LXIX. It came to pass, that when he did address In war well season'd, and with labours tann'd, And from his further bank Ætolia's wolds espied. Where lone Utraikey forms its circling cove, On the smooth shore the night-fires brightly blazed, And bounding hand in hand, man link'd to man, Yelling their uncouth dirge, long daunced the kirtled clan. 3 LXXII. Childe Harold at a little distance stood, And view'd, but not displeased, the revelrie, Nor hated harmless mirth, however rude: In sooth, it was no vulgar sight to see Their barbarous, yet their not indecent, glee; And, as the flames along their faces gleam'd, Their gestures nimble, dark eyes flashing free, The long wild locks that to their girdles stream'd, While thus in concert they this lay half sang, half scream'd: 4---- 1. TAMBOURGI! Tambourgi 5! thy larum afar Gives hope to the valiant, and promise of war; All the sons of the mountains arise at the note, Chimariot, Illyrian, and dark Suliote! 6 1 The Albanian Mussulmans do not abstain from wine, and, indeed, very few of the others. Palikar, shortened when addressed to a single person, from Пaixagi, a general name for a soldier amongst the Greeks and Albanese who speak Romaic: it means, properly, "a lad.' 3 [The following is Mr. Hobhouse's animated description of this scene:-" In the evening the gates were secured, and preparations were made for feeding our Albanians. A goat was killed and roasted whole, and four fires were kindled in the yard, round which the soldiers seated themselves in parties. After eating and drinking, the greatest part of them assembled round the largest of the fires, and, whilst ourselves and the elders of the party were seated on the ground, danced round the blaze, to their own songs, with astonishing energy. All their songs were relations of some robbing exploits. One of them, which detained them more than an hour, began thus: When we set out from Parga, there were sixty of us:' then came the burden of the verse, 2. Oh! who is more brave than a dark Suliote, Shall the sons of Chimari, who never forgive 4. Macedonia sends forth her invincible race; 5. Then the pirates of Parga that dwell by the waves, I ask not the pleasures that riches supply, I love the fair face of the maid in her youth, 8. Remember the moment when Previsa fell, 7 9. I talk not of mercy, I talk not of fear; He neither must know who would serve the Vizier : Since the days of our prophet the Crescent ne'er saw A chief ever glorious like Ali Pashaw. 10. Dark Muchtar his son to the Danube is sped, Let the yellow-hair'd 8 Giaours view his horse-tail 10 with dread [banks, When his Delhis 11 come dashing in blood o'er the How few shall escape from the Muscovite ranks! the waves upon the pebbly margin where we were seated, filled up the pauses of the song with a milder, and not more monotonous music. The night was very dark; but, by the flashes of the fires, we caught a glimpse of the woods, the rocks, and the lake, which, together with the wild appearance of the dancers, presented us with a scene that would have made a fine picture in the hands of such an artist as the author of the Mysteries of Udolpho. As we were acquainted with the character of the Albanians, it did not at all diminish our pleasure to know, that every one of our guard had been robbers, and some of them a very short time before. It was eleven o'clock before we had retired to our room, at which time the Albanians, wrapping themselves up in their capotes, went to sleep round the fires."] 4 [For a specimen of the Albanian or Arnaout dialect of the Illyric, see Appendix to this Canto, Note [C].] 5 Drummer. 6 These stanzas are partly taken from different Albanese songs, as far as I was able to make them out by the exposition of the Albanese in Romaic and Italian. 7 It was taken by storm from the French. Yellow is the epithet given to the Russians, 9 Infidel. 10 The insignia of a Pacha. 11 Horsemen, answering to our forlorn hope. 11. Selictar 1! unsheathe then our chief's scimitar: Tambourgi! thy larum gives promise of war. Ye mountains, that see us descend to the shore, Shall view us as victors, or view us no more! LXXIII. Fair Greece! sad relic of departed worth! 2 Immortal, though no more; though fallen, great! Who now shall lead thy scatter'd children forth, And long accustom❜d bondage uncreate ? Not such thy sons who whilome did await, The hopeless warriors of a willing doom, In bleak Thermopyla's sepulchral straitOh! who that gallant spirit shall resume, Leap from Eurotas' banks, and call thee from the tomb? LXXIV. Spirit of Freedom! when on Phyle's brow 3 Thou sat'st with Thrasybulus and his train, Couldst thou forbode the dismal hour which now Dims the green beauties of thine Attic plain? Not thirty tyrants now enforce the chain, But every carle can lord it o'er thy land; Nor rise thy sons, but idly rail in vain, Trembling beneath the scourge of Turkish hand, From birth till death enslaved; in word, in deed, unmann'd. LXXV. In all save form alone, how changed! and who That marks the fire still sparkling in each eye, Who but would deem their bosoms burn'd anew With thy unquenched beam, lost Liberty! And many dream withal the hour is nigh That gives them back their fathers' heritage : For foreign arms and aid they fondly sigh, Nor solely dare encounter hostile rage, [page. Or tear their name defiled from Slavery's mournful LXXVI. Hereditary bondsmen ! know ye not Who would be free themselves must strike the blow? By their right arms the conquest must be wrought? Will Gaul or Muscovite redress ye? no! True, they may lay your proud despoilers low, But not for you will Freedom's altars flame. Shades of the Helots! triumph o'er your foe! Greece change thy lords, thy state is still the same; Thy glorious day is o'er, but not thine years of shame. 