Glass. 
 Book 
 
 1. 
 
iWtcd-by Tiui* Stoddard RA 
 
 B"irm@Ho 
 
 i HE VOICE THAI ■■ ' - MQEE SWEET 
 
 Mil AND ALL THEIR CHAB IVtS ARE FLED. 
 
THE 
 
 BEAUTIES 
 
 OF 
 
 LORD BYRON, 
 
 SELECTED FROM HIS WORKS. 
 
 TO WHICH 13 PREFIXED, 
 
 A BIOGRAPHICAL MEMOIR 
 
 OF 
 
 HIS LIFE AND WRITINGS. 
 
 " His song shall go down to the latest of time.' 
 
 By B. F. FRENCH, 
 
 Author of " Lives of Distinguished Americans," " Memoirs of 
 Eminent Female Writers" "Beauties of Scott ," Set* 
 
 TENTH EDITION — ENLARGED. 
 
 PHILADELPHIA 
 
 PBIKTED BY WILLIAM F. GEDDE8. 
 
 1830. 
 

 Eastern District of Pennsylvania, to wit: 
 
 BE IT REMEMBERED, that on the sixteenth daj 
 of February, in the fifty -first year of the Independence of the 
 United Statesof America, A. D. 1827, Benjamin Franklin French, 
 of the said District, hath deposited in this office the Title of a 
 book, the right whereof lie claims, as proprietor, in the words 
 following, to wit : 
 
 " The Beauties of Lord Byron, selected from his Works. To 
 which is prefixed, a Biographical Memoir of his Life and Wri- 
 tings. ' His Song shall go down to the latest of time.' By a 
 Gentleman of Philadelphia. Second Edition— Corrected and 
 Enlarged." 
 
 In conformity to the Act of the Congress of the United States, 
 entitled, " An Act for the Encouragement of Learning, by se- 
 curing the Copies of Maps, Charts, and Books, to the A uthors and 
 Proprietors of such Copies, during the times therein mention- 
 ed"— And also to the Act, entitled, "An Act supplementary to 
 an Act, entitled, "An Act for the Encouragement of Learning, 
 by securing the Copies of Maps, Charts, and Books, to the 
 Authors and Proprietors of such Copies during the times therein 
 mentioned," and extending the benefits thereof to the arts of 
 designing, engraving, and etching historical and other prints." 
 D. CALDWELL, 
 Clerk of the Eastern District of Pennsylvania. 
 
MEMOIRS 
 
 LORD BYRON. 
 
 George Gordon Byron, the lineal descendant of 
 a family which was of consequence at the era of the 
 Conquest, was born in England, on the 22d of January, 
 1788. At a very early period, he began to discover 
 traits of a marked and original character. Some of his 
 early years were spent in Scotland ; but he received 
 the chief part of his education at Harrow, from which 
 distinguished school he removed to the University of 
 Cambridge, where he became a student of Trinity 
 College. Of the pursuits which occupied his time 
 during the short period of his continuance at this ve- 
 nerable seat of learning, not much can be said ; since 
 it appears that he despised academical honours, and 
 treated with contempt the peculiar studies by which 
 alone they could be procured. The same indolence 
 that characterized him at school, distinguished him in 
 college ; but, though he paid little attention to the clas- 
 sics, and had an abhorrence for mathematics, he read 
 the English poets with avidity, and exercised his genius 
 in writing verses, chiefly of an amatory description. 
 His turn for satire also, at this period, appears in the 
 
IV MEMOIRS OF LORD BYRON 
 
 sketches which he has drawn of a collegiate life, and of 
 the labours of the candidate for public prizes. 
 
 At the age of nineteen, he left the university for 
 Newstead Abbey, the seat of his ancestors, where he 
 afterwards published a volume of poems, under the 
 title of " Hours of Idleness." These poems evince a 
 vigorous conception, and correct taste, with a great 
 command of language, and a knowledge of the laws of 
 metrical harmony. Happier specimens of precocious 
 talent cannot be found in the history of poetry ; and 
 yet, one of the first literary journals of the day, fell 
 with unaccountable ferocity upon the infant muse, 
 which it attempted to strangle in the cradle. Roused 
 by this unprovoked attack upon his book, and stung by 
 the sarcasms thrown out against his talents, the noble 
 author turned upon his assailant, the conductor of the 
 journal, in a poem, entitled " English Bards and Scot- 
 tish Reviewers," which, for spirited description, and 
 strength of colouring, may vie with the most pointed 
 of Dryden's satires. 
 
 On his coming of age, in 1809, Lord Byron, after 
 taking his seat in the House of Peers, went abroad, and 
 spent some time in the south and east of Europe, par- 
 ticularly in Greece and its islands. Amidst his excur- 
 sions and amusements, he devoted much of his time to 
 the attainment of the Romaic or modern language of 
 Greece, and also of the Turkish. Of the former he 
 became complete master ; and the notes to his principal 
 poems evince the diligence of his application, and the 
 extent of his acquirements in philological erudition. 
 
 Having traversed the Morea in every direction, and 
 extended his travels over Eubcea, as well as the plain 
 of Athens, and every part of Achaia, he returned to 
 England at the close of the year 181 1, and in the spring 
 
MEMOIRS OF LORD BYRON. V 
 
 of 1812 he published his celebrated " Childe Harold's 
 Pilgrimage," — a poem which at once established his 
 fame as a poet, and ensured the greedy attention of the 
 public to every subsequent production of his pen. So 
 rapid and prolific indeed was his genius, that scarcely 
 had public curiosity been awakened and delighted by 
 one poem, before another made its appearance, and 
 commanded fresh applause. If " Childe Harold" ex- 
 hibited originality of thought, eccentricity of character, 
 and richness of description, the " Giaour" excited a 
 stronger interest by its circumstances ; while the " Bride 
 of Abydos" had the higher poetic merit of unity of 
 design, vigour of expression, and tenderness of senti- 
 ment. Rising, as it were, in the scale of emulation, the 
 noble author now put foi'th his strength in a new effort ; 
 and while the world was as yet divided in opinion to 
 which of his pieces the palm of pre-eminence should 
 be ascribed, he produced a poem far surpassing his for- 
 mer productions in strength of composition, perspicuity 
 of narrative, and numerical harmony. Still attached 
 to the romantic scenes among which he had so long 
 wandered, and fond of portraying man as perhaps he 
 had too often seen him in those regions, the poet took 
 for the hero of his piece a piratical chief, who, at the 
 head of a desperate band, had fixed his seat in one of 
 those small islands which spot the bosom of the iEgean 
 sea. This poem, entitled the " Corsair," was followed 
 (although he declared it was the last time he should 
 appear before the world as an author, for some years) 
 in a few months after, by " Lara," the " Siege of Co- 
 rinth," and " Parisina." 
 
 On the 2d of January, 1815, his lordship married the 
 only daughter of Sir Ralph Milbanke, (since Noel,) by 
 1* 
 
VI MEMOIRS OF LORD BY ROW. 
 
 whom he had a daughter. This union, 90 suitable in 
 rank, fortune, and the superior mental endowments of 
 the respective parties, was unfortunately, in a very 
 short period, severed by the acknowledged indiscretion 
 of his lordship ; and while the public were anxiously 
 waiting to see the course he would adopt for proclaim- 
 ing his rights and vindicating his character, he suddenly 
 left the kingdom, with the resolution never to return. 
 He crossed over to France, through which he passed 
 to Brussels, taking in his way a survey of the field of 
 Waterloo. From thence he proceeded to Coblentz, and 
 up the Rhine as far as Basle. During his residence in 
 Switzerland, he wrote his most pathetic poem, " The 
 Prisoner of Chillon." After visiting some of the most 
 remarkable scenes in this country, he proceeded to the 
 north of Italy, and took up his residence for some time 
 at Venice. Here he was joined by Mr. Hobhouse, who 
 accompanied him in an excursion to Rome, where his 
 lordship completed " Childe Harold's Pilgrimage." He 
 then returned to Venice, where he commenced " Don 
 Juan," and likewise wrote several minor pieces. After 
 making several excursions into Tuscany, he finally took 
 up his residence at Genoa. 
 
 From thence, he passed into Greece, to take that part 
 in the cause of freedom, so honourable to himself and 
 glorious to his memory. At Missolonghi, he was, after 
 a short residence only, attacked with an inflammatory 
 rheumatic fever, which finally put a period to his ex- 
 istence, on the 19th of April, 1824. His body, after 
 being embalmed, was conveyed to England, and there 
 interred. 
 
 Thus was suddenly cut off the earthly career of a 
 great spirit, while engaged in supporting, by his person 
 
MEMOIRS OF LORD BYRON. ' Vll 
 
 and influence, one of the noblest causes that the annals 
 of humanity ever exhibited to the world. Dying at 
 the moment when his countenance was of essential ser- 
 vice to the Greek cause, and to those public principles 
 which it is the true glory of the age to see rapidly es- 
 tablishing themselves in the world, the event is deeply 
 to be deplored. 
 
 The following lines were written by Lord Byron, soon 
 after his arrival at Missolonghi. 
 
 *■ ON THIS DAY I COMPLETE MY THIRTY- 
 SIXTH YEAR." 
 
