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 TRAVELS AND RESIDENCE IN GREECE, AT GENEVA, &c. 
 
 j^fl^_ INCLUDING, ALSO,' A 
 
 SKETCH OF THE VAMPYRE FAMILY. 
 
 EMBELLISHED WITH A PORTRAIT OF HIS LORDSHIP, FROM AN 
 ORIGINAL DRAWING. 
 
 The wits of Charles found easiei ways to fame, 
 Nor wished for Jonson's art, or Shakespeare's flame ; 
 Themselves they studied ; as they felt they writ ; 
 Intrigue was plot, Obscenity was wit. 
 Yet bards like these aspired to lasting praise, 
 And proudly hoped to pimp in future days. 
 
 JOHNSON. 
 
 CANTO III. 
 
 LONDON : 
 PRINTED FOR WILLIAM WRIGHT, 
 
 46, FLEET-STREET. 
 1819. 
 
W. Shackell, Printer, 
 
 Johnson's-court, 
 Fleet-street, London. 
 
A ~x% 
 TV, R. 
 
 ANALYSIS OF THE POEM 
 
 The Author, upon consideration, finds it proper to 
 change the hero and plan of his story, not because the 
 Two Cantos, already published of Don Juan, have been 
 much condemned on account of their immorality, — for he 
 despises the public opinion, — but because he admits that a 
 hero befitting the object of this epic might easily be found 
 at home, either in a red, green, blue, or black coat. His 
 lordship therefore leaves the Spanish gallant, whose adven- 
 tures he has been celebrating, on the Greek island upon 
 which he was thrown, to enjoy the company of the beau- 
 teous Haidee, and boldly resolves to draw from himself, like 
 the noble wits of King Charles's days. Disliking, neverthe- 
 less, to appear an egotist, he resolves to endeavour to speak 
 of himself as of another person. In this manner he com- 
 mences his story. The reader is first introduced to his 
 native place, which he has informed the public, in one of 
 
 249037 
 
VI ANALYSIS OF THE POEM. 
 
 his minor Poems, was the small property of Loch-na-Gair, 
 near the head of the river Dee, in Scotland. — Allusion to 
 the city of Aberdeen, so celebrated for granting honour- 
 able degrees. — Its colleges, and Gordon's Hospital. — 
 Returns to the description of his native place. — The 
 nature of his life and food there. — Might have been 
 doomed to live there and labour for his bread, and not- 
 withstanding might, perhaps, have written much purer 
 and better poetry in the wilds of nature, than he has since 
 done amidst the world of fashion and dissipation, had not 
 fortune intended a higher station for him. — Some of for- 
 tune's whims in raising persons from low conditions to the 
 highest ranks enumerated. — Our hero's removal to a chari- 
 table foundation. — His education and qualities there.' — 
 Good fortune of some persons, and happy circumstance 
 for them that their titles and estates were acquired by 
 those who have lived before them. — " Place a beggar on 
 
 horseback, and he'll ride to the d ." — Influence of 
 
 wealth and titles, in throwing a veil of splendour over 
 the failings or vices of their possessors. — Our hero 
 becomes the heir to a peerage. — He is transplanted from 
 the North to the more genial scenes of England. — Way 
 in which the young nobility display their superior worth 
 and acquirements. — Noble blood degenerates. — Some 
 instances of this. — Hero goes to Harrow School, where 
 he obtains a new title. — Early indications of genius.-— 
 
ANALYSIS OF THE POEM. vil 
 
 Always very great among the heirs of nobility. — Beha- 
 viour of the young lord at this scene of education. — Lam- 
 poons his instructors, and is expelled from the seminary. 
 — Goes to Cambridge. — His behaviour there. — Pub- 
 lishes his Juvenile Poems and Satires, and sets out on 
 his travels. — Visits Spain and Portugal. — Reaches the 
 coast of Greece, without any such disaster as befel 
 the crew of the French frigate Medusa, or the raft on 
 which Don Juan is supposed to have been placed. — Pur- 
 chases a pleasure yacht, and roves about among the 
 Greek islands. — His pleasures and occupations there. — 
 Forms an acquaintance with Berinthia, a fisherman's 
 daughter, who very much resembles Haidee, and whom 
 he prevails upon to accompany him in his voyages and 
 perambulations. — Their residence and pleasures at the 
 islands of Scio and Mytilene. — Grecian beauty. — The 
 effect of love upon our hero's mind and melancholy. — 
 The ruins of Troy. — Visits a cave called Homer's School. 
 — Voyage to Mytilene. — Love and Innocence, a Tale. — 
 Berinthia saved from a watery grave by her lover. — 
 His feelings on her recovery. — Fruit of their love. — 
 Parental feelings on the death of a child. — Leaves 
 Berinthia. — His " Farewell" upon that occasion. — Goes 
 to Athens.— Relapses into his gloomy fit.— Wanders to the 
 Castalian region.— Finds the poetical water strongly 
 tinged with gall.— Returns to his native shore.— Fails to 
 
 24903? 
 
Viii ANALYSIS OF THE POEM. 
 
 shine as an Orator and Statesman. — Calls all men in 
 power party tools, and rails at the Court. — Marries at 
 length. — Conjugal happiness interrupted. — Makes war 
 upon Governesses. — Advice to peeping women. — Raves 
 in verse about his own self-created sorrows, and again 
 goes abroad. — His sentiments and feelings on passing over 
 some of the scenes of British glory. — On the downfall of 
 the Imperial Diadem of France. — A contrast. — Retires 
 to the Lake of Geneva, and takes up his abode among the 
 scenes where Rousseau, Voltaire, Gibbon, &c. resided. 
 — Associates with the Vampyre crew there. — Monstrous 
 productions of this scribbling coterie.-^Leaves Geneva, 
 and resorts to Venice. — Wretched even amidst the joys of 
 the Carnival. — The Poem concludes with a farewell to 
 Lord Beppo, and a hint by way of advice on the mora- 
 lity of his writings. 
 
DON JUAN. 
 
 CANTO III. 
 
 I. 
 
 ON second thoughts, and these, 'tis said, are best, 
 
 I cannot see why I afar should roam, 
 To Spain, France, Italy, Greece, or the rest 
 
 Of foreign climes, where Pleasure builds her dome, 
 To find a hero — no uncommon guest ; 
 
 I might have looked, they say, much nearer home, 
 Where I should find of heroes not a few, 
 Trimmed up in martial red, or green, or blue ; 
 
II. 
 
 Or sacerdotal black, if that will suit 
 
 The grave, dull colour of the Muse's lay, 
 
 That like the men who strike at folly's root 
 
 Dare not, lest censure's tongue should blame, be gay 
 
 The hypocrites, who hide the cloven foot, 
 Because the idly talkative may say, 
 
 The man who against vice the loudest bellows 
 
 Is after all no better than his fellows, i 
 
 III. 
 
 I might, 'tis true, have found a plenteous store 
 Of subjects for my Muse's rambling pen 
 
 Within the sea-girt round of Britain's shore, 
 That teems with noble bards and valorous men 
 
 And now I weigh the knotty point once more, 
 I think I'd better leave that rogue of Spain, 
 
 Whom I conducted to the beauteous Haidee, 
 
 To slumber in the arms of that frail lady ; 
 
IV. 
 
 And like the noble wits of Charles's days 
 
 Who found an easy way to Fame's sweet bowers 
 
 Rhyming in unsophisticating lays 
 
 The guilty pleasures of their own lewd hours, 
 
 Draw from myself — like those who sought for praise, 
 Covering the shrines of vice with specious flowers ; 
 
 The dissolute wits that hated virtuous wives, 
 
 And trumpeted their own licentious lives. 
 
 V. 
 
 There are, I own, whose fevered life's a theme 
 Of aberration, whim, and discontent ; 
 
 Whose bosom is a fountain, whence the stream 
 Of black misanthropy is ever sent 
 
 In images, dark as the maniac's dream, 
 
 Who feels his woe and dares not yet repent, 
 
 To mock and mar with ill-dissembled care 
 
 The inborn happiness they cannot share. 
 
VI. 
 
 I hate the egotist — I hate that I, 
 
 Which brings me down to little space indeed ; 
 It heralds in a tale of vanity 
 
 Which very oft is troublesome to read — 
 I think the critics will not this deny ; — 
 
 But with my present purpose to proceed, — 
 I urge no title to peculiar grace, 
 So let us e'en like lawyers try the case. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Suppose we then to northern wilds repair^ 
 
 Where fortune seldom sheds her partial gleam, 
 
 To the lone barren rocks of Loch-na-Gair, 
 
 Where rises into strength the Dee's fair stream ; 
 
 That stream near which witij a majestic air 
 
 Courting the stranger's gaze and fame's esteem, 
 
 A stately city stands, that grants with ease 
 
 What the world calls the honourable degrees. 
 
VIII. 
 
 Of Colleges we need not say much here, — 
 They best are judg'd of by their wisdom's fruit ; 
 
 They're styled the seats of learning, but I fear 
 That learning is not always the pursuit 
 
 Where towers and temples piously they rear, 
 And chairs, and salaried offices to boot, 
 
 And youths are congregated from all quarters, 
 
 That care not much for stockings or for garters. 
 
 IX. 
 
 There too in stately form you may espy 
 
 A goodly Hospital its arms extend, 
 With most paternal love and charity 
 
 The helpless imps to succour and befriend 
 That bear the founder's name* and where the cry 
 
 Of noisy boys, resounding without end, 
 Is heard, and ever and anon, the clatter 
 Of knives and forks, and well clean'd pewter platter. 
 
X. 
 
 But to the point first mentioned — let us see — 
 Lone Loch-na-Gair, of wild and Gaelic name, 
 
 The birth-place of our hero that's to be, 
 And by a song already known to fame — 
 
 A little lairdship as we've said on Dee 
 
 That now and then just boasts a shot of game, 
 
 And sometimes a few goats without a horn — 
 
 Our hero there — a breechless Lord — was born. 
 
 XL 
 
 Lord of the heathery heath and the mud cottage, 
 Or of a trout or two, if he could catch them ; 
 
 But generally his fare was milk and pottage, 
 For animals escape unless you watch them 
 
 'Mid scenes where they run wild until their dotage ; 
 And fowls, unless some other fowls will hatch them, 
 
 Won't come "like sacrifices in their trim" 
 
 To pamper even the best with wing or limb. 
 
XII. 
 
 Our ragged hero, though " no vulgar boy," 
 And born to heir a fairer, rich domain, 
 
 Might there have roved and known no other joy, 
 Starving upon his native hill or plain, 
 
 Far from the crowd whom fancied cares annoy, 
 Revelling till mad 'mid Dissipation's train ; 
 
 But with the simple men by nature fed, 
 
 Labouring without a murmur for their bread. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Here had our youthful hero spent his time 
 Like lonely minstrel of the glen and dale, 
 
 And built on nature's rock his simple rhime, 
 And told perhaps a far more artless tale, 
 
 To sympathy more true, more pure, sublime, 
 And o'er the heart more fitted to prevail, 
 
 Than all the stories of the demon men 
 
 And worthless jilts that have employed his pen. 
 
XIV. 
 
 But Fortune oft will play most curious pranks, 
 That make even those with wisest heads to stare : 
 
 She lifts the meanest to the highest ranks 
 And makes a lordling of the beggar's heir ; 
 
 The urchin that will scarcely give her thanks 
 And late was glad a humble meal to share, 
 
 Shall, if myjady Fprtune takes the whim, 
 
 The very first in rank and merit seem. 
 
 XV. 
 
 But let us not disparage Fortune's child, 
 
 Or those that owe their wealth or fame to others, 
 
 The world would be a rude and gloomy wild 
 If men were not to feerand act like brothers — 
 
 The sacred glow of charity is mild : — , 
 
 He is the ungenerous soul the flame that smothers ; 
 
 And many bright examples might be cited 
 
 Of those who thus have had their genius lighted. 
 
XVI. 
 
 The youth whose tale I've chosen for my narration, 
 
 Had powerful claims to hospitable aid, 
 And luckily was placed on the foundation 
 
 Of the above most charitable shade, 
 For those who boast the name and generation 
 
 Of him who bade it rear its friendly head : 
 And there his grammar and his food he got 
 From learning's eleemosynary pot. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 What talents there the embrio bard displayed 
 
 We will not say, — 'twould seem they were not bright- 
 
 Nor will we tell the sportive tricks he played, 
 For school-boys take in mischief much delight : 
 
 Suffice it that we hint, as it was said, 
 He was from first a very wicked wight, 
 
 That for the scurvy wager of a fig 
 
 Would burn the Janitor's old worsted wig. 
 
10 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 He was not good at running — this you'll say 
 Is the chief virtue of the brave in soul — 
 
 It might be courage — but the reason lay 
 
 In a small part where nature claimed controul,- 
 
 Achilles' heel alone need fear the fray, — 
 Our hero's foot was round as any bowl, 
 
 And his protector was, for with his club 
 
 He thus could stoutest adversary drub. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 'Tis well for some that others have been born 
 Before them, and acquired superb estates, 
 
 And titles their descendants to adorn, 
 Or else perhaps the order of the fates 
 
 Had run in different terms, and spoon of horn 
 Instead of silver, rattled on their plates ; 
 
 And those who now their fellows scornful view 
 
 Had gone without a stocking or a shoe. 
 
11 
 
 XX. 
 
 Puff but the beggar's rags with wind of pride 
 Raised from a sudden gust of fortune's store 
 
 And set the brat on horseback, and he'll ride 
 Where scarcely mortal ever rode before ; 
 
 His suppliant looks he quickly lays aside, 
 And what of modesty he had before; 
 
 Kindred and friends alike the wretch despises, 
 
 And shines in vices as in wealth he rises. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 When the keen-sighted destinies espy 
 
 Deep stains imprinting life's succeeding page, 
 
 'Tis kind in favouring Fortune's hand to try 
 With splendid veil to cover passion's rage ; 
 
 To blend with specious guise the public eye 
 And make mad folly's son appear a sage : — • 
 
 A peerage can do this — a peerage came, 
 
 And gave our beggar boy a noble name. 
 
12 
 
 XXII. 
 
 Transplanted soon from the cold chilly north 
 To genial scenes of England, see him now 
 
 Amid the youths who show superior worth 
 By daring like true lordlings to avow 
 
 Superior profligacy — issue forth 
 
 While Fame her trumpet soon begins to blow 
 
 Lauding the accomplished image of a race 
 
 That long have reaped gay wreaths in glory's chace. 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 But noble blood we see degenerate grows — 
 
 Honours there are that will not bear the keeping — 
 
 The stream again at length as vulgar flows 
 
 As that in meanest veins we may see creeping — 
 
 And hence we sometimes witness curious shows, 
 A Marlborough pawning plate — a Cecil peeping 
 
 Through window-blinds to catch the longing eyes 
 
 Of milliner's apprentice — glorious prize ! 
 
13 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 Hence we perceive with feelings that belong 
 
 To indignation and to pity too, 
 (For there are sympathies so very strong 
 
 That injured nature cannot them subdue) 
 Lords of the soil whose noble names have long 
 
 For generous deeds received from fame their due, 
 Driving their helpless vassals from the land 
 And spreading misery with a stern command ; 
 
 XXV. 
 
 Striplings from gaming tables and the stews, 
 As pennyless, as haggard, and as fell 
 
 As the vile harpies whom such spendthrifts choose 
 To harbour with, and crowd their mimic hell, 
 
 Issuing with hands unhallowed to abuse 
 
 Their fathers' well earned honours ;— even to sell 
 
 Their coffin lids— so monstrously uncivil— 
 
 To raise the wind — such acts would raise the devil ;- 
 
14 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 Chathams and Nelsons hoarding up their bags 
 Of money, from the public squeezed in taxes ; 
 
 And men with stars that should be wearing rags, 
 If we could rightly scan their parallaxes ; 
 
 Princes delighted clasping kitchen hags 
 Reeling like Saturn on a drunken axis, 
 
 More pleased the poker or the spit to wield 
 
 Than Britain's glorious sceptre and her shield ! 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 Abroad 'tis worse. — We will not far expand 
 Our view to prove the truth of this position ; 
 
 But for a moment look at Juan's land 
 And see to what a miserable condition 
 
 The horrid sway of ignorant Ferdinand 
 
 Has sunk proud Spain — joined to the Inquisition 
 
 That cramm'd like tyrants down the grandees' throats 
 
 The captive coward wearing petticoats. 
 
15 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 Even ladies too, we see, are not much better : 
 The ancient virtues now are laid aside : 
 
 They care not for the matrimonial fetter 
 In which their modest mothers glorified ; 
 
 Lucretia's fame is now a mere dead letter — 
 Our modern belles have no such Roman pride. 
 
 Even now in print some wedded Lady Charlotte 
 
 Shall tell you how she's doated on some varlet. 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 Angel of truth ! forefend that I should throw 
 Unmerited remark on Virtue's train — 
 
 By Heaven ! I would not fix upon the snow 
 Of spotless Innocence one cruel stain 
 
 For all of earthly dross that shines below — 
 But 1 have boldly taken up the pen 
 
 To tell the world its faults ; and shall I spare 
 
 Anatis' self because her face is fair ? 
 
16 
 
 XXX. 
 
 Now full of noble blood, and cash in pocket — 
 Cash that makes learning look a little thing — 
 
 And with a sportive soul that would not lock it 
 In caskets where no pleasure it would bring — 
 
 To Harrow's famous school, as if to mock it, 
 Like many that surround the sacred spring, 
 
 Behold our hero sent — our Minor Lord — 
 
 And dubb'd Lord Squander at the revelling board. 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 What wondrous signs of early genius burst 
 From striplings born to heir a noble name ? 
 
 Of learning's prodigies they are the first, 
 Th' inheritors of everlasting fame ! 
 
 Our sprig of ancient stock too had a thirst, 
 But it was kindled from unhallowed flame. 
 
 He wooed the Muses but to show his spite, 
 
 And in lampooning placed his sole delight. 
 
17 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 Science has pleasant tasks to those that prize them 
 Toiling up hill to catch her dawning morn ; 
 
 But if you cannot master them, despise them, 
 And hold them up to ridicule and scorn ; 
 
 Our hero took occasion to apprise them 
 
 The Lord of Newstead Abbey was not born 
 
 To plod like dull philosophers and tutors, 
 
 Whom he denominated fools and futors. 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 Or if mayhap you're rakishly inclined, 
 And wish to banish all the moral rules — 
 
 Give Satire's blackest standard to the wind 
 And war against the fathers of the schools — 
 
 Call sophistry the mental eyes to blind, 
 
 And damn all doctrines of the solemn fools 
 
 Who love with equal fervour to abuse 
 
 Rakes, gambling tables, and delicious stews. 
 
18 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 This was the precious lore our hero learned 
 
 And preached and practised as his lyre he strung-, 
 
 Wallowing amid the mire, where ne'er was earned 
 The wreath of spotless fame by old or young ; 
 
 Early it seemed as if his bosom yearned 
 To shine the leader of the immoral throng, 
 
 And chace the purer virtues from the mind 
 
 That warm, adorn, and dignify mankind. 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 Our hopeful Minor thus laid the foundation 
 
 Of that strange creed which taints his gloomy page, 
 
 And thus he perfected his education 
 As many do in this licentious age : 
 
 Till tired at length, to guard their reputation 
 And check his course, the masters in a rage 
 
 Decreed expulsion to our lawless hero, 
 
 Who laughed and fiddled at their wrath like Nero. 
 
19 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 They might do so — he cared not for their ire- 
 He was not now to fear a schoolman's rod ; 
 
 But if he had a spark of Juvenal's fire 
 Upon their backs he'd lay it on, by G — df 
 
 The world loves satire — people too admire 
 
 Lords that can write — then forth there came abroad 
 
 The Poems of a Minor, something new, 
 
 Though scoffed at by the Edinburgh Review. 
 
 XXXVII. 
 
 At English Bards and Scotch Reviewers then 
 He raged like one from Bedlam's walls let loose, 
 
 And tried to point a keen and desperate pen 
 
 Well charged with gall, with anger and abuse — 
 
 But might have spared his pains — the Northern men, 
 Like others, cared not for his spiteful muse. 
 
 So weak his Song, his Satire so ill aimed, 
 
 That even himself was of the trash ashamed. 
 