1 Sword-bearer. See some Thoughts on the present State of Greece and Turkey in the Appendix to this Canto, Notes [D] and [E]. Phyle, which commands a beautiful view of Athens, has still considerable remains it was seized by Thrasybulus, previous to the expulsion of the Thirty. When taken by the Latins, and retained for several years. s Mecca and Medina were taken some time ago by the Wahabees, a sect yearly increasing. [Of Constantinople Lord Byron says, "I have seen the ruins of Athens, of Ephesus, and Delphi; I have traversed great part of Turkey, and many other parts of Europe, and some of Asia; but I never beheld a work of nature or art which yielded an impression like the prospect on each side, from the Seven Towers to the end of the Golden Horn."] 7 The view of Constantinople," says Mr. Rose, “which appeared intersected by groves of cypress (for such is the effect of its great burial-grounds planted with these trees), its gilded domes and minarets reflecting the first rays of the sun; the deep blue sea in which it glassed itself." and that sea covered with beautiful boats and barges darting in every Glanced many a light caique along the foam, These hours, and only these, redeem Life's years of ill! direction in perfect silence, amid sea-fowl, who sat at rest upon the waters, altogether conveyed such an impression as I had never received, and probably never shall again receive, from the view of any other place." The following sonnet, by the same author, has been so often quoted, that, but for its exquisite beauty, we should not have ventured to reprint it here: "A glorious form thy shining city wore, 'Mid cypress thickets of perennial green, Of sculptured barques and galleys many a score; Who, mute as Sinhad's man of copper, rows, LXXXII. But, midst the throng in merry masquerade, Lurk there no heart, that throb with secret pain, Even through the closest searment half betray'd? To such the gentle murmurs of the main Seem to re-echo all they mourn in vain ; To such the gladness of the gamesome crowd Is source of wayward thought and stern disdain : How do they loathe the laughter idly loud, And long to change the robe of revel for the shroud! LXXXIII. This must he feel, the true-born son of Greece, If Greece one true-born patriot still can boast: Not such as prate of war, but skulk in peace, The bondsman's peace, who sighs for all he lost, Yet with smooth smile his tyrant can accost, And wield the slavish sickle, not the sword: Ah! Greece! they love thee least who owe thee most; Their birth, their blood, and that sublime record Of hero sires, who shame thy now degenerate horde ! 1 On many of the mountains, particularly Liakura, the snow never is entirely melted, notwithstanding the intense heat of the summer; but I never saw it lie on the plains, even in winter. 2 Of Mount Pentelicus, from whence the marble was dug that constructed the public edifices of Athens. The modern name is Mount Mendeli. An immense cave, formed by the quarries, still remains, and will till the end of time. 3 In all Attica, if we except Athens itself and Marathon, there is no scene more interesting than Cape Colonna. To the antiquary and artist, sixteen columns are an inexhaustiblesource of observation and design; to the philosopher, the supposed scene of some of Plato's conversations will not be unwelcome; and the traveller will be struck with the beauty of the prospect over "Isles that crown the Egean deep: but, for an Englishman, Colonna has yet an additional interest, as the actual spot of Falconer's Shipwreck. Pallas and Plato are forgotten, in the recollection of Falconer and Campbell: "Here in the dead of night by Lonna's steep. The seaman's cry was heard along the deep." This temple of Minerva may be seen at sea from a great distance. In two journeys which I made, and one voyage to Cape Colonna, the view from either side, by land, was less striking than the approach from the isles. In our second land excursion, we had a narrow escape from a party of Mainotes, concealed in the caverns beneath. We were told afterwards, by one of their prisoners, subsequently ransomed, that they were deterred from attacking us by the appearance of my two Albanians: conjecturing very sagaciously, but LXXXVI. Save where some solitary column mourns Above its prostrate brethren of the cave; 2 Save where Tritonia's airy shrine adorns Colonna's cliff 9, and gleams along the wave; Save o'er some warrior's half-forgotten grave, Where the gray stones and unmolested grass Ages, but not oblivion, feebly brave, While strangers only not regardless pass, Lingering like me, perchance, to gaze, and sigh "Alas!" LXXXVII. Yet are thy skies as blue, thy crags as wild; Sweet are thy groves, and verdant are thy fields, Thine olive ripe as when Minerva smiled, And still his honied wealth Hymettus yields; There the blithe bee his fragrant fortress