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| committer | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 01:46:03 -0700 |
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vertical-align:-0.2em; line-height:1.5em; } /* big brace */ + span.uc { vertical-align:0.6em; margin: auto 0 auto 0;} /* up chars */ + span.dc { vertical-align:-0.6em; margin: auto 0 auto 0; } /* down chars */ + // --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +Project Gutenberg's The Works Of Lord Byron, Vol. 3 (of 7), by Lord Byron + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere 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 + + +Title: The Works Of Lord Byron, Vol. 3 (of 7) + +Author: Lord Byron + +Editor: Ernest Hartley Coleridge + +Release Date: June 12, 2007 [EBook #21811] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE WORKS OF LORD BYRON *** + + + + +Produced by Jonathan Ingram, David Cortesi and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_i" id="Page_i">[i]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<div class="titlepage"> + + <h1>The Works<br /> + + <span class="tiny">OF</span><br /> + + <span class="big">LORD BYRON</span>.</h1> + + + <h3>A NEW, REVISED AND ENLARGED EDITION,<br /> + + WITH ILLUSTRATIONS.</h3> + + + <h1>Poetry. Vol. III.</h1> + + + <h3><span class="tiny">EDITED BY</span><br /> + + ERNEST HARTLEY COLERIDGE, M.A.,<br /><span class="tiny">HON. F.R.S.L.</span></h3> + + + <h4><span class="small">LONDON:</span><br /> + + JOHN MURRAY, ALBEMARLE STREET.<br /> + + <span class="small">NEW YORK: CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS.</span></h4> + + <h4><span class="small">1900</span>.</h4> +</div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_ii" id="Page_ii">[ii]</a></span></p> + +<h2 style="font-size:smaller;">TRANSCRIBER'S NOTES</h2> + +<p>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 +<span title="Deu~te pi~des, k.t.l.">Δεῦτε πῖδες, κ.τ.λ.</span>. +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). +</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Navigation aids are provided as follows. Page numbers are displayed at +the right edge of the window. +To jump directly to page <i>nn</i>, append #Page_<i>nn</i> to the document URL. +To jump directly to the text of footnote <i>xx</i>, either search for [<i>xx</i>] +or append #Footnote_<i>xx</i> to the document URL.</p> + +<p>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 <i>nn</i>, either search +for the string {<i>nn</i>} or append #Note_<i>nn</i> to the document URL.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_v" id="Page_v">[v]</a></span></p> + +<h2><a name="PREFACE_VOLUME" id="PREFACE_VOLUME"></a> + +PREFACE TO THE THIRD VOLUME. +<br /><span class="center"><img src="images/decoration.png" alt="swash" /></span> +</h2> + + +<p><span class="smcap">The</span> present volume contains the six metrical tales +which were composed within the years 1812 and 1815, +the <i>Hebrew Melodies</i>, and the minor poems of 1809-1816. +With the exception of the first fifteen poems +(1809-1811)—<i>Chansons de Voyage</i>, as they might be called—the +volume as a whole was produced on English soil. Beginning +with the <i>Giaour</i>; which followed in the wake of <i>Childe +Harold</i> and shared its triumph, and ending with the ill-omened + +<i>Domestic Pieces</i>, or <i>Poems of the Separation</i>, 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 +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_vi" id="Page_vi">[vi]</a></span>which has come to be regarded as distinctively and +characteristically Byronic, preceded maturity and achievement.</p> + +<p>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 <i>Bride of Abydos</i>, of +the <i>Corsair</i>, of <i>Lara</i>—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 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.</p> + +<p>It was <i>Childe Harold</i>, the unfinished, immature <i>Childe +Harold</i>, 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. <i>Ubi lapsus, quid +feci?</i> might the questioning spirit of the author exclaim +with regard to his "Harrys and Larrys, Pilgrims and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_vii" id="Page_vii">[vii]</a></span> +Pirates," who once held the field, and now seem to have +gone under in the struggle for poetical existence!</p> + +<p>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 <i>technique</i>, 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.</p> + +<p>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 avidity, but understood +enough of what they read to be touched by their vitality, +to realize their verisimilitude.</p> + +<p><i>Tout comprendre c'est tout pardonner.</i> 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<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_viii" id="Page_viii">[viii]</a></span> +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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 hand of +the great artist who conceived them out of the abundance<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_ix" id="Page_ix">[ix]</a></span> + +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.</p> + +<p>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 <i>Giaour</i> and <i>Bride of Abydos</i>.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<i>Literary Gazette,</i> February and March, 1821; and to the +notes to the late Professor E. Kolbing's <i>Siege of Corinth.</i></p> + +<p>On behalf of the publisher, I beg to acknowledge<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_x" id="Page_x">[x]</a></span> +the kindness of Lord Glenesk, and of Sir Theodore +Martin, K.C.B., who have permitted the examination +and collation of MSS. of the <i>Siege of Corinth</i> and of the +"Thyrza" poems, in their possession.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p style="text-align:right;">ERNEST HARTLEY COLERIDGE.</p> + +<p><i>April</i> 18, 1900.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_xi" id="Page_xi">[xi]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CONTENTS_III" id="CONTENTS_III"></a> +CONTENTS OF VOL. III. +<br /><span class="center"><img src="images/decoration.png" alt="swash" /></span> +</h2> + +<table class="toc" summary=""> + +<tr> +<td class="e">Preface to Vol. III. of the Poems</td> <td class="p" style="width:20%"><a href="#Page_v">v</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="e"> +Introduction to <i>Occasional Pieces</i> +(<i>Poems</i> 1809-1813; <i>Poems</i> 1814-1816)</td> <td class="p"><a href="#Page_xix">xix</a></td> + +</tr> + +<tr> +<td colspan="2" class="c"> +<span class="smcap">Poems</span> 1809-1813.</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="e"> +The Girl of Cadiz. First published in <i>Works of Lord Byron, +1832</i>, viii. 56</td> <td class="p"><a href="#Page_1">1</a></td> + +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="e"> +Lines written in an Album, at Malta. First published, <i>Childe +Harold</i>, 1812 (4to)</td> <td class="p"><a href="#Page_4">4</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="e"> +To Florence. First published, <i>Childe Harold</i>, 1812 (4to)</td> <td class="p"><a href="#Page_5">5</a></td> + +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="e"> +Stanzas composed during a Thunderstorm. First published, +<i>Childe Harold</i>, 1812 (4to)</td> <td class="p"><a href="#Page_7">7</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="e"> +Stanzas written in passing the Ambracian Gulf. First published, +<i>Childe Harold</i>, 1812 (4to)</td> <td class="p"><a href="#Page_11">11</a></td> + +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="e"> +The Spell is broke, the Charm is flown! First published, +<i>Childe Harold</i>, 1812 (4to)</td> <td class="p"><a href="#Page_12">12</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="e"> +Written after swimming from Sestos to Abydos. First published, +<i>Childe Harold</i>, 1812 (4to)</td> <td class="p"><a href="#Page_13">13</a></td> + +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="e"> +Lines in the Travellers' Book at Orchomenus. First published, +<i>Travels in Italy, Greece, etc.</i>, +by H. W. Williams, 1820, ii. 290</td> <td class="p"><a href="#Page_15">15</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="e"> +Maid of Athens, ere we part. First published, +<i>Childe Harold</i>, 1812 (4to)</td> <td class="p"><a href="#Page_15">15</a></td> + +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="e"> +Fragment from the "Monk of Athos." First published, +<i>Life of Lord Byron</i>, by the Hon. Roden Noel, +1890, pp. 206, 207</td> <td class="p"><a href="#Page_18">18</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="e">Lines written beneath a Picture. First published, <i>Childe +Harold</i>, 1812 (4to)<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_xii" id="Page_xii">[xii]</a></span></td> + +<td class="p"><a href="#Page_19">19</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="e">Translation of the famous Greek War Song, +<span title="Deu~te pi~des, k.t.l.">Δεῦτε πῖδες, κ.τ.λ.</span> +First published, <i>Childe Harold</i>, 1812 (4to) </td> +<td class="p"><a href="#Page_20">20</a></td> + +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="e">Translation of the Romaic Song, +<span title="Mne/pô mes' to\ peribo/li, k.t.l.">Μνέπω μεσ' τὸ περιβόλι, κ.τ.λ.</span> +First published, <i>Childe Harold</i>, 1812 (4to)</td><td class="p"><a href="#Page_22">22</a></td> + +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="e"> +On Parting. First published, <i>Childe Harold</i>, 1812 (4to)</td> <td class="p"><a href="#Page_23">23</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="e"> +Farewell to Malta. First published, <i>Poems on his Domestic +Circumstances</i>, by W. Hone (Sixth Edition, 1816)</td> <td class="p"><a href="#Page_24">24</a></td> + +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="e"> +Newstead Abbey. First published, +<i>Memoir</i> of Rev. F. Hodgson, 1878, i. 187</td> <td class="p"><a href="#Page_27">27</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="e"> +Epistle to a Friend, in answer to some Lines exhorting the +Author to be Cheerful, and to "banish Care." First published, +<i>Letters and Journals</i>, 1830, i. 301</td> <td class="p"><a href="#Page_28">28</a></td> + +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="e"> +To Thyrza ["Without a stone," etc.]. First published, +<i>Childe Harold</i>, 1812 (4to)</td> <td class="p"><a href="#Page_30">30</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="e"> +Stanzas ["Away, away," etc.]. First published, +<i>Childe Harold</i>, 1812 (4to)</td> <td class="p"><a href="#Page_35">35</a></td> + +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="e"> +Stanzas ["One struggle more," etc.]. First published, +<i>Childe Harold</i>, 1812 (4to)</td> <td class="p"><a href="#Page_36">36</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="e"> +Euthanasia. First published, <i>Childe Harold</i>, +1812 (Second Edition)</td> <td class="p"><a href="#Page_39">39</a></td> + +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="e"> +Stanzas ["And thou art dead," etc.]. First published, +<i>Childe Harold</i>, 1812 (Second Edition)</td> <td class="p"><a href="#Page_41">41</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="e"> +Lines to a Lady weeping. First published, +<i>Morning Chronicle</i>, March 7, 1812</td> <td class="p"><a href="#Page_45">45</a></td> + +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="e"> +Stanzas ["If sometimes," etc.]. First published, +<i>Childe Harold</i>, 1812 (Second Edition)</td> <td class="p"><a href="#Page_46">46</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="e"> +On a Cornelian Heart which was broken. First published, +<i>Childe Harold</i>, 1812 (Second Edition)</td> <td class="p"><a href="#Page_48">48</a></td> + +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="e"> +The Chain I gave was Fair to view. From the Turkish. First +published, <i>Corsair</i>, 1814 (Second Edition)</td> <td class="p"><a href="#Page_49">49</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="e"> +Lines written on a Blank Leaf of <i>The Pleasures of Memory</i>. +First published, <i>Poems</i>, 1816</td> <td class="p"><a href="#Page_50">50</a></td> + +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="e"> +Address, spoken at the Opening of Drury-Lane Theatre, Saturday, +October 10, 1812. First published, <i>Morning Chronicle</i>, +October 12, 1812</td> <td class="p"><a href="#Page_51">51</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="e"> +Parenthetical Address. By Dr. Plagiary. First published, +<i>Morning Chronicle</i>, October 23, 1812</td> <td class="p"><a href="#Page_55">55</a></td> + +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="e"> +Verses found in a Summer-house at Hales-Owen. First published, +<i>Works of Lord Byron</i>, 1832, xvii. 244</td> <td class="p"><a href="#Page_59">59</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="e"> +Remember thee! Remember thee! First published, <i>Conversations +of Lord Byron</i>, 1824, p. 330</td> <td class="p"><a href="#Page_59">59</a></td> + +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="e">To Time. First published, <i>Childe Harold</i>, 1814 +(Seventh Edition)</td><td class="p"><a href="#Page_60">60</a><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_xiii" id="Page_xiii">[xiii]</a></span></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="e"> +Translation of a Romaic Love Song. First published, <i>Childe +Harold</i>, 1814 (Seventh Edition)</td> <td class="p"><a href="#Page_62">62</a></td> + +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="e"> +Stanzas ["Thou art not false," etc.]. First published, <i>Childe +Harold</i>, 1814 (Seventh Edition)</td> <td class="p"><a href="#Page_64">64</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="e"> +On being asked what was the "Origin of Love." First +published, <i>Childe Harold</i>, 1814 (Seventh Edition)</td> <td class="p"><a href="#Page_65">65</a></td> + +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="e"> +On the Quotation, "And my true faith," etc. <i>MS. M.</i></td> <td class="p"><a href="#Page_65">65</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="e"> +Stanzas ["Remember him," etc.]. First published, <i>Childe +Harold</i>, 1814 (Seventh Edition)</td> <td class="p"><a href="#Page_69">69</a></td> + +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="e"> +Impromptu, in Reply to a Friend. First published, +<i>Childe Harold</i>, 1814 (Seventh Edition)</td> <td class="p"><a href="#Page_67">67</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="e"> +Sonnet. To Genevra ["Thine eyes' blue tenderness," etc.]. +First published, <i>Corsair</i>, 1814 (Second Edition)</td> <td class="p"><a href="#Page_70">70</a></td> + +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="e"> +Sonnet. To Genevra ["Thy cheek is pale with thought," etc.]. +First published, <i>Corsair</i>, 1814 (Second Edition)</td> <td class="p"><a href="#Page_71">71</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="e"> +From the Portuguese ["Tu mi chamas"]. First published, +<i>Childe Harold</i>, 1814 (Seventh Edition). +"Another Version." First published, 1831</td> <td class="p"><a href="#Page_71">71</a></td> + +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2" class="c"> + +<span class="smcap">The Giaour: A Fragment of a Turkish Tale.</span></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="e"> +Introduction to <i>The Giaour</i></td> <td class="p"><a href="#Page_75">75</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="e"> + +Bibliographical Note on <i>The Giaour</i></td> <td class="p"><a href="#Page_78">78</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="e"> +Dedication</td> <td class="p"><a href="#Page_81">81</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="e"> +Advertisement</td> <td class="p"><a href="#Page_83">83</a></td> + +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="e"> +<i>The Giaour</i></td> <td class="p"><a href="#Page_85">85</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2" class="c"> +<span class="smcap">The Bride of Abydos. A Turkish Tale.</span></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="e"> +Introduction to <i>The Bride of Abydos</i></td> <td class="p"><a href="#Page_149">149</a></td> + +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="e"> +Note to the MSS. of <i>The Bride of Abydos</i></td> <td class="p"><a href="#Page_151">151</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="e"> +Dedication</td> <td class="p"><a href="#Page_155">155</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + +<td class="e"> +<i>The Bride of Abydos</i>. Canto the First</td> <td class="p"><a href="#Page_157">157</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="e"> +Canto the Second</td> <td class="p"><a href="#Page_178">178</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="e"> +Note to <i>The Bride of Abydos</i></td> <td class="p"><a href="#Page_211">211</a></td> + +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2" class="c"> + +<span class="smcap">The Corsair: A Tale</span>.</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="e"> +Introduction to <i>The Corsair</i></td> <td class="p"><a href="#Page_217">217</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + +<td class="e"> +Bibliographical Note on <i>The Corsair</i></td> <td class="p"><a href="#Page_220">220</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="e"> +Dedication</td> <td class="p"><a href="#Page_223">223</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="e"> +<i>The Corsair</i>. Canto the First</td> <td class="p"><a href="#Page_227">227</a></td> + +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="e"> +Canto the Second</td> <td class="p"><a href="#Page_249">249</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="e">Canto the Third</td><td class="p"><a href="#Page_270">270</a><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_xiv" id="Page_xiv">[xiv]</a></span></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="e"> +Introduction to the <i>Ode to Napoleon Buonaparte</i></td> <td class="p"><a href="#Page_303">303</a></td> + +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="e"> +<i>Ode to Napoleon Buonaparte</i></td> <td class="p"><a href="#Page_305">305</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2" class="c"> +<span class="smcap">Lara: A Tale</span>.</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="e"> +Introduction to <i>Lara</i></td> <td class="p"><a href="#Page_319">319</a></td> + +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="e"> +<i>Lara.</i> Canto the First</td> <td class="p"><a href="#Page_323">323</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="e"> +Canto the Second</td> <td class="p"><a href="#Page_348">348</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td colspan="2" class="c"> +<span class="smcap">Hebrew Melodies</span>.</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="e"> +Introduction to the <i>Hebrew Melodies</i></td> <td class="p"><a href="#Page_375">375</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="e"> +Advertisement</td> <td class="p"><a href="#Page_379">379</a></td> + +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="e"> +She walks in Beauty</td> <td class="p"><a href="#Page_381">381</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="e"> +The Harp the Monarch Minstrel swept</td> <td class="p"><a href="#Page_382">382</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="e"> + +If that High World</td> <td class="p"><a href="#Page_383">383</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="e"> +The Wild Gazelle</td> <td class="p"><a href="#Page_384">384</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="e"> +Oh! weep for those</td> <td class="p"><a href="#Page_385">385</a></td> + +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="e"> +On Jordan's Banks</td> <td class="p"><a href="#Page_386">386</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="e"> +Jephtha's Daughter</td> <td class="p"><a href="#Page_387">387</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="e"> + +Oh! snatched away in Beauty's Bloom</td> <td class="p"><a href="#Page_388">388</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="e"> +My Soul is Dark</td> <td class="p"><a href="#Page_389">389</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="e"> +I saw thee weep</td> <td class="p"><a href="#Page_390">390</a></td> + +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="e"> +Thy Days are done</td> <td class="p"><a href="#Page_391">391</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="e"> +Saul</td> <td class="p"><a href="#Page_392">392</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="e"> + +Song of Saul before his Last Battle</td> <td class="p"><a href="#Page_393">393</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="e"> +"All is Vanity, saith the Preacher"</td> <td class="p"><a href="#Page_394">394</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="e"> +When Coldness wraps this Suffering Clay</td> <td class="p"><a href="#Page_395">395</a></td> + +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="e"> +Vision of Belshazzar</td> <td class="p"><a href="#Page_397">397</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="e"> +Sun of the Sleepless!</td> <td class="p"><a href="#Page_399">399</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="e"> + +Were my Bosom as False as thou deem'st it to be</td> <td class="p"><a href="#Page_399">399</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="e"> +Herod's Lament for Mariamne</td> <td class="p"><a href="#Page_400">400</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="e"> +On the Day of the Destruction of Jerusalem by Titus</td> <td class="p"><a href="#Page_401">401</a></td> + +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="e"> +By the Rivers of Babylon we sat down and wept</td> <td class="p"><a href="#Page_402">402</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="e"> +"By the Waters of Babylon"</td> <td class="p"><a href="#Page_404">404</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="e"> + +The Destruction of Sennacherib</td> <td class="p"><a href="#Page_404">404</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="e"> +A Spirit passed before me</td> <td class="p"><a href="#Page_406">406</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2" class="c"> +<span class="smcap">Poems</span> 1814-1816.</td> + +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="e"> + +Farewell! if ever Fondest Prayer. First published, +<i>Corsair</i> (Second Edition, 1814)</td> <td class="p"><a href="#Page_409">409</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="e"> +When we Two parted. First published, <i>Poems</i>, 1816</td> <td class="p"><a href="#Page_410">410</a></td> + +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="e"> +[Love and Gold.] <i>MS. M.</i></td> <td class="p"><a href="#Page_411">411</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="e"> +Stanzas for Music ["I speak not, I trace not," etc.]. +First published, <i>Fugitive Pieces</i>, 1829</td> <td class="p"><a href="#Page_413">413</a><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_xv" id="Page_xv">[xv]</a></span></td> + +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="e"> +Address intended to be recited at the Caledonian Meeting. +First published, <i>Letters and Journals</i>, 1830, i. 559</td> <td class="p"><a href="#Page_415">415</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="e"> +Elegiac Stanzas on the Death of Sir Peter Parker, Bart. +First published, <i>Morning Chronicle</i>, October 7, 1814</td> <td class="p"><a href="#Page_417">417</a></td> + +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="e"> +Julian [a Fragment]. <i>MS. M.</i></td> <td class="p"><a href="#Page_419">419</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="e"> +To Belshazzar. First published, 1831</td> <td class="p"><a href="#Page_421">421</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + +<td class="e"> +Stanzas for Music ["There's not a joy," etc.]. +First published, <i>Poems</i>, 1816</td> <td class="p"><a href="#Page_423">423</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="e"> +On the Death of the Duke of Dorset. <i>MS. M</i></td> <td class="p"><a href="#Page_425">425</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + +<td class="e"> +Stanzas for Music ["Bright be the place of thy soul"]. +First published, <i>Examiner</i>, June 4, 1815</td> <td class="p"><a href="#Page_426">426</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="e"> +Napoleon's Farewell. First published, <i>Examiner</i>, +July 30, 1815</td> <td class="p"><a href="#Page_427">427</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="e">From the French ["Must thou go, my glorious Chief?"]. +First published, <i>Poems</i>, 1816</td> <td class="p"><a href="#Page_428">428</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="e"> +Ode from the French ["We do not curse thee, Waterloo!"]. +First published, <i>Morning Chronicle</i>, March 15, 1816</td> <td class="p"><a href="#Page_431">431</a></td> + +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="e"> +Stanzas for Music ["There be none of Beauty's daughters"]. +First published, <i>Poems</i>, 1816</td> <td class="p"><a href="#Page_435">435</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="e"> +On the Star of "the Legion of Honour." First published, +<i>Examiner</i>, April 7, 1816</td> <td class="p"><a href="#Page_436">436</a></td> + +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="e"> +Stanzas for Music ["They say that Hope is happiness"]. +First published, <i>Fugitive Pieces</i>, 1829</td> <td class="p"><a href="#Page_438">438</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2" class="c"> +<span class="smcap">The Siege of Corinth.</span></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="e"> + +Introduction to <i>The Siege of Corinth</i></td> <td class="p"><a href="#Page_441">441</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="e"> +Dedication</td> <td class="p"><a href="#Page_445">445</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="e"> +Advertisement</td> <td class="p"><a href="#Page_447">447</a></td> + +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="e"> +Note on the MS. of <i>The Siege of Corinth</i></td> <td class="p"><a href="#Page_448">448</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="e"> +<i>The Siege of Corinth</i></td> <td class="p"><a href="#Page_449">449</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + +<td colspan="2" class="c"> +<span class="smcap">Parisina</span>.</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="e"> +Introduction to <i>Parisina</i></td> <td class="p"><a href="#Page_499">499</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="e"> +Dedication</td> <td class="p"><a href="#Page_501">501</a></td> + +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="e"> +Advertisement</td> <td class="p"><a href="#Page_503">503</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="e"> +<i>Parisina</i></td> <td class="p"><a href="#Page_505">505</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2" class="c"> + +<span class="smcap">Poems of the Separation.</span></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="e"> +Introduction to <i>Poems of the Separation</i></td> <td class="p"><a href="#Page_531">531</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="e"> +Fare Thee Well</td> <td class="p"><a href="#Page_537">537</a></td> + +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="e"> +A Sketch</td> <td class="p"><a href="#Page_540">540</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="e"> +Stanzas to Augusta</td> <td class="p"><a href="#Page_544">544</a></td> +</tr> + +</table> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_xvii" id="Page_xvii">[xvii]</a></span></p> + +<h2><a name="LIST_ILLUSTRATIONS" id="LIST_ILLUSTRATIONS"></a> +LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS +<br /><span class="center"><img src="images/decoration.png" alt="swash" /></span> +</h2> + +<table class="toc" summary=""> +<tr> +<td class="e">1. <span class="smcap">Lord Byron in Albanian Dress, from a Portrait +in Oils by T. Phillips, R.A., in the Possession of +Mr. John Murray</span></td><td class="p" style="width:20%"> <i>Frontispiece</i></td> + +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="e">2. H.R.H. <span class="smcap">the Princess Charlotte of Wales, +from the Miniature in the Possession of H.M. the Queen, +at Windsor Castle</span></td><td class="p"><i>to face p.</i> 44</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="e">3. <span class="smcap">Lady Wilmot Horton, from a Sketch +by Sir Thomas Lawrence</span></td><td class="p">380</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="e">4. <span class="smcap">Temple of Zeus Nemeus, from a Drawing +by William Pars, A.R.A., in the British Museum</span></td><td class="p">470</td> + +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="e">5. <span class="smcap">Samuel Taylor Coleridge, from a Portrait +in Oils by T. Phillips, R.A., in the Possession +of Mr. John Murray</span></td><td class="p">472</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="e">6. <span class="smcap">The Hon. Mrs. Leigh, from a Sketch +by Sir George Hayter, in the British Museum</span></td><td class="p">544</td> +</tr> + +</table> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_xix" id="Page_xix">[xix]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<h2> +<a name="INTRODUCTION_PIECES" id="INTRODUCTION_PIECES"></a> +INTRODUCTION TO THE <i>OCCASIONAL PIECES</i><br /> +(<i>POEMS</i> 1809-1813; <i>POEMS</i> 1814-1816). +<br /><span class="center"><img src="images/decoration.png" alt="swash" /></span> +</h2> + + +<p><span class="smcap">The</span> 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 <i>Childe Harold</i> (Cantos I., II.) +«viz. fourteen in the first edition, twenty in the second, and +twenty-nine in the seventh edition», while the thirtieth, the +<i>Ode on the Death of Sir Peter Parker</i>, was originally +attached to <i>Hebrew Melodies</i>. The remaining twenty-seven +pieces consist of six poems first published in the Second +Edition of the <i>Corsair,</i> 1814; eleven which formed the +collection entitled "Poems," 1816; six which were appended +to the <i>Prisoner of Chillon</i>, December, 1816; the <i>Very +Mournful Ballad</i>, and the <i>Sonnet by Vittorelli</i>, which +accompanied the Fourth Canto of <i>Childe Harold</i>, 1818; +the <i>Sketch</i>, first included by Murray in his edition of 1819; +and the <i>Ode to Venice</i>, which appeared in the same volume +as <i>Mazeppa</i>.</p> + +<p>Thus matters stood till 1831, when seventy new poems +(sixty had been published by Moore, in <i>Letters and +Journals</i>, 1830, six were republished from Hobhouse's +<i>Imitations and Translations</i>, 1809, and four derived from +other sources) were included in a sixth volume of the Collected Works.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_xx" id="Page_xx">[xx]</a></span></p> + +<p>In the edition of 1832-35, twenty-four new poems were +added, but four which had appeared in <i>Letters and Journals</i>, +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 <i>Letters and Journals</i>, and the two stanzas to +Lady Caroline Lamb, "Remember thee! remember thee," +first printed by Medwin, in the <i>Conversations of Lord Byron</i>, +1824, were included in the Collection.</p> + +<p>The third volume of the present issue includes all minor +poems (with the exception of epigrams and <i>jeux d'esprit</i> +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.</p> + +<p>The "Separation" and its consequent exile afforded a +pretext and an opportunity for the publication of a crop of +spurious verses. Of these <i>Madame Lavalette</i> (first published +in the <i>Examiner</i>, January 21, 1816, under the signature B.B., +and immediately preceding a genuine sonnet by Wordsworth, +"How clear, how keen, how marvellously bright!") and +<i>Oh Shame to thee, Land of the Gaul!</i> included by Hone, +in <i>Poems on his Domestic Circumstances</i>, 1816; and + +<i>Farewell to England</i>, +<i>Ode to the Isle of St. Helena</i>, +<i>To the Lily of France</i>, +<i>On the Morning of my Daughter's Birth</i>, +published by J. Johnston, 1816, were repudiated by Byron, in +a letter to Murray, dated July 22, 1816. A longer poem +entitled <i>The Tempest</i>, which was attached to the spurious +<i>Pilgrimage to the Holy Land</i>, published by Johnston, "the +Cheapside impostor," in 1817, was also denounced by Byron +as a forgery in a letter to Murray, dated December 16, 1816.</p> + +<p>The <i>Triumph of the Whale</i>, by Charles Lamb, and the + +<i>Enigma on the Letter H</i>, by Harriet Fanshawe, were often +included in piratical editions of Byron's <i>Poetical Works</i>. +Other attributed poems which found their way into newspapers +and foreign editions, viz. +(i.) <i>To my dear Mary Anne</i>, 1804, "Adieu to sweet Mary for ever;" +and (ii.) <i>To Miss Chaworth</i>, "Oh, memory, torture me no more," 1804, +published in <i>Works of Lord Byron</i>, Paris, 1828; +(iii.) lines written <i>In the Bible</i>, +"Within this awful volume lies," quoted<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_xxi" id="Page_xxi">[xxi]</a></span> +in <i>Life, Writings, Opinions, etc</i>., 1825, iii. 414; +(iv.) lines addressed to (?) George Anson Byron, +"And dost thou ask the reason of my sadness?" <i>Nicnac</i>, March 29, 1823; +(v.) <i>To Lady Caroline Lamb</i>, "And sayst thou that I have not felt," +published in <i>Works, etc</i>., 1828; +(vi.) lines <i>To her who can best understand them</i>, +"Be it so, we part for ever," published in the + +<i>Works of Lord Byron, In Verse and Prose</i>, Hartford, 1847; +(vii.) <i>Lines found in the Travellers' Book at Chamouni</i>, +"How many numbered are, how few agreed!" published +<i>Works, etc</i>., 1828; +and (viii.) a second copy of verses with the same title, +"All hail, Mont Blanc! Mont-au-Vert, hail!" +<i>Life, Writings, etc</i>., 1825, ii. 384; +(ix.) <i>Lines addressed by Lord Byron to Mr. Hobhouse on +his Election for Westminster</i>, +"Would you get to the house by the true gate?" +<i>Works, etc</i>., 1828; and +(x.) <i>Enigma on the Letter I</i>, "I am not in youth, +nor in manhood, nor age," <i>Works, etc</i>., 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.</p> + +<p>The following poems: <i>On the Quotation</i>, +"<i>And my true faith</i>" etc.; [<i>Love and Gold</i>]; +<i>Julian</i> [<i>a Fragment</i>]; and +<i>On the Death of the Duke of Dorset</i>, +are now published for +the first time from MSS. in the possession of Mr. John +Murray.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[1]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="POEMS_1813" id="POEMS_1813"></a> +POEMS 1809-1813. +<br /><span class="center"><img src="images/decoration.png" alt="swash" /></span> +</h2> + +<h3><a name="THE_CADIZ" id="THE_CADIZ"></a> +THE GIRL OF CADIZ.<a name="FNanchor_1" id="FNanchor_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a> +</h3> + +<h4>1.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Oh</span> never talk again to me<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of northern climes and British ladies;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It has not been your lot to see,<a name="FNanchor_a" id="FNanchor_a"></a><a href="#Footnote_a" class="fnanchor">[a]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Like me, the lovely Girl of Cadiz.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Although her eye be not of blue,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Nor fair her locks, like English lasses,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">How far its own expressive hue<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The languid azure eye surpasses!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>2.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Prometheus-like from heaven she stole<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The fire that through those silken lashes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In darkest glances seems to roll,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">From eyes that cannot hide their flashes:<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[2]</a></span> + +<span class="i0">And as along her bosom steal<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In lengthened flow her raven tresses,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You'd swear each clustering lock could feel,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And curled to give her neck caresses.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>3.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Our English maids are long to woo,<a name="FNanchor_b" id="FNanchor_b"></a><a href="#Footnote_b" class="fnanchor">[b]</a><a name="FNanchor_2" id="FNanchor_2"></a><a href="#Footnote_2" class="fnanchor">[2]</a><br /></span> + +<span class="i2">And frigid even in possession;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And if their charms be fair to view,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Their lips are slow at Love's confession;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But, born beneath a brighter sun,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For love ordained the Spanish maid is,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And who,—when fondly, fairly won,—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Enchants you like the Girl of Cadiz?<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>4.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The Spanish maid is no coquette,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Nor joys to see a lover tremble,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And if she love, or if she hate,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Alike she knows not to dissemble.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her heart can ne'er be bought or sold—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Howe'er it beats, it beats sincerely;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, though it will not bend to gold,<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">'Twill love you long and love you dearly.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>5.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The Spanish girl that meets your love<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Ne'er taunts you with a mock denial,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For every thought is bent to prove<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Her passion in the hour of trial.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[3]</a></span> + +<span class="i0">When thronging foemen menace Spain,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">She dares the deed and shares the danger;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And should her lover press the plain,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">She hurls the spear, her love's avenger.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>6.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And when, beneath the evening star,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">She mingles in the gay Bolero,<a name="FNanchor_3" id="FNanchor_3"></a><a href="#Footnote_3" class="fnanchor">[3]</a><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Or sings to her attuned guitar<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of Christian knight or Moorish hero,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or counts her beads with fairy hand<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Beneath the twinkling rays of Hesper,<a name="FNanchor_c" id="FNanchor_c"></a><a href="#Footnote_c" class="fnanchor">[c]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or joins Devotion's choral band,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To chaunt the sweet and hallowed vesper;—<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>7.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">In each her charms the heart must move<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of all who venture to behold her;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then let not maids less fair reprove<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Because her bosom is not colder:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through many a clime 'tis mine to roam<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Where many a soft and melting maid is,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But none abroad, and few at home,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">May match the dark-eyed Girl of Cadiz.<a name="FNanchor_d" id="FNanchor_d"></a><a href="#Footnote_d" class="fnanchor">[d]</a><br /></span> + +</div></div> + +<p class="attrib">1809.</p> + +<p class="attrib">[First published, 1832.]<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[4]</a></span></p> + +<h3><a name="LINES_MALTA" id="LINES_MALTA"></a>LINES WRITTEN IN AN ALBUM, AT MALTA.<a name="FNanchor_e" id="FNanchor_e"></a><a href="#Footnote_e" class="fnanchor">[e]</a><a name="FNanchor_4" id="FNanchor_4"></a><a href="#Footnote_4" class="fnanchor">[4]</a></h3> + + +<h4>1.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">As</span> o'er the cold sepulchral stone<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Some <i>name</i> arrests the passer-by;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thus, when thou view'st this page alone,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">May <i>mine</i> attract thy pensive eye!<br /></span> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[5]</a></span></div></div> + +<h4>2.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And when by thee that name is read,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Perchance in some succeeding year,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Reflect on <i>me</i> as on the <i>dead</i>,<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">And think my <i>Heart</i> is buried <i>here</i>.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="attrib">Malta, <i>September</i> 14, 1809.</p> + +<p class="attrib">[First published, <i>Childe Harold</i>, 1812 (4to).]</p> + + + +<h3><a id="TO_FLORENCE" name="TO_FLORENCE"></a> +TO FLORENCE.<a name="FNanchor_f" id="FNanchor_f"></a><a href="#Footnote_f" class="fnanchor">[f]</a></h3> + +<h4>1.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Oh</span> Lady! when I left the shore,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The distant shore which gave me birth,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">I hardly thought to grieve once more,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To quit another spot on earth:<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>2.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Yet here, amidst this barren isle,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Where panting Nature droops the head,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where only thou art seen to smile,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I view my parting hour with dread.<br /></span> + +</div></div> + +<h4>3.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Though far from Albin's craggy shore,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Divided by the dark-blue main;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A few, brief, rolling seasons o'er,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Perchance I view her cliffs again:<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>4.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But wheresoe'er I now may roam,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Through scorching clime, and varied sea,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though Time restore me to my home,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I ne'er shall bend mine eyes on thee:<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[6]</a></span></div></div> + +<h4>5.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> + +<span class="i0">On thee, in whom at once conspire<br /></span> +<span class="i2">All charms which heedless hearts can move,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whom but to see is to admire,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And, oh! forgive the word—to love.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>6.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Forgive the word, in one who ne'er<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">With such a word can more offend;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And since thy heart I cannot share,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Believe me, what I am, thy friend.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>7.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And who so cold as look on thee,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thou lovely wand'rer, and be less?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor be, what man should ever be,<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">The friend of Beauty in distress?<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>8.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Ah! who would think that form had past<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Through Danger's most destructive path,<a name="FNanchor_g" id="FNanchor_g"></a><a href="#Footnote_g" class="fnanchor">[g]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Had braved the death-winged tempest's blast,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And 'scaped a Tyrant's fiercer wrath?<br /></span> + +</div></div> + +<h4>9.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Lady! when I shall view the walls<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Where free Byzantium once arose,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Stamboul's Oriental halls<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The Turkish tyrants now enclose;<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[7]</a></span></div></div> + +<h4>10.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Though mightiest in the lists of fame,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That glorious city still shall be;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On me 'twill hold a dearer claim,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As spot of thy nativity:<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>11.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And though I bid thee now farewell,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When I behold that wondrous scene—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Since where thou art I may not dwell—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">'Twill soothe to be where thou hast been.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="attrib"><i>September</i>, 1809.</p> +<p class="attrib">[First published, <i>Childe Harold</i>, 1812 (4to).]</p> + +<h3><a id="STANZAS_THUNDERSTORM" name="STANZAS_THUNDERSTORM"></a>STANZAS COMPOSED DURING A THUNDERSTORM.<a name="FNanchor_h" id="FNanchor_h"></a><a href="#Footnote_h" class="fnanchor">[h]</a><a name="FNanchor_5" id="FNanchor_5"></a><a href="#Footnote_5" class="fnanchor">[5]</a></h3> + +<h4>1.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Chill</span> and mirk is the nightly blast,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Where Pindus' mountains rise,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[8]</a></span> + +<span class="i0">And angry clouds are pouring fast<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The vengeance of the skies.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>2.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Our guides are gone, our hope is lost,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And lightnings, as they play,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But show where rocks our path have crost,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Or gild the torrent's spray.<br /></span> + +</div></div> + +<h4>3.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Is yon a cot I saw, though low?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When lightning broke the gloom—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How welcome were its shade!—ah, no!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">'Tis but a Turkish tomb.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>4.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Through sounds of foaming waterfalls,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I hear a voice exclaim—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My way-worn countryman, who calls<br /></span> +<span class="i2">On distant England's name.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>5.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">A shot is fired—by foe or friend?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Another—'tis to tell<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The mountain-peasants to descend,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And lead us where they dwell.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>6.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> + +<span class="i0">Oh! who in such a night will dare<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To tempt the wilderness?<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[9]</a></span> +<span class="i0">And who 'mid thunder-peals can hear<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Our signal of distress?<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>7.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And who that heard our shouts would rise<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">To try the dubious road?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor rather deem from nightly cries<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That outlaws were abroad.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>8.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Clouds burst, skies flash, oh, dreadful hour!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">More fiercely pours the storm!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet here one thought has still the power<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">To keep my bosom warm.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>9.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">While wandering through each broken path,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">O'er brake and craggy brow;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While elements exhaust their wrath,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Sweet Florence, where art thou?<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>10.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Not on the sea, not on the sea—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thy bark hath long been gone:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh, may the storm that pours on me,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Bow down my head alone!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>11.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Full swiftly blew the swift Siroc,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When last I pressed thy lip;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And long ere now, with foaming shock,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Impelled thy gallant ship.<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[10]</a></span></div></div> + +<h4>12.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> + +<span class="i0">Now thou art safe; nay, long ere now<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Hast trod the shore of Spain;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Twere hard if aught so fair as thou<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Should linger on the main.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>13.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And since I now remember thee<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In darkness and in dread,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">As in those hours of revelry<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Which Mirth and Music sped;<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>14.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Do thou, amid the fair white walls,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">If Cadiz yet be free,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At times from out her latticed halls<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Look o'er the dark blue sea;<br /></span> + +</div></div> + +<h4>15.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Then think upon Calypso's isles,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Endeared by days gone by;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To others give a thousand smiles,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To me a single sigh.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>16.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And when the admiring circle mark<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The paleness of thy face,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A half-formed tear, a transient spark<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of melancholy grace,<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>17.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Again thou'lt smile, and blushing shun<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">Some coxcomb's raillery;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor own for once thou thought'st on one,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Who ever thinks on thee.<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[11]</a></span></div></div> + +<h4>18.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Though smile and sigh alike are vain,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When severed hearts repine,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">My spirit flies o'er Mount and Main,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And mourns in search of <i>thine</i>.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="attrib"><i>October</i> 11, 1809.</p> + +<p class="attrib">[MS. M. First published, <i>Childe Harold</i>, 1812 (4to).]</p> + +<h3><a id="STANZAS_GULF" name="STANZAS_GULF"></a>STANZAS WRITTEN IN PASSING THE<br /> +AMBRACIAN GULF.<a name="FNanchor_i" id="FNanchor_i"></a><a href="#Footnote_i" class="fnanchor">[i]</a></h3> + +<h4>1.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Through</span> cloudless skies, in silvery sheen,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Full beams the moon on Actium's coast:<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">And on these waves, for Egypt's queen,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The ancient world was won and lost.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>2.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And now upon the scene I look,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The azure grave of many a Roman;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where stern Ambition once forsook<br /></span> +<span class="i2">His wavering crown to follow <i>Woman</i>.<br /></span> + +</div></div> + +<h4>3.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Florence! whom I will love as well<br /></span> +<span class="i2">(As ever yet was said or sung,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Since Orpheus sang his spouse from Hell)<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Whilst <i>thou</i> art <i>fair</i> and <i>I</i> am <i>young</i>;<br /></span> + +</div></div> + +<h4>4.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Sweet Florence! those were pleasant times,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When worlds were staked for Ladies' eyes:<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[12]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Had bards as many realms as rhymes,<a name="FNanchor_j" id="FNanchor_j"></a><a href="#Footnote_j" class="fnanchor">[j]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thy charms might raise new Antonies.<a name="FNanchor_k" id="FNanchor_k"></a><a href="#Footnote_k" class="fnanchor">[k]</a><br /></span> + +</div></div> + +<h4>5.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Though Fate forbids such things to be,<a name="FNanchor_l" id="FNanchor_l"></a><a href="#Footnote_l" class="fnanchor">[l]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Yet, by thine eyes and ringlets curled!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I cannot <i>lose</i> a <i>world</i> for thee,<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">But would not lose <i>thee</i> for a <i>World</i>.<a name="FNanchor_6" id="FNanchor_6"></a><a href="#Footnote_6" class="fnanchor">[6]</a><br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="attrib"><i>November</i> 14, 1809.</p> + +<p class="attrib">[MS. M. First published, <i>Childe Harold</i>, 1812 (4to).]</p> + + + +<h3><a id="THE_FLOWN" name="THE_FLOWN"></a> +THE SPELL IS BROKE, THE CHARM IS FLOWN!<a name="FNanchor_m" id="FNanchor_m"></a><a href="#Footnote_m" class="fnanchor">[m]</a></h3> + +<p class="center" style="font-size:smaller;">WRITTEN AT ATHENS, JANUARY 16, 1810.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">The</span> spell is broke, the charm is flown!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thus is it with Life's fitful fever:<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">We madly smile when we should groan;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Delirium is our best deceiver.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Each lucid interval of thought<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Recalls the woes of Nature's charter;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And <i>He</i> that acts as <i>wise men ought</i>,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But <i>lives</i>—as Saints have died—a martyr.<br /></span> + +</div></div> + +<p class="attrib">[MS. M. First published, <i>Childe Harold</i>, 1812 (4to).]<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[13]</a></span></p> + + +<h3><a name="WRITTEN_ABYDOS" id="WRITTEN_ABYDOS"></a>WRITTEN AFTER SWIMMING FROM SESTOS<br />TO ABYDOS.<a name="FNanchor_7" id="FNanchor_7"></a><a href="#Footnote_7" class="fnanchor">[7]</a></h3> + +<h4>1.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">If</span>, in the month of dark December,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Leander, who was nightly wont<br /></span> +<span class="i0">(What maid will not the tale remember?)<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To cross thy stream, broad Hellespont!<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[14]</a></span></div></div> + +<h4>2.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> + +<span class="i0">If, when the wintry tempest roared,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He sped to Hero, nothing loth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And thus of old thy current poured,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Fair Venus! how I pity both!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>3.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">For <i>me</i>, degenerate modern wretch,<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">Though in the genial month of May,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My dripping limbs I faintly stretch,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And think I've done a feat to-day.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>4.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But since he crossed the rapid tide,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">According to the doubtful story,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To woo,—and—Lord knows what beside,<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">And swam for Love, as I for Glory;<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>5.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'Twere hard to say who fared the best:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Sad mortals! thus the Gods still plague you!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He lost his labour, I my jest:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For he was drowned, and I've the ague.<a name="FNanchor_8" id="FNanchor_8"></a><a href="#Footnote_8" class="fnanchor">[8]</a><br /></span> + +</div></div> + +<p class="attrib"><i>May 9, 1810.</i></p> + +<p class="attrib">[First published, <i>Childe Harold</i>, 1812 (4to).]<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[15]</a></span></p> + +<h3><a name="LINES_ORCHOMENUS" id="LINES_ORCHOMENUS"></a>LINES IN THE TRAVELLERS' BOOK AT ORCHOMENUS.<a name="FNanchor_9" id="FNanchor_9"></a><a href="#Footnote_9" class="fnanchor">[9]</a></h3> + +<p class="center" style="font-size:smaller;">IN THIS BOOK A TRAVELLER HAD WRITTEN:—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="im1">“<span class="smcap">Fair</span> Albion, smiling, sees her son depart<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To trace the birth and nursery of art:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Noble his object, glorious is his aim;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He comes to Athens, and he—writes his name.”<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="center" style="font-size:smaller;">BENEATH WHICH LORD BYRON INSERTED THE FOLLOWING:—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">The</span> modest bard, like many a bard unknown,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rhymes on our names, but wisely hides his own;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But yet, whoe'er he be, to say no worse,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His name would bring more credit than his verse.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="attrib">1810.</p> + +<p class="attrib">[First published, <i>Life</i>, 1830.]</p> + +<h3><a name="MAID_OF" id="MAID_OF"></a>MAID OF ATHENS, ERE WE PART.<a name="FNanchor_n" id="FNanchor_n"></a><a href="#Footnote_n" class="fnanchor">[n]</a></h3> + +<p class="center"><span title="Zôê/ mou, sa~s a)gapô~"> +Ζωή μου, σᾶς ἀγαπῶ</span>. +</p> + +<h4>1.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Maid</span> of Athens,<a name="FNanchor_10" id="FNanchor_10"></a><a href="#Footnote_10" class="fnanchor">[10]</a> ere we part,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Give, oh give me back my heart!<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[16]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Or, since that has left my breast,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Keep it now, and take the rest!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hear my vow before I go,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0"><span title="Zôê/ mou, sa~s a)gapô~">Ζωή μου, σᾶς ἀγαπῶ.</span><a name="FNanchor_11" id="FNanchor_11"></a><a href="#Footnote_11" class="fnanchor">[11]</a><br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>2.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">By those tresses unconfined,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wooed by each Ægean wind;<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[17]</a></span> + +<span class="i0">By those lids whose jetty fringe<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Kiss thy soft cheeks' blooming tinge;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By those wild eyes like the roe,<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><span title="Zôê/ mou, sa~s a)gapô~">Ζωή μου, σᾶς ἀγαπῶ.</span><br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>3.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> + +<span class="i0">By that lip I long to taste;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By that zone-encircled waist;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By all the token-flowers<a name="FNanchor_12" id="FNanchor_12"></a><a href="#Footnote_12" class="fnanchor">[12]</a> that tell<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What words can never speak so well;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By love's alternate joy and woe,<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><span title="Zôê/ mou, sa~s a)gapô~">Ζωή μου, σᾶς ἀγαπῶ.</span><br /></span> + +</div></div> + +<h4>4.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Maid of Athens! I am gone:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Think of me, sweet! when alone.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though I fly to Istambol,<a name="FNanchor_13" id="FNanchor_13"></a><a href="#Footnote_13" class="fnanchor">[13]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Athens holds my heart and soul:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Can I cease to love thee? No!<br /></span> + +<span class="i0"><span title="Zôê/ mou, sa~s a)gapô~">Ζωή μου, σᾶς ἀγαπῶ.</span><br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="attrib"><i>Athens</i>, 1810.</p> + +<p class="attrib">[First published, <i>Childe Harold</i>, 1812 (4to).]</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[18]</a></span></p> + +<h3><a name="FRAGMENT_ATHOS" id="FRAGMENT_ATHOS"></a>FRAGMENT FROM THE "MONK OF ATHOS."<a name="FNanchor_14" id="FNanchor_14"></a><a href="#Footnote_14" class="fnanchor">[14]</a></h3> + +<h4>1.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Beside</span> the confines of the Ægean main,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Where northward Macedonia bounds the flood,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And views opposed the Asiatic plain,<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">Where once the pride of lofty Ilion stood,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like the great Father of the giant brood,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With lowering port majestic Athos stands,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Crowned with the verdure of eternal wood,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As yet unspoiled by sacrilegious hands,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And throws his mighty shade o'er seas and distant lands.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>2.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And deep embosomed in his shady groves<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Full many a convent rears its glittering spire,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Mid scenes where Heavenly Contemplation loves<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To kindle in her soul her hallowed fire,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where air and sea with rocks and woods conspire<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To breathe a sweet religious calm around,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Weaning the thoughts from every low desire,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And the wild waves that break with murmuring sound<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Along the rocky shore proclaim it holy ground.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>3.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Sequestered shades where Piety has given<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A quiet refuge from each earthly care,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[19]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Whence the rapt spirit may ascend to Heaven!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Oh, ye condemned the ills of life to bear!<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">As with advancing age your woes increase,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What bliss amidst these solitudes to share<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The happy foretaste of eternal Peace,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till Heaven in mercy bids your pain and sorrows cease.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="attrib">[First published in the <i>Life of Lord Byron</i>,<br /> +by the Hon. Roden Noel, London, 1890, pp. 206, 207.]</p> + +<h3><a name="LINES_PICTURE" id="LINES_PICTURE"></a>LINES WRITTEN BENEATH A PICTURE.<a name="FNanchor_15" id="FNanchor_15"></a><a href="#Footnote_15" class="fnanchor">[15]</a></h3> + + +<h4>1.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Dear</span> object of defeated care!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Though now of Love and thee bereft,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To reconcile me with despair<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">Thine image and my tears are left.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>2.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'Tis said with Sorrow Time can cope;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But this I feel can ne'er be true:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For by the death-blow of my Hope<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My Memory immortal grew.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="attrib"><i>Athens, January</i>, 1811.</p> + +<p class="attrib">[First published, <i>Childe Harold</i>, 1812 (4to).]</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[20]</a></span></p> + + +<h3><a name="TRANSLATION_WAR_SONG" id="TRANSLATION_WAR_SONG"></a>TRANSLATION OF THE FAMOUS GREEK WAR SONG,</h3> + +<p class="center">"<span title="Deu~te pai~des tô~n E(llê/nôn.">Δεῦτε παῖδες τῶν Ἑλλήνων</span>." + +<a name="FNanchor_16" id="FNanchor_16"></a><a href="#Footnote_16" class="fnanchor">[16]</a></p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Sons</span> of the Greeks, arise!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The glorious hour's gone forth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, worthy of such ties,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Display who gave us birth.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>CHORUS.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4">Sons of Greeks! let us go<br /></span> +<span class="i4">In arms against the foe,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Till their hated blood shall flow<br /></span> +<span class="i6">In a river past our feet.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Then manfully despising<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The Turkish tyrant's yoke,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[21]</a></span> + +<span class="i0">Let your country see you rising,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And all her chains are broke.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Brave shades of chiefs and sages,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Behold the coming strife!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hellénes of past ages,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Oh, start again to life!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At the sound of my trumpet, breaking<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Your sleep, oh, join with me!<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">And the seven-hilled city<a name="FNanchor_17" id="FNanchor_17"></a><a href="#Footnote_17" class="fnanchor">[17]</a> seeking,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Fight, conquer, till we're free.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i10">Sons of Greeks, etc.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Sparta, Sparta, why in slumbers<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Lethargic dost thou lie?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Awake, and join thy numbers<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">With Athens, old ally!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Leonidas recalling,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That chief of ancient song,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who saved ye once from falling,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The terrible! the strong!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who made that bold diversion<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In old Thermopylæ,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And warring with the Persian<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">To keep his country free;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With his three hundred waging<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The battle, long he stood,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And like a lion raging,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Expired in seas of blood.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i10">Sons of Greeks, etc.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="attrib">[First published, <i>Childe Harold</i>, 1812 (4to).]</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[22]</a></span></p> + +<h3><a name="TRANSLATION_ROMAIC_SONG" id="TRANSLATION_ROMAIC_SONG"></a>TRANSLATION OF THE ROMAIC SONG,</h3> + +<p class="center"> +<span title="Mpe/nô mes' to\ peribo/li">“Μπένω μεσ' τὸ περιβόλι</span><br /> +<span title="Ô(raiota/tê Chaêdê/, k.t.l.">Ὡραιοτάτη Χαηδή,” κ.τ.λ</span>.<a name="FNanchor_18" id="FNanchor_18"></a><a href="#Footnote_18" class="fnanchor">[18]</a> + +</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">I enter</span> thy garden of roses,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Belovéd and fair Haidée,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Each morning where Flora reposes,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For surely I see her in thee.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh, Lovely! thus low I implore thee,<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">Receive this fond truth from my tongue,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which utters its song to adore thee,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Yet trembles for what it has sung;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As the branch, at the bidding of Nature,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Adds fragrance and fruit to the tree,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through her eyes, through her every feature,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Shines the soul of the young Haidée.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But the loveliest garden grows hateful<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">When Love has abandoned the bowers;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bring me hemlock—since mine is ungrateful,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That herb is more fragrant than flowers.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The poison, when poured from the chalice,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Will deeply embitter the bowl;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But when drunk to escape from thy malice,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The draught shall be sweet to my soul.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Too cruel! in vain I implore thee<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">My heart from these horrors to save:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Will nought to my bosom restore thee?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Then open the gates of the grave.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[23]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">As the chief who to combat advances<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Secure of his conquest before,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thus thou, with those eyes for thy lances,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Hast pierced through my heart to its core.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ah, tell me, my soul! must I perish<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">By pangs which a smile would dispel?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Would the hope, which thou once bad'st me cherish,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For torture repay me too well?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now sad is the garden of roses,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Belovéd but false Haidée!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There Flora all withered reposes,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And mourns o'er thine absence with me.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="attrib">1811.</p> + +<p class="attrib">[First published, <i>Childe Harold</i>, 1812 (4to).]</p> + + +<h3><a id="ON_PARTING" name="ON_PARTING"></a>ON PARTING.</h3> + +<h4>1.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> + +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">The</span> kiss, dear maid! thy lip has left<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Shall never part from mine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till happier hours restore the gift<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Untainted back to thine.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>2.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Thy parting glance, which fondly beams,<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">An equal love may see:<a name="FNanchor_o" id="FNanchor_o"></a><a href="#Footnote_o" class="fnanchor">[o]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">The tear that from thine eyelid streams<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Can weep no change in me.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>3.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I ask no pledge to make me blest<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In gazing when alone;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[24]</a></span><a name="FNanchor_p" id="FNanchor_p"></a><a href="#Footnote_p" class="fnanchor">[p]</a><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Nor one memorial for a breast,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Whose thoughts are all thine own.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>4.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Nor need I write—to tell the tale<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My pen were doubly weak:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh! what can idle words avail,<a name="FNanchor_q" id="FNanchor_q"></a><a href="#Footnote_q" class="fnanchor">[q]</a><br /></span> + +<span class="i2">Unless the heart could speak?<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>5.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">By day or night, in weal or woe,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That heart, no longer free,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Must bear the love it cannot show,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And silent ache for thee.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="attrib"><i>March</i>, 1811.</p> + +<p class="attrib">[First published, <i>Childe Harold</i>, 1812(4to).]</p> + +<h3><a name="FAREWELL_MALTA" id="FAREWELL_MALTA"></a>FAREWELL TO MALTA.<a name="FNanchor_19" id="FNanchor_19"></a><a href="#Footnote_19" class="fnanchor">[19]</a></h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Adieu</span>, ye joys of La Valette!<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Adieu, Sirocco, sun, and sweat!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Adieu, thou palace rarely entered!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Adieu, ye mansions where—I've ventured!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Adieu, ye curséd streets of stairs!<a name="FNanchor_20" id="FNanchor_20"></a><a href="#Footnote_20" class="fnanchor">[20]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">(How surely he who mounts them swears!)<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Adieu, ye merchants often failing!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Adieu, thou mob for ever railing!<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[25]</a></span> + +<span class="i0">Adieu, ye packets—without letters!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Adieu, ye fools—who ape your betters! <span class="linenum">10</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Adieu, thou damned'st quarantine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That gave me fever, and the spleen!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Adieu that stage which makes us yawn, Sirs,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Adieu his Excellency's dancers!<a name="FNanchor_21" id="FNanchor_21"></a><a href="#Footnote_21" class="fnanchor">[21]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Adieu to Peter—whom no fault's in,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">But could not teach a colonel waltzing;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Adieu, ye females fraught with graces!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Adieu red coats, and redder faces!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Adieu the supercilious air<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of all that strut <i>en militaire</i>!<a name="FNanchor_22" id="FNanchor_22"></a><a href="#Footnote_22" class="fnanchor">[22]</a> <span class="linenum">20</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">I go—but God knows when, or why,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">To smoky towns and cloudy sky,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To things (the honest truth to say)<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As bad—but in a different way.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Farewell to these, but not adieu,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Triumphant sons of truest blue!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While either Adriatic shore,<a name="FNanchor_23" id="FNanchor_23"></a><a href="#Footnote_23" class="fnanchor">[23]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And fallen chiefs, and fleets no more,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[26]</a></span> + +<span class="i0">And nightly smiles, and daily dinners,<a name="FNanchor_24" id="FNanchor_24"></a><a href="#Footnote_24" class="fnanchor">[24]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Proclaim you war and women's winners. <span class="linenum">30</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pardon my Muse, who apt to prate is,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And take my rhyme—because 'tis "gratis."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And now I've got to Mrs. Fraser,<a name="FNanchor_25" id="FNanchor_25"></a><a href="#Footnote_25" class="fnanchor">[25]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Perhaps you think I mean to praise her—<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">And were I vain enough to think<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My praise was worth this drop of ink,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A line—or two—were no hard matter,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As here, indeed, I need not flatter:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But she must be content to shine<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In better praises than in mine, <span class="linenum">40</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">With lively air, and open heart,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">And fashion's ease, without its art;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her hours can gaily glide along.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor ask the aid of idle song.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And now, O Malta! since thou'st got us,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thou little military hot-house!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I'll not offend with words uncivil,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And wish thee rudely at the Devil,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But only stare from out my casement,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">And ask, "for what is such a place meant?" <span class="linenum">50</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then, in my solitary nook,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Return to scribbling, or a book,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[27]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Or take my physic while I'm able<br /></span> +<span class="i0">(Two spoonfuls hourly, by this label),<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Prefer my nightcap to my beaver,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And bless my stars I've got a fever.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="attrib"><i>May</i> 26, 1811.<a name="FNanchor_26" id="FNanchor_26"></a><a href="#Footnote_26" class="fnanchor">[26]</a></p> + +<p class="attrib">[First published, 1816.]</p> + + +<h3><a name="NEWSTEAD_ABBEY" id="NEWSTEAD_ABBEY"></a>NEWSTEAD ABBEY.</h3> + +<h4>1.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">In</span> the dome of my Sires as the clear moonbeam falls<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through Silence and Shade o'er its desolate walls,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It shines from afar like the glories of old;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It gilds, but it warms not—'tis dazzling, but cold.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>2.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Let the Sunbeam be bright for the younger of days:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Tis the light that should shine on a race that decays,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When the Stars are on high and the dews on the ground,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the long shadow lingers the ruin around.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>3.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And the step that o'erechoes the gray floor of stone<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Falls sullenly now, for 'tis only my own;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And sunk are the voices that sounded in mirth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And empty the goblet, and dreary the hearth.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>4.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And vain was each effort to raise and recall<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The brightness of old to illumine our Hall;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And vain was the hope to avert our decline,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">And the fate of my fathers had faded to mine.<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[28]</a></span></div></div> + +<h4>5.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And theirs was the wealth and the fulness of Fame,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And mine to inherit too haughty a name;<a name="FNanchor_r" id="FNanchor_r"></a><a href="#Footnote_r" class="fnanchor">[r]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And theirs were the times and the triumphs of yore,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And mine to regret, but renew them no more.<br /></span> + +</div></div> + +<h4>6.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And Ruin is fixed on my tower and my wall,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Too hoary to fade, and too massy to fall;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It tells not of Time's or the tempest's decay,<a name="FNanchor_s" id="FNanchor_s"></a><a href="#Footnote_s" class="fnanchor">[s]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">But the wreck of the line that have held it in sway.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="attrib"><i>August</i> 26, 1811.</p> + +<p class="attrib">[First published in <i>Memoir</i> of Rev. F. Hodgson, 1878, i. 187.]</p> + + +<h3><a name="EPISTLE_FRIEND" id="EPISTLE_FRIEND"></a>EPISTLE TO A FRIEND,<a name="FNanchor_27" id="FNanchor_27"></a><a href="#Footnote_27" class="fnanchor">[27]</a></h3> + +<p class="center" style="font-size:smaller;">IN ANSWER TO SOME LINES EXHORTING THE AUTHOR<br /> + +TO BE CHEERFUL, AND TO "BANISH CARE."</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"<span class="smcap">Oh</span>! banish care"—such ever be<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The motto of <i>thy</i> revelry!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Perchance of <i>mine,</i> when wassail nights<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Renew those riotous delights,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wherewith the children of Despair<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lull the lone heart, and "banish care."<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But not in Morn's reflecting hour,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When present, past, and future lower,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When all I loved is changed or gone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Mock with such taunts the woes of one,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[29]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Whose every thought—but let them pass—<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Thou know'st I am not what I was.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But, above all, if thou wouldst hold<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Place in a heart that ne'er was cold,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By all the powers that men revere,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By all unto thy bosom dear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy joys below, thy hopes above,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Speak—speak of anything but Love.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">'Twere long to tell, and vain to hear,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">The tale of one who scorns a tear;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And there is little in that tale<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which better bosoms would bewail.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But mine has suffered more than well<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Twould suit philosophy to tell.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I've seen my bride another's bride,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Have seen her seated by his side,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Have seen the infant, which she bore,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wear the sweet smile the mother wore,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">When she and I in youth have smiled,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As fond and faultless as her child;—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Have seen her eyes, in cold disdain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ask if I felt no secret pain;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And <i>I</i> have acted well my part,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And made my cheek belie my heart,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Returned the freezing glance she gave,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Yet felt the while that <i>woman's</i> slave;—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Have kissed, as if without design,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The babe which ought to have been mine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And showed, alas! in each caress<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Time had not made me love the less.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">But let this pass—I'll whine no more,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Nor seek again an eastern shore;<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[30]</a></span> +<span class="i0">The world befits a busy brain,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I'll hie me to its haunts again.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But if, in some succeeding year,<a name="FNanchor_28" id="FNanchor_28"></a><a href="#Footnote_28" class="fnanchor">[28]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">When Britain's "May is in the sere,"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thou hear'st of one, whose deepening crimes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Suit with the sablest of the times,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of one, whom love nor pity sways,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Nor hope of fame, nor good men's praise;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">One, who in stern Ambition's pride,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Perchance not blood shall turn aside;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">One ranked in some recording page<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With the worst anarchs of the age,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Him wilt thou <i>know</i>—and <i>knowing</i> pause,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Nor with the <i>effect</i> forget the cause.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="attrib">Newstead Abbey, Oct. 11, 1811.</p> + +<p class="attrib">[First published, <i>Life</i>, 1830.]</p> + +<h3><a name="TO_THYRZA" id="TO_THYRZA"></a>TO THYRZA.<a name="FNanchor_t" id="FNanchor_t"></a><a href="#Footnote_t" class="fnanchor">[t]</a><a name="FNanchor_29" id="FNanchor_29"></a><a href="#Footnote_29" class="fnanchor">[29]</a></h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Without</span> a stone to mark the spot,<a name="FNanchor_30" id="FNanchor_30"></a><a href="#Footnote_30" class="fnanchor">[30]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">And say, what Truth might well have said,<a name="FNanchor_u" id="FNanchor_u"></a><a href="#Footnote_u" class="fnanchor">[u]</a><br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[31]</a></span><span class="i0">By all, save one, perchance forgot,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Ah! wherefore art thou lowly laid?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By many a shore and many a sea<a name="FNanchor_v" id="FNanchor_v"></a><a href="#Footnote_v" class="fnanchor">[v]</a><br /></span> + +<span class="i2">Divided, yet beloved in vain;<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[32]</a></span> +<span class="i0">The Past, the Future fled to thee,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To bid us meet—no—ne'er again!<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[33]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Could this have been—a word, a look,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That softly said, "We part in peace,"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Had taught my bosom how to brook,<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">With fainter sighs, thy soul's release.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And didst thou not, since Death for thee<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Prepared a light and pangless dart,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Once long for him thou ne'er shalt see,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Who held, and holds thee in his heart?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh! who like him had watched thee here?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Or sadly marked thy glazing eye,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In that dread hour ere Death appear,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When silent Sorrow fears to sigh,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Till all was past? But when no more<br /></span> +<span class="i2">'Twas thine to reck of human woe,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Affection's heart-drops, gushing o'er,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Had flowed as fast—as now they flow.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shall they not flow, when many a day<a name="FNanchor_w" id="FNanchor_w"></a><a href="#Footnote_w" class="fnanchor">[w]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">In these, to me, deserted towers,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ere called but for a time away,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Affection's mingling tears were ours?<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Ours too the glance none saw beside;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The smile none else might understand;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The whispered thought of hearts allied,<a name="FNanchor_x" id="FNanchor_x"></a><a href="#Footnote_x" class="fnanchor">[x]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">The pressure of the thrilling hand;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The kiss, so guiltless and refined,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That Love each warmer wish forbore;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Those eyes proclaimed so pure a mind,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Ev'n Passion blushed to plead for more.<a name="FNanchor_y" id="FNanchor_y"></a><a href="#Footnote_y" class="fnanchor">[y]</a><br /></span> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[34]</a></span><span class="i0">The tone, that taught me to rejoice,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When prone, unlike thee, to repine;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The song, celestial from thy voice,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But sweet to me from none but thine;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The pledge we wore—<i>I</i> wear it still,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But where is thine?—Ah! where art thou?<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Oft have I borne the weight of ill,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But never bent beneath till now!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Well hast thou left in Life's best bloom<a name="FNanchor_z" id="FNanchor_z"></a><a href="#Footnote_z" class="fnanchor">[z]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">The cup of Woe for me to drain.<a name="FNanchor_aa" id="FNanchor_aa"></a><a href="#Footnote_aa" class="fnanchor">[aa]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">If rest alone be in the tomb,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I would not wish thee here again:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But if in worlds more blest than this<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thy virtues seek a fitter sphere,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Impart some portion of thy bliss,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To wean me from mine anguish here.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Teach me—too early taught by thee!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To bear, forgiving and forgiven:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On earth thy love was such to me;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">It fain would form my hope in Heaven!<a name="FNanchor_ab" id="FNanchor_ab"></a><a href="#Footnote_ab" class="fnanchor">[ab]</a><br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="attrib">October 11, 1811.</p> + +<p class="attrib">[First published, <i>Childe Harold</i>, 1812 (4to).]</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[35]</a></span></p> + +<h3><a name="AWAY_WOE" id="AWAY_WOE"></a>AWAY, AWAY, YE NOTES OF WOE!<a name="FNanchor_ac" id="FNanchor_ac"></a><a href="#Footnote_ac" class="fnanchor">[ac]</a><a name="FNanchor_31" id="FNanchor_31"></a><a href="#Footnote_31" class="fnanchor">[31]</a></h3> + +<h4>1.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> + +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Away</span>, away, ye notes of Woe!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Be silent, thou once soothing Strain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or I must flee from hence—for, oh!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I dare not trust those sounds again.<a name="FNanchor_ad" id="FNanchor_ad"></a><a href="#Footnote_ad" class="fnanchor">[ad]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">To me they speak of brighter days—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But lull the chords, for now, alas!<a name="FNanchor_ae" id="FNanchor_ae"></a><a href="#Footnote_ae" class="fnanchor">[ae]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">I must not think, I may not gaze,<a name="FNanchor_af" id="FNanchor_af"></a><a href="#Footnote_af" class="fnanchor">[af]</a><br /></span> + +<span class="i2">On what I <i>am</i>—on what I <i>was</i>.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>2.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The voice that made those sounds more sweet<a name="FNanchor_ag" id="FNanchor_ag"></a><a href="#Footnote_ag" class="fnanchor">[ag]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Is hushed, and all their charms are fled;<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">And now their softest notes repeat<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A dirge, an anthem o'er the dead!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yes, Thyrza! yes, they breathe of thee,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Belovéd dust! since dust thou art;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And all that once was Harmony<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Is worse than discord to my heart!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>3.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'Tis silent all!—but on my ear<a name="FNanchor_ah" id="FNanchor_ah"></a><a href="#Footnote_ah" class="fnanchor">[ah]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">The well remembered Echoes thrill;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I hear a voice I would not hear,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A voice that now might well be still:<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[36]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Yet oft my doubting Soul 'twill shake;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Ev'n Slumber owns its gentle tone,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Till Consciousness will vainly wake<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To listen, though the dream be flown.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>4.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Sweet Thyrza! waking as in sleep,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thou art but now a lovely dream;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A Star that trembled o'er the deep,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Then turned from earth its tender beam.<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">But he who through Life's dreary way<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Must pass, when Heaven is veiled in wrath,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Will long lament the vanished ray<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That scattered gladness o'er his path.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="attrib"><i>December</i> 8, 1811.</p> + +<p class="attrib">[First published, <i>Childe Harold</i>, 1812 (4to).]</p> + +<h3><a name="ONE_FREE" id="ONE_FREE"></a>ONE STRUGGLE MORE, AND I AM FREE.<a name="FNanchor_ai" id="FNanchor_ai"></a><a href="#Footnote_ai" class="fnanchor">[ai]</a></h3> + +<h4>1.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">One</span> struggle more, and I am free<br /></span> +<span class="i2">From pangs that rend my heart in twain;<a name="FNanchor_aj" id="FNanchor_aj"></a><a href="#Footnote_aj" class="fnanchor">[aj]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">One last long sigh to Love and thee,<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">Then back to busy life again.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It suits me well to mingle now<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With things that never pleased before:<a name="FNanchor_ak" id="FNanchor_ak"></a><a href="#Footnote_ak" class="fnanchor">[ak]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though every joy is fled below,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">What future grief can touch me more?<a name="FNanchor_al" id="FNanchor_al"></a><a href="#Footnote_al" class="fnanchor">[al]</a><br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[37]</a></span></p><h4>2.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Then bring me wine, the banquet bring;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Man was not formed to live alone:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I'll be that light unmeaning thing<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That smiles with all, and weeps with none.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It was not thus in days more dear,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">It never would have been, but thou<a name="FNanchor_am" id="FNanchor_am"></a><a href="#Footnote_am" class="fnanchor">[am]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hast fled, and left me lonely here;<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">Thou'rt nothing,—all are nothing now.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>3.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">In vain my lyre would lightly breathe!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The smile that Sorrow fain would wear<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But mocks the woe that lurks beneath,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Like roses o'er a sepulchre.<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Though gay companions o'er the bowl<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Dispel awhile the sense of ill;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though Pleasure fires the maddening soul,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The Heart,—the Heart is lonely still!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>4.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">On many a lone and lovely night<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">It soothed to gaze upon the sky;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For then I deemed the heavenly light<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Shone sweetly on thy pensive eye:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And oft I thought at Cynthia's noon,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When sailing o'er the Ægean wave,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Now Thyrza gazes on that moon"—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Alas, it gleamed upon her grave!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>5.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">When stretched on Fever's sleepless bed,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And sickness shrunk my throbbing veins,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[38]</a></span> +<span class="i0">"'Tis comfort still," I faintly said,<a name="FNanchor_an" id="FNanchor_an"></a><a href="#Footnote_an" class="fnanchor">[an]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">"That Thyrza cannot know my pains:"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like freedom to the time-worn slave—<a name="FNanchor_ao" id="FNanchor_ao"></a><a href="#Footnote_ao" class="fnanchor">[ao]</a><br /></span> + +<span class="i2">A boon 'tis idle then to give—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Relenting Nature vainly gave<a name="FNanchor_32" id="FNanchor_32"></a><a href="#Footnote_32" class="fnanchor">[32]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">My life, when Thyrza ceased to live!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>6.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">My Thyrza's pledge in better days,<a name="FNanchor_ap" id="FNanchor_ap"></a><a href="#Footnote_ap" class="fnanchor">[ap]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">When Love and Life alike were new!<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">How different now thou meet'st my gaze!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">How tinged by time with Sorrow's hue!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The heart that gave itself with thee<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Is silent—ah, were mine as still!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though cold as e'en the dead can be,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">It feels, it sickens with the chill.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>7.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Thou bitter pledge! thou mournful token!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Though painful, welcome to my breast!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Still, still, preserve that love unbroken,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Or break the heart to which thou'rt pressed.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Time tempers Love, but not removes,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">More hallowed when its Hope is fled:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh! what are thousand living loves<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To that which cannot quit the dead?<br /></span> + +</div></div> + +<p class="attrib">[First published, <i>Childe Harold,</i> 1812 (4to).]</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[39]</a></span></p> + +<h3><a name="EUTHANASIA" id="EUTHANASIA"></a>EUTHANASIA.</h3> + +<h4>1.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> + +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">When</span> Time, or soon or late, shall bring<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The dreamless sleep that lulls the dead,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oblivion! may thy languid wing<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Wave gently o'er my dying bed!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>2.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">No band of friends or heirs be there,<a name="FNanchor_33" id="FNanchor_33"></a><a href="#Footnote_33" class="fnanchor">[33]</a><br /></span> + +<span class="i2">To weep, or wish, the coming blow:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No maiden, with dishevelled hair,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To feel, or feign, decorous woe.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>3.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But silent let me sink to Earth,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With no officious mourners near:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I would not mar one hour of mirth,<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">Nor startle Friendship with a fear.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>4.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Yet Love, if Love in such an hour<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Could nobly check its useless sighs,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Might then exert its latest power<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In her who lives, and him who dies.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>5.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'Twere sweet, my Psyche! to the last<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thy features still serene to see:<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[40]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Forgetful of its struggles past,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">E'en Pain itself should smile on thee.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>6.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But vain the wish—for Beauty still<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Will shrink, as shrinks the ebbing breath;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Woman's tears, produced at will,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Deceive in life, unman in death.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>7.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> + +<span class="i0">Then lonely be my latest hour,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Without regret, without a groan;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For thousands Death hath ceased to lower,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And pain been transient or unknown.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>8.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Aye but to die, and go," alas!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Where all have gone, and all must go!<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">To be the nothing that I was<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Ere born to life and living woe!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>9.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Count o'er the joys thine hours have seen,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Count o'er thy days from anguish free,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And know, whatever thou hast been,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">'Tis something better not to be.<br /></span> + +</div></div> + +<p class="attrib">[First published, <i>Childe Harold</i>, 1812 (Second Edition).]</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[41]</a></span></p> + +<h3><a name="AND_FAIR" id="AND_FAIR"></a>AND THOU ART DEAD, AS YOUNG AND FAIR.<a name="FNanchor_aq" id="FNanchor_aq"></a><a href="#Footnote_aq" class="fnanchor">[aq]</a></h3> + +<p class="center" style="font-size:smaller;">"Heu, quanto minus est cum reliquis versari quam tui meminisse!"<a name="FNanchor_34" id="FNanchor_34"></a><a href="#Footnote_34" class="fnanchor">[34]</a></p> + +<h4>1.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">And</span> thou art dead, as young and fair<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As aught of mortal birth;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And form so soft, and charms so rare,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Too soon returned to Earth!<a name="FNanchor_ar" id="FNanchor_ar"></a><a href="#Footnote_ar" class="fnanchor">[ar]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though Earth received them in her bed,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">And o'er the spot the crowd may tread<a name="FNanchor_as" id="FNanchor_as"></a><a href="#Footnote_as" class="fnanchor">[as]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">In carelessness or mirth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There is an eye which could not brook<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A moment on that grave to look.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>2.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[42]</a></span> +<span class="i0">I will not ask where thou liest low,<a name="FNanchor_at" id="FNanchor_at"></a><a href="#Footnote_at" class="fnanchor">[at]</a><br /></span> + +<span class="i2">Nor gaze upon the spot;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There flowers or weeds at will may grow,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">So I behold them not:<a name="FNanchor_au" id="FNanchor_au"></a><a href="#Footnote_au" class="fnanchor">[au]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">It is enough for me to prove<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That what I loved, and long must love,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Like common earth can rot;<a name="FNanchor_av" id="FNanchor_av"></a><a href="#Footnote_av" class="fnanchor">[av]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">To me there needs no stone to tell,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Tis Nothing that I loved so well<a name="FNanchor_aw" id="FNanchor_aw"></a><a href="#Footnote_aw" class="fnanchor">[aw]</a><br /></span> + +</div></div> + +<h4>3.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Yet did I love thee to the last<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As fervently as thou,<a name="FNanchor_ax" id="FNanchor_ax"></a><a href="#Footnote_ax" class="fnanchor">[ax]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who didst not change through all the past,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And canst not alter now.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The love where Death has set his seal,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Nor age can chill, nor rival steal,<a name="FNanchor_ay" id="FNanchor_ay"></a><a href="#Footnote_ay" class="fnanchor">[ay]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Nor falsehood disavow:<a name="FNanchor_az" id="FNanchor_az"></a><a href="#Footnote_az" class="fnanchor">[az]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, what were worse, thou canst not see<a name="FNanchor_ba" id="FNanchor_ba"></a><a href="#Footnote_ba" class="fnanchor">[ba]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or wrong, or change, or fault in me.<a name="FNanchor_bb" id="FNanchor_bb"></a><a href="#Footnote_bb" class="fnanchor">[bb]</a><br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>4.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The better days of life were ours;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The worst can be but mine:<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[43]</a></span> +<span class="i0">The sun that cheers, the storm that lowers,<a name="FNanchor_bc" id="FNanchor_bc"></a><a href="#Footnote_bc" class="fnanchor">[bc]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Shall never more be thine.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The silence of that dreamless sleep<a name="FNanchor_bd" id="FNanchor_bd"></a><a href="#Footnote_bd" class="fnanchor">[bd]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">I envy now too much to weep;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Nor need I to repine,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">That all those charms have passed away<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I might have watched through long decay.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>5.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The flower in ripened bloom unmatched<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Must fall the earliest prey;<a name="FNanchor_be" id="FNanchor_be"></a><a href="#Footnote_be" class="fnanchor">[be]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though by no hand untimely snatched,<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">The leaves must drop away:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And yet it were a greater grief<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To watch it withering, leaf by leaf,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Than see it plucked to-day;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Since earthly eye but ill can bear<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To trace the change to foul from fair.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>6.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I know not if I could have borne<a name="FNanchor_bf" id="FNanchor_bf"></a><a href="#Footnote_bf" class="fnanchor">[bf]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">To see thy beauties fade;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The night that followed such a morn<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Had worn a deeper shade:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy day without a cloud hath passed,<a name="FNanchor_bg" id="FNanchor_bg"></a><a href="#Footnote_bg" class="fnanchor">[bg]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And thou wert lovely to the last;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Extinguished, not decayed;<br /></span> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[44]</a></span> +<span class="i0">As stars that shoot along the sky<a name="FNanchor_bh" id="FNanchor_bh"></a><a href="#Footnote_bh" class="fnanchor">[bh]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shine brightest as they fall from high.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>7.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">As once I wept, if I could weep,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My tears might well be shed,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">To think I was not near to keep<br /></span> +<span class="i2">One vigil o'er thy bed;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To gaze, how fondly! on thy face,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To fold thee in a faint embrace,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Uphold thy drooping head;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And show that love, however vain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor thou nor I can feel again.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>8.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Yet how much less it were to gain,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Though thou hast left me free,<a name="FNanchor_bi" id="FNanchor_bi"></a><a href="#Footnote_bi" class="fnanchor">[bi]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">The loveliest things that still remain,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Than thus remember thee!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The all of thine that cannot die<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through dark and dread Eternity<a name="FNanchor_bj" id="FNanchor_bj"></a><a href="#Footnote_bj" class="fnanchor">[bj]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Returns again to me,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">And more thy buried love endears<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Than aught, except its living years.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="attrib"><i>February</i>, 1812.</p> + +<p class="attrib">[First published, <i>Childe Harold</i>, 1812 (Second Edition).]</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[45]</a></span></p> + +<h3><a name="LINES_WEEPING" id="LINES_WEEPING"></a>LINES TO A LADY WEEPING.<a name="FNanchor_bk" id="FNanchor_bk"></a><a href="#Footnote_bk" class="fnanchor">[bk]</a><a name="FNanchor_35" id="FNanchor_35"></a><a href="#Footnote_35" class="fnanchor">[35]</a></h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Weep</span>, daughter of a royal line,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A Sire's disgrace, a realm's decay;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ah! happy if each tear of thine<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Could wash a Father's fault away!<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[46]</a></span> + +<span class="i0">Weep—for thy tears are Virtue's tears—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Auspicious to these suffering Isles;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And be each drop in future years<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Repaid thee by thy People's smiles!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="attrib"><i>March</i>, 1812.</p> + +<p class="attrib">[MS. M. First published, <i>Morning Chronicle</i>, March 7, 1812<br /> + +(Corsair, 1814, Second Edition).]</p> + +<h3><a name="IF_MEN" id="IF_MEN"></a>IF SOMETIMES IN THE HAUNTS OF MEN.<a name="FNanchor_bl" id="FNanchor_bl"></a><a href="#Footnote_bl" class="fnanchor">[bl]</a></h3> + +<h4>1.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">If</span> sometimes in the haunts of men<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thine image from my breast may fade,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">The lonely hour presents again<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The semblance of thy gentle shade:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And now that sad and silent hour<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thus much of thee can still restore,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And sorrow unobserved may pour<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The plaint she dare not speak before.<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[47]</a></span></div></div> + +<h4>2.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Oh, pardon that in crowds awhile<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I waste one thought I owe to thee,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And self-condemned, appear to smile,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Unfaithful to thy memory:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor deem that memory less dear,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That then I seem not to repine;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I would not fools should overhear<br /></span> +<span class="i2">One sigh that should be wholly <i>thine</i>.<br /></span> + +</div></div> + +<h4>3.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">If not the Goblet pass unquaffed,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">It is not drained to banish care;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The cup must hold a deadlier draught<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That brings a Lethe for despair.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And could Oblivion set my soul<br /></span> +<span class="i2">From all her troubled visions free,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">I'd dash to earth the sweetest bowl<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That drowned a single thought of thee.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>4.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">For wert thou vanished from my mind,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Where could my vacant bosom turn?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And who would then remain behind<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To honour thine abandoned Urn?<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">No, no—it is my sorrow's pride<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That last dear duty to fulfil;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though all the world forget beside,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">'Tis meet that I remember still.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>5.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">For well I know, that such had been<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">Thy gentle care for him, who now<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[48]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Unmourned shall quit this mortal scene,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Where none regarded him, but thou:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, oh! I feel in <i>that</i> was given<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A blessing never meant for me;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thou wert too like a dream of Heaven,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For earthly Love to merit thee.<br /></span> + +</div></div> + +<p class="attrib">March 14, 1812.</p> + +<p class="attrib">[First published, <i>Childe Harold</i>, 1812 (Second Edition).]</p> + +<h3><a name="ON_BROKEN" id="ON_BROKEN"></a>ON A CORNELIAN HEART WHICH WAS BROKEN.<a name="FNanchor_36" id="FNanchor_36"></a><a href="#Footnote_36" class="fnanchor">[36]</a></h3> + +<h4>1.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Ill-fated</span> Heart! and can it be,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That thou shouldst thus be rent in twain?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Have years of care for thine and thee<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Alike been all employed in vain?<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>2.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> + +<span class="i0">Yet precious seems each shattered part,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And every fragment dearer grown,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Since he who wears thee feels thou art<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A fitter emblem of <i>his own</i>.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="attrib">March 16, 1812.</p> + +<p class="attrib">[First published, <i>Childe Harold</i>, 1812 (Second Edition).]</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[49]</a></span></p> + +<h3><a name="THE_GAVE" id="THE_GAVE"></a>THE CHAIN I GAVE.</h3> + +<p class="center" style="font-size:smaller;">FROM THE TURKISH.</p> + +<h4>1.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">The</span> chain I gave was fair to view,<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">The lute I added sweet in sound;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The heart that offered both was true,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And ill deserved the fate it found.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>2.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">These gifts were charmed by secret spell,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thy truth in absence to divine;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And they have done their duty well,—<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">Alas! they could not teach thee thine.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>3.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">That chain was firm in every link,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But not to bear a stranger's touch;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That lute was sweet—till thou couldst think<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In other hands its notes were such.<br /></span> + +</div></div> + +<h4>4.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Let him who from thy neck unbound<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The chain which shivered in his grasp,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who saw that lute refuse to sound,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Restring the chords, renew the clasp.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>5.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">When thou wert changed, they altered too;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The chain is broke, the music mute,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Tis past—to them and thee adieu—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">False heart, frail chain, and silent lute.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="attrib">[MS. M. First published, <i>Corsair</i>, 1814 (Second Edition).]<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[50]</a></span></p> + +<h3><a name="LINES_MEMORY" id="LINES_MEMORY"></a>LINES WRITTEN ON A BLANK LEAF OF<br /> +<i>THE PLEASURES OF MEMORY</i>.<a name="FNanchor_bm" id="FNanchor_bm"></a><a href="#Footnote_bm" class="fnanchor">[bm]</a></h3> + +<h4>1.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Absent</span> or present, still to thee,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My friend, what magic spells belong!<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">As all can tell, who share, like me,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In turn thy converse,<a name="FNanchor_37" id="FNanchor_37"></a><a href="#Footnote_37" class="fnanchor">[37]</a> and thy song.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>2.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But when the dreaded hour shall come<br /></span> +<span class="i2">By Friendship ever deemed too nigh,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">And "<span class="smcap">Memory</span>" o'er her Druid's tomb<a name="FNanchor_38" id="FNanchor_38"></a><a href="#Footnote_38" class="fnanchor">[38]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Shall weep that aught of thee can die,<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>3.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">How fondly will she then repay<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thy homage offered at her shrine,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">And blend, while ages roll away,<br /></span> +<span class="i2"><i>Her</i> name immortally with <i>thine</i>!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="attrib">April 19, 1812.</p> + +<p class="attrib">[First published, <i>Poems</i>, 1816.]</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[51]</a></span></p> + + +<h3><a name="ADDRESS_1812" id="ADDRESS_1812"></a>ADDRESS, SPOKEN AT THE OPENING OF<br /> +DRURY-LANE THEATRE, SATURDAY,<br /> +OCTOBER 10, 1812.<a name="FNanchor_39" id="FNanchor_39"></a><a href="#Footnote_39" class="fnanchor">[39]</a></h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">In</span> one dread night our city saw, and sighed,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Bowed to the dust, the Drama's tower of pride;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In one short hour beheld the blazing fane,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Apollo sink, and Shakespeare cease to reign.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">Ye who beheld, (oh! sight admired and mourned,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whose radiance mocked the ruin it adorned!)<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through clouds of fire the massy fragments riven,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like Israel's pillar, chase the night from heaven;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Saw the long column of revolving flames<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Shake its red shadow o'er the startled Thames,<a name="FNanchor_40" id="FNanchor_40"></a><a href="#Footnote_40" class="fnanchor">[40]</a> <span class="linenum">10</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">While thousands, thronged around the burning dome,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shrank back appalled, and trembled for their home,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As glared the volumed blaze, and ghastly shone<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[52]</a></span><a name="FNanchor_bn" id="FNanchor_bn"></a><a href="#Footnote_bn" class="fnanchor">[bn]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">The skies, with lightnings awful as their own,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till blackening ashes and the lonely wall<a name="FNanchor_bo" id="FNanchor_bo"></a><a href="#Footnote_bo" class="fnanchor">[bo]</a><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Usurped the Muse's realm, and marked her fall;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Say—shall this new, nor less aspiring pile,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Reared where once rose the mightiest in our isle,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Know the same favour which the former knew,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A shrine for Shakespeare—worthy him and <i>you</i>? <span class="linenum">20</span><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">Yes—it shall be—the magic of that name<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Defies the scythe of time, the torch of flame;<a name="FNanchor_bp" id="FNanchor_bp"></a><a href="#Footnote_bp" class="fnanchor">[bp]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">On the same spot still consecrates the scene,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And bids the Drama <i>be</i> where she hath <i>been</i>:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This fabric's birth attests the potent spell——<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Indulge our honest pride, and say, <i>How well</i>!<br /></span> + +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">As soars this fane to emulate the last,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh! might we draw our omens from the past,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Some hour propitious to our prayers may boast<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Names such as hallow still the dome we lost. <span class="linenum">30</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">On Drury first your Siddons' thrilling art<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O'erwhelmed the gentlest, stormed the sternest heart.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On Drury, Garrick's latest laurels grew;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Here your last tears retiring Roscius drew,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Sighed his last thanks, and wept his last adieu:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But still for living wit the wreaths may bloom,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[53]</a></span> +<span class="i0">That only waste their odours o'er the tomb.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Such Drury claimed and claims—nor you refuse<br /></span> +<span class="i0">One tribute to revive his slumbering muse;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With garlands deck your own Menander's head, <span class="linenum">40</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor hoard your honours idly for the dead!<a name="FNanchor_bq" id="FNanchor_bq"></a><a href="#Footnote_bq" class="fnanchor">[bq]</a><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Dear are the days which made our annals bright,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ere Garrick fled, or Brinsley<a name="FNanchor_41" id="FNanchor_41"></a><a href="#Footnote_41" class="fnanchor">[41]</a> ceased to write<a name="FNanchor_br" id="FNanchor_br"></a><a href="#Footnote_br" class="fnanchor">[br]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Heirs to their labours, like all high-born heirs,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Vain of <i>our</i> ancestry as they of <i>theirs</i>;<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">While thus Remembrance borrows Banquo's glass<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To claim the sceptred shadows as they pass,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And we the mirror hold, where imaged shine<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Immortal names, emblazoned on our line,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pause—ere their feebler offspring you condemn, <span class="linenum">50</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Reflect how hard the task to rival them!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">Friends of the stage! to whom both Players and Plays<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Must sue alike for pardon or for praise,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[54]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Whose judging voice and eye alone direct<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The boundless power to cherish or reject;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If e'er frivolity has led to fame,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And made us blush that you forbore to blame—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If e'er the sinking stage could condescend<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To soothe the sickly taste it dare not mend—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All past reproach may present scenes refute, <span class="linenum">60</span><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">And censure, wisely loud, be justly mute!<a name="FNanchor_42" id="FNanchor_42"></a><a href="#Footnote_42" class="fnanchor">[42]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh! since your fiat stamps the Drama's laws,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Forbear to mock us with misplaced applause;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So Pride shall doubly nerve the actor's powers,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Reason's voice be echoed back by ours!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">This greeting o'er—the ancient rule obeyed,<a name="FNanchor_43" id="FNanchor_43"></a><a href="#Footnote_43" class="fnanchor">[43]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Drama's homage by her herald paid<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[55]</a></span>—<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Receive <i>our welcome</i> too—whose every tone<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Springs from our hearts, and fain would win your own.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The curtain rises—may our stage unfold <span class="linenum">70</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Scenes not unworthy Drury's days of old!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Britons our judges, Nature for our guide,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Still may <i>we</i> please—long, long may <i>you</i> preside.<br /></span> + +</div></div> + +<p class="attrib">[First published, <i>Morning Chronicle</i>, Oct. 12, 1812.]</p> + +<h3><a id="PARENTHETICAL_ADDRESS" name="PARENTHETICAL_ADDRESS"></a>PARENTHETICAL ADDRESS.<a name="FNanchor_44" id="FNanchor_44"></a><a href="#Footnote_44" class="fnanchor">[44]</a></h3> + +<p class="center" style="font-size:smaller;">BY DR. PLAGIARY.</p> + +<blockquote style="margin-left:5em;text-indent:-3em;"> +<p><i>Half stolen</i>, 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 “——”.] + +</p></blockquote> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"<span class="smcap">When</span> energising objects men pursue,"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then Lord knows what is writ by Lord knows who.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[56]</a></span> +<span class="i0">A modest Monologue you here survey,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hissed from the theatre the "other day,"<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[57]</a></span> +<span class="i0">As if Sir Fretful wrote "the slumberous" verse,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">And gave his son "the rubbish" to rehearse.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Yet at the thing you'd never be amazed,"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Knew you the rumpus which the Author raised;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Nor even here your smiles would be represt,"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Knew you these lines—the badness of the best, <span class="linenum">10</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Flame! fire! and flame!" (words borrowed from Lucretius.<a name="FNanchor_45" id="FNanchor_45"></a><a href="#Footnote_45" class="fnanchor">[45]</a>)<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Dread metaphors" which open wounds like issues!<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">"And sleeping pangs awake—and——But away"—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">(Confound me if I know what next to say).<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lo "Hope reviving re-expands her wings,"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Master G—— recites what Dr. Busby sings!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"If mighty things with small we may compare,"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">(Translated from the Grammar for the fair!)<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dramatic "spirit drives a conquering car,"<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">And burn'd poor Moscow like a tub of "tar." <span class="linenum">20</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">"This spirit" "Wellington has shown in Spain,"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To furnish Melodrames for Drury Lane.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Another Marlborough points to Blenheim's story,"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And George and I will dramatise it for ye.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"In Arts and Sciences our Isle hath shone"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">(This deep discovery is mine alone).<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[58]</a></span> + +<span class="i0">Oh "British poesy, whose powers inspire"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My verse—or I'm a fool—and Fame's a liar,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Thee we invoke, your Sister Arts implore"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With "smiles," and "lyres," and "pencils," and much more. <span class="linenum">30</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">These, if we win the Graces, too, we gain<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Disgraces</i>, too! "inseparable train!"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Three who have stolen their witching airs from Cupid"<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">(You all know what I mean, unless you're stupid):<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Harmonious throng" that I have kept <i>in petto</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now to produce in a "divine <i>sestetto</i>"!!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"While Poesy," with these delightful doxies,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Sustains her part" in all the "upper" boxes!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Thus lifted gloriously, you'll sweep along,"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Borne in the vast balloon of Busby's song; <span class="linenum">40</span><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">"Shine in your farce, masque, scenery, and play"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">(For this last line George had a holiday).<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Old Drury never, never soar'd so high,"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So says the Manager, and so say I.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"But hold," you say, "this self-complacent boast;"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is this the Poem which the public lost?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"True—true—that lowers at once our mounting pride;"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But lo;—the Papers print what you deride.<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">"'Tis ours to look on <i>you</i>—<i>you</i> hold the prize,"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Tis <i>twenty guineas</i>, as they advertise! <span class="linenum">50</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">"A <i>double</i> blessing your rewards impart"—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I wish I had them, then, with all my heart.<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">"Our <i>twofold</i> feeling <i>owns</i> its twofold cause,"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Why son and I both beg for your applause.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"When in your fostering beams you bid us live,"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My next subscription list shall say how much you give!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="attrib">[First published, <i>Morning Chronicle</i>, October 23, 1812.]<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[59]</a></span></p> + +<h3><a name="VERSES_OWEN" id="VERSES_OWEN"></a>VERSES FOUND IN A SUMMER-HOUSE<br />AT HALES-OWEN.<a name="FNanchor_46" id="FNanchor_46"></a><a href="#Footnote_46" class="fnanchor">[46]</a></h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">When</span> Dryden's fool, "unknowing what he sought,"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His hours in whistling spent, "for want of thought,"<a name="FNanchor_47" id="FNanchor_47"></a><a href="#Footnote_47" class="fnanchor">[47]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">This guiltless oaf his vacancy of sense<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Supplied, and amply too, by innocence:<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Did modern swains, possessed of Cymon's powers,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In Cymon's manner waste their leisure hours,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Th' offended guests would not, with blushing, see<br /></span> +<span class="i0">These fair green walks disgraced by infamy.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Severe the fate of modern fools, alas!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When vice and folly mark them as they pass.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like noxious reptiles o'er the whitened wall,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The filth they leave still points out where they crawl.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="attrib">[First published, 1832, vol. xvii.]</p> + +<h3><a name="REMEMBER_THEE" id="REMEMBER_THEE"></a>REMEMBER THEE! REMEMBER THEE!<a name="FNanchor_48" id="FNanchor_48"></a><a href="#Footnote_48" class="fnanchor">[48]</a></h3> + +<h4>1.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Remember</span> thee! remember thee!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Till Lethe quench life's burning stream<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[60]</a></span> + +<span class="i0">Remorse and Shame shall cling to thee,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And haunt thee like a feverish dream!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>2.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Remember thee! Aye, doubt it not.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thy husband too shall think of thee:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By neither shalt thou be forgot,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thou <i>false</i> to him, thou <i>fiend</i> to me!<a name="FNanchor_49" id="FNanchor_49"></a><a href="#Footnote_49" class="fnanchor">[49]</a><br /></span> + +</div></div> + +<p class="attrib">[First published, <i>Conversations of Lord Byron</i>, 1824.]</p> + +<h3><a name="TO_TIME" id="TO_TIME"></a>TO TIME.</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Time</span>! on whose arbitrary wing<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The varying hours must flag or fly,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whose tardy winter, fleeting spring,<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">But drag or drive us on to die—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hail thou! who on my birth bestowed<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Those boons to all that know thee known;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet better I sustain thy load,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For now I bear the weight alone.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I would not one fond heart should share<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The bitter moments thou hast given;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And pardon thee—since thou couldst spare<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">All that I loved, to peace or Heaven.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[61]</a></span> +<span class="i0">To them be joy or rest—on me<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thy future ills shall press in vain;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I nothing owe but years to thee,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A debt already paid in pain.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet even that pain was some relief;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">It felt, but still forgot thy power:<a name="FNanchor_bs" id="FNanchor_bs"></a><a href="#Footnote_bs" class="fnanchor">[bs]</a><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">The active agony of grief<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Retards, but never counts the hour.<a name="FNanchor_bt" id="FNanchor_bt"></a><a href="#Footnote_bt" class="fnanchor">[bt]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">In joy I've sighed to think thy flight<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Would soon subside from swift to slow;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy cloud could overcast the light,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But could not add a night to Woe;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For then, however drear and dark,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My soul was suited to thy sky;<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">One star alone shot forth a spark<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To prove thee—not Eternity.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That beam hath sunk—and now thou art<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A blank—a thing to count and curse<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through each dull tedious trifling part,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Which all regret, yet all rehearse.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">One scene even thou canst not deform—<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">The limit of thy sloth or speed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When future wanderers bear the storm<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Which we shall sleep too sound to heed.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And I can smile to think how weak<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thine efforts shortly shall be shown,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When all the vengeance thou canst wreak<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Must fall upon—a nameless stone.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="attrib">[MS. M. First published, <i>Childe Harold</i>, 1814 (Seventh Edition).]</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[62]</a></span></p> + + +<h3><a name="TRANSLATION_LOVE_SONG" id="TRANSLATION_LOVE_SONG"></a>TRANSLATION OF A ROMAIC LOVE SONG.</h3> + + +<h4>1.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Ah</span>! Love was never yet without<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">The pang, the agony, the doubt,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which rends my heart with ceaseless sigh,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While day and night roll darkling by.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>2.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Without one friend to hear my woe,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I faint, I die beneath the blow.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That Love had arrows, well I knew,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Alas! I find them poisoned too.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>3.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Birds, yet in freedom, shun the net<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which Love around your haunts hath set;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or, circled by his fatal fire,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Your hearts shall burn, your hopes expire.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>4.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">A bird of free and careless wing<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was I, through many a smiling spring;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But caught within the subtle snare,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I burn, and feebly flutter there.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>5.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Who ne'er have loved, and loved in vain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Can neither feel nor pity pain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The cold repulse, the look askance,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The lightning of Love's angry glance.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>6.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">In flattering dreams I deemed thee mine;<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Now hope, and he who hoped, decline;<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[63]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Like melting wax, or withering flower,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I feel my passion, and thy power.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>7.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">My light of Life! ah, tell me why<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That pouting lip, and altered eye?<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">My bird of Love! my beauteous mate!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And art thou changed, and canst thou hate?<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>8.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Mine eyes like wintry streams o'erflow:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What wretch with me would barter woe?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My bird! relent: one note could give<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A charm to bid thy lover live.<br /></span> + +</div></div> + +<h4>9.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">My curdling blood, my madd'ning brain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In silent anguish I sustain;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And still thy heart, without partaking<br /></span> +<span class="i0">One pang, exults—while mine is breaking.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>10.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Pour me the poison; fear not thou!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thou canst not murder more than now:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I've lived to curse my natal day,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Love, that thus can lingering slay.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>11.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">My wounded soul, my bleeding breast,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Can patience preach thee into rest?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Alas! too late, I dearly know<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That Joy is harbinger of Woe.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="attrib">[First published, <i>Childe Harold</i>, 1814 (Seventh Edition).]<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[64]</a></span></p> + +<h3><a name="THOU_FICKLE" id="THOU_FICKLE"></a>THOU ART NOT FALSE, BUT THOU ART FICKLE.<a name="FNanchor_bu" id="FNanchor_bu"></a><a href="#Footnote_bu" class="fnanchor">[bu]</a><a name="FNanchor_50" id="FNanchor_50"></a><a href="#Footnote_50" class="fnanchor">[50]</a></h3> + +<h4>1.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Thou</span> art not false, but thou art fickle,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To those thyself so fondly sought;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The tears that thou hast forced to trickle<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">Are doubly bitter from that thought:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Tis this which breaks the heart thou grievest,<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Too well</i> thou lov'st—<i>too soon</i> thou leavest.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>2.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> + +<span class="i0">The wholly false the <i>heart</i> despises,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And spurns deceiver and deceit;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But she who not a thought disguises,<a name="FNanchor_bv" id="FNanchor_bv"></a><a href="#Footnote_bv" class="fnanchor">[bv]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Whose love is as sincere as sweet,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When <i>she</i> can change who loved so truly,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">It <i>feels</i> what mine has <i>felt</i> so newly.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>3.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">To dream of joy and wake to sorrow<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Is doomed to all who love or live;<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">And if, when conscious on the morrow,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">We scarce our Fancy can forgive,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That cheated us in slumber only,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To leave the waking soul more lonely,<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>4.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">What must they feel whom no false vision<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But truest, tenderest Passion warmed?<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[65]</a></span> + +<span class="i0">Sincere, but swift in sad transition:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As if a dream alone had charmed?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ah! sure such <i>grief</i> is <i>Fancy's</i> scheming,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And all thy <i>Change</i> can be but <i>dreaming!</i><br /></span> + +</div></div> + +<p class="attrib">[MS. M. First published, <i>Childe Harold</i>, 1814 (Seventh Edition).]</p> + +<h3><a name="ON_LOVE" id="ON_LOVE"></a>ON BEING ASKED WHAT WAS THE "ORIGIN OF LOVE."<a name="FNanchor_bw" id="FNanchor_bw"></a><a href="#Footnote_bw" class="fnanchor">[bw]</a></h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">The</span> "Origin of Love!"—Ah, why<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">That cruel question ask of me,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When thou mayst read in many an eye<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He starts to life on seeing thee?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And shouldst thou seek his <i>end</i> to know:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My heart forebodes, my fears foresee,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He'll linger long in silent woe;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But live until—I cease to be.<br /></span> + +</div></div> + +<p class="attrib">[First published, <i>Childe Harold</i>, 1814 (Seventh Edition).]</p> + + +<h3><a name="ON_QUOTATION" id="ON_QUOTATION"></a>ON THE QUOTATION,</h3> + +<div class="poem" style="margin-left:15%;margin-right:15%;font-size:90%;"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">"And my true faith can alter never,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Though thou art gone perhaps for ever."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>1.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">And</span> "thy true faith can alter never?"—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Indeed it lasted for a—week!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I know the length of Love's forever,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And just expected such a freak.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In peace we met, in peace we parted,<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">In peace we vowed to meet again,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And though I find thee fickle-hearted<br /></span> +<span class="i2">No pang of mine shall make thee vain.<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[66]</a></span></div></div> + +<h4>2.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">One gone—'twas time to seek a second;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In sooth 'twere hard to blame thy haste.<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">And whatsoe'er thy love be reckoned,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">At least thou hast improved in taste:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though one was young, the next was younger,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">His love was new, mine too well known—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And what might make the charm still stronger,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The youth was present, I was flown.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>3.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Seven days and nights of single sorrow!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Too much for human constancy!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A fortnight past, why then to-morrow,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">His turn is come to follow me:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And if each week you change a lover,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And so have acted heretofore,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Before a year or two is over<br /></span> +<span class="i2">We'll form a very pretty <i>corps</i>.<br /></span> + +</div></div> + +<h4>4.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Adieu, fair thing! without upbraiding<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I fain would take a decent leave;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy beauty still survives unfading,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And undeceived may long deceive.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With him unto thy bosom dearer<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Enjoy the moments as they flee;<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">I only wish his love sincerer<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Than thy young heart has been to me.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="attrib">1812.</p> + +<p class="attrib">[From a MS. in the possession of Mr. Murray, +now for the first time printed.]</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[67]</a></span></p> + +<h3><a name="REMEMBER_POWER" id="REMEMBER_POWER"></a>REMEMBER HIM, WHOM PASSION'S POWER.<a name="FNanchor_51" id="FNanchor_51"></a><a href="#Footnote_51" class="fnanchor">[51]</a></h3> + +<h4>1.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Remember</span> him, whom Passion's power<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Severely—deeply—vainly proved:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Remember thou that dangerous hour,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When neither fell, though both were loved.<a name="FNanchor_bx" id="FNanchor_bx"></a><a href="#Footnote_bx" class="fnanchor">[bx]</a><br /></span> + +</div></div> + +<h4>2.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">That yielding breast, that melting eye,<a name="FNanchor_by" id="FNanchor_by"></a><a href="#Footnote_by" class="fnanchor">[by]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Too much invited to be blessed:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That gentle prayer, that pleading sigh,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The wilder wish reproved, repressed.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>3.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Oh! let me feel that all I lost<a name="FNanchor_bz" id="FNanchor_bz"></a><a href="#Footnote_bz" class="fnanchor">[bz]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">But saved thee all that Conscience fears;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And blush for every pang it cost<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To spare the vain remorse of years.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>4.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Yet think of this when many a tongue,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Whose busy accents whisper blame,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Would do the heart that loved thee wrong,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And brand a nearly blighted name.<a name="FNanchor_ca" id="FNanchor_ca"></a><a href="#Footnote_ca" class="fnanchor">[ca]</a><br /></span> +</div></div> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[68]</a></span></p> + +<h4>5.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Think that, whate'er to others, thou<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Hast seen each selfish thought subdued:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I bless thy purer soul even now,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Even now, in midnight solitude.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>6.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Oh, God! that we had met in time,<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">Our hearts as fond, thy hand more free;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When thou hadst loved without a crime,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And I been less unworthy thee!<a name="FNanchor_cb" id="FNanchor_cb"></a><a href="#Footnote_cb" class="fnanchor">[cb]</a><br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>7.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Far may thy days, as heretofore,<a name="FNanchor_cc" id="FNanchor_cc"></a><a href="#Footnote_cc" class="fnanchor">[cc]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">From this our gaudy world be past!<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">And that too bitter moment o'er,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Oh! may such trial be thy last.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>8.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">This heart, alas! perverted long,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Itself destroyed might there destroy;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To meet thee in the glittering throng,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Would wake Presumption's hope of joy.<a name="FNanchor_cd" id="FNanchor_cd"></a><a href="#Footnote_cd" class="fnanchor">[cd]</a><br /></span> + +</div></div> + +<h4>9.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Then to the things whose bliss or woe,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Like mine, is wild and worthless all,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That world resign—such scenes forego,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Where those who feel must surely fall.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>10.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Thy youth, thy charms, thy tenderness—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thy soul from long seclusion pure;<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[69]</a></span> +<span class="i0">From what even here hath passed, may guess<br /></span> +<span class="i4">What there thy bosom must endure.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>11.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Oh! pardon that imploring tear,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Since not by Virtue shed in vain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My frenzy drew from eyes so dear;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For me they shall not weep again.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>12.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Though long and mournful must it be,<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">The thought that we no more may meet;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet I deserve the stern decree,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And almost deem the sentence sweet.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>13.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Still—had I loved thee less—my heart<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Had then less sacrificed to thine;<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">It felt not half so much to part<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As if its guilt had made thee mine.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="attrib">1813.</p> + +<p class="attrib">[MS. M. First published, <i>Childe Harold</i>, 1814 (Seventh Edition).]</p> + +<h3><a name="IMPROMPTU_FRIEND" id="IMPROMPTU_FRIEND"></a>IMPROMPTU, IN REPLY TO A FRIEND.<a name="FNanchor_52" id="FNanchor_52"></a><a href="#Footnote_52" class="fnanchor">[52]</a></h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">When</span>, from the heart where Sorrow sits,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Her dusky shadow mounts too high,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[70]</a></span> +<span class="i0">And o'er the changing aspect flits,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And clouds the brow, or fills the eye;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Heed not that gloom, which soon shall sink:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My Thoughts their dungeon know too well;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Back to my breast the Wanderers shrink,<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">And <i>droop</i> within their silent cell.<a name="FNanchor_ce" id="FNanchor_ce"></a><a href="#Footnote_ce" class="fnanchor">[ce]</a><br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="attrib"><i>September</i>, 1813.</p> + +<p class="attrib">[MS. M. first published, <i>Childe Harold</i>, 1814 (Seventh Edition).]</p> + +<h3><a name="SONNET" id="SONNET"></a>SONNET.</h3> + +<p class="center" style="font-size:smaller;">TO GENEVRA.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Thine</span> eyes' blue tenderness, thy long fair hair,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And the warm lustre of thy features—caught<br /></span> +<span class="i2">From contemplation—where serenely wrought,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Seems Sorrow's softness charmed from its despair—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Have thrown such speaking sadness in thine air,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That—but I know thy blessed bosom fraught<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With mines of unalloyed and stainless thought—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I should have deemed thee doomed to earthly care.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With such an aspect, by his colours blent,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When from his beauty-breathing pencil born,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">(Except that <i>thou</i> hast nothing to repent)<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">The Magdalen of Guido saw the morn—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Such seem'st thou—but how much more excellent!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With nought Remorse can claim—nor Virtue scorn.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="attrib"><i>December</i> 17, 1813.<a name="FNanchor_53" id="FNanchor_53"></a><a href="#Footnote_53" class="fnanchor">[53]</a></p> + +<p class="attrib">[MS. M. First published, <i>Corsair</i>, 1814 (Second Edition).]</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[71]</a></span></p> + +<h3><a name="SONNET2" id="SONNET2"></a>SONNET.</h3> + +<p class="center" style="font-size:smaller;">TO GENEVRA.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Thy</span> cheek is pale with thought, but not from woe,<a name="FNanchor_cf" id="FNanchor_cf"></a><a href="#Footnote_cf" class="fnanchor">[cf]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">And yet so lovely, that if Mirth could flush<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">Its rose of whiteness with the brightest blush,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My heart would wish away that ruder glow:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And dazzle not thy deep-blue eyes—but, oh!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">While gazing on them sterner eyes will gush,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And into mine my mother's weakness rush,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Soft as the last drops round Heaven's airy bow.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For, through thy long dark lashes low depending,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The soul of melancholy Gentleness<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Gleams like a Seraph from the sky descending,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Above all pain, yet pitying all distress;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At once such majesty with sweetness blending,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I worship more, but cannot love thee less.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="attrib"><i>December</i> 17, 1813.</p> + +<p class="attrib">[MS. M. First published, <i>Corsair</i>, 1814 (Second Edition).]</p> + +<h3><a name="FROM_PORTUGUESE" id="FROM_PORTUGUESE"></a>FROM THE PORTUGUESE.</h3> + +<p class="center" style="font-size:smaller;">"TU MI CHAMAS."</p> + +<h4>1.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">In</span> moments to delight devoted,<a name="FNanchor_54" id="FNanchor_54"></a><a href="#Footnote_54" class="fnanchor">[54]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">"My Life!" with tenderest tone, you cry;<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[72]</a></span> + +<span class="i0">Dear words! on which my heart had doted,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">If Youth could neither fade nor die.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>1.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">To Death even hours like these must roll,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Ah! then repeat those accents never;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or change "my Life!" into "my Soul!"<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Which, like my Love, exists for ever.<br /></span> + +</div></div> + +<p class="attrib">[MS. M.]</p> + +<h4>ANOTHER VERSION.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">You</span> call me still your <i>Life</i>.—Oh! change the word—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Life is as transient as the inconstant sigh:<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Say rather I'm your Soul; more just that name,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For, like the soul, my Love can never die.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="attrib">[Stanzas 1, 2 first published, <i>Childe Harold</i>, 1814 (Seventh Edition).<br /> +"Another Version," first published, 1832.]</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[73]</a></span></p> + + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"> +<p> +<a name="Footnote_1" id="Footnote_1"></a> +<a href="#FNanchor_1"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> [These stanzas were inserted in the first draft of the +First Canto of <i>Childe Harold</i>, 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, <i>To Inez</i>, dated January 25, 1810, +with their "touches of dreariest sadness," were substituted +for the simple and cheerful strains of <i>The Girl of Cadiz</i> +(see <i>Poetical Works</i>, 1899, ii. 75, note 1; <i>Life</i>, p. 151).] + +</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_a" id="Footnote_a"></a><a href="#FNanchor_a"><span class="label">[a]</span></a> +<a id="Note_1"></a>{1} <i>For thou hast never lived to see</i>.—[MS. M. erased.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_b" id="Footnote_b"></a><a href="#FNanchor_b"><span class="label">[b]</span></a> +<a id="Note_2"></a>{2} <i>The Saxon maids</i>——.—[MS. M.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_2" id="Footnote_2"></a><a href="#FNanchor_2"><span class="label">[2]</span></a> +[Compare <i>Childe Harold</i>, Canto I. stanza lviii. +lines 8, 9, <i>Poetical Works</i>, 1899, ii. 59, note 1.] +</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_3" id="Footnote_3"></a><a href="#FNanchor_3"><span class="label">[3]</span></a> <a id="Note_3"></a>{3} [For "Bolero," see <i>Poetical Works</i>, +1898, i. 492, note 1.] +</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"> +<p><a name="Footnote_c" id="Footnote_c"></a><a href="#FNanchor_c"><span class="label">[c]</span></a></p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>Or tells with light and fairy hand</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Her beads beneath the rays of Hesper</i>.—[MS. M. erased.]<br /></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_d" id="Footnote_d"></a><a href="#FNanchor_d"><span class="label">[d]</span></a> +——<i>the lovely Girl of Cadiz</i>.—[MS. M.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_e" id="Footnote_e"></a><a href="#FNanchor_e"><span class="label">[e]</span></a> +<a id="Note_4"></a>{4} <i>Written in an Album</i>.—[Editions 1812-1831.] +<br /> +<i>Written in Mrs. Spencer S.'s</i>——.—[MS. M. erased] +<br /> +<i>Written at the request of a lady in her memorandum book</i>.—[MS. B. M.] +<br /> +<i>"Mrs. S. S.'s request."</i>—[Erased. MS. B.M.] + +</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_4" id="Footnote_4"></a><a href="#FNanchor_4"><span class="label">[4]</span></a> [The possessor of the album was, doubtless, Mrs. Spencer +Smith, the "Lady" of the lines <i>To Florence</i>, "the sweet Florence" +of the <i>Stanzas composed during a Thunderstorm</i>, +and of the <i>Stanzas written in passing through the Ambracian Gulf</i>, +and, finally, when "The Spell is broke, the Charm is flown," +the "fair Florence" of stanzas xxxii., xxxiii. of the +Second Canto of <i>Childe Harold</i>. 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 +(<i>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</i>, London: 12mo, 1807). She +has since been shipwrecked, and her life has been from its commencement +so fertile in remarkable incidents, that in a romance they would +appear improbable. She was born at Constantinople [<i>circ.</i> 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." + +</p><p> +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 <i>Remains of the late John Tweddell</i>. London: 1815. See, +too, for Mrs. Spencer Smith, <i>Letters</i>, 1898, i. 244, 245, note 1).] +</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_f" id="Footnote_f"></a><a href="#FNanchor_f"><span class="label">[f]</span></a> <a id="Note_5"></a>{5} <i>To</i>——.—[Editions 1812-1832.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_g" id="Footnote_g"></a><a href="#FNanchor_g"><span class="label">[g]</span></a> <a id="Note_6"></a>{6} <i>Through giant Danger's rugged path</i>.—[MS. M.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_h" id="Footnote_h"></a><a href="#FNanchor_h"><span class="label">[h]</span></a> <a id="Note_7"></a>{7} <i>Stanzas</i>—[1812.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_5" id="Footnote_5"></a><a href="#FNanchor_5"><span class="label">[5]</span></a> Composed Oct<span class="sup">r</span>. 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.] +</p><p> +[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."—<i>Travels in Albania</i>, +1858, i. 70, 72; <i>Childe Harold</i>, Canto II. stanza xlviii., + +<i>Poetical Works</i>, 1899, ii. 129, note 1.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_i" id="Footnote_i"></a><a href="#FNanchor_i"><span class="label">[i]</span></a> <a id="Note_11"></a>{11} <i>Stanzas.</i>—[1812.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_j" id="Footnote_j"></a><a href="#FNanchor_j"><span class="label">[j]</span></a> <a id="Note_12"></a>{12} <i>Had Bards but realms along with rhymes</i>.—[MS. M.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_k" id="Footnote_k"></a><a href="#FNanchor_k"><span class="label">[k]</span></a> <i>Again we'd see some Antonies</i>.—[MS. M.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_l" id="Footnote_l"></a><a href="#FNanchor_l"><span class="label">[l]</span></a> <i>Though Jove</i>——.—[MS. M.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_6" id="Footnote_6"></a><a href="#FNanchor_6"><span class="label">[6]</span></a> [Compare [<i>A Woman's Hair</i>] stanza 1, line 4, +"I would not lose you for a world."—<i>Poetical Works</i>, 1898, i. 233.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_m" id="Footnote_m"></a><a href="#FNanchor_m"><span class="label">[m]</span></a> <i>Written at Athens</i>.—[1812.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_7" id="Footnote_7"></a><a href="#FNanchor_7"><span class="label">[7]</span></a> <a id="Note_13"></a>{13} +On the 3rd of May, 1810, while the <i>Salsette</i> (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 +<i>Salsette's</i> 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. (<i>Letters</i>, 1898, i. +262, 275). Compare the well-known lines in <i>Don Juan</i>, Canto +II. stanza cv.— + +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"A better swimmer you could scarce see ever,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He could perhaps have passed the Hellespont,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As once (a feat on which ourselves we prided)<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Leander, Mr. Ekenhead, and I did."<br /></span> +</div></div> +<p> +Compare, too, <i>Childe Harold</i>, Canto IV. stanza clxxxiv. line 3, +and the <i>Bride of Abydos</i>, Canto II. stanza i.: + +<i>Poetical Works</i>, 1899, ii. 461, note 2, <i>et post</i>, p. 178.] +</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_8" id="Footnote_8"></a><a href="#FNanchor_8"><span class="label">[8]</span></a> <a id="Note_14"></a>{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.'"—<i>Travels in Albania</i>, ii. 195.] +</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_9" id="Footnote_9"></a><a href="#FNanchor_9"><span class="label">[9]</span></a> <a id="Note_15"></a>{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 <i>Travels in Italy, Greece, etc.</i>, by H. W. Williams, +ii. 290, 291; <i>Life</i>, p. 101.)]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_n" id="Footnote_n"></a><a href="#FNanchor_n"><span class="label">[n]</span></a> <i>Song</i>.—[1812.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_10" id="Footnote_10"></a><a href="#FNanchor_10"><span class="label">[10]</span></a> [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."—<i>Travels in Italy, Greece, etc.</i>, ii. 291, 292. +</p><p> +Other travellers, Hughes, who visited Athens in 1813, and Walsh +(<i>Narrative of a Resident in Constantinople</i>, 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 <i>Letters</i>, 1898, i. 269, 270, +note 1; and <i>Life</i>, p. 105, note.) +</p><p> +"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.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_11" id="Footnote_11"></a><a href="#FNanchor_11"><span class="label">[11]</span></a> <a id="Note_16"></a>{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 +<span title="Zôê/ kai\ Psychê\">Ζωή καὶ Ψχὴ</span> +of Roman courtesans. <i>Vide</i> Juvenal, +lib. ii., <i>Sat.</i> vi. line 195; Martial, +<i>Epig.</i> x. 68. 5.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_12" id="Footnote_12"></a><a href="#FNanchor_12"><span class="label">[12]</span></a> <a id="Note_17"></a>{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 <i>The Bride of Abydos</i>, line 295— +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"What! not receive my foolish flower?"<br /></span> +</div></div> +<p> +See, too, Medwin's story of "one of the principal incidents in <i>The +Giaour</i>." "I was in despair, and could hardly contrive to get a +cinder, or a token-flower sent to express it."—<i>Conversations of Lord +Byron</i>, 1824, p. 122.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_13" id="Footnote_13"></a><a href="#FNanchor_13"><span class="label">[13]</span></a> Constantinople. [Compare— +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Tho' I am parted, yet my mind<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That's more than self still stays behind."<br /></span> +</div></div> +<p class="attrib"><i>Poems</i>, by Thomas Carew, ed. 1640, p. 36.]</p> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_14" id="Footnote_14"></a><a href="#FNanchor_14"><span class="label">[14]</span></a> <a id="Note_18"></a>{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.—<i>Life of Lord Byron</i>, +1890, p. 5.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_15" id="Footnote_15"></a><a href="#FNanchor_15"><span class="label">[15]</span></a> <a id="Note_19"></a>{19} [These lines are copied from a leaf of the original +MS. of the Second Canto of <i>Childe Harold</i>. +They are headed, "Lines written beneath the Picture of J.U.D." +</p><p> +In a curious work of doubtful authority, entitled, <i>The Life, +Writings, Opinions and Times of the Right Hon. G. G. Noel Byron</i>, +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.