 " *Tis time this heart should be unmoved, 
 Since others it hath ceased to move ; 
 Yet though I cannot be beloved, 
 Still let me love ! 
 
 " My days are in the yellow leaf; 
 The flowers and fruits of love are gone; 
 The worm, the canker, and the grief, 
 Are mine alone ! 
 
 " The fire that on my bosom preys, 
 Is lone as some volcanic isle ; 
 No torch is kindled at its blaze — 
 A funeral pile ! 
 
 " The hope, the fear, the jealous care, 
 The exalted portion of the pain 
 And power of love, I cannot share, 
 But wear the chain. 
 
 \ 
 
Ill MEMOIRS OF LORD ETRON. 
 
 " But 'tis not thus, and 'tis not here 
 Such thoughts should shake my soul ; nor r 
 Where glory decks the hero's bier, 
 Or binds his brow. 
 
 " The sword, the banner, and the field, 
 Glory and Greece around me see ! 
 The Spartan, borne upon his shield, 
 Was not more free. 
 
 " Awake ! (not Greece, — she is awake !) 
 Awake, my spirit ! Think through ivhom 
 Thy life-blood tracks its parent lake, 
 And then strike home 1 
 
 " Tread those reviving passions down, 
 Unworthy manhood ! Unto thee, 
 Indifferent should the smile or frown 
 Of beauty be. 
 
 M If thou regret'st thy youth, why live ? 
 The land of honourable death 
 Is here : — up to the field, and give 
 Away thy breath ! 
 
 " Seek out, less often sought than found, 
 A soldier's grave — for thee the best ; 
 Then look around, and choose thy ground, 
 And take thy rest." 
 
 January 22d, 1824. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Pag< 
 Ambition --..-.---1 
 
 Immortality --------- 2 
 
 Honour --------- ib. 
 
 Melancholy - • ••--• - lb. 
 
 Night --------- 3 
 
 Angel - .---•---- ib. 
 
 Patriotism --.--•--« ib. 
 Eloquence -.-•-••--4 
 Worth ......... ib. 
 
 Pain ------ .-»-ib. 
 
 The Grave --------- ib. 
 
 Childe Harold's Adieu ib. 
 
 Greece ---...*-. 7 
 
 Marathon ------.--11 
 
 Rome ----------13 
 
 Pantheon -- --.--- 14 
 
 Coliseum --..-•-.-- 15 
 Gladiator -------- 16 
 
 Apollo Belvidere ------- ib 
 
 Venus of Medicis ------- 17 
 
 Zitza 19 
 
 Velino ---. 21 
 
 Petrarch -- 22 
 
 The Giaour -------- 23 
 
 The Siege of Corinth ------- 27 
 
 The Bull Fight 59 
 
 The Dream 62 
 
 The Prisoner of Chilian ------ 68 
 
 Patriot Martyrs --..---- 81 
 
 The Bride of Abydoa ------ ib. 
 
X CONTENTS. 
 
 Page 
 The Fate of Beauty ----- 119 
 
 Conscience - - - 121 
 
 Diamond -- ------ ib. 
 
 Deluge 122 
 
 Napoleon --------- ib. 
 
 Virtue -------- 129 
 
 Twilight 129,153. 
 
 Morning ---------- ib. 
 
 Ignorance .---•-*-« ib. 
 
 Life 130 
 
 First Love ---------ib. 
 
 Italy 132 
 
 St. Peter's Church - 133 
 
 Woman ---------135 
 
 Myrrha ---------- ib. 
 
 Conrad the Corsair ------- 136 
 
 Julia, --.--141 
 
 Manfred's Address to the Sun - - - - - 142 
 
 Manfred's Soliloquy - - 143 
 
 Hebrew Melodies- ------- 147 
 
 Theresa -------- 150 
 
 Leila - - - 152 
 
 Swimming -------- 155 
 
 Hope 156 
 
 Time 157 
 
 Invocation to Nemesis ------ ib. 
 
 Lioni's Soliloquy ------- 159 
 
 Norman Abbey -.-.--- - 162 
 
 Fame - '■! - - 167 
 
 Suspicion -------- -ib. 
 
 Fortitude -------- 168 
 
 Words --------- ib. 
 
 Solitude --------- ib. 
 
 Devotee --------- 169 
 
 Love ---------- ib. 
 
 Evening ------ 170 
 
 Heart ------- ib. 
 
 The Shipwreck - - - - - - ib. 
 
 Slander -----178 
 
 Sleep - -------- ib. 
 
CONTENTS. XI 
 
 Page 
 178 
 
 Silence --------- ib. 
 
 Old Age --------- ib. 
 
 Courage --------- 179 
 
 Dew --- ------ ib. 
 
 Clarens -.---■•■--*- ib. 
 
 Voltaire and Gibbon ------- 181 
 
 Venice _.-----•- 182 
 
 Tarpeian Rock --------183 
 
 Man ib. 
 
 Haidee ---..«••-- ib. 
 
 Egeria --------- 184 
 
 Perfections on a Scull ------ 185 
 
 Moonlight - 186 
 
 Neuha --------- ib. 
 
 Kaled 187 
 
 Lara ----189 
 
 Tyranny --.----. 195 
 
 Ocean ---------- ib. 
 
 The Dream of Sardanapalus ----- 196 
 
 Darkness -------- 201 
 
 Desolation _---..-- 203 
 
 Rebellion --------- ib. 
 
 Power --------- 204 
 
 Hate - ib. 
 
 The End of Fame ------ ib. 
 
THE 
 
 BEAUTIES 
 
 OF 
 
 LORD BYRON. 
 
 AMBITION. 
 
 I have had those earthly visions 
 And noble aspirations in my youth, 
 To make my own the mind of other men. 
 The enlight'ner of nations, and to rise 
 I knew not whither, — it might be to fall : 
 But fall, ev'n as the mountain cataract 
 Which having leapt from its more dazzling height, 
 Ev'n in the foaming strength of its Abyss, 
 (Which casts up misty columns that become 
 Clouds raining from the re-ascended skies,) 
 Lies low, but mighty still. 
 
 Ambition is a fire 
 And motion of the soul, which will not dwell 
 In its own narrow being, but aspire 
 Beyond the medium of desire. 
 A 
 
THE BEAUTIES OF 
 
 IMMORTALITY. 
 
 Immortality o'ersweep 
 All pains, all tears, all time, all fears, — and peal 
 Like the eternal thunders of the deep 
 Into my ears this truth — thou liv'st for ever! 
 
 Those who have not kept it, seek it, seeming, 
 As they would look for an ornament 
 Of which they feel the want ; but not because 
 They think it so : they live in other's thoughts, 
 And would seem honest, as they must seem fair. 
 
 MELANCHOLY. 
 
 Melancholy is a fearful gift ; 
 What is it but the telescope of truth? 
 Which strips the distance of its phantasies, 
 And brings life near in utter nakedness, 
 Making the cold reality too real. 
 
 Melancholy 
 Sits on me, as a cloud along the sky, 
 Which will not let the sun-beams through, nor yet 
 Descend in rain, and end ; but spreads itself 
 'Twixt heav'n and earth like envy between man 
 And man, — an everlasting mist. 
 
LORD BYRON. 
 
 Beautiful ! 
 I linger yet with nature, for the night 
 Hath been to me a more familiar face 
 Than that of man ; and in her starry shade 
 Of dim and solitary loveliness, 
 I learned the language of another world. 
 
 AJVGEL. 
 
 Thou seem'st 
 Like an ethereal night, where long white clouds 
 Streak the deep purple, and unnumber'd stars 
 Spangle the wonderful and mysterious vault 
 With things that look as if they would be suns : 
 So beautiful, unnumber'd, and endearing, 
 Not dazzling, and yet drawing us to them ; 
 They fill my eyes with tears and so dost thou. 
 
 PATRIOTISM. 
 
 There was something 
 In my native air that buoy'd my spirits up, 
 Like a ship on the ocean toss'd by storms, 
 But proudly still bestriding the high waves, 
 And holding on her course. 
 
4 THE BEAUTIES OF 
 
 ELOQUENCE. 
 
 He knew 
 How to make madness beautiful, and cast 
 O'er erring deeds, and thoughts, a heav'nly hue 
 Of words, like sun-beams, dazzling as they pass'd 
 The eyes, which o'er them shed tears feelingly and fast. 
 
 •worth. 
 
 The high, the mountain majesty of worth 
 Should be, and shall survivor of its woe, • 
 And from its immortality look forth 
 In the sun's face, like yonder Alpine snow, 
 Imperishably pure beyond all things below. 
 
 PAIN. 
 
 Again the play of pain 
 Shoots o'er his features as the sudden gust 
 Crisps the reluctant lake, that lay so calm 
 Beneath the mountain shadow. 
 
 THE GRAVE. 
 
 How peaceful, and how powerful is the grave, 
 Which hushes all ! a calm, unstormy wave, 
 Which oversweeps the world ! 
 
 childe harold's adieu. 
 Adieu, adieu ! my native shore 
 
 Fades o'er the waters blue ; 
 The Night-winds sigh, the breakers roar, 
 
 And shrieks the wild seamew. 
 
LORD BYRON. 
 