builds, The freeborn wanderer of thy mountain-air; Apollo still thy long, long summer gilds, Still in his beam Mendeli's marbles glare; Art, Glory, Freedom fail, but Nature still is fair. 4 LXXXVIII. Where'er we tread 't is haunted, holy ground; No earth of thine is lost in vulgar mould, But one vast realm of wonder spreads around, And all the Muse's tales seem truly told, Till the sense aches with gazing to behold The scenes our earliest dreams have dwelt upon : Each hill and dale, each deepening glen and wold Defies the power which crush'd thy temples gone: Age shakes Athena's tower, but spares gray Marathon. LXXXIX. The sun, the soil, but not the slave, the same; The camp, the host, the fight, the conqueror's career, falsely, that we had a complete guard of these Arnaouts at hand, they remained stationary, and thus saved our party, which was too small to have opposed any effectual resistance. Colonna is no less a resort of painters than of pirates; there "The hireling artist plants his paltry desk, And makes degraded nature picturesque." (See Hodgson's Lady Jane Grey, &c.) But there Nature, with the aid of Art, has done that for herself. I was fortunate enough to engage a very superior German artist; and hope to renew my acquaintance with this and many other Levantine scenes, by the arrival of his performances. 4 [The following passage in Harris's Philosophical Inquiries, contains the pith of this stanza: -" Notwithstanding the various fortunes of Athens as a city, Attica is still famous for olives, and Mount Hymettus for honey. Human institutions perish, but Nature is permanent." I recollect having once pointed out this coincidence to Lord Byron, but he assured me that he had never even seen this work of Harris's. -MOORE.] "Siste Viator-heroa calcas!" was the epitaph on the famous Count Merci; - what then must be our feelings when standing on the tumulus of the two hundred (Greeks) who fell on Marathon? The principal barrow has recently been opened by Fauvel: few or no relics, as vases, &c. were found by the excavator. The plain of Marathon was offered to me for sale at the sum of sixteen thousand piastres, about nine hundred pounds! Alas!" Expende- -quot libras in duce summo invenies!" was the dust of Miltiades worth no more? It could scarcely have fetched less if sold by weight. XC. The flying Mede, his shaftless broken bow; Yet to the remnants of thy splendour past As Pallas and the Muse unveil their awful lore. XCII. The parted bosom clings to wonted home, If aught that's kindred cheer the welcome hearth; He that is lonely, hither let him roam, And gaze complacent on congenial earth. Greece is no lightsome land of social mirth; But he whom Sadness sootheth may abide, And scarce regret the region of his birth, When wandering slow by Delphi's sacred side, Or gazing o'er the plains where Greek and Persian died. I XCIII. Let such approach this consecrated land, And pass in peace along the magic waste: But spare its relics-let no busy hand Deface the scenes, already how defaced! Not for such purpose were these altars placed : Revere the remnants nations once revered: So may our country's name be undisgraced, So may'st thou prosper where thy youth was rear'd, By every honest joy of love and life endear'd! XCIV. For thee, who thus in too protracted song [The original MS. closes with this stanza. The rest was added while the canto was passing through the press.] [This stanza was written October 11. 1811; upon which day the poet, in a letter to a friend, says, "I have been again shocked with a death, and have lost one very dear to me in happier times; but I have almost forgot the taste of grief, and supped full of horrors,' till I have become callous; bor have I a tear left for an event which, five years ago, would have bowed down my head to the earth. It seems as though I were to experience in my youth the greatest misery of age. My friends fall around me, and I shall be left a lonely tree before I am withered. Other men can always take refuge in Ill may such contest now the spirit move Which heeds nor keen reproach nor partial praise; Since cold each kinder heart that might approve, And none are left to please when none are left to love. XCV. Thou too art gone, thou loved and lovely one! see Would they had never been, or were to come! Would he had ne'er return'd to find fresh cause to roam! XCVI. Oh! ever loving, lovely, and beloved! The parent, friend, and now the more than friend: XCVII. Then must I plunge again into the crowd, And follow all that Peace disdains to seek? Where Revel calls, and Laughter, vainly loud, False to the heart, distorts the hollow cheek, To leave the flagging spirit doubly weak; Still o'er the features, which perforce they cheer, To feign the pleasure or conceal the pique; Smiles form the channel of a future tear, Or raise the writhing lip with ill-dissembled sneer. XCVIII. What is the worst of woes that wait on age? What stamps the wrinkle deeper on the brow? To view each loved one blotted from life's page, And be alone on earth, as I am now. 2 Before the Chastener humbly let me bow, O'er hearts divided and o'er hopes destroy'd: Roll on, vain days! full reckless may ye flow, Since Time hath reft whate'er my soul enjoy'd, And with the ills of Eld mine earlier years alloy'd. their families: I have no resource but my own reflections, and they present no prospect here or hereafter, except the selfish satisfaction of surviving my friends. I am indeed very wretched, and you will excuse my saying so, as you know I am not apt to cant of sensibility." In reference to this stanza, Surely," said Professor Clarke to the author of the Pursuits of Literature, "Lord Byron cannot have experienced such keen anguish as these exquisite a lusions to what older men may have felt seem to denote."