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_16" id="Footnote_16"></a><a href="#FNanchor_16"><span class="label">[16]</span></a> <a id="Note_20"></a>{20} The song +<span title="Deu~te pai~des">Δεῦτε παῖδες</span>, +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 +<i>Poetical +Works</i>, 1891, Appendix, p. 792. For Constantine Rhigas, see +<i>Poetical Works</i>, 1899, ii. 199, note 2. Hobhouse +(<i>Travels in +Albania</i>, 1858, ii. 3) prints a version (Byron told Murray that it was +"well enough," <i>Letters</i>, 1899, iii. 13) of +<span title="Deu~te pai~des">Δεῦτε παῖδες</span> +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:— + +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Greeks arise! the day of glory<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Comes at last your swords to claim.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Let us all in future story<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rival our forefathers' fame.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Underfoot the yoke of tyrants<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Let us now indignant trample,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Mindful of the great example,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And avenge our country's shame."]<br /></span> + +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_17" id="Footnote_17"></a><a href="#FNanchor_17"><span class="label">[17]</span></a> +<a id="Note_21"></a>{21} Constantinople. +"<span title="Heptalophos">Ἑπτάλοφος."</span> +</p> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_18" id="Footnote_18"></a><a href="#FNanchor_18"><span class="label">[18]</span></a> <a id="Note_22"></a>{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 +<span title="cho/roi">"χόροι</span>" +in the winter of 1810-11. The air is plaintive and pretty.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_o" id="Footnote_o"></a><a href="#FNanchor_o"><span class="label">[o]</span></a> <a id="Note_23"></a>{23} <i>Has bound my soul to thee</i>——[MS. M.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_p" id="Footnote_p"></a><a href="#FNanchor_p"><span class="label">[p]</span></a> <i>When wandering forth alone</i>——[MS. M.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"> +<p><a name="Footnote_q" id="Footnote_q"></a><a href="#FNanchor_q"><span class="label">[q]</span></a> + +<a id="Note_24"></a>{24}</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>Oh! what can tongue or pen avail</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Unless my heart could speak</i>.—[MS. M.]<br /></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_19" id="Footnote_19"></a><a href="#FNanchor_19"><span class="label">[19]</span></a> [These lines, which are undoubtedly genuine, +were published for the first time in the sixth edition of +<i>Poems on his Domestic Circumstances</i> (W. Hone, 1816). +They were first included by Murray in the collected + +<i>Poetical Works</i>, in vol. xvii., 1832.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_20" id="Footnote_20"></a><a href="#FNanchor_20"><span class="label">[20]</span></a> ["The principal streets of the city of Valetta are +flights of stairs."—<i>Gazetteer of the World</i>.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_21" id="Footnote_21"></a><a href="#FNanchor_21"><span class="label">[21]</span></a> <a id="Note_25"></a>{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).—<i>Annual +Register</i>, 1810, p. 320; <i>Dict. Nat. Biog.</i>, art. "Oakes."]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_22" id="Footnote_22"></a><a href="#FNanchor_22"><span class="label">[22]</span></a> ["Lord Byron ... was once <i>rather near</i> +fighting a duel—and that was with an officer of the staff of +General Oakes at Malta" (1809).—<i>Westminster Review</i>, +January, 1825, iii. 21 (by J. C. Hobhouse). +(See, too, <i>Life</i> (First Edition, 1830, 4to), i. 202, 222.)]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_23" id="Footnote_23"></a><a href="#FNanchor_23"><span class="label">[23]</span></a> [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 <i>La Favorite</i> 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 <i>Volage</i>, in which Byron returned to England, +took part in the engagement. Captain Hoste had taken a prize off +Fiume in the preceding year.—<i>Annual Register</i>, 1811; <i>Memoirs +and Letters of Sir W. Hoste</i>, ii. 79.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_24" id="Footnote_24"></a><a href="#FNanchor_24"><span class="label">[24]</span></a> <a id="Note_26"></a>{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."—<i>Memoirs and Letters of Sir W. Hoste</i>, ii. 82.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_25" id="Footnote_25"></a><a href="#FNanchor_25"><span class="label">[25]</span></a> [Mrs. (Susan) Fraser published, in 1809, +"<i>Camilla de Florian</i> (the scene is laid in Valetta) +<i>and Other Poems.</i> By an Officer's Wife." +Byron was, no doubt, struck by her admiration for Macpherson's + +<i>Ossian</i>, and had read with interest her version of +"The Address to the Sun," in <i>Carthon</i>, p. 31 +(see <i>Poetical Works</i>, 1898, i. 229). He may, too, +have regarded with favour some stanzas in honour of +the <i>Bolero</i> (p. 82), which begin, "When, my Love, +supinely <i>laying</i>."]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_26" id="Footnote_26"></a><a href="#FNanchor_26"><span class="label">[26]</span></a> <a id="Note_27"></a>{27} [Byron left Malta for England June 13, 1811. +(See Letter to H. Drury, July 17, 1811, <i>Letters</i>, 1898, i. 318.)]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_r" id="Footnote_r"></a><a href="#FNanchor_r"><span class="label">[r]</span></a> <a id="Note_28"></a>{28} <i>And mine was the pride and the worth of a name</i>—[MS. M.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_s" id="Footnote_s"></a><a href="#FNanchor_s"><span class="label">[s]</span></a> <i>It tells not of time</i>——.—[MS. M.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_27" id="Footnote_27"></a><a href="#FNanchor_27"><span class="label">[27]</span></a> Francis Hodgson.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_28" id="Footnote_28"></a><a href="#FNanchor_28"><span class="label">[28]</span></a> <a id="Note_30"></a>{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 <i>Life</i>. A marginal note ran thus: +"N.B. The poor dear soul meant nothing of this. F.H."—<i>Memoir +of Rev. Francis Hodgson</i>, 1878, i. 212.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_t" id="Footnote_t"></a><a href="#FNanchor_t"><span class="label">[t]</span></a> <i>On the death of——Thyrza</i>.—[MS.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"> +<p><a name="Footnote_29" id="Footnote_29"></a><a href="#FNanchor_29"><span class="label">[29]</span></a> +[The following note on the identity of Thyrza has +been communicated to the Editor:— +</p> +<blockquote> +<p>"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. +</p><p> +"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 +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i9">"' ... many a day<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In these, to me, deserted towers.'<br /></span> + +</div></div> +<p class="attrib">(Newstead, October 11, 1811.)</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"'When stretched on fever's sleepless bed.'<br /></span> +</div></div> +<p class="attrib">(At Patras, about September, 1810.)</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i11">"'Death for thee<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Prepared a light and pangless dart.'<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"'And oft I thought at Cynthia's noon,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">When sailing o'er the Ægean wave,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Now Thyrza gazes on that moon"—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Alas, it gleam'd upon her grave!'<br /></span> +</div></div> +<p class="attrib">(<i>One struggle more, and I am free</i>.) +</p><p> +"Finally, in the verses of October 11, 1811— +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"'The pledge we wore—<i>I</i> wear it still,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">But where is thine?—Ah! where art thou?'<br /></span> +</div></div> +<p> +"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.' +</p><p> +"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, <i>The Two +Duchesses</i> (1898, pp. 362-374). +</p><p class="center"> +"'<span class="smcap">Verses Addressed by Lord Byron in the year 1812<br /> +to the Hon. Mrs. George Lamb</span>. + +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The sacred song that on my ear<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Yet vibrates from that voice of thine<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I heard before from one so dear,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">'Tis strange it still appears divine.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But oh! so sweet that <i>look</i> and <i>tone</i><br /></span> +<span class="i2">To her and thee alike is given;<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">It seemed as if for me alone<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That <i>both</i> had been recalled from Heaven.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And though I never can redeem<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The vision thus endeared to me,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I scarcely can regret my dream<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When realized again by thee.'"<br /></span> +</div></div> +</blockquote> + +<p> +(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 <i>Cain</i> he writes, +"Gesner's <i>Death of Abel!</i> 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 +<i>In Heliodoram</i>, which one of the "associate bards," Bland, or +Merivale, or Hodgson, contributed to their +<i>Translations chiefly from the Greek Anthology</i>, +1806, p. 4, a work which Byron singles out for +commendation in <i>English Bards</i>, etc, (lines 881-890):— +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> + +<span class="i0">"Tears o'er my parted Thyrza's grave I shed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Affection's fondest tribute to the dead.<br /></span> +<hr /> +<span class="i0">Break, break my heart, o'ercharged with bursting woe<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An empty offering to the shades below!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ah, plant regretted! Death's remorseless power,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With dust unfruitful checked thy full-blown flower.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Take, earth, the gentle inmate to thy breast,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And soft-embosomed let my Thyrza rest."<br /></span> + +</div></div> +<p> +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.—<span class="smcap">Editor</span>.)] +</p> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_30" id="Footnote_30"></a><a href="#FNanchor_30"><span class="label">[30]</span></a> [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, <i>Letters</i>, 1899, iii. 215.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_u" id="Footnote_u"></a><a href="#FNanchor_u"><span class="label">[u]</span></a> <i>And soothe if such could soothe thy shade</i>.—[MS. erased.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_v" id="Footnote_v"></a><a href="#FNanchor_v"><span class="label">[v]</span></a> <a id="Note_31"></a>{31} <i>By many a land</i>——.—[MS.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_w" id="Footnote_w"></a><a href="#FNanchor_w"><span class="label">[w]</span></a> <a id="Note_33"></a>{33} <i>And shall they not</i>——.—[MS.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_x" id="Footnote_x"></a><a href="#FNanchor_x"><span class="label">[x]</span></a> ——<i>the walk aside</i>.—[MS.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"> +<p><a name="Footnote_y" id="Footnote_y"></a><a href="#FNanchor_y"> +<span class="label">[y]</span></a> +</p> +<div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">(<i>a</i>) <i>The kiss that left no sting behind</i><br /></span> + +<span class="i2"><i>So guiltless Passion thus forbore;</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Those eyes bespoke so pure a mind,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i2"><i>That Love forgot to</i> +<span class="bb">{</span> +<span class="uc"><i>plead</i></span> +<span class="dc" style="margin:auto 0.5em auto -2em;"><i>ask</i></span> +<span class="bb">}</span> +<i>for more</i>.<br /></span> + +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">(<i>b</i>) <i>The kiss that left no sting behind,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i2"><i>So guiltless Love each wish forebore;</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Those eyes proclaimed so pure a mind,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i2"><i>That Passion blushed to smile for more</i>.—<br /></span> +<span class="i22">[Pencilled alternative stanzas.]<br /></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_z" id="Footnote_z"></a><a href="#FNanchor_z"><span class="label">[z]</span></a> <a id="Note_34"></a>{34} <i>Well hast thou fled</i>——.—[MS. erased.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_aa" id="Footnote_aa"></a><a href="#FNanchor_aa"><span class="label">[aa]</span></a></p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>If judging from my present pain</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>That rest alone</i>——.—[MS. erased.]<br /></span> + +<span class="i0"><i>If rest alone is in the tomb</i>.—[MS.]<br /></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_ab" id="Footnote_ab"></a><a href="#FNanchor_ab"><span class="label">[ab]</span></a> <i>So let it be my hope in Heaven</i>.—[MS. erased]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_ac" id="Footnote_ac"></a><a href="#FNanchor_ac"><span class="label">[ac]</span></a> <a id="Note_35"></a>{35} <i>Stanzas</i>.—[MS. Editions 1812-1832.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_31" id="Footnote_31"></a><a href="#FNanchor_31"><span class="label">[31]</span></a> ["I wrote it a day or two ago, on hearing a song of former +days."—Letter to Hodgson, December 8, 1811, <i>Letters</i>, 1898, ii. 82.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_ad" id="Footnote_ad"></a><a href="#FNanchor_ad"><span class="label">[ad]</span></a> <i>I dare not hear</i>——.—[MS. erased.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_ae" id="Footnote_ae"></a><a href="#FNanchor_ae"><span class="label">[ae]</span></a> <i>But hush the chords</i>——.—[MS. erased.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_af" id="Footnote_af"></a><a href="#FNanchor_af"><span class="label">[af]</span></a> ——<i>I dare not gaze</i>.—[MS. erased.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_ag" id="Footnote_ag"></a><a href="#FNanchor_ag"><span class="label">[ag]</span></a> <i>The voice that made that song more sweet</i>.—[MS.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_ah" id="Footnote_ah"></a><a href="#FNanchor_ah"><span class="label">[ah]</span></a> <i>'Tis silent now</i>——.—[MS.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_ai" id="Footnote_ai"></a><a href="#FNanchor_ai"><span class="label">[ai]</span></a> <a id="Note_36"></a>{36} <i>To Thyrza</i>.—[Editions 1812-1831.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_aj" id="Footnote_aj"></a><a href="#FNanchor_aj"><span class="label">[aj]</span></a> +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>From pangs that tear</i>——.—[MS.]<br /></span> + +<span class="i0"><i>Such pangs that tear</i>——.—[MS. erased.]<br /></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_ak" id="Footnote_ak"></a><a href="#FNanchor_ak"><span class="label">[ak]</span></a> <i>With things that moved me not before</i>.—[MS. erased.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_al" id="Footnote_al"></a><a href="#FNanchor_al"><span class="label">[al]</span></a> <i>What sorrow cannot</i>——.—[MS.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_am" id="Footnote_am"></a><a href="#FNanchor_am"><span class="label">[am]</span></a> +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>It would not be, so hadst not thou</i><br /></span> +<span class="i2"><i>Withdrawn so soon</i>——.—[MS. erased.]<br /></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_an" id="Footnote_an"></a><a href="#FNanchor_an"><span class="label">[an]</span></a> <a id="Note_38"></a>{38} <i>—how oft I said</i>.—[MS. erased.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_ao" id="Footnote_ao"></a><a href="#FNanchor_ao"><span class="label">[ao]</span></a> +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>Like freedom to the worn-out slave</i>.—[MS.]<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>But Health and life returned and gave</i>,<br /></span> +<span class="i2"><i>A boon 'twas idle then to give</i>,<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Relenting Health in mocking gave</i>.—[MS. B. M. erased.]<br /></span> + +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_32" id="Footnote_32"></a><a href="#FNanchor_32"><span class="label">[32]</span></a> [Compare <i>My Epitaph:</i> +"Youth, Nature and relenting Jove."—Letter to +Hodgson, October 3, 1810, <i>Letters</i>, 1898, i. 298.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_ap" id="Footnote_ap"></a><a href="#FNanchor_ap"><span class="label">[ap]</span></a> <i>Dear simple gift</i>——.—[MS. erased.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_33" id="Footnote_33"></a><a href="#FNanchor_33"><span class="label">[33]</span></a> <a id="Note_39"></a>{39} Compare <i>A Wish</i>, +by Matthew Arnold, stanza 3, etc.— +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Spare me the whispering, crowded room,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The friends who come and gape and go," etc.<br /></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_aq" id="Footnote_aq"></a><a href="#FNanchor_aq"><span class="label">[aq]</span></a> <a id="Note_41"></a>{41} <i>Stanzas</i>.—[Editions 1812-1831.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_34" id="Footnote_34"></a><a href="#FNanchor_34"><span class="label">[34]</span></a> ["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:— +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'Peramabili consobrinæ<br /></span> +<span class="i6">M.D.'<br /></span> +</div></div> +<p> +On the other side— +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> + +<span class="i5">'Ah! Maria!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">pvellarvm elegantissima!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">ah Flore venvstatis abrepta,<br /></span> +<span class="i7">vale!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">hev qvanto minvs est<br /></span> +<span class="i0">cvm reliqvis versari<br /></span> +<span class="i6">qvam tui<br /></span> +<span class="i5">meminisse.'"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p> +(From a <i>Description of the Leasowes</i>, by A. Dodsley; +<i>Poetical Works</i> of William Shenstone [1798], p. xxix.)]</p> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_ar" id="Footnote_ar"></a><a href="#FNanchor_ar"><span class="label">[ar]</span></a> +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>Are mingled with the Earth</i>.—[MS.]<br /></span> + +<span class="i0"><i>Were never meant for Earth</i>.—[MS. erased.]<br /></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_as" id="Footnote_as"></a><a href="#FNanchor_as"><span class="label">[as]</span></a> <i>Unhonoured with the vulgar dread</i>.—[MS. erased.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_at" id="Footnote_at"></a><a href="#FNanchor_at"><span class="label">[at]</span></a> <a id="Note_42"></a>{42} + +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>I will not ask where thou art laid,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i2"><i>Nor look upon the name</i>.—[MS. erased.]<br /></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_au" id="Footnote_au"></a><a href="#FNanchor_au"><span class="label">[au]</span></a> <i>So I shall know it not</i>.—[MS. erased.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_av" id="Footnote_av"></a><a href="#FNanchor_av"><span class="label">[av]</span></a> <i>Like common dust can rot</i>.—[MS.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_aw" id="Footnote_aw"></a><a href="#FNanchor_aw"><span class="label">[aw]</span></a> <i>I would not wish to see nor touch</i>.—[MS. erased.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_ax" id="Footnote_ax"></a><a href="#FNanchor_ax"><span class="label">[ax]</span></a> <i>As well as warm as thou</i>.—[MS. erased.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_ay" id="Footnote_ay"></a><a href="#FNanchor_ay"><span class="label">[ay]</span></a> MS. transposes lines 5 and 6 of stanza 3.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_az" id="Footnote_az"></a><a href="#FNanchor_az"><span class="label">[az]</span></a> <i>Nor frailty disavow</i>.—[MS.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_ba" id="Footnote_ba"></a><a href="#FNanchor_ba"><span class="label">[ba]</span></a> <i>Nor canst thou fair and faultless see</i>.—[MS. erased.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_bb" id="Footnote_bb"></a><a href="#FNanchor_bb"><span class="label">[bb]</span></a> <i>Nor wrong, nor change, nor fault in me</i>.—[MS.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_bc" id="Footnote_bc"></a><a href="#FNanchor_bc"><span class="label">[bc]</span></a> <a id="Note_43"></a>{43} <i>The cloud that cheers</i>——.—[MS.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_bd" id="Footnote_bd"></a><a href="#FNanchor_bd"><span class="label">[bd]</span></a> <i>The sweetness of that silent deep</i>.—[MS.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_be" id="Footnote_be"></a><a href="#FNanchor_be"><span class="label">[be]</span></a> +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>The flower in beauty's bloom unmatched</i><br /></span> +<span class="i2"><i>Is still the earliest prey</i>.—[MS.]<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>The rose by some rude fingers snatched</i>,<br /></span> +<span class="i2"><i>Is earliest doomed to fade</i>.—[MS. erased.]<br /></span> + +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_bf" id="Footnote_bf"></a><a href="#FNanchor_bf"><span class="label">[bf]</span></a> <i>I do not deem I could have borne</i>.—[MS.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_bg" id="Footnote_bg"></a><a href="#FNanchor_bg"><span class="label">[bg]</span></a> +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>But night and day of thine are passed</i>,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0"><i>And thou wert lovely to the last;</i><br /></span> +<span class="i2"><i>Destroyed</i>——.—[MS. erased.]<br /></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_bh" id="Footnote_bh"></a><a href="#FNanchor_bh"><span class="label">[bh]</span></a> <a id="Note_44"></a>{44} <i>As stars that seem to quit the sky</i>.—[MS.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_bi" id="Footnote_bi"></a><a href="#FNanchor_bi"><span class="label">[bi]</span></a> +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>O how much less it were to gain,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i2"><i>All beauteous though they be</i>.—[MS.]<br /></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_bj" id="Footnote_bj"></a><a href="#FNanchor_bj"><span class="label">[bj]</span></a> <i>Through dark and dull Eternity</i>.—[MS.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_bk" id="Footnote_bk"></a><a href="#FNanchor_bk"><span class="label">[bk]</span></a> <a id="Note_45"></a>{45} <i>Sympathetic Address to a Young Lady</i>.— +[<i>Morning Chronicle</i>, March 7, 1812.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_35" id="Footnote_35"></a><a href="#FNanchor_35"><span class="label">[35]</span></a> +[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 <i>Morning Chronicle</i>:— + +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Blest omens of a happy reign,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In swift succession hourly rise,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Forsaken friends, vows made in vain—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A daughter's tears, a nation's sighs."<br /></span> +</div></div> +<p> +Byron's lines, headed, "Sympathetic Address to a Young Lady," +were published anonymously in the <i>Morning Chronicle</i> of March 7, +but it was not till March 10 that the <i>Courier</i> ventured to insert a +report of "The Fracas at Carlton House on the 22nd ult.," which +had already been communicated to the <i>Caledonian Mercury</i>. + +</p> +<blockquote><p>"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. +</p><p> +"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."</p></blockquote> +<p> +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 <i>jeu d'esprit</i>. 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 <i>Corsair</i> 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. +</p><p> +The "newspapers were in hysterics and town in an uproar on +the avowal and republication" of the stanzas (<i>Diary</i>, 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 <i>force majeure</i>, 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 (<i>Letters</i>, 1898, ii. 134, etc.); +and for "Newspaper Attacks upon Byron," see <i>Letters</i>, 1898, ii. +Appendix VII. pp. 463-492.)]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_bl" id="Footnote_bl"></a><a href="#FNanchor_bl"><span class="label">[bl]</span></a> <i>Stanzas</i>.—[1812.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_36" id="Footnote_36"></a><a href="#FNanchor_36"><span class="label">[36]</span></a> <a id="Note_48"></a>{48} [For allusion to the "Cornelian" see "The Cornelian," +["Pignus Amoris"], and "The Adieu," stanza 7, <i>Poetical Works</i>, +1898, i. 66, 231, 240. +See, too, <i>Letters</i>, 1898, i. 130, note 3.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_bm" id="Footnote_bm"></a><a href="#FNanchor_bm"><span class="label">[bm]</span></a> <a id="Note_50"></a>{50} <i>To Samuel Rogers, Esq</i>.—[<i>Poems</i>, 1816.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_37" id="Footnote_37"></a><a href="#FNanchor_37"><span class="label">[37]</span></a> ["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."—<i>Diary</i>, 1813; <i>Letters</i>, 1898, ii. 331.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_38" id="Footnote_38"></a><a href="#FNanchor_38"><span class="label">[38]</span></a> [Compare Collins' +<i>Ode on the Death of Mr. Thomson</i>—"In yonder grave +a Druid lies."]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_39" id="Footnote_39"></a><a href="#FNanchor_39"><span class="label">[39]</span></a> <a id="Note_51"></a>{51} ["Mr. Elliston then came forward and delivered +the following <i>Prize</i> 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."—<i>Morning Chronicle</i>, +October 12, 1812.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_40" id="Footnote_40"></a><a href="#FNanchor_40"><span class="label">[40]</span></a> ["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, <i>Letters</i>, 1898, ii. 148.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_bn" id="Footnote_bn"></a><a href="#FNanchor_bn"><span class="label">[bn]</span></a> +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i3"><i>As flashing far the new Volcano shone</i><br /></span> +<span class="i3"><i>And swept the skies with</i> + +<span class="bb">{</span> +<span class="uc"><i>meteors</i></span> +<span class="dc" style="margin:auto 0em auto -3.5em;"><i>lightnings</i></span> +<span class="bb">}</span> +<i>not their own</i>.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">or, <i>As flashed the volumed blaze, and</i> +<span class="bb">{</span> +<span class="uc"><i>sadly</i></span> + +<span class="dc" style="margin:auto 0em auto -2.5em;"><i>ghastly</i></span> +<span class="bb">}</span> +<i>shone</i><br /></span> +<span class="i4"><i>The skies with lightnings awful as their own.</i>—<br /></span> +<span class="i14">[<i>Letter to Lord Holland, Sept</i>. 25, 1812.]<br /></span> +<span class="i0">or, <i>As glared each rising flash, and ghastly shone</i><br /></span> +<span class="i4"><i>The skies with lightnings awful as their own</i>.—<br /></span> + +<span class="i14">[<i>Letter to Lord Holland, Sept</i>. 27, 1812.]<br /></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_bo" id="Footnote_bo"></a><a href="#FNanchor_bo"><span class="label">[bo]</span></a> <a id="Note_52"></a>{52} +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i3"><i>Till slowly ebbed the</i> +<span class="bb">{</span> +<span class="uc">lava of the</span> + +<span class="dc" style="margin:auto 0em auto -5em;"><i>spent volcanic</i></span> +<span class="bb">}</span> +<i>wave</i>.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">or, <i>Till ebb'd the lava of</i> +<span class="bb">{</span> +<span class="uc">the burning</span> +<span class="dc" style="margin:auto 0.5em auto -5em;"><i>that molten</i></span> +<span class="bb">}</span> + +<i>wave</i>,<br /></span> +<span class="i3"><i>And blackening ashes mark'd the Muse's grave</i>.—<br /></span> +<span class="i14">[<i>Letter to Lord Holland, Sept</i>. 28, 1812]<br /></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_bp" id="Footnote_bp"></a><a href="#FNanchor_bp"><span class="label">[bp]</span></a> <i>That scorns the scythe of Time, the torch of +Flame</i>.—[Letter to Lord Holland, Sept, 28, 1812.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_bq" id="Footnote_bq"></a><a href="#FNanchor_bq"><span class="label">[bq]</span></a> <a id="Note_53"></a>{53} +</p> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i3"><i>Far be from him that hour which asks in vain</i><br /></span> +<span class="i3"><i>Tears such as flow for Garrick in his strain;</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0">or, <i>Far be that hour that vainly asks in turn</i><br /></span> +<span class="i3"><i>Sad verse for him as</i> +<span class="bb">{</span> + +<span class="uc">crowned his</span> +<span class="dc" style="margin:auto 1.5em auto -5.5em;"><i>wept o'er</i></span> +<span class="bb">}</span> +<i>Garrick's urn</i>.—<br /></span> +<span class="i14">[<i>Letter to Lord Holland, Sept</i>. 30, 1812.]<br /></span> +</div> +</div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_41" id="Footnote_41"></a><a href="#FNanchor_41"><span class="label">[41]</span></a> [Originally, "Ere Garrick <i>died</i>," etc. +"By the by, one of my corrections in the fair copy sent yesterday +has dived into the bathos some sixty fathom— +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'When Garrick died, and Brinsley ceased to write.'<br /></span> +</div></div> +<p> +Ceasing to <i>live</i> 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' +[<i>vide supra</i>, <a href="#Footnote_br">variant ii</a>.] 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, <i>Letters</i>, 1898, ii. 150.]</p> + +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_br" id="Footnote_br"></a><a href="#FNanchor_br"><span class="label">[br]</span></a> +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>Such are the names that here your plaudits sought,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>When Garrick acted, and when Brinsley wrote</i>.—[MS.]<br /></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_42" id="Footnote_42"></a><a href="#FNanchor_42"><span class="label">[42]</span></a> <a id="Note_54"></a>{54} [The following lines were omitted by the Committee:— + +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"<i>Nay, lower still, the Drama yet deplores</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>That late she deigned to crawl upon all-fours</i>.<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>When Richard roars in Bosworth for a horse</i>,<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>If you command, the steed must come in course</i>.<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>If you decree, the Stage must condescend</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0">To soothe the sickly taste we dare not mend.<br /></span> + +<span class="i0"><i>Blame not our judgment should we acquiesce</i>,<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>And gratify you more by showing less</i>.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh, since your Fiat stamps the Drama's laws,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Forbear to mock us with misplaced applause;<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>That public praise be ne'er again disgraced</i>,<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>From</i> +<span class="bb">{</span> + +<span class="uc">brutes to man recall</span> +<span class="dc" style="margin:auto 0em auto -9em;"><i>babes and brutes redeem</i></span> +<span class="bb">}</span> +<i>a nation's taste;</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then pride shall doubly nerve the actor's powers,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When Reason's voice is echoed back with ours."<br /></span> +</div></div> +<p> +The last couplet but one was altered in a later copy, thus— +</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"<i>The past reproach let present scenes refute</i>,<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Nor shift from man to babe, from babe to brute.</i>"<br /></span> +</div></div> +<p> +"Is Whitbread," wrote Lord Byron, "determined to castrate all +my <i>cavalry</i> lines?... I do implore, for my +<i>own</i> gratification, one +lash on those accursed quadrupeds—'a long shot, Sir Lucius, if you +love me.'"—<i>Letter to Lord Holland</i>, September 28, 1812, + +<i>Letters</i>, 1898, ii. 156. +For "animal performers," vide ibid., note 1.]</p> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_43" id="Footnote_43"></a><a href="#FNanchor_43"><span class="label">[43]</span></a> [Lines 66-69 were added on September 24, +in a letter to Lord Holland.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_44" id="Footnote_44"></a><a href="#FNanchor_44"><span class="label">[44]</span></a> <a id="Note_55"></a>{55} [The original of Dr. Busby's address, entitled +"Monologue submitted to the Committee of Drury Lane Theatre," which was +published in the <i>Morning Chronicle</i>, October 17, 1812, "will be +found in the <i>Genuine Rejected Addresses</i>, as well as parodied in + +<i>Rejected Addresses</i> ('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 <i>Letters</i>, 1898, ii. 176; +and for Dr. Busby, see <i>Poetical Works</i>, 1898, i. 481, 485.) +Busby's "Address" ran as follows:— +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"When energising objects men pursue,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What are the prodigies they cannot do?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A magic edifice you here survey,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shot from the ruins of the other day!<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">As Harlequin had smote the slumberous heap,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And bade the rubbish to a fabric leap.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet at that speed you'd never be amazed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Knew you the <i>zeal</i> with which the pile was raised;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor even here your smiles would be represt,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Knew you the rival flame that fires our breast, <span class="linenum">10</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Flame! fire and flame! sad heart-appalling sounds,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Dread metaphors that ope our healing wounds—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A sleeping pang awakes—and——But away<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With all reflections that would cloud the day<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That this triumphant, brilliant prospect brings,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where Hope reviving re-expands her wings;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where generous joy exults, where duteous ardour springs.<br /></span> +<hr /> +<span class="i0">If mighty things with small we may compare,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">This spirit drives Britannia's conquering car,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Burns in her ranks and kindles every tar.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nelson displayed its power upon the main,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Wellington exhibits it in Spain;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Another Marlborough points to Blenheim's story,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And with its lustre, blends his kindred glory. <span class="linenum">40</span><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">In Arms and Science long our Isle hath shone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And <span class="smcap">Shakespeare</span>—wondrous <span class="smcap">Shakespeare</span>—reared a throne<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">For British Poesy—whose powers inspire<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The British pencil, and the British lyre—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her we invoke—her Sister Arts implore:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their smiles beseech whose charms yourselves adore,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">These if we win, the Graces too we gain—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their dear, beloved, inseparable train;<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Three</span> who their witching arts from Cupid stole<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">And three acknowledged sovereigns of the soul: <span class="linenum">50</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Harmonious throng! with nature blending art!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Divine <span class="smcap">Sestetto</span>! warbling to the heart<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For Poesy shall here sustain the upper part.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thus lifted gloriously we'll sweep along,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shine in our music, scenery and song;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shine in our farce, masque, opera and play,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">And prove old <span class="smcap">Drury</span> has not had her day,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nay more—so stretch the wing the world shall cry,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Old <span class="smcap">Drury</span> never, never soared so high.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'But hold,' you'll say, 'this self-complacent boast; <span class="linenum">60</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Easy to reckon thus without your host.'<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">True, true—that lowers at once our mounting pride;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Tis yours alone our merit to decide;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Tis ours to look to you, you hold the prize<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That bids our great, our best ambitions rise.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A <i>double</i> blessing <i>your</i> rewards impart,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Each good provide and elevate the heart.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Our twofold feeling owns its twofold cause,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Your bounty's <i>comfort</i>—<i>rapture</i> your applause;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When in your fostering beam you bid us live, <span class="linenum">70</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">You give the means of life, and gild the means you give."<br /></span> +</div></div> +<p class="attrib"><i>Morning Chronicle</i>, October 17, 1812.]</p> + +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_45" id="Footnote_45"></a><a href="#FNanchor_45"><span class="label">[45]</span></a> <a id="Note_57"></a>{57} [Busby's translation of Lucretius +(<i>The Nature of Things</i>, 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— +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Just as she quickens fuel into fire,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And bids it, flaming, to the skies aspire."]<br /></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_46" id="Footnote_46"></a><a href="#FNanchor_46"><span class="label">[46]</span></a> <a id="Note_59"></a>{59} [The Leasowes, +the residence of the poet Shenstone, is near the +village of Halesowen, in Shropshire.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_47" id="Footnote_47"></a><a href="#FNanchor_47"><span class="label">[47]</span></a> [See Dryden's <i>Cymon and Iphigenia</i>, lines 84, 85.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_48" id="Footnote_48"></a><a href="#FNanchor_48"><span class="label">[48]</span></a> [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 +<i>Letters</i>, 1898, ii. 451] called one morning at her quondam lover's +apartments. His Lordship was from home; but finding <i>Vathek</i> 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.—<i>Conversations of Lord Byron</i>, by +Thomas Medwin, 1824, pp. 329, 330. + +</p><p> +In Medwin's work the euphemisms <i>false</i> and <i>fiend</i> are +represented by asterisks.]</p> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_49" id="Footnote_49"></a><a href="#FNanchor_49"><span class="label">[49]</span></a> <a id="Note_60"></a>{60} ["To Bd., Feb. 22, 1813. +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"'Remember thee,' nay—doubt it not—<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">Thy Husband too may '<i>think</i>' of thee!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By neither canst thou be forgot,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thou false to him—thou fiend to me!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"'Remember thee'? Yes—yes—till Fate<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In Lethe quench the guilty dream.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet then—e'en then—Remorse and <i>Hate</i><br /></span> + +<span class="i2">Shall vainly quaff the vanquished stream."<br /></span> +</div></div> +<p> +From a MS. (in the possession of Mr. Hallam +Murray) not in Byron's handwriting.]</p> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_bs" id="Footnote_bs"></a><a href="#FNanchor_bs"><span class="label">[bs]</span></a> <a id="Note_61"></a>{61} ——<i>not confessed thy power</i>.—[MS. M. erased.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_bt" id="Footnote_bt"></a><a href="#FNanchor_bt"><span class="label">[bt]</span></a> ——<i>still forgets the hour</i>.—[MS. M. erased.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_bu" id="Footnote_bu"></a><a href="#FNanchor_bu"><span class="label">[bu]</span></a> <a id="Note_64"></a>{64} <i>Song</i>.—[<i>Childe Harold</i>, 1814.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_50" id="Footnote_50"></a><a href="#FNanchor_50"><span class="label">[50]</span></a> ["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.)]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_bv" id="Footnote_bv"></a><a href="#FNanchor_bv"><span class="label">[bv]</span></a> <i>But her who not</i>——.—[MS. M.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_bw" id="Footnote_bw"></a><a href="#FNanchor_bw"><span class="label">[bw]</span></a> <a id="Note_65"></a>{65} <i>To Ianthe</i>.—[MS. M. Compare "The Dedication" +to <i>Childe Harold</i>.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_51" id="Footnote_51"></a><a href="#FNanchor_51"><span class="label">[51]</span></a> <a id="Note_67"></a>{67} [It is possible that these lines, +as well as the Sonnets "To Genevra," were addressed to +Lady Frances Wedderburn Webster.—See <i>Letters,</i> +1898, ii. 2, note 1; and <i>Letters,</i> 1899, iii. 8, note 1.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_bx" id="Footnote_bx"></a><a href="#FNanchor_bx"><span class="label">[bx]</span></a> <i>To him who loves and her who loved</i>.—[MS. M.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_by" id="Footnote_by"></a><a href="#FNanchor_by"><span class="label">[by]</span></a> <i>That trembling form</i>——.—[MS. M.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_bz" id="Footnote_bz"></a><a href="#FNanchor_bz"><span class="label">[bz]</span></a> +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>Resigning thee, alas! I lost</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Joys bought too dear, if bright with tears,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Yet ne'er regret the pangs it cost</i>.—[MS. M. erased.]<br /></span> + +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_ca" id="Footnote_ca"></a><a href="#FNanchor_ca"><span class="label">[ca]</span></a> <i>And crush</i>——.—[MS. M.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_cb" id="Footnote_cb"></a><a href="#FNanchor_cb"><span class="label">[cb]</span></a> <i>And I been not unworthy thee</i>.—[MS. M.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_cc" id="Footnote_cc"></a><a href="#FNanchor_cc"><span class="label">[cc]</span></a> <i>Long may thy days</i>——.—[MS. M.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_cd" id="Footnote_cd"></a><a href="#FNanchor_cd"><span class="label">[cd]</span></a> <i>Might make my hope of guilty joy</i>.—[MS.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_52" id="Footnote_52"></a><a href="#FNanchor_52"><span class="label">[52]</span></a> [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."—<i>Letters</i>, 1898, ii. 268. They were +written at Aston Hall, Rotherham, where he "stayed a week ... +and behaved very well—though the lady of the house [Lady F. +Wedderburn Webster] is young, and religious, and pretty, and the +master is my particular friend."—<i>Letters</i>, 1898, ii. 267.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_ce" id="Footnote_ce"></a><a href="#FNanchor_ce"><span class="label">[ce]</span></a> <a id="Note_70"></a>{70} <i>And bleed</i>——.—[MS. M.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_53" id="Footnote_53"></a><a href="#FNanchor_53"><span class="label">[53]</span></a> ["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."—<i>Diary</i>, +December 18, 1813; <i>Letters</i>, 1898, ii. 379.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_cf" id="Footnote_cf"></a><a href="#FNanchor_cf"><span class="label">[cf]</span></a> <a id="Note_71"></a>{71} ——<i>Hope whispers not from woe</i>.—[MS. M.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_54" id="Footnote_54"></a><a href="#FNanchor_54"><span class="label">[54]</span></a> +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">["In moments to delight devoted<br /></span> +<span class="i2">'My Life!' is still the name you give,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Dear words! on which my heart had doted<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Had Man an endless term to live.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But, ah! so swift the seasons roll<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That name must be repeated never,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For 'Life' in future say, 'My Soul,'<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Which like my love exists for ever."<br /></span> +</div></div> +<p> +Byron wrote these lines in 1815, in Lady Lansdowne's album, at +Bowood.—Note by Mr. Richard Edgecombe, <i>Notes and Queries</i>, +Sixth Series, vii. 46.]</p> + +</div> + +</div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;margin-bottom:2cm;" /> + +<div class="titlepage"> + + <h2>THE GIAOUR:<br /> + <span class="small">A FRAGMENT OF A TURKISH TALE</span>.</h2> + +<div class="poem" style="font-size:90%"><div class="stanza"> + +<span class="i0">“One fatal remembrance—one sorrow that throws<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Its bleak shade alike o'er our joys and our woes—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To which Life nothing darker nor brighter can bring,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">For which joy hath no balm—and affliction no sting.”<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="attrib"><span class="smcap">Moore</span>.</p> + +<p class="attrib">["As a beam o'er the face," etc.—<i>Irish Melodies</i>.]</p> + +</div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;margin-top:2cm;" /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[75]</a></span></p> + +<h2><a name="INTRODUCTION_GIAOUR" id="INTRODUCTION_GIAOUR"></a> +INTRODUCTION TO <i>THE GIAOUR</i> +<br /><span class="center"><img src="images/decoration.png" alt="swash" /></span> +</h2> + +<p><span class="smcap">In</span> a letter to Murray, dated Pisa, December 12, 1821 +(<i>Life</i>, 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, <i>Letters</i>, 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 + +<i>Letters</i>, 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 (<i>Life</i>, p. 178), and which +is reprinted in the present issue (<i>Letters</i>, 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 (<i>Letters</i>, 1898, ii. 321, 361, +311), "the circumstances which were the groundwork" are +not 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 +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[76]</a></span> +story so circumstantially set forth (see Medwin's <i>Conversations</i>, +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 (<i>Westminster Review</i>, 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 (<i>Letters</i>, 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 <i>feelings</i> of <i>that</i> situation was +impossible—it is <i>icy</i> even to recollect them."</p> + +<p>For the allusive and fragmentary style of the <i>Giaour</i>, +<i>The Voyage of Columbus</i>, 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 <i>Vathek</i> (or rather +S. Henley's notes to <i>Vathek</i>) and to D'Herbelot's +<i>Bibliothèque Orientale</i> 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.</p> + +<p>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 <i>Giaour</i> is not entirely genuine, it is plain +that he misdoubted himself. Writing to Murray (August 26, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[77]</a></span> +1813) he says, "I have, but with some difficulty, <i>not</i> added +any more to this snake of a poem, which has been lengthening +its rattles every month;" to Moore (September 1), +"The <i>Giaour</i> 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 <i>Giaour</i>."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>The <i>Giaour</i> was reviewed by George Agar Ellis in the +<i>Quarterly</i> (No. xxxi., January, 1813 [published February 11, +1813]) and in the <i>Edinburgh Review</i> by Jeffrey (No. 54, +January, 1813 [published February 24, 1813]). +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[78]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<h2><a name="BIBLIOGRAPHICAL_GIAOUR" id="BIBLIOGRAPHICAL_GIAOUR"></a> +BIBLIOGRAPHICAL NOTE ON <i>THE GIAOUR</i> +<br /><span class="center"><img src="images/decoration.png" alt="swash" /></span> +</h2> + +<p><span class="smcap">The</span> bibliography of the <i>Giaour</i> 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 <i>pannus vere purpureus</i> +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 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, + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[79]</a></span> +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 <i>Morning Chronicle</i>, +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 <i>Giaour</i> 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:—</p> + +<table style="border-spacing:8px" summary="editions in order published"> +<tr><td style="width:6em;text-align:right;">Lines.</td> <td><i>Giaour</i>.</td> <td style="width:33%"> Edition of——</td></tr> + +<tr><td style="text-align:right;"> 1—6.</td> <td> <i>MS. First edition of 28 pages.</i> </td> <td> </td></tr> +<tr><td style="text-align:right;"> 7—20.</td> <td> Second edition. [47 pages, 816 lines.] </td> <td>Approximate date, June 24, 1813.</td></tr> + +<tr><td style="text-align:right;"> 21—45.</td> <td> Third edition. [53 pages, 950 lines.] </td> <td>July 30, 1813.</td></tr> +<tr><td style="text-align:right;"> 46—102.</td> <td> Second edition. </td> <td> </td></tr> + +<tr><td style="text-align:right;"> 103—167.</td> <td> Fifth edition. [66 pages, 1215 lines.] </td> <td> August 25, 1813.</td></tr> +<tr><td style="text-align:right;"> 168—199.</td> <td> <i>MS. First edition of 28 pages.</i></td> <td> </td></tr> + +<tr><td style="text-align:right;"> 200—250.</td> <td> Third edition. </td> <td> </td></tr> +<tr><td style="text-align:right;"> 251—252.</td> <td> Seventh edition. [75 pages, 1334 lines.]</td> <td>November 27, 1813.</td></tr> + +<tr><td style="text-align:right;"> 253—276.</td> <td> Third edition. </td> <td> </td></tr> +<tr><td style="text-align:right;"> 277—287.</td> <td> <i>MS. First edition of 28 pages.</i> </td> <td> </td></tr> + +<tr><td style="text-align:right;"> 288—351.</td> <td> Third edition. (Second issue?) [56 pages, 1004,? 1014 lines.]</td> <td> August 11, 1813.</td></tr> +<tr><td style="text-align:right;"> 352—503.</td> <td> <i>MS. First edition of 28 pages.</i> </td> <td> </td></tr> + +<tr><td style="text-align:right;"> 504—518.</td> <td> Third edition. </td> <td> </td></tr> +<tr><td style="text-align:right;"> 519—619.</td> <td> <i>MS. First edition of 28 pages.</i> </td> <td> </td></tr> + +<tr><td style="text-align:right;"> 620—654.</td> <td> Second edition. </td> <td> </td></tr> +<tr><td style="text-align:right;"> 655—688.</td> <td> <i>MS. First edition of 28 pages.</i> </td> <td> </td></tr> + +<tr><td style="text-align:right;"> 689—722.</td> <td> Fourth edition. [58 pages, 1048 lines.]</td> <td>August 19.</td></tr> +<tr><td style="text-align:right;"> 723—737.</td> <td> <i>MS. First edition of 28 pages.</i> 733-4 not in the MS., +but in First edition of 28 pages.</td> <td> </td></tr> + +<tr><td style="text-align:right;"> 738—745.</td> <td> <i>First edition of</i> 41 <i>pages</i>.</td> <td>June 5, 1813.</td></tr> +<tr><td style="text-align:right;"> 746—786.</td> <td> First edition of 28 pages. Not in the MS</td> <td> </td></tr> + +<tr><td style="text-align:right;"> 787—831.</td> <td> <i>MS. First edition of 28 pages</i>.</td> <td> </td></tr> +<tr><td style="text-align:right;"> 832—915.</td> <td> Seventh edition. </td> <td> </td></tr> + +<tr><td style="text-align:right;"> 916—998.</td> <td> <i>First edition of 41 pages</i>. 937-970 no MS. </td> <td> </td></tr> +<tr><td style="text-align:right;"> 999—1023.</td> <td> Second edition. </td> <td> </td></tr> + +<tr><td style="text-align:right;">1024—1028.</td> <td> Seventh edition. </td> <td> </td></tr> +<tr><td style="text-align:right;">1029—1079.</td> <td> <i>First edition of 41 pages</i>. </td> <td> </td></tr> +<tr><td style="text-align:right;">1080—1098.</td> <td> Third edition. </td> <td> </td></tr> + +<tr><td style="text-align:right;">1099—1125.</td> <td> <i>First edition of 41 pages</i>. </td> <td> </td></tr> +<tr><td style="text-align:right;">1126—1130.</td> <td> Seventh edition. </td> <td> </td></tr> +<tr><td style="text-align:right;">1131—1191.</td> <td> Fifth edition. </td> <td> </td></tr> + +<tr><td style="text-align:right;">1192—1217.</td> <td> Seventh edition. </td> <td> </td></tr> +<tr><td style="text-align:right;">1218—1256.</td> <td> Fifth edition. </td> <td> </td></tr> +<tr><td style="text-align:right;">1257—1318.</td> <td> <i>First edition of 41 pages</i>. </td> <td> </td></tr> + +<tr><td style="text-align:right;">1319—1334.</td> <td> <i>MS. First edition of 28 pages</i>. </td> <td> </td></tr> +</table> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[80]</a></span></p> + +<h3>NOTE.</h3> + +<p>The first edition is advertised in the <i>Morning Chronicle</i>, +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 + +<i>Bride of Abydos</i>. These dates do not exactly correspond +with Murray's contemporary memoranda of the dates of the +successive issues.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[81]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<div class="titlepage"> + + <h4>TO</h4> + + <h3>SAMUEL ROGERS, ESQ.</h3> + + <h4 style="line-height:3em;">AS A SLIGHT BUT MOST SINCERE TOKEN<br /> + + OF ADMIRATION OF HIS GENIUS,<br /> + + RESPECT FOR HIS CHARACTER,<br /> + + AND GRATITUDE FOR HIS FRIENDSHIP,<br /> + + <span class="big">THIS PRODUCTION IS INSCRIBED</span><br /> + + BY HIS OBLIGED<br /> + + AND AFFECTIONATE SERVANT,</h4> + + <p style="text-align:right;">BYRON.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">London</span>, <i>May</i>, 1813.</p> + +</div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[83]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="ADVERTISEMENT_GIAOUR" id="ADVERTISEMENT_GIAOUR"></a>ADVERTISEMENT. +<br /><span class="center"><img src="images/decoration.png" alt="swash" /></span> +</h2> + +<p><span class="smcap">The</span> 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.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[85]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="THE_GIAOUR" id="THE_GIAOUR"></a> +THE GIAOUR.</h2> +<hr class="dbl" /> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2"><span class="smcap">No</span> breath of air to break the wave<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That rolls below the Athenian's grave,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That tomb<a name="FNanchor_55" id="FNanchor_55"></a><a href="#Footnote_55" class="fnanchor">[55]</a> which, gleaming o'er the cliff,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">First greets the homeward-veering skiff<br /></span> +<span class="i0">High o'er the land he saved in vain;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When shall such Hero live again?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<hr /> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">Fair clime! where every season smiles<a name="FNanchor_cg" id="FNanchor_cg"></a><a href="#Footnote_cg" class="fnanchor">[cg]</a><br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[86]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Benignant o'er those blessed isles,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which, seen from far Colonna's height,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Make glad the heart that hails the sight,<span class='linenum'>10</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And lend to loneliness delight.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There mildly dimpling, Ocean's cheek<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Reflects the tints of many a peak<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Caught by the laughing tides that lave<br /></span> +<span class="i0">These Edens of the eastern wave:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And if at times a transient breeze<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Break the blue crystal of the seas,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Or sweep one blossom from the trees,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How welcome is each gentle air<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That wakes and wafts the odours there!<span class='linenum'>20</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">For there the Rose, o'er crag or vale,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sultana of the Nightingale,<a name="FNanchor_56" id="FNanchor_56"></a><a href="#Footnote_56" class="fnanchor">[56]</a><br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[87]</a></span><span class="i2">The maid for whom his melody,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">His thousand songs are heard on high,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Blooms blushing to her lover's tale:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His queen, the garden queen, his Rose,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Unbent by winds, unchilled by snows,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Far from the winters of the west,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By every breeze and season blest,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Returns the sweets by Nature given<span class='linenum'>30</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">In softest incense back to Heaven;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And grateful yields that smiling sky<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Her fairest hue and fragrant sigh.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And many a summer flower is there,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And many a shade that Love might share,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And many a grotto, meant for rest,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That holds the pirate for a guest;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whose bark in sheltering cove below<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lurks for the passing peaceful prow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till the gay mariner's guitar<a name="FNanchor_57" id="FNanchor_57"></a><a href="#Footnote_57" class="fnanchor">[57]</a><span class='linenum'>40</span><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Is heard, and seen the Evening Star;<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[88]</a></span><span class="i0">Then stealing with the muffled oar,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Far shaded by the rocky shore,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rush the night-prowlers on the prey,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And turn to groans his roundelay.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Strange—that where Nature loved to trace,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As if for Gods, a dwelling place,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And every charm and grace hath mixed<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Within the Paradise she fixed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There man, enamoured of distress,<span class='linenum'>50</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Should mar it into wilderness,<a name="FNanchor_ch" id="FNanchor_ch"></a><a href="#Footnote_ch" class="fnanchor">[ch]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And trample, brute-like, o'er each flower<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That tasks not one laborious hour;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor claims the culture of his hand<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To bloom along the fairy land,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But springs as to preclude his care,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">And sweetly woos him—but to spare!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Strange—that where all is Peace beside,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There Passion riots in her pride,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Lust and Rapine wildly reign<span class='linenum'>60</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">To darken o'er the fair domain.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It is as though the Fiends prevailed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Against the Seraphs they assailed,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">And, fixed on heavenly thrones, should dwell<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The freed inheritors of Hell;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So soft the scene, so formed for joy,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So curst the tyrants that destroy!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">He who hath bent him o'er the dead<a name="FNanchor_ci" id="FNanchor_ci"></a><a href="#Footnote_ci" class="fnanchor">[ci]</a><a name="FNanchor_58" id="FNanchor_58"></a><a href="#Footnote_58" class="fnanchor">[58]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ere the first day of Death is fled,<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[89]</a></span><span class="i0">The first dark day of Nothingness,<span class='linenum'>70</span><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">The last of Danger and Distress,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">(Before Decay's effacing fingers<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Have swept the lines where Beauty lingers,)<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And marked the mild angelic air,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The rapture of Repose that's there,<a name="FNanchor_cj" id="FNanchor_cj"></a><a href="#Footnote_cj" class="fnanchor">[cj]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">The fixed yet tender traits that streak<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The languor of the placid cheek,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And—but for that sad shrouded eye,<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">That fires not, wins not, weeps not, now,<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[90]</a></span><span class="i2">And but for that chill, changeless brow,<span class='linenum'>80</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Where cold Obstruction's apathy<a name="FNanchor_59" id="FNanchor_59"></a><a href="#Footnote_59" class="fnanchor">[59]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Appals the gazing mourner's heart,<a name="FNanchor_ck" id="FNanchor_ck"></a><a href="#Footnote_ck" class="fnanchor">[ck]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">As if to him it could impart<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The doom he dreads, yet dwells upon;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Yes, but for these and these alone,<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">Some moments, aye, one treacherous hour,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He still might doubt the Tyrant's power;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">So fair, so calm, so softly sealed,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The first, last look by Death revealed!<a name="FNanchor_60" id="FNanchor_60"></a><a href="#Footnote_60" class="fnanchor">[60]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Such is the aspect of this shore;<span class='linenum'>90</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">'Tis Greece, but living Greece no more!<a name="FNanchor_61" id="FNanchor_61"></a><a href="#Footnote_61" class="fnanchor">[61]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">So coldly sweet, so deadly fair,<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">We start, for Soul is wanting there.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Hers is the loveliness in death,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That parts not quite with parting breath;<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[91]</a></span> +<span class="i2">But beauty with that fearful bloom,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That hue which haunts it to the tomb,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Expression's last receding ray,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A gilded Halo hovering round decay,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The farewell beam of Feeling past away!<span class='linenum'>100</span><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Spark of that flame, perchance of heavenly birth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which gleams, but warms no more its cherished earth!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4">Clime of the unforgotten brave!<a name="FNanchor_62" id="FNanchor_62"></a><a href="#Footnote_62" class="fnanchor">[62]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Whose land from plain to mountain-cave<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Was Freedom's home or Glory's grave!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Shrine of the mighty! can it be,<a name="FNanchor_cl" id="FNanchor_cl"></a><a href="#Footnote_cl" class="fnanchor">[cl]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">That this is all remains of thee?<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">Approach, thou craven crouching slave:<a name="FNanchor_63" id="FNanchor_63"></a><a href="#Footnote_63" class="fnanchor">[63]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i4">Say, is not this Thermopylæ?<a name="FNanchor_cm" id="FNanchor_cm"></a><a href="#Footnote_cm" class="fnanchor">[cm]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">These waters blue that round you lave,—<span class='linenum'>110</span><br /></span> +<span class="i4">Oh servile offspring of the free—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Pronounce what sea, what shore is this?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The gulf, the rock of Salamis!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">These scenes, their story not unknown,<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">Arise, and make again your own;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Snatch from the ashes of your Sires<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The embers of their former fires;<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[92]</a></span> +<span class="i2">And he who in the strife expires<a name="FNanchor_cn" id="FNanchor_cn"></a><a href="#Footnote_cn" class="fnanchor">[cn]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Will add to theirs a name of fear<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That Tyranny shall quake to hear,<span class='linenum'>120</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">And leave his sons a hope, a fame,<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">They too will rather die than shame:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For Freedom's battle once begun,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Bequeathed by bleeding Sire to Son,<a name="FNanchor_co" id="FNanchor_co"></a><a href="#Footnote_co" class="fnanchor">[co]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Though baffled oft is ever won.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Bear witness, Greece, thy living page!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Attest it many a deathless age!<a name="FNanchor_cp" id="FNanchor_cp"></a><a href="#Footnote_cp" class="fnanchor">[cp]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">While Kings, in dusty darkness hid,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Have left a nameless pyramid,<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">Thy Heroes, though the general doom<span class='linenum'>130</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Hath swept the column from their tomb,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A mightier monument command,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The mountains of their native land!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">There points thy Muse to stranger's eye<a name="FNanchor_cq" id="FNanchor_cq"></a><a href="#Footnote_cq" class="fnanchor">[cq]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">The graves of those that cannot die!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">'Twere long to tell, and sad to trace,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Each step from Splendour to Disgrace;<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">Enough—no foreign foe could quell<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thy soul, till from itself it fell;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Yet! Self-abasement paved the way<span class='linenum'>140</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">To villain-bonds and despot sway.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">What can he tell who treads thy shore?<br /></span> +<span class="i4">No legend of thine olden time,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">No theme on which the Muse might soar<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">High as thine own in days of yore,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[93]</a></span> +<span class="i4">When man was worthy of thy clime.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The hearts within thy valleys bred,<a name="FNanchor_cr" id="FNanchor_cr"></a><a href="#Footnote_cr" class="fnanchor">[cr]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">The fiery souls that might have led<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Thy sons to deeds sublime,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Now crawl from cradle to the Grave,<span class='linenum'>150</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Slaves—nay, the bondsmen of a Slave,<a name="FNanchor_64" id="FNanchor_64"></a><a href="#Footnote_64" class="fnanchor">[64]</a><br /></span> + +<span class="i4">And callous, save to crime;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Stained with each evil that pollutes<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Mankind, where least above the brutes;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Without even savage virtue blest,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Without one free or valiant breast,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Still to the neighbouring ports they waft<a name="FNanchor_cs" id="FNanchor_cs"></a><a href="#Footnote_cs" class="fnanchor">[cs]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Proverbial wiles, and ancient craft;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In this the subtle Greek is found,<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">For this, and this alone, renowned.<span class='linenum'>160</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">In vain might Liberty invoke<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The spirit to its bondage broke<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Or raise the neck that courts the yoke:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">No more her sorrows I bewail,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Yet this will be a mournful tale,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And they who listen may believe,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Who heard it first had cause to grieve.<br /></span> + +</div><div class="stanza"> +<hr /> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4">Far, dark, along the blue sea glancing,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The shadows of the rocks advancing<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[94]</a></span> +<span class="i2">Start on the fisher's eye like boat<span class='linenum'>170</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of island-pirate or Mainote;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And fearful for his light caïque,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He shuns the near but doubtful creek:<a name="FNanchor_ct" id="FNanchor_ct"></a><a href="#Footnote_ct" class="fnanchor">[ct]</a><br /></span> + +<span class="i2">Though worn and weary with his toil,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And cumbered with his scaly spoil,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Slowly, yet strongly, plies the oar,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Till Port Leone's safer shore<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Receives him by the lovely light<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That best becomes an Eastern night.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<hr /> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4">Who thundering comes on blackest steed,<a name="FNanchor_65" id="FNanchor_65"></a><a href="#Footnote_65" class="fnanchor">[65]</a><span class='linenum'>180</span><br /></span> + +<span class="i2">With slackened bit and hoof of speed?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Beneath the clattering iron's sound<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The caverned Echoes wake around<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In lash for lash, and bound for bound:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The foam that streaks the courser's side<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Seems gathered from the Ocean-tide:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Though weary waves are sunk to rest,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">There's none within his rider's breast;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And though to-morrow's tempest lower,<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">'Tis calmer than thy heart, young Giaour!<a name="FNanchor_66" id="FNanchor_66"></a><a href="#Footnote_66" class="fnanchor">[66]</a><span class='linenum'>190</span><br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[95]</a></span><span class="i2">I know thee not, I loathe thy race,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But in thy lineaments I trace<br /></span> +<span class="i2">What Time shall strengthen, not efface:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Though young and pale, that sallow front<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Is scathed by fiery Passion's brunt;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Though bent on earth thine evil eye,<a name="FNanchor_cu" id="FNanchor_cu"></a><a href="#Footnote_cu" class="fnanchor">[cu]</a><br /></span> + +<span class="i2">As meteor-like thou glidest by,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Right well I view and deem thee one<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Whom Othman's sons should slay or shun.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4">On—on he hastened, and he drew<span class='linenum'>200</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">My gaze of wonder as he flew:<a name="FNanchor_cv" id="FNanchor_cv"></a><a href="#Footnote_cv" class="fnanchor">[cv]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Though like a Demon of the night<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He passed, and vanished from my sight,<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">His aspect and his air impressed<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A troubled memory on my breast,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And long upon my startled ear<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Rung his dark courser's hoofs of fear.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He spurs his steed; he nears the steep,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That, jutting, shadows o'er the deep;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He winds around; he hurries by;<span class='linenum'>210</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">The rock relieves him from mine eye;<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">For, well I ween, unwelcome he<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Whose glance is fixed on those that flee;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And not a star but shines too bright<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[96]</a></span> +<span class="i2">On him who takes such timeless flight.<a name="FNanchor_cw" id="FNanchor_cw"></a><a href="#Footnote_cw" class="fnanchor">[cw]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">He wound along; but ere he passed<br /></span> +<span class="i2">One glance he snatched, as if his last,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A moment checked his wheeling steed,<a name="FNanchor_67" id="FNanchor_67"></a><a href="#Footnote_67" class="fnanchor">[67]</a><br /></span> + +<span class="i2">A moment breathed him from his speed,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A moment on his stirrup stood—<span class='linenum'>220</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Why looks he o'er the olive wood?<a name="FNanchor_cx" id="FNanchor_cx"></a><a href="#Footnote_cx" class="fnanchor">[cx]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">The Crescent glimmers on the hill,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The Mosque's high lamps are quivering still<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Though too remote for sound to wake<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In echoes of the far tophaike,<a name="FNanchor_68" id="FNanchor_68"></a><a href="#Footnote_68" class="fnanchor">[68]</a><br /></span> + +<span class="i2">The flashes of each joyous peal<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Are seen to prove the Moslem's zeal.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To-night, set Rhamazani's sun;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To-night, the Bairam feast's begun;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To-night—but who and what art thou<span class='linenum'>230</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of foreign garb and fearful brow?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And what are these to thine or thee,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That thou shouldst either pause or flee?<br /></span> + +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4">He stood—some dread was on his face,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Soon Hatred settled in its place:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">It rose not with the reddening flush<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[97]</a></span> +<span class="i2">Of transient Anger's hasty blush,<a name="FNanchor_cy" id="FNanchor_cy"></a><a href="#Footnote_cy" class="fnanchor">[cy]</a><a name="FNanchor_69" id="FNanchor_69"></a><a href="#Footnote_69" class="fnanchor">[69]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">But pale as marble o'er the tomb,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Whose ghastly whiteness aids its gloom.<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">His brow was bent, his eye was glazed;<span class='linenum'>240</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">He raised his arm, and fiercely raised,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And sternly shook his hand on high,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As doubting to return or fly;<a name="FNanchor_cz" id="FNanchor_cz"></a><a href="#Footnote_cz" class="fnanchor">[cz]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Impatient of his flight delayed,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Here loud his raven charger neighed—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Down glanced that hand, and grasped his blade;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That sound had burst his waking dream,<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">As Slumber starts at owlet's scream.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The spur hath lanced his courser's sides;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Away—away—for life he rides:<span class='linenum'>250</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Swift as the hurled on high jerreed<a name="FNanchor_70" id="FNanchor_70"></a><a href="#Footnote_70" class="fnanchor">[70]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Springs to the touch his startled steed;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The rock is doubled, and the shore<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Shakes with the clattering tramp no more;<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">The crag is won, no more is seen<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[98]</a></span> +<span class="i2">His Christian crest and haughty mien.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">'Twas but an instant he restrained<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That fiery barb so sternly reined;<a name="FNanchor_da" id="FNanchor_da"></a><a href="#Footnote_da" class="fnanchor">[da]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">'Twas but a moment that he stood,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Then sped as if by Death pursued;<span class='linenum'>260</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">But in that instant o'er his soul<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">Winters of Memory seemed to roll,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And gather in that drop of time<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A life of pain, an age of crime.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">O'er him who loves, or hates, or fears,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Such moment pours the grief of years:<a name="FNanchor_db" id="FNanchor_db"></a><a href="#Footnote_db" class="fnanchor">[db]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">What felt <i>he</i> then, at once opprest<br /></span> +<span class="i2">By all that most distracts the breast?<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">That pause, which pondered o'er his fate,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Oh, who its dreary length shall date!<span class='linenum'>270</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Though in Time's record nearly nought,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">It was Eternity to Thought!<a name="FNanchor_71" id="FNanchor_71"></a><a href="#Footnote_71" class="fnanchor">[71]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">For infinite as boundless space<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The thought that Conscience must embrace,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Which in itself can comprehend<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Woe without name, or hope, or end.<a name="FNanchor_72" id="FNanchor_72"></a><a href="#Footnote_72" class="fnanchor">[72]</a><br /></span> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[99]</a></span></div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4">The hour is past, the Giaour is gone:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And did he fly or fall alone?<a name="FNanchor_dc" id="FNanchor_dc"></a><a href="#Footnote_dc" class="fnanchor">[dc]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Woe to that hour he came or went!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The curse for Hassan's sin was sent<span class='linenum'>280</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">To turn a palace to a tomb;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He came, he went, like the Simoom,<a name="FNanchor_73" id="FNanchor_73"></a><a href="#Footnote_73" class="fnanchor">[73]</a><br /></span> + +<span class="i2">That harbinger of Fate and gloom,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Beneath whose widely-wasting breath<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The very cypress droops to death—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dark tree, still sad when others' grief is fled,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The only constant mourner o'er the dead!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4">The steed is vanished from the stall;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">No serf is seen in Hassan's hall;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The lonely Spider's thin gray pall<a name="FNanchor_dd" id="FNanchor_dd"></a><a href="#Footnote_dd" class="fnanchor">[dd]</a><span class='linenum'>290</span><br /></span> + +<span class="i2">Waves slowly widening o'er the wall;<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[100]</a></span> +<span class="i2">The Bat builds in his Haram bower,<a name="FNanchor_74" id="FNanchor_74"></a><a href="#Footnote_74" class="fnanchor">[74]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">And in the fortress of his power<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The Owl usurps the beacon-tower;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The wild-dog howls o'er the fountain's brim,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With baffled thirst, and famine, grim;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For the stream has shrunk from its marble bed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where the weeds and the desolate dust are spread.<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">'Twas sweet of yore to see it play<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And chase the sultriness of day,<span class='linenum'>300</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">As springing high the silver dew<a name="FNanchor_de" id="FNanchor_de"></a><a href="#Footnote_de" class="fnanchor">[de]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">In whirls fantastically flew,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[101]</a></span> +<span class="i2">And flung luxurious coolness round<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The air, and verdure o'er the ground.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">'Twas sweet, when cloudless stars were bright,<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">To view the wave of watery light,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And hear its melody by night.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And oft had Hassan's Childhood played<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Around the verge of that cascade;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And oft upon his mother's breast<span class='linenum'>310</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">That sound had harmonized his rest;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And oft had Hassan's Youth along<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Its bank been soothed by Beauty's song;<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">And softer seemed each melting tone<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of Music mingled with its own.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But ne'er shall Hassan's Age repose<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Along the brink at Twilight's close:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The stream that filled that font is fled—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The blood that warmed his heart is shed!<a name="FNanchor_df" id="FNanchor_df"></a><a href="#Footnote_df" class="fnanchor">[df]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">And here no more shall human voice<span class='linenum'>320</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Be heard to rage, regret, rejoice.<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">The last sad note that swelled the gale<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Was woman's wildest funeral wail:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That quenched in silence, all is still,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But the lattice that flaps when the wind is shrill:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Though raves the gust, and floods the rain,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">No hand shall close its clasp again.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">On desert sands 'twere joy to scan<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The rudest steps of fellow man,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">So here the very voice of Grief<span class='linenum'>330</span><br /></span> + +<span class="i2">Might wake an Echo like relief—<a name="FNanchor_dg" id="FNanchor_dg"></a><a href="#Footnote_dg" class="fnanchor">[dg]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">At least 'twould say, "All are not gone;<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[102]</a></span> +<span class="i2">There lingers Life, though but in one"—<a name="FNanchor_dh" id="FNanchor_dh"></a><a href="#Footnote_dh" class="fnanchor">[dh]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">For many a gilded chamber's there,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Which Solitude might well forbear;<a name="FNanchor_75" id="FNanchor_75"></a><a href="#Footnote_75" class="fnanchor">[75]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Within that dome as yet Decay<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Hath slowly worked her cankering way—<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">But gloom is gathered o'er the gate,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Nor there the Fakir's self will wait;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Nor there will wandering Dervise stay,<span class='linenum'>340</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">For Bounty cheers not his delay;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Nor there will weary stranger halt<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To bless the sacred "bread and salt."<a name="FNanchor_di" id="FNanchor_di"></a><a href="#Footnote_di" class="fnanchor">[di]</a><a name="FNanchor_76" id="FNanchor_76"></a><a href="#Footnote_76" class="fnanchor">[76]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i4">Alike must Wealth and Poverty<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[103]</a></span> + +<span class="i4">Pass heedless and unheeded by,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">For Courtesy and Pity died<br /></span> +<span class="i4">With Hassan on the mountain side.<br /></span> +<span class="i4">His roof, that refuge unto men,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Is Desolation's hungry den.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The guest flies the hall, and the vassal from labour,<span class='linenum'>350</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Since his turban was cleft by the infidel's sabre!<a name="FNanchor_dj" id="FNanchor_dj"></a><a href="#Footnote_dj" class="fnanchor">[dj]</a><a name="FNanchor_77" id="FNanchor_77"></a><a href="#Footnote_77" class="fnanchor">[77]</a><br /></span> + +</div><div class="stanza"> +<hr /> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i6">I hear the sound of coming feet,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">But not a voice mine ear to greet;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">More near—each turban I can scan,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And silver-sheathèd ataghan;<a name="FNanchor_78" id="FNanchor_78"></a><a href="#Footnote_78" class="fnanchor">[78]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i4">The foremost of the band is seen<br /></span> +<span class="i4">An Emir by his garb of green:<a name="FNanchor_79" id="FNanchor_79"></a><a href="#Footnote_79" class="fnanchor">[79]</a><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">"Ho! who art thou?"—"This low salam<a name="FNanchor_80" id="FNanchor_80"></a><a href="#Footnote_80" class="fnanchor">[80]</a><br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[104]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Replies of Moslem faith I am.<a name="FNanchor_dk" id="FNanchor_dk"></a><a href="#Footnote_dk" class="fnanchor">[dk]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">The burthen ye so gently bear,<span class='linenum'>360</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Seems one that claims your utmost care,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, doubtless, holds some precious freight—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My humble bark would gladly wait."<a name="FNanchor_dl" id="FNanchor_dl"></a><a href="#Footnote_dl" class="fnanchor">[dl]</a><br /></span> + +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">"Thou speakest sooth: thy skiff unmoor,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And waft us from the silent shore;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nay, leave the sail still furled, and ply<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The nearest oar that's scattered by,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And midway to those rocks where sleep<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The channelled waters dark and deep.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rest from your task—so—bravely done,<span class='linenum'>370</span><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Our course has been right swiftly run;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet 'tis the longest voyage, I trow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That one of—<a name="FNanchor_81" id="FNanchor_81"></a><a href="#Footnote_81" class="fnanchor">[81]</a> * * * "<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<hr /> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">Sullen it plunged, and slowly sank,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The calm wave rippled to the bank;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I watched it as it sank, methought<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[105]</a></span> + +<span class="i0">Some motion from the current caught<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bestirred it more,—'twas but the beam<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That checkered o'er the living stream:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I gazed, till vanishing from view,<span class='linenum'>380</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like lessening pebble it withdrew;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Still less and less, a speck of white<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That gemmed the tide, then mocked the sight;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And all its hidden secrets sleep,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Known but to Genii of the deep,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which, trembling in their coral caves,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They dare not whisper to the waves.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<hr /> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">As rising on its purple wing<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The insect-queen<a name="FNanchor_82" id="FNanchor_82"></a><a href="#Footnote_82" class="fnanchor">[82]</a> of Eastern spring,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O'er emerald meadows of Kashmeer<span class='linenum'>390</span><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Invites the young pursuer near,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And leads him on from flower to flower<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A weary chase and wasted hour,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then leaves him, as it soars on high,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With panting heart and tearful eye:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So Beauty lures the full-grown child,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With hue as bright, and wing as wild:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A chase of idle hopes and fears,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Begun in folly, closed in tears.<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">If won, to equal ills betrayed,<a name="FNanchor_dm" id="FNanchor_dm"></a><a href="#Footnote_dm" class="fnanchor">[dm]</a><span class='linenum'>400</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Woe waits the insect and the maid;<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[106]</a></span> +<span class="i0">A life of pain, the loss of peace;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From infant's play, and man's caprice:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The lovely toy so fiercely sought<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hath lost its charm by being caught,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For every touch that wooed its stay<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Hath brushed its brightest hues away,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till charm, and hue, and beauty gone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Tis left to fly or fall alone.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With wounded wing, or bleeding breast,<span class='linenum'>410</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ah! where shall either victim rest?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Can this with faded pinion soar<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From rose to tulip as before?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or Beauty, blighted in an hour,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Find joy within her broken bower?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No: gayer insects fluttering by<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ne'er droop the wing o'er those that die,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And lovelier things have mercy shown<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To every failing but their own,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And every woe a tear can claim<span class='linenum'>420</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Except an erring Sister's shame.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<hr /> + +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The Mind, that broods o'er guilty woes,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Is like the Scorpion girt by fire;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In circle narrowing as it glows,<a name="FNanchor_dn" id="FNanchor_dn"></a><a href="#Footnote_dn" class="fnanchor">[dn]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">The flames around their captive close,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till inly searched by thousand throes,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And maddening in her ire,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">One sad and sole relief she knows—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sting she nourished for her foes,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Whose venom never yet was vain,<span class='linenum'>430</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Gives but one pang, and cures all pain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And darts into her desperate brain:<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[107]</a></span> +<span class="i0">So do the dark in soul expire,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or live like Scorpion girt by fire;<a name="FNanchor_83" id="FNanchor_83"></a><a href="#Footnote_83" class="fnanchor">[83]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">So writhes the mind Remorse hath riven,<a name="FNanchor_do" id="FNanchor_do"></a><a href="#Footnote_do" class="fnanchor">[do]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Unfit for earth, undoomed for heaven,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Darkness above, despair beneath,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Around it flame, within it death!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<hr /> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">Black Hassan from the Haram flies,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor bends on woman's form his eyes;<span class='linenum'>440</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">The unwonted chase each hour employs,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet shares he not the hunter's joys.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not thus was Hassan wont to fly<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">When Leila dwelt in his Serai.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Doth Leila there no longer dwell?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That tale can only Hassan tell:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Strange rumours in our city say<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upon that eve she fled away<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When Rhamazan's<a name="FNanchor_84" id="FNanchor_84"></a><a href="#Footnote_84" class="fnanchor">[84]</a> last sun was set,<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[108]</a></span><span class="i0">And flashing from each Minaret<span class='linenum'>450</span><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Millions of lamps proclaimed the feast<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of Bairam through the boundless East.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Twas then she went as to the bath,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which Hassan vainly searched in wrath;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For she was flown her master's rage<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In likeness of a Georgian page,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And far beyond the Moslem's power<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Had wronged him with the faithless Giaour.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Somewhat of this had Hassan deemed;<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">But still so fond, so fair she seemed,<span class='linenum'>460</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Too well he trusted to the slave<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whose treachery deserved a grave:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And on that eve had gone to Mosque,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And thence to feast in his Kiosk.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Such is the tale his Nubians tell,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who did not watch their charge too well;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But others say, that on that night,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">By pale Phingari's<a name="FNanchor_85" id="FNanchor_85"></a><a href="#Footnote_85" class="fnanchor">[85]</a> trembling light,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Giaour upon his jet-black steed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was seen, but seen alone to speed<span class='linenum'>470</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">With bloody spur along the shore,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor maid nor page behind him bore.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<hr /> +</div><div class="stanza"> + +<span class="i2">Her eye's dark charm 'twere vain to tell,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But gaze on that of the Gazelle,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It will assist thy fancy well;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As large, as languishingly dark,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But Soul beamed forth in every spark<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That darted from beneath the lid,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bright as the jewel of Giamschid.<a name="FNanchor_86" id="FNanchor_86"></a><a href="#Footnote_86" class="fnanchor">[86]</a><br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[109]</a></span><span class="i0">Yea, <i>Soul</i>, and should our prophet say<span class='linenum'>480</span><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">That form was nought but breathing clay,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By Alla! I would answer nay;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though on Al-Sirat's<a name="FNanchor_87" id="FNanchor_87"></a><a href="#Footnote_87" class="fnanchor">[87]</a> arch I stood,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which totters o'er the fiery flood,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[110]</a></span> +<span class="i0">With Paradise within my view,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And all his Houris beckoning through.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh! who young Leila's glance could read<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">And keep that portion of his creed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which saith that woman is but dust,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A soulless toy for tyrant's lust?<a name="FNanchor_88" id="FNanchor_88"></a><a href="#Footnote_88" class="fnanchor">[88]</a><span class='linenum'>490</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">On her might Muftis gaze, and own<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That through her eye the Immortal shone;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On her fair cheek's unfading hue<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The young pomegranate's<a name="FNanchor_89" id="FNanchor_89"></a><a href="#Footnote_89" class="fnanchor">[89]</a> blossoms strew<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Their bloom in blushes ever new;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her hair in hyacinthine flow,<a name="FNanchor_90" id="FNanchor_90"></a><a href="#Footnote_90" class="fnanchor">[90]</a><br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[111]</a></span><span class="i0">When left to roll its folds below,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As midst her handmaids in the hall<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She stood superior to them all,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hath swept the marble where her feet<span class='linenum'>500</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Gleamed whiter than the mountain sleet<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Ere from the cloud that gave it birth<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It fell, and caught one stain of earth.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The cygnet nobly walks the water;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So moved on earth Circassia's daughter,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The loveliest bird of Franguestan!<a name="FNanchor_91" id="FNanchor_91"></a><a href="#Footnote_91" class="fnanchor">[91]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">As rears her crest the ruffled Swan,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And spurns the wave with wings of pride,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When pass the steps of stranger man<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">Along the banks that bound her tide;<span class='linenum'>510</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thus rose fair Leila's whiter neck:—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thus armed with beauty would she check<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Intrusion's glance, till Folly's gaze<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shrunk from the charms it meant to praise.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thus high and graceful was her gait;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her heart as tender to her mate;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her mate—stern Hassan, who was he?<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Alas! that name was not for thee!<a name="FNanchor_92" id="FNanchor_92"></a><a href="#Footnote_92" class="fnanchor">[92]</a><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<hr /> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">Stern Hassan hath a journey ta'en<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With twenty vassals in his train,<span class='linenum'>520</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Each armed, as best becomes a man,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With arquebuss and ataghan;<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[112]</a></span> +<span class="i0">The chief before, as decked for war,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Bears in his belt the scimitar<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Stained with the best of Arnaut blood,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When in the pass the rebels stood,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And few returned to tell the tale<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of what befell in Parne's vale.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The pistols which his girdle bore<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Were those that once a Pasha wore,<span class='linenum'>530</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which still, though gemmed and bossed with gold,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Even robbers tremble to behold.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Tis said he goes to woo a bride<br /></span> +<span class="i0">More true than her who left his side;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The faithless slave that broke her bower,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And—worse than faithless—for a Giaour!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<hr /> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">The sun's last rays are on the hill,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">And sparkle in the fountain rill,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whose welcome waters, cool and clear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Draw blessings from the mountaineer:<span class='linenum'>540</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Here may the loitering merchant Greek<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Find that repose 'twere vain to seek<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In cities lodged too near his lord,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And trembling for his secret hoard—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Here may he rest where none can see,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">In crowds a slave, in deserts free;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And with forbidden wine may stain<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The bowl a Moslem must not drain<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<hr /> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">The foremost Tartar's in the gap<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Conspicuous by his yellow cap;<span class='linenum'>550</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">The rest in lengthening line the while<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wind slowly through the long defile:<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[113]</a></span> + +<span class="i0">Above, the mountain rears a peak,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where vultures whet the thirsty beak,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And theirs may be a feast to-night,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shall tempt them down ere morrow's light;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beneath, a river's wintry stream<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Has shrunk before the summer beam,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And left a channel bleak and bare,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Save shrubs that spring to perish there:<span class='linenum'>560</span><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Each side the midway path there lay<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Small broken crags of granite gray,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By time, or mountain lightning, riven<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From summits clad in mists of heaven;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For where is he that hath beheld<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The peak of Liakura<a name="FNanchor_93" id="FNanchor_93"></a><a href="#Footnote_93" class="fnanchor">[93]</a> unveiled?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<hr /> + +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">They reach the grove of pine at last;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Bismillah!<a name="FNanchor_94" id="FNanchor_94"></a><a href="#Footnote_94" class="fnanchor">[94]</a> now the peril's past;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For yonder view the opening plain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And there we'll prick our steeds amain:"<span class='linenum'>570</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Chiaus<a name="FNanchor_95" id="FNanchor_95"></a><a href="#Footnote_95" class="fnanchor">[95]</a> spake, and as he said,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">A bullet whistled o'er his head;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The foremost Tartar bites the ground!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Scarce had they time to check the rein,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[114]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Swift from their steeds the riders bound;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But three shall never mount again:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Unseen the foes that gave the wound,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The dying ask revenge in vain.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With steel unsheathed, and carbine bent,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Some o'er their courser's harness leant,<span class='linenum'>580</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Half sheltered by the steed;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Some fly beneath the nearest rock,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And there await the coming shock,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Nor tamely stand to bleed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beneath the shaft of foes unseen,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who dare not quit their craggy screen.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Stern Hassan only from his horse<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Disdains to light, and keeps his course,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till fiery flashes in the van<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Proclaim too sure the robber-clan<span class='linenum'>590</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Have well secured the only way<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Could now avail the promised prey;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then curled his very beard<a name="FNanchor_96" id="FNanchor_96"></a><a href="#Footnote_96" class="fnanchor">[96]</a> with ire,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And glared his eye with fiercer fire;<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">"Though far and near the bullets hiss,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I've scaped a bloodier hour than this."<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And now the foe their covert quit,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And call his vassals to submit;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But Hassan's frown and furious word<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Are dreaded more than hostile sword,<span class='linenum'>600</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor of his little band a man<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Resigned carbine or ataghan,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[115]</a></span> + +<span class="i0">Nor raised the craven cry, Amaun!<a name="FNanchor_97" id="FNanchor_97"></a><a href="#Footnote_97" class="fnanchor">[97]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">In fuller sight, more near and near,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The lately ambushed foes appear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, issuing from the grove, advance<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Some who on battle-charger prance.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who leads them on with foreign brand<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Far flashing in his red right hand?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"'Tis he!'tis he! I know him now;<span class='linenum'>610</span><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">I know him by his pallid brow;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I know him by the evil eye<a name="FNanchor_98" id="FNanchor_98"></a><a href="#Footnote_98" class="fnanchor">[98]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">That aids his envious treachery;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I know him by his jet-black barb;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though now arrayed in Arnaut garb,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Apostate from his own vile faith,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It shall not save him from the death:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Tis he! well met in any hour,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Lost Leila's love—accursed Giaour!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">As rolls the river into Ocean,<a name="FNanchor_99" id="FNanchor_99"></a><a href="#Footnote_99" class="fnanchor">[99]</a><span class='linenum'>620</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">In sable torrent wildly streaming;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As the sea-tide's opposing motion,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In azure column proudly gleaming,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beats back the current many a rood,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In curling foam and mingling flood,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">While eddying whirl, and breaking wave,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Roused by the blast of winter, rave;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through sparkling spray, in thundering clash,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The lightnings of the waters flash<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[116]</a></span> +<span class="i0">In awful whiteness o'er the shore,<span class='linenum'>630</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">That shines and shakes beneath the roar;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thus—as the stream and Ocean greet,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">With waves that madden as they meet—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thus join the bands, whom mutual wrong,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And fate, and fury, drive along.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The bickering sabres' shivering jar;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And pealing wide or ringing near<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Its echoes on the throbbing ear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The deathshot hissing from afar;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The shock, the shout, the groan of war,<span class='linenum'>640</span><br /></span> + +<span class="i2">Reverberate along that vale,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">More suited to the shepherd's tale:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though few the numbers—theirs the strife,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That neither spares nor speaks for life!<a name="FNanchor_dp" id="FNanchor_dp"></a><a href="#Footnote_dp" class="fnanchor">[dp]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ah! fondly youthful hearts can press,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To seize and share the dear caress;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But Love itself could never pant<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For all that Beauty sighs to grant<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">With half the fervour Hate bestows<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upon the last embrace of foes,<span class='linenum'>650</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">When grappling in the fight they fold<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Those arms that ne'er shall lose their hold:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Friends meet to part; Love laughs at faith;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">True foes, once met, are joined till death!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<hr /> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">With sabre shivered to the hilt,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Yet dripping with the blood he spilt;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet strained within the severed hand<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which quivers round that faithless brand;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His turban far behind him rolled,<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[117]</a></span><span class="i0">And cleft in twain its firmest fold;<span class='linenum'>660</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">His flowing robe by falchion torn,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And crimson as those clouds of morn<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That, streaked with dusky red, portend<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">The day shall have a stormy end;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A stain on every bush that bore<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A fragment of his palampore;<a name="FNanchor_100" id="FNanchor_100"></a><a href="#Footnote_100" class="fnanchor">[100]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">His breast with wounds unnumbered riven,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His back to earth, his face to Heaven,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fall'n Hassan lies—his unclosed eye<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet lowering on his enemy,<span class='linenum'>670</span><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">As if the hour that sealed his fate<a name="FNanchor_101" id="FNanchor_101"></a><a href="#Footnote_101" class="fnanchor">[101]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Surviving left his quenchless hate;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And o'er him bends that foe with brow<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As dark as his that bled below.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<hr /> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">"Yes, Leila sleeps beneath the wave,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But his shall be a redder grave;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her spirit pointed well the steel<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Which taught that felon heart to feel.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He called the Prophet, but his power<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was vain against the vengeful Giaour:<span class='linenum'>680</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">He called on Alla—but the word<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Arose unheeded or unheard.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thou Paynim fool! could Leila's prayer<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Be passed, and thine accorded there?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I watched my time, I leagued with these,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">The traitor in his turn to seize;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My wrath is wreaked, the deed is done,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And now I go—but go alone."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<hr /> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[118]</a></span><hr /> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">The browsing camels' bells are tinkling:<a name="FNanchor_dq" id="FNanchor_dq"></a><a href="#Footnote_dq" class="fnanchor">[dq]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">His mother looked from her lattice high—<a name="FNanchor_102" id="FNanchor_102"></a><a href="#Footnote_102" class="fnanchor">[102]</a><span class='linenum'>690</span><br /></span> + +<span class="i2">She saw the dews of eve besprinkling<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The pasture green beneath her eye,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">She saw the planets faintly twinkling:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"'Tis twilight—sure his train is nigh."<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She could not rest in the garden-bower,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But gazed through the grate of his steepest tower.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Why comes he not? his steeds are fleet,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor shrink they from the summer heat;<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Why sends not the Bridegroom his promised gift?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is his heart more cold, or his barb less swift?<span class='linenum'>700</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh, false reproach! yon Tartar now<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Has gained our nearest mountain's brow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And warily the steep descends,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[119]</a></span> +<span class="i0">And now within the valley bends;<a name="FNanchor_dr" id="FNanchor_dr"></a><a href="#Footnote_dr" class="fnanchor">[dr]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And he bears the gift at his saddle bow—<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">How could I deem his courser slow?<a name="FNanchor_ds" id="FNanchor_ds"></a><a href="#Footnote_ds" class="fnanchor">[ds]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Right well my largess shall repay<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His welcome speed, and weary way."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">The Tartar lighted at the gate,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But scarce upheld his fainting weight!<a name="FNanchor_dt" id="FNanchor_dt"></a><a href="#Footnote_dt" class="fnanchor">[dt]</a><span class='linenum'>710</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">His swarthy visage spake distress,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But this might be from weariness;<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">His garb with sanguine spots was dyed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But these might be from his courser's side;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He drew the token from his vest—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Angel of Death! 'tis Hassan's cloven crest!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His calpac<a name="FNanchor_103" id="FNanchor_103"></a><a href="#Footnote_103" class="fnanchor">[103]</a> rent—his caftan red—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Lady, a fearful bride thy Son hath wed:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Me, not from mercy, did they spare,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">But this empurpled pledge to bear.<span class='linenum'>720</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Peace to the brave! whose blood is spilt:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Woe to the Giaour! for his the guilt."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<hr /> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">A Turban<a name="FNanchor_104" id="FNanchor_104"></a><a href="#Footnote_104" class="fnanchor">[104]</a> carved in coarsest stone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A Pillar with rank weeds o'ergrown,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[120]</a></span> + +<span class="i0">Whereon can now be scarcely read<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Koran verse that mourns the dead,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Point out the spot where Hassan fell<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A victim in that lonely dell.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There sleeps as true an Osmanlie<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As e'er at Mecca bent the knee;<span class='linenum'>730</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">As ever scorned forbidden wine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or prayed with face towards the shrine,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">In orisons resumed anew<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At solemn sound of "Alla Hu!"<a name="FNanchor_105" id="FNanchor_105"></a><a href="#Footnote_105" class="fnanchor">[105]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet died he by a stranger's hand,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And stranger in his native land;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet died he as in arms he stood,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And unavenged, at least in blood.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But him the maids of Paradise<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Impatient to their halls invite,<span class='linenum'>740</span><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">And the dark heaven of Houris' eyes<br /></span> +<span class="i2">On him shall glance for ever bright;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They come—their kerchiefs green they wave,<a name="FNanchor_106" id="FNanchor_106"></a><a href="#Footnote_106" class="fnanchor">[106]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And welcome with a kiss the brave!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who falls in battle 'gainst a Giaour<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is worthiest an immortal bower.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[121]</a></span><hr /> + +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">But thou, false Infidel! shall writhe<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beneath avenging Monkir's<a name="FNanchor_107" id="FNanchor_107"></a><a href="#Footnote_107" class="fnanchor">[107]</a> scythe;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And from its torments 'scape alone<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To wander round lost Eblis'<a name="FNanchor_108" id="FNanchor_108"></a><a href="#Footnote_108" class="fnanchor">[108]</a> throne;<span class='linenum'>750</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And fire unquenched, unquenchable,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Around, within, thy heart shall dwell;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor ear can hear nor tongue can tell<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The tortures of that inward hell!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But first, on earth as Vampire<a name="FNanchor_109" id="FNanchor_109"></a><a href="#Footnote_109" class="fnanchor">[109]</a> sent,<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[122]</a></span><span class="i0">Thy corse shall from its tomb be rent:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then ghastly haunt thy native place,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And suck the blood of all thy race;<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">There from thy daughter, sister, wife,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At midnight drain the stream of life;<span class='linenum'>760</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet loathe the banquet which perforce<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Must feed thy livid living corse:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy victims ere they yet expire<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shall know the demon for their sire,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As cursing thee, thou cursing them,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy flowers are withered on the stem.<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">But one that for thy crime must fall,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The youngest, most beloved of all,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shall bless thee with a <i>father's</i> name—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That word shall wrap thy heart in flame!<span class='linenum'>770</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet must thou end thy task, and mark<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her cheek's last tinge, her eye's last spark,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[123]</a></span> + +<span class="i0">And the last glassy glance must view<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which freezes o'er its lifeless blue;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then with unhallowed hand shalt tear<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The tresses of her yellow hair,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of which in life a lock when shorn<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Affection's fondest pledge was worn,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But now is borne away by thee,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Memorial of thine agony!<span class='linenum'>780</span><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Wet with thine own best blood shall drip<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy gnashing tooth and haggard lip;<a name="FNanchor_110" id="FNanchor_110"></a><a href="#Footnote_110" class="fnanchor">[110]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then stalking to thy sullen grave,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Go—and with Gouls and Afrits rave;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till these in horror shrink away<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From Spectre more accursed than they!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<hr /> +</div><div class="stanza"> + +<span class="i0">"How name ye yon lone Caloyer?<a name="FNanchor_111" id="FNanchor_111"></a><a href="#Footnote_111" class="fnanchor">[111]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">His features I have scanned before<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[124]</a></span><span class="i0">In mine own land: 'tis many a year,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Since, dashing by the lonely shore,<span class='linenum'>790</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">I saw him urge as fleet a steed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As ever served a horseman's need.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But once I saw that face, yet then<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">It was so marked with inward pain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I could not pass it by again;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It breathes the same dark spirit now,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As death were stamped upon his brow.<a name="FNanchor_du" id="FNanchor_du"></a><a href="#Footnote_du" class="fnanchor">[du]</a><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"'Tis twice three years at summer tide<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Since first among our freres he came;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And here it soothes him to abide<span class='linenum'>800</span><br /></span> + +<span class="i2">For some dark deed he will not name.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But never at our Vesper prayer,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor e'er before Confession chair<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Kneels he, nor recks he when arise<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Incense or anthem to the skies,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But broods within his cell alone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His faith and race alike unknown.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sea from Paynim land he crost,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And here ascended from the coast;<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Yet seems he not of Othman race,<span class='linenum'>810</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">But only Christian in his face:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I'd judge him some stray renegade,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Repentant of the change he made,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Save that he shuns our holy shrine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor tastes the sacred bread and wine.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Great largess to these walls he brought,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And thus our Abbot's favour bought;<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[125]</a></span> + +<span class="i0">But were I Prior, not a day<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Should brook such stranger's further stay,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or pent within our penance cell<span class='linenum'>820</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Should doom him there for aye to dwell.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Much in his visions mutters he<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of maiden whelmed beneath the sea;<a name="FNanchor_dv" id="FNanchor_dv"></a><a href="#Footnote_dv" class="fnanchor">[dv]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of sabres clashing, foemen flying,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wrongs avenged, and Moslem dying.<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">On cliff he hath been known to stand,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And rave as to some bloody hand<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fresh severed from its parent limb,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Invisible to all but him,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which beckons onward to his grave,<span class='linenum'>830</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And lures to leap into the wave."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<hr /> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<hr /> + +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">Dark and unearthly is the scowl<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That glares beneath his dusky cowl:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The flash of that dilating eye<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Reveals too much of times gone by;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though varying, indistinct its hue,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oft with his glance the gazer rue,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For in it lurks that nameless spell,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which speaks, itself unspeakable,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">A spirit yet unquelled and high,<span class='linenum'>840</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">That claims and keeps ascendancy;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And like the bird whose pinions quake,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But cannot fly the gazing snake,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Will others quail beneath his look,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor 'scape the glance they scarce can brook.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From him the half-affrighted Friar<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When met alone would fain retire,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[126]</a></span> + +<span class="i0">As if that eye and bitter smile<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Transferred to others fear and guile:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not oft to smile descendeth he,<span class='linenum'>850</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And when he doth 'tis sad to see<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That he but mocks at Misery.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How that pale lip will curl and quiver!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then fix once more as if for ever;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As if his sorrow or disdain<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Forbade him e'er to smile again.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Well were it so—such ghastly mirth<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From joyaunce ne'er derived its birth.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But sadder still it were to trace<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What once were feelings in that face:<span class='linenum'>860</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Time hath not yet the features fixed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But brighter traits with evil mixed;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And there are hues not always faded,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Which speak a mind not all degraded<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Even by the crimes through which it waded:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The common crowd but see the gloom<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of wayward deeds, and fitting doom;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The close observer can espy<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A noble soul, and lineage high:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Alas! though both bestowed in vain,<span class='linenum'>870</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which Grief could change, and Guilt could stain,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">It was no vulgar tenement<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To which such lofty gifts were lent,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And still with little less than dread<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On such the sight is riveted.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The roofless cot, decayed and rent,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Will scarce delay the passer-by;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The tower by war or tempest bent,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While yet may frown one battlement,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Demands and daunts the stranger's eye;<span class='linenum'>880</span><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Each ivied arch, and pillar lone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pleads haughtily for glories gone!<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[127]</a></span> +<span class="i0">"His floating robe around him folding,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Slow sweeps he through the columned aisle;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With dread beheld, with gloom beholding<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The rites that sanctify the pile.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But when the anthem shakes the choir,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And kneel the monks, his steps retire;<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">By yonder lone and wavering torch<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His aspect glares within the porch;<span class='linenum'>890</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">There will he pause till all is done—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And hear the prayer, but utter none.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">See—by the half-illumined wall<a name="FNanchor_dw" id="FNanchor_dw"></a><a href="#Footnote_dw" class="fnanchor">[dw]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">His hood fly back, his dark hair fall,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That pale brow wildly wreathing round,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">As if the Gorgon there had bound<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sablest of the serpent-braid<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That o'er her fearful forehead strayed:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For he declines the convent oath,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And leaves those locks unhallowed growth,<span class='linenum'>900</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">But wears our garb in all beside;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, not from piety but pride,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Gives wealth to walls that never heard<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Of his one holy vow nor word.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lo!—mark ye, as the harmony<a name="FNanchor_dx" id="FNanchor_dx"></a><a href="#Footnote_dx" class="fnanchor">[dx]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Peals louder praises to the sky,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That livid cheek, that stony air<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of mixed defiance and despair!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Saint Francis, keep him from the shrine!<a name="FNanchor_dy" id="FNanchor_dy"></a><a href="#Footnote_dy" class="fnanchor">[dy]</a><br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[128]</a></span><span class="i0">Else may we dread the wrath divine<span class='linenum'>910</span><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Made manifest by awful sign.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If ever evil angel bore<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The form of mortal, such he wore;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By all my hope of sins forgiven,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Such looks are not of earth nor heaven!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">To Love the softest hearts are prone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But such can ne'er be all his own;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Too timid in his woes to share,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Too meek to meet, or brave despair;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And sterner hearts alone may feel<span class='linenum'>920</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">The wound that Time can never heal.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The rugged metal of the mine<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Must burn before its surface shine,<a name="FNanchor_dz" id="FNanchor_dz"></a><a href="#Footnote_dz" class="fnanchor">[dz]</a><a name="FNanchor_112" id="FNanchor_112"></a><a href="#Footnote_112" class="fnanchor">[112]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">But plunged within the furnace-flame,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It bends and melts—though still the same;<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Then tempered to thy want, or will,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Twill serve thee to defend or kill—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A breast-plate for thine hour of need,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or blade to bid thy foeman bleed;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But if a dagger's form it bear,<span class='linenum'>930</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Let those who shape its edge, beware!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thus Passion's fire, and Woman's art,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[129]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Can turn and tame the sterner heart;<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">From these its form and tone are ta'en,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And what they make it, must remain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But break—before it bend again.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<hr /> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<hr /> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">If solitude succeed to grief,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Release from pain is slight relief;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The vacant bosom's wilderness<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Might thank the pang that made it less.<a name="FNanchor_113" id="FNanchor_113"></a><a href="#Footnote_113" class="fnanchor">[113]</a><span class='linenum'>940</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">We loathe what none are left to share:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Even bliss—'twere woe alone to bear;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The heart once left thus desolate<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Must fly at last for ease—to hate.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It is as if the dead could feel<a name="FNanchor_114" id="FNanchor_114"></a><a href="#Footnote_114" class="fnanchor">[114]</a><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">The icy worm around them steal,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And shudder, as the reptiles creep<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To revel o'er their rotting sleep,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Without the power to scare away<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[130]</a></span><span class="i0">The cold consumers of their clay!<span class='linenum'>950</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">It is as if the desert bird,<a name="FNanchor_115" id="FNanchor_115"></a><a href="#Footnote_115" class="fnanchor">[115]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Whose beak unlocks her bosom's stream<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">To still her famished nestlings' scream,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor mourns a life to them transferred,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Should rend her rash devoted breast,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And find them flown her empty nest.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The keenest pangs the wretched find<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Are rapture to the dreary void,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The leafless desert of the mind,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The waste of feelings unemployed.<span class='linenum'>960</span><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Who would be doomed to gaze upon<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A sky without a cloud or sun?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Less hideous far the tempest's roar,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Than ne'er to brave the billows more—<a name="FNanchor_ea" id="FNanchor_ea"></a><a href="#Footnote_ea" class="fnanchor">[ea]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thrown, when the war of winds is o'er,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A lonely wreck on Fortune's shore,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Mid sullen calm, and silent bay,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Unseen to drop by dull decay;—<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Better to sink beneath the shock<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Than moulder piecemeal on the rock!<span class='linenum'>970</span><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<hr /> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">"Father! thy, days have passed in peace,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">'Mid counted beads, and countless prayer;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To bid the sins of others cease,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Thyself without a crime or care,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Save transient ills that all must bear,<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">Has been thy lot from youth to age;<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[131]</a></span> +<span class="i2">And thou wilt bless thee from the rage<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of passions fierce and uncontrolled,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Such as thy penitents unfold,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Whose secret sins and sorrows rest<span class='linenum'>980</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Within thy pure and pitying breast.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My days, though few, have passed below<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In much of Joy, but more of Woe;<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">Yet still in hours of love or strife,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I've 'scaped the weariness of Life:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Now leagued with friends, now girt by foes,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I loathed the languor of repose.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Now nothing left to love or hate,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">No more with hope or pride elate,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I'd rather be the thing that crawls<span class='linenum'>990</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Most noxious o'er a dungeon's walls,<a name="FNanchor_116" id="FNanchor_116"></a><a href="#Footnote_116" class="fnanchor">[116]</a><br /></span> + +<span class="i2">Than pass my dull, unvarying days,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Condemned to meditate and gaze.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Yet, lurks a wish within my breast<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For rest—but not to feel 'tis rest.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Soon shall my Fate that wish fulfil;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And I shall sleep without the dream<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of what I was, and would be still<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Dark as to thee my deeds may seem:<a name="FNanchor_eb" id="FNanchor_eb"></a><a href="#Footnote_eb" class="fnanchor">[eb]</a><br /></span> + +<span class="i2">My memory now is but the tomb<span class='linenum'>1000</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of joys long dead; my hope, their doom:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">'Though better to have died with those<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Than bear a life of lingering woes.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My spirit shrunk not to sustain<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The searching throes of ceaseless pain;<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[132]</a></span> +<span class="i2">Nor sought the self-accorded grave<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of ancient fool and modern knave:<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">Yet death I have not feared to meet;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And in the field it had been sweet,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Had Danger wooed me on to move<span class='linenum'>1010</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">The slave of Glory, not of Love.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I've braved it—not for Honour's boast;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I smile at laurels won or lost;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To such let others carve their way,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For high renown, or hireling pay:<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">But place again before my eyes<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Aught that I deem a worthy prize—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The maid I love, the man I hate—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And I will hunt the steps of fate,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To save or slay, as these require,<span class='linenum'>1020</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Through rending steel, and rolling fire:<a name="FNanchor_ec" id="FNanchor_ec"></a><a href="#Footnote_ec" class="fnanchor">[ec]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Nor needst thou doubt this speech from one<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Who would but do—what he <i>hath</i> done.<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">Death is but what the haughty brave,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The weak must bear, the wretch must crave;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Then let life go to Him who gave:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I have not quailed to Danger's brow<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When high and happy—need I <i>now</i>?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<hr /> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">"I loved her, Friar! nay, adored—<br /></span> + +<span class="i4">But these are words that all can use—<span class='linenum'>1030</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">I proved it more in deed than word;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">There's blood upon that dinted sword,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">A stain its steel can never lose:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">'Twas shed for her, who died for me,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[133]</a></span> +<span class="i4">It warmed the heart of one abhorred:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Nay, start not—no—nor bend thy knee,<br /></span> + +<span class="i4">Nor midst my sin such act record;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thou wilt absolve me from the deed,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For he was hostile to thy creed!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The very name of Nazarene<span class='linenum'>1040</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Was wormwood to his Paynim spleen.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Ungrateful fool! since but for brands<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Well wielded in some hardy hands,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And wounds by Galileans given—<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">The surest pass to Turkish heaven—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For him his Houris still might wait<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Impatient at the Prophet's gate.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I loved her—Love will find its way<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Through paths where wolves would fear to prey;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And if it dares enough,'twere hard<span class='linenum'>1050</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">If Passion met not some reward—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">No matter how, or where, or why,<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">I did not vainly seek, nor sigh:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Yet sometimes, with remorse, in vain<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I wish she had not loved again.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">She died—I dare not tell thee how;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But look—'tis written on my brow!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">There read of Cain the curse and crime,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In characters unworn by Time:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Still, ere thou dost condemn me, pause;<span class='linenum'>1060</span><br /></span> + +<span class="i2">Not mine the act, though I the cause.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Yet did he but what I had done<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Had she been false to more than one.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Faithless to him—he gave the blow;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But true to me—I laid him low:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Howe'er deserved her doom might be,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Her treachery was truth to me;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To me she gave her heart, that all<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[134]</a></span> + +<span class="i2">Which Tyranny can ne'er enthrall;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And I, alas! too late to save!<span class='linenum'>1070</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Yet all I then could give, I gave—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">'Twas some relief—our foe a grave.<a name="FNanchor_ed" id="FNanchor_ed"></a><a href="#Footnote_ed" class="fnanchor">[ed]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">His death sits lightly; but her fate<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Has made me—what thou well mayst hate.<br /></span> +<span class="i4">His doom was sealed—he knew it well,<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">Warned by the voice of stern Taheer,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Deep in whose darkly boding ear<a name="FNanchor_117" id="FNanchor_117"></a><a href="#Footnote_117" class="fnanchor">[117]</a><br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[135]</a></span><span class="i2">The deathshot pealed of murder near,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">As filed the troop to where they fell!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He died too in the battle broil,<span class='linenum'>1080</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">A time that heeds nor pain nor toil;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">One cry to Mahomet for aid,<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">One prayer to Alla all he made:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He knew and crossed me in the fray—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I gazed upon him where he lay,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And watched his spirit ebb away:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Though pierced like pard by hunter's steel,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He felt not half that now I feel.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I searched, but vainly searched, to find<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The workings of a wounded mind;<span class='linenum'>1090</span><br /></span> + +<span class="i2">Each feature of that sullen corse<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Betrayed his rage, but no remorse.<a name="FNanchor_118" id="FNanchor_118"></a><a href="#Footnote_118" class="fnanchor">[118]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Oh, what had Vengeance given to trace<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Despair upon his dying face!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The late repentance of that hour<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When Penitence hath lost her power<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To tear one terror from the grave,<a name="FNanchor_ee" id="FNanchor_ee"></a><a href="#Footnote_ee" class="fnanchor">[ee]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">And will not soothe, and cannot save.<br /></span> + +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[136]</a></span><hr /> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">"The cold in clime are cold in blood,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Their love can scarce deserve the name;<span class='linenum'>1100</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">But mine was like the lava flood<br /></span> +<span class="i4">That boils in Ætna's breast of flame.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I cannot prate in puling strain<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of Ladye-love, and Beauty's chain:<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">If changing cheek, and scorching vein,<a name="FNanchor_ef" id="FNanchor_ef"></a><a href="#Footnote_ef" class="fnanchor">[ef]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Lips taught to writhe, but not complain,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">If bursting heart, and maddening brain,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And daring deed, and vengeful steel,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And all that I have felt, and feel,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Betoken love—that love was mine,<span class='linenum'>1110</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">And shown by many a bitter sign.<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">'Tis true, I could not whine nor sigh,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I knew but to obtain or die.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I die—but first I have possessed,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And come what may, I <i>have been</i> blessed.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Shall I the doom I sought upbraid?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">No—reft of all, yet undismayed<a name="FNanchor_eg" id="FNanchor_eg"></a><a href="#Footnote_eg" class="fnanchor">[eg]</a><br /></span> + +<span class="i2">But for the thought of Leila slain,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Give me the pleasure with the pain,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">So would I live and love again.<span class='linenum'>1120</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">I grieve, but not, my holy Guide!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For him who dies, but her who died:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">She sleeps beneath the wandering wave—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Ah! had she but an earthly grave,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">This breaking heart and throbbing head<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">Should seek and share her narrow bed.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">She was a form of Life and Light,<a name="FNanchor_119" id="FNanchor_119"></a><a href="#Footnote_119" class="fnanchor">[119]</a><br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[137]</a></span><span class="i2">That, seen, became a part of sight;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And rose, where'er I turned mine eye,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The Morning-star of Memory!<span class='linenum'>1130</span><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">"Yes, Love indeed is light from heaven;<a name="FNanchor_eh" id="FNanchor_eh"></a><a href="#Footnote_eh" class="fnanchor">[eh]</a><a name="FNanchor_120" id="FNanchor_120"></a><a href="#Footnote_120" class="fnanchor">[120]</a><br /></span> + +<span class="i4">A spark of that immortal fire<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With angels shared, by Alia given,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">To lift from earth our low desire.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Devotion wafts the mind above,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But Heaven itself descends in Love;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A feeling from the Godhead caught,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To wean from self each sordid thought;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A ray of Him who formed the whole;<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[138]</a></span><span class="i2">A Glory circling round the soul!<span class='linenum'>1140</span><br /></span> + +<span class="i2">I grant <i>my</i> love imperfect, all<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That mortals by the name miscall;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Then deem it evil, what thou wilt;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But say, oh say, <i>hers</i> was not Guilt!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">She was my Life's unerring Light:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That quenched—what beam shall break my night?<a name="FNanchor_ei" id="FNanchor_ei"></a><a href="#Footnote_ei" class="fnanchor">[ei]</a><br /></span> + +<span class="i2">Oh! would it shone to lead me still,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Although to death or deadliest ill!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Why marvel ye, if they who lose<br /></span> +<span class="i4">This present joy, this future hope,<span class='linenum'>1150</span><br /></span> +<span class="i4">No more with Sorrow meekly cope;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In phrensy then their fate accuse;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In madness do those fearful deeds<br /></span> +<span class="i4">That seem to add but Guilt to Woe?<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">Alas! the breast that inly bleeds<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Hath nought to dread from outward blow:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Who falls from all he knows of bliss,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Cares little into what abyss.<a name="FNanchor_ej" id="FNanchor_ej"></a><a href="#Footnote_ej" class="fnanchor">[ej]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Fierce as the gloomy vulture's now<br /></span> +<span class="i4">To thee, old man, my deeds appear:<span class='linenum'>1160</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">I read abhorrence on thy brow,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And this too was I born to bear!<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">'Tis true, that, like that bird of prey,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With havock have I marked my way:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But this was taught me by the dove,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To die—and know no second love.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">This lesson yet hath man to learn,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Taught by the thing he dares to spurn:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The bird that sings within the brake,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The swan that swims upon the lake,<span class='linenum'>1170</span><br /></span> + +<span class="i2">One mate, and one alone, will take.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[139]</a></span> +<span class="i2">And let the fool still prone to range,<a name="FNanchor_ek" id="FNanchor_ek"></a><a href="#Footnote_ek" class="fnanchor">[ek]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">And sneer on all who cannot change,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Partake his jest with boasting boys;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I envy not his varied joys,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But deem such feeble, heartless man,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Less than yon solitary swan;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Far, far beneath the shallow maid<a name="FNanchor_el" id="FNanchor_el"></a><a href="#Footnote_el" class="fnanchor">[el]</a><br /></span> + +<span class="i2">He left believing and betrayed.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Such shame at least was never mine—<span class='linenum'>1180</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Leila! each thought was only thine!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My good, my guilt, my weal, my woe,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My hope on high—my all below.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Each holds no other like to thee,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Or, if it doth, in vain for me:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For worlds I dare not view the dame<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">Resembling thee, yet not the same.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The very crimes that mar my youth,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">This bed of death—attest my truth!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">'Tis all too late—thou wert, thou art<span class='linenum'>1190</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">The cherished madness of my heart!<a name="FNanchor_em" id="FNanchor_em"></a><a href="#Footnote_em" class="fnanchor">[em]</a><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">"And she was lost—and yet I breathed,<br /></span> + +<span class="i4">But not the breath of human life:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A serpent round my heart was wreathed,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And stung my every thought to strife.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Alike all time, abhorred all place,<a name="FNanchor_en" id="FNanchor_en"></a><a href="#Footnote_en" class="fnanchor">[en]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Shuddering I shrank from Nature's face,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[140]</a></span> +<span class="i2">Where every hue that charmed before<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The blackness of my bosom wore.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The rest thou dost already know,<span class='linenum'>1200</span><br /></span> + +<span class="i2">And all my sins, and half my woe.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But talk no more of penitence;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thou seest I soon shall part from hence:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And if thy holy tale were true,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The deed that's done canst <i>thou</i> undo?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Think me not thankless—but this grief<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Looks not to priesthood for relief.<a name="FNanchor_eo" id="FNanchor_eo"></a><a href="#Footnote_eo" class="fnanchor">[eo]</a><a name="FNanchor_121" id="FNanchor_121"></a><a href="#Footnote_121" class="fnanchor">[121]</a><br /></span> + +<span class="i2">My soul's estate in secret guess:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But wouldst thou pity more, say less.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When thou canst bid my Leila live,<span class='linenum'>1210</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Then will I sue thee to forgive;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Then plead my cause in that high place<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Where purchased masses proffer grace.<a name="FNanchor_ep" id="FNanchor_ep"></a><a href="#Footnote_ep" class="fnanchor">[ep]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Go, when the hunter's hand hath wrung<br /></span> +<span class="i2">From forest-cave her shrieking young,<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">And calm the lonely lioness:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But soothe not—mock not <i>my</i> distress!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">"In earlier days, and calmer hours,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">When heart with heart delights to blend,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Where bloom my native valley's bowers,<a name="FNanchor_eq" id="FNanchor_eq"></a><a href="#Footnote_eq" class="fnanchor">[eq]</a><span class='linenum'>1220</span><br /></span> + +<span class="i4">I had—Ah! have I now?—a friend!<a name="FNanchor_er" id="FNanchor_er"></a><a href="#Footnote_er" class="fnanchor">[er]</a><br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[141]</a></span><span class="i2">To him this pledge I charge thee send,<a name="FNanchor_es" id="FNanchor_es"></a><a href="#Footnote_es" class="fnanchor">[es]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i4">Memorial of a youthful vow;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I would remind him of my end:<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Though souls absorbed like mine allow<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Brief thought to distant Friendship's claim,<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">Yet dear to him my blighted name.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">'Tis strange—he prophesied my doom,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And I have smiled—I then could smile—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When Prudence would his voice assume,<span class='linenum'>1230</span><br /></span> +<span class="i4">And warn—I recked not what—the while:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But now Remembrance whispers o'er<a name="FNanchor_et" id="FNanchor_et"></a><a href="#Footnote_et" class="fnanchor">[et]</a><br /></span> + +<span class="i2">Those accents scarcely marked before.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Say—that his bodings came to pass,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And he will start to hear their truth,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And wish his words had not been sooth:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Tell him—unheeding as I was,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Through many a busy bitter scene<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Of all our golden youth had been,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In pain, my faltering tongue had tried<span class='linenum'>1240</span><br /></span> + +<span class="i2">To bless his memory—ere I died;<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[142]</a></span> +<span class="i2">But Heaven in wrath would turn away,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">If Guilt should for the guiltless pray.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I do not ask him not to blame,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Too gentle he to wound my name;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And what have I to do with Fame?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I do not ask him not to mourn,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Such cold request might sound like scorn;<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">And what than Friendship's manly tear<br /></span> +<span class="i2">May better grace a brother's bier?<span class='linenum'>1250</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">But bear this ring, his own of old,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And tell him—what thou dost behold!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The withered frame, the ruined mind,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The wrack by passion left behind,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A shrivelled scroll, a scattered leaf,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Seared by the autumn blast of Grief!<br /></span> + +</div><div class="stanza"> +<hr /> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4">"Tell me no more of Fancy's gleam,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">No, father, no,'twas not a dream;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Alas! the dreamer first must sleep,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I only watched, and wished to weep;<span class='linenum'>1260</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">But could not, for my burning brow<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Throbbed to the very brain as now:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I wished but for a single tear,<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">As something welcome, new, and dear:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I wished it then, I wish it still;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Despair is stronger than my will.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Waste not thine orison, despair<a name="FNanchor_eu" id="FNanchor_eu"></a><a href="#Footnote_eu" class="fnanchor">[eu]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Is mightier than thy pious prayer:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I would not, if I might, be blest;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I want no Paradise, but rest.<span class='linenum'>1270</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">'Twas then—I tell thee—father! then<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">I saw her; yes, she lived again;<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[143]</a></span> +<span class="i2">And shining in her white symar<a name="FNanchor_122" id="FNanchor_122"></a><a href="#Footnote_122" class="fnanchor">[122]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">As through yon pale gray cloud the star<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Which now I gaze on, as on her,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Who looked and looks far lovelier;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Dimly I view its trembling spark;<a name="FNanchor_ev" id="FNanchor_ev"></a><a href="#Footnote_ev" class="fnanchor">[ev]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">To-morrow's night shall be more dark;<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">And I, before its rays appear,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That lifeless thing the living fear.<span class='linenum'>1280</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">I wander—father! for my soul<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Is fleeting towards the final goal.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I saw her—friar! and I rose<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Forgetful of our former woes;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And rushing from my couch, I dart,<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">And clasp her to my desperate heart;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I clasp—what is it that I clasp?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">No breathing form within my grasp,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">No heart that beats reply to mine—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Yet, Leila! yet the form is thine!<span class='linenum'>1290</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">And art thou, dearest, changed so much<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As meet my eye, yet mock my touch?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Ah! were thy beauties e'er so cold,<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">I care not—so my arms enfold<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The all they ever wished to hold.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Alas! around a shadow prest<br /></span> +<span class="i2">They shrink upon my lonely breast;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Yet still 'tis there! In silence stands,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And beckons with beseeching hands!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With braided hair, and bright-black eye—<span class='linenum'>1300</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">I knew 'twas false—she could not die!<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[144]</a></span> + +<span class="i2">But <i>he</i> is dead! within the dell<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I saw him buried where he fell;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He comes not—for he cannot break<br /></span> +<span class="i2">From earth;—why then art <i>thou</i> awake?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">They told me wild waves rolled above<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">The face I view—the form I love;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">They told me—'twas a hideous tale!—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I'd tell it, but my tongue would fail:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">If true, and from thine ocean-cave<span class='linenum'>1310</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thou com'st to claim a calmer grave,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Oh! pass thy dewy fingers o'er<br /></span> +<span class="i2">This brow that then will burn no more;<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">Or place them on my hopeless heart:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But, Shape or Shade! whate'er thou art,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In mercy ne'er again depart!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Or farther with thee bear my soul<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Than winds can waft or waters roll!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<hr /> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">"Such is my name, and such my tale.<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Confessor! to thy secret ear<span class='linenum'>1320</span><br /></span> + +<span class="i2">I breathe the sorrows I bewail,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And thank thee for the generous tear<br /></span> +<span class="i2">This glazing eye could never shed.