« السابقةمتابعة »
“Come hither, hither, my staunch yeoman, 1
“My spouse and boys dwell near thy hall,
“For who would trust the seeming sighs
“And now I'm in the world alone,
! [William Fletcher, the faithful valet; — who, after a service of twenty years, (“during which,” he says, “his Lord was more to him than a father,”) received the Pilgrim's last words at Missolonghi, and did not quit his remains, until he had seen them deposited in the family vault at Hucknall. This unsophisticated “yeoman "was a constant source of pleasantry to his master: — e. g. “Fletcher,” he says, in a letter to his mother, “is not valiant; he requires comforts that I can dispense with, and sighs for beer, and beef, and tea, and his wife, and the devil knows what besides. We were one night lost in a thunder-storm, and since, nearly wrecked. In both cases he was sorely bewildered ; from apprehensions of famine and banditti in the first, and drowning in the second instance. His eyes were a little hurt by the lightning, or crying, I don't know which. I did what I could to console him, but found him incorrigible. He sends six sighs to Sally. I shall settle him in a farm ; for he has served me faithfully, and Sally is a good woman.” After all his adventures by flood and field, short cornmons included, this humble Achates of the poet has now established himself as the keeper of an Italian warehouse, in Charles Street, Berkeley Square, where, if he does not thrive, every one who knows anything of his character will say he deserves to do so.] * [* Enough, enough, my yeoman good, All this is well to say: But if I in thy sandals stood, I'd laugh to get away.”— MS.] * [“For who would trust a paramour, Or even a wedded sreere, Though her blue eyes were streaming o'er, And torn her yellow hair 2" — M.S. * (* 1 leave England without regret – I shall return to it without pleasure. I am like Adam, the first convict sentenced to transportation ; but I have no Eve, and have eaten no apple but what was sour as a crab.”— Lord B. to Mr. Hodgson.] o o the following passage in a letter to Mr. Dallas, it would appear that that gentleman had recommended the suppression or alteration of this stanza: –“ I do not mean to exchange the ninth verse the ‘Good Night.' I have no reason to suppose my dog better than his brother brutes, mankind; and Argus, we know to be a fable.”] * Here follows, in the original M.S.: —
“With thee, my bark, I'll swiftly go
XIV. On, on the vessel flies, the land is gone, And winds are rude, in Biscay's sleepless bay. Four days are sped, but with the fifth, anon, New shores descried make every bosom gay; And Cintra's mountain greets them on their way, And Tagus dashing onward to the deep, His fabled golden tribute bent to pay; And soon on board the Lusian pilots leap, [reap. And steer 'twixt fertile shores where yet few rustics
XV. Oh, Christ it is a goodly sight to see What Heaven hath done for this delicious land : What fruits of fragrance blush on every tree What goodly prospects o'er the hills expand 1 But man would mar them with an impious hand : And when the Almighty lifts his fiercest scourge 'Gainst those who most transgress his high command, With treble vengeance will his hot shafts urge Gaul's locust host, and earth from fellest foemen purge.8
XVI. What beauties doth Lisboa 9 first unfold 1 Her image floating on that noble tidc, Which poets vainly pave with sands of gold, 10 But now whereon a thousand keels did ride Of mighty strength, since Albion was allied,
“Methinks it would my bosom glad, To change my proud estate, And be again a laughing lad With one beloved playmate. Since youth I scarce have pass'd an hour Without disgust or pain, Except sometimes in Lady's bower, Or when the bowl I drain."] 7 [Originally, the “little page" and the “yeoman" were introduced in the following stanzas : — “And of his train there was a henchman page, A peasant boy, who served his master well ; And often would his pranksome prate engage Childe Harold's ear, when his proud heart did swell With sable thoughts that he disdain'd to tell. Then would he smile on him, and Alwin smiled, When aught that from his young lips archly fell The gloomy film from Harold's eye beguiled; And pleased for a glimpse appear'd the woeful Childe. Him and one yeoman only did he take To travel eastward to a far countrie; And, though the boy was grieved to leave the lake On whose fair banks he grew from infancy, Eft soons his little heart beat merrily With hope of foreign nations to behold, And many things right marvellous to see, Of which our vaunting voyagers oft have told, In many a tome as true as Mandeville's of old."]