 Yon Sun that sets upon the sea 
 
 We follow in his flight ; 
 Farewell awhile to him and thee, 
 
 My native land — Good Night ! 
 
 A few short hours and He will rise 
 
 To give the Morrow birth ; 
 And I shall hail the main and skies, 
 
 But not my mother Earth. 
 Deserted is my own good hall, 
 
 Its hearth is desolate; 
 Wild weeds are gathering on the wall ; 
 
 My dog howls at the gate. 
 
 Come hither, hither, my little page ! 
 
 Why dost thou weep and wail ? 
 Or dost thou dread the billows' rage, 
 
 Or tremble at the gale ? 
 But dash the tear drop from thine eye ; 
 
 Our ship is swift and strong : 
 Our fleetest falcon scarce can fly 
 
 More merrily along. 
 
 Let winds be shrill, let waves roll high* 
 
 I fear not wave nor wind ; 
 Yet marvel not, Sir Childe, that I 
 
 Am sorrowful in mind ; 
 For I have from my father gone, 
 
 A mother whom I love, 
 And have no friend, save these alone, 
 
 But thee — and one above. 
 
 My father biess'd me fervently, 
 Yet did not much complain ; 
 A 2 
 
THE BEAUTIES OF 
 
 But sorely will my mother sigh 
 
 Till I come back again. — 
 Enough, enough, my little lad ! 
 
 Such tears become thine eye : 
 If I thy guileless bosom had 
 
 Mine own would not be dry. 
 
 Come hither, hither, my staunch yeoman, 
 
 Why dost thou look so pale ? 
 Or dost thou dread a French foeman ? 
 
 Or shiver at the gale ? — 
 Deem'st thou I tremble for my life ? 
 
 Sir Childe, I'm not so weak ; 
 But thinking on an absent wife 
 
 Will blanch a faithful cheek. 
 
 My spouse and boys dwell near thy hall 
 
 Along the bordering lake, 
 And when they on their father call, 
 
 What answer shall she make ?— 
 Enough, enough, my yeoman good, 
 
 Thy grief let none gainsay ; 
 But I, who am of lighter mood, 
 
 Will laugh to flee away. 
 
 For who would trust the seeming sighs 
 
 Of wife or paramour ? 
 Fresh feres will dry the bright blue eyes 
 
 We late saw streaming o'er. 
 For pleasures past I do not grieve, 
 
 Nor perils gathering near ; 
 My greatest grief is that I leave 
 
 No thing that claims a tear. 
 
LORD BYRON. 
 
 And now I'm in the world alone, 
 
 Upon the wide, wide sea : 
 But why should I for others groan, 
 
 When none will sigh for me ? 
 Perchance my dog will whine in vain, 
 
 Till fed by stranger hands ; 
 But long ere I come back again, 
 
 He'd tear me where he stands. 
 
 With thee, my bark, I'll swiftly go 
 
 Athwart the foaming brine ; 
 Nor care what land thou bear'st me to, 
 
 So not again to mine. 
 Welcome, welcome, ye dark-blue waves ! 
 
 And when you fail my sight, 
 Welcome, ye deserts, and ye caves ! 
 
 My native land — Good Night ! 
 
 GREECE. 
 
 Fair clime ! where every season smiles 
 Benignant o'er those blessed isles, 
 Which seen from far Colonna's height, 
 Make glad the heart that hails the sight, 
 And lend to loneliness delight. 
 There mildly dimpling, Ocean's cheek 
 Reflects the tints of many a peak 
 Caught by the laughing tides that lave 
 These Edens of the eastern wave : 
 And if at times a transient breeze 
 Break the blue crystal of the seas, 
 Or sweep one blossom from the trees, 
 How welcome is each gentle air 
 That wakes and wafts the odours there ! 
 
5 THE BEAUTIES OF 
 
 For there — the Rose o'er crag or vale, 
 
 Sultana of the Nightingale, 
 
 The maid for whom his melody, 
 
 His thousand songs are heard on high, 
 
 Blooms blushing to her lover's tale : 
 
 His queen, the garden queen, his Rose, 
 
 Unbent by winds, unchill'd by snows, 
 
 Far from the winters of the west, 
 
 By every breeze and season blest, 
 
 Returns the sweets by nature given ' 
 
 In softest incense back to heaven ; 
 
 And grateful yields that smiling sky 
 
 Her fairest hue and fragrant sigh. 
 
 And many a summer flower is there, 
 
 And many a shade that love might share, 
 
 And many a grotto, meant for rest, 
 
 That holds the pirate for a guest ; 
 
 Whose bark in sheltering cove below 
 
 Lurks for the passing peaceful prow, 
 
 Till the gay mariner's guitar 
 
 Is heard, and seen the evening star ; 
 
 Then stealing with the muffled oar, 
 
 Far shaded by the rocky shore, 
 
 Rush the night-prowlers on the prey, 
 
 And turn to groans his roundelay. 
 
 Strange — that where Nature loved to trace, 
 
 As if for Gods, a dwelling-place, 
 
 And every charm and grace hath mix'd 
 
 Within the paradise she fix'd, 
 
 There man, enamour'd of distress, 
 
 Should mar it into wilderness, 
 
 And trample, brute-like, o'er each flower 
 
 That tasks not one laborious hour ; 
 
LORD BYRON. 
 
 Nor claims the culture of his hand 
 
 To bloom along the fairy land, 
 
 But springs as to preclude his care, 
 
 And sweetly woos him — but to spare I 
 
 Strange — that where all is peace beside 
 
 There passion riots in her pride, 
 
 And lust and rapine wildly reign 
 
 To darken o'er the fair domain. 
 
 It is as though the fiends prevail'd 
 
 Against the seraphs they assail'd, 
 
 And, fix'd on heavenly thrones, should dwell 
 
 The freed inheritors of hell ; 
 
 So soft the scene, so form'd for joy, 
 
 So curst the tyrants that destroy ! 
 
 He who hath bent him o'er the dead 
 Ere the first day of death is fled, 
 The first dark day of nothingness, 
 The last of danger and distress, 
 (Before Decay's effacing fingers 
 Have swept the lines where beauty lingers, 
 And mark'd the mild angelic air, 
 The rapture of repose that's there, 
 The fix'd yet tender traits that streak 
 The languor of the placid cheek, 
 And — but for that sad shrouded eye, 
 That fires not, wins not, weeps not, now, 
 And but for that chill changeless brow, 
 Where cold Obstruction's apathy 
 Appals the gazing mourner's heart, 
 As if to him it could impart 
 The doom he dreads, yet dwells upon ; 
 Yes, but for these and these alone, 
 
10 THE BEAUTIES OF 
 
 Some moments, ay, one treacherous hour, 
 
 He still might doubt the tyrant's power ; 
 
 So fair, so calm, so softly seal'd, 
 
 The first, last look by death reveal'd ! 
 
 Such is the aspect of this shore ; 
 
 'Tis Greece, but living Greece no more ! 
 
 So coldly sweet, so deadly fair, 
 
 We start, for soul is wanting there. 
 
 Hers is the loveliness in death, 
 
 That parts not quite with parting breath ; 
 
 But beauty with that fearful bloom, 
 
 That hue which haunts it to the tomb, 
 
 Expression's last receding ray, 
 
 A gilded halo hov'ring round decay, 
 
 The farewell beam of Feeling past away ! 
 Spark of that flame, perchance of heavenly birth, 
 Which gleams, but warms no more its cherish'd earth ! 
 
 Clime of the unforgotten brave ! 
 Whose land from plain to mountain-cave 
 Was Freedom's home or Glory's grave ; 
 Shrine of the mighty ! can it be, 
 That this is all remains of thee ? 
 Approach thou craven crouching slave : 
 
 Say, is not this Thermopylae? 
 These waters blue that round you lave, 
 
 Oh servile offspring of the free — 
 Pronounce what sea, what shore is this ? 
 The gulf, the rock of Salamis ! 
 These scenes, their story not unknown, 
 Arise, and make again your own ; 
 Snatch from the ashes of your sires 
 The embers of their former fires ; 
 And he who in the strife expires 
 
LORD BYRON. 
 
 Will add to theirs a name of fear 
 That Tyranny shall quake to hear, 
 And leave his sons a hope, a fame, 
 They too will rather die than shame : 
 For Freedom's battle once begun, 
 Bequeath'd by bleeding Sire to Son, 
 Though baffled oft is ever won. 
 Bear witness, Greece, thy living page, 
 Attest it many a deathless age ! 
 While kings, in dusty darkness hid, 
 Have left a nameless pyramid, 
 Thy heroes, though the general doom 
 Have swept the column from their tomb, 
 A mightier monument command, 
 The mountains of their native land ! 
 There points thy Muse to stranger's eye 
 The graves of those that cannot die ! 
 'Twere long to tell, and sad to trace, 
 Each step from splendour to disgrace ; 
 Enough — no foreign foe could quell 
 Thy soul, till from itself it fell ; 
 Yes ! self<ibasement paved the way 
 To villain bonds and despot sway. 
 
 MARATHON. 
 
