand. If so, it may be inferred that in the poet's eye a new change is at
hand, and he wishes to prove his secret indulgence of old principles by reference to this
effusion."—Note, ibid.]
[nt] In the faith I pledged to thee.—[MS.]
[nu]
Glory lightened from thy soul.
Never did I grieve till now.—[MS.]
[321] ["At Waterloo one man was seen, whose left arm was shattered by a cannon-ball, to
wrench it off with the other, and, throwing it up in the air, exclaimed to his comrades,
'Vive l'Empereur, jusqu'à la mort!' There were many other instances of the like: this you
may, however, depend on as true."—Private Letter from Brussels.]
[nv] When the hearts of coward foes.—[MS.]
[nw] {430} ——to Friendship's prayer.—[MS.]
[nx]
'Twould not gather round his throne
Half the hearts that still are thine.—[MS.]
[ny]
Let me but partake his doom,
Be it exile or the grave.
or, All I ask is to abide
All the perils he must brave,
All my hope was to divide.—[MS.]
or, Let me still partake his gloom,
Late his soldier, now his slave—
Grant me but to share the gloom
Of his exile or his grave.—[MS.]
[322] {431} [These lines "are said to have been done into English verse by R. S. —— P.
L. P. R., Master of the Royal Spanish Inqn., etc., etc."—Morning Chronicle, March 15,
1816. "The French have their Poems and Odes on the famous Battle of Waterloo, as well
as ourselves. Nay, they seem to glory in the battle as the source of great events to come.
We have received the following poetical version of a poem, the original of which is
circulating in Paris, and which is ascribed (we know not with what justice) to the Muse of
M. de Chateaubriand. If so, it may be inferred that in the poet's eye a new change is at
hand, and he wishes to prove his secret indulgence of old principles by reference to this
effusion."—Note, ibid.]
Page 497
[323] [Charles Angélique François Huchet, Comte de La Bédoyère, born 1786, was in the
retreat from Moscow, and in 1813 distinguished himself at the battles of Lutzen and
Bautzen. On the return of Napoleon from Elba he was the first to bring him a regiment.
He was promoted, and raised to the peerage, but being found in Paris after its occupation
by the Allied army, he was tried by a court-martial, and suffered death August 15, 1815.]
[324] {432} See Rev. Chap. viii. V. 7, etc., "The first angel sounded, and there followed
hail and fire mingled with blood," etc. V. 8, "And the second angel sounded, and as it
were a great mountain burning with fire was cast into the sea: and the third part of the sea
became blood," etc. V. 10, "And the third angel sounded, and there fell a great star from
heaven, burning as it were a lamp, and it fell upon the third part of the rivers, and upon the
fountains of waters." V. 11, "And the name of the star is called Wormwood: and the third
part of the waters became wormwood; and many men died of the waters, because they
were made bitter."
[325] Murat's remains are said to have been torn from the grave and burnt. ["Poor dear
Murat, what an end ...! His white plume used to be a rallying point in battle, like Henry
the Fourth's. He refused a confessor and a bandage; so would neither suffer his soul or
body to be bandaged."—Letter to Moore, November 4. 1815, Letters, 1899, iii. 245. See,
too, for Joachim Murat (born 1771), proclaimed King of Naples and the Two Sicilies,
August, 1808, ibid., note 1.]
[326] {434} ["Write, Britain, write the moral lesson down." Scott's Field of Waterloo,
Conclusion, stanza vi. line 3.]
[327] {435} ["Talking of politics, as Caleb Quotem says, pray look at the conclusion of
my 'Ode on Waterloo,' written in the year 1815, and comparing it with the Duke de Berri's
catastrophe in 1820, tell me if I have not as good a right to the character of 'Vates,' in both
senses of the word, as Fitzgerald and Coleridge?—
'Crimson tears will follow yet;'
and have not they?"—Letter to Murray, April 24, 1820.
In the Preface to The Tyrant's Downfall, etc., 1814, W. L. Fitzgerald (see English Bards,
etc., line 1, Poetical Works, 1898, i. 297, note 3) "begs leave to refer his reader to the
dates of his Napoleonics ... to prove his legitimate title to the prophetical meaning of
Vates" (Cent. Mag., July, 1814, vol. lxxxiv. p. 58). Coleridge claimed to have foretold the
restoration of the Bourbons (see Biographia Literaria, cap. x.).]
[328] {436} ["The Friend who favoured us with the following lines, the poetical spirit of
which wants no trumpet of ours, is aware that they imply more than an impartial observer
retreat from Moscow, and in 1813 distinguished himself at the battles of Lutzen and
Bautzen. On the return of Napoleon from Elba he was the first to bring him a regiment.
He was promoted, and raised to the peerage, but being found in Paris after its occupation
by the Allied army, he was tried by a court-martial, and suffered death August 15, 1815.]
[324] {432} See Rev. Chap. viii. V. 7, etc., "The first angel sounded, and there followed
hail and fire mingled with blood," etc. V. 8, "And the second angel sounded, and as it
were a great mountain burning with fire was cast into the sea: and the third part of the sea
became blood," etc. V. 10, "And the third angel sounded, and there fell a great star from
heaven, burning as it were a lamp, and it fell upon the third part of the rivers, and upon the
fountains of waters." V. 11, "And the name of the star is called Wormwood: and the third
part of the waters became wormwood; and many men died of the waters, because they
were made bitter."
[325] Murat's remains are said to have been torn from the grave and burnt. ["Poor dear
Murat, what an end ...! His white plume used to be a rallying point in battle, like Henry
the Fourth's. He refused a confessor and a bandage; so would neither suffer his soul or
body to be bandaged."—Letter to Moore, November 4. 1815, Letters, 1899, iii. 245. See,
too, for Joachim Murat (born 1771), proclaimed King of Naples and the Two Sicilies,
August, 1808, ibid., note 1.]
[326] {434} ["Write, Britain, write the moral lesson down." Scott's Field of Waterloo,
Conclusion, stanza vi. line 3.]
[327] {435} ["Talking of politics, as Caleb Quotem says, pray look at the conclusion of
my 'Ode on Waterloo,' written in the year 1815, and comparing it with the Duke de Berri's
catastrophe in 1820, tell me if I have not as good a right to the character of 'Vates,' in both
senses of the word, as Fitzgerald and Coleridge?—
'Crimson tears will follow yet;'
and have not they?"—Letter to Murray, April 24, 1820.
In the Preface to The Tyrant's Downfall, etc., 1814, W. L. Fitzgerald (see English Bards,
etc., line 1, Poetical Works, 1898, i. 297, note 3) "begs leave to refer his reader to the
dates of his Napoleonics ... to prove his legitimate title to the prophetical meaning of
Vates" (Cent. Mag., July, 1814, vol. lxxxiv. p. 58). Coleridge claimed to have foretold the
restoration of the Bourbons (see Biographia Literaria, cap. x.).]
[328] {436} ["The Friend who favoured us with the following lines, the poetical spirit of
which wants no trumpet of ours, is aware that they imply more than an impartial observer
Page 498
of the late period might feel, and are written rather as by Frenchman than Englishman;—
but certainly, neither he nor any lover of liberty can help feeling and regretting that in the
latter time, at any rate, the symbol he speaks of was once more comparatively identified
with the cause of Freedom."—Examiner. April 7, 1816.]
[329] {437} The tricolor.
but certainly, neither he nor any lover of liberty can help feeling and regretting that in the
latter time, at any rate, the symbol he speaks of was once more comparatively identified
with the cause of Freedom."—Examiner. April 7, 1816.]
[329] {437} The tricolor.
Page 499
THE SIEGE OF CORINTH
"Guns, Trumpets, Blunderbusses, Drums and Thunder."
Pope, Sat. i. 26.[330]
"Guns, Trumpets, Blunderbusses, Drums and Thunder."
Pope, Sat. i. 26.[330]
Page 500
INTRODUCTION TO THE SIEGE OF
CORINTH.
In a note to the "Advertisement" to the Siege of Corinth (vide post, p. 447),
Byron puts it on record that during the years 1809-10 he had crossed the
Isthmus of Corinth eight times, and in a letter to his mother, dated Patras,
July 30, 1810, he alludes to a recent visit to the town of Corinth, in
company with his friend Lord Sligo. (See, too, his letter to Coleridge, dated
October 27, 1815, Letters, 1899, iii. 228.) It is probable that he revisited
Corinth more than once in the autumn of 1810; and we may infer that, just
as the place and its surroundings—the temple with its "two or three
columns" (line 497), and the view across the bay from Acro-Corinth—are
sketched from memory, so the story of the siege which took place in 1715 is
based upon tales and legends which were preserved and repeated by the
grandchildren of the besieged, and were taken down from their lips. There
is point and meaning in the apparently insignificant line (stanza xxiv. line
765), "We have heard the hearers say" (see variant i. p. 483), which is
slipped into the description of the final catastrophe. It bears witness to the
fact that the Siege of Corinth is not a poetical expansion of a chapter in
history, but a heightened reminiscence of local tradition.
History has, indeed, very little to say on the subject. The anonymous
Compleat History of the Turks (London, 1719), which Byron quotes as an
CORINTH.
In a note to the "Advertisement" to the Siege of Corinth (vide post, p. 447),
Byron puts it on record that during the years 1809-10 he had crossed the
Isthmus of Corinth eight times, and in a letter to his mother, dated Patras,
July 30, 1810, he alludes to a recent visit to the town of Corinth, in
company with his friend Lord Sligo. (See, too, his letter to Coleridge, dated
October 27, 1815, Letters, 1899, iii. 228.) It is probable that he revisited
Corinth more than once in the autumn of 1810; and we may infer that, just
as the place and its surroundings—the temple with its "two or three
columns" (line 497), and the view across the bay from Acro-Corinth—are
sketched from memory, so the story of the siege which took place in 1715 is
based upon tales and legends which were preserved and repeated by the
grandchildren of the besieged, and were taken down from their lips. There
is point and meaning in the apparently insignificant line (stanza xxiv. line
765), "We have heard the hearers say" (see variant i. p. 483), which is
slipped into the description of the final catastrophe. It bears witness to the
fact that the Siege of Corinth is not a poetical expansion of a chapter in
history, but a heightened reminiscence of local tradition.
History has, indeed, very little to say on the subject. The anonymous
Compleat History of the Turks (London, 1719), which Byron quotes as an
Page 501
authority, is meagre and inaccurate. Hammer-Purgstall (Histoire de l'Empire
Ottoman, 1839, xiii. 269), who gives as his authorities Girolamo Ferrari and
Raschid, dismisses the siege in a few lines; and it was not till the
publication of Finlay's History of Greece (vol. v., a . d . 1453-1821), in 1856,
that the facts were known or reported. Finlay's newly discovered authority
was a then unpublished MS. of a journal kept by Benjamin Brue, a
connection of Voltaire's, who accompanied the Grand Vizier, Ali Cumurgi,
as his interpreter, on the expedition into the Morea. According to Brue
(Journal de la Campagne ... en 1715 ... Paris, 1870, p. 18), the siege began
on June 28, 1715. A peremptory demand on the part of the Grand Vizier to
surrender at discretion was answered by the Venetian proveditor-general,
Giacomo Minetto, with calm but assured defiance ("Your menaces are
useless, for we are prepared to resist all your attacks, and, with confidence
in the assistance of God, we will preserve this fortress to the most serene
Republic. God is with us"). Nevertheless, the Turks made good their threat,
and on the 2nd of July the fortress capitulated. On the following day at
noon, whilst a party of Janissaries, contrary to order, were looting and
pillaging in all directions, the fortress was seen to be enveloped in smoke.
How or why the explosion happened was never discovered, but the result
was that some of the pillaging Janissaries perished, and that others, to
avenge their death, which they attributed to Venetian treachery, put the
garrison to the sword. It was believed at the time that Minetto was among
the slain; but, as Brue afterwards discovered, he was secretly conveyed to
Smyrna, and ultimately ransomed by the Dutch Consul.
The late Professor Kölbing (Siege of Corinth, 1893, p. xxvii.), in
commenting on the sources of the poem, suggests, under reserve, that
Byron may have derived the incident of Minetto's self-immolation from an
historic source—the siege of Zsigetvar, in 1566, when a multitude of Turks
Ottoman, 1839, xiii. 269), who gives as his authorities Girolamo Ferrari and
Raschid, dismisses the siege in a few lines; and it was not till the
publication of Finlay's History of Greece (vol. v., a . d . 1453-1821), in 1856,
that the facts were known or reported. Finlay's newly discovered authority
was a then unpublished MS. of a journal kept by Benjamin Brue, a
connection of Voltaire's, who accompanied the Grand Vizier, Ali Cumurgi,
as his interpreter, on the expedition into the Morea. According to Brue
(Journal de la Campagne ... en 1715 ... Paris, 1870, p. 18), the siege began
on June 28, 1715. A peremptory demand on the part of the Grand Vizier to
surrender at discretion was answered by the Venetian proveditor-general,
Giacomo Minetto, with calm but assured defiance ("Your menaces are
useless, for we are prepared to resist all your attacks, and, with confidence
in the assistance of God, we will preserve this fortress to the most serene
Republic. God is with us"). Nevertheless, the Turks made good their threat,
and on the 2nd of July the fortress capitulated. On the following day at
noon, whilst a party of Janissaries, contrary to order, were looting and
pillaging in all directions, the fortress was seen to be enveloped in smoke.
How or why the explosion happened was never discovered, but the result
was that some of the pillaging Janissaries perished, and that others, to
avenge their death, which they attributed to Venetian treachery, put the
garrison to the sword. It was believed at the time that Minetto was among
the slain; but, as Brue afterwards discovered, he was secretly conveyed to
Smyrna, and ultimately ransomed by the Dutch Consul.
The late Professor Kölbing (Siege of Corinth, 1893, p. xxvii.), in
commenting on the sources of the poem, suggests, under reserve, that
Byron may have derived the incident of Minetto's self-immolation from an
historic source—the siege of Zsigetvar, in 1566, when a multitude of Turks
Page 502
perished from the explosion of a powder magazine which had been fired at
the cost of his own life by the Hungarian commander Zrini.
It is, at least, equally probable that local patriotism was, in the first
instance, responsible for the poetic colouring, and that Byron supplemented
the meagre and uninteresting historic details which were at his disposal by
"intimate knowledge" of the Corinthian version of the siege. (See Memoirs
of the Life and Writings of the Right Hon. Lord Byron, London, 1822, p.
222; and Memoirs of the Life and Writings of Lord Byron, by George
Clinton, London, 1825, p. 284.)
It has been generally held that the Siege of Corinth was written in the
second half of 1815 (Kölbing's Siege of Corinth, p. vii.). "It appears," says
John Wright (Works, 1832, x. 100), "by the original MS., to have been
begun in July, 1815;" and Moore (Life, p. 307), who probably relied on the
same authority, speaks of "both the Siege of Corinth and Parisina having
been produced but a short time before the Separation" (i.e. spring, 1816).
Some words which Medwin (Conversations, 1824, p. 55) puts into Byron's
mouth point to the same conclusion. Byron's own testimony, which is
completely borne out by the MS. itself (dated Jy [i.e. January, not July] 31,
1815), is in direct conflict with these statements. In a note to stanza xix.
lines 521-532 (vide post, pp. 471-473) he affirms that it "was not till after
these lines were written" that he heard "that wild and singularly original and
beautiful poem [Christabel] recited;" and in a letter to S. T. Coleridge, dated
October 27, 1815 (Letters, 1899, iii. 228), he is careful to explain that "the
enclosed extract from an unpublished poem (i.e. stanza xix. lines 521-532)
... was written before (not seeing your Christabelle [sic], for that you know
I never did till this day), but before I heard Mr. S[cott] repeat it, which he
did in June last, and this thing was begun in January, and more than half
the cost of his own life by the Hungarian commander Zrini.
It is, at least, equally probable that local patriotism was, in the first
instance, responsible for the poetic colouring, and that Byron supplemented
the meagre and uninteresting historic details which were at his disposal by
"intimate knowledge" of the Corinthian version of the siege. (See Memoirs
of the Life and Writings of the Right Hon. Lord Byron, London, 1822, p.
222; and Memoirs of the Life and Writings of Lord Byron, by George
Clinton, London, 1825, p. 284.)
It has been generally held that the Siege of Corinth was written in the
second half of 1815 (Kölbing's Siege of Corinth, p. vii.). "It appears," says
John Wright (Works, 1832, x. 100), "by the original MS., to have been
begun in July, 1815;" and Moore (Life, p. 307), who probably relied on the
same authority, speaks of "both the Siege of Corinth and Parisina having
been produced but a short time before the Separation" (i.e. spring, 1816).
Some words which Medwin (Conversations, 1824, p. 55) puts into Byron's
mouth point to the same conclusion. Byron's own testimony, which is
completely borne out by the MS. itself (dated Jy [i.e. January, not July] 31,
1815), is in direct conflict with these statements. In a note to stanza xix.
lines 521-532 (vide post, pp. 471-473) he affirms that it "was not till after
these lines were written" that he heard "that wild and singularly original and
beautiful poem [Christabel] recited;" and in a letter to S. T. Coleridge, dated
October 27, 1815 (Letters, 1899, iii. 228), he is careful to explain that "the
enclosed extract from an unpublished poem (i.e. stanza xix. lines 521-532)
... was written before (not seeing your Christabelle [sic], for that you know
I never did till this day), but before I heard Mr. S[cott] repeat it, which he
did in June last, and this thing was begun in January, and more than half
Page 503
written before the Summer." The question of plagiarism will be discussed in
an addendum to Byron's note on the lines in question; but, subject to the
correction that it was, probably, at the end of May (see Lockhart's Memoir
of the Life of Sir W. Scott, 1871, pp. 311-313), not in June, that Scott recited
Christabel for Byron's benefit, the date of the composition of the poem
must be determined by the evidence of the author himself.
The copy of the MS. of the Siege of Corinth was sent to Murray at the
beginning (probably on the 2nd, the date of the copy) of November, and
was placed in Gifford's hands about the same time (see letter to Murray,
November 4, 1815, Letters, 1899, iii. 245; and Murray's undated letter on
Gifford's "great delight" in the poem, and his "three critical remarks,"
Memoir of John Murray, 1891, i. 356). As with Lara, Byron began by
insisting that the Siege should not be published separately, but slipped into a
fourth volume of the collected works, and once again (possibly when he had
at last made up his mind to accept a thousand guineas for his own
requirements, and not for other beneficiaries—Godwin, Coleridge, or
Maturin) yielded to his publisher's wishes and representations. At any rate,
the Siege of Corinth and Parisina, which, says Moore, "during the month of
January and part of February were in the hands of the printers" (Life, p.
300), were published in a single volume on February 7, 1816. The greater
reviews were silent, but notices appeared in numerous periodicals; e.g. the
Monthly Review, February, 1816, vol. lxxix. p. 196; the Eclectic Review,
March, 1816, N.S. vol. v. p. 269; the European, May, 1816, vol. lxxix. p.
427; the Literary Panorama, June, 1816, N.S. vol. iv. p. 418; etc. Many of
these reviews took occasion to pick out and hold up to ridicule the illogical
sentences, the grammatical solecisms, and general imperfections of
technique which marked and disfigured the Siege of Corinth. A passage in a
letter which John Murray wrote to his brother-publisher, William
an addendum to Byron's note on the lines in question; but, subject to the
correction that it was, probably, at the end of May (see Lockhart's Memoir
of the Life of Sir W. Scott, 1871, pp. 311-313), not in June, that Scott recited
Christabel for Byron's benefit, the date of the composition of the poem
must be determined by the evidence of the author himself.
The copy of the MS. of the Siege of Corinth was sent to Murray at the
beginning (probably on the 2nd, the date of the copy) of November, and
was placed in Gifford's hands about the same time (see letter to Murray,
November 4, 1815, Letters, 1899, iii. 245; and Murray's undated letter on
Gifford's "great delight" in the poem, and his "three critical remarks,"
Memoir of John Murray, 1891, i. 356). As with Lara, Byron began by
insisting that the Siege should not be published separately, but slipped into a
fourth volume of the collected works, and once again (possibly when he had
at last made up his mind to accept a thousand guineas for his own
requirements, and not for other beneficiaries—Godwin, Coleridge, or
Maturin) yielded to his publisher's wishes and representations. At any rate,
the Siege of Corinth and Parisina, which, says Moore, "during the month of
January and part of February were in the hands of the printers" (Life, p.
300), were published in a single volume on February 7, 1816. The greater
reviews were silent, but notices appeared in numerous periodicals; e.g. the
Monthly Review, February, 1816, vol. lxxix. p. 196; the Eclectic Review,
March, 1816, N.S. vol. v. p. 269; the European, May, 1816, vol. lxxix. p.
427; the Literary Panorama, June, 1816, N.S. vol. iv. p. 418; etc. Many of
these reviews took occasion to pick out and hold up to ridicule the illogical
sentences, the grammatical solecisms, and general imperfections of
technique which marked and disfigured the Siege of Corinth. A passage in a
letter which John Murray wrote to his brother-publisher, William
Page 504
Blackwood (Annals of a Publishing House, 1897, i. 53), refers to these
cavillings, and suggests both an apology and a retaliation—
"Many who by 'numbers judge a poet's song' are so stupid as not to see the
powerful effect of the poems, which is the great object of poetry, because they
can pick out fifty careless or even bad lines. The words may be carelessly put
together; but this is secondary. Many can write polished lines who will never
reach the name of poet. You see it is all poetically conceived in Lord B.'s mind."
In such wise did Murray bear testimony to Byron's "splendid and
imperishable excellence, which covers all his offences and outweighs all his
defects—the excellence of sincerity and strength."
TO
JOHN HOBHOUSE, ESQ.,
T HI S P OE M I S I NS C R I B E D,
BY HIS
F RI E ND.
January 22nd, 1816.
ADVERTISEMENT
cavillings, and suggests both an apology and a retaliation—
"Many who by 'numbers judge a poet's song' are so stupid as not to see the
powerful effect of the poems, which is the great object of poetry, because they
can pick out fifty careless or even bad lines. The words may be carelessly put
together; but this is secondary. Many can write polished lines who will never
reach the name of poet. You see it is all poetically conceived in Lord B.'s mind."
In such wise did Murray bear testimony to Byron's "splendid and
imperishable excellence, which covers all his offences and outweighs all his
defects—the excellence of sincerity and strength."
TO
JOHN HOBHOUSE, ESQ.,
T HI S P OE M I S I NS C R I B E D,
BY HIS
F RI E ND.
January 22nd, 1816.
ADVERTISEMENT
Page 505
"T he grand army of the Turks (in 1715), under the Prime Vizier, to open to
themselves a way into the heart of the Morea, and to form the siege of
Napoli di Romania, the most considerable place in all that country,[331]
thought it best in the first place to attack Corinth, upon which they made
several storms. The garrison being weakened, and the governor seeing it
was impossible to hold out such a place against so mighty a force, thought it
fit to beat a parley: but while they were treating about the articles, one of
the magazines in the Turkish camp, wherein they had six hundred barrels of
powder, blew up by accident, whereby six or seven hundred men were
killed; which so enraged the infidels, that they would not grant any
capitulation, but stormed the place with so much fury, that they took it, and
put most of the garrison, with Signior Minotti, the governor, to the sword.
The rest, with Signior or Antonio Bembo, Proveditor Extraordinary, were
made prisoners of war."—A Compleat History of the Turks [London, 1719],
iii. 151.
NOTE ON THE MS. OF THE SIEGE OF CORINTH.
The original MS. of the Siege of Corinth (now in the possession of Lord
Glenesk) consists of sixteen folio and nine quarto sheets, and numbers fifty
pages. Sheets 1-4 are folios, sheets 5-10 are quartos, sheets 11-22 are folios,
and sheets 23-25 are quartos.
To judge from the occasional and disconnected pagination, this MS.
consists of portions of two or more fair copies of a number of detached
themselves a way into the heart of the Morea, and to form the siege of
Napoli di Romania, the most considerable place in all that country,[331]
thought it best in the first place to attack Corinth, upon which they made
several storms. The garrison being weakened, and the governor seeing it
was impossible to hold out such a place against so mighty a force, thought it
fit to beat a parley: but while they were treating about the articles, one of
the magazines in the Turkish camp, wherein they had six hundred barrels of
powder, blew up by accident, whereby six or seven hundred men were
killed; which so enraged the infidels, that they would not grant any
capitulation, but stormed the place with so much fury, that they took it, and
put most of the garrison, with Signior Minotti, the governor, to the sword.
The rest, with Signior or Antonio Bembo, Proveditor Extraordinary, were
made prisoners of war."—A Compleat History of the Turks [London, 1719],
iii. 151.
NOTE ON THE MS. OF THE SIEGE OF CORINTH.
The original MS. of the Siege of Corinth (now in the possession of Lord
Glenesk) consists of sixteen folio and nine quarto sheets, and numbers fifty
pages. Sheets 1-4 are folios, sheets 5-10 are quartos, sheets 11-22 are folios,
and sheets 23-25 are quartos.
To judge from the occasional and disconnected pagination, this MS.
consists of portions of two or more fair copies of a number of detached
Page 506
scraps written at different times, together with two or three of the original
scraps which had not been transcribed.
The water-mark of the folios is, with one exception (No. 8, 1815), 1813;
and of the quartos, with one exception (No. 8, 1814), 1812.
Lord Glenesk's MS. is dated January 31, 1815. Lady Byron's transcript,
from which the Siege of Corinth was printed, and which is in Mr. Murray's
possession, is dated November 2, 1815.
scraps which had not been transcribed.
The water-mark of the folios is, with one exception (No. 8, 1815), 1813;
and of the quartos, with one exception (No. 8, 1814), 1812.
Lord Glenesk's MS. is dated January 31, 1815. Lady Byron's transcript,
from which the Siege of Corinth was printed, and which is in Mr. Murray's
possession, is dated November 2, 1815.
Page 507
THE SIEGE OF CORINTH
he year since Jesus died for men,[332]
hteen hundred years and ten,[333]
were a gallant company,
ing o'er land, and sailing o'er sea.
but we went merrily![334]
forded the river, and clomb the high hill,
er our steeds for a day stood still;
ether we lay in the cave or the shed,
sleep fell soft on the hardest bed;
ether we couched in our rough capote,[335] 10
the rougher plank of our gliding boat,
tretched on the beach, or our saddles spread,
a pillow beneath the resting head,
sh we woke upon the morrow:
All our thoughts and words had scope,
We had health, and we had hope,
and travel, but no sorrow.
were of all tongues and creeds;—
me were those who counted beads,
me of mosque, and some of church, 20
And some, or I mis-say, of neither;
through the wide world might ye search,
Nor find a motlier crew nor blither.
he year since Jesus died for men,[332]
hteen hundred years and ten,[333]
were a gallant company,
ing o'er land, and sailing o'er sea.
but we went merrily![334]
forded the river, and clomb the high hill,
er our steeds for a day stood still;
ether we lay in the cave or the shed,
sleep fell soft on the hardest bed;
ether we couched in our rough capote,[335] 10
the rougher plank of our gliding boat,
tretched on the beach, or our saddles spread,
a pillow beneath the resting head,
sh we woke upon the morrow:
All our thoughts and words had scope,
We had health, and we had hope,
and travel, but no sorrow.
were of all tongues and creeds;—
me were those who counted beads,
me of mosque, and some of church, 20
And some, or I mis-say, of neither;
through the wide world might ye search,
Nor find a motlier crew nor blither.
Page 508
some are dead, and some are gone,
d some are scattered and alone,
d some are rebels on the hills[336]
hat look along Epirus' valleys,
Where Freedom still at moments rallies,
d pays in blood Oppression's ills;
And some are in a far countree, 30
d some all restlessly at home;
ut never more, oh! never, we
ll meet to revel and to roam.
those hardy days flew cheerily![nz]
d when they now fall drearily,
thoughts, like swallows, skim the main,[337]
d bear my spirit back again
r the earth, and through the air,
ild bird and a wanderer.
this that ever wakes my strain, 40
d oft, too oft, implores again
few who may endure my lay,[oa]
ollow me so far away.
nger, wilt thou follow now,
d sit with me on Acro-Corinth's brow?
I.[338]
ny a vanished year and age,[ob]
d Tempest's breath, and Battle's rage,
e swept o'er Corinth; yet she stands,
ortress formed to Freedom's hands.[oc]
Whirlwind's wrath, the Earthquake's shock, 50
e left untouched her hoary rock,
keystone of a land, which still,
d some are scattered and alone,
d some are rebels on the hills[336]
hat look along Epirus' valleys,
Where Freedom still at moments rallies,
d pays in blood Oppression's ills;
And some are in a far countree, 30
d some all restlessly at home;
ut never more, oh! never, we
ll meet to revel and to roam.
those hardy days flew cheerily![nz]
d when they now fall drearily,
thoughts, like swallows, skim the main,[337]
d bear my spirit back again
r the earth, and through the air,
ild bird and a wanderer.
this that ever wakes my strain, 40
d oft, too oft, implores again
few who may endure my lay,[oa]
ollow me so far away.
nger, wilt thou follow now,
d sit with me on Acro-Corinth's brow?
I.[338]
ny a vanished year and age,[ob]
d Tempest's breath, and Battle's rage,
e swept o'er Corinth; yet she stands,
ortress formed to Freedom's hands.[oc]
Whirlwind's wrath, the Earthquake's shock, 50
e left untouched her hoary rock,
keystone of a land, which still,
Page 509
ugh fall'n, looks proudly on that hill,
landmark to the double tide
t purpling rolls on either side,
f their waters chafed to meet,
pause and crouch beneath her feet.
could the blood before her shed
ce first Timoleon's brother bled,[339]
baffled Persia's despot fled, 60
se from out the Earth which drank
stream of Slaughter as it sank,
t sanguine Ocean would o'erflow
isthmus idly spread below:
could the bones of all the slain,[od]
o perished there, be piled again,
t rival pyramid would rise
re mountain-like, through those clear skies[oe]
n yon tower-capp'd Acropolis,
ich seems the very clouds to kiss. 70
II.
dun Cithæron's ridge appears
gleam of twice ten thousand spears;
d downward to the Isthmian plain,
m shore to shore of either main,[of]
tent is pitched, the Crescent shines
ng the Moslem's leaguering lines;
d the dusk Spahi's bands[340] advance
eath each bearded Pacha's glance;
d far and wide as eye can reach[og]
turbaned cohorts throng the beach; 80
d there the Arab's camel kneels,
landmark to the double tide
t purpling rolls on either side,
f their waters chafed to meet,
pause and crouch beneath her feet.
could the blood before her shed
ce first Timoleon's brother bled,[339]
baffled Persia's despot fled, 60
se from out the Earth which drank
stream of Slaughter as it sank,
t sanguine Ocean would o'erflow
isthmus idly spread below:
could the bones of all the slain,[od]
o perished there, be piled again,
t rival pyramid would rise
re mountain-like, through those clear skies[oe]
n yon tower-capp'd Acropolis,
ich seems the very clouds to kiss. 70
II.
dun Cithæron's ridge appears
gleam of twice ten thousand spears;
d downward to the Isthmian plain,
m shore to shore of either main,[of]
tent is pitched, the Crescent shines
ng the Moslem's leaguering lines;
d the dusk Spahi's bands[340] advance
eath each bearded Pacha's glance;
d far and wide as eye can reach[og]
turbaned cohorts throng the beach; 80
d there the Arab's camel kneels,
Page 510
d there his steed the Tartar wheels;
Turcoman hath left his herd,[341]
sabre round his loins to gird;
d there the volleying thunders pour,
waves grow smoother to the roar.
trench is dug, the cannon's breath
gs the far hissing globe of death;[342]
whirl the fragments from the wall,
ich crumbles with the ponderous ball; 90
d from that wall the foe replies,
r dusty plain and smoky skies,
h fares that answer fast and well
summons of the Infidel.
III.
near and nearest to the wall
hose who wish and work its fall,
h deeper skill in War's black art,
n Othman's sons, and high of heart
any Chief that ever stood
umphant in the fields of blood; 100
m post to post, and deed to deed,
spurring on his reeking steed,
ere sallying ranks the trench assail,
d make the foremost Moslem quail;
where the battery, guarded well,
mains as yet impregnable,
ghting cheerly to inspire
soldier slackening in his fire;
first and freshest of the host
ich Stamboul's Sultan there can boast, 110
Turcoman hath left his herd,[341]
sabre round his loins to gird;
d there the volleying thunders pour,
waves grow smoother to the roar.
trench is dug, the cannon's breath
gs the far hissing globe of death;[342]
whirl the fragments from the wall,
ich crumbles with the ponderous ball; 90
d from that wall the foe replies,
r dusty plain and smoky skies,
h fares that answer fast and well
summons of the Infidel.