* [“ These Lusian brutes, and earth from worst of wretches purge.”— MS.]
9 [“A friend advises Ulissipont, but Lisboa is the Portuguese word, consequently the best. Ulissipont is pedantic ; and as I had lugged in Hellas and Eros not long before, there would have been something like an affectation of Greek terms, which I wished to avoid. On the submission of Lusitania to the Moors, they changed the name of the capital, which till then had been Ulisipo, or Lispo ; becausc, in the Arabic alphabet, the letter p is not used. Hence, I believe, Lisboa , whence again, the French Lisbonne, and our Lisbon, — God knows which the earlier corruption 1"–Byron, MS.]
to [" which poets, prone to o paved with gold.”—MS.]
1 [By comparing this and the thirteen following stanzas with the account of his o which Lord Byron sent home to his mother, the reader will see that they are the exact echoes of the thoughts which occurred to his mind as he went over the spots described. — Moore.] * [“"Mid many things that grieve both nose and ee."—MS.] * [“To make amends for the filthiness of Lisbon, and its still filthier inhabitants, the village of Cintra, about fifteen miles from the capital, is, perhaps, in every respect the most delightful in Europe. It contains beauties of every description, natural and artificial : palaces and gardens rising in the midst of rocks, cataracts, and precipices: convents on stupendous heights; a distant view of the sea and the Tagus; and, besides (though that is a secondary consideration), is remarkable as the scene of Sir Hew Dalrymple's convention. It unites in itself all the wildness of the western Highlands with the verdure of the south of France."- B. to Mrs. Byron, 1809.] * The convent of “Our Lady of Punishment,” Nossa Señora de Pena, on the summit of the rock. Below, at some distance, is the Cork Convent, where St. Honorius dug his den, over which is his epitaph. From the hills, the sea adds to the beauty of the view. — Note to 1st Edition. – Since the publication of this poem, I have been informed of the misapprehension of the term Nossa Senora de Pena. It was owing to the want of the tilde or mark over the n, which alters the signification of the word: with it, Pena signifies a rock ; without it, Pena has the sense I o: I do not think it necessary to alter the passage ; as, though the common acceptation affixed to it is “Our Lady of the Rock,” I may well assume the other scnse from the severitics practised there. — Note to 2d Edition. * It is a well known fact, that in the year 1809, the nssassin. ations in the streets of Lisbon and its vicinity were not contined by the Portuguese to their countrymen ; but that Englishmen were daily butchered: and so far from redress being obtained, we were requested not to interfere if we perceived any compatriot defending himself against his allies. I was once stopped
XX. Then slowly climb the many-winding way, And frequent turn to linger as you go, Froin lottier rocks new loveliness survey, And rest ye at “Our Lady's house of woe; "+ Where frugal monks their little relics show, And sundry legends to the stranger tell: Here impious men have punish'd been, and lo! Deep in yon cave Honorius long did dwell, In hope to merit Heaven by making earth a Hell.
And here and there, as up the crags you spring,
Throughout this purple land, where law secures not
- XXII. On sloping mounds, or in the vale beneath, Are domes where whilome kings did make repair; But now the wild flowers round them only breathe; Yet ruin'd splendour still is lingering there, And yonder towers the Prince's palace fair : There thou too, Wathek 16 England's wealthiest son, Once form'd thy Paradise, as not aware When wanton Wealth her mightiest deeds hath done, Meek Peace voluptuous lures was ever wont to shun. 7
XXIII. Here didst thou dwell, here schemes of pleasure plan, Beneath yon mountain's ever beauteous brow; But now, as if a thing unblest by Man, Thy fairy dwelling, is as lone as thou !