 Holy ground ! 
 No earth of thine is lost in vulgar mould, 
 But one vast realm of wonder spreads around, 
 And all the Muses' tales seem truly told, 
 Till the sense aches with gazing to behold 
 The scenes our earliest dreams have dwelt upon : 
 Each hill and dale, each deepening glen and wold 
 
 I I 
 
12 THE BEAUTIES OF 
 
 Defies the power which crush'd thy temples gone : 
 Age shakes Athena's tower, but spares gray Marathon. 
 
 The sun, the soil, but not the slave, the same ; 
 Unchanged in all except its foreign lord — 
 Preserves alike its bounds, and boundless fame 
 The Battle-field, where Persia's victim horde 
 First bowed beneath the brunt of Hella's sword, 
 As on the morn to distant Glory dear, 
 When Marathon became a magic word ; 
 Which utter'd, to the hearer's eye appear 
 The camp, the host, the fight, the conqueror's career, 
 
 The flying Mede, his shaftless broken bow ; 
 The fiery Greek, his red pursuing spear ; 
 Mountains above, Earth's, Ocean's plain below ; 
 Death in the front, Destruction in the rear ! 
 Such was the scene — what now remaineth here ? 
 What sacred trophy marks the hallow'd ground, 
 Recording Freedom's smile and Asia's tear ? 
 The rifled urn, the violated mound, 
 The dust thy courser's hoof, rude stranger ! spurns 
 around. 
 
 Yet to the remnants of thy splendour past 
 Shall pilgrims, pensive, but unwearied, throng ; 
 Long shall the voyager, with the Ionian blast, 
 Hail the bright clime of battle and of song ; 
 Long shall thine annals and immortal tongue 
 Fill with thy fame the youth of many a shore ; 
 Boast of the aged ! lesson of the young ! 
 Which sages venerate and bards adore, 
 As Pallas and the Muse unveil their awful lore. 
 
LORD BYRON. 13 
 
 The parted bosom clings to wonted home, 
 Jf aught that's kindred cheer the welcome hearth ; 
 He that is lonely hither let him roam, 
 And gaze complacent on congenial earth. 
 Greece is no lightsome land of social mirth ; 
 But he whom sadness sootheth may abide, 
 And scarce regret the region of his birth, 
 When wandering slow by Delphi's sacred side, 
 Or gazing o'er the plains where Greek and Persian 
 died. 
 
 Oh Rome ! city of the soul ! 
 The orphans of the heart must turn to thee, 
 Lone mother of dead Empires ! and control 
 In their shut breasts their petty misery. 
 What are our woes and sufferance? Come and see 
 The cypress, hear the owl, and plod your way 
 O'er steps of broken thrones and temples, Ye ! 
 Whose agonies are evils of a day — 
 A world is at our feet as fragile as our clay. 
 
 The Niobe of nations ! there she stands, 
 Childless and crownless, in her voiceless wo ; 
 An empty urn within her wither'd hands, 
 Whose holy dust was scatter'd long ago ; 
 The Scipios' tomb contains no ashes now ; 
 The very sepulchres lie tenantless 
 Of their heroic dwellers : dost thou flow, 
 Old Tiber ! through a marble wilderness ? 
 Rise, with thy yellow waves, and mantle her distress ! 
 B 
 
14 THE BEAUTIES OF 
 
 The Goth, the Christian, Time, War, Flood, an«t 
 
 Fire, 
 Have dealt upon the seven-hill'd city's pride ; 
 She saw her glories star by star expire, 
 And up the steep barbarian Monarch's ride, 
 Where the car climb'd the Capitol ; far and wide 
 Temple and tower went down, nor left a site :— 
 Chaos of ruins ! who shall trace the void, 
 O'er the dim fragments cast a lunar light, 
 And say, " here was, or is," where all is doubly night. 
 
 The double night of ages, and of her, 
 Night's daughter, Ignorance, hath wrapt and wrap 
 All round us ; we but feel our way to err : 
 The ocean hath his chart, the stars their map, 
 And knowledge spreads them on her ample lap ; 
 But Rome is as the desert, where we steer 
 Stumbling o'er recollections ; now we clap 
 Our hands, and cry " Eureka I" it is clear — 
 When but some false mirage of ruin rises near. 
 
 Alas ! the lofty city ! and alas ! 
 The trebly hundred triumphs ! and the day 
 When Brutus made the dagger's edge surpass 
 The conqueror's sword in bearing fame away ! 
 Alas, for Tully's voice, and Virgil's lay, 
 And Livy's pictured page ! — but these shall he 
 Her resurrection ; all beside — decay. 
 Alas, for Earth, for never shall we see 
 That brightness in her eye she bore when Rome was 
 free ! 
 
 PANTHEON. 
 
 Pantheon ! — pride of Rome 1 
 Relic of nobler days, and noblest arts ! 
 
LORD BYRON. 15 
 
 Despoil'd yet perfect, with thy circle spreads 
 A holiness appealing to all hearts — 
 To art a model ; and to him who treads 
 Rome for the sake of ages, Glory sheds 
 Her light through thy sole aperture ; to those 
 Who worship, here are altars for their beads ; 
 And they who feel for genius may repose 
 Their eyes on honour'd forms, whose busts around 
 them close. 
 
 COLISEUM. 
 
 What ruin ! from its mass 
 Walls, palaces, half-cities, have been rear'd ; 
 Yet oft the enormous skeleton ye pass 
 And marvel where the spoil could have appear'd. 
 Hath it indeed been plunder M, or but clear'd? 
 Alas ! developed, opens the decay, 
 When the colossal fabric's form is near'd : 
 It will not bear the brightness of the day, 
 Which streams too much on all years, man, have reft 
 away. 
 
 But when the rising moon begins to climb 
 Its topmost arch, and gently pauses there ; 
 When the stars twinkle through the loops of time, 
 And the low night-breeze waves along the air 
 The garland-forest, which the gray walls wear, 
 Like laurels on the bald first Caesar's head ; 
 When the light shines serene but doth not glare, 
 Then in this magic circle raise the dead : 
 Heroes have trod this spot — 'tis on their dust ye tread. 
 
 While stands the Coliseum, Rome shall stand; 
 When falls the Coliseum, Rome shall fall ; 
 And when Rome falls — the world. 
 
16 THE BEAUTIES OF 
 
 GLADIATOR. 
 
 I see before me the Gladiator lie : 
 He leans upon his hand — his manly brow 
 Consents to death, but cunquers agony, 
 And his droop'd head sinks gradually low — 
 And through his side the last drops, ebbing slo\» 
 From the red gash, fall heavy, one by one, 
 Like the first of a thunder-shower ; and now 
 The arena swims around him — he is gone, 
 Ere ceased the inhuman shout which hail'd the w *tch 
 who won. 
 
 He heard it, but he heeded not — his eyes 
 Were with his heart, and that was far away ; 
 He reck'd not of the life he lost nor prize, 
 But where his rude hut by the Danube lay 
 There were his young barbarians all at play, 
 There was their Dacian mother — he, their sire, 
 Butcher'd to make a Roman holiday. 
 
 APOLLO BELVIDERE. 
 
 Lord of the unerring bow, 
 The God of life, and poesy, and light — 
 The sun in human limbs array'd, and brow 
 All radiant from his triumph in the fight ; 
 The shaft hath just been shot — the arrow bright 
 With an immortal's vengeance ; in his eye 
 And nostril beautiful disdain, and might, 
 And majesty, flash their full lightnings by, 
 Developing in that one glance the Deity. 
 
 But in his delicate form — a dream of Love, 
 Shaped by some solitary nymph, whose breast 
 
LORD BYRON. 17 
 
 Long'd for a deathless lover from above, 
 And madden 'd in that vision — are exprest 
 All that ideal beauty ever bless'd 
 The mind within its most unearthly mood, 
 When each conception was a heavenly guest — 
 A ray of immortality — and stood, 
 Starlike, around, until they gather'd to a god ! 
 
 And if it be Prometheus stole from Heaven 
 The fire which we endure, it was repaid' 
 By him to whom the energy was given 
 Which this poetic marble hath array'd 
 With an eternal glory — which, if made 
 By human hands, is not of human thought ; 
 And Tune himself hath hallow'd it, nor laid 
 One ringlet in the dust — nor hath it caught 
 A tinge of years, but breathes the flame with which 
 'twas wrought. 
 
 VENUS OF MEDICIS. 
 
 Etrurian Athens claims and keeps 
 A softer feeling for her fairy halls. 
 Girt by her theatre of hills, she reaps 
 Her corn, and wine, and oil, and Plenty leaps 
 To laughing life, with her redundant horn. 
 Along the banks where smiling Arno sweeps 
 Was modern Luxury of commerce born, 
 And buried Learning rose, redeem'd to a new morn. 
 
 There, too, the Goddess loves in stone, and fills 
 The air around with beauty ; we inhale 
 The ambrosial aspect, which, beheld, instils 
 Part of its immortality ; the veil 
 B 2 
 
18 THE BEAUTIES OF 
 
 Of heaven is half undrawn ; within the pale 
 We stand, and in that form and face behold 
 What mind can make, when nature's self would fail ; 
 And to the fond idolaters of old 
 Envy the innate flash which such a soul could mould : 
 
 We gaze and turn away, and know not where, 
 Dazzled and drunk with beauty, till the heart 
 Reels with its fulness ; there^-for ever there — 
 Chain'd to the chariot of triumphal Art, 
 We stand as captives, and would not depart. 
 Away ! — there need no words, nor terms precise, 
 The paltry jargon of the marble mart, 
 Where Pedantry gulls Folly — we have eyes : 
 Blood — pulse — and breast, confirm the Dardan Shep- 
 herd's prize. 
 