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Then lay me with the humblest dead,<a name="FNanchor_ew" id="FNanchor_ew"></a><a href="#Footnote_ew" class="fnanchor">[ew]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">And, save the cross above my head,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Be neither name nor emblem spread,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">By prying stranger to be read,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Or stay the passing pilgrim's tread."<a name="FNanchor_123" id="FNanchor_123"></a><a href="#Footnote_123" class="fnanchor">[123]</a><br /></span> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[145]</a></span></div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He passed—nor of his name and race<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[146]</a></span><span class="i0">He left a token or a trace,<span class='linenum'>1330</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Save what the Father must not say<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who shrived him on his dying day:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This broken tale was all we knew<a name="FNanchor_ex" id="FNanchor_ex"></a><a href="#Footnote_ex" class="fnanchor">[ex]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of her he loved, or him he slew.<br /></span> + +</div></div> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[147]</a></span></p> + +<div class="footnotes"> +<h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_55" id="Footnote_55"></a><a href="#FNanchor_55"><span class="label">[55]</span></a> <a id="Note_85"></a>{85} A tomb above the rocks on the promontory, +by some supposed the sepulchre of Themistocles. +</p><p> +["There are," says Cumberland, in his <i>Observer</i>, "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— +</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"'By the sea's margin, on the watery strand,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy monument, Themistocles, shall stand:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By this directed to thy native shore,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The merchant shall convey his freighted store;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And when our fleets are summoned to the fight<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Athens shall conquer with thy tomb in sight.'"<br /></span> +</div></div> +<p class="attrib">Note to Edition 1832.</p> +<p> + +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 <i>Themistocles</i> (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.—<i>Travels in +Albania</i>, 1858, i. 317, 318.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_cg" id="Footnote_cg"></a><a href="#FNanchor_cg"><span class="label">[cg]</span></a> <a id="Note_86"></a>{86} +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>Fair clime! where</i> ceaseless summer <i>smiles</i><br /></span> + +<span class="i0"><i>Benignant o'er those blessed isles</i>,<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Which seen from far Colonna's height</i>,<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Make glad the heart that hails the sight</i>,<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>And lend to loneliness delight</i>.<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>There</i> shine the bright abodes ye seek,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like dimples upon Occan's cheek,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">So smiling round the waters lave<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>These Edens of the Eastern wave</i>.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or <i>if, at times, the transient breeze</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Break the</i> smooth <i>crystal of the seas</i>,<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Or</i> brush <i>one blossom from the trees</i>,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0"><i>How</i> grateful <i>is each gentle air</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>That wakes and wafts the</i> fragrance <i>there</i>.—[MS.]<br /></span> +<span class="i0">——<i>the fragrance there</i>.—[Second Edition.]<br /></span> +</div></div> + +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_56" id="Footnote_56"></a><a href="#FNanchor_56"><span class="label">[56]</span></a> 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. +</p><p> +[Thus Mesihi, as translated by Sir William Jones— +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Come, charming maid! and hear thy poet sing,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thyself the rose and he the bird of spring:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Love bids him sing, and Love will be obey'd.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Be gay: too soon the flowers of spring will fade."<br /></span> + +</div></div> +<p> +"The full style and title of the Persian nightingale +(<i>Pycnonotus hæmorrhous</i>) is 'Bulbul-i-hazár-dástán,' +usually shortened to 'Hazar' +(bird of a thousand tales = the thousand), generally called 'Andalib.'" +(See <i>Arabian Nights</i>, by Richard F. Burton, 1887; <i>Supplemental +Nights</i>, iii. 506.) For the nightingale's attachment to the +rose, compare Moore's <i>Lalla Rookh</i>— +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> + +<span class="i0">"Oh! sooner shall the rose of May<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Mistake her own sweet nightingale," etc.<br /></span> +</div></div> +<p class="attrib">(Ed. "Chandos Classics," p. 423) +</p><p> +and Fitzgerald's translation of the <i>Rubáiyát</i> of Omar Khayyám +(stanza vi.)— +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> + +<span class="i0">"And David's lips are lockt; but in divine<br /></span> +<span class="i0">High piping Pehlevi, with 'Wine! Wine! Wine!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Red Wine!'—the Nightingale cries to the Rose<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That sallow cheek of hers to incarnadine."<br /></span> +</div></div> +<p class="attrib"><i>Rubáiyát, etc.</i>, 1899, p. 29, and note, p. 62. +</p><p> +Byron was indebted for his information to a note on a passage in +<i>Vathek</i>, by S. Henley (<i>Vathek</i>, 1893, p. 217).] + +</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_57" id="Footnote_57"></a><a href="#FNanchor_57"><span class="label">[57]</span></a> <a id="Note_87"></a>{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.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"> +<p><a name="Footnote_ch" id="Footnote_ch"></a><a href="#FNanchor_ch"> +<span class="label">[ch]</span></a> <a id="Note_88"></a>{88} +<i>Should wanton in a wilderness</i>.—[MS.] +</p> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_ci" id="Footnote_ci"></a><a href="#FNanchor_ci"><span class="label">[ci]</span></a> The first draft of this celebrated passage differs in many +particulars from the Fair Copy, which, with the exception of the +passages marked as <i>vars.</i> i. (p. 89) and i. (p. 90), is the same as the +text. It ran as follows:— +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>He who hath bent him o'er the dead</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Ere the first day of death is fled</i>—<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>The first dark day of Nothingness</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>The last of</i> doom <i>and of distress</i>—<br /></span> + +<span class="i0"><i>Before</i> Corruption's <i>cankering fingers</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Hath</i> tinged the hue <i>where Beauty lingers</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>And marked</i> the soft and settled <i>air</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0">That dwells with all but Spirit there<br /></span> + +<span class="i0"><i>The fixed yet tender</i> lines <i>that speak</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of Peace along <i>the placid cheek</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>And—but for that sad shrouded eye</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>That fires not</i>—pleads <i>not—weeps not—now—</i><br /></span> + +<span class="i0"><i>And but for that pale</i> chilling <i>brow</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whose touch tells of Mortality<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><span class="lineout">And curdles to the Gazer's heart</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>As if to him it could impart</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>The doom</i> he only <i>looks upon</i>—<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Yes but for these and these alone</i>,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">A moment—yet—a little hour<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We <i>still might doubt the Tyrant's power</i>.<br /></span> +</div></div> +<p> +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.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_58" id="Footnote_58"></a><a href="#FNanchor_58"><span class="label">[58]</span></a> [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."—<i>Mysteries of Udolpho</i>, by Mrs. +Ann Radcliffe, 1794, ii. 29.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_cj" id="Footnote_cj"></a><a href="#FNanchor_cj"><span class="label">[cj]</span></a> <a id="Note_89"></a>{89} +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>And marked the almost dreaming air</i>,<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Which speaks the sweet repose that's there</i>.—<br /></span> +</div></div> +<p class="attrib">[MS. of Fair Copy.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_59" id="Footnote_59"></a><a href="#FNanchor_59"><span class="label">[59]</span></a> <a id="Note_90"></a>{90} + +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Aye, but to die, and go we know not where;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To lie in cold obstruction?"<br /></span> +</div></div> +<p class="attrib"><i>Measure for Measure</i>, act iii. sc. I, lines 115, 116. +</p> +<p> +[Compare, too, <i>Childe Harold</i>, Canto II. stanza iv. line 5.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_ck" id="Footnote_ck"></a><a href="#FNanchor_ck"><span class="label">[ck]</span></a> + +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>Whose touch thrills with mortality</i>,<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>And curdles to the gazer's heart</i>.—[MS. of Fair Copy.]<br /></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_60" id="Footnote_60"></a><a href="#FNanchor_60"><span class="label">[60]</span></a> 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.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_61" id="Footnote_61"></a><a href="#FNanchor_61"><span class="label">[61]</span></a> [In Dallaway's <i>Constantinople</i> (p. 2) [Rev. James Dallaway +(1763-1834) published <i>Constantinople Ancient and Modern, etc</i>., in +1797], a book which Lord Byron is not unlikely to have consulted, +I find a passage quoted from Gillies' <i>History of Greece</i>(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, <i>Note to +Edition</i> 1832.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_62" id="Footnote_62"></a><a href="#FNanchor_62"><span class="label">[62]</span></a> <a id="Note_91"></a>{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.—(<i>Note to Edition</i> 1837. The lines were added to the +Second Edition.)]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"> +<p><a name="Footnote_cl" id="Footnote_cl"></a><a href="#FNanchor_cl"><span class="label">[cl]</span></a> <i>Fountain of Wisdom! can it be</i>.—[MS. erased.]</p> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_63" id="Footnote_63"></a><a href="#FNanchor_63"><span class="label">[63]</span></a> [Compare—"Son of the Morning, rise! approach you here!" <i>Childe Harold</i>, Canto II. stanza iii. line 1.] +</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_cm" id="Footnote_cm"></a><a href="#FNanchor_cm"><span class="label">[cm]</span></a> +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>Why is not this Thermopylæ</i>;<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>These waters blue that round you lave</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Degenerate offspring of the free</i>—<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>How name ye them what shore is this?</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>The wave, the rock of Salamis?</i>—[MS.]<br /></span> + +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_cn" id="Footnote_cn"></a><a href="#FNanchor_cn"><span class="label">[cn]</span></a> <a id="Note_92"></a>{92} +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>And he who in the cause expires</i>,<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Will add a name and fate to them</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Well worthy of his noble stem</i>.—[MS.]<br /></span> + +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_co" id="Footnote_co"></a><a href="#FNanchor_co"><span class="label">[co]</span></a> <i>Commenced by Sire—renewed by Son</i>.—[MS.] +</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_cp" id="Footnote_cp"></a><a href="#FNanchor_cp"><span class="label">[cp]</span></a> +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>Attest it many a former age</i><br /></span> + +<span class="i0"><i>While kings in dark oblivion hid</i>.—[MS.]<br /></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_cq" id="Footnote_cq"></a><a href="#FNanchor_cq"><span class="label">[cq]</span></a> <i>There let the Muse direct thine eye</i>.—[MS.] +</p> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_cr" id="Footnote_cr"></a><a href="#FNanchor_cr"><span class="label">[cr]</span></a> <a id="Note_93"></a>{93} <i>The hearts amid thy mountains bred</i>.—[MS.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_64" id="Footnote_64"></a><a href="#FNanchor_64"><span class="label">[64]</span></a> 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 <i>governs</i> the <i>governor</i> of Athens! +</p><p> +[Hobhouse maintains that this subordination of the waiwodes +(or vaivodes = the Sclavic +<span title="boebo/da">βοεβόδα</span> +(Turkish governors of Athens) to +a higher Turkish official, was on the whole favourable to the liberties +and well-being of the Athenians.—<i>Travels in Albania</i>, 1858, i. 246.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_cs" id="Footnote_cs"></a><a href="#FNanchor_cs"><span class="label">[cs]</span></a> +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>Now to the neighbouring shores they waft</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Their ancient and proverbial craft</i>.—[MS. erased.]<br /></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_ct" id="Footnote_ct"></a><a href="#FNanchor_ct"><span class="label">[ct]</span></a> <a id="Note_94"></a>{94} <i>he silent slants the doubtful creek</i>.—[MS]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_65" id="Footnote_65"></a><a href="#FNanchor_65"><span class="label">[65]</span></a> [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.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_66" id="Footnote_66"></a><a href="#FNanchor_66"><span class="label">[66]</span></a> [In Dr. Clarke's Travels (Edward Daniel Clarke, 1769-1822, +published <i>Travels in Europe, Asia, Africa</i>, 1810-24), this word, +which means <i>infidel</i>, is always written according to its +English pronunciation, <i>Djour</i>. Byron adopted the Italian spelling +usual among the Franks of the Levant.—<i>Note to Edition</i> 1832. + +</p><p> +The pronunciation of the word depends on its origin. If it is +associated with the Arabic <i>jawr</i>, a "deviating" or "erring," the +initial consonant would be soft, but if with the Persian <i>gawr</i>, +or <i>guebre</i>, "a fire-worshipper," the word should be pronounced +<i>Gow-er</i>—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 <i>Gy-ours</i> (the <i>G</i> hard), by their Mohammedan +countrymen.—(From information kindly supplied by Mr. A. G. Ellis, of the +Oriental Printed Books and MSS. Department, British Museum.)]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_cu" id="Footnote_cu"></a><a href="#FNanchor_cu"><span class="label">[cu]</span></a> <a id="Note_95"></a>{95} <i>Though scarcely marked</i>——.—[MS.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_cv" id="Footnote_cv"></a><a href="#FNanchor_cv"><span class="label">[cv]</span></a> +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>With him my wonder as he flew</i>.—[MS.]<br /></span> + +<span class="i0"><i>With him my roused and wondering view</i>.—[MS. erased.]<br /></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_cw" id="Footnote_cw"></a><a href="#FNanchor_cw"><span class="label">[cw]</span></a> <a id="Note_96"></a>{96} <i>For him who takes so fast a flight</i>.—[MS. erased.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_67" id="Footnote_67"></a><a href="#FNanchor_67"><span class="label">[67]</span></a> [Compare— + +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"A moment now he slacked his speed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A moment breathed his panting steed."<br /></span> +</div></div> +<p class="attrib"> +Scott's <i>Lay of the Last Minstrel</i>, Canto I. stanza xxvii. lines 1, 2.]</p> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_cx" id="Footnote_cx"></a><a href="#FNanchor_cx"><span class="label">[cx]</span></a> <i>And looked along the olive wood</i>.—[MS.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_68" id="Footnote_68"></a><a href="#FNanchor_68"><span class="label">[68]</span></a> "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 <i>ball</i>, proclaim it during the night. +[The Bairâm, the Moslem Easter, a festival of three days, succeeded +the Ramazân.] +</p><p> +For the illumination of the mosques during the fast of the +Ramazân, see <i>Childe Harold</i>, Canto II. stanza lv. line 5, +<i>Poetical Works</i>, 1899, ii. 134, note 2.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_cy" id="Footnote_cy"></a><a href="#FNanchor_cy"><span class="label">[cy]</span></a> <a id="Note_97"></a>{97} <i>Of transient Anger's Darkening blush</i>.—[MS.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_69" id="Footnote_69"></a><a href="#FNanchor_69"><span class="label">[69]</span></a> [For "hasty," all the editions till the twelfth +read "<i>darkening</i> 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." <i>Notes to Editions</i> 1832, +1837.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_cz" id="Footnote_cz"></a><a href="#FNanchor_cz"><span class="label">[cz]</span></a> +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>As doubting if to stay or fly</i>—<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Then turned it swiftly to his blade;</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>As loud his raven charger neighed</i>—<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>That sound dispelled his waking dream</i>,<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>As sleepers start at owlet's scream</i>.—[MS.]<br /></span> + +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_70" id="Footnote_70"></a><a href="#FNanchor_70"><span class="label">[70]</span></a> 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 <i>manly</i> 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.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_da" id="Footnote_da"></a><a href="#FNanchor_da"><span class="label">[da]</span></a> <a id="Note_98"></a>{98} +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>'Twas but an instant, though so long</i><br /></span> + +<span class="i0"><i>When thus dilated in my song</i>.<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>'Twas but an instant</i>——.—[MS.]<br /></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_db" id="Footnote_db"></a><a href="#FNanchor_db"><span class="label">[db]</span></a> +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>Such moment holds a thousand years</i>.<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">or, <i>Such moment proves the grief of years</i>.—[MS.]<br /></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_71" id="Footnote_71"></a><a href="#FNanchor_71"><span class="label">[71]</span></a> ["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 <i>Spectator</i>" +[No. 94, June 18, 1711].—<i>Memoir of John Murray</i>, +1891, i. 219, note.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_72" id="Footnote_72"></a><a href="#FNanchor_72"><span class="label">[72]</span></a> [Lines 271-276 were added in the Third Edition. +The MS. proceeds with a direction (dated July 31, 1813) +to the printer—"And alter +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'A life of <i>woe</i>—an age of crime—'<br /></span> +</div></div> +<p> +to +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> + +<span class="i0">'A life of <i>pain</i>—an age of crime.'<br /></span> +</div></div> +<p> +Alter also the lines +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'On him who loves or hates or fears<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Such moment holds a thousand years,'<br /></span> +</div></div> +<p> +to +</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'O'er him who loves or hates or fears<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Such moment pours the grief of years.'"]<br /></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_dc" id="Footnote_dc"></a><a href="#FNanchor_dc"><span class="label">[dc]</span></a> <a id="Note_99"></a>{99} <i>But neither fled nor fell alone</i>.—[MS.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_73" id="Footnote_73"></a><a href="#FNanchor_73"><span class="label">[73]</span></a> The blast of the desert, fatal to everything living, +and often alluded to in Eastern poetry. + +</p><p> +[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 <i>Life and Travels</i>, ed. 1830, p. 470).—Note to Edition 1832.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_dd" id="Footnote_dd"></a><a href="#FNanchor_dd"><span class="label">[dd]</span></a> There are two MS. versions of lines 290-298: +(A) a rough copy, and (B) a fair copy— +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">(A) <i>And wide the Spider's thin grey pall</i><br /></span> +<span class="i4"><i>Is curtained on the splendid wall</i>—<br /></span> + +<span class="i4"><i>The Bat hath built in his mother's bower</i>,<br /></span> +<span class="i4"><i>And in the fortress of his power</i><br /></span> +<span class="i4"><i>The Owl hath fixed her beacon tower</i>,<br /></span> +<span class="i4"><i>The wild dogs howl on the fountain's brim</i><br /></span> +<span class="i4"><i>With baffled thirst and famine grim</i>,<br /></span> +<span class="i4"><i>For the stream is shrunk from its marble bed</i><br /></span> +<span class="i4"><i>Where Desolation's dust is spread</i>.—[MS.]<br /></span> + +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">B. ["August 5, 1813, in last of 3rd or first of 4th ed."]<br /></span> +<span class="i4"><i>The lonely Spider's thin grey pall</i><br /></span> +<span class="i4"><i>Is curtained o'er the splendid wall</i>—<br /></span> +<span class="i4"><i>The Bat builds in his mother's bower;</i><br /></span> +<span class="i4"><i>And in the fortress of his power</i><br /></span> +<span class="i4"><i>The Owl hath fixed her beacon-tower</i>,<br /></span> +<span class="i4"><i>The wild dog howls o'er the fountain's brink</i>,<br /></span> + +<span class="i4"><i>But vainly lolls his tongue to drink</i>.—[MS.]<br /></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_74" id="Footnote_74"></a><a href="#FNanchor_74"><span class="label">[74]</span></a> <a id="Note_100"></a>{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 <i>Balclutha</i>). +"The dreary night-owl screams in the solitary retreat of his mouldering +ivy-covered tower" (<i>Larnul, or the Song of Despair: Poems of +Ossian</i>, discovered by the Baron de Harold, 1787, p. 172). +Compare, too, the well-known lines, "The spider holds the veil in the +palace of Cæsar; the owl stands sentinel on the watch-tower of +Afrasyab" (<i>A Grammar of the Persian Language</i>, by Sir W. Jones, +1809, p. 106).]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_de" id="Footnote_de"></a><a href="#FNanchor_de"><span class="label">[de]</span></a> +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>The silver dew of coldness sprinkling</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>In drops fantastically twinkling</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>As from the spring the silver dew</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>In whirls fantastically flew</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>And dashed luxurions coolness round</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>The air—and verdure on the ground</i>.—[MS.]<br /></span> + +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_df" id="Footnote_df"></a><a href="#FNanchor_df"><span class="label">[df]</span></a> <a id="Note_101"></a>{101} +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i3"><i>For thirsty Fox and Jackal gaunt</i><br /></span> +<span class="i3"><i>May vainly for its waters pant</i>.—[MS.]<br /></span> +<span class="i0">or, <i>The famished fox the wild dog gaunt</i><br /></span> + +<span class="i3"><i>May vainly for its waters pant</i>.—[MS.]<br /></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_dg" id="Footnote_dg"></a><a href="#FNanchor_dg"><span class="label">[dg]</span></a> <i>Might strike an echo</i>——.—[MS.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_dh" id="Footnote_dh"></a><a href="#FNanchor_dh"><span class="label">[dh]</span></a> <a id="Note_102"></a>{102} + +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>And welcome Life though but in one</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>For many a gilded chamber's there</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Unmeet for Solitude to share</i>.—- [MS.]<br /></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_75" id="Footnote_75"></a><a href="#FNanchor_75"><span class="label">[75]</span></a> ["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 <i>one</i>, +and Solitude is a single gentlewoman: it must be thus— + +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'For many a gilded chamber's there,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which Solitude might well forbear;'<br /></span> +</div></div> +<p> +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, <i>Letters</i>, 1898, ii. 274.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_di" id="Footnote_di"></a><a href="#FNanchor_di"><span class="label">[di]</span></a> <i>To share the Master's "bread and salt."</i>—[MS.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_76" id="Footnote_76"></a><a href="#FNanchor_76"><span class="label">[76]</span></a> [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.) +</p><p> +"I leave this (<i>vide supra</i>, <a href="#Footnote_75">note 1</a>) 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 <i>share</i> is +repeated soon after in the line— +</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'To share the master's bread and salt;'<br /></span> +</div></div> +<p> +and must be altered to— +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'To break the master's bread and salt.'<br /></span> +</div></div> +<p> +This is not so well, though—confound it! +</p><p> +If the old line ['Unmeet for Solitude to share'] stands, +let the other run thus— + +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'Nor there will weary traveller halt,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To bless the sacred bread and salt.'"<br /></span> +</div></div> +<p class="attrib">(P.S. to Murray, October 3, 1813.) +</p><p> +The emendation of line 335 made that of line 343 unnecessary, +but both emendations were accepted. +</p><p> +(Moore says (<i>Life</i>; p. 191, note) that the directions are written on +a separate slip of paper from the letter to Murray of October 3, 1813).]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_dj" id="Footnote_dj"></a><a href="#FNanchor_dj"><span class="label">[dj]</span></a> <a id="Note_103"></a>{103} + +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i3"><i>And cold Hospitality shrinks from the labour</i>,<br /></span> +<span class="i3"><i>The slave fled his halter and the serf left his labour</i>.—[MS.]<br /></span> +<span class="i0">or, <i>Ah! there Hospitality light is thy labour</i>,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">or, <i>Ah! who for the traveller's solace will labour?</i>—[MS.]<br /></span> + +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_77" id="Footnote_77"></a><a href="#FNanchor_77"><span class="label">[77]</span></a> 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.—<i>Korân</i>, cap. iv. +Lines 350, 351 were inserted in the Fifth Edition.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_78" id="Footnote_78"></a><a href="#FNanchor_78"><span class="label">[78]</span></a> 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.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_79" id="Footnote_79"></a><a href="#FNanchor_79"><span class="label">[79]</span></a> 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.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_80" id="Footnote_80"></a><a href="#FNanchor_80"><span class="label">[80]</span></a> <a id="Note_104"></a>{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. +</p><p> +["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."—<i>Arabian Nights</i>, by Richard F. Burton, 1887: +<i>Supplemental Nights</i>, i. 14, note.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_dk" id="Footnote_dk"></a><a href="#FNanchor_dk"><span class="label">[dk]</span></a> +</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>Take ye and give ye that salam</i>,<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>That says of Moslem faith I am</i>.—[MS.]<br /></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_dl" id="Footnote_dl"></a><a href="#FNanchor_dl"><span class="label">[dl]</span></a> <i>Which one of yonder barks may wait</i>.—[MS.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_81" id="Footnote_81"></a><a href="#FNanchor_81"><span class="label">[81]</span></a> [In the MS. and the first five editions the broken +line (373) consisted of two words only, "That one."]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_82" id="Footnote_82"></a><a href="#FNanchor_82"><span class="label">[82]</span></a> The blue-winged butterfly of Kashmeer, +the most rare and beautiful of the species. +</p><p> +[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 <i>Vathek</i>, ed. 1893, p. 222. +Byron, in his Journal, December 1, 1813, speaks of Lady Charlemont +as "that blue-winged Kashmirian butterfly of book-learning."]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_dm" id="Footnote_dm"></a><a href="#FNanchor_dm"><span class="label">[dm]</span></a> <i>If caught, to fate alike betrayed</i>.-[MS.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_dn" id="Footnote_dn"></a><a href="#FNanchor_dn"><span class="label">[dn]</span></a> <a id="Note_106"></a>{106} <i>The gathering flames around her close</i>.-[MS. erased.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_83" id="Footnote_83"></a><a href="#FNanchor_83"><span class="label">[83]</span></a> <a id="Note_107"></a>{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. +</p><p> +[Byron assured Dallas that the simile of the scorpion was imagined +in his sleep.—<i>Recollections of the Life of Lord Byron</i>, by R. C. +Dallas, p. 264. +</p><p> +"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."—<i>Encycl. Brit</i>., art. "Arachnida," by Rev. O. P. +Cambridge, ii. 281.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_do" id="Footnote_do"></a><a href="#FNanchor_do"><span class="label">[do]</span></a> <i>So writhes the mind by Conscience riven</i>.—[MS.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_84" id="Footnote_84"></a><a href="#FNanchor_84"><span class="label">[84]</span></a> The cannon at sunset close the Rhamazan. +[Compare <i>Childe Harold</i>, Canto II. stanza Iv. line 5, +<i>Poetical Works</i>, 1899, ii. 134. note 2.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_85" id="Footnote_85"></a><a href="#FNanchor_85"><span class="label">[85]</span></a> <a id="Note_108"></a>{108} Phingari, the moon. +<span title="phenga/ri">φεγγάρι</span> +is derived from +<span title="phenga/rion">φεγγάριον</span>, +dim. of +<span title="phe/ngos">φέγγος</span>. +</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_86" id="Footnote_86"></a><a href="#FNanchor_86"><span class="label">[86]</span></a> 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. +</p><p> +[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." +</p><p> +For the original of Byron's note, see S. Henley's note, <i>Vathek,</i> + +1893, p. 230. See, too, D'Herbelot's <i>Bibliothèque Orientale</i>, 1781, +iii. 27. +</p><p> +Sir Richard Burton (<i>Arabian Nights, S.N.</i>, iii. 440) gives the +following <i>résumé</i> 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." +</p><p> +Fitzgerald, "in a very composite quatrain (stanza v.) which cannot +be claimed as a translation at all" (see the <i>Rubáiyát</i> of Omar +Khayyaām, by Edward Heron Allen, 1898), embodies a late version +of the myth— + +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Iram is gone and all his Rose,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Jamshyd's sev'n-ringed Cup where no one knows."]<br /></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_87" id="Footnote_87"></a><a href="#FNanchor_87"><span class="label">[87]</span></a> <a id="Note_109"></a>{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 <i>skate</i> into 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. +</p><p> +[Byron is again indebted to <i>Vathek</i>, and S. Henley on <i>Vathek,</i> + +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 (<i>Notæ Miscellaneæ</i>) +on the <i>Porta Mosis</i> of Moses Maimonides (Oxford, 1654, p. 288)— +</p><p> +"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." +</p><p> +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 <i>Zend-Avesta</i>, Yasna xix. 6 +(<i>Sacred Books of the East</i>, 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.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_88" id="Footnote_88"></a><a href="#FNanchor_88"><span class="label">[88]</span></a> <a id="Note_110"></a>{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. +</p><p> +[Sale, in his <i>Preliminary Discourse</i> ("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."—<i>The Qur'ân</i>, translated +by E. H. Palmer, 1880, vi. 183.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_89" id="Footnote_89"></a><a href="#FNanchor_89"><span class="label">[89]</span></a> An Oriental simile, which may, perhaps, though fairly stolen, +be deemed "plus Arabe qu'en Arabie." + +</p><p> +[Gulnár (the heroine of the <i>Corsair</i> is named Gulnare) is Persian +for a pomegranate flower.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_90" id="Footnote_90"></a><a href="#FNanchor_90"><span class="label">[90]</span></a> Hyacinthine, in Arabic "Sunbul;" as common a thought in +the Eastern poets as it was among the Greeks. +</p><p> +[S. Henley (<i>Vathek</i>, 1893, p. 208) quotes two lines from the +<i>Solima</i> (lines 5, 6) of Sir W. Jones— + +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"The fragrant hyacinths of Azza's hair<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That wanton with the laughing summer-air;"<br /></span> +</div></div> +<p> +and refers Milton's "Hyacinthine locks" (<i>Paradise Lost</i>, iv. 301) +to Lucian's <i>Pro Imaginibus</i>, cap. v.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_91" id="Footnote_91"></a><a href="#FNanchor_91"><span class="label">[91]</span></a> <a id="Note_111"></a>{111} "Franguestan," Circassia. [Or Europe generally—the land +of the Frank.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_92" id="Footnote_92"></a><a href="#FNanchor_92"><span class="label">[92]</span></a> [Lines 504-518 were inserted in the second revise of the +Third Edition, July 31, 1813.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_93" id="Footnote_93"></a><a href="#FNanchor_93"><span class="label">[93]</span></a> <a id="Note_113"></a>{113} [Parnassus.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_94" id="Footnote_94"></a><a href="#FNanchor_94"><span class="label">[94]</span></a> "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, <i>Bismillahi 'rrahmani 'rrahiem</i>, i.e. +"In the name of Allah the God of Mercy, the Merciful") is often used +as a deprecatory formula. Sir R. Burton (<i>Arabian Nights</i>, i. +40) cites as an equivalent the "remembering Iddio e' Santí," of +Boccaccio's <i>Decameron</i>, viii. 9. + +</p><p> +The MS. reads, "Thank Alla! now the peril's past."]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_95" id="Footnote_95"></a><a href="#FNanchor_95"><span class="label">[95]</span></a> [A Turkish messenger, sergeant or lictor. +The proper sixteen-seventeenth century pronunciation would have been +<i>chaush</i>, but apparently the nearest approach to this +was <i>chaus</i>, whence <i>chouse</i> and +<i>chiaush</i>, and the vulgar form <i>chiaus</i> + +(<i>N. Eng. Dict</i>., 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."]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_96" id="Footnote_96"></a><a href="#FNanchor_96"><span class="label">[96]</span></a> <a id="Note_114"></a>{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.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_97" id="Footnote_97"></a><a href="#FNanchor_97"><span class="label">[97]</span></a> <a id="Note_115"></a>{115} "Amaun," quarter, pardon. +</p><p> +[Line 603 was inserted in a proof of the Second Edition, dated +July 24, 1813: "Nor raised the <i>coward</i> cry, Amaun!"]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_98" id="Footnote_98"></a><a href="#FNanchor_98"><span class="label">[98]</span></a> 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.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_99" id="Footnote_99"></a><a href="#FNanchor_99"><span class="label">[99]</span></a> [Compare "As with a thousand waves to the rocks, so Swaran's +host came on."—<i>Fingal</i>, bk. i., Ossian's <i>Works</i>, 1807, i. 19.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_dp" id="Footnote_dp"></a><a href="#FNanchor_dp"><span class="label">[dp]</span></a> <a id="Note_116"></a>{116} <i>That neither gives nor asks for life</i>.—[MS.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_100" id="Footnote_100"></a><a href="#FNanchor_100"><span class="label">[100]</span></a> <a id="Note_117"></a>{117} The flowered shawls generally worn by persons of rank.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_101" id="Footnote_101"></a><a href="#FNanchor_101"><span class="label">[101]</span></a> [Compare "Catilina vero longè a suis, inter hostium cadavera +repertus est, paululum etiam spirans ferociamque animi, quam habuerat +vivus, in vultu retinens."—<i>Catilina</i>, cap. 61, <i>Opera</i>, 1820, i. 124.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_dq" id="Footnote_dq"></a><a href="#FNanchor_dq"><span class="label">[dq]</span></a> <a id="Note_118"></a>{118} +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2"><i>His mother looked from the lattice high</i>,<br /></span> +<span class="i2"><i>With throbbing heart and eager eye;</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>The browsing camel bells are tinkling</i>,<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>And the last beam of twilight twinkling:</i><br /></span> +<span class="i2"><i>'Tis eve; his train should now be nigh</i>.<br /></span> + +<span class="i0"><i>She could not rest in her garden bower</i>,<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>And gazed through the loop of her steepest tower</i>.<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>"Why comes he not? his steeds are fleet</i>,<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>And well are they train'd to the summer's heat</i>."—[MS.]<br /></span> +</div></div> +<p> +Another copy began— + +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>The browsing camel bells are tinkling</i>,<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>And the first beam of evening twinkling;</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>His mother looked from her lattice high</i>,<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>With throbbing breast and eager eye</i>—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"'<i>Tis twilight—sure his train is nigh</i>."—[MS. Aug. 11, 1813.]<br /></span> + +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>The browsing camel's bells are tinkling</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>The dews of eve the pasture sprinkling</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>And rising planets feebly twinkling:</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>His mother looked from the lattice high</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>With throbbing heart and eager eye</i>.—[Fourth Edition.]<br /></span> +</div></div> +<p> +[These lines were erased, and lines 689-692 were substituted. +They appeared first in the Fifth Edition.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_102" id="Footnote_102"></a><a href="#FNanchor_102"><span class="label">[102]</span></a> ["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.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_dr" id="Footnote_dr"></a><a href="#FNanchor_dr"><span class="label">[dr]</span></a> <a id="Note_119"></a>{119} <i>And now his courser's pace amends</i>.—[MS. erased.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_ds" id="Footnote_ds"></a><a href="#FNanchor_ds"><span class="label">[ds]</span></a> <i>I could not deem my son was slow</i>.—[MS. erased.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_dt" id="Footnote_dt"></a><a href="#FNanchor_dt"><span class="label">[dt]</span></a> +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>The Tartar sped beneath the gate</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>And flung to earth his fainting weight</i>.—[MS.]<br /></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_103" id="Footnote_103"></a><a href="#FNanchor_103"><span class="label">[103]</span></a> The calpac is the solid cap or centre part of the head-dress; +the shawl is wound round it, and forms the turban.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_104" id="Footnote_104"></a><a href="#FNanchor_104"><span class="label">[104]</span></a> 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. +</p><p> +[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, +<i>Proceedings of the Biblical Archæological Society</i>, +1887, ix. 337, <i>sq</i>.)]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_105" id="Footnote_105"></a><a href="#FNanchor_105"><span class="label">[105]</span></a> <a id="Note_120"></a>{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, <i>Bibliothèque Orientale</i>, 1783, +vi. 473, art. "Valid." See, too, <i>Childe Harold</i>, Canto II. stanza +lix. line 9, <i>Poetical Works</i>, 1899, ii. 136, note 1.)]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_106" id="Footnote_106"></a><a href="#FNanchor_106"><span class="label">[106]</span></a> 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.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_107" id="Footnote_107"></a><a href="#FNanchor_107"><span class="label">[107]</span></a> <a id="Note_121"></a>{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 <i>Relig. Ceremon</i>., v. 290; +vii. 59,68, 118, and Sale's <i>Preliminary Discourse to the Koran</i>, p. 101. +</p><p> + +[Byron is again indebted to S. Henley (see <i>Vathek</i>, 1893, p. 236). +According to Pococke (<i>Porta Mosis</i>, 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 (<i>de Mohammede</i>), 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.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_108" id="Footnote_108"></a><a href="#FNanchor_108"><span class="label">[108]</span></a> Eblis, the Oriental Prince of Darkness.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_109" id="Footnote_109"></a><a href="#FNanchor_109"><span class="label">[109]</span></a> The Vampire superstition is still general in the Levant. +Honest Tournefort [<i>Relation d'un Voyage du Levant</i>, par Joseph +Pitton de Tournefort, 1717, i. 131] tells a long story, which Mr. Southey, +in the notes on <i>Thalaba</i> [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. +</p><p> +<span title="Bourko/lakas">Βουρκόλακας</span> +or +<span title="Bryko/lakas">Βρυκόλακας</span> +(= the Bohemian and Slovak <i>Vrholak</i>) +is modern Greek for a ghost or vampire. George Bentotes, in his +<span title="Lexikon Tri/glôsson">Λεξικον Τρίγλωσσον</span>, +published in Vienna in 1790 (see <i>Childe Harold</i>, +Canto II. Notes, Papers, etc., No. III., <i>Poetical Works</i>, 1899, ii. +197), renders + +<span title="Brouko/lakas">Βρουκόλακας</span> +"lutin," and +<span title="Broukoliasme/nos">Βρουκολιασμένος</span>, +"devenu un spectre." +</p><p> +Arsenius, Archbishop of Monembasia (circ. 1530), was famous for +his scholarship. He prefaced his <i>Scholia in Septem Euripidis Tragædias</i> +(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 <i>Broukolakas</i>, that +is, that the Devil hovered about his corps and re-animated him" +(Bayle, <i>Dictionary</i>, 1724, i. 508, art. "Arsenius"). Martinus +Crusius, in his <i>Turco-Græcia</i>, 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 <i>verbatim</i> from Guillet, +"Les Grecs disent qu' Arsenius, apres la mort fust <i>Broukolakas</i>," etc. +(<i>Lacédémone, Ancienne et Nouvelle</i>, par Le Sieur de la Guilletiére, +1676, ii. 586. +See, too, for "Arsenius," Fabricii <i>Script. Gr. Var.</i>, 1808, xi. 581, +and Gesneri <i>Bibliotheca Univ</i>., ed. 1545, fol. 96.) Byron, no doubt, +got his information from Bayle. By "old legitimate Hellenic" +he must mean literary as opposed to klephtic Greek.]</p> + +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_110" id="Footnote_110"></a><a href="#FNanchor_110"><span class="label">[110]</span></a> <a id="Note_123"></a>{123} The freshness of the face [? "<i>The paleness of the face</i>," +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 <i>incredibly</i> attested. +</p><p> +[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 <i>Lettres Juives</i>) may +be believed, "laid" the vampire, and the community might sleep +in peace. (See, too, <i>Dissertations sur les Apparitions</i>, par Augustine +Calmet, 1746, p. 395, <i>sq</i>., and <i>Russian Folk-Tales</i>, by W. R. S. +Ralston, 1873, pp. 318-324.)]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_111" id="Footnote_111"></a><a href="#FNanchor_111"><span class="label">[111]</span></a> [For "Caloyer," see <i>Childe Harold</i>, Canto II. stanza xlix. +line 6, and note 21, <i>Poetical Works</i>, 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 <i>Fragment</i>, +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.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_du" id="Footnote_du"></a><a href="#FNanchor_du"><span class="label">[du]</span></a> <a id="Note_124"></a>{124} <i>As Time were wasted on his brow</i>.—[MS.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_dv" id="Footnote_dv"></a><a href="#FNanchor_dv"><span class="label">[dv]</span></a> <a id="Note_125"></a>{125} <i>Of foreign maiden lost at sea</i>.—[MS.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_dw" id="Footnote_dw"></a><a href="#FNanchor_dw"><span class="label">[dw]</span></a> <a id="Note_127"></a>{127} +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>Behold—as turns he from the—wall</i><br /></span> + +<span class="i0"><i>His cowl fly back, his dark hair fall</i>.—[ms]<br /></span> +</div></div> +<p> +[A variant of the copy sent for insertion in the Seventh Edition +differs alike from the MS. and the text—] +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>Behold as turns him from the wall</i>—<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>His Cowl flies back—his tresses fall</i>—<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>That pallid aspect wreathing round</i>.<br /></span> + +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_dx" id="Footnote_dx"></a><a href="#FNanchor_dx"><span class="label">[dx]</span></a> <i>Lo! mark him as the harmony</i>.—[MS.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_dy" id="Footnote_dy"></a><a href="#FNanchor_dy"><span class="label">[dy]</span></a> <i>Thank heaven—he stands without the shrine</i>.—[MS. erased.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_dz" id="Footnote_dz"></a><a href="#FNanchor_dz"><span class="label">[dz]</span></a> <a id="Note_128"></a>{128} +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>Must burn before it smite or shine</i>.—[MS.]<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Appears unfit to smite or shine</i>.—[MS. erased]<br /></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_112" id="Footnote_112"></a><a href="#FNanchor_112"><span class="label">[112]</span></a> [In defence of lines 922-927, which had been attacked by a +critic in the <i>British Review</i>, October, 1813, vol. v. p. 139, who +compared them with some lines in Crabbe's <i>Resentment</i> +(lines 11—16, <i>Tales</i>, 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. +<i>Crabbe's</i> passage I never saw; and Scott I no further +meant to follow than in his <i>lyric</i> measure, which is +Gray's, Milton's, and any one's who like it." +The lines, which Moore quotes (<i>Life</i>, p. 191), +have only a formal and accidental resemblance to the +passage in question.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_113" id="Footnote_113"></a><a href="#FNanchor_113"><span class="label">[113]</span></a> <a id="Note_129"></a>{129} [Compare— +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i8">"To surfeit on the same [our pleasures]<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And yawn our joys. Or thank a misery<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For change, though sad?"<br /></span> +</div></div> +<p> +<i>Night Thoughts</i>, iii., by Edward Young; Anderson's <i>British Poets</i>, +x. 72. Compare, too, <i>Childe Harold</i>, Canto I. stanza vi, line 8—"With +pleasure drugged, he almost longed for woe."] + +</p> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_114" id="Footnote_114"></a><a href="#FNanchor_114"><span class="label">[114]</span></a> [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," +<i>Poetical Works</i>, 1898, i. 276.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_115" id="Footnote_115"></a><a href="#FNanchor_115"><span class="label">[115]</span></a> <a id="Note_130"></a>{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."—<i>Encycl. Brit.</i>, art. "Pelican" +(by Professor A. Newton), xviii. 474.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_ea" id="Footnote_ea"></a><a href="#FNanchor_ea"><span class="label">[ea]</span></a> <i>Than feeling we must feel no more</i>.—[MS.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_116" id="Footnote_116"></a><a href="#FNanchor_116"><span class="label">[116]</span></a> <a id="Note_131"></a>{131} [Compare— +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"I'd rather be a toad,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And live upon the vapours of a dungeon."<br /></span> + +</div></div> +<p class="attrib"><i>Othello</i>, act iii. sc. 3, lines 274, 275.] +</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_eb" id="Footnote_eb"></a><a href="#FNanchor_eb"><span class="label">[eb]</span></a> <i>Though hope hath long withdrawn her beam</i>.—[MS.] +[This line was omitted in the Third and following Editions.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_ec" id="Footnote_ec"></a><a href="#FNanchor_ec"><span class="label">[ec]</span></a> <a id="Note_132"></a>{132} +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> + +<span class="i0"><i>Through ranks of steel and tracks of fire</i>,<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>And all she threatens in her ire;</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>And these are but the words of one</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Who thus would do—who thus hath done</i>.—[MS. erased.]<br /></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_ed" id="Footnote_ed"></a><a href="#FNanchor_ed"><span class="label">[ed]</span></a> <a id="Note_134"></a>{134} <i>My hope a tomb, our foe a grave</i>.—[MS.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_117" id="Footnote_117"></a><a href="#FNanchor_117"><span class="label">[117]</span></a> 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 "<i>Palaocastro</i>" +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 <i>forehearing</i>. 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 <i>Childe Harold</i>, Canto 2nd +[<i>Poetical Works</i>, 1899, ii. 169]. I was at some pains to question the +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 <i>his</i> having been in "villanous company" +[I <i>Henry IV</i>., 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.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_118" id="Footnote_118"></a><a href="#FNanchor_118"><span class="label">[118]</span></a> <a id="Note_135"></a>{135} [<i>Vide ante</i>, <a href="#Page_90">p. 90</a>, line 89, note 2, +"In death from a stab the countenance preserves its traits of feeling +or ferocity."]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_ee" id="Footnote_ee"></a><a href="#FNanchor_ee"><span class="label">[ee]</span></a> +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>Her power to soothe—her skill to save—</i><br /></span> + +<span class="i0"><i>And doubly darken o'er the grave,</i>—[MS.]<br /></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_ef" id="Footnote_ef"></a><a href="#FNanchor_ef"><span class="label">[ef]</span></a> <a id="Note_136"></a>{136} +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>Of Ladye-love—and dart—and chain—</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>And fire that raged in every vein</i>.—[MS.]<br /></span> + +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_eg" id="Footnote_eg"></a><a href="#FNanchor_eg"><span class="label">[eg]</span></a> +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>Even now alone, yet undismayed,—</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>I know no friend, and ask no aid</i>.—[MS.]<br /></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_119" id="Footnote_119"></a><a href="#FNanchor_119"><span class="label">[119]</span></a> [Lines 1127-1130 were inserted in the Seventh Edition. +They recall the first line of Plato's epitaph, + +<span title="A)stê\r prin me\n e)/lampes e)ni zôoi~sin e(ô~|os">Ἀστὴρ πριν μὲν ἔλαμπες ἐνι ζωοῖσιν ἑῷος</span>, +which Byron prefixed to his "Epitaph on a Beloved Friend" +(<i>Poetical Works</i>, 1898, i. 18), and which, long afterwards, +Shelley chose as the motto to his <i>Adonais</i>.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_eh" id="Footnote_eh"></a><a href="#FNanchor_eh"><span class="label">[eh]</span></a> <a id="Note_137"></a>{137} +</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"> +<span class="uc"><i>Yes</i></span> +<span class="dc" style="margin:auto 0.5em auto -1.5em;"><i>If</i></span> +<span class="bb">}</span> +<i>Love indeed</i> +<span class="bb">{</span> +<span style="vertical-align:1em;margin:auto 0em auto 0em;"><i>doth spring</i></span> +<span style="vertical-align:auto;margin:auto 0em auto -4.5em;"><i>descend</i></span> +<span style="vertical-align:-1em;margin:auto 1em auto -3em;"><i>be born</i></span> + +<span class="bb">}</span> +<i>from heaven:</i><br /></span> +<span class="i2"><i>A spark of that</i> +<span class="bb">{</span> +<span style="vertical-align:1em;margin:auto 0em auto 0em;"><i>immortal</i></span> +<span style="vertical-align:auto;margin:auto 0em auto -3em;"><i>eternal</i></span> +<span style="vertical-align:-1em;margin:auto 1em auto -3.5em;"><i>celestial</i></span> +<span class="bb">}</span> +<i>fire</i><br /></span> + +<span class="i0"><i>To human hearts in mercy given,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i2"><i>To lift from earth our low desire,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>A feeling from the Godhead caught,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>To wean from self</i> +<span class="bb">{</span> +<span class="uc"><i>each</i></span> +<span class="dc" style="margin:auto 0.5em auto -2em;"><i>our</i></span> +<span class="bb">}</span> +<i>sordid thought:</i><br /></span> + +<span class="i2"><i>Devotion sends the soul above,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i2"><i>But Heaven itself descends to love,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Yet marvel not, if they who love</i><br /></span> +<span class="i2"><i>This present joy, this future hope</i><br /></span> +<span class="i2"><i>Which taught them with all ill to cope,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i2"><i>No more with anguish bravely cope</i>.—[MS.]<br /></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_120" id="Footnote_120"></a><a href="#FNanchor_120"><span class="label">[120]</span></a> [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."—<i>Letters,</i> 1898, ii. 252.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_ei" id="Footnote_ei"></a><a href="#FNanchor_ei"><span class="label">[ei]</span></a> <a id="Note_138"></a>{138} +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i3"><i>That quenched, I wandered far in night,</i><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">or, <i>'Tis quenched, and I am lost in night</i>.—[MS.]<br /></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_ej" id="Footnote_ej"></a><a href="#FNanchor_ej"><span class="label">[ej]</span></a> <i>Must plunge into a dark abyss</i>.—[MS.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_ek" id="Footnote_ek"></a><a href="#FNanchor_ek"><span class="label">[ek]</span></a> <a id="Note_139"></a>{139} + +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>And let the light, inconstant fool</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>That sneers his coxcomb ridicule</i>.—[MS.]<br /></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_el" id="Footnote_el"></a><a href="#FNanchor_el"><span class="label">[el]</span></a> <i>Less than the soft and shallow maid</i>.—[MS. erased.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_em" id="Footnote_em"></a><a href="#FNanchor_em"><span class="label">[em]</span></a> <i>The joy—the madness of my heart</i>.—[MS.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_en" id="Footnote_en"></a><a href="#FNanchor_en"><span class="label">[en]</span></a> +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i3"><i>To me alike all time and place</i>—<br /></span> +<span class="i3"><i>Scarce could I gaze on Nature's face</i><br /></span> + +<span class="i3"><i>For every hue</i>——.—[MS.]<br /></span> +<span class="i0">or, <i>All, all was changed on Nature's face</i><br /></span> +<span class="i3"><i>To me alike all time and place</i>.—[MS. erased.]<br /></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_eo" id="Footnote_eo"></a><a href="#FNanchor_eo"><span class="label">[eo]</span></a> <a id="Note_140"></a>{140} + +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i13">——<i>but this grief</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>In truth is not for thy relief.</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>My state thy thought can never guess</i>.—[MS.]<br /></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_121" id="Footnote_121"></a><a href="#FNanchor_121"><span class="label">[121]</span></a> 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.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_ep" id="Footnote_ep"></a><a href="#FNanchor_ep"><span class="label">[ep]</span></a> <i>Where thou, it seems, canst offer grace</i>.—[MS. erased.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_eq" id="Footnote_eq"></a><a href="#FNanchor_eq"><span class="label">[eq]</span></a> <i>Where rise my native city's towers</i>.—[MS.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_er" id="Footnote_er"></a><a href="#FNanchor_er"><span class="label">[er]</span></a> <i>I had, and though but one—a friend!</i>—[MS.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_es" id="Footnote_es"></a><a href="#FNanchor_es"><span class="label">[es]</span></a> <a id="Note_141"></a>{141} +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>I have no heart to love him now</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>And 'tis but to declare my end</i>.—[ms]<br /></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_et" id="Footnote_et"></a><a href="#FNanchor_et"><span class="label">[et]</span></a> + +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>But now Remembrance murmurs o'er</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Of all our early youth had been</i>—<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>In pain, I now had turned aside</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>To bless his memory ere I died</i>,<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>But Heaven would mark the vain essay</i>,<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>If Guilt should for the guiltless fray</i>—<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>I do not ask him not to blame</i>—<br /></span> + +<span class="i0"><i>Too gentle he to wound my name</i>—<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>I do not ask him not to mourn</i>,<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>For such request might sound like scorn</i>—<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>And what like Friendship's manly tear</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>So well can grace a brother's bier?</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>But bear this ring he gave of old</i>,<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>And tell him—what thou didst behold</i>—<br /></span> + +<span class="i0"><i>The withered frame—the ruined mind</i>,<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>The wreck that Passion leaves behind</i>—<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>The shrivelled and discoloured leaf</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Seared by the Autumn blast of Grief</i>.—[MS., First Copy.]<br /></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_eu" id="Footnote_eu"></a><a href="#FNanchor_eu"><span class="label">[eu]</span></a> <a id="Note_142"></a>{142} <i>Nay—kneel not, father, rise—despair</i>.—[MS.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_122" id="Footnote_122"></a><a href="#FNanchor_122"><span class="label">[122]</span></a> <a id="Note_143"></a>{143} "Symar," a shroud. +[Cymar, or simar, is a long loose robe worn by women. +It is, perhaps, the same word as the Spanish <i>camarra</i> +(Arabic <i>camârra</i>), a sheep-skin cloak. It is equivalent to +"shroud" only in the primary sense of a "covering."]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_ev" id="Footnote_ev"></a><a href="#FNanchor_ev"><span class="label">[ev]</span></a> <i>Which now I view with trembling spark</i>.—[MS.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_ew" id="Footnote_ew"></a><a href="#FNanchor_ew"><span class="label">[ew]</span></a> <a id="Note_144"></a>{144} <i>Then lay me with the nameless dead</i>.—[MS.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_123" id="Footnote_123"></a><a href="#FNanchor_123"><span class="label">[123]</span></a> 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 <i>Bibliothèque Orientale</i>; 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 <i>Childe Harold</i>, Canto II. +stanza xxii. line 6, <i>Poetical Works</i>, 1899, ii. 37, note 1. + +</p><p> +"Mansour Effendi tells the story (<i>vide supra</i>, 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 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."—<i>Travels in +Albania,</i> 1858, i. Ill, note 6. +</p><p> +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.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_ex" id="Footnote_ex"></a><a href="#FNanchor_ex"><span class="label">[ex]</span></a> <a id="Note_146"></a>{146} +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>Nor whether most he mourned none knew</i>.<br /></span> + +<span class="i0"><i>For her he loved—or him he slew</i>.—[MS.]<br /></span> +</div></div> +</div> +</div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;margin-bottom:2cm;" /> + +<div class="titlepage"> + <h2>THE BRIDE OF ABYDOS.<br /> + + <span class="small">A TURKISH TALE</span>.</h2> + +<hr /> +<div class="poem" style="margin-left:20%;"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Had we never loved sae kindly,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Had we never loved sae blindly,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Never met—or never parted,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We had ne'er been broken-hearted."—<br /></span> +</div></div> +<p class="attrib"><span class="smcap">Burns</span> [<i>Farewell to Nancy</i>].</p> + +<hr /> + +</div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;margin-top:2cm" /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[149]</a></span></p> + +<h2><a name="INTRODUCTION_ABYDOS" id="INTRODUCTION_ABYDOS"></a> +INTRODUCTION TO THE <i>THE BRIDE OF ABYDOS</i>. +<br /><span class="center"><img src="images/decoration.png" alt="swash" /></span> +</h2> + + +<p><span class="smcap">Many</span> 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 <i>motif</i> and occasion of the <i>Bride of Abydos</i> +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" +(<i>Diary</i>, December 5, 1813, <i>Letters</i>, ii. 361), "to distract his +dreams from ..." (<i>Diary</i>, November 16) "for the sake of + +<i>employment</i>" (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" +(<i>vide ante</i>, <a href="#Page_67">p. 67</a>), we may infer that he had sought +safety in flight. The <i>Bride of Abydos</i>, or <i>Zuleika</i>, as it was +first entitled, was written early in November, "in four nights" +(<i>Diary</i>, 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 <i>amour interrompu</i>.</p> + +<p>The confession or apology is eminently characteristic. +Whilst the <i>Giaour</i> 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<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[150]</a></span> +and dishonouring—"To withdraw <i>myself</i> from <i>myself</i>," he +confides to his <i>Diary</i>(November 27), "has ever been my +sole, my entire, my sincere motive for scribbling at all."</p> + +<p>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 <i>poseur</i> always a <i>poseur</i>" is a rough-and-ready +formula not invariably applicable even to a poet.</p> + +<p>But the <i>Bride of Abydos</i> was a tonic as well as a styptic. +Like the <i>Giaour</i>, it embodied a personal experience, and +recalled "a country replete with the <i>darkest</i> and <i>brightest</i>, +but always the most <i>lively</i> colours of my memory" (<i>Diary</i>, +December 5, 1813).</p> + +<p>In a letter to Galt (December 11, 1813, Letters, 1898, +ii. 304, reprinted from <i>Life of Byron</i>, pp. 181, 182) Byron +maintains that the first part of the <i>Bride</i> 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 <i>Bride of Messina</i>), or of Alfieri +(in <i>Mirra</i>), "in modern times," would sanction the intrusion +of the +<span title="misêto\n">μισητὸν</span> +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 <i>Bride of Abydos</i>, as well as the <i>Giaour</i>, 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."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[151]</a></span></p> + +<p>Byron was less dissatisfied with his second Turkish tale +than he had been with the <i>Giaour</i>. He apologizes for the +rapidity with which it had been composed—<i>stans pede in uno</i>—but +he announced to Murray (November 20) that +"he was doing his best to beat the <i>Giaour</i>," and (November 29) +he appraises the <i>Bride</i> as "my first entire composition of +any length."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>The <i>Bride of Abydos</i> was advertised in the <i>Morning +Chronicle,</i> among "Books published this day," on November +29, 1813. It was reviewed by George Agar Ellis in the + +<i>Quarterly Review</i> of January, 1814 (vol. x. p. 331), and, +together with the <i>Corsair</i>, by Jeffrey in the +<i>Edinburgh Review</i> of April, 1814 (vol. xxiii. p. 198).</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + + +<h2 style="font-size:110%;">NOTE TO THE MSS. OF <i>THE BRIDE OF ABYDOS</i>. +<br /><span class="center"><img src="images/decoration.png" alt="swash" /></span> + +</h2> + + +<p><span class="smcap">The</span> MSS. of the <i>Bride of Abydos</i> 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.</p> + +<p>The bound volume consists of a rough copy and a fair +copy of the first draft of the <i>Bride</i>; the fair copy beginning +with the sixth stanza of Canto I.</p> + +<p>The "additions" in the bound volume consist of—</p> + +<p>1. Stanza xxviii. of Canto II.—here called "Conclusion" +(fifty-eight lines). And note on "Sir Orford's Letters."</p> + +<p>2. Eight lines beginning, "Eve saw it placed," at the end +of stanza xxviii.</p> + +<p>3. An emendation of six lines to stanza v. of Canto II., +with reference to the comboloio, the Turkish rosary.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[152]</a></span></p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>5. Stanza xxvii. of Canto II., twenty-eight lines.</p> + +<p>6. Ten additional lines to stanza xxvii., "Ah! happy!"—"depart."</p> + +<p>7. Affixed to the rough Copy in stanza xxviii., fifty-eight +lines, here called "Continuation." This is the rough Copy +of No. 1.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>The eighteen loose sheets of additions to Canto I. consist of—</p> + +<p>1. The Dedication.</p> + +<p>2. Two revisions of "Know ye the land."</p> + +<p>3. Seven sheets, Canto I. stanzas i.-v., being the commencement +of the Fair Copy in the bound volume.</p> + +<p>4. Two sheets of the additional twelve lines to Canto I. +stanza vi., "Who hath not proved,"—"Soul."</p> + +<p>5. Four sheets of notes to Canto I. stanza vi., dated +November 20, November 22, 1813.</p> + +<p>6. Two sheets of notes to stanza xvi.</p> + +<p>7. Sixteen additional lines to stanza xiii.</p> + +<p>The fourteen additional sheets to Canto II. consist of—</p> + +<p>1. Ten lines of stanza iv., and four lines of stanza xvii.</p> + +<p>2. Two lines and note of stanza v.</p> + +<p>3. Sheets of additions, etc., to stanza xx. (eight sheets).</p> + +<p>(α) Eight lines, "Or, since that hope,"—"thy command."</p> + +<p>(β) "For thee in those bright isles" (twenty-four lines).</p> + +<p>(γ) "For thee," etc. (thirty-six lines).</p> + +<p>(δ) "Blest as the call" (three variants).</p> + +<p>(ε) "For thee in those bright isles" (seven lines).</p> + +<p>(ζ) Fourteen lines, "There ev'n thy soul,"—"Zuleika's name," +"Aye—let the loud winds,"—"bars escape," additional to stanza xx.</p> + +<p>4. Two sheets of five variants of "Ah! wherefore did he +turn to look?" being six additional lines to stanza xxv.</p> + +<p>5. Thirty-five lines of stanza xxvi.</p> + +<p>6. Ten lines, "Ah! happy! but,"—"depart." And eleven<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[153]</a></span> +lines, "Woe to thee, rash,"—"hast shed," being a continuous +addition to stanza xxvii.</p> + +<p>REVISES.</p> + +<p>Endorsed—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">i. November 13, 1813.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">ii. November 15, 1813.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">iii. November 16, 1813.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">iv. November 18, 1813.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">v. November 19, 1813.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">vi. November 21, 1813.<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">vii. November 23, 1813.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">viii. November 24, 1813. A wrong date,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">ix. November 25, 1813.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">x. An imperfect revise = Nos. i.-v.<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[155]</a></span></div></div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<div class="titlepage"> + <h3 style="margin-top:1em;"><span class="small">TO<br /> + + + THE RIGHT HONOURABLE</span><br /> + + LORD HOLLAND,<br /> + + + <span class="small">THIS TALE<br /> + + IS INSCRIBED, WITH<br /> + + EVERY SENTIMENT OF REGARD<br /> + + AND RESPECT,<br /> + + BY HIS GRATEFULLY OBLIGED<br /> + + AND SINCERE FRIEND</span>,</h3> + + <p class="attrib">BYRON.<a name="FNanchor_ey" id="FNanchor_ey"></a><a href="#Footnote_ey" class="fnanchor">[ey]</a></p> +</div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[157]</a></span></p> + +<h2><a name="THE_ABYDOS" id="THE_ABYDOS"></a>THE BRIDE OF ABYDOS.<a name="FNanchor_124" id="FNanchor_124"></a><a href="#Footnote_124" class="fnanchor">[124]</a> +</h2> +<hr class="dbl" /> + +<h3><a id="BRIDE_FIRST" name="BRIDE_FIRST"></a>CANTO THE FIRST.</h3> + + +<h4>I.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Know</span> ye the land where the cypress and myrtle<a name="FNanchor_125" id="FNanchor_125"></a><a href="#Footnote_125" class="fnanchor">[125]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Are emblems of deeds that are done in their clime?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where the rage of the vulture, the love of the turtle,<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">Now melt into sorrow, now madden to crime?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Know ye the land of the cedar and vine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where the flowers ever blossom, the beams ever shine;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where the light wings of Zephyr, oppressed with perfume,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wax faint o'er the gardens of Gúl<a name="FNanchor_126" id="FNanchor_126"></a><a href="#Footnote_126" class="fnanchor">[126]</a> in her bloom;<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[158]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Where the citron and olive are fairest of fruit,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">And the voice of the nightingale never is mute;<a name="FNanchor_127" id="FNanchor_127"></a><a href="#Footnote_127" class="fnanchor">[127]</a> <span class="linenum">10</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where the tints of the earth, and the hues of the sky,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In colour though varied, in beauty may vie,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the purple of Ocean is deepest in dye;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where the virgins are soft as the roses they twine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And all, save the spirit of man, is divine—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tis the clime of the East—'tis the land of the Sun—<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Can he smile on such deeds as his children have done?<a name="FNanchor_128" id="FNanchor_128"></a><a href="#Footnote_128" class="fnanchor">[128]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh! wild as the accents of lovers' farewell<a name="FNanchor_ez" id="FNanchor_ez"></a><a href="#Footnote_ez" class="fnanchor">[ez]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Are the hearts which they bear, and the tales which they tell.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<h4>II.<a name="FNanchor_fa" id="FNanchor_fa"></a><a href="#Footnote_fa" class="fnanchor">[fa]</a></h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4">Begirt with many a gallant slave,<span class='linenum'>20</span><br /></span> + +<span class="i4">Apparelled as becomes the brave,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Awaiting each his Lord's behest<br /></span> +<span class="i4">To guide his steps, or guard his rest,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Old Giaffir sate in his Divan:<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Deep thought was in his agéd eye;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And though the face of Mussulman<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Not oft betrays to standers by<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[159]</a></span> +<span class="i2">The mind within, well skilled to hide<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">All but unconquerable pride,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">His pensive cheek and pondering brow<a name="FNanchor_fb" id="FNanchor_fb"></a><a href="#Footnote_fb" class="fnanchor">[fb]</a><span class='linenum'>30</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Did more than he was wont avow.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>III.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Let the chamber be cleared."—The train disappeared—<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">"Now call me the chief of the Haram guard"—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With Giaffir is none but his only son,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And the Nubian awaiting the sire's award.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">"Haroun—when all the crowd that wait<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Are passed beyond the outer gate,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">(Woe to the head whose eye beheld<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My child Zuleika's face unveiled!)<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Hence, lead my daughter from her tower—<a name="FNanchor_fc" id="FNanchor_fc"></a><a href="#Footnote_fc" class="fnanchor">[fc]</a><span class='linenum'>40</span><br /></span> + +<span class="i2">Her fate is fixed this very hour;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Yet not to her repeat my thought—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">By me alone be duty taught!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">"Pacha! to hear is to obey."—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">No more must slave to despot say—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Then to the tower had ta'en his way:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But here young Selim silence brake,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">First lowly rendering reverence meet;<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">And downcast looked, and gently spake,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Still standing at the Pacha's feet:<span class='linenum'>50</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">For son of Moslem must expire,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Ere dare to sit before his sire!<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[160]</a></span> +<span class="i2">"Father! for fear that thou shouldst chide<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My sister, or her sable guide—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Know—for the fault, if fault there be,<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">Was mine—then fall thy frowns on me!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">So lovelily the morning shone,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">That—let the old and weary sleep—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I could not; and to view alone<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The fairest scenes of land and deep,<span class='linenum'>60</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">With none to listen and reply<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To thoughts with which my heart beat high<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">Were irksome—for whate'er my mood,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In sooth I love not solitude;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I on Zuleika's slumber broke,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And, as thou knowest that for me<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Soon turns the Haram's grating key,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Before the guardian slaves awoke<br /></span> +<span class="i2">We to the cypress groves had flown,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And made earth, main, and heaven our own!<span class='linenum'>70</span><br /></span> + +<span class="i2">There lingered we, beguiled too long<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With Mejnoun's tale, or Sadi's song;<a name="FNanchor_fd" id="FNanchor_fd"></a><a href="#Footnote_fd" class="fnanchor">[fd]</a><a name="FNanchor_129" id="FNanchor_129"></a><a href="#Footnote_129" class="fnanchor">[129]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Till I, who heard the deep tambour<a name="FNanchor_130" id="FNanchor_130"></a><a href="#Footnote_130" class="fnanchor">[130]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Beat thy Divan's approaching hour,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To thee, and to my duty true,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Warned by the sound, to greet thee flew:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But there Zuleika wanders yet—<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">Nay, Father, rage not—nor forget<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[161]</a></span> +<span class="i2">That none can pierce that secret bower<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But those who watch the women's tower."<span class='linenum'>80</span><br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>IV.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Son of a slave"—the Pacha said—<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">"From unbelieving mother bred,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Vain were a father's hope to see<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Aught that beseems a man in thee.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thou, when thine arm should bend the bow,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And hurl the dart, and curb the steed,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thou, Greek in soul if not in creed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Must pore where babbling waters flow,<a name="FNanchor_fe" id="FNanchor_fe"></a><a href="#Footnote_fe" class="fnanchor">[fe]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And watch unfolding roses blow.<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Would that yon Orb, whose matin glow<span class='linenum'>90</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy listless eyes so much admire,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Would lend thee something of his fire!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thou, who woulds't see this battlement<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By Christian cannon piecemeal rent;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nay, tamely view old Stambol's wall<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Before the dogs of Moscow fall,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor strike one stroke for life and death<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Against the curs of Nazareth!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Go—let thy less than woman's hand<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Assume the distaff—not the brand.<span class='linenum'>100</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">But, Haroun!—to my daughter speed:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And hark—of thine own head take heed—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If thus Zuleika oft takes wing—<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Thou see'st yon bow—it hath a string!"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>V.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">No sound from Selim's lip was heard,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">At least that met old Giaffir's ear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But every frown and every word<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[162]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Pierced keener than a Christian's sword.<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">"Son of a slave!—reproached with fear!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Those gibes had cost another dear.<span class='linenum'>110</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Son of a slave!—and <i>who</i> my Sire?"<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thus held his thoughts their dark career;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And glances ev'n of more than ire<a name="FNanchor_ff" id="FNanchor_ff"></a><a href="#Footnote_ff" class="fnanchor">[ff]</a><br /></span> + +<span class="i2">Flash forth, then faintly disappear.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Old Giaffir gazed upon his son<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And started; for within his eye<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He read how much his wrath had done;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He saw rebellion there begun:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">"Come hither, boy—what, no reply?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I mark thee—and I know thee too;<span class='linenum'>120</span><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">But there be deeds thou dar'st not do:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But if thy beard had manlier length,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And if thy hand had skill and strength,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I'd joy to see thee break a lance,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Albeit against my own perchance."<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As sneeringly these accents fell,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On Selim's eye he fiercely gazed:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That eye returned him glance for glance,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And proudly to his Sire's was raised<a name="FNanchor_fg" id="FNanchor_fg"></a><a href="#Footnote_fg" class="fnanchor">[fg]</a>,<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">Till Giaffir's quailed and shrunk askance—<span class='linenum'>130</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And why—he felt, but durst not tell.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Much I misdoubt this wayward boy<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Will one day work me more annoy:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I never loved him from his birth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And—but his arm is little worth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And scarcely in the chase could cope<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">With timid fawn or antelope,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Far less would venture into strife<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where man contends for fame and life<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[163]</a></span>—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I would not trust that look or tone:<span class='linenum'>140</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">No—nor the blood so near my own.<a name="FNanchor_fh" id="FNanchor_fh"></a><a href="#Footnote_fh" class="fnanchor">[fh]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">That blood—he hath not heard—no more—<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">I'll watch him closer than before.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He is an Arab<a name="FNanchor_131" id="FNanchor_131"></a><a href="#Footnote_131" class="fnanchor">[131]</a> to my sight,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or Christian crouching in the fight—<a name="FNanchor_fi" id="FNanchor_fi"></a><a href="#Footnote_fi" class="fnanchor">[fi]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">But hark!—I hear Zuleika's voice;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Like Houris' hymn it meets mine ear:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She is the offspring of my choice;<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">Oh! more than ev'n her mother dear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With all to hope, and nought to fear—<span class='linenum'>150</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">My Peri! ever welcome here!<a name="FNanchor_fj" id="FNanchor_fj"></a><a href="#Footnote_fj" class="fnanchor">[fj]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sweet, as the desert fountain's wave<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To lips just cooled in time to save—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Such to my longing sight art thou;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor can they waft to Mecca's shrine<br /></span> +<span class="i0">More thanks for life, than I for thine,<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">Who blest thy birth and bless thee now."<a name="FNanchor_fk" id="FNanchor_fk"></a><a href="#Footnote_fk" class="fnanchor">[fk]</a><br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>VI.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Fair, as the first that fell of womankind,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When on that dread yet lovely serpent smiling,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whose Image then was stamped upon her mind—<span class='linenum'>160</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">But once beguiled—and ever more beguiling;<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Dazzling, as that, oh! too transcendent vision<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To Sorrow's phantom-peopled slumber given,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When heart meets heart again in dreams Elysian,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And paints the lost on Earth revived in Heaven;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Soft, as the memory of buried love;<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[164]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Pure, as the prayer which Childhood wafts above;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was she—the daughter of that rude old Chief,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who met the maid with tears—but not of grief.<br /></span> + +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Who hath not proved how feebly words essay<a name="FNanchor_132" id="FNanchor_132"></a><a href="#Footnote_132" class="fnanchor">[132]</a><span class='linenum'>170</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">To fix one spark of Beauty's heavenly ray?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who doth not feel, until his failing sight<a name="FNanchor_fl" id="FNanchor_fl"></a><a href="#Footnote_fl" class="fnanchor">[fl]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Faints into dimness with its own delight,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His changing cheek, his sinking heart confess<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The might—the majesty of Loveliness?<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Such was Zuleika—such around her shone<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The nameless charms unmarked by her alone—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The light of Love, the purity of Grace,<a name="FNanchor_fm" id="FNanchor_fm"></a><a href="#Footnote_fm" class="fnanchor">[fm]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">The mind, the Music<a name="FNanchor_133" id="FNanchor_133"></a><a href="#Footnote_133" class="fnanchor">[133]</a> breathing from her face,<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[165]</a></span><span class="i0">The heart whose softness harmonized the whole,<span class='linenum'>180</span><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">And oh! that eye was in itself a Soul!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Her graceful arms in meekness bending<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Across her gently-budding breast;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At one kind word those arms extending<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To clasp the neck of him who blest<br /></span> +<span class="i2">His child caressing and carest,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Zuleika came—and Giaffir felt<br /></span> +<span class="i2">His purpose half within him melt:<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">Not that against her fancied weal<br /></span> +<span class="i2">His heart though stern could ever feel;<span class='linenum'>190</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Affection chained her to that heart;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Ambition tore the links apart.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>VII.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Zuleika! child of Gentleness!<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">How dear this very day must tell,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When I forget my own distress,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In losing what I love so well,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[166]</a></span> +<span class="i0">To bid thee with another dwell:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Another! and a braver man<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was never seen in battle's van.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We Moslem reck not much of blood:<span class='linenum'>200</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">But yet the line of Carasman<a name="FNanchor_134" id="FNanchor_134"></a><a href="#Footnote_134" class="fnanchor">[134]</a><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Unchanged, unchangeable hath stood<br /></span> +<span class="i2">First of the bold Timariot bands<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That won and well can keep their lands.<a name="FNanchor_fn" id="FNanchor_fn"></a><a href="#Footnote_fn" class="fnanchor">[fn]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Enough that he who comes to woo<a name="FNanchor_fo" id="FNanchor_fo"></a><a href="#Footnote_fo" class="fnanchor">[fo]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is kinsman of the Bey Oglou:<a name="FNanchor_135" id="FNanchor_135"></a><a href="#Footnote_135" class="fnanchor">[135]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">His years need scarce a thought employ;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I would not have thee wed a boy.<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">And thou shalt have a noble dower:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And his and my united power<span class='linenum'>210</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Will laugh to scorn the death-firman,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which others tremble but to scan,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[167]</a></span> +<span class="i0">And teach the messenger<a name="FNanchor_136" id="FNanchor_136"></a><a href="#Footnote_136" class="fnanchor">[136]</a> what fate<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The bearer of such boon may wait.<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">And now thou know'st thy father's will;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">All that thy sex hath need to know:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Twas mine to teach obedience still—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The way to love, thy Lord may show."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>VIII.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">In silence bowed the virgin's head;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And if her eye was filled with tears<span class='linenum'>220</span><br /></span> + +<span class="i2">That stifled feeling dare not shed,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And changed her cheek from pale to red,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And red to pale, as through her ears<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Those wingéd words like arrows sped,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">What could such be but maiden fears?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">So bright the tear in Beauty's eye,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Love half regrets to kiss it dry;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">So sweet the blush of Bashfulness,<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">Even Pity scarce can wish it less!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">Whate'er it was the sire forgot:<span class='linenum'>230</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Or if remembered, marked it not;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thrice clapped his hands, and called his steed,<a name="FNanchor_137" id="FNanchor_137"></a><a href="#Footnote_137" class="fnanchor">[137]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i4">Resigned his gem-adorned chibouque,<a name="FNanchor_138" id="FNanchor_138"></a><a href="#Footnote_138" class="fnanchor">[138]</a><br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[168]</a></span><span class="i2">And mounting featly for the mead,<br /></span> + +<span class="i4">With Maugrabeel<a name="FNanchor_139" id="FNanchor_139"></a><a href="#Footnote_139" class="fnanchor">[139]</a> and Mamaluke,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">His way amid his Delis took,<a name="FNanchor_140" id="FNanchor_140"></a><a href="#Footnote_140" class="fnanchor">[140]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">To witness many an active deed<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With sabre keen, or blunt jerreed.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The Kislar only and his Moors<a name="FNanchor_141" id="FNanchor_141"></a><a href="#Footnote_141" class="fnanchor">[141]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Watch well the Haram's massy doors.<span class='linenum'>240</span><br /></span> + +</div></div> + +<h4>IX.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">His head was leant upon his hand,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">His eye looked o'er the dark blue water<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That swiftly glides and gently swells<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Between the winding Dardanelles;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But yet he saw nor sea nor strand,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor even his Pacha's turbaned band<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">Mix in the game of mimic slaughter,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Careering cleave the folded felt<a name="FNanchor_142" id="FNanchor_142"></a><a href="#Footnote_142" class="fnanchor">[142]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">With sabre stroke right sharply dealt;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor marked the javelin-darting crowd,<span class='linenum'>250</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor heard their Ollahs<a name="FNanchor_143" id="FNanchor_143"></a><a href="#Footnote_143" class="fnanchor">[143]</a> wild and loud—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He thought but of old Giaffir's daughter!<br /></span> + +</div></div> + +<h4>X.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[169]</a></span>No word from Selim's bosom broke;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">One sigh Zuleika's thought bespoke:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Still gazed he through the lattice grate,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pale, mute, and mournfully sedate.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To him Zuleika's eye was turned,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">But little from his aspect learned:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Equal her grief, yet not the same;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her heart confessed a gentler flame:<a name="FNanchor_fp" id="FNanchor_fp"></a><a href="#Footnote_fp" class="fnanchor">[fp]</a> <span class="linenum">260</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">But yet that heart, alarmed or weak,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She knew not why, forbade to speak.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet speak she must—but when essay?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"How strange he thus should turn away!<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Not thus we e'er before have met;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not thus shall be our parting yet."<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thrice paced she slowly through the room,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And watched his eye—it still was fixed:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">She snatched the urn wherein was mixed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Persian Atar-gul's perfume,<a name="FNanchor_144" id="FNanchor_144"></a><a href="#Footnote_144" class="fnanchor">[144]</a> <span class="linenum">270</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And sprinkled all its odours o'er<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">The pictured roof<a name="FNanchor_145" id="FNanchor_145"></a><a href="#Footnote_145" class="fnanchor">[145]</a> and marble floor:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The drops, that through his glittering vest<a name="FNanchor_fq" id="FNanchor_fq"></a><a href="#Footnote_fq" class="fnanchor">[fq]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">The playful girl's appeal addressed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Unheeded o'er his bosom flew,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As if that breast were marble too.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"What, sullen yet? it must not be—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh! gentle Selim, this from thee!"<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">She saw in curious order set<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[170]</a></span> +<span class="i2">The fairest flowers of Eastern land— <span class="linenum">280</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">"He loved them once; may touch them yet,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">If offered by Zuleika's hand."<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The childish thought was hardly breathed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Before the rose was plucked and wreathed;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The next fond moment saw her seat<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Her fairy form at Selim's feet:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"This rose to calm my brother's cares<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A message from the Bulbul<a name="FNanchor_146" id="FNanchor_146"></a><a href="#Footnote_146" class="fnanchor">[146]</a> bears;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It says to-night he will prolong<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For Selim's ear his sweetest song; <span class="linenum">290</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And though his note is somewhat sad,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He'll try for once a strain more glad,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">With some faint hope his altered lay<br /></span> +<span class="i0">May sing these gloomy thoughts away.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>XI.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">"What! not receive my foolish flower?<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Nay then I am indeed unblest:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">On me can thus thy forehead lower?<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And know'st thou not who loves thee best?<a name="FNanchor_fr" id="FNanchor_fr"></a><a href="#Footnote_fr" class="fnanchor">[fr]</a><br /></span> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[171]</a></span><span class="i2">Oh, Selim dear! oh, more than dearest!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Say, is it me thou hat'st or fearest?<span class='linenum'>300</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Come, lay thy head upon my breast,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And I will kiss thee into rest,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Since words of mine, and songs must fail,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Ev'n from my fabled nightingale.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I knew our sire at times was stern,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But this from thee had yet to learn:<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">Too well I know he loves thee not;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But is Zuleika's love forgot?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Ah! deem I right? the Pacha's plan—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">This kinsman Bey of Carasman<span class='linenum'>310</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Perhaps may prove some foe of thine.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">If so, I swear by Mecca's shrine,—<a name="FNanchor_fs" id="FNanchor_fs"></a><a href="#Footnote_fs" class="fnanchor">[fs]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">If shrines that ne'er approach allow<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To woman's step admit her vow,—<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">Without thy free consent—command—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The Sultan should not have my hand!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Think'st thou that I could bear to part<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With thee, and learn to halve my heart?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Ah! were I severed from thy side,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Where were thy friend—and who my guide?<span class='linenum'>320</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Years have not seen, Time shall not see,<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">The hour that tears my soul from thee:<a name="FNanchor_ft" id="FNanchor_ft"></a><a href="#Footnote_ft" class="fnanchor">[ft]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Ev'n Azrael,<a name="FNanchor_147" id="FNanchor_147"></a><a href="#Footnote_147" class="fnanchor">[147]</a> from his deadly quiver<br /></span> +<span class="i4">When flies that shaft, and fly it must,<a name="FNanchor_fu" id="FNanchor_fu"></a><a href="#Footnote_fu" class="fnanchor">[fu]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">That parts all else, shall doom for ever<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Our hearts to undivided dust!"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>XII.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He lived—he breathed—he moved—he felt;<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[172]</a></span> +<span class="i0">He raised the maid from where she knelt;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His trance was gone, his keen eye shone<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With thoughts that long in darkness dwelt;<span class='linenum'>330</span><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">With thoughts that burn—in rays that melt.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As the stream late concealed<br /></span> +<span class="i2">By the fringe of its willows,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When it rushes reveal'd<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In the light of its billows;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As the bolt bursts on high<br /></span> +<span class="i2">From the black cloud that bound it,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Flashed the soul of that eye<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">Through the long lashes round it.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A war-horse at the trumpet's sound,<span class='linenum'>340</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">A lion roused by heedless hound,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A tyrant waked to sudden strife<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By graze of ill-directed knife,<a name="FNanchor_fv" id="FNanchor_fv"></a><a href="#Footnote_fv" class="fnanchor">[fv]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Starts not to more convulsive life<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Than he, who heard that vow, displayed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And all, before repressed, betrayed:<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">"Now thou art mine, for ever mine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With life to keep, and scarce with life resign;<a name="FNanchor_fw" id="FNanchor_fw"></a><a href="#Footnote_fw" class="fnanchor">[fw]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now thou art mine, that sacred oath,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though sworn by one, hath bound us both.<span class='linenum'>350</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yes, fondly, wisely hast thou done;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That vow hath saved more heads than one:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But blench not thou—thy simplest tress<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Claims more from me than tenderness;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I would not wrong the slenderest hair<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[173]</a></span> +<span class="i0">That clusters round thy forehead fair,<a name="FNanchor_fx" id="FNanchor_fx"></a><a href="#Footnote_fx" class="fnanchor">[fx]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">For all the treasures buried far<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Within the caves of Istakar.<a name="FNanchor_148" id="FNanchor_148"></a><a href="#Footnote_148" class="fnanchor">[148]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">This morning clouds upon me lowered,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Reproaches on my head were showered,<span class='linenum'>360</span><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">And Giaffir almost called me coward!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now I have motive to be brave;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The son of his neglected slave,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nay, start not,'twas the term he gave,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">May show, though little apt to vaunt,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A heart his words nor deeds can daunt.<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>His</i> son, indeed!—yet, thanks to thee,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Perchance I am, at least shall be;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But let our plighted secret vow<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Be only known to us as now.<span class='linenum'>370</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">I know the wretch who dares demand<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From Giaffir thy reluctant hand;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">More ill-got wealth, a meaner soul<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Holds not a Musselim's<a name="FNanchor_149" id="FNanchor_149"></a><a href="#Footnote_149" class="fnanchor">[149]</a> control;<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Was he not bred in Egripo?<a name="FNanchor_150" id="FNanchor_150"></a><a href="#Footnote_150" class="fnanchor">[150]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">A viler race let Israel show!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But let that pass—to none be told<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[174]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Our oath; the rest shall time unfold.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To me and mine leave Osman Bey!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I've partisans for Peril's day:<span class='linenum'>380</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Think not I am what I appear;<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">I've arms—and friends—and vengeance near."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>XIII.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Think not thou art what thou appearest!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My Selim, thou art sadly changed:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This morn I saw thee gentlest—dearest—<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">But now thou'rt from thyself estranged.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My love thou surely knew'st before,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It ne'er was less—nor can be more.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To see thee—hear thee—near thee stay—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And hate the night—I know not why,<span class='linenum'>390</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Save that we meet not but by day;<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">With thee to live, with thee to die,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I dare not to my hope deny:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy cheek—thine eyes—thy lips to kiss—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like this—and this—no more than this;<a name="FNanchor_fy" id="FNanchor_fy"></a><a href="#Footnote_fy" class="fnanchor">[fy]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">For, Allah! sure thy lips are flame:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">What fever in thy veins is flushing?<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">My own have nearly caught the same,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">At least I feel my cheek, too, blushing.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To soothe thy sickness, watch thy health,<span class='linenum'>400</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Partake, but never waste thy wealth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or stand with smiles unmurmuring by,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And lighten half thy poverty;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Do all but close thy dying eye,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For that I could not live to try;<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">To these alone my thoughts aspire:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">More can I do? or thou require?<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[175]</a></span> +<span class="i0">But, Selim, thou must answer why<a name="FNanchor_fz" id="FNanchor_fz"></a><a href="#Footnote_fz" class="fnanchor">[fz]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">We need so much of mystery?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The cause I cannot dream nor tell,<span class='linenum'>410</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">But be it, since thou say'st 'tis well;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet what thou mean'st by 'arms' and 'friends,'<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Beyond my weaker sense extends.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I meant that Giaffir should have heard<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The very vow I plighted thee;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His wrath would not revoke my word:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But surely he would leave me free.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Can this fond wish seem strange in me,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To be what I have ever been?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What other hath Zuleika seen<span class='linenum'>420</span><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">From simple childhood's earliest hour?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">What other can she seek to see<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Than thee, companion of her bower,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The partner of her infancy?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">These cherished thoughts with life begun,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Say, why must I no more avow?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What change is wrought to make me shun<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The truth—my pride, and thine till now?<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">To meet the gaze of stranger's eyes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Our law—our creed—our God denies;<span class='linenum'>430</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor shall one wandering thought of mine<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At such, our Prophet's will, repine:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No! happier made by that decree,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He left me all in leaving thee.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Deep were my anguish, thus compelled<a name="FNanchor_ga" id="FNanchor_ga"></a><a href="#Footnote_ga" class="fnanchor">[ga]</a><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">To wed with one I ne'er beheld:<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[176]</a></span> +<span class="i0">This wherefore should I not reveal?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Why wilt thou urge me to conceal?<a name="FNanchor_gb" id="FNanchor_gb"></a><a href="#Footnote_gb" class="fnanchor">[gb]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">I know the Pacha's haughty mood<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To thee hath never boded good;<span class='linenum'>440</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And he so often storms at nought,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Allah! forbid that e'er he ought!<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">And why I know not, but within<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My heart concealment weighs like sin.<a name="FNanchor_gc" id="FNanchor_gc"></a><a href="#Footnote_gc" class="fnanchor">[gc]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">If then such secrecy be crime,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And such it feels while lurking here;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh, Selim! tell me yet in time,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Nor leave me thus to thoughts of fear.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ah! yonder see the Tchocadar,<a name="FNanchor_151" id="FNanchor_151"></a><a href="#Footnote_151" class="fnanchor">[151]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">My father leaves the mimic war;<span class='linenum'>450</span><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">I tremble now to meet his eye—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Say, Selim, canst thou tell me why?"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>XIV.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Zuleika—to thy tower's retreat<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Betake thee—Giaffir I can greet:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And now with him I fain must prate<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Of firmans, imposts, levies, state.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There's fearful news from Danube's banks,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Our Vizier nobly thins his ranks<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[177]</a></span> +<span class="i0">For which the Giaour may give him thanks!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Our Sultan hath a shorter way<span class='linenum'>460</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Such costly triumph to repay.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But, mark me, when the twilight drum<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Hath warned the troops to food and sleep,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Unto thy cell with Selim come;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Then softly from the Haram creep<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Where we may wander by the deep:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Our garden battlements are steep;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor these will rash intruder climb<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To list our words, or stint our time;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And if he doth, I want not steel<span class='linenum'>470</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which some have felt, and more may feel.<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Then shalt thou learn of Selim more<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Than thou hast heard or thought before:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Trust me, Zuleika—fear not me!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thou know'st I hold a Haram key."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Fear thee, my Selim! ne'er till now<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Did words like this——"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i22">"Delay not thou;<a name="FNanchor_gd" id="FNanchor_gd"></a><a href="#Footnote_gd" class="fnanchor">[gd]</a><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">I keep the key—and Haroun's guard<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Have <i>some</i>, and hope of <i>more</i> reward.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To-night, Zuleika, thou shalt hear<span class='linenum'>480</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">My tale, my purpose, and my fear:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I am not, love! what I appear."<br /></span> + +</div></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[178]</a></span></p> + + +<h3><a id="BRIDE_SECOND" name="BRIDE_SECOND"></a> +CANTO THE SECOND.<a name="FNanchor_ge" id="FNanchor_ge"></a><a href="#Footnote_ge" class="fnanchor">[ge]</a> +<br /><span class="center"><img src="images/decoration.png" alt="swash" /></span> +</h3> + + +<h4>I.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">The</span> winds are high on Helle's wave,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As on that night of stormy water<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When Love, who sent, forgot to save<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The young—the beautiful—the brave—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The lonely hope of Sestos' daughter.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh! when alone along the sky<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Her turret-torch was blazing high,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though rising gale, and breaking foam, <span class="linenum">490</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And shrieking sea-birds warned him home;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And clouds aloft and tides below,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With signs and sounds, forbade to go,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He could not see, he would not hear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or sound or sign foreboding fear;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His eye but saw that light of Love,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">The only star it hailed above;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His ear but rang with Hero's song,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Ye waves, divide not lovers long!"—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That tale is old, but Love anew<a name="FNanchor_152" id="FNanchor_152"></a><a href="#Footnote_152" class="fnanchor">[152]</a> <span class="linenum">500</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">May nerve young hearts to prove as true.<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[179]</a></span></div></div> + +<h4>II.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The winds are high and Helle's tide<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Rolls darkly heaving to the main;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Night's descending shadows hide<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That field with blood bedewed in vain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The desert of old Priam's pride;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The tombs, sole relics of his reign,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All—save immortal dreams that could beguile<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">The blind old man of Scio's rocky isle!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>III.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Oh! yet—for there my steps have been; <span class="linenum">510</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">These feet have pressed the sacred shore,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">These limbs that buoyant wave hath borne—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Minstrel! with thee to muse, to mourn,<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">To trace again those fields of yore,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Believing every hillock green<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Contains no fabled hero's ashes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And that around the undoubted scene<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thine own "broad Hellespont"<a name="FNanchor_153" id="FNanchor_153"></a><a href="#Footnote_153" class="fnanchor">[153]</a> still dashes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Be long my lot! and cold were he<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who there could gaze denying thee! <span class="linenum">520</span><br /></span> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[180]</a></span></div></div> + +<h4>IV.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The Night hath closed on Helle's stream,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Nor yet hath risen on Ida's hill<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That Moon, which shone on his high theme:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No warrior chides her peaceful beam,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But conscious shepherds bless it still.<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Their flocks are grazing on the Mound<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of him who felt the Dardan's arrow:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That mighty heap of gathered ground<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which Ammon's son ran proudly round,<a name="FNanchor_154" id="FNanchor_154"></a><a href="#Footnote_154" class="fnanchor">[154]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">By nations raised, by monarchs crowned, <span class="linenum">530</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Is now a lone and nameless barrow!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Within—thy dwelling-place how narrow!<a name="FNanchor_155" id="FNanchor_155"></a><a href="#Footnote_155" class="fnanchor">[155]</a><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Without—can only strangers breathe<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The name of him that <i>was</i> beneath:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dust long outlasts the storied stone;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But Thou—thy very dust is gone!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>V.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Late, late to-night will Dian cheer<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The swain, and chase the boatman's fear;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till then—no beacon on the cliff<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[181]</a></span><span class="i0">May shape the course of struggling skiff; <span class="linenum">540</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">The scattered lights that skirt the bay,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All, one by one, have died away;<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">The only lamp of this lone hour<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is glimmering in Zuleika's tower.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yes! there is light in that lone chamber,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And o'er her silken ottoman<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Are thrown the fragrant beads of amber,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">O'er which her fairy fingers ran;<a name="FNanchor_156" id="FNanchor_156"></a><a href="#Footnote_156" class="fnanchor">[156]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Near these, with emerald rays beset,<a name="FNanchor_157" id="FNanchor_157"></a><a href="#Footnote_157" class="fnanchor">[157]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">(How could she thus that gem forget?) <span class="linenum">550</span><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Her mother's sainted amulet,<a name="FNanchor_158" id="FNanchor_158"></a><a href="#Footnote_158" class="fnanchor">[158]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whereon engraved the Koorsee text,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Could smooth this life, and win the next;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And by her Comboloio<a name="FNanchor_159" id="FNanchor_159"></a><a href="#Footnote_159" class="fnanchor">[159]</a> lies<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[182]</a></span><span class="i0">A Koran of illumined dyes;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And many a bright emblazoned rhyme<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">By Persian scribes redeemed from Time;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And o'er those scrolls, not oft so mute,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Reclines her now neglected lute;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And round her lamp of fretted gold <span class="linenum">560</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bloom flowers in urns of China's mould;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The richest work of Iran's loom,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Sheeraz<a name="FNanchor_160" id="FNanchor_160"></a><a href="#Footnote_160" class="fnanchor">[160]</a> tribute of perfume;<br /></span> + +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">All that can eye or sense delight<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Are gathered in that gorgeous room:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But yet it hath an air of gloom.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She, of this Peri cell the sprite,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What doth she hence, and on so rude a night?<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>VI.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> + +<span class="i0">Wrapt in the darkest sable vest,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Which none save noblest Moslem wear,<span class='linenum'>570</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">To guard from winds of Heaven the breast<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As Heaven itself to Selim dear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With cautious steps the thicket threading,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And starting oft, as through the glade<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The gust its hollow moanings made,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till on the smoother pathway treading,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">More free her timid bosom beat,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The maid pursued her silent guide;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And though her terror urged retreat,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">How could she quit her Selim's side?<span class='linenum'>580</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">How teach her tender lips to chide?<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[183]</a></span></div></div> + +<h4>VII.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">They reached at length a grotto, hewn<br /></span> +<span class="i2">By nature, but enlarged by art,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where oft her lute she wont to tune,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And oft her Koran conned apart;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And oft in youthful reverie<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She dreamed what Paradise might be:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where Woman's parted soul shall go<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her Prophet had disdained to show;<a name="FNanchor_gf" id="FNanchor_gf"></a><a href="#Footnote_gf" class="fnanchor">[gf]</a><a name="FNanchor_161" id="FNanchor_161"></a><a href="#Footnote_161" class="fnanchor">[161]</a><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">But Selim's mansion was secure, <span class="linenum">590</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor deemed she, could he long endure<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His bower in other worlds of bliss<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Without <i>her</i>, most beloved in this!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh! who so dear with him could dwell?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What Houri soothe him half so well?<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>VIII.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Since last she visited the spot<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Some change seemed wrought within the grot:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It might be only that the night<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Disguised things seen by better light:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That brazen lamp but dimly threw <span class="linenum">600</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">A ray of no celestial hue;<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">But in a nook within the cell<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her eye on stranger objects fell.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There arms were piled, not such as wield<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The turbaned Delis in the field;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But brands of foreign blade and hilt,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And one was red—perchance with guilt!<a name="FNanchor_gg" id="FNanchor_gg"></a><a href="#Footnote_gg" class="fnanchor">[gg]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ah! how without can blood be spilt?<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[184]</a></span> + +<span class="i0">A cup too on the board was set<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That did not seem to hold sherbet. <span class="linenum">610</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">What may this mean? she turned to see<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her Selim—"Oh! can this be he?"<a name="FNanchor_gh" id="FNanchor_gh"></a><a href="#Footnote_gh" class="fnanchor">[gh]</a><br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>IX.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> + +<span class="i0">His robe of pride was thrown aside,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">His brow no high-crowned turban bore,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But in its stead a shawl of red,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Wreathed lightly round, his temples wore:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That dagger, on whose hilt the gem<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Were worthy of a diadem,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No longer glittered at his waist,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where pistols unadorned were braced; <span class="linenum">620</span><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">And from his belt a sabre swung,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And from his shoulder loosely hung<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The cloak of white, the thin capote<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That decks the wandering Candiote;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beneath—his golden plated vest<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Clung like a cuirass to his breast;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The greaves below his knee that wound<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With silvery scales were sheathed and bound.<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">But were it not that high command<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Spake in his eye, and tone, and hand, <span class="linenum">630</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">All that a careless eye could see<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In him was some young Galiongée.<a name="FNanchor_162" id="FNanchor_162"></a><a href="#Footnote_162" class="fnanchor">[162]</a><br /></span> +</div></div> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[185]</a></span></p> +<h4>X.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"I said I was not what I seemed;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And now thou see'st my words were true:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I have a tale thou hast not dreamed,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">If sooth—its truth must others rue.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My story now 'twere vain to hide,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I must not see thee Osman's bride:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But had not thine own lips declared<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How much of that young heart I shared, <span class="linenum">640</span><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">I could not, must not, yet have shown<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The darker secret of my own.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In this I speak not now of love;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That—let Time—Truth—and Peril prove:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But first—Oh! never wed another—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Zuleika! I am not thy brother!"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>XI.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Oh! not my brother!—yet unsay—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">God! am I left alone on earth<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To mourn—I dare not curse—the day<a name="FNanchor_gi" id="FNanchor_gi"></a><a href="#Footnote_gi" class="fnanchor">[gi]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">That saw my solitary birth?<span class='linenum'>650</span><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Oh! thou wilt love me now no more!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My sinking heart foreboded ill;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But know <i>me</i> all I was before,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thy sister—friend—Zuleika still.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thou led'st me here perchance to kill;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">If thou hast cause for vengeance, see!<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">My breast is offered—take thy fill!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Far better with the dead to be<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Than live thus nothing now to thee:<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[186]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Perhaps far worse, for now I know<span class='linenum'>660</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Why Giaffir always seemed thy foe;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And I, alas! am Giaffir's child,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For whom thou wert contemned, reviled.<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">If not thy sister—would'st thou save<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My life—Oh! bid me be thy slave!"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>XII.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"My slave, Zuleika!—nay, I'm thine:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But, gentle love, this transport calm,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Thy lot shall yet be linked with mine;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I swear it by our Prophet's shrine,<a name="FNanchor_gj" id="FNanchor_gj"></a><a href="#Footnote_gj" class="fnanchor">[gj]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">And be that thought thy sorrow's balm.<span class='linenum'>670</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">So may the Koran<a name="FNanchor_163" id="FNanchor_163"></a><a href="#Footnote_163" class="fnanchor">[163]</a> verse displayed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upon its steel direct my blade,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In danger's hour to guard us both,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">As I preserve that awful oath!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The name in which thy heart hath prided<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Must change; but, my Zuleika, know,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That tie is widened, not divided,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Although thy Sire's my deadliest foe.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My father was to Giaffir all<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[187]</a></span><span class="i2">That Selim late was deemed to thee;<span class='linenum'>680</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">That brother wrought a brother's fall,<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">But spared, at least, my infancy!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And lulled me with a vain deceit<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That yet a like return may meet.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He reared me, not with tender help,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But like the nephew of a Cain;<a name="FNanchor_164" id="FNanchor_164"></a><a href="#Footnote_164" class="fnanchor">[164]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">He watched me like a lion's whelp,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That gnaws and yet may break his chain.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My father's blood in every vein<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Is boiling! but for thy dear sake<span class='linenum'>690</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">No present vengeance will I take;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Though here I must no more remain.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But first, beloved Zuleika! hear<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How Giaffir wrought this deed of fear.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>XIII.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> + +<span class="i0">"How first their strife to rancour grew,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">If Love or Envy made them foes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It matters little if I knew;<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[188]</a></span> +<span class="i0">In fiery spirits, slights, though few<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And thoughtless, will disturb repose.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In war Abdallah's arm was strong, <span class="linenum">700</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Remembered yet in Bosniac song,<a name="FNanchor_165" id="FNanchor_165"></a><a href="#Footnote_165" class="fnanchor">[165]</a><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">And Paswan's<a name="FNanchor_166" id="FNanchor_166"></a><a href="#Footnote_166" class="fnanchor">[166]</a> rebel hordes attest<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How little love they bore such guest:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His death is all I need relate,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The stern effect of Giaffir's hate;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And how my birth disclosed to me,<a name="FNanchor_gk" id="FNanchor_gk"></a><a href="#Footnote_gk" class="fnanchor">[gk]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whate'er beside it makes, hath made me free.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[189]</a></span></p> +<h4>XIV.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"When Paswan, after years of strife,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At last for power, but first for life,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In Widdin's walls too proudly sate, <span class="linenum">710</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Our Pachas rallied round the state;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not last nor least in high command,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Each brother led a separate band;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They gave their Horse-tails<a name="FNanchor_167" id="FNanchor_167"></a><a href="#Footnote_167" class="fnanchor">[167]</a> to the wind,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And mustering in Sophia's plain<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their tents were pitched, their post assigned;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To one, alas! assigned in vain!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What need of words? the deadly bowl,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">By Giaffir's order drugged and given,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">With venom subtle as his soul,<a name="FNanchor_gl" id="FNanchor_gl"></a><a href="#Footnote_gl" class="fnanchor">[gl]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Dismissed Abdallah's hence to heaven. <span class="linenum">720</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Reclined and feverish in the bath,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He, when the hunter's sport was up,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But little deemed a brother's wrath<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To quench his thirst had such a cup:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The bowl a bribed attendant bore;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He drank one draught,<a name="FNanchor_168" id="FNanchor_168"></a><a href="#Footnote_168" class="fnanchor">[168]</a> nor needed more!<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">If thou my tale, Zuleika, doubt,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Call Haroun—he can tell it out.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>XV.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"The deed once done, and Paswan's feud <span class="linenum">730</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">In part suppressed, though ne'er subdued,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[190]</a></span> + +<span class="i2">Abdallah's Pachalick was gained:—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thou know'st not what in our Divan<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Can wealth procure for worse than man—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Abdallah's honours were obtained<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By him a brother's murder stained;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Tis true, the purchase nearly drained<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His ill-got treasure, soon replaced.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Would'st question whence? Survey the waste,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And ask the squalid peasant how <span class="linenum">740</span><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">His gains repay his broiling brow!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Why me the stern Usurper spared,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Why thus with me his palace spared,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I know not. Shame—regret—remorse—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And little fear from infant's force—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Besides, adoption as a son<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By him whom Heaven accorded none,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or some unknown cabal, caprice,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Preserved me thus:—but not in peace:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He cannot curb his haughty mood,<a name="FNanchor_gm" id="FNanchor_gm"></a><a href="#Footnote_gm" class="fnanchor">[gm]</a> <span class="linenum">750</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor I forgive a father's blood.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>XVI.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Within thy Father's house are foes;<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">Not all who break his bread are true:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To these should I my birth disclose,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">His days-his very hours were few:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They only want a heart to lead,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A hand to point them to the deed.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But Haroun only knows, or knew<br /></span> +<span class="i2">This tale, whose close is almost nigh:<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[191]</a></span> +<span class="i0">He in Abdallah's palace grew, <span class="linenum">760</span><br /></span> + +<span class="i2">And held that post in his Serai<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Which holds he here—he saw him die;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But what could single slavery do?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Avenge his lord? alas! too late;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or save his son from such a fate?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He chose the last, and when elate<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With foes subdued, or friends betrayed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Proud Giaffir in high triumph sate,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">He led me helpless to his gate,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And not in vain it seems essayed <span class="linenum">770</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">To save the life for which he prayed.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The knowledge of my birth secured<br /></span> +<span class="i2">From all and each, but most from me;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thus Giaffir's safety was ensured.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Removed he too from Roumelie<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To this our Asiatic side,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Far from our seats by Danube's tide,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With none but Haroun, who retains<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Such knowledge—and that Nubian feels<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A Tyrant's secrets are but chains, <span class="linenum">780</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">From which the captive gladly steals,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And this and more to me reveals:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Such still to guilt just Allah sends—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Slaves, tools, accomplices—no friends!<br /></span> + +</div></div> + +<h4>XVII.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"All this, Zuleika, harshly sounds;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But harsher still my tale must be:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Howe'er my tongue thy softness wounds,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Yet I must prove all truth to thee."<a name="FNanchor_gn" id="FNanchor_gn"></a><a href="#Footnote_gn" class="fnanchor">[gn]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">I saw thee start this garb to see,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[192]</a></span> + +<span class="i0">Yet is it one I oft have worn,<span class='linenum'>790</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">And long must wear: this Galiongée,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To whom thy plighted vow is sworn,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Is leader of those pirate hordes,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Whose laws and lives are on their swords;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To hear whose desolating tale<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Would make thy waning cheek more pale:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Those arms thou see'st my band have brought,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">The hands that wield are not remote;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This cup too for the rugged knaves<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Is filled—once quaffed, they ne'er repine:<span class='linenum'>800</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Our Prophet might forgive the slaves;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">They're only infidels in wine.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>XVIII.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"What could I be? Proscribed at home,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And taunted to a wish to roam;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And listless left—for Giaffir's fear<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Denied the courser and the spear—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though oft—Oh, Mahomet! how oft!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In full Divan the despot scoffed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As if <i>my</i> weak unwilling hand<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Refused the bridle or the brand: <span class="linenum">810</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">He ever went to war alone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And pent me here untried—unknown;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To Haroun's care with women left,<a name="FNanchor_go" id="FNanchor_go"></a><a href="#Footnote_go" class="fnanchor">[go]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">By hope unblest, of fame bereft,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While thou—whose softness long endeared,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though it unmanned me, still had cheered—<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">To Brusa's walls for safety sent,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Awaited'st there the field's event.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[193]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Haroun who saw my spirit pining<a name="FNanchor_gp" id="FNanchor_gp"></a><a href="#Footnote_gp" class="fnanchor">[gp]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Beneath inaction's sluggish yoke, <span class="linenum">820</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">His captive, though with dread resigning,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My thraldom for a season broke,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On promise to return before<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">The day when Giaffir's charge was o'er.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Tis vain—my tongue can not impart<a name="FNanchor_gq" id="FNanchor_gq"></a><a href="#Footnote_gq" class="fnanchor">[gq]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">My almost drunkenness of heart,<a name="FNanchor_169" id="FNanchor_169"></a><a href="#Footnote_169" class="fnanchor">[169]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">When first this liberated eye<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Surveyed Earth—Ocean—Sun—and Sky—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As if my Spirit pierced them through,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">And all their inmost wonders knew! <span class="linenum">830</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">One word alone can paint to thee<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That more than feeling—I was Free!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">E'en for thy presence ceased to pine;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The World—nay, Heaven itself was mine!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>XIX.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"The shallop of a trusty Moor<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Conveyed me from this idle shore;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I longed to see the isles that gem<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Old Ocean's purple diadem:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I sought by turns, and saw them all;<a name="FNanchor_170" id="FNanchor_170"></a><a href="#Footnote_170" class="fnanchor">[170]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">But when and where I joined the crew,<span class="linenum">840</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">With whom I'm pledged to rise or fall,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[194]</a></span> + +<span class="i2">When all that we design to do<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is done,'twill then be time more meet<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To tell thee, when the tale's complete.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>XX.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"'Tis true, they are a lawless brood,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But rough in form, nor mild in mood;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And every creed, and every race,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">With them hath found—may find a place:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But open speech, and ready hand,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Obedience to their Chief's command; <span class="linenum">850</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">A soul for every enterprise,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That never sees with Terror's eyes;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Friendship for each, and faith to all,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And vengeance vowed for those who fall,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Have made them fitting instruments<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">For more than e'en my own intents.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And some—and I have studied all<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Distinguished from the vulgar rank,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But chiefly to my council call<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The wisdom of the cautious Frank:— <span class="linenum">860</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And some to higher thoughts aspire.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The last of Lambro's<a name="FNanchor_171" id="FNanchor_171"></a><a href="#Footnote_171" class="fnanchor">[171]</a> patriots there<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">Anticipated freedom share;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And oft around the cavern fire<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On visionary schemes debate,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[195]</a></span> +<span class="i0">To snatch the Rayahs<a name="FNanchor_172" id="FNanchor_172"></a><a href="#Footnote_172" class="fnanchor">[172]</a> from their fate.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So let them ease their hearts with prate<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of equal rights, which man ne'er knew;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I have a love for freedom too.<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Aye! let me like the ocean-Patriarch<a name="FNanchor_173" id="FNanchor_173"></a><a href="#Footnote_173" class="fnanchor">[173]</a> roam, <span class="linenum">870</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or only know on land the Tartar's home!<a name="FNanchor_174" id="FNanchor_174"></a><a href="#Footnote_174" class="fnanchor">[174]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">My tent on shore, my galley on the sea,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Are more than cities and Serais to me:<a name="FNanchor_175" id="FNanchor_175"></a><a href="#Footnote_175" class="fnanchor">[175]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Borne by my steed, or wafted by my sail,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Across the desert, or before the gale,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Bound where thou wilt, my barb! or glide, my prow!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But be the Star that guides the wanderer, Thou!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thou, my Zuleika, share and bless my bark;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Dove of peace and promise to mine ark!<a name="FNanchor_176" id="FNanchor_176"></a><a href="#Footnote_176" class="fnanchor">[176]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or, since that hope denied in worlds of strife, <span class="linenum">880</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Be thou the rainbow to the storms of life!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The evening beam that smiles the clouds away,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And tints to-morrow with prophetic ray!<a name="FNanchor_177" id="FNanchor_177"></a><a href="#Footnote_177" class="fnanchor">[177]</a><br /></span> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[196]</a></span><span class="i0">Blest—as the Muezzin's strain from Mecca's wall<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To pilgrims pure and prostrate at his call;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Soft—as the melody of youthful days,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That steals the trembling tear of speechless praise;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dear—as his native song to Exile's ears,<a name="FNanchor_gr" id="FNanchor_gr"></a><a href="#Footnote_gr" class="fnanchor">[gr]</a><br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[197]</a></span><span class="i0">Shall sound each tone thy long-loved voice endears.<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">For thee in those bright isles is built a bower <span class="linenum">890</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Blooming as Aden<a name="FNanchor_178" id="FNanchor_178"></a><a href="#Footnote_178" class="fnanchor">[178]</a> in its earliest hour.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A thousand swords, with Selim's heart and hand,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wait—wave—defend—destroy—at thy command!<a name="FNanchor_gs" id="FNanchor_gs"></a><a href="#Footnote_gs" class="fnanchor">[gs]</a><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Girt by my band, Zuleika at my side,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The spoil of nations shall bedeck my bride.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Haram's languid years of listless ease<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Are well resigned for cares—for joys like these:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not blind to Fate, I see, where'er I rove,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Unnumbered perils,—but one only love!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet well my toils shall that fond breast repay, <span class="linenum">900</span><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Though Fortune frown, or falser friends betray.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How dear the dream in darkest hours of ill,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Should all be changed, to find thee faithful still!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Be but thy soul, like Selim's firmly shown;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To thee be Selim's tender as thine own;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To soothe each sorrow, share in each delight,<a name="FNanchor_gt" id="FNanchor_gt"></a><a href="#Footnote_gt" class="fnanchor">[gt]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Blend every thought, do all—but disunite!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Once free, 'tis mine our horde again to guide;<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Friends to each other, foes to aught beside:<a name="FNanchor_179" id="FNanchor_179"></a><a href="#Footnote_179" class="fnanchor">[179]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet there we follow but the bent assigned <span class="linenum">910</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">By fatal Nature to man's warring kind:<a name="FNanchor_gu" id="FNanchor_gu"></a><a href="#Footnote_gu" class="fnanchor">[gu]</a><br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[198]</a></span><span class="i0">Mark! where his carnage and his conquests cease!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He makes a solitude, and calls it—peace!<a name="FNanchor_gv" id="FNanchor_gv"></a><a href="#Footnote_gv" class="fnanchor">[gv]</a><a name="FNanchor_180" id="FNanchor_180"></a><a href="#Footnote_180" class="fnanchor">[180]</a><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">I like the rest must use my skill or strength,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But ask no land beyond my sabre's length:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Power sways but by division—her resource<a name="FNanchor_gw" id="FNanchor_gw"></a><a href="#Footnote_gw" class="fnanchor">[gw]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">The blest alternative of fraud or force!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ours be the last; in time Deceit may come<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When cities cage us in a social home:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There ev'n thy soul might err—how oft the heart <span class="linenum">920</span><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Corruption shakes which Peril could not part!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Woman, more than Man, when Death or Woe,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or even Disgrace, would lay her lover low,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sunk in the lap of Luxury will shame—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Away suspicion!—<i>not</i> Zuleika's name!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But life is hazard at the best; and here<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No more remains to win, and much to fear:<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Yes, fear!—the doubt, the dread of losing thee,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By Osman's power, and Giaffir's stern decree.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That dread shall vanish with the favouring gale, <span class="linenum">930</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which Love to-night hath promised to my sail:<a name="FNanchor_gx" id="FNanchor_gx"></a><a href="#Footnote_gx" class="fnanchor">[gx]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">No danger daunts the pair his smile hath blest,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their steps still roving, but their hearts at rest.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With thee all toils are sweet, each clime hath charms;<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Earth—sea alike—our world within our arms!<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[199]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Aye—let the loud winds whistle o'er the deck,<a name="FNanchor_181" id="FNanchor_181"></a><a href="#Footnote_181" class="fnanchor">[181]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">So that those arms cling closer round my neck:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The deepest murmur of this lip shall be,<a name="FNanchor_gy" id="FNanchor_gy"></a><a href="#Footnote_gy" class="fnanchor">[gy]</a><a name="FNanchor_182" id="FNanchor_182"></a><a href="#Footnote_182" class="fnanchor">[182]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">No sigh for safety, but a prayer for thee!<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">The war of elements no fears impart <span class="linenum">940</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">To Love, whose deadliest bane is human Art:<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>There</i> lie the only rocks our course can check;<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Here</i> moments menace—<i>there</i> are years of wreck!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But hence ye thoughts that rise in Horror's shape!<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">This hour bestows, or ever bars escape.<a name="FNanchor_gz" id="FNanchor_gz"></a><a href="#Footnote_gz" class="fnanchor">[gz]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Few words remain of mine my tale to close;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of thine but <i>one</i> to waft us from our foes;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yea—foes—to me will Giaffir's hate decline?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And is not Osman, who would part us, thine?<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>XXI.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"His head and faith from doubt and death<span class='linenum'>950</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Returned in time my guard to save;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Few heard, none told, that o'er the wave<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From isle to isle I roved the while:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And since, though parted from my band<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Too seldom now I leave the land,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[200]</a></span> + +<span class="i0">No deed they've done, nor deed shall do,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ere I have heard and doomed it too:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I form the plan—decree the spoil—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tis fit I oftener share the toil.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But now too long I've held thine ear;<span class='linenum'>960</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Time presses—floats my bark—and here<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We leave behind but hate and fear.<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">To-morrow Osman with his train<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Arrives—to-night must break thy chain:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And would'st thou save that haughty Bey,—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Perchance <i>his</i> life who gave thee thine,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With me this hour away—away!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But yet, though thou art plighted mine,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Would'st thou recall thy willing vow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Appalled by truths imparted now,<span class='linenum'>970</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Here rest I—not to see thee wed:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But be that peril on <i>my</i> head!"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>XXII.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Zuleika, mute and motionless,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Stood like that Statue of Distress,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When, her last hope for ever gone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Mother hardened into stone;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All in the maid that eye could see<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was but a younger Niobé.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But ere her lip, or even her eye,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Essayed to speak, or look reply, <span class="linenum">980</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beneath the garden's wicket porch<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Far flashed on high a blazing torch!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Another—and another—and another—<a name="FNanchor_183" id="FNanchor_183"></a><a href="#Footnote_183" class="fnanchor">[183]</a><br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[201]</a></span><span class="i0">"Oh! fly—no more—yet now my more than brother!"<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Far, wide, through every thicket spread<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The fearful lights are gleaming red;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor these alone—for each right hand<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is ready with a sheathless brand.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They part—pursue—return, and wheel<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With searching flambeau, shining steel; <span class="linenum">990</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And last of all, his sabre waving,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Stern Giaffir in his fury raving:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And now almost they touch the cave—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh! must that grot be Selim's grave?<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>XXIII.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Dauntless he stood—"'Tis come—soon past—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">One kiss, Zuleika—'tis my last:<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">But yet my band not far from shore<br /></span> +<span class="i0">May hear this signal, see the flash;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet now too few—the attempt were rash:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">No matter—yet one effort more."<span class='linenum'>1000</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Forth to the cavern mouth he stept;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">His pistol's echo rang on high,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Zuleika started not, nor wept,<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">Despair benumbed her breast and eye!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"They hear me not, or if they ply<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their oars,'tis but to see me die;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That sound hath drawn my foes more nigh.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then forth my father's scimitar,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thou ne'er hast seen less equal war!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Farewell, Zuleika!—Sweet! retire:<span class='linenum'>1010</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Yet stay within—here linger safe,<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">At thee his rage will only chafe.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Stir not—lest even to thee perchance<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Some erring blade or ball should glance.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[202]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Fear'st them for him?—may I expire<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If in this strife I seek thy sire!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No—though by him that poison poured;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No—though again he call me coward!<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">But tamely shall I meet their steel?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No—as each crest save <i>his</i> may feel!"<span class='linenum'>1020</span><br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>XXIV.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">One bound he made, and gained the sand:<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">Already at his feet hath sunk<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The foremost of the prying band,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A gasping head, a quivering trunk:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Another falls—but round him close<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A swarming circle of his foes;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From right to left his path he cleft,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And almost met the meeting wave:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His boat appears—not five oars' length—<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">His comrades strain with desperate strength—<span class='linenum'>1030</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Oh! are they yet in time to save?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">His feet the foremost breakers lave;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His band are plunging in the bay,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their sabres glitter through the spray;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wet—wild—unwearied to the strand<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They struggle—now they touch the land!<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">They come—'tis but to add to slaughter—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His heart's best blood is on the water.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>XXV.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Escaped from shot, unharmed by steel,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or scarcely grazed its force to feel,<a name="FNanchor_ha" id="FNanchor_ha"></a><a href="#Footnote_ha" class="fnanchor">[ha]</a> <span class="linenum">1040</span><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Had Selim won, betrayed, beset,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To where the strand and billows met;<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[203]</a></span> +<span class="i0">There as his last step left the land,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the last death-blow dealt his hand—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ah! wherefore did he turn to look<a name="FNanchor_hb" id="FNanchor_hb"></a><a href="#Footnote_hb" class="fnanchor">[hb]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">For her his eye but sought in vain?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That pause, that fatal gaze he took,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Hath doomed his death, or fixed his chain.<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Sad proof, in peril and in pain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How late will Lover's hope remain! <span class="linenum">1050</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">His back was to the dashing spray;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Behind, but close, his comrades lay,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When, at the instant, hissed the ball—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"So may the foes of Giaffir fall!"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whose voice is heard? whose carbine rang?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whose bullet through the night-air sang,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Too nearly, deadly aimed to err?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Tis thine—Abdallah's Murderer!<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[204]</a></span> +<span class="i0">The father slowly rued thy hate,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The son hath found a quicker fate: <span class="linenum">1060</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fast from his breast the blood is bubbling,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The whiteness of the sea-foam troubling—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If aught his lips essayed to groan,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">The rushing billows choked the tone!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>XXVI.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Morn slowly rolls the clouds away;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Few trophies of the fight are there:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The shouts that shook the midnight-bay<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Are silent; but some signs of fray<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That strand of strife may bear,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">And fragments of each shivered brand;<span class='linenum'>1070</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Steps stamped; and dashed into the sand<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The print of many a struggling hand<br /></span> +<span class="i2">May there be marked; nor far remote<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A broken torch, an oarless boat;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And tangled on the weeds that heap<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The beach where shelving to the deep<br /></span> +<span class="i2">There lies a white capote!<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">'Tis rent in twain—one dark-red stain<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The wave yet ripples o'er in vain:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But where is he who wore?<span class='linenum'>1080</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ye! who would o'er his relics weep,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Go, seek them where the surges sweep<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their burthen round Sigæum's steep<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And cast on Lemnos' shore:<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">The sea-birds shriek above the prey,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O'er which their hungry beaks delay,<a name="FNanchor_hc" id="FNanchor_hc"></a><a href="#Footnote_hc" class="fnanchor">[hc]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">As shaken on his restless pillow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His head heaves with the heaving billow;<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[205]</a></span> +<span class="i0">That hand, whose motion is not life,<a name="FNanchor_hd" id="FNanchor_hd"></a><a href="#Footnote_hd" class="fnanchor">[hd]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet feebly seems to menace strife,<span class='linenum'>1090</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Flung by the tossing tide on high,<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">Then levelled with the wave—<a name="FNanchor_184" id="FNanchor_184"></a><a href="#Footnote_184" class="fnanchor">[184]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">What recks it, though that corse shall lie<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Within a living grave?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The bird that tears that prostrate form<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hath only robbed the meaner worm;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The only heart, the only eye<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Had bled or wept to see him die,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Had seen those scattered limbs composed,<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">And mourned above his turban-stone,<a name="FNanchor_185" id="FNanchor_185"></a><a href="#Footnote_185" class="fnanchor">[185]</a><span class='linenum'>1100</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">That heart hath burst—that eye was closed—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Yea—closed before his own!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>XXVII.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">By Helle's stream there is a voice of wail!<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">And Woman's eye is wet—Man's cheek is pale:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Zuleika! last of Giaffir's race,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thy destined lord is come too late:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He sees not—ne'er shall see thy face!<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Can he not hear<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The loud Wul-wulleh<a name="FNanchor_186" id="FNanchor_186"></a><a href="#Footnote_186" class="fnanchor">[186]</a> warn his distant ear?<br /></span> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[206]</a></span><span class="i2">Thy handmaids weeping at the gate,<span class='linenum'>1110</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">The Koran-chanters of the Hymn of Fate,<a name="FNanchor_he" id="FNanchor_he"></a><a href="#Footnote_he" class="fnanchor">[he]</a><a name="FNanchor_187" id="FNanchor_187"></a><a href="#Footnote_187" class="fnanchor">[187]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">The silent slaves with folded arms that wait,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sighs in the hall, and shrieks upon the gale,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Tell him thy tale!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thou didst not view thy Selim fall!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That fearful moment when he left the cave<br /></span> + +<span class="i6">Thy heart grew chill:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He was thy hope—thy joy—thy love—thine all,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And that last thought on him thou could'st not save<br /></span> +<span class="i8">Sufficed to kill;<span class='linenum'>1120</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Burst forth in one wild cry—and all was still.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Peace to thy broken heart—and virgin grave!<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Ah! happy! but of life to lose the worst!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That grief—though deep—though fatal—was thy first!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thrice happy! ne'er to feel nor fear the force<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of absence—shame—pride—hate—revenge—remorse!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, oh! that pang where more than Madness lies<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">The Worm that will not sleep—and never dies;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thought of the gloomy day and ghastly night,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That dreads the darkness, and yet loathes the light,<span class='linenum'>1130</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">That winds around, and tears the quivering heart!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ah! wherefore not consume it—and depart!<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[207]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Woe to thee, rash and unrelenting Chief!