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the unerring bow,
The God of life
CLIX. But thou, of temples old, or altars new,
Then pause, and be enlighten'd; there is more Standest alone-with nothing like to thee
In such a survey than the sating gaze Worthiest of God, the holy and the true.
Of wonder pleased, or awe which would adore Since Zion's desolation, when that He
The worship of the place; or the mere praise Forsook his former city, what could be,
Of art and its great masters who could raise Of earthly structures, in his honour piled,
What former time, nor skill, nor thought could plan; Of a sublimer aspect? Majesty,
The fountain of sublimity displays Power, Glory, Strength, and Beauty, all are aisled! Its depth, and thence may draw the mind of man In this eternal ark of worship undefiled.
Its golden sands, and learn what great conceptions can.
Laocoon's torture dignifying pain-
A father's love and mortal's agony Has grown colossal, and can only find
With an immortal's patience blending :-rain A fit abode wherein appear enshrined
The struggle; vain, against the coiling strain Thy hopes of immortality; and thou
And gripe, and deepening of the dragon's grasp, Shalt one day, if found worthy, so defined,
The old man's clench; the long en venom'd chain See thy God face to face, as thou dost now
Rivets the living links,--the enormous asp
The Sun in human limbs array'd, and brow
The shaft hath just been shot—the arrow bright
In air with Earth's chief structures, though their frame And majesty, flash their full lightnings by,
Shaped by some solitary nymph, whose breast And as the ocean many bays will make,
Long'd for a deathless lover from above, That ask the eye-so here condense thy soul
And madden'd in that vision-are exprest
All that ideal beauty ever bless'd
When each conception was a heavenly guestIn mighty graduations, part by part,
A ray of immortality-and stood,
The fire which we endure, it was repaid Is but of gradual grasp—and as it is
By him to whom the energy was given That what we have of feeling most intense,
Which this poetic marble hath array'd Outstrips our faint expression; even so this
With an eternal glory--which, if made Outshining and o'erwhelming edifice
By human hands, is not of human thought; Fools our fond gaze, and, greatest of the great, And Time bimself hath hallow'd it, nor laid Defies at first our Nature's littleness,
One ringlet in the dust-nor hath it caught Till, growing with its growth, we thus dilate | A tinge of years, but breathes the flame with which Our spirits to the size of that they contemplate.
't was wrought.
Europe, see the pavement of St. Peter's, and the Classical mortified at not finding myself enraptured with the works Tour through Italy, vol. ii p. 125, et seq. chap. iv.
of this great master, I did not for a moment conceive or (1) “I remember very well," says Sir Joshua Reynolds, suppose that the name of Raphael, and those admirable “my own disappointment when I first visited the Vatican; paintings in particular, owed their repatation to the ignobut on confessing my feelings to a brother student, of whose rance and prejudice of mankind; on the contrary, my not ingenuousness I had a high opinion, he acknowledged that relishing them, as I was conscious I ought to have done, the works of Raphael had the same effect on him, or rather was one of the most humiliating circumstances that ever that they did not produce the effect which he expected. | happened to me: I found myself in the midst of works exc. This was a great relief to my mind; and, on inquiring furcated upon principles with which I was unacquainted: 1 ther of other students, I found that those persons only who, felt my ignorance, and stood abashed. All the indigested from natural imbecility, appeared to be incapable of relish- notions of painting which I had brought with me from ing those divine performances, made pretensions to instan England, where the art was in the lowest state it had ever taneous raptures on first beholding them. In justice to been in (it could not, indeed, be lower), were to be totally myself, however, I must add, that though disappointed and done away and eradicated from my mind. It was neces.
• CLXIX. Bat wbere is be, the Pilgrim of my song,
Peasants bring forth in safety.--Can it be, The being who upheld it through the past?
O thou that wert so happy, so adored! Methinks he cometh late and tarries long.
Those who weep not for kings shall weep for thee, He is no more-these breathings are his last; And Freedom's heart, grown heavy, cease to hoard His wanderings done, his visions ebbing fast, Her many griefs for ONE: for she had pour d And be bileself as nothing :-if he was
Her orisons for thee, and o'er thy head Anght but a fantasy, and could be class'd
Beheld her Iris.-Thou, too, lonely lord, With forms which live and suffer- let that pass And desolate consort-vainly wert thou wed! llis shadow fades away into Destruction's mass, The husband of a year! the father of the dead! CLXV.