20 
 
 XXXVIII. 
 
 Next Cam received him — Cam that oft has heard 
 
 'Mid Learning's shrines the dissolute voice of glee 
 
 Like sound unblest of night's unhallowed bird, 
 o 
 Revelling 'mid haunts long dear to piety. 
 
 Young Harold there he says to lore preferred 
 
 iC His concubines and carnal companie ;" 
 
 And so we fear our youth in wanton strain 
 
 Vexed with his mirth the goddess of the fane. 
 
 XXXIX. 
 
 " He ne'er in Virtue's ways did take delight, 
 But spent his days in riot most uncouth," 
 
 And we may well opine what deadly blight 
 In age must be the fruits of such a youth — 
 
 Ah ! let no noble mind however bright 
 
 Thus strive th' unsightly paths of shame to smooth, 
 
 And by the splendour of fair fortune's ray 
 
 Like a malignant meteor lead astray. 
 
21 
 
 XL. 
 
 Early perverted thus to shameful ways, 
 
 The mind grows rank with noxious weeds alone, 
 
 Lost is the voice of glory and of praise, 
 And happiness, alas, is ever gone ; 
 
 Nature in vain her beauteous face displays 
 
 And in the heart black Envy builds her throne. 
 
 Thus stung, to soften disappointment's gravel, 
 
 Restless and sad, Lord Squander took to travel. 
 
 XLI. 
 
 No tender accents breath'd in his farewell, 
 Such as a man who loves his native land 
 
 Pours with a saddening heart upon the gale 
 
 Which fans the bark that wafts him from its strand ; 
 
 These are sweet sympathies that only dwell 
 In breasts where virtue's purest blooms expand. 
 
 Our Childe, whom Fortune's smile thus lifted high, 
 
 Saw Albion's cliffs recede without a sigh. 
 
22 
 
 XLII. 
 
 Though pampered thus with wealth by right divine, 
 And honoured far beyond his own desert, 
 
 He seemed to feel as if no ray benign 
 
 Had fallen upon his birth and warmed his heart. 
 
 As if the ancient glories of his line 
 
 Had fallen at length on an unworthy part ; 
 
 Ungrateful, leprosed o'er with discontent, 
 
 Railing at Heaven and human kind, he went. 
 
 XLIII. 
 
 His fancy and his passion led to Greece, 
 But 'twas not to imbibe her purer lore ; 
 
 Fame taught him that still many a beauteous piece 
 Of ripening beauty decorates that shore. 
 
 He therefore sought amid the Egean seas, 
 The forms of love and pleasure to explore ; 
 
 To riot amid Cytherea's smiles, 
 
 And clasp her beauties on their native isles. 
 
23 
 
 XLIV. 
 
 He hated censure, though he pleasure loved, 
 And therefore wished to find some happy land 
 
 Where, though in luxury bosomed, unreproved 
 He might to loose delight his heart expand ; 
 
 Where maids by qualms of conscience were not moved, 
 And wives were not declared as contraband ; 
 
 Where for crim. cons, no damages are given, 
 
 Except perhaps being sent too soon to Heaven. 
 
 XLV. 
 
 But first he took in his wild wandering course 
 The coast of Spain, and landing there at Cadiz, 
 
 Began to exercise all Cupid's force 
 
 Against the tender bosoms of the ladies. 
 
 'Twould seem he never felt much keen remorse 
 To try what sort of game the lover's trade is— 
 
 And revelling fondly 'mid the Spanish honey, 
 
 He spent some time, and not a little money. 
 
24 
 
 XLVI. 
 
 Th' enticing manners of the Spanish fair, 
 
 Their figures and the way in which they move, 
 
 Their eyes' blue languish, and their winning air, 
 And all the ways they take to waken love, 
 
 Much pleas'd him ; but he found in Spain there were 
 Things that he could not half so well approve, 
 
 Priests, tyrants, brayoes, and an Inquisition 
 
 To send you in a hurry to perdition. 
 
 XLVII. 
 
 He coasted then to Lisbon, and awhile 
 
 Where once the Taio rolled o'er golden sand- — 
 
 Golden no more — wooed the voluptuous smile 
 Of beauties that adorn the Lesbian land — 
 
 Prolific wives their husbands that beguile, 
 
 And cooped-up maids that have a loving hand, 
 
 Intriguing, languishing in barren cloyster, 
 
 For love they say will penetrate an oyster. 
 
25 
 
 XLVIII. 
 
 In Portugal a man may spend his time 
 And money pleasantly enough, if he 
 
 Has any relish for the true sublime 
 
 In nature's richest mountain scenery — 
 
 He may beneath the olive and the lime 
 Drink wine cheap from the manufactory ; 
 
 Or with some Julia or eloping Anna, 
 
 Rove by the Minho or the Guadiaria. 
 
 XLIX. 
 
 Our hero, as we've said, awhile sojourned 
 
 Amid the scenes where Camoens' lyre was strung, 
 
 And with congenial loves and raptures burned 
 For Lesbias brown and fair, and old and young ; 
 
 Till sick at length, their jealous minds he spurned, 
 And said for venal deeds they should be hung — 
 
 They cheated, jilted, robbed, and sold their smiles, 
 
 And Lisbon was of Europe the St. Giles. 
 
26 
 
 L. 
 
 He left th' Hesperian maids to their confessions 
 And wives to appease their tyrants as they could, 
 
 And the grave Padres to their old trasgressions, 
 Glad to escape the men who deal in blood, 
 
 For these are fellows that make strong impressions 
 Sometimes along the darkling Tagus' flood. 
 
 Like Argonaut in search of Golden Fleece, 
 
 He spread th' adveiflturous sail and steered for Greece. 
 
 LI. 
 
 The Egean isles, now styled the Archipelago, 
 
 He reached — and here we'll state for those who want, 
 
 These isles, if thither any thing to sell ye go, 
 Are poor, and situate in the Levant ; 
 
 And if a pirate comes, mayhap to Hell ye go, 
 Unless the rascal's modest wish you grant ; 
 
 I would advise you to appease their gullets, 
 
 As the best means, with good hard cannon bullets. 
 
27 
 
 LII. 
 
 The plundering Corsair seldom mercy blends 
 With his rapacious acts — it happed howe'er 
 
 Our traveller needed not the aid which sends 
 A rude invader to the nether sphere — 
 
 He and the pirates soon were best of friends, 
 And kindly learnt each other to revere ; 
 
 Lord Squander loved such characters to paint 
 
 And sung of Pirate Chiefs where'er he went. 
 
 LIII. 
 
 He kept a pleasure yacht, and roved about, 
 Like summer voyager upon the wave, 
 
 And very frequently he would go out 
 Alone to visit some rude pirate's cave : 
 
 They feared with whom he held wild pleasure's rout 
 He would not always thus his bacon save ; 
 
 But Pirates, Corsairs, Turks, and sallow Giaours, 
 
 Were favourites of his — they are not ours ! 
 
28 
 
 LTV. 
 
 Sweet Scio's Isle 'twould seem he loved the best 
 And Sopriano's mountain, green and high, 
 
 On whose romantic summits you may rest 
 And feed with fairest sights the gazing eye ; 
 
 The scenes and temples that Apollo blest 
 And all the beauteous isles that scattered lie 
 
 Upon the placid surface of the deep 
 
 On to the woods that wave o'er Helle's steep. 
 
 LV. 
 
 Beside the ruins of Apollo's fane 
 
 Reared by materials from the stately pile, 
 
 A cottage stands, in aspect very plain, 
 And not the largest that's in Chios' Isle ; 
 
 But it was rural, and it pleased our swain, 
 
 Who there did many a lingering hour beguile ; 
 
 There when he found no pleasure on the flood 
 
 He nursed his dark and melancholy mood. 
 
29 
 
 LVI. 
 
 He made excursions frequent to the coast 
 So famed in classic page — in search of joy, 
 
 But found it in barbaric ignorance lost 
 And pleasure like the Muses very coy — 
 
 He trod the bones of many a warlike host 
 And sat amid the ruined walls of Troy. 
 
 These lonely scenes to folly's wanton train 
 
 Speak awful lessons — but they spoke in vain. 
 
 LVII. 
 
 There have been wanderers in the climes that boast 
 Superior fame, and shine with brighter ray, 
 
 Who if they Pleasure's fleeting phantom lost 
 Found Wisdom's god-like form upon their way. 
 
 Our lonely exile's mind was ever tost 
 Upon a sea of doubts and dark dismay, 
 
 Where his unruly passions and his pride 
 
 Spurned at the name of any other guide. ' 
 
30 
 
 LVJII. 
 
 He hated tyrant rules and governesses, 
 
 And Virtue is a dame that loves controul — 
 
 She talks of self-denial and modest dresses, 
 And bids us sometimes think about our soul ; 
 
 Some folks might heap upon her their caresses 
 He'd sit with no such vixen cheek by jowl — 
 
 His heart was made for love in warm degree, 
 
 But then 'twas love that glories to be free. 
 
 LIX. 
 
 He felt it rather lonely in his rovings 
 
 And therefore thought a mistress might amuse ; 
 
 He did as Greeks and Turks do in their lovings, 
 He bought one, as you'd buy a pair of shoes ; 
 
 One whose untutored heart had tender movings 
 
 Though bred 'mong pirates and half Christian Jews. 
 
 She was a fisher's or a corsair's daughter, 
 
 And knew no art but love's delicious slaughter. 
 
31 
 
 LX. 
 
 Her name Berinthia -lovely as the form 
 Licentious fancy paints to wake desire — 
 
 Mild as the balmy sky that knows no storm, 
 Yet with an eye that owned love's kindling* fire. 
 
 There is about a Grecian girl a charm 
 That still a classic passion can inspire ; 
 
 And tho' their dress is rather odd, between us, 
 
 They make a pretty substitute for Venus. 
 
 LXI. 
 
 If you have seen the eyes of sunny blue 
 
 And locks in many a beauteous ringlet wreathing, 
 
 And lips like melting rubies, dipt in dew, 
 And forms like alabaster fondly breathing, 
 
 That in some eastern regions you may view, 
 Unconsciously the soft desires bequeathing, 
 
 You may conceive, and have a hankering after, 
 
 Like our wild spark, the pirate's lovely daughter. 
 
32 
 
 LXII. 
 
 Berinthia was the Haidee of the isle, 
 
 Our hero though not shipwrecked, was the Juan 
 Who shared that lovely simple creature's smile 
 
 By help of glittering gold, without much suing ; 
 We will not, can't believe, he did by guile 
 
 Repay her love and kindness by her ruin — 
 We rather think he treated her with honour, 
 And squandered many a moidore upon her. 
 
 LXIII. 
 
 Berinthia was his tutor — taught him Greek, 
 
 As Venus taught Adonis — her own tongue— 
 A language which before he could not speak 
 
 Tho 1 he had trod the land where Homer sung — 
 But it is sweet while pressing female cheek 
 
 To catch love's lore and accents from her tongue- 
 It is, tho' some may view it as a sin, 
 The sweetest way of sucking learning in. 
 
33 
 
 LXIV. 
 
 Cymon they say acquired the art of shining 
 When he to Beauty's pleasant school was sent, 
 
 And some upon Aspasia's breast reclining- 
 
 Have learnt the whole good art of government 
 
 Some too have got the solid means of dining 
 By simply trying the experiment 
 
 Of Love's advice and gentle revolutions 
 
 Upon their fortunes and their constitutions. 
 
 LXV. 
 
 The Juan of our story felt the power 
 
 Of Beauty, tho' 'twas thus his passion's slave — 
 
 She was the goddess of his rural bower 
 
 His guide and sweet companion on the wave ; 
 
 With her his temper was not quite so sour, 
 
 His cheek less pallid grew, his look less grave :• 
 
 Tho' at mankind he railed for their deceptions, 
 
 'Twas plain he made for women some exceptions. 
 
34 
 
 LXVI. 
 
 O'er every isle he and Berinthia ran 
 Like Tourists, prying into all they could r 
 
 Taking a pretty picture or a plan, 
 
 And now descending to take humble food : 
 
 Like travellers who repose where'er they can, 
 They sometimes laid them down in good green wood, 
 
 Startling the wild deer as they wandered on, 
 
 Like Dido, Robin Hood, or Little John. 
 
 LXVII. 
 
 Borne o'er the Egean main, our rambling pair 
 Roved where old Cos Meropis spread her smile, 
 
 The birth-place of Hippocrates, and where 
 Apelles' pencil plied its pleasing toil ; 
 
 They found, however, little pleasure there,. 
 And often went to Mitylene's Isle, 
 
 Which is a very sweet inviting place 
 
 As classic lovers would desire to trace. 
 
35 
 
 LXVIII. 
 
 Scio, and Mitylene, and Valparos, 
 
 All claim the honour of great Homer's birth ; 
 
 But their ridiculous struggle to engross 
 
 This high renown now almost moves our mirth. 
 
 You might, 'tis true, have seen from Tenedos 
 The siege of Troy, but now that sacred earth 
 
 Covered in song with such immortal glory 
 
 Shews few remains of Homer or his story. 
 
 LXTX. 
 
 On Scio there's a place called Homer's school, a 
 Dark, ugly cave, like the Calcutta hole, 
 
 Where there is neither chair, nor bench, nor stool, a 
 Convenient thing to travellers on the whole ; 
 
 They say the bard there brandished the ferrula, 
 And sung tho' he was blind as any mole. 
 
 Of this we have from history no mention — 
 
 I therefore treat the matter as invention. 
 
30 
 
 LXX. 
 
 The keeper of the cave expects some praas 
 For shewing it— our hero gave him three, 
 
 And a Greek testament, to show the laws 
 Against extortion, lies, and bribery ; 
 
 The master too, a ragged man who was, 
 Like all that were at his academy, 
 
 He gave a robe, his nakedness to hide, 
 
 Which filled the aged pedant's breast with pride. 
 
 LXXI. 
 
 Berinthia widely too diffused her bounty 
 
 Among the maids who haunt the bays for fish, 
 
 For every fair in city, town, and county, 
 
 Love presents ; and you sometimes get a dish 
 
 Of better sort, if you don't scan the amount ay 
 Of what you give to gratify their wish. 
 
 Our pair thus oft surprised and pleased the Turks 
 
 Who are not strong believers in good works. 
 
37 
 
 LXXII. 
 
 At length they left the pleasant Isle of Scio, 
 
 In lovely Mitylene to reside, 
 For they seemed likely to become a trio, 
 
 The fair Berinthia, neither wife nor bride, 
 Being squeamish grown, and rather apt to sigh " O !" 
 
 And getting rather round and pale beside. 
 Her lord, whom thus she loved, to please his lady 
 Bade them now get his dear felucca ready. 
 
 LXXIII. 
 
 They launched their precious burthens on the billow 
 And set their sail, and steered for Sanchez Bay ; 
 
 His lordship's bosom was Berinthia's pillow, 
 And they seemed very blest and very gay ; 
 
 He looked as if he'd never worn the willow, 
 And she was plainly in a thriving way. 
 
 While thus they glided on, his fair enslaver 
 
 Asked for a song, and this was what he gave her. 
 
38 
 
 LOVE AND INNOCENCE. 
 
 LXXIV. 
 
 The bower where love is found will be 
 Of every joy the blissful centre, 
 
 If lovers, wise amid their glee, 
 Remember Folly must not enter. 
 
 LXXV. 
 
 Once, Virtue tells with tearful eye, 
 
 When she was banished from the plain, 
 
 The spouse of Prudence, Chastity, 
 Resolved to shun the glance of men. 
 
 LXXVI. 
 
 One care she had, one lovely care, 
 
 Named Innocence, and she was young, 
 
 And much she feared some villain's snare, 
 Would work the blooming prattler wrong. 
 
39 
 
 LXXVII. 
 
 Retired amid the greenest dell 
 
 Of a lone isle amid the sea, 
 The blameless pair resolved to dwell 
 
 With heaven diffused tranquillity. 
 
 LXXVIII. 
 
 And there they passed life's sweetest hours. 
 From toil and busy scenes remote, 
 
 Sporting amid the lotus flowers 
 And light heeled fawns that loved the spot. 
 
 LXXIX. 
 
 There duly fell the blessed ray 
 That never set in sorrow's close, 
 
 Virtue's own bright unclouded day, 
 And night of undisturbed repose ... , 
 
40 
 
 LXXX. 
 
 So calm they lived — till Innocence 
 
 One day beheld the feathered oar 
 Of Love, with feigned indifference 
 
 And summer bark, approach their shore. 
 
 LXXXT. 
 
 ■ 
 
 Ah ! need I say acquaintance grew 
 
 'Twixt souls so formed to love each other? 
 
 How swift the happy moments flew 
 
 While all that passed was <e sister" — " brother ;" 
 
 LXXXII. 
 
 And Chastity sat smiling by 
 
 And taught them sweetest songs of gladness ; 
 To cherish virtue's holy tie 
 
 And shun the walks that lead to sadness. 
 
41 
 
 LXXXIII. 
 
 But whether Love's uneasy ever, 
 And fond of paddling in the water, 
 
 And Innocence is a short liver, 
 
 And knows like me nought of the matter; 
 
 LXXXIV. 
 
 Certain it is they took a notion 
 One day to leave the matron's cot, 
 
 And have a frolic on the ocean 
 
 Of joy in Love's sweet pleasure boat. 
 
 LXXXV. 
 
 May's spring tide flow and sunny weather, 
 As wont, their kind assistance lent ; 
 
 While Love's soft sail and oar of feather 
 To sound of music gaily went. 
 
 <; 
 
42 
 
 LXXXVI. 
 
 They saw the vales in distance sink, 
 And left afar the green isle's strand: — 
 
 ee Adieu," cried Love, and seemed to think. 
 They voyaged to some happier land ; 
 
 LXXXVII. 
 
 \^ .-.•". 
 
 And sportive still the wanton threw 
 
 His arms around sweet Innocence, 
 When lo ! a gust of fury blew 
 
 And whelmed in ruin every sense. 
 
 LXXXVIII. 
 
 By mystic sympathy conveyed, 
 
 The fate irrevocably dire 
 That doomed the daughter to the shade, 
 
 Condemned the parent to expire ! 
 
43 
 
 LXXXIX. 
 
 Berinthia sighed as if she had not been 
 A pirate's daughter, but a child of pity, 
 
 Like simple maid that never saw a queen 
 And not at all acquainted with the city, 
 
 To hear how rudest shocks may intervene 
 As was related in this faithful ditty, 
 
 To plunge two faithful hearts in sorrow deep — 
 
 She little thought how she was doomed to weep. 
 
 XC. 
 
 The gale increased and adverse blew, like gales 
 That care not for the misery they create — 
 
 Berinthia sickened, tho' the obedient sails 
 
 To please the fair were often changed and set- 
 
 O'er Gobriano's Point a gloom prevails, 
 And Sanchez welcome Bay is distant yet ; 
 
 Sudden a gust of vengeful fury blew 
 
 And swept the fair Berinthia from the view. 
 
44 
 
 XCL 
 
 The thunder has not a more awful sweep, 
 The lightning glides not swifter o'er the wave 
 
 Than our iEgeus plunged into the deep 
 The lovely partner of his breast to save — 
 
 The waters rose in many a mountain heap, 
 
 But he soon snatched her from a watery grave. 
 
 Her lovely tresses round his soul were bound, 
 
 And by that golden hair his love he found. 
 
 XCII. 
 
 A sailor when he 'scapes the dreadful ocean 
 That buries in its womb his hapless bark — 
 
 The soul that trembles in sublime devotion 
 As to its Heaven remounts the ethereal spark— 
 
 The mother that again with wild emotion 
 Joys a lost darling's features to remark, 
 
 Feel rapture — but it equals not the burning 
 
 To see the life blood to love's cheeks returning — 
 
45 
 
 XCIII. 
 
 To mark that eye which was our light of gladness 
 Once more illumined by Heaven's sparkling ray — 
 
 To chace afar from her the gloom of sadness 
 Who was the sweet companion of our way ; 
 Wk And oh the sweet, the strange, bewildering madness 
 When on that beauteous form of fragile clay 
 
 A double life depends — the hopes, the joys 
 
 Of future years that death alone destroys. 
 
 XCIV. 
 
