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Had made Despair a smilingness assume, [wreck Which, though 't were wild,-as on the plunder'd When mariners would madly meet their doom With draughts intemperate on the sinking deck,Did yet inspire a cheer, which he forebore to check.(1) XVII.

Stop! for thy tread is on an empire's dust! An earthquake's spoil is sepulchred below! Is the spot mark'd with no colossal bust? Nor column trophied for triumphal show? None; but the moral's truth tells simpler so, As the ground was before, thus let it be;How that red rain hath made the harvest grow! And is this all the world has gain'd by thee, Thou first and last of fields! king-making Victory? XVIII.

And Harold stands upon this place of skulls, The grave of France, the deadly Waterloo; How in an hour the power which gave annuls Its gifts, transferring fame as fleeting too! In "pride of place" (2) here last the eagle flew, Then tore with bloody talon the rent plain,(3) Pierced by the shaft of banded nations through; Ambition's life and labours all were vain; [chain. He wears the shatter'd links of the world's broken XIX.

Fit retribution! Gaul may champ the bit, And foam in fetters;-but is Earth more free? Did nations combat to make one submit; Or league to teach all kings true sovereignty? What! shall reviving Thraldom again be The patch'd-up idol of enlighten'd days? Shall we, who struck the lion down, shall we Pay the wolf homage? proffering lowly gaze [praise! And servile knees to thrones? No; prove before ye

is composed. Sometimes he has a conciseness which is very powerful, but almost abrupt. From trusting himself alone, and working out his own deep-buried thoughts, he now, perhaps, fell into a habit of labouring, even where there was no occasion to labour. In the first sixteen stanzas

there is yet a mighty but groaning burst of dark and appalling strength. It was unquestionably the unexaggerated picture of a most tempestuous and sombre but magnificent soul!"-LE.

(1) These stanzas,-in which the author, adopting more distinctly the character of Childe Harold than in the ori ginal poem, assigns the cause why he has resumed his Pilgrim's staff, when it was hoped he had sat down for life a denizen of his native country,-abound with much moral interest and poetical beauty. The commentary through which the meaning of this melancholy tale is rendered obvious is still in vivid remembrance; for the errors of those who excel their fellows in gifts and accomplishments are not soon forgotten. Those scenes, ever most painful to the bosom, were rendered yet more so by public discussion; and it is at least possible that amongst those who exclaimed most loudly on this unhappy occasion, were some in whose eyes literary superiority exaggerated Lord Byron's offence. The scene may be described in a few words:--the wise condemned the good regretted-the multitude, idly or mabeiously inquisitive, rushed from place to place, gathering gossip, which they mangled and exaggerated while they repeated it; and impudence, ever ready to hitch itself into notoriety, hooked on, as Falstaff enjoins Bardolph, blustered, hallied, and talked of 'pleading a cause,' and 'taking a dide." Sir Walter Scott.-L. E.

(2) Pride of place" is a term of falconry, and means the highest pitch of flight. See Macbeth, etc.

“An eagle towering in his pride of place," etc. (3) In the original draught of this stanza (which, as well

XX.

If not, o'er one fallen despot boast no more!
In vain fair cheeks were furrow'd with hot tears
For Europe's flowers long rooted up before
The trampler of her vineyards; in vain years
Of death, depopulation, bondage, fears,
Have all been borne, and broken by the accord
Of roused-up millions: all that most endears
Glory, is when the myrtle wreathes a sword -
Such as Harmodius (4) drew on Athens' tyrant lord.
XXI.

There was a sound of revelry by night,(5)
And Belgium's capital had gather'd then
Her beauty and her chivalry, and bright

The lamps shone o'er fair women and brave men;
A thousand hearts beat happily; and when
Music arose with its voluptuous swell,

Soft eyes look'd love to eyes which spake again,
And all went merry as a marriage-bell; (6)
But hush! hark! a deep sound strikes like a rising
knell!

XXII.