CLXX. | Which gathers shadow, substance, life, and all Of sackcloth was thy wedding garment made; That we inherit in its mortal shroud,
Thy bridal's fruit is ashes: in the dust
Darken above our bones, yet fondly deem'd
Our children should obey her child, and bless'd To hover on the verge of darkness; rays
Her and her hoped-for seed, whose promise seem'd Salder than saddest night, for they distract the gaze, Like stars to shepherds' eyes :--'t was but a meteor
CLXXI. And send us prying into the abyss,
Woe upto us, not her;(1) for she sleeps well: To gather what we shall be when the frame
The fickle reek of popular breath, the tongue
Of hollow counsel, the false oracle,
Its knell in princely ears, till the o'erstung
* Against their blind omnipotence a weight These fardels of the heart—the heart wbose sweat Within the opposing scale, which crushes soon or late, was gore. CLXVII. .
Our hearts deny it: and so young, so fair,
Good without effort, great without a foe; With some deep and immedicable wound; [ground, But now a bride and mother-and now there! Through storm and darkness yawns the rending How many ties did that stern moment tear! The gall is thick with phantoms, but the chief
From thy sire's to his humblest subject's breast Seems royal still, though with her head discrown'd, Is link'd the electric chain of that despair, And pale, but lovely, with maternal grief
Whose shock was as an earthquake's, and opprest | She clasps a babe, to whom her breast yields no relief. The land which loved thee so that none could love
thee best. CLXVIII.
So far, that the uprooting wind which tears
The oak from his foundation, and which spills Some less majestic, less beloved head?
The ocean o'er its boundary, and bears
The oval mirror of thy glassy lake;
A deep cold settled aspect nought can shake, Which fill'd the imperial isles so full it seem'd to cloy. | All coil'd into itself and round, as sleeps the snake.
, as it is expressed on a very solemn occasion, that I (1) “ The death of the Princess Charlotte has been a shock would become as a little child. Notwithstanding my dis even here (Venice), and must have been an earthquake at appointinent, I proceeded to copy some of those excellent bome. The fate of this poor girl is melancholy in every
OTS. I viewed them again and again; I even affected to respect; dying at twenty or so, in childbed-of a boy too, iets their merit and admire them more than I really did. a present princess and a future queen, and just as she be.
& abort time, a new taste and a new perception began gan to be happy, and to enjoy herself, and the hopes which
Lawn upon me, and I was convinced that I had origin. she inspired. I feel sorry in every respect." B. Letters. any formed a false opinion of the perfection of the art, 1 L.E.
su bat this great painter was well entitled to the high (2) Mary died on the scaffold; Elizabeth of a broken Faak which he holds in the admiration of the world. The heart; Charles V. a hermit; Louis XIV. a bankrupt in
W , that if these works had really been what I had means and glory; Cromwell of anxiety; and, “the greatest Ipected, they would have contained beauties superficial is behind," Napoleon lives a prisoner. To these sovereigns had alluring, but by no means such as would bave entitled a long but saperfluous list might be added of names equally them to the
en to the great reputation which they have borne so long, illustrious and unhappy. and so justly obtained.-L. E.
(3) The village of Nemi was near the Arician retreat of
Of girdling mountains intercepts the sight
He sinks into thy depths with bubbling groan,
His petty hope in some near port or bay,
Beheld it last by Calpe's rock unfold
CLXXXI. Upon the blue Symplegades: long years
The armaments which thunderstrike the walls Long, though not very many, since have done Of rock-built cities, bidding nations quake, Their work on both; some suffering and some tears And monarchs tremble in their capitals, Have left us nearly where we had begun :
The oak leviathans, whose hage ribs make Yet not in vain our mortal race hath run,
Their clay creator the vain title take We have had our reward- and it is here;
Of lord of thee, aud arbiter of war; That we can yet feel gladden'd by the sun,
These are thy toys, and, as the snowy flake, And reap from earth, sea, joy almost as dear
They melt into thy yeast of waves, which mar As if there were no man to trouble what is clear. | Alike the Armada's pride, or spoils of Trafalgar. CLXXVII.