 Appear'dst thou not to Paris in this guise ? 
 Or to more deeply blest Anchises ? or, 
 In all thy perfect goddess-ship, when lies 
 Before thee thy own vanquish'd Lord of War? 
 And gazing in thy face as toward a star, 
 Laid on thy lap, his eyes to thee upturn, 
 Feeding on thy sweet cheek ! while thy lips are 
 With lava kisses melting while they burn, 
 Shower 'd on his eyelids, brow, and mouth, as from an 
 urn ! 
 
 Glowing, and circumfused in speechless love, 
 
 Their full divinity inadequate 
 
 That feeling to express, or to improve, 
 
 The gods become as mortals, and man's fate 
 
 Has moments like their brightest ; but the weight 
 
 Of earth recoils upon us ; — let it go ! 
 
LORD BYRON. 19 
 
 We can recal such visions, and create, 
 From what has been, or might be, things which grow 
 Into thy statue's form, and look like god's below. 
 
 I leave to learned fingers, and wise hands, 
 , The artist and his ape, to teach and tell 
 How well his connoisseurship understands 
 The graceful bend, and the voluptuous swell : 
 Let these describe the undescribable : 
 I would not their vile breath should crisp the stream 
 Wherein that image shall forever dwell ; 
 The unruffled mirror of the loveliest dream 
 That ever left the sky on the deep soul to beam. 
 
 Zitza ! from thy shady brow, 
 Thou small, but favoured spot of holy ground ! 
 Where'er we gaze, around, above, below, 
 What rainbow tints, what magic charms are found I 
 Rock, river, forest, mountain, all abound, 
 And bluest skies that harmonize the whole : 
 Beneath, the distant torrent's rushing sound 
 Tells where the volum'd cataract doth roll 
 Between those hanging rocks, that shock yet please 
 the soul. 
 
 Amidst the grove that crowns yon tufted hill 
 Which, were it not for many a mountain nigh 
 Rising in lofty ranks, and loftier still, 
 Might well itself be deem'd of dignity, 
 The convent's white walls glisten fair on high; 
 Here dwells the caloyer, nor rude is he, 
 Nor niggard of his cheer ; the passer by 
 
20 THE BEAUTIES OF 
 
 Is we^ome still ; nor heedless will he flee 
 From hence, if he delight kind Nature's sheen to see 
 
 Here in the sultriest season let him rest, 
 Fresh is the green beneath those aged trees ; 
 Here winds of gentlest wing will fan his breast, 
 From heaven itself he may inhale the breeze : 
 The plain is far beneath — oh ! let him seize 
 Pure pleasure while he can ; the scorching ray 
 Here pierceth not, impregnate with disease : 
 Then let his length the loitering pilgrim lay, 
 And gaze, untired, the morn, the noon, the eve away. 
 
 Dusky and huge, enlarging on the sight, 
 Nature's volcanic amphitheatre, 
 Chimaera's alps extend from left to right : 
 Beneath a living valley seems to stir : 
 Flocks play, trees wave, streams flow, the moun- 
 tain-fir 
 Nodding above : behold black Acheron ! 
 Once consecrated to the sepulchre. 
 Pluto ! if this be hell I look upon, 
 Close shamed Elysium's gates, my shade shall seek 
 for none ! 
 
 No city's towers pollute the lovely view ; 
 Unseen is Yanina, though not remote, 
 Veil'd by the screen of hills ; here men are few* 
 Scanty the hamlet, rare the lonely cot ; 
 But, peering down each precipice, the goat 
 Browseth ; and, pensive o'er his scatter'd flock, 
 The little shepherd in his white capote 
 Doth lean his boyish form along the rock. 
 
LORD BYRON. 21 
 
 From the headlong height 
 Velino cleaves the wave-worn precipice ; 
 The fall of waters I rapid as the light 
 The flashing mass foams shaking the abyss ; 
 The hell of waters ! where they howl and hiss, 
 And boil in endless torture ; while the sweat 
 Of their great agony, wrung out from this 
 Their Phlegethon, curls round the rocks of jet 
 That gird the gulf around, in pitiless horror set, 
 
 And mounts in spray the skies, and thence again 
 Returns in an unceasing shower, which round, 
 With its unemptied cloud of gentle rain, 
 Is an eternal April to the ground, 
 Making it all one emerald : — how profound 
 The gulf! and how the giant element 
 From rock to rock leaps with delirious bound, 
 Crushing the cliffs, which, downward worn and rent 
 With his fierce footsteps, yield in chasms a fearful vent 
 
 To the broad column which rolls on, and shows 
 More like the fountain of an infant sea 
 Torn from the womb of mountains by the throes 
 Of a new world, than only thus to be 
 Parent of rivers, which flow gushingly, 
 With many windings, through the vale: — Look back! 
 Lo ! where it comes like an eternity, 
 As if to sweep down all things in its track, 
 Charming the eye with dread, — a matchless cataract. 
 
 Horribly beautiful ! but on the verge, 
 
 From side to side, beneath the glittering morn, 
 
 An Iris sits, amidst the infernal surge, 
 
22 THE BEAUTIES OF 
 
 Like Hope upon a death-bed, and, unworn 
 Its steady dyes, while all around is torn 
 By the distracted waters, bears serene 
 Its brilliant hues with all their beams unshorn 
 Resembling, 'mid the torture of the scene, 
 Love watching Madness with unalterable mien. 
 
 PETRARCH. 
 
 .In Arqua ; — rear'd in air, 
 Pillar'd in their sarcophagus, repose 
 The bones of Laura's lover : here repair 
 Many familiar with his well-sung woes, 
 The pilgrims of his genius. He arose 
 To raise a language, and his land reclaim 
 From the dull yoke of her barbaric foes : 
 Watering the tree which bears his lady's name 
 With his melodious tears, he gave himself to fame 
 
 They keep his dust in Arqua, where he died ; 
 The mountain-village where his latter days 
 Went down the vale of years ; and 'tis their pride- 
 An honest pride — and let it be their praise, 
 To offer to the passing stranger's gaze 
 His mansion and his sepulchre ; both plain 
 And venerably simple, such as raise 
 A feeling more accordant with his strain 
 Than if a pyramid form'd his monumental fane. 
 
 And the soft quiet hamlet where he dwelt 
 Is one of that complexion which seems made 
 For those who their mortality have felt, 
 And sought a refuge from their hopes decay'd 
 In the deep umbrage of a green hill's shade, 
 
LORD BYRON* 23 
 
 Which shows a distant prospect far away 
 Of busy cities, now in vain displayed, 
 For they can lure no further ; and the ray 
 Of a bright sun can make sufficient holiday, 
 
 Developing the mountains, leaves, and flowers, 
 And shining in the brawling brook, where-by, 
 Clear as its current, glide the sauntering hours 
 With a calm languor, which, though to the eye 
 Idlesse it seem, hath its morality. 
 If from society we learn to live, 
 'Tis solitude should teach us how to die ; 
 It hath no flatterers ; vanity can give 
 No hollow aid ; alone — man with his God must strive. 
 
 THE GIAOUR. 
 
 'Tis many a year, 
 Since, dashing by the lonely shore, 
 I saw him urge as fleet a steed 
 As ever served a horseman's need. 
 But once I saw that face, yet then 
 It was so marked with inward pain, 
 I could not pass it by again ; 
 It breathes the same dark spirit now, 
 As death were stampM upon his brow. 
 'Tis twice three years at summer tide 
 Since first among our freres he came ; 
 And here it soothes him to abide 
 
 For some dark deed he will not name. 
 But never at our vesper prayer, 
 Nor e'er before confession chair 
 Kneels he, nor recks he when arise 
 Incense or anthem to the skies, 
 
24 THE BEAUTIES OF 
 
 But broods within his cell alone, 
 His faith and race alike unknown. 
 The sea from Paynirn land he crost ; 
 And here ascended from the coast, 
 Yet seems he not of Othman race, 
 But only Christian in his face : 
 I'd judge him some stray renegade, 
 Repentant of the change he made, 
 Save that he shuns our holy shrine, 
 Nor tastes the sacred bread and wine. 
 Great largess to these walls he brought, 
 And thus our abbot's favour bought ; 
 But were I Prior, not a day 
 Should brook such stranger's further stay, 
 Or pent within our penance cell 
 Should doom him there for aye to dwell. 
 Much in his visions mutters he 
 Of maiden 'whelm'd beneath the sea ; 
 Of sabres clashing, foemen flying, 
 Wrongs avenged, and Moslem dying. 
 On cliff he hath been known to stand, 
 And rave as to some bloody hand 
 Fresh sever'd from its parent limb, 
 Invisible to all but him, 
 Which beckons onward to his grave, 
 And lures to leap into the wave. 
 ******* 
 