III.
near and nearest to the wall
hose who wish and work its fall,
h deeper skill in War's black art,
n Othman's sons, and high of heart
any Chief that ever stood
umphant in the fields of blood; 100
m post to post, and deed to deed,
spurring on his reeking steed,
ere sallying ranks the trench assail,
d make the foremost Moslem quail;
where the battery, guarded well,
mains as yet impregnable,
ghting cheerly to inspire
soldier slackening in his fire;
first and freshest of the host
ich Stamboul's Sultan there can boast, 110
Page 511
guide the follower o'er the field,
point the tube, the lance to wield,
whirl around the bickering blade;—
Alp, the Adrian renegade![343]
IV.
m Venice—once a race of worth
gentle Sires—he drew his birth;
late an exile from her shore,[oh]
inst his countrymen he bore
arms they taught to bear; and now
turban girt his shaven brow. 120
ough many a change had Corinth passed
h Greece to Venice' rule at last;
d here, before her walls, with those
Greece and Venice equal foes,
stood a foe, with all the zeal
ich young and fiery converts feel,
hin whose heated bosom throngs
memory of a thousand wrongs.
him had Venice ceased to be
ancient civic boast—"the Free;" 130
d in the palace of St. Mark
named accusers in the dark
hin the "Lion's mouth" had placed
harge against him uneffaced:[344]
fled in time, and saved his life,
waste his future years in strife,[oi]
t taught his land how great her loss
im who triumphed o'er the Cross,
nst which he reared the Crescent high,
point the tube, the lance to wield,
whirl around the bickering blade;—
Alp, the Adrian renegade![343]
IV.
m Venice—once a race of worth
gentle Sires—he drew his birth;
late an exile from her shore,[oh]
inst his countrymen he bore
arms they taught to bear; and now
turban girt his shaven brow. 120
ough many a change had Corinth passed
h Greece to Venice' rule at last;
d here, before her walls, with those
Greece and Venice equal foes,
stood a foe, with all the zeal
ich young and fiery converts feel,
hin whose heated bosom throngs
memory of a thousand wrongs.
him had Venice ceased to be
ancient civic boast—"the Free;" 130
d in the palace of St. Mark
named accusers in the dark
hin the "Lion's mouth" had placed
harge against him uneffaced:[344]
fled in time, and saved his life,
waste his future years in strife,[oi]
t taught his land how great her loss
im who triumphed o'er the Cross,
nst which he reared the Crescent high,
Page 512
d battled to avenge or die. 140
V.
mourgi[345]—he whose closing scene
orned the triumph of Eugene,
en on Carlowitz' bloody plain,
last and mightiest of the slain,
sank, regretting not to die,
cursed the Christian's victory—
mourgi—can his glory cease,
t latest conqueror of Greece,
Christian hands to Greece restore
freedom Venice gave of yore? 150
undred years have rolled away
ce he refixed the Moslem's sway;
d now he led the Mussulman,
d gave the guidance of the van
Alp, who well repaid the trust
cities levelled with the dust;
d proved, by many a deed of death,
w firm his heart in novel faith.
VI.
walls grew weak; and fast and hot
inst them poured the ceaseless shot, 160
h unabating fury sent
m battery to battlement;
d thunder-like the pealing din[oj]
e from each heated culverin;
d here and there some crackling dome
fired before the exploding bomb;
V.
mourgi[345]—he whose closing scene
orned the triumph of Eugene,
en on Carlowitz' bloody plain,
last and mightiest of the slain,
sank, regretting not to die,
cursed the Christian's victory—
mourgi—can his glory cease,
t latest conqueror of Greece,
Christian hands to Greece restore
freedom Venice gave of yore? 150
undred years have rolled away
ce he refixed the Moslem's sway;
d now he led the Mussulman,
d gave the guidance of the van
Alp, who well repaid the trust
cities levelled with the dust;
d proved, by many a deed of death,
w firm his heart in novel faith.
VI.
walls grew weak; and fast and hot
inst them poured the ceaseless shot, 160
h unabating fury sent
m battery to battlement;
d thunder-like the pealing din[oj]
e from each heated culverin;
d here and there some crackling dome
fired before the exploding bomb;
Page 513
d as the fabric sank beneath
shattering shell's volcanic breath,
ed and wreathing columns flashed
flame, as loud the ruin crashed, 170
nto countless meteors driven,
arth-stars melted into heaven;[ok]
ose clouds that day grew doubly dun,
ervious to the hidden sun,
h volumed smoke that slowly grew[ol]
one wide sky of sulphurous hue.
VII.
not for vengeance, long delayed,
ne, did Alp, the renegade,
Moslem warriors sternly teach
skill to pierce the promised breach: 180
hin these walls a Maid was pent
hope would win, without consent
hat inexorable Sire,
ose heart refused him in its ire,
en Alp, beneath his Christian name,
virgin hand aspired to claim.
appier mood, and earlier time,
ile unimpeached for traitorous crime,
est in Gondola or Hall,
glittered through the Carnival; 190
d tuned the softest serenade
t e'er on Adria's waters played
midnight to Italian maid.[om]
VIII.
shattering shell's volcanic breath,
ed and wreathing columns flashed
flame, as loud the ruin crashed, 170
nto countless meteors driven,
arth-stars melted into heaven;[ok]
ose clouds that day grew doubly dun,
ervious to the hidden sun,
h volumed smoke that slowly grew[ol]
one wide sky of sulphurous hue.
VII.
not for vengeance, long delayed,
ne, did Alp, the renegade,
Moslem warriors sternly teach
skill to pierce the promised breach: 180
hin these walls a Maid was pent
hope would win, without consent
hat inexorable Sire,
ose heart refused him in its ire,
en Alp, beneath his Christian name,
virgin hand aspired to claim.
appier mood, and earlier time,
ile unimpeached for traitorous crime,
est in Gondola or Hall,
glittered through the Carnival; 190
d tuned the softest serenade
t e'er on Adria's waters played
midnight to Italian maid.[om]
VIII.
Page 514
d many deemed her heart was won;
sought by numbers, given to none,
young Francesca's hand remained
by the Church's bonds unchained:
d when the Adriatic bore
ciotto to the Paynim shore,
wonted smiles were seen to fail, 200
d pensive waxed the maid and pale;
re constant at confessional,
re rare at masque and festival;
een at such, with downcast eyes,
ich conquered hearts they ceased to prize:
h listless look she seems to gaze:
h humbler care her form arrays;
voice less lively in the song;
step, though light, less fleet among
pairs, on whom the Morning's glance 210
aks, yet unsated with the dance.
IX.
t by the State to guard the land,
hich, wrested from the Moslem's hand,[346]
ile Sobieski tamed his pride
Buda's wall and Danube's side,[on]
chiefs of Venice wrung away
m Patra to Euboea's bay,)
otti held in Corinth's towers[oo]
Doge's delegated powers,
ile yet the pitying eye of Peace 220
led o'er her long forgotten Greece:
d ere that faithless truce was broke
sought by numbers, given to none,
young Francesca's hand remained
by the Church's bonds unchained:
d when the Adriatic bore
ciotto to the Paynim shore,
wonted smiles were seen to fail, 200
d pensive waxed the maid and pale;
re constant at confessional,
re rare at masque and festival;
een at such, with downcast eyes,
ich conquered hearts they ceased to prize:
h listless look she seems to gaze:
h humbler care her form arrays;
voice less lively in the song;
step, though light, less fleet among
pairs, on whom the Morning's glance 210
aks, yet unsated with the dance.
IX.
t by the State to guard the land,
hich, wrested from the Moslem's hand,[346]
ile Sobieski tamed his pride
Buda's wall and Danube's side,[on]
chiefs of Venice wrung away
m Patra to Euboea's bay,)
otti held in Corinth's towers[oo]
Doge's delegated powers,
ile yet the pitying eye of Peace 220
led o'er her long forgotten Greece:
d ere that faithless truce was broke
Page 515
ich freed her from the unchristian yoke,
h him his gentle daughter came;
there, since Menelaus' dame
sook her lord and land, to prove
at woes await on lawless love,
fairer form adorned the shore
n she, the matchless stranger, bore.[op]
X.
wall is rent, the ruins yawn; 230
d, with to-morrow's earliest dawn,
r the disjointed mass shall vault
foremost of the fierce assault.
bands are ranked—the chosen van
Tartar and of Mussulman,
full of hope, misnamed "forlorn,"[347]
o hold the thought of death in scorn,
d win their way with falchion's force,
pave the path with many a corse,
r which the following brave may rise, 240
ir stepping-stone—the last who dies![oq]
XI.
midnight: on the mountains brown[348]
cold, round moon shines deeply down;
e roll the waters, blue the sky
eads like an ocean hung on high,
pangled with those isles of light,[or][349]
wildly, spiritually bright;
o ever gazed upon them shining
h him his gentle daughter came;
there, since Menelaus' dame
sook her lord and land, to prove
at woes await on lawless love,
fairer form adorned the shore
n she, the matchless stranger, bore.[op]
X.
wall is rent, the ruins yawn; 230
d, with to-morrow's earliest dawn,
r the disjointed mass shall vault
foremost of the fierce assault.
bands are ranked—the chosen van
Tartar and of Mussulman,
full of hope, misnamed "forlorn,"[347]
o hold the thought of death in scorn,
d win their way with falchion's force,
pave the path with many a corse,
r which the following brave may rise, 240
ir stepping-stone—the last who dies![oq]
XI.
midnight: on the mountains brown[348]
cold, round moon shines deeply down;
e roll the waters, blue the sky
eads like an ocean hung on high,
pangled with those isles of light,[or][349]
wildly, spiritually bright;
o ever gazed upon them shining
Page 516
d turned to earth without repining,
wished for wings to flee away, 250
d mix with their eternal ray?
waves on either shore lay there
m, clear, and azure as the air;
d scarce their foam the pebbles shook,
murmured meekly as the brook.
winds were pillowed on the waves;
banners drooped along their staves,
d, as they fell around them furling,
ove them shone the crescent curling;
d that deep silence was unbroke, 260
e where the watch his signal spoke,
e where the steed neighed oft and shrill,
d echo answered from the hill,
d the wide hum of that wild host
tled like leaves from coast to coast,
rose the Muezzin's voice in air
midnight call to wonted prayer;
se, that chanted mournful strain,
e some lone Spirit's o'er the plain:
as musical, but sadly sweet, 270
h as when winds and harp-strings meet,
d take a long unmeasured tone,
mortal minstrelsy unknown.[os]
emed to those within the wall
ry prophetic of their fall:
ruck even the besieger's ear
h something ominous and drear,[350]
undefined and sudden thrill,
ich makes the heart a moment still,
wished for wings to flee away, 250
d mix with their eternal ray?
waves on either shore lay there
m, clear, and azure as the air;
d scarce their foam the pebbles shook,
murmured meekly as the brook.
winds were pillowed on the waves;
banners drooped along their staves,
d, as they fell around them furling,
ove them shone the crescent curling;
d that deep silence was unbroke, 260
e where the watch his signal spoke,
e where the steed neighed oft and shrill,
d echo answered from the hill,
d the wide hum of that wild host
tled like leaves from coast to coast,
rose the Muezzin's voice in air
midnight call to wonted prayer;
se, that chanted mournful strain,
e some lone Spirit's o'er the plain:
as musical, but sadly sweet, 270
h as when winds and harp-strings meet,
d take a long unmeasured tone,
mortal minstrelsy unknown.[os]
emed to those within the wall
ry prophetic of their fall:
ruck even the besieger's ear
h something ominous and drear,[350]
undefined and sudden thrill,
ich makes the heart a moment still,
Page 517
n beat with quicker pulse, ashamed 280
hat strange sense its silence framed;
h as a sudden passing-bell
kes, though but for a stranger's knell.[ot]
XII.
tent of Alp was on the shore;
sound was hushed, the prayer was o'er;
watch was set, the night-round made,
mandates issued and obeyed:
but another anxious night,
pains the morrow may requite
h all Revenge and Love can pay, 290
uerdon for their long delay.
w hours remain, and he hath need
est, to nerve for many a deed
laughter; but within his soul
thoughts like troubled waters roll.[ou]
stood alone among the host;
his the loud fanatic boast
plant the Crescent o'er the Cross,
isk a life with little loss,
ure in paradise to be 300
Houris loved immortally:
his, what burning patriots feel,
stern exaltedness of zeal,
fuse of blood, untired in toil,
en battling on the parent soil.
stood alone—a renegade
inst the country he betrayed;
stood alone amidst his band,
hat strange sense its silence framed;
h as a sudden passing-bell
kes, though but for a stranger's knell.[ot]
XII.
tent of Alp was on the shore;
sound was hushed, the prayer was o'er;
watch was set, the night-round made,
mandates issued and obeyed:
but another anxious night,
pains the morrow may requite
h all Revenge and Love can pay, 290
uerdon for their long delay.
w hours remain, and he hath need
est, to nerve for many a deed
laughter; but within his soul
thoughts like troubled waters roll.[ou]
stood alone among the host;
his the loud fanatic boast
plant the Crescent o'er the Cross,
isk a life with little loss,
ure in paradise to be 300
Houris loved immortally:
his, what burning patriots feel,
stern exaltedness of zeal,
fuse of blood, untired in toil,
en battling on the parent soil.
stood alone—a renegade
inst the country he betrayed;
stood alone amidst his band,
Page 518
hout a trusted heart or hand:
y followed him, for he was brave, 310
d great the spoil he got and gave;
y crouched to him, for he had skill
warp and wield the vulgar will:[ov]
still his Christian origin
h them was little less than sin.
y envied even the faithless fame
earned beneath a Moslem name;
ce he, their mightiest chief, had been
outh a bitter Nazarene.
y did not know how Pride can stoop, 320
en baffled feelings withering droop;
y did not know how Hate can burn
earts once changed from soft to stern;
all the false and fatal zeal
convert of Revenge can feel.
ruled them—man may rule the worst,
ever daring to be first:
ions o'er the jackals sway;
jackal points, he fells the prey,[ow][351]
n on the vulgar, yelling, press, 330
gorge the relics of success.
XIII.
head grows fevered, and his pulse
quick successive throbs convulse;
ain from side to side he throws
form, in courtship of repose;[ox]
f he dozed, a sound, a start
oke him with a sunken heart.
y followed him, for he was brave, 310
d great the spoil he got and gave;
y crouched to him, for he had skill
warp and wield the vulgar will:[ov]
still his Christian origin
h them was little less than sin.
y envied even the faithless fame
earned beneath a Moslem name;
ce he, their mightiest chief, had been
outh a bitter Nazarene.
y did not know how Pride can stoop, 320
en baffled feelings withering droop;
y did not know how Hate can burn
earts once changed from soft to stern;
all the false and fatal zeal
convert of Revenge can feel.
ruled them—man may rule the worst,
ever daring to be first:
ions o'er the jackals sway;
jackal points, he fells the prey,[ow][351]
n on the vulgar, yelling, press, 330
gorge the relics of success.
XIII.
head grows fevered, and his pulse
quick successive throbs convulse;
ain from side to side he throws
form, in courtship of repose;[ox]
f he dozed, a sound, a start
oke him with a sunken heart.
Page 519
turban on his hot brow pressed,
mail weighed lead-like on his breast,
ugh oft and long beneath its weight 340
on his eyes had slumber sate,
hout or couch or canopy,
ept a rougher field and sky[oy]
n now might yield a warrior's bed,
n now along the heaven was spread.
could not rest, he could not stay
hin his tent to wait for day,[oz]
walked him forth along the sand,
ere thousand sleepers strewed the strand.
at pillowed them? and why should he 350
re wakeful than the humblest be,
ce more their peril, worse their toil?
d yet they fearless dream of spoil;
ile he alone, where thousands passed
ight of sleep, perchance their last,
ickly vigil wandered on,
d envied all he gazed upon.
XIV.
felt his soul become more light
eath the freshness of the night.
l was the silent sky, though calm, 360
d bathed his brow with airy balm:
ind, the camp—before him lay,
many a winding creek and bay,
anto's gulf; and, on the brow
Delphi's hill, unshaken snow,[pa]
h and eternal, such as shone
mail weighed lead-like on his breast,
ugh oft and long beneath its weight 340
on his eyes had slumber sate,
hout or couch or canopy,
ept a rougher field and sky[oy]
n now might yield a warrior's bed,
n now along the heaven was spread.
could not rest, he could not stay
hin his tent to wait for day,[oz]
walked him forth along the sand,
ere thousand sleepers strewed the strand.
at pillowed them? and why should he 350
re wakeful than the humblest be,
ce more their peril, worse their toil?
d yet they fearless dream of spoil;
ile he alone, where thousands passed
ight of sleep, perchance their last,
ickly vigil wandered on,
d envied all he gazed upon.
XIV.
felt his soul become more light
eath the freshness of the night.
l was the silent sky, though calm, 360
d bathed his brow with airy balm:
ind, the camp—before him lay,
many a winding creek and bay,
anto's gulf; and, on the brow
Delphi's hill, unshaken snow,[pa]
h and eternal, such as shone
Page 520
ough thousand summers brightly gone,
ng the gulf, the mount, the clime;
ill not melt, like man, to time:
ant and slave are swept away, 370
s formed to wear before the ray;
that white veil, the lightest, frailest,[352]
ich on the mighty mount thou hailest,
ile tower and tree are torn and rent,
nes o'er its craggy battlement;
orm a peak, in height a cloud,
exture like a hovering shroud,
s high by parting Freedom spread,
from her fond abode she fled,
d lingered on the spot, where long 380
prophet spirit spake in song.[pb]
still her step at moments falters
r withered fields, and ruined altars,
d fain would wake, in souls too broken,
pointing to each glorious token:
vain her voice, till better days
wn in those yet remembered rays,
ich shone upon the Persian flying,
d saw the Spartan smile in dying.
XV.
mindless of these mighty times 390
Alp, despite his flight and crimes;
d through this night, as on he wandered,[pc]
d o'er the past and present pondered,
d thought upon the glorious dead
o there in better cause had bled,
ng the gulf, the mount, the clime;
ill not melt, like man, to time:
ant and slave are swept away, 370
s formed to wear before the ray;
that white veil, the lightest, frailest,[352]
ich on the mighty mount thou hailest,
ile tower and tree are torn and rent,
nes o'er its craggy battlement;
orm a peak, in height a cloud,
exture like a hovering shroud,
s high by parting Freedom spread,
from her fond abode she fled,
d lingered on the spot, where long 380
prophet spirit spake in song.[pb]
still her step at moments falters
r withered fields, and ruined altars,
d fain would wake, in souls too broken,
pointing to each glorious token:
vain her voice, till better days
wn in those yet remembered rays,
ich shone upon the Persian flying,
d saw the Spartan smile in dying.
XV.
mindless of these mighty times 390
Alp, despite his flight and crimes;
d through this night, as on he wandered,[pc]
d o'er the past and present pondered,
d thought upon the glorious dead
o there in better cause had bled,
Page 521
felt how faint and feebly dim[pd]
fame that could accrue to him,
o cheered the band, and waved the sword,[pe]
aitor in a turbaned horde;
d led them to the lawless siege, 400
ose best success were sacrilege.
so had those his fancy numbered,[353]
chiefs whose dust around him slumbered;
ir phalanx marshalled on the plain,
ose bulwarks were not then in vain.
y fell devoted, but undying;
very gale their names seemed sighing;
waters murmured of their name;
woods were peopled with their fame;
silent pillar, lone and grey, 410
med kindred with their sacred clay;
ir spirits wrapped the dusky mountain,
ir memory sparkled o'er the fountain;[pf]
meanest rill, the mightiest river
led mingling with their fame for ever.
pite of every yoke she bears,
t land is Glory's still and theirs![pg]
still a watch-word to the earth:
en man would do a deed of worth
points to Greece, and turns to tread, 420
anctioned, on the tyrant's head:
looks to her, and rushes on
ere life is lost, or Freedom won.[ph]
XVI.
by the shore Alp mutely mused,
fame that could accrue to him,
o cheered the band, and waved the sword,[pe]
aitor in a turbaned horde;
d led them to the lawless siege, 400
ose best success were sacrilege.
so had those his fancy numbered,[353]
chiefs whose dust around him slumbered;
ir phalanx marshalled on the plain,
ose bulwarks were not then in vain.
y fell devoted, but undying;
very gale their names seemed sighing;
waters murmured of their name;
woods were peopled with their fame;
silent pillar, lone and grey, 410
med kindred with their sacred clay;
ir spirits wrapped the dusky mountain,
ir memory sparkled o'er the fountain;[pf]
meanest rill, the mightiest river
led mingling with their fame for ever.
pite of every yoke she bears,
t land is Glory's still and theirs![pg]
still a watch-word to the earth:
en man would do a deed of worth
points to Greece, and turns to tread, 420
anctioned, on the tyrant's head:
looks to her, and rushes on
ere life is lost, or Freedom won.[ph]
XVI.
by the shore Alp mutely mused,
Page 522
d wooed the freshness Night diffused.
re shrinks no ebb in that tideless sea,[354]
ich changeless rolls eternally;
hat wildest of waves, in their angriest mood,[pi]
rce break on the bounds of the land for a rood;
d the powerless moon beholds them flow, 430
dless if she come or go:
m or high, in main or bay,
their course she hath no sway.
rock unworn its base doth bare,
d looks o'er the surf, but it comes not there;
d the fringe of the foam may be seen below,
the line that it left long ages ago:
mooth short space of yellow sand[pj][355]
ween it and the greener land.
wandered on along the beach, 440
within the range of a carbine's reach
he leaguered wall; but they saw him not,
how could he 'scape from the hostile shot?[pk]
traitors lurk in the Christians' hold?
e their hands grown stiff, or their hearts waxed cold?
ow not, in sooth; but from yonder wall[pl]
re flashed no fire, and there hissed no ball,
ugh he stood beneath the bastion's frown,
t flanked the seaward gate of the town;
ugh he heard the sound, and could almost tell 450
sullen words of the sentinel,
his measured step on the stone below
nked, as he paced it to and fro;
d he saw the lean dogs beneath the wall
re shrinks no ebb in that tideless sea,[354]
ich changeless rolls eternally;
hat wildest of waves, in their angriest mood,[pi]
rce break on the bounds of the land for a rood;
d the powerless moon beholds them flow, 430
dless if she come or go:
m or high, in main or bay,
their course she hath no sway.
rock unworn its base doth bare,
d looks o'er the surf, but it comes not there;
d the fringe of the foam may be seen below,
the line that it left long ages ago:
mooth short space of yellow sand[pj][355]
ween it and the greener land.
wandered on along the beach, 440
within the range of a carbine's reach
he leaguered wall; but they saw him not,
how could he 'scape from the hostile shot?[pk]
traitors lurk in the Christians' hold?
e their hands grown stiff, or their hearts waxed cold?
ow not, in sooth; but from yonder wall[pl]
re flashed no fire, and there hissed no ball,
ugh he stood beneath the bastion's frown,
t flanked the seaward gate of the town;
ugh he heard the sound, and could almost tell 450
sullen words of the sentinel,
his measured step on the stone below
nked, as he paced it to and fro;
d he saw the lean dogs beneath the wall
Page 523
d o'er the dead their Carnival,[356]
ging and growling o'er carcass and limb;
y were too busy to bark at him!
m a Tartar's skull they had stripped the flesh,
ye peel the fig when its fruit is fresh;
d their white tusks crunched o'er the whiter skull,[357] 460
t slipped through their jaws, when their edge grew dull,
hey lazily mumbled the bones of the dead,
en they scarce could rise from the spot where they fed;
well had they broken a lingering fast
h those who had fallen for that night's repast.
d Alp knew, by the turbans that rolled on the sand,
foremost of these were the best of his band:
mson and green were the shawls of their wear,
d each scalp had a single long tuft of hair,[358]
the rest was shaven and bare. 470
scalps were in the wild dog's maw,
hair was tangled round his jaw:
close by the shore, on the edge of the gulf,
re sat a vulture flapping a wolf,
o had stolen from the hills, but kept away,
red by the dogs, from the human prey;
he seized on his share of a steed that lay,
ked by the birds, on the sands of the bay.
XVII.
turned him from the sickening sight:
er had shaken his nerves in fight; 480
he better could brook to behold the dying,
p in the tide of their warm blood lying,[pm][359]
rched with the death-thirst, and writhing in vain,
ging and growling o'er carcass and limb;
y were too busy to bark at him!
m a Tartar's skull they had stripped the flesh,
ye peel the fig when its fruit is fresh;
d their white tusks crunched o'er the whiter skull,[357] 460
t slipped through their jaws, when their edge grew dull,
hey lazily mumbled the bones of the dead,
en they scarce could rise from the spot where they fed;
well had they broken a lingering fast
h those who had fallen for that night's repast.
d Alp knew, by the turbans that rolled on the sand,
foremost of these were the best of his band:
mson and green were the shawls of their wear,
d each scalp had a single long tuft of hair,[358]
the rest was shaven and bare. 470
scalps were in the wild dog's maw,
hair was tangled round his jaw:
close by the shore, on the edge of the gulf,
re sat a vulture flapping a wolf,
o had stolen from the hills, but kept away,
red by the dogs, from the human prey;
he seized on his share of a steed that lay,
ked by the birds, on the sands of the bay.
XVII.
turned him from the sickening sight:
er had shaken his nerves in fight; 480
he better could brook to behold the dying,
p in the tide of their warm blood lying,[pm][359]
rched with the death-thirst, and writhing in vain,
Page 524
n the perishing dead who are past all pain.[pn][360]
re is something of pride in the perilous hour,
ate'er be the shape in which Death may lower;
Fame is there to say who bleeds,
d Honour's eye on daring deeds![361]
when all is past, it is humbling to tread[po]
r the weltering field of the tombless dead,[362] 490
d see worms of the earth, and fowls of the air,
sts of the forest, all gathering there;
regarding man as their prey,
rejoicing in his decay.[pp]
XVIII.
re is a temple in ruin stands,
hioned by long forgotten hands;
o or three columns, and many a stone,
ble and granite, with grass o'ergrown!
upon Time! it will leave no more
he things to come than the things before![pq][363] 500
upon Time! who for ever will leave
enough of the past for the future to grieve
r that which hath been, and o'er that which must be:
at we have seen, our sons shall see;
mnants of things that have passed away,
gments of stone, reared by creatures of clay![pr]
XIX.
sate him down at a pillar's base,[364]
d passed his hand athwart his face;
e one in dreary musing mood,
re is something of pride in the perilous hour,
ate'er be the shape in which Death may lower;
Fame is there to say who bleeds,
d Honour's eye on daring deeds![361]
when all is past, it is humbling to tread[po]
r the weltering field of the tombless dead,[362] 490
d see worms of the earth, and fowls of the air,
sts of the forest, all gathering there;
regarding man as their prey,
rejoicing in his decay.[pp]
XVIII.
re is a temple in ruin stands,
hioned by long forgotten hands;
o or three columns, and many a stone,
ble and granite, with grass o'ergrown!
upon Time! it will leave no more
he things to come than the things before![pq][363] 500
upon Time! who for ever will leave
enough of the past for the future to grieve
r that which hath been, and o'er that which must be:
at we have seen, our sons shall see;
mnants of things that have passed away,
gments of stone, reared by creatures of clay![pr]
XIX.
sate him down at a pillar's base,[364]
d passed his hand athwart his face;
e one in dreary musing mood,
Page 525
lining was his attitude; 510
head was drooping on his breast,
ered, throbbing, and oppressed;
d o'er his brow, so downward bent,
his beating fingers went,
riedly, as you may see
r own run over the ivory key,
the measured tone is taken
the chords you would awaken.
re he sate all heavily,
he heard the night-wind sigh. 520
it the wind through some hollow stone,[ps]
t that soft and tender moan?[365]
lifted his head, and he looked on the sea,
it was unrippled as glass may be;
looked on the long grass—it waved not a blade;
w was that gentle sound conveyed?
looked to the banners—each flag lay still,
did the leaves on Cithæron's hill,
d he felt not a breath come over his cheek;
at did that sudden sound bespeak? 530
turned to the left—is he sure of sight?
re sate a lady, youthful and bright![pt][366]
XX.
started up with more of fear
n if an arméd foe were near.
d of my fathers! what is here?
o art thou? and wherefore sent
near a hostile armament?"
trembling hands refused to sign
head was drooping on his breast,
ered, throbbing, and oppressed;
d o'er his brow, so downward bent,
his beating fingers went,
riedly, as you may see
r own run over the ivory key,
the measured tone is taken
the chords you would awaken.
re he sate all heavily,
he heard the night-wind sigh. 520
it the wind through some hollow stone,[ps]
t that soft and tender moan?[365]
lifted his head, and he looked on the sea,
it was unrippled as glass may be;
looked on the long grass—it waved not a blade;
w was that gentle sound conveyed?
looked to the banners—each flag lay still,
did the leaves on Cithæron's hill,
d he felt not a breath come over his cheek;
at did that sudden sound bespeak? 530
turned to the left—is he sure of sight?
re sate a lady, youthful and bright![pt][366]
XX.
started up with more of fear
n if an arméd foe were near.
d of my fathers! what is here?
o art thou? and wherefore sent
near a hostile armament?"
trembling hands refused to sign
Page 526
cross he deemed no more divine:
had resumed it in that hour,[pu] 540
Conscience wrung away the power.
gazed, he saw; he knew the face
beauty, and the form of grace;
as Francesca by his side,
maid who might have been his bride![pv]
rose was yet upon her cheek,
mellowed with a tenderer streak:
ere was the play of her soft lips fled?
ne was the smile that enlivened their red.
Ocean's calm within their view,[pw] 550
ide her eye had less of blue;
like that cold wave it stood still,
d its glance, though clear, was chill.[367]
und her form a thin robe twining,
ught concealed her bosom shining;
ough the parting of her hair,
ating darkly downward there,
rounded arm showed white and bare:
d ere yet she made reply,
e she raised her hand on high; 560
as so wan, and transparent of hue,
might have seen the moon shine through.
XXI.
ome from my rest to him I love best,
t I may be happy, and he may be blessed.
ve passed the guards, the gate, the wall;
ght thee in safety through foes and all.
had resumed it in that hour,[pu] 540
Conscience wrung away the power.
gazed, he saw; he knew the face
beauty, and the form of grace;
as Francesca by his side,
maid who might have been his bride![pv]
rose was yet upon her cheek,
mellowed with a tenderer streak:
ere was the play of her soft lips fled?
ne was the smile that enlivened their red.
Ocean's calm within their view,[pw] 550
ide her eye had less of blue;
like that cold wave it stood still,
d its glance, though clear, was chill.[367]
und her form a thin robe twining,
ught concealed her bosom shining;
ough the parting of her hair,
ating darkly downward there,
rounded arm showed white and bare:
d ere yet she made reply,
e she raised her hand on high; 560
as so wan, and transparent of hue,
might have seen the moon shine through.
XXI.
ome from my rest to him I love best,
t I may be happy, and he may be blessed.
ve passed the guards, the gate, the wall;
ght thee in safety through foes and all.
Page 527
said the lion will turn and flee[368]
m a maid in the pride of her purity;
d the Power on high, that can shield the good
s from the tyrant of the wood, 570
h extended its mercy to guard me as well
m the hands of the leaguering Infidel.
me—and if I come in vain,
er, oh never, we meet again!
u hast done a fearful deed
alling away from thy fathers' creed:
dash that turban to earth, and sign
sign of the cross, and for ever be mine;
ng the black drop from thy heart,
d to-morrow unites us no more to part." 580
d where should our bridal couch be spread?
he midst of the dying and the dead?
to-morrow we give to the slaughter and flame
sons and the shrines of the Christian name.
ne, save thou and thine, I've sworn,
ll be left upon the morn:
thee will I bear to a lovely spot,
ere our hands shall be joined, and our sorrow forgot.
re thou yet shall be my bride,
en once again I've quelled the pride 590
Venice; and her hated race
e felt the arm they would debase
urge, with a whip of scorpions, those
om Vice and Envy made my foes."
on his hand she laid her own—
ht was the touch, but it thrilled to the bone,
m a maid in the pride of her purity;
d the Power on high, that can shield the good
s from the tyrant of the wood, 570
h extended its mercy to guard me as well
m the hands of the leaguering Infidel.
me—and if I come in vain,
er, oh never, we meet again!
u hast done a fearful deed
alling away from thy fathers' creed:
dash that turban to earth, and sign
sign of the cross, and for ever be mine;
ng the black drop from thy heart,
d to-morrow unites us no more to part." 580
d where should our bridal couch be spread?
he midst of the dying and the dead?
to-morrow we give to the slaughter and flame
sons and the shrines of the Christian name.
ne, save thou and thine, I've sworn,
ll be left upon the morn:
thee will I bear to a lovely spot,
ere our hands shall be joined, and our sorrow forgot.
re thou yet shall be my bride,
en once again I've quelled the pride 590
Venice; and her hated race
e felt the arm they would debase
urge, with a whip of scorpions, those
om Vice and Envy made my foes."
on his hand she laid her own—
ht was the touch, but it thrilled to the bone,
Page 528
d shot a chillness to his heart,[px]
ich fixed him beyond the power to start.
ugh slight was that grasp so mortal cold,
could not loose him from its hold; 600
never did clasp of one so dear
ke on the pulse with such feeling of fear,
hose thin fingers, long and white,
ze through his blood by their touch that night.
feverish glow of his brow was gone,
d his heart sank so still that it felt like stone,
he looked on the face, and beheld its hue,[py]
deeply changed from what he knew:
but faint—without the ray
mind, that made each feature play 610
e sparkling waves on a sunny day;
d her motionless lips lay still as death,
d her words came forth without her breath,
d there rose not a heave o'er her bosom's swell,[pz]
d there seemed not a pulse in her veins to dwell.
ugh her eye shone out, yet the lids were fixed,[369]
d the glance that it gave was wild and unmixed
h aught of change, as the eyes may seem
he restless who walk in a troubled dream;
e the figures on arras, that gloomily glare, 620
red by the breath of the wintry air[qa]
een by the dying lamp's fitful light,[qb]
less, but life-like, and awful to sight;
hey seem, through the dimness, about to come down
m the shadowy wall where their images frown;
rfully flitting to and fro,
he gusts on the tapestry come and go.[370]
ich fixed him beyond the power to start.
ugh slight was that grasp so mortal cold,
could not loose him from its hold; 600
never did clasp of one so dear
ke on the pulse with such feeling of fear,
hose thin fingers, long and white,
ze through his blood by their touch that night.
feverish glow of his brow was gone,
d his heart sank so still that it felt like stone,
he looked on the face, and beheld its hue,[py]
deeply changed from what he knew:
but faint—without the ray
mind, that made each feature play 610
e sparkling waves on a sunny day;
d her motionless lips lay still as death,
d her words came forth without her breath,
d there rose not a heave o'er her bosom's swell,[pz]
d there seemed not a pulse in her veins to dwell.
ugh her eye shone out, yet the lids were fixed,[369]
d the glance that it gave was wild and unmixed
h aught of change, as the eyes may seem
he restless who walk in a troubled dream;
e the figures on arras, that gloomily glare, 620
red by the breath of the wintry air[qa]
een by the dying lamp's fitful light,[qb]
less, but life-like, and awful to sight;
hey seem, through the dimness, about to come down
m the shadowy wall where their images frown;
rfully flitting to and fro,
he gusts on the tapestry come and go.[370]
Page 529
not for love of me be given
s much, then, for the love of Heaven,—
in I say—that turban tear 630
m off thy faithless brow, and swear
ne injured country's sons to spare,
hou art lost; and never shalt see—
earth—that's past—but Heaven or me.
his thou dost accord, albeit
eavy doom' tis thine to meet,
t doom shall half absolve thy sin,
d Mercy's gate may receive thee within:[371]
pause one moment more, and take
curse of Him thou didst forsake; 640
d look once more to Heaven, and see
ove for ever shut from thee.
re is a light cloud by the moon—[372]
passing, and will pass full soon—
y the time its vapoury sail
h ceased her shaded orb to veil,
heart within thee is not changed,
n God and man are both avenged;
k will thy doom be, darker still
ne immortality of ill." 650
looked to heaven, and saw on high
sign she spake of in the sky;
his heart was swollen, and turned aside,
deep interminable pride.[qc]
s first false passion of his breast
led like a torrent o'er the rest.
sue for mercy! He dismayed
wild words of a timid maid!
s much, then, for the love of Heaven,—
in I say—that turban tear 630
m off thy faithless brow, and swear
ne injured country's sons to spare,
hou art lost; and never shalt see—
earth—that's past—but Heaven or me.
his thou dost accord, albeit
eavy doom' tis thine to meet,
t doom shall half absolve thy sin,
d Mercy's gate may receive thee within:[371]
pause one moment more, and take
curse of Him thou didst forsake; 640
d look once more to Heaven, and see
ove for ever shut from thee.
re is a light cloud by the moon—[372]
passing, and will pass full soon—
y the time its vapoury sail
h ceased her shaded orb to veil,
heart within thee is not changed,
n God and man are both avenged;
k will thy doom be, darker still
ne immortality of ill." 650
looked to heaven, and saw on high
sign she spake of in the sky;
his heart was swollen, and turned aside,
deep interminable pride.[qc]
s first false passion of his breast
led like a torrent o'er the rest.
sue for mercy! He dismayed
wild words of a timid maid!