Did ye not hear it?-No; 't was but the wind, Or the car rattling o'er the stony street; On with the dance! let joy be unconfined; No sleep till morn, when Youth and Pleasure meet To chase the glowing Hours with flying feetBut, hark! that heavy sound breaks in once more, As if the clouds its echo would repeat; And nearer, clearer, deadlier than before! Arm! arm! it is-it is-the cannon's opening roar !

XXIII.

Within a window'd niche of that high hall
Sate Brunswick's fated chieftain; he did hear
That sound the first amidst the festival,
And caught its tone with Death's prophetic ear;

as the preceding one, was written after a visit to the field of Waterloo), the lines stood

"Here his last flight the haughty eagle flew,

Then tore with bloody beak the fatal plain,"

On seeing these lines, Mr. Reinagle sketched a spirited chained eagle, grasping the earth with his talons. The circumstance being mentioned to Lord Byron, he wrote thus to a friend at Brussels,-"Reinagle is a better poet and a better ornithologist than I am: eagles, and all birds of prey, attack with their talons, and not with their beaks; and I have altered the line thus:

'Then tore with bloody talon the rent plain.' This is, I think, a better line, besides its poetical justice." -L. E.

(4) See the famous song on Harmodius and Aristogiton. The best English translation is in Bland's Anthology, by Mr. (now Lord) Denman,

"With myrtle my sword will I wreathe," etc.

(5) "There can be no more remarkable proof of the greatness of Lord Byron's genius, than the spirit and interest he has contrived to communicate to his picture of the often-drawn and difficult scene of the breaking up from Brussels before the great battle. It is a trite remark, that poets generally fail in the representation of great events, where the interest is recent, and the particulars are consequently clearly and commonly known. It required some courage to venture on a theme beset with so many dangers, and deformed with the wrecks of so many former adventures. See, however, with what easy strength he enters upon it, and with how much grace he gradually finds his way back to his own peculiar vein of sentiment and diction!" Jeffrey.-L. E.

(6) On the night previous to the action, it is said that a ball was given at Brussels.-[The popular error of the Duke of Wel lington having been surprised, on the eve of the battle of Wa

And when they smiled because he deem'd it near, His heart more truly knew that peal too well Which stretch'd his father on a bloody bier,(1) And roused the vengeance blood alone could quell: He rush'd into the field, and, foremost fighting, fell.(2)

XXIV.

Ah! then and there was hurrying to and fro, And gathering tears, and tremblings of distress, And cheeks all pale, which but an hour ago Blush'd at the praise of their own loveliness; And there were sudden partings, such as press The life from out young hearts, and choking sighs Which ne'er might be repeated; who could guess If ever more should meet those mutual eyes, Since upon night so sweet such awful morn could rise!

XXV.

And there was mounting in hot haste: the steed, The mustering squadron, and the clattering car, Went pouring forward with impetuous speed, And swiftly forming in the ranks of war; And the deep thunder peal on peal afar; And near, the beat of the alarming drum Roused up the soldier ere the morning star; While throng'd the citizens with terror dumb, Or whispering, with white lips-"The foe! They come! they come!"

XXVI.

And wild and high the "Cameron's gathering" rose!
The war-note of Lochiel, which Albyn's hills
Have heard, and heard, too, have her Saxon foes:-
How in the noon of night that pibroch thrills,
Savage and shrill! But with the breath which fills
Their mountain-pipe, so fill the mountaineers
With the fierce native daring which instils
The stirring memory of a thousand years,

Ere evening to be trodden like the grass
Which now beneath them, but above shall grow
In its next verdure, when this fiery mass
Of living valour, rolling on the foe,

[low.

And burning with high hope, shall moulder cold and
XXVIII.

Last noon beheld them full of lusty life,
Last eve in Beauty's circle proudly gay,
The midnight brought the signal-sound of strife,
The morn the marshalling in arms,--the day
Battle's magnificently-stern array!

The thunder-clouds close o'er it, which when rent
The earth is cover'd thick with other clay,
Which her own clay shall cover, heap'd and pent,
Rider and horse,-friend, foe,-in one red burial
blent! (5)

XXIX.