CLXXXII. Oh! that the desert were my dwelling-place,
Thy shores are empires, changed in all save theeWith one fair spirit for my minister,
Assyria, Greece, Rome, Carthage, what are they?(2) That I might all forget the human race,
Thy waters wasted them while they were free, And, hating no one, love but only lier!
And many a tyrant since; their shores obey Ye elements !-in whose ennobling stir
The stranger, slave, or savage; their decay I feel myself exalted-Can ye not
Has dried up realms to deserts :- not so thou, Accord me such a being? Do I err
Unchangeable save to thy wild waves' playIn deeming such inhabit many a spot?
Time writes no wrinkle on thine azure browThough with them to converse can rarely be our lot. Such as creation's dawn beheld, thou rollest now.
To mingle with the universe, and feel
The monsters of the deep are made; each zone
Egeria, and, from the shades which embosomed the temple of Diana, has preserved to this day its distinctive appellation of The Grove. Nemi is but an evening's ride from the comfortable inn of Albano.
(1) The whole declivity of the Alban hill is of unrivalled beauty, and from the convent on the highest point, which has succeeded to the temple of the Latian Jupiter, the prospect embraces all the objects alluded to in this stanza; the Mediterranean; the whole scene of the latter half of the Æneid, and the coast from beyond the mouth of the Tiber, to the headland of Circæum and the Cape of Terracina. (See Historical Notes, at the end of this Canto, No. XXXI. - L.E.
(2) When Lord Byron wrote this stanza, he had, no
| doubt, the following passage in Boswell's Johnson floating
on his mind :-"Dining one day with General Paoli, and talking of his projected journey to Italy, Aman,' said Johnson, who has not been in Italy, is always conscious of an inferiority, from his not having seen what it is expected a man should see. The grand object of all travelling is to see the shores of the Mediterranean. On these shores were the four great empires of the world; the Assyrian, the Persian, the Grecian, and the Roman. All our religion, almost all our law, almost all our arts, almost all that sets us above savages, has come to us from the shores of the Mediterranean. The General observed, that 'The Mediter ranean' would be a noble subject for a poem." Croker's Boswell, vol. ii. p. 400.-L.E.
CLXXXVI. Farewell! a word that must be, and hath been-A sound which makes us linger;-yet-farewell! Ye! who have traced the Pilgrim to the scene Which is his last, if in your memories dwell A thoaght which once was his, if on ye swell A single recollection, not in vain
He wore his sandal-shoon, and scallop-shell; | Farewell! with him alone may rest the pain, If such there were-with you, the moral of his strain!
nal was taken into this cell is now walled up; but the passage is still open, and is still known by the name of the Bridge of Sighs. The pozzi are under the flooring of the chamber at the foot of the bridge. They were formerly twelve, but on the first arrival of the French, the Venetians bastily blocked or broke up the deeper of these dungeons. You may still, however, descend by a trap-door, and crawl down through holes, half-choked by rubbish, to the depth of two stories below the first range. If you are in want of consolation for the extinction of patrician power, perhaps you may find it there; scarcely a ray of light glimmers into the narrow gallery which leads to the cells, and the places of confinement themselves are totally dark. A small hole in the wall admitted the damp air of the passages, and served for the introduction of the prisoner's food. A wooden pallet, raised a foot from the ground, was the only furniture. The conductors tell you that a light was not allowed. The cells are about five paces in length, two and a half in width, and seven feet in height. They are directly beneath one another, and respiration is somewhat difficult in the lower holes. Only one prisoner was found when the republicans descended into these hideous recesses, and he is said to have been confined sixteen years. But the inmates of the dungeons beneath bad left traces of their repentance, or of their despair, which are still visible, and may, perhaps, owe something to recent ingenuity. Some of the detained appear to have offended against, and others to have belonged to, the sacred body, not only from their signatures, but from the churches and belfries which they have scratched upon the walls. The reader may not object to see a specimen of the records prompted by so terrific a solitude." As nearly as they could be copied by more than one pencil, three of them are as follows:
TO CANTO IV.
STATE DUNGEONS OF VENICE.