Page 530
wronged by Venice, vow to save
sons, devoted to the grave! 660
—though that cloud were thunder's worst,
d charged to crush him—let it burst!
looked upon it earnestly,
hout an accent of reply;
watched it passing; it is flown:
on his eye the clear moon shone,
d thus he spake—"Whate'er my fate,
m no changeling—'tis too late:
reed in storms may bow and quiver,
n rise again; the tree must shiver. 670
at Venice made me, I must be,
foe in all, save love to thee:
thou art safe: oh, fly with me!"
turned, but she is gone!
hing is there but the column stone.
h she sunk in the earth, or melted in air?
saw not—he knew not—but nothing is there.
XXII.
night is past, and shines the sun
f that morn were a jocund one.[373]
htly and brightly breaks away 680
Morning from her mantle grey,[374]
d the Noon will look on a sultry day.[375]
k to the trump, and the drum,
d the mournful sound of the barbarous horn,
d the flap of the banners, that flit as they're borne,
d the neigh of the steed, and the multitude's hum,
sons, devoted to the grave! 660
—though that cloud were thunder's worst,
d charged to crush him—let it burst!
looked upon it earnestly,
hout an accent of reply;
watched it passing; it is flown:
on his eye the clear moon shone,
d thus he spake—"Whate'er my fate,
m no changeling—'tis too late:
reed in storms may bow and quiver,
n rise again; the tree must shiver. 670
at Venice made me, I must be,
foe in all, save love to thee:
thou art safe: oh, fly with me!"
turned, but she is gone!
hing is there but the column stone.
h she sunk in the earth, or melted in air?
saw not—he knew not—but nothing is there.
XXII.
night is past, and shines the sun
f that morn were a jocund one.[373]
htly and brightly breaks away 680
Morning from her mantle grey,[374]
d the Noon will look on a sultry day.[375]
k to the trump, and the drum,
d the mournful sound of the barbarous horn,
d the flap of the banners, that flit as they're borne,
d the neigh of the steed, and the multitude's hum,
Page 531
d the clash, and the shout, "They come! they come!"
horsetails[376] are plucked from the ground, and the sword
m its sheath; and they form, and but wait for the word.
ar, and Spahi, and Turcoman, 690
ke your tents, and throng to the van;
unt ye, spur ye, skirr the plain,[377]
t the fugitive may flee in vain,
en he breaks from the town; and none escape,
d or young, in the Christian shape;
ile your fellows on foot, in a fiery mass,
odstain the breach through which they pass.[378]
steeds are all bridled, and snort to the rein;
ved is each neck, and flowing each mane;
ite is the foam of their champ on the bit; 700
spears are uplifted; the matches are lit;
cannon are pointed, and ready to roar,
d crush the wall they have crumbled before:[379]
ms in his phalanx each Janizar;
at their head; his right arm is bare,
s the blade of his scimitar;
Khan and the Pachas are all at their post;
Vizier himself at the head of the host.
en the culverin's signal is fired, then on;
ve not in Corinth a living one— 710
riest at her altars, a chief in her halls,
earth in her mansions, a stone on her walls.
d and the prophet—Alla Hu![380]
to the skies with that wild halloo!
ere the breach lies for passage, the ladder to scale;
d your hands on your sabres, and how should ye fail?
who first downs with the red cross may crave[381]
horsetails[376] are plucked from the ground, and the sword
m its sheath; and they form, and but wait for the word.
ar, and Spahi, and Turcoman, 690
ke your tents, and throng to the van;
unt ye, spur ye, skirr the plain,[377]
t the fugitive may flee in vain,
en he breaks from the town; and none escape,
d or young, in the Christian shape;
ile your fellows on foot, in a fiery mass,
odstain the breach through which they pass.[378]
steeds are all bridled, and snort to the rein;
ved is each neck, and flowing each mane;
ite is the foam of their champ on the bit; 700
spears are uplifted; the matches are lit;
cannon are pointed, and ready to roar,
d crush the wall they have crumbled before:[379]
ms in his phalanx each Janizar;
at their head; his right arm is bare,
s the blade of his scimitar;
Khan and the Pachas are all at their post;
Vizier himself at the head of the host.
en the culverin's signal is fired, then on;
ve not in Corinth a living one— 710
riest at her altars, a chief in her halls,
earth in her mansions, a stone on her walls.
d and the prophet—Alla Hu![380]
to the skies with that wild halloo!
ere the breach lies for passage, the ladder to scale;
d your hands on your sabres, and how should ye fail?
who first downs with the red cross may crave[381]
Page 532
heart's dearest wish; let him ask it, and have!"
s uttered Coumourgi, the dauntless Vizier;[382]
reply was the brandish of sabre and spear, 720
d the shout of fierce thousands in joyous ire:—
nce—hark to the signal—fire!
XXIII.
he wolves, that headlong go
the stately buffalo,
ugh with fiery eyes, and angry roar,
d hoofs that stamp, and horns that gore,
tramples on earth, or tosses on high
foremost, who rush on his strength but to die
s against the wall they went,
s the first were backward bent;[383] 730
ny a bosom, sheathed in brass,
wed the earth like broken glass,[qd]
vered by the shot, that tore
ground whereon they moved no more:
n as they fell, in files they lay,
e the mower's grass at the close of day,[qe]
en his work is done on the levelled plain;
h was the fall of the foremost slain.[384]
XXIV.
he spring-tides, with heavy plash,
m the cliffs invading dash 740
ge fragments, sapped by the ceaseless flow,
white and thundering down they go,
e the avalanche's snow
s uttered Coumourgi, the dauntless Vizier;[382]
reply was the brandish of sabre and spear, 720
d the shout of fierce thousands in joyous ire:—
nce—hark to the signal—fire!
XXIII.
he wolves, that headlong go
the stately buffalo,
ugh with fiery eyes, and angry roar,
d hoofs that stamp, and horns that gore,
tramples on earth, or tosses on high
foremost, who rush on his strength but to die
s against the wall they went,
s the first were backward bent;[383] 730
ny a bosom, sheathed in brass,
wed the earth like broken glass,[qd]
vered by the shot, that tore
ground whereon they moved no more:
n as they fell, in files they lay,
e the mower's grass at the close of day,[qe]
en his work is done on the levelled plain;
h was the fall of the foremost slain.[384]
XXIV.
he spring-tides, with heavy plash,
m the cliffs invading dash 740
ge fragments, sapped by the ceaseless flow,
white and thundering down they go,
e the avalanche's snow
Page 533
the Alpine vales below;
s at length, outbreathed and worn,
inth's sons were downward borne
the long and oft renewed
rge of the Moslem multitude.
irmness they stood, and in masses they fell,
ped by the host of the Infidel, 750
d to hand, and foot to foot:
hing there, save Death, was mute;[385]
ke, and thrust, and flash, and cry
quarter, or for victory,
gle there with the volleying thunder,
ich makes the distant cities wonder
w the sounding battle goes,
ith them, or for their foes;
hey must mourn, or may rejoice
hat annihilating voice, 760
ich pierces the deep hills through and through
h an echo dread and new:
might have heard it, on that day,
r Salamis and Megara;
have heard the hearers say,)[qf]
n unto Piræus' bay.
XXV.
m the point of encountering blades to the hilt,
res and swords with blood were gilt;[386]
the rampart is won, and the spoil begun,
d all but the after carnage done. 770
ller shrieks now mingling come
m within the plundered dome:
s at length, outbreathed and worn,
inth's sons were downward borne
the long and oft renewed
rge of the Moslem multitude.
irmness they stood, and in masses they fell,
ped by the host of the Infidel, 750
d to hand, and foot to foot:
hing there, save Death, was mute;[385]
ke, and thrust, and flash, and cry
quarter, or for victory,
gle there with the volleying thunder,
ich makes the distant cities wonder
w the sounding battle goes,
ith them, or for their foes;
hey must mourn, or may rejoice
hat annihilating voice, 760
ich pierces the deep hills through and through
h an echo dread and new:
might have heard it, on that day,
r Salamis and Megara;
have heard the hearers say,)[qf]
n unto Piræus' bay.
XXV.
m the point of encountering blades to the hilt,
res and swords with blood were gilt;[386]
the rampart is won, and the spoil begun,
d all but the after carnage done. 770
ller shrieks now mingling come
m within the plundered dome:
Page 534
k to the haste of flying feet,
t splash in the blood of the slippery street;
here and there, where 'vantage ground
inst the foe may still be found,
perate groups, of twelve or ten,
ke a pause, and turn again—
h banded backs against the wall,
cely stand, or fighting fall. 780
re stood an old man[387]—his hairs were white,
his veteran arm was full of might:
gallantly bore he the brunt of the fray,
dead before him, on that day,
semicircle lay;
he combated unwounded,
ugh retreating, unsurrounded.
ny a scar of former fight
ked[388] beneath his corslet bright;
of every wound his body bore, 790
h and all had been ta'en before:
ugh agéd, he was so iron of limb,
w of our youth could cope with him,
d the foes, whom he singly kept at bay,
numbered his thin hairs[389] of silver grey.
m right to left his sabre swept:
ny an Othman mother wept
s that were unborn, when dipped[390]
weapon first in Moslem gore,
his years could count a score. 800
all he might have been the sire[391]
o fell that day beneath his ire:
sonless left long years ago,
t splash in the blood of the slippery street;
here and there, where 'vantage ground
inst the foe may still be found,
perate groups, of twelve or ten,
ke a pause, and turn again—
h banded backs against the wall,
cely stand, or fighting fall. 780
re stood an old man[387]—his hairs were white,
his veteran arm was full of might:
gallantly bore he the brunt of the fray,
dead before him, on that day,
semicircle lay;
he combated unwounded,
ugh retreating, unsurrounded.
ny a scar of former fight
ked[388] beneath his corslet bright;
of every wound his body bore, 790
h and all had been ta'en before:
ugh agéd, he was so iron of limb,
w of our youth could cope with him,
d the foes, whom he singly kept at bay,
numbered his thin hairs[389] of silver grey.
m right to left his sabre swept:
ny an Othman mother wept
s that were unborn, when dipped[390]
weapon first in Moslem gore,
his years could count a score. 800
all he might have been the sire[391]
o fell that day beneath his ire:
sonless left long years ago,
Page 535
wrath made many a childless foe;
d since the day, when in the strait[392]
only boy had met his fate,
parent's iron hand did doom
re than a human hecatomb.[393]
hades by carnage be appeased,
oclus' spirit less was pleased 810
n his, Minotti's son, who died
ere Asia's bounds and ours divide.
ied he lay, where thousands before
thousands of years were inhumed on the shore;
at of them is left, to tell
ere they lie, and how they fell?
a stone on their turf, nor a bone in their graves;
they live in the verse that immortally saves.[394]
XXVI.
k to the Allah shout![395] a band
he Mussulman bravest and best is at hand; 820
ir leader's nervous arm is bare,
fter to smite, and never to spare—
lothed to the shoulder it waves them on;
s in the fight is he ever known:
ers a gaudier garb may show,
empt the spoil of the greedy foe;
ny a hand's on a richer hilt,
none on a steel more ruddily gilt;
ny a loftier turban may wear,—
is but known by the white arm bare; 830
k through the thick of the fight,'tis there!
re is not a standard on that shore
d since the day, when in the strait[392]
only boy had met his fate,
parent's iron hand did doom
re than a human hecatomb.[393]
hades by carnage be appeased,
oclus' spirit less was pleased 810
n his, Minotti's son, who died
ere Asia's bounds and ours divide.
ied he lay, where thousands before
thousands of years were inhumed on the shore;
at of them is left, to tell
ere they lie, and how they fell?
a stone on their turf, nor a bone in their graves;
they live in the verse that immortally saves.[394]
XXVI.
k to the Allah shout![395] a band
he Mussulman bravest and best is at hand; 820
ir leader's nervous arm is bare,
fter to smite, and never to spare—
lothed to the shoulder it waves them on;
s in the fight is he ever known:
ers a gaudier garb may show,
empt the spoil of the greedy foe;
ny a hand's on a richer hilt,
none on a steel more ruddily gilt;
ny a loftier turban may wear,—
is but known by the white arm bare; 830
k through the thick of the fight,'tis there!
re is not a standard on that shore
Page 536
well advanced the ranks before;
re is not a banner in Moslem war
l lure the Delhis half so far;
ances like a falling star!
ere'er that mighty arm is seen,
bravest be, or late have been;[396]
re the craven cries for quarter
nly to the vengeful Tartar; 840
he hero, silent lying,
rns to yield a groan in dying;
stering his last feeble blow
nst the nearest levelled foe,
ugh faint beneath the mutual wound,
ppling on the gory ground.
XXVII.
the old man stood erect.
d Alp's career a moment checked.
eld thee, Minotti; quarter take,
thine own, thy daughter's sake." 850
ver, Renegado, never!
ugh the life of thy gift would last for ever."[qg]
ancesca!—Oh, my promised bride![qh]
st she too perish by thy pride!"
e is safe."—"Where? where?"—"In Heaven;
m whence thy traitor soul is driven—
from thee, and undefiled."
mly then Minotti smiled,
he saw Alp staggering bow
re is not a banner in Moslem war
l lure the Delhis half so far;
ances like a falling star!
ere'er that mighty arm is seen,
bravest be, or late have been;[396]
re the craven cries for quarter
nly to the vengeful Tartar; 840
he hero, silent lying,
rns to yield a groan in dying;
stering his last feeble blow
nst the nearest levelled foe,
ugh faint beneath the mutual wound,
ppling on the gory ground.
XXVII.
the old man stood erect.
d Alp's career a moment checked.
eld thee, Minotti; quarter take,
thine own, thy daughter's sake." 850
ver, Renegado, never!
ugh the life of thy gift would last for ever."[qg]
ancesca!—Oh, my promised bride![qh]
st she too perish by thy pride!"
e is safe."—"Where? where?"—"In Heaven;
m whence thy traitor soul is driven—
from thee, and undefiled."
mly then Minotti smiled,
he saw Alp staggering bow
Page 537
ore his words, as with a blow. 860
God! when died she?"—"Yesternight—
weep I for her spirit's flight:
ne of my pure race shall be
ves to Mahomet and thee—
me on!"—That challenge is in vain—
s already with the slain!
ile Minotti's words were wreaking
re revenge in bitter speaking
n his falchion's point had found,
the time allowed to wound, 870
m within the neighbouring porch
a long defended church,
ere the last and desperate few
uld the failing fight renew,
sharp shot dashed Alp to the ground;
an eye could view the wound
t crashed through the brain of the infidel,
nd he spun, and down he fell;
ash like fire within his eyes
zed, as he bent no more to rise, 880
d then eternal darkness sunk
ough all the palpitating trunk;[qi]
ught of life left, save a quivering
ere his limbs were slightly shivering:
y turned him on his back; his breast
d brow were stained with gore and dust,
d through his lips the life-blood oozed,
m its deep veins lately loosed;
in his pulse there was no throb,
on his lips one dying sob; 890
God! when died she?"—"Yesternight—
weep I for her spirit's flight:
ne of my pure race shall be
ves to Mahomet and thee—
me on!"—That challenge is in vain—
s already with the slain!
ile Minotti's words were wreaking
re revenge in bitter speaking
n his falchion's point had found,
the time allowed to wound, 870
m within the neighbouring porch
a long defended church,
ere the last and desperate few
uld the failing fight renew,
sharp shot dashed Alp to the ground;
an eye could view the wound
t crashed through the brain of the infidel,
nd he spun, and down he fell;
ash like fire within his eyes
zed, as he bent no more to rise, 880
d then eternal darkness sunk
ough all the palpitating trunk;[qi]
ught of life left, save a quivering
ere his limbs were slightly shivering:
y turned him on his back; his breast
d brow were stained with gore and dust,
d through his lips the life-blood oozed,
m its deep veins lately loosed;
in his pulse there was no throb,
on his lips one dying sob; 890
Page 538
h, nor word, nor struggling breath[qj]
alded his way to death:
his very thought could pray,
neled he passed away,
hout a hope from Mercy's aid,—
he last a Renegade.[397]
XXVIII.
rfully the yell arose
his followers, and his foes;
se in joy, in fury those:[qk]
n again in conflict mixing,[ql] 900
shing swords, and spears transfixing,
rchanged the blow and thrust,
ling warriors in the dust.
et by street, and foot by foot,
Minotti dares dispute
latest portion of the land
beneath his high command;
h him, aiding heart and hand,
remnant of his gallant band.
the church is tenable, 910
Whence issued late the fated ball
hat half avenged the city's fall,
en Alp, her fierce assailant, fell:
her bending sternly back,
y leave before a bloody track;
d, with their faces to the foe,
ling wounds with every blow,[398]
chief, and his retreating train,
to those within the fane;
alded his way to death:
his very thought could pray,
neled he passed away,
hout a hope from Mercy's aid,—
he last a Renegade.[397]
XXVIII.
rfully the yell arose
his followers, and his foes;
se in joy, in fury those:[qk]
n again in conflict mixing,[ql] 900
shing swords, and spears transfixing,
rchanged the blow and thrust,
ling warriors in the dust.
et by street, and foot by foot,
Minotti dares dispute
latest portion of the land
beneath his high command;
h him, aiding heart and hand,
remnant of his gallant band.
the church is tenable, 910
Whence issued late the fated ball
hat half avenged the city's fall,
en Alp, her fierce assailant, fell:
her bending sternly back,
y leave before a bloody track;
d, with their faces to the foe,
ling wounds with every blow,[398]
chief, and his retreating train,
to those within the fane;
Page 539
re they yet may breathe awhile, 920
ltered by the massy pile.
XXIX.
ef breathing-time! the turbaned host,
h added ranks and raging boast,
ss onwards with such strength and heat,
ir numbers balk their own retreat;
narrow the way that led to the spot
ere still the Christians yielded not;
d the foremost, if fearful, may vainly try
ough the massy column to turn and fly;
y perforce must do or die. 930
y die; but ere their eyes could close,
ngers o'er their bodies rose;
sh and furious, fast they fill
ranks unthinned, though slaughtered still;
d faint the weary Christians wax
ore the still renewed attacks:
d now the Othmans gain the gate;
resists its iron weight,
d still, all deadly aimed and hot,
m every crevice comes the shot; 940
m every shattered window pour
volleys of the sulphurous shower:
the portal wavering grows and weak—
iron yields, the hinges creak—
ends—it falls—and all is o'er;
t Corinth may resist no more!
XXX.
ltered by the massy pile.
XXIX.
ef breathing-time! the turbaned host,
h added ranks and raging boast,
ss onwards with such strength and heat,
ir numbers balk their own retreat;
narrow the way that led to the spot
ere still the Christians yielded not;
d the foremost, if fearful, may vainly try
ough the massy column to turn and fly;
y perforce must do or die. 930
y die; but ere their eyes could close,
ngers o'er their bodies rose;
sh and furious, fast they fill
ranks unthinned, though slaughtered still;
d faint the weary Christians wax
ore the still renewed attacks:
d now the Othmans gain the gate;
resists its iron weight,
d still, all deadly aimed and hot,
m every crevice comes the shot; 940
m every shattered window pour
volleys of the sulphurous shower:
the portal wavering grows and weak—
iron yields, the hinges creak—
ends—it falls—and all is o'er;
t Corinth may resist no more!
XXX.
Page 540
kly, sternly, and all alone,
otti stood o'er the altar stone:
donna's face upon him shone,[399]
nted in heavenly hues above, 950
h eyes of light and looks of love;
d placed upon that holy shrine
ix our thoughts on things divine,
en pictured there, we kneeling see
and the boy-God on her knee,
ling sweetly on each prayer
Heaven, as if to waft it there.
she smiled; even now she smiles,
ugh slaughter streams along her aisles:
otti lifted his agéd eye, 960
d made the sign of a cross with a sigh,
n seized a torch which blazed thereby;
d still he stood, while with steel and flame,
ard and onward the Mussulman came.
XXXI.
vaults beneath the mosaic stone[qm]
tained the dead of ages gone;
ir names were on the graven floor,
now illegible with gore;[qn]
carvéd crests, and curious hues
varied marble's veins diffuse, 970
e smeared, and slippery—stained, and strown
h broken swords, and helms o'erthrown:
re were dead above, and the dead below
cold in many a coffined row;
might see them piled in sable state,
otti stood o'er the altar stone:
donna's face upon him shone,[399]
nted in heavenly hues above, 950
h eyes of light and looks of love;
d placed upon that holy shrine
ix our thoughts on things divine,
en pictured there, we kneeling see
and the boy-God on her knee,
ling sweetly on each prayer
Heaven, as if to waft it there.
she smiled; even now she smiles,
ugh slaughter streams along her aisles:
otti lifted his agéd eye, 960
d made the sign of a cross with a sigh,
n seized a torch which blazed thereby;
d still he stood, while with steel and flame,
ard and onward the Mussulman came.
XXXI.
vaults beneath the mosaic stone[qm]
tained the dead of ages gone;
ir names were on the graven floor,
now illegible with gore;[qn]
carvéd crests, and curious hues
varied marble's veins diffuse, 970
e smeared, and slippery—stained, and strown
h broken swords, and helms o'erthrown:
re were dead above, and the dead below
cold in many a coffined row;
might see them piled in sable state,
Page 541
a pale light through a gloomy grate;
War had entered their dark caves,[qo]
d stored along the vaulted graves
sulphurous treasures, thickly spread
masses by the fleshless dead: 980
e, throughout the siege, had been
Christians' chiefest magazine;
hese a late formed train now led,
otti's last and stern resource
inst the foe's o'erwhelming force.
XXXII.
foe came on, and few remain
trive, and those must strive in vain:
lack of further lives, to slake
thirst of vengeance now awake,
h barbarous blows they gash the dead, 990
d lop the already lifeless head,
d fell the statues from their niche,
d spoil the shrines of offerings rich,
d from each other's rude hands wrest
silver vessels Saints had blessed.
he high altar on they go;
but it made a glorious show![400]
its table still behold
cup of consecrated gold;
ssy and deep, a glittering prize, 1000
ghtly it sparkles to plunderers' eyes:
t morn it held the holy wine,[qp]
verted by Christ to his blood so divine,
ich his worshippers drank at the break of day,[qq]
War had entered their dark caves,[qo]
d stored along the vaulted graves
sulphurous treasures, thickly spread
masses by the fleshless dead: 980
e, throughout the siege, had been
Christians' chiefest magazine;
hese a late formed train now led,
otti's last and stern resource
inst the foe's o'erwhelming force.
XXXII.
foe came on, and few remain
trive, and those must strive in vain:
lack of further lives, to slake
thirst of vengeance now awake,
h barbarous blows they gash the dead, 990
d lop the already lifeless head,
d fell the statues from their niche,
d spoil the shrines of offerings rich,
d from each other's rude hands wrest
silver vessels Saints had blessed.
he high altar on they go;
but it made a glorious show![400]
its table still behold
cup of consecrated gold;
ssy and deep, a glittering prize, 1000
ghtly it sparkles to plunderers' eyes:
t morn it held the holy wine,[qp]
verted by Christ to his blood so divine,
ich his worshippers drank at the break of day,[qq]
Page 542
hrive their souls ere they joined in the fray.
a few drops within it lay;
d round the sacred table glow
elve lofty lamps, in splendid row,
m the purest metal cast;
poil—the richest, and the last. 1010
XXXIII.
near they came, the nearest stretched
grasp the spoil he almost reached
When old Minotti's hand
ched with the torch the train—
'Tis fired![401]
e, vaults, the shrine, the spoil, the slain,
he turbaned victors, the Christian band,
that of living or dead remain,
led on high with the shivered fane,
n one wild roar expired![402] 1020
shattered town—the walls thrown down—
waves a moment backward bent—
hills that shake, although unrent,[qr]
As if an Earthquake passed—
thousand shapeless things all driven
loud and flame athwart the heaven,
y that tremendous blast—
claimed the desperate conflict o'er
that too long afflicted shore:[403]
to the sky like rockets go 1030
that mingled there below:
ny a tall and goodly man,
rched and shrivelled to a span,
a few drops within it lay;
d round the sacred table glow
elve lofty lamps, in splendid row,
m the purest metal cast;
poil—the richest, and the last. 1010
XXXIII.
near they came, the nearest stretched
grasp the spoil he almost reached
When old Minotti's hand
ched with the torch the train—
'Tis fired![401]
e, vaults, the shrine, the spoil, the slain,
he turbaned victors, the Christian band,
that of living or dead remain,
led on high with the shivered fane,
n one wild roar expired![402] 1020
shattered town—the walls thrown down—
waves a moment backward bent—
hills that shake, although unrent,[qr]
As if an Earthquake passed—
thousand shapeless things all driven
loud and flame athwart the heaven,
y that tremendous blast—
claimed the desperate conflict o'er
that too long afflicted shore:[403]
to the sky like rockets go 1030
that mingled there below:
ny a tall and goodly man,
rched and shrivelled to a span,
Page 543
en he fell to earth again
e a cinder strewed the plain:
wn the ashes shower like rain;
me fell in the gulf, which received the sprinkles
h a thousand circling wrinkles;
me fell on the shore, but, far away,
ttered o'er the isthmus lay; 1040
istian or Moslem, which be they?
their mothers see and say![qs]
en in cradled rest they lay,
d each nursing mother smiled
the sweet sleep of her child,
le deemed she such a day
uld rend those tender limbs away.[404]
the matrons that them bore
ld discern their offspring more;[405]
t one moment left no trace 1050
re of human form or face
e a scattered scalp or bone:
d down came blazing rafters, strown
und, and many a falling stone,[qt]
ply dinted in the clay,
blackened there and reeking lay.
the living things that heard
deadly earth-shock disappeared:
wild birds flew; the wild dogs fled,
d howling left the unburied dead;[qu][406] 1060
camels from their keepers broke;
distant steer forsook the yoke—
nearer steed plunged o'er the plain,
d burst his girth, and tore his rein;
e a cinder strewed the plain:
wn the ashes shower like rain;
me fell in the gulf, which received the sprinkles
h a thousand circling wrinkles;
me fell on the shore, but, far away,
ttered o'er the isthmus lay; 1040
istian or Moslem, which be they?
their mothers see and say![qs]
en in cradled rest they lay,
d each nursing mother smiled
the sweet sleep of her child,
le deemed she such a day
uld rend those tender limbs away.[404]
the matrons that them bore
ld discern their offspring more;[405]
t one moment left no trace 1050
re of human form or face
e a scattered scalp or bone:
d down came blazing rafters, strown
und, and many a falling stone,[qt]
ply dinted in the clay,
blackened there and reeking lay.
the living things that heard
deadly earth-shock disappeared:
wild birds flew; the wild dogs fled,
d howling left the unburied dead;[qu][406] 1060
camels from their keepers broke;
distant steer forsook the yoke—
nearer steed plunged o'er the plain,
d burst his girth, and tore his rein;
Page 544
bull-frog's note, from out the marsh,
p-mouthed arose, and doubly harsh;[407]
wolves yelled on the caverned hill
ere Echo rolled in thunder still;[qv]
jackal's troop, in gathered cry,[qw][408]
ed from afar complainingly, 1070
h a mixed and mournful sound,[qx]
e crying babe, and beaten hound:[409]
h sudden wing, and ruffled breast,
eagle left his rocky nest,
d mounted nearer to the sun,
clouds beneath him seemed so dun;
ir smoke assailed his startled beak,
d made him higher soar and shriek—
hus was Corinth lost and won![410]
FOOTNOTES:
[330] "With Gun, Drum, Trumpet, Blunderbuss, and Thunder."
[331] {447} Napoli di Romania is not now the most considerable place in the Morea, but
Tripolitza, where the Pacha resides, and maintains his government. Napoli is near Argos. I
visited all three in 1810-11; and, in the course of journeying through the country from my
first arrival in 1809, I crossed the Isthmus eight times in my way from Attica to the
Morea, over the mountains; or in the other direction, when passing from the Gulf of
Athens to that of Lepanto. Both the routes are picturesque and beautiful, though very
different: that by sea has more sameness; but the voyage, being always within sight of
land, and often very near it, presents many attractive views of the islands Salamis, Ægina,
Poros, etc., and the coast of the Continent.
["Independently of the suitableness of such an event to the power of Lord Byron's genius,
the Fall of Corinth afforded local attractions, by the intimate knowledge which the poet
had of the place and surrounding objects.... Thus furnished with that topographical
p-mouthed arose, and doubly harsh;[407]
wolves yelled on the caverned hill
ere Echo rolled in thunder still;[qv]
jackal's troop, in gathered cry,[qw][408]
ed from afar complainingly, 1070
h a mixed and mournful sound,[qx]
e crying babe, and beaten hound:[409]
h sudden wing, and ruffled breast,
eagle left his rocky nest,
d mounted nearer to the sun,
clouds beneath him seemed so dun;
ir smoke assailed his startled beak,
d made him higher soar and shriek—
hus was Corinth lost and won![410]
FOOTNOTES:
[330] "With Gun, Drum, Trumpet, Blunderbuss, and Thunder."
[331] {447} Napoli di Romania is not now the most considerable place in the Morea, but
Tripolitza, where the Pacha resides, and maintains his government. Napoli is near Argos. I
visited all three in 1810-11; and, in the course of journeying through the country from my
first arrival in 1809, I crossed the Isthmus eight times in my way from Attica to the
Morea, over the mountains; or in the other direction, when passing from the Gulf of
Athens to that of Lepanto. Both the routes are picturesque and beautiful, though very
different: that by sea has more sameness; but the voyage, being always within sight of
land, and often very near it, presents many attractive views of the islands Salamis, Ægina,
Poros, etc., and the coast of the Continent.
["Independently of the suitableness of such an event to the power of Lord Byron's genius,
the Fall of Corinth afforded local attractions, by the intimate knowledge which the poet
had of the place and surrounding objects.... Thus furnished with that topographical
Page 545
information which could not be well obtained from books and maps, he was admirably
qualified to depict the various operations and progress of the siege."—Memoir of the Life
and Writings of the Right Honourable Lord Byron, London, 1822, p. 222.]
[332] {449} [The introductory lines, 1-45, are not included in the copy of the poem in
Lady Byron's handwriting, nor were they published in the First Edition. On Christmas
Day, 1815, Byron, enclosing this fragment to Murray, says, "I send some lines written
some time ago, and intended as an opening to the Siege of Corinth. I had forgotten them,
and am not sure that they had not better be left out now;—on that you and your Synod can
determine." They are headed in the MS., "The Stranger's Tale," October 23rd. First
published in Letters and Journals, 1830, i. 638, they were included among the Occasional
Poems in the edition of 1831, and first prefixed to the poem in the edition of 1832.]
[333] [The metrical rendering of the date (miscalculated from the death instead of the
birth of Christ) may be traced to the opening lines of an old ballad (Kölbing's Siege of
Corinth, p. 53)—
"Upon the sixteen hunder year
Of God, and fifty-three,
From Christ was born, that bought us dear,
As writings testifie," etc.
See "The Life and Age of Man" (Burns' Selected Poems, ed. by J. L. Robertson, 1889, p.
191).]
[334] [Compare letter to Hodgson, July 16, 1809: "How merrily we lives that travellers
be!"—Letters, 1898, i. 233.]
[335] {450} [For "capote," compare Childe Harold, Canto II. stanza lii. line 7, and
Byron's note (24.B.), Poetical Works, 1899, ii. 132, 181. Compare, too, letter to Mrs.
Byron, November 12, 1809 (Letters, 1899, i. 253): "Two days ago I was nearly lost in a
Turkish ship of war.... I wrapped myself up in my Albanian capote (an immense cloak),
and lay down on deck to wait the worst."]
[336] The last tidings recently heard of Dervish (one of the Arnauts who followed me)
state him to be in revolt upon the mountains, at the head of some of the bands common in
that country in times of trouble.
[nz] {451} But those winged days——.—[MS.]
[337] [Compare Kingsley's Last Buccaneer—
"If I might but be a sea-dove, I'd fly across the main—
qualified to depict the various operations and progress of the siege."—Memoir of the Life
and Writings of the Right Honourable Lord Byron, London, 1822, p. 222.]