 He must be more than god, or less than brute, 
 
 As Aristotle aptly somewhere says, 
 Through whose cold frame such feelings do not shoot 
 
 With quickening interest some time of his days. 
 The misanthrope whom love did thus transmute 
 
 And to whose course we dedicate these lays, 
 Hung o'er Berinthia's looks with mute suspense, 
 And watched with rapture her returning sense. 
 
46 
 
 xcv. 
 
 By change of wind they got into a cove, 
 
 And safely landed were in Mitylene, 
 Where now this new Ulysses nursed his love, 
 
 But would have given no doubt full many a guinea 
 That his companion had not tried to prove 
 
 Her floating power on Neptune's wave so sheeny : 
 For it is said the lovely fair brought forth 
 A child which did not long survive its birth. 
 
 XCVI. 
 
 It was the child of love and warm desire, 
 Berinthia's pleasures died with it for ever, 
 
 And fame reports with wonder that its sire 
 Wept with the little beauteous thing to sever ! 
 
 This mournful tribute Nature will require 
 In spite of stern philosophy's palaver. 
 
 The roving sage whose heart had such meanderings 
 
 Now thought of change and mus'd on further wanderings. 
 
47 
 
 XCVII. 
 
 The wearied mind can seldom find repose 
 
 Even on a female breast, tho' fair and tender — 
 
 Instead of joy, it broods on endless woes, 
 
 And foolishly can love's sweet Heaven surrender 
 
 To go in search of phantoms, the Lord knows 
 Whither, or if they are of any gender 
 
 That may by Nature's unreversing plan 
 
 Be any wise allied to mortal man. 
 
 XCVIII. 
 
 He who had looked with such a tender passion 
 
 Upon the lovely maid of Scio's Isle, 
 Now showed that 'tis in every clime the fashion 
 
 For men to love but for a little while. 
 Berinthia now could only wake compassion, 
 
 And 'twas alike in vain to weep or smile : 
 He left her as Don Juan left his Julia, 
 And calmly marked the day in his port-folio. 
 
48 
 
 XCIX. 
 
 His sentiments he could express much better 
 In rhyme, than in the dull jog-trot of prose, 
 
 And therefore sent her a long rhyming letter, 
 In which he bade her piously compose 
 
 Her mind — he certainly would not forget her, 
 But they must try to struggle with their woes ; 
 
 Another child, the offspring of his brain, 
 
 Now claimed his care and moralizing strain. 
 
 C. 
 
 To Athens then he went, and sat him down 
 Amid the gloom of temples crumbled long, 
 
 Striving to catch the shadow of renown 
 Humming, if bats can sing, a bat-like song. 
 
 He feigned that he to fame was listless grown 
 And cared not for the opinions of the throng, 
 
 But much his heart with secret throb desired 
 
 To shew the Muses had his breast inspired. 
 
49 
 
 CI. 
 
 He never walked abroad till evening tide, 
 
 And then he crept to some old mouldering fane, 
 
 And mused till midnight there, unterrified 
 Even by the visits of the plundering train 
 
 Who come to break and steal the marble pride 
 Of Grecian toil, to turn to sordid gain 
 
 The legs and noses of the ancient sages, 
 
 Like Elgin, bartering the boast of ages. 
 
 CII. 
 
 , Through this dark mirror he surveyed mankind, 
 Their actions passing and their conduct past — 
 
 No wonder that his mental eye was blind 
 To all the fairer virtues that shall last — 
 
 To all the glories that with influence kind 
 Shall o'er weak man a bright'ning lustre cast. 
 
 With souls like his the proverb will agree — 
 
 " None are so blind as those that will not see." 
 
 ii 
 
50 
 
 cm. 
 
 He wandered too to the Castalian Hill, 
 And sat beside the waters of the spring" 
 
 Where thirsty Poets used to drink their fill, 
 
 And new-fledged fancies used to plume their wing ; 
 
 He found it now a very scanty rill 
 
 That gave the drinkers little power to sing. 
 
 We know not if our poet quaffed at all, 
 
 But if he did 'twas deeply tinged with gall. 
 
 CIV. 
 
 He seemed as bred in the Corycian cave, 
 
 And nurtured by the nymphs that loved the shade 
 
 Of those stalactic regions, where the wave 
 
 Through grottos lone in Lethe drops is spread; 
 
 Where stillness reign o'er all, as in the grave, 
 And scarce a ray of Phoebus ever played ; 
 
 But now and then some sparry gleam illumes 
 
 The wild fantastic forms that crowd the glooms, 
 
51 
 
 CV. 
 
 We will not swell our faithful Epic more, 
 
 With what in Greece our wandering lord befel ; 
 
 Tho' it is sweet to trace the scenes, the lore, 
 Of classic land by fancy's magic spell. 
 
 He now bethought him of his native shore, 
 And took of Greece and Polycarp farewell. 
 
 He home returned — excuse the weak impromptu, — 
 
 A peerage is a snug good thing to come to. 
 
 CVI. 
 
 It was with state affairs as with the schools ; 
 
 In eloquence if he aspired to shine, 
 He found he had not studied well the rules 
 
 That raise the mortal man to half divine ; 
 He called the greatest statesmen party tools 
 
 Because he was not fitted for that line. 
 He hated courts, and wrangling politics, 
 And life was a dark scene of artful tricks. 
 
52 
 
 CVII. 
 
 Yet still he trod the round of folly's maze, 
 Where fashion leads gay dissipation's train, 
 
 And pleasure shines with her bewildering rays 
 
 That soon shall make the thoughtless wretch complain ; 
 
 Well does my Lady Brag who deeply plays, 
 And Lady Caroline, and Lady Vain, 
 
 And Thespian maids that shine by candle lights, 
 
 Know how Lord Squander passed his days and nights. 
 
 CVIII. 
 
 And when the demon Ennui came, that lours 
 
 Even o'er the pride of pampered Pleasure's crest, 
 
 He~sought the shelter of paternal bowers, 
 
 Where some give both the purse and nature rest, 
 
 And rusticate, to renovate their powers ; 
 But he, who was not of the wise or 'blest, 
 
 Appalled the fiend that thus so sadly dulls, 
 
 By drinking wine from his forefathers' skulls. 
 
53 
 
 CIX. 
 
 At length his wasted fortunes to repair, 
 
 He thought on marriage and its sober joys : — 
 
 He won a beauteous and a virtuous fair, 
 
 And passed some time in love's serene employs ; 
 
 Butple asure was with him a child of air — 
 It is the sweetest dish that soonest cloys : 
 
 And he whose heart feels libertine desire 
 
 Is ever burning with Promethean fire. 
 
 CX. 
 
 The bower of happiness is not adorned 
 By vain exotic gew-gaws, fancy bred ; 
 
 Love and the peaceful Lares ne'er sojourned 
 Where man with pride the social circle fled : 
 
 In moody discontent Lord Squander scorned 
 The fire-side pleasures and the myrtle shade, 
 
 In which the smiling blameless loves delight, 
 
 Chacing alone wild Pleasure's meteor light. 
 
54 
 
 CXI. 
 
 In vain the tears of virtuous love were shed, 
 In vain the sweetest bloom of Hymen's bower 
 
 With smiles of innocence its arms out-spread, 
 
 To wake the passions that the heart o'er-power — 
 
 The breast that should have own'd their throb was dead 
 To all that gives to life its golden hour — 
 
 Alas ! no pure, no lasting pleasures shine 
 
 For the loose bosom of the libertine — 
 
 CXII. 
 
 He hates whatever takes th' angelic form 
 Of virtue, dignified by woman's mind ; 
 
 Himself as vile and grovelling as the worm, 
 He glories to degrade all human kind — 
 
 His breast is like the scene of winter's storm, 
 Swept by wild passion's bleak ungenial wind ; 
 
 And of all wretches by rude passion curst, 
 
 A sentimental libertine's the worst. 
 
55 
 
 CXIII. 
 
 It is not in the softest witchery 
 
 Of smiles all meek and pure as heavenly breast, 
 Or cheek of rosy bloom, or azure eye, 
 
 Or deeper sacrifice of heart, expressed 
 In love's own tears, and gently stealing sigh, 
 
 Can bind licentious minds — mad and unblest 
 They flounder on amid their vicious lair, 
 Laying the crude foundations of despair. 
 
 CXIV. 
 
 What would have rapture been, and sweetest spring 
 Of happy days, to any heart that knew 
 
 The value of that love and fostering 
 
 Which but for him in purest bosom grew, — ■ 
 
 The love that with a fond and guardian wing, 
 He should have shielded and have cherished too, 
 
 Was lost on him — with cold unkind alloy 
 
 He poisoned all life's dearest cup of joy. 
 
56 
 
 cxv. 
 
 That loving heart, that mind so richly stored 
 With all that charms till life itself decays, 
 
 Which fondly chose him for their happy lord, 
 And gave to him the peace of after days 
 
 To keep — the gem that cannot be restored 
 When dark ingratitude bedims its rays, 
 
 He gave to misery with wanton pride, 
 
 And widowed in her bloom a wife and bride. 
 
 CXVI. 
 
 Don Juan's wives were almost far beyond 
 His calculation, they came in so fast ; 
 
 The Don of womankind was very fond, 
 But the bold Spaniard scorned until the last 
 
 To feign he felt affection's tender bond 
 When he the rubicon of vice had passed : 
 
 Juan confessed his errors very plain, 
 
 Nor sung his griefs in hypocritic strain. 
 
57 
 
 OXVII. 
 
 If revelling found with demireps, actresses, 
 And the frail sisterhood that haunt the West, 
 
 He made no furious war on Governesses, 
 
 Because their tongues, poor chatterers, would not rest ; 
 
 Poor Juan never madly swore, Heav'n blesses us ! 
 Their blood was green and worms would them detest, 
 
 But our redoubted sage, who felt as no man, 
 
 Fell furious on a poor defenceless woman. 
 
 CXVIII. 
 
 Women will peep, and women's tongues will move 
 When there's a secret that is worth the keeping ; 
 
 On all occasions that relate to love 
 
 The pretty things were never yet found sleeping : 
 
 There are who think it 's no crime to rove 
 
 Though 'tis a sad offence to be found peeping — 
 
 Mind this morality, ye Governesses, 
 
 And check your prying eyes and subtile guesses. 
 
58 
 
 CXIX. 
 
 Beware of vengeful satire, of foul ink 
 
 Discharged with deadly and inhuman rage ; 
 
 Think of the Lady Godiva, and think 
 Of peeping Tom of the historic page ; 
 
 You know not of the strange unnatural link, 
 
 That binds the meanest heart to mind, that's sage ; 
 
 The futile venom that our Juan's breast, 
 
 Pour'd on his Lady's friend will speak the rest. 
 
 cxx. 
 
 He said the earliest friend of her he loved, 
 
 She who had formed that mind his soul admired, 
 
 And led her beauteous pupil unreproved 
 
 Through dangerous paths of youth, by virtue fired, 
 
 Was like a female dog-star, never moved 
 By aught that ever kindliest breast inspired ; 
 
 And prayed with demon curse her grave might be, 
 
 No bed of rest, but festering infamy. 
 
59 
 
 CXXL 
 
 Oh it is worthy of the noble mind, 
 Of Juan's virtue and of Lara's pride, 
 
 To vent its coward rage on woman-kind 
 
 When other means of vengeance are denied ! 
 
 And when a tale unvarnished, unrefined, 
 Won't serve the turn, to rally on one's side 
 
 The powers of verse, on the obnoxious classes 
 
 To hurl the whole artillery of Parnassus ; 
 
 CXXII. 
 
 To feign those feelings which the heart has not, 
 To talk of purest love in lofty strain, 
 
 Of broken hearts, affection long forgot, 
 And of fond violated vows complain — 
 
 To wash away the deep, " the damning spot," 
 Where love lies bleeding on fair virtue's fane, 
 
 Not even the Muses shall prevail — the Nine 
 
 Abhor the deed and spurn the unfeeling line. 
 
60 
 
 CXXIII. 
 
 There are whose hearts are of the flinty rock, 
 Yet claim the tenderness of Hammond's lay 5 
 
 Who with a cold philosophy can mock 
 
 The cheerful scenes that bid our hearts be gay I 
 
 Rank Bedlamites, that would each feeling shock 
 Because they wantonly have gone astray 
 
 From the plain simple paths of meek content, 
 
 And found the flowers were false where'er they went. 
 
 CXXIV. 
 
 The pen he took, alas ! the poet's pen, 
 That ne'er should act the hypocritic part, 
 
 To tell the world in well affected strain 
 The soft and tender feelings of his heart — 
 
 In that pure bosom where his head had lain, 
 To plant with cruel hand another dart — 
 
 To bid a long adieu, " farewell for ever," 
 
 To her from whom he'd promis'd ne'er to sever, i 
 
61 
 
 cxxv. 
 
 Of self, and self-created sorrows still, 
 
 As ever ran his egotizing lay, 
 He raved, and called the Muses from their hill 
 
 To bear his unrepentant sighs away. 
 No patron he of those who drink the rill 
 
 Where Aganippe's wandering waters play, 
 Yet did he think each Muse for him would weep, 
 When launched again an exile on the deep. 
 
 CXXVI. 
 
 Can pride, " which not a world can bow" — vain boast! 
 
 With influence ungenial, thus subdue 
 The husband's and the father's feelings, lost 
 
 In passion's keen resentment ? Then adieu 
 To tyrant pride for ever, if it cost 
 
 All that to nature, country, fame, are due. 
 An exile and an outcast may he roam 
 Who thus destroys the sacred joys of home ! 
 
62 
 
 CX-XVII. 
 
 As if he had in Bedlam's school been bred, 
 Or Bacchus' orgies had inspired his brain, 
 
 He bound a cypress wreath around his head, 
 And went to ride on Neptune's horse again. 
 
 From home and homefelt joys he wildly fled 
 As if pursued by some unsightly train 
 
 Of Bravoes, Endriagos, Catchpoles, Giaours, 
 
 Corsairs, or Demons with unearthly powers. 
 
 CXXVIII. 
 
 To sour misanthropy abandoned quite, 
 
 Gloomy and dark, and more than ever railing 
 
 At fortune and mankind, our wayward wight, 
 On life's tumultuous sea again was sailing ; 
 
 Unpitied by the world, his sole delight 
 To seek and magnify each human failing ; 
 
 O'er Glory's fields he passed, and Thraldom's pyre, 
 
 Without one spark of exultation's fire. 
 
CXXIX. 
 
 In vain that heart which paused not to impart 
 
 To woman's bosom an eternal wound, 
 Claims kindred with each great, each noble heart 
 
 In England's page for patriot deeds renowned, 
 That felt on Marston's heath the fatal dart, 
 
 And dyed in Cressy's vale the ensanguined ground- 
 That blood which flowed so free for England's sake, 
 No triumphs now for Albion's sons can wake. 
 
 cxxx. 
 
 O'er Europe's late Thermopylae he trod, 
 
 Where Britain triumph'd tho' her bravery's flower 
 
 Bleeding was laid on war's empurpled sod, 
 And stern Ambition met its vengeful hour ; 
 
 But ah, he glow'd not as his fathers glow'd, 
 Who fearless bore the van of Edward's power : 
 
 The modern "Hubert" only ceased his railings 
 
 To string " old Robert's" harp to childish wailings. 
 
64 
 
 CXXXI. 
 
 The fall of that imperial diadem 
 
 That blazed afar with unpropitious light, 
 
 Like war's red star, and set the world in flame, 
 He mourned as set in everlasting night ; 
 
 And cried on Gaul and Gallic heroes " shame," 
 Though he had gloried in the eagle's flight 
 
 To Elba's rock, and bade the vulture's part 
 
 His muse perform, to wound the hero's heart. 
 
 CXXXII. 
 
 Like that unhappy maniac, poor Rousseau, 
 He then retired to Nature's bosom wild, 
 
 To nurse at will his self-created woe 
 
 And whet the spleen of his ill-humoured Childe, 
 
 He went where sentimental wanderers go, 
 
 Who cannot get the lingering hours beguiled — 
 
 To famed Geneva's lake, romantic, lone, 
 
 Where they may drink, or sing, or drown unknown. 
 
65 
 
 CXXXIII. 
 
 And there he sat him down amid the scenes 
 That even Rousseau's untoward mind could please, 
 
 Where, tho' his frantic passion intervenes, 
 We joy to sit with matchless Heloise, 
 
 Or rove where still she roves by fancy's means, 
 And catch her lovelorn sighs upon the breeze — 
 
 Ah ! many a breast have dreams like her's beguiled 
 
 To breathe loose sighs and harbour passion wild. 
 
 CXXXIV. 
 
 There, where the boast of Geneva first drew 
 The breath of Fancy's own romantic clime, 
 
 In humble mansion, now not over new, 
 
 And scribbled o'er with many a doggrel rhyme, 
 
 Poor Harold sat, or wandered 'mid the dew 
 Of Jura's mountain paths and scenes sublime ; 
 
 Or launched upon the Lake amid the storm, 
 
 Rejoiced to see it Nature's face deform ; 
 
66 
 
 exxxv. 
 
 Rejoiced to mark the night of darkness deep y 
 Of tempest and of thunder loud descend. 
 
 And call it glorious revelry to keep 
 Vigils, as if o'er Nature's awful end ; 
 
 Pleased to behold the lightning's fatal sweep, 
 And see with horrid mirth the thunder rend 
 
 The mountains and the trembling earth, as when 
 
 The earthquake comes, to chill the hearts of men. 
 
 CXXXVI. 
 
 So stands the lonely, scath'd, and ruin'd pine, 
 Amidst the desolation of the blight 
 
 That vengeful struck, as with a bolt divine, 
 Its honours to the dust, and bade the light 
 
 Of spring and joy for it no longer shine ; 
 
 Such was our wanderer in the waste of night ; 
 
 And such the ravages of passion's strife 
 
 That wither peace, and blast the bloom of life. 
 
67 
 
 CXXXVII. 
 
 < 
 
 There too, where hermit-like, but gay Voltaire, 
 To nature's sanctuary retired remote, 
 
 And sat like Rabelais in his easy chair, 
 Laughing at others' faith and luckless lot ! 
 
 Where Calvin calmed his troubled day, and where 
 Immortal as his Rome great Gibbon wrote ; 
 
 Where Milton's friend too dwelt, sage Diodati, 
 
 And Madam Stael, prolific as potatoe. 
 
 CXXXVIII. 
 
 In rival conclave there and dark divan 
 
 He met and mingled with the Vampyre crew 
 
 Who hate the virtues and the form of man, 
 And strive to bring fresh monsters into view ; 
 
 Who mock the inscrutable Almighty's plan 
 By seeking truth and order to subdue — 
 
 Scribblers, who fright the novel reading tram 
 
 With mad creations of th' unsettled brain. 
 
68 
 
 CXXXIX. 
 
 There Frankenstein was hatched — the wretch abhorred, 
 Whom shuddering Sh y saw in horrid dream 
 
 Plying his task where human bones are stored, 
 And there the Vampyre quaffed the living stream 
 
 From beauty's veins — such sights could joy afford, 
 To this strange coterie, glorying in each theme, 
 
 That wakes disgust in other minds— Lord Harold 
 
 Sung wildly too, but none knew what he carolled. 
 
 CXL. 
 
 From the wild waste of waters and of mountains, 
 And gloomy minds that pleasure never fills, 
 
 He roamed to lovely Venice, where the fountains 
 Of love and joy unlock their sparkling rills 
 
 At the gay carnival ; where you may count tens 
 Of thousands, reckless of their swinging bills, 
 
 In the voluptuous Gondola gaily riding, 
 
 Like Cleopatra at her helm presiding. 
 
69 
 
 CXLI. 
 
 But there, even there, where pleasure spreads o'er all 
 
 A sweet delirium, an oblivion kind, 
 The misanthrope was deaf to rapture's call, 
 
 And even to beauty's loveliest charms was blind — 
 Borne o'er the wave in many a dying fall, 
 
 Not music's softest strains could sooth his mind — 
 He stood upon the bridge, like man of sighs, 
 And shut his ears, and closed his jaundiced eyes. 
 
 CXLII. 
 
 So when the happy carnival is o'er, 
 
 You hear of nothing but repentance sad, 
 
 And sermons treating of the tempter's power, 
 Enough to drive a common sinner mad ; 
 
 And thus a solemn methodist will lour 
 On all he thinks are radically bad — 
 
 Though there are out of Venice some that preach 
 
 Who in the sixth command have made a breach. 
 