 Dark and unearthly is the scowl 
 That glares beneath his dusky cowl : 
 The flash of that dilating eye 
 Reveals too much of times gone by ; 
 Though varying, indistinct its hue, 
 Oft will his glance the gazer rue, 
 
LORD BYRON. 25 
 
 For in it lurks that nameless spell 
 Which speaks, itself unspeakable, 
 A spirit yet unquell'd and high, 
 That claims and keeps ascendency ; 
 And like the bird whose pinions quake, 
 But cannot fly the gazing snake, 
 Will others quail beneath his look, 
 Nor 'scape the glance they scarce can brook. 
 From him the half-affrighted Friar ' 
 When met alone would fain retire, 
 As if that eye and bitter smile 
 Transferr'd to others fear and guile : 
 Not oft to smile descendeth he, 
 And when he doth 'tis sad to see 
 That he but mocks at Misery. 
 How that pale lip will curl and quiver ! 
 Then fix once more as if for ever ; 
 As if his sorrow or disdain 
 Forbade him e'er to smile again. 
 Well were it so — such ghastly mirth 
 From joyaunce ne'er derived its birth. 
 But sadder still it were to trace 
 What once were feelings in that face : 
 Time hath not yet the features fix'd, 
 But brighter traits with evil mix'd ; 
 And there are hues not always faded, 
 Which speak a mind not all degraded 
 Even by the crimes through which it waded : 
 The common crowd but see the gloom 
 Of wayward deeds, and fitting doom ; 
 The close observer can espy 
 A noble soul, and lineage high : 
 C 
 
26 THE BEAUTIES OF 
 
 Alas ! though both bestow'd in vain, 
 
 Which grief could change, and guilt could stain* 
 
 It was no vulgar tenement 
 
 To which such lofty gifts were lent, 
 
 And still with little less than dread 
 
 On such the sight is riveted. 
 
 The roofless cot, decay'd and rent, 
 
 Will scarce delay the passer by ; 
 The tower by war or tempest bent, 
 While yet may frown one battlement, 
 
 Demands and daunts the stranger's eye ; 
 Each ivied arch, and pillar lone, 
 Pleads haughtily for glories gone ! 
 
 His floating robe around him folding, 
 
 Slow sweeps he through the column , d aisle ; 
 With dread beheld, with gloom beholding 
 
 The rites that sanctify the pile. 
 But when the anthem shakes the choir, 
 And kneel the monks, his steps retire ; 
 By yonder lone and wavering torch 
 His asjpect glares within the porch ; 
 There will he pause till all is done — 
 And hear the prayer, but utter none. , 
 See — by the half-illumined wall 
 His hood fly back, his dark hair fall, 
 That pale brow wildly wreathing round, 
 As if the Gorgon there had bound 
 The sablest of the serpent-braid 
 That o'er her fearful forehead stray 'd : 
 For he declines the convent oath, 
 And leaves those locks unhallow'd growth. 
 
LORD BYRON. 27 
 
 But wears our garb in all beside ; 
 And, not from piety but pride. 
 
 THE SIEGE OE CORINTH. 
 
 Many a vanish'd year and age, 
 
 And tempests breath, and battle's rage, 
 
 Have swept o'er Corinth ; yet she stands 
 
 A fortress form'd to Freedom's hands. 
 
 The whirlwind's wrath, the earthquake's shock, 
 
 Have left untouched her hoary rock, 
 
 The keystone of a land, which still, 
 
 Though fall'n, looks proudly on that hill, 
 
 The landmark to the double tide 
 
 That purpling rolls on either side, 
 
 As if their waters chafed to meet, 
 
 Yet pause and crouch beneath her feet. 
 
 But could the blood before her shed 
 
 Since first Timoleon's brother bled, 
 
 Or baffled Persia's despot fled, 
 
 Arise from out the earth which drank 
 
 The stream of slaughter as it sank, 
 
 That sanguine ocean would o'erflow 
 
 Her isthmus idly spread below : 
 
 Or could the bones of all the slain, 
 
 Who perish'd there, be piled again, 
 
 That rival pyramid would rise 
 
 More mountain-like, through those clear skies, 
 
 Than yon tower-capt Acropolis 
 
 Which seems the very clouds to kiss. 
 
 On dun Cithseron's ridge appears 
 
 The gleam of twice ten thousand spears ; 
 
28 THE BEAUTIES OF 
 
 And downward to the Isthmian plain 
 From shore to shore of either main, 
 The tent is pitched, the crescent shines 
 Along the Moslem's leaguering lines ; 
 And the dusk Spahi's bands advance 
 Beneath each bearded pasha's glance ; 
 And far and wide as eye can reach 
 The turban 'd cohorts throng the beach ; 
 And there the Arab's camel kneels, 
 And there his steed the Tartar wheels ; 
 The Turcoman hath left his herd, 
 The sabre round his loins to gird ; 
 And there the volleying thunders pour, 
 Till waves grow smoother to the roar. 
 The trench is dug, the cannon's breath 
 Wings the far hissing globe of death ; 
 Fast whirl the fragments from the wall, 
 Which crumbles with the ponderous ball ; 
 And from that wall the foe replies, 
 O'er dusty plain and smoky skies, 
 With fires that answer fast and well 
 The summons of the Infidel. 
 
 But near and nearest to the wall 
 Of those who wish and work its fall, 
 With deeper skill in war's black art 
 Than Othman's sons, and high of heart 
 As any chief that ever stood 
 Triumphant in the fields of blood ; 
 From post to post, and deed to deed, 
 Fast spurring on his reeking steed, 
 Where sallying ranks the trench assail, 
 And make the foremost Moslem quail 
 
IORD BYRONV 
 
 Or where the battery, guarded well, 
 Remains as yet impregnable, 
 Alighting cheerly to inspire 
 The soldier slackening in his fire ; 
 The first and freshest of the host 
 Which StambouPs sultan there can boast, 
 To guide the follower o'er the field, 
 To point the tube, the lance to wield, 
 Or whirl around the bickering blade ; — 
 Was Alp, the Adrian renegade ! 
 
 From Venice — once a race of worth 
 His gentle sires — he drew his birth ; 
 But late an exile from her shore, 
 Against his countrymen he bore 
 The arms they taught to bear ; and now 
 The turban girt his shaven brow. 
 Through many a change had Corinth pass'fl 
 With Greece to Venice' rule at last ; 
 And here, before her walls, with those 
 To Greece and Venice equal foes, 
 He stood a foe, with all the zeal 
 Which young and fiery converts feel, 
 Within whose heated bosom throngs 
 The memory of a thousand wrongs. 
 To him had Venice ceased to be 
 Her ancient civic boast — " the Free ;" 
 And in the palace of Saint Mark 
 Unnamed accusers in the dark 
 Within the " Lion's mouth" had placed 
 A charge against him uneffaced : 
 He fled in time, and saved his life, 
 To waste his future years in strife, 
 C 2 
 
30 THE BEAUTIES OF 
 
 That taught his land how great her loss 
 In him who triumph'd o'er the Cross, 
 'Gainst which he rear'd the Crescent high, 
 And battled to avenge or die. 
 
 Coumourgi — he whose closing scene 
 Adorn'd the triumph of Eugene, 
 When on Carlo witz' bloody plain, 
 The last and mightiest of the slain, 
 He sank, regretting not to die, 
 But curst the Christian's victory — 
 Coumourgi — can his glory cease, 
 That latest conqueror of Greece, 
 Till Christian hands to Greece restore 
 The freedom Venice gave of yore ? 
 A hundred years have roll'd away 
 Since he refixed the Moslem's sway ; 
 And now he led the Mussulman, 
 And gave the guidance of the van 
 To Alp, who well repaid the trust 
 By cities levell'd with the dust ; 
 And proved, by many a deed of death, 
 How firm his heart in novel faith. 
 
 The walls grew weak ; and fast and hot 
 
 Against them pour'd the ceaseless shot, 
 
 With unabating fury sent 
 
 From battery to battlement ; 
 
 And thunder-like the pealing din 
 
 Rose from each heated culverin ; 
 
 And here and there some crackling dome 
 
 Was fired before the exploding bomb : 
 
 And as the fabric sank beneath 
 
 The shattering shell's volcanic breath, 
 
LORD BYRON. 31 
 
 In red and wreathing columns flash'd 
 The flame, as loud the ruin crash'd, 
 Or into countless meteors driven, 
 Its earth- stars melted into heaven; 
 Whose clouds that day grew doubly dun, 
 Impervious to the hidden sun, 
 With volumed smoke that slowly grew 
 To one wide sky of sulphurous hue. 
 
 But not for vengeance, long delay'd, 
 Alone, did Alp, the renegade, 
 The Moslem warriors sternly teach 
 His skill to pierce the promised breach : 
 Within these walls a maid was pent 
 His hope would win, without consent 
 Of that inexorable sire, 
 Whose heart refused him in its ire, 
 When Alp, beneath his Christian name, 
 Her virgin hand aspired to claim. 
 In happier mood, and earlier time 
 While unimpeach'd for traitorous crime, 
 Gayest in Gondola or hall, 
 He glitter'd through the Carnival ; 
 And tuned the softest serenade 
 That e'er on Adria's waters play'd 
 At midnight to Italian maid. 
 
