Fair clime! (2) where every season smiles That wakes and wafts the odours there! I knew nothing of what had happened, and it was determined that I should be kept in ignorance of the whole affair till it was too late to interfere. A mere accident only enabled me to prevent the conclusion of the sentence. I was taking one of my usual evening rides by the sea-side, when I observed a crowd of people moving down to the shore, and the arms of the soldiers glittering among them. They were not so far off, but that I thought I could now and then distinguish a faint and stifled shriek. My curiosity was forcibly excited, and I despatched one of my followers to inquire the cause of the procession. What was my hor ror to learn that they were carrying an unfortunate girl, sewn up in a sack, to be thrown into the sea! I did not hesitate as to what was to be done. I knew I could depend on my faithful Albanians, and rode up to the officer commanding the party, threatening, in case of his refusal to give up his prisoner, that I would adopt means to compel him. He did not like the business he was on, or perhaps the determined look of my body-guard, and consented to accom. pany me back to the city with the girl, whom I soon discovered to be my Turkish favourite. Suffice it to say, that my interference with the chief magistrate, backed by a heavy bribe, saved her; but it was only on condition that I should break off all intercourse with her, and that she should immediately quit Athens, and be sent to her friends in Thebes. There she died, a few days after her arrival, of a fever-perhaps of love."-P. E. (1) A tomb above the rocks on the promontory, by some supposed the sepulchre of Themistocles.-"There are," says Cumberland, in his Observer, "a few lines by Plato, upon the tomb of Themistocles, which have a turn of elegant and pathetic simplicity in them, that deserves a better translation than I can give : By the sea's margin, on the watery strand, By this directed to thy native shore, The merchant shall convey his freighted store: (2) "Of the beautiful flow of Byron's fancy," says Moore, "when its sources were once opened on any subject, the Glaour affords one of the most remarkable instances: this poem having accumulated under his hand, both in printing Far from the winters of the west, Is heard, and seen the evening star; And trample, brute-like, o'er each flower But springs as to preclude his care, and through successive editions, till from four hundred lines, of which it consisted in its first copy, it at present amounts to fourteen hundred. The plan, indeed, which he had adopted, of a series of fragments,-a set of orient pearls at random strung-left him free to introduce, without reference to more than the general complexion of his story, whatever sentiments or images his fancy, in its excursions, could col lect; and, how little fettered he was by any regard to connection in these additions, appears from a note which se companied his own copy of this paragraph, in which he says I have not yet fixed the place of insertion for the follow ing lines, but will, when I see you as I have no copy.' Even into this new passage, rich as it was at first, his fancy afterwards poured a fresh infusion."-The value of these after-touches of the master may be appreciated by comparing the following verses, from his original draft of this paragraph, with the form which they now wear :— "Fair clime! where ceaseless summer smiles, That waves and wafts the fragrance there." The whole of this passage, from line 7 down to line 167, "Who heard it first had cause to grieve," was not in the first edition.-L. E. (3) The attachment of the nightingale to the rose is a well-known Persian fable. If 1 mistake not, the "Bulbal of a thousand tales" is one of his appellations.-[Thus Mesihi, as translated by Sir William Jones: "Come, charming maid! and hear thy poet sing, Be gay too soon the flowers of spring will fade."-L. E. ] (4) The guitar is the constant amusement of the Greek sailor by night: with a steady fair wind, and during a calm, it is accompanied always by the voice, and often by dancing. He who hath b nt him o'er the dead (1) Have swept the lines where beauty lingers,) The doom he dreads, yet dwells upon; Tis Greece, but living Greece no more! (4) That parts not quite with parting breath; A gilded halo hovering round decay, The farewell beam of Feeling past away! Spark of that flame, perchance of heavenly birth, Which gleams, but warms no more its cherish'd earth! (5) (1) If once the public notice is drawn to a poet, the talents he exhibits on a nearer view, the weight his mind car. ries with it in his every-day intercourse, somehow or other are reflected around on his compositions, and co-operate in giving a collateral force to their impression on the public. To this we must assign some part of the impression made by the Glasur. The thirty-five lines, beginning 'He who bath bent him o'er the dead,' are so beautiful, so original, and so utterly beyond the reach of any one whose poetical genins was not very decided and very rich, that they alone, under the circumstances explained, were sufficient to secure celebrity to this poem." Sir E. Brydges.