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Vainly thou heap'st the dust upon thy head,<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">Vainly the sackcloth o'er thy limbs dost spread:<a name="FNanchor_188" id="FNanchor_188"></a><a href="#Footnote_188" class="fnanchor">[188]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">By that same hand Abdallah—Selim bled.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now let it tear thy beard in idle grief:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy pride of heart, thy bride for Osman's bed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She, whom thy Sultan had but seen to wed,<a name="FNanchor_hf" id="FNanchor_hf"></a><a href="#Footnote_hf" class="fnanchor">[hf]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i6">Thy Daughter's dead!<span class='linenum'>1140</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Hope of thine age, thy twilight's lonely beam,<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">The Star hath set that shone on Helle's stream.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What quenched its ray?—the blood that thou hast shed!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hark! to the hurried question of Despair:<a name="FNanchor_189" id="FNanchor_189"></a><a href="#Footnote_189" class="fnanchor">[189]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Where is my child?"—an Echo answers—"Where?"<a name="FNanchor_190" id="FNanchor_190"></a><a href="#Footnote_190" class="fnanchor">[190]</a><br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>XXVIII.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">Within the place of thousand tombs<br /></span> +<span class="i4">That shine beneath, while dark above<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The sad but living cypress glooms<a name="FNanchor_hg" id="FNanchor_hg"></a><a href="#Footnote_hg" class="fnanchor">[hg]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i4">And withers not, though branch and leaf<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Are stamped with an eternal grief, <span class="linenum">1150</span><br /></span> +<span class="i4">Like early unrequited Love,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[208]</a></span> + +<span class="i2">One spot exists, which ever blooms,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Ev'n in that deadly grove—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A single rose is shedding there<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Its lonely lustre, meek and pale:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">It looks as planted by Despair—<br /></span> +<span class="i4">So white—so faint—the slightest gale<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Might whirl the leaves on high;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And yet, though storms and blight assail,<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">And hands more rude than wintry sky <span class="linenum">1160</span><br /></span> +<span class="i4">May wring it from the stem—in vain—<br /></span> +<span class="i4">To-morrow sees it bloom again!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The stalk some Spirit gently rears,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And waters with celestial tears;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">For well may maids of Helle deem<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That this can be no earthly flower,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Which mocks the tempest's withering hour,<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">And buds unsheltered by a bower;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Nor droops, though Spring refuse her shower,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Nor woos the Summer beam: <span class="linenum">1170</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">To it the livelong night there sings<br /></span> +<span class="i4">A Bird unseen—but not remote:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Invisible his airy wings,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But soft as harp that Houri strings<br /></span> +<span class="i4">His long entrancing note!<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">It were the Bulbul; but his throat,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Though mournful, pours not such a strain:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For they who listen cannot leave<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The spot, but linger there and grieve,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">As if they loved in vain! <span class="linenum">1180</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">And yet so sweet the tears they shed,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">'Tis sorrow so unmixed with dread,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">They scarce can bear the morn to break<br /></span> + +<span class="i4">That melancholy spell,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And longer yet would weep and wake,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[209]</a></span> +<span class="i4">He sings so wild and well!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But when the day-blush bursts from high<a name="FNanchor_hh" id="FNanchor_hh"></a><a href="#Footnote_hh" class="fnanchor">[hh]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i4">Expires that magic melody.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And some have been who could believe,<a name="FNanchor_hi" id="FNanchor_hi"></a><a href="#Footnote_hi" class="fnanchor">[hi]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">(So fondly youthful dreams deceive, <span class="linenum">1190</span><br /></span> + +<span class="i4">Yet harsh be they that blame,)<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That note so piercing and profound<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Will shape and syllable<a name="FNanchor_191" id="FNanchor_191"></a><a href="#Footnote_191" class="fnanchor">[191]</a> its sound<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Into Zuleika's name.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">'Tis from her cypress summit heard,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That melts in air the liquid word:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">'Tis from her lowly virgin earth<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">That white rose takes its tender birth.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[210]</a></span> +<span class="i2">There late was laid a marble stone;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Eve saw it placed—the Morrow gone! <span class="linenum">1200</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">It was no mortal arm that bore<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That deep fixed pillar to the shore;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For there, as Helle's legends tell,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Next morn 'twas found where Selim fell;<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">Lashed by the tumbling tide, whose wave<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Denied his bones a holier grave:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And there by night, reclined, 'tis said.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Is seen a ghastly turbaned head:<a name="FNanchor_192" id="FNanchor_192"></a><a href="#Footnote_192" class="fnanchor">[192]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i4">And hence extended by the billow,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">'Tis named the "Pirate-phantom's pillow!" <span class="linenum">1210</span><br /></span> +<span class="i4">Where first it lay that mourning flower<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Hath flourished; flourisheth this hour,<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">Alone and dewy—coldly pure and pale;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As weeping Beauty's cheek at Sorrow's tale!<a name="FNanchor_hj" id="FNanchor_hj"></a><a href="#Footnote_hj" class="fnanchor">[hj]</a><a name="FNanchor_193" id="FNanchor_193"></a><a href="#Footnote_193" class="fnanchor">[193]</a><br /></span> +</div></div> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[211]</a></span></p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="NOTE_ABYDOS" id="NOTE_ABYDOS"></a> +NOTE TO <i>THE BRIDE OF ABYDOS</i>. + +<br /><span class="center"><img src="images/decoration.png" alt="swash" /></span> +</h2> + + +<h3>CANTO II. STANZA XX.</h3> + + +<p><span class="smcap">After</span> the completion of the fair copy of the MS. of the +<i>Bride of Abydos</i>, 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!"</p> + +<p>Seven MS. sheets are extant, which make up the greater +portion of these additional lines.</p> + +<p>The <i>First Addition</i> amounts to eight lines, and takes the +narrative from line 880 to line 893, "Wait—wave—defend— +destroy—at thy command!"</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>The <i>Second Fragment</i> 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.</p> + +<p>The <i>Third Fragment</i> amounts to thirty-six lines, and +may be taken as the first draft of the whole additions—lines 880-949.</p> + +<p>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 <i>Bride</i> were<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[212]</a></span> +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 <i>Fourth Fragment</i>. 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,</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"The deepest murmur of this lip shall be,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No sigh for safety, but a prayer for thee!"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>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.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>[<span class="smcap"><i>First</i> Draft of 880, <i>sq</i>., of Canto II. Stanz xx. +of the <i>Bride of Abydos</i></span>.]</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">For thee in those bright isles is built a bower<br /></span> +<span class="i11">Aden, in its earliest hour<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Blooming as <span class="lineout">Eden—guarded like a tower</span><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">A thousand swords—thy Selim's soul and hand<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wait on thy voice, and bow to thy command<br /></span> +<span class="i20">pair<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No Danger daunts—the <span class="lineout">souls</span> that Love hath blest<br /></span> +<span class="i6">steps still roving<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With <span class="lineout">feet long-wandering</span>—but with hearts at rest.<br /></span> + +<span class="i0"><span class="lineout">For thee my blade shall shine—my hand shall toil</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">With thee all toils were sweet—each clime hath charms {line 934}<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Earth—sea—alike—one World within our arms {line 935}<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Girt by my hand—Zuleika at my side—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Spoil of nations shall bedeck my bride<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[213]</a></span> + +<span class="i10">slumbring<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Haram's <span class="lineout">sluggish</span> life of listless ease<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is well exchanged for cares and joys like these<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><span class="lineout">Mine be the lot to know where'er I rove</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><span class="lineout">A thousand perils wait where-er I rove,</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not blind to fate I view where-er I rove<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A thousand perils—but one only love—<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Yet well my labor shall fond breast repay<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When Fortune frowns or falser friends betray<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How dear the thought in darkest hours of ill<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Should all be changed to find thee faithful still<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Be but thy soul like Selim's firmly shown<br /></span> +<span class="i13"><span class="lineout">mine in firmness</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><span class="lineout">Firm as my own I deem thy tender heart</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">To thee be Selim's tender as thine own<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Exchange, or mingle every thought with his<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">And all our future days unite in this.<br /></span> +<hr /> +<span class="i0">Man I may lead—but trust not—I may fall<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By those now friends to me—yet foes to all—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In this they follow but the bent assigned<br /></span> +<span class="i4">fatal Nature<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By <span class="lineout">savage Nature</span> to our warning kind<br /></span> + +<span class="i0"><i>But there—oh, far be every thought of fear</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Life is but peril at the best—and here<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No more remains to win and much to fear<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yes fear—the doubt the dread of losing thee—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That dread must vanish.<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[215]</a></span></div></div> + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_ey" id="Footnote_ey"></a><a href="#FNanchor_ey"><span class="label">[ey]</span></a> +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i3"><i>To the Right Hon<span class="sup">ble</span></i><br /></span> +<span class="i2"><i>Henry Richard Vassal</i><br /></span> +<span class="i6"><i>Lord Holland</i><br /></span> +<span class="i8"><i>This Tale</i><br /></span> +<span class="i4"><i>Is inscribed with</i><br /></span> +<span class="i2"><i>Every sentiment of the</i><br /></span> + +<span class="i2"><i>Most affectionate respect</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>by his gratefully obliged serv<span class="sup">t</span>.</i><br /></span> +<span class="i4"><i>And sincere Friend</i><br /></span> +<span class="i19"><i>Byron</i>.<br /></span> +</div></div> +<p class="attrib">[<i>Proof and Revise.</i>—See <i>Letters to Murray</i>, +November 13, 17, 1813.] + +</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_124" id="Footnote_124"></a><a href="#FNanchor_124"><span class="label">[124]</span></a> <a id="Note_157"></a>{157} ["Murray tells me that Croker asked him why the thing was +called the <i>Bride</i> of Abydos? It is a cursed awkward question, +being unanswerable. <i>She</i> is not a <i>bride</i>, only about to become one. +I don't wonder at his finding out the <i>Bull</i>; 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."—<i>Journal</i>, December 6, 1813; + +<i>Letters</i>, 1898, ii. 365. +</p><p> +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 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."—<i>N. Engl. Dict</i>., art. "Bride."]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_125" id="Footnote_125"></a><a href="#FNanchor_125"><span class="label">[125]</span></a> [The opening lines were probably suggested by Goethe's—"Kennst du das Land wo die citronen blühn?"] +</p> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_126" id="Footnote_126"></a><a href="#FNanchor_126"><span class="label">[126]</span></a> "Gúl," the rose.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_127" id="Footnote_127"></a><a href="#FNanchor_127"><span class="label">[127]</span></a> <a id="Note_158"></a>{158} ["'Where the Citron,' etc. +These lines are in the MS., and <i>omitted</i> by the <i>Printer</i>, +whom I <i>again</i> request to look over it, and +see that no others are <i>omitted</i>.—B." (Revise No. 1, November 13, 1813.) +</p><p> +"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 <i>he</i> would not print such a stupid word as <i>finest</i> + +for fairest." (Revise, November 15, 1813.) +</p><p> +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.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_128" id="Footnote_128"></a><a href="#FNanchor_128"><span class="label">[128]</span></a> +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Souls made of fire, and children of the Sun,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With whom revenge is virtue."<br /></span> +</div></div> +<p class="attrib"><span class="smcap">Young's</span> <i>Revenge</i>, act v. sc. 2 (<i>British Theatre</i>, 1792, p. 84). + +</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_ez" id="Footnote_ez"></a><a href="#FNanchor_ez"><span class="label">[ez]</span></a> <i>For wild as the moment of lovers' farewell</i>.—[MS.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_fa" id="Footnote_fa"></a><a href="#FNanchor_fa"><span class="label">[fa]</span></a> <i>Canto 1<span class="sup">st</span> The Bride of Abydos. Nov. 1<span class="sup">st</span> 1813</i>.—[MS.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_fb" id="Footnote_fb"></a><a href="#FNanchor_fb"><span class="label">[fb]</span></a> <a id="Note_159"></a>{159} <i>The changing cheek and knitting brow</i>.—[MS. i.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_fc" id="Footnote_fc"></a><a href="#FNanchor_fc"><span class="label">[fc]</span></a> +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>Hence—bid my daughter hither come</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>This hour decides her future doom—</i><br /></span> + +<span class="i0"><i>Yet not to her these words express</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>But lead her from the tower's recess</i>.—[MSS. i., ii.]<br /></span> +</div></div> +<p> +[These lines must have been altered in proof, for all the revises +accord with the text.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_fd" id="Footnote_fd"></a><a href="#FNanchor_fd"><span class="label">[fd]</span></a> <a id="Note_160"></a>{160} <i>With many a tale and mutual song</i>.—[ms]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_129" id="Footnote_129"></a><a href="#FNanchor_129"><span class="label">[129]</span></a> Mejnoun and Leila, the Romeo and Juliet of the East. Sadi, +the moral poet of Persia. [For the "story of Leila and Mujnoon," +see <i>The Gulistan, or Rose Garden</i> of ... Saadi, 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 <i>Medjnoun et Leila</i>, +translated by A. L. Chezy, Paris, 1807.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_130" id="Footnote_130"></a><a href="#FNanchor_130"><span class="label">[130]</span></a> Tambour. Turkish drum, which sounds at sunrise, noon, and +twilight. [The "tambour" is a kind of mandoline. It is the +large kettle-drum (<i>nagaré</i>) which sounds the hours.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_fe" id="Footnote_fe"></a><a href="#FNanchor_fe"><span class="label">[fe]</span></a> <a id="Note_161"></a>{161} +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>Must walk forsooth where waters flow</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>And pore on every flower below</i>.—[MS. erased.]<br /></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_ff" id="Footnote_ff"></a><a href="#FNanchor_ff"><span class="label">[ff]</span></a> <a id="Note_162"></a>{162} <i>For looks of peace and hearts of ire</i>.—[MS.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_fg" id="Footnote_fg"></a><a href="#FNanchor_fg"><span class="label">[fg]</span></a> <i>And calmly to his Sire's was raised</i>.—[MS.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_fh" id="Footnote_fh"></a><a href="#FNanchor_fh"><span class="label">[fh]</span></a> <a id="Note_163"></a>{163} <i>No—nor the blood I call my own</i>.—[MS.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_131" id="Footnote_131"></a><a href="#FNanchor_131"><span class="label">[131]</span></a> The Turks abhor the Arabs (who return the compliment a +hundredfold) even more than they hate the Christians.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_fi" id="Footnote_fi"></a><a href="#FNanchor_fi"><span class="label">[fi]</span></a> <i>Or Christian flying from the fight</i>.—[MS.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_fj" id="Footnote_fj"></a><a href="#FNanchor_fj"><span class="label">[fj]</span></a> <i>Zuleika! ever welcome here</i>.—[MS.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_fk" id="Footnote_fk"></a><a href="#FNanchor_fk"><span class="label">[fk]</span></a> <i>Who never was more blest than now</i>.—[MS.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_132" id="Footnote_132"></a><a href="#FNanchor_132"><span class="label">[132]</span></a> <a id="Note_164"></a>{164} [Lines 170-181 were added in the course of printing. They +were received by the publisher on November 22, 1813.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_fl" id="Footnote_fl"></a><a href="#FNanchor_fl"><span class="label">[fl]</span></a> +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> + +<span class="i0"><i>Who hath not felt his very power of sight</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Faint with the languid dimness of delight?</i>—[MS.]<br /></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_fm" id="Footnote_fm"></a><a href="#FNanchor_fm"><span class="label">[fm]</span></a> +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i3"><i>The light of life—the purity of grace</i><br /></span> +<span class="i3"><i>The mind of Music breathing in her face</i><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">or, <i>Mind on her lip and music in her face.</i><br /></span> +<span class="i3"><i>A heart where softness harmonized the whole</i><br /></span> +<span class="i3"><i>And oh! her eye was in itself a Soul!</i>—[MS.]<br /></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_133" id="Footnote_133"></a><a href="#FNanchor_133"><span class="label">[133]</span></a> 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, <span class="smcap">De l'Allemagne</span>. 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! +</p><p> + +[A] <i>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</i>.—[MS. erased.] +</p><p> +[For the simile of the broken mirror, compare <i>Childe Harold</i>, +Canto III. stanza xxxiii. line 1 (<i>Poetical Works</i>, ii. 236, note 2); +and for "the expression," "music breathing from her face," compare +Sir Thomas Browne's <i>Religio Medici</i>, Part II. sect, ix., <i>Works</i>, +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," <i>Orpheus to Beasts</i>— + +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Oh could you view the melody<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of ev'ry grace,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And music of her face!"<br /></span> +</div></div> +<p> +The effect of the appeal to Madame de Staël is thus recorded in +Byron's <i>Journal</i> of December 7, 1813 (<i>Letters</i>, 1898, ii. 369): +"This morning, a very pretty billet from the Staël," (for passage in + +<i>De L'Allemagne</i>, Part III. chap, x., and the "billet," +see <i>Letters,</i> ii. 354, note 1) ... "She has been pleased to +be pleased with my slight eulogy in the note annexed +to <i>The Bride</i>."] +</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_134" id="Footnote_134"></a><a href="#FNanchor_134"><span class="label">[134]</span></a> <a id="Note_166"></a>{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. +</p><p> +[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 (<i>Hist. de l'Emp. Ottoman</i>, +iii. 151) gives <i>sang-sue</i>, "blood-sucker," +as the equivalent of Youlouk, +which should, however, be interpreted "smooth-face." +Of the Magnesian Kara Osman Oglou ("Black Osman-son"), Dallaway +(<i>Constantinople Ancient and Modern</i>, 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 <i>Greece under Othoman ... Domination</i>, 1856, pp. 50, 51.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_fn" id="Footnote_fn"></a><a href="#FNanchor_fn"><span class="label">[fn]</span></a> <i>Who won of yore paternal lands</i>.—[MS.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_fo" id="Footnote_fo"></a><a href="#FNanchor_fo"><span class="label">[fo]</span></a> <i>Enough if that thy bridesman true</i>.—[MS. erased.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_135" id="Footnote_135"></a><a href="#FNanchor_135"><span class="label">[135]</span></a> [The Bey Oglou (Begzāde) is "the nobleman," +"the high-born chief."]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_136" id="Footnote_136"></a><a href="#FNanchor_136"><span class="label">[136]</span></a> <a id="Note_167"></a>{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.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_137" id="Footnote_137"></a><a href="#FNanchor_137"><span class="label">[137]</span></a> Clapping of the hands calls the servants. The Turks hate a +superfluous expenditure of voice, and they have no bells.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_138" id="Footnote_138"></a><a href="#FNanchor_138"><span class="label">[138]</span></a> "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.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_139" id="Footnote_139"></a><a href="#FNanchor_139"><span class="label">[139]</span></a> <a id="Note_168"></a>{168} "Maugrabee" [<i>Maghrabī</i>, Moors], +Moorish mercenaries.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_140" id="Footnote_140"></a><a href="#FNanchor_140"><span class="label">[140]</span></a> "Delis," bravos who form the forlorn hope of the cavalry, +and always begin the action. [See <i>Childe Harold</i>, Canto II., +<i>Poetical Works</i>, 1899, ii. 149, note 1.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_141" id="Footnote_141"></a><a href="#FNanchor_141"><span class="label">[141]</span></a> [The Kizlar aghasi was the head of the black eunuchs; +kislar, by itself, is Turkish for "girls," "virgins."]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_142" id="Footnote_142"></a><a href="#FNanchor_142"><span class="label">[142]</span></a> A twisted fold of <i>felt</i> 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 for the same purpose. The jerreed +[jarīd] is a game of blunt javelins, animated and graceful.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_143" id="Footnote_143"></a><a href="#FNanchor_143"><span class="label">[143]</span></a> "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 [<i>vide post</i>, <a href="#Footnote_159">p. 181, note 4</a>], form an amusing contrast.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_fp" id="Footnote_fp"></a><a href="#FNanchor_fp"><span class="label">[fp]</span></a> <a id="Note_169"></a>{169} <i>Her heart confessed no cause of shame</i>.—[MS.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_144" id="Footnote_144"></a><a href="#FNanchor_144"><span class="label">[144]</span></a> "Atar-gul," ottar of roses. The Persian is the finest.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_145" id="Footnote_145"></a><a href="#FNanchor_145"><span class="label">[145]</span></a> 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.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_fq" id="Footnote_fq"></a><a href="#FNanchor_fq"><span class="label">[fq]</span></a> +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>The drops that flow upon his vest</i><br /></span> + +<span class="i0"><i>Unheeded fell upon his breast</i>.—[MS.]<br /></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_146" id="Footnote_146"></a><a href="#FNanchor_146"><span class="label">[146]</span></a> <a id="Note_170"></a>{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., <i>if</i> Mr. +Fox <i>was</i> mistaken. +</p><p> + +[Fox, writing to Grey (see Lord Holland's Preface (p. xii.) to +the <i>History ... of James the Second</i>, 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, <i>Observations upon Mr. Fox's Letter +to Mr. Grey</i>, 1809.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_fr" id="Footnote_fr"></a><a href="#FNanchor_fr"><span class="label">[fr]</span></a> +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>Would I had never seen this hour</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>What knowest thou not who loves thee best.</i>—[MS.]<br /></span> +</div></div> + +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_fs" id="Footnote_fs"></a><a href="#FNanchor_fs"><span class="label">[fs]</span></a> <a id="Note_171"></a>{171} <i>If so by Mecca's hidden shrine</i>.—[MS.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_ft" id="Footnote_ft"></a><a href="#FNanchor_ft"><span class="label">[ft]</span></a> <i>The day that teareth thee from me</i>.—[MS.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_147" id="Footnote_147"></a><a href="#FNanchor_147"><span class="label">[147]</span></a> "Azrael," the angel of death.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_fu" id="Footnote_fu"></a><a href="#FNanchor_fu"><span class="label">[fu]</span></a> <i>When comes that hour and come it must</i>.—[MS. erased.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_fv" id="Footnote_fv"></a><a href="#FNanchor_fv"><span class="label">[fv]</span></a> <a id="Note_172"></a>{172} +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> + +<span class="i0"><i>Which thanks to terror and the dark</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Hath missed a trifle of its mark.</i>—[MS.]<br /></span> +</div></div> +<p> +[The couplet was expunged in a revise dated November 19.] +</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_fw" id="Footnote_fw"></a><a href="#FNanchor_fw"><span class="label">[fw]</span></a> <i>With life to keep but not with life resign</i>.—[MS.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_fx" id="Footnote_fx"></a><a href="#FNanchor_fx"><span class="label">[fx]</span></a> <a id="Note_173"></a>{173} +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>That strays along that head so fair.</i>—[MS.]<br /></span> +<span class="i0">or, <i>That strays along that neck so fair.</i>—[MS.]<br /></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_148" id="Footnote_148"></a><a href="#FNanchor_148"><span class="label">[148]</span></a> The treasures of the Pre-Adamite Sultans. See D'Herbelot +[1781, ii. 405], article <i>Istakar</i> [Estekhar <i>ou</i> Istekhar].</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_149" id="Footnote_149"></a><a href="#FNanchor_149"><span class="label">[149]</span></a> "Musselim," a governor, the next in rank after a Pacha; a +Waywode is the third; and then come the Agas. +</p><p> +[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, <i>Travels in Albania</i>, 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.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_150" id="Footnote_150"></a><a href="#FNanchor_150"><span class="label">[150]</span></a> "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. +</p><p> +[See Gibbon's <i>Decline and Fall</i>, 1855, viii. 386.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_fy" id="Footnote_fy"></a><a href="#FNanchor_fy"><span class="label">[fy]</span></a> <i>Like this—and more than this.</i>—[MS.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_fz" id="Footnote_fz"></a><a href="#FNanchor_fz"><span class="label">[fz]</span></a> <a id="Note_175"></a>{175} +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>But—Selim why my heart's reply</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Should need so much of mystery</i><br /></span> + +<span class="i0"><i>Is more than I can guess or tell,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>But since thou say'st 'tis so—'tis well</i>.—[MS.]<br /></span> +<span class="i24">[The fourth line erased.]<br /></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_ga" id="Footnote_ga"></a><a href="#FNanchor_ga"><span class="label">[ga]</span></a> +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>He blest me more in leaving thee.</i><br /></span> + +<span class="i0"><i>Much should I suffer thus compelled</i>.—[MS.]<br /></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_gb" id="Footnote_gb"></a><a href="#FNanchor_gb"><span class="label">[gb]</span></a> <a id="Note_176"></a>{176} +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>This vow I should no more conceal</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>And wherefore should I not reveal?</i>—[MS.]<br /></span> + +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_gc" id="Footnote_gc"></a><a href="#FNanchor_gc"><span class="label">[gc]</span></a> +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>My breast is consciousness of sin</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>But when and where and what the crime</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>I almost feel is lurking here</i>.—[MS.]<br /></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_151" id="Footnote_151"></a><a href="#FNanchor_151"><span class="label">[151]</span></a> "Tchocadar"—one of the attendants who precedes a man of +authority. +</p><p> +[See D'Ohsson's <i>Tableau Générale, etc.</i>, 1787, ii. 159, +and <i>Plates</i> 87, 88. The Turks seem to have used the +Persian word <i>chawki-dār</i>, +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.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_gd" id="Footnote_gd"></a><a href="#FNanchor_gd"><span class="label">[gd]</span></a> <a id="Note_177"></a>{177} <i>Be silent thou</i>.—[MS.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_ge" id="Footnote_ge"></a><a href="#FNanchor_ge"><span class="label">[ge]</span></a> <a id="Note_178"></a>{178} <i>Nov</i>. 9<span class="sup">th</span> 1813.—[MS.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_152" id="Footnote_152"></a><a href="#FNanchor_152"><span class="label">[152]</span></a> [<i>Vide</i> Ovid, <i>Heroïdes,</i> Ep. xix.; +and the <i>De Herone atque Leandro</i> of Musæus.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_153" id="Footnote_153"></a><a href="#FNanchor_153"><span class="label">[153]</span></a> <a id="Note_179"></a>{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 +<span title="a)/peiros">"ἄπειρος</span>:" +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 <i>eternal</i> +attachment, simply specifies three weeks. +</p><p> +[For a defence of the Homeric +<span title="a)pei/rôn">ἀπείρων</span>, +and for a <i>résumé</i> of the +"wrangling" of the topographers, Jean Baptiste Le Chevalier +(1752-1836) and Jacob Bryant (1715-1804), etc., see +<i>Travels in Albania,</i> 1858, ii. 179-185.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_154" id="Footnote_154"></a><a href="#FNanchor_154"><span class="label">[154]</span></a> <a id="Note_180"></a>{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. +</p><p> +[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. <i>Vitæ</i>, "Alexander M.," cap. xv. line 25, +Lipsiæ, 1814, vi. 187. For the tombs of Æsyetes, etc., see +<i>Travels in Albania, ii. 149-151.</i>]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_155" id="Footnote_155"></a><a href="#FNanchor_155"><span class="label">[155]</span></a> [Compare— + +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Or narrow if needs must be,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Outside are the storms and the strangers."<br /></span> +</div></div> +<p class="attrib"><i>Never the Time, etc.,</i> lines 19, 20, by Robert Browning.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_156" id="Footnote_156"></a><a href="#FNanchor_156"><span class="label">[156]</span></a> <a id="Note_181"></a>{181} When rubbed, the amber is susceptible of a perfume, +which is slight, but <i>not</i> disagreeable. +[Letter to Murray, December 6, 1813, + +<i>Letters</i>, 1898, ii. 300.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_157" id="Footnote_157"></a><a href="#FNanchor_157"><span class="label">[157]</span></a> ["Coeterum castitatis hieroglyphicum gemma est."—Hoffmann, +<i>Lexic. Univ.</i>, art. "Smaragdus." Compare, too, <i>Lalla Rookh</i> +("Chandos Classics," p. 406), "The emerald's virgin blaze."]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_158" id="Footnote_158"></a><a href="#FNanchor_158"><span class="label">[158]</span></a> 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. + +</p><p> +[The <i>âyatu 'l kursîy</i>, 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 <i>Qur'ân</i>, translated by E. H. Palmer, +1880, Part I., <i>Sacred Books of the East</i>, vi. 40.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_159" id="Footnote_159"></a><a href="#FNanchor_159"><span class="label">[159]</span></a> "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 of the Turkish +girls are highly accomplished, though not actually qualified for a +Christian coterie. Perhaps some of our own <i>"blues"</i> might not be +the worse for <i>bleaching.</i> + +</p><p> +[The comboloio consists of ninety-nine beads. Compare <i>Lalla +Rookh</i> ("Chandos Classics," p. 420), "Her ruby rosary," etc., and +note on "Le Tespih." <i>Lord Byron's Comboloio</i> is the title of a +metrical <i>jeu d'esprit,</i> a rhymed catalogue of the <i>Poetical Works,</i> +beginning with <i>Hours of Idleness,</i> and ending with + +<i>Cain, a Mystery</i>.—<i>Blackwood's Magazine,</i> 1822, xi. 162-165.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_160" id="Footnote_160"></a><a href="#FNanchor_160"><span class="label">[160]</span></a> <a id="Note_182"></a>{182} [Shiraz, capital of the Persian province of Fars, +is celebrated for the attar-gûl, or attar of roses.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_gf" id="Footnote_gf"></a><a href="#FNanchor_gf"><span class="label">[gf]</span></a> <a id="Note_183"></a>{183} +</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>Her Prophet did not clearly show</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>But Selim's place was quite secure</i>.—[MS.]<br /></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_161" id="Footnote_161"></a><a href="#FNanchor_161"><span class="label">[161]</span></a> [Compare <i>The Giaour</i>, <a href="#Footnote_88">line 490, +note 1</a>, <i>vide ante</i>, p. 110.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_gg" id="Footnote_gg"></a><a href="#FNanchor_gg"><span class="label">[gg]</span></a> <i>And one seemed red with recent guilt</i>.—[MS.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_gh" id="Footnote_gh"></a><a href="#FNanchor_gh"><span class="label">[gh]</span></a> <a id="Note_184"></a>{184} <i>Her Selim—"Alla—is it he?"</i>—[MS.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_162" id="Footnote_162"></a><a href="#FNanchor_162"><span class="label">[162]</span></a> "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 <i>incog</i>. 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. +</p><p> +[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.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_gi" id="Footnote_gi"></a><a href="#FNanchor_gi"><span class="label">[gi]</span></a> <a id="Note_185"></a>{185} +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>What—have I lived to curse the day?</i>—[MS. M.]<br /></span> + +<span class="i0"><i>To curse—if I could curse—the day</i>.—[MS., ed. 1892.]<br /></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_gj" id="Footnote_gj"></a><a href="#FNanchor_gj"><span class="label">[gj]</span></a> <a id="Note_186"></a>{186} <i>I swear it by Medina's shrine</i>.—[MS. erased.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_163" id="Footnote_163"></a><a href="#FNanchor_163"><span class="label">[163]</span></a> 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 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. +</p><p> +[Compare <i>Lalla Rookh</i> ("Chandos Classics," p. 373)—"The +flashing of their swords' rich marquetry."]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_164" id="Footnote_164"></a><a href="#FNanchor_164"><span class="label">[164]</span></a> <a id="Note_187"></a>{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. +</p><p> +[<i>À propos</i> 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?—<i>Zuleika</i> + +is the Persian <i>poetical name</i> for Potiphar's wife;" and, +again, November 14, "I don't care one lump of sugar for my <i>poetry;</i> +but for my <i>costume</i>, and my correctness on these points ... I will +combat lustily."—<i>Letters</i>, 1898, ii. 282, 283.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_165" id="Footnote_165"></a><a href="#FNanchor_165"><span class="label">[165]</span></a> <a id="Note_188"></a>{188} [Karajić (Vuk Stefanović, born 1787), secretary to Kara +George, published <i>Narodne Srpske Pjesme</i>, at Vienna, 1814, 1815. +See, too, <i>Languages and Literature of the Slavic Nations</i>, by Talvi, +New York, 1850, pp. 366-382; <i>Volkslieder der Serben</i>, von Talvi, +Leipzig, 1835, ii. 245, etc., and <i>Chants Populaires des Servics</i>, +Recueillis par Wuk Stephanowitsch, et Traduits d'après Talvy, par +Madame Élise Voïart, Paris, 1834, ii. 183, etc.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_166" id="Footnote_166"></a><a href="#FNanchor_166"><span class="label">[166]</span></a> Paswan Oglou, the rebel of Widdin; who, for the last years of +his life, set the whole power of the Porte at defiance. +</p><p> +[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 <i>Krdschalies</i>. "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 hours of +ease with singing and dancing, but also followed them to battle (as +Kaled followed Lara, see <i>Lara</i>, 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 <i>History of Servia</i>, by Leopold von Ranke, Bohn, +1853, pp. 68-71. See, too, <i>Voyage dans l'Empire Othoman</i>, par +G. A. Olivier, an. 9 (1801), i. 108-125; and Madame Voïart's +"Abrégé de l'histoire du royaume de Servie," prefixed to + +<i>Chants Populaires, etc.</i>, Paris, 1834.)]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_gk" id="Footnote_gk"></a><a href="#FNanchor_gk"><span class="label">[gk]</span></a> +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>And how that death made known to me</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Hath made me what thou now shalt see.</i>—[MS.]<br /></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_167" id="Footnote_167"></a><a href="#FNanchor_167"><span class="label">[167]</span></a> <a id="Note_189"></a>{189} "Horse-tail,"—the standard of a Pacha.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_gl" id="Footnote_gl"></a><a href="#FNanchor_gl"><span class="label">[gl]</span></a> <i>With venom blacker than his soul</i>.—[MS.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_168" id="Footnote_168"></a><a href="#FNanchor_168"><span class="label">[168]</span></a> 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.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_gm" id="Footnote_gm"></a><a href="#FNanchor_gm"><span class="label">[gm]</span></a> <a id="Note_190"></a>{190} +</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>Nor, if his sullen spirit could,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Can I forgive a parent's blood</i>.—[MS.]<br /></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_gn" id="Footnote_gn"></a><a href="#FNanchor_gn"><span class="label">[gn]</span></a> <a id="Note_191"></a>{191} <i>Yet I must be all truth to thee</i>.—[MS.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_go" id="Footnote_go"></a><a href="#FNanchor_go"><span class="label">[go]</span></a> <a id="Note_192"></a>{192} +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>To Haroun's care in idlesse left,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>In spirit bound, of fame bereft</i>.—[MS. erased.]<br /></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_gp" id="Footnote_gp"></a><a href="#FNanchor_gp"><span class="label">[gp]</span></a> <a id="Note_193"></a>{193} + +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>That slave who saw my spirit pining</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Beneath Inaction's heavy yoke,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Compassionate his charge resigning</i>.—[MS.]<br /></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_gq" id="Footnote_gq"></a><a href="#FNanchor_gq"><span class="label">[gq]</span></a> +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> + +<span class="i0"><i>Oh could my tongue to thee impart</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>That liberation of my heart</i>.—[MS. erased.]<br /></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_169" id="Footnote_169"></a><a href="#FNanchor_169"><span class="label">[169]</span></a> 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.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_170" id="Footnote_170"></a><a href="#FNanchor_170"><span class="label">[170]</span></a> The Turkish notions of almost all islands are confined to the +Archipelago, the sea alluded to.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_171" id="Footnote_171"></a><a href="#FNanchor_171"><span class="label">[171]</span></a> <a id="Note_194"></a>{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. +</p><p> +[For Lambros Katzones (Hobhouse, <i>Travels in Albania</i>, ii. 5, +calls him Canziani), see Finlay's <i>Greece under Othoman ... Domination,</i> +1856, pp. 330-334. Finlay dwells on his piracies rather +than his patriotism.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_172" id="Footnote_172"></a><a href="#FNanchor_172"><span class="label">[172]</span></a> <a id="Note_195"></a>{195} "Rayahs,"—all who pay the capitation tax, +called the "Haratch." + +</p><p> +["This tax was levied on the whole male unbelieving population," +except children under ten, old men, Christian and Jewish +priests.—Finlay, <i>Greece under Ottoman ... Domination</i>, 1856, p. 26. +See, too, the <i>Qur'ân</i>, cap. ix., "The Declaration of Immunity."]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_173" id="Footnote_173"></a><a href="#FNanchor_173"><span class="label">[173]</span></a> This first of voyages is one of the few with +which the Mussulmans profess much acquaintance.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_174" id="Footnote_174"></a><a href="#FNanchor_174"><span class="label">[174]</span></a> 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.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_175" id="Footnote_175"></a><a href="#FNanchor_175"><span class="label">[175]</span></a> [Inns, caravanserais. From <i>sarāy</i>, a palace or inn.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_176" id="Footnote_176"></a><a href="#FNanchor_176"><span class="label">[176]</span></a> [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.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_177" id="Footnote_177"></a><a href="#FNanchor_177"><span class="label">[177]</span></a> [In the first draft of a supplementary fragment, +line 883 ran thus— + +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>"and tints tomorrow with</i> +<span class="bb">{</span> +<span class="uc"><i>a fancied</i></span> +<span class="dc" style="margin:auto 0.5em auto -3.5em;"><i>an airy</i></span> +<span class="bb">}</span> +<i>ray</i>."<br /></span> +</div></div> +<p>A note was appended—</p> + +<p>"Mr. M<span class="sup">y.</span> Choose which of the 2 epithets +'fancied' or 'airy' +may be best—or if neither will do—tell me and I will dream +another—<br /> +<span style="margin-left:15em;">"Yours,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left:17em;">"B<span class="sup">n</span>"</span></p> +<p>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 <i>not worst</i>"— + +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>"and</i> +<span class="bb">{</span> +<span class="uc"><i>gilds</i></span> +<span class="dc" style="margin:auto 0.5em auto -2em;"><i>tints</i></span> +<span class="bb">}</span> +<i>the hope of morning with its ray</i>."<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"<i>And gilds to-morrow's hope with heavenly ray</i>."<br /></span> + +</div></div> +<p> +(<i>Letters</i>, 1898, ii. 282.) +</p><p> +On the same date, December 3rd, two additional lines were +affixed to the quatrain (lines 886-889)— +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>"Soft as the Mecca Muezzin's strains invite</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Him who hath journeyed far to join the rite."</i><br /></span> +</div></div> +<p> +And in a later revise, as "a last alteration"— + +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>"Blest as the call which from Medina's dome</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Invites devotion to her Prophet's tomb."</i><br /></span> +</div></div> +<p> +An erased version of this "last alteration" ran thus— +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>"Blest as the Muezzin's strain from Mecca's dome</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Which welcomes Faith to view her Prophet's tomb</i>."[A]<br /></span> + +</div></div> +<p> +[A] [It is probable that Byron, who did not trouble himself to distinguish +between "lie" and "lay," and who, as the MS. of +<i>English Bards, and Scotch Reviewers</i> +(see line 732, <i>Poetical Works</i>, 1898, i. 355) +reveals, pronounced "petit maître" <i>anglicé</i> in four syllables, +regarded "dome" (<i>vide supra</i>) as a true and exact rhyme to "tomb," +but, with his wonted compliance, was persuaded to make yet +another alteration.] +]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_gr" id="Footnote_gr"></a><a href="#FNanchor_gr"><span class="label">[gr]</span></a> <a id="Note_196"></a>{196} Of lines 886-889, two, if not three, +variants were sent to the publisher— + +</p> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">(1) <i>Dear as the Melody of better days</i><br /></span> +<span class="i3"><i>That steals the trembling tear of speechless praise</i>—<br /></span> +<span class="i3"><i>Sweet as his native song to Exile's ears</i><br /></span> +<span class="i3"><i>Shall sound each tone thy long-loved voice endears</i>.—<br /></span> +<span class="i30">[December 2, 1813.]<br /></span> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> + +<span class="i0">(2) +<span class="bb">{</span> +<span class="uc"><i>Dear</i></span> +<span class="dc" style="margin:auto 0em auto -2em;"><i>Soft</i></span> +<span class="bb">}</span> +<i>as the melody of</i> +<span class="bb">{</span> +<span class="uc"><i>better</i></span> +<span class="dc" style="margin:auto 0em auto -2em;"><i>youthful</i></span> + +<span class="bb">}</span> +<i>days</i><br /></span> +<span class="i3"><i>That steals</i> +<span class="bb">{</span> +<span class="uc"><i>a silent</i></span> +<span class="dc" style="margin:auto 0em auto -3em;"><i>the trembling</i></span> +<span class="bb">}</span> +<i>tear of speechless praise</i>—<br /></span> +</div> + +</div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_178" id="Footnote_178"></a><a href="#FNanchor_178"><span class="label">[178]</span></a> <a id="Note_197"></a>{197} "Jannat-al-Aden," the perpetual abode, +the Mussulman paradise. +[See Sale's <i>Koran</i>, "Preliminary Discourse," sect. i.; +and <i>Journal</i>, November 17, 1813, <i>Letters</i>, 1898, ii. 326.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_gs" id="Footnote_gs"></a><a href="#FNanchor_gs"><span class="label">[gs]</span></a> <i>Wait on thy voice and bow at thy command</i>.—[MS.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_gt" id="Footnote_gt"></a><a href="#FNanchor_gt"><span class="label">[gt]</span></a> +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>Oh turn and mingle every thought with his,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>And all our future days unite in this</i>.—[MS.]<br /></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_179" id="Footnote_179"></a><a href="#FNanchor_179"><span class="label">[179]</span></a> ["You wanted some reflections, +and I send you <i>per Selim</i>, +eighteen lines in decent couplets, of a pensive, +if not an <i>ethical</i> tendency.... +Mr. Canning's approbation (<i>if</i> he did approve) I need +not say makes me proud."—Letter to Murray, November 23, 1813, + +<i>Letters</i>, 1898, ii. 286.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_gu" id="Footnote_gu"></a><a href="#FNanchor_gu"><span class="label">[gu]</span></a> +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>Man I may lead but trust not—I may fall</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>By those now friends to me, yet foes to all</i>—<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>In this they follow but the bent assigned</i>,<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>By fatal Nature to our warring kind</i>.—[MS.]<br /></span> + +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_gv" id="Footnote_gv"></a><a href="#FNanchor_gv"><span class="label">[gv]</span></a> <a id="Note_198"></a>{198} +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i3"><i>Behold a wilderness and call it peace</i>,—[MS. erased.]<br /></span> +<span class="i3"><i>Look round our earth and lo! where battles cease</i>,<br /></span> +<span class="i3"><i>"Behold a Solitude and call it" peace</i>.—[MS.]<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">or, <i>Mark even where Conquest's deeds of carnage cease</i><br /></span> +<span class="i3"><i>She leaves a solitude and calls it peace</i>.—[November 21, 1813].<br /></span> +</div></div> +<p> +[For the final alteration to the present text, see letter to Murray +of November 24, 1813.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"> +<p><a name="Footnote_180" id="Footnote_180"></a><a href="#FNanchor_180"> +<span class="label">[180]</span></a> +[Compare Tacitus, <i>Agricola</i>, cap. 30—"Solitudinem faciun—pacem +appellant." +See letter to Murray, November 24, 1813, <i>Letters</i>, 1898, ii. 287.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_gw" id="Footnote_gw"></a><a href="#FNanchor_gw"><span class="label">[gw]</span></a> <i>Power sways but by distrust—her sole source</i>.—[MS. erased.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_gx" id="Footnote_gx"></a><a href="#FNanchor_gx"><span class="label">[gx]</span></a> <i>Which Love to-night hath lent by swelling sail</i>.—[MS.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_181" id="Footnote_181"></a><a href="#FNanchor_181"><span class="label">[181]</span></a> <a id="Note_199"></a>{199} [Compare— + +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Quam juvat immites ventos audire cubantem,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Et dominam tenero detinuisse sinu."<br /></span> +</div></div> +<p class="attrib">Tibullus, <i>Eleg</i>., Lib. I. i. 45, 46.] +</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_gy" id="Footnote_gy"></a><a href="#FNanchor_gy"><span class="label">[gy]</span></a> <i>Then if my lip once murmurs, it must be</i>.—[MS.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_182" id="Footnote_182"></a><a href="#FNanchor_182"><span class="label">[182]</span></a> [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" (<i>Metamorph</i>., vii. 66-69)— +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"My love possest, in Jason's bosom laid,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Let seas swell high;—I cannot be dismay'd<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While I infold my husband in my arms:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or should I fear, I should but fear his harms."<br /></span> + +</div></div> +<p class="attrib">Englished by Sandys, 1632.] +</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_gz" id="Footnote_gz"></a><a href="#FNanchor_gz"><span class="label">[gz]</span></a> <i>This hour decides my doom or thy escape</i>.—[MS.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_183" id="Footnote_183"></a><a href="#FNanchor_183"><span class="label">[183]</span></a> <a id="Note_200"></a>{200} [Compare— +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> + +<span class="i0">"That thought has more of hell than had the former.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Another, and another, and another!"<br /></span> +</div></div> +<p class="attrib"><i>The Revenge</i>, by Edward Young, act iv.<br /> +(<i>Modern British Drama</i>, 1811, ii. 17).] +</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_ha" id="Footnote_ha"></a><a href="#FNanchor_ha"><span class="label">[ha]</span></a> <a id="Note_202"></a>{202} <i>Or grazed by wounds he scorned to feel</i>.—[MS.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_hb" id="Footnote_hb"></a><a href="#FNanchor_hb"><span class="label">[hb]</span></a> <a id="Note_203"></a>{203} Three MS. variants of these lines were rejected in +turn before the text was finally adopted— +</p> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">(1) +<span class="bb">{</span> +<span class="uc"><i>Ah! wherefore did he turn to look</i></span> +<span class="dc" style="margin:auto 0em auto -13.5em;"><i>I know not why he turned to look</i></span> +</span><br /> +<span class="i5"><i>Since fatal was the gaze he took?</i><br /></span> + +<span class="i5"><i>So far escaped from death or chain</i>,<br /></span> +<span class="i5"><i>To search for her and search in vain:</i><br /></span> +<span class="i5"><i>Sad proof in peril and in pain</i><br /></span> +<span class="i5"><i>How late will Lover's hope remain.</i><br /></span> +<div class="stanza"></div> +<span class="i0">(2) <i>Thus far escaped from death or chain</i><br /></span> +<span class="i5"><i>Ah! wherefore did he turn to look?</i><br /></span> +<span class="i5"><i>For her his eye must seek in vain,</i><br /></span> + +<span class="i5"><i>Since fatal was the gaze he took.</i><br /></span> +<span class="i5"><i>Sad proof, etc</i>.—<br /></span> +<div class="stanza"></div> +<span class="i0">(3) <i>Ah! wherefore did he turn to look</i><br /></span> +<span class="i5"><i>So far escaped from death or chain?</i><br /></span> +<span class="i5"><i>Since fatal was the gaze he took</i><br /></span> +<span class="i5"><i>For her his eye but sought in vain,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i5"><i>Sad proof, etc</i>.—<br /></span> + +</div></div> +<p> +A fourth variant of lines 1046, 1047 was inserted in a revise dated +November 16— +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>That glance he paused to send again</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>To her for whom he dies in vain</i>.<br /></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_hc" id="Footnote_hc"></a><a href="#FNanchor_hc"><span class="label">[hc]</span></a> <a id="Note_204"></a>{204} <i>O'er which their talons yet delay</i>.—[MS. erased.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"> +<p><a name="Footnote_hd" id="Footnote_hd"></a><a href="#FNanchor_hd"> +<span class="label">[hd]</span></a> <a id="Note_205"></a>{205} +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>And that changed hand whose only life</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Is motion-seems to menace strife</i>.—[MS.]<br /></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_184" id="Footnote_184"></a><a href="#FNanchor_184"><span class="label">[184]</span></a> ["While the <i>Salsette</i> 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 +<i>Bride of Abydos."—Life of Lord Byron</i>, by John Galt, 1830, p. 144.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_185" id="Footnote_185"></a><a href="#FNanchor_185"><span class="label">[185]</span></a> A turban is carved in stone above +the graves of <i>men</i> only.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_186" id="Footnote_186"></a><a href="#FNanchor_186"><span class="label">[186]</span></a> The death-song of the Turkish women. +The "silent slaves" are the men, whose notions of decorum +forbid complaint in <i>public</i>.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_he" id="Footnote_he"></a><a href="#FNanchor_he"><span class="label">[he]</span></a> <a id="Note_206"></a>{206} <i>The Koran-chapter chaunts thy fate</i>.—[MS.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_187" id="Footnote_187"></a><a href="#FNanchor_187"><span class="label">[187]</span></a> [At a Turkish funeral, after the interment has taken place, +the Imâm "assis sur les genoux à côté de la tombe," offers the prayer + +<i>Telkin</i>, and at the conclusion of the prayer recites the +<i>Fathah</i>, 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."—<i>The Qur'ân</i>, p. 1, +translated by E. H. Palmer, Oxford, 1880): <i>Tableau Générale de +l'Empire Ottoman</i>, par Mouradja D'Ohsson, Paris, 1787, i. 235-248. +Writing to Murray, November 14, 1813, Byron instances the funeral +(in the <i>Bride of Abydos</i>) as proof of his correctness with +regard to local colouring.—<i>Letters</i>, 1898, ii. 283.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_188" id="Footnote_188"></a><a href="#FNanchor_188"><span class="label">[188]</span></a> <a id="Note_207"></a>{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!'"—<i>Constantinople in 1828</i>, +by Charles Macfarlane, 1829, p. 233, note.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_hf" id="Footnote_hf"></a><a href="#FNanchor_hf"><span class="label">[hf]</span></a> <i>She whom thy Sultan had been fain to wed</i>.—[MS.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_189" id="Footnote_189"></a><a href="#FNanchor_189"><span class="label">[189]</span></a> ["The body of a Moslemin is ordered to be carried to the grave +in haste, with hurried steps."—<i>Ibid.</i>, p. 233, note.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_190" id="Footnote_190"></a><a href="#FNanchor_190"><span class="label">[190]</span></a> "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?'"—<i>From an Arabic MS.</i> +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 <i>The Pleasures of Memory</i> +[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 [<i>Poems</i>, by Samuel Rogers, 1852, i. 48].</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_hg" id="Footnote_hg"></a><a href="#FNanchor_hg"><span class="label">[hg]</span></a> <i>There the sad cypress ever glooms</i>.—[MS.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_hh" id="Footnote_hh"></a><a href="#FNanchor_hh"><span class="label">[hh]</span></a> <a id="Note_209"></a>{209} <i>But with the day blush of the sky</i>.—[MS.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_hi" id="Footnote_hi"></a><a href="#FNanchor_hi"><span class="label">[hi]</span></a> <i>And some there be who could believe</i>.—[MS.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_191" id="Footnote_191"></a><a href="#FNanchor_191"><span class="label">[191]</span></a> + +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"And airy tongues that <i>syllable</i> men's names."<br /></span> +</div></div> +<p class="attrib"><span class="smcap">Milton</span>, <i>Comus</i>, line 208. +</p><p> +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 into her window +in the shape of a raven (see <i>Orford's Reminiscences, Lord Orford's +Works</i>, 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 <i>Orford's Letters</i>. + +</p><p> +["But here (at Gloucester) is a <i>modernity</i>, +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 +(<i>Lord Orford's Works</i>, 1798, v. 279).]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_192" id="Footnote_192"></a><a href="#FNanchor_192"><span class="label">[192]</span></a> <a id="Note_210"></a>{210} [According to J. B. Le Chevalier +(<i>Voyage de La Propontide, etc.</i>, an. viii. (1800), p. 17), +the Turkish name for a small bay which +formed the ancient port of Sestos, is <i>Ak-Bachi-Liman</i> +(Port de la Tête blanche).]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_hj" id="Footnote_hj"></a><a href="#FNanchor_hj"><span class="label">[hj]</span></a> +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>And in its stead that mourning flower</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Hath flourished—flourisheth this hour,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Alone and coldly pure and pale</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>As the young cheek that saddens to the tale</i>.<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>And withers not, though branch and leaf</i><br /></span> + +<span class="i0"><i>Are stamped with an eternal grief</i>.—[MS.]<br /></span> +<span>An earlier version of the final text reads—<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>As weeping Childhood's cheek at Sorrow's tale!</i><br /></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"> +<p><a name="Footnote_193" id="Footnote_193"></a><a href="#FNanchor_193"> +<span class="label">[193]</span></a> ["<i>The Bride</i>, such as it is +is my first <i>entire</i> composition of any length +(except the Satire, and be damned to it), for <i>The Giaour</i> + +is but a string of passages, and <i>Childe Harold</i> is, +and I rather think always will be, unconcluded" +(Letter to Murray, November 29, 1813). +It (the <i>Bride</i>) "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 +<i>brightest</i> and <i>darkest</i>, but always most +<i>lively</i> colours of my memory" (<i>Journal</i>, +December 5, 1813, <i>Letters</i>, 1898, ii. 291, 361).]</p> + +</div> + +</div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;margin-bottom:2cm;" /> + +<div class="titlepage"> + <h2>THE CORSAIR:<br /> + <span class="small">A TALE.</span></h2> + +<p class="center">——"I suoi pensieri in lui dormir non ponno."</p> + +<p class="attrib"><span class="smcap">Tasso</span>, +<i>Gerusalemme Liberata</i>, Canto X. [stanza lxxviii. line 8].</p> +</div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;margin-top:2cm;" /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[217]</a></span></p> + +<h2><a name="INTRODUCTION_CORSAIR" id="INTRODUCTION_CORSAIR"></a> +INTRODUCTION TO <i>THE CORSAIR</i>. +<br /><span class="center"><img src="images/decoration.png" alt="swash" /></span> + +</h2> + +<p><span class="smcap">A seventh</span> edition of the <i>Giaour</i>, including the final +additions, and the first edition of the <i>Bride of Abydos</i>, were +published on the twenty-ninth of November, 1813. In less +than three weeks (December 18) Byron began the <i>Corsair</i>, +and completed the fair copy of the first draft by the last day +of the year. The <i>Corsair</i> in all but its final shape, together +with the sixth edition of the <i>Bride of Abydos</i>, the seventh of +<i>Childe Harold</i>, and the ninth of the <i>Giaour</i>, was issued on +the first of February, 1814.</p> + +<p>A letter from John Murray to Lord Byron, dated February +3, 1814 (<i>Memoir of John Murray</i>, 1891, i. 223), presents a +vivid picture of a great literary triumph—</p> + +<blockquote><p>"<span class="smcap">My Lord</span>,—I have been unwilling to write until I had +something to say.... I am most happy to tell you that +your last poem <i>is</i>—what Mr. Southey's is <i>called</i>—a +<i>Carmen Triumphale</i>. 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—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"'His death yet dubious, deeds too widely known.'<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>"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 notion of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[218]</a></span> +the sensation which the publication has occasioned; and +my only regret is that you were not present to witness it."</p></blockquote> + +<p>For some time before and after the poem appeared, +Byron was, as he told Leigh Hunt (February 9, 1814; +<i>Letters</i>, 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 <i>Corsair</i> and the personality +of Conrad. Under date February 18, 1814, he writes—</p> + +<blockquote><p>"The <i>Corsair</i> 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 <i>con amore</i> +[i.e. during the reign of Lady Frances Wedderburn Webster], +and much from <i>existence</i>."</p></blockquote> + +<p>And again, <i>Journal</i>, March 10 (<i>Letters</i>, 1898, ii. 399),</p> + +<blockquote><p>"He [Hobhouse] told me an odd report,—that <i>I</i> am the +actual Conrad, the veritable Corsair, and that part of my +travels are supposed to have passed in privacy [<i>sic;</i>?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.'"</p></blockquote> + +<p>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."</p> + +<p>That the <i>Corsair</i> is founded upon fact is argued at some +length by the author (an "English Gentleman in the Greek +Military Service") of the <i>Life, Writings, Opinions, and +Times of the R. H. George Gordon Noel Byron</i>, 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 <i>malgré lui</i>, and whose history and adventures,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[219]</a></span> +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 (<i>Letters</i>, 1899, +iii. 176), Byron recalls "the interesting white squalls and +short seas of Archipelago memory."</p> + +<p>How far Byron may have drawn on personal experience +for his picture of a pirate <i>chez lui</i>, 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.</p> + +<p>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 <i>Unnatural Combat</i>, act i. sc. 2, line 20, sq.—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"I have sat with him in his cabin a day together,<br /></span> +<hr /> +<span class="i0">Sigh he did often, as if inward grief<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">And melancholy at that instant would<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Choke up his vital spirits....<br /></span> +<span class="i13">When from the maintop<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A sail's descried, all thoughts that do concern<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Himself laid by, no lion pinched with hunger<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rouses himself more fiercely from his den,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then he comes on the deck; and then how wisely<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He gives directions," etc.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>The <i>Corsair</i>, together with the <i>Bride of Abydos</i>, was +reviewed by Jeffrey in the <i>Edinburgh Review</i> of April, 1814, +vol. xxiii. p. 198; and together with <i>Lara</i>, by George Agar +Ellis in the <i>Quarterly Review</i> of July, 1814, vol. ii. p. 428.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[220]</a></span></p> + +<h2><a name="BIBLIOGRAPHICAL_CORSAIR" id="BIBLIOGRAPHICAL_CORSAIR"></a> +BIBLIOGRAPHICAL NOTE ON <i>THE CORSAIR</i>. +<br /><span class="center"><img src="images/decoration.png" alt="swash" /></span> +</h2> + +<p><span class="smcap">In</span> comparison with the <i>Giaour</i>, the additions made to the +<i>Corsair</i> 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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>The Second Canto suffered no alteration except the substitution +of lines 1131-1133 for two lines which were expunged.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>In a note to Byron's <i>Poetical Works</i>, 1832, ix. 257, it is +stated that the <i>Corsair</i> was begun on the 18th and finished +on the 31st of December, 1813. In the Introduction to the +<i>Corsair</i> 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<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[221]</a></span> + +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.</p> + +<p>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:—</p> + +<p><i>To a Lady Weeping</i>.</p> + +<p><i>From the Turkish</i>.</p> + +<p><i>Sonnet to Genevra</i> ("Thine eyes' blue tenderness," etc.).</p> + +<p><i>Sonnet to Genevra</i> ("Thy cheek is pale with thought," etc.).</p> + +<p><i>Inscription on the Monument of a Newfoundland Dog</i>.</p> + +<p><i>Farewell</i>.</p> + +<p>These occasional poems were not appended to the Third +Edition, which only numbered 100 pages; but they reappeared +in the Fourth and subsequent editions.</p> + +<p>The Seventh Edition contained four additional lines (the +last four of stanza xi.), and a note (unnumbered) to line 226, +in defence of the <i>vraisemblance</i> of the <i>Corsair's</i> +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.</p> + +<p>Twenty-five thousand copies of the <i>Corsair</i> 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.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[223]</a></span></p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h3><a name="TO_ESQ" id="TO_ESQ"></a>TO THOMAS MOORE, ESQ.</h3> + +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Moore</span>,</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">I dedicate</span> 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 whose scene will be laid in +the East; none can do those scenes so much justice. The +wrongs of your own country,<a name="FNanchor_194" id="FNanchor_194"></a><a href="#Footnote_194" class="fnanchor">[194]</a> the magnificent and fiery spirit<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[224]</a></span> +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.</p> + +<p>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,<a name="FNanchor_195" id="FNanchor_195"></a><a href="#Footnote_195" class="fnanchor">[195]</a> 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<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[225]</a></span> +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.</p> + +<p>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 +<i>The Giaour</i>, 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.<a name="FNanchor_196" id="FNanchor_196"></a><a href="#Footnote_196" class="fnanchor">[196]</a></p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[226]</a></span></p> +<p>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,</p> + +<p style="margin-left:33%;">Most truly,<br /> +<span style="margin-left:3em;">And affectionately,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left:6em;">His obedient servant,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left:18em;">BYRON.</span> +</p> + +<p><i>January</i> 2, 1814.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[227]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<h2><a name="THE_CORSAIR" id="THE_CORSAIR"></a> +THE CORSAIR.<a name="FNanchor_197" id="FNanchor_197"></a><a href="#Footnote_197" class="fnanchor">[197]</a> +</h2> +<hr class="dbl" /> + +<h3><a id="CORSAIR_FIRST" name="CORSAIR_FIRST"></a>CANTO THE FIRST. +<br /><span class="center"><img src="images/decoration.png" alt="swash" /></span> +</h3> + +<blockquote> +<div class="poem" style="margin-left:25%;"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"——nessun maggior dolore,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Che ricordarsi del tempo felice<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nella miseria,——"<br /></span> +</div></div> +<p class="attrib"><span class="smcap">Dante</span>, <i>Inferno</i>, v. 121.</p> +</blockquote> + +<h4>I.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> + +<span class="i0">"<span class="smcap">O'er</span> the glad waters of the dark blue sea,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Our thoughts as boundless, and our souls as free,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Far as the breeze can bear, the billows foam,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Survey our empire, and behold our home!<a name="FNanchor_198" id="FNanchor_198"></a><a href="#Footnote_198" class="fnanchor">[198]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">These are our realms, no limits to their sway—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Our flag the sceptre all who meet obey.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ours the wild life in tumult still to range<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">From toil to rest, and joy in every change.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh, who can tell? not thou, luxurious slave!<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[228]</a></span><span class="i0">Whose soul would sicken o'er the heaving wave; <span class="linenum">10</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not thou, vain lord of Wantonness and Ease!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whom Slumber soothes not—Pleasure cannot please—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh, who can tell, save he whose heart hath tried,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And danced in triumph o'er the waters wide,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">The exulting sense—the pulse's maddening play,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That thrills the wanderer of that trackless way?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That for itself can woo the approaching fight,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And turn what some deem danger to delight;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That seeks what cravens shun with more than zeal,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And where the feebler faint can only feel— <span class="linenum">20</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Feel—to the rising bosom's inmost core,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Its hope awaken and its spirit soar?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No dread of Death—if with us die our foes—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Save that it seems even duller than repose;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Come when it will—we snatch the life of Life—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When lost—what recks it by disease or strife?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Let him who crawls, enamoured of decay,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Cling to his couch, and sicken years away;<a name="FNanchor_hk" id="FNanchor_hk"></a><a href="#Footnote_hk" class="fnanchor">[hk]</a><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Heave his thick breath, and shake his palsied head;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ours the fresh turf, and not the feverish bed,— <span class="linenum">30</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">While gasp by gasp he falters forth his soul,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ours with one pang—one bound—escapes control.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His corse may boast its urn and narrow cave,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And they who loathed his life may gild his grave:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ours are the tears, though few, sincerely shed,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">When Ocean shrouds and sepulchres our dead.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For us, even banquets fond regret supply<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In the red cup that crowns our memory;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the brief epitaph in Danger's day,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When those who win at length divide the prey, <span class="linenum">40</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And cry, Remembrance saddening o'er each brow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How had the brave who fell exulted <i>now</i>!"<br /></span> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[229]</a></span></div></div> + +<h4>II.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Such were the notes that from the Pirate's isle<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Around the kindling watch-fire rang the while:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Such were the sounds that thrilled the rocks along,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And unto ears as rugged seemed a song!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In scattered groups upon the golden sand,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">They game—carouse—converse—or whet the brand;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Select the arms—to each his blade assign,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And careless eye the blood that dims its shine; <span class="linenum">50</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Repair the boat, replace the helm or oar,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While others straggling muse along the shore;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For the wild bird the busy springes set,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Or spread beneath the sun the dripping net:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Gaze where some distant sail a speck supplies,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With all the thirsting eye of Enterprise;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tell o'er the tales of many a night of toil,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And marvel where they next shall seize a spoil:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No matter where—their chief's allotment this;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Theirs to believe no prey nor plan amiss. <span class="linenum">60</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">But who that <span class="smcap">Chief</span>? his name on every shore<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Is famed and feared—they ask and know no more<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With these he mingles not but to command;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Few are his words, but keen his eye and hand.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ne'er seasons he with mirth their jovial mess,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But they forgive his silence for success.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ne'er for his lip the purpling cup they fill,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That goblet passes him untasted still—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And for his fare—the rudest of his crew<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Would that, in turn, have passed untasted too; <span class="linenum">70</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Earth's coarsest bread, the garden's homeliest roots,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And scarce the summer luxury of fruits,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His short repast in humbleness supply<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With all a hermit's board would scarce deny.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[230]</a></span> +<span class="i0">But while he shuns the grosser joys of sense,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His mind seems nourished by that abstinence.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Steer to that shore!"—they sail. "Do this!"—'tis done:<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">"Now form and follow me!"—the spoil is won.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thus prompt his accents and his actions still,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And all obey and few inquire his will; <span class="linenum">80</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">To such, brief answer and contemptuous eye<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Convey reproof, nor further deign reply.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>III.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"A sail!—a sail!"—a promised prize to Hope!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her nation—flag—how speaks the telescope?<a name="FNanchor_hl" id="FNanchor_hl"></a><a href="#Footnote_hl" class="fnanchor">[hl]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">No prize, alas! but yet a welcome sail:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The blood-red signal glitters in the gale.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yes—she is ours—a home-returning bark—<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Blow fair, thou breeze!—she anchors ere the dark.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Already doubled is the cape—our bay<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Receives that prow which proudly spurns the spray. <span class="linenum">90</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">How gloriously her gallant course she goes!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her white wings flying—never from her foes—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She walks the waters like a thing of Life!<a name="FNanchor_199" id="FNanchor_199"></a><a href="#Footnote_199" class="fnanchor">[199]</a><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">And seems to dare the elements to strife.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who would not brave the battle-fire, the wreck,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To move the monarch of her peopled deck!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>IV.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Hoarse o'er her side the rustling cable rings:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sails are furled; and anchoring round she swings;<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[231]</a></span> + +<span class="i0">And gathering loiterers on the land discern<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her boat descending from the latticed stern. <span class="linenum">100</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Tis manned—the oars keep concert to the strand,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till grates her keel upon the shallow sand.<a name="FNanchor_hm" id="FNanchor_hm"></a><a href="#Footnote_hm" class="fnanchor">[hm]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hail to the welcome shout!—the friendly speech!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When hand grasps hand uniting on the beach;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The smile, the question, and the quick reply,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">And the Heart's promise of festivity!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>V.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The tidings spread, and gathering grows the crowd:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The hum of voices, and the laughter loud,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Woman's gentler anxious tone is heard—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Friends'—husbands'—lovers' names in each dear word: <span class="linenum">110</span><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">"Oh! are they safe? we ask not of success—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But shall we see them? will their accents bless?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From where the battle roars, the billows chafe,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They doubtless boldly did—but who are safe?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Here let them haste to gladden and surprise,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And kiss the doubt from these delighted eyes!"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>VI.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Where is our Chief? for him we bear report—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And doubt that joy—which hails our coming—short;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet thus sincere—'tis cheering, though so brief;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But, Juan! instant guide us to our Chief: <span class="linenum">120</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Our greeting paid, we'll feast on our return,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And all shall hear what each may wish to learn."<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Ascending slowly by the rock-hewn way,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To where his watch-tower beetles o'er the bay,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By bushy brake, the wild flowers blossoming,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And freshness breathing from each silver spring,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whose scattered streams from granite basins burst,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[232]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Leap into life, and sparkling woo your thirst;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From crag to cliff they mount—Near yonder cave,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What lonely straggler looks along the wave? <span class="linenum">130</span><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">In pensive posture leaning on the brand,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not oft a resting-staff to that red hand?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"'Tis he—'tis Conrad—here—as wont—alone;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On—Juan!—on—and make our purpose known.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The bark he views—and tell him we would greet<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">His ear with tidings he must quickly meet:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We dare not yet approach—thou know'st his mood,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When strange or uninvited steps intrude."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>VII.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Him Juan sought, and told of their intent;—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He spake not, but a sign expressed assent, <span class="linenum">140</span><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">These Juan calls—they come—to their salute<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He bends him slightly, but his lips are mute.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"These letters, Chief, are from the Greek—the spy,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who still proclaims our spoil or peril nigh:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whate'er his tidings, we can well report,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Much that"—"Peace, peace!"—he cuts their prating short.<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Wondering they turn, abashed, while each to each<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Conjecture whispers in his muttering speech:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They watch his glance with many a stealing look,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To gather how that eye the tidings took; <span class="linenum">150</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">But, this as if he guessed, with head aside,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Perchance from some emotion, doubt, or pride,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He read the scroll—"My tablets, Juan, hark—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where is Gonsalvo?"<br /></span> + +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i17">"In the anchored bark."<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"There let him stay—to him this order bear—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Back to your duty—for my course prepare:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Myself this enterprise to-night will share."<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[233]</a></span> +<span class="i0">"To-night, Lord Conrad?"<br /></span> +<span class="i21">"Aye! at set of sun:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The breeze will freshen when the day is done.<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">My corslet—cloak—one hour and we are gone. <span class="linenum">160</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sling on thy bugle—see that free from rust<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My carbine-lock springs worthy of my trust;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Be the edge sharpened of my boarding-brand,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And give its guard more room to fit my hand.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This let the Armourer with speed dispose;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Last time, it more fatigued my arm than foes;<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Mark that the signal-gun be duly fired,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To tell us when the hour of stay's expired."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>VIII.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">They make obeisance, and retire in haste,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Too soon to seek again the watery waste: <span class="linenum">170</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet they repine not—so that Conrad guides;<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">And who dare question aught that he decides?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That man of loneliness and mystery,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Scarce seen to smile, and seldom heard to sigh;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whose name appals the fiercest of his crew,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And tints each swarthy cheek with sallower hue;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Still sways their souls with that commanding art<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That dazzles, leads, yet chills the vulgar heart.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What is that spell, that thus his lawless train<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Confess and envy—yet oppose in vain? <span class="linenum">180</span><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">What should it be, that thus their faith can bind?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The power of Thought—the magic of the Mind!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Linked with success, assumed and kept with skill,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That moulds another's weakness to its will;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wields with their hands, but, still to these unknown,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Makes even their mightiest deeds appear his own.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Such hath it been—shall be—beneath the Sun<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">The many still must labour for the one!<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[234]</a></span> +<span class="i0">'Tis Nature's doom—but let the wretch who toils,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Accuse not—hate not—<i>him</i> who wears the spoils. <span class="linenum">190</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh! if he knew the weight of splendid chains,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How light the balance of his humbler pains!<br /></span> + +</div></div> + +<h4>IX.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Unlike the heroes of each ancient race,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Demons in act, but Gods at least in face,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In Conrad's form seems little to admire,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though his dark eyebrow shades a glance of fire:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Robust but not Herculean—to the sight<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">No giant frame sets forth his common height;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet, in the whole, who paused to look again,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Saw more than marks the crowd of vulgar men; <span class="linenum">200</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">They gaze and marvel how—and still confess<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That thus it is, but why they cannot guess.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sun-burnt his cheek, his forehead high and pale<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sable curls in wild profusion veil;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And oft perforce his rising lip reveals<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">The haughtier thought it curbs, but scarce conceals.<a name="FNanchor_hn" id="FNanchor_hn"></a><a href="#Footnote_hn" class="fnanchor">[hn]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though smooth his voice, and calm his general mien,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Still seems there something he would not have seen:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His features' deepening lines and varying hue<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At times attracted, yet perplexed the view, <span class="linenum">210</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">As if within that murkiness of mind<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Worked feelings fearful, and yet undefined;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Such might it be—that none could truly tell—<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Too close inquiry his stern glance would quell.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There breathe but few whose aspect might defy<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The full encounter of his searching eye;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He had the skill, when Cunning's gaze would seek<a name="FNanchor_ho" id="FNanchor_ho"></a><a href="#Footnote_ho" class="fnanchor">[ho]</a><br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[235]</a></span><span class="i0">To probe his heart and watch his changing cheek,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At once the observer's purpose to espy,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And on himself roll back his scrutiny, <span class="linenum">220</span><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Lest he to Conrad rather should betray<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Some secret thought, than drag that Chief's to day.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There was a laughing Devil in his sneer,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That raised emotions both of rage and fear;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And where his frown of hatred darkly fell,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hope withering fled—and Mercy sighed farewell!<a name="FNanchor_200" id="FNanchor_200"></a><a href="#Footnote_200" class="fnanchor">[200]</a><br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>X.<a name="FNanchor_201" id="FNanchor_201"></a><a href="#Footnote_201" class="fnanchor">[201]</a></h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Slight are the outward signs of evil thought,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Within—within—'twas there the spirit wrought!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Love shows all changes—Hate, Ambition, Guile,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Betray no further than the bitter smile; <span class="linenum">230</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">The lip's least curl, the lightest paleness thrown<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Along the governed aspect, speak alone<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[236]</a></span> + +<span class="i0">Of deeper passions; and to judge their mien,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He, who would see, must be himself unseen.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then—with the hurried tread, the upward eye,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The clenchéd hand, the pause of agony,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That listens, starting, lest the step too near<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Approach intrusive on that mood of fear:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then—with each feature working from the heart,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">With feelings, loosed to strengthen—not depart, <span class="linenum">240</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">That rise—convulse—contend—that freeze or glow,<a name="FNanchor_hp" id="FNanchor_hp"></a><a href="#Footnote_hp" class="fnanchor">[hp]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Flush in the cheek, or damp upon the brow;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then—Stranger! if thou canst, and tremblest not,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Behold his soul—the rest that soothes his lot!<a name="FNanchor_hq" id="FNanchor_hq"></a><a href="#Footnote_hq" class="fnanchor">[hq]</a><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Mark how that lone and blighted bosom sears<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The scathing thought of execrated years!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Behold—but who hath seen, or e'er shall see,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Man as himself—the secret spirit free?<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>XI.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Yet was not Conrad thus by Nature sent<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">To lead the guilty—Guilt's worse instrument— <span class="linenum">250</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">His soul was changed, before his deeds had driven<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Him forth to war with Man and forfeit Heaven.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Warped by the world in Disappointment's school,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In words too wise—in conduct <i>there</i> a fool;<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Too firm to yield, and far too proud to stoop,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Doomed by his very virtues for a dupe,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He cursed those virtues as the cause of ill,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And not the traitors who betrayed him still;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor deemed that gifts bestowed on better men<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[237]</a></span><span class="i0">Had left him joy, and means to give again. <span class="linenum">260</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Feared—shunned—belied—ere Youth had lost her force,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">He hated Man too much to feel remorse,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And thought the voice of Wrath a sacred call,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To pay the injuries of some on all.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He knew himself a villain—but he deemed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The rest no better than the thing he seemed;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And scorned the best as hypocrites who hid<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Those deeds the bolder spirit plainly did.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He knew himself detested, but he knew<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">The hearts that loathed him, crouched and dreaded too. <span class="linenum">270</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lone, wild, and strange, he stood alike exempt<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From all affection and from all contempt:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His name could sadden, and his acts surprise;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But they that feared him dared not to despise:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Man spurns the worm, but pauses ere he wake<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The slumbering venom of the folded snake:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The first may turn, but not avenge the blow;<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">The last expires, but leaves no living foe;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fast to the doomed offender's form it clings,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And he may crush—not conquer—still it stings!<a name="FNanchor_202" id="FNanchor_202"></a><a href="#Footnote_202" class="fnanchor">[202]</a> <span class="linenum">280</span><br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>XII.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> + +<span class="i0">None are all evil—quickening round his heart,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">One softer feeling would not yet depart;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oft could he sneer at others as beguiled<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By passions worthy of a fool or child;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet 'gainst that passion vainly still he strove,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And even in him it asks the name of Love!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yes, it was love—unchangeable—unchanged,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Felt but for one from whom he never ranged;<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[238]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Though fairest captives daily met his eye,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He shunned, nor sought, but coldly passed them by; <span class="linenum">290</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though many a beauty drooped in prisoned bower,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">None ever soothed his most unguarded hour,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yes—it was Love—if thoughts of tenderness,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tried in temptation, strengthened by distress,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Unmoved by absence, firm in every clime,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And yet—Oh more than all!—untired by Time;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which nor defeated hope, nor baffled wile,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Could render sullen were She near to smile,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor rage could fire, nor sickness fret to vent<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On her one murmur of his discontent; <span class="linenum">300</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which still would meet with joy, with calmness part,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Lest that his look of grief should reach her heart;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which nought removed, nor menaced to remove—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If there be Love in mortals—this was Love!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He was a villain—aye, reproaches shower<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On him—but not the Passion, nor its power,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which only proved—all other virtues gone—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not Guilt itself could quench this loveliest one!<a name="FNanchor_hr" id="FNanchor_hr"></a><a href="#Footnote_hr" class="fnanchor">[hr]</a><br /></span> + +</div></div> + +<h4>XIII.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He paused a moment—till his hastening men<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Passed the first winding downward to the glen. <span class="linenum">310</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Strange tidings!—many a peril have I passed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor know I why this next appears the last!<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Yet so my heart forebodes, but must not fear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor shall my followers find me falter here.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Tis rash to meet—but surer death to wait<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till here they hunt us to undoubted fate;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, if my plan but hold, and Fortune smile,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We'll furnish mourners for our funeral pile.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[239]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Aye, let them slumber—peaceful be their dreams!<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Morn ne'er awoke them with such brilliant beams <span class="linenum">320</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">As kindle high to-night (but blow, thou breeze!)<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To warm these slow avengers of the seas.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now to Medora—Oh! my sinking heart,<a name="FNanchor_hs" id="FNanchor_hs"></a><a href="#Footnote_hs" class="fnanchor">[hs]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Long may her own be lighter than thou art!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet was I brave—mean boast where all are brave!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ev'n insects sting for aught they seek to save.<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">This common courage which with brutes we share,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That owes its deadliest efforts to Despair,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Small merit claims—but 'twas my nobler hope<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To teach my few with numbers still to cope; <span class="linenum">330</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Long have I led them—not to vainly bleed:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No medium now—we perish or succeed!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So let it be—it irks not me to die;<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">But thus to urge them whence they cannot fly.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My lot hath long had little of my care,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But chafes my pride thus baffled in the snare:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is this my skill? my craft? to set at last<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hope, Power and Life upon a single cast?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh, Fate!—accuse thy folly—not thy fate;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She may redeem thee still—nor yet too late." <span class="linenum">340</span><br /></span> + +</div></div> + +<h4>XIV.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Thus with himself communion held he, till<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He reached the summit of his tower-crowned hill:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There at the portal paused—for wild and soft<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He heard those accents never heard too oft!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through the high lattice far yet sweet they rung,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">And these the notes his Bird of Beauty sung:<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[240]</a></span></div></div> + +<h4>1.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Deep in my soul that tender secret dwells,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Lonely and lost to light for evermore,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Save when to thine my heart responsive swells,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Then trembles into silence as before. <span class="linenum">350</span><br /></span> + +</div></div> + +<h4>2.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"There, in its centre, a sepulchral lamp<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Burns the slow flame, eternal—but unseen;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which not the darkness of Despair can damp,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Though vain its ray as it had never been.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>3.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Remember me—Oh! pass not thou my grave<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Without one thought whose relics there recline:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The only pang my bosom dare not brave<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Must be to find forgetfulness in thine.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>4.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"My fondest—faintest—latest accents hear—<a name="FNanchor_ht" id="FNanchor_ht"></a><a href="#Footnote_ht" class="fnanchor">[ht]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Grief for the dead not Virtue can reprove; <span class="linenum">360</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then give me all I ever asked—a tear,<a name="FNanchor_203" id="FNanchor_203"></a><a href="#Footnote_203" class="fnanchor">[203]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">The first—last—sole reward of so much love!"<br /></span> + +</div></div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He passed the portal, crossed the corridor,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And reached the chamber as the strain gave o'er:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"My own Medora! sure thy song is sad—"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"In Conrad's absence would'st thou have it glad?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Without thine ear to listen to my lay,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Still must my song my thoughts, my soul betray:<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[241]</a></span> + +<span class="i0">Still must each accent to my bosom suit,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My heart unhushed—although my lips were mute! <span class="linenum">370</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh! many a night on this lone couch reclined,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My dreaming fear with storms hath winged the wind,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And deemed the breath that faintly fanned thy sail<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The murmuring prelude of the ruder gale;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though soft—it seemed the low prophetic dirge,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">That mourned thee floating on the savage surge:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Still would I rise to rouse the beacon fire,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lest spies less true should let the blaze expire;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And many a restless hour outwatched each star,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And morning came—and still thou wert afar. <span class="linenum">380</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh! how the chill blast on my bosom blew,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And day broke dreary on my troubled view,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And still I gazed and gazed—and not a prow<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Was granted to my tears—my truth—my vow!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At length—'twas noon—I hailed and blest the mast<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That met my sight—it neared—Alas! it passed!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Another came—Oh God! 'twas thine at last!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Would that those days were over! wilt thou ne'er,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">My Conrad! learn the joys of peace to share?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sure thou hast more than wealth, and many a home <span class="linenum">390</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">As bright as this invites us not to roam:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thou know'st it is not peril that I fear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I only tremble when thou art not here;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then not for mine, but that far dearer life,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which flies from love and languishes for strife—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How strange that heart, to me so tender still,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Should war with Nature and its better will!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Yea, strange indeed—that heart hath long been changed;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Worm-like 'twas trampled—adder-like avenged—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Without one hope on earth beyond thy love, <span class="linenum">400</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And scarce a glimpse of mercy from above.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[242]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Yet the same feeling which thou dost condemn,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">My very love to thee is hate to them,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So closely mingling here, that disentwined,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I cease to love thee when I love Mankind:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet dread not this—the proof of all the past<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Assures the future that my love will last;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But—Oh, Medora! nerve thy gentler heart;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This hour again—but not for long—we part."<br /></span> + +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"This hour we part!—my heart foreboded this: <span class="linenum">410</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thus ever fade my fairy dreams of bliss.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This hour—it cannot be—this hour away!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yon bark hath hardly anchored in the bay:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her consort still is absent, and her crew<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Have need of rest before they toil anew;<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">My Love! thou mock'st my weakness; and wouldst steel<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My breast before the time when it must feel;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But trifle now no more with my distress,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Such mirth hath less of play than bitterness.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Be silent, Conrad!—dearest! come and share <span class="linenum">420</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">The feast these hands delighted to prepare;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Light toil! to cull and dress thy frugal fare!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">See, I have plucked the fruit that promised best,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">And where not sure, perplexed, but pleased, I guessed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At such as seemed the fairest; thrice the hill<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My steps have wound to try the coolest rill;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yes! thy Sherbet to-night will sweetly flow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">See how it sparkles in its vase of snow!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The grapes' gay juice thy bosom never cheers;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thou more than Moslem when the cup appears: <span class="linenum">430</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Think not I mean to chide—for I rejoice<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">What others deem a penance is thy choice.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But come, the board is spread; our silver lamp<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is trimmed, and heeds not the Sirocco's damp:<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[243]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Then shall my handmaids while the time along,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And join with me the dance, or wake the song;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or my guitar, which still thou lov'st to hear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shall soothe or lull—or, should it vex thine ear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We'll turn the tale, by Ariosto told,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Of fair Olympia loved and left of old.<a name="FNanchor_204" id="FNanchor_204"></a><a href="#Footnote_204" class="fnanchor">[204]</a> <span class="linenum">440</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Why, thou wert worse than he who broke his vow<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To that lost damsel, should thou leave me <i>now</i>—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or even that traitor chief—I've seen thee smile,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When the clear sky showed Ariadne's Isle,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which I have pointed from these cliffs the while:<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">And thus half sportive—half in fear—I said,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lest Time should raise that doubt to more than dread,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thus Conrad, too, will quit me for the main:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And he deceived me—for—he came again!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Again, again—and oft again—my Love! <span class="linenum">450</span><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">If there be life below, and hope above,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He will return—but now, the moments bring<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The time of parting with redoubled wing:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The why, the where—what boots it now to tell?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Since all must end in that wild word—Farewell!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet would I fain—did time allow—disclose—<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Fear not—these are no formidable foes!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And here shall watch a more than wonted guard,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For sudden siege and long defence prepared:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor be thou lonely, though thy Lord's away, <span class="linenum">460</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Our matrons and thy handmaids with thee stay;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And this thy comfort—that, when next we meet,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Security shall make repose more sweet.<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">List!—'tis the bugle!"—Juan shrilly blew—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"One kiss—one more—another—Oh! Adieu!"<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[244]</a></span> +<span class="i0">She rose—she sprung—she clung to his embrace,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till his heart heaved beneath her hidden face:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He dared not raise to his that deep-blue eye,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Which downcast drooped in tearless agony.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her long fair hair lay floating o'er his arms, <span class="linenum">470</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">In all the wildness of dishevelled charms;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Scarce beat that bosom where his image dwelt<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So full—<i>that</i> feeling seem'd almost unfelt!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hark—peals the thunder of the signal-gun!<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">It told 'twas sunset, and he cursed that sun.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Again—again—that form he madly pressed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which mutely clasped, imploringly caressed!<a name="FNanchor_hu" id="FNanchor_hu"></a><a href="#Footnote_hu" class="fnanchor">[hu]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And tottering to the couch his bride he bore,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">One moment gazed—as if to gaze no more;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Felt that for him Earth held but her alone, <span class="linenum">480</span><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Kissed her cold forehead—turned—is Conrad gone?<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>XV.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"And is he gone?"—on sudden solitude<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How oft that fearful question will intrude!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"'Twas but an instant past, and here he stood!<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">And now"—without the portal's porch she rushed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And then at length her tears in freedom gushed;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Big, bright, and fast, unknown to her they fell;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But still her lips refused to send—"Farewell!"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For in that word—that fatal word—howe'er<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We promise—hope—believe—there breathes Despair. <span class="linenum">490</span><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">O'er every feature of that still, pale face,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Had Sorrow fixed what Time can ne'er erase:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The tender blue of that large loving eye<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Grew frozen with its gaze on vacancy,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[245]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Till—Oh, how far!—it caught a glimpse of him,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And then it flowed, and phrensied seemed to swim<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through those long, dark, and glistening lashes dewed<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">With drops of sadness oft to be renewed.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"He's gone!"—against her heart that hand is driven,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Convulsed and quick—then gently raised to Heaven: <span class="linenum">500</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">She looked and saw the heaving of the main:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The white sail set—she dared not look again;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But turned with sickening soul within the gate—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"It is no dream—and I am desolate!"<br /></span> + +</div></div> + +<h4>XVI.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">From crag to crag descending, swiftly sped<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Stern Conrad down, nor once he turned his head;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But shrunk whene'er the windings of his way<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Forced on his eye what he would not survey,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His lone, but lovely dwelling on the steep,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That hailed him first when homeward from the deep: <span class="linenum">510</span><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">And she—the dim and melancholy Star,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whose ray of Beauty reached him from afar,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On her he must not gaze, he must not think—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There he might rest—but on Destruction's brink:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet once almost he stopped—and nearly gave<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His fate to chance, his projects to the wave:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But no—it must not be—a worthy chief<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">May melt, but not betray to Woman's grief.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He sees his bark, he notes how fair the wind,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And sternly gathers all his might of mind: <span class="linenum">520</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Again he hurries on—and as he hears<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The clang of tumult vibrate on his ears,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The busy sounds, the bustle of the shore,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The shout, the signal, and the dashing oar;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As marks his eye the seaboy on the mast,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[246]</a></span> + +<span class="i0">The anchors rise, the sails unfurling fast,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The waving kerchiefs of the crowd that urge<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That mute Adieu to those who stem the surge;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And more than all, his blood-red flag aloft,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He marvelled how his heart could seem so soft. <span class="linenum">530</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fire in his glance, and wildness in his breast,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He feels of all his former self possest;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He bounds—he flies—until his footsteps reach<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">The verge where ends the cliff, begins the beach,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There checks his speed; but pauses less to breathe<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The breezy freshness of the deep beneath,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Than there his wonted statelier step renew;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor rush, disturbed by haste, to vulgar view:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For well had Conrad learned to curb the crowd,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By arts that veil, and oft preserve the proud; <span class="linenum">540</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">His was the lofty port, the distant mien,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">That seems to shun the sight—and awes if seen:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The solemn aspect, and the high-born eye,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That checks low mirth, but lacks not courtesy;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All these he wielded to command assent:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But where he wished to win, so well unbent,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That Kindness cancelled fear in those who heard,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And others' gifts showed mean beside his word,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When echoed to the heart as from his own<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">His deep yet tender melody of tone: <span class="linenum">550</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">But such was foreign to his wonted mood,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He cared not what he softened, but subdued;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The evil passions of his youth had made<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Him value less who loved—than what obeyed.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>XVII.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Around him mustering ranged his ready guard.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Before him Juan stands—"Are all prepared?"<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[247]</a></span> +<span class="i0">"They are—nay more—embarked: the latest boat<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Waits but my chief——"<br /></span> +<span class="i19">"My sword, and my capote."<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Soon firmly girded on, and lightly slung,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">His belt and cloak were o'er his shoulders flung: <span class="linenum">560</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Call Pedro here!" He comes—and Conrad bends,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With all the courtesy he deigned his friends;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Receive these tablets, and peruse with care,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Words of high trust and truth are graven there;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Double the guard, and when Anselmo's bark<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Arrives, let him alike these orders mark:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In three days (serve the breeze) the sun shall shine<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">On our return—till then all peace be thine!"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This said, his brother Pirate's hand he wrung,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then to his boat with haughty gesture sprung. <span class="linenum">570</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Flashed the dipt oars, and sparkling with the stroke,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Around the waves' phosphoric<a name="FNanchor_205" id="FNanchor_205"></a><a href="#Footnote_205" class="fnanchor">[205]</a> brightness broke;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They gain the vessel—on the deck he stands,—<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Shrieks the shrill whistle, ply the busy hands—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He marks how well the ship her helm obeys,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How gallant all her crew, and deigns to praise.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His eyes of pride to young Gonsalvo turn—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Why doth he start, and inly seem to mourn?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Alas! those eyes beheld his rocky tower,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And live a moment o'er the parting hour; <span class="linenum">580</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">She—his Medora—did she mark the prow?<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Ah! never loved he half so much as now!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But much must yet be done ere dawn of day—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Again he mans himself and turns away;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Down to the cabin with Gonsalvo bends,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And there unfolds his plan—his means, and ends;<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[248]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Before them burns the lamp, and spreads the chart,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And all that speaks and aids the naval art;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They to the midnight watch protract debate;<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">To anxious eyes what hour is ever late? <span class="linenum">590</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Meantime, the steady breeze serenely blew,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And fast and falcon-like the vessel flew;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Passed the high headlands of each clustering isle,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To gain their port—long—long ere morning smile:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And soon the night-glass through the narrow bay<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Discovers where the Pacha's galleys lay.<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Count they each sail, and mark how there supine<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The lights in vain o'er heedless Moslem shine.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Secure, unnoted, Conrad's prow passed by,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And anchored where his ambush meant to lie; <span class="linenum">600</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Screened from espial by the jutting cape,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That rears on high its rude fantastic shape.<a name="FNanchor_206" id="FNanchor_206"></a><a href="#Footnote_206" class="fnanchor">[206]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then rose his band to duty—not from sleep—<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Equipped for deeds alike on land or deep;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While leaned their Leader o'er the fretting flood,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And calmly talked—and yet he talked of blood!<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[249]</a></span></div></div> + +<h3>CANTO THE SECOND. +<br /><span class="center"><img src="images/decoration.png" alt="swash" /></span> +</h3> + +<blockquote> +<p class="center">"Conosceste i dubbiosi desiri?"</p> + +<p class="attrib"><span class="smcap">Dante</span>, <i>Inferno</i>, v, 120.</p> +</blockquote> + + +<h4>I.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">In</span> Coron's bay floats many a galley light,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through Coron's lattices the lamps are bright,<a name="FNanchor_207" id="FNanchor_207"></a><a href="#Footnote_207" class="fnanchor">[207]</a><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">For Seyd, the Pacha, makes a feast to-night:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A feast for promised triumph yet to come, <span class="linenum">610</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">When he shall drag the fettered Rovers home;<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[250]</a></span> +<span class="i0">This hath he sworn by Allah and his sword,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And faithful to his firman and his word,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His summoned prows collect along the coast,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And great the gathering crews, and loud the boast;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Already shared the captives and the prize,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Though far the distant foe they thus despise;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Tis but to sail—no doubt to-morrow's Sun<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Will see the Pirates bound—their haven won!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Meantime the watch may slumber, if they will, <span class="linenum">620</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor only wake to war, but dreaming kill.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though all, who can, disperse on shore and seek<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To flesh their glowing valour on the Greek;<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">How well such deed becomes the turbaned brave—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To bare the sabre's edge before a slave!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Infest his dwelling—but forbear to slay,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their arms are strong, yet merciful to-day,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And do not deign to smite because they may!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Unless some gay caprice suggests the blow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To keep in practice for the coming foe. <span class="linenum">630</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Revel and rout the evening hours beguile,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">And they who wish to wear a head must smile;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For Moslem mouths produce their choicest cheer,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And hoard their curses, till the coast is clear.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>II.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">High in his hall reclines the turbaned Seyd;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Around—the bearded chiefs he came to lead.<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Removed the banquet, and the last pilaff—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Forbidden draughts, 'tis said, he dared to quaff,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though to the rest the sober berry's juice<a name="FNanchor_208" id="FNanchor_208"></a><a href="#Footnote_208" class="fnanchor">[208]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">The slaves bear round for rigid Moslems' use; <span class="linenum">640</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">The long chibouque's<a name="FNanchor_209" id="FNanchor_209"></a><a href="#Footnote_209" class="fnanchor">[209]</a> dissolving cloud supply,<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[251]</a></span><span class="i0">While dance the Almas<a name="FNanchor_210" id="FNanchor_210"></a><a href="#Footnote_210" class="fnanchor">[210]</a> to wild minstrelsy.<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">The rising morn will view the chiefs embark;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But waves are somewhat treacherous in the dark:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And revellers may more securely sleep<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On silken couch than o'er the rugged deep:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Feast there who can—nor combat till they must,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And less to conquest than to Korans trust;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And yet the numbers crowded in his host<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Might warrant more than even the Pacha's boast. <span class="linenum">650</span><br /></span> + +</div></div> + +<h4>III.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">With cautious reverence from the outer gate<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Slow stalks the slave, whose office there to wait,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bows his bent head—his hand salutes the floor,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ere yet his tongue the trusted tidings bore:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"A captive Dervise, from the Pirate's nest<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Escaped, is here—himself would tell the rest."<a name="FNanchor_211" id="FNanchor_211"></a><a href="#Footnote_211" class="fnanchor">[211]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">He took the sign from Seyd's assenting eye,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And led the holy man in silence nigh.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His arms were folded on his dark-green vest,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His step was feeble, and his look deprest; <span class="linenum">660</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet worn he seemed of hardship more than years,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And pale his cheek with penance, not from fears.<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Vowed to his God—his sable locks he wore,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And these his lofty cap rose proudly o'er:<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[252]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Around his form his loose long robe was thrown,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And wrapt a breast bestowed on heaven alone;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Submissive, yet with self-possession manned,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He calmly met the curious eyes that scanned;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And question of his coming fain would seek,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Before the Pacha's will allowed to speak. <span class="linenum">670</span><br /></span> + +</div></div> + +<h4>IV.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Whence com'st thou, Dervise?"<br /></span> +<span class="i25">"From the Outlaw's den<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A fugitive—"<br /></span> +<span class="i11">"Thy capture where and when?"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"From Scalanova's port<a name="FNanchor_212" id="FNanchor_212"></a><a href="#Footnote_212" class="fnanchor">[212]</a> to Scio's isle,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">The Saick<a name="FNanchor_213" id="FNanchor_213"></a><a href="#Footnote_213" class="fnanchor">[213]</a> was bound; but Allah did not smile<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upon our course—the Moslem merchant's gains<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Rovers won; our limbs have worn their chains.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I had no death to fear, nor wealth to boast,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beyond the wandering freedom which I lost;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At length a fisher's humble boat by night<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Afforded hope, and offered chance of flight; <span class="linenum">680</span><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">I seized the hour, and find my safety here—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With thee—most mighty Pacha! who can fear?"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"How speed the outlaws? stand they well prepared,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their plundered wealth, and robber's rock, to guard?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dream they of this our preparation, doomed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To view with fire their scorpion nest consumed?"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Pacha! the fettered captive's mourning eye,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">That weeps for flight, but ill can play the spy;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I only heard the reckless waters roar,<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[253]</a></span><span class="i0">Those waves that would not bear me from the shore; <span class="linenum">690</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">I only marked the glorious Sun and sky,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Too bright—too blue—for my captivity;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And felt that all which Freedom's bosom cheers<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Must break my chain before it dried my tears.<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">This mayst thou judge, at least, from my escape,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They little deem of aught in Peril's shape;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Else vainly had I prayed or sought the Chance<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That leads me here—if eyed with vigilance:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The careless guard that did not see me fly,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">May watch as idly when thy power is nigh. <span class="linenum">700</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pacha! my limbs are faint—and nature craves<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Food for my hunger, rest from tossing waves:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Permit my absence—peace be with thee! Peace<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With all around!—now grant repose—release."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Stay, Dervise! I have more to question—stay,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I do command thee—sit—dost hear?—obey!<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">More I must ask, and food the slaves shall bring;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thou shall not pine where all are banqueting:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The supper done—prepare thee to reply,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Clearly and full—I love not mystery." <span class="linenum">710</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Twere vain to guess what shook the pious man,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who looked not lovingly on that Divan;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor showed high relish for the banquet prest,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">And less respect for every fellow guest.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Twas but a moment's peevish hectic passed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Along his cheek, and tranquillised as fast:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He sate him down in silence, and his look<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Resumed the calmness which before forsook:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The feast was ushered in—but sumptuous fare<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He shunned as if some poison mingled there. <span class="linenum">720</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">For one so long condemned to toil and fast,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Methinks he strangely spares the rich repast.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"What ails thee, Dervise? eat—dost thou suppose<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[254]</a></span> +<span class="i0">This feast a Christian's? or my friends thy foes?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Why dost thou shun the salt? that sacred pledge,<a name="FNanchor_214" id="FNanchor_214"></a><a href="#Footnote_214" class="fnanchor">[214]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which, once partaken, blunts the sabre's edge,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Makes even contending tribes in peace unite,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And hated hosts seem brethren to the sight!"<br /></span> + +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Salt seasons dainties—and my food is still<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The humblest root, my drink the simplest rill; <span class="linenum">730</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And my stern vow and Order's<a name="FNanchor_215" id="FNanchor_215"></a><a href="#Footnote_215" class="fnanchor">[215]</a> laws oppose<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To break or mingle bread with friends or foes;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It may seem strange—if there be aught to dread<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">That peril rests upon my single head;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But for thy sway—nay more—thy Sultan's throne,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I taste nor bread nor banquet—save alone;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Infringed our Order's rule, the Prophet's rage<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To Mecca's dome might bar my pilgrimage."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Well—as thou wilt—ascetic as thou art—<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">One question answer; then in peace depart. <span class="linenum">740</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">How many?—Ha! it cannot sure be day?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What Star—what Sun is bursting on the bay?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It shines a lake of fire!—away—away!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ho! treachery! my guards! my scimitar!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The galleys feed the flames—and I afar!<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Accurséd Dervise!—these thy tidings—thou<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Some villain spy—seize—cleave him—slay him now!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Up rose the Dervise with that burst of light,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor less his change of form appalled the sight:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Up rose that Dervise—not in saintly garb, <span class="linenum">750</span><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">But like a warrior bounding on his barb,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[255]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Dashed his high cap, and tore his robe away—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shone his mailed breast, and flashed his sabre's ray!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His close but glittering casque, and sable plume,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">More glittering eye, and black brow's sabler gloom,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Glared on the Moslems' eyes some Afrit Sprite,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whose demon death-blow left no hope for fight.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The wild confusion, and the swarthy glow<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Of flames on high, and torches from below;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The shriek of terror, and the mingling yell— <span class="linenum">760</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">For swords began to clash, and shouts to swell—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Flung o'er that spot of earth the air of Hell!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Distracted, to and fro, the flying slaves<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Behold but bloody shore and fiery waves;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nought heeded they the Pacha's angry cry,<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>They</i> seize that Dervise!—seize on Zatanai!<a name="FNanchor_216" id="FNanchor_216"></a><a href="#Footnote_216" class="fnanchor">[216]</a><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">He saw their terror—checked the first despair<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That urged him but to stand and perish there,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Since far too early and too well obeyed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The flame was kindled ere the signal made; <span class="linenum">770</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">He saw their terror—from his baldric drew<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His bugle—brief the blast—but shrilly blew;<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">'Tis answered—"Well ye speed, my gallant crew!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Why did I doubt their quickness of career?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And deem design had left me single here?"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sweeps his long arm—that sabre's whirling sway<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sheds fast atonement for its first delay;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Completes his fury, what their fear begun,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And makes the many basely quail to one.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The cloven turbans o'er the chamber spread, <span class="linenum">780</span><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">And scarce an arm dare rise to guard its head:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Even Seyd, convulsed, o'erwhelmed, with rage, surprise,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Retreats before him, though he still defies.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[256]</a></span> +<span class="i0">No craven he—and yet he dreads the blow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So much Confusion magnifies his foe!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His blazing galleys still distract his sight,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He tore his beard, and foaming fled the fight;<a name="FNanchor_217" id="FNanchor_217"></a><a href="#Footnote_217" class="fnanchor">[217]</a><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">For now the pirates passed the Haram gate,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And burst within—and it were death to wait;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where wild Amazement shrieking—kneeling—throws <span class="linenum">790</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sword aside—in vain—the blood o'erflows!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Corsairs pouring, haste to where within<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Invited Conrad's bugle, and the din<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Of groaning victims, and wild cries for life,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Proclaimed how well he did the work of strife.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They shout to find him grim and lonely there,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A glutted tiger mangling in his lair!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But short their greeting, shorter his reply—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"'Tis well—but Seyd escapes—and he must die—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Much hath been done—but more remains to do— <span class="linenum">800</span><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Their galleys blaze—why not their city too?"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>V.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Quick at the word they seized him each a torch,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And fire the dome from minaret to porch.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A stern delight was fixed in Conrad's eye,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But sudden sunk—for on his ear the cry<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Of women struck, and like a deadly knell<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Knocked at that heart unmoved by Battle's yell.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Oh! burst the Haram—wrong not on your lives<br /></span> +<span class="i0">One female form—remember—<i>we</i> have wives.<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[257]</a></span><span class="i0">On them such outrage Vengeance will repay; <span class="linenum">810</span><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Man is our foe, and such 'tis ours to slay:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But still we spared—must spare the weaker prey.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh! I forgot—but Heaven will not forgive<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If at my word the helpless cease to live;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Follow who will—I go—we yet have time<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Our souls to lighten of at least a crime."<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He climbs the crackling stair—he bursts the door,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Nor feels his feet glow scorching with the floor;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His breath choked gasping with the volumed smoke,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But still from room to room his way he broke. <span class="linenum">820</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">They search—they find—they save: with lusty arms<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Each bears a prize of unregarded charms;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Calm their loud fears; sustain their sinking frames<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With all the care defenceless Beauty claims:<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">So well could Conrad tame their fiercest mood,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And check the very hands with gore imbrued.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But who is she? whom Conrad's arms convey,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From reeking pile and combat's wreck, away—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who but the love of him he dooms to bleed?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Haram queen—but still the slave of Seyd! <span class="linenum">830</span><br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>VI.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Brief time had Conrad now to greet Gulnare,<a name="FNanchor_218" id="FNanchor_218"></a><a href="#Footnote_218" class="fnanchor">[218]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Few words to reassure the trembling Fair;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For in that pause Compassion snatched from War,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The foe before retiring, fast and far,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With wonder saw their footsteps unpursued,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">First slowlier fled—then rallied—then withstood.<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">This Seyd perceives, then first perceives how few,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Compared with his, the Corsair's roving crew,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And blushes o'er his error, as he eyes<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[258]</a></span><span class="i0">The ruin wrought by Panic and Surprise. <span class="linenum">840</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Alla il Alla! Vengeance swells the cry—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shame mounts to rage that must atone or die!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And flame for flame and blood for blood must tell.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The tide of triumph ebbs that flowed too well—<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">When Wrath returns to renovated strife,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And those who fought for conquest strike for life.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Conrad beheld the danger—he beheld<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His followers faint by freshening foes repelled:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"One effort—one—to break the circling host!"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They form—unite—charge—waver—all is lost! <span class="linenum">850</span><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Within a narrower ring compressed, beset,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hopeless, not heartless, strive and struggle yet—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ah! now they fight in firmest file no more,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hemmed in—cut off—cleft down and trampled o'er;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But each strikes singly—silently—and home,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And sinks outwearied rather than o'ercome—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His last faint quittance rendering with his breath,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Till the blade glimmers in the grasp of Death!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>VII.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But first, ere came the rallying host to blows,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And rank to rank, and hand to hand oppose, <span class="linenum">860</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Gulnare and all her Haram handmaids freed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Safe in the dome of one who held their creed,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">By Conrad's mandate safely were bestowed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And dried those tears for life and fame that flowed:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And when that dark-eyed lady, young Gulnare,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Recalled those thoughts late wandering in despair,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Much did she marvel o'er the courtesy<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That smoothed his accents, softened in his eye—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Twas strange—<i>that</i> robber thus with gore bedewed,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Seemed gentler then than Seyd in fondest mood. <span class="linenum">870</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Pacha wooed as if he deemed the slave<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Must</i> seem delighted with the heart he gave;<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[259]</a></span> +<span class="i0">The Corsair vowed protection, soothed affright,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As if his homage were a Woman's right.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"The wish is wrong—nay, worse for female—vain:<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Yet much I long to view that Chief again;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If but to thank for, what my fear forgot,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The life—my loving Lord remembered not!"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>VIII.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And him she saw, where thickest carnage spread,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But gathered breathing from the happier dead; <span class="linenum">880</span><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Far from his band, and battling with a host<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That deem right dearly won the field he lost,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Felled—bleeding—baffled of the death he sought,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And snatched to expiate all the ills he wrought;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Preserved to linger and to live in vain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While Vengeance pondered o'er new plans of pain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And stanched the blood she saves to shed again—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But drop by drop, for Seyd's unglutted eye<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Would doom him ever dying—ne'er to die!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Can this be he? triumphant late she saw, <span class="linenum">890</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">When his red hand's wild gesture waved, a law!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Tis he indeed—disarmed but undeprest,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His sole regret the life he still possest;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His wounds too slight, though taken with that will,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which would have kissed the hand that then could kill.<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Oh were there none, of all the many given,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To send his soul—he scarcely asked to Heaven?<a name="FNanchor_219" id="FNanchor_219"></a><a href="#Footnote_219" class="fnanchor">[219]</a><br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[260]</a></span><span class="i0">Must he alone of all retain his breath,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who more than all had striven and struck for death?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He deeply felt—what mortal hearts must feel, <span class="linenum">900</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">When thus reversed on faithless Fortune's wheel,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">For crimes committed, and the victor's threat<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of lingering tortures to repay the debt—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He deeply, darkly felt; but evil Pride<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That led to perpetrate—now serves to hide.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Still in his stern and self-collected mien<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A conqueror's more than captive's air is seen,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though faint with wasting toil and stiffening wound,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But few that saw—so calmly gazed around:<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Though the far shouting of the distant crowd, <span class="linenum">910</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their tremors o'er, rose insolently loud,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The better warriors who beheld him near,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Insulted not the foe who taught them fear;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the grim guards that to his durance led,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In silence eyed him with a secret dread.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>IX.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The Leech was sent—but not in mercy—there,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To note how much the life yet left could bear;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He found enough to load with heaviest chain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And promise feeling for the wrench of Pain;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To-morrow—yea—to-morrow's evening Sun <span class="linenum">920</span><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Will, sinking, see Impalement's pangs begun,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And rising with the wonted blush of morn<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Behold how well or ill those pangs are borne.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of torments this the longest and the worst,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which adds all other agony to thirst,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That day by day Death still forbears to slake,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While famished vultures flit around the stake.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Oh! water—water!"—smiling Hate denies<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">The victim's prayer, for if he drinks he dies.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[261]</a></span> +<span class="i0">This was his doom;—the Leech, the guard, were gone, <span class="linenum">930</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And left proud Conrad fettered and alone.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>X.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'Twere vain to paint to what his feelings grew—<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">It even were doubtful if their victim knew.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There is a war, a chaos of the mind,<a name="FNanchor_220" id="FNanchor_220"></a><a href="#Footnote_220" class="fnanchor">[220]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">When all its elements convulsed, combined<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lie dark and jarring with perturbéd force,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And gnashing with impenitent Remorse—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That juggling fiend, who never spake before,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But cries "I warned thee!" when the deed is o'er.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Vain voice! the spirit burning but unbent, <span class="linenum">940</span><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">May writhe—rebel—the weak alone repent!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Even in that lonely hour when most it feels,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, to itself, all—all that self reveals,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No single passion, and no ruling thought<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That leaves the rest, as once, unseen, unsought,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But the wild prospect when the Soul reviews,<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>All</i> rushing through their thousand avenues—<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Ambition's dreams expiring, Love's regret,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Endangered Glory, Life itself beset;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The joy untasted, the contempt or hate <span class="linenum">950</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Gainst those who fain would triumph in our fate;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The hopeless past, the hasting future driven<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Too quickly on to guess if Hell or Heaven;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Deeds—thoughts—and words, perhaps remembered not<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">So keenly till that hour, but ne'er forgot;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Things light or lovely in their acted time,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But now to stern Reflection each a crime;<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[262]</a></span> +<span class="i0">The withering sense of Evil unrevealed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not cankering less because the more concealed;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All, in a word, from which all eyes must start, <span class="linenum">960</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">That opening sepulchre, the naked heart<a name="FNanchor_221" id="FNanchor_221"></a><a href="#Footnote_221" class="fnanchor">[221]</a><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Bares with its buried woes—till Pride awake,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To snatch the mirror from the soul, and break.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Aye, Pride can veil, and Courage brave it all—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All—all—before—beyond—the deadliest fall.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Each hath some fear, and he who least betrays,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The only hypocrite deserving praise:<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Not the loud recreant wretch who boasts and flies;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But he who looks on Death—and silent dies:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So, steeled by pondering o'er his far career, <span class="linenum">970</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">He half-way meets Him should He menace near!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>XI.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">In the high chamber of his highest tower<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Sate Conrad, fettered in the Pacha's power.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His palace perished in the flame—this fort<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Contained at once his captive and his court.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not much could Conrad of his sentence blame,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His foe, if vanquished, had but shared the same:—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Alone he sate—in solitude had scanned<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His guilty bosom, but that breast he manned:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">One thought alone he could not—dared not meet— <span class="linenum">980</span><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">"Oh, how these tidings will Medora greet?"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then—only then—his clanking hands he raised,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And strained with rage the chain on which he gazed;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But soon he found, or feigned, or dreamed relief,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And smiled in self-derision of his grief,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[263]</a></span> +<span class="i0">"And now come Torture when it will, or may—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">More need of rest to nerve me for the day!"<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">This said, with langour to his mat he crept,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, whatso'er his visions, quickly slept.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'Twas hardly midnight when that fray begun, <span class="linenum">990</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">For Conrad's plans matured, at once were done,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Havoc loathes so much the waste of time,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She scarce had left an uncommitted crime.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">One hour beheld him since the tide he stemmed—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Disguised—discovered—conquering—ta'en—condemned—<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">A Chief on land—an outlaw on the deep—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Destroying—saving—prisoned—and asleep!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>XII.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He slept in calmest seeming, for his breath<a name="FNanchor_222" id="FNanchor_222"></a><a href="#Footnote_222" class="fnanchor">[222]</a><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Was hushed so deep—Ah! happy if in death!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He slept—Who o'er his placid slumber bends? <span class="linenum">1000</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">His foes are gone—and here he hath no friends;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is it some Seraph sent to grant him grace?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No,'tis an earthly form with heavenly face!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Its white arm raised a lamp—yet gently hid,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Lest the ray flash abruptly on the lid<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of that closed eye, which opens but to pain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And once unclosed—but once may close again.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That form, with eye so dark, and cheek so fair,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And auburn waves of gemmed and braided hair;<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[264]</a></span> +<span class="i0">With shape of fairy lightness—naked foot, <span class="linenum">1010</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">That shines like snow, and falls on earth as mute—<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Through guards and dunnest night how came it there?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ah! rather ask what will not Woman dare?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whom Youth and Pity lead like thee, Gulnare!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She could not sleep—and while the Pacha's rest<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In muttering dreams yet saw his pirate-guest,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She left his side—his signet-ring she bore,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which oft in sport adorned her hand before—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And with it, scarcely questioned, won her way<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Through drowsy guards that must that sign obey. <span class="linenum">1020</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Worn out with toil, and tired with changing blows,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their eyes had envied Conrad his repose;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And chill and nodding at the turret door,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They stretch their listless limbs, and watch no more;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Just raised their heads to hail the signet-ring,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor ask or what or who the sign may bring.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>XIII.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">She gazed in wonder, "Can he calmly sleep,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While other eyes his fall or ravage weep?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And mine in restlessness are wandering here—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What sudden spell hath made this man so dear? <span class="linenum">1030</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">True—'tis to him my life, and more, I owe,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And me and mine he spared from worse than woe:<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">'Tis late to think—but soft—his slumber breaks—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How heavily he sighs!—he starts—awakes!"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He raised his head, and dazzled with the light,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His eye seemed dubious if it saw aright:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He moved his hand—the grating of his chain<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Too harshly told him that he lived again.<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">"What is that form? if not a shape of air,<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[265]</a></span><span class="i0">Methinks, my jailor's face shows wondrous fair!" <span class="linenum">1040</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Pirate! thou know'st me not, but I am one,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Grateful for deeds thou hast too rarely done;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Look on me—and remember her, thy hand<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Snatched from the flames, and thy more fearful band.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I come through darkness—and I scarce know why—<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Yet not to hurt—I would not see thee die."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"If so, kind lady! thine the only eye<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That would not here in that gay hope delight:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Theirs is the chance—and let them use their right.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But still I thank their courtesy or thine, <span class="linenum">1050</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">That would confess me at so fair a shrine!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> + +<span class="i0">Strange though it seem—yet with extremest grief<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is linked a mirth—it doth not bring relief—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That playfulness of Sorrow ne'er beguiles,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And smiles in bitterness—but still it smiles;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And sometimes with the wisest and the best,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till even the scaffold<a name="FNanchor_223" id="FNanchor_223"></a><a href="#Footnote_223" class="fnanchor">[223]</a> echoes with their jest!<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Yet not the joy to which it seems akin—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It may deceive all hearts, save that within.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whate'er it was that flashed on Conrad, now <span class="linenum">1060</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">A laughing wildness half unbent his brow:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And these his accents had a sound of mirth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As if the last he could enjoy on earth;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet 'gainst his nature—for through that short life,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Few thoughts had he to spare from gloom and strife.<br /></span> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[266]</a></span></div></div> + +<h4>XIV.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Corsair! thy doom is named—but I have power<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To soothe the Pacha in his weaker hour.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thee would I spare—nay more—would save thee now,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But this—Time—Hope—nor even thy strength allow;<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">But all I can,—I will—at least delay <span class="linenum">1070</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sentence that remits thee scarce a day.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">More now were ruin—even thyself were loth<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The vain attempt should bring but doom to both."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Yes!—loth indeed:—my soul is nerved to all,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Or fall'n too low to fear a further fall:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tempt not thyself with peril—me with hope<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of flight from foes with whom I could not cope:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Unfit to vanquish—shall I meanly fly,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The one of all my band that would not die?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet there is one—to whom my Memory clings, <span class="linenum">1080</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till to these eyes her own wild softness springs.<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">My sole resources in the path I trod<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Were these—my bark—my sword—my love—my God!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The last I left in youth!—He leaves me now—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Man but works his will to lay me low.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I have no thought to mock his throne with prayer<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wrung from the coward crouching of Despair;<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">It is enough—I breathe—and I can bear.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My sword is shaken from the worthless hand<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That might have better kept so true a brand; <span class="linenum">1090</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">My bark is sunk or captive—but my Love—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For her in sooth my voice would mount above:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh! she is all that still to earth can bind—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And this will break a heart so more than kind,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">And blight a form—till thine appeared, Gulnare!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Mine eye ne'er asked if others were as fair."<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[267]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Thou lov'st another then?—but what to me<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is this—'tis nothing—nothing e'er can be:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But yet—thou lov'st—and—Oh! I envy those<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Whose hearts on hearts as faithful can repose, <span class="linenum">1100</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who never feel the void—the wandering thought<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That sighs o'er visions—such as mine hath wrought."