70 
 
 CXLIII. 
 
 Here then we'll leave our wandering poet planning, 
 Some tale to speak the colour of his mind, 
 
 Querulous and dark, nor too correctly scanning 
 The moral of his story, or the kind 
 
 Of heroes whom his fancy's ever spawning 
 And setting up as beings most refined — 
 
 Juan the profligate, poor whipt Mazeppa, 
 
 The discontented Childe, or silly Beppo. 
 
 CXLIV. 
 
 " Farewell ! a word that hath been and must be," 
 And "if for ever," still, so much the better ; 
 
 And should you mend not your morality, 
 Another Canto, or a rhyming letter, 
 
 May teach, Lord Beppo, your nobility 
 A due attention to this simple matter — 
 
 That scorn awaits the wretch, whate'er his pride, 
 
 Who toils for vice and spreads corruption wide! 
 
NOTES. 
 
NOTES. 
 
 On second thoughts, and these, 'tis said, are best, 
 
 I cannot see why I afar should roam, 
 To find a hero, fyc. P. \. st. i. 
 
 The first stanza of the Poem of Don Juan has exhi- 
 bited the author at a loss for a hero : he is not enamoured 
 of the glory acquired by military heroes, either of ancient 
 or modern times ; nor is he an admirer of any of those 
 examples of patriotism and virtue to which the world 
 looks with love and veneration ; he has no notion of in- 
 culating the necessity and advantage of imitating exam- 
 ples of moral beauty and rectitude, — he rather chooses to 
 select for his theme the character and ad ventures of an 
 abandoned libertine of the most notorious order, not appa- 
 rently as a " useful moral, or a discouragement to vice," 
 by depicting a dreadful punishment inflicted upon it, as 
 the play founded on the story represents, but to dress up 
 a fancied specimen of profligate immorality in the most 
 
 L 
 
74 NOTES. 
 
 alluring colours, to war against virtue, turn decorum into 
 jest, and bid defiance to all the established decencies of 
 life. 
 
 " I want a hero, an uncommon want, 
 
 " When every year and month sends out a new one, 
 
 " Till after cloying the gazettes with cant 
 ** The age discovers he is not the true one : 
 
 *' Of such as these I should not care to vaunt, 
 
 " I'll therefore take our ancient friend Don Juan ; 
 
 " We all have seen him in the pantomime 
 
 " Sent to the devil somewhat ere his time." 
 
 The additional Canto here offered to the public, and 
 the change thus ventured to be made in the principal 
 personage, is intended to show that the author needs be 
 at no loss for a subject suitable to the object he has in 
 view, notwithstanding the " uncommon want" he pre- 
 tends to feel. Tom Shadwell, in the preface to his 
 tragedy of Don Juan, informs us that the story of his 
 vicious Spaniard used to be acted in Italy under the 
 name of Atheisto Fulminato, in churches on Sundays, as 
 a part of devotion. Tom Shadwell, though he delinea- 
 ted for the public a sufficiently outrageous series of pic- 
 tures of vice, was a blushing poet — at least he tells us 
 that he could blush in his dedication; but the noble 
 
NOTES. 75 
 
 author of the Don Juan of our day, in endeavouring to 
 improve upon the Spanish and Italian tradition, has sub- 
 mitted to the public without a blush or the smallest sign 
 of remorse, a work which, notwithstanding its poetical 
 embellishments, is scarcely fit to be read in a bagnio. 
 
 Suppose we then to northern i&ilds repair 
 # # * * # % 
 
 To the lone barren rocks of Loch-na-Gair, 
 Where rises into strength the Dee 's fair stream. 
 
 P. 4. st. vii. 
 
 t. Lord Byron acknowledges to have passed the early 
 part of his life in the Highlands of Scotland. The scene 
 of his infancy was in the neighbourhood of Lochin-y- 
 Gair, or as it is pronounced in the Gaelic, Loch-na- 
 Garr, (the Loch of the Gair) at the head of the River 
 Dee, near Invercauld, in the North Highlands, where 
 his father had a small property, derived from the Gor- 
 dons, the name of his lordship's mother. The moun- 
 tain of Loch-na-Garr is one of the most sublime and 
 picturesque of the " Caledonian Alps." The recollec- 
 tions associated with the scene of his early days, gave 
 birth to the following effusion of his lordship's muse, 
 
76 NOTES. 
 
 which, though a juvenile production, is one of the finest 
 and most pleasing of his poems. 
 
 LOCH-NA-GARR. 
 
 I. 
 
 Away, ye gay landscapes ! ye gardens of roses ! 
 
 In you let the minions of luxury rove ; 
 Restore me the rocks where the snow-flake reposes, 
 
 Though still they are sacred to freedom and love : 
 Yet, Caledonia ! belov'd are thy mountains, 
 
 Round their white summits though elements war, 
 Though cataracts foam, 'stead of smooth flowing fountains, 
 
 I sigh for the valley of dark Looh-na-Garrt 
 
 II. 
 
 Ah ! there my young footsteps, in infancy, wander'd, 
 
 My cap was the bonnet, my cloak was the plaid ; 
 On chieftains long perish'd, my memory ponder' d, 
 
 As daily I strode through the pine-covered glade ; 
 I sought not my home, till the day's dying glory 
 
 Gave place to the rays of the bright polar star ; 
 For fancy was cheer'd by traditional story, 
 
 Disclos'd by the native* of dark Loch-na-Garr. 
 
NOTES. 77 
 
 III. 
 
 Shades of the dead ! have I not heard your voices 
 
 Rise on the night-rolling breath of the gale ? 
 Surely the soul of the hero rejoices, 
 
 And rides on the wind, o'er his own Highland vale? 
 Round L6ch-na-Garr, while the stormy mist gathers, 
 
 Winter presides in his cold icy car ; 
 Clouds, there, encircle the forms of my Fathers, 
 
 They dwell in the tempests of dark Loch-na-Garr. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Ill-starred,* though brave, did no visions foreboding, 
 Tell you that fate had forsaken your cause ? 
 
 Ah ! you were destin'd to die at Culloden ?f 
 Victory crown'd not your fall with applause ; 
 
 * I allude here to my maternal ancestors the Gordons ; many of 
 whom fought for the unfortunate Prince Charles, better known by the 
 name of the Pretender. This branch was nearly allied by blood,, as 
 well as attachment, to the Stewarts. George, the second Earl of 
 Huntley, married the Princess Annabella Stewart, daughter of 
 James IT. of Scotland, and hy her he left four sons. The third Sir 
 William Gordon I have the honour to claim as one of my progenitors. 
 —Lord B. 
 
 f Whether any perished in the battle of Culloden, I am not cer- 
 tain ; but as many fell in the insurrection, I have used the name of 
 the principal action ; " pars pro toto." — Lord B. 
 
78 NOTES. 
 
 Still were you happy in death's early slumber, 
 
 You rest with your clan, in the caves of Braemar,^ 
 
 The Pibroch§ resounds to the piper's loud number, 
 Your deeds, on the echoes of dark Loch-na-Garr. 
 
 V. 
 
 Years have rolled on, Loch-na-Garr, since I left you, 
 
 Years must elapse, e'er I tread you again ; 
 Nature of verdure and flowers has bereft you, 
 
 Yet still are you dearer than Albion's plain : 
 England ! thy beauties are tame and domestic, 
 
 To one who has rov'd on the mountains afar; 
 Oh ! for the crags that are wild and majestic, 
 
 The steep frowning glories of dark Loch-na-Garr. 
 
 Our hero 's foot was round as any bowl. P, 10, st. xviii. 
 
 It is a singular coincidence that both Lord Byron and 
 Mr. Walter Scott have been lame, (or as it is called club- 
 footed), from their birth. 
 
 % A track of the Highlands so called; there is also a castle of 
 Braemar. 
 
 § A piece of martial music performed on the bagpipe. 
 
NOTES. 79 
 
 A peerage came, 
 And gave our beggar-boy a noble name. P. 11. st. xxi. 
 
 Few have had more reasons to be thankful to fortune 
 and to Providence for the acquisition of wealth and ho- 
 nour than Lord Byron ; notwithstanding the spleen and 
 misanthropical repinings in which he appears so much 
 disposed to indulge. He certainly was at one time in a 
 situation of life very inferior to the inheritor of a peerage. 
 His accession to the estate and title of the Byron family 
 appears to have been one of those remarkable events that 
 can scarcely be looked for ; which convert a distant branch 
 into the principal tree, and make a new era in a family 
 history. The following anecdotes of the Byrons, will 
 shew the antiquity of the family, and the relation in 
 which the present lord stood when the title and inheritance 
 devolved upon him. 
 
 The family of Byron were early seated at the lordship 
 of Clayton, in Lancashire. Sir Richard Byron, who died 
 in 1398, acquired possessions in Nottinghamshire, by 
 marrying the heiress of Colewick of Colewick. His 
 descendant, Sir John Byron of Colewick, took part with 
 Henry, Earl of Richmond, at the battle of Bosworth ; 
 and died in 1488. His grandson, Sir John Byron, had 
 a grant of the priory of Newstead, in Nottinghamshire, 
 in 1540. His son, Sir John, had three sons and five 
 
80 NOTES. 
 
 daughters, of whom Margery was mother of Colonel 
 John Hutchinson, the parliamentarian, whose Memoirs 
 were some time since published. 
 
 Sir Nicholas Byron, the eldest son, was an eminent 
 loyalist, who having distinguished himself in the wars of 
 the Low Countries, was appointed governor of Chester, in 
 1642. Lord Clarendon says, he was "a soldier of very 
 good command, who being a person of great affability 
 and dexterity, as well as martial knowledge, gave great 
 life to the designs of the well-affected there ; and with the 
 encouragement of some gentlemen of North Wales, in a 
 short time raised such a power of horse and foot as 
 made often skirmishes with the enemy ; sometimes with 
 notable advantage ; never with any signal loss." 
 
 He had two sons, who both died without issue ; and 
 his younger brother, Sir John, became their male heir : this 
 person was made a Knight of the Bath, at the corona- 
 tion of James I. He had eleven sons, of whom the 
 major part distinguished themselves for their loyalty and 
 gallantry on the side of Charles I. Sir Thomas, a younger 
 son, commanded the Prince of Wales's regiment at the 
 battle of Hopton-heath ; and Lord Clarendon calls him 
 " a gentleman of great courage, and very good conduct, 
 who charged with good execution." His elder brother, 
 Sir John Byron, makes a conspicuous figure in the pages 
 
NOTES. 81 
 
 of thai-aoble historian, for his activity, and the important 
 commands entrusted to him. " In truth," says he, u there 
 was no gentleman in the kingdom of a better reputation 
 among all sorts of men." 
 
 On his appointment to the Lieutenancy of the Tower 
 of London, the opponents of the court remonstrated ; 
 and the king answered, that " he did not expect, having 
 preferred a person of a known fortune and unquestionable 
 reputation to that trust, he should have been pressed to 
 remove him without any particular charge ;" but after- 
 wards, when Sir John himself desired to be " freed from 
 the agony and vexation of that place," his majesty con- 
 sented to the alteration. 
 
 He was created Lord Byron, Oct. 24, 1643, with a 
 collateral remainder to his brothers. After various honour- 
 able services, he was, on the decline of the king's affairs, 
 appointed governor to the Duke of York ; in which 
 office he died in France, in 1652, without issue. His 
 brother, Richard, became second Lord Byron ; he was 
 knighted by Charles I. and had a command at the battle 
 of Edgehill. He was governor of Appleby-castle, and 
 also distinguished himself in the government of Newark. 
 He died 1679, aged 74, and it is recorded on his tomb, 
 in the church of Hucknal-Torkard, that " with the rest 
 of his family, being seven brothers, he faithfully served 
 
 M 
 
82 \ NOTES. 
 
 King Charles I. in the civil wars," and that they " suf- 
 fered much for their loyalty, and lost all their fortunes ; 
 yet it pleased God so to bless the honest endeavours of 
 the said Richard, Lord Byron, that he re-purchased part 
 of their ancient inheritance, which he left to his posterity, 
 with a laudable; memory for great piety and charity." 
 
 Hisson William, thiud Lord Byron, died 1695, leaving 
 his son William, fourth peer, who died at Newstead 
 Abbey, 1736, leaving five sons, of whom John, the se- 
 cond, was the well known admiral ; but William, the 
 eldest, became fifth peer, and died without surviving 
 issue male, May 19, 1791, on which the honour fell 
 to his great nephew, George Gordon Byron, the present 
 and sixth Lord Byron. 
 
 The mother of the present lord was Miss Gordon of 
 Gight. She is said to have been the last of that branch 
 of the family who are descended from the Princess Jane 
 Stuart, daughter of James II. of Scotland, who married 
 the Earl of Huntley ; from the elder branch, the Countess 
 of Sutherland is descended. John Byron, his lordship's 
 father, died soon after his son was born. William, the 
 heir apparent, who had gone into the army, was killed in 
 the island of Corsica, a considerable time before the death 
 of his grandfather ; on which event his cousin became the 
 heir presumptive to the title ; which some time after, by 
 
NOTES. 83 
 
 the death of the old lord, his grand-uncle, devolved upon 
 him, while he was yet very young. 
 
 Lord Byron's childhood continued to keep the title out 
 of public view ; but in time he began to distinguish it by 
 his eccentricities at school an d college. He received the 
 rudiments of his education in Scotland ; from whence he 
 was sent to Harrow School, and afterwards went to the 
 university of Cambridge. 
 
 The eccentricities laid to his lordship's charge, whilst 
 at these places, are said to have been numerous, and to 
 have been productive of some serious scholastic admo- 
 nitions ; but whether to the extent of those supposed to 
 have attended the irregularities of the fictitious hero of 
 this poem, it will be the task of the biographer to shew. 
 It is well known that his lordship early evinced his talent 
 at poetical invective, and that some of his instructors 
 fell under the lash of his juvenile pen. 
 
 A Marlborough pawning plate — A Cecil peeping^ fyc. 
 
 P. 12. st. xxiii. 
 
 Some late proceedings in the Court of Chancery, and 
 the anecdotes of noble and distinguished persons, related 
 in the newspapers, will explain these allusions. 
 
84 NOTES. 
 
 Childe Harold justly remarks: 
 
 — One sad losel soils a name for aye, 
 However mighty in the olden time ; 
 
 Nor all that heralds rake from cofhVd clay, 
 Nor florid prose, nor honied lies of rhyme, 
 
 Can blazon evil deeds, or consecrate a crime. 
 
 Anatis' self, fyc. P. 1 5. st. xxix. 
 
 A lady of antiquity, who being a goddess beside, was 
 in her conduct rather above the usual restraints of de- 
 corum. Vide Heathen Mythology. 
 
 The lord of Newstead Abbey was not born 
 
 To plod like dull philosophers, fyc. P. 17. st. xxxii. 
 
 Newstead Abbey, in Nottinghamshire, was founded as 
 a Priory of Black Canons, about 1170, by Henry the 
 Second. At the dissolution, its revenues were estimated 
 at £229, and it was granted to Sir John Byron, at 
 that time Lieutenant of Sherwood Forest. It is situated 
 in a vale, in the midst of an extensive park, finely planted. 
 
NOTES. 85 
 
 The noble owner, in his Juvenile Poems, has given us the 
 
 following beautiful lines on leaving Newstead Abbey ; 
 
 they will explain an allusion in a subsequent part of the 
 
 Poem. 
 
 I. 
 
 Thro' thy battlements, Newstead, the hollow winds whistle ; 
 
 Thou, the hall of my fathers, art gone to decay ; 
 In thy once smiling garden, the hemlock and thistle 
 
 Have chok'd up the rose, which late bloom'd in the way. 
 
 II. 
 
 Of the mail-cover'd barons, who proudly to battle 
 Led their vassals from Europe to Palestine's plain 
 
 The escutcheon and shield, which with every blast rattle. 
 Are the only sad vestiges now that remain. 
 
 III. 
 
 No more doth old Robert, with harp stringing numbers, 
 Raise a flame in the breast, for the war-Iaurell'd wreath % 
 
 Near Askelon's towers, John of Horitston* slumbers, 
 Unnerv'd is the hand of his minstrel, by death. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Paul and Hubert too sleep in the valley of Cressy, 
 For the safety of Edward and England they fell ; 
 
 My fathers ! the tears of your country redress you ; 
 
 How you fought! how you died! still her annals can tell. 
 
 * Horitston-castle, Derbyshire, an ancient seat of the Byron family. 
 
86 NOTES. 
 
 V. 
 
 On Marston,* with Rupert,f 'gainst traitors contending, 
 
 Four brothers enrich'd with their blood the bleak field ; 
 For the rights of a monarch, their country defending, 
 m Till death their attachment to royalty seal'd. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Shades of heroes, farewell; your descendant departing 
 From the seat of his ancestors, bids you adieu ; 
 
 Abroad or at home, your remembrance imparting 
 New courage, he'll think upon glory and you. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Though a tear dim his eye, at this sad separation, 
 'Tis nature, not fear, that excites his regret ; 
 
 Far distant he goes, with the same emulation, 
 The fame of his fathers he ne'er can forget. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 That fame and that memory, still will he cherish, 
 He vows, that he ne'er will disgrace your renown ; 
 
 Like you will he live, or like you will he perish : 
 
 When decay'd, may he mingle his dust with your own. 
 
 • The battle of Marston-moor, where the adherents of Charles I. were 
 defeated. 
 
 t Son of the Elector Palatine, and related to Charles I : he afterwards 
 commanded the fleet, in the reign of Charles II. 
 
NOTES. 87 
 
 Whom he denominated fools andfutors'. P. 17. st. xxxii. 
 
 Futor (Scottice) a term of reproach, signifying stupid 
 fellow, or any opprobrious meaning you may choose to 
 attach to it. 
 
 The poems of a Minor, 
 •scoffed at by the Edinburgh Review. 
 
 At English Bards and Scotch Reviewers then 
 He raged, S(c. P. 19. st. xxxvi. and xxxvii. 
 
 In 1807, were published a collection of Poems, en- 
 titled " Idle Hours," by a Minor. This volume was 
 treated with considerable harshness by the Edinburgh 
 Reviewers, on whom his lordship retorted with great 
 severity in a satirical effusion, entitled " English Bards and 
 Scotch Reviewers," which had for some time a very rapid 
 sale, but was suppressed by his lordship, who prevented 
 a fifth edition from being published, even after it was 
 printed. 
 
 Next Cam received him — Cam that oft has heard 
 Midst learning's shrines t the dissolute voice of glee. 
 
 P. 20. st. xxxviii. 
 Childe Harold has been considered by many as a por- 
 traiture of the author : he has certainly given us in the 
 
88 NOTES. 
 
 character of the wandering and unhappy Childe, many 
 faithful pictures of himself ; and though in his preface 
 he prudently disclaimed the connection, he has since by 
 closer incorporation of his own affairs with the story of 
 his hero, made that unamiable character appear his own. 
 Of the early irregularities of the Childe, he speaks thus : 
 
 Whilome in Albion's isle there dwelt a youth 
 
 Who ne'er in virtue's ways did take delight ; 
 But spent his days in riot most uncouth, 
 
 And vex'd with mirth the drowsy ear of night. 
 Ah, me ! in sooth he was a shameless wight, 
 
 Sore given to revel and ungodly glee ; 
 Few earthly things found favour in his sight 
 
 Save concubines and carnal companie, 
 And flaunting wassaillers of high and low degree. 
 
 Childe Harold was he hight ; but whence his name 
 
 And lineage long, it suits me not to say ; 
 Suffice it that perchance they were of fame, 
 
 And had been glorious in another day. 
 
 If a man can speak thus of himself he is certainly very 
 candid: to this praise his lordship seems desirous of 
 entitling himself; for in another of his early productions, 
 not inferior in poetical merit to his celebrated " Farewell," 
 
NOTBS. 89 
 
 lie has not hesitated to poui*tray and to publish the 
 following painful, but finely delineated picture of the 
 ■effects of a love disappointment upon his health and 
 ^conduct. 
 
 To 
 
 [From " Hours of Idleness."] 
 <{ Oh! had my fate been joined with thine, 
 
 As once this pledge appeared a token; 
 These follies had not, then, been mine, 
 
 For, then, my peace had not been broken. 
 
