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When thronging foemen menace Spain,

She dares the deed and shares the danger; And should her lover press the plain,

She hurls the spear, her love's avenger.

6.

And when, beneath the evening star,
She mingles in the gay Bolero,1
Or sings to her attuned guitar

Of Christian knight or Moorish hero,
Or counts her beads with fairy hand
Beneath the twinkling rays of Hesper,"

Or joins Devotion's choral band,

To chaunt the sweet and hallowed vesper ;

7.

In each her charms the heart must move
Of all who venture to behold her;
Then let not maids less fair reprove
Because her bosom is not colder :

Through many a clime 'tis mine to roam
Where many a soft and melting maid is,

But none abroad, and few at home,

May match the dark-eyed Girl of Cadiz.ii.

i. Or tells with light and fairy hand

ii.

1809.

[First published, 1832.]

Her beads beneath the rays of Hesper.-[MS. M. erased.] the lovely Girl of Cadiz.-[MS. M.]

1. [For "Bolero," see Poetical Works, 1898, i. 492, note 1.]

LINES WRITTEN IN AN ALBUM, AT MALTA.11

I.

As o'er the cold sepulchral stone

Some name arrests the passer-by;

Thus, when thou view'st this page alone,
May mine attract thy pensive eye!

i. Written in an Album.-[Editions 1812-1831.]

Written in Mrs. Spencer S.'s —.—[MS. M. erased.]
Written at the request of a lady in her memorandum book.—
[MS. B. M. "Mrs. S. S.'s request."—Erased. MS. B. M.]

1. [The possessor of the album was, doubtless, Mrs. Spencer Smith, the "Lady" of the lines To Florence, "the sweet Florence" of the Stanzas composed during a Thunderstorm, and of the Stanzas written in passing through the Ambracian Gulf, and, finally, when "The Spell is broke, the Charm is flown," the "fair Florence" of stanzas xxxii., xxxiii. of the Second Canto of Childe Harold. In a letter to his mother, dated September 15, 1809, Byron writes, "This letter is committed to the charge of a very extraordinary woman, whom you have doubtless heard of, Mrs. Spencer Smith, of whose escape the Marquis de Salvo published a narrative a few years ago (Travels in the Year 1806, from Italy to England through the Tyrol, etc., containing the particulars of the liberation of Mrs. Spencer Smith from the hands of the French Police. London: 12mo, 1807). She has since been shipwrecked, and her life has been from its commencement so fertile in remarkable incidents, that in a romance they would appear improbable. She was born at Constantinople [circ. 1785], where her father, Baron Herbert, was Austrian Ambassador; married unhappily, yet has never been impeached in point of character; excited the vengeance of Buonaparte by a part in some conspiracy; several times risked her life; and is not yet twentyfive.

John Spencer Smith, the "Lady's" husband, was a younger brother of Admiral Sir Sidney Smith, the hero of the siege of Acre. He began life as a Page of Honour to Queen Charlotte, was, afterwards, attached to the Turkish Embassy, and (May 4, 1798) appointed Minister Plenipotentiary. On January 5, 1799, he concluded the treaty of defensive alliance with the Porte; and, October 30, 1799, obtained the freedom of the Black Sea for the English flag (see Remains of the late John Tweddell. London: 1815. See, too, for Mrs. Spencer Smith, Letters, 1898, i. 244, 245, note 1).]

2.

And when by thee that name is read,
Perchance in some succeeding year,
Reflect on me as on the dead,

And think my Heart is buried here.

Malta, September 14, 1809.

[First published, Childe Harold, 1812 (4to).]

TO FLORENCE.

I.

OH Lady! when I left the shore,

The distant shore which gave me birth,
I hardly thought to grieve once more,
To quit another spot on earth:

2.

Yet here, amidst this barren isle,

Where panting Nature droops the head, Where only thou art seen to smile,

I view my parting hour with dread.

3.

Though far from Albin's craggy shore,
Divided by the dark-blue main ;
A few, brief, rolling seasons o'er,
Perchance I view her cliffs again :

4.

But wheresoe'er I now may roam,
Through scorching clime, and varied sea,
Though Time restore me to my home,
I ne'er shall bend mine eyes on thee:

i. To-Editions 1812-1832.]

5.

On thee, in whom at once conspire

All charms which heedless hearts can move, Whom but to see is to admire,

And, oh! forgive the word-to love.

6.

Forgive the word, in one who ne'er
With such a word can more offend;
And since thy heart I cannot share,
Believe me, what I am, thy friend.

7.

And who so cold as look on thee,
Thou lovely wand'rer, and be less?

Nor be, what man should ever be,
The friend of Beauty in distress?

8.

Ah! who would think that form had past Through Danger's most destructive path," Had braved the death-winged tempest's blast, And 'scaped a Tyrant's fiercer wrath?

9.

Lady! when I shall view the walls
Where free Byzantium once arose,

And Stamboul's Oriental halls

The Turkish tyrants now enclose;

i. Through giant Danger's rugged path.-[MS. M.]

IO.

Though mightiest in the lists of fame,

That glorious city still shall be;
On me 'twill hold a dearer claim,
As spot of thy nativity :

II.

And though I bid thee now farewell,

When I behold that wondrous scene

Since where thou art I may not dwell-
"Twill soothe to be where thou hast been.

September, 1809.

[First published, Childe Harold, 1812 (4to).]

STANZAS COMPOSED DURING A THUNDER

STORM. 1

I.

CHILL and mirk is the nightly blast,
Where Pindus' mountains rise,

i. Stanzas. [1812.]

1. Composed Oct. 11, 1809, during the night in a thunderstorm, when the guides had lost the road to Zitza, near the range of mountains formerly called Pindus, in Albania. [Editions 1812-1831.]

[This thunderstorm occurred during the night of the 11th October, 1809, when Lord Byron's guides had lost the road to Zitza, near the range of mountains formerly called Pindus, in Albania. Hobhouse, who had ridden on before the rest of the party, and arrived at Zitza just as the evening set in, describes the thunder as rolling "without intermission-the echoes of one peal had not ceased to roll in the mountains, before another tremendous crash burst over our heads, whilst the plains and the distant hills, visible through the cracks in the cabin, appeared in a perpetual blaze. The tempest was altogether terrific, and worthy of the Grecian Jove. Lord Byron, with the priest and the servants, did not enter our hut before three (in the morning). I now learnt from him that they had lost their way, . .

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