Their praise is hymn'd by loftier harps than mine; Yet one I would select from that proud throng, Partly because they blend me with his line, And partly that I did his sire some wrong, (6) And partly that bright names will hallow song; And his was of the bravest, and when shower'd The death-bolts deadliest the thinn'd files along, Even where the thickest of war's tempest lower'd, They reach'd no nobler breast than thine, young gallant Howard!(7)

XXX.

There have been tears and breaking hearts for thee,
And mine were nothing, had I such to give;
But when I stood beneath the fresh green tree,
Which living waves where thou didst cease to live,
And saw around me the wide field revive
With fruits and fertile promise, and the Spring
Come forth her work of gladness to contrive,
With all her reckless birds upon the wing,

And Evan's, Donald's (3) fame rings in each clans- I turu'd from all she brought to those she could not

man's ears!

XXVII.

And Ardennes (4) waves above them her green leaves,
Dewy with nature's tear-drops, as they pass,
Grieving, if aught inanimate e'er grieves,
Over the unreturning brave,-alas!

terloo, at a ball given by the Duchess of Richmond at Brussels, was first corrected on authority, in the History of Napoleon Buonaparte, which forms a portion of the Family Library. The Duke had received intelligence of Napoleon's decisive operations, and it was intended to put off the ball; but, on reflection, it seemed highly important that the people of Brussels should be kept in ignorance as to the course of events, and the Duke not only desired that the ball should proceed, but the general officers received his commands to appear at it-each taking care to quit the apartment as quietly as possible at ten o'clock, and proceed to join his respective division en route.-L. E.]

(1) The father of the Duke of Brunswick, who fell at Quatre-bras, received his death-wound at Jena.-L. E.

(2) "This stanza is very grand, even from its total unadornment. It is only a versification of the common narratives: but here may well be applied a position of Johnson, that where truth is sufficient to fill the mind, fiction is worse than useless.'" Sir E. Brydges.-L. E.

(3) Sir Evan Cameron, and his descendant Donald, the "gentle Lochiel" of the "forty-five."

(4) The wood of Soignies is supposed to be a remnant of the forest of Ardennes, famous in Boiardo's Orlando, and immortal in Shakspeare's As you like It. It is also cele

bring. (8)

ΧΧΧΙ.

I turn'd to thee, to thousands, of whom each
And one as all a ghastly gap did make
In his own kind and kindred, whom to teach
Forgetfulness were mercy for their sake;

brated in Tacitus, as being the spot of successful defence by the Germans against the Roman encroachments. I bave ventured to adopt the name connected with nobler associa tions than those of mere slaughter.

(5) "Childe Harold, though he shuns to celebrate the victory of Waterloo, gives us here a most beautiful description of the evening which preceded the battle of Quatre-Bras, the alarm which called out the troops, and the hurry and con fusion which preceded their march. I am not sure that any verses in our language surpass, in vigour and in feeling, this most beautiful description." Sir Walter Scott.-L. E.

(6) See note to English Bards and Scotch Reviewers, antè, p. 61.-L. E.

(7) "In the late battles, like all the world, I have lost a connection-poor Frederick Howard, the best of his race. I had little intercourse of late years with his family, but I never saw or heard but good of him." Lord B. to Mr. Moore, Feb. 1815.-P. E.

(8) My guide from Mont St. Jean over the field seemed intelligent and accurate. The place where Major Howard fell was not far from two tall and solitary trees (there was a third cut down, or shivered in the battle), which stand a few yards from each other at a pathway's side. Beneath these he died and was buried. The body has since been re

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The Archangel's trump, not Glory's, must awake
Those whom they thirst for; though the sound of
Fame

May for a moment soothe, it cannot slake
The fever of vain longing, and the name

Su honour'd but assumes a stronger, bitterer claim.

XXXII.

They mourn, but smile at length; and, smiling mourn:
The tree will wither long before it fall;
The bull drives on, though mast and sail be torn;
The roof-tree sinks, but moulders on the hall
In massy hoariness; the ruin'd wall

Stands when its wind-worn battlements are gone; The bars survive the captive they enthral; [sun; The day drags through, though storms keep out the And thus the heart will break, yet brokenly live on: ХХХІІІ.