 To thee, these early faults I owe, 
 To thee, the wise and old reproving; 
 
 They know my sins, but do not know 
 'Twas thine to break the bonds of loving. 
 
 For, once my soul like thine was pure, 
 And all its rising fires could smother ; 
 
 But now, thy vows no more endure, 
 Bestow'd by thee upon another. 
 
 Perhaps, his peace I could destroy, 
 And spoil the blisses that await him ; 
 
 Yet let my rival smile in joy, 
 
 For thy dear sake I cannot hate him. 
 
90 NOTES. 
 
 Ah! since thy angel form is gone, 
 My heart no more can rest with any ; 
 
 But what it sought in thee alone 
 Attempts, alas ! to find in many. 
 
 Then, fare thee well, deceitful maid, 
 'Twere vain and fruitless to regret thee ; 
 
 Nor hope, nor memory yield their aid, 
 But pride may teach me to forget thee. 
 
 Yet all this giddy waste of years, 
 
 This tiresome round of palling pleasures ; 
 
 These varied loves, these matron's fears, 
 
 These thoughtless strains to passion's measures. 
 
 If thou wert mine, had all been hush'd ; 
 
 This cheek now pale from early riot, 
 With passion's hectic ne'er had flush'd, 
 
 But bloom'd in calm domestic quiet. 
 
 Yes, once the rural scene was sweet, 
 For Nature seem'd to smile before thee ; 
 
 And once my breast abhorr'd deceit, 
 For then it beat but to adore thee. 
 
NOTES. 91 
 
 But, now, I seek for other joys ; 
 
 To think, would drive my soul to madness : 
 In thoughtless throngs, and empty noise, 
 
 I conquer half my bosom's sadness. 
 
 Yet even in these, a thought will steal, 
 
 In spite of every vain endeavour ; 
 And fiends might pity what I feel, 
 
 To know, that thou art lost for ever." 
 
 Early perverted thus to shameful ways, 
 The mind grows rank with noxious weeds alone. 
 
 P. 21. st. xl. 
 
 " Early perversion of mind and morals leads to satiety 
 of past pleasures, and disappointment in new ones ; and 
 even the beauties of nature, and the stimulus of travel, 
 (except ambition, the most powerful of all excitements) 
 are lost on a soul so constituted, or rather misdirected." 
 — Additional Preface to Childe Harold. 
 
 But first he took in his wild wandering course 
 The coast of Spain, and landing there at Cadiz, 
 
 Began to exercise all Cupid's force 
 Upon the tender bosoms of the ladies. 
 
 P. 23. st. xlv. 
 
92 tfoTfis. 
 
 All have their fooleries— —-not alike are thiner 
 
 Fair Cadiz, rising o'er the dark blue sea ! 
 Soon as the matin bell proclaimeth nine 
 
 Thy saint adorers count the rosary % 
 Much is the Virgin teazed to shrive them free, 
 
 (Well do I ween the only virgin there !) 
 From crimes as numerous as her beadsmen be ; 
 
 Then to the crowded Circus forth they fare 
 Young, old, high, Tow, at once the same diversion shaye^ 
 — Childe Harold ', Canto I. 
 
 The enticing manners of the Spanish fair, 
 Their figures and the way in which they move, fyc* 
 
 P. 24. st. xlvi. 
 
 Match me, ye climes which poets love to laud ; 
 
 Match me, ye harams of the land! where now 
 I strike my strain, far distant, to applaud 
 
 Beauties that even a cynic must avow ; 
 Match me those houries, whom ye scarce allow 
 
 To taste the gale lest love should ride the wind, 
 With Spain's dark glancing daughters — deign to know 
 
 There your wise Prophet's paradise we find 
 His black eyed maids of Heav'n angelically kind- 
 ~Childe Harold, Canto 1. 
 
NOTES. 93 
 
 Her eye (I'm very fond of handsome eyes) 
 Was large and dark, suppressing half its fire 
 
 Until she spoke, then through its soft disguise 
 Flashed an expression more of pride than ire, 
 
 And love than either, 
 
 Her glossy hair was clustered o'er her brow 
 
 Bright with intelligence and fair and smooth ; 
 Her eye-brow's shape was like the aerial bow, 
 Her cheek all purple with the beam of youth, &c. 
 -Description of Julia in Don Julia, Canto 1 . 
 
 And Lisbon was of Europe the St. Giles, fyc. 
 
 P. 25. st. xlix. 
 The following description of Lisbon, is more true than 
 poetical. 
 
 But whoso entereth within this town 
 
 That, sheening far, celestial seems to be, 
 Disconsolate will wander up and down 
 
 'Mid many things unsightly to strange ee; 
 For hut and palace show like filthily ; 
 
 The dingy denizens are rear'd in dirt : 
 No personage of high or mean degree 
 
 Doth care for cleanness of surtout or shirt, 
 Though shent with Egypt's plague, unkempt, unwash'd, 
 unhurt. o 
 
 —CMlde Harold, Canto L 
 
94 NOTES. 
 
 Glad to escape the men who deal in blood. 
 
 P. 26. at. 1. 
 
 It is a well known fact, that in the year 1809 the as- 
 sassinations in the streets of Lisbon and its vicinity were 
 not confined by the Portuguese to their countrymen ; but 
 that Englishmen were daily butchered : and so far from 
 redress being obtained, we were requested not to inter- 
 fere if we perceived any compatriot defending himself 
 against his allies. I was once stopped in the way to the 
 theatre at eight o'clock in the evening, when the streets 
 were not more empty than they generally are at that hour 
 opposite to an open shop, and in a carriage with a friend : 
 had we not fortunately been armed, I have not the least 
 doubt that we should have adorned a tale instead of tell- 
 ing one. The crime of assassination is not confined to 
 Portugal : in Sicily and Malta we are knocked on the 
 head at a handsome average nightly, and not a Sicilian 
 or Maltese is ever punished. 
 
 Sweet Scio's isle 'twould seem he loved the best, 
 And Sopriano's mountain, green and high, §c. 
 
 P. 28. st. liv. 
 
 The following details have been given of Lord Byron's 
 
NOTES. 95 
 
 residence and travels in Greece. They are vouched for, 
 as furnished by one who had the good fortune to follow 
 his lordship's footsteps through many of the Grecian 
 Islands : 
 
 " Lord Byron had come from Abydos to 
 
 TENEDOS, 
 
 where he remained until the arrival of his pleasure vessel 
 from this island. He made frequent excursions to the 
 Continent, and here, I have no doubt, he wrote The 
 Bride of Abydos. At the time I visited the island, every 
 thing was in a deplorable state ; the Russians had ravaged 
 the place, the vineyards were destroyed, and all was 
 desolation. The house in which Lord Byron resided was 
 razed to the ground ; it stood facing the Hellespont, and 
 had a full view of the entrance to the sea of Marmora, 
 the castles and shores of the Dardanelles : but I could 
 not discover any trace of the wandering poet ; all was 
 lost in the devastation occasioned by war. The felucca 
 of Lord Byron had arrived, and on a sudden he em- 
 barked and sailed for the island of 
 
 SCIO. 
 
 " At Scio, the landing of his lordship was hailed with 
 joy by the natives, as he had been there before, and was 
 
96 NOTES. 
 
 well known ; the felucca was brought to anchor under 
 the high hill of Delgath, and Lord Byron proceeded up 
 the island on the high mountain of Sopriano, which 
 overlooks every other on the island, and from the summits 
 of which, the eye commands a most enchanting prospect 
 of nearly fifty small islands, the distant continent and a 
 placid ocean. Here stand the ruins of a temple, be- 
 lieved to have been dedicated to Apollo ; there are 
 twelve massy pillars, about forty feet in height, support- 
 ing a roof, through which the light is visible in many 
 parts* I am no architect, nor have I a genius which 
 tends that way ; but I certainly have some general know- 
 ledge of the different orders, or I should have travelled 
 with a brainless head and a blinded eye, over scenes cal- 
 culated to awaken every generous feeling of the heart, 
 and which only insanity could look upon with indifference. 
 I therefore give it as my opinion, that the temple of 
 which I am now speaking is not of Grecian architecture. 
 " In the reign of Ptolemy Philadelphus, Scio was con- 
 quered and ravaged by a fleet from Egypt, under the 
 command of Johannes Sextus : his account of the island 
 was so favourable, that he was sent back with perhaps 
 four hundred men, women, and children to colonize it, 
 and cultivate the manufactures of silk and cotton, for 
 which it is now so celebrated. These Egyptians, I have 
 no doubt, reared the temple of Apollo, but to a very 
 different divinity ; I should think to Osiris, from the em- 
 
NOTES. 97 
 
 beilishments still remaining upon the pilasters, and the 
 resemblance the cornices bear to those upon the temple 
 of Apis, in Upper Egypt. However, my purpose is not 
 to give historical disquisitions, and I have done. 
 
 " All around this ruined temple, tall trees wave majes- 
 tically in the breeze, and upon the left a gentle cascade 
 descends in murmurs to the valley below, and a small 
 lake studded with little verdant islands, the daily resort 
 of fishermen, receives its waters. The prospect is pleas- 
 ing, though not grand, calculated to inspire the mind 
 with tranquillity and peace : — 
 
 Within the ruin heedless of the dead, 
 The shelter -seeking peasant builds his shed. 
 And wondering man could want the larger pile, 
 Exulting owns his cottage with a smile. 
 
 " Beneath the stately ruins of the temple of Apollo, on 
 the hill of Sopriano, in the island of Scio, is reared a 
 small cottage, by materials torn from the stately ruins 
 which surround it : in this cottage there are only four 
 apartments, and these very small ; in two of them Lord 
 Byron took up his abode, with his fair companion. 'Tis 
 a singular fact that his lordship never visited the capital 
 once during a three months' residence upon the island ; 
 nor can I even guess at his reasons for not doing so, as 
 the town is an interesting object to every one versed in 
 
98 NOTES. 
 
 the lore of Greece. He rambled round the island to everjfo 
 classical scene, and very frequently slept at the peasant's 
 cottages, where he was sure to be well received. 
 
 " The school erected for Grecian scholars at Scio, Lord 
 Byron refused to visit ; but a deputation of the master 
 and scholars he received politely. To the scholars he 
 gave twenty praas (or a shilling each), to the master fifty 
 pounds for the use of the school, and a robe for himself 
 of velvet and satin. — In the Grecian isles, and every 
 part beneath the Turkish power, the present of a robe is 
 the highest compliment which can be paid to any indivi- 
 dual. 
 
 " The departure of Lord Byron from Scio was marked 
 by an act of benevolence. His lordship presented the 
 boat which he had purchased to the fisherman who had 
 accompanied him in his nautical excursions, and also 
 gave him ten pounds. Berinthia also gave his niece, a 
 girl of fourteen years of age, a handsome present, as she 
 had attended her since her arrival upon the island. 
 
 " Lord Byron had, during his residence upon the island, 
 explored every creek and corner it contained. The cave 
 entitled Homer's School, he visited. Scio, Mitylene, and 
 Valparos, all claim the honour of giving birth to Homer, 
 and affect to show caves, which they call his schooL 
 Now, although Homer was a poet and a wandering min- 
 
NOTES. 99 
 
 strel, history gives us no authority for supposing he ever 
 kept a school : nevertheless in Scio, Lord Byron gave to 
 the keeper of the cave a Greek Testament and some 
 money ; but this does not establish any opinion of his 
 lordship as to the actual residence of Homer in Scio. 
 The departure of Lord Byron from Scio was marked by 
 much regret on the part of the Grecians, to whom he 
 had been a sincere friend ; and even the Turks seemed 
 to lament his departure. His felucca arrived at Point 
 Sombro, and Captain Hutchison attended him with his 
 friend on board. The Turks, by an extraordinary exer- 
 tion of gallantry, fired a salute of four guns from the 
 castle, which Lord Byron returned by eight, as he left 
 the harbour of Scio, and made a visit to the island of 
 Mitylene. 
 
 " The day was calm, but the atmosphere soon took a 
 lowering aspect, and some danger accompanied the voy- 
 age of my lord. Berinthia sickened ; but the tender care 
 of his lordship restored her to health. The gale abated : 
 the vessel anchored in Sanchez Bay ; and in a few hours 
 they landed upon the isle of Mitylene. This island was 
 a favourite of Lord Byron from his early travelling days. 
 
 " How far peace and happiness extended to Lord Byron, 
 upon the favourite island, I leave the world to judge. 
 The wearied mind seldom finds repose any where, and 
 
100 NOTES. 
 
 even upon a female breast, indulges in sad melancholy, 
 in place of rapturous love. Joy and grief travel hand in 
 hand — they are concomitants ; and I fear, we must con- 
 sider them as inseparable companions in our journey 
 through life. 
 
 "One morning Lord Byron arranged matters to go fish- 
 ing, and in a large boat he sailed for the purpose, accom- 
 panied by his fair friend, who was very fond of the sport. 
 After fishing for three hours off the Point Gobriano, a 
 severe gale of wind came on, direct upon the land ; the 
 nets were abandoned, and the sails hoisted, it was 
 found impossible to weather the cape ; no alternative 
 remained, but to bear up and run into the long bleak bay 
 of Alicarno, where there is no anchorage for shipping, 
 and no safety for boats, except in the north-east corner. 
 The sea rose in heaps ; and in endeavouring to luff into 
 the cove, a most dreadful surge broke over ; the boat did 
 not overturn, but reeled upon her broadside, and, melan- 
 choly to relate, a boy was swept from the prow, and 
 Berinthia from the stern of the boat. The sails were 
 lowered, the boat almost instantly righted, and his lord- 
 ship, plunging into the waves, seized his fair friend by 
 the hair, as she was sinking, and swam with her to the 
 boat, where she very soon recovered. By a fortunate 
 change of wind the boat got into the cove, and they 
 
NOTES. 101 
 
 landed in safety, to the great joy of the inhabitants, who 
 had witnessed their danger from the cliffs, and never 
 expected to see them again alive. After this, his lordship 
 never adventured on the stormy deep in an open boat, 
 from the island of Mitylene — not, I am sure, from any 
 personal fear, but as Berinthia would not accompany 
 him, he preferred the pleasure of her company on shore. 
 It is impossible to conceive a sweeter scene for rambling, 
 than through the vine-covered hills of this delightful island. 
 
 " The imagination may picture scenes upon the tablet of 
 fancy, and embody them so that they cannot be shaken 
 off the mind ; but in Mitylene there is no reason to resort 
 to the power of fancy, for all is life and magic around ; 
 the wood-covered hill, the descending valley, perfumed 
 by every flower that blows, and the stream rolling in 
 tranquillity around the temples erected in distant ages, and 
 lashing the shores immortalized by Homer— these create a 
 very great attraction, and rivet the soul to a classical scene. 
 
 " From every information I could acquire, Lord Byron 
 appears to have been extremely attached to the island of 
 Mitylene, but the death of an infant founded his deter- 
 mination to depart from it. He has been said to have 
 shed tears upon the occasion. I am inclined to think he 
 did, for I know his heart is good, and very tender. The 
 proofs of his humanity are great. His lordship visited 
 no island upon which he did not leave some marks of his 
 
102 NOTES. 
 
 goodness. To the Greek church at Mitylene he gave 
 forty pounds British ; to the hospital he gave sixty pounds; 
 and in private charity, I am told, distributed more than 
 three hundred zechines. I am no advocate for the name 
 or character of Lord Byron ; his fame or his dishonour 
 can be of no importance to me, any further than in a 
 national point of view. 
 
 " The sun shone sweetly over the Egean main, and all 
 nature smiled around when Lord Byron left Mitylene. 
 The soft eastern breeze soon wafted him to 
 
 COS. 
 
 '* Upon this small island there was no shelter, the cottages 
 were not fit to hold their inhabitants, and not sufficiently 
 capacious to give admittance to a stranger ; but there 
 was a friendly propensity in the natives worthy of attend- 
 ing to, and his lordship availed himself of it. There are 
 not many trees in the island of Cos, but many extended 
 and beautiful vineyards, and the highest tree upon it is 
 that which bears figs. On the top of the hill called Ju- 
 nonia are the ruins of a small temple, three pillars alone 
 are standing, and all the remainder is a wreck. Over 
 the sweet scenery of the island his lordship and Berinthia 
 ran with pleasure. 
 
 " Lord Byron slept always on board of his yacht, no 
 
NOTES. 103 
 
 convenient place being to be had upon the island. To 
 those who have visited Greece the commanding prospect 
 from Villa de Torneo must be very desirable ; but at 
 Corso Point, to which Lord Byron removed his pleasure 
 vessel, his lordship was attacked by a painful disorder, 
 and obliged to be landed, and the air did not very much 
 contribute to his health. By the attention of his fair 
 friend, he gradually recovered ; and after dispensing his 
 usual bounties, much more than the natives merited, his 
 lordship departed, and arrived in safety at 
 
 ATHENS. 
 
 " The attention, I was told, of his lordship at Athens, 
 was chiefly directed to literary subjects ; and in this cele- 
 brated spot Lord Byron took up his abode, and there 
 spent much of his time in writing, and never walked out 
 until the sun was down, nor returned home till near mid- 
 night. — Here, no doubt, he traced many of the scenes 
 in " Childe Harold." From the account I heard, his 
 lordship seems at this place to have been impressed with 
 deep melancholy. " Poly carp," at whose house he re- 
 sided, related many circumstances of him, but which I 
 do not feel warranted in repeating. " As cunning as a 
 Greek," is a very old and true saying, and from our 
 eager anxiety I feared he meant to impose upon us, but I 
 
104 NOTES. 
 
 have since had reason to alter my opinion. As a coffee- 
 house-keeper he bears an exemplary character, and it is 
 generally no small recommendation to his good name, 
 that the unfortunate Tweddell chose him for his guide 
 through Athens. He shewed us a book, upon the leaves 
 of which were inscribed numerous names, succeeded 
 by recommendations of him and his house to future 
 travellers. This book I did not see until a second visit 
 to Athens. Amongst the names I observed Lord Elgin, 
 Mr. Salt, Mr. Tweddell, Lord Byron, Count Monvelio, 
 Monsieur Tallien, &c. &c. 
 
 " The accounts were interesting at the end of each name, 
 particularly that of Tweddell, who says, " He is an 
 honest man and an intelligent guide — / shall never live 
 to do him a service ; but I recommend him to my coun- 
 trymen who may arrive at this much-neglected spot." 
 
 " Lord Byron's name has simply prefixed to it — " Poly- 
 carp is an honest man" which I conceive the strongest 
 recommendation borne on his book.— The name of 
 " Tallien," so notorious, appears odd to be affixed in 
 such a place, but I can account for its appearance in a 
 manner not very generally understood. 
 
 " Buonaparte, from jealousy of his talents, or his natural 
 turbulent disposition, sent him to France from Egypt in 
 disgrace. The vessel " La Narcisse," in which he em- 
 barked, was chased and driven on shore upon the island 
 
NOTES. 105 
 
 of Gozo near Candia (the ancient Crete) by the Briton 
 sloop of war. From thence Tallien found his way to 
 Athens, and overland to France. 
 
 " It may be worth mentioning, in order to gratify natural 
 curiosity, that this man, who once figured at the head 
 of the French Government, is now reduced to such an 
 abject state, that he holds the situation of French Consul 
 at the Spanish port of Corunna. 
 
 " Lord Byron took many sketches of the ruins at Athens 
 and its environs, and I understand expressed his opinion 
 that the " Elgin Marbles" were of a modern date. In 
 this I coincide with his lordship, and believe that, like 
 the " Tuscan Vases" of Sir William Hamilton, many of 
 them were engraved, or inscribed by foreigners, to take 
 in Milord Anglais." 
 
 He felt it rather lonely in his rovings 
 
 And therefore thought a mistress might amuse — 
 He did as Greeks and Turks do in their lovvngs — 
 
 He bought one, as you'd buy a pair of shoes. 
 
 P. 30, st. lix. 
 
 " Lord Byron's love is entirely oriental, the love of a 
 
106 NOTES. 
 
 haughty mind, reposing on the bosom of humble slaves, 
 swallowed up in the unquestioning potency of a passion 
 imbibed in and derived from the very sense of their per- 
 petual inferiority. The old poets regarded women in a 
 way that reflects far more reverence for them — far deeper 
 insight into the grandeur of their gentleness." — Peter's 
 Letters to his Kinsfolks.. 
 