[332] {449} [The introductory lines, 1-45, are not included in the copy of the poem in
Lady Byron's handwriting, nor were they published in the First Edition. On Christmas
Day, 1815, Byron, enclosing this fragment to Murray, says, "I send some lines written
some time ago, and intended as an opening to the Siege of Corinth. I had forgotten them,
and am not sure that they had not better be left out now;—on that you and your Synod can
determine." They are headed in the MS., "The Stranger's Tale," October 23rd. First
published in Letters and Journals, 1830, i. 638, they were included among the Occasional
Poems in the edition of 1831, and first prefixed to the poem in the edition of 1832.]
[333] [The metrical rendering of the date (miscalculated from the death instead of the
birth of Christ) may be traced to the opening lines of an old ballad (Kölbing's Siege of
Corinth, p. 53)—
"Upon the sixteen hunder year
Of God, and fifty-three,
From Christ was born, that bought us dear,
As writings testifie," etc.
See "The Life and Age of Man" (Burns' Selected Poems, ed. by J. L. Robertson, 1889, p.
191).]
[334] [Compare letter to Hodgson, July 16, 1809: "How merrily we lives that travellers
be!"—Letters, 1898, i. 233.]
[335] {450} [For "capote," compare Childe Harold, Canto II. stanza lii. line 7, and
Byron's note (24.B.), Poetical Works, 1899, ii. 132, 181. Compare, too, letter to Mrs.
Byron, November 12, 1809 (Letters, 1899, i. 253): "Two days ago I was nearly lost in a
Turkish ship of war.... I wrapped myself up in my Albanian capote (an immense cloak),
and lay down on deck to wait the worst."]
[336] The last tidings recently heard of Dervish (one of the Arnauts who followed me)
state him to be in revolt upon the mountains, at the head of some of the bands common in
that country in times of trouble.
[nz] {451} But those winged days——.—[MS.]
[337] [Compare Kingsley's Last Buccaneer—
"If I might but be a sea-dove, I'd fly across the main—
Page 546
To the pleasant isle of Aves, to look at it once again."]
[oa] The kindly few who love my lay.—[MS.]
[338] [The MS. is dated Jy (January) 31, 1815. Lady Byron's copy is dated November 2,
1815.]
[ob] Many a year, and many an age.—[MS. G. Copy.]
[oc] A marvel from her Moslem bands.—[MS. G.]
[339] {452} [Timoleon, who had saved the life of his brother Timophanes in battle,
afterwards put him to death for aiming at the supreme power in Corinth. Warton says that
Pope once intended to write an epic poem on the story, and that Akenside had the same
design (Works of Alexander Pope, Esq., 1806, ii. 83).]
[od] Or could the dead be raised again.—[MS. G. erased.]
[oe]
——through yon clear skies
Than tower-capt Acropolis.—[MS. G.]
[of] Stretched on the edge——.—[MS. G. erased.]
[340] [Turkish holders of military fiefs.]
[og]
The turbaned crowd of dusky hue
Whose march Morea's fields may rue.—[MS. G. erased.]
[341] {453} The life of the Turcomans is wandering and patriarchal: they dwell in tents.
[342] [Compare The Giaour, line 639 (vide ante, p. 116)—"The deathshot hissing from
afar."]
[343] {454} [Professor Kolbing admits that he is unable to say how "Byron met with the
name of Alp." I am indebted to my cousin, Miss Edith Coleridge, for the suggestion that
the name is derived from Mohammed (Lhaz-ed-Dyn-Abou-Choudja), surnamed Alp-
Arslan (Arsslan), or "Brave Lion," the second of the Seljuk dynasty, in the eleventh
century. "He conquered Armenia and Georgia ... but was assassinated by Yussuf Cothuol,
Governor of Berzem, and was buried at Merw, in Khorassan." His epitaph moralizes his
fate: "O vous qui avez vu la grandeur d'Alparslan élevée jusq'au ciel, regardez! le voici
maintenant en poussière."—Hammer-Purgstall, Histoire de l'Empire Othoman, i. 13-15.]
[oa] The kindly few who love my lay.—[MS.]
[338] [The MS. is dated Jy (January) 31, 1815. Lady Byron's copy is dated November 2,
1815.]
[ob] Many a year, and many an age.—[MS. G. Copy.]
[oc] A marvel from her Moslem bands.—[MS. G.]
[339] {452} [Timoleon, who had saved the life of his brother Timophanes in battle,
afterwards put him to death for aiming at the supreme power in Corinth. Warton says that
Pope once intended to write an epic poem on the story, and that Akenside had the same
design (Works of Alexander Pope, Esq., 1806, ii. 83).]
[od] Or could the dead be raised again.—[MS. G. erased.]
[oe]
——through yon clear skies
Than tower-capt Acropolis.—[MS. G.]
[of] Stretched on the edge——.—[MS. G. erased.]
[340] [Turkish holders of military fiefs.]
[og]
The turbaned crowd of dusky hue
Whose march Morea's fields may rue.—[MS. G. erased.]
[341] {453} The life of the Turcomans is wandering and patriarchal: they dwell in tents.
[342] [Compare The Giaour, line 639 (vide ante, p. 116)—"The deathshot hissing from
afar."]
[343] {454} [Professor Kolbing admits that he is unable to say how "Byron met with the
name of Alp." I am indebted to my cousin, Miss Edith Coleridge, for the suggestion that
the name is derived from Mohammed (Lhaz-ed-Dyn-Abou-Choudja), surnamed Alp-
Arslan (Arsslan), or "Brave Lion," the second of the Seljuk dynasty, in the eleventh
century. "He conquered Armenia and Georgia ... but was assassinated by Yussuf Cothuol,
Governor of Berzem, and was buried at Merw, in Khorassan." His epitaph moralizes his
fate: "O vous qui avez vu la grandeur d'Alparslan élevée jusq'au ciel, regardez! le voici
maintenant en poussière."—Hammer-Purgstall, Histoire de l'Empire Othoman, i. 13-15.]
Page 547
[oh] But now an exile——.—[MS. G.]
[344] {455} ["The Lions' Mouths, under the arcade at the summit of the Giants' Stairs,
which gaped widely to receive anonymous charges, were no doubt far more often
employed as vehicles of private malice than of zeal for the public welfare."—Sketches
from Venetian History, 1832, ii. 380.]
[oi] To waste its future——.—[MS. G.]
[345] Ali Coumourgi [Damad Ali or Ali Cumurgi (i.e. son of the charcoal-burner)], the
favourite of three sultans, and Grand Vizier to Achmet III., after recovering Peloponnesus
from the Venetians in one campaign, was mortally wounded in the next, against the
Germans, at the battle of Peterwaradin (in the plain of Carlowitz), in Hungary,
endeavouring to rally his guards. He died of his wounds next day [August 16, 1716]. His
last order was the decapitation of General Breuner, and some other German prisoners, and
his last words, "Oh that I could thus serve all the Christian dogs!" a speech and act not
unlike one of Caligula. He was a young man of great ambition and unbounded
presumption: on being told that Prince Eugene, then opposed to him, "was a great
general," he said, "I shall become a greater, and at his expense."
[For his letter to Prince Eugene, "Eh bien! la guerre va décider entre nous," etc., and for
an account of his death, see Hammer-Purgstall, Historie de l'Empire Othoman, xiii. 300,
312.]
[oj] {456} And death-like rolled——.—[MS. G. erased.]
[ok] Like comets in convulsion riven.—[MS. G. Copy erased.]
[ol]
Impervious to the powerless sun,
Through sulphurous smoke whose blackness grew.—
[MS. G. erased.]
[om] {457} In midnight courtship to Italian maid.—[MS. G.]
[346] {458} [The siege of Vienna was raised by John Sobieski, King of Poland (1629-
1696), September 12, 1683. Buda was retaken from the Turks by Charles VII., Duke of
Lorraine, Sobieski's ally and former rival for the kingdom of Poland, September 2, 1686.
The conquest of the Morea was begun by the Venetians in 1685, and completed in 1699.]
[on] By Buda's wall to Danube's side.—[MS. G.]
[oo] Pisani held——.—[MS. G.]
[344] {455} ["The Lions' Mouths, under the arcade at the summit of the Giants' Stairs,
which gaped widely to receive anonymous charges, were no doubt far more often
employed as vehicles of private malice than of zeal for the public welfare."—Sketches
from Venetian History, 1832, ii. 380.]
[oi] To waste its future——.—[MS. G.]
[345] Ali Coumourgi [Damad Ali or Ali Cumurgi (i.e. son of the charcoal-burner)], the
favourite of three sultans, and Grand Vizier to Achmet III., after recovering Peloponnesus
from the Venetians in one campaign, was mortally wounded in the next, against the
Germans, at the battle of Peterwaradin (in the plain of Carlowitz), in Hungary,
endeavouring to rally his guards. He died of his wounds next day [August 16, 1716]. His
last order was the decapitation of General Breuner, and some other German prisoners, and
his last words, "Oh that I could thus serve all the Christian dogs!" a speech and act not
unlike one of Caligula. He was a young man of great ambition and unbounded
presumption: on being told that Prince Eugene, then opposed to him, "was a great
general," he said, "I shall become a greater, and at his expense."
[For his letter to Prince Eugene, "Eh bien! la guerre va décider entre nous," etc., and for
an account of his death, see Hammer-Purgstall, Historie de l'Empire Othoman, xiii. 300,
312.]
[oj] {456} And death-like rolled——.—[MS. G. erased.]
[ok] Like comets in convulsion riven.—[MS. G. Copy erased.]
[ol]
Impervious to the powerless sun,
Through sulphurous smoke whose blackness grew.—
[MS. G. erased.]
[om] {457} In midnight courtship to Italian maid.—[MS. G.]
[346] {458} [The siege of Vienna was raised by John Sobieski, King of Poland (1629-
1696), September 12, 1683. Buda was retaken from the Turks by Charles VII., Duke of
Lorraine, Sobieski's ally and former rival for the kingdom of Poland, September 2, 1686.
The conquest of the Morea was begun by the Venetians in 1685, and completed in 1699.]
[on] By Buda's wall to Danube's side.—[MS. G.]
[oo] Pisani held——.—[MS. G.]
Page 548
[op] Than she, the beauteous stranger, bore.—[MS. G. erased.]
[347] {459} [For Byron's use of the phrase, "Forlorn Hope," as an equivalent of the
Turkish Delhis, or Delis, see Childe Harold, Canto II. ("The Albanian War-Song"),
Poetical Works, 1899, ii. 149, note 1.]
[oq] By stepping o'er——.—[MS. G.]
[348] ["Brown" is Byron's usual epithet for landscape seen by moonlight. Compare Childe
Harold, Canto II. stanza xxii. line 6, etc., Poetical Works, 1899, ii. 113, note 3.]
[or] Bespangled with her isles——.—[MS. G.]
[349] ["Stars" are likened to "isles" by Campbell, in The Pleasures of Hope, Part II.—
"The seraph eye shall count the starry train,
Like distant isles embosomed on the main."
And "isles" to "stars" by Byron, in The Island, Canto II. stanza xi. lines 14, 15—
"The studded archipelago,
O'er whose blue bosom rose the starry isles."
For other "star-similes," see Childe Harold, Canto III. stanza lxxxviii. line 9, Poetical
Works, 1899, ii. 270, note 2.]
[os]
And take a dark unmeasured tone.—[MS. G.]
And make a melancholy moan,
To mortal voice and ear unknown.—[MS. G. erased.]
[350] {461} [Compare Scott's Marmion, III. xvi. 4—
"And that strange Palmer's boding say,
That fell so ominous and drear."]
[ot]
——by fancy framed,
Which rings a deep, internal knell,
A visionary passing-bell.—[MS. G. erased.]
[ou] The thoughts tumultuously roll.—[MS. G.]
[ov] {462} To triumph o'er——.—[MS. G. erased.]
[347] {459} [For Byron's use of the phrase, "Forlorn Hope," as an equivalent of the
Turkish Delhis, or Delis, see Childe Harold, Canto II. ("The Albanian War-Song"),
Poetical Works, 1899, ii. 149, note 1.]
[oq] By stepping o'er——.—[MS. G.]
[348] ["Brown" is Byron's usual epithet for landscape seen by moonlight. Compare Childe
Harold, Canto II. stanza xxii. line 6, etc., Poetical Works, 1899, ii. 113, note 3.]
[or] Bespangled with her isles——.—[MS. G.]
[349] ["Stars" are likened to "isles" by Campbell, in The Pleasures of Hope, Part II.—
"The seraph eye shall count the starry train,
Like distant isles embosomed on the main."
And "isles" to "stars" by Byron, in The Island, Canto II. stanza xi. lines 14, 15—
"The studded archipelago,
O'er whose blue bosom rose the starry isles."
For other "star-similes," see Childe Harold, Canto III. stanza lxxxviii. line 9, Poetical
Works, 1899, ii. 270, note 2.]
[os]
And take a dark unmeasured tone.—[MS. G.]
And make a melancholy moan,
To mortal voice and ear unknown.—[MS. G. erased.]
[350] {461} [Compare Scott's Marmion, III. xvi. 4—
"And that strange Palmer's boding say,
That fell so ominous and drear."]
[ot]
——by fancy framed,
Which rings a deep, internal knell,
A visionary passing-bell.—[MS. G. erased.]
[ou] The thoughts tumultuously roll.—[MS. G.]
[ov] {462} To triumph o'er——.—[MS. G. erased.]
Page 549
[ow]
They but provide, he fells the prey.—[MS. G.]
As lions o'er the jackal sway
By springing dauntless on the prey;
They follow on, and yelling press
To gorge the fragments of success.—[MS. G. erased.]
[351] [Lines 329-331 are inserted in the copy. They are in Byron's handwriting. Compare
Don Juan, Canto IX. stanza xxvii. line 1, seq.—"That's an appropriate simile, that
jackal."]
[ox] {463}
He vainly turned from side to side,
And each reposing posture tried.—[MS. G. erased.]
[oy] Beyond a rougher——.—[MS. G.]
[oz] ——to sigh for day.—[MS. G.]
[pa] {464}
Of Liakura—his unmelting snow
Bright and eternal——.—[MS. G. erased.]
[352] [Compare The Giaour, line 566 (vide ante, p. 113)—
"For where is he that hath beheld
The peak of Liakura unveiled?"
The reference is to the almost perpetual "cap" of mist on Parnassus (Mount Likeri or
Liakura), which lies some thirty miles to the north-west of Corinth.]
[pb] {465} Her spirit spoke in deathless song.—[MS. G. erased.]
[pc] And in this night——.—[MS. G.]
[pd] He felt how little and how dim.—[MS. G. erased.]
[pe] Who led the band——.—[MS. G.]
[353] [Compare The Giaour, lines 103, seq. (vide ante, p. 91)—"Clime of the unforgotten
brave!" etc.]
[pf] {466} Their memory hallowed every fountain.—[MS. G. erased.]
They but provide, he fells the prey.—[MS. G.]
As lions o'er the jackal sway
By springing dauntless on the prey;
They follow on, and yelling press
To gorge the fragments of success.—[MS. G. erased.]
[351] [Lines 329-331 are inserted in the copy. They are in Byron's handwriting. Compare
Don Juan, Canto IX. stanza xxvii. line 1, seq.—"That's an appropriate simile, that
jackal."]
[ox] {463}
He vainly turned from side to side,
And each reposing posture tried.—[MS. G. erased.]
[oy] Beyond a rougher——.—[MS. G.]
[oz] ——to sigh for day.—[MS. G.]
[pa] {464}
Of Liakura—his unmelting snow
Bright and eternal——.—[MS. G. erased.]
[352] [Compare The Giaour, line 566 (vide ante, p. 113)—
"For where is he that hath beheld
The peak of Liakura unveiled?"
The reference is to the almost perpetual "cap" of mist on Parnassus (Mount Likeri or
Liakura), which lies some thirty miles to the north-west of Corinth.]
[pb] {465} Her spirit spoke in deathless song.—[MS. G. erased.]
[pc] And in this night——.—[MS. G.]
[pd] He felt how little and how dim.—[MS. G. erased.]
[pe] Who led the band——.—[MS. G.]
[353] [Compare The Giaour, lines 103, seq. (vide ante, p. 91)—"Clime of the unforgotten
brave!" etc.]
[pf] {466} Their memory hallowed every fountain.—[MS. G. erased.]
Page 550
[pg] Here follows, in the MS.—
Immortal—boundless—undecayed—
Their souls the very soil pervade.—
[In the Copy the lines are erased.]
[ph] Where Freedom loveliest may be won.—[MS. G. erased.]
[354] The reader need hardly be reminded that there are no perceptible tides in the
Mediterranean.
[pi] So that fiercest of waves——.—[MS. G.]
[pj] {467} A little space of light grey sand.—[MS. G. erased.]
[355] [Compare The Island, Canto IV. sect. ii. lines 11, 12—
"A narrow segment of the yellow sand
On one side forms the outline of a strand."]
[pk]
Or would not waste on a single head
The ball on numbers better sped.—[MS. G. erased]
[pl] I know not in faith——.—[MS. G.]
[356] [Gifford has drawn his pen through lines 456-478. If, as the editor of The Works of
Lord Byron, 1832 (x. 100), maintains, "Lord Byron gave Mr. Gifford carte blanche to
strike out or alter anything at his pleasure in this poem as it was passing through the
press," it is somewhat remarkable that he does not appear to have paid any attention
whatever to the august "reader's" suggestions and strictures. The sheets on which Gifford's
corrections are scrawled are not proof-sheets, but pages torn out of the first edition; and it
is probable that they were made after the poem was published, and with a view to the
inclusion of an emended edition in the collected works. See letter to Murray, January 2,
1817.]
[357] {468} This spectacle I have seen, such as described, beneath the wall of the
Seraglio at Constantinople, in the little cavities worn by the Bosphorus in the rock, a
narrow terrace of which projects between the wall and the water. I think the fact is also
mentioned in Hobhouse's Travels [in Albania, 1855, ii. 215]. The bodies were probably
those of some refractory Janizaries.
Immortal—boundless—undecayed—
Their souls the very soil pervade.—
[In the Copy the lines are erased.]
[ph] Where Freedom loveliest may be won.—[MS. G. erased.]
[354] The reader need hardly be reminded that there are no perceptible tides in the
Mediterranean.
[pi] So that fiercest of waves——.—[MS. G.]
[pj] {467} A little space of light grey sand.—[MS. G. erased.]
[355] [Compare The Island, Canto IV. sect. ii. lines 11, 12—
"A narrow segment of the yellow sand
On one side forms the outline of a strand."]
[pk]
Or would not waste on a single head
The ball on numbers better sped.—[MS. G. erased]
[pl] I know not in faith——.—[MS. G.]
[356] [Gifford has drawn his pen through lines 456-478. If, as the editor of The Works of
Lord Byron, 1832 (x. 100), maintains, "Lord Byron gave Mr. Gifford carte blanche to
strike out or alter anything at his pleasure in this poem as it was passing through the
press," it is somewhat remarkable that he does not appear to have paid any attention
whatever to the august "reader's" suggestions and strictures. The sheets on which Gifford's
corrections are scrawled are not proof-sheets, but pages torn out of the first edition; and it
is probable that they were made after the poem was published, and with a view to the
inclusion of an emended edition in the collected works. See letter to Murray, January 2,
1817.]
[357] {468} This spectacle I have seen, such as described, beneath the wall of the
Seraglio at Constantinople, in the little cavities worn by the Bosphorus in the rock, a
narrow terrace of which projects between the wall and the water. I think the fact is also
mentioned in Hobhouse's Travels [in Albania, 1855, ii. 215]. The bodies were probably
those of some refractory Janizaries.
Page 551
[358] This tuft, or long lock, is left from a superstition that Mahomet will draw them into
Paradise by it.
[pm] {469} Deep in the tide of their lost blood lying.—[MS. G. Copy.]
[359] ["Than the mangled corpse in its own blood lying."—G ifford .]
[pn] Than the rotting dead——.—[MS. G. erased.]
[360] [Strike out—
"Scorch'd with the death-thirst, and writhing in vain,
Than the perishing dead who are past all pain."
What is a "perishing dead"?—G ifford .]
[361] [Lines 487, 488 are inserted in the copy in Byron's handwriting.]
[po] And when all——.—[MS. G.]
[362] ["O'er the weltering limbs of the tombless dead."—G ifford .]
[pp]
All that liveth on man will prey,
All rejoicing in his decay,
or, Nature rejoicing in his decay.
All that can kindle dismay and disgust
Follow his frame from the bier to the dust.—[MS. G. erased.]
[pq] {470}
——it hath left no more
Of the mightiest things that have gone before.—[MS. G. erased.]
[363] [Omit this couplet.—G ifford .]
[pr] After this follows in the MS. erased—
Monuments that the coming age
Leaves to the spoil of the season's rage—
Till Ruin makes the relics scarce,
Then Learning acts her solemn farce,
And, roaming through the marble waste,
Prates of beauty, art, and taste.
XIX.
That Temple was more in the midst of the plain—
Paradise by it.
[pm] {469} Deep in the tide of their lost blood lying.—[MS. G. Copy.]
[359] ["Than the mangled corpse in its own blood lying."—G ifford .]
[pn] Than the rotting dead——.—[MS. G. erased.]
[360] [Strike out—
"Scorch'd with the death-thirst, and writhing in vain,
Than the perishing dead who are past all pain."
What is a "perishing dead"?—G ifford .]
[361] [Lines 487, 488 are inserted in the copy in Byron's handwriting.]
[po] And when all——.—[MS. G.]
[362] ["O'er the weltering limbs of the tombless dead."—G ifford .]
[pp]
All that liveth on man will prey,
All rejoicing in his decay,
or, Nature rejoicing in his decay.
All that can kindle dismay and disgust
Follow his frame from the bier to the dust.—[MS. G. erased.]
[pq] {470}
——it hath left no more
Of the mightiest things that have gone before.—[MS. G. erased.]
[363] [Omit this couplet.—G ifford .]
[pr] After this follows in the MS. erased—
Monuments that the coming age
Leaves to the spoil of the season's rage—
Till Ruin makes the relics scarce,
Then Learning acts her solemn farce,
And, roaming through the marble waste,
Prates of beauty, art, and taste.
XIX.
That Temple was more in the midst of the plain—
Page 552
or, What of that shrine did yet remain
Lay to his left more in midst of the plain.—[MS. G.]
[364] [From this all is beautiful to—"He saw not—he knew not—but nothing is there."—
G ifford . For "pillar's base," compare Childe Harold, Canto II. stanza x. line 2, Poetical
Works, 1899, ii. 105.]
[ps] {471}
Is it the wind that through the stone.
or, ——o'er the heavy stone.—[MS. G. erased.]
[365] I must here acknowledge a close, though unintentional, resemblance in these twelve
lines to a passage in an unpublished poem of Mr. Coleridge, called "Christabel." It was
not till after these lines were written that I heard that wild and singularly original and
beautiful poem recited; and the MS. of that production I never saw till very recently, by
the kindness of Mr. Coleridge himself, who, I hope, is convinced that I have not been a
wilful plagiarist. The original idea undoubtedly pertains to Mr. Coleridge, whose poem
has been composed above fourteen years. Let me conclude by a hope that he will not
longer delay the publication of a production, of which I can only add my mite of
approbation to the applause of far more competent judges.
[The lines in Christabel, Part the First, 43-52, 57, 58, are these—
"The night is chill; the forest bare;
Is it the wind that moaneth bleak?
There is not wind enough in the air
To move away the ringlet curl
From the lovely lady's cheek—
There is not wind enough to twirl
The one red leaf, the last of its clan,
That dances as often as dance it can,
Hanging so light, and hanging so high,
On the topmost twig that looks up at the sky."
" ... What sees she there?
There she sees a damsel bright,
Drest in a silken robe of white."
Byron (vide ante, p. 443), in a letter to Coleridge, dated October 27, 1815, had already
expressly guarded himself against a charge of plagiarism, by explaining that lines 521-532
of stanza xix. were written before he heard Walter Scott repeat Christabel in the preceding
June. Now, as Byron himself perceived, perhaps for the first time, when he had the MS. of
Christabel before him, the coincidence in language and style between the two passages is
Lay to his left more in midst of the plain.—[MS. G.]
[364] [From this all is beautiful to—"He saw not—he knew not—but nothing is there."—
G ifford . For "pillar's base," compare Childe Harold, Canto II. stanza x. line 2, Poetical
Works, 1899, ii. 105.]
[ps] {471}
Is it the wind that through the stone.
or, ——o'er the heavy stone.—[MS. G. erased.]
[365] I must here acknowledge a close, though unintentional, resemblance in these twelve
lines to a passage in an unpublished poem of Mr. Coleridge, called "Christabel." It was
not till after these lines were written that I heard that wild and singularly original and
beautiful poem recited; and the MS. of that production I never saw till very recently, by
the kindness of Mr. Coleridge himself, who, I hope, is convinced that I have not been a
wilful plagiarist. The original idea undoubtedly pertains to Mr. Coleridge, whose poem
has been composed above fourteen years. Let me conclude by a hope that he will not
longer delay the publication of a production, of which I can only add my mite of
approbation to the applause of far more competent judges.
[The lines in Christabel, Part the First, 43-52, 57, 58, are these—
"The night is chill; the forest bare;
Is it the wind that moaneth bleak?
There is not wind enough in the air
To move away the ringlet curl
From the lovely lady's cheek—
There is not wind enough to twirl
The one red leaf, the last of its clan,
That dances as often as dance it can,
Hanging so light, and hanging so high,
On the topmost twig that looks up at the sky."
" ... What sees she there?
There she sees a damsel bright,
Drest in a silken robe of white."
Byron (vide ante, p. 443), in a letter to Coleridge, dated October 27, 1815, had already
expressly guarded himself against a charge of plagiarism, by explaining that lines 521-532
of stanza xix. were written before he heard Walter Scott repeat Christabel in the preceding
June. Now, as Byron himself perceived, perhaps for the first time, when he had the MS. of
Christabel before him, the coincidence in language and style between the two passages is
Page 553
unquestionable; and, as he hoped and expected that Coleridge's fragment, when
completed, would issue from the press, he was anxious to avoid even the semblance of
pilfering, and went so far as to suggest that the passage should be cancelled. Neither in the
private letter nor the published note does Byron attempt to deny or explain away the
coincidence, but pleads that his lines were written before he had heard Coleridge's poem
recited, and that he had not been guilty of a "wilful plagiarism." There is no difficulty in
accepting his statement. Long before the summer of 1815 Christabel "had a pretty general
circulation in the literary world" (Medwin, Conversations, 1824, p. 261), and he may have
heard without heeding this and other passages quoted by privileged readers; or, though
never a line of Christabel had sounded in his ears, he may (as Kölbing points out) have
caught its lilt at second hand from the published works of Southey, or of Scott himself.
Compare Thalaba the Destroyer, v. 20 (1838, iv. 187)—
"What sound is borne on the wind?
Is it the storm that shakes
The thousand oaks of the forest?
Is it the river's roar
Dashed down some rocky descent?" etc.
Or compare The Lay of the Last Minstrel, I. xii. 5. seq. (1812, p. 24)—
"And now she sits in secret bower
In old Lord David's western tower,
And listens to a heavy sound,
That moans the mossy turrets round.
Is it the roar of Teviot's tide,
That chafes against the scaur's red side?
Is it the wind that swings the oaks?
Is it the echo from the rocks?" etc.
Certain lines of Coleridge's did, no doubt, "find themselves" in the Siege of Corinth,
having found their way to the younger poet's ear and fancy before the Lady of the vision
was directly and formally introduced to his notice.]
[pt] {473}There sate a lady young and bright.—[MS. G. erased.]
[366] [Contemporary critics fell foul of these lines for various reasons. The Critical
Review (February, 1816, vol. iii. p. 151) remarks that "the following couplet [i.e. lines
531, 532] reminds us of the persiflage of Lewis or the pathos of a vulgar ballad;" while
the Dublin Examiner (May, 1816, vol. i. p. 19) directs a double charge against the
completed, would issue from the press, he was anxious to avoid even the semblance of
pilfering, and went so far as to suggest that the passage should be cancelled. Neither in the
private letter nor the published note does Byron attempt to deny or explain away the
coincidence, but pleads that his lines were written before he had heard Coleridge's poem
recited, and that he had not been guilty of a "wilful plagiarism." There is no difficulty in
accepting his statement. Long before the summer of 1815 Christabel "had a pretty general
circulation in the literary world" (Medwin, Conversations, 1824, p. 261), and he may have
heard without heeding this and other passages quoted by privileged readers; or, though
never a line of Christabel had sounded in his ears, he may (as Kölbing points out) have
caught its lilt at second hand from the published works of Southey, or of Scott himself.
Compare Thalaba the Destroyer, v. 20 (1838, iv. 187)—
"What sound is borne on the wind?
Is it the storm that shakes
The thousand oaks of the forest?
Is it the river's roar
Dashed down some rocky descent?" etc.
Or compare The Lay of the Last Minstrel, I. xii. 5. seq. (1812, p. 24)—
"And now she sits in secret bower
In old Lord David's western tower,
And listens to a heavy sound,
That moans the mossy turrets round.
Is it the roar of Teviot's tide,
That chafes against the scaur's red side?
Is it the wind that swings the oaks?
Is it the echo from the rocks?" etc.
Certain lines of Coleridge's did, no doubt, "find themselves" in the Siege of Corinth,
having found their way to the younger poet's ear and fancy before the Lady of the vision
was directly and formally introduced to his notice.]
[pt] {473}There sate a lady young and bright.—[MS. G. erased.]
[366] [Contemporary critics fell foul of these lines for various reasons. The Critical
Review (February, 1816, vol. iii. p. 151) remarks that "the following couplet [i.e. lines
531, 532] reminds us of the persiflage of Lewis or the pathos of a vulgar ballad;" while
the Dublin Examiner (May, 1816, vol. i. p. 19) directs a double charge against the
Page 554
founders of the schism and their proselyte: "If the Cumberland Lakers were not well
known to be personages of the most pious and saintly temperament, we would really have
serious apprehensions lest our noble Poet should come to any harm in consequence of the
envy which the two following lines and a great many others through the poems, might
excite by their successful rivalship of some of the finest effects of babyism that these
Gentlemen can boast."]
[pu] He would have made it——.—[MS. G. erased.]
[pv] She who would——.—[MS. G. erased.]
[pw] {474} The ocean spread before their view.—[Copy.]
[367] ["And its thrilling glance, etc."—G ifford .]
[368] [Warton (Observations en the Fairy Queen, 1807, ii. 131), commenting on Spenser's
famous description of "Una and the Lion" (Faëry Queene, Book I. canto iii. stanzas 5, 6,
7), quotes the following passage from Seven Champions of Christendom: "Now, Sabra, I
have by this sufficiently proved thy true virginitie: for it is the nature of a lion, be he never
so furious, not to harme the unspotted virgin, but humbly to lay his bristled head upon a
maiden's lap."
Byron, according to Leigh Hunt (Lord Byron and some of his Contemporaries, 1828, i.
77), could not "see anything" in Spenser, and was not familiar with the Fairy Queen; but
he may have had in mind Scott's allusion to Spenser's Una—
"Harpers have sung and poets told
That he, in fury uncontrolled,
The shaggy monarch of the wood,
Before a virgin, fair and good,
Hath pacified his savage mood."
Marmion, Canto II. stanza vii. line 3, seq.
(See Kölbing's note to Siege of Corinth, 1893, pp. 110-112.)]
[px] {476}
She laid her fingers on his hand,
Its coldness thrilled through every bone.—[MS. G. erased.]
[py] As he looked on her face——.—[MS. G.]
[pz] ——on her bosom's swell.—[MS. G. erased. Copy.]
known to be personages of the most pious and saintly temperament, we would really have
serious apprehensions lest our noble Poet should come to any harm in consequence of the
envy which the two following lines and a great many others through the poems, might
excite by their successful rivalship of some of the finest effects of babyism that these
Gentlemen can boast."]
[pu] He would have made it——.—[MS. G. erased.]
[pv] She who would——.—[MS. G. erased.]
[pw] {474} The ocean spread before their view.—[Copy.]
[367] ["And its thrilling glance, etc."—G ifford .]
[368] [Warton (Observations en the Fairy Queen, 1807, ii. 131), commenting on Spenser's
famous description of "Una and the Lion" (Faëry Queene, Book I. canto iii. stanzas 5, 6,
7), quotes the following passage from Seven Champions of Christendom: "Now, Sabra, I
have by this sufficiently proved thy true virginitie: for it is the nature of a lion, be he never
so furious, not to harme the unspotted virgin, but humbly to lay his bristled head upon a
maiden's lap."
Byron, according to Leigh Hunt (Lord Byron and some of his Contemporaries, 1828, i.
77), could not "see anything" in Spenser, and was not familiar with the Fairy Queen; but
he may have had in mind Scott's allusion to Spenser's Una—
"Harpers have sung and poets told
That he, in fury uncontrolled,
The shaggy monarch of the wood,
Before a virgin, fair and good,
Hath pacified his savage mood."
Marmion, Canto II. stanza vii. line 3, seq.
(See Kölbing's note to Siege of Corinth, 1893, pp. 110-112.)]
[px] {476}
She laid her fingers on his hand,
Its coldness thrilled through every bone.—[MS. G. erased.]
[py] As he looked on her face——.—[MS. G.]
[pz] ——on her bosom's swell.—[MS. G. erased. Copy.]
Page 555
[369] [Compare Shakespeare, Macbeth, act v. sc. 1, line 30—
"You see, her eyes are open,
Aye, but their sense is shut."
Compare, too, Christabel, Conclusion to Part the First (lines 292, 293)—
"With open eyes (ah, woe is me!)
Asleep, and dreaming fearfully."]
[qa] {477}
Like a picture, that magic had charmed from its frame,
Lifeless but life-like, and ever the same.
or, Like a picture come forth from its canvas and frame.—
[MS. G. erased.]
[qb]
And seen——.—[MS. G.]
——its fleecy mail.—[MS. G. erased.]