Even as a broken mirror, which the glass
In every fragment multiplies; and makes

A thousand images of one that was,

The same, and still the more, the more it breaks;
And thus the heart will do which not forsakes,
Living in shatter'd guise, and still, and cold,
And bloodless, with its sleepless sorrow aches,
Yet withers on till all without is old,

Showing no visible sign, for such things are untold.(1)
XXXIV.

There is a very life in our despair,
Vitality of poison,—a quick root

Which feeds these deadly branches; for it were
As nothing did we die; but Life will suit
Itself to Sorrow's most detested fruit,
Like to the apples (2) on the Dead Sea's shore,
All ashes to the taste. Did man compute
Existence by enjoyment, and count o'er

Sach hours'gainst years of life,-say, would he name threescore?

XXXV.

The Psalmist number'd out the years of man:
They are enough; and if thy tale be true,
Thou, who didst grudge him even that fleeting span,
More than enough, thou fatal Waterloo!
Millions of tongues record thee, and anew
Their children's lips shall echo them, and say—
Here, where the sword united nations drew,
-Our countrymen were warring on that day!"
Aad this is much, and all which will not pass away.
XXXVI.

There sunk the greatest nor the worst of men;
Whose spirit antithetically mixt

ved to England. A small hollow for the present marks where it lay, but will probably soon be effaced: the plough ́s been upon it, and the grain is. After pointing out the ferent spots where Picton and other gallant men had erished, the guide said, "Here Major Howard lay: I was

tim when wounded." I told him my relationship, and seemed then still more anxious to point out the particu spot and circumstances. The place is one of the most rked in the field, from the peculiarity of the two trees Aove mentioned. I went on horseback twice over the field, Grazing it with my recollection of similar scenes. As a ia, Waterloo seems marked out for the scene of some -rat action, though this may be mere imagination: I have ed with attention those of Platea, Troy, Mantinea, tra, Chæronea, and Marathon; and the field around st. Jean and Hougoumont appears to want little but

One moment of the mightiest, and again On little objects with like firmness fixt, Extreme in all things! hadst thou been betwixt, Thy throne had still been thine, or never been; For daring made thy rise, as fall: thou seek'st Even now to re-assume the imperial mien, And shake again the world, the Thunderer of the scene!

XXXVII.

Conqueror and captive of the earth art thou! She trembles at thee still, and thy wild name Was ne'er more bruited in men's minds than now That thou art nothing, save the jest of Fame, Who woo'd thee once, thy vassal, and became The flatterer of thy fierceness, till thou wert A god unto thyself; nor less the same To the astounded kingdoms all inert, Who deem'd thee for a time whate'er thou didst

assert.

XXXVIII.

Oh, more or less than man-in high or low,
Battling with nations, flying from the field;
Now making monarchs' necks thy footstool, now
More than thy meanest soldier taught to yield;
An empire thou couldst crush, command, rebuild,
But govern not thy pettiest passion, nor,
However deeply in men's spirits skill'd,

Look through thine own, nor curb the lust of war, Nor learn that tempted Fate will leave the loftiest star.

XXXIX.

Yet well thy soul hath brook'd the turning tide
With that untaught innate philosophy,
Which, be it wisdom, coldness, or deep pride,
Is gall and wormwood to an enemy.

When the whole host of hatred stood hard by,
To watch and mock thee shrinking, thou hast smiled
With a sedate and all-enduring eye;-

When Fortune fled her spoil'd and favourite child, He stood unbow'd beneath the ills upon him piled.

XL.

Sager than in thy fortunes; for in them
Ambition steel'd thee on too far to show
That just habitual scorn, which could contemn
Men and their thoughts; 'twas wise to feel, not so
To wear it ever on thy lip and brow,
And spurn the instruments thou wert to use
Till they were turn'd unto thine overthrow;
"Tis but a worthless world to win or lose;

So hath it proved to thee, and all such lot who choose..

a better cause, and that undefinable but impressive halo which the lapse of ages throws around a celebrated spot, to vie in interest with any or all of these, except, perhaps, the last-mentioned.