 And many deem'd her heart was won ; 
 For sought by numbers, given to none, 
 Had young Francesca's hand remain'd 
 Still by the church's bonds unchain'd : 
 And when the Adriatic bore 
 Lanciotto to the Paynim shore, 
 
32 THE BEAUTIES OF 
 
 Her wonted smiles were seen to fail, 
 And pensive wax'd the maid and pale ; 
 More constant at confessional, 
 More rare at masque and festival ; 
 Or seen at such, with downcast eyes, 
 Which conquer'd hearts they ceas'd to prize 
 With listless look she seems to gaze ; 
 With humbler care her form arrays ; 
 Her voice less lively in the song ; 
 Her step, though light, less fleet among 
 The pairs, on whom the Morning's glance 
 Breaks, yet unsated with the dance. 
 
 Sent by the state to guard the land, 
 (Which, wrested from the Moslem's hand, 
 While Sobieski tamed his pride 
 By Buda's wall and Danube's side, 
 The chiefs of Venice wrung away 
 From Patra to Euboea's bay,) 
 Minotti held in Corinth's towers 
 The Doge's delegated powers, 
 While yet the pitying eye of Peace 
 Smil'd o'er her long-forgotten Greece : 
 And ere that faithless truce was broke 
 Which freed her from the unchristian yoke, 
 With him his gentle daughter came ; 
 Nor there, since Menelaus' dame 
 Forsook her lord and land, to prove 
 What woes await on lawless love, 
 Had fairer form adorn'd the shore 
 Than she, the matchless stranger, bore. 
 
 The wall is rent, the ruins yawn ; 
 And, with to-morrow's earliest dawn, 
 
LORD BYRON. 33 
 
 O'er the disjointed mass shall vault 
 The foremost of the fierce assault. 
 The bands are rank 1 d ; the chosen van 
 Of Tartar and of Mussulman, 
 The full of hope, misnamed u forlorn," 
 Who hold the thought of death in scorn, 
 And win their way with falchions' force, 
 Or pave the path with many a corse, 
 O'er which the following brave may rise, 
 Their stepping-stone — the last who dies ! 
 
 »Tis midnight : on the mountain's brown 
 The cold, round moon shines deeply down ; 
 Blue roll the waters, blue the sky 
 Spreads like an ocean hung on high, 
 Bespangled with those isles of light, 
 So wildly, spiritually bright ; 
 Who ever gazed upon them shining, 
 And turn'd to earth without repining, 
 Nor wish'd for wings to flee away, 
 And mix with their eternal ray ? 
 The waves on either shore lay there 
 Calm, clear, and azure as the air ; 
 And scarce their foam the pebbles shook, 
 But murmur'd meekly as the brook. 
 The winds were pillow'd on the waves ; 
 The banners droop'd along their staves, 
 And, as they fell around them furling, 
 Above them shone the crescent curling ; 
 And that deep silence was unbroke, 
 Save where the watch his signal spoke, 
 Save where the steed neigh'd oft and shrill, 
 And echo answer'd from the hill, 
 
34 
 
 THE BEAUTIES OF 
 
 And the wide hum of that wild host 
 
 Rustled like leaves from coast to coast, 
 
 As rose the Muezzin's voice in air 
 
 In midnight call to wonted prayer ; 
 
 It rose, that chanted mournful strain, 
 
 Like some lone spirit's o'er the plain : 
 
 'Twas musical, but sadly sweet, 
 
 Such as when winds and harp-strings meet, 
 
 And take a long unmeasured tone, 
 
 To mortal minstrelsy unknown. 
 
 It seem'd to those within the wall 
 
 A cry prophetic of their fall : 
 
 It struck even the besieger's ear 
 
 With something ominous and drear, 
 
 An undefined and sudden thrill, 
 
 Which makes the heart a moment still, 
 
 Then beat with quicker pulse, ashamed 
 
 Of that strange sense its silence framed ; 
 
 Such as a sudden passing-bell 
 
 Wakes, though but for a stranger's knell. 
 
 The tent of Alp was on the shore ; 
 
 The sound was hush'd, the prayer was o'er ; 
 
 The watch was set, the night-round made, 
 
 AH mandates issued and obey'd : 
 
 'Tis but another anxious night, 
 
 His pains the morrow may requite 
 
 With all revenge and love can pay, 
 
 In guerdon for their long delay. 
 
 Few hours remain, and he hath need 
 
 Of rest, to nerve for many a deed 
 
 Of slaughter ; but within his soul 
 
 The thoughts like troubled waters roll. 
 
LORD BYRON. 35 
 
 He stood alone among the host ; 
 
 Not his the loud fanatic boast 
 
 To plant the crescent o'er the cross, 
 
 Or risk a life with little loss, 
 
 Secure in paradise to be 
 
 By Houris lov'd immortally: 
 
 Nor his, what burning patriots feel, 
 
 The stern exaltedness of zeal, 
 
 Profuse of blood, untired in toil, 
 
 When battling on the parent soil. 
 
 He stood alone — a renegade 
 
 Against the country he betray'd ; 
 
 He stood alone amidst his band, 
 
 Without a trusted heart or hand : 
 
 They follow'd him, for he was brave, 
 
 And great the spoil he got and gave : 
 
 They crouch'd to him, for he had skill 
 
 To warp and wield the vulgar will ; 
 
 But still his Christian origin 
 
 With them was little less than sin. 
 
 They envied even the faithless fame 
 
 He earn'd beneath a Moslem name ; 
 
 Since he, their mightiest chief, had been 
 
 In youth a bitter Nazarene. 
 
 They did not know how pride can stoop, 
 
 When baffled feelings withering droop ; 
 
 They did not know how hate can burn 
 
 In hearts once changed from soft to stern ; 
 
 Nor all the false and fatal zeal 
 
 The convert of revenge can feel. 
 
 He ruled them — man may rule the worst, 
 
 By ever daring to be first : • 
 
36 THE BEAUTIES OF 
 
 So lions o'er the jackall sway ; 
 The jackall points, he fells the prey, 
 Then on the vulgar yelling press, 
 To gorge the relics of success. 
 
 His head grows fever'd, and his pulse 
 The quick successive throbs convulse ; 
 In vain from side to side he throws 
 His form, in courtship of repose ; 
 Or, if he dozed, a sound, a start 
 Awoke him with a sunken heart. 
 The turban on his hot brow press'd, 
 The mail weigh'd lead-like on his breast, 
 Though oft and long beneath its weight 
 Upon his eyes had slumber sate, 
 Without or couch or canopy, 
 Except a rougher field and sky 
 Than now might yield a warrior's bed, 
 Than now along the heaven was spread. 
 He could not rest, he could not stay 
 Within his tent to wait for day, 
 But walk'd him forth along the sand, 
 Where thousand sleepers strew'd the strand. 
 What pillow'd them ? and why should he 
 More wakeful than the humblest be ? 
 Since more their peril, worse their toil, 
 And yet they fearless dream of spoil ; 
 While he alone, where thousands pass'd 
 A night of sleep, perchance their last, 
 In sickly vigil wander'd on, 
 And envied all he gazed upon. 
 
LORD BYRON. 
 
 He felt his soul become more light 
 Beneath the freshness of the night. 
 Cool was the silent sky, though calm, 
 And bathed his brow with airy balm : 
 Behind, the camp — before him lay, 
 In many a winding creek and bay, 
 Lepanto's gulf; and, on the brow 
 Of Delphi's hill, unshaken snow, 
 High and eternal, such as shone 
 Through thousand summers brightly gone, 
 Along the gulf, the mount, the clime ; 
 It will not melt, like man, to time : 
 Tyrant and slave are swept away, 
 Less form'd to wear before the ray ; 
 But that white veil, the lightest, frailest, 
 Which on the mighty mount thou hailest, 
 While tower and tree are torn and rent, 
 Shines o'er its craggy battlement ; 
 In form a peak, in height a cloud, 
 In texture like a hovering shroud, 
 Thus high by parting Freedom spread, 
 As from her fond abode she fled, 
 And linger'd on the spot, where long 
 Her prophet spirit spake in song. 
 Oh, still her step at moments falters 
 O'er wither'd fields, and ruin'd altars, 
 And fain would wake, in souls too broken, 
 By pointing to each glorious token. 
 But vain her voice, till better days 
 Dawn in those yet remember'd rays 
 Which shone upon the Persian flying, 
 And saw the Spartan smile in dying. 
 D 
 
 37 
 
38 
 
 THE BEAU'llES OF 
 
 Not mindless of these mighty times 
 
 Was Alp, despite his flight and crimes ; 
 
 And through this night, as on he wander'd, 
 
 And o'er the past and present ponder'd, 
 
 And thought upon the glorious dead 
 
 Who there in better cause had bled, 
 
 He felt how faint and feebly dim 
 
 The fame that could accrue to him, 
 
 Who cheer'd the band, and wav'd the sword, 
 
 A traitor in a turban'd horde ; 
 
 And led them to the lawless siege, 
 
 Whose best success were sacrilege. 
 