[370] [In the summer of 1803, Byron, then turned fifteen, though offered a bed at
Annesley, used at first to return every night to Newstead; alleging that he was afraid of the
family pictures of the Chaworths, which he fancied "had taken a grudge to him on account
of the duel, and would come down from their frames to haunt him." Moore thinks this
passage may have been suggested by the recollection (Life, p. 27). Compare Lara, Canto
I. stanza xi. line 1, seq. (vide ante, p. 331, note 1).]
[371] [Compare Southey's Roderick, Canto XXI. (ed. 1838, ix. 195)—
" ... and till the grave
Open, the gate of mercy is not closed."]
[372] {478} I have been told that the idea expressed in this and the five following lines
has been admired by those whose approbation is valuable. I am glad of it; but it is not
original—at least not mine; it may be found much better expressed in pages 182-3-4 of
the English version of "Vathek" (I forget the precise page of the French), a work to which
I have before referred; and never recur to, or read, without a renewal of gratification.—
[The following is the passage: "'Deluded prince!' said the Genius, addressing the Caliph ...
'This moment is the last, of grace, allowed thee: ... give back Nouronihar to her father,
who still retains a few sparks of life: destroy thy tower, with all its abominations: drive
Carathis from thy councils: be just to thy subjects: respect the ministers of the Prophet:
"You see, her eyes are open,
Aye, but their sense is shut."
Compare, too, Christabel, Conclusion to Part the First (lines 292, 293)—
"With open eyes (ah, woe is me!)
Asleep, and dreaming fearfully."]
[qa] {477}
Like a picture, that magic had charmed from its frame,
Lifeless but life-like, and ever the same.
or, Like a picture come forth from its canvas and frame.—
[MS. G. erased.]
[qb]
And seen——.—[MS. G.]
——its fleecy mail.—[MS. G. erased.]
[370] [In the summer of 1803, Byron, then turned fifteen, though offered a bed at
Annesley, used at first to return every night to Newstead; alleging that he was afraid of the
family pictures of the Chaworths, which he fancied "had taken a grudge to him on account
of the duel, and would come down from their frames to haunt him." Moore thinks this
passage may have been suggested by the recollection (Life, p. 27). Compare Lara, Canto
I. stanza xi. line 1, seq. (vide ante, p. 331, note 1).]
[371] [Compare Southey's Roderick, Canto XXI. (ed. 1838, ix. 195)—
" ... and till the grave
Open, the gate of mercy is not closed."]
[372] {478} I have been told that the idea expressed in this and the five following lines
has been admired by those whose approbation is valuable. I am glad of it; but it is not
original—at least not mine; it may be found much better expressed in pages 182-3-4 of
the English version of "Vathek" (I forget the precise page of the French), a work to which
I have before referred; and never recur to, or read, without a renewal of gratification.—
[The following is the passage: "'Deluded prince!' said the Genius, addressing the Caliph ...
'This moment is the last, of grace, allowed thee: ... give back Nouronihar to her father,
who still retains a few sparks of life: destroy thy tower, with all its abominations: drive
Carathis from thy councils: be just to thy subjects: respect the ministers of the Prophet:
Page 556
compensate for thy impieties by an exemplary life; and, instead of squandering thy days
in voluptuous indulgence, lament thy crimes on the sepulchres of thy ancestors. Thou
beholdest the clouds that obscure the sun: at the instant he recovers his splendour, if thy
heart be not changed, the time of mercy assigned thee will be past for ever.'"
"Vathek, depressed with fear, was on the point of prostrating himself at the feet of the
shepherd ... but, his pride prevailing ... he said, 'Whoever thou art, withhold thy useless
admonitions.... If what I have done be so criminal ... there remains not for me a moment
of grace. I have traversed a sea of blood to acquire a power which will make thy equals
tremble; deem not that I shall retire when in view of the port; or that I will relinquish her
who is dearer to me than either my life or thy mercy. Let the sun appear! let him illumine
my career! it matters not where it may end!' On uttering these words ... Vathek ...
commanded that his horses should be forced back to the road.
"There was no difficulty in obeying these orders; for the attraction had ceased; the sun
shone forth in all his glory, and the shepherd vanished with a lamentable scream" (ed.
1786, pp. 183-185).]
[qc] {479} By rooted and unhallowed pride.—[MS. G. erased.]
[373] [Leave out this couplet.—G ifford .]
[374] {480} [Compare—"While the still morn went out with sandals grey." Lycidas, line
187.]
[375] [Strike out—"And the Noon will look on a sultry day."—G ifford .]
[376] The horsetails, fixed upon a lance, a pacha's standard.
["When the vizir appears in public, three thoughs, or horse-tails, fastened to a long staff,
with a large gold ball at top, is borne before him."—Moeurs des Ottomans, par A. L.
Castellan (Translated, 1821), iv. 7.
Compare Childe Harold, Canto II., "Albanian War-Song," stanza 10, line 2; and Bride of
Abydos, line 714 (vide ante, p. 189).]
[377] [Compare—"Send out moe horses, skirr the country round." Macbeth, act v. sc. 3,
line 35.]
[378] [Omit—
"While your fellows on foot, in a fiery mass,
Bloodstain the breach through which they pass."
in voluptuous indulgence, lament thy crimes on the sepulchres of thy ancestors. Thou
beholdest the clouds that obscure the sun: at the instant he recovers his splendour, if thy
heart be not changed, the time of mercy assigned thee will be past for ever.'"
"Vathek, depressed with fear, was on the point of prostrating himself at the feet of the
shepherd ... but, his pride prevailing ... he said, 'Whoever thou art, withhold thy useless
admonitions.... If what I have done be so criminal ... there remains not for me a moment
of grace. I have traversed a sea of blood to acquire a power which will make thy equals
tremble; deem not that I shall retire when in view of the port; or that I will relinquish her
who is dearer to me than either my life or thy mercy. Let the sun appear! let him illumine
my career! it matters not where it may end!' On uttering these words ... Vathek ...
commanded that his horses should be forced back to the road.
"There was no difficulty in obeying these orders; for the attraction had ceased; the sun
shone forth in all his glory, and the shepherd vanished with a lamentable scream" (ed.
1786, pp. 183-185).]
[qc] {479} By rooted and unhallowed pride.—[MS. G. erased.]
[373] [Leave out this couplet.—G ifford .]
[374] {480} [Compare—"While the still morn went out with sandals grey." Lycidas, line
187.]
[375] [Strike out—"And the Noon will look on a sultry day."—G ifford .]
[376] The horsetails, fixed upon a lance, a pacha's standard.
["When the vizir appears in public, three thoughs, or horse-tails, fastened to a long staff,
with a large gold ball at top, is borne before him."—Moeurs des Ottomans, par A. L.
Castellan (Translated, 1821), iv. 7.
Compare Childe Harold, Canto II., "Albanian War-Song," stanza 10, line 2; and Bride of
Abydos, line 714 (vide ante, p. 189).]
[377] [Compare—"Send out moe horses, skirr the country round." Macbeth, act v. sc. 3,
line 35.]
[378] [Omit—
"While your fellows on foot, in a fiery mass,
Bloodstain the breach through which they pass."
Page 557
—G ifford .]
[379] ["And crush the wall they have shaken before."—G ifford .]
[380] [Compare The Giaour, line 734 (vide ante, p. 120)—"At solemn sound of 'Alla
Hu!'" And Don Juan, Canto VIII. stanza viii.]
[381] ["He who first downs with the red cross may crave," etc. What vulgarism is this!
—"He who lowers,—or plucks down," etc.—G ifford .]
[382] [The historian, George Finlay, who met and frequently conversed with Byron at
Mesalonghi, with a view to illustrating "Lord Byron's Siege of Corinth," subjoins in a note
the full text of "the summons sent by the grand vizier, and the answer." (See Finlay's
Greece under Othoman and Venetian Domination, 1856, p. 266, note 1; and, for the
original authority, see Brue's Journal de la Campagne, ... en 1715, Paris, 1871, p. 18.)]
[383] {482}
["Thus against the wall they bent,
Thus the first were backward sent."
—G ifford .]
[qd] With such volley yields like glass.—[MS. G. erased.]
[qe] Like the mowers ridge——.—[MS. G. erased.]
[384] ["Such was the fall of the foremost train."—G ifford .]
[385] {483} [Compare The Deformed Transformed, Part I. sc. 2 ("Song of the Soldiers")
—
"Our shout shall grow gladder,
And death only be mute."]
[qf] I have heard——.—[MS. G.]
[386] [Compare Macbeth, act ii. sc. 2, line 55—
"If he do bleed,
I'll gild the faces of the grooms withal."]
[387] {484} ["There stood a man," etc.—G ifford .]
[388] ["Lurked"—a bad word—say "was hid."—G ifford .]
[389] ["Outnumbered his hairs," etc.—G ifford .]
[379] ["And crush the wall they have shaken before."—G ifford .]
[380] [Compare The Giaour, line 734 (vide ante, p. 120)—"At solemn sound of 'Alla
Hu!'" And Don Juan, Canto VIII. stanza viii.]
[381] ["He who first downs with the red cross may crave," etc. What vulgarism is this!
—"He who lowers,—or plucks down," etc.—G ifford .]
[382] [The historian, George Finlay, who met and frequently conversed with Byron at
Mesalonghi, with a view to illustrating "Lord Byron's Siege of Corinth," subjoins in a note
the full text of "the summons sent by the grand vizier, and the answer." (See Finlay's
Greece under Othoman and Venetian Domination, 1856, p. 266, note 1; and, for the
original authority, see Brue's Journal de la Campagne, ... en 1715, Paris, 1871, p. 18.)]
[383] {482}
["Thus against the wall they bent,
Thus the first were backward sent."
—G ifford .]
[qd] With such volley yields like glass.—[MS. G. erased.]
[qe] Like the mowers ridge——.—[MS. G. erased.]
[384] ["Such was the fall of the foremost train."—G ifford .]
[385] {483} [Compare The Deformed Transformed, Part I. sc. 2 ("Song of the Soldiers")
—
"Our shout shall grow gladder,
And death only be mute."]
[qf] I have heard——.—[MS. G.]
[386] [Compare Macbeth, act ii. sc. 2, line 55—
"If he do bleed,
I'll gild the faces of the grooms withal."]
[387] {484} ["There stood a man," etc.—G ifford .]
[388] ["Lurked"—a bad word—say "was hid."—G ifford .]
[389] ["Outnumbered his hairs," etc.—G ifford .]
Page 558
[390] ["Sons that were unborn, when he dipped."—G ifford .]
[391] {485} [Bravo!—this is better than King Priam's fifty sons.—G ifford .]
[392] In the naval battle at the mouth of the Dardanelles, between the Venetians and
Turks.
[393] [There can be no such thing; but the whole of this is poor, and spun out.—G ifford .
The solecism, if such it be, was repeated in Marino Faliero, act iii. sc. I, line 38.]
[394] [Compare Childe Harold, Canto II. stanza xxix. lines 5-8 (Poetical Works, 1899, ii.
125)—
"Dark Sappho! could not Verse immortal save?...
If life eternal may await the lyre."]
[395] ["Hark to the Alia Hu!" etc.—G ifford .]
[396] {486} [Gifford has erased lines 839-847.]
[qg] Though the life of thy giving would last for ever.—[MS. G. Copy.]
[qh] Where's Francesca?—my promised bride!—[MS. G. Copy.]
[qi] {488} Here follows in MS. G.—
Twice and once he roll'd a space,
Then lead-like lay upon his face.
[qj] Sigh, nor sign, nor parting word.—[MS. G. erased.]
[397] [The Spanish "renegado" and the Anglicized "renegade" were favourite terms of
reprobation with politicians and others at the beginning of the century. When Southey's
Wat Tyler was reprinted in 1817, William Smith, the Member for Norwich, denounced the
Laureate as a "renegado," an attack which Coleridge did his best to parry by contributing
articles to the Courier on "Apostasy and Renegadoism" (Letter to Murray, March 26,
1817, Memoir of John Murray, 1891, i. 306). Byron himself, in Don Juan ("Dedication,"
stanza i. line 5), hails Southey as "My Epic Renegade!" Compare, too, stanza xiv. of
"Lines addressed to a Noble Lord (His Lordship will know why), By one of the small Fry
of the Lakes" (i.e. Miss Barker, the "Bhow Begum" of Southey's Doctor)—
"And our Ponds shall better please thee,
Than those now dishonoured seas,
With their shores and Cyclades
Stocked with Pachas, Seraskiers,
[391] {485} [Bravo!—this is better than King Priam's fifty sons.—G ifford .]
[392] In the naval battle at the mouth of the Dardanelles, between the Venetians and
Turks.
[393] [There can be no such thing; but the whole of this is poor, and spun out.—G ifford .
The solecism, if such it be, was repeated in Marino Faliero, act iii. sc. I, line 38.]
[394] [Compare Childe Harold, Canto II. stanza xxix. lines 5-8 (Poetical Works, 1899, ii.
125)—
"Dark Sappho! could not Verse immortal save?...
If life eternal may await the lyre."]
[395] ["Hark to the Alia Hu!" etc.—G ifford .]
[396] {486} [Gifford has erased lines 839-847.]
[qg] Though the life of thy giving would last for ever.—[MS. G. Copy.]
[qh] Where's Francesca?—my promised bride!—[MS. G. Copy.]
[qi] {488} Here follows in MS. G.—
Twice and once he roll'd a space,
Then lead-like lay upon his face.
[qj] Sigh, nor sign, nor parting word.—[MS. G. erased.]
[397] [The Spanish "renegado" and the Anglicized "renegade" were favourite terms of
reprobation with politicians and others at the beginning of the century. When Southey's
Wat Tyler was reprinted in 1817, William Smith, the Member for Norwich, denounced the
Laureate as a "renegado," an attack which Coleridge did his best to parry by contributing
articles to the Courier on "Apostasy and Renegadoism" (Letter to Murray, March 26,
1817, Memoir of John Murray, 1891, i. 306). Byron himself, in Don Juan ("Dedication,"
stanza i. line 5), hails Southey as "My Epic Renegade!" Compare, too, stanza xiv. of
"Lines addressed to a Noble Lord (His Lordship will know why), By one of the small Fry
of the Lakes" (i.e. Miss Barker, the "Bhow Begum" of Southey's Doctor)—
"And our Ponds shall better please thee,
Than those now dishonoured seas,
With their shores and Cyclades
Stocked with Pachas, Seraskiers,
Page 559
Slaves and turbaned Buccaneers;
Sensual Mussulmans atrocious,
Renegadoes more ferocious," etc.]
[qk] {489} These in rage, in triumph those.—[MS. G. Copy erased.]
[ql] Then again in fury mixing.—[MS. G.]
[398] ["Dealing death with every blow."—G ifford .]
[399] {490} [Compare Don Juan, Canto XIII. stanza lxi. lines 1, seq.—
"But in a higher niche, alone, but crowned,
The Virgin-Mother of the God-born Child,
With her Son in her blessed arms, looked round ...
But even the faintest relics of a shrine
Of any worship wake some thoughts divine."]
[qm]
——beneath the { chequered
inlaid }
stone.—[MS. G. erased.]
[qn] But now half-blotted——.—[MS. G. erased.]
[qo] But War must make the most of means.—[MS. G. erased.]
[400] {492} ["Oh, but it made a glorious show!!!" Gifford erases the line, and adds these
marks of exclamation.]
[qp] ——the sacrament wine.—[MS. G. erased.]
[qq] Which the Christians partook at the break of the day.—[MS. G. Copy.]
[401] {493} [Compare Sardanapalus, act v. sc. 1 (s.f.)—
"Myr. Art thou ready?
Sard. As the torch in thy grasp.
(Myrrha fires the pile.)
Myr. 'Tis fired! I come."]
[402] [A critic in the Eclectic Review (vol. v. N.S., 1816, p. 273), commenting on the
"obvious carelessness" of these lines, remarks, "We know not how 'all that of dead
remained' could expire in that wild roar." To apply the word "expire" to inanimate objects
Sensual Mussulmans atrocious,
Renegadoes more ferocious," etc.]
[qk] {489} These in rage, in triumph those.—[MS. G. Copy erased.]
[ql] Then again in fury mixing.—[MS. G.]
[398] ["Dealing death with every blow."—G ifford .]
[399] {490} [Compare Don Juan, Canto XIII. stanza lxi. lines 1, seq.—
"But in a higher niche, alone, but crowned,
The Virgin-Mother of the God-born Child,
With her Son in her blessed arms, looked round ...
But even the faintest relics of a shrine
Of any worship wake some thoughts divine."]
[qm]
——beneath the { chequered
inlaid }
stone.—[MS. G. erased.]
[qn] But now half-blotted——.—[MS. G. erased.]
[qo] But War must make the most of means.—[MS. G. erased.]
[400] {492} ["Oh, but it made a glorious show!!!" Gifford erases the line, and adds these
marks of exclamation.]
[qp] ——the sacrament wine.—[MS. G. erased.]
[qq] Which the Christians partook at the break of the day.—[MS. G. Copy.]
[401] {493} [Compare Sardanapalus, act v. sc. 1 (s.f.)—
"Myr. Art thou ready?
Sard. As the torch in thy grasp.
(Myrrha fires the pile.)
Myr. 'Tis fired! I come."]
[402] [A critic in the Eclectic Review (vol. v. N.S., 1816, p. 273), commenting on the
"obvious carelessness" of these lines, remarks, "We know not how 'all that of dead
remained' could expire in that wild roar." To apply the word "expire" to inanimate objects
Page 560
is, no doubt, an archaism, but Byron might have quoted Dryden as an authority, "The
ponderous ball expires."]
[qr] The hills as by an earthquake bent.—[MS. G. erased.]
[403] {494} [Strike out from "Up to the sky," etc., to "All blackened there and reeking
lay." Despicable stuff.—G ifford .]
[qs] Who can see or who shall say?—[MS. G. erased.]
[404] [Lines 1043-1047 are not in the Copy or MS. G., but were included in the text of the
First Edition.]
[405] [Compare Don Juan, Canto II. stanza cii. line 1, seq.—
"Famine, despair, cold, thirst, and heat, had done
Their work on them by turns, and thinned them to
Such things a mother had not known her son
Amidst the skeletons of that gaunt crew."
Compare, too, The Island, Canto I. section ix. lines 13, 14.]
[qt] {495} And crashed each mass of stone.—[MS. G. erased.]
[qu]
And left their food the unburied dead.—[Copy.]
And left their food the untasted dead.—[MS. G.]
And howling left——.—[MS. G. erased.]
[406] [Omit the next six lines.—G ifford .]
[407] ["I have heard hyænas and jackalls in the ruins of Asia; and bull-frogs in the
marshes; besides wolves and angry Mussulmans."—Journal, November 23, 1813, Letters,
1898, ii. 340.]
[qv] Where Echo rolled in horror still.—[MS. G.]
[qw] The frightened jackal's shrill sharp cry.—[MS. G. erased.]
[408] I believe I have taken a poetical licence to transplant the jackal from Asia. In Greece
I never saw nor heard these animals; but among the ruins of Ephesus I have heard them by
hundreds. They haunt ruins, and follow armies. [Compare Childe Harold, Canto IV.
stanza cliii. line 6; and Don Juan, Canto IX. stanza xxvii. line 2.]
[qx] Mixed and mournful as the sound.—[MS. G.]
ponderous ball expires."]
[qr] The hills as by an earthquake bent.—[MS. G. erased.]
[403] {494} [Strike out from "Up to the sky," etc., to "All blackened there and reeking
lay." Despicable stuff.—G ifford .]
[qs] Who can see or who shall say?—[MS. G. erased.]
[404] [Lines 1043-1047 are not in the Copy or MS. G., but were included in the text of the
First Edition.]
[405] [Compare Don Juan, Canto II. stanza cii. line 1, seq.—
"Famine, despair, cold, thirst, and heat, had done
Their work on them by turns, and thinned them to
Such things a mother had not known her son
Amidst the skeletons of that gaunt crew."
Compare, too, The Island, Canto I. section ix. lines 13, 14.]
[qt] {495} And crashed each mass of stone.—[MS. G. erased.]
[qu]
And left their food the unburied dead.—[Copy.]
And left their food the untasted dead.—[MS. G.]
And howling left——.—[MS. G. erased.]
[406] [Omit the next six lines.—G ifford .]
[407] ["I have heard hyænas and jackalls in the ruins of Asia; and bull-frogs in the
marshes; besides wolves and angry Mussulmans."—Journal, November 23, 1813, Letters,
1898, ii. 340.]
[qv] Where Echo rolled in horror still.—[MS. G.]
[qw] The frightened jackal's shrill sharp cry.—[MS. G. erased.]
[408] I believe I have taken a poetical licence to transplant the jackal from Asia. In Greece
I never saw nor heard these animals; but among the ruins of Ephesus I have heard them by
hundreds. They haunt ruins, and follow armies. [Compare Childe Harold, Canto IV.
stanza cliii. line 6; and Don Juan, Canto IX. stanza xxvii. line 2.]
[qx] Mixed and mournful as the sound.—[MS. G.]
Page 561
[409] [Leave out this couplet.—G ifford .]
[410] [With lines 1058-1079, compare Southey's Roderick (Canto XVIII., ed. 1838, ix.
169)—
"Far and wide the thundering shout,
Rolling among reduplicating rocks,
Pealed o'er the hills, and up the mountain vales.
The wild ass starting in the forest glade
Ran to the covert; the affrighted wolf
Skulked through the thicket to a closer brake;
The sluggish bear, awakened in his den,
Roused up and answered with a sullen growl,
Low-breathed and long; and at the uproar scared,
The brooding eagle from her nest took wing."
A sentence in a letter to Moore, dated January 10, 1815 (Letters, 1899, iii. 168), "I have
tried the rascals (i.e. the public) with my Harrys and Larrys, Pilgrims and Pirates. Nobody
but S....y has done any thing worth a slice of bookseller's pudding, and he has not luck
enough to be found out in doing a good thing," implies that Byron had read and admired
Southey's Roderick—an inference which is curiously confirmed by a memorandum in
Murray's handwriting: "When Southey's poem, Don Roderick (sic), was published, Lord
Byron sent in the middle of the night to ask John Murray if he had heard any opinion of it,
for he thought it one of the finest poems he had ever read." The resemblance between the
two passages, which is pointed out by Professor Kölbing, is too close to be wholly
unconscious, but Byron's expansion of Southey's lines hardly amounts to a plagiarism.]
[410] [With lines 1058-1079, compare Southey's Roderick (Canto XVIII., ed. 1838, ix.
169)—
"Far and wide the thundering shout,
Rolling among reduplicating rocks,
Pealed o'er the hills, and up the mountain vales.
The wild ass starting in the forest glade
Ran to the covert; the affrighted wolf
Skulked through the thicket to a closer brake;
The sluggish bear, awakened in his den,
Roused up and answered with a sullen growl,
Low-breathed and long; and at the uproar scared,
The brooding eagle from her nest took wing."
A sentence in a letter to Moore, dated January 10, 1815 (Letters, 1899, iii. 168), "I have
tried the rascals (i.e. the public) with my Harrys and Larrys, Pilgrims and Pirates. Nobody
but S....y has done any thing worth a slice of bookseller's pudding, and he has not luck
enough to be found out in doing a good thing," implies that Byron had read and admired
Southey's Roderick—an inference which is curiously confirmed by a memorandum in
Murray's handwriting: "When Southey's poem, Don Roderick (sic), was published, Lord
Byron sent in the middle of the night to ask John Murray if he had heard any opinion of it,
for he thought it one of the finest poems he had ever read." The resemblance between the
two passages, which is pointed out by Professor Kölbing, is too close to be wholly
unconscious, but Byron's expansion of Southey's lines hardly amounts to a plagiarism.]
Page 562
PARISINA.
Page 563
INTRODUCTION TO PARISINA.
P arisina , which had been begun before the Siege of Corinth, was
transcribed by Lady Byron, and sent to the publisher at the beginning of
December, 1815. Murray confessed that he had been alarmed by some hints
which Byron had dropped as to the plot of the narrative, but was reassured
when he traced "the delicate hand that transcribed it." He could not say
enough of this "Pearl" of great price. "It is very interesting, pathetic,
beautiful—do you know I would almost say moral" (Memoir of John
Murray, 1891, i. 353). Ward, to whom the MS. of Parisina was shown, and
Isaac D'Israeli, who heard it read aloud by Murray, were enthusiastic as to
its merits; and Gifford, who had mingled censure with praise in his critical
appreciation of the Siege, declared that the author "had never surpassed
Parisina."
The last and shortest of the six narrative poems composed and published
in the four years (the first years of manhood and of fame, the only years of
manhood passed at home in England) which elapsed between the
appearance of the first two cantos of Childe Harold and the third, Parisina
has, perhaps, never yet received its due. At the time of its appearance it
shared the odium which was provoked by the publication of Fare Thee Well
and A Sketch, and before there was time to reconsider the new volume on its
own merits, the new canto of Childe Harold, followed almost immediately
by the Prisoner of Chillon and its brilliant and noticeable companion
P arisina , which had been begun before the Siege of Corinth, was
transcribed by Lady Byron, and sent to the publisher at the beginning of
December, 1815. Murray confessed that he had been alarmed by some hints
which Byron had dropped as to the plot of the narrative, but was reassured
when he traced "the delicate hand that transcribed it." He could not say
enough of this "Pearl" of great price. "It is very interesting, pathetic,
beautiful—do you know I would almost say moral" (Memoir of John
Murray, 1891, i. 353). Ward, to whom the MS. of Parisina was shown, and
Isaac D'Israeli, who heard it read aloud by Murray, were enthusiastic as to
its merits; and Gifford, who had mingled censure with praise in his critical
appreciation of the Siege, declared that the author "had never surpassed
Parisina."
The last and shortest of the six narrative poems composed and published
in the four years (the first years of manhood and of fame, the only years of
manhood passed at home in England) which elapsed between the
appearance of the first two cantos of Childe Harold and the third, Parisina
has, perhaps, never yet received its due. At the time of its appearance it
shared the odium which was provoked by the publication of Fare Thee Well
and A Sketch, and before there was time to reconsider the new volume on its
own merits, the new canto of Childe Harold, followed almost immediately
by the Prisoner of Chillon and its brilliant and noticeable companion
Page 564
poems, usurped the attention of friend and foe. Contemporary critics (with
the exception of the Monthly and Critical Reviews) fell foul of the subject-
matter of the poem—the guilty passion of a bastard son for his father's wife.
"It was too disgusting to be rendered pleasing by any display of genius"
(European Magazine); "The story of Parisina includes adultery not to be
named" (Literary Panorama); while the Eclectic, on grounds of taste rather
than of morals, gave judgment that "the subject of the tale was purely
unpleasing"—"the impression left simply painful."
Byron, no doubt, for better or worse, was in advance of his age, in the
pursuit of art for art's sake, and in his indifference, not to morality—the
dénouement of the story is severely moral—but to the moral edification of
his readers. The tale was chosen because it is a tale of love and guilt and
woe, and the poet, unconcerned with any other issue, sets the tale to an
enchanting melody. It does not occur to him to condone or to reprobate the
loves of Hugo and Parisina, and in detailing the issue leaves the actors to
their fate. It was this aloofness from ethical considerations which perturbed
and irritated the "canters," as Byron called them—the children and
champions of the anti-revolution. The modern reader, without being
attracted or repelled by the motif of the story, will take pleasure in the
sustained energy and sure beauty of the poetic strain. Byron may have gone
to the "nakedness of history" for his facts, but he clothed them in singing
robes of a delicate and shining texture.
TO
SCROPE BERDMORE DAVIES, ESQ.
the exception of the Monthly and Critical Reviews) fell foul of the subject-
matter of the poem—the guilty passion of a bastard son for his father's wife.
"It was too disgusting to be rendered pleasing by any display of genius"
(European Magazine); "The story of Parisina includes adultery not to be
named" (Literary Panorama); while the Eclectic, on grounds of taste rather
than of morals, gave judgment that "the subject of the tale was purely
unpleasing"—"the impression left simply painful."
Byron, no doubt, for better or worse, was in advance of his age, in the
pursuit of art for art's sake, and in his indifference, not to morality—the
dénouement of the story is severely moral—but to the moral edification of
his readers. The tale was chosen because it is a tale of love and guilt and
woe, and the poet, unconcerned with any other issue, sets the tale to an
enchanting melody. It does not occur to him to condone or to reprobate the
loves of Hugo and Parisina, and in detailing the issue leaves the actors to
their fate. It was this aloofness from ethical considerations which perturbed
and irritated the "canters," as Byron called them—the children and
champions of the anti-revolution. The modern reader, without being
attracted or repelled by the motif of the story, will take pleasure in the
sustained energy and sure beauty of the poetic strain. Byron may have gone
to the "nakedness of history" for his facts, but he clothed them in singing
robes of a delicate and shining texture.
TO
SCROPE BERDMORE DAVIES, ESQ.
Page 565
the following poem
I s I nscribed ,
by one who has long admired his talents
and valued his friendship .
January 22, 1816.
ADVERTISEMENT.
The following poem is grounded on a circumstance mentioned in Gibbon's
"Antiquities of the House of Brunswick." I am aware, that in modern times,
the delicacy or fastidiousness of the reader may deem such subjects unfit
for the purposes of poetry. The Greek dramatists, and some of the best of
our old English writers, were of a different opinion: as Alfieri and Schiller
have also been, more recently, upon the Continent. The following extract
will explain the facts on which the story is founded. The name of Azo is
substituted for Nicholas, as more metrical.—[B.]
"Under the reign of Nicholas III. [A.D. 1425] Ferrara was polluted with
a domestic tragedy. By the testimony of a maid, and his own observation,
the Marquis of Este discovered the incestuous loves of his wife Parisina,
and Hugo his bastard son, a beautiful and valiant youth. They were
beheaded in the castle by the sentence of a father and husband, who
published his shame, and survived their execution.[411] He was unfortunate,
I s I nscribed ,
by one who has long admired his talents
and valued his friendship .
January 22, 1816.
ADVERTISEMENT.
The following poem is grounded on a circumstance mentioned in Gibbon's
"Antiquities of the House of Brunswick." I am aware, that in modern times,
the delicacy or fastidiousness of the reader may deem such subjects unfit
for the purposes of poetry. The Greek dramatists, and some of the best of
our old English writers, were of a different opinion: as Alfieri and Schiller
have also been, more recently, upon the Continent. The following extract
will explain the facts on which the story is founded. The name of Azo is
substituted for Nicholas, as more metrical.—[B.]
"Under the reign of Nicholas III. [A.D. 1425] Ferrara was polluted with
a domestic tragedy. By the testimony of a maid, and his own observation,
the Marquis of Este discovered the incestuous loves of his wife Parisina,
and Hugo his bastard son, a beautiful and valiant youth. They were
beheaded in the castle by the sentence of a father and husband, who
published his shame, and survived their execution.[411] He was unfortunate,
Page 566
if they were guilty: if they were innocent, he was still more unfortunate; nor
is there any possible situation in which I can sincerely approve the last act
of the justice of a parent."—G ibbon ' s Miscellaneous Works, vol. iii. p. 470.
—[Ed. 1837, p. 830.]
is there any possible situation in which I can sincerely approve the last act
of the justice of a parent."—G ibbon ' s Miscellaneous Works, vol. iii. p. 470.
—[Ed. 1837, p. 830.]
Page 567
PARISINA. [412]
I.
s the hour when from the boughs[413]
he nightingale's high note is heard;
the hour when lovers' vows
eem sweet in every whispered word;
d gentle winds, and waters near,
ke music to the lonely ear.
h flower the dews have lightly wet,
d in the sky the stars are met,
d on the wave is deeper blue,
d on the leaf a browner hue, 10
d in the heaven that clear obscure,
oftly dark, and darkly pure,
ich follows the decline of day,
wilight melts beneath the moon away.[414]
II.
it is not to list to the waterfall[qy]
t Parisina leaves her hall,
d it is not to gaze on the heavenly light
t the Lady walks in the shadow of night;
d if she sits in Este's bower,
I.
s the hour when from the boughs[413]
he nightingale's high note is heard;
the hour when lovers' vows
eem sweet in every whispered word;
d gentle winds, and waters near,
ke music to the lonely ear.
h flower the dews have lightly wet,
d in the sky the stars are met,
d on the wave is deeper blue,
d on the leaf a browner hue, 10
d in the heaven that clear obscure,
oftly dark, and darkly pure,
ich follows the decline of day,
wilight melts beneath the moon away.[414]
II.
it is not to list to the waterfall[qy]
t Parisina leaves her hall,
d it is not to gaze on the heavenly light
t the Lady walks in the shadow of night;
d if she sits in Este's bower,
Page 568
not for the sake of its full-blown flower; 20
listens—but not for the nightingale—
ugh her ear expects as soft a tale.
re glides a step through the foliage thick,[qz]
d her cheek grows pale, and her heart beats quick.
re whispers a voice through the rustling leaves,
d her blush returns, and her bosom heaves:
moment more—and they shall meet—
past—her Lover's at her feet.
III.
d what unto them is the world beside,
h all its change of time and tide? 30
iving things—its earth and sky—
nothing to their mind and eye.
d heedless as the dead are they
aught around, above, beneath;
f all else had passed away,
y only for each other breathe;
ir very sighs are full of joy
deep, that did it not decay,
t happy madness would destroy
hearts which feel its fiery sway: 40
guilt, of peril, do they deem
hat tumultuous tender dream?
o that have felt that passion's power,
paused, or feared in such an hour?
hought how brief such moments last?
yet—they are already past!
s! we must awake before
know such vision comes no more.
listens—but not for the nightingale—
ugh her ear expects as soft a tale.
re glides a step through the foliage thick,[qz]
d her cheek grows pale, and her heart beats quick.
re whispers a voice through the rustling leaves,
d her blush returns, and her bosom heaves:
moment more—and they shall meet—
past—her Lover's at her feet.
III.
d what unto them is the world beside,
h all its change of time and tide? 30
iving things—its earth and sky—
nothing to their mind and eye.
d heedless as the dead are they
aught around, above, beneath;
f all else had passed away,
y only for each other breathe;
ir very sighs are full of joy
deep, that did it not decay,
t happy madness would destroy
hearts which feel its fiery sway: 40
guilt, of peril, do they deem
hat tumultuous tender dream?
o that have felt that passion's power,
paused, or feared in such an hour?
hought how brief such moments last?
yet—they are already past!
s! we must awake before
know such vision comes no more.