(1) "There is a richness and energy in this passage, which is peculiar to Lord Byron, among all modern poets, -a throng of glowing images, poured forth at once, with a facility and profusion, which must appear mere wastefulness to more economical writers, and a certain negligence and harshness of diction, which can belong only to an author who is oppressed with the exuberance and rapidity of his conceptions." Jeffrey.-L. E.

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XLI.

If, like a tower upon a headlong rock,
Thou hadst been made to stand or fall alone,
Such scorn of man had help'd to brave the shock;
But men's thoughts were the steps which paved thy
throne,

Their admiration thy best weapon shone;
The part of Philip's son was thine, not then
(Unless aside thy purple had been thrown)
Like stern Diogenes to mock at men;

For sceptred cynics earth were far too wide a den.(1)
XLII.

But quiet to quick bosoms is a hell,

And there hath been thy bane; there is a fire
And motion of the soul which will not dwell
In its own narrow being, but aspire
Beyond the fitting medium of desire;
And, but once kindled, quenchless evermore,
Preys upon high adventure, nor can tire
Of aught but rest; a fever at the core,
Fatal to him who bears, to all who ever bore.

XLIII.

This makes the madmen who have made men mad By their contagion; conquerors and kings, Founders of sects and systems, to whom add Sophists, bards, statesmen, all unquiet things Which stir too strongly the soul's secret springs, And are themselves the fools to those they fool; Envied, yet how unenviable! what stings Are theirs! One breast laid open were a school Which would unteach mankind the lust to shine or rule:

XLIV.

Their breath is agitation, and their life A storm whercon they ride, to sink at last, And yet so nursed and bigoted to strife, That should their days, surviving perils past, Melt to calm twilight, they feel overcast With sorrow and supineness, and so die; Even as a flame unfed, which runs to waste With its own flickering, or a sword laid by, Which eats into itself, and rusts ingloriously.

XLV.

He who ascends to mountain-tops shall find
The loftiest peaks most wrapt in clouds and snow;
He who surpasses or subdues mankind
Must look down on the hate of those below.

(1) The great error of Napoleon, "if we have writ our annals true," was a continued obtrusion on mankind of his want of all community of feeling for or with them; perhaps more offensive to human vanity than the active cruelty of more trembling and suspicious tyranny. Such were his speeches to public assemblies as well as individuals; and the single expression which he is said to have used on returning to Paris after the Russian winter had destroyed his army, rubbing his hands over a fire, "This is pleasanter than Moscow," would probably alienate more favour from his cause than the destruction and reverses which led to the remark,-"Far from being deficient in that necessary branch of the politician's art which soothes the passions and conciliates the prejudices of those whom they wish to employ as instruments, Buonaparte possessed it in exquisite perfection. He seldom missed finding the very man that was fittest for his immediate purpose; and he had, in a peculiar degree, the art of moulding him to it. It was not, then, because he despised the means necessary to gain his end, that he finally fell short of attaining it, but because, confiding in his stars, his fortune, and his strength, the ends

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which he proposed were unattainable even by the gigant means which he possessed." Sir Walter Scott.-L. E.

(2) "This is certainly splendidly written, but we trust is not true. From Macedonia's madman to the Swede from Nimrod to Buonaparte,-the hunters of men ha pursued their sport with as much gaiety, and as little morse, as the hunters of other animals; and have lived cheerily in their days of action, and as comfortably their repose, as the followers of better pursuits. It wo be strange, therefore, if the other active but more innoci spirits, whom Lord Byron has here placed in the sa predicament, and who share all their sources of enjoyme without the guilt and the hardness which they cannot of contracting, should be more miserable or more unfriend than those splendid curses of their kind; and it would passing strange, and pitiful, if the most precious gifts Providence should produce only unhappiness, and mankind gard with hostility their greatest benefactors." Jeffrey. —L

(3) "What wants that knave that a king should hav was King James's question on meeting Johnny Armstr and his followers in full accoutrements.-See the Badde

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A thousand battles have assail'd thy banks,
But these and half their fame have pass'd away,
And Slaughter heap'd on high his weltering ranks;
Their very graves are gone, and what are they?
Thy tide wash'd down the blood of yesterday,
And all was stainless, and on thy clear stream
Glass'd with its dancing light the sunny ray!
Bat o'er the blacken'd memory's blighting dream
Thy waves would vainly roll, all sweeping as they seem.
LII.