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Lady—methought thy love was his, for whom<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This arm redeemed thee from a fiery tomb."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"My love stern Seyd's! Oh—No—No—not my love—<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Yet much this heart, that strives no more, once strove<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To meet his passion—but it would not be.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I felt—I feel—Love dwells with—with the free.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I am a slave, a favoured slave at best,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To share his splendour, and seem very blest! <span class="linenum">1110</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oft must my soul the question undergo,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Of—'Dost thou love?' and burn to answer, 'No!'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh! hard it is that fondness to sustain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And struggle not to feel averse in vain;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But harder still the heart's recoil to bear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And hide from one—perhaps another there.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He takes the hand I give not—nor withhold—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Its pulse nor checked—nor quickened—calmly cold:<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">And when resigned, it drops a lifeless weight<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From one I never loved enough to hate. <span class="linenum">1120</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">No warmth these lips return by his imprest,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And chilled Remembrance shudders o'er the rest.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yes—had I ever proved that Passion's zeal,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The change to hatred were at least to feel:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But still—he goes unmourned—returns unsought—<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">And oft when present—absent from my thought.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or when Reflection comes—and come it must—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I fear that henceforth 'twill but bring disgust;<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[268]</a></span> +<span class="i0">I am his slave—but, in despite of pride,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Twere worse than bondage to become his bride. <span class="linenum">1130</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh! that this dotage of his breast would cease!<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Or seek another and give mine release,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But yesterday—I could have said, to peace!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yes, if unwonted fondness now I feign,<a name="FNanchor_hv" id="FNanchor_hv"></a><a href="#Footnote_hv" class="fnanchor">[hv]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Remember—Captive! 'tis to break thy chain;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Repay the life that to thy hand I owe;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To give thee back to all endeared below,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who share such love as I can never know.<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Farewell—Morn breaks—and I must now away:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Twill cost me dear—but dread no death to-day!" <span class="linenum">1140</span><br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>XV.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">She pressed his fettered fingers to her heart,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And bowed her head, and turned her to depart,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">And noiseless as a lovely dream is gone.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And was she here? and is he now alone?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What gem hath dropped and sparkles o'er his chain?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The tear most sacred, shed for others' pain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That starts at once—bright—pure—from Pity's mine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Already polished by the hand divine!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh! too convincing—dangerously dear—<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">In Woman's eye the unanswerable tear! <span class="linenum">1150</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">That weapon of her weakness she can wield,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To save, subdue—at once her spear and shield:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Avoid it—Virtue ebbs and Wisdom errs,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Too fondly gazing on that grief of hers!<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[269]</a></span> +<span class="i0">What lost a world, and bade a hero fly?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The timid tear in Cleopatra's eye.<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Yet be the soft Triumvir's fault forgiven;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By this—how many lose not earth—but Heaven!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Consign their souls to Man's eternal foe,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And seal their own to spare some Wanton's woe! <span class="linenum">1160</span><br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>XVI.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> + +<span class="i0">'Tis Morn—and o'er his altered features play<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The beams—without the Hope of yesterday.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What shall he be ere night? perchance a thing<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O'er which the raven flaps her funeral wing,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By his closed eye unheeded and unfelt;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While sets that Sun, and dews of Evening melt,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Chill, wet, and misty round each stiffened limb,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Refreshing earth—reviving all but him!<br /></span> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[270]</a></span></div></div> + +<h3>CANTO THE THIRD. +<br /><span class="center"><img src="images/decoration.png" alt="swash" /></span> +</h3> + +<blockquote> +<p class="center">"Come vedi—ancor non m'abbandona."</p> +<p class="attrib"><span class="smcap">Dante</span>, <i>Inferno</i>, v. 105.</p> +</blockquote> + +<h4>I.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Slow</span> sinks, more lovely ere his race be run,<a name="FNanchor_224" id="FNanchor_224"></a><a href="#Footnote_224" class="fnanchor">[224]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Along Morea's hills the setting Sun; <span class="linenum">1170</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not, as in Northern climes, obscurely bright,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But one unclouded blaze of living light!<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">O'er the hushed deep the yellow beam he throws,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Gilds the green wave, that trembles as it glows.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On old Ægina's rock, and Idra's isle,<a name="FNanchor_225" id="FNanchor_225"></a><a href="#Footnote_225" class="fnanchor">[225]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">The God of gladness sheds his parting smile;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O'er his own regions lingering, loves to shine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though there his altars are no more divine.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Descending fast the mountain shadows kiss<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy glorious gulf, unconquered Salamis! <span class="linenum">1180</span><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Their azure arches through the long expanse<br /></span> +<span class="i0">More deeply purpled met his mellowing glance,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[271]</a></span> +<span class="i0">And tenderest tints, along their summits driven,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Mark his gay course, and own the hues of Heaven;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till, darkly shaded from the land and deep,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Behind his Delphian cliff he sinks to sleep.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">On such an eve, his palest beam he cast,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When—Athens! here thy Wisest looked his last.<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">How watched thy better sons his farewell ray,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That closed their murdered Sage's<a name="FNanchor_226" id="FNanchor_226"></a><a href="#Footnote_226" class="fnanchor">[226]</a> latest day! <span class="linenum">1190</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not yet—not yet—Sol pauses on the hill—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The precious hour of parting lingers still;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But sad his light to agonising eyes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And dark the mountain's once delightful dyes:<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Gloom o'er the lovely land he seemed to pour,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The land, where Phoebus never frowned before:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But ere he sunk below Cithæron's head,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The cup of woe was quaffed—the Spirit fled;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Soul of him who scorned to fear or fly—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who lived and died, as none can live or die! <span class="linenum">1200</span><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But lo! from high Hymettus to the plain,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">The Queen of night asserts her silent reign.<a name="FNanchor_227" id="FNanchor_227"></a><a href="#Footnote_227" class="fnanchor">[227]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">No murky vapour, herald of the storm,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hides her fair face, nor girds her glowing form;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With cornice glimmering as the moon-beams play,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There the white column greets her grateful ray,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And bright around with quivering beams beset,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her emblem sparkles o'er the Minaret:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The groves of olive scattered dark and wide<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[272]</a></span> + +<span class="i0">Where meek Cephisus pours his scanty tide; <span class="linenum">1210</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">The cypress saddening by the sacred Mosque,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The gleaming turret of the gay Kiosk;<a name="FNanchor_228" id="FNanchor_228"></a><a href="#Footnote_228" class="fnanchor">[228]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, dun and sombre 'mid the holy calm,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Near Theseus' fane yon solitary palm,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All tinged with varied hues arrest the eye—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And dull were his that passed him heedless by.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> + +<span class="i0">Again the Ægean, heard no more afar,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lulls his chafed breast from elemental war;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Again his waves in milder tints unfold<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their long array of sapphire and of gold, <span class="linenum">1220</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Mixed with the shades of many a distant isle,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That frown—where gentler Ocean seems to smile.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>II.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Not now my theme—why turn my thoughts to thee?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh! who can look along thy native sea,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor dwell upon thy name, whate'er the tale,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So much its magic must o'er all prevail?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who that beheld that Sun upon thee set,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fair Athens! could thine evening face forget?<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Not he—whose heart nor time nor distance frees,<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[273]</a></span><span class="i0">Spell-bound within the clustering Cyclades! <span class="linenum">1230</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor seems this homage foreign to its strain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His Corsair's isle was once thine own domain—<a name="FNanchor_229" id="FNanchor_229"></a><a href="#Footnote_229" class="fnanchor">[229]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Would that with freedom it were thine again!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>III.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The Sun hath sunk—and, darker than the night,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sinks with its beam upon the beacon height<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Medora's heart—the third day's come and gone—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With it he comes not—sends not—faithless one!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The wind was fair though light! and storms were none.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Last eve Anselmo's bark returned, and yet<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">His only tidings that they had not met! <span class="linenum">1240</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though wild, as now, far different were the tale<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Had Conrad waited for that single sail.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The night-breeze freshens—she that day had passed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In watching all that Hope proclaimed a mast;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sadly she sate on high—Impatience bore<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At last her footsteps to the midnight shore,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">And there she wandered, heedless of the spray<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That dashed her garments oft, and warned away:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She saw not, felt not this—nor dared depart,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor deemed it cold—her chill was at her heart; <span class="linenum">1250</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till grew such certainty from that suspense—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His very Sight had shocked from life or sense!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">It came at last—a sad and shattered boat,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Whose inmates first beheld whom first they sought;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Some bleeding—all most wretched—these the few—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Scarce knew they how escaped—<i>this</i> all they knew.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In silence, darkling, each appeared to wait<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His fellow's mournful guess at Conrad's fate:<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[274]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Something they would have said; but seemed to fear<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">To trust their accents to Medora's ear. <span class="linenum">1260</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">She saw at once, yet sunk not—trembled not—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beneath that grief, that loneliness of lot,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Within that meek fair form, were feelings high,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That deemed not till they found their energy.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While yet was Hope they softened, fluttered, wept—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All lost—that Softness died not—but it slept;<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">And o'er its slumber rose that Strength which said,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"With nothing left to love, there's nought to dread."<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Tis more than Nature's—like the burning might<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Delirium gathers from the fever's height. <span class="linenum">1270</span><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Silent you stand—nor would I hear you tell<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What—speak not—breathe not—for I know it well—<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Yet would I ask—almost my lip denies<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The—quick your answer—tell me where he lies."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Lady! we know not—scarce with life we fled;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But here is one denies that he is dead:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He saw him bound; and bleeding—but alive."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> + +<span class="i0">She heard no further—'twas in vain to strive—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So throbbed each vein—each thought—till then withstood;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her own dark soul—these words at once subdued: <span class="linenum">1280</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">She totters—falls—and senseless had the wave<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Perchance but snatched her from another grave;<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">But that with hands though rude, yet weeping eyes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They yield such aid as Pity's haste supplies:<a name="FNanchor_hw" id="FNanchor_hw"></a><a href="#Footnote_hw" class="fnanchor">[hw]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dash o'er her deathlike cheek the ocean dew,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Raise, fan, sustain—till life returns anew;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Awake her handmaids, with the matrons leave<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That fainting form o'er which they gaze and grieve;<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[275]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Then seek Anselmo's cavern, to report<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">The tale too tedious—when the triumph short. <span class="linenum">1290</span><br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>IV.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">In that wild council words waxed warm and strange,<a name="FNanchor_hx" id="FNanchor_hx"></a><a href="#Footnote_hx" class="fnanchor">[hx]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">With thoughts of ransom, rescue, and revenge;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All, save repose or flight: still lingering there<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Breathed Conrad's spirit, and forbade despair;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whate'er his fate—the breasts he formed and led<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Will save him living, or appease him dead.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Woe to his foes! there yet survive a few,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whose deeds are daring, as their hearts are true.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>V.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> + +<span class="i0">Within the Haram's secret chamber sate<a name="FNanchor_230" id="FNanchor_230"></a><a href="#Footnote_230" class="fnanchor">[230]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Stern Seyd, still pondering o'er his Captive's fate; <span class="linenum">1300</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">His thoughts on love and hate alternate dwell,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now with Gulnare, and now in Conrad's cell;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Here at his feet the lovely slave reclined<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Surveys his brow—would soothe his gloom of mind;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While many an anxious glance her large dark eye<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Sends in its idle search for sympathy,<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>His</i> only bends in seeming o'er his beads,<a name="FNanchor_231" id="FNanchor_231"></a><a href="#Footnote_231" class="fnanchor">[231]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">But inly views his victim as he bleeds.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[276]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Pacha! the day is thine; and on thy crest<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sits Triumph—Conrad taken—fall'n the rest! <span class="linenum">1310</span><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">His doom is fixed—he dies; and well his fate<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was earned—yet much too worthless for thy hate:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Methinks, a short release, for ransom told<a name="FNanchor_hy" id="FNanchor_hy"></a><a href="#Footnote_hy" class="fnanchor">[hy]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">With all his treasure, not unwisely sold;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Report speaks largely of his pirate-hoard—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Would that of this my Pacha were the lord!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While baffled, weakened by this fatal fray—<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Watched—followed—he were then an easier prey;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But once cut off—the remnant of his band<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Embark their wealth, and seek a safer strand." <span class="linenum">1320</span><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Gulnare!—if for each drop of blood a gem<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where offered rich as Stamboul's diadem;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If for each hair of his a massy mine<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Of virgin ore should supplicating shine;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If all our Arab tales divulge or dream<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of wealth were here—that gold should not redeem!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It had not now redeemed a single hour,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But that I know him fettered, in my power;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, thirsting for revenge, I ponder still<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On pangs that longest rack—and latest kill." <span class="linenum">1330</span><br /></span> + +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Nay, Seyd! I seek not to restrain thy rage,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Too justly moved for Mercy to assuage;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My thoughts were only to secure for thee<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His riches—thus released, he were not free:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Disabled—shorn of half his might and band,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His capture could but wait thy first command."<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[277]</a></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> + +<span class="i0">"His capture <i>could!</i>—and shall I then resign<br /></span> +<span class="i0">One day to him—the wretch already mine?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Release my foe!—at whose remonstrance?—thine!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fair suitor!—to thy virtuous gratitude, <span class="linenum">1340</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">That thus repays this Giaour's relenting mood,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Which thee and thine alone of all could spare—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No doubt, regardless—if the prize were fair—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My thanks and praise alike are due—now hear!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I have a counsel for thy gentler ear:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I do mistrust thee, Woman! and each word<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of thine stamps truth on all Suspicion heard.<a name="FNanchor_hz" id="FNanchor_hz"></a><a href="#Footnote_hz" class="fnanchor">[hz]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Borne in his arms through fire from yon Serai—<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Say, wert thou lingering there with him to fly?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thou need'st not answer—thy confession speaks, <span class="linenum">1350</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Already reddening on thy guilty cheeks:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then—lovely Dame—bethink thee! and beware:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Tis not <i>his</i> life alone may claim such care!<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Another word and—nay—I need no more.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Accursed was the moment when he bore<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thee from the flames, which better far—but no—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I then had mourned thee with a lover's woe—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now 'tis thy lord that warns—deceitful thing!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Know'st thou that I can clip thy wanton wing?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In words alone I am not wont to chafe: <span class="linenum">1360</span><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Look to thyself—nor deem thy falsehood safe!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He rose—and slowly, sternly thence withdrew,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rage in his eye, and threats in his adieu:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ah! little recked that Chief of womanhood—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which frowns ne'er quelled, nor menaces subdued;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And little deemed he what thy heart, Gulnare!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When soft could feel—and when incensed could dare!<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[278]</a></span> + +<span class="i0">His doubts appeared to wrong—nor yet she knew<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How deep the root from whence Compassion grew—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She was a slave—from such may captives claim <span class="linenum">1370</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">A fellow-feeling, differing but in name;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Still half unconscious—heedless of his wrath,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Again she ventured on the dangerous path,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Again his rage repelled—until arose<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">That strife of thought, the source of Woman's woes!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>VI.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Meanwhile—long—anxious—weary—still the same<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rolled day and night: his soul could Terror tame—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This fearful interval of doubt and dread,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">When every hour might doom him worse than dead;<a name="FNanchor_ia" id="FNanchor_ia"></a><a href="#Footnote_ia" class="fnanchor">[ia]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">When every step that echoed by the gate, <span class="linenum">1380</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Might entering lead where axe and stake await;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When every voice that grated on his ear<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Might be the last that he could ever hear;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Could Terror tame—that Spirit stern and high<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Had proved unwilling as unfit to die;<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">'Twas worn—perhaps decayed—yet silent bore<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That conflict, deadlier far than all before:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The heat of fight, the hurry of the gale,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Leave scarce one thought inert enough to quail:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But bound and fixed in fettered solitude, <span class="linenum">1390</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">To pine, the prey of every changing mood;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To gaze on thine own heart—and meditate<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Irrevocable faults, and coming fate—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Too late the last to shun—the first to mend—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To count the hours that struggle to thine end,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With not a friend to animate and tell<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To other ears that Death became thee well;<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[279]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Around thee foes to forge the ready lie,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And blot Life's latest scene with calumny;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Before thee tortures, which the Soul can dare, <span class="linenum">1400</span><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Yet doubts how well the shrinking flesh may bear;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But deeply feels a single cry would shame,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To Valour's praise thy last and dearest claim;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The life thou leav'st below, denied above<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By kind monopolists of heavenly love;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And more than doubtful Paradise—thy Heaven<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of earthly hope—thy loved one from thee riven.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Such were the thoughts that outlaw must sustain,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">And govern pangs surpassing mortal pain:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And those sustained he—boots it well or ill? <span class="linenum">1410</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Since not to sink beneath, is something still!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>VII.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The first day passed—he saw not her—Gulnare—<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">The second, third—and still she came not there;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But what her words avouched, her charms had done,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or else he had not seen another Sun.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The fourth day rolled along, and with the night<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Came storm and darkness in their mingling might.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh! how he listened to the rushing deep,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That ne'er till now so broke upon his sleep;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And his wild Spirit wilder wishes sent, <span class="linenum">1420</span><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Roused by the roar of his own element!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oft had he ridden on that wingéd wave,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And loved its roughness for the speed it gave;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And now its dashing echoed on his ear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A long known voice—alas! too vainly near!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Loud sung the wind above; and, doubly loud,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shook o'er his turret cell the thunder-cloud;<a name="FNanchor_232" id="FNanchor_232"></a><a href="#Footnote_232" class="fnanchor">[232]</a><br /></span> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[280]</a></span><span class="i0">And flashed the lightning by the latticed bar,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To him more genial than the Midnight Star:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Close to the glimmering grate he dragged his chain, <span class="linenum">1430</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And hoped <i>that</i> peril might not prove in vain.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He rais'd his iron hand to Heaven, and prayed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">One pitying flash to mar the form it made:<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">His steel and impious prayer attract alike—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The storm rolled onward, and disdained to strike;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Its peal waxed fainter—ceased—he felt alone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As if some faithless friend had spurned his groan!<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[281]</a></span></div></div> + +<h4>VIII.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> + +<span class="i0">The midnight passed, and to the massy door<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A light step came—it paused—it moved once more;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Slow turns the grating bolt and sullen key: <span class="linenum">1440</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Tis as his heart foreboded—that fair She!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whate'er her sins, to him a Guardian Saint,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And beauteous still as hermit's hope can paint;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet changed since last within that cell she came,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">More pale her cheek, more tremulous her frame:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On him she cast her dark and hurried eye,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which spoke before her accents—"Thou must die!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yes, thou must die—there is but one resource,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The last—the worst—if torture were not worse."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Lady! I look to none; my lips proclaim <span class="linenum">1450</span><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">What last proclaimed they—Conrad still the same:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Why should'st thou seek an outlaw's life to spare,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And change the sentence I deserve to bear?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Well have I earned—nor here alone—the meed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of Seyd's revenge, by many a lawless deed."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Why should I seek? because—Oh! did'st thou not<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Redeem my life from worse than Slavery's lot?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Why should I seek?—hath Misery made thee blind<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To the fond workings of a woman's mind?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And must I say?—albeit my heart rebel <span class="linenum">1460</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">With all that Woman feels, but should not tell—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Because—despite thy crimes—that heart is moved:<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">It feared thee—thanked thee—pitied—maddened—loved.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Reply not, tell not now thy tale again,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thou lov'st another—and I love in vain:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though fond as mine her bosom, form more fair,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I rush through peril which she would not dare.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[282]</a></span> +<span class="i0">If that thy heart to hers were truly dear,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Were I thine own—thou wert not lonely here:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An outlaw's spouse—and leave her Lord to roam! <span class="linenum">1470</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">What hath such gentle dame to do with home?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But speak not now—o'er thine and o'er my head<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hangs the keen sabre by a single thread;<a name="FNanchor_ib" id="FNanchor_ib"></a><a href="#Footnote_ib" class="fnanchor">[ib]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">If thou hast courage still, and would'st be free,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Receive this poniard—rise and follow me!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Aye—in my chains! my steps will gently tread,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With these adornments, o'er such slumbering head!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thou hast forgot—is this a garb for flight?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or is that instrument more fit for fight?"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Misdoubting Corsair! I have gained the guard, <span class="linenum">1480</span><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Ripe for revolt, and greedy for reward.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A single word of mine removes that chain:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Without some aid how here could I remain?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Well, since we met, hath sped my busy time,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If in aught evil, for thy sake the crime:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The crime—'tis none to punish those of Seyd.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That hatred tyrant, Conrad—he must bleed!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I see thee shudder, but my soul is changed—<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Wronged—spurned—reviled—and it shall be avenged—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Accused of what till now my heart disdained— <span class="linenum">1490</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Too faithful, though to bitter bondage chained.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yes, smile!—but he had little cause to sneer,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I was not treacherous then, nor thou too dear:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But he has said it—and the jealous well,—<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Those tyrants—teasing—tempting to rebel,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Deserve the fate their fretting lips foretell.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I never loved—he bought me—somewhat high—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Since with me came a heart he could not buy.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[283]</a></span> +<span class="i0">I was a slave unmurmuring; he hath said,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But for his rescue I with thee had fled. <span class="linenum">1500</span><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">'Twas false thou know'st—but let such Augurs rue,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their words are omens Insult renders true.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor was thy respite granted to my prayer;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This fleeting grace was only to prepare<br /></span> +<span class="i0">New torments for thy life, and my despair.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Mine too he threatens; but his dotage still<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Would fain reserve me for his lordly will:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When wearier of these fleeting charms and me,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">There yawns the sack—and yonder rolls the sea!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What, am I then a toy for dotard's play, <span class="linenum">1510</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">To wear but till the gilding frets away?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I saw thee—loved thee—owe thee all—would save,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If but to show how grateful is a slave.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But had he not thus menaced fame and life,—<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">And well he keeps his oaths pronounced in strife—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I still had saved thee—but the Pacha spared:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now I am all thine own—for all prepared:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thou lov'st me not—nor know'st—or but the worst.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Alas! <i>this</i> love—<i>that</i> hatred—are the first—<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Oh! could'st thou prove my truth, thou would'st not start, <span class="linenum">1520</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor fear the fire that lights an Eastern heart;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Tis now the beacon of thy safety—now<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It points within the port a Mainote prow:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But in one chamber, where our path must lead,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There sleeps—he must not wake—the oppressor Seyd!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> + +<span class="i0">"Gulnare—Gulnare—I never felt till now<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My abject fortune, withered fame so low:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Seyd is mine enemy; had swept my band<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From earth with ruthless but with open hand,<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[284]</a></span><span class="i0">And therefore came I, in my bark of war,<span class="linenum">1530</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">To smite the smiter with the scimitar;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Such is my weapon—not the secret knife;<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Who spares a Woman's seeks not Slumber's life.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thine saved I gladly, Lady—not for this;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Let me not deem that mercy shown amiss.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now fare thee well—more peace be with thy breast!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Night wears apace, my last of earthly rest!"<a name="FNanchor_ic" id="FNanchor_ic"></a><a href="#Footnote_ic" class="fnanchor">[ic]</a><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> + +<span class="i0">"Rest! rest! by sunrise must thy sinews shake,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">And thy limbs writhe around the ready stake,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I heard the order—saw—I will not see— <span class="linenum">1540</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">If thou wilt perish, I will fall with thee.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My life—my love—my hatred—all below<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Are on this cast—Corsair! 'tis but a blow!<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Without it flight were idle—how evade<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His sure pursuit?—my wrongs too unrepaid,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My youth disgraced—the long, long wasted years,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">One blow shall cancel with our future fears;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But since the dagger suits thee less than brand,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I'll try the firmness of a female hand.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The guards are gained—one moment all were o'er— <span class="linenum">1550</span><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Corsair! we meet in safety or no more;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If errs my feeble hand, the morning cloud<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Will hover o'er thy scaffold, and my shroud."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>IX.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">She turned, and vanished ere he could reply,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But his glance followed far with eager eye;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And gathering, as he could, the links that bound<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">His form, to curl their length, and curb their sound,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Since bar and bolt no more his steps preclude,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He, fast as fettered limbs allow, pursued.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[285]</a></span> +<span class="i0">'Twas dark and winding, and he knew not where <span class="linenum">1560</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">That passage led; nor lamp nor guard was there:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He sees a dusky glimmering—shall he seek<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or shun that ray so indistinct and weak?<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Chance guides his steps—a freshness seems to bear<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Full on his brow as if from morning air;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He reached an open gallery—on his eye<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Gleamed the last star of night, the clearing sky:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet scarcely heeded these—another light<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From a lone chamber struck upon his sight.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Towards it he moved; a scarcely closing door <span class="linenum">1570</span><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Revealed the ray within, but nothing more.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With hasty step a figure outward passed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then paused, and turned—and paused—'tis She at last!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No poniard in that hand, nor sign of ill—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Thanks to that softening heart—she could not kill!"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Again he looked, the wildness of her eye<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Starts from the day abrupt and fearfully.<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">She stopped—threw back her dark far-floating hair,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That nearly veiled her face and bosom fair,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As if she late had bent her leaning head <span class="linenum">1580</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Above some object of her doubt or dread.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They meet—upon her brow—unknown—forgot—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her hurrying hand had left—'twas but a spot—<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Its hue was all he saw, and scarce withstood—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh! slight but certain pledge of crime—'tis Blood!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>X.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He had seen battle—he had brooded lone<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O'er promised pangs to sentenced Guilt foreshown;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He had been tempted—chastened—and the chain<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Yet on his arms might ever there remain:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But ne'er from strife—captivity—remorse— <span class="linenum">1590</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">From all his feelings in their inmost force<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[286]</a></span>—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So thrilled, so shuddered every creeping vein,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As now they froze before that purple stain.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That spot of blood, that light but guilty streak,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Had banished all the beauty from her cheek!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Blood he had viewed—could view unmoved—but then<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It flowed in combat, or was shed by men!<a name="FNanchor_id" id="FNanchor_id"></a><a href="#Footnote_id" class="fnanchor">[id]</a><br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>XI.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"'Tis done—he nearly waked—but it is done.<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Corsair! he perished—thou art dearly won.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All words would now be vain—away—away! <span class="linenum">1600</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Our bark is tossing—'tis already day.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The few gained over, now are wholly mine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And these thy yet surviving band shall join:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Anon my voice shall vindicate my hand,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">When once our sail forsakes this hated strand."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>XII.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">She clapped her hands, and through the gallery pour,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Equipped for flight, her vassals—Greek and Moor;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Silent but quick they stoop, his chains unbind;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Once more his limbs are free as mountain wind!<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">But on his heavy heart such sadness sate, <span class="linenum">1610</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">As if they there transferred that iron weight.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No words are uttered—at her sign, a door<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Reveals the secret passage to the shore;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The city lies behind—they speed, they reach<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The glad waves dancing on the yellow beach;<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[287]</a></span> +<span class="i0">And Conrad following, at her beck, obeyed,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Nor cared he now if rescued or betrayed;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Resistance were as useless as if Seyd<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet lived to view the doom his ire decreed.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>XIII.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Embarked—the sail unfurled—the light breeze blew— <span class="linenum">1620</span><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">How much had Conrad's memory to review!<a name="FNanchor_ie" id="FNanchor_ie"></a><a href="#Footnote_ie" class="fnanchor">[ie]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sunk he in contemplation, till the Cape<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where last he anchored reared its giant shape.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ah!—since that fatal night, though brief the time,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Had swept an age of terror, grief, and crime.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As its far shadow frowned above the mast,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He veiled his face, and sorrowed as he passed;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He thought of all—Gonsalvo and his band,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">His fleeting triumph and his failing hand;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He thought on her afar, his lonely bride: <span class="linenum">1630</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">He turned and saw—Gulnare, the Homicide!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>XIV.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">She watched his features till she could not bear<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their freezing aspect and averted air;<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">And that strange fierceness foreign to her eye<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fell quenched in tears, too late to shed or dry.<a name="FNanchor_if" id="FNanchor_if"></a><a href="#Footnote_if" class="fnanchor">[if]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">She knelt beside him and his hand she pressed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Thou may'st forgive though Allah's self detest;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But for that deed of darkness what wert thou?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Reproach me—but not yet—Oh! spare me <i>now!</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0">I am not what I seem—this fearful night <span class="linenum">1640</span><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">My brain bewildered—do not madden quite!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If I had never loved—though less my guilt—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thou hadst not lived to—hate me—if thou wilt."<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">[288]</a></span></div></div> + +<h4>XV.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> + +<span class="i0">She wrongs his thoughts—they more himself upbraid<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Than her—though undesigned—the wretch he made;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But speechless all, deep, dark, and unexprest,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They bleed within that silent cell—his breast.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Still onward, fair the breeze, nor rough the surge,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The blue waves sport around the stern they urge;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Far on the Horizon's verge appears a speck, <span class="linenum">1650</span><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">A spot—a mast—a sail—an arméd deck!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their little bark her men of watch descry,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And ampler canvass woos the wind from high;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She bears her down majestically near,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Speed on her prow, and terror in her tier;<a name="FNanchor_ig" id="FNanchor_ig"></a><a href="#Footnote_ig" class="fnanchor">[ig]</a><a name="FNanchor_233" id="FNanchor_233"></a><a href="#Footnote_233" class="fnanchor">[233]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">A flash is seen—the ball beyond her bow<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Booms harmless, hissing to the deep below.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Up rose keen Conrad from his silent trance,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A long, long absent gladness in his glance;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"'Tis mine—my blood-rag flag! again—again— <span class="linenum">1660</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">I am not all deserted on the main!"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They own the signal, answer to the hail,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hoist out the boat at once, and slacken sail.<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">"'Tis Conrad! Conrad!" shouting from the deck,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Command nor Duty could their transport check!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With light alacrity and gaze of Pride,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They view him mount once more his vessel's side;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A smile relaxing in each rugged face,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their arms can scarce forbear a rough embrace.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He, half forgetting danger and defeat, <span class="linenum">1670</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Returns their greeting as a Chief may greet,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Wrings with a cordial grasp Anselmo's hand,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And feels he yet can conquer and command!<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">[289]</a></span></div></div> + +<h4>XVI.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">These greetings o'er, the feelings that o'erflow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet grieve to win him back without a blow;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They sailed prepared for vengeance—had they known<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">A woman's hand secured that deed her own,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She were their Queen—less scrupulous are they<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Than haughty Conrad how they win their way.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With many an asking smile, and wondering stare, <span class="linenum">1680</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">They whisper round, and gaze upon Gulnare;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And her, at once above—beneath her sex,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whom blood appalled not, their regards perplex.<a name="FNanchor_ih" id="FNanchor_ih"></a><a href="#Footnote_ih" class="fnanchor">[ih]</a><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">To Conrad turns her faint imploring eye,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She drops her veil, and stands in silence by;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her arms are meekly folded on that breast,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which—Conrad safe—to Fate resigned the rest.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though worse than frenzy could that bosom fill,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Extreme in love or hate, in good or ill,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The worst of crimes had left her Woman still! <span class="linenum">1690</span><br /></span> + +</div></div> + +<h4>XVII.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">This Conrad marked, and felt—ah! could he less?—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hate of that deed—but grief for her distress;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What she has done no tears can wash away,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Heaven must punish on its angry day:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But—it was done: he knew, whate'er her guilt,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">For him that poniard smote, that blood was spilt;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And he was free!—and she for him had given<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her all on earth, and more than all in heaven!<a name="FNanchor_234" id="FNanchor_234"></a><a href="#Footnote_234" class="fnanchor">[234]</a><br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">[290]</a></span><span class="i0">And now he turned him to that dark-eyed slave<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whose brow was bowed beneath the glance he gave, <span class="linenum">1700</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who now seemed changed and humbled, faint and meek,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But varying oft the colour of her cheek<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">To deeper shades of paleness—all its red<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That fearful spot which stained it from the dead!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He took that hand—it trembled—now too late—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So soft in love—so wildly nerved in hate;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He clasped that hand—it trembled—and his own<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Had lost its firmness, and his voice its tone.<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">"Gulnare!"—but she replied not—"dear Gulnare!"<a name="FNanchor_ii" id="FNanchor_ii"></a><a href="#Footnote_ii" class="fnanchor">[ii]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">She raised her eye—her only answer there— <span class="linenum">1710</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">At once she sought and sunk in his embrace:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If he had driven her from that resting-place,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His had been more or less than mortal heart,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But—good or ill—it bade her not depart.<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Perchance, but for the bodings of his breast,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His latest virtue then had joined the rest.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet even Medora might forgive the kiss<a name="FNanchor_ij" id="FNanchor_ij"></a><a href="#Footnote_ij" class="fnanchor">[ij]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">That asked from form so fair no more than this,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The first, the last that Frailty stole from Faith—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To lips where Love had lavished all his breath, <span class="linenum">1720</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">To lips—whose broken sighs such fragrance fling,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">As he had fanned them freshly with his wing!<a name="FNanchor_ik" id="FNanchor_ik"></a><a href="#Footnote_ik" class="fnanchor">[ik]</a><br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>XVIII.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">They gain by twilight's hour their lonely isle.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To them the very rocks appear to smile;<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">[291]</a></span> +<span class="i0">The haven hums with many a cheering sound,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The beacons blaze their wonted stations round,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">The boats are darting o'er the curly bay,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And sportive Dolphins bend them through the spray;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Even the hoarse sea-bird's shrill, discordant shriek,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Greets like the welcome of his tuneless beak! <span class="linenum">1730</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beneath each lamp that through its lattice gleams,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their fancy paints the friends that trim the beams.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh! what can sanctify the joys of home,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like Hope's gay glance from Ocean's troubled foam?<a name="FNanchor_il" id="FNanchor_il"></a><a href="#Footnote_il" class="fnanchor">[il]</a><br /></span> + +</div></div> + +<h4>XIX.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The lights are high on beacon and from bower,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And 'midst them Conrad seeks Medora's tower:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He looks in vain—'tis strange—and all remark,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Amid so many, hers alone is dark.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Tis strange—of yore its welcome never failed,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Nor now, perchance, extinguished—only veiled. <span class="linenum">1740</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">With the first boat descends he for the shore,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And looks impatient on the lingering oar.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh! for a wing beyond the falcon's flight,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To bear him like an arrow to that height!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With the first pause the resting rowers gave,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He waits not—looks not—leaps into the wave,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Strives through the surge, bestrides the beach, and high<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ascends the path familiar to his eye.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He reached his turret door—he paused—no sound<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Broke from within; and all was night around. <span class="linenum">1750</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">He knocked, and loudly—footstep nor reply<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Announced that any heard or deemed him nigh:<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">[292]</a></span> + +<span class="i0">He knocked, but faintly—for his trembling hand<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Refused to aid his heavy heart's demand.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The portal opens—'tis a well known face—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But not the form he panted to embrace.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Its lips are silent—twice his own essayed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And failed to frame the question they delayed;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He snatched the lamp—its light will answer all—<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">It quits his grasp, expiring in the fall. <span class="linenum">1760</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">He would not wait for that reviving ray—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As soon could he have lingered there for day;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But, glimmering through the dusky corridor,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Another chequers o'er the shadowed floor;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His steps the chamber gain—his eyes behold<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All that his heart believed not—yet foretold!<br /></span> + +</div></div> + +<h4>XX.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He turned not—spoke not—sunk not—fixed his look,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And set the anxious frame that lately shook:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He gazed—how long we gaze despite of pain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And know, but dare not own, we gaze in vain! <span class="linenum">1770</span><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">In life itself she was so still and fair,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That Death with gentler aspect withered there;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the cold flowers<a name="FNanchor_235" id="FNanchor_235"></a><a href="#Footnote_235" class="fnanchor">[235]</a> her colder hand contained,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In that last grasp as tenderly were strained<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As if she scarcely felt, but feigned a sleep—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And made it almost mockery yet to weep:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The long dark lashes fringed her lids of snow,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">And veiled—Thought shrinks from all that lurked below<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">[293]</a></span>—Oh!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">o'er the eye Death most exerts his might,<a name="FNanchor_236" id="FNanchor_236"></a><a href="#Footnote_236" class="fnanchor">[236]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And hurls the Spirit from her throne of light; <span class="linenum">1780</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sinks those blue orbs in that long last eclipse,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But spares, as yet, the charm around her lips—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet, yet they seem as they forebore to smile,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">And wished repose,—but only for a while;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But the white shroud, and each extended tress,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Long, fair—but spread in utter lifelessness,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which, late the sport of every summer wind,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Escaped the baffled wreath that strove to bind;<a name="FNanchor_im" id="FNanchor_im"></a><a href="#Footnote_im" class="fnanchor">[im]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">These—and the pale pure cheek, became the bier—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But She is nothing—wherefore is he here? <span class="linenum">1790</span><br /></span> + +</div></div> + +<h4>XXI.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He asked no question—all were answered now<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By the first glance on that still, marble brow.<a name="FNanchor_in" id="FNanchor_in"></a><a href="#Footnote_in" class="fnanchor">[in]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">It was enough—she died—what recked it how?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The love of youth, the hope of better years,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">The source of softest wishes, tenderest fears,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The only living thing he could not hate,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was reft at once—and he deserved his fate,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But did not feel it less;—the Good explore,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For peace, those realms where Guilt can never soar:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The proud, the wayward—who have fixed below <span class="linenum">1800</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their joy, and find this earth enough for woe,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Lose in that one their all—perchance a mite—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But who in patience parts with all delight?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Full many a stoic eye and aspect stern<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294">[294]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Mask hearts where Grief hath little left to learn;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And many a withering thought lies hid, not lost,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In smiles that least befit who wear them most.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>XXII.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">By those, that deepest feel, is ill exprest<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The indistinctness of the suffering breast;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where thousand thoughts begin to end in one, <span class="linenum">1810</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which seeks from all the refuge found in none;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No words suffice the secret soul to show,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For Truth denies all eloquence to Woe.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On Conrad's stricken soul Exhaustion prest,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">And Stupor almost lulled it into rest;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So feeble now—his mother's softness crept<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To those wild eyes, which like an infant's wept:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It was the very weakness of his brain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which thus confessed without relieving pain.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">None saw his trickling tears—perchance, if seen, <span class="linenum">1820</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">That useless flood of grief had never been:<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Nor long they flowed—he dried them to depart,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In helpless—hopeless—brokenness of heart:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Sun goes forth, but Conrad's day is dim:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the night cometh—ne'er to pass from him.<a name="FNanchor_io" id="FNanchor_io"></a><a href="#Footnote_io" class="fnanchor">[io]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">There is no darkness like the cloud of mind,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On Grief's vain eye—the blindest of the blind!<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Which may not—dare not see—but turns aside<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To blackest shade—nor will endure a guide!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>XXIII.<a name="FNanchor_237" id="FNanchor_237"></a><a href="#Footnote_237" class="fnanchor">[237]</a></h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">His heart was formed for softness—warped to wrong, <span class="linenum">1830</span><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Betrayed too early, and beguiled too long;<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">[295]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Each feeling pure—as falls the dropping dew<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Within the grot—like that had hardened too;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Less clear, perchance, its earthly trials passed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But sunk, and chilled, and petrified at last.<a name="FNanchor_238" id="FNanchor_238"></a><a href="#Footnote_238" class="fnanchor">[238]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet tempests wear, and lightning cleaves the rock;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If such his heart, so shattered it the shock.<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">There grew one flower beneath its rugged brow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though dark the shade—it sheltered—saved till now.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The thunder came—that bolt hath blasted both, <span class="linenum">1840</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Granite's firmness, and the Lily's growth:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The gentle plant hath left no leaf to tell<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Its tale, but shrunk and withered where it fell;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And of its cold protector, blacken round<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">But shivered fragments on the barren ground!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>XXIV.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'Tis morn—to venture on his lonely hour<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Few dare; though now Anselmo sought his tower.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He was not there, nor seen along the shore;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ere night, alarmed, their isle is traversed o'er:<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Another morn—another bids them seek, <span class="linenum">1850</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And shout his name till Echo waxeth weak;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Mount—grotto—cavern—valley searched in vain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They find on shore a sea-boat's broken chain:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their hope revives—they follow o'er the main.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Tis idle all—moons roll on moons away,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">And Conrad comes not, came not since that day:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor trace nor tidings of his doom declare<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where lives his grief, or perished his despair!<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296">[296]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Long mourned his band whom none could mourn beside;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And fair the monument they gave his Bride: <span class="linenum">1860</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">For him they raise not the recording stone—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His death yet dubious, deeds too widely known;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He left a Corsair's name to other times,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Linked with one virtue, and a thousand crimes.<a name="FNanchor_239" id="FNanchor_239"></a><a href="#Footnote_239" class="fnanchor">[239]</a><br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"> +<p><a name="Footnote_194" id="Footnote_194"></a><a href="#FNanchor_194"> +<span class="label">[194]</span></a> <a id="Note_223"></a>{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:— +</p> +<p style="text-align:right;">"<i>January</i> 7th, 1814.</p> + +<p> +<span class="smcap">My dear Moore</span>, +</p><p> +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,—<i>one's +self</i>. 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 +</p> +<p style="margin-left:12em;"> +Yours, most affectionately and faithfully,<br /> +<span style="margin-left:14em;">Byron."]</span></p> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_195" id="Footnote_195"></a><a href="#FNanchor_195"><span class="label">[195]</span></a> <a id="Note_224"></a>{224} [After the words, "Scott alone," Byron had inserted, +in a parenthesis, +"He will excuse the '<i>Mr.</i>'—we do not say <i>Mr</i>. Cæsar."]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_196" id="Footnote_196"></a><a href="#FNanchor_196"><span class="label">[196]</span></a> <a id="Note_225"></a>{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— +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i20">"'To the sight<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No giant frame sets forth his common height;<br /></span> +<hr /> +<span class="i0">Sun-burnt his cheek, his forehead high and pale<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sable curls in wild profusion veil....'"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="attrib">Canto I. stanza ix. +</p><p> +—Sir Walter Scott, <i>Quart. Rev</i>., No. xxxi. October, 1816.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_197" id="Footnote_197"></a><a href="#FNanchor_197"><span class="label">[197]</span></a> <a id="Note_227"></a>{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 <i>wind</i> as +I have often found it.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_198" id="Footnote_198"></a><a href="#FNanchor_198"><span class="label">[198]</span></a> [Compare—"Survey the region, and confess her home." + +<i>Windsor Forest</i>, by A. Pope, line 256.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_hk" id="Footnote_hk"></a><a href="#FNanchor_hk"><span class="label">[hk]</span></a> <a id="Note_228"></a>{228} <i>Protract to age his painful doting day</i>.—[MS. erased.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_hl" id="Footnote_hl"></a><a href="#FNanchor_hl"><span class="label">[hl]</span></a> <a id="Note_230"></a>{230} <i>Her nation—flag—how tells the telescope</i>.—[MS.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_199" id="Footnote_199"></a><a href="#FNanchor_199"><span class="label">[199]</span></a> [Compare <i>The Isle of Palms</i>, by John Wilson, +Canto I. (1812, p. 8)— +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"She sailed amid the loveliness<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like a thing with heart and mind."]<br /></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_hm" id="Footnote_hm"></a><a href="#FNanchor_hm"><span class="label">[hm]</span></a> <a id="Note_231"></a>{231} <i>Till creaks her keel upon the shallow sand</i>.—[MS.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_hn" id="Footnote_hn"></a><a href="#FNanchor_hn"><span class="label">[hn]</span></a> <a id="Note_234"></a>{234} <i>The haughtier thought his bosom ill conceals</i>.—[MS.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_ho" id="Footnote_ho"></a><a href="#FNanchor_ho"><span class="label">[ho]</span></a> +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>He had the skill when prying souls would seek,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>To watch his words and trace his pensive cheek</i>.—[MS.]<br /></span> + +<span class="i0"><i>His was the skill when prying, etc</i>.—[Revise.]<br /></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_200" id="Footnote_200"></a><a href="#FNanchor_200"><span class="label">[200]</span></a> <a id="Note_235"></a>{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 <i>The Corsair</i>. +</p><p> +"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, <i>Histoire +des Républiques Italiennes du Moyen Age</i>, 1809, iii. 219. +</p><p> +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, <i>De Getarum Origine</i> ("De Rebus Geticis"), +cap. 33, <i>ed.</i> 1597, p. 92. + +</p><p> +I beg leave to quote those gloomy realities to keep in countenance +my Giaour and Corsair.—[Added to the Ninth Edition.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_201" id="Footnote_201"></a><a href="#FNanchor_201"><span class="label">[201]</span></a> [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.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_hp" id="Footnote_hp"></a><a href="#FNanchor_hp"><span class="label">[hp]</span></a> <a id="Note_236"></a>{236} +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>Released but to convulse or freeze or glow!</i><br /></span> + +<span class="i0"><i>Fire in the veins, or damps upon the brow</i>.—[MS.]<br /></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_hq" id="Footnote_hq"></a><a href="#FNanchor_hq"><span class="label">[hq]</span></a> +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>Behold his soul once seen not soon forgot!</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>All that there burns its hour away—but sears</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>The scathed Remembrance of long coming years</i>.—[MS.]<br /></span> + +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_202" id="Footnote_202"></a><a href="#FNanchor_202"><span class="label">[202]</span></a> <a id="Note_237"></a>{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.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_hr" id="Footnote_hr"></a><a href="#FNanchor_hr"><span class="label">[hr]</span></a> <a id="Note_238"></a>{238} <i>Not Guilt itself could quench this earliest one</i>.—[MS. erased.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_hs" id="Footnote_hs"></a><a href="#FNanchor_hs"><span class="label">[hs]</span></a> <a id="Note_239"></a>{239} + +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>Now to Francesca</i>.—[MS.]<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Now to Ginevra</i>.—[Revise of January 6, 1814.]<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Now to Medora</i>.—[Revise of January 15, 1814.]<br /></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_ht" id="Footnote_ht"></a><a href="#FNanchor_ht"><span class="label">[ht]</span></a> <i>Yet heed my prayer—my latest accents hear</i>.—[MS.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_203" id="Footnote_203"></a><a href="#FNanchor_203"><span class="label">[203]</span></a> [Compare— +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"He gave to Misery all he had, a tear,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">He gained from Heaven ('twas all he wished) a friend."<br /></span> + +</div></div> +<p class="attrib">Gray's <i>Elegy in a Country Churchyard.</i>] +</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_204" id="Footnote_204"></a><a href="#FNanchor_204"><span class="label">[204]</span></a> <a id="Note_243"></a>{243} [For Bireno's desertion of Olympia, see] +<i>Orlando Funoso</i>, Canto X. [stanzas 1-27].</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_hu" id="Footnote_hu"></a><a href="#FNanchor_hu"><span class="label">[hu]</span></a> <a id="Note_244"></a>{244} +</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>Oh! he could bear no more—but madly grasped</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Her form—and trembling there his own unclasped</i>.—[MS.]<br /></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_205" id="Footnote_205"></a><a href="#FNanchor_205"><span class="label">[205]</span></a> <a id="Note_247"></a>{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.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_206" id="Footnote_206"></a><a href="#FNanchor_206"><span class="label">[206]</span></a> <a id="Note_248"></a>{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."]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_207" id="Footnote_207"></a><a href="#FNanchor_207"><span class="label">[207]</span></a> <a id="Note_249"></a>{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. +</p><p> +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 <i>Lettres sur la Morée, etc</i>. (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:— +</p> +<blockquote><p>"La châine caverneuse du Taygete s'élève en face de Coron, à + +l'autre extrémité du golfe" (iii. 181). +</p><p> +"Nous avons aussi été faire une visite au bey, qui nous a permis +de parcourir la citadelle" (p. 187). +</p><p> +"Le bey fait a exécuter en notre présence une danse singuliére, +qu'on peut nommer danse pantomime" (p. 189; see line 642). +</p><p> +"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).</p></blockquote> + +<p> +Castellan saw the palace and bay illuminated (p. 203).]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_208" id="Footnote_208"></a><a href="#FNanchor_208"><span class="label">[208]</span></a> <a id="Note_250"></a>{250} Coffee.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_209" id="Footnote_209"></a><a href="#FNanchor_209"><span class="label">[209]</span></a> "Chibouque" [chibûk], pipe.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_210" id="Footnote_210"></a><a href="#FNanchor_210"><span class="label">[210]</span></a> <a id="Note_251"></a>{251} Dancing girls. +[Compare <i>The Waltz</i>, line 127, + +<i>Poetical Works</i>, 1898, i. 492, note 1.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_211" id="Footnote_211"></a><a href="#FNanchor_211"><span class="label">[211]</span></a> 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 <i>Decline and Fall</i> [1854, iv. 272.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_212" id="Footnote_212"></a><a href="#FNanchor_212"><span class="label">[212]</span></a> <a id="Note_252"></a>{252} [On the coast of Asia Minor, +twenty-one miles south of Smyrna.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_213" id="Footnote_213"></a><a href="#FNanchor_213"><span class="label">[213]</span></a> [A Levantine bark—"a kind of ketch without top-gallant sail, +or mizzen-top sail."]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_214" id="Footnote_214"></a><a href="#FNanchor_214"><span class="label">[214]</span></a> <a id="Note_254"></a>{254} +[Compare the <i>Giaour</i>, +<a href="#Footnote_76">line 343, note 2</a>; <i>vide ante</i>, p. 102.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_215" id="Footnote_215"></a><a href="#FNanchor_215"><span class="label">[215]</span></a> The Dervises [Dervish, Persian <i>darvesh</i>, poor] +are in colleges, and of different orders, as the monks.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_216" id="Footnote_216"></a><a href="#FNanchor_216"><span class="label">[216]</span></a> <a id="Note_255"></a>{255} "Zatanai," Satan. +[Probably a phonetic rendering of +<span title="satana(s)">σατανὰ(ς)</span>. +The Turkish form would be <i>sheytan</i>. Compare letter to Moore, +April 9, 1814, <i>Letters</i>, 1899, iii. 66, note 1.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_217" id="Footnote_217"></a><a href="#FNanchor_217"><span class="label">[217]</span></a> <a id="Note_256"></a>{256} A common and not very novel effect of Mussulman anger. +See Prince Eugene's <i>Mémoires</i>, 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" <i>he tore out the arrow</i>.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_218" id="Footnote_218"></a><a href="#FNanchor_218"><span class="label">[218]</span></a> <a id="Note_257"></a>{257} Gulnare, a female name; +it means, literally, the flower of the pomegranate.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_219" id="Footnote_219"></a><a href="#FNanchor_219"><span class="label">[219]</span></a> <a id="Note_259"></a>{259} [The word "to" had been left out by the printer, +and in a late revise Byron supplies the omission, and writes— +</p> +<blockquote> +<p>"To Mr. Murray or Mr. Davison.<br /> +Do not omit words—it is quite enough to alter or mis-spell them.<br /> +<span style="margin-left:20em;"><span class="smcap">Bn</span>."</span></p> +</blockquote> +<p>In the MS. the line ran—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"To send his soul—he scarcely cared to Heaven."<br /></span> +</div></div> +<p> +"Asked" is written over in pencil, but "cared" has not been +erased.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_220" id="Footnote_220"></a><a href="#FNanchor_220"><span class="label">[220]</span></a> <a id="Note_261"></a>{261} [Compare—"One <i>anarchy</i>, +one <i>chaos</i> of the <i>mind</i>." + +<i>The Wanderer</i>, by Richard Savage, Canto V. (1761, p. 86).]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_221" id="Footnote_221"></a><a href="#FNanchor_221"><span class="label">[221]</span></a> <a id="Note_262"></a>{262} [Compare—"That hideous sight, +a <i>naked</i> human heart." +<i>Night Thoughts</i>, by Edward Young (Night III.) +(Anderson's <i>British Poets</i>, x. 71).]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_222" id="Footnote_222"></a><a href="#FNanchor_222"><span class="label">[222]</span></a> <a id="Note_263"></a>{263} [Compare— +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"When half the world lay wrapt in sleepless night,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A jarring sound the startled hero wakes.<br /></span> +<hr /> +<span class="i0">He hears a step draw near—in beauty's pride<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A female comes—wide floats her glistening gown—<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Her hand sustains a lamp...."<br /></span> +</div></div> +<p class="attrib">Wieland's <i>Oberon</i>, translated by W. Sotheby, +Canto XII. stanza xxxi., <i>et seq</i>.] +</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_223" id="Footnote_223"></a><a href="#FNanchor_223"><span class="label">[223]</span></a> <a id="Note_265"></a>{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 +"<i>mot</i>" as a legacy; and the quantity of facetious last words spoken +during that period would form a melancholy jest-book of a considerable +size.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_hv" id="Footnote_hv"></a><a href="#FNanchor_hv"><span class="label">[hv]</span></a> <a id="Note_268"></a>{268} +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>I breathe but in the hope—his altered breast</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>May seek another—and have mine at rest.</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Or if unwonted fondness now I feign</i>.[*]—[MS.]<br /></span> +</div></div> +<p> + +[*] [The alteration was sent to the publishers on a separate quarto +sheet, with a memorandum, "In Canto <i>first</i>—nearly the end," +etc.—a rare instance of inaccuracy on the part of the author.] +</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_224" id="Footnote_224"></a><a href="#FNanchor_224"><span class="label">[224]</span></a> <a id="Note_270"></a>{270} The opening lines, as far as section ii., +have, perhaps, little +business here, and were annexed to an unpublished (though printed) +poem [<i>The Curse of Minerva</i>]; 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.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_225" id="Footnote_225"></a><a href="#FNanchor_225"><span class="label">[225]</span></a> [See <i>Curse of Minerva</i>, line 7, + +<i>Poetical Works</i>, 1898, i. 457. +For Hydra, see A. L. Castellan's <i>Lettres sur la Morée</i>, 1820, +i. 155-176. +He gives (p. 174) a striking description of a <i>sunrise</i> off the +Cape of Sunium.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_226" id="Footnote_226"></a><a href="#FNanchor_226"><span class="label">[226]</span></a> <a id="Note_271"></a>{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.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_227" id="Footnote_227"></a><a href="#FNanchor_227"><span class="label">[227]</span></a> The twilight in Greece is much shorter than in our own +country: the days in winter are longer, but in summer of shorter +duration.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_228" id="Footnote_228"></a><a href="#FNanchor_228"><span class="label">[228]</span></a> <a id="Note_272"></a>{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. +</p><p> +[E. Dodwell (<i>Classical Tour</i>, 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 (<i>Travels in Albania</i>, 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 <i>Travels</i>, 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.—<i>Life</i>, p. 640.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_229" id="Footnote_229"></a><a href="#FNanchor_229"><span class="label">[229]</span></a> <a id="Note_273"></a>{273} [After the battle of Salamis, B.C. 480, +Paros fell under the dominion of Athens.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_hw" id="Footnote_hw"></a><a href="#FNanchor_hw"><span class="label">[hw]</span></a> <a id="Note_274"></a>{274} +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>They gather round and each his aid supplies</i>.—[MS.]<br /></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_hx" id="Footnote_hx"></a><a href="#FNanchor_hx"><span class="label">[hx]</span></a> <a id="Note_275"></a>{275} +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>Within that cave Debate waxed warm and strange</i>.—[<i>MS</i>.]<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Loud in the cave Debate waxed warm and strange</i>.—<br /></span> +<span class="i34">[<i>January</i> 6, 1814.]<br /></span> + +<span class="i0"><i>In that dark Council words waxed warm and strange</i>.—<br /></span> +<span class="i34">[<i>January</i> 13, 1814.]<br /></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_230" id="Footnote_230"></a><a href="#FNanchor_230"><span class="label">[230]</span></a> [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.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_231" id="Footnote_231"></a><a href="#FNanchor_231"><span class="label">[231]</span></a> The comboloio, or Mahometan rosary; the beads are in +number ninety-nine. [<i>Vide ante</i>, <a href="#Page_181">p. 181</a>, + +<i>The Bride of Abydos</i>, Canto II. line 554.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_hy" id="Footnote_hy"></a><a href="#FNanchor_hy"><span class="label">[hy]</span></a> <a id="Note_276"></a>{276} +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>Methinks a short release by ransom wrought</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Of all his treasures not too cheaply bought</i>.—[MS. erased.]<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Methinks a short release for ransom—gold</i>.—[MS.]<br /></span> + +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_hz" id="Footnote_hz"></a><a href="#FNanchor_hz"><span class="label">[hz]</span></a> <a id="Note_277"></a>{277} +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>Of thine adds certainty to all I heard</i>.—[MS.]<br /></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_ia" id="Footnote_ia"></a><a href="#FNanchor_ia"><span class="label">[ia]</span></a> <a id="Note_278"></a>{278} + +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>When every coming hour might view him dead</i>.—[MS.]<br /></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_232" id="Footnote_232"></a><a href="#FNanchor_232"><span class="label">[232]</span></a> ["By the way—I have a charge against you. As the great +Mr. Dennis roared out on a similar occasion—'By G-d, <i>that</i> is + +<i>my</i> thunder!' so do I exclaim, +'<i>This</i> is <i>my</i> 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 <i>The Corsair</i>. 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, <i>Letters</i>, 1899, iii. 219). The following are the +lines in question:— +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i15">"And I have leapt<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">In transport from my flinty couch, to welcome<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The thunder as it burst upon my roof,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And beckon'd to the lightning, as it flash'd<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And sparkled on these fetters."<br /></span> +</div></div> +<p class="attrib">Act iv. sc. 3 (<i>Ivan</i>, 1816, p. 64). +</p><p> +According to Moore, this passage in <i>The Corsair</i>, 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 + +<i>Literary Gazette</i>, 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 <i>Corsair</i>. +The <i>Confession</i>, and <i>Orestes</i>, reappeared with three hitherto +unpublished tragedies, <i>Ivan</i>, <i>The Death of Darnley</i>, +and <i>Zamorin and Zama</i>, +under the general title, <i>Five Unpublished Tragedies</i>, in 1814. + +</p><p> +The story of the critic John Dennis (1657-1734) and the +"thunder" is related in Cibber's <i>Lives</i>, 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 +(<i>Appius and Virginia</i>) which he had put upon the stage had been +withdrawn, he was present at a performance of <i>Macbeth</i>, at which +the new "thunder" was inaugurated. "That is <i>my</i> thunder, by +God!" exclaimed Dennis. "The villains will play my thunder, but +not my plays."—<i>Dict. Nat. Biog.</i>, art. "Dennis."]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_ib" id="Footnote_ib"></a><a href="#FNanchor_ib"><span class="label">[ib]</span></a> <a id="Note_282"></a>{282} + +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>But speak not now—on thine and on my head</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>O'erhangs the sabre</i>——.—[MS.]<br /></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_ic" id="Footnote_ic"></a><a href="#FNanchor_ic"><span class="label">[ic]</span></a> <a id="Note_284"></a>{284} +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> + +<span class="i0"><i>Night wears apace—and I have need of rest</i>.—[MS.]<br /></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_id" id="Footnote_id"></a><a href="#FNanchor_id"><span class="label">[id]</span></a> <a id="Note_286"></a>{286} A variant of lines 1596, 1597 +first appeared in MS. in a revise +numbering 1780 lines— +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>Blood he had viewed, could view unmoved—but then</i><br /></span> + +<span class="i0"><i>It reddened on the scarfs and swords of men.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> +<p> +In a later revise line 1597 was altered to— +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>It flowed a token of the deeds of men.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_ie" id="Footnote_ie"></a><a href="#FNanchor_ie"><span class="label">[ie]</span></a> <a id="Note_287"></a>{287} <i>His silent thoughts the present, +past review.</i>—[MS. erased.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_if" id="Footnote_if"></a><a href="#FNanchor_if"><span class="label">[if]</span></a> <i>Fell quenched in tears of more than +misery.</i>—[MS.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_ig" id="Footnote_ig"></a><a href="#FNanchor_ig"><span class="label">[ig]</span></a> <a id="Note_288"></a>{288} <i>They count the Dragon-teeth around her tier</i>.—[MS.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_233" id="Footnote_233"></a><a href="#FNanchor_233"><span class="label">[233]</span></a> ["Tier" must stand for "hold." The "cable-tier" is the +place in the hold where the cable is stowed.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_ih" id="Footnote_ih"></a><a href="#FNanchor_ih"><span class="label">[ih]</span></a> <a id="Note_289"></a>{289} <i>Whom blood appalled not, +their rude eyes perplex</i>.—[MS. erased.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_234" id="Footnote_234"></a><a href="#FNanchor_234"><span class="label">[234]</span></a> [Compare— +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"And I the cause—for whom were given<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Her peace on earth, her hopes in heaven."<br /></span> +</div></div> +<p class="attrib"><i>Marmion</i>, Canto III. stanza xvii. lines 9, 10.] +</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_ii" id="Footnote_ii"></a><a href="#FNanchor_ii"><span class="label">[ii]</span></a> <a id="Note_290"></a>{290} +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>"Gulnare"—she answered not again—"Gulnare"</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>She raised her glance—her sole reply was there</i>.—[M.S.]<br /></span> + +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_ij" id="Footnote_ij"></a><a href="#FNanchor_ij"><span class="label">[ij]</span></a> +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>That sought from form so fair no more than this</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>That kiss—the first that Frailty wrung from Faith</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>That last—on lips so warm with rosy breath</i>.—[MS. erased.]<br /></span> + +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_ik" id="Footnote_ik"></a><a href="#FNanchor_ik"><span class="label">[ik]</span></a> <i>As he had fanned them with his rosy wing</i>.—[MS.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_il" id="Footnote_il"></a><a href="#FNanchor_il"><span class="label">[il]</span></a> <a id="Note_291"></a>{291} +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>Oh! none so prophesy the joys of home</i><br /></span> + +<span class="i0"><i>As they who hail it from the Ocean-foam</i>.—[MS.]<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Oh—what can sanctify the joys of home</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Like the first glance from Ocean's troubled foam</i>.—[Revise.]<br /></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_235" id="Footnote_235"></a><a href="#FNanchor_235"><span class="label">[235]</span></a> <a id="Note_292"></a>{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. + +</p><p> +[Compare—"There shut it inside the sweet cold hand." +<i>Evelyn Hope</i>, by Robert Browning.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_236" id="Footnote_236"></a><a href="#FNanchor_236"><span class="label">[236]</span></a> <a id="Note_293"></a>{293} [Compare—"And—but for that sad shrouded eye," etc. +and the whole of the famous passage in the <i>Giaour</i> +(line 68, sq., <i>vide ante</i>, <a href="#Page_88">p. 88</a>), beginning—"He +who hath bent him o'er the dead."]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_im" id="Footnote_im"></a><a href="#FNanchor_im"><span class="label">[im]</span></a> <i>Escaped the idle braid that could not bind</i>.—[MS.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_in" id="Footnote_in"></a><a href="#FNanchor_in"><span class="label">[in]</span></a> <i>By the first glance on that cold soulless brow</i>.—[MS.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_io" id="Footnote_io"></a><a href="#FNanchor_io"><span class="label">[io]</span></a> <a id="Note_294"></a>{294} <i>And the night cometh—'tis the same +to him</i>.—[M.S.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_237" id="Footnote_237"></a><a href="#FNanchor_237"><span class="label">[237]</span></a> [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 <i>last section</i> (number it) +<i>but one</i> of the <i>3<span class="sup">rd</span></i> (last) Canto."]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_238" id="Footnote_238"></a><a href="#FNanchor_238"><span class="label">[238]</span></a> <a id="Note_295"></a>{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.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_239" id="Footnote_239"></a><a href="#FNanchor_239"><span class="label">[239]</span></a> <a id="Note_296"></a>{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 +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. +</p><p> +[The story of the "Pirates of Barataria," which an American +print, the <i>National Intelligencer</i>, was the first to make public, is +quoted <i>in extenso</i> by the <i>Weekly Messenger</i> + +(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 <i>bayous</i>, 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 <i>History of Louisiana</i> (1885, iv. 301, sq.), and in two articles +contributed to the American <i>Magazine of History</i>, 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. 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, <i>Historical Memoirs of the War in West +Florida and Louisiana</i>, by Major A. La Carriére Latour, 1816, +Appendix III. pp. vii.-xv. See, too, <i>Fernando de Lemos</i> (an +historical novel), by Charles Gayarré, 1872, pp. 347-361.] + +</p><p> +In [the Rev. Mark] Noble's continuation of "Granger's <i>Biographical +History</i>" [<i>of England</i>, 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 +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.'" +</p><p> +[Walpole, in his <i>Memoirs of the Reign of King George II.</i>, 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."] +</p> +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> +<p> +"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 +<i>Miscellaneous Works</i> [1837, p. 831]. + +</p><p> +[This final note was added to the Tenth Edition.] +</p></div> + +</div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301">[301]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;margin-bottom:2cm;" /> + +<div class="titlepage"> + +<h2>ODE TO NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. +<a name="FNanchor_240" id="FNanchor_240"></a> +<a href="#Footnote_240" class="fnanchor">[240]</a> + +</h2> +<hr /> +<p class="center">"Expende Annibalem:—quot libras in duce summo Invenies?"</p> + +<p class="attrib"><span class="smcap">Juvenal</span>, [Lib. iv.] +<i>Sat.</i> x. line 147.<a name="FNanchor_241" id="FNanchor_241"></a> +<a href="#Footnote_241" class="fnanchor">[241]</a> +</p> + +<p>"The Emperor Nepos was acknowledged by the <i>Senate</i>, +by the <i>Italians</i>, and by the Provincials of <i>Gaul</i>; +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 + +<i>Decline and Fall</i>, two vols. notes by Milman, i. 979.<a name="FNanchor_242" id="FNanchor_242"></a><a href="#Footnote_242" class="fnanchor">[242]</a></p> + +</div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;margin-top:2cm;" /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_303" id="Page_303">[303]</a></span></p> +<h2> +<a name="INTRODUCTION_BUONAPARTE" id="INTRODUCTION_BUONAPARTE"></a> +INTRODUCTION TO THE <i>ODE TO NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE.</i> +<br /><span class="center"><img src="images/decoration.png" alt="swash" /></span> + +</h2> + +<p><span class="smcap">The</span> dedication of the <i>Corsair</i>, 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."</p> + +<p>Three months later he was, or believed himself to be, in +the same mind. In a letter to Moore, dated April 9, 1814 +(<i>Letters</i>, 1899, iii. 64), he writes, "No more rhyme for—or +rather, <i>from</i>—me. I have taken my leave of that stage, and +henceforth will mountebank it no longer." He had already—<i>Journal</i>, +April 8 (<i>Letters</i>, 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 <i>Gazette Extraordinary</i> + +(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 +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<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_304" id="Page_304">[304]</a></span> +pages. The concluding stanzas xvii., xviii., xix., which +Moore gives in a note (<i>Life</i>, 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.</p> + +<p>Although he had stipulated that the <i>Ode</i> 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 +<i>Morning Chronicle</i>, April 21, +in the <i>Examiner</i>, April 24 (in which +Leigh Hunt combated Byron's condemnation of Buonaparte +for not "dying as honour dies"), and in the <i>Anti-Jacobin</i> for +May, 1814 (<i>Letters</i>, 1899, iii. 73, note 3).</p> + +<p>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 <i>physically</i> irresistible, it is to be regretted that he did +not <i>swerve</i> from his self-denying ordinance to better purpose. +The note of disillusionment and disappointment in +the <i>Ode</i> 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 +(<i>Histoire de Napoléon d'après lui-même</i>, 1825, pp. 546, 547), +"non sans de grands combats intérieurs, et la dicta en ces termes.</p> + +<blockquote><p>'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 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.</p> + +<p style="margin-left:20em;"><span class="smcap">Napoléon</span>.'" +</p> +</blockquote> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_305" id="Page_305">[305]</a></span></p> + +<h2><a name="ODE_BUONAPARTE" id="ODE_BUONAPARTE"></a> +ODE TO NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. +</h2> +<hr class="dbl" /> + +<h4>I.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'<span class="smcap">Tis</span> done—but yesterday a King!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And armed with Kings to strive—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And now thou art a nameless thing:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">So abject—yet alive!<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Is this the man of thousand thrones,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who strewed our earth with hostile bones,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And can he thus survive?<a name="FNanchor_243" id="FNanchor_243"></a><a href="#Footnote_243" class="fnanchor">[243]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Since he, miscalled the Morning Star,<a name="FNanchor_244" id="FNanchor_244"></a><a href="#Footnote_244" class="fnanchor">[244]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor man nor fiend hath fallen so far.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_306" id="Page_306">[306]</a></span></p> +<h4>II.<a name="FNanchor_245" id="FNanchor_245"></a><a href="#Footnote_245" class="fnanchor">[245]</a></h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Ill-minded man! why scourge thy kind<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Who bowed so low the knee?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By gazing on thyself grown blind,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thou taught'st the rest to see.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With might unquestioned,—power to save,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thine only gift hath been the grave<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To those that worshipped thee;<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Nor till thy fall could mortals guess<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ambition's less than littleness!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>III.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Thanks for that lesson—it will teach<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To after-warriors more<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Than high Philosophy can preach,<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">And vainly preached before.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That spell upon the minds of men<a name="FNanchor_246" id="FNanchor_246"></a><a href="#Footnote_246" class="fnanchor">[246]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Breaks never to unite again,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That led them to adore<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Those Pagod things of sabre-sway,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With fronts of brass, and feet of clay.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>IV.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The triumph, and the vanity,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The rapture of the strife—<a name="FNanchor_247" id="FNanchor_247"></a><a href="#Footnote_247" class="fnanchor">[247]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">The earthquake-voice of Victory,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To thee the breath of life;<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_307" id="Page_307">[307]</a></span> +<span class="i0">The sword, the sceptre, and that sway<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which man seemed made but to obey,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Wherewith renown was rife—<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">All quelled!—Dark Spirit! what must be<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The madness of thy memory!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>V.<a name="FNanchor_248" id="FNanchor_248"></a><a href="#Footnote_248" class="fnanchor">[248]</a></h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The Desolator desolate!<a name="FNanchor_249" id="FNanchor_249"></a><a href="#Footnote_249" class="fnanchor">[249]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">The Victor overthrown!<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">The Arbiter of others' fate<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A Suppliant for his own!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is it some yet imperial hope<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That with such change can calmly cope?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Or dread of death alone?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To die a Prince—or live a slave—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy choice is most ignobly brave!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>VI.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He who of old would rend the oak,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Dreamed not of the rebound;<a name="FNanchor_250" id="FNanchor_250"></a><a href="#Footnote_250" class="fnanchor">[250]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Chained by the trunk he vainly broke—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Alone—how looked he round?<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_308" id="Page_308">[308]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Thou, in the sternness of thy strength,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">An equal deed hast done at length.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And darker fate hast found:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He fell, the forest prowlers' prey;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But thou must eat thy heart away!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>VII.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The Roman,<a name="FNanchor_251" id="FNanchor_251"></a><a href="#Footnote_251" class="fnanchor">[251]</a> when his burning heart<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">Was slaked with blood of Rome,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Threw down the dagger—dared depart,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In savage grandeur, home.—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He dared depart in utter scorn<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of men that such a yoke had borne,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Yet left him such a doom!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His only glory was that hour<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of self-upheld abandoned power.<br /></span> + +</div></div> + +<h4>VIII.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The Spaniard, when the lust of sway<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Had lost its quickening spell,<a name="FNanchor_252" id="FNanchor_252"></a><a href="#Footnote_252" class="fnanchor">[252]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Cast crowns for rosaries away,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">An empire for a cell;<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_309" id="Page_309">[309]</a></span> +<span class="i0">A strict accountant of his beads,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">A subtle disputant on creeds,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">His dotage trifled well:<a name="FNanchor_253" id="FNanchor_253"></a><a href="#Footnote_253" class="fnanchor">[253]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet better had he neither known<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A bigot's shrine, nor despot's throne.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>IX.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But thou—from thy reluctant hand<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">The thunderbolt is wrung—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Too late thou leav'st the high command<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To which thy weakness clung;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All Evil Spirit as thou art,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It is enough to grieve the heart<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To see thine own unstrung;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To think that God's fair world hath been<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The footstool of a thing so mean;<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>X.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And Earth hath spilt her blood for him,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Who thus can hoard his own!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Monarchs bowed the trembling limb,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And thanked him for a throne!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fair Freedom! we may hold thee dear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When thus thy mightiest foes their fear<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">In humblest guise have shown.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh! ne'er may tyrant leave behind<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A brighter name to lure mankind!<br /></span> +</div></div> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_310" id="Page_310">[310]</a></span></p> + +<h4>XI.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Thine evil deeds are writ in gore,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Nor written thus in vain—<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Thy triumphs tell of fame no more,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Or deepen every stain:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If thou hadst died as Honour dies,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Some new Napoleon might arise,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To shame the world again—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But who would soar the solar height,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To set in such a starless night?<a name="FNanchor_ip" id="FNanchor_ip"></a><a href="#Footnote_ip" class="fnanchor">[ip]</a><br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>XII.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Weigh'd in the balance, hero dust<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Is vile as vulgar clay;<a name="FNanchor_iq" id="FNanchor_iq"></a><a href="#Footnote_iq" class="fnanchor">[iq]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy scales, Mortality! are just<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To all that pass away:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But yet methought the living great<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Some higher sparks should animate,<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">To dazzle and dismay:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor deem'd Contempt could thus make mirth<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of these, the Conquerors of the earth.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>XIII.<a name="FNanchor_254" id="FNanchor_254"></a><a href="#Footnote_254" class="fnanchor">[254]</a></h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And she, proud Austria's mournful flower,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thy still imperial bride;<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">How bears her breast the torturing hour?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Still clings she to thy side?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Must she too bend, must she too share<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_311" id="Page_311">[311]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Thy late repentance, long despair,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thou throneless Homicide?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If still she loves thee, hoard that gem,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Tis worth thy vanished diadem!<a name="FNanchor_255" id="FNanchor_255"></a><a href="#Footnote_255" class="fnanchor">[255]</a><br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>XIV.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Then haste thee to thy sullen Isle,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And gaze upon the sea;<a name="FNanchor_ir" id="FNanchor_ir"></a><a href="#Footnote_ir" class="fnanchor">[ir]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">That element may meet thy smile—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">It ne'er was ruled by thee!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or trace with thine all idle hand<a name="FNanchor_is" id="FNanchor_is"></a><a href="#Footnote_is" class="fnanchor">[is]</a><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">In loitering mood upon the sand<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That Earth is now as free!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That Corinth's pedagogue<a name="FNanchor_256" id="FNanchor_256"></a><a href="#Footnote_256" class="fnanchor">[256]</a> hath now<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Transferred his by-word to thy brow.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_312" id="Page_312">[312]</a></span></p> +<h4>XV.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Thou Timour! in his captive's cage<a name="FNanchor_257" id="FNanchor_257"></a><a href="#Footnote_257" class="fnanchor">[257]</a><a name="FNanchor_it" id="FNanchor_it"></a><a href="#Footnote_it" class="fnanchor">[it]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">What thoughts will there be thine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While brooding in thy prisoned rage?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But one—"The world <i>was</i> mine!"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Unless, like he of Babylon,<a name="FNanchor_258" id="FNanchor_258"></a><a href="#Footnote_258" class="fnanchor">[258]</a><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">All sense is with thy sceptre gone,<a name="FNanchor_259" id="FNanchor_259"></a><a href="#Footnote_259" class="fnanchor">[259]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Life will not long confine<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That spirit poured so widely forth—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So long obeyed—so little worth!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>XVI.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Or, like the thief of fire from heaven,<a name="FNanchor_260" id="FNanchor_260"></a><a href="#Footnote_260" class="fnanchor">[260]</a><br /></span> + +<span class="i2">Wilt thou withstand the shock?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And share with him, the unforgiven,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">His vulture and his rock!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Foredoomed by God—by man accurst,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_313" id="Page_313">[313]</a></span><a name="FNanchor_iu" id="FNanchor_iu"></a><a href="#Footnote_iu" class="fnanchor">[iu]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And that last act, though not thy worst,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The very Fiend's arch mock;<a name="FNanchor_261" id="FNanchor_261"></a><a href="#Footnote_261" class="fnanchor">[261]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">He in his fall preserved his pride,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">And, if a mortal, had as proudly died!<a name="FNanchor_iv" id="FNanchor_iv"></a><a href="#Footnote_iv" class="fnanchor">[iv]</a><a name="FNanchor_262" id="FNanchor_262"></a><a href="#Footnote_262" class="fnanchor">[262]</a><br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>XVII.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">There was a day—there was an hour,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">While earth was Gaul's—Gaul thine—<a name="FNanchor_iw" id="FNanchor_iw"></a><a href="#Footnote_iw" class="fnanchor">[iw]</a><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">When that immeasurable power<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Unsated to resign<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Had been an act of purer fame<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Than gathers round Marengo's name<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And gilded thy decline,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through the long twilight of all time,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Despite some passing clouds of crime.<br /></span> +</div></div> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_314" id="Page_314">[314]</a></span></p> + +<h4>XVIII.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But thou forsooth must be a King<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And don the purple vest,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As if that foolish robe could wring<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Remembrance from thy breast.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where is that faded garment? where<a name="FNanchor_ix" id="FNanchor_ix"></a><a href="#Footnote_ix" class="fnanchor">[ix]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">The gewgaws thou wert fond to wear,<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">The star, the string, the crest?<a name="FNanchor_iy" id="FNanchor_iy"></a><a href="#Footnote_iy" class="fnanchor">[iy]</a><a name="FNanchor_263" id="FNanchor_263"></a><a href="#Footnote_263" class="fnanchor">[263]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Vain froward child of Empire! say,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Are all thy playthings snatched away?<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>XIX.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Where may the wearied eye repose<a name="FNanchor_iz" id="FNanchor_iz"></a><a href="#Footnote_iz" class="fnanchor">[iz]</a><br /></span> + +<span class="i2">When gazing on the Great;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where neither guilty glory glows,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Nor despicable state?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yes—One—the first—the last—the best—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Cincinnatus of the West,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Whom Envy dared not hate,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bequeathed the name of Washington,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">To make man blush there was but one!<a name="FNanchor_ja" id="FNanchor_ja"></a><a href="#Footnote_ja" class="fnanchor">[ja]</a><a name="FNanchor_264" id="FNanchor_264"></a><a href="#Footnote_264" class="fnanchor">[264]</a><br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_315" id="Page_315">[315]</a></span></p> +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"> +<p><a name="Footnote_240" id="Footnote_240"></a><a href="#FNanchor_240"> +<span class="label">[240]</span></a> <a id="Note_301"></a>{301}</p> +<p class="center" style="font-size:larger;">[ODE TO NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE.</p> + +<p class="center"> +<span style="margin-left:4em;">——</span><br /> +By +<br /> +<span style="margin-left:4em;">——</span></p> +<p> +London: Printed for J. Murray, Albemarle Street, By W. Bulmer +and Co. Cleveland-Row, St. James's, +1814.—<i>First Proof, title-page</i>.]</p> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_241" id="Footnote_241"></a><a href="#FNanchor_241"><span class="label">[241]</span></a> [The quotation from Juvenal was added in Second Proof. +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> + +<span class="i0">"Produce the urn that Hannibal contains,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And weigh the mighty dust which yet remains;<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">And is This All</span>!"<br /></span> +</div></div> +<p> +"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! <span class="smcap">And is This All</span>? +Alas! the <i>quot libras</i> itself is a satirical +exaggeration."—Gifford's <i>Translation of Juvenal</i> + +(ed. 1817), ii. 26, 27. +</p><p> +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 <i>Letters</i>, 1899, iii. 414, Appendix +IV.)]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_242" id="Footnote_242"></a><a href="#FNanchor_242"><span class="label">[242]</span></a> ["I send you ... an additional motto from Gibbon, which +you will find <i>singularly appropriate</i>."—Letter to Murray, April 12, +1814, <i>ibid.</i>, p. 68.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_243" id="Footnote_243"></a><a href="#FNanchor_243"><span class="label">[243]</span></a> <a id="Note_305"></a>{305} ["I don't know—but I think <i>I</i>, +even <i>I</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 <i>Lodi</i> 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 the balance of mortality; +but I thought their living dust weighed more <i>carats</i>. 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.'"—<i>Journal</i>, April 9, 1814, + +<i>Letters</i>, 1898, ii. 409.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_244" id="Footnote_244"></a><a href="#FNanchor_244"><span class="label">[244]</span></a> [Compare "How art thou fallen from heaven, O Lucifer, +son of the morning!"—<i>Isaiah</i> xiv. 12.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_245" id="Footnote_245"></a><a href="#FNanchor_245"><span class="label">[245]</span></a> <a id="Note_306"></a>{306} [Stanzas ii. and iii. were added in Proof iv.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_246" id="Footnote_246"></a><a href="#FNanchor_246"><span class="label">[246]</span></a> [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."]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_247" id="Footnote_247"></a><a href="#FNanchor_247"><span class="label">[247]</span></a> "Certaminis <i>gaudia</i>"—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."—<i>Attilæ Oratio ad +Hunnos</i>, caput xxxix., <i>Appendix ad Opera Cassiodori</i>, +Migne, lxix. 1279.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_248" id="Footnote_248"></a><a href="#FNanchor_248"><span class="label">[248]</span></a> <a id="Note_307"></a>{307} [Added in Proof v.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_249" id="Footnote_249"></a><a href="#FNanchor_249"><span class="label">[249]</span></a> [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 +(<i>Weekly Messenger</i>, 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 <i>Journal</i>, December 3, +1813 (<i>Letters</i>, 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 <i>Fame</i> to my ears."]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_250" id="Footnote_250"></a><a href="#FNanchor_250"><span class="label">[250]</span></a> ["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."—<i>Journal</i>, April 8, 1814, +<i>Letters</i>, 1898, ii. 408. +For the story of Milo and the Oak, see Valerius Maximus, +<i>Factorum, Dictorumque Memorabilium</i>, lib. ix. cap. xii. +Part II. example 9.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_251" id="Footnote_251"></a><a href="#FNanchor_251"><span class="label">[251]</span></a> <a id="Note_308"></a>{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."—<i>Journal</i>, April 9, 1814, <i>Letters</i>, 1898, ii. 409.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_252" id="Footnote_252"></a><a href="#FNanchor_252"><span class="label">[252]</span></a> ["Alter '<i>potent</i> 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, <i>Letters</i>, 1899, iii. 68.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_253" id="Footnote_253"></a><a href="#FNanchor_253"><span class="label">[253]</span></a> <a id="Note_309"></a>{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 <i>Charles V.</i>, +1798, iv. 180, 205, 254.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_ip" id="Footnote_ip"></a><a href="#FNanchor_ip"><span class="label">[ip]</span></a> <a id="Note_310"></a>{310} +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>But who would rise in brightest day</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>To set without one parting ray?</i>—[MS.]<br /></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_iq" id="Footnote_iq"></a><a href="#FNanchor_iq"><span class="label">[iq]</span></a> ——<i>common clay</i>.—[First Proof.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_254" id="Footnote_254"></a><a href="#FNanchor_254"><span class="label">[254]</span></a> [Added in Proof v.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_255" id="Footnote_255"></a><a href="#FNanchor_255"><span class="label">[255]</span></a> <a id="Note_311"></a>{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 <i>Nouvelle +Biographie Universelle</i>, "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.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"> +<p><a name="Footnote_ir" id="Footnote_ir"></a><a href="#FNanchor_ir"><span class="label">[ir]</span></a> +</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2"><i>And look along the sea;</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>That element may meet thy smile,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i2"><i>For Albion kept it free</i>.<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>But gaze not on the land for there</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Walks crownless Power with temples bare</i><br /></span> +<span class="i2"><i>And shakes the head at thee</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>And Corinth's Pedagogue hath now</i>.—[Proof ii.]<br /></span> + +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_is" id="Footnote_is"></a><a href="#FNanchor_is"><span class="label">[is]</span></a> +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>Or sit thee down upon the sand</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>And trace with thine all idle hand</i>.—<br /></span> +<span class="i4">[A final correction made in Proof ii.]<br /></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_256" id="Footnote_256"></a><a href="#FNanchor_256"><span class="label">[256]</span></a> ["Dionysius at Corinth was yet a king to +this."—<i>Diary</i>, 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., +<i>Timal.</i>, c. 14), but not, apparently, with a view to making a living +by pedagogy.—Grote's <i>Hist. of Greece</i>, 1872, ix. 152.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_257" id="Footnote_257"></a><a href="#FNanchor_257"><span class="label">[257]</span></a> <a id="Note_312"></a>{312} The cage of Bajazet, by order of Tamerlane. +</p><p> +[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 (<i>kàfess</i>), a Turkish word, which signifies either a +cage or a grated room or bed. Hence the legend.—<i>Hist. de +l'Empire Othoman</i>, par J. von Hammer-Purgstall, 1836, ii. 97.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_it" id="Footnote_it"></a><a href="#FNanchor_it"><span class="label">[it]</span></a> <i>There Timour in his captive cage</i>.—[First Proof.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_258" id="Footnote_258"></a><a href="#FNanchor_258"><span class="label">[258]</span></a> [Presumably another instance of "careless and negligent +ease."]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_259" id="Footnote_259"></a><a href="#FNanchor_259"><span class="label">[259]</span></a> ["Have you heard that Bertrand has returned to Paris with +the account of Napoleon's having lost his senses? It is a <i>report</i>; +but, if true, I must, like Mr. Fitzgerald and Jeremiah (of lamentable +memory), lay claim to prophecy."—Letter to Murray, June 14, 1814, + +<i>Letters</i>, 1899, iii. 95.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_260" id="Footnote_260"></a><a href="#FNanchor_260"><span class="label">[260]</span></a> Prometheus.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_iu" id="Footnote_iu"></a><a href="#FNanchor_iu"><span class="label">[iu]</span></a> +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>He suffered for kind acts to men</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Who have not seen his like again,</i><br /></span> + +<span class="i2"><i>At least of kingly stock</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Since he was good, and thou but great</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Thou canst not quarrel with thy fate</i>.—[First Proof, stanza x.]<br /></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_261" id="Footnote_261"></a><a href="#FNanchor_261"><span class="label">[261]</span></a> <a id="Note_313"></a>{313} +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"O! 'tis the spite of hell, the fiend's arch-mock,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">To lip a wanton in a secure couch,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And to suppose her chaste!"<br /></span> +</div></div> +<p class="attrib"><i>Othello</i>, act iv. sc. 1, lines 69-71. +</p><p> +[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.—<i>Note to Edition</i> 1832. +</p><p> +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 <i>Memoir of John Murray</i>, +1891, i. 279.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_iv" id="Footnote_iv"></a><a href="#FNanchor_iv"><span class="label">[iv]</span></a> <i>And—were he mortal had as proudly died,</i>—[Alteration in First Proof.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_262" id="Footnote_262"></a><a href="#FNanchor_262"><span class="label">[262]</span></a> [Of Prometheus— +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Unlike the offence, though like would be the fate—<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>His</i> to give life, but <i>thine</i> to desolate;<br /></span> + +<span class="i0"><i>He</i> stole from Heaven the flame for which he fell,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whilst <i>thine</i> be stolen from thy native Hell."<br /></span> +</div></div> +<p> +—Attached to Proof v., April 25.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_iw" id="Footnote_iw"></a><a href="#FNanchor_iw"><span class="label">[iw]</span></a> <i>While earth was Gallia's, Gallia thine</i>.—[MS.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_ix" id="Footnote_ix"></a><a href="#FNanchor_ix"><span class="label">[ix]</span></a> <a id="Note_314"></a>{314} <i>Where is that tattered</i>——.—[MS.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_iy" id="Footnote_iy"></a><a href="#FNanchor_iy"><span class="label">[iy]</span></a> ——<i>the laurel-circled crest</i>.—[MS.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_263" id="Footnote_263"></a><a href="#FNanchor_263"><span class="label">[263]</span></a> [Byron had recently become possessed of a "fine print" +(by Raphael Morghen, after Gérard) of Napoleon in his imperial robes, +which +(see <i>Journal</i>, March 6, 1814, <i>Letters</i>, 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."]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_iz" id="Footnote_iz"></a><a href="#FNanchor_iz"><span class="label">[iz]</span></a> <i>Where may the eye of man repose</i>.—[MS.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_ja" id="Footnote_ja"></a><a href="#FNanchor_ja"><span class="label">[ja]</span></a> <i>Alas! and must there be but one!</i>—[MS.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_264" id="Footnote_264"></a><a href="#FNanchor_264"><span class="label">[264]</span></a> ["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.<br /> + +<span style="margin-left:15em;">Your obedient servant,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left:20em;">J. R."</span> +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Yes! better to have stood the storm,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A Monarch to the last!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Although that heartless fireless form<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Had crumbled in the blast:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Than stoop to drag out Life's last years,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The nights of terror, days of tears<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">For all the splendour past;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then,—after ages would have read<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy awful death with more than dread.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"A lion in the conquering hour!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In wild defeat a hare!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy mind hath vanished with thy power,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For Danger brought despair.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The dreams of sceptres now depart,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">And leave thy desolated heart<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The Capitol of care!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dark Corsican, 'tis strange to trace<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy long deceit and last disgrace."<br /></span> +</div></div> +<p class="attrib"><i>Morning Chronicle</i>, April 27, 1814.] +</p></div> + +</div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;margin-bottom:2cm;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_317" id="Page_317">[317]</a></span></p> +<div class="titlepage"> + + <h2>LARA:<br /> + + <span class="small">A TALE.</span></h2> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;margin-top:2cm;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_319" id="Page_319">[319]</a></span></p> + +<h2><a name="INTRODUCTION_LARA" id="INTRODUCTION_LARA"></a> +INTRODUCTION TO <i>LARA</i> +<br /><span class="center"><img src="images/decoration.png" alt="swash" /></span> +</h2> + +<p><span class="smcap">The</span> MS. of <i>Lara</i> is dated May 14, 1814. The opening +lines, which were not prefixed to the published poem, and +were first printed in <i>Murray's Magazine</i> (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 <i>Lara</i>, +like the <i>Corsair</i> and the <i>Bride of Abydos</i>, was written + +<i>con amore</i>, and because the poet was "eating his heart away."</p> + +<p>By the 14th of June Byron was able to announce to Moore +that "<i>Lara</i> 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, <i>Life</i>, p. 561).</p> + +<p>By way of keeping his engagement—already broken by the +publication of the <i>Ode to Napoleon Buonaparte</i>—not to +"trespass on public patience," Byron began by protesting +(June 14) that <i>Lara</i> 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 privately printed copy of + +<i>Jacqueline</i>, who is "all grace and softness and poetry" +(Letter to Rogers, <i>Letters</i>, 1899, iii. 101), suggested another<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_320" id="Page_320">[320]</a></span> +and happier solution of the difficulty, a coalescing with +Rogers, and, if possible, Moore (<i>Life</i>, 1892, p. 257, note 2), +"into a joint invasion of the public" (Letter to Moore, +July 8, 1814, <i>Letters</i>, 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 <i>Lara and +Jacqueline</i>," and confessed to Moore that he was "still +demurring and delaying and in a fuss" (<i>Letters</i>, 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, +<i>Letters</i>, 1899, iii. 122), he admitted (August 6, <i>Memoir of +John Murray</i>, 1891, i. 230) that he had "anticipated his +consent," and "had done everything but actually deliver the +copies of <i>Lara</i>." "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." <i>Lara, a +Tale</i>; <i>Jacqueline, a Tale</i>, was published on Saturday, +August 6, 1814.</p> + +<p><i>Jacqueline</i> 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 <i>Lara</i>.</p> + +<p>No sooner had the "lady," as Byron was pleased to call +her, played her part as decoy, than she was discharged as +<i>emerita</i>. A week after publication (August 12, 1814, <i>Letters</i>, +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 soon pronounced, and, contrary +to Byron's advice (September 2, 1814, <i>Letters</i>, iii. 131), at +least four separate editions of <i>Lara</i> were published during +the autumn of 1814.</p> + +<p>The "advertisement" to <i>Lara and Jacqueline</i> contains +the plain statement that "the reader ... may probably +regard it [<i>Lara</i>] as a sequel to the <i>Corsair</i>"—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<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_321" id="Page_321">[321]</a></span> +mysterious page, whose "hand is femininely white," is +Gulnare in a transparent and temporary disguise.</p> + +<p>If the facts which the "English Gentleman in the Greek +Military Service" (<i>Life, Writings, etc., of Lord Byron</i>, 1825, +i. 191-201) gives in detail with regard to the sources of the + +<i>Corsair</i> 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 <i>grand seigneur</i> +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.</p> + +<p><i>Lara</i> was reviewed together with the <i>Corsair</i>, by George +Agar Ellis in the <i>Quarterly Review</i> for July, 1814, vol. xi. +p. 428; and in the <i>Portfolio</i>, vol. xiv. p. 33.</p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_323" id="Page_323">[323]</a></span></p> + +<h2> +<a name="LARA" id="LARA"></a> +LARA.<a name="FNanchor_jb" id="FNanchor_jb"></a><a href="#Footnote_jb" class="fnanchor">[jb]</a> +</h2> +<hr class="dbl" /> + +<h3>CANTO THE FIRST.<a name="FNanchor_265" id="FNanchor_265"></a><a href="#Footnote_265" class="fnanchor">[265]</a> + +<br /><span class="center"><img src="images/decoration.png" alt="swash" /></span> +</h3> + +<h4>I.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">The</span> Serfs<a name="FNanchor_266" id="FNanchor_266"></a><a href="#Footnote_266" class="fnanchor">[266]</a> are glad through Lara's wide domain,<a name="FNanchor_267" id="FNanchor_267"></a><a href="#Footnote_267" class="fnanchor">[267]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Slavery half forgets her feudal chain;<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_324" id="Page_324">[324]</a></span> + +<span class="i0">He, their unhoped, but unforgotten lord,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The long self-exiled Chieftain, is restored:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There be bright faces in the busy hall,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bowls on the board, and banners on the wall;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Far checkering o'er the pictured window, plays<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The unwonted faggot's hospitable blaze;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And gay retainers gather round the hearth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With tongues all loudness, and with eyes all mirth. <span class="linenum">10</span><br /></span> + +</div></div> + +<h4>II.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The Chief of Lara is returned again:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And why had Lara crossed the bounding main?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Left by his Sire, too young such loss to know,<a name="FNanchor_268" id="FNanchor_268"></a><a href="#Footnote_268" class="fnanchor">[268]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lord of himself,—that heritage of woe,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That fearful empire which the human breast<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">But holds to rob the heart within of rest!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With none to check, and few to point in time<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The thousand paths that slope the way to crime;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then, when he most required commandment, then<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Had Lara's daring boyhood governed men.<a name="FNanchor_jc" id="FNanchor_jc"></a><a href="#Footnote_jc" class="fnanchor">[jc]</a> <span class="linenum">20</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">It skills not, boots not step by step to trace<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His youth through all the mazes of its race;<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_325" id="Page_325">[325]</a></span> + +<span class="i0">Short was the course his restlessness had run,<a name="FNanchor_jd" id="FNanchor_jd"></a><a href="#Footnote_jd" class="fnanchor">[jd]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">But long enough to leave him half undone.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>III.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And Lara left in youth his father-land;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But from the hour he waved his parting hand<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Each trace waxed fainter of his course, till all<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Had nearly ceased his memory to recall.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His sire was dust, his vassals could declare,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Twas all they knew, that Lara was not there; <span class="linenum">30</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor sent, nor came he, till conjecture grew<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Cold in the many, anxious in the few.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His hall scarce echoes with his wonted name,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His portrait darkens in its fading frame,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Another chief consoled his destined bride,<a name="FNanchor_je" id="FNanchor_je"></a><a href="#Footnote_je" class="fnanchor">[je]</a><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">The young forgot him, and the old had died;<a name="FNanchor_jf" id="FNanchor_jf"></a><a href="#Footnote_jf" class="fnanchor">[jf]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Yet doth he live!" exclaims the impatient heir,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And sighs for sables which he must not wear.<a name="FNanchor_jg" id="FNanchor_jg"></a><a href="#Footnote_jg" class="fnanchor">[jg]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">A hundred scutcheons deck with gloomy grace<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Laras' last and longest dwelling-place; <span class="linenum">40</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">But one is absent from the mouldering file,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That now were welcome in that Gothic pile.<a name="FNanchor_jh" id="FNanchor_jh"></a><a href="#Footnote_jh" class="fnanchor">[jh]</a><br /></span> + +</div></div> + +<h4>IV.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He comes at last in sudden loneliness,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And whence they know not, why they need not guess;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They more might marvel, when the greeting's o'er<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not that he came, but came not long before:<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_326" id="Page_326">[326]</a></span> +<span class="i0">No train is his beyond a single page,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Of foreign aspect, and of tender age.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Years had rolled on, and fast they speed away<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To those that wander as to those that stay; <span class="linenum">50</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">But lack of tidings from another clime<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Had lent a flagging wing to weary Time.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They see, they recognise, yet almost deem<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The present dubious, or the past a dream.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He lives, nor yet is past his Manhood's prime,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Though seared by toil, and something touched by Time;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His faults, whate'er they were, if scarce forgot,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Might be untaught him by his varied lot;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor good nor ill of late were known, his name<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Might yet uphold his patrimonial fame: <span class="linenum">60</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">His soul in youth was haughty, but his sins<a name="FNanchor_269" id="FNanchor_269"></a><a href="#Footnote_269" class="fnanchor">[269]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">No more than pleasure from the stripling wins;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And such, if not yet hardened in their course,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Might be redeemed, nor ask a long remorse.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>V.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And they indeed were changed—'tis quickly seen,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whate'er he be, 'twas not what he had been:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That brow in furrowed lines had fixed at last,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And spake of passions, but of passion past:<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">The pride, but not the fire, of early days,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Coldness of mien, and carelessness of praise; <span class="linenum">70</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">A high demeanour, and a glance that took<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their thoughts from others by a single look;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And that sarcastic levity of tongue,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The stinging of a heart the world hath stung,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_327" id="Page_327">[327]</a></span> +<span class="i0">That darts in seeming playfulness around,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And makes those feel that will not own the wound;<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">All these seemed his, and something more beneath<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Than glance could well reveal, or accent breathe.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ambition, Glory, Love, the common aim,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That some can conquer, and that all would claim, <span class="linenum">80</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Within his breast appeared no more to strive,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet seemed as lately they had been alive;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And some deep feeling it were vain to trace<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At moments lightened o'er his livid face.<br /></span> + +</div></div> + +<h4>VI.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Not much he loved long question of the past,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor told of wondrous wilds, and deserts vast,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In those far lands where he had wandered lone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And—as himself would have it seem—unknown:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet these in vain his eye could scarcely scan,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Nor glean experience from his fellow man; <span class="linenum">90</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">But what he had beheld he shunned to show,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As hardly worth a stranger's care to know;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If still more prying such inquiry grew,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His brow fell darker, and his words more few.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>VII.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> + +<span class="i0">Not unrejoiced to see him once again,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Warm was his welcome to the haunts of men;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Born of high lineage, linked in high command,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He mingled with the Magnates of his land;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Joined the carousals of the great and gay,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And saw them smile or sigh their hours away; <span class="linenum">100</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">But still he only saw, and did not share,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The common pleasure or the general care;<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">He did not follow what they all pursued<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With hope still baffled still to be renewed;<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_328" id="Page_328">[328]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Nor shadowy Honour, nor substantial Gain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor Beauty's preference, and the rival's pain:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Around him some mysterious circle thrown<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Repelled approach, and showed him still alone;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upon his eye sat something of reproof,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That kept at least Frivolity aloof; <span class="linenum">110</span><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">And things more timid that beheld him near<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In silence gazed, or whispered mutual fear;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And they the wiser, friendlier few confessed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They deemed him better than his air expressed.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>VIII.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Twas strange—in youth all action and all life,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Burning for pleasure, not averse from strife;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Woman—the Field—the Ocean, all that gave<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Promise of gladness, peril of a grave,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In turn he tried—he ransacked all below,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And found his recompense in joy or woe, <span class="linenum">120</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">No tame, trite medium; for his feelings sought<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In that intenseness an escape from thought:<a name="FNanchor_ji" id="FNanchor_ji"></a><a href="#Footnote_ji" class="fnanchor">[ji]</a><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">The Tempest of his Heart in scorn had gazed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On that the feebler Elements hath raised;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Rapture of his Heart had looked on high,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And asked if greater dwelt beyond the sky:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Chained to excess, the slave of each extreme,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How woke he from the wildness of that dream!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Alas! he told not—but he did awake<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To curse the withered heart that would not break. <span class="linenum">130</span><br /></span> + +</div></div> + +<h4>IX.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Books, for his volume heretofore was Man,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With eye more curious he appeared to scan,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_329" id="Page_329">[329]</a></span> +<span class="i0">And oft in sudden mood, for many a day,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From all communion he would start away:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And then, his rarely called attendants said,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Through night's long hours would sound his hurried tread<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O'er the dark gallery, where his fathers frowned<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In rude but antique portraiture around:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They heard, but whispered—"<i>that</i> must not be known—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sound of words less earthly than his own.<a name="FNanchor_jj" id="FNanchor_jj"></a><a href="#Footnote_jj" class="fnanchor">[jj]</a> <span class="linenum">140</span><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Yes, they who chose might smile, but some had seen<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They scarce knew what, but more than should have been.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Why gazed he so upon the ghastly head<a name="FNanchor_270" id="FNanchor_270"></a><a href="#Footnote_270" class="fnanchor">[270]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which hands profane had gathered from the dead,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That still beside his opened volume lay,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As if to startle all save him away?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Why slept he not when others were at rest?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Why heard no music, and received no guest?<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">All was not well, they deemed—but where the wrong?<a name="FNanchor_271" id="FNanchor_271"></a><a href="#Footnote_271" class="fnanchor">[271]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Some knew perchance—but 'twere a tale too long; <span class="linenum">150</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And such besides were too discreetly wise,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To more than hint their knowledge in surmise;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But if they would—they could"—around the board<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thus Lara's vassals prattled of their lord.<br /></span> + +</div></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_330" id="Page_330">[330]</a></span></p> + +<h4>X.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">It was the night—and Lara's glassy stream<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The stars are studding, each with imaged beam;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So calm, the waters scarcely seem to stray,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And yet they glide like Happiness away;<a name="FNanchor_272" id="FNanchor_272"></a><a href="#Footnote_272" class="fnanchor">[272]</a><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Reflecting far and fairy-like from high<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The immortal lights that live along the sky: <span class="linenum">160</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Its banks are fringed with many a goodly tree,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And flowers the fairest that may feast the bee;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Such in her chaplet infant Dian wove,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Innocence would offer to her love.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">These deck the shore; the waves their channel make<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In windings bright and mazy like the snake.<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">All was so still, so soft in earth and air,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You scarce would start to meet a spirit there;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Secure that nought of evil could delight<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To walk in such a scene, on such a night! <span class="linenum">170</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">It was a moment only for the good:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So Lara deemed, nor longer there he stood,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But turned in silence to his castle-gate;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Such scene his soul no more could contemplate:<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Such scene reminded him of other days,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of skies more cloudless, moons of purer blaze,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of nights more soft and frequent, hearts that now—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No—no—the storm may beat upon his brow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Unfelt, unsparing—but a night like this,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A night of Beauty, mocked such breast as his. <span class="linenum">180</span><br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_331" id="Page_331">[331]</a></span></p> +<h4>XI.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He turned within his solitary hall,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And his high shadow shot along the wall:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There were the painted forms of other times,<a name="FNanchor_273" id="FNanchor_273"></a><a href="#Footnote_273" class="fnanchor">[273]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Twas all they left of virtues or of crimes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Save vague tradition; and the gloomy vaults<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">That hid their dust, their foibles, and their faults;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And half a column of the pompous page,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That speeds the specious tale from age to age;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where History's pen its praise or blame supplies,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And lies like Truth, and still most truly lies. <span class="linenum">190</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">He wandering mused, and as the moonbeam shone<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through the dim lattice, o'er the floor of stone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the high fretted roof, and saints, that there<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">O'er Gothic windows knelt in pictured prayer,<a name="FNanchor_jk" id="FNanchor_jk"></a><a href="#Footnote_jk" class="fnanchor">[jk]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Reflected in fantastic figures grew,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like life, but not like mortal life, to view;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His bristling locks of sable, brow of gloom,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the wide waving of his shaken plume,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Glanced like a spectre's attributes—and gave<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His aspect all that terror gives the grave.<a name="FNanchor_jl" id="FNanchor_jl"></a><a href="#Footnote_jl" class="fnanchor">[jl]</a> <span class="linenum">200</span><br /></span> + +</div></div> + +<h4>XII.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'Twas midnight—all was slumber; the lone light<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dimmed in the lamp, as both to break the night.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hark! there be murmurs heard in Lara's hall—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A sound—a voice—a shriek—a fearful call!<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">A long, loud shriek—and silence—did they hear<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That frantic echo burst the sleeping ear?<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_332" id="Page_332">[332]</a></span> +<span class="i0">They heard and rose, and, tremulously brave,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rush where the sound invoked their aid to save;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They come with half-lit tapers in their hands,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And snatched in startled haste unbelted brands. <span class="linenum">210</span><br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>XIII.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Cold as the marble where his length was laid,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pale as the beam that o'er his features played,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was Lara stretched; his half-drawn sabre near,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dropped it should seem in more than Nature's fear;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet he was firm, or had been firm till now,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And still Defiance knit his gathered brow;<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Though mixed with terror, senseless as he lay,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There lived upon his lip the wish to slay;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Some half formed threat in utterance there had died,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Some imprecation of despairing Pride; <span class="linenum">220</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">His eye was almost sealed, but not forsook,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Even in its trance, the gladiator's look,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That oft awake his aspect could disclose,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And now was fixed in horrible repose.<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">They raise him—bear him;—hush! he breathes, he speaks,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The swarthy blush recolours in his cheeks,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His lip resumes its red, his eye, though dim,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rolls wide and wild, each slowly quivering limb<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Recalls its function, but his words are strung<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In terms that seem not of his native tongue; <span class="linenum">230</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Distinct but strange, enough they understand<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">To deem them accents of another land;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And such they were, and meant to meet an ear<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That hears him not—alas! that cannot hear!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>XIV.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">His page approached, and he alone appeared<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To know the import of the words they heard;<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_333" id="Page_333">[333]</a></span> + +<span class="i0">And, by the changes of his cheek and brow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They were not such as Lara should avow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor he interpret,—yet with less surprise<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Than those around their Chieftain's state he eyes, <span class="linenum">240</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">But Lara's prostrate form he bent beside,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And in that tongue which seemed his own replied;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Lara heeds those tones that gently seem<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To soothe away the horrors of his dream—<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">If dream it were, that thus could overthrow<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A breast that needed not ideal woe.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>XV.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Whate'er his frenzy dreamed or eye beheld,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If yet remembered ne'er to be revealed,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rests at his heart: the customed morning came,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And breathed new vigour in his shaken frame; <span class="linenum">250</span><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">And solace sought he none from priest nor leech,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And soon the same in movement and in speech,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As heretofore he filled the passing hours,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor less he smiles, nor more his forehead lowers,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Than these were wont; and if the coming night<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Appeared less welcome now to Lara's sight,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He to his marvelling vassals showed it not,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whose shuddering proved <i>their</i> fear was less forgot.<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">In trembling pairs (alone they dared not) crawl<a name="FNanchor_jm" id="FNanchor_jm"></a><a href="#Footnote_jm" class="fnanchor">[jm]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">The astonished slaves, and shun the fated hall; <span class="linenum">260</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">The waving banner, and the clapping door,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The rustling tapestry, and the echoing floor;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The long dim shadows of surrounding trees,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The flapping bat, the night song of the breeze;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Aught they behold or hear their thought appals,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As evening saddens o'er the dark grey walls.<br /></span> + +</div></div> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_334" id="Page_334">[334]</a></span></p> +<h4>XVI.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Vain thought! that hour of ne'er unravelled gloom<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Came not again, or Lara could assume<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A seeming of forgetfulness, that made<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His vassals more amazed nor less afraid. <span class="linenum">270</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Had Memory vanished then with sense restored?<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Since word, nor look, nor gesture of their lord<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Betrayed a feeling that recalled to these<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That fevered moment of his mind's disease.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was it a dream? was his the voice that spoke<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Those strange wild accents; his the cry that broke<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their slumber? his the oppressed, o'erlaboured heart<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That ceased to beat, the look that made them start?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Could he who thus had suffered so forget,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When such as saw that suffering shudder yet? <span class="linenum">280</span><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Or did that silence prove his memory fixed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Too deep for words, indelible, unmixed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In that corroding secrecy which gnaws<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The heart to show the effect, but not the cause?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not so in him; his breast had buried both,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor common gazers could discern the growth<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of thoughts that mortal lips must leave half told;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They choke the feeble words that would unfold.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>XVII.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">In him inexplicably mixed appeared<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Much to be loved and hated, sought and feared; <span class="linenum">290</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Opinion varying o'er his hidden lot,<a name="FNanchor_jn" id="FNanchor_jn"></a><a href="#Footnote_jn" class="fnanchor">[jn]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">In praise or railing ne'er his name forgot:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His silence formed a theme for others' prate—<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">They guessed—they gazed—they fain would know his fate.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_335" id="Page_335">[335]</a></span> +<span class="i0">What had he been? what was he, thus unknown,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who walked their world, his lineage only known?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A hater of his kind? yet some would say,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With them he could seem gay amidst the gay;<a name="FNanchor_jo" id="FNanchor_jo"></a><a href="#Footnote_jo" class="fnanchor">[jo]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">But owned that smile, if oft observed and near,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Waned in its mirth, and withered to a sneer; <span class="linenum">300</span><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">That smile might reach his lip, but passed not by,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor e'er could trace its laughter to his eye:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet there was softness too in his regard,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At times, a heart as not by nature hard,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But once perceived, his Spirit seemed to chide<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Such weakness, as unworthy of its pride,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And steeled itself, as scorning to redeem<br /></span> +<span class="i0">One doubt from others' half withheld esteem;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In self-inflicted penance of a breast<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Which Tenderness might once have wrung from Rest; <span class="linenum">310</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">In vigilance of Grief that would compel<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The soul to hate for having loved too well.<a name="FNanchor_274" id="FNanchor_274"></a><a href="#Footnote_274" class="fnanchor">[274]</a><br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>XVIII.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">There was in him a vital scorn of all:<a name="FNanchor_jp" id="FNanchor_jp"></a><a href="#Footnote_jp" class="fnanchor">[jp]</a><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">As if the worst had fallen which could befall,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He stood a stranger in this breathing world,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An erring Spirit from another hurled;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A thing of dark imaginings, that shaped<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By choice the perils he by chance escaped;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But 'scaped in vain, for in their memory yet<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_336" id="Page_336">[336]</a></span><span class="i0">His mind would half exult and half regret: <span class="linenum">320</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">With more capacity for love than Earth<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Bestows on most of mortal mould and birth.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His early dreams of good outstripped the truth,<a name="FNanchor_275" id="FNanchor_275"></a><a href="#Footnote_275" class="fnanchor">[275]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And troubled Manhood followed baffled Youth;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With thought of years in phantom chase misspent,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And wasted powers for better purpose lent;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And fiery passions that had poured their wrath<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In hurried desolation o'er his path,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And left the better feelings all at strife<a name="FNanchor_jq" id="FNanchor_jq"></a><a href="#Footnote_jq" class="fnanchor">[jq]</a><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">In wild reflection o'er his stormy life; <span class="linenum">330</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">But haughty still, and loth himself to blame,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He called on Nature's self to share the shame,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And charged all faults upon the fleshly form<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She gave to clog the soul, and feast the worm:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till he at last confounded good and ill,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And half mistook for fate the acts of will:<a name="FNanchor_jr" id="FNanchor_jr"></a><a href="#Footnote_jr" class="fnanchor">[jr]</a><a name="FNanchor_276" id="FNanchor_276"></a><a href="#Footnote_276" class="fnanchor">[276]</a><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Too high for common selfishness, he could<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At times resign his own for others' good,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But not in pity—not because he ought,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But in some strange perversity of thought, <span class="linenum">340</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">That swayed him onward with a secret pride<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To do what few or none would do beside;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And this same impulse would, in tempting time,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Mislead his spirit equally to crime;<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_337" id="Page_337">[337]</a></span> + +<span class="i0">So much he soared beyond, or sunk beneath,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The men with whom he felt condemned to breathe,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And longed by good or ill to separate<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Himself from all who shared his mortal state;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His mind abhorring this had fixed her throne<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Far from the world, in regions of her own: <span class="linenum">350</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thus coldly passing all that passed below,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His blood in temperate seeming now would flow:<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Ah! happier if it ne'er with guilt had glowed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But ever in that icy smoothness flowed!