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XIII.

But when the sun was sinking in the sea

He seized his harp, which he at times could string,
And strike, albeit with untaught melody,
When deem'd he no strange ear was listening:
And now his fingers o'er it he did fling,
And tuned his farewell in the dim twilight.
While flew the vessel on her snowy wing,

And fleeting shores receded from his sight,
Thus to the elements he pour'd his last "Good Night." I

1.

"ADIEU, adieu! my native shore
Fades o'er the waters blue;

The night-winds sigh, the breakers roar,
And shrieks the wild sea-mew.

Yon sun that sets upon the sea
We follow in his flight;

Farewell awhile to him and thee,
My native Land - Good Night!

2.

"A few short hours and he will rise
To give the morrow birth;
And I shall hail the main and skies,
But not my mother earth.
Deserted is my own good hall,

Its hearth is desolate;

Wild weeds are gathering on the wall;

My dog howls at the gate.

1 [See Lord Maxwell's "Good Night," in Scott's Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border: Poetical Works, vol. ii. p. 141. ed. 1834

"Adieu, madame, my mother dear," &c.]

3.

"Come hither, hither, my little page!!
Why dost thou weep and wail?
Or dost thou dread the billows' rage,
Or tremble at the gale?

But dash the tear-drop from thine eye;
Our ship is swift and strong:
Our fleetest falcon scarce can fly

More merrily along." 2

4.

Let winds be shrill, let waves roll high,
I fear not wave nor wind: 3

Yet marvel not, Sir Childe, that I

Am sorrowful in mind; 4

For I have from my father gone,
A mother whom I love,

And have no friend, save these alone,

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[This "little page was Robert Rushton, the son of one of Lord Byron's tenants. "Robert I take with me," says the poet, in a letter to his mother; "I like him, because, like myself, he seems a friendless animal: tell his father he is well, and doing well." ]

2

3

["Our best goss-hawk can hardly fly
So merrily along."- MS.]

["Oh, master dear! I do not cry
From fear of wave or wind."

MS.]

4 [Seeing that the boy was "sorrowful" at the separation from his parents, Lord Byron, on reaching Gibraltar, sent him back to England under the care of his old servant Joe Murray. "Pray," he says to his mother," shew the lad every kindness, as he is my great favourite." He also wrote a letter to the father of the boy, which leaves a most favourable impression of his thoughtfulness and kindliness. "I have," he says, " sent Robert home, because the country which I am about to travel through is in a state which renders it unsafe, particularly for one so young. I allow you to deduct from your rent five and twenty pounds a year for his education, for three years, provided I do not return before that time, and I desire he may be considered as in my service. He has behaved extremely well."]

5.

• My father bless'd me fervently,
Yet did not much complain;
But sorely will my mother sigh
Till I come back again.'-
"Enough, enough, my little lad!
Such tears become thine eye;
If I thy guileless bosom had,
Mine own would not be dry.

6.

"Come hither, hither, my staunch yeoman,2
Why dost thou look so pale?
Or dost thou dread a French foeman?
Or shiver at the gale?"

'Deem'st thou I tremble for my life?
Sir Childe, I'm not so weak;
But thinking on an absent wife
Will blanch a faithful cheek.

[Here follows in the original MS. :

'My Mother is a high-born dame,
And much misliketh me;
She saith my riot bringeth shame
On all my ancestry:

I had a sister once I ween,

Whose tears perhaps will flow;
But her fair face I have not seen

For three long years and moe.']

2 [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

7.

'My spouse and boys dwell near thy hall,
Along the bordering lake,

And when they on their father call,
What answer shall she make?'.
Enough, enough, my yeoman good,
Thy grief let none gainsay;
But I, who am of lighter mood,
Will laugh to flee away.1

8.

"For who would trust the seeming sighs
Of wife or paramour?

Fresh feres will dry the bright blue eyes
We late saw streaming o'er.2
For pleasures past I do not grieve,
Nor perils gathering near;
My greatest grief is that I leave

No thing that claims a tear.3

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 commons 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 any thing of his character will say he deserves to do so.]

1

2

["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 e'en a wedded freere,

Though her blue eyes were streaming o'er,
And torn her yellow hair?"-MS.]

3 ["I 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.]

9.

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"And now I'm in the world alone,
Upon the wide, wide sea:

But why should I for others groan,
When none will sigh for me?
Perchance my dog will whine in vain,
Till fed by stranger hands;
But long ere I come back again
He'd tear me where he stands.2

10.

"With thee, my bark, I'll swiftly go
Athwart the foaming brine;

Nor care what land thou bear'st me to,
So not again to mine.

Welcome, welcome, ye dark-blue waves!
And when you fail my sight,

Welcome, ye deserts, and ye caves!
My native Land -

Good Night! "3

[From 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 of 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."]

2 [Here follows, in the original MS. :

"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."]

3 [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

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