in the way to the theatre at eight o'clock in the evening, when the streets were not more empty than they generally are at that hour, opposite to an open shop, and in a carriage with a friend ; had we not fortunately been armed, I have not the least doubt that we should have “adorned a tale" instead of telling one. The crime of assassination is not confined to Portugal: in Sicily and Malta we are knocked on the head at a handsome average nightly, and not a Sicilian or Maltese is ever punished :
* [“vathek." o: Lord Byron, in one of his diaries.) “was one of the tales I had a very early admiration of. 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.’” — [William Beckford, Esq., son of the once celebrated alderman, and heir to his enormous wealth, published, at the early age of eighteen, “Memoirs of extraordinary Painters; " and in the year aster, the romance thus eulogised. After sitting for Hindon in several parliaments, this gifted person was induced to fix, for a time, his residence in Portugal, where the memory of his magnificence was fresh at the period of Lord Byron's pilgrimage. Iteturning to England, he realised all the outward shows of Gothic grandeur in his unsubstantial pageant of Fonthill Abbey; and has more recently been indulging his fancy with another, probably not more lasting, monument of architectural caprice, in the vicinity of Bath. It is much to be regretted, that, after a lapse of fifty years, Mr. Beckford's literary reputation should continue to rest entirely on his juvenile, however remarkable, performances. It is said, however, that he has prepared several works for posthumous publication.] I [" When Wealth and Taste their worst and best have done, Meek Peace pollution's lure voluptuous still Inust shun.” – MS.]
Here giant weeds a passage scarce allow To halls deserted, portals gaping wide : Fresh lessons to the thinking bosom, how Vain are the pleasaunces on earth supplied: Swept into wrecks anon by Time's ungentle tide
XXIV. Behold the hall where chiefs were late convened : 1 Oh dome displeasing unto British eye With diadem hight foolscap, lo a fiend, A little fiend that scoffs incessantly, There sits in parchment robe array'd, and by His side is hung a seal and sable scroll, Where blazon'd glare names known to chivalry, And sundry signatures adorn the roll, [soul. 2 Whereat the Urchin points, and laughs with all his
XXV. . Convention is the dwarfish demon styled That foil'd the knights in Marialva's dome: Of brains (if brains they had) he them beguiled, And turn’d a nation's shallow joy to gloom. Here Folly dash'd to earth the victor's plume, And Policy regain'd what arms had lost: For chiefs like ours in vain may laurels bloom Woe to the conqu'ring, not the conquer'd host, Since baffled Triumph droops on Lusitania's coast !
XXVI. And ever since that martial synod met, Britannia sickens, Cintral at thy name; And folks in office at the mention fret, [shame. And fain would blush, if blush they could, for How will posterity the deed proclaim 1 Will not our own and fellow-nations sneer, To view these champions cheated of their fame, By foes in fight o'erthrown, yet victors here, [year? Where Scorn her finger points through many a coming
1 The Convention of Cintra was signed in the palace of the Marchese Marialva. – [“The armistice, the negotiations, the convention itself, and the execution of its provisions, were all commenced, conducted, and concluded, at the distance of thirty miles from Cintra, with which place they had not the sightest connection, political, military, or 1 ; yet Lord Byron has gravely asserted, in prose and verse, that the convention was signed at the Marquis of Marialva's house at Cintra ; and the author of “The Diary of an Invalid,” improving upon the poet's discovery, detected the stains of the ink spilt by Junot upon the occasion.” – Napier's History of the Peninsular War.] 2 The passage stood differently in the original MS. Some verses which the poet omitted at the entreaty of his friends can now offend no one, and may perhaps amuse many : — In golden characters right well design'd, First on the list appeareth one “Junot :" Then certain other glorious names we find, Which rhyme compelleth me to place below: Dull victors battled by a vanquish'd foe, Wheedled by conynge tongues of laurels due, Stand, worthy of each other, in a row — Sir Arthur, Harry, and the dizzard Hew Dalrymple, seely wight, sore dupe of t'other tew.
Convention is the dwarfish demon styled That foil'd the knights in Marialva's dome : of brains (if brains o had) he them beguiled, And turn’d a nation's shallow joy to gloom. For well I wot, when first the news did come, That Vimiera's field by Gaul was lost, For paragraph ne paper scarce had room, Such Paeans teemed for our triumphant host, In Courier, Chronicle, and eke in Morning Post:
But when Convention sent his handy-work,
XXVII. So deem'd the Childe, as o'er the mountains he Did take his way in solitary guise: Sweet was the scene, yet soon he thought to flee, More restless than the swallow in the skies: Though here awhile he learn'd to moralize, For Meditation fix'd at times on him; And conscious Reason whisper'd to despise His early youth misspent in maddest whim ; But as he gazed on truth his aching eyes grew dim.