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Tis true, with other men their path he walked,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And like the rest in seeming did and talked,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor outraged Reason's rules by flaw nor start,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His Madness was not of the head, but heart;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And rarely wandered in his speech, or drew<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His thoughts so forth as to offend the view. <span class="linenum">360</span><br /></span> + +</div></div> + +<h4>XIX.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">With all that chilling mystery of mien,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And seeming gladness to remain unseen,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He had (if 'twere not nature's boon) an art<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of fixing memory on another's heart:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It was not love perchance—nor hate—nor aught<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">That words can image to express the thought;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But they who saw him did not see in vain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And once beheld—would ask of him again:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And those to whom he spake remembered well,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And on the words, however light, would dwell: <span class="linenum">370</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">None knew, nor how, nor why, but he entwined<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Himself perforce around the hearer's mind;<a name="FNanchor_js" id="FNanchor_js"></a><a href="#Footnote_js" class="fnanchor">[js]</a><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">There he was stamped, in liking, or in hate,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If greeted once; however brief the date<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_338" id="Page_338">[338]</a></span> +<span class="i0">That friendship, pity, or aversion knew,<a name="FNanchor_jt" id="FNanchor_jt"></a><a href="#Footnote_jt" class="fnanchor">[jt]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Still there within the inmost thought he grew.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You could not penetrate his soul, but found,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Despite your wonder, to your own he wound;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His presence haunted still; and from the breast<a name="FNanchor_ju" id="FNanchor_ju"></a><a href="#Footnote_ju" class="fnanchor">[ju]</a><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">He forced an all unwilling interest: <span class="linenum">380</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Vain was the struggle in that mental net—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His Spirit seemed to dare you to forget!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>XX.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">There is a festival, where knights and dames,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And aught that wealth or lofty lineage claims,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Appear—a high-born and a welcome guest<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To Otho's hall came Lara with the rest.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The long carousal shakes the illumined hall,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Well speeds alike the banquet and the ball;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the gay dance of bounding Beauty's train<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Links grace and harmony in happiest chain: <span class="linenum">390</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Blest are the early hearts and gentle hands<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That mingle there in well according bands;<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">It is a sight the careful brow might smooth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And make Age smile, and dream itself to youth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Youth forget such hour was past on earth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So springs the exulting bosom to that mirth!<a name="FNanchor_jv" id="FNanchor_jv"></a><a href="#Footnote_jv" class="fnanchor">[jv]</a><br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>XXI.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And Lara gazed on these, sedately glad,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">His brow belied him if his soul was sad;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And his glance followed fast each fluttering fair,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_339" id="Page_339">[339]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Whose steps of lightness woke no echo there: <span class="linenum">400</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">He leaned against the lofty pillar nigh,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With folded arms and long attentive eye,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor marked a glance so sternly fixed on his—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ill brooked high Lara scrutiny like this:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At length he caught it—'tis a face unknown,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">But seems as searching his, and his alone;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Prying and dark, a stranger's by his mien,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who still till now had gazed on him unseen:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At length encountering meets the mutual gaze<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of keen enquiry, and of mute amaze; <span class="linenum">410</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">On Lara's glance emotion gathering grew,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As if distrusting that the stranger threw;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Along the stranger's aspect, fixed and stern,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Flashed more than thence the vulgar eye could learn.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>XXII.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"'Tis he!" the stranger cried, and those that heard<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Re-echoed fast and far the whispered word.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"'Tis he!"—"'Tis who?" they question far and near,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till louder accents rung on Lara's ear;<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">So widely spread, few bosoms well could brook<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The general marvel, or that single look: <span class="linenum">420</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">But Lara stirred not, changed not, the surprise<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That sprung at first to his arrested eyes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Seemed now subsided—neither sunk nor raised<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Glanced his eye round, though still the stranger gazed;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And drawing nigh, exclaimed, with haughty sneer,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"'Tis he!—how came he thence?—what doth he here?"<br /></span> + +</div></div> + +<h4>XXIII.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">It were too much for Lara to pass by<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Such questions, so repeated fierce and high;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_340" id="Page_340">[340]</a></span><a name="FNanchor_jw" id="FNanchor_jw"></a><a href="#Footnote_jw" class="fnanchor">[jw]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">With look collected, but with accent cold,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">More mildly firm than petulantly bold, <span class="linenum">430</span><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">He turned, and met the inquisitorial tone—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"My name is Lara—when thine own is known,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Doubt not my fitting answer to requite<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The unlooked for courtesy of such a knight.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Tis Lara!—further wouldst thou mark or ask?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I shun no question, and I wear no mask."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Thou <i>shunn'st</i> no question! Ponder—is there none<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Thy heart must answer, though thine ear would shun?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And deem'st thou me unknown too? Gaze again!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At least thy memory was not given in vain. <span class="linenum">440</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh! never canst thou cancel half her debt—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Eternity forbids thee to forget."<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With slow and searching glance upon his face<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Grew Lara's eyes, but nothing there could trace<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They knew, or chose to know—with dubious look<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">He deigned no answer, but his head he shook,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And half contemptuous turned to pass away;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But the stern stranger motioned him to stay.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"A word!—I charge thee stay, and answer here<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To one, who, wert thou noble, were thy peer, <span class="linenum">450</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">But as thou wast and art—nay, frown not, Lord,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If false, 'tis easy to disprove the word—<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">But as thou wast and art, on thee looks down,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Distrusts thy smiles, but shakes not at thy frown.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Art thou not he? whose deeds——"<a name="FNanchor_jx" id="FNanchor_jx"></a><a href="#Footnote_jx" class="fnanchor">[jx]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i27">"Whate'er I be,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Words wild as these, accusers like to thee,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_341" id="Page_341">[341]</a></span> +<span class="i0">I list no further; those with whom they weigh<br /></span> +<span class="i0">May hear the rest, nor venture to gainsay<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">The wondrous tale no doubt thy tongue can tell,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which thus begins so courteously and well. <span class="linenum">460</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Let Otho cherish here his polished guest,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To him my thanks and thoughts shall be expressed."<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And here their wondering host hath interposed—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Whate'er there be between you undisclosed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This is no time nor fitting place to mar<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The mirthful meeting with a wordy war.<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">If thou, Sir Ezzelin, hast aught to show<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which it befits Count Lara's ear to know,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To-morrow, here, or elsewhere, as may best<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beseem your mutual judgment, speak the rest; <span class="linenum">470</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">I pledge myself for thee, as not unknown,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though, like Count Lara, now returned alone<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From other lands, almost a stranger grown;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And if from Lara's blood and gentle birth<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">I augur right of courage and of worth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He will not that untainted line belie,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor aught that Knighthood may accord, deny."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"To-morrow be it," Ezzelin replied,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"And here our several worth and truth be tried;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I gage my life, my falchion to attest <span class="linenum">480</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">My words, so may I mingle with the blest!"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What answers Lara? to its centre shrunk<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">His soul, in deep abstraction sudden sunk;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The words of many, and the eyes of all<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That there were gathered, seemed on him to fall;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But his were silent, his appeared to stray<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In far forgetfulness away—away—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Alas! that heedlessness of all around<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bespoke remembrance only too profound.<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_342" id="Page_342">[342]</a></span></div></div> + +<h4>XXIV.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"To-morrow!—aye, to-morrow!" further word<a name="FNanchor_jy" id="FNanchor_jy"></a><a href="#Footnote_jy" class="fnanchor">[jy]</a> <span class="linenum">490</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Than those repeated none from Lara heard;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upon his brow no outward passion spoke;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From his large eye no flashing anger broke;<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Yet there was something fixed in that low tone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which showed resolve, determined, though unknown.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He seized his cloak—his head he slightly bowed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And passing Ezzelin, he left the crowd;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, as he passed him, smiling met the frown<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With which that Chieftain's brow would bear him down:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It was nor smile of mirth, nor struggling pride <span class="linenum">500</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">That curbs to scorn the wrath it cannot hide;<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">But that of one in his own heart secure<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of all that he would do, or could endure.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Could this mean peace? the calmness of the good?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or guilt grown old in desperate hardihood?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Alas! too like in confidence are each,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For man to trust to mortal look or speech;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From deeds, and deeds alone, may he discern<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Truths which it wrings the unpractised heart to learn.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>XXV.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And Lara called his page, and went his way— <span class="linenum">510</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Well could that stripling word or sign obey:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His only follower from those climes afar,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where the Soul glows beneath a brighter star:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For Lara left the shore from whence he sprung,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">In duty patient, and sedate though young;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Silent as him he served, his faith appears<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Above his station, and beyond his years.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_343" id="Page_343">[343]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Though not unknown the tongue of Lara's land,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In such from him he rarely heard command;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But fleet his step, and clear his tones would come, <span class="linenum">520</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">When Lara's lip breathed forth the words of home:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Those accents, as his native mountains dear,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Awake their absent echoes in his ear,<a name="FNanchor_jz" id="FNanchor_jz"></a><a href="#Footnote_jz" class="fnanchor">[jz]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Friends'—kindred's—parents'—wonted voice recall,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now lost, abjured, for one—his friend, his all:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For him earth now disclosed no other guide;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What marvel then he rarely left his side?<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>XXVI.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Light was his form, and darkly delicate<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That brow whereon his native sun had sate,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But had not marred, though in his beams he grew, <span class="linenum">530</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">The cheek where oft the unbidden blush shone through;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet not such blush as mounts when health would show<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All the heart's hue in that delighted glow;<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">But 'twas a hectic tint of secret care<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That for a burning moment fevered there;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the wild sparkle of his eye seemed caught<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From high, and lightened with electric thought,<a name="FNanchor_ka" id="FNanchor_ka"></a><a href="#Footnote_ka" class="fnanchor">[ka]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though its black orb those long low lashes' fringe<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Had tempered with a melancholy tinge;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet less of sorrow than of pride was there, <span class="linenum">540</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or, if 'twere grief, a grief that none should share:<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">And pleased not him the sports that please his age,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The tricks of Youth, the frolics of the Page;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For hours on Lara he would fix his glance,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As all-forgotten in that watchful trance;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And from his chief withdrawn, he wandered lone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Brief were his answers, and his questions none;<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_344" id="Page_344">[344]</a></span> +<span class="i0">His walk the wood, his sport some foreign book;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His resting-place the bank that curbs the brook:<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">He seemed, like him he served, to live apart <span class="linenum">550</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">From all that lures the eye, and fills the heart;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To know no brotherhood, and take from earth<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No gift beyond that bitter boon—our birth.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>XXVII.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">If aught he loved, 'twas Lara; but was shown<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">His faith in reverence and in deeds alone;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In mute attention; and his care, which guessed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Each wish, fulfilled it ere the tongue expressed.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Still there was haughtiness in all he did,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A spirit deep that brooked not to be chid;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His zeal, though more than that of servile hands,<a name="FNanchor_kb" id="FNanchor_kb"></a><a href="#Footnote_kb" class="fnanchor">[kb]</a> <span class="linenum">560</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">In act alone obeys, his air commands;<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">As if 'twas Lara's less than <i>his</i> desire<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That thus he served, but surely not for hire.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Slight were the tasks enjoined him by his Lord,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To hold the stirrup, or to bear the sword;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To tune his lute, or, if he willed it more,<a name="FNanchor_kc" id="FNanchor_kc"></a><a href="#Footnote_kc" class="fnanchor">[kc]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">On tomes of other times and tongues to pore;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But ne'er to mingle with the menial train,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">To whom he showed nor deference nor disdain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But that well-worn reserve which proved he knew <span class="linenum">570</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">No sympathy with that familiar crew:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His soul, whate'er his station or his stem,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Could bow to Lara, not descend to them.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of higher birth he seemed, and better days,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor mark of vulgar toil that hand betrays,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_345" id="Page_345">[345]</a></span> +<span class="i0">So femininely white it might bespeak<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Another sex, when matched with that smooth cheek,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But for his garb, and something in his gaze,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">More wild and high than Woman's eye betrays;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A latent fierceness that far more became <span class="linenum">580</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">His fiery climate than his tender frame:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">True, in his words it broke not from his breast,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But from his aspect might be more than guessed.<a name="FNanchor_kd" id="FNanchor_kd"></a><a href="#Footnote_kd" class="fnanchor">[kd]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Kaled his name, though rumour said he bore<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Another ere he left his mountain-shore;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For sometimes he would hear, however nigh,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That name repeated loud without reply,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As unfamiliar—or, if roused again,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Start to the sound, as but remembered then;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Unless 'twas Lara's wonted voice that spake, <span class="linenum">590</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">For then—ear—eyes—and heart would all awake.<br /></span> + +</div></div> + +<h4>XXVIII.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He had looked down upon the festive hall,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And mark'd that sudden strife so marked of all:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And when the crowd around and near him told<a name="FNanchor_ke" id="FNanchor_ke"></a><a href="#Footnote_ke" class="fnanchor">[ke]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their wonder at the calmness of the bold,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their marvel how the high-born Lara bore<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Such insult from a stranger, doubly sore,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The colour of young Kaled went and came,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The lip of ashes, and the cheek of flame;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And o'er his brow the dampening heart-drops threw <span class="linenum">600</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sickening iciness of that cold dew,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That rises as the busy bosom sinks<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With heavy thoughts from which Reflection shrinks.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yes—there be things which we must dream and dare,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_346" id="Page_346">[346]</a></span> + +<span class="i0">And execute ere thought be half aware:<a name="FNanchor_277" id="FNanchor_277"></a><a href="#Footnote_277" class="fnanchor">[277]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whate'er might Kaled's be, it was enow<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To seal his lip, but agonise his brow.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He gazed on Ezzelin till Lara cast<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That sidelong smile upon the knight he past;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When Kaled saw that smile his visage fell, <span class="linenum">610</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">As if on something recognised right well:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His memory read in such a meaning more<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Than Lara's aspect unto others wore:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Forward he sprung—a moment, both were gone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And all within that hall seemed left alone;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Each had so fixed his eye on Lara's mien,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All had so mixed their feelings with that scene,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That when his long dark shadow through the porch<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No more relieves the glare of yon high torch,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Each pulse beats quicker, and all bosoms seem <span class="linenum">620</span><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">To bound as doubting from too black a dream,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Such as we know is false, yet dread in sooth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Because the worst is ever nearest truth.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And they are gone—but Ezzelin is there,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With thoughtful visage and imperious air;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But long remained not; ere an hour expired<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He waved his hand to Otho, and retired.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>XXIX.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The crowd are gone, the revellers at rest;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The courteous host, and all-approving guest,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Again to that accustomed couch must creep <span class="linenum">630</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where Joy subsides, and Sorrow sighs to sleep,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_347" id="Page_347">[347]</a></span> +<span class="i0">And Man, o'erlaboured with his Being's strife,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shrinks to that sweet forgetfulness of life:<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">There lie Love's feverish hope, and Cunning's guile,<a name="FNanchor_kf" id="FNanchor_kf"></a><a href="#Footnote_kf" class="fnanchor">[kf]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hate's working brain, and lulled Ambition's wile;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O'er each vain eye Oblivion's pinions wave,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And quenched Existence crouches in a grave.<a name="FNanchor_kg" id="FNanchor_kg"></a><a href="#Footnote_kg" class="fnanchor">[kg]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">What better name may Slumber's bed become?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Night's sepulchre, the universal home,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where Weakness—Strength—Vice—Virtue—sunk supine, <span class="linenum">640</span><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Alike in naked helplessness recline;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Glad for a while to heave unconscious breath,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet wake to wrestle with the dread of Death,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And shun—though Day but dawn on ills increased—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That sleep,—the loveliest, since it dreams the least.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_348" id="Page_348">[348]</a></span></p> + +<h3>CANTO THE SECOND. +<br /><span class="center"><img src="images/decoration.png" alt="swash" /></span> +</h3> + + +<h4>I.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Night</span> wanes—the vapours round the mountains curled<a name="FNanchor_278" id="FNanchor_278"></a><a href="#Footnote_278" class="fnanchor">[278]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Melt into morn, and Light awakes the world,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Man has another day to swell the past,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And lead him near to little, but his last;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But mighty Nature bounds as from her birth, <span class="linenum">650</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Sun is in the heavens, and Life on earth;<a name="FNanchor_279" id="FNanchor_279"></a><a href="#Footnote_279" class="fnanchor">[279]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Flowers in the valley, splendour in the beam,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Health on the gale, and freshness in the stream.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Immortal Man! behold her glories shine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And cry, exulting inly, "They are thine!"<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Gaze on, while yet thy gladdened eye may see:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A morrow comes when they are not for thee:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And grieve what may above thy senseless bier,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor earth nor sky will yield a single tear;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor cloud shall gather more, nor leaf shall fall, <span class="linenum">660</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor gale breathe forth one sigh for thee, for all;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_349" id="Page_349">[349]</a></span><a name="FNanchor_280" id="FNanchor_280"></a><a href="#Footnote_280" class="fnanchor">[280]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">But creeping things shall revel in their spoil,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">And fit thy clay to fertilise the soil.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>II.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'Tis morn—'tis noon—assembled in the hall,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The gathered Chieftains come to Otho's call;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Tis now the promised hour, that must proclaim<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The life or death of Lara's future fame;<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">And Ezzelin his charge may here unfold,<a name="FNanchor_kh" id="FNanchor_kh"></a><a href="#Footnote_kh" class="fnanchor">[kh]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And whatsoe'er the tale, it must be told.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His faith was pledged, and Lara's promise given, <span class="linenum">670</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">To meet it in the eye of Man and Heaven.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Why comes he not? Such truths to be divulged,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Methinks the accuser's rest is long indulged.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>III.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The hour is past, and Lara too is there,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With self-confiding, coldly patient air;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Why comes not Ezzelin? The hour is past,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And murmurs rise, and Otho's brow's o'ercast.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"I know my friend! his faith I cannot fear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If yet he be on earth, expect him here;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The roof that held him in the valley stands <span class="linenum">680</span><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Between my own and noble Lara's lands;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My halls from such a guest had honour gained,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor had Sir Ezzelin his host disdained,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But that some previous proof forbade his stay,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And urged him to prepare against to-day;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The word I pledged for his I pledge again,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or will myself redeem his knighthood's stain."<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_350" id="Page_350">[350]</a></span> +<span class="i0">He ceased—and Lara answered, "I am here<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">To lend at thy demand a listening ear<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To tales of evil from a stranger's tongue, <span class="linenum">690</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whose words already might my heart have wrung,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But that I deemed him scarcely less than mad,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or, at the worst, a foe ignobly bad.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I know him not—but me it seems he knew<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In lands where—but I must not trifle too:<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Produce this babbler—or redeem the pledge;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Here in thy hold, and with thy falchion's edge."<a name="FNanchor_ki" id="FNanchor_ki"></a><a href="#Footnote_ki" class="fnanchor">[ki]</a><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Proud Otho on the instant, reddening, threw<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His glove on earth, and forth his sabre flew.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"The last alternative befits me best, <span class="linenum">700</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And thus I answer for mine absent guest."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> + +<span class="i0">With cheek unchanging from its sallow gloom,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">However near his own or other's tomb;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With hand, whose almost careless coolness spoke<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Its grasp well-used to deal the sabre-stroke;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With eye, though calm, determined not to spare,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Did Lara too his willing weapon bare.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In vain the circling Chieftains round them closed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For Otho's frenzy would not be opposed;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And from his lip those words of insult fell— <span class="linenum">710</span><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">His sword is good who can maintain them well.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>IV.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Short was the conflict; furious, blindly rash,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Vain Otho gave his bosom to the gash:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He bled, and fell; but not with deadly wound,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Stretched by a dextrous sleight along the ground.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_351" id="Page_351">[351]</a></span> + +<span class="i0">"Demand thy life!" He answered not: and then<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From that red floor he ne'er had risen again,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For Lara's brow upon the moment grew<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Almost to blackness in its demon hue;<a name="FNanchor_281" id="FNanchor_281"></a><a href="#Footnote_281" class="fnanchor">[281]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And fiercer shook his angry falchion now <span class="linenum">720</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Than when his foe's was levelled at his brow;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then all was stern collectedness and art,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now rose the unleavened hatred of his heart;<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">So little sparing to the foe he felled,<a name="FNanchor_kj" id="FNanchor_kj"></a><a href="#Footnote_kj" class="fnanchor">[kj]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">That when the approaching crowd his arm withheld,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He almost turned the thirsty point on those<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who thus for mercy dared to interpose;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But to a moment's thought that purpose bent;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet looked he on him still with eye intent,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As if he loathed the ineffectual strife <span class="linenum">730</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">That left a foe, howe'er o'erthrown, with life;<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">As if to search how far the wound he gave<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Had sent its victim onward to his grave.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>V.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">They raised the bleeding Otho, and the Leech<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Forbade all present question, sign, and speech;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The others met within a neighbouring hall,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And he, incensed, and heedless of them all,<a name="FNanchor_kk" id="FNanchor_kk"></a><a href="#Footnote_kk" class="fnanchor">[kk]</a><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">The cause and conqueror in this sudden fray,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In haughty silence slowly strode away;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He backed his steed, his homeward path he took, <span class="linenum">740</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor cast on Otho's towers a single look.<br /></span> +</div></div> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_352" id="Page_352">[352]</a></span></p> + +<h4>VI.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> + +<span class="i0">But where was he? that meteor of a night,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who menaced but to disappear with light.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where was this Ezzelin? who came and went,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To leave no other trace of his intent.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He left the dome of Otho long ere morn,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In darkness, yet so well the path was worn<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He could not miss it: near his dwelling lay;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But there he was not, and with coming day<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Came fast inquiry, which unfolded nought, <span class="linenum">750</span><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Except the absence of the Chief it sought.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A chamber tenantless, a steed at rest,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His host alarmed, his murmuring squires distressed:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their search extends along, around the path,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In dread to meet the marks of prowlers' wrath:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But none are there, and not a brake hath borne<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor gout of blood, nor shred of mantle torn;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor fall nor struggle hath defaced the grass,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which still retains a mark where Murder was;<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Nor dabbling fingers left to tell the tale, <span class="linenum">760</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">The bitter print of each convulsive nail,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When agoniséd hands that cease to guard,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wound in that pang the smoothness of the sward.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Some such had been, if here a life was reft,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But these were not; and doubting Hope is left;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And strange Suspicion, whispering Lara's name,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now daily mutters o'er his blackened fame;<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Then sudden silent when his form appeared,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Awaits the absence of the thing it feared<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Again its wonted wondering to renew, <span class="linenum">770</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And dye conjecture with a darker hue.<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_353" id="Page_353">[353]</a></span></div></div> + +<h4>VII.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Days roll along, and Otho's wounds are healed,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">But not his pride; and hate no more concealed:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He was a man of power, and Lara's foe,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The friend of all who sought to work him woe,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And from his country's justice now demands<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Account of Ezzelin at Lara's hands.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who else than Lara could have cause to fear<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His presence? who had made him disappear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If not the man on whom his menaced charge <span class="linenum">780</span><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Had sate too deeply were he left at large?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The general rumour ignorantly loud,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The mystery dearest to the curious crowd;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The seeming friendliness of him who strove<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To win no confidence, and wake no love;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sweeping fierceness which his soul betrayed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The skill with which he wielded his keen blade;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where had his arm unwarlike caught that art?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where had that fierceness grown upon his heart?<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">For it was not the blind capricious rage<a name="FNanchor_kl" id="FNanchor_kl"></a><a href="#Footnote_kl" class="fnanchor">[kl]</a> <span class="linenum">790</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">A word can kindle and a word assuage;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But the deep working of a soul unmixed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With aught of pity where its wrath had fixed;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Such as long power and overgorged success<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Concentrates into all that's merciless:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">These, linked with that desire which ever sways<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Mankind, the rather to condemn than praise,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Gainst Lara gathering raised at length a storm,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Such as himself might fear, and foes would form,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And he must answer for the absent head <span class="linenum">800</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of one that haunts him still, alive or dead.<br /></span> +</div></div> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_354" id="Page_354">[354]</a></span></p> +<h4>VIII.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Within that land was many a malcontent,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who cursed the tyranny to which he bent;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That soil full many a wringing despot saw,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who worked his wantonness in form of law;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Long war without and frequent broil within<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Had made a path for blood and giant sin,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That waited but a signal to begin<br /></span> +<span class="i0">New havoc, such as civil discord blends,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Which knows no neuter, owns but foes or friends; <span class="linenum">810</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fixed in his feudal fortress each was lord,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In word and deed obeyed, in soul abhorred.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thus Lara had inherited his lands,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And with them pining hearts and sluggish hands;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But that long absence from his native clime<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Had left him stainless of Oppression's crime,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And now, diverted by his milder sway,<a name="FNanchor_km" id="FNanchor_km"></a><a href="#Footnote_km" class="fnanchor">[km]</a><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">All dread by slow degrees had worn away.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The menials felt their usual awe alone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But more for him than them that fear was grown; <span class="linenum">820</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">They deemed him now unhappy, though at first<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their evil judgment augured of the worst,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And each long restless night, and silent mood,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was traced to sickness, fed by solitude:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And though his lonely habits threw of late<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Gloom o'er his chamber, cheerful was his gate;<a name="FNanchor_kn" id="FNanchor_kn"></a><a href="#Footnote_kn" class="fnanchor">[kn]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">For thence the wretched ne'er unsoothed withdrew,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For them, at least, his soul compassion knew.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Cold to the great, contemptuous to the high,<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_355" id="Page_355">[355]</a></span><span class="i0">The humble passed not his unheeding eye; <span class="linenum">830</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Much he would speak not, but beneath his roof<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They found asylum oft, and ne'er reproof.<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">And they who watched might mark that, day by day,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Some new retainers gathered to his sway;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But most of late, since Ezzelin was lost,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He played the courteous lord and bounteous host:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Perchance his strife with Otho made him dread<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Some snare prepared for his obnoxious head;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whate'er his view, his favour more obtains<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With these, the people, than his fellow thanes. <span class="linenum">840</span><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">If this were policy, so far 'twas sound,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The million judged but of him as they found;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From him by sterner chiefs to exile driven<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They but required a shelter, and 'twas given.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By him no peasant mourned his rifled cot,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And scarce the Serf could murmur o'er his lot;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With him old Avarice found its hoard secure,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With him contempt forbore to mock the poor;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Youth present cheer and promised recompense<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Detained, till all too late to part from thence: <span class="linenum">850</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">To Hate he offered, with the coming change,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The deep reversion of delayed revenge;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To Love, long baffled by the unequal match,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The well-won charms success was sure to snatch.<a name="FNanchor_ko" id="FNanchor_ko"></a><a href="#Footnote_ko" class="fnanchor">[ko]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">All now was ripe, he waits but to proclaim<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That slavery nothing which was still a name.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The moment came, the hour when Otho thought<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Secure at last the vengeance which he sought:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His summons found the destined criminal<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Begirt by thousands in his swarming hall; <span class="linenum">860</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fresh from their feudal fetters newly riven,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Defying earth, and confident of heaven.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_356" id="Page_356">[356]</a></span> +<span class="i0">That morning he had freed the soil-bound slaves,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who dig no land for tyrants but their graves!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Such is their cry—some watchword for the fight<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Must vindicate the wrong, and warp the right;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Religion—Freedom—Vengeance—what you will,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A word's enough to raise Mankind to kill;<a name="FNanchor_kp" id="FNanchor_kp"></a><a href="#Footnote_kp" class="fnanchor">[kp]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Some factious phrase by cunning caught and spread,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That Guilt may reign-and wolves and worms be fed! <span class="linenum">870</span><br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>IX.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Throughout that clime the feudal Chiefs had gained<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Such sway, their infant monarch hardly reigned;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now was the hour for Faction's rebel growth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Serfs contemned the one, and hated both:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They waited but a leader, and they found<br /></span> +<span class="i0">One to their cause inseparably bound;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By circumstance compelled to plunge again,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">In self-defence, amidst the strife of men.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Cut off by some mysterious fate from those<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whom Birth and Nature meant not for his foes, <span class="linenum">880</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Had Lara from that night, to him accurst,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Prepared to meet, but not alone, the worst:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Some reason urged, whate'er it was, to shun<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Inquiry into deeds at distance done;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By mingling with his own the cause of all,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">E'en if he failed, he still delayed his fall.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sullen calm that long his bosom kept,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The storm that once had spent itself and slept,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Roused by events that seemed foredoomed to urge<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His gloomy fortunes to their utmost verge, <span class="linenum">890</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Burst forth, and made him all he once had been,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And is again; he only changed the scene.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_357" id="Page_357">[357]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Light care had he for life, and less for fame,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">But not less fitted for the desperate game:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He deemed himself marked out for others' hate,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And mocked at Ruin so they shared his fate.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And cared he for the freedom of the crowd?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He raised the humble but to bend the proud.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He had hoped quiet in his sullen lair,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But Man and Destiny beset him there: <span class="linenum">900</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Inured to hunters, he was found at bay;<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">And they must kill, they cannot snare the prey.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Stern, unambitious, silent, he had been<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Henceforth a calm spectator of Life's scene;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But dragged again upon the arena, stood<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A leader not unequal to the feud;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In voice—mien—gesture—savage nature spoke,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And from his eye the gladiator broke.<br /></span> + +</div></div> + +<h4>X.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">What boots the oft-repeated tale of strife,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The feast of vultures, and the waste of life? <span class="linenum">910</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">The varying fortune of each separate field,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The fierce that vanquish, and the faint that yield?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The smoking ruin, and the crumbled wall?<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">In this the struggle was the same with all;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Save that distempered passions lent their force<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In bitterness that banished all remorse.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">None sued, for Mercy knew her cry was vain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The captive died upon the battle-plain:<a name="FNanchor_kq" id="FNanchor_kq"></a><a href="#Footnote_kq" class="fnanchor">[kq]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">In either cause, one rage alone possessed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The empire of the alternate victor's breast; <span class="linenum">920</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And they that smote for freedom or for sway,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Deemed few were slain, while more remained to slay.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_358" id="Page_358">[358]</a></span> +<span class="i0">It was too late to check the wasting brand,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Desolation reaped the famished land;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The torch was lighted, and the flame was spread,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Carnage smiled upon her daily dead.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>XI.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> + +<span class="i0">Fresh with the nerve the new-born impulse strung,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The first success to Lara's numbers clung:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But that vain victory hath ruined all;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They form no longer to their leader's call: <span class="linenum">930</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">In blind confusion on the foe they press,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And think to snatch is to secure success.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The lust of booty, and the thirst of hate,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lure on the broken brigands to their fate:<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">In vain he doth whate'er a chief may do,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To check the headlong fury of that crew;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In vain their stubborn ardour he would tame,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The hand that kindles cannot quench the flame;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The wary foe alone hath turned their mood,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And shown their rashness to that erring brood: <span class="linenum">940</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">The feigned retreat, the nightly ambuscade,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The daily harass, and the fight delayed,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">The long privation of the hoped supply,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The tentless rest beneath the humid sky,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The stubborn wall that mocks the leaguer's art,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And palls the patience of his baffled art,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of these they had not deemed: the battle-day<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They could encounter as a veteran may;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But more preferred the fury of the strife,<a name="FNanchor_kr" id="FNanchor_kr"></a><a href="#Footnote_kr" class="fnanchor">[kr]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And present death, to hourly suffering life: <span class="linenum">950</span><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">And Famine wrings, and Fever sweeps away<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His numbers melting fast from their array;<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_359" id="Page_359">[359]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Intemperate triumph fades to discontent,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Lara's soul alone seems still unbent;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But few remain to aid his voice and hand,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And thousands dwindled to a scanty band:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Desperate, though few, the last and best remained<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To mourn the discipline they late disdained.<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">One hope survives, the frontier is not far,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And thence they may escape from native war: <span class="linenum">960</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And bear within them to the neighbouring state<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An exile's sorrows, or an outlaw's hate:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hard is the task their father-land to quit,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But harder still to perish or submit.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>XII.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">It is resolved—they march—consenting Night<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Guides with her star their dim and torchless flight;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Already they perceive its tranquil beam<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sleep on the surface of the barrier stream;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Already they descry—Is yon the bank?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Away! 'tis lined with many a hostile rank. <span class="linenum">970</span><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Return or fly!—What glitters in the rear?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Tis Otho's banner—the pursuer's spear!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Are those the shepherds' fires upon the height?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Alas! they blaze too widely for the flight:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Cut off from hope, and compassed in the toil,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Less blood perchance hath bought a richer spoil!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>XIII.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">A moment's pause—'tis but to breathe their band,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or shall they onward press, or here withstand?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It matters little—if they charge the foes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who by their border-stream their march oppose, <span class="linenum">980</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Some few, perchance, may break and pass the line,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">However linked to baffle such design.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_360" id="Page_360">[360]</a></span> + +<span class="i0">"The charge be ours! to wait for their assault<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Were fate well worthy of a coward's halt."<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Forth flies each sabre, reined is every steed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the next word shall scarce outstrip the deed:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In the next tone of Lara's gathering breath<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How many shall but hear the voice of Death!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>XIV.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">His blade is bared,—in him there is an air<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As deep, but far too tranquil for despair; <span class="linenum">990</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">A something of indifference more than then<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Becomes the bravest, if they feel for men—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He turned his eye on Kaled, ever near,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And still too faithful to betray one fear;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Perchance 'twas but the moon's dim twilight threw<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Along his aspect an unwonted hue<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of mournful paleness, whose deep tint expressed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The truth, and not the terror of his breast.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This Lara marked, and laid his hand on his:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It trembled not in such an hour as this; <span class="linenum">1000</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">His lip was silent, scarcely beat his heart,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His eye alone proclaimed, "We will not part!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy band may perish, or thy friends may flee,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Farewell to Life—but not Adieu to thee!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The word hath passed his lips, and onward driven,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pours the linked band through ranks asunder riven:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Well has each steed obeyed the arméd heel,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And flash the scimitars, and rings the steel;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Outnumbered, not outbraved, they still oppose<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Despair to daring, and a front to foes; <span class="linenum">1010</span><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">And blood is mingled with the dashing stream,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which runs all redly till the morning beam.<a name="FNanchor_ks" id="FNanchor_ks"></a><a href="#Footnote_ks" class="fnanchor">[ks]</a><br /></span> +</div></div> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_361" id="Page_361">[361]</a></span></p> +<h4>XV.<a name="FNanchor_282" id="FNanchor_282"></a><a href="#Footnote_282" class="fnanchor">[282]</a></h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Commanding—aiding—animating all,<a name="FNanchor_283" id="FNanchor_283"></a><a href="#Footnote_283" class="fnanchor">[283]</a><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Where foe appeared to press, or friend to fall,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Cheers Lara's voice, and waves or strikes his steel,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Inspiring hope, himself had ceased to feel.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">None fled, for well they knew that flight were vain;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But those that waver turn to smite again,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While yet they find the firmest of the foe<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Recoil before their leader's look and blow: <span class="linenum">1020</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now girt with numbers, now almost alone,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">He foils their ranks, or re-unites his own;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Himself he spared not—once they seemed to fly—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now was the time, he waved his hand on high,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And shook—Why sudden droops that pluméd crest?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The shaft is sped—the arrow's in his breast!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That fatal gesture left the unguarded side,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Death has stricken down yon arm of pride.<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">The word of triumph fainted from his tongue;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That hand, so raised, how droopingly it hung! <span class="linenum">1030</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">But yet the sword instinctively retains,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though from its fellow shrink the falling reins;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">These Kaled snatches: dizzy with the blow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And senseless bending o'er his saddle-bow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Perceives not Lara that his anxious page<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beguiles his charger from the combat's rage:<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Meantime his followers charge, and charge again;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Too mixed the slayers now to heed the slain!<br /></span> +</div></div> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_362" id="Page_362">[362]</a></span></p> +<h4>XVI.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Day glimmers on the dying and the dead,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The cloven cuirass, and the helmless head; <span class="linenum">1040</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">The war-horse masterless is on the earth,<a name="FNanchor_kt" id="FNanchor_kt"></a><a href="#Footnote_kt" class="fnanchor">[kt]</a><a name="FNanchor_284" id="FNanchor_284"></a><a href="#Footnote_284" class="fnanchor">[284]</a><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">And that last gasp hath burst his bloody girth;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And near, yet quivering with what life remained,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The heel that urged him and the hand that reined;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And some too near that rolling torrent lie,<a name="FNanchor_ku" id="FNanchor_ku"></a><a href="#Footnote_ku" class="fnanchor">[ku]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whose waters mock the lip of those that die;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That panting thirst which scorches in the breath<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of those that die the soldier's fiery death,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In vain impels the burning mouth to crave<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">One drop—the last—to cool it for the grave; <span class="linenum">1050</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">With feeble and convulsive effort swept,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their limbs along the crimsoned turf have crept;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The faint remains of life such struggles waste,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But yet they reach the stream, and bend to taste:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They feel its freshness, and almost partake—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Why pause? No further thirst have they to slake—<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">It is unquenched, and yet they feel it not;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It was an agony—but now forgot!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>XVII.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Beneath a lime, remoter from the scene,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where but for him that strife had never been, <span class="linenum">1060</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">A breathing but devoted warrior lay:<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">'Twas Lara bleeding fast from life away.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_363" id="Page_363">[363]</a></span> +<span class="i0">His follower once, and now his only guide,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Kneels Kaled watchful o'er his welling side,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And with his scarf would staunch the tides that rush,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With each convulsion, in a blacker gush;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And then, as his faint breathing waxes low,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In feebler, not less fatal tricklings flow:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He scarce can speak, but motions him 'tis vain,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">And merely adds another throb to pain. <span class="linenum">1070</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">He clasps the hand that pang which would assuage,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And sadly smiles his thanks to that dark page,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who nothing fears—nor feels—nor heeds—nor sees—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Save that damp brow which rests upon his knees;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Save that pale aspect, where the eye, though dim,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Held all the light that shone on earth for him.<br /></span> + +</div></div> + +<h4>XVIII.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The foe arrives, who long had searched the field,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their triumph nought till Lara too should yield:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They would remove him, but they see 'twere vain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And he regards them with a calm disdain, <span class="linenum">1080</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">That rose to reconcile him with his fate,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">And that escape to death from living hate:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Otho comes, and leaping from his steed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Looks on the bleeding foe that made him bleed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And questions of his state; he answers not,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Scarce glances on him as on one forgot,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And turns to Kaled:—each remaining word<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They understood not, if distinctly heard;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His dying tones are in that other tongue,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">To which some strange remembrance wildly clung. <span class="linenum">1090</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">They spake of other scenes, but what—is known<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To Kaled, whom their meaning reached alone;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And he replied, though faintly, to their sound,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While gazed the rest in dumb amazement round:<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_364" id="Page_364">[364]</a></span> +<span class="i0">They seemed even then—that twain—unto the last<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">To half forget the present in the past;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To share between themselves some separate fate,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whose darkness none beside should penetrate.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>XIX.<a name="FNanchor_285" id="FNanchor_285"></a><a href="#Footnote_285" class="fnanchor">[285]</a></h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Their words though faint were many—from the tone<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their import those who heard could judge alone; <span class="linenum">1100</span><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">From this, you might have deemed young Kaled's death<br /></span> +<span class="i0">More near than Lara's by his voice and breath,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So sad—so deep—and hesitating broke<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The accents his scarce-moving pale lips spoke;<a name="FNanchor_kv" id="FNanchor_kv"></a><a href="#Footnote_kv" class="fnanchor">[kv]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">But Lara's voice, though low, at first was clear<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And calm, till murmuring Death gasped hoarsely near;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But from his visage little could we guess,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">So unrepentant—dark—and passionless,<a name="FNanchor_kw" id="FNanchor_kw"></a><a href="#Footnote_kw" class="fnanchor">[kw]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Save that when struggling nearer to his last,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upon that page his eye was kindly cast; <span class="linenum">1110</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And once, as Kaled's answering accents ceased,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rose Lara's hand, and pointed to the East:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whether (as then the breaking Sun from high<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rolled back the clouds) the morrow caught his eye,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Or that 'twas chance—or some remembered scene,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That raised his arm to point where such had been,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Scarce Kaled seemed to know, but turned away,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As if his heart abhorred that coming day,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And shrunk his glance before that morning light,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To look on Lara's brow—where all grew night. <span class="linenum">1120</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet sense seemed left, though better were its loss;<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">For when one near displayed the absolving Cross,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_365" id="Page_365">[365]</a></span> +<span class="i0">And proffered to his touch the holy bead,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of which his parting soul might own the need,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He looked upon it with an eye profane,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And smiled—Heaven pardon! if 'twere with disdain:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Kaled, though he spoke not, nor withdrew<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From Lara's face his fixed despairing view,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With brow repulsive, and with gesture swift,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Flung back the hand which held the sacred gift, <span class="linenum">1130</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">As if such but disturbed the expiring man,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor seemed to know his life but <i>then</i> began—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That Life of Immortality, secure<a name="FNanchor_kx" id="FNanchor_kx"></a><a href="#Footnote_kx" class="fnanchor">[kx]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">To none, save them whose faith in Christ is sure.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>XX.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But gasping heaved the breath that Lara drew,<a name="FNanchor_ky" id="FNanchor_ky"></a><a href="#Footnote_ky" class="fnanchor">[ky]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And dull the film along his dim eye grew;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His limbs stretched fluttering, and his head drooped o'er<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The weak yet still untiring knee that bore;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He pressed the hand he held upon his heart—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It beats no more, but Kaled will not part <span class="linenum">1140</span><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">With the cold grasp, but feels, and feels in vain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For that faint throb which answers not again.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"It beats!"—Away, thou dreamer! he is gone—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It once <i>was</i> Lara which thou look'st upon.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>XXI.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He gazed, as if not yet had passed away<a name="FNanchor_kz" id="FNanchor_kz"></a><a href="#Footnote_kz" class="fnanchor">[kz]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">The haughty spirit of that humbled clay;<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_366" id="Page_366">[366]</a></span> +<span class="i0">And those around have roused him from his trance,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But cannot tear from thence his fixéd glance;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And when, in raising him from where he bore<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Within his arms the form that felt no more, <span class="linenum">1150</span><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">He saw the head his breast would still sustain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Roll down like earth to earth upon the plain;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He did not dash himself thereby, nor tear<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The glossy tendrils of his raven hair,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But strove to stand and gaze, but reeled and fell,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Scarce breathing more than that he loved so well.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Than that <i>he</i> loved! Oh! never yet beneath<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">The breast of <i>man</i> such trusty love may breathe!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That trying moment hath at once revealed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The secret long and yet but half concealed; <span class="linenum">1160</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">In baring to revive that lifeless breast,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Its grief seemed ended, but the sex confessed;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And life returned, and Kaled felt no shame—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What now to her was Womanhood or Fame?<br /></span> + +</div></div> + +<h4>XXII.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And Lara sleeps not where his fathers sleep,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But where he died his grave was dug as deep;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor is his mortal slumber less profound,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though priest nor blessed nor marble decked the mound,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And he was mourned by one whose quiet grief,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Less loud, outlasts a people's for their Chief. <span class="linenum">1170</span><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Vain was all question asked her of the past,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And vain e'en menace—silent to the last;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She told nor whence, nor why she left behind<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her all for one who seemed but little kind.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Why did she love him? Curious fool!—be still—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is human love the growth of human will?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To her he might be gentleness; the stern<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Have deeper thoughts than your dull eyes discern,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_367" id="Page_367">[367]</a></span> + +<span class="i0">And when they love, your smilers guess not how<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beats the strong heart, though less the lips avow. <span class="linenum">1180</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">They were not common links, that formed the chain<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That bound to Lara Kaled's heart and brain;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But that wild tale she brooked not to unfold,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And sealed is now each lip that could have told.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>XXIII.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">They laid him in the earth, and on his breast,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Besides the wound that sent his soul to rest,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They found the scattered dints of many a scar,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which were not planted there in recent war;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where'er had passed his summer years of life,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It seems they vanished in a land of strife; <span class="linenum">1190</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">But all unknown his Glory or his Guilt,<a name="FNanchor_la" id="FNanchor_la"></a><a href="#Footnote_la" class="fnanchor">[la]</a><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">These only told that somewhere blood was spilt,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Ezzelin, who might have spoke the past,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Returned no more—that night appeared his last.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>XXIV.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Upon that night (a peasant's is the tale)<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A Serf that crossed the intervening vale,<a name="FNanchor_286" id="FNanchor_286"></a><a href="#Footnote_286" class="fnanchor">[286]</a><br /></span> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_368" id="Page_368">[368]</a></span><span class="i0">When Cynthia's light almost gave way to morn,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And nearly veiled in mist her waning horn;<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_369" id="Page_369">[369]</a></span> +<span class="i0">A Serf, that rose betimes to thread the wood,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And hew the bough that bought his children's food, <span class="linenum">1200</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Passed by the river that divides the plain<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of Otho's lands and Lara's broad domain:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He heard a tramp—a horse and horseman broke<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">From out the wood—before him was a cloak<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wrapt round some burthen at his saddle-bow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bent was his head, and hidden was his brow.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Roused by the sudden sight at such a time,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And some foreboding that it might be crime,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Himself unheeded watched the stranger's course,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who reached the river, bounded from his horse, <span class="linenum">1210</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And lifting thence the burthen which he bore,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Heaved up the bank, and dashed it from the shore,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then paused—and looked—and turned—and seemed to watch,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And still another hurried glance would snatch,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And follow with his step the stream that flowed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As if even yet too much its surface showed;<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_370" id="Page_370">[370]</a></span> +<span class="i0">At once he started—stooped—around him strown<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">The winter floods had scattered heaps of stone:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of these the heaviest thence he gathered there,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And slung them with a more than common care. <span class="linenum">1220</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Meantime the Serf had crept to where unseen<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Himself might safely mark what this might mean;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He caught a glimpse, as of a floating breast,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And something glittered starlike on the vest;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But ere he well could mark the buoyant trunk,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">A massy fragment smote it, and it sunk:<a name="FNanchor_lb" id="FNanchor_lb"></a><a href="#Footnote_lb" class="fnanchor">[lb]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">It rose again, but indistinct to view,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And left the waters of a purple hue,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then deeply disappeared: the horseman gazed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till ebbed the latest eddy it had raised; <span class="linenum">1230</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then turning, vaulted on his pawing steed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And instant spurred him into panting speed.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His face was masked—the features of the dead,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">If dead it were, escaped the observer's dread;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But if in sooth a Star its bosom bore,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Such is the badge that Knighthood ever wore,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And such 'tis known Sir Ezzelin had worn<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upon the night that led to such a morn.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If thus he perished, Heaven receive his soul!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His undiscovered limbs to ocean roll; <span class="linenum">1240</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And charity upon the hope would dwell<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">It was not Lara's hand by which he fell.<a name="FNanchor_lc" id="FNanchor_lc"></a><a href="#Footnote_lc" class="fnanchor">[lc]</a><br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>XXV.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And Kaled—Lara—Ezzelin, are gone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Alike without their monumental stone!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The first, all efforts vainly strove to wean<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">From lingering where her Chieftain's blood had been:<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_371" id="Page_371">[371]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Grief had so tamed a spirit once too proud,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her tears were few, her wailing never loud;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But furious would you tear her from the spot<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where yet she scarce believed that he was not, <span class="linenum">1250</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her eye shot forth with all the living fire<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That haunts the tigress in her whelpless ire;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But left to waste her weary moments there,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">She talked all idly unto shapes of air,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Such as the busy brain of Sorrow paints,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And woos to listen to her fond complaints:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And she would sit beneath the very tree<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where lay his drooping head upon her knee;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And in that posture where she saw him fall,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His words, his looks, his dying grasp recall; <span class="linenum">1260</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And she had shorn, but saved her raven hair,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">And oft would snatch it from her bosom there,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And fold, and press it gently to the ground,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As if she staunched anew some phantom's wound.<a name="FNanchor_ld" id="FNanchor_ld"></a><a href="#Footnote_ld" class="fnanchor">[ld]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Herself would question, and for him reply;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then rising, start, and beckon him to fly<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From some imagined Spectre in pursuit;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then seat her down upon some linden's root,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And hide her visage with her meagre hand,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Or trace strange characters along the sand— <span class="linenum">1270</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">This could not last—she lies by him she loved;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her tale untold—her truth too dearly proved.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_jb" id="Footnote_jb"></a><a href="#FNanchor_jb"><span class="label">[jb]</span></a> <a id="Note_323"></a>{323} <i>Lara the sequel of "the Corsair</i>."—[MS. erased.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_265" id="Footnote_265"></a><a href="#FNanchor_265"><span class="label">[265]</span></a> [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 <i>Jacqueline:</i>— +</p> +<blockquote><p>"The Reader—if the tale of <i>Lara</i> has the fortune to meet +with one—may probably regard it as a sequel to the +<i>Corsair</i>;—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. + +</p><p> +"The Poem of <i>Jaqueline</i> 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."]</p></blockquote> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_266" id="Footnote_266"></a><a href="#FNanchor_266"><span class="label">[266]</span></a> 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. +</p><p> +[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).—<i>Letters</i>, 1899, iii. 110. +The MS. is dated May 15, 1814.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_267" id="Footnote_267"></a><a href="#FNanchor_267"><span class="label">[267]</span></a> <a id="Note_324"></a>{324} [For the opening lines to <i>Lara</i>, +see <i>Murray's Magazine</i>, January, 1887, vol. i. p. 3.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_268" id="Footnote_268"></a><a href="#FNanchor_268"><span class="label">[268]</span></a> [Compare <i>Childish Recollections</i>, lines 221-224— +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> + +<span class="i0">"Can Rank, or e'en a Guardian's name supply<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The love, which glistens in a Father's eye?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For this, can Wealth, or Title's sound atone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Made, by a Parent's early loss, my own?"<br /></span> +</div></div> +<p> +Compare, too, <i>English Bards, etc.</i>, lines 689-694, +<i>Poetical Works</i>, 1898, i. 95, 352.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_jc" id="Footnote_jc"></a><a href="#FNanchor_jc"><span class="label">[jc]</span></a> <i>First in each folly—nor the last in vice</i>.—[MS. erased]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_jd" id="Footnote_jd"></a><a href="#FNanchor_jd"><span class="label">[jd]</span></a> <a id="Note_325"></a>{325} <i>Short was the course the beardless wanderer run</i>.—[MS.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_je" id="Footnote_je"></a><a href="#FNanchor_je"><span class="label">[je]</span></a> <i>Another chief had won</i>——.—[MS. erased.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_jf" id="Footnote_jf"></a><a href="#FNanchor_jf"><span class="label">[jf]</span></a> <i>His friends forgot him—and his dog had died</i>.—[MS.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_jg" id="Footnote_jg"></a><a href="#FNanchor_jg"><span class="label">[jg]</span></a> <i>Without one rumour to relieve his care</i>.—[MS. erased.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_jh" id="Footnote_jh"></a><a href="#FNanchor_jh"><span class="label">[jh]</span></a> <i>That most might decorate that gloomy pile</i>.—[MS. erased.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_269" id="Footnote_269"></a><a href="#FNanchor_269"><span class="label">[269]</span></a> <a id="Note_326"></a>{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.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_ji" id="Footnote_ji"></a><a href="#FNanchor_ji"><span class="label">[ji]</span></a> <a id="Note_328"></a>{328} <i>Their refuge in intensity of thought</i>.—[MS.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_jj" id="Footnote_jj"></a><a href="#FNanchor_jj"><span class="label">[jj]</span></a> <a id="Note_329"></a>{329} <i>The sound of other voices than his own</i>.—[MS.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_270" id="Footnote_270"></a><a href="#FNanchor_270"><span class="label">[270]</span></a> ["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."—<i>Life</i>, p. 87.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_271" id="Footnote_271"></a><a href="#FNanchor_271"><span class="label">[271]</span></a> [Compare— +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"His train but deemed the favourite page<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was left behind to spare his age,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Or other if they deemed, none dared<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To mutter what he thought or heard."<br /></span> +</div></div> +<p class="attrib"><i>Marmion</i>, Canto III. stanza xv. lines 19-22.] +</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_272" id="Footnote_272"></a><a href="#FNanchor_272"><span class="label">[272]</span></a> [Compare— +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Sweetly shining on the eye,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">A rivulet gliding smoothly by;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which shows with what an easy tide<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The moments of the happy glide."<br /></span> +</div></div> +<p class="attrib">Dyer's <i>Country Walk</i> (<i>Poetical Works of Armstrong, +Dyer, and Green</i>, 1858, p. 221).] +</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_273" id="Footnote_273"></a><a href="#FNanchor_273"><span class="label">[273]</span></a> <a id="Note_331"></a>{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."—<i>Life</i>, p. 27.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_jk" id="Footnote_jk"></a><a href="#FNanchor_jk"><span class="label">[jk]</span></a> ——<i>knelt in painted prayer</i>.—[MS.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_jl" id="Footnote_jl"></a><a href="#FNanchor_jl"><span class="label">[jl]</span></a> <i>His aspect all that best becomes the grave</i>.—[MS.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_jm" id="Footnote_jm"></a><a href="#FNanchor_jm"><span class="label">[jm]</span></a> <a id="Note_333"></a>{333} ——<i>along the gallery crawl</i>.—[MS.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_jn" id="Footnote_jn"></a><a href="#FNanchor_jn"><span class="label">[jn]</span></a> <a id="Note_334"></a>{334} +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>Opinion various as his varying eye</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>In praise or railing—never passed him by</i>.—[MS.]<br /></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_jo" id="Footnote_jo"></a><a href="#FNanchor_jo"><span class="label">[jo]</span></a> <a id="Note_335"></a>{335} ——<i>gayest of the gay</i>.—[MS.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_274" id="Footnote_274"></a><a href="#FNanchor_274"><span class="label">[274]</span></a> [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.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_jp" id="Footnote_jp"></a><a href="#FNanchor_jp"><span class="label">[jp]</span></a> ——<i>an inward scorn of all</i>.—[MS.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_275" id="Footnote_275"></a><a href="#FNanchor_275"><span class="label">[275]</span></a> <a id="Note_336"></a>{336} [Compare Coleridge's <i>Lines to a Gentleman</i> + +[William Wordsworth] (written in 1807, but not published till 1817), +lines 69, 70— +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Sense of past youth, and manhood come in vain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And genius given, and knowledge won in vain."]<br /></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_jq" id="Footnote_jq"></a><a href="#FNanchor_jq"><span class="label">[jq]</span></a> +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>And left Reflection: loth himself to blame,</i><br /></span> + +<span class="i0"><i>He called on Nature's self to share the shame</i>.—[MS.]<br /></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_jr" id="Footnote_jr"></a><a href="#FNanchor_jr"><span class="label">[jr]</span></a> <i>And half mistook for fate his wayward will</i>.—[MS.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_276" id="Footnote_276"></a><a href="#FNanchor_276"><span class="label">[276]</span></a> [For Byron's belief or half-persuasion that he was predestined +to evil, compare <i>Childe Harold</i>, Canto I. stanza lxxxiii. lines 8, 9, +and note. Compare, too, Canto III. stanza lxx. lines 8 and 9; +and Canto IV. stanza xxxiv. line 6: <i>Poetical Works</i>, 1899, ii, 74, +260, 354.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_js" id="Footnote_js"></a><a href="#FNanchor_js"><span class="label">[js]</span></a> <a id="Note_337"></a>{337} +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">——<i>around another's mind;</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>There he was fixed</i>——.—[MS.]<br /></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_jt" id="Footnote_jt"></a><a href="#FNanchor_jt"><span class="label">[jt]</span></a> <a id="Note_338"></a>{338} + +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>That friendship, interest, aversion knew</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>But there within your inmost</i>——.—[MS.]<br /></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_ju" id="Footnote_ju"></a><a href="#FNanchor_ju"><span class="label">[ju]</span></a> +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>Yes you might hate abhor, but from the breast</i><br /></span> + +<span class="i0"><i>He wrung an all unwilling interest</i>—<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Vain was the struggle, in that sightless net</i>.—[MS.]<br /></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_jv" id="Footnote_jv"></a><a href="#FNanchor_jv"><span class="label">[jv]</span></a> <i>So springs the exulting spirit</i>—.—[MS.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_jw" id="Footnote_jw"></a><a href="#FNanchor_jw"><span class="label">[jw]</span></a> <a id="Note_339"></a>{339} <i>That question thus repeated—Thrice and high</i>.—[MS.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_jx" id="Footnote_jx"></a><a href="#FNanchor_jx"><span class="label">[jx]</span></a> <a id="Note_340"></a>{340} +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>Art thou not he who</i>——"<br /></span> +<span class="i21">"<i>Whatso'eer I be.</i>—[MS.]<br /></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_jy" id="Footnote_jy"></a><a href="#FNanchor_jy"><span class="label">[jy]</span></a> <a id="Note_342"></a>{342} + +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>"Tomorrow!—aye—tomorrow" these were all</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>The words from Lara's answering lip that fall</i>.—[MS.]<br /></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_jz" id="Footnote_jz"></a><a href="#FNanchor_jz"><span class="label">[jz]</span></a> <a id="Note_343"></a>{343} <i>That brought their native echoes to his ear</i>.—[MS.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_ka" id="Footnote_ka"></a><a href="#FNanchor_ka"><span class="label">[ka]</span></a> <i>From high and quickened into life and thought</i>.—[MS.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_kb" id="Footnote_kb"></a><a href="#FNanchor_kb"><span class="label">[kb]</span></a> <a id="Note_344"></a>{344} +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>Though no reluctance checked his willing hand,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>He still obeyed as others would command</i>.—[MS.]<br /></span> + +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_kc" id="Footnote_kc"></a><a href="#FNanchor_kc"><span class="label">[kc]</span></a> +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>To tune his lute and, if none else were there,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>To fill the cup in which himself might share</i>.—[MS.]<br /></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_kd" id="Footnote_kd"></a><a href="#FNanchor_kd"><span class="label">[kd]</span></a> <a id="Note_345"></a>{345} <i>Yet still existed there though still supprest</i>.—[ms]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_ke" id="Footnote_ke"></a><a href="#FNanchor_ke"><span class="label">[ke]</span></a> <i>And when the slaves and pages round him told</i>.—[ms]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_277" id="Footnote_277"></a><a href="#FNanchor_277"><span class="label">[277]</span></a> <a id="Note_346"></a>{346} [Compare— +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Strange things I have in head, that will to hand,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which must be acted, ere they may be scanned."<br /></span> + +</div></div> +<p class="attrib"><i>Macbeth</i>, act iii. sc. 4, lines 139, 140.] +</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_kf" id="Footnote_kf"></a><a href="#FNanchor_kf"><span class="label">[kf]</span></a> <a id="Note_347"></a>{347} <i>There lie the lover's hope—the watcher's toil</i>.—[MS.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_kg" id="Footnote_kg"></a><a href="#FNanchor_kg"><span class="label">[kg]</span></a> <i>And half-Existence melts within a grave</i>.—[MS.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_278" id="Footnote_278"></a><a href="#FNanchor_278"><span class="label">[278]</span></a> <a id="Note_348"></a>{348} [Compare— +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Now slowly melting into day,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Vapour and mist dissolved away."<br /></span> +</div></div> +<p> +Sotheby's <i>Constance de Castile</i>, Canto III. stanza v. lines 17, 18.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_279" id="Footnote_279"></a><a href="#FNanchor_279"><span class="label">[279]</span></a> [Compare the last lines of Pippa's song in Browning's +<i>Pippa Passes</i>—"God's in His Heaven, all's right with the world!"]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_280" id="Footnote_280"></a><a href="#FNanchor_280"><span class="label">[280]</span></a> [Mr. Alexander Dyce points out the resemblance between +these lines and a passage in one of Pope's letters to Steele (July 15, +1712, <i>Works</i>, 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."]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_kh" id="Footnote_kh"></a><a href="#FNanchor_kh"><span class="label">[kh]</span></a> <a id="Note_349"></a>{349} <i>When Ezzelin</i>——.—[Ed. 1831.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_ki" id="Footnote_ki"></a><a href="#FNanchor_ki"><span class="label">[ki]</span></a> <i>Here in thy hall</i>——.—[MS.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_281" id="Footnote_281"></a><a href="#FNanchor_281"><span class="label">[281]</span></a> <a id="Note_351"></a>{351} [Compare <i>Mysteries of Udolpho</i>, +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."]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_kj" id="Footnote_kj"></a><a href="#FNanchor_kj"><span class="label">[kj]</span></a> <i>And turned to smite a foe already felled</i>.—[MS.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_kk" id="Footnote_kk"></a><a href="#FNanchor_kk"><span class="label">[kk]</span></a> <i>And he less calm—yet calmer than them all</i>.—[MS.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_kl" id="Footnote_kl"></a><a href="#FNanchor_kl"><span class="label">[kl]</span></a> <a id="Note_353"></a>{353} ——<i>the blind and headlong rage</i>.—[MS.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_km" id="Footnote_km"></a><a href="#FNanchor_km"><span class="label">[km]</span></a> <a id="Note_354"></a>{354} +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>The first impressions with his milder sway</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Of dread</i>——.—[MS.]<br /></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_kn" id="Footnote_kn"></a><a href="#FNanchor_kn"><span class="label">[kn]</span></a> <i>Mysterious gloom around his hall and state</i>.—[MS.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_ko" id="Footnote_ko"></a><a href="#FNanchor_ko"><span class="label">[ko]</span></a> <a id="Note_355"></a>{355} <i>The Beauty—which the first success would snatch</i>.—[MS.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_kp" id="Footnote_kp"></a><a href="#FNanchor_kp"><span class="label">[kp]</span></a> <a id="Note_356"></a>{356} +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>A word's enough to rouse mankind to kill</i><br /></span> + +<span class="i0"><i>Some factions phrase by cunning raised and spread</i>.—[MS.]<br /></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_kq" id="Footnote_kq"></a><a href="#FNanchor_kq"><span class="label">[kq]</span></a> <a id="Note_357"></a>{357} ——<i>upon the battle slain</i>.—[Ed. 1831.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_kr" id="Footnote_kr"></a><a href="#FNanchor_kr"><span class="label">[kr]</span></a> <a id="Note_358"></a>{358} <i>But not endure the long protracted strife</i>.—[MS. erased.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_ks" id="Footnote_ks"></a><a href="#FNanchor_ks"><span class="label">[ks]</span></a> <a id="Note_360"></a>{360} <i>And raged the combat till</i>——.—[MS.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_282" id="Footnote_282"></a><a href="#FNanchor_282"><span class="label">[282]</span></a> <a id="Note_361"></a>{361} [Stanza XV. was added after the completion +of the first draft of the poem.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_283" id="Footnote_283"></a><a href="#FNanchor_283"><span class="label">[283]</span></a> [Compare— + +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Il s'excite, il s'empresse, il inspire aux soldats<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Cet espoir généreux que lui-même il n'a pas."<br /></span> +</div></div> +<p class="attrib">Voltaire, <i>Henriade</i>, Chant. viii. lines 127, 128,<br /> +<i>Oeuvres Complêtes</i>, Paris, 1837, ii. 325.] + +</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_kt" id="Footnote_kt"></a><a href="#FNanchor_kt"><span class="label">[kt]</span></a> <a id="Note_362"></a>{362} <i>The stiffening steed is on the dinted earth</i>.—[MS.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_284" id="Footnote_284"></a><a href="#FNanchor_284"><span class="label">[284]</span></a> [Compare— +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"There lay a horse, another through the field<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Ran masterless."<br /></span> +</div></div> +<p class="attrib">Tasso's <i>Jerusalem</i> (translated by Edward Fairfax),<br /> +Bk. VII. stanza cvi. lines 3, 4.] +</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_ku" id="Footnote_ku"></a><a href="#FNanchor_ku"><span class="label">[ku]</span></a> ——<i>that glassy river lie</i>.—[MS.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_285" id="Footnote_285"></a><a href="#FNanchor_285"><span class="label">[285]</span></a> <a id="Note_364"></a>{364} [Stanza xix. was added after the +completion of the poem. The MS. is extant.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_kv" id="Footnote_kv"></a><a href="#FNanchor_kv"><span class="label">[kv]</span></a> ——<i>white lips spoke</i>.—[MS.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_kw" id="Footnote_kw"></a><a href="#FNanchor_kw"><span class="label">[kw]</span></a> ——<i>pale—and passionless</i>.—[MS.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_kx" id="Footnote_kx"></a><a href="#FNanchor_kx"><span class="label">[kx]</span></a> <a id="Note_365"></a>{365} +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>That Life—immortal—infinite secure</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>To All for whom that Cross hath made it sure</i>.—<br /></span> +<span class="i32">[MS. First ed. 1814.]<br /></span> +<span >or,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0"><i>That life immortal, infinite and sure</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>To all whose faith the eternal boon secure</i>.—[MS.]<br /></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_ky" id="Footnote_ky"></a><a href="#FNanchor_ky"><span class="label">[ky]</span></a> <i>But faint the dying Lara's accents grew</i>.—[MS.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_kz" id="Footnote_kz"></a><a href="#FNanchor_kz"><span class="label">[kz]</span></a> + +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>He gazed as doubtful that the thing he saw</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Had something more to ask from Lone or awe</i>.—[MS.]<br /></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_la" id="Footnote_la"></a><a href="#FNanchor_la"><span class="label">[la]</span></a> <a id="Note_367"></a>{367} +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>But all unknown the blood he lost or spilt</i><br /></span> + +<span class="i0"><i>These only told his Glory or his Guilt</i>.—[MS.]<br /></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_286" id="Footnote_286"></a><a href="#FNanchor_286"><span class="label">[286]</span></a> +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 <i>S. Pietro ad vincula</i>: +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 <i>staffiero</i>, 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 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, <i>Signor, si</i> (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 <i>Life and Pontificate of +Leo Tenth</i>, 1805, i. 265. [See, too, for the original in + +<i>Burchard Diar</i>, in Gordon's +<i>Life of Alex. VI., Append.</i>, +"De Cæde Ducis Gandiæ," <i>Append.</i> No. xlviii., +<i>ib.</i>, pp. 90, 91.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_lb" id="Footnote_lb"></a><a href="#FNanchor_lb"><span class="label">[lb]</span></a> <a id="Note_370"></a>{370} <i>A mighty pebble</i>——.—[MS.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_lc" id="Footnote_lc"></a><a href="#FNanchor_lc"><span class="label">[lc]</span></a> <i>That not unarmed in combat fair he fell</i>.—[MS. erased.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_ld" id="Footnote_ld"></a><a href="#FNanchor_ld"><span class="label">[ld]</span></a> <a id="Note_371"></a>{371} ——<i>some phantom wound</i>.—[MS.]</p></div> +</div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;margin-bottom:2cm;" /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_373" id="Page_373">[373]</a></span></p> +<div class="titlepage"> + <h2>HEBREW MELODIES</h2> + +</div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;margin-top:2cm;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_375" id="Page_375">[375]</a></span></p> + +<h2><a name="INTRODUCTION_MELODIES" id="INTRODUCTION_MELODIES"></a> + +INTRODUCTION TO <i>HEBREW MELODIES</i> +<br /><span class="center"><img src="images/decoration.png" alt="swash" /></span> +</h2> + + +<p><span class="smcap">According</span> to the "Advertisement" prefixed to Murray's +First Edition of the <i>Hebrew Melodies</i>, 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."</p> + +<p>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 +<i>Hebrew Melodies</i> 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.</p> + +<p>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 away, and, after some struggles, succeeded in +qualifying himself as a musician.</p> + +<p>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<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_376" id="Page_376">[376]</a></span> +Braham. "Professional occupations" prevented Braham +from fulfilling his part of the engagement, but a guinea folio +(Part. I.) ("<i>Selections of Hebrew Melodies, Ancient and Modern</i>, +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.</p> + +<p>The preface, part of which was reprinted (p. vi.) by +Nathan, in his +<i>Fugitive Pieces and Reminiscences of Lord Byron</i>, +London, 1829, is not without interest—</p> + +<blockquote><p>"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....</p> + +<p>"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."</p></blockquote> + +<p>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 (<i>Life</i>, 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 <i>Sacred Songs</i> (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, <i>Letters</i>, 1899, iii. 179, 183) +Nathan, and his "vile Ebrew nasalities," it is evident that +Byron winced under Moore's "chaff."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_377" id="Page_377">[377]</a></span></p> + +<p>Apart from the merits or demerits of the setting, the title +<i>Hebrew Melodies</i> 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 <i>Parisina</i>, were included. The <i>Fugitive Pieces</i>, 1829, +retain the fragments from <i>Parisina</i>, 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."</p> + +<p>It is uncertain when Murray's first edition appeared. +Byron wrote to Nathan with regard to the copyright in +January, 1815 (<i>Letters</i>, 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 <i>Morning +Chronicle</i>, April 6, 1815; and it is possible that the first +public announcement of the <i>Hebrew Melodies</i>, as a separate +issue, was made in the <i>Courier</i>, June 22, 1815.</p> + +<p>The <i>Hebrew Melodies</i> were reviewed in the <i>Christian +Observer</i>, August, 1815, vol. xiv. p. 542; in the <i>Analectic +Magazine</i>, October, 1815, vol. vi. p. 292; and were noticed by +Jeffrey [The <i>Hebrew Melodies</i>, 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 <i>Edinburgh +Review</i>, December, 1816, vol. xxvii. p. 291. +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_379" id="Page_379">[379]</a></span></p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<h3><a name="ADVERTISEMENT" id="ADVERTISEMENT"></a> +ADVERTISEMENT +<br /><span class="center"><img src="images/decoration.png" alt="swash" /></span> +</h3> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p><i>January</i>, 1815. +</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_381" id="Page_381">[381]</a></span></p> + +<h2><a name="HEBREW_MELODIES" id="HEBREW_MELODIES"></a> +HEBREW MELODIES +<br /><span class="center"><img src="images/decoration.png" alt="swash" /></span> +</h2> + + +<h3>SHE WALKS IN BEAUTY.<a name="FNanchor_287" id="FNanchor_287"></a><a href="#Footnote_287" class="fnanchor">[287]</a></h3> + +<h4>I.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">She</span> walks in Beauty, like the night<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">Of cloudless climes and starry skies;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And all that's best of dark and bright<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Meet in her aspect and her eyes:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thus mellowed to that tender light<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Which Heaven to gaudy day denies.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>II.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">One shade the more, one ray the less,<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">Had half impaired the nameless grace<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_382" id="Page_382">[382]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Which waves in every raven tress,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Or softly lightens o'er her face;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where thoughts serenely sweet express,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>III.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> + +<span class="i0">And on that cheek, and o'er that brow,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The smiles that win, the tints that glow,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But tell of days in goodness spent,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A mind at peace with all below,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A heart whose love is innocent!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="attrib"><i>June</i> 12, 1814.</p> + + + +<h3>THE HARP THE MONARCH MINSTREL SWEPT.</h3> + +<h4>I.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2"><span class="smcap">The</span> Harp the Monarch Minstrel swept,<a name="FNanchor_le" id="FNanchor_le"></a><a href="#Footnote_le" class="fnanchor">[le]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i4">The King of men, the loved of Heaven!<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">Which Music hallowed while she wept<br /></span> +<span class="i4">O'er tones her heart of hearts had given—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Redoubled be her tears, its chords are riven!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">It softened men of iron mould,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">It gave them virtues not their own;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">No ear so dull, no soul so cold,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">That felt not—fired not to the tone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till David's Lyre grew mightier than his Throne!<br /></span> + +</div></div> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_383" id="Page_383">[383]</a></span></p> +<h4>II.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">It told the triumphs of our King,<a name="FNanchor_lf" id="FNanchor_lf"></a><a href="#Footnote_lf" class="fnanchor">[lf]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i4">It wafted glory to our God;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">It made our gladdened valleys ring,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The cedars bow, the mountains nod;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Its sound aspired to Heaven and there abode!<a name="FNanchor_288" id="FNanchor_288"></a><a href="#Footnote_288" class="fnanchor">[288]</a><br /></span> + +<span class="i2">Since then, though heard on earth no more,<a name="FNanchor_lg" id="FNanchor_lg"></a><a href="#Footnote_lg" class="fnanchor">[lg]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i4">Devotion and her daughter Love<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Still bid the bursting spirit soar<br /></span> +<span class="i4">To sounds that seem as from above,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In dreams that day's broad light can not remove.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<h3>IF THAT HIGH WORLD.</h3> + +<h4>I.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">If</span> that high world,<a name="FNanchor_289" id="FNanchor_289"></a><a href="#Footnote_289" class="fnanchor">[289]</a> which lies beyond<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Our own, surviving Love endears;<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_384" id="Page_384">[384]</a></span> +<span class="i0">If there the cherished heart be fond,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The eye the same, except in tears—<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">How welcome those untrodden spheres!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">How sweet this very hour to die!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To soar from earth and find all fears<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Lost in thy light—Eternity!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>II.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">It must be so: 'tis not for self<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">That we so tremble on the brink;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And striving to o'erleap the gulf,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Yet cling to Being's severing link.<a name="FNanchor_lh" id="FNanchor_lh"></a><a href="#Footnote_lh" class="fnanchor">[lh]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh! in that future let us think<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To hold each heart the heart that shares,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With them the immortal waters drink,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And soul in soul grow deathless theirs!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h3><a name="THE_WILD_GAZELLE" id="THE_WILD_GAZELLE"></a>THE WILD GAZELLE.</h3> + +<h4>I.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">The</span> wild gazelle on Judah's hills<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Exulting yet may bound,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And drink from all the living rills<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That gush on holy ground;<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Its airy step and glorious eye<a name="FNanchor_290" id="FNanchor_290"></a><a href="#Footnote_290" class="fnanchor">[290]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">May glance in tameless transport by:—<br /></span> +</div></div> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_385" id="Page_385">[385]</a></span></p> +<h4>II.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">A step as fleet, an eye more bright,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Hath Judah witnessed there;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And o'er her scenes of lost delight<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">Inhabitants more fair.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The cedars wave on Lebanon,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But Judah's statelier maids are gone!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>III.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">More blest each palm that shades those plains<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Than Israel's scattered race;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For, taking root, it there remains<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">In solitary grace:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It cannot quit its place of birth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It will not live in other earth.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>IV.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But we must wander witheringly,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In other lands to die;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And where our fathers' ashes be,<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">Our own may never lie:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Our temple hath not left a stone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Mockery sits on Salem's throne.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h3>OH! WEEP FOR THOSE.</h3> + +<h4>I.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Oh</span>! weep for those that wept by Babel's stream,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Whose shrines are desolate, whose land a dream;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Weep for the harp of Judah's broken shell;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Mourn—where their God hath dwelt the godless dwell!<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_386" id="Page_386">[386]</a></span></div></div> + +<h4>II.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And where shall Israel lave her bleeding feet?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And when shall Zion's songs again seem sweet?<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">And Judah's melody once more rejoice<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The hearts that leaped before its heavenly voice?<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>III.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Tribes of the wandering foot and weary breast,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How shall ye flee away and be at rest!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The wild-dove hath her nest, the fox his cave,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Mankind their country—Israel but the grave!<br /></span> + +</div></div> + + +<h3>ON JORDAN'S BANKS.</h3> + +<h4>I.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">On</span> Jordan's banks the Arab's camels stray,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On Sion's hill the False One's votaries pray,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Baal-adorer bows on Sinai's steep—<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Yet there—even there—Oh God! thy thunders sleep:<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>II.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">There—where thy finger scorched the tablet stone!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There—where thy shadow to thy people shone!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy glory shrouded in its garb of fire:<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Thyself—none living see and not expire!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>III.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Oh! in the lightning let thy glance appear;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sweep from his shivered hand the oppressor's spear!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How long by tyrants shall thy land be trod?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How long thy temple worshipless, Oh God?<br /></span> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_387" id="Page_387">[387]</a></span></div></div> + + +<h3><a name="JEPHTHAS_DAUGHTER291" id="JEPHTHAS_DAUGHTER291"></a>JEPHTHA'S DAUGHTER.<a name="FNanchor_291" id="FNanchor_291"></a><a href="#Footnote_291" class="fnanchor">[291]</a></h3> + +<h4>I.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Since</span> our Country, our God—Oh, my Sire!<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Demand that thy Daughter expire;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Since thy triumph was bought by thy vow—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Strike the bosom that's bared for thee now!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>II.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And the voice of my mourning is o'er,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the mountains behold me no more:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If the hand that I love lay me low,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">There cannot be pain in the blow!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>III.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And of this, oh, my Father! be sure—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That the blood of thy child is as pure<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As the blessing I beg ere it flow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the last thought that soothes me below.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>IV.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Though the virgins of Salem lament,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Be the judge and the hero unbent!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I have won the great battle for thee,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And my Father and Country are free!<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_388" id="Page_388">[388]</a></span></div></div> + +<h4>V.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">When this blood of thy giving hath gushed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When the voice that thou lovest is hushed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Let my memory still be thy pride,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And forget not I smiled as I died!<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<h3>OH! SNATCHED AWAY IN BEAUTY'S BLOOM.<a name="FNanchor_292" id="FNanchor_292"></a><a href="#Footnote_292" class="fnanchor">[292]</a></h3> + +<h4>I.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2"><span class="smcap">Oh</span>! snatched away in beauty's bloom,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">On thee shall press no ponderous tomb;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">But on thy turf shall roses rear<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Their leaves, the earliest of the year;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the wild cypress wave in tender gloom:<a name="FNanchor_li" id="FNanchor_li"></a><a href="#Footnote_li" class="fnanchor">[li]</a><br /></span> + +</div></div> + +<h4>II.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">And oft by yon blue gushing stream<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Shall Sorrow lean her drooping head,<a name="FNanchor_lj" id="FNanchor_lj"></a><a href="#Footnote_lj" class="fnanchor">[lj]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">And feed deep thought with many a dream,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And lingering pause and lightly tread;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fond wretch! as if her step disturbed the dead!<br /></span> + +</div></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_389" id="Page_389">[389]</a></span></p> + +<h4>III.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Away! we know that tears are vain,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That Death nor heeds nor hears distress:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Will this unteach us to complain?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Or make one mourner weep the less?<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">And thou—who tell'st me to forget,<a name="FNanchor_lk" id="FNanchor_lk"></a><a href="#Footnote_lk" class="fnanchor">[lk]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy looks are wan, thine eyes are wet.<a name="FNanchor_ll" id="FNanchor_ll"></a><a href="#Footnote_ll" class="fnanchor">[ll]</a><a name="FNanchor_293" id="FNanchor_293"></a><a href="#Footnote_293" class="fnanchor">[293]</a><br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="attrib">[Published in the <i>Examiner</i>, April 23, 1815.]</p> + + + +<h3>MY SOUL IS DARK.</h3> + +<h4>I.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">My</span> soul is dark—Oh! quickly string<a name="FNanchor_294" id="FNanchor_294"></a><a href="#Footnote_294" class="fnanchor">[294]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">The harp I yet can brook to hear;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And let thy gentle fingers fling<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">Its melting murmurs o'er mine ear.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If in this heart a hope be dear,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That sound shall charm it forth again:<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_390" id="Page_390">[390]</a></span> +<span class="i0">If in these eyes there lurk a tear,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">'Twill flow, and cease to burn my brain.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>II.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> + +<span class="i0">But bid the strain be wild and deep,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Nor let thy notes of joy be first:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I tell thee, minstrel, I must weep,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Or else this heavy heart will burst;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For it hath been by sorrow nursed,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And ached in sleepless silence long;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And now 'tis doomed to know the worst,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And break at once—or yield to song.<a name="FNanchor_295" id="FNanchor_295"></a><a href="#Footnote_295" class="fnanchor">[295]</a><br /></span> + +</div></div> + +<h3>I SAW THEE WEEP.</h3> + +<h4>I.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">I saw</span> thee weep—the big bright tear<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Came o'er that eye of blue;<a name="FNanchor_296" id="FNanchor_296"></a><a href="#Footnote_296" class="fnanchor">[296]</a><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">And then methought it did appear<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A violet dropping dew:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I saw thee smile—the sapphire's blaze<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Beside thee ceased to shine;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It could not match the living rays<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That filled that glance of thine.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_391" id="Page_391">[391]</a></span></p> + +<h4>II.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">As clouds from yonder sun receive<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A deep and mellow dye,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which scarce the shade of coming eve<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Can banish from the sky,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Those smiles unto the moodiest mind<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Their own pure joy impart;<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Their sunshine leaves a glow behind<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That lightens o'er the heart.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<h3>THY DAYS ARE DONE.</h3> + +<h4>I.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Thy</span> days are done, thy fame begun;<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">Thy country's strains record<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The triumphs of her chosen Son,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The slaughters of his sword!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The deeds he did, the fields he won,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The freedom he restored!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>II.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Though thou art fall'n, while we are free<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">Thou shall not taste of death!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The generous blood that flowed from thee<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Disdained to sink beneath:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Within our veins its currents be,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thy spirit on our breath!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>III.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Thy name, our charging hosts along,<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">Shall be the battle-word!<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_392" id="Page_392">[392]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Thy fall, the theme of choral song<br /></span> +<span class="i2">From virgin voices poured!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To weep would do thy glory wrong:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thou shalt not be deplored.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<h3>SAUL.</h3> + +<h4>I.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4"><span class="smcap">Thou</span> whose spell can raise the dead,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Bid the Prophet's form appear.<br /></span> +<span class="i4">"Samuel, raise thy buried head!<br /></span> +<span class="i6">King, behold the phantom Seer!"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Earth yawned; he stood the centre of a cloud:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Light changed its hue, retiring from his shroud.<a name="FNanchor_lm" id="FNanchor_lm"></a><a href="#Footnote_lm" class="fnanchor">[lm]</a><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Death stood all glassy in his fixéd eye;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His hand was withered, and his veins were dry;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His foot, in bony whiteness, glittered there,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shrunken and sinewless, and ghastly bare;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From lips that moved not and unbreathing frame,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like caverned winds, the hollow accents came.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Saul saw, and fell to earth, as falls the oak,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At once, and blasted by the thunder-stroke.<a name="FNanchor_ln" id="FNanchor_ln"></a><a href="#Footnote_ln" class="fnanchor">[ln]</a><br /></span> + +</div></div> + +<h4>II.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i6">"Why is my sleep disquieted?<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Who is he that calls the dead?<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Is it thou, O King? Behold,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Bloodless are these limbs, and cold:<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_393" id="Page_393">[393]</a></span><a name="FNanchor_lo" id="FNanchor_lo"></a><a href="#Footnote_lo" class="fnanchor">[lo]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i6">Such are mine; and such shall be<br /></span> + +<span class="i6">Thine to-morrow, when with me:<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Ere the coming day is done,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Such shalt thou be—such thy Son.<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Fare thee well, but for a day,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Then we mix our mouldering clay.<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Thou—thy race, lie pale and low,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Pierced by shafts of many a bow;<br /></span> +<span class="i6">And the falchion by thy side<br /></span> + +<span class="i6">To thy heart thy hand shall guide:<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Crownless—breathless—headless fall,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Son and Sire—the house of Saul!"<a name="FNanchor_297" id="FNanchor_297"></a><a href="#Footnote_297" class="fnanchor">[297]</a><br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="attrib">Seaham, <i>Feb.</i>, 1815.</p> + + +<h3>SONG OF SAUL BEFORE HIS LAST BATTLE.</h3> + +<h4>I.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Warriors</span> and chiefs! should the shaft or the sword<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pierce me in leading the host of the Lord,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Heed not the corse, though a King's, in your path:<a name="FNanchor_lp" id="FNanchor_lp"></a><a href="#Footnote_lp" class="fnanchor">[lp]</a><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Bury your steel in the bosoms of Gath!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>II.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Thou who art bearing my buckler and bow,<a name="FNanchor_lq" id="FNanchor_lq"></a><a href="#Footnote_lq" class="fnanchor">[lq]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Should the soldiers of Saul look away from the foe,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_394" id="Page_394">[394]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Stretch me that moment in blood at thy feet!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Mine be the doom which they dared not to meet.<br /></span> + +</div></div> + +<h4>III.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Farewell to others, but never we part,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Heir to my Royalty—Son of my heart!<a name="FNanchor_lr" id="FNanchor_lr"></a><a href="#Footnote_lr" class="fnanchor">[lr]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bright is the diadem, boundless the sway,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or kingly the death, which awaits us to-day!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="attrib">Seaham, 1815.</p> + + +<h3>"ALL IS VANITY, SAITH THE PREACHER."</h3> + +<h4>I.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4"><span class="smcap">Fame</span>, Wisdom, Love, and Power were mine,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">And Health and Youth possessed me;<br /></span> + +<span class="i4">My goblets blushed from every vine,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">And lovely forms caressed me;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">I sunned my heart in Beauty's eyes,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">And felt my soul grow tender;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">All Earth can give, or mortal prize,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Was mine of regal splendour.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>II.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4">I strive to number o'er what days<a name="FNanchor_ls" id="FNanchor_ls"></a><a href="#Footnote_ls" class="fnanchor">[ls]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i6">Remembrance can discover,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Which all that Life or Earth displays<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Would lure me to live over.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_395" id="Page_395">[395]</a></span> +<span class="i4">There rose no day, there rolled no hour<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Of pleasure unembittered;<a name="FNanchor_298" id="FNanchor_298"></a><a href="#Footnote_298" class="fnanchor">[298]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i4">And not a trapping decked my Power<br /></span> + +<span class="i6">That galled not while it glittered.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>III.<a name="FNanchor_lt" id="FNanchor_lt"></a><a href="#Footnote_lt" class="fnanchor">[lt]</a></h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4">The serpent of the field, by art<br /></span> +<span class="i6">And spells, is won from harming;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">But that which coils around the heart,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Oh! who hath power of charming?<br /></span> + +<span class="i4">It will not list to Wisdom's lore,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Nor Music's voice can lure it;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">But there it stings for evermore<br /></span> +<span class="i6">The soul that must endure it.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="attrib">Seaham, 1815.</p> + + +<h3>WHEN COLDNESS WRAPS THIS SUFFERING CLAY.</h3> + +<h4>I.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">When</span> coldness wraps this suffering clay,<a name="FNanchor_lu" id="FNanchor_lu"></a><a href="#Footnote_lu" class="fnanchor">[lu]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Ah! whither strays the immortal mind?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It cannot die, it cannot stay,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But leaves its darkened dust behind.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then, unembodied, doth it trace<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">By steps each planet's heavenly way?<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_396" id="Page_396">[396]</a></span><a name="FNanchor_lv" id="FNanchor_lv"></a><a href="#Footnote_lv" class="fnanchor">[lv]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or fill at once the realms of space,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A thing of eyes, that all survey?<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>II.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Eternal—boundless,—undecayed,<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">A thought unseen, but seeing all,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All, all in earth, or skies displayed,<a name="FNanchor_lw" id="FNanchor_lw"></a><a href="#Footnote_lw" class="fnanchor">[lw]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Shall it survey, shall it recall:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Each fainter trace that Memory holds<br /></span> +<span class="i2">So darkly of departed years,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In one broad glance the Soul beholds,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And all, that was, at once appears.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>III.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Before Creation peopled earth,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Its eye shall roll through chaos back;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And where the farthest heaven had birth,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The Spirit trace its rising track.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And where the future mars or makes,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Its glance dilate o'er all to be,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While Sun is quenched—or System breaks,<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">Fixed in its own Eternity.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>IV.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Above or Love—Hope—Hate—or Fear,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">It lives all passionless and pure:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An age shall fleet like earthly year;<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">Its years as moments shall endure.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Away—away—without a wing,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">O'er all—through all—its thought shall fly,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A nameless and eternal thing,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Forgetting what it was to die.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="attrib">Seaham, 1815.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_397" id="Page_397">[397]</a></span></p> + +<h3>VISION OF BELSHAZZAR.<a name="FNanchor_299" id="FNanchor_299"></a><a href="#Footnote_299" class="fnanchor">[299]</a></h3> + +<h4>I.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">The</span> King was on his throne,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The Satraps thronged the hall:<a name="FNanchor_lx" id="FNanchor_lx"></a><a href="#Footnote_lx" class="fnanchor">[lx]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">A thousand bright lamps shone<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">O'er that high festival.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A thousand cups of gold,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In Judah deemed divine—<a name="FNanchor_ly" id="FNanchor_ly"></a><a href="#Footnote_ly" class="fnanchor">[ly]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Jehovah's vessels hold<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The godless Heathen's wine!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>II.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> + +<span class="i0">In that same hour and hall,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The fingers of a hand<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Came forth against the wall,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And wrote as if on sand:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The fingers of a man;—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A solitary hand<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Along the letters ran,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And traced them like a wand.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>III.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The monarch saw, and shook,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And bade no more rejoice;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All bloodless waxed his look,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And tremulous his voice.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Let the men of lore appear,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The wisest of the earth,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_398" id="Page_398">[398]</a></span> + +<span class="i0">And expound the words of fear,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Which mar our royal mirth."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>IV.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Chaldea's seers are good,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But here they have no skill;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the unknown letters stood<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Untold and awful still.<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">And Babel's men of age<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Are wise and deep in lore;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But now they were not sage,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">They saw—but knew no more.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>V.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">A captive in the land,<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">A stranger and a youth,<a name="FNanchor_300" id="FNanchor_300"></a><a href="#Footnote_300" class="fnanchor">[300]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">He heard the King's command,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He saw that writing's truth.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The lamps around were bright,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The prophecy in view;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He read it on that night,—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The morrow proved it true.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>VI.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Belshazzar's grave is made,<a name="FNanchor_lz" id="FNanchor_lz"></a><a href="#Footnote_lz" class="fnanchor">[lz]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">His kingdom passed away.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He, in the balance weighed,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Is light and worthless clay;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The shroud, his robe of state,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">His canopy the stone;<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">The Mede is at his gate!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The Persian on his throne!"<br /></span> +</div></div> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_399" id="Page_399">[399]</a></span></p> + +<h3>SUN OF THE SLEEPLESS!</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Sun</span> of the sleepless! melancholy star!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whose tearful beam glows tremulously far,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">That show'st the darkness thou canst not dispel,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How like art thou to Joy remembered well!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So gleams the past, the light of other days,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which shines, but warms not with its powerless rays:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A night-beam Sorrow watcheth to behold,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Distinct, but distant—clear—but, oh how cold!<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<h3>WERE MY BOSOM AS FALSE AS THOU<br />DEEM'ST IT TO BE.</h3> + +<h4>I.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Were</span> my bosom as false as thou deem'st it to be,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I need not have wandered from far Galilee;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It was but abjuring my creed to efface<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The curse which, thou say'st, is the crime of my race.<br /></span> + +</div></div> + +<h4>II.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">If the bad never triumph, then God is with thee!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If the slave only sin—thou art spotless and free!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If the Exile on earth is an Outcast on high,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Live on in thy faith—but in mine I will die.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>III.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I have lost for that faith more than thou canst bestow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As the God who permits thee to prosper doth know;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In his hand is my heart and my hope—and in thine<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The land and the life which for him I resign.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="attrib">Seaham, 1815.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_400" id="Page_400">[400]</a></span></p> + +<h3>HEROD'S LAMENT FOR MARIAMNE.<a name="FNanchor_301" id="FNanchor_301"></a><a href="#Footnote_301" class="fnanchor">[301]</a></h3> + +<h4>I.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Oh</span>, Mariamne! now for thee<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The heart for which thou bled'st is bleeding;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Revenge is lost in Agony<a name="FNanchor_ma" id="FNanchor_ma"></a><a href="#Footnote_ma" class="fnanchor">[ma]</a><br /></span> + +<span class="i2">And wild Remorse to rage succeeding.<a name="FNanchor_mb" id="FNanchor_mb"></a><a href="#Footnote_mb" class="fnanchor">[mb]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh, Mariamne! where art thou?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thou canst not hear my bitter pleading:<a name="FNanchor_mc" id="FNanchor_mc"></a><a href="#Footnote_mc" class="fnanchor">[mc]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ah! could'st thou—thou would'st pardon now,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Though Heaven were to my prayer unheeding.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>II.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And is she dead?—and did they dare<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Obey my Frenzy's jealous raving?<a name="FNanchor_md" id="FNanchor_md"></a><a href="#Footnote_md" class="fnanchor">[md]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">My Wrath but doomed my own despair:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The sword that smote her 's o'er me waving.—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But thou art cold, my murdered Love!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And this dark heart is vainly craving<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_401" id="Page_401">[401]</a></span><a name="FNanchor_me" id="FNanchor_me"></a><a href="#Footnote_me" class="fnanchor">[me]</a><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">For he who soars alone above,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And leaves my soul unworthy saving.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>III.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">She's gone, who shared my diadem;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">She sunk, with her my joys entombing;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I swept that flower from Judah's stem,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Whose leaves for me alone were blooming;<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">And mine's the guilt, and mine the hell,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">This bosom's desolation dooming;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And I have earned those tortures well,<a name="FNanchor_mf" id="FNanchor_mf"></a><a href="#Footnote_mf" class="fnanchor">[mf]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Which unconsumed are still consuming!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="attrib"><i>Jan.</i> 15, 1815.</p> + + +<h3>ON THE DAY OF THE DESTRUCTION OF<br />JERUSALEM BY TITUS.</h3> + +<h4>I.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">From</span> the last hill that looks on thy once holy dome,<a name="FNanchor_mg" id="FNanchor_mg"></a><a href="#Footnote_mg" class="fnanchor">[mg]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">I beheld thee, oh Sion! when rendered to Rome:<a name="FNanchor_mh" id="FNanchor_mh"></a><a href="#Footnote_mh" class="fnanchor">[mh]</a><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">'Twas thy last sun went down, and the flames of thy fall<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Flashed back on the last glance I gave to thy wall.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>II.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I looked for thy temple—I looked for my home,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And forgot for a moment my bondage to come;<a name="FNanchor_mi" id="FNanchor_mi"></a><a href="#Footnote_mi" class="fnanchor">[mi]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">I beheld but the death-fire that fed on thy fane,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">And the fast-fettered hands that made vengeance in vain.<br /></span> +</div></div> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_402" id="Page_402">[402]</a></span></p> +<h4>III.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">On many an eve, the high spot whence I gazed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Had reflected the last beam of day as it blazed;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While I stood on the height, and beheld the decline<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the rays from the mountain that shone on thy shrine.<br /></span> + +</div></div> + +<h4>IV.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And now on that mountain I stood on that day,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But I marked not the twilight beam melting away;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh! would that the lightning had glared in its stead,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the thunderbolt burst on the Conqueror's head!<a name="FNanchor_mj" id="FNanchor_mj"></a><a href="#Footnote_mj" class="fnanchor">[mj]</a><br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>V.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But the Gods of the Pagan shall never profane<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The shrine where Jehovah disdained not to reign;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And scattered and scorned as thy people may be,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Our worship, oh Father! is only for thee.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="attrib">1815.</p> + + +<h3>BY THE RIVERS OF BABYLON WE SAT <br />DOWN AND WEPT.<a name="FNanchor_302" id="FNanchor_302"></a><a href="#Footnote_302" class="fnanchor">[302]</a></h3> + +<h4>I.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">We</span> sate down and wept by the waters<a name="FNanchor_303" id="FNanchor_303"></a><a href="#Footnote_303" class="fnanchor">[303]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of Babel, and thought of the day<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_403" id="Page_403">[403]</a></span> + +<span class="i0">When our foe, in the hue of his slaughters,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Made Salem's high places his prey;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Ye, oh her desolate daughters!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Were scattered all weeping away.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>II.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">While sadly we gazed on the river<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Which rolled on in freedom below,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">They demanded the song; but, oh never<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That triumph the Stranger shall know!<a name="FNanchor_mk" id="FNanchor_mk"></a><a href="#Footnote_mk" class="fnanchor">[mk]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">May this right hand be withered for ever,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Ere it string our high harp for the foe!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>III.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">On the willow that harp is suspended,<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">Oh Salem! its sound should be free;<a name="FNanchor_ml" id="FNanchor_ml"></a><a href="#Footnote_ml" class="fnanchor">[ml]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the hour when thy glories were ended<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But left me that token of thee:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And ne'er shall its soft tones be blended<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With the voice of the Spoiler by me!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="attrib"><i>Jan.</i> 15, 1813.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_404" id="Page_404">[404]</a></span></p> + + +<h3>"BY THE WATERS OF BABYLON."</h3> + +<h4>I.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">In</span> the valley of waters we wept on the day<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When the host of the Stranger made Salem his prey;<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">And our heads on our bosoms all droopingly lay,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And our hearts were so full of the land far away!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>II.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The song they demanded in vain—it lay still<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In our souls as the wind that hath died on the hill—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They called for the harp—but our blood they shall spill<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Ere our right hands shall teach them one tone of their skill.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>III.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">All stringlessly hung in the willow's sad tree,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As dead as her dead-leaf, those mute harps must be:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Our hands may be fettered—our tears still are free<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For our God—and our Glory—and Sion, Oh <i>Thee!</i><br /></span> + +</div></div> + +<p class="attrib">1815.</p> + + +<h3>THE DESTRUCTION OF SENNACHERIB.</h3> + +<h4>I.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">The</span> Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the sea,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>II.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Like the leaves of the forest when Summer is green,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That host with their banners at sunset were seen:<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_405" id="Page_405">[405]</a></span> + +<span class="i0">Like the leaves of the forest when Autumn hath blown,<a name="FNanchor_304" id="FNanchor_304"></a><a href="#Footnote_304" class="fnanchor">[304]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">That host on the morrow lay withered and strown.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>III.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">For the Angel of Death spread his wings on the blast,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And breathed in the face of the foe as he passed;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the eyes of the sleepers waxed deadly and chill,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">And their hearts but once heaved—and for ever grew still!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>IV.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And there lay the steed with his nostril all wide,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But through it there rolled not the breath of his pride;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the foam of his gasping lay white on the turf,<a name="FNanchor_mm" id="FNanchor_mm"></a><a href="#Footnote_mm" class="fnanchor">[mm]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And cold as the spray of the rock-beating surf.<a name="FNanchor_mn" id="FNanchor_mn"></a><a href="#Footnote_mn" class="fnanchor">[mn]</a><br /></span> + +</div></div> + +<h4>V.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And there lay the rider distorted and pale,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With the dew on his brow, and the rust on his mail:<a name="FNanchor_mo" id="FNanchor_mo"></a><a href="#Footnote_mo" class="fnanchor">[mo]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the tents were all silent—the banners alone—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The lances unlifted—the trumpet unblown.<br /></span> + +</div></div> + +<h4>VI.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And the widows of Ashur are loud in their wail,<a name="FNanchor_mp" id="FNanchor_mp"></a><a href="#Footnote_mp" class="fnanchor">[mp]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the idols are broke in the temple of Baal;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the might of the Gentile, unsmote by the sword,<a name="FNanchor_mq" id="FNanchor_mq"></a><a href="#Footnote_mq" class="fnanchor">[mq]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hath melted like snow in the glance of the Lord!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="attrib">Seaham, Feb. 17, 1815.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_406" id="Page_406">[406]</a></span></p> + +<h3>A SPIRIT PASSED BEFORE ME.</h3> +<h4>FROM JOB.</h4> + +<h4>I.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">A spirit</span> passed before me: I beheld<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">The face of Immortality unveiled—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Deep Sleep came down on every eye save mine—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And there it stood,—all formless—but divine:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Along my bones the creeping flesh did quake;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And as my damp hair stiffened, thus it spake:<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>II.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Is man more just than God? Is man more pure<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Than he who deems even Seraphs insecure?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Creatures of clay—vain dwellers in the dust!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The moth survives you, and are ye more just?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Things of a day! you wither ere the night,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Heedless and blind to Wisdom's wasted light!"<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_407" id="Page_407">[407]</a></span></div></div> + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_287" id="Footnote_287"></a><a href="#FNanchor_287"><span class="label">[287]</span></a> <a id="Note_381"></a>{381} +[In a manuscript note to a letter of Byron's, dated June 11, +1814, Wedderburn Webster writes, "I <i>did</i> 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 <i>tumbler of brandy</i>, +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."—<i>Letters</i>, 1899, iii. 92, note 1. +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +Nathan (<i>Fugitive Pieces</i>, 1829, pp. 2, 3) has a note to the effect +that Byron, while arranging the first edition of the <i>Melodies</i>, +used to ask for this song, +and would not unfrequently join in its execution.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_le" id="Footnote_le"></a><a href="#FNanchor_le"><span class="label">[le]</span></a> <a id="Note_382"></a>{382} +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>The Harp the Minstrel Monarch swept,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i2"><i>The first of men, the loved of Heaven,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Which Music cherished while she wept</i>.—[MS. M.]<br /></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_lf" id="Footnote_lf"></a><a href="#FNanchor_lf"><span class="label">[lf]</span></a> <a id="Note_383"></a>{383} <i>It told the Triumph</i>——.—[MS. M.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_288" id="Footnote_288"></a><a href="#FNanchor_288"><span class="label">[288]</span></a> ["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."—<i>Fugitive Pieces</i>, 1829, p. 33.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_lg" id="Footnote_lg"></a><a href="#FNanchor_lg"><span class="label">[lg]</span></a> + +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>It there abode, and there it rings</i>,<br /></span> +<span class="i2"><i>But ne'er on earth its sound shall be;</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>The prophets' race hath passed away;</i><br /></span> +<span class="i2"><i>And all the hallowed minstrelsy</i>—<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>From earth the sound and soul are fled</i>,<br /></span> +<span class="i2"><i>And shall we never hear again?</i>—[MS. M. erased.]<br /></span> + +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_289" id="Footnote_289"></a><a href="#FNanchor_289"><span class="label">[289]</span></a> [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." +</p><p> +Needless to add, "in a subsequent conversation," Byron repels +this charge, and delivers himself of some admirable if commonplace +sentiments on the "grand perhaps."-<i>Fugitive Pieces</i>, 1829, pp. 5, 6.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_lh" id="Footnote_lh"></a><a href="#FNanchor_lh"><span class="label">[lh]</span></a> <a id="Note_384"></a>{384} ——<i>breaking link</i>.—[Nathan, 1815, 1829.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_290" id="Footnote_290"></a><a href="#FNanchor_290"><span class="label">[290]</span></a> [Compare <i>To Ianthe</i>, stanza iv. lines 1, 2— +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Oh! let that eye, which, wild as the Gazelle's,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now brightly bold or beautifully shy."<br /></span> +</div></div> +<p> +Compare, too, <i>The Giaour</i>, lines 473, 474— + +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Her eye's dark charm 'twere vain to tell,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But gaze on that of the Gazelle."<br /></span> +</div></div> +<p class="attrib"><i>Poetical Works</i>, 1899, ii. 13; <i>et ante</i>, p. 108.] +</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_291" id="Footnote_291"></a><a href="#FNanchor_291"><span class="label">[291]</span></a> <a id="Note_387"></a>{387} [Nathan (<i>Fugitive Pieces</i>, 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!"]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_292" id="Footnote_292"></a><a href="#FNanchor_292"><span class="label">[292]</span></a> <a id="Note_388"></a>{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.'"—<i>Fugitive +Pieces</i>, 1829, p. 30. It has been surmised that the lines contain a +final reminiscence of the mysterious Thyrza.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_li" id="Footnote_li"></a><a href="#FNanchor_li"><span class="label">[li]</span></a> ——<i>in gentle gloom.</i>—[MS. M.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_lj" id="Footnote_lj"></a><a href="#FNanchor_lj"><span class="label">[lj]</span></a> + +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2"><i>Shall Sorrow on the waters gaze</i>,<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>And lost in deep remembrance dream</i>,<br /></span> +<span class="i2"><i>As if her footsteps could disturb the dead.</i>—[MS. M.]<br /></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_lk" id="Footnote_lk"></a><a href="#FNanchor_lk"><span class="label">[lk]</span></a> <a id="Note_389"></a>{389} <i>Even thou</i>——.—[MS. M.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_ll" id="Footnote_ll"></a><a href="#FNanchor_ll"><span class="label">[ll]</span></a> +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i14">IV.<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Nor need I write to tell the tale</i>,<br /></span> +<span class="i2"><i>My pen were doubly weak;</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Oh what can idle words avail</i>,<br /></span> +<span class="i2"><i>Unless my heart could speak?</i><br /></span> + +<span class="i14">V.<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>By day or night, in weal or woe</i>,<br /></span> +<span class="i2"><i>That heart no longer free</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Must bear the love it cannot show</i>,<br /></span> +<span class="i2"><i>And silent turn for thee</i>.—[MS. M.]<br /></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_293" id="Footnote_293"></a><a href="#FNanchor_293"><span class="label">[293]</span></a> [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!"—<i>Romantic Tales</i>, by M. G. +Lewis, 1808, i. 53.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_294" id="Footnote_294"></a><a href="#FNanchor_294"><span class="label">[294]</span></a> [Compare "My soul is dark."—Ossian, "Oina-Morul," +<i>The Works of Ossian</i>, 1765, ii. 279.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_295" id="Footnote_295"></a><a href="#FNanchor_295"><span class="label">[295]</span></a> <a id="Note_390"></a>{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 <i>Madman</i> 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."—<i>Fugitive Pieces</i>, 1829, p. 37.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_296" id="Footnote_296"></a><a href="#FNanchor_296"><span class="label">[296]</span></a> [Compare the first +<i>Sonnet to Genevra</i> +(addressed to Lady Frances Wedderburn Webster), +"Thine eye's blue tenderness."]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_lm" id="Footnote_lm"></a><a href="#FNanchor_lm"><span class="label">[lm]</span></a> <a id="Note_392"></a>{392} +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>He stands amidst an earthly cloud</i>,<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>And the mist mantled o'er his floating shroud</i>.—[MS. erased.]<br /></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_ln" id="Footnote_ln"></a><a href="#FNanchor_ln"><span class="label">[ln]</span></a> <i>At once and scorched beneath</i>——.—[MS. Copy (1, 2).]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_lo" id="Footnote_lo"></a><a href="#FNanchor_lo"><span class="label">[lo]</span></a> <i>Bloodless are these bones</i>——.—[MS.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_297" id="Footnote_297"></a><a href="#FNanchor_297"><span class="label">[297]</span></a> ["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."—<i>Conversations on Religion with Lord Byron</i>, +by James Kennedy, M.D., London, 1830, p. 154.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_lp" id="Footnote_lp"></a><a href="#FNanchor_lp"><span class="label">[lp]</span></a> <a id="Note_393"></a>{393} <i>Heed not the carcase that lies in your path</i>.—[MS. Copy (1).]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_lq" id="Footnote_lq"></a><a href="#FNanchor_lq"><span class="label">[lq]</span></a> +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">——<i>my shield and my bow</i>,<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Should the ranks of your king look away from the foe</i>.—[MS.]<br /></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_lr" id="Footnote_lr"></a><a href="#FNanchor_lr"><span class="label">[lr]</span></a> <a id="Note_394"></a>{394} + +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>Heir to my monarchy</i>——.—[MS.]<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Note to <i>Heir</i>—Jonathan.—[Copy.]<br /></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_ls" id="Footnote_ls"></a><a href="#FNanchor_ls"><span class="label">[ls]</span></a> +</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>My father was the shepherd's son</i>,<br /></span> +<span class="i2"><i>Ah were my lot as lowly</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>My earthly course had softly run</i>.—[MS.]<br /></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_298" id="Footnote_298"></a><a href="#FNanchor_298"><span class="label">[298]</span></a> <a id="Note_395"></a>{395} [Compare <i>Childe Harold</i>, +Canto I. stanza lxxxii. lines 8, 9— + +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">"Full from the fount of Joy's delicious springs<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Some bitter o'er the flowers its bubbling venom flings."<br /></span> +</div></div> +<p class="attrib"><i>Poetical Works</i>, 1899, ii. 73, and note 16, p. 93.] +</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_lt" id="Footnote_lt"></a><a href="#FNanchor_lt"><span class="label">[lt]</span></a> +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>Ah! what hath been but what shall be</i>,<br /></span> + +<span class="i2"><i>The same dull scene renewing?</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>And all our fathers were are we</i><br /></span> +<span class="i2"><i>In erring and undoing</i>.—[MS.]<br /></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_lu" id="Footnote_lu"></a><a href="#FNanchor_lu"><span class="label">[lu]</span></a> <i>When this corroding clay is gone</i>.—[MS. erased.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_lv" id="Footnote_lv"></a><a href="#FNanchor_lv"><span class="label">[lv]</span></a> <i>The stars in their eternal way</i>.—[MS. L. erased.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_lw" id="Footnote_lw"></a><a href="#FNanchor_lw"><span class="label">[lw]</span></a> <a id="Note_396"></a>{396} <i>A conscious light that can pervade</i>.—[MS. erased.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_299" id="Footnote_299"></a><a href="#FNanchor_299"><span class="label">[299]</span></a> <a id="Note_397"></a>{397} [Compare the lines entitled "Belshazzar" +(<i>vide post</i>, <a href="#Page_421">p. 421</a>), +and <i>Don Juan</i>, Canto III. stanza lxv.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_lx" id="Footnote_lx"></a><a href="#FNanchor_lx"><span class="label">[lx]</span></a> ——<i>in the hall</i>.—[Copy.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_ly" id="Footnote_ly"></a><a href="#FNanchor_ly"><span class="label">[ly]</span></a> <i>In Israel</i>——.—[Copy.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_300" id="Footnote_300"></a><a href="#FNanchor_300"><span class="label">[300]</span></a> <a id="Note_398"></a>{398} [It was not in his youth, +but in extreme old age, that Daniel +interpreted the "writing on the wall."]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_lz" id="Footnote_lz"></a><a href="#FNanchor_lz"><span class="label">[lz]</span></a> <i>Oh king thy grave</i>——.—[Copy erased.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_301" id="Footnote_301"></a><a href="#FNanchor_301"><span class="label">[301]</span></a> <a id="Note_400"></a>{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 <i>History of the Jews</i>, by H. H. Milman, +1878, pp. 236, 237. See, too, Voltaire's drama, +<i>Mariamne</i>, <i>passim</i>. + +</p><p> +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 <i>dull</i> lines—meaning <i>plaintive</i>." +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 <i>dull</i> +enough.'"—<i>Fugitive Pieces</i>, 1829, p. 51.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_ma" id="Footnote_ma"></a><a href="#FNanchor_ma"><span class="label">[ma]</span></a> + +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>And what was rage is agony</i>.—[MS. erased.]<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Revenge is turned</i>——.—[MS.]<br /></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_mb" id="Footnote_mb"></a><a href="#FNanchor_mb"><span class="label">[mb]</span></a> <i>And deep Remorse</i>——.—[MS.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_mc" id="Footnote_mc"></a><a href="#FNanchor_mc"><span class="label">[mc]</span></a> <i>And what am I thy tyrant pleading</i>.—[MS. erased.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_md" id="Footnote_md"></a><a href="#FNanchor_md"><span class="label">[md]</span></a> +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>Thou art not dead—they could not dare</i><br /></span> +<span class="i2"><i>Obey my jealous Frenzy's raving</i>.—[MS.]