 Berinthia was the Haidee of the isle, 
 Our herotho' not shipwrecked, was the Juan, tyc. 
 
 P. 32. st. lxii. 
 
 Lord Byron appears to have worked up no part of his 
 poem with so much beauty and liveliness of fancy as 
 that which narrates the loves of Juan and Haidee. The 
 aberration of mind and taste which could mix up 
 the disgusting description of the shipwrecked wretches, 
 who were reduced to the necessity of feeding on their 
 own companions, with the following delineation of the 
 simplicity and the susceptibility of women, is an eccen- 
 tricity for which it is difficult to account. J uan has fallen 
 asleep with Haidee in his arms, on the beach by moon- 
 light. 
 
NOTES. 
 
 107 
 
 The lady watch'd her lover-and that hour 
 
 Of Love's, and Night's, and Ocean's solitude, 
 
 O'erflow'd her soul with their united power; 
 Amidst the barren sand and rocks so rude 
 
 She and her wave-worn love had made their bower, 
 Where nought upon their passion could intrude, 
 
 And all the stars that crowded the blue space 
 
 Saw nothing happier than her glowing face. 
 
 Alas ! the love of women ! it is known 
 
 To be a lovely and a fearful thing ; 
 For all of theirs upon that die is thrown, 
 
 And if 'tis lost, life hath no more to bring 
 To them but mockeries of the past alone, 
 
 And their revenge is aslhe tiger's spring, 
 Deadly, and quick, and crushing; yet, as real 
 Torture is theirs, what they inflict they feel. 
 
 They're right 5 for man, to man so oft unjust 
 
 Is always so to women ; one sole bond 
 Awaits them, treachery is all their trust ; 
 
 Taught to conceal, their bursting hearts despond 
 Over their idol, till some wealthier lust 
 
 Buys them in marriage-and what rests beyond? 
 A thankless husband, next a faithless lover, 
 Then dressing, nursing, praying, and all's over. 
 
108 NOTES, 
 
 Some take a lover, some take drams or prayers,, 
 Some mind their household, others dissipation, 
 
 Some run away, and but exchange their cares, 
 Losing the advantage of a virtuous station ; 
 
 Few changes e'er can better their affairs, 
 Theirs being an unnatural situation, 
 
 From the dull palace to the dirty hovel : 
 
 Some play the devil, and then write a novel, 
 
 Haidee was Nature's bride, and knew not this ; 
 
 Haidee was Passion's child, born where the sun 
 Showers triple light, and scorches even the kiss 
 
 Of his gazelle-eyed daughters ; she was one 
 Made but to love, to feel that she was his 
 
 Who was her chosen ; what was said or done 
 Elsewhere was nothing — She had nought to fear, 
 Hope, care, nor love beyond, her heart beat here. 
 
 And oh ! that quickening of the heart, that beat ! 
 
 How much it costs us ! yet each rising throb 
 Is in its cause as its effect so sweet, 
 
 That Wisdom, ever on the watch to rob 
 Joy of its alchymy, and to repeat 
 
 Fine truths : even Conscience, too, has a tough job 
 To make us understand each good old maxim, 
 So good— I wonder Castlereagh don't tax 'em. 
 
NOTES. 109 
 
 Lord Byron talks of his hair being grey at thirty : if 
 the licentious compositions in which his muse appears 
 now disposed to indulge, are the works of his greyer 
 years, we would remind him that these are not the deeds 
 of which the recollection will enable him to say, on his 
 death-bed, " Nee me vixisse poenitet, quoniam ita vixi 
 ut me nonfrustra natum existimem." 
 
 Berinthia was his tutor — taught him Greek, fyc. 
 
 P. 32. st. lxiii. 
 
 Haidee's mode of teaching Juan her language, the mo- 
 dern Greek, occupies several stanzas of voluptuous de- 
 scription. It seems that, 
 
 Juanlearn'd his alpha beta better 
 
 From Haidee's glance, than any graven letter. 
 
 This is too palpable an opportunity for displaying the 
 taste and experience of the noble author to be missed. 
 He, therefore, tells us, in his opinion, — 
 
 'Tis pleasing to be school'd in a strange tongue 
 By female lips and eyes — that is, I mean, 
 
 When both the teacher and the taught are young, 
 As was the case, at least where I have been: 
 
110 NOTES. 
 
 They smile so when one's right, and when one's wrong 
 They smile still more, and then there intervene 
 ' Pressure of hands, perhaps even a chaste kiss ; — 
 I learn'd the. little that I know by this: 
 
 That is some words of Spanish, Turk, and Greek, 
 
 Italian not at all, having no teachers ; 
 Much English I cannot pretend to speak, 
 
 Learning that language chiefly from its preachers, 
 Barrow, South, Tillotson, whom every week 
 
 I study, also Blair, the highest reachers 
 Of eloquence in piety and prose — 
 I hate your poets, so read none of those. 
 
 As for the ladies, I have nought to say, 
 
 A wanderer from the British world of fashion, 
 
 Where I, like other " dogs, have had my day,'''' 
 Like other men too, may have had my passion ; 
 
 But that, like other things, has passed away : 
 And all her fools whom I could lay the lash on, 
 
 Foes, friends, men, women, now are nought to me, 
 
 But dreams of what has been, no more to be. 
 
 There is an undissembled bitterness of feeling in the 
 last stanza, that seems to come from the author's heart. 
 
NOTES. 1 1 1 
 
 Borne o'er the Egean main our rambling pair 
 Rov'd where old Cos Meropis spreads her smile, 
 The birth-place of Hippocrates. P. 34. st. lxvii. 
 
 The island of Cos (or as Thucydides calls it, Cos Me- 
 ropis,) was the native country of Hippocrates, of Apelles 
 and Philetas, an excellent elegiac poet, who flourished 
 at the same time. Hippocrates is said to have lost his pa- 
 rents when young, and to have travelled practising physic 
 all over Greece, where his reputation was so great, that 
 he was publicly sent for to Perdiccas, king of Macedonia, 
 who was then thought to be consumptive. But Hippocrates 
 discovering the disease to be entirely mental, proceeding 
 from a passion for Philas, one of his father's concubines, 
 a cure was speedily effected, and the reputation of the 
 great physician was accordingly greatly augmented. 
 In a manuscript poem on the subject of Greece, in the 
 possession of the editor of this volume, there is the fol- 
 lowing allusion to this incident, which as connected with 
 the island in question, it may not be irrelevant to add 
 here. 
 
 Prophetic maids when on her fragrant isle 
 Crown'd with the vine, Meropis woo'd your smile, 
 
112 NOTES. 
 
 How did your triumph swell her rising boast 
 That long, long echo'd round her happy coast, 
 When mid her vales that young ey'd Science Iov'd 
 With Nature pleas'd your fond disciple rov'd, 
 Where Heavenly powers with mellowing touch inspire 
 Apelles' pencil and Philetas' lyre. 
 And as rapt fancy grasp'd your boundless store 
 Trac'd all your haunts and treasur'd all your lore ; 
 When from her reddening heights and blossom'd vale 
 The goddess sorrowing saw his parting sail, 
 And as he mark'd his native hills decrease 
 Rich with your spoils, and hail'd exulting Greece; 
 Then did you triumph in your power divine, 
 Prophetic maids ! and deck Hygeia's shrine. 
 
 Auspicious powers ! then mark'd you from afar y 
 The sons of science hail their leading star, 
 Your kindling spirit swell'd the trump of fame, 
 And taught the winds to sigh your sage's name ; 
 Then as you twin'd in wisdom's bowers below 
 The balm distilling chaplet for his brow, 
 While Nature's genuine lore inform'd the heart 
 Ye crown'd him with the brightest palm of art. 
 
 Ah ! can the roseate smile of Nature's face, 
 Or glory when she courts the fond embrace, 
 
NOTES. 113 
 
 Immortal honours nodding o'er her crest, 
 
 Awake no transport in the noble breast ? 
 
 Ah! can the diadem no joy impart, 
 
 And dwells no power in med'cine's healing art ? 
 
 Music awakes the soul enlivening strain, 
 
 And pleasure's Syren voice is quir'd in vain. 
 
 Why sighs the youthful monarch on his throne 
 
 To all their borrow'd transports listless grown, — 
 
 For whom, diffusing love's delicious snare, 
 
 Smile in their bloom the Macedonian fair ; 
 
 And vainer still, to bid his musings cease, 
 
 Spread all their charms, the matchless forms of Greece. 
 
 Ah, hapless beauty ! on a fairer breast 
 
 The god of raptures fondly loves to rest. 
 
 He as the fair one willing homage paid 
 
 His blooming vot'ry in new charms array'd, 
 
 And shot from brighter eyes the winged dart 
 
 Skilful, that twice had pierc'd a monarch's heart. 
 
 Parents of love and rapture's pleasing hour, 
 'Twas then ye proved your plenitude of power ; 
 'Twas then ye watch'd the slow consuming flame 
 And pulse that throbb'd at Love's and Phila's name 
 When crowns and triumphs faded from the sight 
 And Phila's presence only gave delight, 
 You mark'd the magic influence of her charms, 
 And gave the beauty to his longing arms. 
 Q 
 
1 14 NOTES. 
 
 A sailor when he 'scapes the dreadful ocean. 
 
 P. 44. st. xcii. 
 
 This and the subsequent stanza may be regarded as an 
 imitation of the following beautiful and faithful descrip- 
 tion in Don Juan. 
 
 An infant when it gazes on a lights 
 
 A child the moment when it drains the breast, 
 
 A devotee when soars the Host in sight, 
 An Arab with a stranger for a, guest, 
 
 A sailor when the prize has struck in fight, 
 A miser filling his most hoarded chest, 
 
 Feel rapture ; but not such true joy are reaping 
 
 As they who watch o'er what they love while sleeping. 
 
 For there it lies, so tranquil, so beloved, 
 
 All that it hath of life with us is living 
 So gentle, stirless, helpless and unmoved, 
 
 And all unconscious of the joy 'tis giving; 
 All it hath felt, inflicted, passed and proved, 
 
 Hushed into depths beyond the watcher's diving ; 
 There lies the thing we love with all its errors, 
 And all its charms, like death without its terrors. 
 
 Like Elgin — bartering the boast of ages. 
 
 P. 49. st. ci. 
 
 Lord Byron and Mr. Hobhouse have censured with 
 
NOTES. 1 15 
 
 just severity the sacrilegious plunder of the ancient edi- 
 fices of Greece ; but the transaction which made the 
 pockets of the British people pay an enormous sum for a 
 quantity of lumber acquired by the expenditure of the 
 public money of this country, is deserving of a still 
 stronger denunciation. In the notes to Childe Harold 
 we have the following remarks, elucidatory of a strong 
 poetical philippic on this subject : the castigation inflict- 
 ed upon the despoiling Ambassador, and the Pict who 
 assisted him, is unquestionably well bestowed ; but there 
 seems something very absurd, and not at all national, in 
 Lord Byron rejoicing that the plunderer was not an En- 
 glishman but " a Scot." His lordship's obligations to 
 Caledonia have been already stated. 
 
 " We can all feel, or imagine, the regret with which the 
 ruins of cities, once the capitals of empires, are beheld ; 
 the reflections suggested by such objects are too trite to 
 require recapitulation. But never did the littleness of 
 man, and the vanity of his very best virtues, of patriotism 
 to exalt, and of valour to defend his country, appear 
 more conspicuous than in the record of what Athens was, 
 and the certainty of what she now is. This theatre of 
 contention between mighty factions, of the struggles of 
 orators, the exaltation and deposition of tyrants, the 
 triumph and punishment of generals, is now become a 
 
116 NOTES. 
 
 scene of petty intrigue and perpetual disturbance, between 
 the bickering agents of certain British nobility and gentry. 
 " The wild foxes, the owls and serpents in the ruins of 
 Babylon," were surely less degrading than such inha- 
 bitants. The Turks have the plea of conquest for their 
 tyranny, and the Greeks have only suffered the fortune of 
 war, incidental to the bravest : but how are the mighty 
 fallen, when two painters contest the privilege of plun- 
 dering the Parthenon, and triumph in turn, according to 
 the tenor of each succeeding firman ! Sylla could but 
 punish, Philip subdue, and Xerxes burn Athens ; but it 
 remained for the paltry Antiquarian, and his despicable 
 agents, to render her contemptible as himself and his 
 pursuits." 
 
 A still more regular and energetic protest has been made, 
 it would seem, by the same muse against the spoliation 
 of the temples of Pallas, in the following poem, which 
 deserves to be preserved. 
 
 THE CURSE OF MINERVA. 
 
 Slow sinks now lovely ere his race be run 
 Along Morea's hills the setting sun ; 
 Not, as in northern climes, obscurely bright, 
 But one unclouded blaze of living light ; 
 
NOTES. 117 
 
 O'er the hush'd deep the yellow beam he throws, 
 Gilds the green wave that trembles as it flows ; 
 On old iEgea's rock and Hydra's isle, 
 The God of gladness sheds his parting smile. 
 
 Long had I mused and measured every trace 
 The wreck of Greece recorded of her race, 
 When lo ! a giant-form before me strode, 
 And Pallas hail'd me in her own abode. 
 Yes — 'twas Minerva's self — but ah ! how changed 
 Since o'er the Dardan fields in arms she ranged ! 
 Not such as erst by her divine command, 
 Her form appear'd from Phidias' plastic hand. 
 Gone were the terrors of her awful brow, 
 Her idle iEgis bore no Gorgon now ; 
 Her helm was deep indented, and her lance 
 Seem'd weak and shaftless e'en to mortal glance : 
 The olive branch, which still she deign'd to clasp, 
 Shrunk from her hand and wither'd in her grasp. 
 And ah ! though still the brightest of the sky, 
 Celestial tears bedew'd her large blue eye ; 
 Round her rent casque her owlet circled low, 
 And mourn'd his mistress with a shriek of woe. 
 
 jf. m. m* - m. jg. «s£. 4U Jfe 
 
 " Mortal !" ('twas thus she spoke) " that blush of shame 
 Proclaims thee Briton — once a noble name — 
 
118 NOTES. 
 
 First of the mighty, foremost of the free, 
 
 Now honour'd less by all, but least by me ; 
 
 Chief of thy foes shall Pallas still be found : 
 
 Seek'st thou the cause ? oh, Mortal ! look around. 
 
 Lo ! here, in spite of war and wasting fire, 
 
 I saw successive tyrannies expire ; 
 
 'Scaped from the ravage of the Turk and Goth, 
 
 Thy Country sends a spoiler worse than both. 
 
 Survey this vacant violated fane, 
 
 Recount the relics torn that yet remain ; — 
 
 These Cecrops placed — this Pericles adorn'd ; 
 
 That Hadrian rear'd when drooping Science mourn'd; 
 
 What more I owe let gratitude attest, 
 
 Know, Alaric and ***** did the rest 
 
 That all may learn from whence the plunderer came, 
 Th' insulted wall sustains his hated name.* 
 
 * It is related by a late oriental traveller that when the wholesale 
 spoliator visited Athens, he caused his own name, with that of his 
 wife, to be inscribed on a pillar of one of the principal temples : this 
 inscription was executed in a very conspicuous manner, and deeply 
 engraved in the marble, at a very considerable elevation. Notwith- 
 standing which precautions, some person (doubtless inspired by the 
 patron-goddess) has been at the pains to get himself raised up to the 
 requisite height, and has obliterated the name of the laird, but left 
 that of the lady untouched. The traveller in question accompanied 
 this story by a remark, that it must have cost some labour and con- 
 trivance to get at the place, and could only have been effected by 
 much zeal and determination. 
 
NOTES. 119 
 
 For * * * * *'s fame thus grateful Pallas pleads 
 Below, his name ; above behold his deeds. 
 Be ever hail'd with equal honour here, 
 The Gothic monarch, and the British * * * *. 
 Arms gave the first his right, the last had none, 
 But basely stole what less Barbarians won : 
 So, when the lion quits the fell repast, 
 Next prowls the wolf, the filthy jackal last ; 
 Flesh, limbs, and blood, the former make their own, 
 The last base brute securely gnaws the bone. 
 Yet still the Gods are just, and crimes are crost % 
 See here, what * * * * * won, and what he lost. 
 Another name with his pollutes my shrine ; 
 Behold, where Dian's beams disdain to shine :— 
 Some retributions still might Pallas claim, 
 When Venus half-aveng'd Minerva's shame."* 
 
 She ceased awhile, and thus I dared reply, 
 To soothe the vengeance kindling in her eye : 
 " Daughter of Jove ; in Britain's injur'd name, 
 A true-born Briton may the deed disclaim. 
 Frown not on England — England owns him not: — 
 Athena ? no — the plunderer was a Scotf. 
 
 • The portrait of Sir Wm. D'Avenant illustrates this line. 
 t The plaster wall on the west side of the Temple of Minerva- 
 Polias bears the following inscription, cut in very deep characters : — 
 2uod nonfecerunt Goti 
 Hocfecerunt Scoti. ,> — Hobhouse's Travels in Greece, &c. p. 345. 
 
120 NOTES. 
 
 Ask'st thou the difference ? From fair Phyle's towers 
 Survey Boeotia : — Caledonia's powers — 
 
 ^P ^p w w 
 
 And well I know within that murky land 
 
 48? 4k. Jfc 4fe 
 
 w w w w 
 
 Dispatch her reckoning children far and wide : 
 Some east, some west, some — every where but north. 
 
 4k dfe ik 4fe 
 
 ■«■ ■*¥• W w 
 
 And thus accursed be the day and year 
 She sent a Pict to play the felon here. 
 Yet Caledonia claims some native worth, 
 And dull Boeotia gave a Pindar birth. 
 So may her few, the letter' d and the brave, 
 Bound to no clime, and victors o'er the grave, 
 Shake off the mossy slime of such a land, 
 And shine like children of a happier strand. 
 
 " Mortal !" (the blue-eyed maid resumed once more) 
 " Bear back my mandate to thy native shore ; 
 Though fallen, alas ! this vengeance yet is mine, 
 To turn my counsels far from lands like thine. 
 Hear, then, in silence, Pallas' stern behest, 
 Hear and believe, for time will tell the rest : 
 First on the head of him who did the deed 
 My curse shall light, on him and all his seed ; 
 Without one spark of intellectual fire, 
 Be all his sons as senseless as their sire : 
 
NOTES, 121 
 
 If one with wit the parent breed disgrace, 
 Believe him bastard of a better race; 
 Still with his hireling Artists let him prate, 
 And folly's praise repay for wisdom's hate*. 
 Long of their patron's gusto let them tell, 
 Whose noblest native gusto — is to sell : 
 To sell, and make (may shame record the day) 
 The State receiver of his pilfer'd prey ! 
 
 «V- •#' 4k 4£? 4t* i 
 
 TT TS" W W W 
 
 Jb Jk dfc t tjfe I I 4t 
 
 , A ~ ^5. *fi? ^g» ^s« 
 
 Jb . 4fi- . .. Jfe- '4k. t - 4t* 
 
 rfi? w w 3f w 
 
 And last of all, amidst the gaping crew, 
 Some calm spectator, as he takes his viewf 
 
 * Un sot trouve toujours un plus sot qui l'admire. — (Boileau, La 
 
 ROCHEFOUCAULT, &C.) 
 
 t Nor will this conduct [the sacrilegious plunder of ancient edifices] 
 appear wonderful in men, either by birth, or by habits and grovelling 
 passions, barbarians, (i. e. Goths) when in our own times, and almost 
 before our own eyes, persons of rank and education have not hesitated 
 to disfigure the most ancient and the most venerable monuments of 
 Grecian architecture ; to tear the works of Phidias and Praxiteles 
 from their original position, and demolish fabrics, which time, war, 
 and barbarism, had respected during twenty centuries. The French 
 wbose rapacity the voice of Europe has so loudly and so justly censured, 
 did not incur the guilt of dismantling ancient edifices ; they spared 
 the walls, and contented themselves with statues and paintings, and 
 even these they have collected and arranged in halls and galleries, for 
 
 R 
 
122 NOTES. 
 
 In silent admiration, mixed with grief, 
 Admires the plunder, but abhors the thief. 
 Loathed in life, scarce pardoned in the dust, 
 May hate pursue his sacrilegious lust ; 
 Link'd with the fool who fired th' Ephesian dome, 
 Shall vengeance follow far beyond the tomb. 
 Erostratus and * * * * e'er shall shine 
 In many a branding page and burning line. 
 Alike condemned, for aye to stand accursed, 
 Perchance the second viler than the first : 
 So let him stand, through ages yet unborn, 
 Fix'd statue on the pedestal of scorn !" 
 