XXVIII. To horse! to horse : 3 he quits, for ever quits A scene of peace, though soothing to his soul: Again he rouses from his moping fits, But seeks not now the harlot and the bowl. Onward he flies, nor fix’d as yet the goal Where he shall rest him on his pilgrimage; And o'er him many changing scenes must roll Ere toil his thirst for travel can assuage, Or he shall calm his breast, or learn experience sage.
XXIX. Yet Mafra shall one moment claim delay, Where dwelt of yore the Lusians"luckless queen; 4 And church and court did mingle their array, And mass and revel were alternate seen; Lordlings and freres — ill-sorted fry I ween But here the Babylonian whore hath built 5 A dome, where flaunts she in such glorious sheen, That men forget the blood which she hath spilt, And bow the knee to Pomp that loves to varnish guilt.
XXX. O'er vales that teem with fruits, romantic hills, (Oh, that such hills upheld a freeborn race !) Whereon to gaze the eye with joyaunce fills, Childe Harold wends through many a pleasant place.
To question nught, once more with transport leapt,
And bit his devilish quill agen, and swore
With foe such treaty never should be kept, [-slept! Then burst the blatant" beast, and roar"d, and raged, and
Thus unto Heaven appeal'd the people: Heaven, Which loves the lieges of our gracious King, Decreed, that, ere our generals were forgiven, Inquiry should be held about the thing. But Mercy cloak'd the babes beneath her wing: And as they |...} our foes, so spared we them ; (Where was the pity of our sires for Byng 2 +) Yet knaves, not idiots, should the law condemn ; Then live, ye gallant knights and bless your Judges' hlegm 1 * [“After remaining ten days in Lisbon, we sent our baggage and part of our servants by sea to Gibraltar, and travelled on horseback to Seville ; a distance of nearly four hundred miles. The horses are excellent: we rode seventy miles a-day. Eggs and wine, and hard beds, are all the accommodation we }.} and, in such torrid weather, quite enough.” B. Letters, 809. * “Her luckless Majesty went subsequently mad; and Dr. Willis, who so dexterously cudgelled kingly pericraniums, could make nothing of hers.” – Byron MS. [The queen laboured under a melancholy kind of derangement, from which she never recovered. She died at the Brazils, in 1816.] * The extent of Mafra is prodigious: it contains a palace,
* “Blatant beast" — a figure for the mob, I think first used by Smollett in his “ Adventures of an Atom.” Horace has the “bellua multorum capitum : " in England, fortunately enough, the illustrious mobility have not even one.
+ By this query it is not meant that our foolish generals should have been shot, but that Byng might have been spared, though the one suffered and the others escaped, probably for Candide's reason, “ pour encourager les autres.” See Croker’s “Boswell,” vol. i. p. 298. , and the Quarterly Review, vol. xxvii. p. 207., where the question, whether the admiral was or was not a political martyr, is treated at large.]
8 BYRON'S WORKS. CAN to 1.
Though sluggards deem it but a foolish chase, And marvel men should quit their easy chair, The toilsome way, and long, long league to trace, Oh there is sweetness in the mountain air, And life, that bloated Ease can never hope to share.