<br /></span> + +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_me" id="Footnote_me"></a><a href="#FNanchor_me"><span class="label">[me]</span></a> <i>But yet in death my soul enslaving</i>.—[MS. erased.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_mf" id="Footnote_mf"></a><a href="#FNanchor_mf"><span class="label">[mf]</span></a> <a id="Note_401"></a>{401} <i>Oh I have earned</i>——.—[MS.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_mg" id="Footnote_mg"></a><a href="#FNanchor_mg"><span class="label">[mg]</span></a> ——<i>that looks o'er thy once holy dome</i>.—[MS.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_mh" id="Footnote_mh"></a><a href="#FNanchor_mh"><span class="label">[mh]</span></a> +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">——<i>o'er thy once holy wall</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>I beheld thee O Sion the day of thy fall</i>.—[MS. erased.]<br /></span> + +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_mi" id="Footnote_mi"></a><a href="#FNanchor_mi"><span class="label">[mi]</span></a> <i>And forgot in their ruin</i>——.—[MS. erased.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_mj" id="Footnote_mj"></a><a href="#FNanchor_mj"><span class="label">[mj]</span></a> <a id="Note_402"></a>{402} +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>And the red bolt</i>——.—[MS. erased.]<br /></span> + +<span class="i0"><i>And the thunderbolt crashed</i>——.—[MS.]<br /></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_302" id="Footnote_302"></a><a href="#FNanchor_302"><span class="label">[302]</span></a> [The following note, in Byron's handwriting, +is prefixed to the copy in Lady Byron's handwriting:— +</p> +<blockquote> +<p>"Dear Kinnaird,—Take only <i>one</i> of these marked 1 and 2 +[i.e. 'By the Rivers,' etc.; and 'By the waters,' <i>vide</i> <a href="#Page_404">p. 404</a>], +as both are but different versions of the <i>same thought</i>—leave the +choice to any important person you like.<br /> + +<span style="margin-left:20em;">Yours,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left:23em;">B."]</span> +</p> +</blockquote> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_303" id="Footnote_303"></a><a href="#FNanchor_303"><span class="label">[303]</span></a> [Landor, in his "Dialogue between Southey and Porson" +(<i>Works</i>, 1846, i. 69), attempted to throw ridicule on the opening +lines of this "Melody." +</p> +<p>"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—</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> + +<span class="i0">'We sat down and wept by the waters<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of Camus, and thought of the day<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When damsels would show their red garters<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In their hurry to scamper away.'"]<br /></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_mk" id="Footnote_mk"></a><a href="#FNanchor_mk"><span class="label">[mk]</span></a> <a id="Note_403"></a>{403} +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>Our mute harps were hung on the willow</i><br /></span> + +<span class="i2"><i>That grew by the stream of our foe</i>,<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>And in sadness we gazed on each billow</i><br /></span> +<span class="i2"><i>That rolled on in freedom below</i>.—[MS, erased.]<br /></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_ml" id="Footnote_ml"></a><a href="#FNanchor_ml"><span class="label">[ml]</span></a> +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>On the willow that harp still hangs mutely</i><br /></span> + +<span class="i2"><i>Oh Salem its sound was for thee</i>.—[MS. erased.]<br /></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"> +<p><a name="Footnote_304" id="Footnote_304"></a><a href="#FNanchor_304"> +<span class="label">[304]</span></a> <a id="Note_405"></a>{405} +[Compare—"As leaves in autumn, so the bodies fell." +<i>The Barons' Wars</i>, by Michael Drayton, Bk. II. stanza lvii.; +Anderson's <i>British Poets</i>, iii. 38.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_mm" id="Footnote_mm"></a><a href="#FNanchor_mm"><span class="label">[mm]</span></a> <i>And the foam of his bridle lay cold on the earth</i>.—[MS.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_mn" id="Footnote_mn"></a><a href="#FNanchor_mn"><span class="label">[mn]</span></a> ——<i>of the cliff-beating surf</i>.—[MS.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_mo" id="Footnote_mo"></a><a href="#FNanchor_mo"><span class="label">[mo]</span></a> <i>With the crow on his breast</i>——.—[MS.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_mp" id="Footnote_mp"></a><a href="#FNanchor_mp"><span class="label">[mp]</span></a> <i>And the widows of Babel</i>——.—[MS. erased.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_mq" id="Footnote_mq"></a><a href="#FNanchor_mq"><span class="label">[mq]</span></a> <i>And the voices of Israel are joyous and high</i>.—[MS. erased.]</p></div> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;margin-bottom:2cm;" /> + +<div class="titlepage"> + + <h2>POEMS 1814-1816.</h2> +</div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;margin-top:2cm;" /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_409" id="Page_409">[409]</a></span></p> + +<h2><a name="POEMS_1814-1816" id="POEMS_1814-1816"></a> +POEMS 1814-1816. +<br /><span class="center"><img src="images/decoration.png" alt="swash" /></span> + +</h2> + + +<h3>FAREWELL! IF EVER FONDEST PRAYER.</h3> + +<h4>1.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Farewell</span>! if ever fondest prayer<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For other's weal availed on high,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Mine will not all be lost in air,<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">But waft thy name beyond the sky.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Twere vain to speak—to weep—to sigh:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Oh! more than tears of blood can tell,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When wrung from Guilt's expiring eye,<a name="FNanchor_305" id="FNanchor_305"></a><a href="#Footnote_305" class="fnanchor">[305]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Are in that word—Farewell!—Farewell!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>2.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">These lips are mute, these eyes are dry;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But in my breast and in my brain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Awake the pangs that pass not by,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The thought that ne'er shall sleep again.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My soul nor deigns nor dares complain,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Though Grief and Passion there rebel:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I only know we loved in vain—<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">I only feel—Farewell!—Farewell!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="attrib">[First published, <i>Corsair</i>, Second Edition, 1814.]</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_410" id="Page_410">[410]</a></span></p> + + +<h3>WHEN WE TWO PARTED.</h3> + +<h4>1.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">When</span> we two parted<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In silence and tears,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Half broken-hearted<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To sever for years,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pale grew thy cheek and cold,<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">Colder thy kiss;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Truly that hour foretold<a name="FNanchor_mr" id="FNanchor_mr"></a><a href="#Footnote_mr" class="fnanchor">[mr]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Sorrow to this.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>2.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The dew of the morning<a name="FNanchor_ms" id="FNanchor_ms"></a><a href="#Footnote_ms" class="fnanchor">[ms]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Sunk chill on my brow—<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">It felt like the warning<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of what I feel now.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy vows are all broken,<a name="FNanchor_mt" id="FNanchor_mt"></a><a href="#Footnote_mt" class="fnanchor">[mt]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">And light is thy fame:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I hear thy name spoken,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And share in its shame.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>3.<a name="FNanchor_mu" id="FNanchor_mu"></a><a href="#Footnote_mu" class="fnanchor">[mu]</a></h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">They name thee before me,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A knell to mine ear;<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_411" id="Page_411">[411]</a></span> +<span class="i0">A shudder comes o'er me—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Why wert thou so dear?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They know not I knew thee,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Who knew thee too well:—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Long, long shall I rue thee,<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">Too deeply to tell.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>4.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">In secret we met—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In silence I grieve.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That thy heart could forget,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thy spirit deceive.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If I should meet thee<a name="FNanchor_mv" id="FNanchor_mv"></a><a href="#Footnote_mv" class="fnanchor">[mv]</a><br /></span> + +<span class="i2">After long years,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How should I greet thee?—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With silence and tears.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="attrib">[First published, <i>Poems</i>, 1816.]</p> + + + +<h3>[LOVE AND GOLD.<a name="FNanchor_306" id="FNanchor_306"></a><a href="#Footnote_306" class="fnanchor">[306]</a>]</h3> + +<h4>1.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">I cannot</span> talk of Love to thee,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Though thou art young and free and fair!<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_412" id="Page_412">[412]</a></span> +<span class="i0">There is a spell thou dost not see,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That bids a genuine love despair.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>2.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And yet that spell invites each youth,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For thee to sigh, or seem to sigh;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Makes falsehood wear the garb of truth,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And Truth itself appear a lie.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>3.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">If ever Doubt a place possest<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In woman's heart, 'twere wise in thine:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Admit not Love into thy breast,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Doubt others' love, nor trust in mine.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>4.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Perchance 'tis feigned, perchance sincere,<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">But false or true thou canst not tell;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So much hast thou from all to fear,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In that unconquerable spell.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>5.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Of all the herd that throng around,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thy simpering or thy sighing train,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Come tell me who to thee is bound<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">By Love's or Plutus' heavier chain.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>6.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">In some 'tis Nature, some 'tis Art<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That bids them worship at thy shrine;<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_413" id="Page_413">[413]</a></span> +<span class="i0">But thou deserv'st a better heart,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Than they or I can give for thine.<br /></span> + +</div></div> + +<h4>7.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">For thee, and such as thee, behold,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Is Fortune painted truly—blind!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who doomed thee to be bought or sold,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Has proved too bounteous to be kind.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>8.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Each day some tempter's crafty suit<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Would woo thee to a loveless bed:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I see thee to the altar's foot<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A decorated victim led.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>9.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Adieu, dear maid! I must not speak<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Whate'er my secret thoughts may be;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though thou art all that man can reck<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I dare not talk of Love to <i>thee</i>.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<h3>STANZAS FOR MUSIC.<a name="FNanchor_307" id="FNanchor_307"></a><a href="#Footnote_307" class="fnanchor">[307]</a></h3> + +<h4>1.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">I speak</span> not, I trace not, I breathe not thy name,<a name="FNanchor_mw" id="FNanchor_mw"></a><a href="#Footnote_mw" class="fnanchor">[mw]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">There is grief in the sound, there is guilt in the fame:<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_414" id="Page_414">[414]</a></span> +<span class="i0">But the tear which now burns on my cheek may impart<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The deep thoughts that dwell in that silence of heart.<br /></span> + +</div></div> + +<h4>2.<a name="FNanchor_mx" id="FNanchor_mx"></a><a href="#Footnote_mx" class="fnanchor">[mx]</a></h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Too brief for our passion, too long for our peace,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Were those hours—can their joy or their bitterness cease?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We repent, we abjure, we will break from our chain,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We will part, we will fly to—unite it again!<br /></span> + +</div></div> + +<h4>3.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Oh! thine be the gladness, and mine be the guilt!<a name="FNanchor_my" id="FNanchor_my"></a><a href="#Footnote_my" class="fnanchor">[my]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Forgive me, adored one!—forsake, if thou wilt;—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But the heart which is thine shall expire undebased<a name="FNanchor_mz" id="FNanchor_mz"></a><a href="#Footnote_mz" class="fnanchor">[mz]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And <i>man</i> shall not break it—whatever <i>thou</i> mayst.<a name="FNanchor_na" id="FNanchor_na"></a><a href="#Footnote_na" class="fnanchor">[na]</a><br /></span> + +</div></div> + +<h4>4.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And stern to the haughty, but humble to thee,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This soul, in its bitterest blackness, shall be:<a name="FNanchor_nb" id="FNanchor_nb"></a><a href="#Footnote_nb" class="fnanchor">[nb]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And our days seem as swift, and our moments more sweet,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With thee by my side, than with worlds at our feet.<br /></span> +</div></div> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_415" id="Page_415">[415]</a></span></p> + +<h4>5.<a name="FNanchor_nc" id="FNanchor_nc"></a><a href="#Footnote_nc" class="fnanchor">[nc]</a></h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">One sigh of thy sorrow, one look of thy love,<a name="FNanchor_nd" id="FNanchor_nd"></a><a href="#Footnote_nd" class="fnanchor">[nd]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shall turn me or fix, shall reward or reprove;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the heartless may wonder at all I resign—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy lip shall reply, not to them, but to <i>mine</i>.<br /></span> + +</div></div> + +<p class="attrib"><i>May</i> 4, 1814.</p> + +<p class="attrib">[First published, <i>Letters and Journals</i>, 1830, i. 554.]</p> + + +<h3>ADDRESS INTENDED TO BE RECITED AT <br />THE CALEDONIAN MEETING.<a name="FNanchor_308" id="FNanchor_308"></a><a href="#Footnote_308" class="fnanchor">[308]</a></h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Who</span> hath not glowed above the page where Fame<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hath fixed high Caledon's unconquered name;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The mountain-land which spurned the Roman chain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And baffled back the fiery-crested Dane,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whose bright claymore and hardihood of hand<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No foe could tame—no tyrant could command?<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">That race is gone—but still their children breathe,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Glory crowns them with redoubled wreath:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O'er Gael and Saxon mingling banners shine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, England! add their stubborn strength to thine.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_416" id="Page_416">[416]</a></span> +<span class="i0">The blood which flowed with Wallace flows as free,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But now 'tis only shed for Fame and thee!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh! pass not by the northern veteran's claim,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But give support—the world hath given him fame!<br /></span> + +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The humbler ranks, the lowly brave, who bled<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While cheerly following where the Mighty led—<a name="FNanchor_309" id="FNanchor_309"></a><a href="#Footnote_309" class="fnanchor">[309]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who sleep beneath the undistinguished sod<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where happier comrades in their triumph trod,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To us bequeath—'tis all their fate allows—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sireless offspring and the lonely spouse:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She on high Albyn's dusky hills may raise<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">The tearful eye in melancholy gaze,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or view, while shadowy auguries disclose<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Highland Seer's anticipated woes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The bleeding phantom of each martial form<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dim in the cloud, or darkling in the storm;<a name="FNanchor_310" id="FNanchor_310"></a><a href="#Footnote_310" class="fnanchor">[310]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">While sad, she chaunts the solitary song,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The soft lament for him who tarries long—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For him, whose distant relics vainly crave<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">The Coronach's wild requiem to the brave!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'Tis Heaven—not man—must charm away the woe,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which bursts when Nature's feelings newly flow;<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_417" id="Page_417">[417]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Yet Tenderness and Time may rob the tear<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of half its bitterness for one so dear;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A Nation's gratitude perchance may spread<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A thornless pillow for the widowed head;<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">May lighten well her heart's maternal care,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And wean from Penury the soldier's heir;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or deem to living war-worn Valour just<a name="FNanchor_311" id="FNanchor_311"></a><a href="#Footnote_311" class="fnanchor">[311]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Each wounded remnant—Albion's cherished trust—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Warm his decline with those endearing rays,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whose bounteous sunshine yet may gild his days—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So shall that Country—while he sinks to rest—<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">His hand hath fought for—by his heart be blest!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="attrib"><i>May</i>, 1814.</p> + +<p class="attrib">[First published, <i>Letters and Journals</i>, 1830, i. 559.]</p> + + +<h3>ELEGIAC STANZAS ON THE DEATH OF <br />SIR PETER PARKER, BART.<a name="FNanchor_312" id="FNanchor_312"></a><a href="#Footnote_312" class="fnanchor">[312]</a></h3> + + +<h4>I.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">There</span> is a tear for all that die,<a name="FNanchor_313" id="FNanchor_313"></a><a href="#Footnote_313" class="fnanchor">[313]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">A mourner o'er the humblest grave;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But nations swell the funeral cry,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And Triumph weeps above the brave.<br /></span> + +</div></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_418" id="Page_418">[418]</a></span></p> +<h4>2.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">For them is Sorrow's purest sigh<br /></span> +<span class="i2">O'er Ocean's heaving bosom sent:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In vain their bones unburied lie,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">All earth becomes their monument!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>3.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">A tomb is theirs on every page,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">An epitaph on every tongue:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The present hours, the future age,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For them bewail, to them belong.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>4.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">For them the voice of festal mirth<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Grows hushed, <i>their name</i> the only sound;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While deep Remembrance pours to Worth<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The goblet's tributary round.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>5.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">A theme to crowds that knew them not,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Lamented by admiring foes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who would not share their glorious lot?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Who would not die the death they chose?<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>6.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And, gallant Parker! thus enshrined<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">Thy life, thy fall, thy fame shall be;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And early valour, glowing, find<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A model in thy memory.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>7.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But there are breasts that bleed with thee<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In woe, that glory cannot quell;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And shuddering hear of victory,<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">Where one so dear, so dauntless, fell.<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_419" id="Page_419">[419]</a></span></div></div> + +<h4>8.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Where shall they turn to mourn thee less?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When cease to hear thy cherished name?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Time cannot teach forgetfulness,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">While Grief's full heart is fed by Fame.<br /></span> + +</div></div> + +<h4>9.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Alas! for them, though not for thee,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">They cannot choose but weep the more;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Deep for the dead the grief must be,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Who ne'er gave cause to mourn before.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="attrib"><i>October</i> 7, 1814.</p> + +<p class="attrib">[First published, <i>Morning Chronicle</i>, October 7, 1814.]</p> + + +<h3>JULIAN [A FRAGMENT].<a name="FNanchor_314" id="FNanchor_314"></a><a href="#Footnote_314" class="fnanchor">[314]</a></h3> + +<h4>1.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">The</span> Night came on the Waters—all was rest<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">On Earth—but Rage on Ocean's troubled Heart.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Waves arose and rolled beneath the blast;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Sailors gazed upon their shivered Mast.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In that dark Hour a long loud gathered cry<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From out the billows pierced the sable sky,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And borne o'er breakers reached the craggy shore—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Sea roars on—that Cry is heard no more.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>2.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">There is no vestige, in the Dawning light,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of those that shrieked thro' shadows of the Night.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Bark—the Crew—the very Wreck is gone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Marred—mutilated—traceless—all save one.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_420" id="Page_420">[420]</a></span> + +<span class="i0">In him there still is Life, the Wave that dashed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On shore the plank to which his form was lashed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Returned unheeding of its helpless Prey—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The lone survivor of that Yesterday—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The one of Many whom the withering Gale<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hath left unpunished to record their Tale.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But who shall hear it? on that barren Sand<br /></span> +<span class="i0">None comes to stretch the hospitable hand.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That shore reveals no print of human foot,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Nor e'en the pawing of the wilder Brute;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And niggard vegetation will not smile,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All sunless on that solitary Isle.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>3.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The naked Stranger rose, and wrung his hair,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And that first moment passed in silent prayer.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Alas! the sound—he sunk into Despair—<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">He was on Earth—but what was Earth to him,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Houseless and homeless—bare both breast and limb?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Cut off from all but Memory he curst<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His fate—his folly—but himself the worst.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What was his hope? he looked upon the Wave—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Despite—of all—it still may be his Grave!<br /></span> + +</div></div> + +<h4>4.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He rose and with a feeble effort shaped<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His course unto the billows—late escaped:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But weakness conquered—swam his dizzy glance,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And down to Earth he sunk in silent trance.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How long his senses bore its chilling chain,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">He knew not—but, recalled to Life again,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A stranger stood beside his shivering form—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And what was he? had he too scaped the storm?<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_421" id="Page_421">[421]</a></span></div></div> + +<h4>5.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He raised young Julian. "Is thy Cup so full<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of bitterness—thy Hope—thy heart so dull<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">That thou shouldst from Thee dash the Draught of Life,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So late escaped the elemental strife!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rise—tho' these shores few aids to Life supply,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Look upon me, and know thou shalt not die.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thou gazest in mute wonder—more may be<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy marvel when thou knowest mine and me.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But come—The bark that bears us hence shall find<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Her Haven, soon, despite the warning Wind."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>6.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He raised young Julian from the sand, and such<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Strange power of healing dwelt within the touch,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That his weak limbs grew light with freshened Power,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As he had slept not fainted in that hour,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And woke from Slumber—as the Birds awake,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Recalled at morning from the branchéd brake,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When the day's promise heralds early Spring,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Heaven unfolded woos their soaring wing:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So Julian felt, and gazed upon his Guide,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With honest Wonder what might next betide.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="attrib">Dec. 12, 1814.</p> + + +<h3>TO BELSHAZZAR.</h3> + +<h4>1.<a name="FNanchor_ne" id="FNanchor_ne"></a><a href="#Footnote_ne" class="fnanchor">[ne]</a></h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Belshazzar</span>! from the banquet turn,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Nor in thy sensual fulness fall;<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_422" id="Page_422">[422]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Behold! while yet before thee burn<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The graven words, the glowing wall,<a name="FNanchor_nf" id="FNanchor_nf"></a><a href="#Footnote_nf" class="fnanchor">[nf]</a><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Many a despot men miscall<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Crowned and anointed from on high;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But thou, the weakest, worst of all—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Is it not written, thou must die?<a name="FNanchor_ng" id="FNanchor_ng"></a><a href="#Footnote_ng" class="fnanchor">[ng]</a><br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>2.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Go! dash the roses from thy brow—<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">Grey hairs but poorly wreathe with them;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Youth's garlands misbecome thee now,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">More than thy very diadem,<a name="FNanchor_nh" id="FNanchor_nh"></a><a href="#Footnote_nh" class="fnanchor">[nh]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where thou hast tarnished every gem:—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Then throw the worthless bauble by,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which, worn by thee, ev'n slaves contemn;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And learn like better men to die!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>3.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Oh! early in the balance weighed,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And ever light of word and worth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whose soul expired ere youth decayed,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And left thee but a mass of earth.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_423" id="Page_423">[423]</a></span> +<span class="i0">To see thee moves the scorner's mirth:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But tears in Hope's averted eye<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Lament that even thou hadst birth—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Unfit to govern, live, or die.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="attrib"><i>February</i> 12, 1815.</p> + +<p class="attrib">[First published, 1831.]</p> + + + +<h3>STANZAS FOR MUSIC.<a name="FNanchor_315" id="FNanchor_315"></a><a href="#Footnote_315" class="fnanchor">[315]</a></h3> + +<blockquote> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"O Lachrymarum fons, tenero sacros<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Ducentium ortus ex animo: quater<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Felix! in imo qui scatentem<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Pectore te, pia Nympha, sensit."<br /></span> +</div></div> +<p class="attrib"><span class="smcap">Gray's</span> <i>Poemata</i>.</p> + +<p class="attrib">[Motto to "The Tear," <i>Poetical Works</i>, 1898, i. 49.]</p> +</blockquote> + + +<h4>1.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">There's</span> not a joy the world can give like that it takes away,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When the glow of early thought declines in Feeling's dull decay;<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">'Tis not on Youth's smooth cheek the blush alone, which fades so fast,<a name="FNanchor_ni" id="FNanchor_ni"></a><a href="#Footnote_ni" class="fnanchor">[ni]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">But the tender bloom of heart is gone, ere Youth itself be past.<br /></span> +</div></div> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_424" id="Page_424">[424]</a></span></p> +<h4>2.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Then the few whose spirits float above the wreck of happiness<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Are driven o'er the shoals of guilt or ocean of excess:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The magnet of their course is gone, or only points in vain<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">The shore to which their shivered sail shall never stretch again.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>3.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Then the mortal coldness of the soul like Death itself comes down;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It cannot feel for others' woes, it dare not dream its own;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That heavy chill has frozen o'er the fountain of our tears,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And though the eye may sparkle still, 'tis where the ice appears.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>4.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Though wit may flash from fluent lips, and mirth distract the breast,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through midnight hours that yield no more their former hope of rest;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Tis but as ivy-leaves around the ruined turret wreath<a name="FNanchor_nj" id="FNanchor_nj"></a><a href="#Footnote_nj" class="fnanchor">[nj]</a><a name="FNanchor_316" id="FNanchor_316"></a><a href="#Footnote_316" class="fnanchor">[316]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">All green and wildly fresh without, but worn and grey beneath.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_425" id="Page_425">[425]</a></span></p> + +<h4>5.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Oh, could I feel as I have felt,—or be what I have been,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or weep as I could once have wept, o'er many a vanished scene;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As springs in deserts found seem sweet, all brackish though they be,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So, midst the withered waste of life, those tears would flow to me.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="attrib"><i>March, 1815.</i></p> + +<p class="attrib">[First published, <i>Poems, 1816.</i>]</p> + + +<h3>ON THE DEATH OF THE DUKE OF DORSET.<a name="FNanchor_317" id="FNanchor_317"></a><a href="#Footnote_317" class="fnanchor">[317]</a></h3> + +<h4>1.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">I heard</span> thy fate without a tear,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thy loss with scarce a sigh;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And yet thou wast surpassing dear,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Too loved of all to die.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I know not what hath seared my eye—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Its tears refuse to start;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But every drop, it bids me dry,<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">Falls dreary on my heart.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>2.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Yes, dull and heavy, one by one,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">They sink and turn to care,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_426" id="Page_426">[426]</a></span> +<span class="i0">As caverned waters wear the stone,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Yet dropping harden there:<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">They cannot petrify more fast,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Than feelings sunk remain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which coldly fixed regard the past,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But never melt again.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="attrib">[1815.]</p> + + +<h3>STANZAS FOR MUSIC.</h3> + +<h4>1.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Bright</span> be the place of thy soul!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">No lovelier spirit than thine<br /></span> +<span class="i0">E'er burst from its mortal control,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In the orbs of the blessed to shine.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On earth thou wert all but divine,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As thy soul shall immortally be;<a name="FNanchor_nk" id="FNanchor_nk"></a><a href="#Footnote_nk" class="fnanchor">[nk]</a><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">And our sorrow may cease to repine<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When we know that thy God is with thee.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>2.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Light be the turf of thy tomb!<a name="FNanchor_nl" id="FNanchor_nl"></a><a href="#Footnote_nl" class="fnanchor">[nl]</a><a name="FNanchor_318" id="FNanchor_318"></a><a href="#Footnote_318" class="fnanchor">[318]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">May its verdure like emeralds be!<a name="FNanchor_nm" id="FNanchor_nm"></a><a href="#Footnote_nm" class="fnanchor">[nm]</a><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">There should not be the shadow of gloom<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In aught that reminds us of thee.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_427" id="Page_427">[427]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Young flowers and an evergreen tree<a name="FNanchor_nn" id="FNanchor_nn"></a><a href="#Footnote_nn" class="fnanchor">[nn]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">May spring from the spot of thy rest:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But nor cypress nor yew let us see;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For why should we mourn for the blest?<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="attrib">[First published, <i>Examiner</i>, June 4, 1815.]</p> + + +<h3>NAPOLEON'S FAREWELL.<a name="FNanchor_319" id="FNanchor_319"></a><a href="#Footnote_319" class="fnanchor">[319]</a></h3> + +<h4>[FROM THE FRENCH.]</h4> + +<h4>1.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Farewell</span> to the Land, where the gloom of my Glory<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Arose and o'ershadowed the earth with her name—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She abandons me now—but the page of her story,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The brightest or blackest, is filled with my fame.<a name="FNanchor_no" id="FNanchor_no"></a><a href="#Footnote_no" class="fnanchor">[no]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">I have warred with a World which vanquished me only<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When the meteor of conquest allured me too far;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I have coped with the nations which dread me thus lonely,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The last single Captive to millions in war.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>2.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Farewell to thee, France! when thy diadem crowned me,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I made thee the gem and the wonder of earth,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But thy weakness decrees I should leave as I found thee,<a name="FNanchor_np" id="FNanchor_np"></a><a href="#Footnote_np" class="fnanchor">[np]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Decayed in thy glory, and sunk in thy worth.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_428" id="Page_428">[428]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Oh! for the veteran hearts that were wasted<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">In strife with the storm, when their battles were won—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then the Eagle, whose gaze in that moment was blasted<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Had still soared with eyes fixed on Victory's sun!<a name="FNanchor_nq" id="FNanchor_nq"></a><a href="#Footnote_nq" class="fnanchor">[nq]</a><br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>3.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Farewell to thee, France!—but when Liberty rallies<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Once more in thy regions, remember me then,—<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">The Violet still grows in the depth of thy valleys;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though withered, thy tear will unfold it again—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet, yet, I may baffle the hosts that surround us,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And yet may thy heart leap awake to my voice—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There are links which must break in the chain that has bound us,<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Then</i> turn thee and call on the Chief of thy choice!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="attrib"><i>July</i> 25, 1815. London.</p> + +<p class="attrib">[First published, <i>Examiner</i>, July 30, 1815.]</p> + + + +<h3>FROM THE FRENCH.<a name="FNanchor_320" id="FNanchor_320"></a><a href="#Footnote_320" class="fnanchor">[320]</a></h3> + +<h4>I.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Must</span> thou go, my glorious Chief,<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">Severed from thy faithful few?<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_429" id="Page_429">[429]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Who can tell thy warrior's grief,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Maddening o'er that long adieu?<a name="FNanchor_nr" id="FNanchor_nr"></a><a href="#Footnote_nr" class="fnanchor">[nr]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Woman's love, and Friendship's zeal,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Dear as both have been to me—<a name="FNanchor_ns" id="FNanchor_ns"></a><a href="#Footnote_ns" class="fnanchor">[ns]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">What are they to all I feel,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With a soldier's faith for thee?<a name="FNanchor_nt" id="FNanchor_nt"></a><a href="#Footnote_nt" class="fnanchor">[nt]</a><br /></span> + +</div></div> + +<h4>II.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Idol of the soldier's soul!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">First in fight, but mightiest now;<a name="FNanchor_nu" id="FNanchor_nu"></a><a href="#Footnote_nu" class="fnanchor">[nu]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Many could a world control;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thee alone no doom can bow.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By thy side for years I dared<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">Death; and envied those who fell,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When their dying shout was heard,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Blessing him they served so well.<a name="FNanchor_321" id="FNanchor_321"></a><a href="#Footnote_321" class="fnanchor">[321]</a><br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>III.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Would that I were cold with those,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Since this hour I live to see;<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">When the doubts of coward foes<a name="FNanchor_nv" id="FNanchor_nv"></a><a href="#Footnote_nv" class="fnanchor">[nv]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Scarce dare trust a man with thee,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dreading each should set thee free!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Oh! although in dungeons pent,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_430" id="Page_430">[430]</a></span> +<span class="i0">All their chains were light to me,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Gazing on thy soul unbent.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>IV.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Would the sycophants of him<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Now so deaf to duty's prayer,<a name="FNanchor_nw" id="FNanchor_nw"></a><a href="#Footnote_nw" class="fnanchor">[nw]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Were his borrowed glories dim,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In his native darkness share?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Were that world this hour his own,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">All thou calmly dost resign,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Could he purchase with that throne<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">Hearts like those which still are thine?<a name="FNanchor_nx" id="FNanchor_nx"></a><a href="#Footnote_nx" class="fnanchor">[nx]</a><br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>V.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">My Chief, my King, my Friend, adieu!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Never did I droop before;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Never to my Sovereign sue,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As his foes I now implore:<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">All I ask is to divide<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Every peril he must brave;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sharing by the hero's side<br /></span> +<span class="i2">His fall—his exile—and his grave.<a name="FNanchor_ny" id="FNanchor_ny"></a><a href="#Footnote_ny" class="fnanchor">[ny]</a><br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="attrib">[First published, <i>Poems</i>, 1816,]</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_431" id="Page_431">[431]</a></span></p> + +<h3>ODE FROM THE FRENCH.<a name="FNanchor_322" id="FNanchor_322"></a><a href="#Footnote_322" class="fnanchor">[322]</a></h3> + +<h4>I.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">We</span> do not curse thee, Waterloo!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though Freedom's blood thy plain bedew;<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">There 'twas shed, but is not sunk—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rising from each gory trunk,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like the water-spout from ocean,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With a strong and growing motion—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It soars, and mingles in the air,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With that of lost La Bédoyère—<a name="FNanchor_323" id="FNanchor_323"></a><a href="#Footnote_323" class="fnanchor">[323]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">With that of him whose honoured grave<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Contains the "bravest of the brave."<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A crimson cloud it spreads and glows,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But shall return to whence it rose;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When 'tis full 'twill burst asunder—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Never yet was heard such thunder<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As then shall shake the world with wonder—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Never yet was seen such lightning<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As o'er heaven shall then be bright'ning!<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_432" id="Page_432">[432]</a></span> + +<span class="i0">Like the Wormwood Star foretold<br /></span> +<span class="i2">By the sainted Seer of old,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Show'ring down a fiery flood,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Turning rivers into blood.<a name="FNanchor_324" id="FNanchor_324"></a><a href="#Footnote_324" class="fnanchor">[324]</a><br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>II.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The Chief has fallen, but not by you,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Vanquishers of Waterloo!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When the soldier citizen<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Swayed not o'er his fellow-men—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Save in deeds that led them on<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where Glory smiled on Freedom's son—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who, of all the despots banded,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With that youthful chief competed?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Who could boast o'er France defeated,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till lone Tyranny commanded?<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Till, goaded by Ambition's sting,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Hero sunk into the King?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then he fell:—so perish all,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who would men by man enthral!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>III.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And thou, too, of the snow-white plume!<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Whose realm refused thee ev'n a tomb;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_433" id="Page_433">[433]</a></span><a name="FNanchor_325" id="FNanchor_325"></a><a href="#Footnote_325" class="fnanchor">[325]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Better hadst thou still been leading<br /></span> +<span class="i0">France o'er hosts of hirelings bleeding,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Than sold thyself to death and shame<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For a meanly royal name;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Such as he of Naples wears,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who thy blood-bought title bears.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Little didst thou deem, when dashing<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">On thy war-horse through the ranks.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Like a stream which burst its banks,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While helmets cleft, and sabres clashing,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shone and shivered fast around thee—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the fate at last which found thee:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was that haughty plume laid low<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By a slave's dishonest blow?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Once—as the Moon sways o'er the tide,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">It rolled in air, the warrior's guide;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through the smoke-created night<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the black and sulphurous fight,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The soldier raised his seeking eye<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To catch that crest's ascendancy,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, as it onward rolling rose,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So moved his heart upon our foes.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There, where death's brief pang was quickest,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the battle's wreck lay thickest,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Strewed beneath the advancing banner<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of the eagle's burning crest—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">(There with thunder-clouds to fan her,<br /></span> +<span class="i2"><i>Who</i> could then her wing arrest—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Victory beaming from her breast?)<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While the broken line enlarging<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Fell, or fled along the plain;<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_434" id="Page_434">[434]</a></span> + +<span class="i0">There be sure was Murat charging!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">There he ne'er shall charge again!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>IV.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">O'er glories gone the invaders march,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Weeps Triumph o'er each levelled arch—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But let Freedom rejoice,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With her heart in her voice;<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">But, her hand on her sword,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Doubly shall she be adored;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">France hath twice too well been taught<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The "moral lesson"<a name="FNanchor_326" id="FNanchor_326"></a><a href="#Footnote_326" class="fnanchor">[326]</a> dearly bought—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her safety sits not on a throne,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With Capet or Napoleon!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But in equal rights and laws,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Hearts and hands in one great cause—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Freedom, such as God hath given<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Unto all beneath his heaven,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With their breath, and from their birth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though guilt would sweep it from the earth;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With a fierce and lavish hand<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Scattering nations' wealth like sand;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pouring nations' blood like water,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In imperial seas of slaughter!<br /></span> + +</div></div> + +<h4>V.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But the heart and the mind,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the voice of mankind,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shall arise in communion—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And who shall resist that proud union?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The time is past when swords subdued—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Man may die—the soul's renewed:<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_435" id="Page_435">[435]</a></span> + +<span class="i0">Even in this low world of care<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Freedom ne'er shall want an heir;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Millions breathe but to inherit<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her for ever bounding spirit—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When once more her hosts assemble,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tyrants shall believe and tremble—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Smile they at this idle threat?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Crimson tears will follow yet.<a name="FNanchor_327" id="FNanchor_327"></a><a href="#Footnote_327" class="fnanchor">[327]</a><br /></span> + +</div></div> + +<p class="attrib">[First published, <i>Morning Chronicle</i>, March 15, 1816.]</p> + + + +<h3>STANZAS FOR MUSIC.</h3> + +<h4>1.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">There</span> be none of Beauty's daughters<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">With a magic like thee;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And like music on the waters<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Is thy sweet voice to me:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When, as if its sound were causing<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The charméd Ocean's pausing,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The waves lie still and gleaming,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the lulled winds seem dreaming:<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_436" id="Page_436">[436]</a></span></div></div> + +<h4>2.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And the midnight Moon is weaving<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Her bright chain o'er the deep;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whose breast is gently heaving,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As an infant's asleep:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So the spirit bows before thee,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To listen and adore thee;<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">With a full but soft emotion,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like the swell of Summer's ocean.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="attrib"><i>March</i> 28 [1816].</p> + +<p class="attrib">[First published, <i>Poems</i>, 1816.]</p> + + +<h3>ON THE STAR OF "THE LEGION OF HONOUR."<a name="FNanchor_328" id="FNanchor_328"></a><a href="#Footnote_328" class="fnanchor">[328]</a></h3> + +<h4>[FROM THE FRENCH.]</h4> + +<h4>1.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Star</span> of the brave!—whose beam hath shed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Such glory o'er the quick and dead—<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Thou radiant and adored deceit!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which millions rushed in arms to greet,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wild meteor of immortal birth!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Why rise in Heaven to set on Earth?<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>2.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Souls of slain heroes formed thy rays;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Eternity flashed through thy blaze;<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">The music of thy martial sphere<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was fame on high and honour here;<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_437" id="Page_437">[437]</a></span> +<span class="i0">And thy light broke on human eyes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like a Volcano of the skies.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>3.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Like lava rolled thy stream of blood,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">And swept down empires with its flood;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Earth rocked beneath thee to her base,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As thou didst lighten through all space;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the shorn Sun grew dim in air,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And set while thou wert dwelling there.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>4.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Before thee rose, and with thee grew,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">A rainbow of the loveliest hue<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of three bright colours,<a name="FNanchor_329" id="FNanchor_329"></a><a href="#Footnote_329" class="fnanchor">[329]</a> each divine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And fit for that celestial sign;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For Freedom's hand had blended them,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like tints in an immortal gem.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>5.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">One tint was of the sunbeam's dyes;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">One, the blue depth of Seraph's eyes;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">One, the pure Spirit's veil of white<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Had robed in radiance of its light:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The three so mingled did beseem<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The texture of a heavenly dream.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>6.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Star of the brave! thy ray is pale,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And darkness must again prevail!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But, oh thou Rainbow of the free!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Our tears and blood must flow for thee.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When thy bright promise fades away,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Our life is but a load of clay.<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_438" id="Page_438">[438]</a></span></div></div> + +<h4>7.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And Freedom hallows with her tread<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The silent cities of the dead;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For beautiful in death are they<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who proudly fall in her array;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And soon, oh, Goddess! may we be<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For evermore with them or thee!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="attrib">[First published, <i>Examiner</i>, April 7, 1816.]</p> + + + +<h3>STANZAS FOR MUSIC.</h3> + +<h4>I.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">They</span> say that Hope is happiness;<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">But genuine Love must prize the past,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Memory wakes the thoughts that bless:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">They rose the first—they set the last;<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>II.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And all that Memory loves the most<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Was once our only Hope to be,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">And all that Hope adored and lost<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Hath melted into Memory.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>III.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Alas! it is delusion all:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The future cheats us from afar,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor can we be what we recall,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Nor dare we think on what we are.<br /></span> + +</div></div> + +<p class="attrib">[First published, <i>Fugitive Pieces</i>, 1829.]</p> + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_305" id="Footnote_305"></a><a href="#FNanchor_305"><span class="label">[305]</span></a> <a id="Note_409"></a>{409} [Compare <i>The Corsair</i>, +Canto I. stanza xv. lines 480-490.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_mr" id="Footnote_mr"></a><a href="#FNanchor_mr"><span class="label">[mr]</span></a> <a id="Note_410"></a>{410} +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>Never may I behold</i><br /></span> +<span class="i2"><i>Moment like this</i>.—[MS.]<br /></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_ms" id="Footnote_ms"></a><a href="#FNanchor_ms"><span class="label">[ms]</span></a> +</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>The damp of the morning</i><br /></span> +<span class="i2"><i>Clung chill on my brow</i>.—[MS. erased.]<br /></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_mt" id="Footnote_mt"></a><a href="#FNanchor_mt"><span class="label">[mt]</span></a> <i>Thy vow hath been broken</i>.—[MS.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_mu" id="Footnote_mu"></a><a href="#FNanchor_mu"><span class="label">[mu]</span></a> +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">——<i>lies hidden</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Our secret of sorrow</i>—<br /></span> +<span class="i2"><i>And deep in my soul</i>—<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>But deed more forbidden</i>,<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Our secret lies hidden</i>,<br /></span> +<span class="i2"><i>But never forgot</i>.—[Erasures, stanza 3, MS.]<br /></span> + +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_mv" id="Footnote_mv"></a><a href="#FNanchor_mv"><span class="label">[mv]</span></a> <a id="Note_411"></a>{411} +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>If one</i> should <i>meet thee</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>How should we greet thee?</i><br /></span> +<span class="i2"><i>In silence and tears</i>.—[MS.]<br /></span> + +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_306" id="Footnote_306"></a><a href="#FNanchor_306"><span class="label">[306]</span></a> [From an autograph MS. in the possession of Mr. Murray, +now for the first time printed. +</p><p> +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 <i>Diary</i> 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 <i>Letters</i>, 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.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_307" id="Footnote_307"></a><a href="#FNanchor_307"><span class="label">[307]</span></a> <a id="Note_413"></a>{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 + +<i>phrase</i>."—Letter to Moore, May 4, 1814, +<i>Letters</i>, 1899, iii. 80.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_mw" id="Footnote_mw"></a><a href="#FNanchor_mw"><span class="label">[mw]</span></a> <i>I speak not—I breathe not—I write not that name</i>.—[MS. erased.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_mx" id="Footnote_mx"></a><a href="#FNanchor_mx"><span class="label">[mx]</span></a> <a id="Note_414"></a>{414} + +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>We have loved—and oh, still, my adored one we love!</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Oh the moment is past, when that Passion might cease.</i>—<br /></span> +<span class="i33">[MS. erased.]<br /></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_my" id="Footnote_my"></a><a href="#FNanchor_my"><span class="label">[my]</span></a> <i>The thought may be madness—the +wish may be—guilt</i>.—[MS. erased.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_mz" id="Footnote_mz"></a><a href="#FNanchor_mz"><span class="label">[mz]</span></a> +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"> +<span class="bb">{</span> +<span class="uc"><i>But I cannot repent what we ne'er can recall.</i></span> +<span class="dc" style="margin:auto 0em auto -18em;"><i>But the heart which is thine would disdain to recall</i></span> +<br /></span> +<span class="i26">[MS. erased.]<br /></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_na" id="Footnote_na"></a><a href="#FNanchor_na"><span class="label">[na]</span></a> ——<i>though I feel that thou mayst</i>.—[MS. L. erased.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_nb" id="Footnote_nb"></a><a href="#FNanchor_nb"><span class="label">[nb]</span></a> +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>This soul in its bitterest moments shall be</i>,<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>And our days run as swift—and our moments more sweet</i>,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0"><i>With thee at my side, than the world at my feet</i>.—[MS.]<br /></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_nc" id="Footnote_nc"></a><a href="#FNanchor_nc"><span class="label">[nc]</span></a> <a id="Note_415"></a>{415} +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>And thine is that love which I will never forego</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Though the price which I pay be Eternity's woe</i>.—[MS. erased]<br /></span> + +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_nd" id="Footnote_nd"></a><a href="#FNanchor_nd"><span class="label">[nd]</span></a> <i>One tear of thy sorrow, one smile</i>——.—[MS. erased]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"> +<p><a name="Footnote_308" id="Footnote_308"></a><a href="#FNanchor_308"><span class="label">[308]</span></a> +[The "Caledonian Meeting," at which these lines were, +or were intended to be, recited (see <i>Life</i>, p. 254), +was a meeting of subscribers to the Highland Society, +held annually in London, in support of the [Royal] +<i>Caledonian Asylum</i> "for educating and supporting +children of soldiers, sailors, and marines, natives of Scotland." +"To soothe," says the compiler of the <i>Report</i> 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."]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_309" id="Footnote_309"></a><a href="#FNanchor_309"><span class="label">[309]</span></a> <a id="Note_416"></a>{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."—<i>Historical Record +of the 71st Highland Light Infantry</i>, by Lieut. Henry J. T. Hildyard, +1876, p. 91.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_310" id="Footnote_310"></a><a href="#FNanchor_310"><span class="label">[310]</span></a> [Compare <i>Temora</i>, 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."—<i>Works of Ossian</i>, 1765, ii. 160.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_311" id="Footnote_311"></a><a href="#FNanchor_311"><span class="label">[311]</span></a> <a id="Note_417"></a>{417} [The last six lines are printed from the MS.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_312" id="Footnote_312"></a><a href="#FNanchor_312"><span class="label">[312]</span></a> [Sir P. Parker fell in August, 1814, in his twenty-ninth year, +whilst leading a party from his ship, the <i>Menelaus</i>, 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, <i>Letters</i>, +1899, iii. 150; see too <i>Letters</i>, i. 6, note 1.) The stanzas were +included in <i>Hebrew Melodies</i>, 1815, and in the Ninth Edition of + +<i>Childe Harold</i>, 1818.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_313" id="Footnote_313"></a><a href="#FNanchor_313"><span class="label">[313]</span></a> [Compare Tasso's sonnet—"Questa Tomba +non è, ehe non è morto," etc. +<i>Rime Eroiche</i>, Parte Seconda, No. 38, +<i>Opere di Torquato Tasso</i>, Venice, 1736, vi. 169.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_314" id="Footnote_314"></a><a href="#FNanchor_314"><span class="label">[314]</span></a> <a id="Note_419"></a>{419} [From an autograph MS. in the possession of Mr. Murray, +now for the first time printed.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_ne" id="Footnote_ne"></a><a href="#FNanchor_ne"><span class="label">[ne]</span></a> <a id="Note_421"></a>{421} +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i14">1.<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>The red light glows, the wassail flows</i>,<br /></span> +<span class="i2"><i>Around the royal hall;</i><br /></span> + +<span class="i0"><i>And who, on earth, dare mar the mirth</i><br /></span> +<span class="i2"><i>Of that high festival?</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>The prophet dares—before thee glows</i>—<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Belshazzar rise, nor dare despise</i><br /></span> +<span class="i2"><i>The writing on the wall!</i><br /></span> +<span class="i14">2<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Thy vice might raise th' avenging steel</i>,<br /></span> +<span class="i2"><i>Thy meanness shield thee from the blow</i>—<br /></span> + +<span class="i0"><i>And they who loathe thee proudly feel</i>.—[MS.]<br /></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_nf" id="Footnote_nf"></a><a href="#FNanchor_nf"><span class="label">[nf]</span></a> <a id="Note_422"></a>{422} +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>The words of God along the wall</i>.—[MS. erased.]<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>The word of God—the graven wall</i>.—[MS.]<br /></span> + +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_ng" id="Footnote_ng"></a><a href="#FNanchor_ng"><span class="label">[ng]</span></a> <i>Behold it written</i>——.—[MS.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_nh" id="Footnote_nh"></a><a href="#FNanchor_nh"><span class="label">[nh]</span></a> ——<i>thy sullied diadem</i>.—[MS.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_315" id="Footnote_315"></a><a href="#FNanchor_315"><span class="label">[315]</span></a> <a id="Note_423"></a>{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 <i>truest</i>, though the most melancholy, I ever wrote." +(March 8, 1816.)—<i>Letters</i>, 1899, iii. 181, 183, 274.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_ni" id="Footnote_ni"></a><a href="#FNanchor_ni"><span class="label">[ni]</span></a> <i>'Tis not the blush alone that fades from +Beauty's cheek</i>.—[MS.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_nj" id="Footnote_nj"></a><a href="#FNanchor_nj"><span class="label">[nj]</span></a> <a id="Note_424"></a>{424} <i>As ivy o'er the mouldering wall +that heavily hath crept</i>.—[MS.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_316" id="Footnote_316"></a><a href="#FNanchor_316"><span class="label">[316]</span></a> [Compare— +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"And oft we see gay ivy's wreath<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">The tree with brilliant bloom o'erspread,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When, part its leaves and gaze beneath,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">We find the hidden tree is dead."<br /></span> +</div></div> +<p class="attrib">"To Anna," <i>The Warrior's Return, etc.</i>,<br /> +by Mrs. Opie, 1808, p. 144.] +</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_317" id="Footnote_317"></a><a href="#FNanchor_317"><span class="label">[317]</span></a> <a id="Note_425"></a>{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 <i>Poetical Works, 1898, +i. 194, note 2</i>; and <i>Letters, 1899, in. 181, note 1.</i>)]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_nk" id="Footnote_nk"></a><a href="#FNanchor_nk"><span class="label">[nk]</span></a> <a id="Note_426"></a>{426} ——<i>shall eternally be</i>.—[MS. erased.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_nl" id="Footnote_nl"></a><a href="#FNanchor_nl"><span class="label">[nl]</span></a> <i>Green be the turf</i>——.—[MS.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_318" id="Footnote_318"></a><a href="#FNanchor_318"><span class="label">[318]</span></a> [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," + +<i>Works of Ossin</i>, 1765, i. 156.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_nm" id="Footnote_nm"></a><a href="#FNanchor_nm"><span class="label">[nm]</span></a> <i>May its verdure be sweetest to see</i>.—[MS.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_nn" id="Footnote_nn"></a><a href="#FNanchor_nn"><span class="label">[nn]</span></a> <a id="Note_427"></a>{427} +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>Young flowers and a far-spreading tree</i><br /></span> + +<span class="i2"><i>May wave on the spot of thy rest;</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>But nor cypress nor yew let it be</i>.—[MS.]<br /></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_319" id="Footnote_319"></a><a href="#FNanchor_319"><span class="label">[319]</span></a> ["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."—<i>Examiner</i>, July 30, 1815.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_no" id="Footnote_no"></a><a href="#FNanchor_no"><span class="label">[no]</span></a> <i>The brightest and blackest are due to my fame</i>.—[MS.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_np" id="Footnote_np"></a><a href="#FNanchor_np"><span class="label">[np]</span></a> <i>But thy destiny wills</i>——.—[MS.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_nq" id="Footnote_nq"></a><a href="#FNanchor_nq"><span class="label">[nq]</span></a> <a id="Note_428"></a>{428} +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>Oh for the thousands of Those who have perished</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>By elements blasted, unvanquished by man</i>—<br /></span> + +<span class="i0"><i>Then the hope which till now I have fearlessly cherished</i>,<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Had waved o'er thine eagles in Victory's van</i>.—[MS.]<br /></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_320" id="Footnote_320"></a><a href="#FNanchor_320"><span class="label">[320]</span></a> ["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."—<i>Private Letter from Brussels.</i>]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_nr" id="Footnote_nr"></a><a href="#FNanchor_nr"><span class="label">[nr]</span></a> <a id="Note_429"></a>{429} ——<i>that mute adieu</i>.—[MS.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_ns" id="Footnote_ns"></a><a href="#FNanchor_ns"><span class="label">[ns]</span></a> <i>Dear as they have seemed to me</i>.—[MS.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_nt" id="Footnote_nt"></a><a href="#FNanchor_nt"><span class="label">[nt]</span></a> <i>In the faith I pledged to thee</i>.—[MS.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_nu" id="Footnote_nu"></a><a href="#FNanchor_nu"><span class="label">[nu]</span></a> +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>Glory lightened from thy soul</i>.<br /></span> +<span class="i2"><i>Never did I grieve till now</i>.—[MS.]<br /></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_321" id="Footnote_321"></a><a href="#FNanchor_321"><span class="label">[321]</span></a> ["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."—<i>Private Letter from Brussels.</i>]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_nv" id="Footnote_nv"></a><a href="#FNanchor_nv"><span class="label">[nv]</span></a> <i>When the hearts of coward foes</i>.—[MS.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_nw" id="Footnote_nw"></a><a href="#FNanchor_nw"><span class="label">[nw]</span></a> <a id="Note_430"></a>{430} ——<i>to Friendship's prayer</i>.—[MS.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_nx" id="Footnote_nx"></a><a href="#FNanchor_nx"><span class="label">[nx]</span></a> + +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>'Twould not gather round his throne</i><br /></span> +<span class="i2"><i>Half the hearts that still are thine</i>.—[MS.]<br /></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_ny" id="Footnote_ny"></a><a href="#FNanchor_ny"><span class="label">[ny]</span></a> +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4"><i>Let me but partake his doom</i>,<br /></span> + +<span class="i6"><i>Be it exile or the grave</i>.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">or, <i>All I ask is to abide</i><br /></span> +<span class="i6"><i>All the perils he must brave</i>,<br /></span> +<span class="i4"><i>All my hope was to divide</i>.—[MS.]<br /></span> +<span class="i0">or, <i>Let me still partake his gloom</i>,<br /></span> + +<span class="i6"><i>Late his soldier, now his slave</i>—<br /></span> +<span class="i4"><i>Grant me but to share the gloom</i><br /></span> +<span class="i6"><i>Of his exile or his grave</i>.—[MS.]<br /></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_322" id="Footnote_322"></a><a href="#FNanchor_322"><span class="label">[322]</span></a> <a id="Note_431"></a>{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."—<i>Morning Chronicle</i>, March 15, 1816. +"The French have their <i>Poems</i> and <i>Odes</i> 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, <i>ibid.</i>]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_323" id="Footnote_323"></a><a href="#FNanchor_323"><span class="label">[323]</span></a> [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.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_324" id="Footnote_324"></a><a href="#FNanchor_324"><span class="label">[324]</span></a> <a id="Note_432"></a>{432} See <i>Rev.</i> 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 <i>Wormwood</i>: and the third +part of the waters became <i>wormwood</i>; and many men died of the +waters, because they were made bitter."</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_325" id="Footnote_325"></a><a href="#FNanchor_325"><span class="label">[325]</span></a> 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, +<i>Letters</i>, 1899, iii. 245. See, too, for Joachim Murat (born 1771), +proclaimed King of Naples and the Two Sicilies, August, 1808, +<i>ibid</i>., note 1.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_326" id="Footnote_326"></a><a href="#FNanchor_326"><span class="label">[326]</span></a> <a id="Note_434"></a>{434} ["Write, Britain, write the moral lesson down." +Scott's <i>Field of Waterloo</i>, Conclusion, stanza vi. line 3.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_327" id="Footnote_327"></a><a href="#FNanchor_327"><span class="label">[327]</span></a> <a id="Note_435"></a>{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 '<i>Vates</i>,' +in both senses of the word, as Fitzgerald and Coleridge?— +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'Crimson tears will follow yet;'<br /></span> +</div></div> +<p> +and have not they?"—Letter to Murray, April 24, 1820. +</p><p> +In the Preface to <i>The Tyrant's Downfall, etc</i>., 1814, W. L. Fitzgerald +(see <i>English Bards, etc.</i>, line 1, <i>Poetical Works</i>, 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 <i>Vates</i>" (<i>Cent. Mag.</i>, July, 1814, vol. lxxxiv. p. 58). +Coleridge claimed to have foretold the restoration of the Bourbons +(see <i>Biographia Literaria</i>, cap. x.).]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_328" id="Footnote_328"></a><a href="#FNanchor_328"><span class="label">[328]</span></a> <a id="Note_436"></a>{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 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."—<i>Examiner</i>. April 7, 1816.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_329" id="Footnote_329"></a><a href="#FNanchor_329"><span class="label">[329]</span></a> <a id="Note_437"></a>{437} The tricolor.</p></div> + +</div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;margin-bottom:2cm;" /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_439" id="Page_439">[439]</a></span></p> + +<div class="titlepage"> + + <h2>THE SIEGE OF CORINTH</h2> + + + <p class="center">"Guns, Trumpets, Blunderbusses, Drums and Thunder."</p> +<p class="attrib">Pope, <i>Sat.</i> + +i. 26.<a name="FNanchor_330" id="FNanchor_330"></a><a href="#Footnote_330" class="fnanchor">[330]</a> +</p> + +</div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;margin-top:2cm;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_441" id="Page_441">[441]</a></span></p> + +<h2><a name="INTRODUCTION_CORINTH" id="INTRODUCTION_CORINTH"></a> +INTRODUCTION TO <i>THE SIEGE OF CORINTH</i>. +<br /><span class="center"><img src="images/decoration.png" alt="swash" /></span> +</h2> + +<p>In a note to the "Advertisement" to the <i>Siege of Corinth</i> +(<i>vide post</i>, <a href="#Page_447">p. 447</a>), 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, <i>Letters</i>, 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 <i>variant</i> i. p. 483), which is slipped into +the description of the final catastrophe. It bears witness +to the fact that the <i>Siege of Corinth</i> is not a poetical expansion +of a chapter in history, but a heightened reminiscence +of local tradition.</p> + +<p>History has, indeed, very little to say on the subject. +The anonymous <i>Compleat History of the Turks</i> (London, 1719), +which Byron quotes as an authority, is meagre and +inaccurate. Hammer-Purgstall (<i>Histoire de l'Empire Ottoman</i>, +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 <i>History of Greece</i><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_442" id="Page_442">[442]</a></span> +(vol. v., <span class="smcap">a.d.</span> 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 (<i>Journal de la Campagne ... en</i> +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.</p> + +<p>The late Professor Kölbing (<i>Siege of Corinth</i>, 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 +perished from the explosion of a powder magazine which +had been fired at the cost of his own life by the Hungarian +commander Zrini.</p> + +<p>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 <i>Memoirs +of the Life and Writings of the Right Hon. Lord Byron</i>,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_443" id="Page_443">[443]</a></span> +London, 1822, p. 222; and <i>Memoirs of the Life and Writings +of Lord Byron</i>, by George Clinton, London, 1825, p. 284.)</p> + +<p>It has been generally held that the <i>Siege of Corinth</i> was +written in the second half of 1815 (Kölbing's <i>Siege of Corinth</i>, +p. vii.). "It appears," says John Wright (<i>Works</i>, 1832, +x. 100), "by the original MS., to have been begun in July, +1815;" and Moore (<i>Life</i>, p. 307), who probably relied on the +same authority, speaks of "both the <i>Siege of Corinth</i> and +<i>Parisina</i> having been produced but a short time before the +Separation" (i.e. spring, 1816). Some words which Medwin +(<i>Conversations</i>, 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 J<span class="sup">y</span> [i.e. January, +not July] 31, 1815), is in direct conflict with these statements. +In a note to stanza xix. lines 521-532 (<i>vide post</i>, pp. <a href="#Page_471">471</a>-473) +he affirms that it "was not till after these lines were written" +that he heard "that wild and singularly original and beautiful +poem [<i>Christabel</i>] recited;" and in a letter to S. T. Coleridge, +dated October 27, 1815 (<i>Letters</i>, 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 <i>Christabelle</i> [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 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 <i>Memoir of the Life of Sir W. Scott</i>, 1871, pp. +311-313), not in June, that Scott recited <i>Christabel</i> for +Byron's benefit, the date of the composition of the poem +must be determined by the evidence of the author himself.</p> + +<p>The copy of the MS. of the <i>Siege of Corinth</i> 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, +<i>Letters</i>, 1899, iii. 245; and Murray's undated letter on +Gifford's "great delight" in the poem, and his "three critical +remarks," <i>Memoir of John Murray</i>, 1891, i. 356). As with +<i>Lara</i>, Byron began by insisting that the <i>Siege</i> should not be<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_444" id="Page_444">[444]</a></span> +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 <i>Siege of Corinth</i> and + +<i>Parisina</i>, which, says Moore, "during the month of January +and part of February were in the hands of the printers" (<i>Life</i>, +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 <i>Monthly Review</i>, February, +1816, vol. lxxix. p. 196; the <i>Eclectic Review</i>, March, 1816, +N.S. vol. v. p. 269; the <i>European</i>, May, 1816, vol. lxxix. p. +427; the <i>Literary Panorama</i>, 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 <i>technique</i> +which marked and disfigured the <i>Siege of Corinth</i>. A +passage in a letter which John Murray wrote to his brother-publisher, +William Blackwood (<i>Annals of a Publishing House</i>, 1897, i. 53), +refers to these cavillings, and suggests +both an apology and a retaliation—</p> + +<blockquote><p>"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."</p></blockquote> + +<p>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."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_445" id="Page_445">[445]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<div class="titlepage"> + + <h3><span class="tiny">TO</span><br /> + + JOHN HOBHOUSE, ESQ.,<br /> + + <span class="small">THIS POEM IS INSCRIBED,<br /> + + BY HIS</span><br /> + + <span class="small" style="margin-left:15em;">FRIEND.</span></h3> + +<p><i>January 22nd</i>, 1816.</p> + +</div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_447" id="Page_447">[447]</a></span></p> +<h3>ADVERTISEMENT +<br /><span class="center"><img src="images/decoration.png" alt="swash" /></span> +</h3> + + +<p>"<span class="smcap">The</span> 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,<a name="FNanchor_331" id="FNanchor_331"></a><a href="#Footnote_331" class="fnanchor">[331]</a> + +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,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_448" id="Page_448">[448]</a></span> +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."—<i>A Compleat +History of the Turks</i> [London, 1719], iii. 151.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<h3>NOTE ON THE MS. OF <i>THE SIEGE OF CORINTH</i>. +<br /><span class="center"><img src="images/decoration.png" alt="swash" /></span> +</h3> + +<p>The original MS. of the <i>Siege of Corinth</i> (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.</p> + +<p>To judge from the occasional and disconnected pagination, +this MS. consists of portions of two or more fair copies of a +number of detached scraps written at different times, together +with two or three of the original scraps which had not been +transcribed.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Lord Glenesk's MS. is dated January 31, 1815. Lady +Byron's transcript, from which the <i>Siege of Corinth</i> was +printed, and which is in Mr. Murray's possession, is dated +November 2, 1815.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_449" id="Page_449">[449]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<h2><a name="THE_CORINTH" id="THE_CORINTH"></a>THE SIEGE OF CORINTH</h2> + +<hr class="dbl" /> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">In</span> the year since Jesus died for men,<a name="FNanchor_332" id="FNanchor_332"></a><a href="#Footnote_332" class="fnanchor">[332]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Eighteen hundred years and ten,<a name="FNanchor_333" id="FNanchor_333"></a><a href="#Footnote_333" class="fnanchor">[333]</a><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">We were a gallant company,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Riding o'er land, and sailing o'er sea.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh! but we went merrily!<a name="FNanchor_334" id="FNanchor_334"></a><a href="#Footnote_334" class="fnanchor">[334]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">We forded the river, and clomb the high hill,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Never our steeds for a day stood still;<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_450" id="Page_450">[450]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Whether we lay in the cave or the shed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Our sleep fell soft on the hardest bed;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whether we couched in our rough capote,<a name="FNanchor_335" id="FNanchor_335"></a><a href="#Footnote_335" class="fnanchor">[335]</a> <span class="linenum">10</span><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">On the rougher plank of our gliding boat,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or stretched on the beach, or our saddles spread,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As a pillow beneath the resting head,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fresh we woke upon the morrow:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">All our thoughts and words had scope,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">We had health, and we had hope,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Toil and travel, but no sorrow.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We were of all tongues and creeds;—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Some were those who counted beads,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Some of mosque, and some of church, <span class="linenum">20</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">And some, or I mis-say, of neither;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet through the wide world might ye search,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Nor find a motlier crew nor blither.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But some are dead, and some are gone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And some are scattered and alone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And some are rebels on the hills<a name="FNanchor_336" id="FNanchor_336"></a><a href="#Footnote_336" class="fnanchor">[336]</a><br /></span> + +<span class="i2">That look along Epirus' valleys,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Where Freedom still at moments rallies,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And pays in blood Oppression's ills;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And some are in a far countree, <span class="linenum">30</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And some all restlessly at home;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But never more, oh! never, we<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shall meet to revel and to roam.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_451" id="Page_451">[451]</a></span> +<span class="i0">But those hardy days flew cheerily!<a name="FNanchor_nz" id="FNanchor_nz"></a><a href="#Footnote_nz" class="fnanchor">[nz]</a><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">And when they now fall drearily,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My thoughts, like swallows, skim the main,<a name="FNanchor_337" id="FNanchor_337"></a><a href="#Footnote_337" class="fnanchor">[337]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And bear my spirit back again<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Over the earth, and through the air,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A wild bird and a wanderer.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Tis this that ever wakes my strain, <span class="linenum">40</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And oft, too oft, implores again<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The few who may endure my lay,<a name="FNanchor_oa" id="FNanchor_oa"></a><a href="#Footnote_oa" class="fnanchor">[oa]</a><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">To follow me so far away.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Stranger, wilt thou follow now,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And sit with me on Acro-Corinth's brow?<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>I.<a name="FNanchor_338" id="FNanchor_338"></a><a href="#Footnote_338" class="fnanchor">[338]</a></h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Many a vanished year and age,<a name="FNanchor_ob" id="FNanchor_ob"></a><a href="#Footnote_ob" class="fnanchor">[ob]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Tempest's breath, and Battle's rage,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Have swept o'er Corinth; yet she stands,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A fortress formed to Freedom's hands.<a name="FNanchor_oc" id="FNanchor_oc"></a><a href="#Footnote_oc" class="fnanchor">[oc]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Whirlwind's wrath, the Earthquake's shock, <span class="linenum">50</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Have left untouched her hoary rock,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The keystone of a land, which still,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though fall'n, looks proudly on that hill,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The landmark to the double tide<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That purpling rolls on either side,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">As if their waters chafed to meet,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet pause and crouch beneath her feet.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_452" id="Page_452">[452]</a></span> +<span class="i0">But could the blood before her shed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Since first Timoleon's brother bled,<a name="FNanchor_339" id="FNanchor_339"></a><a href="#Footnote_339" class="fnanchor">[339]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or baffled Persia's despot fled, <span class="linenum">60</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Arise from out the Earth which drank<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The stream of Slaughter as it sank,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">That sanguine Ocean would o'erflow<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her isthmus idly spread below:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or could the bones of all the slain,<a name="FNanchor_od" id="FNanchor_od"></a><a href="#Footnote_od" class="fnanchor">[od]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who perished there, be piled again,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That rival pyramid would rise<br /></span> +<span class="i0">More mountain-like, through those clear skies<a name="FNanchor_oe" id="FNanchor_oe"></a><a href="#Footnote_oe" class="fnanchor">[oe]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Than yon tower-capp'd Acropolis,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which seems the very clouds to kiss. <span class="linenum">70</span><br /></span> + +</div></div> + +<h4>II.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">On dun Cithæron's ridge appears<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The gleam of twice ten thousand spears;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And downward to the Isthmian plain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From shore to shore of either main,<a name="FNanchor_of" id="FNanchor_of"></a><a href="#Footnote_of" class="fnanchor">[of]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">The tent is pitched, the Crescent shines<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Along the Moslem's leaguering lines;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the dusk Spahi's bands<a name="FNanchor_340" id="FNanchor_340"></a><a href="#Footnote_340" class="fnanchor">[340]</a> advance<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beneath each bearded Pacha's glance;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And far and wide as eye can reach<a name="FNanchor_og" id="FNanchor_og"></a><a href="#Footnote_og" class="fnanchor">[og]</a><br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_453" id="Page_453">[453]</a></span><span class="i0">The turbaned cohorts throng the beach; <span class="linenum">80</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And there the Arab's camel kneels,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">And there his steed the Tartar wheels;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Turcoman hath left his herd,<a name="FNanchor_341" id="FNanchor_341"></a><a href="#Footnote_341" class="fnanchor">[341]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sabre round his loins to gird;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And there the volleying thunders pour,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till waves grow smoother to the roar.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The trench is dug, the cannon's breath<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wings the far hissing globe of death;<a name="FNanchor_342" id="FNanchor_342"></a><a href="#Footnote_342" class="fnanchor">[342]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fast whirl the fragments from the wall,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Which crumbles with the ponderous ball; <span class="linenum">90</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And from that wall the foe replies,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O'er dusty plain and smoky skies,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With fares that answer fast and well<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The summons of the Infidel.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>III.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> + +<span class="i0">But near and nearest to the wall<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of those who wish and work its fall,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With deeper skill in War's black art,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Than Othman's sons, and high of heart<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As any Chief that ever stood<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Triumphant in the fields of blood; <span class="linenum">100</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">From post to post, and deed to deed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fast spurring on his reeking steed,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Where sallying ranks the trench assail,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And make the foremost Moslem quail;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or where the battery, guarded well,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Remains as yet impregnable,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Alighting cheerly to inspire<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The soldier slackening in his fire;<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_454" id="Page_454">[454]</a></span> +<span class="i0">The first and freshest of the host<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which Stamboul's Sultan there can boast, <span class="linenum">110</span><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">To guide the follower o'er the field,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To point the tube, the lance to wield,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or whirl around the bickering blade;—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was Alp, the Adrian renegade!<a name="FNanchor_343" id="FNanchor_343"></a><a href="#Footnote_343" class="fnanchor">[343]</a><br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>IV.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">From Venice—once a race of worth<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">His gentle Sires—he drew his birth;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But late an exile from her shore,<a name="FNanchor_oh" id="FNanchor_oh"></a><a href="#Footnote_oh" class="fnanchor">[oh]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Against his countrymen he bore<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The arms they taught to bear; and now<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The turban girt his shaven brow. <span class="linenum">120</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through many a change had Corinth passed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With Greece to Venice' rule at last;<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">And here, before her walls, with those<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To Greece and Venice equal foes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He stood a foe, with all the zeal<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which young and fiery converts feel,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Within whose heated bosom throngs<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The memory of a thousand wrongs.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To him had Venice ceased to be<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_455" id="Page_455">[455]</a></span><span class="i0">Her ancient civic boast—"the Free;" <span class="linenum">130</span><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">And in the palace of St. Mark<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Unnamed accusers in the dark<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Within the "Lion's mouth" had placed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A charge against him uneffaced:<a name="FNanchor_344" id="FNanchor_344"></a><a href="#Footnote_344" class="fnanchor">[344]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">He fled in time, and saved his life,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To waste his future years in strife,<a name="FNanchor_oi" id="FNanchor_oi"></a><a href="#Footnote_oi" class="fnanchor">[oi]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">That taught his land how great her loss<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In him who triumphed o'er the Cross,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">'Gainst which he reared the Crescent high,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And battled to avenge or die. <span class="linenum">140</span><br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>V.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Coumourgi<a name="FNanchor_345" id="FNanchor_345"></a><a href="#Footnote_345" class="fnanchor">[345]</a>—he whose closing scene<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Adorned the triumph of Eugene,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">When on Carlowitz' bloody plain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The last and mightiest of the slain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He sank, regretting not to die,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But cursed the Christian's victory—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Coumourgi—can his glory cease,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_456" id="Page_456">[456]</a></span> +<span class="i0">That latest conqueror of Greece,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till Christian hands to Greece restore<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The freedom Venice gave of yore? <span class="linenum">150</span><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">A hundred years have rolled away<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Since he refixed the Moslem's sway;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And now he led the Mussulman,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And gave the guidance of the van<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To Alp, who well repaid the trust<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By cities levelled with the dust;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And proved, by many a deed of death,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How firm his heart in novel faith.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>VI.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The walls grew weak; and fast and hot<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Against them poured the ceaseless shot, <span class="linenum">160</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">With unabating fury sent<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From battery to battlement;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And thunder-like the pealing din<a name="FNanchor_oj" id="FNanchor_oj"></a><a href="#Footnote_oj" class="fnanchor">[oj]</a><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Rose from each heated culverin;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And here and there some crackling dome<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was fired before the exploding bomb;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And as the fabric sank beneath<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The shattering shell's volcanic breath,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In red and wreathing columns flashed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The flame, as loud the ruin crashed, <span class="linenum">170</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or into countless meteors driven,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Its earth-stars melted into heaven;<a name="FNanchor_ok" id="FNanchor_ok"></a><a href="#Footnote_ok" class="fnanchor">[ok]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whose clouds that day grew doubly dun,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Impervious to the hidden sun,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With volumed smoke that slowly grew<a name="FNanchor_ol" id="FNanchor_ol"></a><a href="#Footnote_ol" class="fnanchor">[ol]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">To one wide sky of sulphurous hue.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_457" id="Page_457">[457]</a></span></p> +<h4>VII.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But not for vengeance, long delayed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Alone, did Alp, the renegade,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Moslem warriors sternly teach<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His skill to pierce the promised breach: <span class="linenum">180</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Within these walls a Maid was pent<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His hope would win, without consent<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of that inexorable Sire,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Whose heart refused him in its ire,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When Alp, beneath his Christian name,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her virgin hand aspired to claim.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In happier mood, and earlier time,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While unimpeached for traitorous crime,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Gayest in Gondola or Hall,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He glittered through the Carnival; <span class="linenum">190</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And tuned the softest serenade<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">That e'er on Adria's waters played<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At midnight to Italian maid.<a name="FNanchor_om" id="FNanchor_om"></a><a href="#Footnote_om" class="fnanchor">[om]</a><br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>VIII.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And many deemed her heart was won;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For sought by numbers, given to none,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Had young Francesca's hand remained<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Still by the Church's bonds unchained:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And when the Adriatic bore<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lanciotto to the Paynim shore,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her wonted smiles were seen to fail, <span class="linenum">200</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And pensive waxed the maid and pale;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">More constant at confessional,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">More rare at masque and festival;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or seen at such, with downcast eyes,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Which conquered hearts they ceased to prize:<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_458" id="Page_458">[458]</a></span> +<span class="i0">With listless look she seems to gaze:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With humbler care her form arrays;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her voice less lively in the song;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her step, though light, less fleet among<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The pairs, on whom the Morning's glance <span class="linenum">210</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Breaks, yet unsated with the dance.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>IX.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Sent by the State to guard the land,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">(Which, wrested from the Moslem's hand,<a name="FNanchor_346" id="FNanchor_346"></a><a href="#Footnote_346" class="fnanchor">[346]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">While Sobieski tamed his pride<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By Buda's wall and Danube's side,<a name="FNanchor_on" id="FNanchor_on"></a><a href="#Footnote_on" class="fnanchor">[on]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">The chiefs of Venice wrung away<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">From Patra to Euboea's bay,)<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Minotti held in Corinth's towers<a name="FNanchor_oo" id="FNanchor_oo"></a><a href="#Footnote_oo" class="fnanchor">[oo]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Doge's delegated powers,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While yet the pitying eye of Peace <span class="linenum">220</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Smiled o'er her long forgotten Greece:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And ere that faithless truce was broke<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which freed her from the unchristian yoke,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With him his gentle daughter came;<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Nor there, since Menelaus' dame<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Forsook her lord and land, to prove<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What woes await on lawless love,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Had fairer form adorned the shore<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Than she, the matchless stranger, bore.<a name="FNanchor_op" id="FNanchor_op"></a><a href="#Footnote_op" class="fnanchor">[op]</a><br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_459" id="Page_459">[459]</a></span></p> +<h4>X.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The wall is rent, the ruins yawn; <span class="linenum">230</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, with to-morrow's earliest dawn,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O'er the disjointed mass shall vault<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The foremost of the fierce assault.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The bands are ranked—the chosen van<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of Tartar and of Mussulman,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The full of hope, misnamed "forlorn,"<a name="FNanchor_347" id="FNanchor_347"></a><a href="#Footnote_347" class="fnanchor">[347]</a><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Who hold the thought of death in scorn,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And win their way with falchion's force,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or pave the path with many a corse,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O'er which the following brave may rise, <span class="linenum">240</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their stepping-stone—the last who dies!<a name="FNanchor_oq" id="FNanchor_oq"></a><a href="#Footnote_oq" class="fnanchor">[oq]</a><br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>XI.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'Tis midnight: on the mountains brown<a name="FNanchor_348" id="FNanchor_348"></a><a href="#Footnote_348" class="fnanchor">[348]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">The cold, round moon shines deeply down;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Blue roll the waters, blue the sky<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Spreads like an ocean hung on high,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bespangled with those isles of light,<a name="FNanchor_or" id="FNanchor_or"></a><a href="#Footnote_or" class="fnanchor">[or]</a><a name="FNanchor_349" id="FNanchor_349"></a><a href="#Footnote_349" class="fnanchor">[349]</a><br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_460" id="Page_460">[460]</a></span><span class="i0">So wildly, spiritually bright;<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Who ever gazed upon them shining<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And turned to earth without repining,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor wished for wings to flee away, <span class="linenum">250</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And mix with their eternal ray?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The waves on either shore lay there<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Calm, clear, and azure as the air;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And scarce their foam the pebbles shook,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But murmured meekly as the brook.<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">The winds were pillowed on the waves;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The banners drooped along their staves,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, as they fell around them furling,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Above them shone the crescent curling;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And that deep silence was unbroke, <span class="linenum">260</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Save where the watch his signal spoke,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Save where the steed neighed oft and shrill,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And echo answered from the hill,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">And the wide hum of that wild host<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rustled like leaves from coast to coast,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As rose the Muezzin's voice in air<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In midnight call to wonted prayer;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It rose, that chanted mournful strain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like some lone Spirit's o'er the plain:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Twas musical, but sadly sweet, <span class="linenum">270</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Such as when winds and harp-strings meet,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">And take a long unmeasured tone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To mortal minstrelsy unknown.<a name="FNanchor_os" id="FNanchor_os"></a><a href="#Footnote_os" class="fnanchor">[os]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">It seemed to those within the wall<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A cry prophetic of their fall:<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_461" id="Page_461">[461]</a></span> +<span class="i0">It struck even the besieger's ear<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With something ominous and drear,<a name="FNanchor_350" id="FNanchor_350"></a><a href="#Footnote_350" class="fnanchor">[350]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">An undefined and sudden thrill,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Which makes the heart a moment still,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then beat with quicker pulse, ashamed <span class="linenum">280</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of that strange sense its silence framed;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Such as a sudden passing-bell<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wakes, though but for a stranger's knell.<a name="FNanchor_ot" id="FNanchor_ot"></a><a href="#Footnote_ot" class="fnanchor">[ot]</a><br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>XII.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The tent of Alp was on the shore;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sound was hushed, the prayer was o'er;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The watch was set, the night-round made,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All mandates issued and obeyed:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Tis but another anxious night,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His pains the morrow may requite<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With all Revenge and Love can pay, <span class="linenum">290</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">In guerdon for their long delay.<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Few hours remain, and he hath need<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of rest, to nerve for many a deed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of slaughter; but within his soul<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The thoughts like troubled waters roll.<a name="FNanchor_ou" id="FNanchor_ou"></a><a href="#Footnote_ou" class="fnanchor">[ou]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">He stood alone among the host;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not his the loud fanatic boast<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To plant the Crescent o'er the Cross,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or risk a life with little loss,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Secure in paradise to be <span class="linenum">300</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">By Houris loved immortally:<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_462" id="Page_462">[462]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Nor his, what burning patriots feel,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The stern exaltedness of zeal,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Profuse of blood, untired in toil,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When battling on the parent soil.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He stood alone—a renegade<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Against the country he betrayed;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He stood alone amidst his band,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Without a trusted heart or hand:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They followed him, for he was brave, <span class="linenum">310</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And great the spoil he got and gave;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They crouched to him, for he had skill<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To warp and wield the vulgar will:<a name="FNanchor_ov" id="FNanchor_ov"></a><a href="#Footnote_ov" class="fnanchor">[ov]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">But still his Christian origin<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">With them was little less than sin.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They envied even the faithless fame<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He earned beneath a Moslem name;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Since he, their mightiest chief, had been<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In youth a bitter Nazarene.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They did not know how Pride can stoop, <span class="linenum">320</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">When baffled feelings withering droop;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They did not know how Hate can burn<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">In hearts once changed from soft to stern;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor all the false and fatal zeal<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The convert of Revenge can feel.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He ruled them—man may rule the worst,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By ever daring to be first:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So lions o'er the jackals sway;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The jackal points, he fells the prey,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_463" id="Page_463">[463]</a></span><a name="FNanchor_ow" id="FNanchor_ow"></a><a href="#Footnote_ow" class="fnanchor">[ow]</a><a name="FNanchor_351" id="FNanchor_351"></a><a href="#Footnote_351" class="fnanchor">[351]</a><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Then on the vulgar, yelling, press, <span class="linenum">330</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">To gorge the relics of success.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>XIII.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">His head grows fevered, and his pulse<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The quick successive throbs convulse;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In vain from side to side he throws<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">His form, in courtship of repose;<a name="FNanchor_ox" id="FNanchor_ox"></a><a href="#Footnote_ox" class="fnanchor">[ox]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or if he dozed, a sound, a start<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Awoke him with a sunken heart.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The turban on his hot brow pressed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The mail weighed lead-like on his breast,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though oft and long beneath its weight <span class="linenum">340</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upon his eyes had slumber sate,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Without or couch or canopy,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Except a rougher field and sky<a name="FNanchor_oy" id="FNanchor_oy"></a><a href="#Footnote_oy" class="fnanchor">[oy]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Than now might yield a warrior's bed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Than now along the heaven was spread.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He could not rest, he could not stay<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Within his tent to wait for day,<a name="FNanchor_oz" id="FNanchor_oz"></a><a href="#Footnote_oz" class="fnanchor">[oz]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">But walked him forth along the sand,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where thousand sleepers strewed the strand.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What pillowed them? and why should he <span class="linenum">350</span><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">More wakeful than the humblest be,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Since more their peril, worse their toil?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And yet they fearless dream of spoil;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While he alone, where thousands passed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A night of sleep, perchance their last,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_464" id="Page_464">[464]</a></span> +<span class="i0">In sickly vigil wandered on,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And envied all he gazed upon.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>XIV.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He felt his soul become more light<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beneath the freshness of the night.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Cool was the silent sky, though calm, <span class="linenum">360</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And bathed his brow with airy balm:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Behind, the camp—before him lay,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In many a winding creek and bay,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Lepanto's gulf; and, on the brow<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of Delphi's hill, unshaken snow,<a name="FNanchor_pa" id="FNanchor_pa"></a><a href="#Footnote_pa" class="fnanchor">[pa]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">High and eternal, such as shone<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through thousand summers brightly gone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Along the gulf, the mount, the clime;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It will not melt, like man, to time:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tyrant and slave are swept away, <span class="linenum">370</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Less formed to wear before the ray;<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">But that white veil, the lightest, frailest,<a name="FNanchor_352" id="FNanchor_352"></a><a href="#Footnote_352" class="fnanchor">[352]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which on the mighty mount thou hailest,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While tower and tree are torn and rent,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shines o'er its craggy battlement;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In form a peak, in height a cloud,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In texture like a hovering shroud,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thus high by parting Freedom spread,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As from her fond abode she fled,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_465" id="Page_465">[465]</a></span> + +<span class="i0">And lingered on the spot, where long <span class="linenum">380</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her prophet spirit spake in song.<a name="FNanchor_pb" id="FNanchor_pb"></a><a href="#Footnote_pb" class="fnanchor">[pb]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh! still her step at moments falters<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O'er withered fields, and ruined altars,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And fain would wake, in souls too broken,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By pointing to each glorious token:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But vain her voice, till better days<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dawn in those yet remembered rays,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Which shone upon the Persian flying,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And saw the Spartan smile in dying.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>XV.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Not mindless of these mighty times <span class="linenum">390</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was Alp, despite his flight and crimes;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And through this night, as on he wandered,<a name="FNanchor_pc" id="FNanchor_pc"></a><a href="#Footnote_pc" class="fnanchor">[pc]</a><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">And o'er the past and present pondered,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And thought upon the glorious dead<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who there in better cause had bled,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He felt how faint and feebly dim<a name="FNanchor_pd" id="FNanchor_pd"></a><a href="#Footnote_pd" class="fnanchor">[pd]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">The fame that could accrue to him,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who cheered the band, and waved the sword,<a name="FNanchor_pe" id="FNanchor_pe"></a><a href="#Footnote_pe" class="fnanchor">[pe]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">A traitor in a turbaned horde;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And led them to the lawless siege, <span class="linenum">400</span><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Whose best success were sacrilege.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not so had those his fancy numbered,<a name="FNanchor_353" id="FNanchor_353"></a><a href="#Footnote_353" class="fnanchor">[353]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">The chiefs whose dust around him slumbered;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their phalanx marshalled on the plain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whose bulwarks were not then in vain.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_466" id="Page_466">[466]</a></span> +<span class="i0">They fell devoted, but undying;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The very gale their names seemed sighing;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The waters murmured of their name;<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">The woods were peopled with their fame;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The silent pillar, lone and grey, <span class="linenum">410</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Claimed kindred with their sacred clay;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their spirits wrapped the dusky mountain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their memory sparkled o'er the fountain;<a name="FNanchor_pf" id="FNanchor_pf"></a><a href="#Footnote_pf" class="fnanchor">[pf]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">The meanest rill, the mightiest river<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rolled mingling with their fame for ever.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Despite of every yoke she bears,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">That land is Glory's still and theirs!<a name="FNanchor_pg" id="FNanchor_pg"></a><a href="#Footnote_pg" class="fnanchor">[pg]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Tis still a watch-word to the earth:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When man would do a deed of worth<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He points to Greece, and turns to tread, <span class="linenum">420</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">So sanctioned, on the tyrant's head:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He looks to her, and rushes on<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where life is lost, or Freedom won.<a name="FNanchor_ph" id="FNanchor_ph"></a><a href="#Footnote_ph" class="fnanchor">[ph]</a><br /></span> + +</div></div> + +<h4>XVI.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Still by the shore Alp mutely mused,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And wooed the freshness Night diffused.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There shrinks no ebb in that tideless sea,<a name="FNanchor_354" id="FNanchor_354"></a><a href="#Footnote_354" class="fnanchor">[354]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which changeless rolls eternally;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So that wildest of waves, in their angriest mood,<a name="FNanchor_pi" id="FNanchor_pi"></a><a href="#Footnote_pi" class="fnanchor">[pi]</a><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Scarce break on the bounds of the land for a rood;<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_467" id="Page_467">[467]</a></span><span class="i0">And the powerless moon beholds them flow, <span class="linenum">430</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Heedless if she come or go:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Calm or high, in main or bay,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On their course she hath no sway.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The rock unworn its base doth bare,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And looks o'er the surf, but it comes not there;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the fringe of the foam may be seen below,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">On the line that it left long ages ago:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A smooth short space of yellow sand<a name="FNanchor_pj" id="FNanchor_pj"></a><a href="#Footnote_pj" class="fnanchor">[pj]</a><a name="FNanchor_355" id="FNanchor_355"></a><a href="#Footnote_355" class="fnanchor">[355]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Between it and the greener land.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He wandered on along the beach, <span class="linenum">440</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till within the range of a carbine's reach<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the leaguered wall; but they saw him not,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or how could he 'scape from the hostile shot?<a name="FNanchor_pk" id="FNanchor_pk"></a><a href="#Footnote_pk" class="fnanchor">[pk]</a><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Did traitors lurk in the Christians' hold?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Were their hands grown stiff, or their hearts waxed cold?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I know not, in sooth; but from yonder wall<a name="FNanchor_pl" id="FNanchor_pl"></a><a href="#Footnote_pl" class="fnanchor">[pl]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">There flashed no fire, and there hissed no ball,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though he stood beneath the bastion's frown,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That flanked the seaward gate of the town;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though he heard the sound, and could almost tell <span class="linenum">450</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sullen words of the sentinel,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">As his measured step on the stone below<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Clanked, as he paced it to and fro;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And he saw the lean dogs beneath the wall<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hold o'er the dead their Carnival,<a name="FNanchor_356" id="FNanchor_356"></a><a href="#Footnote_356" class="fnanchor">[356]</a><br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_468" id="Page_468">[468]</a></span><span class="i0">Gorging and growling o'er carcass and limb;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They were too busy to bark at him!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From a Tartar's skull they had stripped the flesh,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As ye peel the fig when its fruit is fresh;<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">And their white tusks crunched o'er the whiter skull,<a name="FNanchor_357" id="FNanchor_357"></a><a href="#Footnote_357" class="fnanchor">[357]</a> <span class="linenum">460</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">As it slipped through their jaws, when their edge grew dull,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As they lazily mumbled the bones of the dead,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When they scarce could rise from the spot where they fed;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So well had they broken a lingering fast<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With those who had fallen for that night's repast.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Alp knew, by the turbans that rolled on the sand,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">The foremost of these were the best of his band:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Crimson and green were the shawls of their wear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And each scalp had a single long tuft of hair,<a name="FNanchor_358" id="FNanchor_358"></a><a href="#Footnote_358" class="fnanchor">[358]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">All the rest was shaven and bare. <span class="linenum">470</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">The scalps were in the wild dog's maw,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The hair was tangled round his jaw:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But close by the shore, on the edge of the gulf,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There sat a vulture flapping a wolf,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_469" id="Page_469">[469]</a></span> + +<span class="i0">Who had stolen from the hills, but kept away,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Scared by the dogs, from the human prey;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But he seized on his share of a steed that lay,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Picked by the birds, on the sands of the bay.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>XVII.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Alp turned him from the sickening sight:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Never had shaken his nerves in fight; <span class="linenum">480</span><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">But he better could brook to behold the dying,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Deep in the tide of their warm blood lying,<a name="FNanchor_pm" id="FNanchor_pm"></a><a href="#Footnote_pm" class="fnanchor">[pm]</a><a name="FNanchor_359" id="FNanchor_359"></a><a href="#Footnote_359" class="fnanchor">[359]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Scorched with the death-thirst, and writhing in vain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Than the perishing dead who are past all pain.<a name="FNanchor_pn" id="FNanchor_pn"></a><a href="#Footnote_pn" class="fnanchor">[pn]</a><a name="FNanchor_360" id="FNanchor_360"></a><a href="#Footnote_360" class="fnanchor">[360]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">There is something of pride in the perilous hour,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whate'er be the shape in which Death may lower;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For Fame is there to say who bleeds,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">And Honour's eye on daring deeds!<a name="FNanchor_361" id="FNanchor_361"></a><a href="#Footnote_361" class="fnanchor">[361]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">But when all is past, it is humbling to tread<a name="FNanchor_po" id="FNanchor_po"></a><a href="#Footnote_po" class="fnanchor">[po]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">O'er the weltering field of the tombless dead,<a name="FNanchor_362" id="FNanchor_362"></a><a href="#Footnote_362" class="fnanchor">[362]</a> <span class="linenum">490</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And see worms of the earth, and fowls of the air,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beasts of the forest, all gathering there;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All regarding man as their prey,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">All rejoicing in his decay.<a name="FNanchor_pp" id="FNanchor_pp"></a><a href="#Footnote_pp" class="fnanchor">[pp]</a><br /></span> +</div></div> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_470" id="Page_470">[470]</a></span></p> +<h4>XVIII.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">There is a temple in ruin stands,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fashioned by long forgotten hands;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Two or three columns, and many a stone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Marble and granite, with grass o'ergrown!<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Out upon Time! it will leave no more<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the things to come than the things before!<a name="FNanchor_pq" id="FNanchor_pq"></a><a href="#Footnote_pq" class="fnanchor">[pq]</a><a name="FNanchor_363" id="FNanchor_363"></a><a href="#Footnote_363" class="fnanchor">[363]</a> <span class="linenum">500</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Out upon Time! who for ever will leave<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But enough of the past for the future to grieve<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O'er that which hath been, and o'er that which must be:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What we have seen, our sons shall see;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Remnants of things that have passed away,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Fragments of stone, reared by creatures of clay!<a name="FNanchor_pr" id="FNanchor_pr"></a><a href="#Footnote_pr" class="fnanchor">[pr]</a><br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>XIX.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He sate him down at a pillar's base,<a name="FNanchor_364" id="FNanchor_364"></a><a href="#Footnote_364" class="fnanchor">[364]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And passed his hand athwart his face;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like one in dreary musing mood,<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_471" id="Page_471">[471]</a></span><span class="i0">Declining was his attitude; <span class="linenum">510</span><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">His head was drooping on his breast,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fevered, throbbing, and oppressed;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And o'er his brow, so downward bent,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oft his beating fingers went,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hurriedly, as you may see<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Your own run over the ivory key,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ere the measured tone is taken<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By the chords you would awaken.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There he sate all heavily,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">As he heard the night-wind sigh. <span class="linenum">520</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was it the wind through some hollow stone,<a name="FNanchor_ps" id="FNanchor_ps"></a><a href="#Footnote_ps" class="fnanchor">[ps]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sent that soft and tender moan?<a name="FNanchor_365" id="FNanchor_365"></a><a href="#Footnote_365" class="fnanchor">[365]</a><br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_472" id="Page_472">[472]</a></span><span class="i0">He lifted his head, and he looked on the sea,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But it was unrippled as glass may be;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He looked on the long grass—it waved not a blade;<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">How was that gentle sound conveyed?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He looked to the banners—each flag lay still,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So did the leaves on Cithæron's hill,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_473" id="Page_473">[473]</a></span> +<span class="i0">And he felt not a breath come over his cheek;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What did that sudden sound bespeak? <span class="linenum">530</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">He turned to the left—is he sure of sight?<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">There sate a lady, youthful and bright!<a name="FNanchor_pt" id="FNanchor_pt"></a><a href="#Footnote_pt" class="fnanchor">[pt]</a><a name="FNanchor_366" id="FNanchor_366"></a><a href="#Footnote_366" class="fnanchor">[366]</a><br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>XX.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He started up with more of fear<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Than if an arméd foe were near.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"God of my fathers! what is here?<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Who art thou? and wherefore sent<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So near a hostile armament?"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His trembling hands refused to sign<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The cross he deemed no more divine:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He had resumed it in that hour,<a name="FNanchor_pu" id="FNanchor_pu"></a><a href="#Footnote_pu" class="fnanchor">[pu]</a> <span class="linenum">540</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">But Conscience wrung away the power.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He gazed, he saw; he knew the face<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Of beauty, and the form of grace;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It was Francesca by his side,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The maid who might have been his bride!<a name="FNanchor_pv" id="FNanchor_pv"></a><a href="#Footnote_pv" class="fnanchor">[pv]</a><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> + +<span class="i0">The rose was yet upon her cheek,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But mellowed with a tenderer streak:<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_474" id="Page_474">[474]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Where was the play of her soft lips fled?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Gone was the smile that enlivened their red.<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">The Ocean's calm within their view,<a name="FNanchor_pw" id="FNanchor_pw"></a><a href="#Footnote_pw" class="fnanchor">[pw]</a> <span class="linenum">550</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beside her eye had less of blue;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But like that cold wave it stood still,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And its glance, though clear, was chill.<a name="FNanchor_367" id="FNanchor_367"></a><a href="#Footnote_367" class="fnanchor">[367]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Around her form a thin robe twining,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nought concealed her bosom shining;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through the parting of her hair,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Floating darkly downward there,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her rounded arm showed white and bare:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And ere yet she made reply,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Once she raised her hand on high; <span class="linenum">560</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">It was so wan, and transparent of hue,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You might have seen the moon shine through.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>XXI.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"I come from my rest to him I love best,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That I may be happy, and he may be blessed.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I have passed the guards, the gate, the wall;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sought thee in safety through foes and all.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Tis said the lion will turn and flee<a name="FNanchor_368" id="FNanchor_368"></a><a href="#Footnote_368" class="fnanchor">[368]</a><br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_475" id="Page_475">[475]</a></span><span class="i0">From a maid in the pride of her purity;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the Power on high, that can shield the good<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Thus from the tyrant of the wood, <span class="linenum">570</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hath extended its mercy to guard me as well<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From the hands of the leaguering Infidel.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I come—and if I come in vain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Never, oh never, we meet again!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thou hast done a fearful deed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In falling away from thy fathers' creed:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But dash that turban to earth, and sign<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">The sign of the cross, and for ever be mine;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wring the black drop from thy heart,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And to-morrow unites us no more to part." <span class="linenum">580</span><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"And where should our bridal couch be spread?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In the midst of the dying and the dead?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For to-morrow we give to the slaughter and flame<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sons and the shrines of the Christian name.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">None, save thou and thine, I've sworn,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Shall be left upon the morn:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But thee will I bear to a lovely spot,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where our hands shall be joined, and our sorrow forgot.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There thou yet shall be my bride,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When once again I've quelled the pride <span class="linenum">590</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of Venice; and her hated race<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Have felt the arm they would debase<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Scourge, with a whip of scorpions, those<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Whom Vice and Envy made my foes."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Upon his hand she laid her own—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Light was the touch, but it thrilled to the bone,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_476" id="Page_476">[476]</a></span> +<span class="i0">And shot a chillness to his heart,<a name="FNanchor_px" id="FNanchor_px"></a><a href="#Footnote_px" class="fnanchor">[px]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which fixed him beyond the power to start.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though slight was that grasp so mortal cold,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He could not loose him from its hold; <span class="linenum">600</span><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">But never did clasp of one so dear<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Strike on the pulse with such feeling of fear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As those thin fingers, long and white,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Froze through his blood by their touch that night.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The feverish glow of his brow was gone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And his heart sank so still that it felt like stone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As he looked on the face, and beheld its hue,<a name="FNanchor_py" id="FNanchor_py"></a><a href="#Footnote_py" class="fnanchor">[py]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">So deeply changed from what he knew:<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Fair but faint—without the ray<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of mind, that made each feature play <span class="linenum">610</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like sparkling waves on a sunny day;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And her motionless lips lay still as death,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And her words came forth without her breath,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And there rose not a heave o'er her bosom's swell,<a name="FNanchor_pz" id="FNanchor_pz"></a><a href="#Footnote_pz" class="fnanchor">[pz]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And there seemed not a pulse in her veins to dwell.<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Though her eye shone out, yet the lids were fixed,<a name="FNanchor_369" id="FNanchor_369"></a><a href="#Footnote_369" class="fnanchor">[369]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the glance that it gave was wild and unmixed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With aught of change, as the eyes may seem<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the restless who walk in a troubled dream;<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_477" id="Page_477">[477]</a></span><span class="i0">Like the figures on arras, that gloomily glare, <span class="linenum">620</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Stirred by the breath of the wintry air<a name="FNanchor_qa" id="FNanchor_qa"></a><a href="#Footnote_qa" class="fnanchor">[qa]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">So seen by the dying lamp's fitful light,<a name="FNanchor_qb" id="FNanchor_qb"></a><a href="#Footnote_qb" class="fnanchor">[qb]</a><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Lifeless, but life-like, and awful to sight;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As they seem, through the dimness, about to come down<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From the shadowy wall where their images frown;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fearfully flitting to and fro,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As the gusts on the tapestry come and go.<a name="FNanchor_370" id="FNanchor_370"></a><a href="#Footnote_370" class="fnanchor">[370]</a><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"If not for love of me be given<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thus much, then, for the love of Heaven,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Again I say—that turban tear <span class="linenum">630</span><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">From off thy faithless brow, and swear<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thine injured country's sons to spare,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or thou art lost; and never shalt see—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not earth—that's past—but Heaven or me.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If this thou dost accord, albeit<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A heavy doom' tis thine to meet,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That doom shall half absolve thy sin,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Mercy's gate may receive thee within:<a name="FNanchor_371" id="FNanchor_371"></a><a href="#Footnote_371" class="fnanchor">[371]</a><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">But pause one moment more, and take<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The curse of Him thou didst forsake; <span class="linenum">640</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And look once more to Heaven, and see<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_478" id="Page_478">[478]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Its love for ever shut from thee.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There is a light cloud by the moon—<a name="FNanchor_372" id="FNanchor_372"></a><a href="#Footnote_372" class="fnanchor">[372]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Tis passing, and will pass full soon—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If, by the time its vapoury sail<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Hath ceased her shaded orb to veil,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy heart within thee is not changed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then God and man are both avenged;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dark will thy doom be, darker still<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thine immortality of ill." <span class="linenum">650</span><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Alp looked to heaven, and saw on high<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sign she spake of in the sky;<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_479" id="Page_479">[479]</a></span> + +<span class="i0">But his heart was swollen, and turned aside,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By deep interminable pride.<a name="FNanchor_qc" id="FNanchor_qc"></a><a href="#Footnote_qc" class="fnanchor">[qc]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">This first false passion of his breast<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rolled like a torrent o'er the rest.<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>He</i> sue for mercy! <i>He</i> dismayed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By wild words of a timid maid!<br /></span> + +<span class="i0"><i>He</i>, wronged by Venice, vow to save<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her sons, devoted to the grave! <span class="linenum">660</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">No—though that cloud were thunder's worst,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And charged to crush him—let it burst!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He looked upon it earnestly,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Without an accent of reply;<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">He watched it passing; it is flown:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Full on his eye the clear moon shone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And thus he spake—"Whate'er my fate,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I am no changeling—'tis too late:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The reed in storms may bow and quiver,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then rise again; the tree must shiver. <span class="linenum">670</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">What Venice made me, I must be,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Her foe in all, save love to thee:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But thou art safe: oh, fly with me!"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He turned, but she is gone!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nothing is there but the column stone.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hath she sunk in the earth, or melted in air?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He saw not—he knew not—but nothing is there.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>XXII.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The night is past, and shines the sun<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As if that morn were a jocund one.<a name="FNanchor_373" id="FNanchor_373"></a><a href="#Footnote_373" class="fnanchor">[373]</a><br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_480" id="Page_480">[480]</a></span><span class="i0">Lightly and brightly breaks away <span class="linenum">680</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Morning from her mantle grey,<a name="FNanchor_374" id="FNanchor_374"></a><a href="#Footnote_374" class="fnanchor">[374]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the Noon will look on a sultry day.<a name="FNanchor_375" id="FNanchor_375"></a><a href="#Footnote_375" class="fnanchor">[375]</a><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Hark to the trump, and the drum,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the mournful sound of the barbarous horn,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the flap of the banners, that flit as they're borne,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the neigh of the steed, and the multitude's hum,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the clash, and the shout, "They come! they come!"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The horsetails<a name="FNanchor_376" id="FNanchor_376"></a><a href="#Footnote_376" class="fnanchor">[376]</a> are plucked from the ground, and the sword<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From its sheath; and they form, and but wait for the word.<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Tartar, and Spahi, and Turcoman, <span class="linenum">690</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Strike your tents, and throng to the van;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Mount ye, spur ye, skirr the plain,<a name="FNanchor_377" id="FNanchor_377"></a><a href="#Footnote_377" class="fnanchor">[377]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">That the fugitive may flee in vain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When he breaks from the town; and none escape,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Agéd or young, in the Christian shape;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While your fellows on foot, in a fiery mass,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Bloodstain the breach through which they pass.<a name="FNanchor_378" id="FNanchor_378"></a><a href="#Footnote_378" class="fnanchor">[378]</a><br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_481" id="Page_481">[481]</a></span><span class="i0">The steeds are all bridled, and snort to the rein;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Curved is each neck, and flowing each mane;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">White is the foam of their champ on the bit; <span class="linenum">700</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">The spears are uplifted; the matches are lit;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The cannon are pointed, and ready to roar,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And crush the wall they have crumbled before:<a name="FNanchor_379" id="FNanchor_379"></a><a href="#Footnote_379" class="fnanchor">[379]</a><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Forms in his phalanx each Janizar;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Alp at their head; his right arm is bare,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So is the blade of his scimitar;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Khan and the Pachas are all at their post;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Vizier himself at the head of the host.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When the culverin's signal is fired, then on;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Leave not in Corinth a living one— <span class="linenum">710</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">A priest at her altars, a chief in her halls,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">A hearth in her mansions, a stone on her walls.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">God and the prophet—Alla Hu!<a name="FNanchor_380" id="FNanchor_380"></a><a href="#Footnote_380" class="fnanchor">[380]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Up to the skies with that wild halloo!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"There the breach lies for passage, the ladder to scale;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And your hands on your sabres, and how should ye fail?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He who first downs with the red cross may crave<a name="FNanchor_381" id="FNanchor_381"></a><a href="#Footnote_381" class="fnanchor">[381]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">His heart's dearest wish; let him ask it, and have!"<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Thus uttered Coumourgi, the dauntless Vizier;<a name="FNanchor_382" id="FNanchor_382"></a><a href="#Footnote_382" class="fnanchor">[382]</a><br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_482" id="Page_482">[482]</a></span><span class="i0">The reply was the brandish of sabre and spear, <span class="linenum">720</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the shout of fierce thousands in joyous ire:—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Silence—hark to the signal—fire!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>XXIII.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">As the wolves, that headlong go<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On the stately buffalo,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though with fiery eyes, and angry roar,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And hoofs that stamp, and horns that gore,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He tramples on earth, or tosses on high<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The foremost, who rush on his strength but to die<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thus against the wall they went,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thus the first were backward bent;<a name="FNanchor_383" id="FNanchor_383"></a><a href="#Footnote_383" class="fnanchor">[383]</a> <span class="linenum">730</span><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Many a bosom, sheathed in brass,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Strewed the earth like broken glass,<a name="FNanchor_qd" id="FNanchor_qd"></a><a href="#Footnote_qd" class="fnanchor">[qd]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shivered by the shot, that tore<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The ground whereon they moved no more:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Even as they fell, in files they lay,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like the mower's grass at the close of day,<a name="FNanchor_qe" id="FNanchor_qe"></a><a href="#Footnote_qe" class="fnanchor">[qe]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">When his work is done on the levelled plain;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Such was the fall of the foremost slain.<a name="FNanchor_384" id="FNanchor_384"></a><a href="#Footnote_384" class="fnanchor">[384]</a><br /></span> + +</div></div> + +<h4>XXIV.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">As the spring-tides, with heavy plash,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From the cliffs invading dash <span class="linenum">740</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Huge fragments, sapped by the ceaseless flow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till white and thundering down they go,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_483" id="Page_483">[483]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Like the avalanche's snow<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">On the Alpine vales below;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thus at length, outbreathed and worn,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Corinth's sons were downward borne<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By the long and oft renewed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Charge of the Moslem multitude.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In firmness they stood, and in masses they fell,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Heaped by the host of the Infidel, <span class="linenum">750</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hand to hand, and foot to foot:<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Nothing there, save Death, was mute;<a name="FNanchor_385" id="FNanchor_385"></a><a href="#Footnote_385" class="fnanchor">[385]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Stroke, and thrust, and flash, and cry<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For quarter, or for victory,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Mingle there with the volleying thunder,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which makes the distant cities wonder<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How the sounding battle goes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If with them, or for their foes;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If they must mourn, or may rejoice<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">In that annihilating voice, <span class="linenum">760</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which pierces the deep hills through and through<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With an echo dread and new:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You might have heard it, on that day,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O'er Salamis and Megara;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">(We have heard the hearers say,)<a name="FNanchor_qf" id="FNanchor_qf"></a><a href="#Footnote_qf" class="fnanchor">[qf]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Even unto Piræus' bay.<br /></span> + +</div></div> + +<h4>XXV.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">From the point of encountering blades to the hilt,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sabres and swords with blood were gilt;<a name="FNanchor_386" id="FNanchor_386"></a><a href="#Footnote_386" class="fnanchor">[386]</a><br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_484" id="Page_484">[484]</a></span><span class="i0">But the rampart is won, and the spoil begun,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And all but the after carnage done. <span class="linenum">770</span><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Shriller shrieks now mingling come<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From within the plundered dome:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hark to the haste of flying feet,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That splash in the blood of the slippery street;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But here and there, where 'vantage ground<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Against the foe may still be found,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Desperate groups, of twelve or ten,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Make a pause, and turn again—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With banded backs against the wall,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Fiercely stand, or fighting fall. <span class="linenum">780</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">There stood an old man<a name="FNanchor_387" id="FNanchor_387"></a><a href="#Footnote_387" class="fnanchor">[387]</a>—his hairs were white,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But his veteran arm was full of might:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So gallantly bore he the brunt of the fray,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The dead before him, on that day,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In a semicircle lay;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Still he combated unwounded,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Though retreating, unsurrounded.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Many a scar of former fight<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lurked<a name="FNanchor_388" id="FNanchor_388"></a><a href="#Footnote_388" class="fnanchor">[388]</a> beneath his corslet bright;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But of every wound his body bore, <span class="linenum">790</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Each and all had been ta'en before:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though agéd, he was so iron of limb,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Few of our youth could cope with him,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the foes, whom he singly kept at bay,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Outnumbered his thin hairs<a name="FNanchor_389" id="FNanchor_389"></a><a href="#Footnote_389" class="fnanchor">[389]</a> of silver grey.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From right to left his sabre swept:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Many an Othman mother wept<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sons that were unborn, when dipped<a name="FNanchor_390" id="FNanchor_390"></a><a href="#Footnote_390" class="fnanchor">[390]</a><br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_485" id="Page_485">[485]</a></span><span class="i0">His weapon first in Moslem gore,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Ere his years could count a score. <span class="linenum">800</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of all he might have been the sire<a name="FNanchor_391" id="FNanchor_391"></a><a href="#Footnote_391" class="fnanchor">[391]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who fell that day beneath his ire:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For, sonless left long years ago,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His wrath made many a childless foe;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And since the day, when in the strait<a name="FNanchor_392" id="FNanchor_392"></a><a href="#Footnote_392" class="fnanchor">[392]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">His only boy had met his fate,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">His parent's iron hand did doom<br /></span> +<span class="i0">More than a human hecatomb.<a name="FNanchor_393" id="FNanchor_393"></a><a href="#Footnote_393" class="fnanchor">[393]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">If shades by carnage be appeased,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Patroclus' spirit less was pleased <span class="linenum">810</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Than his, Minotti's son, who died<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where Asia's bounds and ours divide.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Buried he lay, where thousands before<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For thousands of years were inhumed on the shore;<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">What of them is left, to tell<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where they lie, and how they fell?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not a stone on their turf, nor a bone in their graves;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But they live in the verse that immortally saves.<a name="FNanchor_394" id="FNanchor_394"></a><a href="#Footnote_394" class="fnanchor">[394]</a><br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>XXVI.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Hark to the Allah shout!<a name="FNanchor_395" id="FNanchor_395"></a><a href="#Footnote_395" class="fnanchor">[395]</a> a band<br /></span> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_486" id="Page_486">[486]</a></span><span class="i0">Of the Mussulman bravest and best is at hand; <span class="linenum">820</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their leader's nervous arm is bare,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Swifter to smite, and never to spare—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Unclothed to the shoulder it waves them on;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thus in the fight is he ever known:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Others a gaudier garb may show,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To tempt the spoil of the greedy foe;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Many a hand's on a richer hilt,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">But none on a steel more ruddily gilt;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Many a loftier turban may wear,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Alp is but known by the white arm bare; <span class="linenum">830</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Look through the thick of the fight,'tis there!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There is not a standard on that shore<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So well advanced the ranks before;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There is not a banner in Moslem war<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Will lure the Delhis half so far;<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">It glances like a falling star!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where'er that mighty arm is seen,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The bravest be, or late have been;<a name="FNanchor_396" id="FNanchor_396"></a><a href="#Footnote_396" class="fnanchor">[396]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">There the craven cries for quarter<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Vainly to the vengeful Tartar; <span class="linenum">840</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or the hero, silent lying,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Scorns to yield a groan in dying;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Mustering his last feeble blow<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">'Gainst the nearest levelled foe,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though faint beneath the mutual wound,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Grappling on the gory ground.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>XXVII.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Still the old man stood erect.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Alp's career a moment checked.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Yield thee, Minotti; quarter take,<br /></span> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_487" id="Page_487">[487]</a></span><span class="i0">For thine own, thy daughter's sake." <span class="linenum">850</span><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Never, Renegado, never!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though the life of thy gift would last for ever."<a name="FNanchor_qg" id="FNanchor_qg"></a><a href="#Footnote_qg" class="fnanchor">[qg]</a><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Francesca!—Oh, my promised bride!<a name="FNanchor_qh" id="FNanchor_qh"></a><a href="#Footnote_qh" class="fnanchor">[qh]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Must she too perish by thy pride!"<br /></span> + +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"She is safe."—"Where? where?"—"In Heaven;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From whence thy traitor soul is driven—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Far from thee, and undefiled."<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Grimly then Minotti smiled,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As he saw Alp staggering bow<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Before his words, as with a blow. <span class="linenum">860</span><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> + +<span class="i0">"Oh God! when died she?"—"Yesternight—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor weep I for her spirit's flight:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">None of my pure race shall be<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Slaves to Mahomet and thee—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Come on!"—That challenge is in vain—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Alp's already with the slain!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While Minotti's words were wreaking<br /></span> +<span class="i0">More revenge in bitter speaking<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Than his falchion's point had found,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Had the time allowed to wound, <span class="linenum">870</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">From within the neighbouring porch<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of a long defended church,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where the last and desperate few<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Would the failing fight renew,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sharp shot dashed Alp to the ground;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ere an eye could view the wound<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">That crashed through the brain of the infidel,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Round he spun, and down he fell;<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_488" id="Page_488">[488]</a></span> +<span class="i0">A flash like fire within his eyes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Blazed, as he bent no more to rise, <span class="linenum">880</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And then eternal darkness sunk<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through all the palpitating trunk;<a name="FNanchor_qi" id="FNanchor_qi"></a><a href="#Footnote_qi" class="fnanchor">[qi]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nought of life left, save a quivering<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Where his limbs were slightly shivering:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They turned him on his back; his breast<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And brow were stained with gore and dust,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And through his lips the life-blood oozed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From its deep veins lately loosed;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But in his pulse there was no throb,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor on his lips one dying sob; <span class="linenum">890</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sigh, nor word, nor struggling breath<a name="FNanchor_qj" id="FNanchor_qj"></a><a href="#Footnote_qj" class="fnanchor">[qj]</a><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Heralded his way to death:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ere his very thought could pray,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Unaneled he passed away,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Without a hope from Mercy's aid,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To the last a Renegade.