 He wandered too to the Castalian Hilly tyc. 
 
 P. 50. st ciii. 
 
 It does indeed appear, that the wandering author of 
 the unhappy Childe did not find the waters of the Casta- 
 lian fountain very sweet. Though not always pleasant or 
 poetical, truth should be spoken. Hear the account 
 
 the inspection of travellers of all nations ; while, if report does not 
 deceive us, our plunderers have ransacked the temples of Greece to 
 sell their booty to the highest bidder, or at best, to piece the walls of 
 some obscure old mansion with fragments of Parian marble, and of 
 Attic sculpture." (Eustace's Classical Tour through Italy, p. 158.) 
 
NOTES. 123 
 
 which the noble traveller has given us of his visit to the 
 regions of inspiration. 
 
 " The fountain of Dirce turns a mill ; at least my com- 
 panion (who resolving to be at once cleanly and classical 
 bathed- in it) pronounced it to be the fountain of Dirce, 
 and any body who thinks it worth his while may contra- 
 dict him. At Castri (Delphos) we drank of half a dozen 
 streamlets, some not of the purest, before we decided to 
 our satisfaction which was the true Castalian, and even 
 that had a villainous twang, probably from the snow, 
 though it did not throw us into an epic fever, like poor 
 Doctor Chandler." (No wonder the verses of the poor 
 Childe seem to smack of the twang so strongly complained 
 of.) " I heard much of the beauty of Arcadia (adds his 
 lordship) but excepting the view from the monastery of 
 Megaspelion, which is inferior to Zitza in a command of 
 country) and the descent from the mountains on the way 
 from Tripolitza to Argos, Arcadia has little to recommend 
 it beyond the name." Such is the account Lord Byron 
 (though an adorer of Greece) has given us of the most 
 interesting region, in a poetical point of view, of that 
 classical land. Thus it is that there are those, who can 
 travel from Dan to Beersheba, and say " 'tis all barren." 
 The following is a better and much more satisfactory ac- 
 count of the present state of the celebrated districts still 
 so interesting to the imagination of the classic reader. 
 
124 NOTES. 
 
 THE KASTALIAN SPRING. 
 
 " The Kastalian spring is clear, and forms an excellent 
 beverage ; but I confess that its waters produced none of 
 those effects upon me, which were felt by travellers of 
 more lively imaginations, or more tender stomachs, than 
 myself. 
 
 " Nil turn Castalige rivis communibas undae 
 " Dissimiles ■ ■■" 
 
 " Dr. Spon, it seems, was converted into a poet by its 
 draught ! while, in Dr. Chandler (a far more credible fact) 
 it manifested its effects in a stomach-ache and a shivering 
 fit. But if similar result?_were the uniform product of 
 the Kastalian spring, we might expect to find all the inha- 
 bitants of Kastri particularly liable to frigid shiverings, or 
 poetic extacies. 
 
 " The water which oozes from the rock, was in ancient 
 times introduced into a hollow square, where it was 
 retained for the use of the Pythia and the oracular priests. 
 Some steps that are cut in the rock formed a descent to 
 this bath. The face and sides of the precipice, which in- 
 close the spring, have been cut and flattened : it was no 
 doubt anciently covered in ; for it cannot well be ima- 
 gined that the Pythoness laved her holy limbs in open 
 
NOTES. 125 
 
 day. A circular niche, which was probably designed 
 for a statue, is cut in the face of the rock : a small arch 
 and passage is seen on the western side a little above the 
 usual level of the spring : this was made to let off the 
 superfluous water. At the opposite side is the diminutive 
 chapel of Saint John, which seems to have been contrived 
 in order to exhibit the triumph of the Cross, over the ado- 
 ration of Apollo and the Muses. 
 
 " The fountain is ornamented with pendant ivy, and 
 overshadowed by a large fig-tree, the roots of which have 
 penetrated the fissures of the rock, while its wide-spread- 
 ing branches throw a cool and refreshing gloom over this 
 interesting spot. At the front of the spring we were gra- 
 tified by the sight of a majestic plane tree, that nearly 
 defends it from the rays of the sun, which shines on it 
 only a few hours in the day. Homer, in his Hymn to 
 Apollo, mentions the fount Delphousa at this place, pro- 
 bably meaning the Kastalian. 
 
 " Above the Phaedriades is a plain, and a small lake, 
 the waters of which enter a katabathron, or chasm ; and 
 it is probably from this that the Kastalian spring is sup- 
 plied. The superfluous water, after trickling amongst the 
 rocks, crosses the road, and enters a modern fount, from 
 which it makes a quick descent to the bottom of the valley, 
 through a narrow and rocky glen, fringed with olive and 
 mulberry trees, when it joins the little river Pleistos, and 
 
126 NOTES. 
 
 enters the sea near the ruins of Kirra. While we were 
 at Delphi, the Kastalian spring was flowing in a copious 
 stream, and formed several small cascades, the appearance 
 of which was highly picturesque. The sides of the foun- 
 tain" were covered with fine water-cresses: I gathered some 
 for dinner, which the poor people observing, asked if 
 they .were medicinal ; and when I explained to them how 
 they were to be eaten, they communicated the discovery to 
 the others ; and, the next morning, I met a party of the vil- 
 lagers returning from the spring, each with a provision of 
 the newly discovered vegetable : they thanked me for the 
 information I had given them ; and, pointing to their 
 cresses, told me they should for the future give them the 
 name Frankochorton, or the Frank's Herb. The poorer 
 Greeks, particularly those who live so far from the sea, 
 have so little to eat during their long and rigorous fasts, 
 that the discovery of a new vegetable, which they did not 
 know was palatable or wholesome, was a circumstance 
 of some importance to them." — DodweWs Travels in 
 Greece. 
 
 He seemed as bred in the Corycian Cave, fyc. 
 
 P. 50. st civ. 
 
 The Corycian cave in the regions of Parnassus has been 
 
NOTES. 127 
 
 described by various travellers, but no where more per- 
 spicuously, or with more felicity, than by Mr. Raikes. 
 
 " The narrow and low entrance of the cave spread at 
 once into a chamber three hundred and thirty feet long, 
 by nearly two hundred wide ; the stalactites from the 
 top hung in the most graceful forms, the whole length of 
 the roof, and fell, like drapery, down the sides. The 
 depth of the folds was so vast, and the masses thus sus- 
 pended in the air were so great, that the relief and full- 
 ness of these natural hangings were as complete as the 
 fancy could have wished. They were not like concretions 
 or incrustrations, mere coverings of the rock ; they were 
 the gradual growth of ages, disposed! in the most simple 
 and majestic forms, and so rich and large, as to accord 
 with the size and loftiness of the cavern. The stalag- 
 mites below and on the sides of the chamber were still 
 more fantastic in their forms, than the pendants above, 
 and struck the eye with the fancied resemblance of vast 
 human figures. 
 
 " At the end of this great vault, a narrow passage 
 leads down a wet slope of rock; with some difficulty, 
 from the slippery nature of the ground on which I trod, I 
 went a considerable way on, until I came to a place where 
 the descent grew very steep, and my light being nearly 
 exhausted, it seemed best to return. On my way back, 
 I found half buried in the clay, on one side of the pas- 
 
128 NOTES. 
 
 sage, a small antique Patera, of the common black and 
 red ware. The incrustation of the grotto had begun to 
 appear ; but it was unbroken, and I was interested in 
 finding this simple relic of the homage once paid to the 
 Corycian nymphs by the ancient inhabitants of the coun- 
 try. The stalagmitic formations on the entrance of this 
 second passage are wild as imagination can conceive, and 
 of the most brilliant whiteness. 
 
 " It would not require a fancy, lively, like that of the 
 ancient Greeks, to assign this beautiful grotto, as a re- 
 sidence to the nymphs. The stillness which reigns through 
 it, only broken by the gentle sound of the water, which 
 drops from the point of the stalactites, the JJ«t' anolovra, of ■. 
 the grotto of the nymphs in the Odyssey, the dim light 
 admitted by its narrow entrance, and reflected by the 
 white ribs of the roof, with all the miraculous decora- 
 tions of the interior, would impress the most insensible 
 with feelings of awe, and lead him to attribute the influence 
 of the scene to the presence of some supernatural being." 
 (Remarks on parts of Bceotia and Phocis,from the Jour- 
 nals of Mr. RaikesS) 
 
 Appalled the fiend that thus so sadly dulls, 
 By drinking wine from his forefathers' skulls. 
 
 P. 62. st. cviii. 
 
 Our Don Juan in his greener age is said to have at- 
 
NOTES. 129 
 
 tempted to rival his adopted namesake in his disgusting 
 daring, so far as to have actually indulged in feats of this 
 kind ; and the following stanzas give countenance to this 
 assertion : 
 
 LINES, 
 
 Engraved on the silver Foot of a Skull, mounted as a Cup for 
 
 Wine. 
 
 I. 
 
 Start not ! — nor deem my spirit fled , 
 
 In me behold the only skull 
 From which (unlike a living head) 
 
 Whatever flows is never dull. 
 
 I lived — I loved — I quaffed like thee 
 I died — let earth my bones resign ! 
 
 Fill up — thou canst not injure me, 
 
 The Worm hath fouler lips than thine. 
 
 3. 
 
 Better to hold the sparkling grape, 
 
 Than nurse the earth-worm's slimy brood, 
 
 And circle in the goblet's shape 
 
 The drink of Gods, than reptiles' food. 
 
 s 
 
ISO NOTES. 
 
 4. 
 
 Where once my wit perchance hath shone 
 In aid of others let me shine, 
 
 And when, alas ! our brains are gone, 
 What nobler substitute than wine ? 
 
 5. 
 
 Quaff whilst thou canst ! — another race. 
 
 When thou and thine like me are sped, 
 May rescue thee from earth's embrace, 
 
 And rhyme and revel with the dead. 
 
 6. 
 Why not ? — since through life's little day 
 
 Our heads such sad effects produce, 
 Redeemed from worms and wasting clay, 
 
 This chance is their's, to be of use. 
 
 At length his wasted fortune to repair, 
 
 He thought on marriage and its sober joys : — 
 
 P. 53. st. cix. 
 
 On January 2, 1815, Lord Byron was married to the 
 beautiful and accomplished Anne-Isabella, only child of 
 Sir Ralph Milbank Noel, Bart, by whom he has one 
 
NOTES. 131 
 
 daughter. This union, which, at first, promised every 
 happiness, has unfortunately deceived the hopes of 
 both parties ; but has given birth to two poems on Lord 
 Byron's " Domestic Circumstances," which will not 
 easily be forgotten: the first, remarkable for its affec- 
 tation of regret and sensibility at an event which his 
 lordship could himself have easily prevented ; and the 
 second for the inveterate spirit of resentment and deep 
 settled malevolence which pervade every line. 
 
 After the union, it was soon discovered how different 
 were the habits and manners of the contracted pair. 
 
 Towards the close of 1815, the tongue of rumour had 
 begun to whisper some intimations of that wedded discord 
 which soon unfortunately became the subject of conver- 
 sation from one extremity of the empire to another. His 
 lordship's turn of mind was not at all times favourable 
 to the cheerful socialities of the fire-side. It would be 
 idle, and be perhaps looked upon as invidious, to repeat 
 the various statements made to account for the separation 
 which ensued ; but it seems admitted on all sides, that 
 no common kind of matrimonial disarrangement had 
 arisen between Lord Byron and his lady, as a legal 
 instrument of separation was signed by both parties ; and 
 his lordship shortly afterwards quitted his native land. 
 
132 NOTES. 
 
 But our redoubted sage, who felt as no man, 
 Fell furious on a poor defenceless woman. 
 
 P. 57. st. cxvii. 
 
 The " Sketch from Private Life," in which a noble 
 muse has striven to give immortality to its hatred against 
 a defenceless woman is well known ; but as that pro- 
 duction, like some other effusions of the noble writer's 
 pen, is likely to become at some period a curiosity ', it 
 may gratify the taste of some future connoisseur to find 
 it included in these illustrations. It will show with what 
 deliberation a refined and exalted mind can voluntarily 
 degrade it powers, and indulge in passion and desire 
 for revenge, till it reaches the climax of absurdity and 
 disgust. 
 
 A SKETCH FROM PRIVATE LIFE. 
 
 Born in the garret, in the kitchen bred/ 
 Promoted thence to deck her mistress' head ; 
 Next — for some gracious service unexprest, 
 And from its wages only to be guess'd — 
 Rais'd from the toilet to the table— where 
 Her wondering betters wait behind her chair. 
 
NOTES. 133 
 
 With eye unmoved, and forehead unabash'd 
 
 She dines from off the plate she lately wash'd. 
 
 Quick with the tale, and ready with the lie — 
 
 The genial confidante, and general spy — 
 
 Who could, ye gods ! her next employment guess — 
 
 An only infant's earliest governess ! 
 
 She taught the child to read, and taught so well, 
 
 That she herself, by teaching, learn'd to spell. 
 
 An adept next in penmanship she grows, 
 
 As many a nameless slander deftly shows : 
 
 What she had made the pupil of her art. 
 
 None know — but that high soul secured the heart 
 
 And panted for the truth it could not hear, 
 
 With longing breast and undeluded ear. 
 
 Foil'd was perversion by that youthful mind, 
 Which Flattery fool'd not — Baseness could not blind, 
 Deceit infect not — near Contagion soil — 
 Indulgence weaken — nor Example spoil, 
 Nor master'd Science tempt her to look down 
 On humbler talents with a pitying frown— 
 Nor Genius swell — nor Beauty render vain — 
 Nor Envy ruffle to retaliate pain— 
 Nor fortune change— Pride raise— nor Passion bow, 
 Nor Virtue teach austerity — till now. 
 Serenely purest of her sex that live, 
 But wanting one sweet weakness— to forgive, 
 
134 NOTES. 
 
 Too shock'd at faults her soul can never know, 
 She deems that all should be like her below ; 
 Foe to all Vice, yet hardly Virtue's friend, 
 For Virtue pardons those she would amend. 
 
 But to the theme : now laid aside too long, 
 The baleful burthen of this honest song — 
 Though all her former functions are no more, 
 She rules the circle which she served before. 
 If mothers — none know why— before her quake ; 
 If daughters dread her for the mother's sake ; 
 If early habits — those false links, which bind 
 At times the loftiest to the meanest mind — 
 Have given her power too deeply to instil 
 The angry essence of her deadly will ; 
 If, like a snake, she steal within your walls, 
 Till the black slime betray her as she crawls ; 
 If, like a viper, to the heart she wind, 
 And leave the venom there she did not find ; 
 What marvel that this hag of hatred works 
 Eternal evil latent as she lurks, 
 To make a Pandemonium where she dwells, 
 And reign the Hecate of domestic hells ? 
 Skill'd by a touch to deepen scandal's tints 
 With all the kind mendacity of hints, 
 While mingling truth with falsehood — sneers with smiles- 
 A thread of candour with a web of wiles ; 
 
NOTES. 135 
 
 A plain blunt show of briefly-spoken seeming, 
 
 To hide her bloodless heart's soul-harden'd scheming; 
 
 A lip of lies — a face formed to conceal ; 
 
 And, without feeling, mock at all who feel : 
 
 With a vile mask the Gorgon would disown ; 
 
 A cheek of parchment — and an eye of stone. 
 
 Mark, how the channels of her yellow blood 
 
 Ooze to her skin, and stagnate there to mud, 
 
 Cased like the centipede in saffron mail, 
 
 Or darker greenness of the scorpion's scale — , 
 
 (For drawn from reptiles only may we trace 
 
 Congenial colours in that soul or face) — 
 
 Look on her features ! and behold her mind 
 
 As in a mirror of itself defined: 
 
 Look on the picture ! deem it not o'ercharged— 
 
 There is no trait which might not be enlarged ; — 
 
 Yet true to " Nature's journeymen," who made 
 
 This monster when their mistress left off trade,— 
 
 This female dog-star of her little sky, 
 
 Where all beneath her influence droop or die. 
 
 Oh ! wretch without a tear — without a thought, 
 Save joy above the ruin thou hast wrought — 
 The time shall come, nor long remote when thou 
 Shalt feel far more than thou inflictest now ; 
 Feel for thy vile self-loving self in vain, 
 And turn thee howling in unpitied pain. 
 
J36 NOTES. 
 
 May the strong curse of crush'd affections light 
 
 Back on thy bosom with reflected blight ! 
 
 And make thee in thy leprosy of mind 
 
 As loathsome to thyself as to mankind ! 
 
 Till all thy self-thoughts curdle into hate, 
 
 Black — as thy will for others would create : 
 
 Till thy hard heart be calcined into dust, 
 
 And thy soul welter in its hideous crust. 
 
 Oh, may thy grave be sleepless as the bed, — 
 
 The widow'd couch of fire, that thou hast spread ! 
 
 Then, when thou fain would'st weary Heaven with prayer, 
 
 Look on thine earthly victims — and despair ! 
 
 Down to the dust ! — and, as thou rott'st away, 
 
 Even worms shall perish on thy poisonous clay, 
 
 But for the love I bore, and still must bear, 
 
 To her thy malice from all ties would tear 
 
 Thy name — thy human name — to every eye 
 The climax of all scorn should hang on high, 
 Exalted o'er thy less abhorred compeers— 
 And festering in the infamy of years. 
 
 Think of the Lady Godiva, and think 
 
 Of peeping Tom of the historic page. P. 58. st. cxix. 
 
 The story of peeping Tom of Coventry and the fair and 
 
NOTES. 137 
 
 frail Lady Godiva is well known. Her ladyship is still 
 represented on horseback on the first day of the Trinity 
 Fair. 
 
 Can pride " which not a world can bow" fyc. 
 
 P. 61. st. cxxvi. 
 
 " Every feeling hath been shaken, 
 
 Pride, which not a world could bow, 
 Bows to thee — by thee forsaken, 
 
 Even my soul forsakes me now !" 
 
 Fare thee well. 
 
 u His mind is evidently of a wilful and over-bearing 
 cast — fond of power and pre-eminence, and impatient and 
 vindictive under disappointment. He has been habituated 
 to look upon himself with an adoring fondness, and upon 
 the rest of mankind with a contemptuous and disdainful 
 eye, — and, in his mad ambition, and his cold disdain of 
 his species, he has come at last to outrage every sentiment 
 in which other men recognise the dignity of their nature. 
 At an early period of life, but after one rude repulse, he 
 found himself placed at the head of our literature, and 
 basking in the sunshine of unrivalled fame. This was too 
 
 T 
 
J 38 NOTES. 
 
 much for his climbing and impetuous soul : — he soon be- 
 came cloyed with praise, and disdained the offerings pre- 
 sented to him by beings who had first trampled upon his 
 weakness, — then trembled before the frown of his indig- 
 nation, — and finally worshipped the resistless triumphs of 
 his genius. He could bear to be insulted, because that 
 only stimulated him to exertion, and summoned him to 
 revenge ; but when he found the world at his feet, he 
 began to despise and to loathe it. 
 
 "The pride — the excessive and inordinate pride of Byron 
 — is the first and principal cause of those deplorable 
 aberrations into which he has been betrayed ; but there is 
 another, scarcely less operative, namely, the power of 
 strong passion, to which he readily submits ; and to which, 
 as it has been the source of his most brilliant successes, 
 he seems willingly to surrender the troubled course 
 of his existence. He is, perhaps, more decidedly the 
 creature of passion in its most intense and indomitable 
 form, than any other living man ; — and he certainly has 
 it less under the government of refined and enlightened 
 intellect than any of tire great poets of former times, 
 with whom, in other points, he may bear a comparison. — 
 Edinburgh Monthly Review. 
 
NOTES. 139 
 
 Of Bravoes, Endriagos, Caichpoles, Giaours, 
 Corsairs, or Demons with unearthly powers. 
 