XXXI. More bleak to view the hills at length recede, And, less luxuriant, smoother vales extend; Immense horizon-bounded plains succeed Far as the eye discerns, withouten end, Spain's realms appear whereon her shepherds tend Flocks, whose rich sleece right well the trader knows — Now must the pastor's arm his lambs defend: For Spain is compass'd by unyielding foes, And all must shield their all, or share Subjection's Woes. XXXII. Where Lusitania and her Sister meet, Deem ye what bounds the rival realms divide 2 Or ere the jealous queens of nations greet, Doth Tayo interpose his mighty tide 7 Or dark Sierras rise in craggy pride 2 Or fence of art, like China's vasty wall ? — Ne barrier wall, ne river deep and wide, Ne horrid crags, nor mountains dark and tall, Rise like the rocks that part Hispania's land from Gaul;
XXXIII. But these between a silver streamlet glides, And scarce a name distinguisheth the brook, Though rival kingdoms press its verdant sides. Here leans the idle shepherd on his crook, And vacant on the rippling waves doth look, That peaceful still 'twixt bitterest foemen flow; For proud each peasant as the noblest duke : Well doth the Spanish hind the difference know 'Twixt him and Lusian slave, the lowest of the low. 1
XXXIV. But ere the mingling bounds have far been pass'd, Dark Guadiana rolls his power along * In sullen billows, murmuring and vast, So noted ancient roundelays among. 3 Whilome upon his banks did legions throng
convent, and most supcrb church. The six organs are the most beautiful I ever beheld, in point of decoration: we did not hear them, but were told that their tones were correspondent to their splendour. Mafra is termed the Escurial of l'ortugal. [“About ten miles to the right of Cintra,” says Lord Byron, in a letter to his mother, “is the palace of Mafra, the boast of Portugal, as it might be of any country, in point of magnificence, without elegance. There is a convent annexed: the monks, who possess large revenues, are courteous cnough, and understand Latin ; so that we had a long conversation. They have a large library, and asked me if the English had any books in their country.” — Mafra was erected by John W., in so of a vow, made in a dangerous fit of in. to found a convent for the use of the poorest friary in the kingdom. Upon inquiry, this poorest was found at \!..." where twelve Franciscans lived together in a hut. There is a magnificent view of the existing edifice in “Finden's Illustrations."] 1 As I found the Portuguese, so I have characterised them. That they are since improved, at least in courage, is evident. The late exploits of Lord Wellington have estaced the follies of Cintra. He has, indeed, done wonders: he has, perhaps, changed the character of a nation, reconciled rival superstitions, and basised an enemy who never retreated before his predecessors. — 1812. * [" But ere the bounds of Spain have far been o, For ever famed in many a noted song.” – MS.] * [Lord Byron seems to have thus early acquired enough of Spanish to understand and appreciate the grand body of
Of Moor and Knight, in mailed splendour drest:
Here ceased the swift their race, here sunk the strong;
The Paynim turban and the Christian crest Mix'd on the bleeding stream,by floating hosts oppress'd.
XXXV. Oh, lovely Spain renown'd, romantic land : Where is that standard which Pelagio bore, When Cava's traitor-sire first call'd the band That dyed thy mountain streams with Gothic gore? “ Where are those bloody banners which of yore Waved o'er thy sons, victorious to the gale, And drove at last the spoilers to their shore ? Red gleam'd the cross, and waned the crescent pale, While Afric's echoes thrill'd with Moorish matrons' wail.
XXXVI. Teems not each ditty with the glorious tale 7 Ah such, alas ! the hero's amplest fate 1 When granite moulders and when records fail, A peasant's plaint prolongs his dubious date. Pride bend thine eye from heaven to thine estate, See how the mighty shrink into a song t Can Volume, Pillar, Pile, preserve thee great 2 Or must thou trust Tradition's simple tongue, When Flattery sleeps with thee, and History does thee wrong? XXXVII. Awake, ye sons of Spain awake advance Lo Chivalry, your ancient goddess, cries, But wields not, as of old, her thirsty lance, Nor shakes her crimson plumage in the skies : Now on the smoke of blazing bolts she flies, And speaks in thunder through yon engine's roar ! In every peal she calls—“Awake arise 1" Say, is her voice more feeble than of yore, When her war-song was heard on Andalusia's shore ?
XXXVIII. Hark! heard you not those hoofs of dreadful note 7 Sounds not the clang of conflict on the heath 2 Saw ye not whom the reeking sabre smote; Nor saved your brethren ere they sank beneath Tyrants and tyrants' slaves? — the fires of death, The bale-fires flash on high :—from rock to rock Each volley tells that thousands cease to breathe; Death rides upon the sulphury Siroc, * Red Battle stamps his foot, and nations feel the shock.
ancient popular poetry, — unequalled in Europe, – which must ever form the pride of that magnificent language. See his beautiful version of one of the best of the ballads of the Granada war — the “Romance muy doloroso del sitio y toma de Alhama."]