-L. E. (3) I trust that few of my readers have ever had an opportunity of witnessing what is here attempted in description, but those who have will probably retain a painful remembrance of that singular beauty which pervades, with few exceptions, the features of the dead, a few hours, and but for a few hours, after "the spirit is not there." It is to be remarked in cases of violent death by gun-shot wounds the expression is always that of languor, whatever the natural energy of the sufferer's character: but in death from a stab the countenance preserves its traits of feeling or ferocity, and the mind its bias, to the last. Clime of the unforgotten brave! Thy heroes, though the general doom Thy soul, till from itself it fell; What can be tell who treads thy shore? No legend of thine olden time, No theme on which the Muse might soar High as thine own in days of yore, When man was worthy of thy clime. (4) In Dallaway's Constantinople, a book which Lord Byron is not unlikely to have consulted, I find a passage quoted from Gillies's History of Greece, which contains, perhaps, the first seed of the thought thus expanded into full perfection by genius:-"The present state of Greece, compared to the ancient, is the silent obscurity of the grave contrasted with the vivid lustre of active life." Moore.-L. E. It (5) "There is infinite beauty and effect, though of a painful and almost oppressive character, in this extraordinary passage; in which the author has illustrated the beautiful, but still and melancholy, aspect of the once-busy and glorious shores of Greece, by an image more true, more mournful, and more exquisitely finished, than any that we can recollect in the whole compass of poetry." Jeffrey.—L. E. (6) The Isle of Salamis lies in the Saronic Gulf, on the southern coast of Attica, nearly opposite to Eleusis. belonged to the Athenians, though, from its situation between Athens and Megara, the inhabitants of the latter city contested its possession for some time with the Athenians. The name, says Gillies, in his History of Greece, is associated with the honourable battle fought on the 20th October, 480 years before Christ, between the Persians under Xerxes, when he invaded Attica, and the Greeks, who successfully defended their country with a force of only 380 ships against 2,000, of which they destroyed about 200. -P. E. The hearts within thy valleys bred, Or raise the neck that courts the yoke: Who heard it first had cause to grieve. Who thundering comes on blackest steed,(2) With slacken'd bit and hoof of speed? Beneath the clattering iron's sound The cavern'd echoes wake around In lash for lash, and bound for bound; The foam that streaks the courser's side Seems gather'd from the ocean-tide: Though weary waves are sunk to rest, There's none within his rider's breast; And though to-morrow's tempest lower, "Tis calmer than thy heart, young Giaour!(3) I know thee not, I loathe thy race, But in thy lineaments I trace What time shall strengthen, not efface: Though young and pale, that sallow front Is scathed by fiery passion's brunt; Though bent on earth thine evil eye, As meteor-like thou glidest by, Right well I view and deem thee one Whom Othman's sons should slay or shun. (1) Athens is the property of the Kislar Aga (the slave of the seraglio and guardian of the women), who appoints the Waywode. A pander and eunuch-these are not polite, yet true appellations-now governs the governor of Athens ! (2) "The reciter of the tale is a Turkish fisherman, who has been employed during the day in the Gulf of Egina, and in the evening, apprehensive of the Mainote pirates who infest the coast of Attica, lands with his boat on the harbour of Port Leone, the ancient Piraeus. He becomes the eye-witness of nearly all the incidents in the story, and in one of them is a principal agent. It is to his feelings, and particularly to his religious prejudices, that we are in On-on he hasten'd, and he drew The mosque's high lamps are quivering still: He stood some dread was on his face, Soon Hatred settled in its place: It rose not with the reddening flush Of transient Anger's hasty blush,(5) But pale as marble o'er the tomb, Whose ghastly whiteness aids its gloom. His brow was bent, his eye was glazed; He raised his arm, and fiercely raised, And sternly shook his hand on high, As doubting to return or fly: Impatient of his flight delay'd,' Here loud his raven charger neigh'dDown glanced that hand, and grasp'd his blade: That sound had burst his waking dream, As Slumber starts at owlet's scream. The spur hath lanced his courser's sides; Away, away, for life he rides! Swift as the hurl'd on high jerreed (6) Springs to the touch his startled steed; The rock is doubled, and the shore Shakes with the clattering tramp no more; of debted for some of the most forcible and splendid parts the poem." George Ellis.-L. E. (3) In Dr. Clarke's Travels, this word, which means Infidel, is always written according to its English pronun ciation, Djour. Lord Byron adopted the Italian spelling usual among the Franks of the Desert.-L. E. (4) "Tophaike," musket.-The Bairam is announced by the cannon at sunset; the illumination of the mosques, and the firing of all kinds of small-arms, loaded with ball, proclaim it during the night. (5) "Hasty blush."-For hasty all the editions, till the twelfth, read "darkening blush."-L. E. (6) Jerreed, or Djerrid, a blunted Turkish javelin, which The crag is won-no more is seen O'er him who loves, or hates, or fears, For infinite as boundless space The thought that Conscience must embrace, The hour is past, the Giaour is gone; He came, he went, like the simoom,(2) Dark tree, still sad when others' grief is fled, The steed is vanish'd from the stall; is darted from horseback with great force and precision. It is a favourite exercise of the Mussulmans; but I know not if it can be called a manly one, since the most expert in the art are the black eunuchs of Constantinople. I think, text to these, a Mamlouk at Smyrna was the most skilful that came within my observation. (1) "Every gesture of the impetuous horseman is full of anniety and passion. In the midst of his career, whilst in full view of the astonished spectator, he suddenly checks his steed, and, rising on his stirrup, surveys, with a look of agonising impatience, the distant city illuminated for the feast of Bairam; then, pale with anger, raises his arm as if in menace of an invisible enemy; but, awakened from his trance of passion by the neighing of his charger, again Larries forward, and disappears." George Ellis.-L. E. The wild-dog howls o'er the fountain's brim, And flung luxurious coolness round [spread. 'Twas sweet, when cloudless stars were bright, And oft had Hassan's childhood play'd And oft upon his mother's breast Be heard to rage, regret, rejoice. That quench'd in silence, all is still, But the lattice that flaps when the wind is shrill: At least 'twould say, "All are not gone; told us it was blown over. The meteor, or purple haze, which I saw was, indeed, passed, but the light air, which still blew, was of a heat to threaten suffocation. For my part, I found distinctly in my breast that I had imbibed a part of it; nor was 1 free of an asthmatic sensation till I had been some months in Italy, at the baths of Poretta, near two years afterwards." See Bruce's Life and Travels, p. 470. edit. 1830.-L. E.] (3) "This part of the narrative not only contains much brilliant and just description, but is managed with unusual taste. The fisherman has, hitherto, related nothing more than the extraordinary phenomenon which had excited his curiosity, and of which it is his immediate object to explain the cause to his hearers; but, instead of proceeding to do so, he stops to vent his execrations on the Giaour, to describe the solitude of Hassan's once-luxurious haram, and to lament the untimely death of the owner, and of Leila, together with the cessation of that hospitality which they had uniformly experienced. He reveals, as if unintentionally and uncon 2 The blast of the desert, fatal to every thing living, and often alluded to in eastern poetry.