Page 569
IV.
h many a lingering look they leave
he spot of guilty gladness past: 50
d though they hope, and vow, they grieve,
As if that parting were the last.
frequent sigh—the long embrace—
he lip that there would cling for ever,
ile gleams on Parisina's face
he Heaven she fears will not forgive her,
f each calmly conscious star
eld her frailty from afar—
frequent sigh, the long embrace,
binds them to their trysting-place. 60
it must come, and they must part
earful heaviness of heart,
h all the deep and shuddering chill
ich follows fast the deeds of ill.
V.
d Hugo is gone to his lonely bed,
o covet there another's bride;
she must lay her conscious head
A husband's trusting heart beside.
fevered in her sleep she seems,
d red her cheek with troubled dreams, 70
And mutters she in her unrest
ame she dare not breathe by day,[415]
And clasps her Lord unto the breast
ich pants for one away:
d he to that embrace awakes,
d, happy in the thought, mistakes
h many a lingering look they leave
he spot of guilty gladness past: 50
d though they hope, and vow, they grieve,
As if that parting were the last.
frequent sigh—the long embrace—
he lip that there would cling for ever,
ile gleams on Parisina's face
he Heaven she fears will not forgive her,
f each calmly conscious star
eld her frailty from afar—
frequent sigh, the long embrace,
binds them to their trysting-place. 60
it must come, and they must part
earful heaviness of heart,
h all the deep and shuddering chill
ich follows fast the deeds of ill.
V.
d Hugo is gone to his lonely bed,
o covet there another's bride;
she must lay her conscious head
A husband's trusting heart beside.
fevered in her sleep she seems,
d red her cheek with troubled dreams, 70
And mutters she in her unrest
ame she dare not breathe by day,[415]
And clasps her Lord unto the breast
ich pants for one away:
d he to that embrace awakes,
d, happy in the thought, mistakes
Page 570
t dreaming sigh, and warm caress,
such as he was wont to bless;
d could in very fondness weep
r her who loves him even in sleep. 80
VI.
clasped her sleeping to his heart,
And listened to each broken word:
hears—Why doth Prince Azo start,
As if the Archangel's voice he heard?
d well he may—a deeper doom
ld scarcely thunder o'er his tomb,
en he shall wake to sleep no more,
d stand the eternal throne before.
d well he may—his earthly peace
on that sound is doomed to cease. 90
t sleeping whisper of a name
peaks her guilt and Azo's shame.
d whose that name? that o'er his pillow
nds fearful as the breaking billow,
ich rolls the plank upon the shore,
And dashes on the pointed rock
wretch who sinks to rise no more,—
o came upon his soul the shock.
d whose that name?—'tis Hugo's,—his—
ooth he had not deemed of this!— 100
Hugo's,—he, the child of one
loved—his own all-evil son—
offspring of his wayward youth,
en he betrayed Bianca's truth,[ra][416]
maid whose folly could confide
such as he was wont to bless;
d could in very fondness weep
r her who loves him even in sleep. 80
VI.
clasped her sleeping to his heart,
And listened to each broken word:
hears—Why doth Prince Azo start,
As if the Archangel's voice he heard?
d well he may—a deeper doom
ld scarcely thunder o'er his tomb,
en he shall wake to sleep no more,
d stand the eternal throne before.
d well he may—his earthly peace
on that sound is doomed to cease. 90
t sleeping whisper of a name
peaks her guilt and Azo's shame.
d whose that name? that o'er his pillow
nds fearful as the breaking billow,
ich rolls the plank upon the shore,
And dashes on the pointed rock
wretch who sinks to rise no more,—
o came upon his soul the shock.
d whose that name?—'tis Hugo's,—his—
ooth he had not deemed of this!— 100
Hugo's,—he, the child of one
loved—his own all-evil son—
offspring of his wayward youth,
en he betrayed Bianca's truth,[ra][416]
maid whose folly could confide
Page 571
im who made her not his bride.
VII.
plucked his poniard in its sheath,
ut sheathed it ere the point was bare;
we'er unworthy now to breathe,
He could not slay a thing so fair— 110
At least, not smiling—sleeping—there—
, more:—he did not wake her then,
ut gazed upon her with a glance
Which, had she roused her from her trance,
frozen her sense to sleep again;
d o'er his brow the burning lamp
amed on the dew-drops big and damp.
spake no more—but still she slumbered—
ile, in his thought, her days are numbered.
VIII.
d with the morn he sought and found, 120
many a tale from those around,
proof of all he feared to know,
ir present guilt—his future woe;
long-conniving damsels seek
o save themselves, and would transfer
he guilt—the shame—the doom—to her:
cealment is no more—they speak
circumstance which may compel
credence to the tale they tell:
d Azo's tortured heart and ear 130
e nothing more to feel or hear.
VII.
plucked his poniard in its sheath,
ut sheathed it ere the point was bare;
we'er unworthy now to breathe,
He could not slay a thing so fair— 110
At least, not smiling—sleeping—there—
, more:—he did not wake her then,
ut gazed upon her with a glance
Which, had she roused her from her trance,
frozen her sense to sleep again;
d o'er his brow the burning lamp
amed on the dew-drops big and damp.
spake no more—but still she slumbered—
ile, in his thought, her days are numbered.
VIII.
d with the morn he sought and found, 120
many a tale from those around,
proof of all he feared to know,
ir present guilt—his future woe;
long-conniving damsels seek
o save themselves, and would transfer
he guilt—the shame—the doom—to her:
cealment is no more—they speak
circumstance which may compel
credence to the tale they tell:
d Azo's tortured heart and ear 130
e nothing more to feel or hear.
Page 572
IX.
was not one who brooked delay:
Within the chamber of his state,
Chief of Este's ancient sway
Upon his throne of judgement sate;
nobles and his guards are there,—
ore him is the sinful pair;
h young,—and one how passing fair!
h swordless belt, and fettered hand,
Christ! that thus a son should stand 140
efore a father's face!
thus must Hugo meet his sire,
d hear the sentence of his ire,
he tale of his disgrace!
d yet he seems not overcome,
hough, as yet, his voice be dumb.
X.
d still,—and pale—and silently
Did Parisina wait her doom;
w changed since last her speaking eye
Glanced gladness round the glittering room, 150
ere high-born men were proud to wait—
ere Beauty watched to imitate
Her gentle voice—her lovely mien—
d gather from her air and gait
he graces of its Queen:
n,—had her eye in sorrow wept,
housand warriors forth had leapt,
housand swords had sheathless shone,
d made her quarrel all their own.[417]
was not one who brooked delay:
Within the chamber of his state,
Chief of Este's ancient sway
Upon his throne of judgement sate;
nobles and his guards are there,—
ore him is the sinful pair;
h young,—and one how passing fair!
h swordless belt, and fettered hand,
Christ! that thus a son should stand 140
efore a father's face!
thus must Hugo meet his sire,
d hear the sentence of his ire,
he tale of his disgrace!
d yet he seems not overcome,
hough, as yet, his voice be dumb.
X.
d still,—and pale—and silently
Did Parisina wait her doom;
w changed since last her speaking eye
Glanced gladness round the glittering room, 150
ere high-born men were proud to wait—
ere Beauty watched to imitate
Her gentle voice—her lovely mien—
d gather from her air and gait
he graces of its Queen:
n,—had her eye in sorrow wept,
housand warriors forth had leapt,
housand swords had sheathless shone,
d made her quarrel all their own.[417]
Page 573
w,—what is she? and what are they? 160
she command, or these obey?
silent and unheeding now,
h downcast eyes and knitting brow,
d folded arms, and freezing air,
d lips that scarce their scorn forbear,
knights, her dames, her court—is there:
d he—the chosen one, whose lance
yet been couched before her glance,
o—were his arm a moment free—
died or gained her liberty; 170
minion of his father's bride,—
too, is fettered by her side;
sees her swoln and full eye swim
s for her own despair than him:
se lids—o'er which the violet vein
ndering, leaves a tender stain,
ning through the smoothest white
t e'er did softest kiss invite—
w seemed with hot and livid glow
press, not shade, the orbs below; 180
ich glance so heavily, and fill,
ear on tear grows gathering still[rb][418]
XI.
d he for her had also wept,
ut for the eyes that on him gazed:
sorrow, if he felt it, slept;
tern and erect his brow was raised.
ate'er the grief his soul avowed,
would not shrink before the crowd;
she command, or these obey?
silent and unheeding now,
h downcast eyes and knitting brow,
d folded arms, and freezing air,
d lips that scarce their scorn forbear,
knights, her dames, her court—is there:
d he—the chosen one, whose lance
yet been couched before her glance,
o—were his arm a moment free—
died or gained her liberty; 170
minion of his father's bride,—
too, is fettered by her side;
sees her swoln and full eye swim
s for her own despair than him:
se lids—o'er which the violet vein
ndering, leaves a tender stain,
ning through the smoothest white
t e'er did softest kiss invite—
w seemed with hot and livid glow
press, not shade, the orbs below; 180
ich glance so heavily, and fill,
ear on tear grows gathering still[rb][418]
XI.
d he for her had also wept,
ut for the eyes that on him gazed:
sorrow, if he felt it, slept;
tern and erect his brow was raised.
ate'er the grief his soul avowed,
would not shrink before the crowd;
Page 574
yet he dared not look on her;
membrance of the hours that were— 190
guilt—his love—his present state—
father's wrath, all good men's hate—
earthly, his eternal fate—
d hers,—oh, hers! he dared not throw
look upon that death-like brow!
e had his rising heart betrayed
morse for all the wreck it made.
XII.
d Azo spake:—"But yesterday
gloried in a wife and son;
t dream this morning passed away; 200
re day declines, I shall have none.
life must linger on alone;
l,—let that pass,—there breathes not one
o would not do as I have done:
se ties are broken—not by me;
et that too pass;—the doom's prepared!
go, the priest awaits on thee,
And then—thy crime's reward!
ay! address thy prayers to Heaven.
efore its evening stars are met, 210
rn if thou there canst be forgiven:
s mercy may absolve thee yet.
here, upon the earth beneath,
here is no spot where thou and I
ether for an hour could breathe:
arewell! I will not see thee die—
thou, frail thing! shall view his head—
membrance of the hours that were— 190
guilt—his love—his present state—
father's wrath, all good men's hate—
earthly, his eternal fate—
d hers,—oh, hers! he dared not throw
look upon that death-like brow!
e had his rising heart betrayed
morse for all the wreck it made.
XII.
d Azo spake:—"But yesterday
gloried in a wife and son;
t dream this morning passed away; 200
re day declines, I shall have none.
life must linger on alone;
l,—let that pass,—there breathes not one
o would not do as I have done:
se ties are broken—not by me;
et that too pass;—the doom's prepared!
go, the priest awaits on thee,
And then—thy crime's reward!
ay! address thy prayers to Heaven.
efore its evening stars are met, 210
rn if thou there canst be forgiven:
s mercy may absolve thee yet.
here, upon the earth beneath,
here is no spot where thou and I
ether for an hour could breathe:
arewell! I will not see thee die—
thou, frail thing! shall view his head—
Page 575
Away! I cannot speak the rest:
Go! woman of the wanton breast;
I, but thou his blood dost shed: 220
if that sight thou canst outlive,
d joy thee in the life I give."
XIII.
d here stern Azo hid his face—
or on his brow the swelling vein
hrobbed as if back upon his brain
he hot blood ebbed and flowed again;
d therefore bowed he for a space,
And passed his shaking hand along
His eye, to veil it from the throng;
ile Hugo raised his chainéd hands, 230
d for a brief delay demands
father's ear: the silent sire
bids not what his words require.
It is not that I dread the death—
thou hast seen me by thy side
redly through the battle ride,
d that—not once a useless brand—
slaves have wrested from my hand
h shed more blood in cause of thine,
n e'er can stain the axe of mine:[419] 240
hou gav'st, and may'st resume my breath,
ift for which I thank thee not;
are my mother's wrongs forgot,
slighted love and ruined name,
offspring's heritage of shame;
she is in the grave, where he,
Go! woman of the wanton breast;
I, but thou his blood dost shed: 220
if that sight thou canst outlive,
d joy thee in the life I give."
XIII.
d here stern Azo hid his face—
or on his brow the swelling vein
hrobbed as if back upon his brain
he hot blood ebbed and flowed again;
d therefore bowed he for a space,
And passed his shaking hand along
His eye, to veil it from the throng;
ile Hugo raised his chainéd hands, 230
d for a brief delay demands
father's ear: the silent sire
bids not what his words require.
It is not that I dread the death—
thou hast seen me by thy side
redly through the battle ride,
d that—not once a useless brand—
slaves have wrested from my hand
h shed more blood in cause of thine,
n e'er can stain the axe of mine:[419] 240
hou gav'st, and may'st resume my breath,
ift for which I thank thee not;
are my mother's wrongs forgot,
slighted love and ruined name,
offspring's heritage of shame;
she is in the grave, where he,
Page 576
son—thy rival—soon shall be.
broken heart—my severed head—
ll witness for thee from the dead
w trusty and how tender were 250
youthful love—paternal care.
true that I have done thee wrong—
ut wrong for wrong:—this,—deemed thy bride,
he other victim of thy pride,—
u know'st for me was destined long;
u saw'st, and coveted'st her charms;
And with thy very crime—my birth,—
hou taunted'st me—as little worth;
match ignoble for her arms;
ause, forsooth, I could not claim 260
lawful heirship of thy name,
sit on Este's lineal throne;
Yet, were a few short summers mine,
My name should more than Este's shine
h honours all my own.
d a sword—and have a breast
t should have won as haught[420] a crest
ever waved along the line
all these sovereign sires of thine.
always knightly spurs are worn 270
brightest by the better born;
d mine have lanced my courser's flank
ore proud chiefs of princely rank,
en charging to the cheering cry
Este and of Victory!'
ll not plead the cause of crime,
sue thee to redeem from time
w brief hours or days that must
broken heart—my severed head—
ll witness for thee from the dead
w trusty and how tender were 250
youthful love—paternal care.
true that I have done thee wrong—
ut wrong for wrong:—this,—deemed thy bride,
he other victim of thy pride,—
u know'st for me was destined long;
u saw'st, and coveted'st her charms;
And with thy very crime—my birth,—
hou taunted'st me—as little worth;
match ignoble for her arms;
ause, forsooth, I could not claim 260
lawful heirship of thy name,
sit on Este's lineal throne;
Yet, were a few short summers mine,
My name should more than Este's shine
h honours all my own.
d a sword—and have a breast
t should have won as haught[420] a crest
ever waved along the line
all these sovereign sires of thine.
always knightly spurs are worn 270
brightest by the better born;
d mine have lanced my courser's flank
ore proud chiefs of princely rank,
en charging to the cheering cry
Este and of Victory!'
ll not plead the cause of crime,
sue thee to redeem from time
w brief hours or days that must
Page 577
ength roll o'er my reckless dust;—
h maddening moments as my past, 280
y could not, and they did not, last;—
eit my birth and name be base,
d thy nobility of race
dained to deck a thing like me—
Yet in my lineaments they trace
ome features of my father's face,
d in my spirit—all of thee.
m thee this tamelessness of heart—
m thee—nay, wherefore dost thou start?—-
m thee in all their vigour came 290
arm of strength, my soul of flame—
u didst not give me life alone,
all that made me more thine own.
what thy guilty love hath done!
aid thee with too like a son!
m no bastard in my soul,
that, like thine, abhorred control;
d for my breath, that hasty boon
u gav'st and wilt resume so soon,
lued it no more than thou, 300
en rose thy casque above thy brow,
d we, all side by side, have striven,
d o'er the dead our coursers driven:
past is nothing—and at last
future can but be the past;[421]
would I that I then had died:
or though thou work'dst my mother's ill,
d made thy own my destined bride,
feel thou art my father still:
d harsh as sounds thy hard decree, 310
h maddening moments as my past, 280
y could not, and they did not, last;—
eit my birth and name be base,
d thy nobility of race
dained to deck a thing like me—
Yet in my lineaments they trace
ome features of my father's face,
d in my spirit—all of thee.
m thee this tamelessness of heart—
m thee—nay, wherefore dost thou start?—-
m thee in all their vigour came 290
arm of strength, my soul of flame—
u didst not give me life alone,
all that made me more thine own.
what thy guilty love hath done!
aid thee with too like a son!
m no bastard in my soul,
that, like thine, abhorred control;
d for my breath, that hasty boon
u gav'st and wilt resume so soon,
lued it no more than thou, 300
en rose thy casque above thy brow,
d we, all side by side, have striven,
d o'er the dead our coursers driven:
past is nothing—and at last
future can but be the past;[421]
would I that I then had died:
or though thou work'dst my mother's ill,
d made thy own my destined bride,
feel thou art my father still:
d harsh as sounds thy hard decree, 310
Page 578
not unjust, although from thee.
ot in sin, to die in shame,
life begun and ends the same:
erred the sire, so erred the son,
d thou must punish both in one.
crime seems worst to human view,
God must judge between us too!"[422]
XIV.
ceased—and stood with folded arms,
On which the circling fetters sounded;
And not an ear but felt as wounded, 320
Of all the chiefs that there were ranked,
en those dull chains in meeting clanked:
Parisina's fatal charms[423]
in attracted every eye—
uld she thus hear him doomed to die!
stood, I said, all pale and still,
living cause of Hugo's ill:
eyes unmoved, but full and wide,
once had turned to either side—
once did those sweet eyelids close, 330
hade the glance o'er which they rose,
round their orbs of deepest blue
circling white dilated grew—
d there with glassy gaze she stood
ce were in her curdled blood;
every now and then a tear[424]
o large and slowly gathered slid
rom the long dark fringe of that fair lid,
as a thing to see, not hear![425]
ot in sin, to die in shame,
life begun and ends the same:
erred the sire, so erred the son,
d thou must punish both in one.
crime seems worst to human view,
God must judge between us too!"[422]
XIV.
ceased—and stood with folded arms,
On which the circling fetters sounded;
And not an ear but felt as wounded, 320
Of all the chiefs that there were ranked,
en those dull chains in meeting clanked:
Parisina's fatal charms[423]
in attracted every eye—
uld she thus hear him doomed to die!
stood, I said, all pale and still,
living cause of Hugo's ill:
eyes unmoved, but full and wide,
once had turned to either side—
once did those sweet eyelids close, 330
hade the glance o'er which they rose,
round their orbs of deepest blue
circling white dilated grew—
d there with glassy gaze she stood
ce were in her curdled blood;
every now and then a tear[424]
o large and slowly gathered slid
rom the long dark fringe of that fair lid,
as a thing to see, not hear![425]
Page 579
d those who saw, it did surprise, 340
h drops could fall from human eyes.
peak she thought—the imperfect note
choked within her swelling throat,
seemed in that low hollow groan
whole heart gushing in the tone.
eased—again she thought to speak,
n burst her voice in one long shriek,
d to the earth she fell like stone
tatue from its base o'erthrown,
re like a thing that ne'er had life,— 350
monument of Azo's wife,—
n her, that living guilty thing,
ose every passion was a sting,
ich urged to guilt, but could not bear
t guilt's detection and despair.
yet she lived—and all too soon
overed from that death-like swoon—
scarce to reason—every sense
been o'erstrung by pangs intense;
d each frail fibre of her brain 360
bowstrings, when relaxed by rain,
erring arrow launch aside)
t forth her thoughts all wild and wide—
past a blank, the future black,
h glimpses of a dreary track,
e lightning on the desert path,
en midnight storms are mustering wrath.
feared—she felt that something ill
on her soul, so deep and chill;
t there was sin and shame she knew, 370
t some one was to die—but who?
h drops could fall from human eyes.
peak she thought—the imperfect note
choked within her swelling throat,
seemed in that low hollow groan
whole heart gushing in the tone.
eased—again she thought to speak,
n burst her voice in one long shriek,
d to the earth she fell like stone
tatue from its base o'erthrown,
re like a thing that ne'er had life,— 350
monument of Azo's wife,—
n her, that living guilty thing,
ose every passion was a sting,
ich urged to guilt, but could not bear
t guilt's detection and despair.
yet she lived—and all too soon
overed from that death-like swoon—
scarce to reason—every sense
been o'erstrung by pangs intense;
d each frail fibre of her brain 360
bowstrings, when relaxed by rain,
erring arrow launch aside)
t forth her thoughts all wild and wide—
past a blank, the future black,
h glimpses of a dreary track,
e lightning on the desert path,
en midnight storms are mustering wrath.
feared—she felt that something ill
on her soul, so deep and chill;
t there was sin and shame she knew, 370
t some one was to die—but who?
Page 580
had forgotten:—did she breathe?
ld this be still the earth beneath,
sky above, and men around;
were they fiends who now so frowned
one, before whose eyes each eye
then had smiled in sympathy?
was confused and undefined
her all-jarred and wandering mind;
haos of wild hopes and fears: 380
d now in laughter, now in tears,
madly still in each extreme,
strove with that convulsive dream;
so it seemed on her to break:
vainly must she strive to wake!
XV.
Convent bells are ringing,
ut mournfully and slow;
he grey square turret swinging,
With a deep sound, to and fro.
Heavily to the heart they go! 390
k! the hymn is singing—
he song for the dead below,
Or the living who shortly shall be so!
a departed being's soul[rc]
death-hymn peals and the hollow bells knoll:[426]
is near his mortal goal;
eling at the Friar's knee,
to hear, and piteous to see—
eling on the bare cold ground.
h the block before and the guards around; 400
ld this be still the earth beneath,
sky above, and men around;
were they fiends who now so frowned
one, before whose eyes each eye
then had smiled in sympathy?
was confused and undefined
her all-jarred and wandering mind;
haos of wild hopes and fears: 380
d now in laughter, now in tears,
madly still in each extreme,
strove with that convulsive dream;
so it seemed on her to break:
vainly must she strive to wake!
XV.
Convent bells are ringing,
ut mournfully and slow;
he grey square turret swinging,
With a deep sound, to and fro.
Heavily to the heart they go! 390
k! the hymn is singing—
he song for the dead below,
Or the living who shortly shall be so!
a departed being's soul[rc]
death-hymn peals and the hollow bells knoll:[426]
is near his mortal goal;
eling at the Friar's knee,
to hear, and piteous to see—
eling on the bare cold ground.
h the block before and the guards around; 400
Page 581
d the headsman with his bare arm ready,
t the blow may be both swift and steady,
ls if the axe be sharp and true
ce he set its edge anew:[427]
ile the crowd in a speechless circle gather
ee the Son fall by the doom of the Father!
XVI.
a lovely hour as yet
ore the summer sun shall set,
ich rose upon that heavy day,
d mock'd it with his steadiest ray; 410
d his evening beams are shed
on Hugo's fated head,
his last confession pouring
he monk, his doom deploring
enitential holiness,
bends to hear his accents bless
h absolution such as may
e our mortal stains away.
t high sun on his head did glisten
he there did bow and listen, 420
d the rings of chestnut hair
led half down his neck so bare;
brighter still the beam was thrown
on the axe which near him shone
h a clear and ghastly glitter——
that parting hour was bitter!
n the stern stood chilled with awe:
k the crime, and just the law—
they shuddered as they saw.
t the blow may be both swift and steady,
ls if the axe be sharp and true
ce he set its edge anew:[427]
ile the crowd in a speechless circle gather
ee the Son fall by the doom of the Father!
XVI.
a lovely hour as yet
ore the summer sun shall set,
ich rose upon that heavy day,
d mock'd it with his steadiest ray; 410
d his evening beams are shed
on Hugo's fated head,
his last confession pouring
he monk, his doom deploring
enitential holiness,
bends to hear his accents bless
h absolution such as may
e our mortal stains away.
t high sun on his head did glisten
he there did bow and listen, 420
d the rings of chestnut hair
led half down his neck so bare;
brighter still the beam was thrown
on the axe which near him shone
h a clear and ghastly glitter——
that parting hour was bitter!
n the stern stood chilled with awe:
k the crime, and just the law—
they shuddered as they saw.
Page 582
XVII.
parting prayers are said and over 430
hat false son, and daring lover!
beads and sins are all recounted,[rd]
hours to their last minute mounted;
mantling cloak before was stripped,
bright brown locks must now be clipped;
done—all closely are they shorn;
vest which till this moment worn—
scarf which Parisina gave—
st not adorn him to the grave.
n that must now be thrown aside, 440
d o'er his eyes the kerchief tied;
no—that last indignity
ll ne'er approach his haughty eye.
feelings seemingly subdued,
eep disdain were half renewed,
en headsman's hands prepared to bind
se eyes which would not brook such blind,
f they dared not look on death.
—yours my forfeit blood and breath;
se hands are chained, but let me die 450
east with an unshackled eye—
ke:"—and as the word he said,
on the block he bowed his head;
se the last accents Hugo spoke:
ike"—and flashing fell the stroke—
led the head—and, gushing, sunk
k the stained and heaving trunk,
he dust, which each deep vein
ked with its ensanguined rain;
parting prayers are said and over 430
hat false son, and daring lover!
beads and sins are all recounted,[rd]
hours to their last minute mounted;
mantling cloak before was stripped,
bright brown locks must now be clipped;
done—all closely are they shorn;
vest which till this moment worn—
scarf which Parisina gave—
st not adorn him to the grave.
n that must now be thrown aside, 440
d o'er his eyes the kerchief tied;
no—that last indignity
ll ne'er approach his haughty eye.
feelings seemingly subdued,
eep disdain were half renewed,
en headsman's hands prepared to bind
se eyes which would not brook such blind,
f they dared not look on death.
—yours my forfeit blood and breath;
se hands are chained, but let me die 450
east with an unshackled eye—
ke:"—and as the word he said,
on the block he bowed his head;
se the last accents Hugo spoke:
ike"—and flashing fell the stroke—
led the head—and, gushing, sunk
k the stained and heaving trunk,
he dust, which each deep vein
ked with its ensanguined rain;
Page 583
eyes and lips a moment quiver, 460
vulsed and quick—then fix for ever.
died, as erring man should die,
Without display, without parade;
Meekly had he bowed and prayed,
As not disdaining priestly aid,
desperate of all hope on high.
d while before the Prior kneeling,
heart was weaned from earthly feeling;
wrathful Sire—his Paramour—
at were they in such an hour? 470
more reproach,—no more despair,—
thought but Heaven,—no word but prayer—
e the few which from him broke,
en, bared to meet the headsman's stroke,
claimed to die with eyes unbound,
sole adieu to those around.
XVIII.
as the lips that closed in death,
h gazer's bosom held his breath:
yet, afar, from man to man,
old electric[428] shiver ran, 480
down the deadly blow descended
him whose life and love thus ended;
d, with a hushing sound compressed,
gh shrunk back on every breast;
no more thrilling noise rose there,[re]
eyond the blow that to the block
ierced through with forced and sullen shock,
vulsed and quick—then fix for ever.
died, as erring man should die,
Without display, without parade;
Meekly had he bowed and prayed,
As not disdaining priestly aid,
desperate of all hope on high.
d while before the Prior kneeling,
heart was weaned from earthly feeling;
wrathful Sire—his Paramour—
at were they in such an hour? 470
more reproach,—no more despair,—
thought but Heaven,—no word but prayer—
e the few which from him broke,
en, bared to meet the headsman's stroke,
claimed to die with eyes unbound,
sole adieu to those around.
XVIII.
as the lips that closed in death,
h gazer's bosom held his breath:
yet, afar, from man to man,
old electric[428] shiver ran, 480
down the deadly blow descended
him whose life and love thus ended;
d, with a hushing sound compressed,
gh shrunk back on every breast;
no more thrilling noise rose there,[re]
eyond the blow that to the block
ierced through with forced and sullen shock,
Page 584
e one:—what cleaves the silent air
madly shrill, so passing wild?
t, as a mother's o'er her child, 490
ne to death by sudden blow,
he sky these accents go,
e a soul's in endless woe.
ough Azo's palace-lattice driven,
t horrid voice ascends to heaven,
d every eye is turned thereon;
sound and sight alike are gone!
as a woman's shriek—and ne'er
madlier accents rose despair;
d those who heard it, as it past, 500
mercy wished it were the last.
XIX.
go is fallen; and, from that hour,
more in palace, hall, or bower,
Parisina heard or seen:
name—as if she ne'er had been—
banished from each lip and ear,
e words of wantonness or fear;
d from Prince Azo's voice, by none
mention heard of wife or son;
tomb—no memory had they; 510
irs was unconsecrated clay—
east the Knight's who died that day.
Parisina's fate lies hid
e dust beneath the coffin lid:
ether in convent she abode,
d won to heaven her dreary road,
madly shrill, so passing wild?
t, as a mother's o'er her child, 490
ne to death by sudden blow,
he sky these accents go,
e a soul's in endless woe.
ough Azo's palace-lattice driven,
t horrid voice ascends to heaven,
d every eye is turned thereon;
sound and sight alike are gone!
as a woman's shriek—and ne'er
madlier accents rose despair;
d those who heard it, as it past, 500
mercy wished it were the last.
XIX.
go is fallen; and, from that hour,
more in palace, hall, or bower,
Parisina heard or seen:
name—as if she ne'er had been—
banished from each lip and ear,
e words of wantonness or fear;
d from Prince Azo's voice, by none
mention heard of wife or son;
tomb—no memory had they; 510
irs was unconsecrated clay—
east the Knight's who died that day.
Parisina's fate lies hid
e dust beneath the coffin lid:
ether in convent she abode,
d won to heaven her dreary road,
Page 585
blighted and remorseful years
courge, and fast, and sleepless tears;
f she fell by bowl or steel,
that dark love she dared to feel: 520
f, upon the moment smote,
died by tortures less remote,
e him she saw upon the block
h heart that shared the headsman's shock,
uickened brokenness that came,
ity o'er her shattered frame,
ne knew—and none can ever know:
whatsoe'er its end below,
life began and closed in woe!
XX.
d Azo found another bride, 530
d goodly sons grew by his side;
none so lovely and so brave
him who withered in the grave;[429]
f they were—on his cold eye
ir growth but glanced unheeded by,
noticed with a smothered sigh.
never tear his cheek descended,
d never smile his brow unbended;
d o'er that fair broad brow were wrought
intersected lines of thought; 540
se furrows which the burning share
Sorrow ploughs untimely there;
rs of the lacerating mind
ich the Soul's war doth leave behind.[430]
was past all mirth or woe:
courge, and fast, and sleepless tears;
f she fell by bowl or steel,
that dark love she dared to feel: 520
f, upon the moment smote,
died by tortures less remote,
e him she saw upon the block
h heart that shared the headsman's shock,
uickened brokenness that came,
ity o'er her shattered frame,
ne knew—and none can ever know:
whatsoe'er its end below,
life began and closed in woe!
XX.
d Azo found another bride, 530
d goodly sons grew by his side;
none so lovely and so brave
him who withered in the grave;[429]
f they were—on his cold eye
ir growth but glanced unheeded by,
noticed with a smothered sigh.
never tear his cheek descended,
d never smile his brow unbended;
d o'er that fair broad brow were wrought
intersected lines of thought; 540
se furrows which the burning share
Sorrow ploughs untimely there;
rs of the lacerating mind
ich the Soul's war doth leave behind.[430]
was past all mirth or woe:
Page 586
hing more remained below
sleepless nights and heavy days,
mind all dead to scorn or praise,
eart which shunned itself—and yet
t would not yield, nor could forget, 550
ich, when it least appeared to melt,
nsely thought—intensely felt:
deepest ice which ever froze
only o'er the surface close;
living stream lies quick below,
d flows, and cannot cease to flow.[431]
was his sealed-up bosom haunted[rf]
thoughts which Nature hath implanted;
deeply rooted thence to vanish,
we'er our stifled tears we banish; 560
en struggling as they rise to start,
check those waters of the heart,
y are not dried—those tears unshed
flow back to the fountain head,
d resting in their spring more pure,
ever in its depth endure,
een—unwept—but uncongealed,
d cherished most where least revealed.
h inward starts of feeling left,
hrob o'er those of life bereft, 570
hout the power to fill again
desert gap which made his pain;
hout the hope to meet them where
ted souls shall gladness share;
h all the consciousness that he
only passed a just decree;[rg]
sleepless nights and heavy days,
mind all dead to scorn or praise,
eart which shunned itself—and yet
t would not yield, nor could forget, 550
ich, when it least appeared to melt,
nsely thought—intensely felt:
deepest ice which ever froze
only o'er the surface close;
living stream lies quick below,
d flows, and cannot cease to flow.[431]
was his sealed-up bosom haunted[rf]
thoughts which Nature hath implanted;
deeply rooted thence to vanish,
we'er our stifled tears we banish; 560
en struggling as they rise to start,
check those waters of the heart,
y are not dried—those tears unshed
flow back to the fountain head,
d resting in their spring more pure,
ever in its depth endure,
een—unwept—but uncongealed,
d cherished most where least revealed.
h inward starts of feeling left,
hrob o'er those of life bereft, 570
hout the power to fill again
desert gap which made his pain;
hout the hope to meet them where
ted souls shall gladness share;
h all the consciousness that he
only passed a just decree;[rg]
Page 587
t they had wrought their doom of ill;
Azo's age was wretched still.
tainted branches of the tree,
lopped with care, a strength may give, 580
y which the rest shall bloom and live
greenly fresh and wildly free:
if the lightning, in its wrath,
waving boughs with fury scathe,
massy trunk the ruin feels,
d never more a leaf reveals.
FOOTNOTES:
[411] {503} ["Ferrara is much decayed and depopulated; but the castle still exists entire;
and I saw the court where Parisina and Hugo were beheaded, according to the annal of
Gibbon."—Vide Advertisement to Lament of Tasso.]
[412] {505} "This turned out a calamitous year for the people of Ferrara, for there
occurred a very tragical event in the court of their sovereign. Our annals, both printed and
in manuscript, with the exception of the unpolished and negligent work of Sardi, and one
other, have given the following relation of it,—from which, however, are rejected many
details, and especially the narrative of Bandelli, who wrote a century afterwards, and who
does not accord with the contemporary historians.