• Count Julian's daughter, the Helen of Spain. Pelagius preserved his independence in the fastnesses of the Asturias, and the descendants of his followers, after some centuries, completed their struggle by the conquest of Grenada. — [“Almost all the Spanish historians, as well as the voice of tradition, ascribe the invasion of the Moors to the forcible violation by Roderick upon Florinda, called by the Moors Caba, or Cava. She was the daughter of Count Julian, one of the Gothic monarch's principal lieutenants, who, when the crime was perpetrated, was engaged in the defence of Ceuta against the Moors. In his indignation at the ingratitude of his sovereign, and the dishonour of his daughter, Count Julian forgot the duties of a Christian and a patriot, and, forming an alliance with Musa, then the Caliph's lieutenant in Africa, he countenanced the invasion of Spain by a body of Saracens and Africans, commanded by the celebrated Tarik; the issue of which was the defeat and death of Roderick, and the occupation of almost the whole peninsula by the Moors. The Spaniards, in detestation of Florinda's memory, are said, by Cervantes, never to bestow that name upon any human female, reserving it for their dogs.” – Si R WALTER Scott.]
5 “from rock to rock
}lue columns soar aloft in sulphurous wreath,
XXXIX. Lo where the Giant on the mountain stands, IIis blood-red tresses deep'ning in the sun, With death-shot glowing in his fiery hands, And eye that scorcheth all it glares upon ; Restless it rolls, now fix’d, and now anon Flashing afar, — and at his iron feet Destruction cowers, to mark what deeds are done; For on this morn three potent nations meet, To shed before his shrine the blood he deems most sweet. XL. By Heaven I it is a splendid sight to see (For one who hath no friend, no brother there) Their rival scarfs of mix'd embroidery, Their various arms that glitter in the airl What gallant war-hounds rouse them from their lair, And gnash their fangs, loud yelling for the prey ! All join the chase, but few the triumph share; The Grave shall bear the chiefest prize away, And Havoc scarce for joy can number their array.
Or in a narrower sphere wild Rapine's path pursued.
And Virtue vanquish all, and Murder cease to thrive.
Still to the last kind Vice clings to the tott'ring walls.
Ah, monarchs could ye taste the mirth ye mar,
The hoarse dull drum would sleep, and Man be happy
And gore-faced Treason sprung from her adulterate
own, about three feet in length, which I send, and beg you will retain till my return. hermoso me gusto mucho.” “Adieu, you pretty fellow you please me much.’” — Lord B. to his Mother, Aug. 1809.] * [A kind of fiddle, with only two strings, played on by a bow, said to have been brought by the Moors into Spain.] 6 “Vivi el Rey Fernando 1" Long live King Ferdinand 1 is the chorus of most of the Spanish patriotic songs. are chiefly in dispraise of the old king Charles, the Queen, and the Prince of Peace. of the airs are beautiful. de la Paz, of an ancient but decayed family, was born at Badajoz, on the frontiers of Portugal, and was originally in the ranks of the Spanish guards; till his person attracted the o: eyes, and raised him to the dukedom of Alcudia, &c. c.
the ruin of their country.
XLIV. Enough of Battle's minions ! let them play Their game of lives, and barter breath for fame: Fame that will scarce re-animate their clay, Though thousands fall to deck some single name. In sooth 'twere sad to thwart their noble aim Who strike, blest hirelings for their country's good, And die, that living might have proved her shame; Perish'd, perchance, in somc domestic feud,
XLV. Full swiftly Harold wends his lonely way Where proud Sevilla + triumphs unsubdued : Yet is she free — the spoiler's wish'd-for prey ! Soon, soon shall Conquest's fiery foot intrude, Blackening her lovely domes with traces rude. Inevitable hour ! 'Gainst fate to strive Where Desolation plants her famish'd brood Is vain, or Ilion, Tyre might yet survive,
XLVI. But all unconscious of the coming doorn, The feast, the song, the revel here abounds; Strange modes of merriment the hours consume, Norbleed these patriots with their country's wounds: Nor here War's clarion, but Love's rebeck 9 sounds; Here Folly still his votaries inthralls; [rounds: And young-eyed Lewdness walks her midnight Girt with the silent crimes of Capitals,
XLVII. Not so the rustic — with his trembling mate He lurks, nor casts his heavy eye afar, Lest he should view his vineyard desolate, Blasted below the dun hot breath of war. No more beneath soft Eve's consenting star Fandango twirls his jocund castanet:
Not in the toils of Glory would ye fret;
How carols now the lusty muleteer 7
I have heard many of them : some || Don Manuel Godoy, the Principe
It is to this man that the Spaniards universally impute