Stanza i. lines I. and 2. | Tax communication between the ducal palace and
fee prisons of Venice is by a gloomy bridge, or covered gallery, high above the water, and divided by i stone wall into a passage and a cell. The state I dragatas, called "pozzi," or wells, were sunk in the led walls of the palace; and the prisoner when takea out to die was conducted across the gallery to the other side, and being then led back into the other compartment, or cell, upon the bridge, was there trangiai. The low portal through which the crimi
1. NON TI FIDAR AD ALCUYO PENSA e TICI
SE FUGIN VUOI DE SPIONI INSIDIK e LACCI
1607. ADI 2. GENARO, Fer un TENTO P' LA BESTIEMMA P' AVEN DATO DA MANZAR A UN MONTO
IACOMO. GRITTI. SCRISSE.
2. UN PARLAR POCO et
NEGARE PRONTO et
3. DI CHI MI FIDO GUARDAMI DIO
А та н д уд
This passage would perbaps, be read without emo did he prefer some ghost-story ; some tale of second sight; fona, if we did not know that Lord Byron was here describing some relation of Robin Hood's feats; some harrowing narkis artual feelings and habits, and that this was an unaf rative of buccaneer exploits, to all of Horace, and Virgil, and arted picture of his propensities and amusements even Homer, that was dinned into his repulsive spirit! To the on cbildhood, when he listened to the roar, and watched shock of this change is, I suspect, to be traced much of the the barsts, or the northern ocean on the tempestuous shorès eccentricity of Lord Byron's future life. This fourth Canto e Aberdeenshire. It was a fearful and violent change at is the fruit of a mind which had stored itself with great the age of ten years to be separated from this congenial ] care and toil, and had digested with profound reflection litade, this indepeodence, so suited to his haughty and and intense vigour what it had learned the sentiments are
plative spirit, this rude grandeur of nature,--and not such as lie on the surface, but could only be a wakened Srems among the merë worldly-min'led and selfish fero. by long meditation. Whoever reads it, and is not impressed
sty, the affected polish and repelling coxcombry, of a with the many grand virt'es as well as gigantic powers of i pat pablic scbool. How many thousand times did the the mind that wrote it, seems to me to afford a proof both Randy, sollen, and indignant boy wish himself back to the of insensibility of heart, and great stupidity of intellect." Im úr and boisterous billows that broke lonely upon the Sir E. Brydges.-L. E.
le and soul-invigorating haunts of bis childhood! How (2) “It was a thought worthy of the great spirit of Byrou,
The copyist has followed, not corrected, the sole he could translate the original. He added, that he cisms; some of which are, however, not quite so de- could sing almost three hundred stanzas, but had no cided, since the letters were evidently scratched in spirits (morbin was the word he used) to learn an the dark. It only need be observed, that bestemmia | more, or to sing what be already knew: a man mus and mangiar may be read in the first inscription, have idle time on his hands to acquire, or to repeat which was probably written by a prisoner confined and, said the poor fellow, “look at my clothes and a for some act of impiety committed at a funeral; that me; I am starving." This speech was more affect Cortellarius is the name of a parish on terra firma, ing than his performance, which habit alone can mak near the sea; and that the last initials evidently are attractive. The recitative was shrill, screaming, an put for Viva la santa Chiesa Cattolica Romana. monotonous; and the gondolier behind assisted hi
voice by bolding his hand to one side of his mouth The carpenter used a quiet action, which he evident endeavoured to restrain, but was too much intereste
in his subject altogether to repress. From these me SONGS OF THE GONDOLIERS,
we learnt that singing is not confined to the gondolier " In Venice Tusso's echoes are no more."
and that, although the chant is seldom, if ever, va Stanza iii. line I.
luntary, there are still several amongst the low
classes who are acquainted with a few stanzas. The well-known song of the gondoliers, of alter
It does not appear that it is usual for the pe nate stanzas, from Tasso's Jerusalem, has died with
formers to row and sing at the same time. Althoug the independence of Venice. Editions of the poem, the verses of the Jerusalem are no longer casuall with the original in one column and the Venetian
heard, there is yet much music upon the Venetia variations on the other, as sung by the boatmen, were
canals; and upon holidays, those strangers who al once common, and are still to be found. The follow
not near or informed enough to distinguish the word ing extract will serve to show the difference between
may fancy that many of the gondolas still reson the Tuscan epic and the “Canto alla Barcariola."