 P. 62. si. cxxvii. 
 The voice of blame I hate to hear or swell, 
 And yet some strains the censor's frown impel. 
 Giaours; Selims ; Corsairs ; Alps and Harolds teaze ; 
 And all the misanthropes and ruffians please. 
 Paris and Weimar drilled us to admire 
 Outrageous sentiment and maniac fire. 
 With humble plagiarising skill we toil, 
 And their worst shoots transplant to British soil. 
 Our rage for novelty th' exotic hails, 
 And German Endriagos crowd our tales. 
 Montorios, Bertrams, Christabels delight : 
 Ambrosios, sorcerers, bravos, fiends affright. 
 As if a bedlam were the general school, 
 Or Bacchus' orgies gave the poet rule. 
 As if chew'd opium were the happiest muse, 
 And her best forms, phantasmagoria views. 
 
 Turner's Prolusions. 
 
 He bound a cypress wreath around his head, 
 And went to ride on Neptune's horse again. 
 
 P. 62. si. cxxvii. 
 Once more upon the waters — yet once more, 
 And the waves bound beneath me as a steed 
 That knows his rider.— Childe Harold, Third Canto. 
 
140 NOTES. 
 
 O'er Europe's late Thermopylae he trod. 
 
 P. 63. st. cxxx. 
 
 Vide Childe Harold's reflections on the field of Water- 
 loo. 
 
 The modern " Hubert." 
 
 P. 63. st. cxxx. 
 
 Vide the poem, in a previous note, " On leaving New- 
 stead Abbey." 
 
 The fall of that Imperial diadem 
 
 That blazed afar with unpropitious light. 
 
 P. 64. st. cxxxL 
 
 The Ode to Napoleon on his exile to Elba forms a 
 curious contrast to the sentiments expressed in that ad- 
 dressed to the French nation, beginning thus : 
 
 Oh, shame to thee, Land of the Gaul I 
 
 Oh, shame to thy children and thee ! 
 Unwise in thy glory, and base in thy fall, 
 
 How wretched thy portion shall be ! 
 
NOTES. 141 
 
 Derision shall strike thee forlorn, 
 
 A mockery that never shall die % , . 
 The curses of Hate, and the hisses of Scorn 
 
 Shall burthen the winds of thy sky ; 
 And, proud o'er thy ruin, for ever be hurl'd 
 The laughter of Triumph, the jeers of the World ! 
 
 Like that unhappy maniac, poor Bousseau, 
 He then retired to nature's bosom wild — 
 To famed Geneva's lake, §c. 
 
 p. 64. st. cxxxi. 
 
 Jean Jaques Rousseau. — The madness of this extraordi- 
 nary character was too remarkable to be soon forgotten : 
 it is perpetuated in the fruits of his imagination, and has 
 proved indeed a seductive contagion. Butthephrenzy of the 
 Genevan philosopher was a sentimental elysium compared 
 to the " moody madness, laughing wild," amid the horrors 
 of its own creation, which seems to possess the monster- 
 making coterie that have lately established themselves on 
 the ground where Gibbon, Voltaire, and Rousseau wrote 
 and resided: we mean the Vampyre family— or that knot 
 of scribblers, male and female, with weak nerves, and 
 
142 NOTES. 
 
 disordered brains, from whom have sprung those disgust- 
 ing compounds of unnatural conception, bad taste, and 
 absurdity, entitled " Frankenstein, or the modern Prome- 
 theus," the " Vampyre," &c. &c. 
 
 " 'Tis said that Xerxes offered a reward 
 
 To those who could invent him a new pleasure." 
 
 As " pleasure is a very pleasant thing," according to 
 Lord Byron and Don Juan, we agree that an addition to 
 that stock is highly desirable ; but what sort of reward 
 is due to those who labour to invent new monsters, to 
 degrade their species into imaginary forms of disgust and 
 hideousness, and to augment the source of mental miseries 
 to themselves and to mankind ? " Verily they have their 
 reward" in the effects produced upon their own minds by 
 their horrid and beloved phantasmagoria. 
 
 The following details from one who appears to have 
 formed a part of the literary society alluded to, furnish a 
 curious illustration of this part of the poem. 
 
 EXTRACT OF A LETTER FROM GENEVA. 
 
 Not to look back to earlier times of battles and sieges, 
 here is a bust of Rousseau — here is a house with an in- 
 
NOTES. 143 
 
 scription denoting that the Genevan philosopher first 
 drew breath under its roof. A little out of the town is 
 Ferney, the residence of Voltaire ; where that wonderful, 
 though certainly in many respects contemptible, charac- 
 ter, received, like the hermits of old, the visits of pilgrims, 
 not only from his own nation, but from the farthest 
 boundaries of Europe. ! Here too is Bonnet's abode, and 
 a few steps beyond, the house of that astonishing woman 
 Madame de Stael : perhaps the first of her sex, who has 
 really proved its often claimed equality with the nobler 
 man. We have before had women who have written 
 interesting novels and poems, in which their tact at 
 observing drawing-room characters has availed them ; 
 but never since the days of Heloise have those faculties 
 which are peculiar to man, been developed as the possible 
 inheritance of woman. Though even here, as in the case 
 of Heloise, our sex have not been backward in alledging 
 the existence of an Abeilard in the person of M. Schlegel 
 as the inspirer of her works. But to proceed : upon the 
 same side of the lake, Gibbon, Bonnivard, Bradshaw, and 
 others mark, as it were, the stages of our progress ; whilst 
 on the other side there is one house, built by Diodati, 
 the friend of Milton, which has contained within its 
 walls, for several months, that poet whom we have so 
 often read together, and who — if human passions remain 
 
144 NOTES. 
 
 the same, and human feelings, like chords, on being swept 
 by nature's impulses shall vibrate as before — will be 
 placed by posterity in the first rank of our English Poets. 
 You must have heard, or the Third Canto of Childe 
 Harold will have informed you, that Lord Byron resided , 
 many months in this neighbourhood. I went with some 
 friends a few days ago, after having seen Ferney, to view 
 this mansion. I trod the floors with the same feelings of 
 awe and respect as we did, together, those of Shakspeare's 
 dwelling at Stratford. I sat down in a chair of the saloon, 
 and satisfied myself that I was resting on what he had 
 made his constant seat. I found a servant there who had 
 lived with him ; she, however, gave me but little informa- 
 tion. She pointed out his bed-chamber upon the same 
 level as the saloon and dining-room, and informed me 
 that he retired to rest at three, got up at two, and em- 
 ployed himself a long time over his toilette ; that he never 
 went to sleep without a pair of pistols and a dagger by 
 his side, and that he never eat animal food. He ap- 
 parently spent some part of every day upon the lake in 
 an English boat. There is a balcony from the saloon 
 which looks upon the lake and the mountain Jura ; and 
 I imagine, that it must have been hence he contemplated 
 the storm so magnificently described in the Third Canto ; 
 for you have from here a most extensive view of all the 
 
NOTES. 145 
 
 points he has therein depicted. I can fancy him like the 
 scathed pine, whilst all around was sunk to repose, still 
 waking to observe, what gave but a weak image of the 
 storms which had desolated his own breast. 
 
 The sky is changed ; — and such a change ; Oh, night ! 
 And storm and darkness, ye are wondrous strong, 
 Yet lovely in your strength as is the light 
 Of a dark eye in woman ! Far along 
 From peak to peak, the rattling crags among, 
 Leaps the live thunder ! Not from one lone cloud, 
 But every mountain now hath found a tongue, 
 And Jura answers thro' her misty shroud, 
 Back to the joyous Alps who call to her aloud. 
 
 And this is in the night :— Most glorious night ! 
 Thou wert not sent for slumber, let me be 
 A sharer in thy far and fierce delight,— 
 A portion of the tempest and of me ! 
 How the lit lake shines a phosphoric sea, 
 And the big rain comes dancing to the earth ! 
 And now again 'tis black, — and now the glee 
 Of the loud hills shakes with its mountain mirth, 
 As if they did rejoice o'er a young earthquake's birth. 
 
 u 
 
146 NOTES. 
 
 Now where the swift Rhine cleaves his way between 
 Heights which appear, as lovers who have parted 
 In haste, whose mining depths so intervene, 
 That they can meet no more, tho' broken hearted; 
 Tho' in their souls which thus each other thwarted, 
 Love was the very root of the fond rage 
 Which blighted their life's bloom and then departed — 
 Itself expired, but leaving them an age 
 Of years all winter — war within themselves to wage. 
 
 Childe Harold. 
 
 I went down to the little port, if I may use the expres- 
 sion, wherein his vessel used to lay> and conversed with 
 the cottager, who had the care of it. You may smile, 
 but I have my pleasure in thus helping my personifica- 
 tion of the individual I admire, by attaining to the know- 
 ledge of those circumstances which were daily around 
 him. I have made numerous enquiries in the town con- 
 cerning him, but can learn nothing. He only went into 
 society there once, when M. Pictet took him to the house 
 of a lady to spend the evening. They say he is a very 
 singular man, and seemed to think him very uncivil. 
 Amongst other things they relate, that having invited M. 
 Pictet and Bonstetten to dinner, he went on the lake to 
 Chillon, leaving a gentleman who travelled with him to 
 
NOTES. 147 
 
 receive them and make his apologies. Another evening, 
 
 being invited to the house of Lady D H , he 
 
 promised to attend, but upon approaching the windows of 
 her ladyship's villa, and perceiving the room to be full of 
 company, he set down his friend, desired him to plead his 
 excuse, and immediately returned home. {Prefatory Let- 
 ter to the Vampyre.) 
 
 Who mock the inscrutable Almighty's plan, 
 By seeking truth and order to subdue. 
 
 P. 67. st. cxxxviii. 
 
 " It has long been sufficiently manifest, that this man 
 is devoid of religion. At times, indeed, the power and 
 presence of the Deity, as speaking in the sterner work- 
 ings of the elements, seems to force some momentary 
 consciousness of their existence into his labouring breast ; 
 a -spirit in which there breathes so much of the divine, 
 cannot always resist the majesty of its Maker. But of 
 true religion terror is a small part — and of all religion, 
 that founded on mere terror, is the least worthy of such a 
 man as Byron. We may look in vain through all his 
 works, for the slightest evidence that his soul had ever 
 listened to the gentle voice of the oracles. His under- 
 standing has been subdued into conviction, by some pass- 
 
148 NOTES. 
 
 ing cloud ; but his heart has never been touched. He 
 has never written one line that savours of the spirit of 
 meekness. His faith is but for a moment — " he believes 
 and trembles," and relapses again into his gloom of unbe- 
 lief — a gloom in which he is at least as devoid of Hope 
 and Charity as he is of Faith. — The same proud hard- 
 ness of heart which makes the author of Don Juan a 
 despiser of the Faith for which his fathers bled, has ren- 
 dered him a scorner of the better part of woman ; and 
 therefore it is that his love poetry is a continual insult to 
 the beauty that inspires it. The earthy part of the passion 
 is all that has found a resting place within his breast — 
 His idol is all of clay — and he dashes her to pieces almost 
 in the moment of his worship. Impiously railing against his 
 God, — and brutally outraging all the best feelings of fe- 
 male honour, affection, and confidence — How small a 
 part of chivalry is that which remains to the descendant 
 of the Byrons — A gloomy vizor, and a deadly weapon!" 
 — Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine. 
 
 In rival conclave there and dark divan, 
 He met and mingled with the Vampyre crew, tyc. 
 
 P. 67. st. cxxxvii. 
 
 There is a society three or four miles from Geneva, 
 
NOTES. 149 
 
 the centre of which is the Countess of Breuss, a Russian 
 lady well acquainted with the agr6mens de la socUU, 
 and who has collected them round herself at her man- 
 sion. It was chiefly here, I find, that the gentleman 
 who travelled with Lord Byron, as physician, sought for 
 society. He used almost every day to cross the lake by 
 himself, in one of their flat-bottomed boats, and return 
 after passing the evening with his friends, about eleven 
 or twelve at night, often whilst the storms were raging 
 in the circling summits of the mountains around. As he 
 became intimate, from long acquaintance, with several 
 of the families in this neighbourhood, I have gathered 
 from their accounts some excellent traits of his lordship's 
 character, which I will relate to you at some future 
 opportunity. 
 
 Among other particulars mentioned, was the outline 
 of a ghost story by Lord Byron. It appears that one 
 evening Lord Byron, Mr. P. B. Shelley, two ladies and 
 the gentleman before alluded to, after having perused a 
 German work, entitled Phantasmagoriana, began relat- 
 ing ghost stories ; when his lordship having recited the 
 beginning of Christabel, then unpublished, the whole 
 took so strong a hold of Mr. Shelley's mind, that he sud- 
 denly started up and ran out of the room. The physician 
 and Lord Byron followed, and discovered him leaning 
 
150 NOTES. 
 
 against a mantle-piece, with cold drops of perspiration 
 trickling down his face ! After having given him some- 
 thing to refresh him, upon enquiring into the cause of his 
 alarm, they found that his wild imagination having pic- 
 tured to him the bosom of one of the ladies with eyes 
 (which was reported of a lady in the neighbourhood where 
 he lived) he was obliged to leave the room in order to 
 destroy the impression! It was afterwards proposed, 
 in the course of conversation, that each of the company 
 present should write a tale depending upon some super- 
 natural agency, which was undertaken by Lord Byron, 
 the physician, and one of the ladies before mentioned. I 
 obtained the outline of each of these stories as a great 
 favour, and herewith forward them to you, as I was 
 assured you would feel as much curiosity as myself, to 
 peruse the ebauches of so great a genius, and those im- 
 mediately under his influence. — Preface to the Vampyre. 
 
 Here then we y ll leave our wandering poet, planning 
 Some tale to speak the colour of his mind. 
 
 P. 70. st. cxliii. 
 
 There is something quite new and peculiar, indeed, in 
 the whole career of Byron. Madame de.Stael, in treat- 
 
NOTES. 151 
 
 ing of English literature, remarks, " II n'y a point en 
 Angleterre de memoires, de confessions, de recits de soi 
 faits par soi-meme : la fiert6 du caractere Anglais se 
 refuse a ce genre de details et d'aveux." Lord Byron 
 has proved a conspicuous exception to the truth of this 
 remark. 
 
 He seems to have identified his character with his 
 writings ; his poetry, at least a considerable portion of it, 
 is a mirror in which are reflected the movements of his 
 soul. He has even obtruded the events of his life upon 
 public notice ; he has solicited regard to the dark current 
 of his sorrows ; he has revealed the privacy of his domes- 
 tic life, and demanded the public judgment of his charac- 
 ter. His spirit has already been, in great part, developed 
 to the world by his poetical pilgrimage, which embodied 
 the dark and tumultuous aspirations of a soul that had 
 ever been a stranger to repose. The world, which ad- 
 mired his genius, was subdued into compassion for 
 his sorrows, however capricious and distempered might 
 be the source from which they flowed. The moody and 
 self-tormenting temperament of genius was recognized, 
 pitied, and reverenced ; and the complaints of Byron, 
 however whimsical their origin, in the midst of all the 
 apparent elements of happiness, and however questionable 
 or unintelligible their tendency, were listened to with a 
 
152 NOTES. 
 
 sort of charmed sympathy and commiseration. But the 
 sudden transfusion of this poetical character into the 
 realities of life, — the dreadful apparition of it in the 
 most hallowed retreats of domestic purity, — the destroy- 
 ing taint of its sullen egotism and unintelligible fury, amid 
 scenes over which the smooth clear stream of gentle 
 affection is alone permitted to wind its course, — struck 
 every one with amazement and aversion. It became but 
 too evident that the delicious repose of English domestic 
 life was utterly uncongenial to the perturbed soul of Byron. 
 He voluntarily exiled himself from a country which he had 
 equally honoured and insulted, — honoured by the display 
 of his extraordinary talents, and insulted by the outrage of 
 its most cherished affections and revered institutions. He 
 has now chosen as his place of exile a region where all things 
 that present themselves — 'whether the melancholy monu- 
 ments of decayed grandeur, or the living varieties of un- 
 scrupulous luxury and gratification — will correspond to 
 the majestic but depraved temperament of his own unin- 
 telligible nature ; but he must not from this voluptuous 
 retirement insult the purity which he has voluntarily re- 
 nounced, and to which it now appears but too probable 
 that he is fated never to return. — Edinburgh Monthly 
 Review, Oct. 1819. 
 
NOTES. 153 
 
 -poor whipt Mazeppa. P. 70. st. cxliii. 
 
 His lordship in his poem of Mazeppa differs from the 
 historian. M. Voltaire says : " Le Colonel Gieta, blesse, 
 et perdant tout sa sang, lui donna le sien." The poet 
 adds to this, no doubt from other sources of information, 
 
 His horse was slain, and Gieta gave 
 His own — and died the Russians' slave. 
 
 If this be an error of amplification, there is a counter- 
 vailing one: In our edition of the history, Mazeppa is said 
 to have been soundly whipped, before being tied to the horse, 
 (Le niari le fit fouetter de verges ;) but this circumstance 
 may have been suppressed, as adding unnecessary dis- 
 grace to the character of the hero. 
 
 May teach. Lord Beppo, your nobility 
 
 A due attention to this simple matter. P. 70. st. cxliv. 
 
 Beppo was in many parts reprehensible, but Don 
 Juan is scandalous throughout. There was in Beppo 
 wit, ease, naivete, abundant humour, and occasional 
 
 x 
 
154 NOTES. 
 
 strength, such as no other living author could have put 
 forth ; but there was also much intemperate and unrea- 
 sonable levity. Is it a venial offence to have cast mock- 
 ery on the chastity of woman, and the sanctity of the 
 marriage bed, and to have made the violation of conjugal 
 fidelity the object of a gay and approving smile ? Every 
 one saw with regret, that Italian morals, not less than 
 Italian skies, had found favour with the author of Beppo, 
 — and that the majestic spirt of the noble poet was begin- 
 ning to bow before the voluptuous profligacy of a foreign 
 muse. With his voluntary exile from his native land, 
 every proud and generous feeling passed away ; and the 
 Dante of England, as Byron has often, although fantas- 
 tically been called, took his willing station among the 
 tuneful purveyors of an exotic licentiousness. 
 
NOTES. 155 
 
 A SUPPRESSED PASSAGE. 
 
 For not to you belongs the power to say 
 What shall appear in type or glossy page ; 
 
 Nor have alone the gayest of the gay 
 
 The right unquestioned to pollute the age 
 
 My lay, though not a very cheerful lay, 
 Is noble, and beyond the critic's rage ; 
 
 I'll dedicate it hence to Papliian pleasures, 
 
 And teach the muse to dance in frolic measures. 
 
 I hate your printer's stars — and coward blanks — 
 I'm not to be controuled by knaves in place ; 
 
 Print boldly, and you'll have my muse's thanks, 
 And welcome guineas will come in apace — 
 
 Think not upon the ministerial ranks, 
 
 Nor draw the modest bonnet o'er thy face : 
 
 With lords and statesmen boast your high alliance, 
 
 And set the vice suppressors at defiance. 
 
 What's Wordsworth, water drinking bard, to you, 
 Or turncoat Southey, with his blighted laurel ? 
 
 I hate the sing-song of the Laking crew, 
 
 And hope the Muses will take up my quarrel — 
 
156 NOTES. 
 
 Leave all such to the Quarterly Review, 
 
 To laud with fulsome praise. Apollo's barrel 
 No drop of inspiration ever gave 
 To wet the windpipe of Corruption's slave. 
 
 Fear not the lash of Gilford's friendly pen, 
 To satire and the Muses listless grown, 
 
 Tho' it was once the scourge of guilty men, 
 And to each Bavius and Mavius known ; 
 
 Nor fear ye aught from Croker's courtly strain, 
 Who sings of war and Wellington alone — 
 
 Some may like prudes affect a virtuous passion, 
 
 But mind, morality is not the fashion. 
 
 " What's in a name" that on the title-page 
 The vender should in pompous letters shine, 
 
 As if 'twere his bright wit illum'd the age ? 
 You see I'm not tenacious about mine — 
 
 Let but a lord — you know the old adage — 
 Let but a lord be said to write each line, 
 
 And though 'tis most abominable stuff, 
 
 Print it — the work will sell — and that's enough. 
 
 THE END. 
 
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