"By the above-mentioned Stella dell' Assassino, the Marquis, in the year 1405, had a son
called Ugo, a beautiful and ingenuous youth. Parisina Malatesta, second wife of Niccolo,
like the generality of step-mothers, treated him with little kindness, to the infinite regret of
the Marquis, who regarded him with fond partiality. One day she asked leave of her
husband to undertake a certain journey, to which he consented, but upon condition that
Ugo should bear her company; for he hoped by these means to induce her, in the end, to
lay aside the obstinate aversion which she had conceived against him. And indeed his
intent was accomplished but too well, since, during the journey, she not only divested
herself of all her hatred, but fell into the opposite extreme. After their return, the Marquis
had no longer any occasion to renew his former reproofs. It happened one day that a
servant of the Marquis, named Zoese, or, as some call him, Giorgio, passing before the
Azo's age was wretched still.
tainted branches of the tree,
lopped with care, a strength may give, 580
y which the rest shall bloom and live
greenly fresh and wildly free:
if the lightning, in its wrath,
waving boughs with fury scathe,
massy trunk the ruin feels,
d never more a leaf reveals.
FOOTNOTES:
[411] {503} ["Ferrara is much decayed and depopulated; but the castle still exists entire;
and I saw the court where Parisina and Hugo were beheaded, according to the annal of
Gibbon."—Vide Advertisement to Lament of Tasso.]
[412] {505} "This turned out a calamitous year for the people of Ferrara, for there
occurred a very tragical event in the court of their sovereign. Our annals, both printed and
in manuscript, with the exception of the unpolished and negligent work of Sardi, and one
other, have given the following relation of it,—from which, however, are rejected many
details, and especially the narrative of Bandelli, who wrote a century afterwards, and who
does not accord with the contemporary historians.
"By the above-mentioned Stella dell' Assassino, the Marquis, in the year 1405, had a son
called Ugo, a beautiful and ingenuous youth. Parisina Malatesta, second wife of Niccolo,
like the generality of step-mothers, treated him with little kindness, to the infinite regret of
the Marquis, who regarded him with fond partiality. One day she asked leave of her
husband to undertake a certain journey, to which he consented, but upon condition that
Ugo should bear her company; for he hoped by these means to induce her, in the end, to
lay aside the obstinate aversion which she had conceived against him. And indeed his
intent was accomplished but too well, since, during the journey, she not only divested
herself of all her hatred, but fell into the opposite extreme. After their return, the Marquis
had no longer any occasion to renew his former reproofs. It happened one day that a
servant of the Marquis, named Zoese, or, as some call him, Giorgio, passing before the
Page 588
apartments of Parisina, saw going out from them one of her chamber-maids, all terrified
and in tears. Asking the reason, she told him that her mistress, for some slight offence, had
been beating her; and, giving vent to her rage, she added, that she could easily be
revenged, if she chose to make known the criminal familiarity which subsisted between
Parisina and her step-son. The servant took note of the words, and related them to his
master. He was astounded thereat, but, scarcely believing his ears, he assured himself of
the fact, alas! too clearly, on the 18th of May, by looking through a hole made in the
ceiling of his wife's chamber. Instantly he broke into a furious rage, and arrested both of
them, together with Aldobrandino Rangoni, of Modena, her gentleman, and also, as some
say, two of the women of her chamber, as abettors of this sinful act. He ordered them to be
brought to a hasty trial, desiring the judges to pronounce sentence, in the accustomed
forms, upon the culprits. This sentence was death. Some there were that bestirred
themselves in favour of the delinquents, and, amongst others, Ugoccion Contrario, who
was all-powerful with Niccolo, and also his aged and much deserving minister Alberto dal
Sale. Both of these, their tears flowing down their cheeks, and upon their knees, implored
him for mercy; adducing whatever reasons they could suggest for sparing the offenders,
besides those motives of honour and decency which might persuade him to conceal from
the public so scandalous a deed. But his rage made him inflexible, and, on the instant, he
commanded that the sentence should be put in execution.
"It was, then, in the prisons of the castle, and exactly in those frightful dungeons which
are seen at this day beneath the chamber called the Aurora, at the foot of the Lion's tower,
at the top of the street Giovecca, that on the night of the 21st of May were beheaded, first,
Ugo, and afterwards Parisina. Zoese, he that accused her, conducted the latter under his
arm to the place of punishment. She, all along, fancied that she was to be thrown into a
pit, and asked at every step, whether she was yet come to the spot? She was told that her
punishment was the axe. She enquired what was become of Ugo, and received for answer,
that he was already dead; at which, sighing grievously, she exclaimed, 'Now, then, I wish
not myself to live;' and, being come to the block, she stripped herself, with her own hands,
of all her ornaments, and, wrapping a cloth round her head, submitted to the fatal stroke,
which terminated the cruel scene. The same was done with Rangoni, who, together with
the others, according to two calendars in the library of St. Francesco, was buried in the
cemetery of that convent. Nothing else is known respecting the women.
"The Marquis kept watch the whole of that dreadful night, and, as he was walking
backwards and forwards, enquired of the captain of the castle if Ugo was dead yet? who
answered him, Yes. He then gave himself up to the most desperate lamentations,
exclaiming, 'Oh! that I too were dead, since I have been hurried on to resolve thus against
my own Ugo!' And then gnawing with his teeth a cane which he had in his hand, he
and in tears. Asking the reason, she told him that her mistress, for some slight offence, had
been beating her; and, giving vent to her rage, she added, that she could easily be
revenged, if she chose to make known the criminal familiarity which subsisted between
Parisina and her step-son. The servant took note of the words, and related them to his
master. He was astounded thereat, but, scarcely believing his ears, he assured himself of
the fact, alas! too clearly, on the 18th of May, by looking through a hole made in the
ceiling of his wife's chamber. Instantly he broke into a furious rage, and arrested both of
them, together with Aldobrandino Rangoni, of Modena, her gentleman, and also, as some
say, two of the women of her chamber, as abettors of this sinful act. He ordered them to be
brought to a hasty trial, desiring the judges to pronounce sentence, in the accustomed
forms, upon the culprits. This sentence was death. Some there were that bestirred
themselves in favour of the delinquents, and, amongst others, Ugoccion Contrario, who
was all-powerful with Niccolo, and also his aged and much deserving minister Alberto dal
Sale. Both of these, their tears flowing down their cheeks, and upon their knees, implored
him for mercy; adducing whatever reasons they could suggest for sparing the offenders,
besides those motives of honour and decency which might persuade him to conceal from
the public so scandalous a deed. But his rage made him inflexible, and, on the instant, he
commanded that the sentence should be put in execution.
"It was, then, in the prisons of the castle, and exactly in those frightful dungeons which
are seen at this day beneath the chamber called the Aurora, at the foot of the Lion's tower,
at the top of the street Giovecca, that on the night of the 21st of May were beheaded, first,
Ugo, and afterwards Parisina. Zoese, he that accused her, conducted the latter under his
arm to the place of punishment. She, all along, fancied that she was to be thrown into a
pit, and asked at every step, whether she was yet come to the spot? She was told that her
punishment was the axe. She enquired what was become of Ugo, and received for answer,
that he was already dead; at which, sighing grievously, she exclaimed, 'Now, then, I wish
not myself to live;' and, being come to the block, she stripped herself, with her own hands,
of all her ornaments, and, wrapping a cloth round her head, submitted to the fatal stroke,
which terminated the cruel scene. The same was done with Rangoni, who, together with
the others, according to two calendars in the library of St. Francesco, was buried in the
cemetery of that convent. Nothing else is known respecting the women.
"The Marquis kept watch the whole of that dreadful night, and, as he was walking
backwards and forwards, enquired of the captain of the castle if Ugo was dead yet? who
answered him, Yes. He then gave himself up to the most desperate lamentations,
exclaiming, 'Oh! that I too were dead, since I have been hurried on to resolve thus against
my own Ugo!' And then gnawing with his teeth a cane which he had in his hand, he
Page 589
passed the rest of the night in sighs and in tears, calling frequently upon his own dear
Ugo. On the following day, calling to mind that it would be necessary to make public his
justification, seeing that the transaction could not be kept secret, he ordered the narrative
to be drawn out upon paper, and sent it to all the courts of Italy.
"On receiving this advice, the Doge of Venice, Francesco Foscari, gave orders, but
without publishing his reasons, that stop should be put to the preparations for a
tournament, which, under the auspices of the Marquis, and at the expense of the city of
Padua, was about to take place, in the square of St. Mark, in order to celebrate his
advancement to the ducal chair.
"The Marquis, in addition to what he had already done, from some unaccountable burst of
vengeance, commanded that as many of the married women as were well known to him to
be faithless, like his Parisina, should, like her, be beheaded. Amongst others, Barberina,
or, as some call her, Laodamia Romei, wife of the court judge, underwent this sentence, at
the usual place of execution; that is to say, in the quarter of St. Giacomo, opposite the
present fortress, beyond St. Paul's. It cannot be told how strange appeared this proceeding
in a prince, who, considering his own disposition, should, as it seemed, have been in such
cases most indulgent. Some, however, there were who did not fail to commend him."
[Memorie per la Storia di Ferrara, Raccolte da Antonio Frizzi, 1793, iii. 408-410. See,
too, Celebri Famiglie Italiane, by Conte Pompeo Litta, 1832, Fasc. xxvi. Part III. vol. ii.]
[413] {507} [The revise of Parisina is endorsed in Murray's handwriting, "Given to me
by Lord Byron at his house, Saturday, January 13, 1816."]
[414] The lines contained in this section were printed as set to music some time since, but
belonged to the poem where they now appear; the greater part of which was composed
prior to Lara, and other compositions since published. [Note to Siege, etc., First Edition,
1816.]
[qy]
Francisca walks in the shadow of night,
But it is not to gaze on the heavenly light—
But if she sits in her garden bower,
'Tis not for the sake of its blowing flower.—
[Nathan, 1815, 1829.]
[qz] {508} There winds a step——.—[Nathan, 1815, 1829.]
[415] {509} [Leigh Hunt, in his Autobiography (1860, p. 252), says, "I had the pleasure of
supplying my friendly critic, Lord Byron, with a point for his Parisina (the incident of the
Ugo. On the following day, calling to mind that it would be necessary to make public his
justification, seeing that the transaction could not be kept secret, he ordered the narrative
to be drawn out upon paper, and sent it to all the courts of Italy.
"On receiving this advice, the Doge of Venice, Francesco Foscari, gave orders, but
without publishing his reasons, that stop should be put to the preparations for a
tournament, which, under the auspices of the Marquis, and at the expense of the city of
Padua, was about to take place, in the square of St. Mark, in order to celebrate his
advancement to the ducal chair.
"The Marquis, in addition to what he had already done, from some unaccountable burst of
vengeance, commanded that as many of the married women as were well known to him to
be faithless, like his Parisina, should, like her, be beheaded. Amongst others, Barberina,
or, as some call her, Laodamia Romei, wife of the court judge, underwent this sentence, at
the usual place of execution; that is to say, in the quarter of St. Giacomo, opposite the
present fortress, beyond St. Paul's. It cannot be told how strange appeared this proceeding
in a prince, who, considering his own disposition, should, as it seemed, have been in such
cases most indulgent. Some, however, there were who did not fail to commend him."
[Memorie per la Storia di Ferrara, Raccolte da Antonio Frizzi, 1793, iii. 408-410. See,
too, Celebri Famiglie Italiane, by Conte Pompeo Litta, 1832, Fasc. xxvi. Part III. vol. ii.]
[413] {507} [The revise of Parisina is endorsed in Murray's handwriting, "Given to me
by Lord Byron at his house, Saturday, January 13, 1816."]
[414] The lines contained in this section were printed as set to music some time since, but
belonged to the poem where they now appear; the greater part of which was composed
prior to Lara, and other compositions since published. [Note to Siege, etc., First Edition,
1816.]
[qy]
Francisca walks in the shadow of night,
But it is not to gaze on the heavenly light—
But if she sits in her garden bower,
'Tis not for the sake of its blowing flower.—
[Nathan, 1815, 1829.]
[qz] {508} There winds a step——.—[Nathan, 1815, 1829.]
[415] {509} [Leigh Hunt, in his Autobiography (1860, p. 252), says, "I had the pleasure of
supplying my friendly critic, Lord Byron, with a point for his Parisina (the incident of the
Page 590
heroine talking in her sleep)."
Putting Lady Macbeth out of the question, the situation may be traced to a passage in
Henry Mackenzie's Julia de Roubigné (1777, ii. 101: "Montauban to Segarva," Letter
xxxv.):—
"I was last night abroad at supper; Julia was a-bed before my return. I
found her lute lying on the table, and a music-book open by it. I could
perceive the marks of tears shed on the paper, and the air was such as
might encourage their falling. Sleep, however, had overcome her
sadness, and she did not awake when I opened the curtain to look on
her. When I had stood some moments, I heard her sigh strongly through
her sleep, and presently she muttered some words, I know not of what
import. I had sometimes heard her do so before, without regarding it
much; but there was something that roused my attention now. I listened;
she sighed again, and again spoke a few broken words. At last I heard
her plainly pronounce the name Savillon two or three times, and each
time it was accompanied with sighs so deep that her heart seemed
bursting as it heaved then."]
[ra] {511} ——Medora's——.—[Copy erased.]
[416] [Compare Christabel, Part II. lines 408, 409—
"Alas! they had been friends in youth;
But whispering tongues can poison truth."]
[417] {513} [Compare the famous eulogy of Marie Antoinette, in Burke's Reflections on
the Revolution in France, in a Letter intended to have been sent to a Gentleman in Paris,
London, 1790, pp. 112, 113—
"It is now sixteen or seventeen years since I saw the Queen of France,
then the dauphiness, at Versailles.... Little did I dream ... that I should
have lived to see such disasters fall upon her in a nation of gallant men,
in a nation of men of honour and of cavaliers. I thought ten thousand
swords must have leaped from their scabbards to avenge even a look
that threatened her with insult."]
[rb] {514} As tear by tear rose gathering still.—[Revise.]
[418] [Lines 175-182, which are in Byron's handwriting, were added to the Copy.]
Putting Lady Macbeth out of the question, the situation may be traced to a passage in
Henry Mackenzie's Julia de Roubigné (1777, ii. 101: "Montauban to Segarva," Letter
xxxv.):—
"I was last night abroad at supper; Julia was a-bed before my return. I
found her lute lying on the table, and a music-book open by it. I could
perceive the marks of tears shed on the paper, and the air was such as
might encourage their falling. Sleep, however, had overcome her
sadness, and she did not awake when I opened the curtain to look on
her. When I had stood some moments, I heard her sigh strongly through
her sleep, and presently she muttered some words, I know not of what
import. I had sometimes heard her do so before, without regarding it
much; but there was something that roused my attention now. I listened;
she sighed again, and again spoke a few broken words. At last I heard
her plainly pronounce the name Savillon two or three times, and each
time it was accompanied with sighs so deep that her heart seemed
bursting as it heaved then."]
[ra] {511} ——Medora's——.—[Copy erased.]
[416] [Compare Christabel, Part II. lines 408, 409—
"Alas! they had been friends in youth;
But whispering tongues can poison truth."]
[417] {513} [Compare the famous eulogy of Marie Antoinette, in Burke's Reflections on
the Revolution in France, in a Letter intended to have been sent to a Gentleman in Paris,
London, 1790, pp. 112, 113—
"It is now sixteen or seventeen years since I saw the Queen of France,
then the dauphiness, at Versailles.... Little did I dream ... that I should
have lived to see such disasters fall upon her in a nation of gallant men,
in a nation of men of honour and of cavaliers. I thought ten thousand
swords must have leaped from their scabbards to avenge even a look
that threatened her with insult."]
[rb] {514} As tear by tear rose gathering still.—[Revise.]
[418] [Lines 175-182, which are in Byron's handwriting, were added to the Copy.]
Page 591
[419] {516} [The meaning is plain, but the construction is involved. The contrast is
between the blood of foes, which Hugo has shed for Azo, and Hugo's own blood, which
Azo is about to shed on the scaffold. But this is one of Byron's incurious infelicities.]
[420] {517} Haught—haughty. "Away, haught man, thou art insulting me."—
S hakespeare [Richard II., act iv. sc. i, line 254—"No lord of thine, thou haught
insulting man."]
[421] {518} [Lines 304, 305, and lines 310-317 are not in the Copy. They were inserted
by Byron in the Revise.]
[422] [A writer in the Critical Review (February, 1816, vol. iii. p. 151) holds this couplet
up to derision. "Too" is a weak ending, and, orally at least, ambiguous.]
[423] ["I sent for Marmion, ... because it occurred to me there might be a resemblance
between part of Parisina and a similar scene in Canto 2d. of Marmion. I fear there is,
though I never thought of it before, and could hardly wish to imitate that which is
inimitable.... I had completed the story on the passage from Gibbon, which, in fact, leads
to a like scene naturally, without a thought of the kind; but it comes upon me not very
comfortably."—Letter to Murray, February 3, 1816 (Letters, 1899, iii. 260). The scene in
Marmion is the one where Constance de Beverley appears before the conclave—
"Her look composed, and steady eye,
Bespoke a matchless constancy;
And there she stood so calm and pale,
That, but her breathing did not fail,
And motion slight of eye and head,
And of her bosom, warranted
That neither sense nor pulse she lacks,
You must have thought a form of wax,
Wrought to the very life, was there—
So still she was, so pale, so fair."
Canto II. stanza xxi. lines 5-14.]
[424] {519} ["I admire the fabrication of the 'big Tear,' which is very fine—much larger,
by the way, than Shakespeare's."—Letter of John Murray to Lord Byron (Memoir of John
Murray, 1891, i. 354).]
[425] [Compare Christabel, Part I. line 253—"A sight to dream of, not to tell!"]
[rc] {521} For a departing beings soul.—[Copy.]
between the blood of foes, which Hugo has shed for Azo, and Hugo's own blood, which
Azo is about to shed on the scaffold. But this is one of Byron's incurious infelicities.]
[420] {517} Haught—haughty. "Away, haught man, thou art insulting me."—
S hakespeare [Richard II., act iv. sc. i, line 254—"No lord of thine, thou haught
insulting man."]
[421] {518} [Lines 304, 305, and lines 310-317 are not in the Copy. They were inserted
by Byron in the Revise.]
[422] [A writer in the Critical Review (February, 1816, vol. iii. p. 151) holds this couplet
up to derision. "Too" is a weak ending, and, orally at least, ambiguous.]
[423] ["I sent for Marmion, ... because it occurred to me there might be a resemblance
between part of Parisina and a similar scene in Canto 2d. of Marmion. I fear there is,
though I never thought of it before, and could hardly wish to imitate that which is
inimitable.... I had completed the story on the passage from Gibbon, which, in fact, leads
to a like scene naturally, without a thought of the kind; but it comes upon me not very
comfortably."—Letter to Murray, February 3, 1816 (Letters, 1899, iii. 260). The scene in
Marmion is the one where Constance de Beverley appears before the conclave—
"Her look composed, and steady eye,
Bespoke a matchless constancy;
And there she stood so calm and pale,
That, but her breathing did not fail,
And motion slight of eye and head,
And of her bosom, warranted
That neither sense nor pulse she lacks,
You must have thought a form of wax,
Wrought to the very life, was there—
So still she was, so pale, so fair."
Canto II. stanza xxi. lines 5-14.]
[424] {519} ["I admire the fabrication of the 'big Tear,' which is very fine—much larger,
by the way, than Shakespeare's."—Letter of John Murray to Lord Byron (Memoir of John
Murray, 1891, i. 354).]
[425] [Compare Christabel, Part I. line 253—"A sight to dream of, not to tell!"]
[rc] {521} For a departing beings soul.—[Copy.]
Page 592
[426] [For the peculiar use of "knoll" as a verb, compare Childe Harold, Canto III. stanza
xcvi. line 5; and Werner, act iii. sc. 3.]
[427] {522} [Lines 401-404, which are in Byron's handwriting, were added to the Copy.]
[rd] {523} His latest beads and sins are counted.—[Copy.]
[428] {524} [For the use of "electric" as a metaphor, compare Coleridge's Songs of the
Pixies, v. lines 59, 60—
"The electric flash, that from the melting eye
Darts the fond question and the soft reply."]
[re] But no more thrilling voice rose there.—[Copy.]
[429] {526} [Here, again, Byron is super grammaticam. The comparison is between Hugo
and "goodly sons," not between Hugo and "bride" in the preceding line.]
[430] [Lines 539-544 are not in the Copy, but were inserted in the Revise.]
[431] {527} [Lines 551-556 are not in the Copy, but were inserted in the Revise.]
[rf] Ah, still unwelcomely was haunted.—[Copy.]
[rg] Had only sealed a just decree.—[Copy.]
xcvi. line 5; and Werner, act iii. sc. 3.]
[427] {522} [Lines 401-404, which are in Byron's handwriting, were added to the Copy.]
[rd] {523} His latest beads and sins are counted.—[Copy.]
[428] {524} [For the use of "electric" as a metaphor, compare Coleridge's Songs of the
Pixies, v. lines 59, 60—
"The electric flash, that from the melting eye
Darts the fond question and the soft reply."]
[re] But no more thrilling voice rose there.—[Copy.]
[429] {526} [Here, again, Byron is super grammaticam. The comparison is between Hugo
and "goodly sons," not between Hugo and "bride" in the preceding line.]
[430] [Lines 539-544 are not in the Copy, but were inserted in the Revise.]
[431] {527} [Lines 551-556 are not in the Copy, but were inserted in the Revise.]
[rf] Ah, still unwelcomely was haunted.—[Copy.]
[rg] Had only sealed a just decree.—[Copy.]
Page 593
POEMS OF THE
SEPARATION.
SEPARATION.
Page 594
INTRODUCTION TO POEMS OF THE
SEPARATION.
The two poems, Fare Thee Well (March 17) and A Sketch (March 29, 1816),
which have hitherto been entitled Domestic Pieces, or Poems on His Own
Circumstances, I have ventured to rename Poems of the Separation. Of
secondary importance as poems or works of art, they stand out by
themselves as marking and helping to make the critical epoch in the life and
reputation of the poet. It is to be observed that there was an interval of
twelve days between the date of Fare Thee Well and A Sketch; that the
composition of the latter belongs to a later episode in the separation drama;
and that for some reasons connected with the proceedings between the
parties, a pathetic if not uncritical resignation had given place to the
extremity of exasperation—to hatred and fury and revenge. It follows that
either poem, in respect of composition and of publication, must be judged
on its own merits. Contemporary critics, while they were all but unanimous
in holding up A Sketch to unqualified reprobation, were divided with regard
to the good taste and good faith of Fare Thee Well. Moore intimates that at
first, and, indeed, for some years after the separation, he was strongly
inclined to condemn the Fare Thee Well as a histrionic performance—"a
showy effusion of sentiment;" but that on reading the account of all the
circumstances in Byron's Memoranda, he was impressed by the reality of
SEPARATION.
The two poems, Fare Thee Well (March 17) and A Sketch (March 29, 1816),
which have hitherto been entitled Domestic Pieces, or Poems on His Own
Circumstances, I have ventured to rename Poems of the Separation. Of
secondary importance as poems or works of art, they stand out by
themselves as marking and helping to make the critical epoch in the life and
reputation of the poet. It is to be observed that there was an interval of
twelve days between the date of Fare Thee Well and A Sketch; that the
composition of the latter belongs to a later episode in the separation drama;
and that for some reasons connected with the proceedings between the
parties, a pathetic if not uncritical resignation had given place to the
extremity of exasperation—to hatred and fury and revenge. It follows that
either poem, in respect of composition and of publication, must be judged
on its own merits. Contemporary critics, while they were all but unanimous
in holding up A Sketch to unqualified reprobation, were divided with regard
to the good taste and good faith of Fare Thee Well. Moore intimates that at
first, and, indeed, for some years after the separation, he was strongly
inclined to condemn the Fare Thee Well as a histrionic performance—"a
showy effusion of sentiment;" but that on reading the account of all the
circumstances in Byron's Memoranda, he was impressed by the reality of
Page 595
the "swell of tender recollections, under the influence of which, as he sat
one night musing in his study, these stanzas were produced—the tears, as he
said, falling fast over the paper as he wrote them" (Life, p. 302).
With whatever purpose, or under whatever emotion the lines were
written, Byron did not keep them to himself. They were shown to Murray,
and copies were sent to "the initiated." "I have just received," writes
Murray, "the enclosed letter from Mrs. Maria Graham [1785-1842, née
Dundas, authoress and traveller, afterwards Lady Callcott], to whom I had
sent the verses. It will show you that you are thought of in the remotest
corners, and furnishes me with an excuse for repeating that I shall not forget
you. God bless your Lordship. Fare Thee Well" [MSS. M.].
But it does not appear that they were printed in their final shape (the
proof of a first draft, consisting of thirteen stanzas, is dated March 18,
1816) till the second copy of verses were set up in type with a view to
private distribution (see Letters, 1899, iii. 279). Even then there was no
thought of publication on the part of Byron or of Murray, and, as a matter of
fact, though Fare Thee Well was included in the "Poems" of 1816, it was
not till both poems had appeared in over twenty pirated editions that A
Sketch was allowed to appear in vol. iii. of the Collected Works of 1819.
Unquestionably Byron intended that the "initiated," whether foes or
sympathizers, should know that he had not taken his dismissal in silence;
but it is far from certain that he connived at the appearance of either copy of
verses in the public press. It is impossible to acquit him of the charge of
appealing to a limited circle of specially chosen witnesses and advocates in
a matter which lay between himself and his wife, but the aggravated offence
of rushing into print may well be attributed to "the injudicious zeal of a
friend," or the "malice prepense" of an enemy. If he had hoped that the
one night musing in his study, these stanzas were produced—the tears, as he
said, falling fast over the paper as he wrote them" (Life, p. 302).
With whatever purpose, or under whatever emotion the lines were
written, Byron did not keep them to himself. They were shown to Murray,
and copies were sent to "the initiated." "I have just received," writes
Murray, "the enclosed letter from Mrs. Maria Graham [1785-1842, née
Dundas, authoress and traveller, afterwards Lady Callcott], to whom I had
sent the verses. It will show you that you are thought of in the remotest
corners, and furnishes me with an excuse for repeating that I shall not forget
you. God bless your Lordship. Fare Thee Well" [MSS. M.].
But it does not appear that they were printed in their final shape (the
proof of a first draft, consisting of thirteen stanzas, is dated March 18,
1816) till the second copy of verses were set up in type with a view to
private distribution (see Letters, 1899, iii. 279). Even then there was no
thought of publication on the part of Byron or of Murray, and, as a matter of
fact, though Fare Thee Well was included in the "Poems" of 1816, it was
not till both poems had appeared in over twenty pirated editions that A
Sketch was allowed to appear in vol. iii. of the Collected Works of 1819.
Unquestionably Byron intended that the "initiated," whether foes or
sympathizers, should know that he had not taken his dismissal in silence;
but it is far from certain that he connived at the appearance of either copy of
verses in the public press. It is impossible to acquit him of the charge of
appealing to a limited circle of specially chosen witnesses and advocates in
a matter which lay between himself and his wife, but the aggravated offence
of rushing into print may well be attributed to "the injudicious zeal of a
friend," or the "malice prepense" of an enemy. If he had hoped that the
Page 596
verses would slip into a newspaper, as it were, malgré lui, he would surely
have taken care that the seed fell on good ground under the favouring
influence of Perry of the Morning Chronicle, or Leigh Hunt of the
Examiner. As it turned out, the first paper which possessed or ventured to
publish a copy of the "domestic pieces" was the Champion, a Tory paper,
then under the editorship of John Scott (1783-1821), a man of talent and of
probity, but, as Mr. Lang puts it (Life and Letters of John Gibson Lockhart,
1897, i. 256), "Scotch, and a professed moralist." The date of publication
was Sunday, April 14, and it is to be noted that the Ode from the French
("We do not curse thee, Waterloo") had been published in the Morning
Chronicle on March 15, and that on the preceding Sunday, April 7, the
brilliant but unpatriotic apostrophe to the Star of the Legion of Honour had
appeared in the Examiner. "We notice it [this strain of his Lordship's harp],"
writes the editor, "because we think it would not be doing justice to the
merits of such political tenets, if they were not coupled with their
corresponding practice in regard to moral and domestic obligations. There
is generally a due proportion kept in 'the music of men's lives.' ... Of many
of the facts of this distressing case we are not ignorant; but God knows they
are not for a newspaper. Fortunately they fall within very general
knowledge, in London at least; if they had not they would never have found
their way to us. But there is a respect due to certain wrongs and sufferings
that would be outraged by uncovering them." It was all very mysterious,
very terrible; but what wonder that the laureate of the ex-emperor, the
contemner of the Bourbons, the pæanist of the "star of the brave," "the
rainbow of the free," should make good his political heresy by personal
depravity—by unmanly vice, unmanly whining, unmanly vituperation?
Wordsworth, to whom Scott forwarded the Champion of April 14,
"outdid" the journalist in virtuous fury: "Let me say only one word of Lord
have taken care that the seed fell on good ground under the favouring
influence of Perry of the Morning Chronicle, or Leigh Hunt of the
Examiner. As it turned out, the first paper which possessed or ventured to
publish a copy of the "domestic pieces" was the Champion, a Tory paper,
then under the editorship of John Scott (1783-1821), a man of talent and of
probity, but, as Mr. Lang puts it (Life and Letters of John Gibson Lockhart,
1897, i. 256), "Scotch, and a professed moralist." The date of publication
was Sunday, April 14, and it is to be noted that the Ode from the French
("We do not curse thee, Waterloo") had been published in the Morning
Chronicle on March 15, and that on the preceding Sunday, April 7, the
brilliant but unpatriotic apostrophe to the Star of the Legion of Honour had
appeared in the Examiner. "We notice it [this strain of his Lordship's harp],"
writes the editor, "because we think it would not be doing justice to the
merits of such political tenets, if they were not coupled with their
corresponding practice in regard to moral and domestic obligations. There
is generally a due proportion kept in 'the music of men's lives.' ... Of many
of the facts of this distressing case we are not ignorant; but God knows they
are not for a newspaper. Fortunately they fall within very general
knowledge, in London at least; if they had not they would never have found
their way to us. But there is a respect due to certain wrongs and sufferings
that would be outraged by uncovering them." It was all very mysterious,
very terrible; but what wonder that the laureate of the ex-emperor, the
contemner of the Bourbons, the pæanist of the "star of the brave," "the
rainbow of the free," should make good his political heresy by personal
depravity—by unmanly vice, unmanly whining, unmanly vituperation?
Wordsworth, to whom Scott forwarded the Champion of April 14,
"outdid" the journalist in virtuous fury: "Let me say only one word of Lord
Page 597
B. The man is insane. The verses on his private affairs excite in me less
indignation than pity. The latter copy is the Billingsgate of Bedlam. ... You
yourself seem to labour under some delusion as to the merits of Lord B.'s
poetry, and treat the wretched verses, the Fare Well, with far too much
respect. They are disgusting in sentiment, and in execution contemptible.
'Though my many faults deface me,' etc. Can worse doggerel than such a
stanza be written? One verse is commendable: 'All my madness none can
know.'" The criticism, as criticism, confutes itself, and is worth quoting
solely because it displays the feeling of a sane and honourable man towards
a member of the "opposition," who had tripped and fallen, and now lay
within reach of his lash (see Life of William Wordsworth, 1889, ii. 267, etc.).
It was not only, as Macaulay put it, that Byron was "singled out as an
expiatory sacrifice" by the British public in a periodical fit of morality, but,
as the extent and the limitations of the attack reveal, occasion was taken by
political adversaries to inflict punishment for an outrage on popular
sentiment.
The Champion had been the first to give tongue, and the other journals,
on the plea that the mischief was out, one after the other took up the cry. On
Monday, April 15, the Sun printed Fare Thee Well, and on Tuesday, April
16, followed with A Sketch. On the same day the Morning Chronicle,
protesting that "the poems were not written for the public eye, but as having
been inserted in a Sunday paper," printed both sets of verses; the Morning
Post, with an ugly hint that "the noble Lord gives us verses, when he dare
not give us circumstances," restricted itself to Fare Thee Well; while the
Times, in a leading paragraph, feigned to regard "the two extraordinary
copies of verses ... the whining stanzas of Fare Thee Well, and the low
malignity and miserable doggerel of the companion Sketch," as "an
indignation than pity. The latter copy is the Billingsgate of Bedlam. ... You
yourself seem to labour under some delusion as to the merits of Lord B.'s
poetry, and treat the wretched verses, the Fare Well, with far too much
respect. They are disgusting in sentiment, and in execution contemptible.
'Though my many faults deface me,' etc. Can worse doggerel than such a
stanza be written? One verse is commendable: 'All my madness none can
know.'" The criticism, as criticism, confutes itself, and is worth quoting
solely because it displays the feeling of a sane and honourable man towards
a member of the "opposition," who had tripped and fallen, and now lay
within reach of his lash (see Life of William Wordsworth, 1889, ii. 267, etc.).
It was not only, as Macaulay put it, that Byron was "singled out as an
expiatory sacrifice" by the British public in a periodical fit of morality, but,
as the extent and the limitations of the attack reveal, occasion was taken by
political adversaries to inflict punishment for an outrage on popular
sentiment.