<a name="FNanchor_397" id="FNanchor_397"></a><a href="#Footnote_397" class="fnanchor">[397]</a><br /></span> +</div></div> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_489" id="Page_489">[489]</a></span></p> +<h4>XXVIII.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Fearfully the yell arose<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of his followers, and his foes;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">These in joy, in fury those:<a name="FNanchor_qk" id="FNanchor_qk"></a><a href="#Footnote_qk" class="fnanchor">[qk]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then again in conflict mixing,<a name="FNanchor_ql" id="FNanchor_ql"></a><a href="#Footnote_ql" class="fnanchor">[ql]</a> <span class="linenum">900</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Clashing swords, and spears transfixing,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Interchanged the blow and thrust,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Hurling warriors in the dust.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Street by street, and foot by foot,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Still Minotti dares dispute<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The latest portion of the land<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Left beneath his high command;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With him, aiding heart and hand,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The remnant of his gallant band.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Still the church is tenable, <span class="linenum">910</span><br /></span> + +<span class="i2">Whence issued late the fated ball<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That half avenged the city's fall,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When Alp, her fierce assailant, fell:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thither bending sternly back,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They leave before a bloody track;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, with their faces to the foe,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dealing wounds with every blow,<a name="FNanchor_398" id="FNanchor_398"></a><a href="#Footnote_398" class="fnanchor">[398]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">The chief, and his retreating train,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Join to those within the fane;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There they yet may breathe awhile, <span class="linenum">920</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sheltered by the massy pile.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>XXIX.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Brief breathing-time! the turbaned host,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With added ranks and raging boast,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_490" id="Page_490">[490]</a></span> + +<span class="i0">Press onwards with such strength and heat,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their numbers balk their own retreat;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For narrow the way that led to the spot<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where still the Christians yielded not;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the foremost, if fearful, may vainly try<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through the massy column to turn and fly;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They perforce must do or die. <span class="linenum">930</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">They die; but ere their eyes could close,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Avengers o'er their bodies rose;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fresh and furious, fast they fill<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The ranks unthinned, though slaughtered still;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And faint the weary Christians wax<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Before the still renewed attacks:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And now the Othmans gain the gate;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Still resists its iron weight,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And still, all deadly aimed and hot,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From every crevice comes the shot; <span class="linenum">940</span><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">From every shattered window pour<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The volleys of the sulphurous shower:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But the portal wavering grows and weak—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The iron yields, the hinges creak—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It bends—it falls—and all is o'er;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lost Corinth may resist no more!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>XXX.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Darkly, sternly, and all alone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Minotti stood o'er the altar stone:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Madonna's face upon him shone,<a name="FNanchor_399" id="FNanchor_399"></a><a href="#Footnote_399" class="fnanchor">[399]</a><br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_491" id="Page_491">[491]</a></span><span class="i0">Painted in heavenly hues above, <span class="linenum">950</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">With eyes of light and looks of love;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And placed upon that holy shrine<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">To fix our thoughts on things divine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When pictured there, we kneeling see<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her, and the boy-God on her knee,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Smiling sweetly on each prayer<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To Heaven, as if to waft it there.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Still she smiled; even now she smiles,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though slaughter streams along her aisles:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Minotti lifted his agéd eye, <span class="linenum">960</span><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">And made the sign of a cross with a sigh,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then seized a torch which blazed thereby;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And still he stood, while with steel and flame,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Inward and onward the Mussulman came.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>XXXI.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The vaults beneath the mosaic stone<a name="FNanchor_qm" id="FNanchor_qm"></a><a href="#Footnote_qm" class="fnanchor">[qm]</a><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Contained the dead of ages gone;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their names were on the graven floor,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But now illegible with gore;<a name="FNanchor_qn" id="FNanchor_qn"></a><a href="#Footnote_qn" class="fnanchor">[qn]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">The carvéd crests, and curious hues<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The varied marble's veins diffuse, <span class="linenum">970</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Were smeared, and slippery—stained, and strown<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With broken swords, and helms o'erthrown:<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">There were dead above, and the dead below<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lay cold in many a coffined row;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You might see them piled in sable state,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By a pale light through a gloomy grate;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But War had entered their dark caves,<a name="FNanchor_qo" id="FNanchor_qo"></a><a href="#Footnote_qo" class="fnanchor">[qo]</a><br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_492" id="Page_492">[492]</a></span><span class="i0">And stored along the vaulted graves<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her sulphurous treasures, thickly spread<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In masses by the fleshless dead: <span class="linenum">980</span><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Here, throughout the siege, had been<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Christians' chiefest magazine;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To these a late formed train now led,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Minotti's last and stern resource<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Against the foe's o'erwhelming force.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>XXXII.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The foe came on, and few remain<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">To strive, and those must strive in vain:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For lack of further lives, to slake<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The thirst of vengeance now awake,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With barbarous blows they gash the dead, <span class="linenum">990</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And lop the already lifeless head,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And fell the statues from their niche,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And spoil the shrines of offerings rich,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And from each other's rude hands wrest<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">The silver vessels Saints had blessed.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To the high altar on they go;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh, but it made a glorious show!<a name="FNanchor_400" id="FNanchor_400"></a><a href="#Footnote_400" class="fnanchor">[400]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">On its table still behold<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The cup of consecrated gold;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Massy and deep, a glittering prize, <span class="linenum">1000</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Brightly it sparkles to plunderers' eyes:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That morn it held the holy wine,<a name="FNanchor_qp" id="FNanchor_qp"></a><a href="#Footnote_qp" class="fnanchor">[qp]</a><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Converted by Christ to his blood so divine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which his worshippers drank at the break of day,<a name="FNanchor_qq" id="FNanchor_qq"></a><a href="#Footnote_qq" class="fnanchor">[qq]</a><br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_493" id="Page_493">[493]</a></span><span class="i0">To shrive their souls ere they joined in the fray.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Still a few drops within it lay;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And round the sacred table glow<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Twelve lofty lamps, in splendid row,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From the purest metal cast;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A spoil—the richest, and the last. <span class="linenum">1010</span><br /></span> + +</div></div> + +<h4>XXXIII.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">So near they came, the nearest stretched<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To grasp the spoil he almost reached<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When old Minotti's hand<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Touched with the torch the train—<br /></span> +<span class="i6">'Tis fired!<a name="FNanchor_401" id="FNanchor_401"></a><a href="#Footnote_401" class="fnanchor">[401]</a><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Spire, vaults, the shrine, the spoil, the slain,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The turbaned victors, the Christian band,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All that of living or dead remain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hurled on high with the shivered fane,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In one wild roar expired!<a name="FNanchor_402" id="FNanchor_402"></a><a href="#Footnote_402" class="fnanchor">[402]</a> <span class="linenum">1020</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">The shattered town—the walls thrown down—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The waves a moment backward bent—<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">The hills that shake, although unrent,<a name="FNanchor_qr" id="FNanchor_qr"></a><a href="#Footnote_qr" class="fnanchor">[qr]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">As if an Earthquake passed—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The thousand shapeless things all driven<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In cloud and flame athwart the heaven,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">By that tremendous blast<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_494" id="Page_494">[494]</a></span>—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Proclaimed the desperate conflict o'er<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On that too long afflicted shore:<a name="FNanchor_403" id="FNanchor_403"></a><a href="#Footnote_403" class="fnanchor">[403]</a><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Up to the sky like rockets go <span class="linenum">1030</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">All that mingled there below:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Many a tall and goodly man,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Scorched and shrivelled to a span,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When he fell to earth again<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like a cinder strewed the plain:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Down the ashes shower like rain;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Some fell in the gulf, which received the sprinkles<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">With a thousand circling wrinkles;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Some fell on the shore, but, far away,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Scattered o'er the isthmus lay; <span class="linenum">1040</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Christian or Moslem, which be they?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Let their mothers see and say!<a name="FNanchor_qs" id="FNanchor_qs"></a><a href="#Footnote_qs" class="fnanchor">[qs]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">When in cradled rest they lay,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And each nursing mother smiled<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On the sweet sleep of her child,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Little deemed she such a day<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Would rend those tender limbs away.<a name="FNanchor_404" id="FNanchor_404"></a><a href="#Footnote_404" class="fnanchor">[404]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not the matrons that them bore<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Could discern their offspring more;<a name="FNanchor_405" id="FNanchor_405"></a><a href="#Footnote_405" class="fnanchor">[405]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">That one moment left no trace <span class="linenum">1050</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">More of human form or face<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Save a scattered scalp or bone:<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_495" id="Page_495">[495]</a></span> + +<span class="i0">And down came blazing rafters, strown<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Around, and many a falling stone,<a name="FNanchor_qt" id="FNanchor_qt"></a><a href="#Footnote_qt" class="fnanchor">[qt]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Deeply dinted in the clay,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All blackened there and reeking lay.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All the living things that heard<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The deadly earth-shock disappeared:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The wild birds flew; the wild dogs fled,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And howling left the unburied dead;<a name="FNanchor_qu" id="FNanchor_qu"></a><a href="#Footnote_qu" class="fnanchor">[qu]</a><a name="FNanchor_406" id="FNanchor_406"></a><a href="#Footnote_406" class="fnanchor">[406]</a> <span class="linenum">1060</span><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">The camels from their keepers broke;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The distant steer forsook the yoke—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The nearer steed plunged o'er the plain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And burst his girth, and tore his rein;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The bull-frog's note, from out the marsh,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Deep-mouthed arose, and doubly harsh;<a name="FNanchor_407" id="FNanchor_407"></a><a href="#Footnote_407" class="fnanchor">[407]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">The wolves yelled on the caverned hill<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where Echo rolled in thunder still;<a name="FNanchor_qv" id="FNanchor_qv"></a><a href="#Footnote_qv" class="fnanchor">[qv]</a><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">The jackal's troop, in gathered cry,<a name="FNanchor_qw" id="FNanchor_qw"></a><a href="#Footnote_qw" class="fnanchor">[qw]</a><a name="FNanchor_408" id="FNanchor_408"></a><a href="#Footnote_408" class="fnanchor">[408]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bayed from afar complainingly, <span class="linenum">1070</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">With a mixed and mournful sound,<a name="FNanchor_qx" id="FNanchor_qx"></a><a href="#Footnote_qx" class="fnanchor">[qx]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like crying babe, and beaten hound:<a name="FNanchor_409" id="FNanchor_409"></a><a href="#Footnote_409" class="fnanchor">[409]</a><br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_496" id="Page_496">[496]</a></span><span class="i0">With sudden wing, and ruffled breast,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The eagle left his rocky nest,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">And mounted nearer to the sun,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The clouds beneath him seemed so dun;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their smoke assailed his startled beak,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And made him higher soar and shriek—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thus was Corinth lost and won!<a name="FNanchor_410" id="FNanchor_410"></a><a href="#Footnote_410" class="fnanchor">[410]</a><br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_330" id="Footnote_330"></a><a href="#FNanchor_330"><span class="label">[330]</span></a> "With Gun, Drum, Trumpet, Blunderbuss, and Thunder."</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_331" id="Footnote_331"></a><a href="#FNanchor_331"><span class="label">[331]</span></a> <a id="Note_447"></a>{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. +</p><p> +["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 +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."—<i>Memoir of the Life and Writings of the +Right Honourable Lord Byron</i>, London, 1822, p. 222.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_332" id="Footnote_332"></a><a href="#FNanchor_332"><span class="label">[332]</span></a> <a id="Note_449"></a>{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 <i>Siege of Corinth</i>. +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 <i>Letters and Journals</i>, 1830, i. 638, they were +included among the <i>Occasional Poems</i> in the edition of 1831, and +first prefixed to the poem in the edition of 1832.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_333" id="Footnote_333"></a><a href="#FNanchor_333"><span class="label">[333]</span></a> [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 <i>Siege of Corinth</i>, p. 53)— +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Upon the sixteen hunder year<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of God, and fifty-three,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From Christ was born, that bought us dear,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As writings testifie," etc.<br /></span> + +</div></div> +<p> +See "The Life and Age of Man" (<i>Burns' Selected Poems</i>, ed. by +J. L. Robertson, 1889, p. 191).]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_334" id="Footnote_334"></a><a href="#FNanchor_334"><span class="label">[334]</span></a> [Compare letter to Hodgson, July 16, 1809: +"How merrily we lives that travellers be!"—<i>Letters</i>, 1898, i. 233.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_335" id="Footnote_335"></a><a href="#FNanchor_335"><span class="label">[335]</span></a> <a id="Note_450"></a>{450} +[For "capote," compare <i>Childe Harold</i>, Canto II. stanza lii. +line 7, and Byron's note (24.B.), <i>Poetical Works</i>, 1899, ii. 132, 181. +Compare, too, letter to Mrs. Byron, November 12, 1809 (<i>Letters</i>, +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."]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_336" id="Footnote_336"></a><a href="#FNanchor_336"><span class="label">[336]</span></a> 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.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_nz" id="Footnote_nz"></a><a href="#FNanchor_nz"><span class="label">[nz]</span></a> <a id="Note_451"></a>{451} <i>But those winged days</i>——.—[MS.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_337" id="Footnote_337"></a><a href="#FNanchor_337"><span class="label">[337]</span></a> [Compare Kingsley's <i>Last Buccaneer</i>— + +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"If I might but be a sea-dove, I'd fly across the main—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To the pleasant isle of Aves, to look at it once again."]<br /></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_oa" id="Footnote_oa"></a><a href="#FNanchor_oa"><span class="label">[oa]</span></a> <i>The kindly few who love my lay</i>.—[MS.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p><a name="Footnote_338" id="Footnote_338"></a><a href="#FNanchor_338"> +<span class="label">[338]</span></a> [The MS. is dated J<span class="sup">y</span> (January) 31, 1815. +Lady Byron's copy is dated November 2, 1815.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_ob" id="Footnote_ob"></a><a href="#FNanchor_ob"><span class="label">[ob]</span></a> <i>Many a year, and many an age</i>.—[MS. G. Copy.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_oc" id="Footnote_oc"></a><a href="#FNanchor_oc"><span class="label">[oc]</span></a> <i>A marvel from her Moslem bands</i>.—[MS. G.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_339" id="Footnote_339"></a><a href="#FNanchor_339"><span class="label">[339]</span></a> <a id="Note_452"></a>{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 +(<i>Works</i> of Alexander Pope, Esq., 1806, ii. 83).]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_od" id="Footnote_od"></a><a href="#FNanchor_od"><span class="label">[od]</span></a> <i>Or could the dead be raised again</i>.—[MS. G. erased.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_oe" id="Footnote_oe"></a><a href="#FNanchor_oe"><span class="label">[oe]</span></a> + +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">——<i>through yon clear skies</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Than tower-capt Acropolis</i>.—[MS. G.]<br /></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_of" id="Footnote_of"></a><a href="#FNanchor_of"><span class="label">[of]</span></a> <i>Stretched on the edge——.—[MS. G. erased.]</i></p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_340" id="Footnote_340"></a><a href="#FNanchor_340"><span class="label">[340]</span></a> [Turkish holders of military fiefs.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_og" id="Footnote_og"></a><a href="#FNanchor_og"><span class="label">[og]</span></a> +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>The turbaned crowd of dusky hue</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Whose march Morea's fields may rue</i>.—[MS. G. erased.]<br /></span> +</div></div> + +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_341" id="Footnote_341"></a><a href="#FNanchor_341"><span class="label">[341]</span></a> <a id="Note_453"></a>{453} The life of the Turcomans is +wandering and patriarchal: they dwell in tents.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_342" id="Footnote_342"></a><a href="#FNanchor_342"><span class="label">[342]</span></a> [Compare <i>The Giaour</i>, line 639 +(<i>vide ante</i>, <a href="#Page_116">p. 116</a>)—"The deathshot hissing from afar."]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_343" id="Footnote_343"></a><a href="#FNanchor_343"><span class="label">[343]</span></a> <a id="Note_454"></a>{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, +<i>Histoire de l'Empire Othoman</i>, i. 13-15.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_oh" id="Footnote_oh"></a><a href="#FNanchor_oh"><span class="label">[oh]</span></a> <i>But now an exile</i>——.—[MS. G.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_344" id="Footnote_344"></a><a href="#FNanchor_344"><span class="label">[344]</span></a> <a id="Note_455"></a>{455} +["The <i>Lions' Mouths</i>, 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."—<i>Sketches from Venetian History</i>, +1832, ii. 380.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_oi" id="Footnote_oi"></a><a href="#FNanchor_oi"><span class="label">[oi]</span></a> <i>To waste its future</i>——.—[MS. G.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_345" id="Footnote_345"></a><a href="#FNanchor_345"><span class="label">[345]</span></a> 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." +</p><p> +[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, +<i>Historie de l'Empire Othoman</i>, xiii. 300, 312.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_oj" id="Footnote_oj"></a><a href="#FNanchor_oj"><span class="label">[oj]</span></a> <a id="Note_456"></a>{456} <i>And death-like rolled</i>——.—[MS. G. erased.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_ok" id="Footnote_ok"></a><a href="#FNanchor_ok"><span class="label">[ok]</span></a> <i>Like comets in convulsion riven</i>.—[MS. G. Copy erased.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_ol" id="Footnote_ol"></a><a href="#FNanchor_ol"><span class="label">[ol]</span></a> +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>Impervious to the powerless sun</i>,<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Through sulphurous smoke whose blackness grew</i>.—<br /></span> + +<span class="i28">[MS. G. erased.]<br /></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_om" id="Footnote_om"></a><a href="#FNanchor_om"><span class="label">[om]</span></a> <a id="Note_457"></a>{457} <i>In midnight courtship to Italian maid</i>.—[MS. G.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_346" id="Footnote_346"></a><a href="#FNanchor_346"><span class="label">[346]</span></a> <a id="Note_458"></a>{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.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_on" id="Footnote_on"></a><a href="#FNanchor_on"><span class="label">[on]</span></a> <i>By Buda's wall to Danube's side</i>.—[MS. G.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_oo" id="Footnote_oo"></a><a href="#FNanchor_oo"><span class="label">[oo]</span></a> <i>Pisani held</i>——.—[MS. G.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_op" id="Footnote_op"></a><a href="#FNanchor_op"><span class="label">[op]</span></a> <i>Than she, the beauteous stranger, bore</i>.—[MS. G. erased.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_347" id="Footnote_347"></a><a href="#FNanchor_347"><span class="label">[347]</span></a> <a id="Note_459"></a>{459} +[For Byron's use of the phrase, "Forlorn Hope," as an equivalent +of the Turkish Delhis, or Delis, see <i>Childe Harold</i>, Canto II. +("The Albanian War-Song"), <i>Poetical Works</i>, 1899, ii. 149, +note 1.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_oq" id="Footnote_oq"></a><a href="#FNanchor_oq"><span class="label">[oq]</span></a> <i>By stepping o'er</i>——.—[MS. G.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_348" id="Footnote_348"></a><a href="#FNanchor_348"><span class="label">[348]</span></a> +["Brown" is Byron's usual epithet for landscape seen by moonlight. +Compare <i>Childe Harold</i>, Canto II. stanza xxii. line 6, etc., +<i>Poetical Works</i>, 1899, ii. 113, note 3.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_or" id="Footnote_or"></a><a href="#FNanchor_or"><span class="label">[or]</span></a> <i>Bespangled with her isles</i>——.—[MS. G.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_349" id="Footnote_349"></a><a href="#FNanchor_349"><span class="label">[349]</span></a> + +["Stars" are likened to "isles" by Campbell, in +<i>The Pleasures of Hope</i>, Part II.— +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"The seraph eye shall count the starry train,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like distant isles embosomed on the main."<br /></span> +</div></div> +<p> +And "isles" to "stars" by Byron, in <i>The Island</i>, Canto II. +stanza xi. lines 14, 15— +</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i8">"The studded archipelago,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O'er whose blue bosom rose the starry isles."<br /></span> +</div></div> +<p> +For other "star-similes," see <i>Childe Harold</i>, Canto III. stanza +lxxxviii. line 9, <i>Poetical Works</i>, 1899, ii. 270, note 2.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_os" id="Footnote_os"></a><a href="#FNanchor_os"><span class="label">[os]</span></a> +</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>And take a dark unmeasured tone.</i>—[MS. G.]<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>And make a melancholy moan</i>,<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>To mortal voice and ear unknown.</i>—[MS. G. erased.]<br /></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_350" id="Footnote_350"></a><a href="#FNanchor_350"><span class="label">[350]</span></a> <a id="Note_461"></a>{461} [Compare Scott's <i>Marmion</i>, III. xvi. 4— + +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"And that strange Palmer's boding say,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That fell so ominous and drear."]<br /></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_ot" id="Footnote_ot"></a><a href="#FNanchor_ot"><span class="label">[ot]</span></a> +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">——<i>by fancy framed</i>,<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Which rings a deep, internal knell</i>,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0"><i>A visionary passing-bell.</i>—[MS. G. erased.]<br /></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_ou" id="Footnote_ou"></a><a href="#FNanchor_ou"><span class="label">[ou]</span></a> <i>The thoughts tumultuously roll.</i>—[MS. G.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_ov" id="Footnote_ov"></a><a href="#FNanchor_ov"><span class="label">[ov]</span></a> <a id="Note_462"></a>{462} <i>To triumph o'er</i>——.—[MS. G. erased.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_ow" id="Footnote_ow"></a><a href="#FNanchor_ow"><span class="label">[ow]</span></a> +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>They but provide, he fells the prey.</i>—[MS. G.]<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>As lions o'er the jackal sway</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>By springing dauntless on the prey;</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>They follow on, and yelling press</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>To gorge the fragments of success.</i>—[MS. G. erased.]<br /></span> + +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_351" id="Footnote_351"></a><a href="#FNanchor_351"><span class="label">[351]</span></a> [Lines 329-331 are inserted in the copy. +They are in Byron's +handwriting. Compare <i>Don Juan</i>, Canto IX. stanza xxvii. +line 1, <i>seq.</i>—"<i>That's</i> an appropriate simile, +<i>that jackal</i>."]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_ox" id="Footnote_ox"></a><a href="#FNanchor_ox"><span class="label">[ox]</span></a> <a id="Note_463"></a>{463} +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>He vainly turned from side to side</i>,<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>And each reposing posture tried</i>.—[MS. G. erased.]<br /></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_oy" id="Footnote_oy"></a><a href="#FNanchor_oy"><span class="label">[oy]</span></a> <i>Beyond a rougher</i>——.—[MS. G.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_oz" id="Footnote_oz"></a><a href="#FNanchor_oz"><span class="label">[oz]</span></a> ——<i>to sigh for day</i>.—[MS. G.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_pa" id="Footnote_pa"></a><a href="#FNanchor_pa"><span class="label">[pa]</span></a> <a id="Note_464"></a>{464} +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>Of Liakura—his unmelting snow</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Bright and eternal</i>——.—[MS. G. erased.]<br /></span> + +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_352" id="Footnote_352"></a><a href="#FNanchor_352"><span class="label">[352]</span></a> [Compare <i>The Giaour</i>, line 566 +(<i>vide ante</i>, <a href="#Page_113">p. 113</a>)— +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"For where is he that hath beheld<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">The peak of Liakura unveiled?"<br /></span> +</div></div> +<p> +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.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_pb" id="Footnote_pb"></a><a href="#FNanchor_pb"><span class="label">[pb]</span></a> <a id="Note_465"></a>{465} <i>Her spirit spoke in deathless song</i>.—[MS. G. erased.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_pc" id="Footnote_pc"></a><a href="#FNanchor_pc"><span class="label">[pc]</span></a> <i>And in this night</i>——.—[MS. G.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_pd" id="Footnote_pd"></a><a href="#FNanchor_pd"><span class="label">[pd]</span></a> <i>He felt how little and how dim</i>.—[MS. G. erased.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_pe" id="Footnote_pe"></a><a href="#FNanchor_pe"><span class="label">[pe]</span></a> <i>Who led the band</i>——.—[MS. G.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_353" id="Footnote_353"></a><a href="#FNanchor_353"><span class="label">[353]</span></a> [Compare <i>The Giaour</i>, lines 103, + +<i>seq.</i> (<i>vide ante</i>, <a href="#Page_91">p. 91</a>)—"Clime of +the unforgotten brave!" etc.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_pf" id="Footnote_pf"></a><a href="#FNanchor_pf"><span class="label">[pf]</span></a> <a id="Note_466"></a>{466} <i>Their memory hallowed every fountain</i>.—[MS. G. erased.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_pg" id="Footnote_pg"></a><a href="#FNanchor_pg"><span class="label">[pg]</span></a> Here follows, in the MS.— +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>Immortal—boundless—undecayed—</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Their souls the very soil pervade</i>.—<br /></span> +<span class="i13">[<i>In the Copy the lines are erased</i>.]<br /></span> + +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_ph" id="Footnote_ph"></a><a href="#FNanchor_ph"><span class="label">[ph]</span></a> <i>Where Freedom loveliest may be won</i>.—[MS. G. erased.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_354" id="Footnote_354"></a><a href="#FNanchor_354"><span class="label">[354]</span></a> The reader need hardly be reminded that there are no +perceptible tides in the Mediterranean.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_pi" id="Footnote_pi"></a><a href="#FNanchor_pi"><span class="label">[pi]</span></a> <i>So that fiercest of waves</i>——.—[MS. G.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_pj" id="Footnote_pj"></a><a href="#FNanchor_pj"><span class="label">[pj]</span></a> <a id="Note_467"></a>{467} <i>A little space of light grey sand</i>.—[MS. G. erased.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_355" id="Footnote_355"></a><a href="#FNanchor_355"><span class="label">[355]</span></a> [Compare <i>The Island</i>, Canto IV. sect. ii. lines 11, 12— +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> + +<span class="i0">"A narrow segment of the yellow sand<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On one side forms the outline of a strand."]<br /></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_pk" id="Footnote_pk"></a><a href="#FNanchor_pk"><span class="label">[pk]</span></a> +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>Or would not waste on a single head</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>The ball on numbers better sped</i>.—[MS. G. erased]<br /></span> + +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_pl" id="Footnote_pl"></a><a href="#FNanchor_pl"><span class="label">[pl]</span></a> <i>I know not in faith</i>——.—[MS. G.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"> +<p><a name="Footnote_356" id="Footnote_356"></a><a href="#FNanchor_356"> +<span class="label">[356]</span></a> +[Gifford has drawn his pen through lines 456-478. +If, as the editor of <i>The Works of Lord Byron</i>, 1832 (x. 100), +maintains, "Lord Byron gave Mr. Gifford <i>carte blanche</i> + +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.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_357" id="Footnote_357"></a><a href="#FNanchor_357"><span class="label">[357]</span></a> <a id="Note_468"></a>{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 <i>Travels</i> [<i>in Albania</i>, 1855, ii. 215]. +The bodies were probably those of some refractory Janizaries.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_358" id="Footnote_358"></a><a href="#FNanchor_358"><span class="label">[358]</span></a> This tuft, or long lock, +is left from a superstition that Mahomet +will draw them into Paradise by it.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_pm" id="Footnote_pm"></a><a href="#FNanchor_pm"><span class="label">[pm]</span></a> <a id="Note_469"></a>{469} <i>Deep in the tide of their lost +blood lying</i>.—[MS. G. Copy.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_359" id="Footnote_359"></a><a href="#FNanchor_359"><span class="label">[359]</span></a> ["Than the mangled corpse in +its own blood lying."—<span class="smcap">Gifford</span>.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_pn" id="Footnote_pn"></a><a href="#FNanchor_pn"><span class="label">[pn]</span></a> <i>Than the rotting dead</i>——.—[MS. G. erased.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_360" id="Footnote_360"></a><a href="#FNanchor_360"><span class="label">[360]</span></a> [Strike out— +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Scorch'd with the death-thirst, and writhing in vain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Than the perishing dead who are past all pain."<br /></span> +</div></div> +<p> +What is a "perishing dead"?—<span class="smcap">Gifford</span>.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_361" id="Footnote_361"></a><a href="#FNanchor_361"><span class="label">[361]</span></a> [Lines 487, 488 are inserted in the +copy in Byron's handwriting.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_po" id="Footnote_po"></a><a href="#FNanchor_po"><span class="label">[po]</span></a> <i>And when all</i>——.—[MS. G.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_362" id="Footnote_362"></a><a href="#FNanchor_362"><span class="label">[362]</span></a> ["O'er the weltering <i>limbs</i> + +of the tombless dead."—<span class="smcap">Gifford</span>.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"> +<p><a name="Footnote_pp" id="Footnote_pp"></a><a href="#FNanchor_pp"> +<span class="label">[pp]</span></a> +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i3"><i>All that liveth on man will prey</i>,<br /></span> +<span class="i3"><i>All rejoicing in his decay,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0">or, <i>Nature rejoicing in his decay</i>.<br /></span> + +<span class="i3"><i>All that can kindle dismay and disgust</i><br /></span> +<span class="i3"><i>Follow his frame from the bier to the dust.</i>—[MS. G. erased.]<br /></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_pq" id="Footnote_pq"></a><a href="#FNanchor_pq"><span class="label">[pq]</span></a> <a id="Note_470"></a>{470} +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">——<i>it hath left no more</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Of the mightiest things that have gone before</i>.—[MS. G. erased.]<br /></span> + +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_363" id="Footnote_363"></a><a href="#FNanchor_363"><span class="label">[363]</span></a> [Omit this couplet.—<span class="smcap">Gifford</span>.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_pr" id="Footnote_pr"></a><a href="#FNanchor_pr"><span class="label">[pr]</span></a> After this follows in the MS. erased— +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i3"><i>Monuments that the coming age</i><br /></span> + +<span class="i3"><i>Leaves to the spoil of the season's rage</i>—<br /></span> +<span class="i3"><i>Till Ruin makes the relics scarce</i>,<br /></span> +<span class="i3"><i>Then Learning acts her solemn farce</i>,<br /></span> +<span class="i3"><i>And, roaming through the marble waste</i>,<br /></span> +<span class="i3"><i>Prates of beauty, art, and taste</i>.<br /></span> +<span class="i20">XIX.<br /></span> +<span class="i3"><i>That Temple was more in the midst of the plain</i>—<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">or, <i>What of that shrine did yet remain</i><br /></span> +<span class="i3"><i>Lay to his left more in midst of the plain</i>.—[MS. G.]<br /></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_364" id="Footnote_364"></a><a href="#FNanchor_364"><span class="label">[364]</span></a> [From this all is beautiful to—"He +saw not—he knew not—but nothing is there."—<span class="smcap">Gifford</span>. +For "pillar's base," compare <i>Childe Harold</i>, Canto II. stanza x. +line 2, <i>Poetical Works</i>, 1899, ii. 105.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"> +<p><a name="Footnote_ps" id="Footnote_ps"></a><a href="#FNanchor_ps"> +<span class="label">[ps]</span></a> <a id="Note_471"></a>{471} </p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i3"><i>Is it the wind that through the stone.</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0">or, ——<i>o'er the heavy stone</i>.—[MS. G. erased.]<br /></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_365" id="Footnote_365"></a><a href="#FNanchor_365"><span class="label">[365]</span></a> +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. +</p><p> +[The lines in <i>Christabel</i>, Part the First, 43-52, 57, 58, are these— +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"The night is chill; the forest bare;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is it the wind that moaneth bleak?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There is not wind enough in the air<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">To move away the ringlet curl<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From the lovely lady's cheek—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There is not wind enough to twirl<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The one red leaf, the last of its clan,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That dances as often as dance it can,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hanging so light, and hanging so high,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On the topmost twig that looks up at the sky."<br /></span> +<span class="i6">" ... What sees she there?<br /></span> +<span class="i6">There she sees a damsel bright,<br /></span> + +<span class="i6">Drest in a silken robe of white."<br /></span> +</div></div> +<p> +Byron (<i>vide ante</i>, <a href="#Page_443">p. 443</a>), 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 <i>Christabel</i> +in the preceding June. Now, as Byron himself perceived, perhaps for the +first time, when he had the MS. of <i>Christabel</i> before him, +the coincidence in language and style between the two passages is +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 <i>Christabel</i> "had a pretty +general circulation in the literary world" (Medwin, <i>Conversations</i>, +1824, p. 261), and he may have heard without heeding this and +other passages quoted by privileged readers; or, though never a line +of <i>Christabel</i> 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. + +</p><p> +Compare <i>Thalaba the Destroyer</i>, v. 20 (1838, iv. 187)— +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"What sound is borne on the wind?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Is it the storm that shakes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The thousand oaks of the forest?<br /></span> +<hr /> +<span class="i2">Is it the river's roar<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dashed down some rocky descent?" etc.<br /></span> + +</div></div> +<p> +Or compare <i>The Lay of the Last Minstrel</i>, I. xii. 5. <i>seq.</i> +(1812, p. 24)— +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"And now she sits in secret bower<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In old Lord David's western tower,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And listens to a heavy sound,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">That moans the mossy turrets round.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is it the roar of Teviot's tide,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That chafes against the scaur's red side?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is it the wind that swings the oaks?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is it the echo from the rocks?" etc.<br /></span> +</div></div> +<p> +Certain lines of Coleridge's did, no doubt, "find themselves" in +the <i>Siege of Corinth</i>, +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.]</p> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_pt" id="Footnote_pt"></a><a href="#FNanchor_pt"><span class="label">[pt]</span></a> <a id="Note_473"></a>{473}<i>There sate a lady young and bright</i>.—[MS. G. erased.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_366" id="Footnote_366"></a><a href="#FNanchor_366"><span class="label">[366]</span></a> +[Contemporary critics fell foul of these lines for various reasons. +The <i>Critical Review</i> (February, 1816, vol. iii. p. 151) remarks that +"the following couplet [i.e. lines 531, 532] +reminds us of the <i>persiflage</i> + +of Lewis or the pathos of a vulgar ballad;" +while the <i>Dublin Examiner</i> (May, 1816, vol. i. p. 19) +directs a double charge against +the founders of the schism and their proselyte: +"If the Cumberland <i>Lakers</i> 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."]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_pu" id="Footnote_pu"></a><a href="#FNanchor_pu"><span class="label">[pu]</span></a> <i>He would have made it</i>——.—[MS. G. erased.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_pv" id="Footnote_pv"></a><a href="#FNanchor_pv"><span class="label">[pv]</span></a> <i>She who would</i>——.—[MS. G. erased.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_pw" id="Footnote_pw"></a><a href="#FNanchor_pw"><span class="label">[pw]</span></a> <a id="Note_474"></a>{474} <i>The ocean spread before their view</i>.—[Copy.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_367" id="Footnote_367"></a><a href="#FNanchor_367"><span class="label">[367]</span></a> ["And its <i>thrilling</i> glance, etc."—<span class="smcap">Gifford</span>.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_368" id="Footnote_368"></a><a href="#FNanchor_368"><span class="label">[368]</span></a> +[Warton (<i>Observations en the Fairy Queen</i>, 1807, ii. 131), +commenting on Spenser's famous description of "Una and the Lion" +(<i>Faëry Queene</i>, Book I. canto iii. stanzas 5, 6, 7), +quotes the following passage from <i>Seven Champions of Christendom</i>: +"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." +</p><p> +Byron, according to Leigh Hunt +(<i>Lord Byron and some of his Contemporaries</i>, 1828, i. 77), +could not "see anything" in Spenser, +and was not familiar with the <i>Fairy Queen</i>; but he may have had +in mind Scott's allusion to Spenser's Una— + +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Harpers have sung and poets told<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That he, in fury uncontrolled,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The shaggy monarch of the wood,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Before a virgin, fair and good,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hath pacified his savage mood."<br /></span> +</div></div> +<p class="attrib"><i>Marmion</i>, Canto II. stanza vii. line 3, <i>seq</i>. + +</p><p> +(See Kölbing's note to <i>Siege of Corinth</i>, 1893, pp. 110-112.)]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_px" id="Footnote_px"></a><a href="#FNanchor_px"><span class="label">[px]</span></a> <a id="Note_476"></a>{476} +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>She laid her fingers on his hand</i>,<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Its coldness thrilled through every bone</i>.—[MS. G. erased.]<br /></span> + +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_py" id="Footnote_py"></a><a href="#FNanchor_py"><span class="label">[py]</span></a> <i>As he looked on her face</i>——.—[MS. G.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_pz" id="Footnote_pz"></a><a href="#FNanchor_pz"><span class="label">[pz]</span></a> ——<i>on her bosom's swell</i>.—[MS. G. erased. Copy.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_369" id="Footnote_369"></a><a href="#FNanchor_369"><span class="label">[369]</span></a> +[Compare Shakespeare, <i>Macbeth</i>, act v. sc. 1, line 30— +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"You see, her eyes are open,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Aye, but their sense is shut."<br /></span> +</div></div> +<p> +Compare, too, <i>Christabel</i>, Conclusion to Part the First +(lines 292, 293)— + +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"With open eyes (ah, woe is me!)<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Asleep, and dreaming fearfully."]<br /></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_qa" id="Footnote_qa"></a><a href="#FNanchor_qa"><span class="label">[qa]</span></a> <a id="Note_477"></a>{477} +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i3"><i>Like a picture, that magic had charmed from its frame</i>,<br /></span> + +<span class="i3"><i>Lifeless but life-like, and ever the same</i>.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">or, <i>Like a picture come forth from its canvas and frame</i>.—<br /></span> +<span class="i34">[MS. G. erased.]<br /></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_qb" id="Footnote_qb"></a><a href="#FNanchor_qb"><span class="label">[qb]</span></a> +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>And seen</i>——.—[MS. G.]<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">——<i>its fleecy mail</i>.—[MS. G. erased.]<br /></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_370" id="Footnote_370"></a><a href="#FNanchor_370"><span class="label">[370]</span></a> +[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 (<i>Life</i>, p. 27). +Compare <i>Lara</i>, Canto I. stanza +xi. line 1, <i>seq</i>. (<i>vide ante</i>, <a href="#Page_331">p. 331</a>, <a href="#Footnote_273">note 1</a>).]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_371" id="Footnote_371"></a><a href="#FNanchor_371"><span class="label">[371]</span></a> [Compare Southey's <i>Roderick</i>, Canto XXI. +(ed. 1838, ix. 195)— +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i8">" ... and till the grave<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Open, the gate of mercy is not closed."]<br /></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_372" id="Footnote_372"></a><a href="#FNanchor_372"><span class="label">[372]</span></a> <a id="Note_478"></a>{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: 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.'" + +</p><p> +"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. +</p><p> +"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).]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_qc" id="Footnote_qc"></a><a href="#FNanchor_qc"><span class="label">[qc]</span></a> <a id="Note_479"></a>{479} <i>By rooted and unhallowed pride</i>.—[MS. G. erased.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_373" id="Footnote_373"></a><a href="#FNanchor_373"><span class="label">[373]</span></a> [Leave out this couplet.—<span class="smcap">Gifford</span>.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_374" id="Footnote_374"></a><a href="#FNanchor_374"><span class="label">[374]</span></a> <a id="Note_480"></a>{480} [Compare—"While the still morn went out with +sandals grey." <i>Lycidas</i>, line 187.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_375" id="Footnote_375"></a><a href="#FNanchor_375"><span class="label">[375]</span></a> [Strike out—"And the Noon will look on +a sultry day."—<span class="smcap">Gifford</span>.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_376" id="Footnote_376"></a><a href="#FNanchor_376"><span class="label">[376]</span></a> The horsetails, fixed upon a lance, a pacha's standard. +</p><p> +["When the vizir appears in public, three <i>thoughs</i>, +or horse-tails, fastened to a long staff, with a large gold ball +at top, is borne before him."—<i>Moeurs des Ottomans</i>, +par A. L. Castellan (Translated, 1821), iv. 7. +</p><p> +Compare <i>Childe Harold</i>, Canto II., "Albanian War-Song," +stanza 10, line 2; and <i>Bride of Abydos</i>, +line 714 (<i>vide ante</i>, <a href="#Page_189">p. 189</a>).]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_377" id="Footnote_377"></a><a href="#FNanchor_377"><span class="label">[377]</span></a> [Compare—"Send out moe horses, +skirr the country round." <i>Macbeth</i>, act v. sc. 3, line 35.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_378" id="Footnote_378"></a><a href="#FNanchor_378"><span class="label">[378]</span></a> [Omit— +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"While your fellows on foot, in a fiery mass,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Bloodstain the breach through which they pass."<br /></span> +</div></div> +<p> +—<span class="smcap">Gifford</span>.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_379" id="Footnote_379"></a><a href="#FNanchor_379"><span class="label">[379]</span></a> ["And crush the wall they have +<i>shaken</i> before."—<span class="smcap">Gifford</span>.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_380" id="Footnote_380"></a><a href="#FNanchor_380"><span class="label">[380]</span></a> [Compare <i>The Giaour</i>, +line 734 (<i>vide ante</i>, <a href="#Page_120">p. 120</a>)—"At solemn +sound of 'Alla Hu!'" +And <i>Don Juan</i>, Canto VIII. stanza viii.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_381" id="Footnote_381"></a><a href="#FNanchor_381"><span class="label">[381]</span></a> ["He who first <i>downs</i> with +the red cross may crave," etc. +What vulgarism is this!—"He who + +<i>lowers</i>,—or <i>plucks down</i>," etc.—<span class="smcap">Gifford</span>.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_382" id="Footnote_382"></a><a href="#FNanchor_382"><span class="label">[382]</span></a> +[The historian, George Finlay, who met and frequently conversed +with Byron at Mesalonghi, with a view to illustrating "Lord +Byron's <i>Siege of Corinth</i>," subjoins in a note the full text of "the +summons sent by the grand vizier, and the answer." +(See Finlay's <i>Greece under Othoman and Venetian Domination</i>, +1856, p. 266, note 1; +and, for the original authority, see Brue's +<i>Journal de la Campagne</i>, ... <i>en</i> 1715, Paris, 1871, p. 18.)]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_383" id="Footnote_383"></a><a href="#FNanchor_383"><span class="label">[383]</span></a> <a id="Note_482"></a>{482} +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">["Thus against the wall they <i>bent</i>,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thus the first were backward <i>sent</i>."<br /></span> +</div></div> +<p> +—<span class="smcap">Gifford</span>.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_qd" id="Footnote_qd"></a><a href="#FNanchor_qd"><span class="label">[qd]</span></a> <i>With such volley yields like glass</i>.—[MS. G. erased.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_qe" id="Footnote_qe"></a><a href="#FNanchor_qe"><span class="label">[qe]</span></a> <i>Like the mowers ridge</i>——.—[MS. G. erased.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_384" id="Footnote_384"></a><a href="#FNanchor_384"><span class="label">[384]</span></a> + +["Such was the fall of the foremost train."—<span class="smcap">Gifford</span>.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_385" id="Footnote_385"></a><a href="#FNanchor_385"><span class="label">[385]</span></a> <a id="Note_483"></a>{483} [Compare <i>The Deformed Transformed</i>, +Part I. sc. 2 ("Song of the Soldiers")— +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Our shout shall grow gladder,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And death only be mute."]<br /></span> + +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_qf" id="Footnote_qf"></a><a href="#FNanchor_qf"><span class="label">[qf]</span></a> <i>I have heard</i>——.—[MS. G.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_386" id="Footnote_386"></a><a href="#FNanchor_386"><span class="label">[386]</span></a> [Compare <i>Macbeth</i>, act ii. sc. 2, line 55— +</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i16">"If he do bleed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I'll gild the faces of the grooms withal."]<br /></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_387" id="Footnote_387"></a><a href="#FNanchor_387"><span class="label">[387]</span></a> <a id="Note_484"></a>{484} ["There stood a man," etc.—<span class="smcap">Gifford</span>.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_388" id="Footnote_388"></a><a href="#FNanchor_388"><span class="label">[388]</span></a> ["<i>Lurked</i>"—a bad word—say +"<i>was hid</i>."—<span class="smcap">Gifford</span>.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_389" id="Footnote_389"></a><a href="#FNanchor_389"><span class="label">[389]</span></a> ["Outnumbered his hairs," etc.—<span class="smcap">Gifford</span>.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_390" id="Footnote_390"></a><a href="#FNanchor_390"><span class="label">[390]</span></a> ["Sons that were unborn, +when <i>he</i> dipped."—<span class="smcap">Gifford</span>.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_391" id="Footnote_391"></a><a href="#FNanchor_391"><span class="label">[391]</span></a> <a id="Note_485"></a>{485} [Bravo!—this is better +than King Priam's fifty sons.—<span class="smcap">Gifford</span>.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_392" id="Footnote_392"></a><a href="#FNanchor_392"><span class="label">[392]</span></a> In the naval battle at the mouth of the Dardanelles, +between the Venetians and Turks.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_393" id="Footnote_393"></a><a href="#FNanchor_393"><span class="label">[393]</span></a> [There can be no such thing; +but the whole of this is poor, and spun out.—<span class="smcap">Gifford</span>. +The solecism, if such it be, was +repeated in <i>Marino Faliero</i>, act iii. sc. I, line 38.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_394" id="Footnote_394"></a><a href="#FNanchor_394"><span class="label">[394]</span></a> [Compare <i>Childe Harold</i>, +Canto II. stanza xxix. lines 5-8 +(<i>Poetical Works</i>, 1899, ii. 125)— +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Dark Sappho! could not Verse immortal save?...<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If life eternal may await the lyre."]<br /></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_395" id="Footnote_395"></a><a href="#FNanchor_395"><span class="label">[395]</span></a> ["Hark to the Alia Hu!" etc.—<span class="smcap">Gifford</span>.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_396" id="Footnote_396"></a><a href="#FNanchor_396"><span class="label">[396]</span></a> <a id="Note_486"></a>{486} [Gifford has erased lines 839-847.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_qg" id="Footnote_qg"></a><a href="#FNanchor_qg"><span class="label">[qg]</span></a> <i>Though the life of thy giving would +last for ever</i>.—[MS. G. Copy.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_qh" id="Footnote_qh"></a><a href="#FNanchor_qh"><span class="label">[qh]</span></a> <i>Where's Francesca?—my promised bride!</i>—[MS. G. Copy.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_qi" id="Footnote_qi"></a><a href="#FNanchor_qi"><span class="label">[qi]</span></a> <a id="Note_488"></a>{488} Here follows in <i>MS. G.</i>— +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>Twice and once he roll'd a space</i>,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0"><i>Then lead-like lay upon his face</i>.<br /></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_qj" id="Footnote_qj"></a><a href="#FNanchor_qj"><span class="label">[qj]</span></a> <i>Sigh, nor sign, +nor parting word</i>.—[MS. G. erased.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_397" id="Footnote_397"></a><a href="#FNanchor_397"><span class="label">[397]</span></a> [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 <i>Wat Tyler</i> 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 <i>Courier</i> on +"Apostasy and Renegadoism" (Letter to Murray, March 26, 1817, + +<i>Memoir of John Murray</i>, 1891, i. 306). Byron himself, in <i>Don +Juan</i> ("Dedication," stanza i. line 5), hails Southey as "My Epic +Renegade!" Compare, too, stanza xiv. of "<i>Lines addressed to a Noble +Lord</i> (His Lordship will know why), By one of the small Fry of the +Lakes" (i.e. Miss Barker, the "Bhow Begum" of Southey's <i>Doctor</i>)— +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"And our Ponds shall better please thee,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Than those now dishonoured seas,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">With their shores and Cyclades<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Stocked with Pachas, Seraskiers,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Slaves and turbaned Buccaneers;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sensual Mussulmans atrocious,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Renegadoes more ferocious," etc.]<br /></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_qk" id="Footnote_qk"></a><a href="#FNanchor_qk"><span class="label">[qk]</span></a> <a id="Note_489"></a>{489} <i>These in rage, in triumph those</i>.—[MS. G. Copy erased.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_ql" id="Footnote_ql"></a><a href="#FNanchor_ql"><span class="label">[ql]</span></a> <i>Then again in fury mixing</i>.—[MS. G.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_398" id="Footnote_398"></a><a href="#FNanchor_398"><span class="label">[398]</span></a> ["Dealing <i>death</i> with every blow."—<span class="smcap">Gifford</span>.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_399" id="Footnote_399"></a><a href="#FNanchor_399"><span class="label">[399]</span></a> <a id="Note_490"></a>{490} +[Compare <i>Don Juan</i>, Canto XIII. stanza lxi. lines 1, <i>seq.</i>— +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"But in a higher niche, alone, but crowned,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The Virgin-Mother of the God-born Child,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With her Son in her blessed arms, looked round ...<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But even the faintest relics of a shrine<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Of any worship wake some thoughts divine."]<br /></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_qm" id="Footnote_qm"></a><a href="#FNanchor_qm"><span class="label">[qm]</span></a> +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">——<i>beneath the</i> +<span class="bb">{</span> +<span class="uc"><i>chequered</i></span> +<span class="dc" style="margin:auto 1em auto -3.5em;"><i>inlaid</i></span> + +<span class="bb">}</span> +<i>stone</i>.—[MS. G. erased.]<br /></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_qn" id="Footnote_qn"></a><a href="#FNanchor_qn"><span class="label">[qn]</span></a> <i>But now half-blotted</i>——.—[MS. G. erased.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_qo" id="Footnote_qo"></a><a href="#FNanchor_qo"><span class="label">[qo]</span></a> <i>But War must make the most of means</i>.—[MS. G. erased.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_400" id="Footnote_400"></a><a href="#FNanchor_400"><span class="label">[400]</span></a> <a id="Note_492"></a>{492} ["Oh, but it made a glorious show!!!" +Gifford erases the line, and adds these marks of exclamation.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_qp" id="Footnote_qp"></a><a href="#FNanchor_qp"><span class="label">[qp]</span></a> ——<i>the sacrament wine</i>.—[MS. G. erased.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_qq" id="Footnote_qq"></a><a href="#FNanchor_qq"><span class="label">[qq]</span></a> <i>Which the Christians partook at the break of +the day</i>.—[MS. G. Copy.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_401" id="Footnote_401"></a><a href="#FNanchor_401"><span class="label">[401]</span></a> <a id="Note_493"></a>{493} [Compare <i>Sardanapalus</i>, act v. sc. 1 (s.f.)— +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"<i>Myr.</i> Art thou ready?<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Sard.</i> As the torch in thy grasp.<br /></span> + +<span class="i18">(<i>Myrrha fires the pile.</i>)<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Myr.</i> 'Tis fired! I come."]<br /></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_402" id="Footnote_402"></a><a href="#FNanchor_402"><span class="label">[402]</span></a> +[A critic in the <i>Eclectic Review</i> (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 <i>expire</i> in +that wild roar." To apply the word "expire" to inanimate objects +is, no doubt, an archaism, but Byron might have quoted Dryden as +an authority, "The ponderous ball expires."]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_qr" id="Footnote_qr"></a><a href="#FNanchor_qr"><span class="label">[qr]</span></a> <i>The hills as by an earthquake bent</i>.—[MS. G. erased.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_403" id="Footnote_403"></a><a href="#FNanchor_403"><span class="label">[403]</span></a> <a id="Note_494"></a>{494} [Strike out from +"Up to the sky," etc., to "All blackened +there and reeking lay." Despicable stuff.—<span class="smcap">Gifford</span>.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_qs" id="Footnote_qs"></a><a href="#FNanchor_qs"><span class="label">[qs]</span></a> <i>Who can see or who shall say?</i>—[MS. G. erased.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_404" id="Footnote_404"></a><a href="#FNanchor_404"><span class="label">[404]</span></a> [Lines 1043-1047 are not in the Copy or MS. G., +but were included in the text of the First Edition.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_405" id="Footnote_405"></a><a href="#FNanchor_405"><span class="label">[405]</span></a> [Compare <i>Don Juan</i>, +Canto II. stanza cii. line 1, <i>seq.</i>— +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Famine, despair, cold, thirst, and heat, had done<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">Their work on them by turns, and thinned them to<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Such things a mother had not known her son<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Amidst the skeletons of that gaunt crew."<br /></span> +</div></div> +<p> +Compare, too, <i>The Island</i>, Canto I. section ix. lines 13, 14.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_qt" id="Footnote_qt"></a><a href="#FNanchor_qt"><span class="label">[qt]</span></a> <a id="Note_495"></a>{495} <i>And crashed each mass of stone</i>.—[MS. G. erased.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_qu" id="Footnote_qu"></a><a href="#FNanchor_qu"><span class="label">[qu]</span></a> +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>And left their food the unburied dead</i>.—[Copy.]<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>And left their food the untasted dead</i>.—[MS. G.]<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>And howling left</i>——.—[MS. G. erased.]<br /></span> + +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_406" id="Footnote_406"></a><a href="#FNanchor_406"><span class="label">[406]</span></a> [Omit the next six lines.—<span class="smcap">Gifford</span>.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_407" id="Footnote_407"></a><a href="#FNanchor_407"><span class="label">[407]</span></a> ["I have heard hyænas and jackalls in the ruins of Asia; +and bull-frogs in the marshes; besides wolves and +angry Mussulmans."—<i>Journal</i>, +November 23, 1813, <i>Letters</i>, 1898, ii. 340.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_qv" id="Footnote_qv"></a><a href="#FNanchor_qv"><span class="label">[qv]</span></a> <i>Where Echo rolled in horror still</i>.—[MS. G.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_qw" id="Footnote_qw"></a><a href="#FNanchor_qw"><span class="label">[qw]</span></a> <i>The frightened jackal's shrill sharp cry</i>.—[MS. G. erased.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_408" id="Footnote_408"></a><a href="#FNanchor_408"><span class="label">[408]</span></a> 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 <i>Childe Harold</i>, +Canto IV. stanza cliii. line 6; and <i>Don Juan</i>, Canto IX. stanza +xxvii. line 2.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_qx" id="Footnote_qx"></a><a href="#FNanchor_qx"><span class="label">[qx]</span></a> <i>Mixed and mournful as the sound</i>.—[MS. G.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_409" id="Footnote_409"></a><a href="#FNanchor_409"><span class="label">[409]</span></a> [Leave out this couplet.—<span class="smcap">Gifford</span>.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_410" id="Footnote_410"></a><a href="#FNanchor_410"><span class="label">[410]</span></a> [With lines 1058-1079, +compare Southey's <i>Roderick</i> (Canto XVIII., ed. 1838, ix. 169)— + +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Far and wide the thundering shout,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rolling among reduplicating rocks,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pealed o'er the hills, and up the mountain vales.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The wild ass starting in the forest glade<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ran to the covert; the affrighted wolf<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Skulked through the thicket to a closer brake;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sluggish bear, awakened in his den,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Roused up and answered with a sullen growl,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Low-breathed and long; and at the uproar scared,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The brooding eagle from her nest took wing."<br /></span> +</div></div> +<p> +A sentence in a letter to Moore, dated January 10, 1815 +(<i>Letters</i>, 1899, iii. 168), +"<i>I</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 <i>he</i> has not +luck enough to be found out in doing a good thing," implies that +Byron had read and admired Southey's <i>Roderick</i>—an inference +which is curiously confirmed by a memorandum in Murray's handwriting: +"When Southey's poem, <i>Don Roderick</i> (<i>sic</i>), 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.] + +</p> +</div> + +</div> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_497" id="Page_497">[497]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;margin-bottom:2cm;" /> + +<div class="titlepage"> + + <h2>PARISINA.</h2> + +</div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;margin-top:2cm;" /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_499" id="Page_499">[499]</a></span></p> + +<h2><a name="INTRODUCTION_PARISINA" id="INTRODUCTION_PARISINA"></a> +INTRODUCTION TO <i>PARISINA</i>. +<br /><span class="center"><img src="images/decoration.png" alt="swash" /></span> +</h2> + +<p><span class="smcap"><i>Parisina</i></span>, which had been begun before the +<i>Siege of Corinth</i>, 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" (<i>Memoir of John Murray</i>, 1891, i. 353). +Ward, to whom the MS. of <i>Parisina</i> 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 <i>Siege</i>, +declared that the author "had never surpassed <i>Parisina</i>."</p> + +<p>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 <i>Childe Harold</i> and the third, +<i>Parisina</i> has, perhaps, never yet received its due. At the +time of its appearance it shared the odium which was provoked +by the publication of <i>Fare Thee Well</i> and <i>A Sketch</i>, +and before there was time to reconsider the new volume on +its own merits, the new canto of <i>Childe Harold</i>, followed +almost immediately by the <i>Prisoner of Chillon</i> and its +brilliant and noticeable companion poems, usurped the +attention of friend and foe. Contemporary critics (with the +exception of the <i>Monthly</i> and <i>Critical</i> Reviews) fell foul of +the subject-matter of the poem—the guilty passion of a + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_500" id="Page_500">[500]</a></span> +bastard son for his father's wife. "It was too disgusting to +be rendered pleasing by any display of genius" +(<i>European Magazine</i>); +"The story of <i>Parisina</i> includes adultery not to be named" +(<i>Literary Panorama</i>); while the <i>Eclectic</i>, on +grounds of taste rather than of morals, gave judgment that +"the subject of the tale was purely unpleasing"—"the impression +left simply painful."</p> + +<p>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 <i>dénouement</i> 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 <i>motif</i> 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. + +</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_501" id="Page_501">[501]</a></span></p> + +<div class="titlepage"> + + <h3><span class="tiny">TO</span><br /> + + SCROPE BERDMORE DAVIES, ESQ.<br /> + + <span class="smcap">the following poem</span><br /> + + <span class="smcap">Is Inscribed</span>,<br /> + + <span class="smcap">by one who has long admired his talents</span><br /> + + <span class="smcap">and valued his friendship</span>.</h3> + +<p><i>January</i> 22, 1816.</p> + +</div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_503" id="Page_503">[503]</a></span></p> + + +<h3>ADVERTISEMENT. +<br /><span class="center"><img src="images/decoration.png" alt="swash" /></span> +</h3> + + +<p>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 <i>Azo</i> is substituted for +Nicholas, as more metrical.—[B.]</p> + +<p>"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.<a name="FNanchor_411" id="FNanchor_411"></a><a href="#Footnote_411" class="fnanchor">[411]</a> He was unfortunate, 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."—<span class="smcap">Gibbon's</span> <i>Miscellaneous Works</i>, +vol. iii. p. 470.—[Ed. 1837, p. 830.]</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_505" id="Page_505">[505]</a></span></p> + +<h2><a name="PARISINA" id="PARISINA"></a>PARISINA. + +<a name="FNanchor_412" id="FNanchor_412"></a><a href="#Footnote_412" class="fnanchor">[412]</a> +</h2> + +<hr class="dbl" /> + +<h4>I.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">It</span> is the hour when from the boughs<a name="FNanchor_413" id="FNanchor_413"></a><a href="#Footnote_413" class="fnanchor">[413]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">The nightingale's high note is heard;<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">It is the hour when lovers' vows<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Seem sweet in every whispered word;<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_506" id="Page_506">[506]</a></span> +<span class="i0">And gentle winds, and waters near,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Make music to the lonely ear.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_507" id="Page_507">[507]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Each flower the dews have lightly wet,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And in the sky the stars are met,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And on the wave is deeper blue,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And on the leaf a browner hue, <span class="linenum">10</span><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">And in the heaven that clear obscure,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So softly dark, and darkly pure,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which follows the decline of day,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As twilight melts beneath the moon away.<a name="FNanchor_414" id="FNanchor_414"></a><a href="#Footnote_414" class="fnanchor">[414]</a><br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>II.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But it is not to list to the waterfall<a name="FNanchor_qy" id="FNanchor_qy"></a><a href="#Footnote_qy" class="fnanchor">[qy]</a><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">That Parisina leaves her hall,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_508" id="Page_508">[508]</a></span> +<span class="i0">And it is not to gaze on the heavenly light<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That the Lady walks in the shadow of night;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And if she sits in Este's bower,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Tis not for the sake of its full-blown flower; <span class="linenum">20</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">She listens—but not for the nightingale—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though her ear expects as soft a tale.<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">There glides a step through the foliage thick,<a name="FNanchor_qz" id="FNanchor_qz"></a><a href="#Footnote_qz" class="fnanchor">[qz]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And her cheek grows pale, and her heart beats quick.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There whispers a voice through the rustling leaves,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And her blush returns, and her bosom heaves:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A moment more—and they shall meet—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Tis past—her Lover's at her feet.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>III.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And what unto them is the world beside,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With all its change of time and tide? <span class="linenum">30</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Its living things—its earth and sky—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Are nothing to their mind and eye.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And heedless as the dead are they<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of aught around, above, beneath;<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">As if all else had passed away,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They only for each other breathe;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their very sighs are full of joy<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So deep, that did it not decay,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That happy madness would destroy<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The hearts which feel its fiery sway: <span class="linenum">40</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of guilt, of peril, do they deem<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In that tumultuous tender dream?<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Who that have felt that passion's power,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or paused, or feared in such an hour?<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_509" id="Page_509">[509]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Or thought how brief such moments last?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But yet—they are already past!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Alas! we must awake before<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We know such vision comes no more.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>IV.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">With many a lingering look they leave<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The spot of guilty gladness past: <span class="linenum">50</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And though they hope, and vow, they grieve,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As if that parting were the last.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The frequent sigh—the long embrace—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The lip that there would cling for ever,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While gleams on Parisina's face<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">The Heaven she fears will not forgive her,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As if each calmly conscious star<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beheld her frailty from afar—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The frequent sigh, the long embrace,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet binds them to their trysting-place. <span class="linenum">60</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">But it must come, and they must part<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In fearful heaviness of heart,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With all the deep and shuddering chill<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Which follows fast the deeds of ill.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>V.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And Hugo is gone to his lonely bed,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To covet there another's bride;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But she must lay her conscious head<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A husband's trusting heart beside.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But fevered in her sleep she seems,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">And red her cheek with troubled dreams, <span class="linenum">70</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">And mutters she in her unrest<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A name she dare not breathe by day,<a name="FNanchor_415" id="FNanchor_415"></a><a href="#Footnote_415" class="fnanchor">[415]</a><br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_510" id="Page_510">[510]</a></span><span class="i2">And clasps her Lord unto the breast<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which pants for one away:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And he to that embrace awakes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, happy in the thought, mistakes<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">That dreaming sigh, and warm caress,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For such as he was wont to bless;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And could in very fondness weep<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O'er her who loves him even in sleep. <span class="linenum">80</span><br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>VI.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He clasped her sleeping to his heart,<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">And listened to each broken word:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He hears—Why doth Prince Azo start,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As if the Archangel's voice he heard?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And well he may—a deeper doom<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Could scarcely thunder o'er his tomb,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When he shall wake to sleep no more,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And stand the eternal throne before.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And well he may—his earthly peace<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Upon that sound is doomed to cease. <span class="linenum">90</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">That sleeping whisper of a name<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bespeaks her guilt and Azo's shame.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_511" id="Page_511">[511]</a></span> +<span class="i0">And whose that name? that o'er his pillow<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sounds fearful as the breaking billow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which rolls the plank upon the shore,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And dashes on the pointed rock<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The wretch who sinks to rise no more,—<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">So came upon his soul the shock.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And whose that name?—'tis Hugo's,—his—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In sooth he had not deemed of this!— <span class="linenum">100</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Tis Hugo's,—he, the child of one<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He loved—his own all-evil son—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The offspring of his wayward youth,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">When he betrayed Bianca's truth,<a name="FNanchor_ra" id="FNanchor_ra"></a><a href="#Footnote_ra" class="fnanchor">[ra]</a><a name="FNanchor_416" id="FNanchor_416"></a><a href="#Footnote_416" class="fnanchor">[416]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">The maid whose folly could confide<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In him who made her not his bride.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>VII.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He plucked his poniard in its sheath,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But sheathed it ere the point was bare;<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Howe'er unworthy now to breathe,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He could not slay a thing so fair— <span class="linenum">110</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">At least, not smiling—sleeping—there—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nay, more:—he did not wake her then,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But gazed upon her with a glance<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Which, had she roused her from her trance,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Had frozen her sense to sleep again;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And o'er his brow the burning lamp<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Gleamed on the dew-drops big and damp.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She spake no more—but still she slumbered—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While, in his thought, her days are numbered.<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_512" id="Page_512">[512]</a></span></div></div> + +<h4>VIII.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And with the morn he sought and found, <span class="linenum">120</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">In many a tale from those around,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The proof of all he feared to know,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their present guilt—his future woe;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The long-conniving damsels seek<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To save themselves, and would transfer<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The guilt—the shame—the doom—to her:<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Concealment is no more—they speak<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All circumstance which may compel<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Full credence to the tale they tell:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Azo's tortured heart and ear <span class="linenum">130</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Have nothing more to feel or hear.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>IX.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He was not one who brooked delay:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Within the chamber of his state,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Chief of Este's ancient sway<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Upon his throne of judgement sate;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His nobles and his guards are there,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Before him is the sinful pair;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Both young,—and <i>one</i> how passing fair!<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">With swordless belt, and fettered hand,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh, Christ! that thus a son should stand <span class="linenum">140</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Before a father's face!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet thus must Hugo meet his sire,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And hear the sentence of his ire,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The tale of his disgrace!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And yet he seems not overcome,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Although, as yet, his voice be dumb.<br /></span> + +</div></div> + +<h4>X.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And still,—and pale—and silently<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Did Parisina wait her doom;<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_513" id="Page_513">[513]</a></span> +<span class="i0">How changed since last her speaking eye<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Glanced gladness round the glittering room, <span class="linenum">150</span><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Where high-born men were proud to wait—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where Beauty watched to imitate<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Her gentle voice—her lovely mien—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And gather from her air and gait<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The graces of its Queen:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then,—had her eye in sorrow wept,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A thousand warriors forth had leapt,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A thousand swords had sheathless shone,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">And made her quarrel all their own.<a name="FNanchor_417" id="FNanchor_417"></a><a href="#Footnote_417" class="fnanchor">[417]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now,—what is she? and what are they? <span class="linenum">160</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Can she command, or these obey?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All silent and unheeding now,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With downcast eyes and knitting brow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And folded arms, and freezing air,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And lips that scarce their scorn forbear,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Her knights, her dames, her court—is there:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And he—the chosen one, whose lance<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Had yet been couched before her glance,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who—were his arm a moment free—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Had died or gained her liberty; <span class="linenum">170</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">The minion of his father's bride,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He, too, is fettered by her side;<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Nor sees her swoln and full eye swim<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Less for her own despair than him:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Those lids—o'er which the violet vein<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_514" id="Page_514">[514]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Wandering, leaves a tender stain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shining through the smoothest white<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That e'er did softest kiss invite—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now seemed with hot and livid glow<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To press, not shade, the orbs below; <span class="linenum">180</span><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Which glance so heavily, and fill,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As tear on tear grows gathering still<a name="FNanchor_rb" id="FNanchor_rb"></a><a href="#Footnote_rb" class="fnanchor">[rb]</a><a name="FNanchor_418" id="FNanchor_418"></a><a href="#Footnote_418" class="fnanchor">[418]</a><br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>XI.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And he for her had also wept,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But for the eyes that on him gazed:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His sorrow, if he felt it, slept;<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">Stern and erect his brow was raised.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whate'er the grief his soul avowed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He would not shrink before the crowd;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But yet he dared not look on her;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Remembrance of the hours that were— <span class="linenum">190</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">His guilt—his love—his present state—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His father's wrath, all good men's hate—<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">His earthly, his eternal fate—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And hers,—oh, hers! he dared not throw<br /></span> +<span class="i0">One look upon that death-like brow!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Else had his rising heart betrayed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Remorse for all the wreck it made.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>XII.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> + +<span class="i0">And Azo spake:—"But yesterday<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I gloried in a wife and son;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That dream this morning passed away; <span class="linenum">200</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Ere day declines, I shall have none.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My life must linger on alone;<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_515" id="Page_515">[515]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Well,—let that pass,—there breathes not one<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Who would not do as I have done:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Those ties are broken—not by me;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Let that too pass;—the doom's prepared!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hugo, the priest awaits on thee,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And then—thy crime's reward!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Away! address thy prayers to Heaven.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Before its evening stars are met, <span class="linenum">210</span><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Learn if thou there canst be forgiven:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Its mercy may absolve thee yet.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But here, upon the earth beneath,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">There is no spot where thou and I<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Together for an hour could breathe:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Farewell! I will not see thee die—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But thou, frail thing! shall view his head—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Away! I cannot speak the rest:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Go! woman of the wanton breast;<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Not I, but thou his blood dost shed: <span class="linenum">220</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Go! if that sight thou canst outlive,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And joy thee in the life I give."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>XIII.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And here stern Azo hid his face—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For on his brow the swelling vein<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">Throbbed as if back upon his brain<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The hot blood ebbed and flowed again;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And therefore bowed he for a space,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And passed his shaking hand along<br /></span> +<span class="i2">His eye, to veil it from the throng;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While Hugo raised his chainéd hands, <span class="linenum">230</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And for a brief delay demands<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His father's ear: the silent sire<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Forbids not what his words require.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_516" id="Page_516">[516]</a></span> +<span class="i2">"It is not that I dread the death—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For thou hast seen me by thy side<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All redly through the battle ride,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And that—not once a useless brand—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy slaves have wrested from my hand<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hath shed more blood in cause of thine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Than e'er can stain the axe of mine:<a name="FNanchor_419" id="FNanchor_419"></a><a href="#Footnote_419" class="fnanchor">[419]</a> <span class="linenum">240</span><br /></span> + +<span class="i2">Thou gav'st, and may'st resume my breath,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A gift for which I thank thee not;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor are my mother's wrongs forgot,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her slighted love and ruined name,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her offspring's heritage of shame;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But she is in the grave, where he,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her son—thy rival—soon shall be.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her broken heart—my severed head—<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Shall witness for thee from the dead<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How trusty and how tender were <span class="linenum">250</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy youthful love—paternal care.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Tis true that I have done thee wrong—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But wrong for wrong:—this,—deemed thy bride,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The other victim of thy pride,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thou know'st for me was destined long;<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Thou saw'st, and coveted'st her charms;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And with thy very crime—my birth,—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thou taunted'st me—as little worth;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A match ignoble for her arms;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Because, forsooth, I could not claim <span class="linenum">260</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">The lawful heirship of thy name,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor sit on Este's lineal throne;<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">Yet, were a few short summers mine,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My name should more than Este's shine<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_517" id="Page_517">[517]</a></span> +<span class="i0">With honours all my own.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I had a sword—and have a breast<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That should have won as haught<a name="FNanchor_420" id="FNanchor_420"></a><a href="#Footnote_420" class="fnanchor">[420]</a> a crest<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As ever waved along the line<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Of all these sovereign sires of thine.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not always knightly spurs are worn <span class="linenum">270</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">The brightest by the better born;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And mine have lanced my courser's flank<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Before proud chiefs of princely rank,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When charging to the cheering cry<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of 'Este and of Victory!'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I will not plead the cause of crime,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Nor sue thee to redeem from time<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A few brief hours or days that must<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At length roll o'er my reckless dust;—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Such maddening moments as my past, <span class="linenum">280</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">They could not, and they did not, last;—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Albeit my birth and name be base,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And thy nobility of race<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Disdained to deck a thing like me—<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">Yet in my lineaments they trace<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Some features of my father's face,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And in my spirit—all of thee.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From thee this tamelessness of heart—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From thee—nay, wherefore dost thou start?—-<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From thee in all their vigour came <span class="linenum">290</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">My arm of strength, my soul of flame—<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Thou didst not give me life alone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But all that made me more thine own.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">See what thy guilty love hath done!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Repaid thee with too like a son!<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_518" id="Page_518">[518]</a></span> +<span class="i0">I am no bastard in my soul,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For that, like thine, abhorred control;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And for my breath, that hasty boon<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thou gav'st and wilt resume so soon,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">I valued it no more than thou, <span class="linenum">300</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">When rose thy casque above thy brow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And we, all side by side, have striven,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And o'er the dead our coursers driven:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The past is nothing—and at last<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The future can but be the past;<a name="FNanchor_421" id="FNanchor_421"></a><a href="#Footnote_421" class="fnanchor">[421]</a><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Yet would I that I then had died:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For though thou work'dst my mother's ill,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And made thy own my destined bride,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I feel thou art my father still:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And harsh as sounds thy hard decree, <span class="linenum">310</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Tis not unjust, although from thee.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Begot in sin, to die in shame,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My life begun and ends the same:<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">As erred the sire, so erred the son,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And thou must punish both in one.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My crime seems worst to human view,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But God must judge between us too!"<a name="FNanchor_422" id="FNanchor_422"></a><a href="#Footnote_422" class="fnanchor">[422]</a><br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>XIV.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He ceased—and stood with folded arms,<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">On which the circling fetters sounded;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And not an ear but felt as wounded, <span class="linenum">320</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of all the chiefs that there were ranked,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When those dull chains in meeting clanked:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till Parisina's fatal charms<a name="FNanchor_423" id="FNanchor_423"></a><a href="#Footnote_423" class="fnanchor">[423]</a><br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_519" id="Page_519">[519]</a></span><span class="i0">Again attracted every eye—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Would she thus hear him doomed to die!<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">She stood, I said, all pale and still,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The living cause of Hugo's ill:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her eyes unmoved, but full and wide,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not once had turned to either side—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor once did those sweet eyelids close, <span class="linenum">330</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or shade the glance o'er which they rose,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But round their orbs of deepest blue<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The circling white dilated grew—<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">And there with glassy gaze she stood<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As ice were in her curdled blood;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But every now and then a tear<a name="FNanchor_424" id="FNanchor_424"></a><a href="#Footnote_424" class="fnanchor">[424]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">So large and slowly gathered slid<br /></span> +<span class="i2">From the long dark fringe of that fair lid,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It was a thing to see, not hear!<a name="FNanchor_425" id="FNanchor_425"></a><a href="#Footnote_425" class="fnanchor">[425]</a><br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_520" id="Page_520">[520]</a></span><span class="i0">And those who saw, it did surprise, <span class="linenum">340</span><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Such drops could fall from human eyes.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To speak she thought—the imperfect note<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was choked within her swelling throat,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet seemed in that low hollow groan<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her whole heart gushing in the tone.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It ceased—again she thought to speak,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then burst her voice in one long shriek,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And to the earth she fell like stone<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Or statue from its base o'erthrown,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">More like a thing that ne'er had life,— <span class="linenum">350</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">A monument of Azo's wife,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Than her, that living guilty thing,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whose every passion was a sting,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which urged to guilt, but could not bear<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That guilt's detection and despair.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But yet she lived—and all too soon<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Recovered from that death-like swoon—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But scarce to reason—every sense<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Had been o'erstrung by pangs intense;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And each frail fibre of her brain <span class="linenum">360</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">(As bowstrings, when relaxed by rain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The erring arrow launch aside)<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sent forth her thoughts all wild and wide—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The past a blank, the future black,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">With glimpses of a dreary track,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like lightning on the desert path,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When midnight storms are mustering wrath.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She feared—she felt that something ill<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lay on her soul, so deep and chill;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That there was sin and shame she knew, <span class="linenum">370</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">That some one was to die—but who?<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">She had forgotten:—did she breathe?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Could this be still the earth beneath,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_521" id="Page_521">[521]</a></span> +<span class="i0">The sky above, and men around;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or were they fiends who now so frowned<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On one, before whose eyes each eye<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till then had smiled in sympathy?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All was confused and undefined<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To her all-jarred and wandering mind;<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">A chaos of wild hopes and fears: <span class="linenum">380</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And now in laughter, now in tears,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But madly still in each extreme,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She strove with that convulsive dream;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For so it seemed on her to break:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh! vainly must she strive to wake!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>XV.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The Convent bells are ringing,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But mournfully and slow;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In the grey square turret swinging,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With a deep sound, to and fro.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Heavily to the heart they go! <span class="linenum">390</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hark! the hymn is singing—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The song for the dead below,<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">Or the living who shortly shall be so!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For a departed being's soul<a name="FNanchor_rc" id="FNanchor_rc"></a><a href="#Footnote_rc" class="fnanchor">[rc]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">The death-hymn peals and the hollow bells knoll:<a name="FNanchor_426" id="FNanchor_426"></a><a href="#Footnote_426" class="fnanchor">[426]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">He is near his mortal goal;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Kneeling at the Friar's knee,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sad to hear, and piteous to see—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Kneeling on the bare cold ground.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With the block before and the guards around; <span class="linenum">400</span><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">And the headsman with his bare arm ready,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That the blow may be both swift and steady,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_522" id="Page_522">[522]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Feels if the axe be sharp and true<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Since he set its edge anew:<a name="FNanchor_427" id="FNanchor_427"></a><a href="#Footnote_427" class="fnanchor">[427]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">While the crowd in a speechless circle gather<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To see the Son fall by the doom of the Father!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>XVI.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">It is a lovely hour as yet<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Before the summer sun shall set,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which rose upon that heavy day,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And mock'd it with his steadiest ray; <span class="linenum">410</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And his evening beams are shed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Full on Hugo's fated head,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As his last confession pouring<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">To the monk, his doom deploring<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In penitential holiness,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He bends to hear his accents bless<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With absolution such as may<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wipe our mortal stains away.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That high sun on his head did glisten<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As he there did bow and listen, <span class="linenum">420</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the rings of chestnut hair<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Curled half down his neck so bare;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But brighter still the beam was thrown<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upon the axe which near him shone<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With a clear and ghastly glitter——<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh! that parting hour was bitter!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Even the stern stood chilled with awe:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dark the crime, and just the law—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet they shuddered as they saw.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>XVII.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The parting prayers are said and over <span class="linenum">430</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of that false son, and daring lover!<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_523" id="Page_523">[523]</a></span> +<span class="i0">His beads and sins are all recounted,<a name="FNanchor_rd" id="FNanchor_rd"></a><a href="#Footnote_rd" class="fnanchor">[rd]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">His hours to their last minute mounted;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His mantling cloak before was stripped,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">His bright brown locks must now be clipped;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Tis done—all closely are they shorn;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The vest which till this moment worn—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The scarf which Parisina gave—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Must not adorn him to the grave.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Even that must now be thrown aside, <span class="linenum">440</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And o'er his eyes the kerchief tied;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But no—that last indignity<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Shall ne'er approach his haughty eye.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All feelings seemingly subdued,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In deep disdain were half renewed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When headsman's hands prepared to bind<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Those eyes which would not brook such blind,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As if they dared not look on death.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"No—yours my forfeit blood and breath;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">These hands are chained, but let me die <span class="linenum">450</span><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">At least with an unshackled eye—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Strike:"—and as the word he said,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upon the block he bowed his head;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">These the last accents Hugo spoke:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Strike"—and flashing fell the stroke—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rolled the head—and, gushing, sunk<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Back the stained and heaving trunk,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">In the dust, which each deep vein<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Slaked with its ensanguined rain;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His eyes and lips a moment quiver, <span class="linenum">460</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Convulsed and quick—then fix for ever.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He died, as erring man should die,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Without display, without parade;<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_524" id="Page_524">[524]</a></span> +<span class="i2">Meekly had he bowed and prayed,<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">As not disdaining priestly aid,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor desperate of all hope on high.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And while before the Prior kneeling,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His heart was weaned from earthly feeling;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His wrathful Sire—his Paramour—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What were they in such an hour? <span class="linenum">470</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">No more reproach,—no more despair,—<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">No thought but Heaven,—no word but prayer—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Save the few which from him broke,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When, bared to meet the headsman's stroke,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He claimed to die with eyes unbound,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His sole adieu to those around.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>XVIII.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> + +<span class="i0">Still as the lips that closed in death,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Each gazer's bosom held his breath:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But yet, afar, from man to man,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A cold electric<a name="FNanchor_428" id="FNanchor_428"></a><a href="#Footnote_428" class="fnanchor">[428]</a> shiver ran, <span class="linenum">480</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">As down the deadly blow descended<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On him whose life and love thus ended;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, with a hushing sound compressed,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">A sigh shrunk back on every breast;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But no more thrilling noise rose there,<a name="FNanchor_re" id="FNanchor_re"></a><a href="#Footnote_re" class="fnanchor">[re]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Beyond the blow that to the block<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Pierced through with forced and sullen shock,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Save one:—what cleaves the silent air<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So madly shrill, so passing wild?<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_525" id="Page_525">[525]</a></span><span class="i0">That, as a mother's o'er her child, <span class="linenum">490</span><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Done to death by sudden blow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To the sky these accents go,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like a soul's in endless woe.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through Azo's palace-lattice driven,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That horrid voice ascends to heaven,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And every eye is turned thereon;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But sound and sight alike are gone!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It was a woman's shriek—and ne'er<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">In madlier accents rose despair;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And those who heard it, as it past, <span class="linenum">500</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">In mercy wished it were the last.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>XIX.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Hugo is fallen; and, from that hour,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No more in palace, hall, or bower,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Was Parisina heard or seen:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her name—as if she ne'er had been—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was banished from each lip and ear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like words of wantonness or fear;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And from Prince Azo's voice, by none<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was mention heard of wife or son;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No tomb—no memory had they; <span class="linenum">510</span><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Theirs was unconsecrated clay—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At least the Knight's who died that day.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But Parisina's fate lies hid<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like dust beneath the coffin lid:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whether in convent she abode,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And won to heaven her dreary road,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By blighted and remorseful years<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of scourge, and fast, and sleepless tears;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or if she fell by bowl or steel,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">For that dark love she dared to feel: <span class="linenum">520</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or if, upon the moment smote,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She died by tortures less remote,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_526" id="Page_526">[526]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Like him she saw upon the block<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With heart that shared the headsman's shock,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In quickened brokenness that came,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In pity o'er her shattered frame,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">None knew—and none can ever know:<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">But whatsoe'er its end below,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her life began and closed in woe!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>XX.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And Azo found another bride, <span class="linenum">530</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And goodly sons grew by his side;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But none so lovely and so brave<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">As him who withered in the grave;<a name="FNanchor_429" id="FNanchor_429"></a><a href="#Footnote_429" class="fnanchor">[429]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or if they were—on his cold eye<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their growth but glanced unheeded by,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or noticed with a smothered sigh.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But never tear his cheek descended,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And never smile his brow unbended;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And o'er that fair broad brow were wrought<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The intersected lines of thought; <span class="linenum">540</span><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Those furrows which the burning share<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of Sorrow ploughs untimely there;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Scars of the lacerating mind<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which the Soul's war doth leave behind.<a name="FNanchor_430" id="FNanchor_430"></a><a href="#Footnote_430" class="fnanchor">[430]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">He was past all mirth or woe:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nothing more remained below<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But sleepless nights and heavy days,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A mind all dead to scorn or praise,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">A heart which shunned itself—and yet<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_527" id="Page_527">[527]</a></span><span class="i0">That would not yield, nor could forget, <span class="linenum">550</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which, when it least appeared to melt,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Intensely thought—intensely felt:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The deepest ice which ever froze<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Can only o'er the surface close;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The living stream lies quick below,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">And flows, and cannot cease to flow.<a name="FNanchor_431" id="FNanchor_431"></a><a href="#Footnote_431" class="fnanchor">[431]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Still was his sealed-up bosom haunted<a name="FNanchor_rf" id="FNanchor_rf"></a><a href="#Footnote_rf" class="fnanchor">[rf]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">By thoughts which Nature hath implanted;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Too deeply rooted thence to vanish,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Howe'er our stifled tears we banish; <span class="linenum">560</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">When struggling as they rise to start,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We check those waters of the heart,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">They are not dried—those tears unshed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But flow back to the fountain head,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And resting in their spring more pure,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For ever in its depth endure,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Unseen—unwept—but uncongealed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And cherished most where least revealed.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With inward starts of feeling left,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">To throb o'er those of life bereft, <span class="linenum">570</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Without the power to fill again<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The desert gap which made his pain;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Without the hope to meet them where<br /></span> +<span class="i0">United souls shall gladness share;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With all the consciousness that he<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Had only passed a just decree;<a name="FNanchor_rg" id="FNanchor_rg"></a><a href="#Footnote_rg" class="fnanchor">[rg]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">That they had wrought their doom of ill;<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Yet Azo's age was wretched still.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The tainted branches of the tree,<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_528" id="Page_528">[528]</a></span><span class="i2">If lopped with care, a strength may give, <span class="linenum">580</span><br /></span> +<span class="i2">By which the rest shall bloom and live<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All greenly fresh and wildly free:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But if the lightning, in its wrath,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The waving boughs with fury scathe,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The massy trunk the ruin feels,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">And never more a leaf reveals.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_411" id="Footnote_411"></a><a href="#FNanchor_411"><span class="label">[411]</span></a> <a id="Note_503"></a>{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."—<i>Vide</i> Advertisement +to <i>Lament of Tasso</i>.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_412" id="Footnote_412"></a><a href="#FNanchor_412"><span class="label">[412]</span></a> <a id="Note_505"></a>{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. +</p><p> +"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 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. +</p><p> +"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. +</p><p> +"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 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. +</p><p> +"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. +</p><p> +"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." [<i>Memorie per la Storia di Ferrara</i>, Raccolte da +Antonio Frizzi, 1793, iii. 408-410. See, too, <i>Celebri Famiglie +Italiane</i>, by Conte Pompeo Litta, 1832, Fasc. xxvi. Part III. vol. ii.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_413" id="Footnote_413"></a><a href="#FNanchor_413"><span class="label">[413]</span></a> <a id="Note_507"></a>{507} [The revise of <i>Parisina</i> is endorsed in Murray's +handwriting, "Given to me by Lord Byron at his house, Saturday, January 13, +1816."]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_414" id="Footnote_414"></a><a href="#FNanchor_414"><span class="label">[414]</span></a> 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 <i>Lara</i>, and other +compositions since published. +[Note to <i>Siege, etc.</i>, First Edition, 1816.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_qy" id="Footnote_qy"></a><a href="#FNanchor_qy"><span class="label">[qy]</span></a> +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>Francisca walks in the shadow of night</i>,<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>But it is not to gaze on the heavenly light</i>—<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>But if she sits in her garden bower</i>,<br /></span> +<span class="i2"><i>'Tis not for the sake of its blowing flower</i>.—<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="attrib">[<i>Nathan</i>, 1815, 1829.] +</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_qz" id="Footnote_qz"></a><a href="#FNanchor_qz"><span class="label">[qz]</span></a> <a id="Note_508"></a>{508} <i>There winds a step</i>——.—[<i>Nathan</i>, 1815, 1829.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_415" id="Footnote_415"></a><a href="#FNanchor_415"><span class="label">[415]</span></a> <a id="Note_509"></a>{509} [Leigh Hunt, in his <i>Autobiography</i> + +(1860, p. 252), says, "I had the pleasure of supplying my friendly +critic, Lord Byron, with a point for his <i>Parisina</i> +(the incident of the heroine talking in her sleep)." +</p><p> +Putting Lady Macbeth out of the question, the situation may be +traced to a passage in Henry Mackenzie's <i>Julia de Roubigné</i> +(1777, ii. 101: "Montauban to Segarva," Letter xxxv.):— +</p> +<blockquote><p>"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."] +</p></blockquote> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_ra" id="Footnote_ra"></a><a href="#FNanchor_ra"><span class="label">[ra]</span></a> <a id="Note_511"></a>{511} ——<i>Medora's</i>——.—[Copy erased.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_416" id="Footnote_416"></a><a href="#FNanchor_416"><span class="label">[416]</span></a> [Compare <i>Christabel</i>, Part II. lines 408, 409— +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Alas! they had been friends in youth;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But whispering tongues can poison truth."]<br /></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_417" id="Footnote_417"></a><a href="#FNanchor_417"><span class="label">[417]</span></a> <a id="Note_513"></a>{513} [Compare the famous eulogy of Marie Antoinette, +in Burke's <i>Reflections on the Revolution in France, +in a Letter intended to have been sent to a Gentleman in Paris</i>, +London, 1790, pp. 112, 113— + +</p> +<blockquote><p>"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."] +</p></blockquote> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_rb" id="Footnote_rb"></a><a href="#FNanchor_rb"><span class="label">[rb]</span></a> <a id="Note_514"></a>{514} <i>As tear by tear rose gathering still</i>.—[Revise.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_418" id="Footnote_418"></a><a href="#FNanchor_418"><span class="label">[418]</span></a> [Lines 175-182, which are in Byron's handwriting, +were added to the Copy.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_419" id="Footnote_419"></a><a href="#FNanchor_419"><span class="label">[419]</span></a> <a id="Note_516"></a>{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.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_420" id="Footnote_420"></a><a href="#FNanchor_420"><span class="label">[420]</span></a> <a id="Note_517"></a>{517} Haught—haughty. "Away, <i>haught</i> man, +thou art insulting me."—<span class="smcap">Shakespeare</span> +[<i>Richard II.</i>, act iv. sc. i, line 254—"No lord of thine, +thou haught insulting man."]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_421" id="Footnote_421"></a><a href="#FNanchor_421"><span class="label">[421]</span></a> <a id="Note_518"></a>{518} [Lines 304, 305, and lines 310-317 are +not in the Copy. They were inserted by Byron in the Revise.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_422" id="Footnote_422"></a><a href="#FNanchor_422"><span class="label">[422]</span></a> [A writer in the <i>Critical Review</i> +(February, 1816, vol. iii. p. 151) +holds this couplet up to derision. "Too" is a weak ending, and, +orally at least, ambiguous.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_423" id="Footnote_423"></a><a href="#FNanchor_423"><span class="label">[423]</span></a> ["I sent for <i>Marmion</i>, ... because +it occurred to me there +might be a resemblance between part of <i>Parisina</i> and a similar scene +in Canto 2d. of <i>Marmion</i>. 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 (<i>Letters</i>, 1899, iii. 260). The scene in + +<i>Marmion</i> is the one where Constance de Beverley appears before the +conclave— +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Her look composed, and steady eye,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bespoke a matchless constancy;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And there she stood so calm and pale,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That, but her breathing did not fail,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And motion slight of eye and head,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And of her bosom, warranted<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">That neither sense nor pulse she lacks,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You must have thought a form of wax,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wrought to the very life, was there—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So still she was, so pale, so fair."<br /></span> +</div></div> +<p class="attrib">Canto II. stanza xxi. lines 5-14.] +</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_424" id="Footnote_424"></a><a href="#FNanchor_424"><span class="label">[424]</span></a> <a id="Note_519"></a>{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 (<i>Memoir of John Murray</i>, 1891, +i. 354).]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_425" id="Footnote_425"></a><a href="#FNanchor_425"><span class="label">[425]</span></a> [Compare <i>Christabel</i>, Part I. line 253—"A sight +to dream of, not to tell!"]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_rc" id="Footnote_rc"></a><a href="#FNanchor_rc"><span class="label">[rc]</span></a> <a id="Note_521"></a>{521} <i>For a departing beings soul</i>.—[Copy.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_426" id="Footnote_426"></a><a href="#FNanchor_426"><span class="label">[426]</span></a> [For the peculiar use of "knoll" as a verb, +compare <i>Childe Harold</i>, Canto III. stanza xcvi. line 5; +and <i>Werner</i>, act iii. sc. 3.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_427" id="Footnote_427"></a><a href="#FNanchor_427"><span class="label">[427]</span></a> <a id="Note_522"></a>{522} [Lines 401-404, which are in Byron's handwriting, +were added to the Copy.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_rd" id="Footnote_rd"></a><a href="#FNanchor_rd"><span class="label">[rd]</span></a> <a id="Note_523"></a>{523} <i>His latest beads and sins are +counted</i>.—[Copy.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_428" id="Footnote_428"></a><a href="#FNanchor_428"><span class="label">[428]</span></a> <a id="Note_524"></a>{524} [For the use of "electric" as a metaphor, +compare Coleridge's <i>Songs of the Pixies</i>, v. lines 59, 60— +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"The electric flash, that from the melting eye<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Darts the fond question and the soft reply."]<br /></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_re" id="Footnote_re"></a><a href="#FNanchor_re"><span class="label">[re]</span></a> <i>But no more thrilling voice rose there</i>.—[Copy.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_429" id="Footnote_429"></a><a href="#FNanchor_429"><span class="label">[429]</span></a> <a id="Note_526"></a>{526} [Here, again, Byron is <i>super grammaticam</i>. +The comparison is between Hugo and "goodly sons," not between Hugo +and "bride" in the preceding line.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_430" id="Footnote_430"></a><a href="#FNanchor_430"><span class="label">[430]</span></a> [Lines 539-544 are not in the Copy, +but were inserted in the Revise.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_431" id="Footnote_431"></a><a href="#FNanchor_431"><span class="label">[431]</span></a> <a id="Note_527"></a>{527} [Lines 551-556 are not in the Copy, +but were inserted in the Revise.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_rf" id="Footnote_rf"></a><a href="#FNanchor_rf"><span class="label">[rf]</span></a> <i>Ah, still unwelcomely was haunted</i>.—[Copy.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_rg" id="Footnote_rg"></a><a href="#FNanchor_rg"><span class="label">[rg]</span></a> <i>Had only sealed a just decree</i>.—[Copy.]</p></div> +</div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;margin-bottom:2cm;" /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_529" id="Page_529">[529]</a></span></p> + + +<div class="titlepage"> + + <h2>POEMS OF THE SEPARATION.</h2> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;margin-top:2cm;" /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_531" id="Page_531">[531]</a></span></p> + +<h2> +<a name="INTRODUCTION_SEPARATION" id="INTRODUCTION_SEPARATION"></a> +INTRODUCTION TO <i>POEMS OF THE SEPARATION.</i> +<br /><span class="center"><img src="images/decoration.png" alt="swash" /></span> +</h2> + + +<p>The two poems, <i>Fare Thee Well</i> (March 17) and <i>A Sketch</i> +(March 29, 1816), which have hitherto been entitled +<i>Domestic Pieces</i>, or <i>Poems on His Own Circumstances</i>, +I have ventured to rename <i>Poems of the Separation</i>. +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 <i>Fare Thee Well</i> and <i>A Sketch</i>; 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 + +<i>A Sketch</i> to unqualified reprobation, were divided with +regard to the good taste and good faith of <i>Fare Thee Well</i>. +Moore intimates that at first, and, indeed, for some years +after the separation, he was strongly inclined to condemn +the <i>Fare Thee Well</i> as a histrionic performance—"a showy +effusion of sentiment;" but that on reading the account of all +the circumstances in Byron's <i>Memoranda</i>, he was impressed +by the reality of 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" (<i>Life</i>, p. 302).<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_532" id="Page_532">[532]</a></span></p> + +<p>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, <i>née</i> +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 <i>Thee</i> Well" [MSS. M.].</p> + +<p>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 <i>Letters</i>, 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 <i>Fare Thee Well</i> was included +in the "Poems" of 1816, it was not till both poems had +appeared in over twenty pirated editions that <i>A Sketch</i> 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 verses +would slip into a newspaper, as it were, <i>malgré lui</i>, he would +surely have taken care that the seed fell on good ground +under the favouring influence of Perry of the <i>Morning +Chronicle</i>, or Leigh Hunt of the <i>Examiner</i>. As it turned +out, the first paper which possessed or ventured to publish a +copy of the "domestic pieces" was the <i>Champion</i>, 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 +(<i>Life and Letters</i> of John Gibson Lockhart, 1897, i. 256), +"Scotch, and a professed moralist." The date of publication<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_533" id="Page_533">[533]</a></span> + +was Sunday, April 14, and it is to be noted that the +<i>Ode from the French</i> ("We do not curse thee, Waterloo") had been +published in the <i>Morning Chronicle</i> on March 15, and that +on the preceding Sunday, April 7, the brilliant but unpatriotic +apostrophe to the <i>Star of the Legion of Honour</i> had +appeared in the <i>Examiner</i>. "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 <i>facts</i> 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?</p> + +<p>Wordsworth, to whom Scott forwarded the <i>Champion</i> of +April 14, "outdid" the journalist in virtuous fury: "Let me +say only one word of Lord 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 <i>Fare Well</i>, 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 <i>Life of William Wordsworth</i>, +1889, ii. 267, etc.).<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_534" id="Page_534">[534]</a></span></p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>The <i>Champion</i> 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 <i>Sun</i> + +printed <i>Fare Thee Well</i>, and on Tuesday, April 16, followed +with <i>A Sketch</i>. On the same day the <i>Morning Chronicle</i>, +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 <i>Morning Post</i>, with an ugly hint that +"the noble Lord gives us verses, when he dare not give us +circumstances," restricted itself to <i>Fare Thee Well</i>; while +the <i>Times</i>, in a leading paragraph, feigned to regard "the +two extraordinary copies of verses ... the whining stanzas +of <i>Fare Thee Well</i>, and the low malignity and miserable +doggerel of the companion <i>Sketch</i>," as "an injurious fabrication." +On Thursday, the 18th, the <i>Courier</i>, though declining +to insert <i>A Sketch</i>, deals temperately and sympathetically +with the <i>Fare Thee Well</i>, 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 <i>Times</i>, 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 <i>Star</i> printed both poems, and the + +<i>Morning Post</i> inserted a criticism, which had already +appeared in the <i>Courier</i> of the preceding day. On Saturday, +the 20th, the <i>Courier</i> found itself compelled, in the interests +of its readers, to print both poems. On Sunday, the 21st, +the octave of the original issue, the <i>Examiner</i> devoted a +long article to an apology for Byron, and a fierce rejoinder +to the <i>Champion</i>; and on the same day the +<i>Independent Whig</i> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_535" id="Page_535">[535]</a></span> + +and the <i>Sunday News</i>, +which favoured the "opposition," +printed both poems, with prefatory notices more or +less favourable to the writer; whereas the Tory +<i>Antigallican Monitor</i>, 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."</p> + +<p>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 <i>Champion</i> 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 strictly confined to the +"initiated," the excitement and interest of the general public +would have smouldered and died out for lack of material.</p> + +<p>In his second letter on Bowles, dated March 25, 1821 +(<i>Observations upon Observations</i>, <i>Life</i>, 1892, p. 705), Byron +alludes to the publication of these poems in the <i>Champion</i>, +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" (<i>London Magazine</i>, April, 1821, +vol. iii. p. 359).</p> + +<p>For chronological reasons, and in accordance with the +precedent of the edition of 1832, a third poem, +<i>Stanzas to Augusta</i>, has been included in this group. +</p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_537" id="Page_537">[537]</a></span></p> + +<h2><a name="POEMS_SEPARATION" id="POEMS_SEPARATION"></a> +POEMS OF THE SEPARATION +<br /><span class="center"><img src="images/decoration.png" alt="swash" /></span> +</h2> + + +<h3>FARE THEE WELL.<a name="FNanchor_432" id="FNanchor_432"></a><a href="#Footnote_432" class="fnanchor">[432]</a></h3> + +<blockquote> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Alas! they had been friends in youth;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But whispering tongues can poison truth:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Constancy lives in realms above;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Life is thorny; and youth is vain:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And to be wroth with one we love,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Doth work like madness in the brain;<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<hr /> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But never either found another<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To free the hollow heart from paining—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They stood aloof, the scars remaining,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like cliffs which had been rent asunder;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A dreary sea now flows between,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But neither heat, nor frost, nor thunder,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Shall wholly do away, I ween,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The marks of that which once hath been."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="attrib"><span class="smcap">Coleridge's</span> Christabel.<a name="FNanchor_rh" id="FNanchor_rh"></a><a href="#Footnote_rh" class="fnanchor">[rh]</a></p> +</blockquote> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Fare</span> thee well! and if for ever,<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">Still for ever, fare <i>thee well:</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Even though unforgiving, never<br /></span> +<span class="i2">'Gainst thee shall my heart rebel.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_538" id="Page_538">[538]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Would that breast were bared before thee<a name="FNanchor_ri" id="FNanchor_ri"></a><a href="#Footnote_ri" class="fnanchor">[ri]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Where thy head so oft hath lain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While that placid sleep came o'er thee<a name="FNanchor_rj" id="FNanchor_rj"></a><a href="#Footnote_rj" class="fnanchor">[rj]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Which thou ne'er canst know again:<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Would that breast, by thee glanced over,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Every inmost thought could show!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then thou would'st at last discover<br /></span> +<span class="i2">'Twas not well to spurn it so.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though the world for this commend thee—<a name="FNanchor_433" id="FNanchor_433"></a><a href="#Footnote_433" class="fnanchor">[433]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Though it smile upon the blow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Even its praises must offend thee,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Founded on another's woe:<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Though my many faults defaced me,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Could no other arm be found,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Than the one which once embraced me,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To inflict a cureless wound?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet, oh yet, thyself deceive not—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Love may sink by slow decay,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But by sudden wrench, believe not<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Hearts can thus be torn away:<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_539" id="Page_539">[539]</a></span> + +<span class="i0">Still thine own its life retaineth—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Still must mine, though bleeding, beat;<a name="FNanchor_rk" id="FNanchor_rk"></a><a href="#Footnote_rk" class="fnanchor">[rk]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the undying thought which paineth<a name="FNanchor_rl" id="FNanchor_rl"></a><a href="#Footnote_rl" class="fnanchor">[rl]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Is—that we no more may meet.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">These are words of deeper sorrow<a name="FNanchor_rm" id="FNanchor_rm"></a><a href="#Footnote_rm" class="fnanchor">[rm]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Than the wail above the dead;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Both shall live—but every morrow<a name="FNanchor_rn" id="FNanchor_rn"></a><a href="#Footnote_rn" class="fnanchor">[rn]</a><br /></span> + +<span class="i2">Wake us from a widowed bed.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And when thou would'st solace gather—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When our child's first accents flow—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wilt thou teach her to say "Father!"<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Though his care she must forego?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When her little hands shall press thee—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When her lip to thine is pressed—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Think of him whose prayer shall bless thee—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Think of him thy love <i>had</i> blessed!<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Should her lineaments resemble<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Those thou never more may'st see,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then thy heart will softly tremble<a name="FNanchor_ro" id="FNanchor_ro"></a><a href="#Footnote_ro" class="fnanchor">[ro]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">With a pulse yet true to me.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All my faults perchance thou knowest—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">All my madness—none can know;<a name="FNanchor_rp" id="FNanchor_rp"></a><a href="#Footnote_rp" class="fnanchor">[rp]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">All my hopes—where'er thou goest—<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">Wither—yet with <i>thee</i> they go.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Every feeling hath been shaken;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Pride—which not a world could bow—<a name="FNanchor_rq" id="FNanchor_rq"></a><a href="#Footnote_rq" class="fnanchor">[rq]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bows to thee—by thee forsaken,<a name="FNanchor_rr" id="FNanchor_rr"></a><a href="#Footnote_rr" class="fnanchor">[rr]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Even my soul forsakes me now.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_540" id="Page_540">[540]</a></span> + +<span class="i0">But 'tis done—all words are idle—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Words from me are vainer still;<a name="FNanchor_rs" id="FNanchor_rs"></a><a href="#Footnote_rs" class="fnanchor">[rs]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">But the thoughts we cannot bridle<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Force their way without the will.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fare thee well! thus disunited—<a name="FNanchor_rt" id="FNanchor_rt"></a><a href="#Footnote_rt" class="fnanchor">[rt]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Torn from every nearer tie—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Seared in heart—and lone—and blighted—<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">More than this I scarce can die.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="attrib">[First draft, <i>March</i> 18, 1816.</p> + +<p class="attrib">First printed as published, April 4, 1816.]</p> + + + +<h3>A SKETCH.<a name="FNanchor_ru" id="FNanchor_ru"></a><a href="#Footnote_ru" class="fnanchor">[ru]</a><a name="FNanchor_434" id="FNanchor_434"></a><a href="#Footnote_434" class="fnanchor">[434]</a></h3> + +<blockquote> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Honest—honest Iago!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If that thou be'st a devil, I cannot kill thee."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="attrib"><span class="smcap">Shakespeare</span>.</p> +</blockquote> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Born</span> in the garret, in the kitchen bred,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Promoted thence to deck her mistress' head;<a name="FNanchor_rv" id="FNanchor_rv"></a><a href="#Footnote_rv" class="fnanchor">[rv]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Next—for some gracious service unexpressed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And from its wages only to be guessed<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_541" id="Page_541">[541]</a></span>—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Raised from the toilet to the table,—where<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her wondering betters wait behind her chair.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With eye unmoved, and forehead unabashed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She dines from off the plate she lately washed.<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Quick with the tale, and ready with the lie,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The genial confidante, and general spy— <span class="linenum">10</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who could, ye gods! her next employment guess—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An only infant's earliest governess!<a name="FNanchor_rw" id="FNanchor_rw"></a><a href="#Footnote_rw" class="fnanchor">[rw]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">She taught the child to read, and taught so well,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That she herself, by teaching, learned to spell.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An adept next in penmanship she grows,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">As many a nameless slander deftly shows:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What she had made the pupil of her art,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">None know—but that high Soul secured the heart,<a name="FNanchor_rx" id="FNanchor_rx"></a><a href="#Footnote_rx" class="fnanchor">[rx]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And panted for the truth it could not hear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With longing breast and undeluded ear. <span class="linenum">20</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Foiled was perversion by that youthful mind,<a name="FNanchor_ry" id="FNanchor_ry"></a><a href="#Footnote_ry" class="fnanchor">[ry]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which Flattery fooled not, Baseness could not blind,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Deceit infect not, near Contagion soil,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Indulgence weaken, nor Example spoil,<a name="FNanchor_rz" id="FNanchor_rz"></a><a href="#Footnote_rz" class="fnanchor">[rz]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor mastered Science tempt her to look down<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On humbler talents with a pitying frown,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor Genius swell, nor Beauty render vain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor Envy ruffle to retaliate pain,<a name="FNanchor_sa" id="FNanchor_sa"></a><a href="#Footnote_sa" class="fnanchor">[sa]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor Fortune change, Pride raise, nor Passion bow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor Virtue teach austerity—till now. <span class="linenum">30</span><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Serenely purest of her sex that live,<a name="FNanchor_sb" id="FNanchor_sb"></a><a href="#Footnote_sb" class="fnanchor">[sb]</a><br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_542" id="Page_542">[542]</a></span><span class="i0">But wanting one sweet weakness—to forgive;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Too shocked at faults her soul can never know,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She deems that all could be like her below:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Foe to all vice, yet hardly Virtue's friend,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For Virtue pardons those she would amend.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But to the theme, now laid aside too long,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">The baleful burthen of this honest song,<a name="FNanchor_sc" id="FNanchor_sc"></a><a href="#Footnote_sc" class="fnanchor">[sc]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though all her former functions are no more,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She rules the circle which she served before. <span class="linenum">40</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">If mothers—none know why—before her quake;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If daughters dread her for the mothers' sake;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If early habits—those false links, which bind<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">At times the loftiest to the meanest mind—<a name="FNanchor_sd" id="FNanchor_sd"></a><a href="#Footnote_sd" class="fnanchor">[sd]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Have given her power too deeply to instil<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The angry essence of her deadly will;<a name="FNanchor_se" id="FNanchor_se"></a><a href="#Footnote_se" class="fnanchor">[se]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">If like a snake she steal within your walls,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till the black slime betray her as she crawls;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If like a viper to the heart she wind,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And leave the venom there she did not find; <span class="linenum">50</span><br /></span> + +<span class="i0">What marvel that this hag of hatred works<a name="FNanchor_sf" id="FNanchor_sf"></a><a href="#Footnote_sf" class="fnanchor">[sf]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Eternal evil latent as she lurks,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To make a Pandemonium where she dwells,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And reign the Hecate of domestic hells?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Skilled by a touch to deepen Scandal's tints<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With all the kind mendacity of hints,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While mingling truth with falsehood—sneers with smiles—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A thread of candour with a web of wiles;<a name="FNanchor_sg" id="FNanchor_sg"></a><a href="#Footnote_sg" class="fnanchor">[sg]</a><br /></span> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_543" id="Page_543">[543]</a></span><span class="i0">A plain blunt show of briefly-spoken seeming,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To hide her bloodless heart's soul-hardened scheming; <span class="linenum">60</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">A lip of lies; a face formed to conceal,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, without feeling, mock at all who feel:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With a vile mask the Gorgon would disown,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A cheek of parchment, and an eye of stone.<a name="FNanchor_sh" id="FNanchor_sh"></a><a href="#Footnote_sh" class="fnanchor">[sh]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Mark, how the channels of her yellow blood<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Ooze to her skin, and stagnate there to mud,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Cased like the centipede in saffron mail,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or darker greenness of the scorpion's scale—<a name="FNanchor_si" id="FNanchor_si"></a><a href="#Footnote_si" class="fnanchor">[si]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">(For drawn from reptiles only may we trace<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Congenial colours in that soul or face)— <span class="linenum">70</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Look on her features! and behold her mind<a name="FNanchor_sj" id="FNanchor_sj"></a><a href="#Footnote_sj" class="fnanchor">[sj]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">As in a mirror of itself defined:<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Look on the picture! deem it not o'ercharged—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There is no trait which might not be enlarged:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet true to "Nature's journeymen,"<a name="FNanchor_435" id="FNanchor_435"></a><a href="#Footnote_435" class="fnanchor">[435]</a> who made<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This monster when their mistress left off trade—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This female dog-star of her little sky,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where all beneath her influence droop or die.<a name="FNanchor_sk" id="FNanchor_sk"></a><a href="#Footnote_sk" class="fnanchor">[sk]</a><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> + +<span class="i0">Oh! wretch without a tear—without a thought,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Save joy above the ruin thou hast wrought— <span class="linenum">80</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">The time shall come, nor long remote, when thou<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shalt feel far more than thou inflictest now;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Feel for thy vile self-loving self in vain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And turn thee howling in unpitied pain.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">May the strong curse of crushed affections light<a name="FNanchor_436" id="FNanchor_436"></a><a href="#Footnote_436" class="fnanchor">[436]</a><br /></span> + +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_544" id="Page_544">[544]</a></span><span class="i0">Back on thy bosom with reflected blight!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And make thee in thy leprosy of mind<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As loathsome to thyself as to mankind!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till all thy self-thoughts curdle into hate,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Black—as thy will or others would create: <span class="linenum">90</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till thy hard heart be calcined into dust,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And thy soul welter in its hideous crust.<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Oh, may thy grave be sleepless as the bed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The widowed couch of fire, that thou hast spread!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then, when thou fain wouldst weary Heaven with prayer,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Look on thine earthly victims—and despair!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Down to the dust!—and, as thou rott'st away,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Even worms shall perish on thy poisonous clay.<a name="FNanchor_sl" id="FNanchor_sl"></a><a href="#Footnote_sl" class="fnanchor">[sl]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">But for the love I bore, and still must bear,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">To her thy malice from all ties would tear— <span class="linenum">100</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy name—thy human name—to every eye<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The climax of all scorn should hang on high,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Exalted o'er thy less abhorred compeers—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And festering<a name="FNanchor_437" id="FNanchor_437"></a><a href="#Footnote_437" class="fnanchor">[437]</a> in the infamy of years.<a name="FNanchor_sm" id="FNanchor_sm"></a><a href="#Footnote_sm" class="fnanchor">[sm]</a><br /></span> + +</div></div> + +<p class="attrib">[First draft, <i>March</i> 29, 1816.</p> + +<p class="attrib">First printed as published, April 4, 1816.]</p> + +<h3>STANZAS TO AUGUSTA.<a name="FNanchor_438" id="FNanchor_438"></a><a href="#Footnote_438" class="fnanchor">[438]</a></h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">When</span> all around grew drear and dark,<a name="FNanchor_sn" id="FNanchor_sn"></a><a href="#Footnote_sn" class="fnanchor">[sn]</a><br /></span> + +<span class="i2">And reason half withheld her ray<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_545" id="Page_545">[545]</a></span>—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Hope but shed a dying spark<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Which more misled my lonely way;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In that deep midnight of the mind,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And that internal strife of heart,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When dreading to be deemed too kind,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The weak despair—the cold depart;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When Fortune changed—and Love fled far,<a name="FNanchor_so" id="FNanchor_so"></a><a href="#Footnote_so" class="fnanchor">[so]</a><br /></span> + +<span class="i2">And Hatred's shafts flew thick and fast,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thou wert the solitary star<a name="FNanchor_sp" id="FNanchor_sp"></a><a href="#Footnote_sp" class="fnanchor">[sp]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Which rose and set not to the last.<a name="FNanchor_sq" id="FNanchor_sq"></a><a href="#Footnote_sq" class="fnanchor">[sq]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh! blest be thine unbroken light!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That watched me as a Seraph's eye,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And stood between me and the night,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For ever shining sweetly nigh.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And when the cloud upon us came,<a name="FNanchor_sr" id="FNanchor_sr"></a><a href="#Footnote_sr" class="fnanchor">[sr]</a><br /></span> + +<span class="i2">Which strove to blacken o'er thy ray—<a name="FNanchor_ss" id="FNanchor_ss"></a><a href="#Footnote_ss" class="fnanchor">[ss]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then purer spread its gentle flame,<a name="FNanchor_st" id="FNanchor_st"></a><a href="#Footnote_st" class="fnanchor">[st]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">And dashed the darkness all away.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Still may thy Spirit dwell on mine,<a name="FNanchor_su" id="FNanchor_su"></a><a href="#Footnote_su" class="fnanchor">[su]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">And teach it what to brave or brook<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_546" id="Page_546">[546]</a></span>—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There's more in one soft word of thine<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Than in the world's defied rebuke.<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Thou stood'st, as stands a lovely tree,<a name="FNanchor_sv" id="FNanchor_sv"></a><a href="#Footnote_sv" class="fnanchor">[sv]</a><br /></span> +<span class="i2">That still unbroke, though gently bent,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Still waves with fond fidelity<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Its boughs above a monument.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The winds might rend—the skies might pour,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But there thou wert—and still wouldst be<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Devoted in the stormiest hour<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">To shed thy weeping leaves o'er me.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But thou and thine shall know no blight,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Whatever fate on me may fall;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For Heaven in sunshine will requite<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The kind—and thee the most of all.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then let the ties of baffled love<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Be broken—thine will never break;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy heart can feel—but will not move;<br /></span> + +<span class="i2">Thy soul, though soft, will never shake.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And these, when all was lost beside,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Were found and still are fixed in thee:—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And bearing still a breast so tried,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Earth is no desert—ev'n to me.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="attrib">[First published, <i>Poems</i>, 1816.]</p> + + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_432" id="Footnote_432"></a><a href="#FNanchor_432"><span class="label">[432]</span></a> <a id="Note_537"></a>{537} ["He there (Byron, in his <i>Memoranda</i>) 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."—<i>Life</i>, p. 302. +</p><p> +It must have been a fair and <i>complete</i> copy that Moore saw (see + +<i>Life</i>, 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 +<i>first</i>, for it is incomplete, and every line (almost) tortured with +alterations. +</p><p> +"Fare Thee Well!" was printed in Leigh Hunt's <i>Examiner</i>, +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.— +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>Examiner:</i> "Than the soft one which embraced me."<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pamphlet: "Than the one which once embraced me."<br /></span> + +<span class="i0"><i>Examiner:</i> "Yet the thoughts we cannot bridle."<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pamphlet: "But," etc.<br /></span> +</div></div> +<p> +—<i>MS. Notes taken by the late J. Dykes Campbell at Sotheby's, +April 18, 1890, and re-transcribed for Mr. Murray, +June 15, 1894.</i> +</p><p> +A final proof, dated April 7, 1816, was endorsed by Murray, +"Correct 50 copies as early as you can to-morrow."]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_rh" id="Footnote_rh"></a><a href="#FNanchor_rh"><span class="label">[rh]</span></a> The motto was prefixed in <i>Poems</i>, 1816.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_ri" id="Footnote_ri"></a><a href="#FNanchor_ri"><span class="label">[ri]</span></a> <a id="Note_538"></a>{538} <i>Thou my breast laid bare before thee</i>.—[MS. erased.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_rj" id="Footnote_rj"></a><a href="#FNanchor_rj"><span class="label">[rj]</span></a> <i>Not a thought is pondering on thee</i>.—[MS, erased.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_433" id="Footnote_433"></a><a href="#FNanchor_433"><span class="label">[433]</span></a> [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.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_rk" id="Footnote_rk"></a><a href="#FNanchor_rk"><span class="label">[rk]</span></a> <a id="Note_539"></a>{539} Net result of many alterations.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_rl" id="Footnote_rl"></a><a href="#FNanchor_rl"><span class="label">[rl]</span></a> <i>And the lasting thought</i>——.—[MS. erased.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_rm" id="Footnote_rm"></a><a href="#FNanchor_rm"><span class="label">[rm]</span></a> ——<i>of deadlier sorrow</i>.—[MS. erased.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_rn" id="Footnote_rn"></a><a href="#FNanchor_rn"><span class="label">[rn]</span></a> <i>Every future night and morrow</i>.—[MS. erased.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_ro" id="Footnote_ro"></a><a href="#FNanchor_ro"><span class="label">[ro]</span></a> <i>Still thy heart</i>——.—[MS. erased.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_rp" id="Footnote_rp"></a><a href="#FNanchor_rp"><span class="label">[rp]</span></a> <i>All my follies</i>——.—[MS. erased.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_rq" id="Footnote_rq"></a><a href="#FNanchor_rq"><span class="label">[rq]</span></a> ——<i>which not the world could bow</i>.—[MS.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_rr" id="Footnote_rr"></a><a href="#FNanchor_rr"><span class="label">[rr]</span></a> <i>Falls at once</i>——.—[MS. erased.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_rs" id="Footnote_rs"></a><a href="#FNanchor_rs"><span class="label">[rs]</span></a> <a id="Note_540"></a>{540} <i>Tears and sighs are idler still</i>.—[MS. erased.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_rt" id="Footnote_rt"></a><a href="#FNanchor_rt"><span class="label">[rt]</span></a> <i>Fare thee well—thus lone and blighted</i>.—[MS. erased.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_ru" id="Footnote_ru"></a><a href="#FNanchor_ru"><span class="label">[ru]</span></a> <i>A Sketch from Life.</i>—[MS. M.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_434" id="Footnote_434"></a><a href="#FNanchor_434"><span class="label">[434]</span></a> ["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. + +</p><p> +"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.) +</p><p> +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. +</p><p> +A proof dated April 2, 1816, is endorsed by Murray, "Correct +with most particular care and print off 50 copies, and keep standing."]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_rv" id="Footnote_rv"></a><a href="#FNanchor_rv"><span class="label">[rv]</span></a> <i>Promoted thence to comb</i>——[MS. M. erased.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_rw" id="Footnote_rw"></a><a href="#FNanchor_rw"><span class="label">[rw]</span></a> ——<i>early governess</i>.—[MS. M.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_rx" id="Footnote_rx"></a><a href="#FNanchor_rx"><span class="label">[rx]</span></a> ——<i>but that pure spirit saved her heart</i>.—[MS. M. erased.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_ry" id="Footnote_ry"></a><a href="#FNanchor_ry"><span class="label">[ry]</span></a> <i>Vain was each effort</i>——.—[MS. M.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_rz" id="Footnote_rz"></a><a href="#FNanchor_rz"><span class="label">[rz]</span></a> + +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>Much Learning madden—when with scarce a peer</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>She soared through science with a bright career</i>—<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Nor talents swell</i>——.—[MS. M.]<br /></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_sa" id="Footnote_sa"></a><a href="#FNanchor_sa"><span class="label">[sa]</span></a> ——<i>bigotry prevoke</i>.—[MS. M. erased.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_sb" id="Footnote_sb"></a><a href="#FNanchor_sb"><span class="label">[sb]</span></a> <i>Serenely purest of the things that live</i>.—[MS. M.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_sc" id="Footnote_sc"></a><a href="#FNanchor_sc"><span class="label">[sc]</span></a> <a id="Note_542"></a>{542} <i>The trusty burthen of my honest song</i>.—[MS. M.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_sd" id="Footnote_sd"></a><a href="#FNanchor_sd"><span class="label">[sd]</span></a> <i>At times the highest</i>——.—[MS. M.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_se" id="Footnote_se"></a><a href="#FNanchor_se"><span class="label">[se]</span></a> ——<i>of her evil will</i>.—[MS. M.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"> +<p><a name="Footnote_sf" id="Footnote_sf"></a><a href="#FNanchor_sf"> +<span class="label">[sf]</span></a> +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>What marvel that this mistress demon works</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Eternal evil</i> + +<span class="bb">{</span> +<span class="uc"><i>wheresoe'er she lurks</i>.—[MS. M.]</span> +<span class="dc" style="margin:auto 0em auto -13.5em;"><i>when she latent works</i>.—[Copy.]</span> +<br /></span> +</div></div> + +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_sg" id="Footnote_sg"></a><a href="#FNanchor_sg"><span class="label">[sg]</span></a> <i>A gloss of candour of a web of wiles</i>.—[MS. M.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_sh" id="Footnote_sh"></a><a href="#FNanchor_sh"><span class="label">[sh]</span></a> <a id="Note_543"></a>{543} Lines 65-68 were added April 2, 1816.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_si" id="Footnote_si"></a><a href="#FNanchor_si"><span class="label">[si]</span></a> The parenthesis was added April 2, 1816.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_sj" id="Footnote_sj"></a><a href="#FNanchor_sj"><span class="label">[sj]</span></a> <i>Look on her body</i>——.—[MS. M.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_435" id="Footnote_435"></a><a href="#FNanchor_435"><span class="label">[435]</span></a> [See <i>Hamlet</i>, act iii. sc. 2, line 31.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_sk" id="Footnote_sk"></a><a href="#FNanchor_sk"><span class="label">[sk]</span></a> <i>Where all that gaze upon her droop or +die</i>.—[MS. altered April 2, 1816.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_436" id="Footnote_436"></a><a href="#FNanchor_436"><span class="label">[436]</span></a> Lines 85-91 were added April 2, 1816, +on a page endorsed, "Quick—quick—quick—quick."</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_sl" id="Footnote_sl"></a><a href="#FNanchor_sl"><span class="label">[sl]</span></a> <a id="Note_544"></a>{544} ——<i>in thy poisoned clay</i>.—[MS. M. erased.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_437" id="Footnote_437"></a><a href="#FNanchor_437"><span class="label">[437]</span></a> ["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.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_sm" id="Footnote_sm"></a><a href="#FNanchor_sm"><span class="label">[sm]</span></a> <i>And weltering in the infamy of years</i>.—[MS. M.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_438" id="Footnote_438"></a><a href="#FNanchor_438"><span class="label">[438]</span></a> [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—<i>if ever!</i> 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. + +</p><p> +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."]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_sn" id="Footnote_sn"></a><a href="#FNanchor_sn"><span class="label">[sn]</span></a> ——<i>grew waste and dark</i>.—[MS. M.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_so" id="Footnote_so"></a><a href="#FNanchor_so"><span class="label">[so]</span></a> <a id="Note_545"></a>{545} <i>When Friendship shook</i>——.—[MS. M.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_sp" id="Footnote_sp"></a><a href="#FNanchor_sp"><span class="label">[sp]</span></a> <i>Thine was the solitary star</i>.—[MS. M.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_sq" id="Footnote_sq"></a><a href="#FNanchor_sq"><span class="label">[sq]</span></a> <i>Which rose above me to the last</i>.—[MS. M.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_sr" id="Footnote_sr"></a><a href="#FNanchor_sr"><span class="label">[sr]</span></a> + +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>And when the cloud between us came</i>.—[MS. M.]<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>And when the cloud upon me came</i>.—[Copy C. H.]<br /></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_ss" id="Footnote_ss"></a><a href="#FNanchor_ss"><span class="label">[ss]</span></a> <i>Which would have closed on that last ray</i>.—[MS. M.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_st" id="Footnote_st"></a><a href="#FNanchor_st"><span class="label">[st]</span></a> <i>Then stiller stood the gentle Flame</i>.—[MS. M.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_su" id="Footnote_su"></a><a href="#FNanchor_su"><span class="label">[su]</span></a> <i>Still may thy Spirit sit on mine</i>.—[MS. M.]</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_sv" id="Footnote_sv"></a><a href="#FNanchor_sv"><span class="label">[sv]</span></a> <a id="Note_546"></a>{546} + +</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>And thou wast as a lovely Tree</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Whose branch unbroke but gently bent</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Still waved with fond Fidelity</i>.—[Copy C. H.]<br /></span> +</div></div> +</div> +</div> + + + +<div class="titlepage"> + + <h3>END OF VOL. III.</h3> + <hr /> + + <h4><span class="small">LONDON: PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED,<br /> + STAMFORD STREET AND CHARING CROSS.</span></h4> +</div> + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Works Of Lord Byron, Vol. 3 (of 7), by +Lord Byron + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE WORKS OF LORD BYRON *** + +***** This file should be named 21811-h.htm or 21811-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/1/8/1/21811/ + +Produced by Jonathan Ingram, David Cortesi and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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