with the strains of Tasso. The writer of some rt ORIGINAL.
marks which appeared in the Curiosities of Literatul Canto l' arme pietose, e 'l capitano
must excuse bis being twice quoted; for, with th Che 'l gran Sepolcro liberò di Cristo.
exception of some phrases a little too ambitious ar Molto egli oprò col senno, e con la mano
extravagant, he has furnished a very exact, as well a Molto soffrì nel glorioso acquisto; Bin van l' Inferno a lui s'oppose, e in vano agreeable, description : S' armò d' Asia, e di Libia il popol misto,
“In Venice the gondoliers know by heart long pa Che il Ciel gli diè favore, e sotto a i Santi
sages from Ariosto and Tasso, and often chant the Segni ridusse i suoi compagni erranti.
with a peculiar melody. But this talent seems VENETIAN,
present on the decline:-at least, after taking son L'arme pietose de cantar gho vogia,
pains, I could find no more than two persons wl E de Goffredo la immortal braura
delivered to me in this way a passage from Tass Che al fin l' ha libera co strassia, e dogia Del nostro buon Gesú la Sepoltura
I must add, that the late Mr. Berry once chanted De mezo mondo unito, e de quel Bogia
me a passage in Tasso in the manner, as he assan Missier Pluton non l' ha bu mai paura:
me, of the gondoliers. Dio l'ha agiuta, e i compagni sparpaguai
“There are always two concerned, who alternate Tutti 'l gb' i ha messi insieme i di del Dai.
sing the strophes. We know the melody eventaal Some of the elder gondoliers will, however, take up by Rousseau, to whose songs it is printed; it b and continue a stanza of their once-familiar bard. properly no melodious movement, and is a sort of u
On the 7th of last January, the author of Childe dium between the canto fermo and the canto figurat Harold, and another Englishman, the writer of this it approaches to the former by recitativical declamatic notice, rowed to the Lido with two singers, one of and to the latter by passages and course, by whi whom was a carpenter, and the other a gondolier. one syllable is detained and embellished. The former placed himself at the prow, the latter at “I entered a gondola by moonlight; one sing the stern, of the boat. A little after leaving the quay placed himself forwards and the other aft, and d of the Piazzetta, they began to sing, and continued proceeded to San Giorgio. One began the song: wl their exercise until we arrived at the island. They he had ended his strophe, the other took up the 1 gave us, amongst other essays, the Death of Clorinda, and so continued the song alternately. Through and the Palace of Armida; and did not sing the Ve the whole of it, the same notes invariably return netian but the Tuscan verses. The carpenter, how but, according to the subject matter of the strop ever, who was the cleverer of the two, and was fre they laid a greater or a smaller stress, sometimes quently obliged to prompt his companion, told us that one, and sometimes on another note, and indeed chan
olto soffrì nel sa lui s'opposcopol misto,
after exhibiting to us his Pilgrim amidst all the most strik. ing scenes of earthly grandeur and earthly decay, after teaching us, like him, to sicken over the mutability, and vanity, and emptiness of human greatness, to conduct him and us at last to the borders of the Great Deep.' It is there that we may perceive an image of the awful and unchangeable abyss of eternity, into whose bosom so much has sunk, and all shall one day sink,-of that eternity wherein the scorn and the contempt of man, and the melan, choly of great, and the fretting of little minds, shall be at rest for ever. No one, but a true poet of man and of nature, would have dared to frame such a termination for
such a Pilgrimage. The image of the wanderer may be associated, for a time, with the rock of Calpe, the 8 tered temples of Athens, or the gigantic fragments of Roi but when we wish to think of this dark personification of a thing which is, where can we so well imagine hin have his daily haunt as by the roaring of the waves? was thus that Homer represented Achilles in his mom of angovernable and inconsolable loss for Patroclus. It thus he chose to depict the paternal despair of Chriseo
Bir dexbuv mapá Oiva Tohudoir Colo badgoni." IV ilson.-L.E.