-[Abyssinian Bruce gives, perhaps, the liveliest account of the appearance and effects of the suffocating blast of the desert:-" At eleven o'clock," he says, "while we contemplated with great plea-sciously, the catastrophe of his story; but he thus prepares sure the rugged top of Chiggre, to which we were fast approaching, and where we were to solace ourselves with plenty of good water, Idris, our guide, cried out with a oud voice, Fall upon your faces, for here is the simoom.' I saw from the south-east a haze come, in colour like the Farple part of the rainbow, but not so compressed or thick. It did not occupy twenty yards in breadth, and was about twelve feet high from the ground. It was a kind of blush upon the air, and it moved very rapidly; for I scarce could turn to fall upon the ground, with my head to the northward, when I felt the beat of its current plainly upon my face. We all lay flat on the ground as if dead, till Idris his appeal to the sympathy of his audience, without much Now, to share implies more than one, and Solitude is a For many a gilded chamber's there, and so on. Will you adopt this correction? and pray ac- Within that dome as yet Decay To bless the sacred "bread and salt."(1) With Hassan on the mountain side. His roof, that refuge unto men, Is Desolation's hungry den, The guest flies the hall, and the vassal from labour, Since his turban was cleft by the infidel's sabre! (2) I hear the sound of coming feet, "Ho! who art thou?"-"This low salam(5) 'Thou speakest sooth: thy skiff unmoor, And waft us from the silent shore; Nay, leave the sail still furl'd, and ply The nearest oar that's scatter'd by, And midway to those rocks where sleep The channel'd waters dark and deep. Rest from your task-so-bravely done, Our course has been right swiftly run; Yet 'tis the longest voyage, I trow, That one of Sullen it plunged, and slowly sank, That gemm'd the tide, then mock'd the sight; leave this to your discretion: if any body thinks the old line a good one, or the cheese a bad one, don't accept of either." B. Letters, Stilton, Oct. 3, 1813.-L. E. (1) To partake of food, to break bread and salt with your host, ensures the safety of the guest: even though an enemy, his person from that moment is sacred. (2) I need hardly observe, that charity and hospitality are the first duties enjoined by Mahomet; and, to say truth, very generally practised by his disciples. The first praise that can be bestowed on a chief is a panegyric on his bounty; the next, on his valour. (3) The ataghan, a long dagger worn with pistols in the belt, in a metal scabbard, generally of silver; and among the wealthier, gilt, or of gold. (4) Green is the privileged colour of the Prophet's numerous pretended descendants; with them, as here, faith (the family inheritance) is supposed to supersede the necessity of good works: they are the worst of a very in. different brood. And all its hidden secrets sleep, Known but to genii of the deep, Which, trembling in their coral caves, They dare not whisper to the waves. As rising on its purple wing The insect-queen (6) of eastern spring, O'er emerald meadows of Kashmeer Invites the young pursuer near, And leads him on from flower to flower A weary chase and wasted hour, Then leaves him, as it soars on high, With panting heart and tearful eye: So Beauty lures the full-grown child, With hue as bright, and wing as wild; A chase of idle hopes and fears, Begun in folly, closed in tears. If won, to equal ills betray'd, Woe waits the insect and the maid; A life of pain, the loss of peace, From infant's play, and man's caprice: The lovely toy so fiercely sought Hath lost its charm by being caught, For every touch that woo'd its stay Hath brush'd its brightest hues away, Till charm, and hue, and beauty gone, 'Tis left to fly or fall alone. With wounded wing, or bleeding breast, Ah! where shall either victim rest? Can this with faded pinion soar From rose to tulip as before? Or Beauty, blighted in an hour, Find joy within her broken bower? No: gayer insects fluttering by Ne'er droop the wing o'er those that die; And lovelier things have mercy shown To every failing but their own, « And every woe a tear can claim Except an erring sister's shame. The mind, that broods o'er guilty woes, (5) "Salam aleikoum! aleikoum salam!" peace be with you; be with you peace-the salutation reserved for the Faithful:-to a Christian, “Urlarula," a good journey; or "saban hiresem, saban serula;" good morn, good even; and sometimes, "may your end be happy;" are the usual salutes. (6) The blue-winged butterfly of Kashmeer, the most rare and beautiful of the species. (7) Mr. Dallas says, that Lord Byron assured him that the paragraph containing the simile of the scorpion was imagined in his sleep. It forms, therefore, a pendant to the psychological curiosity," beginning with those exquisitely musical lines: "A damsel with a dulcimer, In a vision once I saw ; It was an Abyssinian maid,” etc. The whole of which, Mr. Coleridge says, was composed by him during a siesta.-L. E. |