Thus Harold inly said, and pass'd along,
Yet not insensibly to all which here
Awoke the jocund birds to early song

In glens which might have made even exile dear:
Though on his brow were graven lines austere,
And tranquil sternness which had ta'en the place
Of feelings fierier far but less severe,

Joy was not always absent from his face, [trace. But o'er it in such scenes would steal with transient

LIII.

Nor was all love shut from him, though his days Of passion had consumed themselves to dust. It is in vain that we would coldly gaze On such as smile upon us; the heart must Leap kindly back to kindness, though disgust Hath wean'd it from all worldlings: thus he felt, For there was soft remembrance, and sweet trust In one fond breast, to which his own would melt, And in its tenderer hour on that his bosom dwelt.

LIV.

And he had learn'd to love,-I know not why, For this in such as him seems strange of mood,— The helpless looks of blooming infancy, Even in its earliest nurture: what subdued, To change like this, a mind so far imbued With scorn of man, it little boots to know; But thus it was; and though in solitude Small power the nipp'd affections have to grow, Is him this glow'd when all beside had ceased to glow.

ᏞᏙ.

And there was one soft breast, as hath been said,
Which unto his was bound, by stronger ties
Than the church links withal; and, though unwed,
That love was pure, and, far above disguise,

(1) The castle of Drachenfels stands on the highest summit of the Seven Mountains," over the Rhine banks: it is in ruins, and connected with some singular traditions. It is the first in view on the road from Bonn, but on the opposite side of the river; on this bank, nearly facing it, are the remains of another, called the Jew's Castle, and a large cross, commemorative of the murder of a chief by

Had stood the test of mortal enmities

Still undivided, and cemented more

By peril, dreaded most in female eyes;

But this was firm, and from a foreign shore Well to that heart might his these absent greetings pour!

1.

THE castled crag of Drachenfels (1)
Frowns o'er the wide and winding Rhine,
Whose breast of waters broadly swells
Between the banks which bear the vine,
And hills all rich with blossom'd trees,
And fields which promise corn and wine,
And scatter'd cities crowning these,
Whose far white walls along them shine,
Have strew'd a scene, which I should see
With double joy wert thou with me.

2.

And peasant girls, with deep blue eyes,
And hands which offer early flowers,
Walk smiling o'er this paradise;
Above, the frequent feudal towers
Through green leaves lift their walls of grey,
And many a rock which steeply lowers,
And noble arch in proud decay,

Look o'er this vale of vintage-bowers;
But one thing want these banks of Rhine,-
Thy gentle hand to clasp in mine!

3.

I send the lilies given to me;

Though long before thy hand they touch,
I know that they must wither'd be,
But yet reject them not as such;
For I have cherish'd them as dear,
Because they yet may meet thine eye,
And guide thy soul to mine even here,
When thou behold'st them drooping nigh,
And know'st them gather'd by the Rhine,
And offer'd from my heart to thine!

4.

The river nobly foams and flows,
The charm of this enchanted ground,
And all its thousand turns disclose
Some fresher beauty varying round:
The haughtiest breast its wish might bound
Through life to dwell delighted here;
Nor could on earth a spot be found
To nature and to me so dear,

Could thy dear eyes in following mine
Still sweeten more these banks of Rhine!

LVI.

By Coblentz, on a rise of gentle ground, There is a small and simple pyramid, Crowning the summit of the verdant mound; Beneath its base are heroes' ashes hid,

his brother. The number of castles and cities along the course of the Rhine on both sides is very great, and their situations remarkably beautiful.-[These verses were written on the banks of the Rhine, in May. The original pencilling is before us. It is needless to observe that they were addressed to his sister.-L. E.]

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