The Champion had been the first to give tongue, and the other journals,
on the plea that the mischief was out, one after the other took up the cry. On
Monday, April 15, the Sun printed Fare Thee Well, and on Tuesday, April
16, followed with A Sketch. On the same day the Morning Chronicle,
protesting that "the poems were not written for the public eye, but as having
been inserted in a Sunday paper," printed both sets of verses; the Morning
Post, with an ugly hint that "the noble Lord gives us verses, when he dare
not give us circumstances," restricted itself to Fare Thee Well; while the
Times, in a leading paragraph, feigned to regard "the two extraordinary
copies of verses ... the whining stanzas of Fare Thee Well, and the low
malignity and miserable doggerel of the companion Sketch," as "an
Page 598
injurious fabrication." On Thursday, the 18th, the Courier, though declining
to insert A Sketch, deals temperately and sympathetically with the Fare
Thee Well, and quotes the testimony of a "fair correspondent" (? Madame de
Staël), that if "her husband had bade her such a farewell she could not have
avoided running into his arms, and being reconciled immediately—'Je
n'aurois pu m'y tenir un instant';" and on the same day the Times, having
learnt to its "extreme astonishment and regret," that both poems were
indeed Lord Byron's, maintained that the noble author had "degraded
literature, and abused the privileges of rank, by converting them into
weapons of vengeance against an inferior and a female." On Friday, the
19th, the Star printed both poems, and the Morning Post inserted a
criticism, which had already appeared in the Courier of the preceding day.
On Saturday, the 20th, the Courier found itself compelled, in the interests of
its readers, to print both poems. On Sunday, the 21st, the octave of the
original issue, the Examiner devoted a long article to an apology for Byron,
and a fierce rejoinder to the Champion; and on the same day the
Independent Whig and the Sunday News, which favoured the "opposition,"
printed both poems, with prefatory notices more or less favourable to the
writer; whereas the Tory Antigallican Monitor, which also printed both
poems, added the significant remark that "if everything said of Lord Byron
be true, it would appear that the Whigs were not altogether so immaculate
as they themselves would wish the world to suppose."
The testimony of the press is instructive from two points of view. In the
first place, it tends to show that the controversy was conducted on party
lines; and, secondly, that the editor of the Champion was in some degree
responsible for the wide diffusion and lasting publicity of the scandal. The
separation of Lord and Lady Byron must, in any case, have been more than
a nine days' wonder, but if the circulation of the "pamphlet" had been
to insert A Sketch, deals temperately and sympathetically with the Fare
Thee Well, and quotes the testimony of a "fair correspondent" (? Madame de
Staël), that if "her husband had bade her such a farewell she could not have
avoided running into his arms, and being reconciled immediately—'Je
n'aurois pu m'y tenir un instant';" and on the same day the Times, having
learnt to its "extreme astonishment and regret," that both poems were
indeed Lord Byron's, maintained that the noble author had "degraded
literature, and abused the privileges of rank, by converting them into
weapons of vengeance against an inferior and a female." On Friday, the
19th, the Star printed both poems, and the Morning Post inserted a
criticism, which had already appeared in the Courier of the preceding day.
On Saturday, the 20th, the Courier found itself compelled, in the interests of
its readers, to print both poems. On Sunday, the 21st, the octave of the
original issue, the Examiner devoted a long article to an apology for Byron,
and a fierce rejoinder to the Champion; and on the same day the
Independent Whig and the Sunday News, which favoured the "opposition,"
printed both poems, with prefatory notices more or less favourable to the
writer; whereas the Tory Antigallican Monitor, which also printed both
poems, added the significant remark that "if everything said of Lord Byron
be true, it would appear that the Whigs were not altogether so immaculate
as they themselves would wish the world to suppose."
The testimony of the press is instructive from two points of view. In the
first place, it tends to show that the controversy was conducted on party
lines; and, secondly, that the editor of the Champion was in some degree
responsible for the wide diffusion and lasting publicity of the scandal. The
separation of Lord and Lady Byron must, in any case, have been more than
a nine days' wonder, but if the circulation of the "pamphlet" had been
Page 599
strictly confined to the "initiated," the excitement and interest of the general
public would have smouldered and died out for lack of material.
In his second letter on Bowles, dated March 25, 1821 (Observations
upon Observations, Life, 1892, p. 705), Byron alludes to the publication of
these poems in the Champion, and comments on the behaviour of the editor,
who had recently (February 16, 1821) been killed in a duel. He does not
minimize the wrong, but he pays a fine and generous tribute to the courage
and worth of his assailant. "Poor Scott is now no more ...he died like a
brave man, and he lived an able one," etc. It may be added that Byron was
an anonymous subscriber to a fund raised by Sir James Mackintosh,
Murray, and others, for "the helpless family of a man of virtue and ability"
(London Magazine, April, 1821, vol. iii. p. 359).
For chronological reasons, and in accordance with the precedent of the
edition of 1832, a third poem, Stanzas to Augusta, has been included in this
group.
public would have smouldered and died out for lack of material.
In his second letter on Bowles, dated March 25, 1821 (Observations
upon Observations, Life, 1892, p. 705), Byron alludes to the publication of
these poems in the Champion, and comments on the behaviour of the editor,
who had recently (February 16, 1821) been killed in a duel. He does not
minimize the wrong, but he pays a fine and generous tribute to the courage
and worth of his assailant. "Poor Scott is now no more ...he died like a
brave man, and he lived an able one," etc. It may be added that Byron was
an anonymous subscriber to a fund raised by Sir James Mackintosh,
Murray, and others, for "the helpless family of a man of virtue and ability"
(London Magazine, April, 1821, vol. iii. p. 359).
For chronological reasons, and in accordance with the precedent of the
edition of 1832, a third poem, Stanzas to Augusta, has been included in this
group.
Page 600
POEMS OF THE SEPARATION
FARE THEE WELL. [432]
"Alas! they had been friends in youth;
But whispering tongues can poison truth:
And Constancy lives in realms above;
And Life is thorny; and youth is vain:
And to be wroth with one we love,
Doth work like madness in the brain;
But never either found another
To free the hollow heart from paining—
They stood aloof, the scars remaining,
Like cliffs which had been rent asunder;
A dreary sea now flows between,
But neither heat, nor frost, nor thunder,
Shall wholly do away, I ween,
The marks of that which once hath been."
C oleridge ' s Christabel.[rh]
e thee well! and if for ever,
till for ever, fare thee well:
n though unforgiving, never
Gainst thee shall my heart rebel.
uld that breast were bared before thee[ri]
Where thy head so oft hath lain,
FARE THEE WELL. [432]
"Alas! they had been friends in youth;
But whispering tongues can poison truth:
And Constancy lives in realms above;
And Life is thorny; and youth is vain:
And to be wroth with one we love,
Doth work like madness in the brain;
But never either found another
To free the hollow heart from paining—
They stood aloof, the scars remaining,
Like cliffs which had been rent asunder;
A dreary sea now flows between,
But neither heat, nor frost, nor thunder,
Shall wholly do away, I ween,
The marks of that which once hath been."
C oleridge ' s Christabel.[rh]
e thee well! and if for ever,
till for ever, fare thee well:
n though unforgiving, never
Gainst thee shall my heart rebel.
uld that breast were bared before thee[ri]
Where thy head so oft hath lain,
Page 601
ile that placid sleep came o'er thee[rj]
Which thou ne'er canst know again:
uld that breast, by thee glanced over,
very inmost thought could show!
n thou would'st at last discover
Twas not well to spurn it so.
ugh the world for this commend thee—[433]
hough it smile upon the blow,
n its praises must offend thee,
ounded on another's woe:
ugh my many faults defaced me,
ould no other arm be found,
n the one which once embraced me,
o inflict a cureless wound?
oh yet, thyself deceive not—
ove may sink by slow decay,
by sudden wrench, believe not
Hearts can thus be torn away:
thine own its life retaineth—
till must mine, though bleeding, beat;[rk]
d the undying thought which paineth[rl]
s—that we no more may meet.
se are words of deeper sorrow[rm]
han the wail above the dead;
h shall live—but every morrow[rn]
Wake us from a widowed bed.
d when thou would'st solace gather—
When our child's first accents flow—
t thou teach her to say "Father!"
hough his care she must forego?
en her little hands shall press thee—
Which thou ne'er canst know again:
uld that breast, by thee glanced over,
very inmost thought could show!
n thou would'st at last discover
Twas not well to spurn it so.
ugh the world for this commend thee—[433]
hough it smile upon the blow,
n its praises must offend thee,
ounded on another's woe:
ugh my many faults defaced me,
ould no other arm be found,
n the one which once embraced me,
o inflict a cureless wound?
oh yet, thyself deceive not—
ove may sink by slow decay,
by sudden wrench, believe not
Hearts can thus be torn away:
thine own its life retaineth—
till must mine, though bleeding, beat;[rk]
d the undying thought which paineth[rl]
s—that we no more may meet.
se are words of deeper sorrow[rm]
han the wail above the dead;
h shall live—but every morrow[rn]
Wake us from a widowed bed.
d when thou would'st solace gather—
When our child's first accents flow—
t thou teach her to say "Father!"
hough his care she must forego?
en her little hands shall press thee—
Page 602
When her lip to thine is pressed—
nk of him whose prayer shall bless thee—
hink of him thy love had blessed!
uld her lineaments resemble
hose thou never more may'st see,
n thy heart will softly tremble[ro]
With a pulse yet true to me.
my faults perchance thou knowest—
All my madness—none can know;[rp]
my hopes—where'er thou goest—
Wither—yet with thee they go.
ry feeling hath been shaken;
ride—which not a world could bow—[rq]
ws to thee—by thee forsaken,[rr]
ven my soul forsakes me now.
'tis done—all words are idle—
Words from me are vainer still;[rs]
the thoughts we cannot bridle
orce their way without the will.
e thee well! thus disunited—[rt]
orn from every nearer tie—
red in heart—and lone—and blighted—
More than this I scarce can die.
[First draft, March 18, 1816.
First printed as published, April 4, 1816.]
A SKETCH. [ru][434]
"Honest—honest Iago!
If that thou be'st a devil, I cannot kill thee."
S hakespeare .
nk of him whose prayer shall bless thee—
hink of him thy love had blessed!
uld her lineaments resemble
hose thou never more may'st see,
n thy heart will softly tremble[ro]
With a pulse yet true to me.
my faults perchance thou knowest—
All my madness—none can know;[rp]
my hopes—where'er thou goest—
Wither—yet with thee they go.
ry feeling hath been shaken;
ride—which not a world could bow—[rq]
ws to thee—by thee forsaken,[rr]
ven my soul forsakes me now.
'tis done—all words are idle—
Words from me are vainer still;[rs]
the thoughts we cannot bridle
orce their way without the will.
e thee well! thus disunited—[rt]
orn from every nearer tie—
red in heart—and lone—and blighted—
More than this I scarce can die.
[First draft, March 18, 1816.
First printed as published, April 4, 1816.]
A SKETCH. [ru][434]
"Honest—honest Iago!
If that thou be'st a devil, I cannot kill thee."
S hakespeare .
Page 603
rn in the garret, in the kitchen bred,
moted thence to deck her mistress' head;[rv]
t—for some gracious service unexpressed,
d from its wages only to be guessed—
sed from the toilet to the table,—where
wondering betters wait behind her chair.
h eye unmoved, and forehead unabashed,
dines from off the plate she lately washed.
ck with the tale, and ready with the lie,
genial confidante, and general spy— 10
o could, ye gods! her next employment guess—
only infant's earliest governess![rw]
taught the child to read, and taught so well,
t she herself, by teaching, learned to spell.
adept next in penmanship she grows,
many a nameless slander deftly shows:
at she had made the pupil of her art,
ne know—but that high Soul secured the heart,[rx]
d panted for the truth it could not hear,
h longing breast and undeluded ear. 20
ed was perversion by that youthful mind,[ry]
ich Flattery fooled not, Baseness could not blind,
eit infect not, near Contagion soil,
ulgence weaken, nor Example spoil,[rz]
mastered Science tempt her to look down
humbler talents with a pitying frown,
Genius swell, nor Beauty render vain,
Envy ruffle to retaliate pain,[sa]
Fortune change, Pride raise, nor Passion bow,
Virtue teach austerity—till now. 30
enely purest of her sex that live,[sb]
moted thence to deck her mistress' head;[rv]
t—for some gracious service unexpressed,
d from its wages only to be guessed—
sed from the toilet to the table,—where
wondering betters wait behind her chair.
h eye unmoved, and forehead unabashed,
dines from off the plate she lately washed.
ck with the tale, and ready with the lie,
genial confidante, and general spy— 10
o could, ye gods! her next employment guess—
only infant's earliest governess![rw]
taught the child to read, and taught so well,
t she herself, by teaching, learned to spell.
adept next in penmanship she grows,
many a nameless slander deftly shows:
at she had made the pupil of her art,
ne know—but that high Soul secured the heart,[rx]
d panted for the truth it could not hear,
h longing breast and undeluded ear. 20
ed was perversion by that youthful mind,[ry]
ich Flattery fooled not, Baseness could not blind,
eit infect not, near Contagion soil,
ulgence weaken, nor Example spoil,[rz]
mastered Science tempt her to look down
humbler talents with a pitying frown,
Genius swell, nor Beauty render vain,
Envy ruffle to retaliate pain,[sa]
Fortune change, Pride raise, nor Passion bow,
Virtue teach austerity—till now. 30
enely purest of her sex that live,[sb]
Page 604
wanting one sweet weakness—to forgive;
shocked at faults her soul can never know,
deems that all could be like her below:
to all vice, yet hardly Virtue's friend,
Virtue pardons those she would amend.
to the theme, now laid aside too long,
baleful burthen of this honest song,[sc]
ugh all her former functions are no more,
rules the circle which she served before. 40
mothers—none know why—before her quake;
aughters dread her for the mothers' sake;
arly habits—those false links, which bind
imes the loftiest to the meanest mind—[sd]
e given her power too deeply to instil
angry essence of her deadly will;[se]
ke a snake she steal within your walls,
the black slime betray her as she crawls;
ke a viper to the heart she wind,
d leave the venom there she did not find; 50
at marvel that this hag of hatred works[sf]
nal evil latent as she lurks,
make a Pandemonium where she dwells,
d reign the Hecate of domestic hells?
led by a touch to deepen Scandal's tints
h all the kind mendacity of hints,
ile mingling truth with falsehood—sneers with smiles—
hread of candour with a web of wiles;[sg]
lain blunt show of briefly-spoken seeming,
hide her bloodless heart's soul-hardened scheming; 60
p of lies; a face formed to conceal,
shocked at faults her soul can never know,
deems that all could be like her below:
to all vice, yet hardly Virtue's friend,
Virtue pardons those she would amend.
to the theme, now laid aside too long,
baleful burthen of this honest song,[sc]
ugh all her former functions are no more,
rules the circle which she served before. 40
mothers—none know why—before her quake;
aughters dread her for the mothers' sake;
arly habits—those false links, which bind
imes the loftiest to the meanest mind—[sd]
e given her power too deeply to instil
angry essence of her deadly will;[se]
ke a snake she steal within your walls,
the black slime betray her as she crawls;
ke a viper to the heart she wind,
d leave the venom there she did not find; 50
at marvel that this hag of hatred works[sf]
nal evil latent as she lurks,
make a Pandemonium where she dwells,
d reign the Hecate of domestic hells?
led by a touch to deepen Scandal's tints
h all the kind mendacity of hints,
ile mingling truth with falsehood—sneers with smiles—
hread of candour with a web of wiles;[sg]
lain blunt show of briefly-spoken seeming,
hide her bloodless heart's soul-hardened scheming; 60
p of lies; a face formed to conceal,
Page 605
d, without feeling, mock at all who feel:
h a vile mask the Gorgon would disown,—
heek of parchment, and an eye of stone.[sh]
k, how the channels of her yellow blood
e to her skin, and stagnate there to mud,
ed like the centipede in saffron mail,
darker greenness of the scorpion's scale—[si]
r drawn from reptiles only may we trace
genial colours in that soul or face)— 70
k on her features! and behold her mind[sj]
n a mirror of itself defined:
k on the picture! deem it not o'ercharged—
re is no trait which might not be enlarged:
true to "Nature's journeymen,"[435] who made
s monster when their mistress left off trade—
s female dog-star of her little sky,
ere all beneath her influence droop or die.[sk]
wretch without a tear—without a thought,
e joy above the ruin thou hast wrought— 80
time shall come, nor long remote, when thou
lt feel far more than thou inflictest now;
l for thy vile self-loving self in vain,
d turn thee howling in unpitied pain.
y the strong curse of crushed affections light[436]
k on thy bosom with reflected blight!
d make thee in thy leprosy of mind
oathsome to thyself as to mankind!
all thy self-thoughts curdle into hate,
ck—as thy will or others would create: 90
thy hard heart be calcined into dust,
h a vile mask the Gorgon would disown,—
heek of parchment, and an eye of stone.[sh]
k, how the channels of her yellow blood
e to her skin, and stagnate there to mud,
ed like the centipede in saffron mail,
darker greenness of the scorpion's scale—[si]
r drawn from reptiles only may we trace
genial colours in that soul or face)— 70
k on her features! and behold her mind[sj]
n a mirror of itself defined:
k on the picture! deem it not o'ercharged—
re is no trait which might not be enlarged:
true to "Nature's journeymen,"[435] who made
s monster when their mistress left off trade—
s female dog-star of her little sky,
ere all beneath her influence droop or die.[sk]
wretch without a tear—without a thought,
e joy above the ruin thou hast wrought— 80
time shall come, nor long remote, when thou
lt feel far more than thou inflictest now;
l for thy vile self-loving self in vain,
d turn thee howling in unpitied pain.
y the strong curse of crushed affections light[436]
k on thy bosom with reflected blight!
d make thee in thy leprosy of mind
oathsome to thyself as to mankind!
all thy self-thoughts curdle into hate,
ck—as thy will or others would create: 90
thy hard heart be calcined into dust,
Page 606
d thy soul welter in its hideous crust.
may thy grave be sleepless as the bed,
widowed couch of fire, that thou hast spread!
n, when thou fain wouldst weary Heaven with prayer,
k on thine earthly victims—and despair!
wn to the dust!—and, as thou rott'st away,
n worms shall perish on thy poisonous clay.[sl]
for the love I bore, and still must bear,
her thy malice from all ties would tear— 100
name—thy human name—to every eye
climax of all scorn should hang on high,
lted o'er thy less abhorred compeers—
d festering[437] in the infamy of years.[sm]
[First draft, March 29, 1816.
First printed as published, April 4, 1816.]
STANZAS TO AUGUSTA. [438]
[sn]
en all around grew drear and dark,
And reason half withheld her ray—
d Hope but shed a dying spark
Which more misled my lonely way;
hat deep midnight of the mind,
And that internal strife of heart,
en dreading to be deemed too kind,
he weak despair—the cold depart;
en Fortune changed—and Love fled far,[so]
And Hatred's shafts flew thick and fast,
u wert the solitary star[sp]
Which rose and set not to the last.[sq]
blest be thine unbroken light!
may thy grave be sleepless as the bed,
widowed couch of fire, that thou hast spread!
n, when thou fain wouldst weary Heaven with prayer,
k on thine earthly victims—and despair!
wn to the dust!—and, as thou rott'st away,
n worms shall perish on thy poisonous clay.[sl]
for the love I bore, and still must bear,
her thy malice from all ties would tear— 100
name—thy human name—to every eye
climax of all scorn should hang on high,
lted o'er thy less abhorred compeers—
d festering[437] in the infamy of years.[sm]
[First draft, March 29, 1816.
First printed as published, April 4, 1816.]
STANZAS TO AUGUSTA. [438]
[sn]
en all around grew drear and dark,
And reason half withheld her ray—
d Hope but shed a dying spark
Which more misled my lonely way;
hat deep midnight of the mind,
And that internal strife of heart,
en dreading to be deemed too kind,
he weak despair—the cold depart;
en Fortune changed—and Love fled far,[so]
And Hatred's shafts flew thick and fast,
u wert the solitary star[sp]
Which rose and set not to the last.[sq]
blest be thine unbroken light!
Page 607
hat watched me as a Seraph's eye,
d stood between me and the night,
or ever shining sweetly nigh.
d when the cloud upon us came,[sr]
Which strove to blacken o'er thy ray—[ss]
n purer spread its gentle flame,[st]
And dashed the darkness all away.
may thy Spirit dwell on mine,[su]
And teach it what to brave or brook—
re's more in one soft word of thine
han in the world's defied rebuke.
u stood'st, as stands a lovely tree,[sv]
hat still unbroke, though gently bent,
waves with fond fidelity
s boughs above a monument.
winds might rend—the skies might pour,
ut there thou wert—and still wouldst be
oted in the stormiest hour
o shed thy weeping leaves o'er me.
thou and thine shall know no blight,
Whatever fate on me may fall;
Heaven in sunshine will requite
he kind—and thee the most of all.
n let the ties of baffled love
e broken—thine will never break;
heart can feel—but will not move;
hy soul, though soft, will never shake.
d these, when all was lost beside,
Were found and still are fixed in thee:—
d bearing still a breast so tried,
arth is no desert—ev'n to me.
[First published, Poems, 1816.]
d stood between me and the night,
or ever shining sweetly nigh.
d when the cloud upon us came,[sr]
Which strove to blacken o'er thy ray—[ss]
n purer spread its gentle flame,[st]
And dashed the darkness all away.
may thy Spirit dwell on mine,[su]
And teach it what to brave or brook—
re's more in one soft word of thine
han in the world's defied rebuke.
u stood'st, as stands a lovely tree,[sv]
hat still unbroke, though gently bent,
waves with fond fidelity
s boughs above a monument.
winds might rend—the skies might pour,
ut there thou wert—and still wouldst be
oted in the stormiest hour
o shed thy weeping leaves o'er me.
thou and thine shall know no blight,
Whatever fate on me may fall;
Heaven in sunshine will requite
he kind—and thee the most of all.
n let the ties of baffled love
e broken—thine will never break;
heart can feel—but will not move;
hy soul, though soft, will never shake.
d these, when all was lost beside,
Were found and still are fixed in thee:—
d bearing still a breast so tried,
arth is no desert—ev'n to me.
[First published, Poems, 1816.]
Page 608
FOOTNOTES:
[432] {537} ["He there (Byron, in his Memoranda) described, and in a manner whose
sincerity there was no doubting, the swell of tender recollections, under the influence of
which, as he sat one night musing in the study, these stanzas were produced,—the tears, as
he said, falling fast over the paper as he wrote them."—Life, p. 302.
It must have been a fair and complete copy that Moore saw (see Life, p. 302, note 3).
There are no tear-marks on this (the first draft, sold at Sotheby's, April 11, 1885) draft,
which must be the first, for it is incomplete, and every line (almost) tortured with
alterations.
"Fare Thee Well!" was printed in Leigh Hunt's Examiner, April 21, 1816, at the end of an
article (by L. H.) entitled "Distressing Circumstances in High Life." The text there has
two readings different from that of the pamphlet, viz.—
Examiner: "Than the soft one which embraced me."
Pamphlet: "Than the one which once embraced me."
Examiner: "Yet the thoughts we cannot bridle."
Pamphlet: "But," etc.
—MS. Notes taken by the late J. Dykes Campbell at Sotheby's, April 18, 1890, and re-
transcribed for Mr. Murray, June 15, 1894.
A final proof, dated April 7, 1816, was endorsed by Murray, "Correct 50 copies as early as
you can to-morrow."]
[rh] The motto was prefixed in Poems, 1816.
[ri] {538} Thou my breast laid bare before thee.—[MS. erased.]
[rj] Not a thought is pondering on thee.—[MS, erased.]
[433] [Lines 13-20 do not appear in an early copy dated March 18, 1816. They were
added on the margin of a proof dated April 4, 1816.]
[rk] {539} Net result of many alterations.
[rl] And the lasting thought——.—[MS. erased.]
[rm] ——of deadlier sorrow.—[MS. erased.]
[rn] Every future night and morrow.—[MS. erased.]
[ro] Still thy heart——.—[MS. erased.]
[432] {537} ["He there (Byron, in his Memoranda) described, and in a manner whose
sincerity there was no doubting, the swell of tender recollections, under the influence of
which, as he sat one night musing in the study, these stanzas were produced,—the tears, as
he said, falling fast over the paper as he wrote them."—Life, p. 302.
It must have been a fair and complete copy that Moore saw (see Life, p. 302, note 3).
There are no tear-marks on this (the first draft, sold at Sotheby's, April 11, 1885) draft,
which must be the first, for it is incomplete, and every line (almost) tortured with
alterations.
"Fare Thee Well!" was printed in Leigh Hunt's Examiner, April 21, 1816, at the end of an
article (by L. H.) entitled "Distressing Circumstances in High Life." The text there has
two readings different from that of the pamphlet, viz.—
Examiner: "Than the soft one which embraced me."
Pamphlet: "Than the one which once embraced me."
Examiner: "Yet the thoughts we cannot bridle."
Pamphlet: "But," etc.
—MS. Notes taken by the late J. Dykes Campbell at Sotheby's, April 18, 1890, and re-
transcribed for Mr. Murray, June 15, 1894.
A final proof, dated April 7, 1816, was endorsed by Murray, "Correct 50 copies as early as
you can to-morrow."]
[rh] The motto was prefixed in Poems, 1816.
[ri] {538} Thou my breast laid bare before thee.—[MS. erased.]
[rj] Not a thought is pondering on thee.—[MS, erased.]
[433] [Lines 13-20 do not appear in an early copy dated March 18, 1816. They were
added on the margin of a proof dated April 4, 1816.]
[rk] {539} Net result of many alterations.
[rl] And the lasting thought——.—[MS. erased.]
[rm] ——of deadlier sorrow.—[MS. erased.]
[rn] Every future night and morrow.—[MS. erased.]
[ro] Still thy heart——.—[MS. erased.]
Page 609
[rp] All my follies——.—[MS. erased.]
[rq] ——which not the world could bow.—[MS.]
[rr] Falls at once——.—[MS. erased.]
[rs] {540} Tears and sighs are idler still.—[MS. erased.]
[rt] Fare thee well—thus lone and blighted.—[MS. erased.]
[ru] A Sketch from Life.—[MS. M.]
[434] ["I send you my last night's dream, and request to have 50 copies (for private
distribution) struck off. I wish Mr. Gifford to look at them; they are from life."—Letter to
Murray, March 30, 1816.
"The original MS. of Lord Byron's Satire, 'A Sketch from Private Life,' written by his
Lordship, 30th March, 1816. Given by his Lordship to me on going abroad after his
separation from Lady Byron, John Hanson. To be carefully preserved." (This MS. omits
lines 19-20, 35-36, 55-56, 65-70, 77-78, 85-92.)
A copy entitled, "A sketch from private Life," dated March 30, 1816, is in Mrs. Leigh's
handwriting. The corrections and additions are in Byron's handwriting.
A proof dated April 2, 1816, is endorsed by Murray, "Correct with most particular care
and print off 50 copies, and keep standing."]
[rv] Promoted thence to comb——[MS. M. erased.]
[rw] ——early governess.—[MS. M.]
[rx] ——but that pure spirit saved her heart.—[MS. M. erased.]
[ry] Vain was each effort——.—[MS. M.]
[rz]
Much Learning madden—when with scarce a peer
She soared through science with a bright career—
Nor talents swell——.—[MS. M.]
[sa] ——bigotry prevoke.—[MS. M. erased.]
[sb] Serenely purest of the things that live.—[MS. M.]
[sc] {542} The trusty burthen of my honest song.—[MS. M.]
[rq] ——which not the world could bow.—[MS.]
[rr] Falls at once——.—[MS. erased.]
[rs] {540} Tears and sighs are idler still.—[MS. erased.]
[rt] Fare thee well—thus lone and blighted.—[MS. erased.]
[ru] A Sketch from Life.—[MS. M.]
[434] ["I send you my last night's dream, and request to have 50 copies (for private
distribution) struck off. I wish Mr. Gifford to look at them; they are from life."—Letter to
Murray, March 30, 1816.
"The original MS. of Lord Byron's Satire, 'A Sketch from Private Life,' written by his
Lordship, 30th March, 1816. Given by his Lordship to me on going abroad after his
separation from Lady Byron, John Hanson. To be carefully preserved." (This MS. omits
lines 19-20, 35-36, 55-56, 65-70, 77-78, 85-92.)
A copy entitled, "A sketch from private Life," dated March 30, 1816, is in Mrs. Leigh's
handwriting. The corrections and additions are in Byron's handwriting.
A proof dated April 2, 1816, is endorsed by Murray, "Correct with most particular care
and print off 50 copies, and keep standing."]
[rv] Promoted thence to comb——[MS. M. erased.]
[rw] ——early governess.—[MS. M.]
[rx] ——but that pure spirit saved her heart.—[MS. M. erased.]
[ry] Vain was each effort——.—[MS. M.]
[rz]
Much Learning madden—when with scarce a peer
She soared through science with a bright career—
Nor talents swell——.—[MS. M.]
[sa] ——bigotry prevoke.—[MS. M. erased.]
[sb] Serenely purest of the things that live.—[MS. M.]
[sc] {542} The trusty burthen of my honest song.—[MS. M.]
Page 610
[sd] At times the highest——.—[MS. M.]
[se] ——of her evil will.—[MS. M.]
[sf]
What marvel that this mistress demon works
Eternal evil { wheresoe'er she lurks.—[MS. M.]
when she latent works.—[Copy.]
[sg] A gloss of candour of a web of wiles.—[MS. M.]
[sh] {543} Lines 65-68 were added April 2, 1816.
[si] The parenthesis was added April 2, 1816.
[sj] Look on her body——.—[MS. M.]
[435] [See Hamlet, act iii. sc. 2, line 31.]
[sk] Where all that gaze upon her droop or die.—[MS. altered April 2, 1816.]
[436] Lines 85-91 were added April 2, 1816, on a page endorsed, "Quick—quick—quick
—quick."
[sl] {544} ——in thy poisoned clay.—[MS. M. erased.]
[437] ["I doubt about 'weltering' but the dictionary should decide—look at it. We say
'weltering in blood'—but do they not also use 'weltering in the wind' 'weltering on a
gibbet'?—there is no dictionary, so look or ask. In the meantime, I have put 'festering,'
which perhaps in any case is the best word of the two.—P.S. Be quick. Shakespeare has it
often and I do not think it too strong for the figure in this thing."—Letter to Murray, April
2.]
[sm] And weltering in the infamy of years.—[MS. M.]
[438] [His sister, the Honourable Mrs. Leigh.—These stanzas—the parting tribute to her
whose tenderness had been his sole consolation in the crisis of domestic misery—were,
we believe, the last verses written by Lord Byron in England. In a note to Mr. Rogers,
dated April 16 [1816], he says, "My sister is now with me, and leaves town to-morrow;
we shall not meet again for some time at all events—if ever! and under these
circumstances I trust to stand excused to you and Mr. Sheridan, for being unable to wait
upon him this evening."—Note to Edition of 1832, x. 193.
[se] ——of her evil will.—[MS. M.]
[sf]
What marvel that this mistress demon works
Eternal evil { wheresoe'er she lurks.—[MS. M.]
when she latent works.—[Copy.]
[sg] A gloss of candour of a web of wiles.—[MS. M.]
[sh] {543} Lines 65-68 were added April 2, 1816.
[si] The parenthesis was added April 2, 1816.
[sj] Look on her body——.—[MS. M.]
[435] [See Hamlet, act iii. sc. 2, line 31.]
[sk] Where all that gaze upon her droop or die.—[MS. altered April 2, 1816.]
[436] Lines 85-91 were added April 2, 1816, on a page endorsed, "Quick—quick—quick
—quick."
[sl] {544} ——in thy poisoned clay.—[MS. M. erased.]
[437] ["I doubt about 'weltering' but the dictionary should decide—look at it. We say
'weltering in blood'—but do they not also use 'weltering in the wind' 'weltering on a
gibbet'?—there is no dictionary, so look or ask. In the meantime, I have put 'festering,'
which perhaps in any case is the best word of the two.—P.S. Be quick. Shakespeare has it
often and I do not think it too strong for the figure in this thing."—Letter to Murray, April
2.]
[sm] And weltering in the infamy of years.—[MS. M.]
[438] [His sister, the Honourable Mrs. Leigh.—These stanzas—the parting tribute to her
whose tenderness had been his sole consolation in the crisis of domestic misery—were,
we believe, the last verses written by Lord Byron in England. In a note to Mr. Rogers,
dated April 16 [1816], he says, "My sister is now with me, and leaves town to-morrow;
we shall not meet again for some time at all events—if ever! and under these
circumstances I trust to stand excused to you and Mr. Sheridan, for being unable to wait
upon him this evening."—Note to Edition of 1832, x. 193.
Page 611
A fair copy, broken up into stanzas, is endorsed by Murray, "Given to me (and I believe
composed by Ld. B.), Friday, April 12, 1816."]
[sn] ——grew waste and dark.—[MS. M.]
[so] {545} When Friendship shook——.—[MS. M.]
[sp] Thine was the solitary star.—[MS. M.]
[sq] Which rose above me to the last.—[MS. M.]
[sr]
And when the cloud between us came.—[MS. M.]
And when the cloud upon me came.—[Copy C. H.]
[ss] Which would have closed on that last ray.—[MS. M.]
[st] Then stiller stood the gentle Flame.—[MS. M.]
[su] Still may thy Spirit sit on mine.—[MS. M.]
[sv] {546}
And thou wast as a lovely Tree
Whose branch unbroke but gently bent
Still waved with fond Fidelity.—[Copy C. H.]
END OF VOL. III.
LONDON: PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED,
S TA M F O R D S T R E E T A N D C H A R I N G C R O S S .
composed by Ld. B.), Friday, April 12, 1816."]
[sn] ——grew waste and dark.—[MS. M.]
[so] {545} When Friendship shook——.—[MS. M.]
[sp] Thine was the solitary star.—[MS. M.]
[sq] Which rose above me to the last.—[MS. M.]
[sr]
And when the cloud between us came.—[MS. M.]
And when the cloud upon me came.—[Copy C. H.]
[ss] Which would have closed on that last ray.—[MS. M.]
[st] Then stiller stood the gentle Flame.—[MS. M.]
[su] Still may thy Spirit sit on mine.—[MS. M.]
[sv] {546}
And thou wast as a lovely Tree
Whose branch unbroke but gently bent
Still waved with fond Fidelity.—[Copy C. H.]
END OF VOL. III.
LONDON: PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED,
S TA M F O R D S T R E E T A N D C H A R I N G C R O S S .
Page 612
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