-"I fear he has," answered Matthias ;-" he could not otherwise have written such a poem."] Childe Harold's Pilgrimage. "Afin que cette application vous forçât de penser à autre chose; il n'y a en vérité de remède que celui-là et le temps." Lettre du Roi de Prusse à D'Alembert, Sept. 7. 1776. CANTO THE THIRD. I. Is thy face like thy mother's, my fair child! Awaking with a start, The waters heave around me; and on high The winds lift up their voices: I depart, Whither I know not 2; but the hour's gone by, When Albion's lessening shores could grieve or glad mine eye. 3 II. Once more upon the waters! yet once more! And the waves bound beneath me as a steed That knows his rider. 4 Welcome to their roar ! Swift be their guidance, wheresoe'er it lead ! Though the strained mast should quiver as a reed, And the rent canvass fluttering strew the gale, Still must I on; for I am as a weed, Flung from the rock, on Ocean's foam, to sail Where'er the surge may sweep, the tempest's breath prevail. III. In my youth's summer I did sing of One, The wandering outlaw of his own dark mind; Again I seize the theme, then but begun, And bear it with me, as the rushing wind Bears the cloud onwards: in that Tale I find The furrows of long thought, and dried-up tears, Which, ebbing, leave a sterile track behind, O'er which all heavily the journeying years Plod the last sands of life,-where not a flower appears. IV. Since my young days of passion-joy, or pain, [In a hitherto unpublished letter, dated Verona, November 6. 1816, Lord Byron says" By the way, Ada's name (which I found in our pedigree, under king John's reign), is the same with that of the sister of Charlemagne, as I redde, the other day, in a book treating of the Rhine."] 2 [Lord Byron quitted England, for the second and last time, on the 25th of April, 1816, attended by William Fletcher and Robert Rushton, the "yeoman" and "page" of Canto I.; his physician, Dr. Polidori; and a Swiss valet.] Yet, though a dreary strain, to this I cling, To me, though to none else, a not ungrateful theme. V. He, who grown aged in this world of woe, In deeds, not years, piercing the depths of life, Can love, or sorrow, fame, ambition, strife, Cut to his heart again with the keen knife Of silent, sharp endurance: he can tell Why thought seeks refuge in lone caves, yet rife With airy images, and shapes which dwell Still unimpair'd, though old, in the soul's haunted cell. VI. 'Tis to create, and in creating live A being more intense, that we endow The life we image, even as I do now. What am I? Nothing: but not so art thou, Mix'd with thy spirit, blended with thy birth, And feeling still with thee in my crush'd feelings' dearth. VII. Yet must I think less wildly: I have thought Too long and darkly, till my brain became, In its own eddy boiling and o'erwrought, A whirling gulf of phantasy and flame: And thus, untaught in youth my heart to tame, My springs of life were poison'd. 'Tis too late! Yet am I changed; though still enough the same In strength to bear what time can not abate, And feed on bitter fruits without accusing Fate. VIII. Something too much of this: --but now 'tis past, And the spell closes with its silent seal. Long absent HAROLD re-appears at last; He of the breast which fain no more would feel, Wrung with the wounds which kill not, but ne'er Yet Time, who changes all, had alter'd him [heal; In soul and aspect as in age 6 years steal Fire from the mind as vigour from the limb; And life's enchanted cup but sparkles near the brim. 6 [The first and second cantos of "Childe Harold's Pilgrimage" produced, on their appearance in 1812, an effect upon the public, at least equal to any work which has ap. peared within this or the last century, and placed at once upon Lord Byron's head the garland for which other men of genius have toiled long, and which they have gained late. He was placed pre-eminent among the literary men of his country by general acclamation. It was amidst such feelings of admiration that he entered the public stage. Every thing in his manner, person, and conversation, tended to maintain the charm which his genius had flung around him; and those admitted to his conversation, far from finding that the inspired poet sunk into ordinary mortality, felt themselves attached to him, not only by many noble qualities, but by the interest of a mysterious, undefined, and almost painful curiosity countenance exquisitely modelled to the expression of feeling and passion, and exhibiting the remarkable contrast of very dark hair and eyebrows with light and expressive eyes, presented to the physiognomist the most interesting subject for the exercise of his art The predominating expression was that of deep and habitual thought, which gave way to the most rapid play of features when he engaged in interesting discussion; so that a brother poet compared them to the A |