 Not so had those his fancy number'd, 
 
 The chiefs whose dust around him slumber'd; 
 
 Their phalanx marshall'd on the plain, 
 
 Whose bulwarks were not then in vain. 
 
 They fell devoted, but undying ; 
 
 The very gale their names seem'd sighing : 
 
 The waters murmur'd of their name ; 
 
 The woods were peopled with their fame ; 
 
 The silent pillar, lone and gray, 
 
 Claim'd kindred with their sacred clay ; 
 
 Their spirits wrapt the dusky mountain, 
 
 Their memory sparkled o'er the fountain ; 
 
 The meanest rill, the mightiest river 
 
 Roll'd mingling with their fame for ever 
 
 Despite of every yoke she bears. 
 
 That land is glory's still and theirs ! 
 
 'Tis still a watch-word to the earth. 
 
 When man would do a deed of worth 
 
 He points to Greece, and turns to tread, 
 
 So sanction'd, on the tyrant's head- 
 
LORD BYRON. 39 
 
 He looks to her, and rushes on 
 Where life is lost, or freedom won. 
 
 Still by the shore Alp mutely mused, 
 
 And woo'd the freshness Night diffused. 
 
 There shrinks no ebb in that tideless sea, 
 
 Which changeless rolls eternally ; 
 
 So that wildest of waves, in their angriest mood, 
 
 Scarce break on the bounds of the land for a rood ; 
 
 And the powerless moon beholds them flow, 
 
 Heedless if she come or go : 
 
 Calm or high, in main or bay, 
 
 On their course she hath no sway. 
 
 The rock unworn its base doth bare, 
 
 And looks o'er the surf, but it comes not there ; 
 
 And the fringe of the foam may be seen below, 
 
 On the line that it left long ages ago : 
 
 A smooth short space of yellow sand 
 
 Between it and the greener land; 
 
 He wander'd on, along the beach, 
 
 Till within the range of a carbine's reach 
 
 Of the leaguer'd wall ; but they saw him not, 
 
 Or how could he 'scape from the hostile shot ? 
 
 Did traitors lurk in the Christian's hold? 
 
 Were their hands grown stiff, or their hearts wax'd cold .* 
 
 I know not, in sooth ;. but from yonder wall 
 
 There flash'd no fire, and there hiss'd no ball, 
 
 Though he stood beneath the bastion's frown, 
 
 That flank'd the sea-ward gate of the town ; 
 
 Though he heard the sound, and could almost tell 
 
 The sullen words of the sentinel, 
 
 As his measured step on the stone below 
 
 Clank'd, as he paced it to and fro ; 
 
40 THE BEAUTIES OF 
 
 And he saw the lean dogs beneath the wall 
 
 Hold o'er the dead their carnival, 
 
 Gorging and growling o'er carcass and limb ; 
 
 They were too busy to bark at him ! 
 
 From a Tartar's skull they had stripp'd the flesh, 
 
 As ye peel the fig when its fruit is fresh ; 
 
 And their white tusks crunch'd o'er the whiter skull 
 
 As it slipp'd through their jaws, when their edge grew 
 
 dull, 
 As they lazily mumbled the bones of the dead, 
 When they scarce could rise from the spot where they 
 
 fed; 
 So well had they broken a lingering fast 
 With those who had fallen for that night's repast. 
 And Alp knew, by the turbans that roll'd on the sand, 
 The foremost of these were the best of his band : 
 Crimson and green were the shawls of their wean 
 And each scalp had a single long tuft of hair, 
 All the rest was shaven and bare. 
 The scalps were in the wild dog's maw, 
 The hair was tangled round his jaw. 
 But close by the shore, on the edge of the gulf, 
 There sat a vulture flapping a wolf, 
 Who had stolen from the hills, but kept away, 
 Scared by the dogs, from the human prey ; 
 But he seized on his share of a steed that lay, 
 Picked by the birds, on the sands of the bay. 
 
 Alp turn'd him from the sickening sight : 
 
 Never had shaken his nerves in fight; 
 
 But he better could brook to behold the dying 
 
 Deep in the tide of their warm blood lying, 
 
 Scorch'd with the death-thirst, and writhing in vain, 
 
 Than the perishing dead who are past all pain. 
 
LORD BYRON. 41 
 
 There is something of pride in the perilous hour, 
 
 Whate'er be the shape in which death may lower ; 
 
 For Fame is there to say who bleeds, 
 
 And Honour's eye on daring deeds ! 
 
 But when all is past, it is humbling to tread 
 
 O'er the weltering field of the tombless dead, 
 
 And see worms of the earth, and fowls of the air, 
 
 Beasts of the forests, all gathering there ; 
 
 All regarding man as their prey, 
 
 All rejoicing in his decay. 
 
 There is a temple in ruin stands, 
 
 Fashion'd by long-forgotten hands ; 
 
 Two or three columns, and many a stone, 
 
 Marble and granite, with grass o'ergrown ! 
 
 Out upon Time! it will leave no more 
 
 Of <he things to come than the things before ! 
 
 Out upon Time ! who for ever will leave 
 
 But enough of the past for the future to grieve 
 
 0'e» that which bath been, and o'er that which must be : 
 
 What we have seen, our sons shall see ; 
 
 Remnants of things that have pass'd away, 
 
 Fragments of stone, rear'd by creatures of clay 1 
 
 He sate him down at a pillar's base, 
 And pass'd his hand athwart his face ; 
 Like one in dreary musing mood, 
 Declining was his attitude ; 
 His head was drooping on his breast, 
 Fever'd, throbbing, and opprest ; 
 And o'er his brow, so downward bent, 
 Oft his beating fingers went, 
 Hurriedly, as you may see 
 Your own run over the ivory ' 
 D -' 
 
THE BEAUTIES OF 
 
 Ere the measured tone is taken 
 
 By the chords you would awaken. 
 
 There he sate all heavily, 
 
 As he heard the night-wind sigh. 
 
 Was it the wind, through some hollow stone, 
 
 Sent that soft and tender moan ? 
 
 He lifted his head, and he look'd on the sea, 
 
 But it was unrippled as glass may be ; . 
 
 He look'd on the long grass — it waved not a blade ; 
 
 How was that gentle sound convey'd ? 
 
 He look'd to the banners — each flag lay still, 
 
 So did the leaves on Cithseron's hill, 
 
 And he felt not a breath come over his cheek ; 
 
 What did that sudden sound bespeak ? 
 
 He turn'd to the left — is he sure of sight ? 
 
 There sate a lady, youthful and bright ! 
 
 He started up with more of fear 
 
 Than if an armed foe were near. 
 
 " God of my fathers ! what is here ? 
 
 Who art thou, and wherefore sent 
 
 So near a hostile armament ?" 
 
 His trembling hands refused to sign 
 
 The cross he deem'd no more divine : 
 
 He had resumed it in that hour, 
 
 But conscience wrung away the power. 
 
 He gazed, he saw : he knew the face 
 
 Of beauty, and the form of grace ; 
 
 It was Francesca by his side, 
 
 The maid who might have been his bride! 
 
 The rose was yet upon her cheek, 
 
 But mellow'd with a tenderer streak : 
 
 Where was the play of her soft lips fled ? 
 
 Gone was the smile that enliven'd their red. 
 
LORD BYRON. 
 
 The ocean's calm within their view, 
 
 Beside her eye had less of blue ; 
 
 But like that cold wave it stood still, 
 
 And its glance, though clear, was chill. 
 
 Around her form a thin robe twining, 
 
 Nought conceal'd her bosom shining ; 
 
 Through the parting of her hair, 
 
 Floating, darkly downward there, 
 
 Her rounded arm show'd white and bare : 
 
 And ere yet she made reply, 
 
 Once she raised her hand on high ; 
 
 It was so wan, and transparent of hue, 
 
 You might have seen the moon shine through. 
 
 "I come from my rest to him I love best, 
 
 That I may be happy, and he may be blest. 
 
 I have pass'd the guards, the gate, the wall ; 
 
 Sought thee in safety through foes and all. 
 
 'Tis said the lion will turn and flee 
 
 From a maid in the pride of her purity ; 
 
 And the Power on high, that can shield the good 
 
 Thus from the tyrant of the wood, 
 
 Hath extended its mercy to guard me as well 
 
 From the hands of the leaguering infidel. 
 
 I come — and if I come in vain, 
 
 Never, oh never, we meet again ! 
 
 Thou hast done a fearful deed 
 
 In falling away from thy father's creed ; 
 
 But dash that turban to earth, and sign 
 
 The sign of the cross, and for ever be mine ; 
 
 Wring the black drop from thy heart, 
 
 And to-morrow unites us no more to part." 
 
 43 
 
44 THE BEAUTIES OF 
 
 '* And where should our bridal couch be spread? 
 
 In the midst of the dying and the dead ? 
 
 For to-morrow we give to the slaughter and flame 
 
 The sons and the shrines of the Christian name. 
 
 None, save thou and thine, I've sworn 
 
 Shall be left upon the morn : 
 
 But thee will I bear to a lovely spot, 
 
 Where our hands shall be join'd, and our sorrow. forgot 
 
 There thou yet shalt be my bride, 
 
 When once again I've quelled the pride 
 
 Of Venice ; and her hated race" 
 
 Have felt the arm they would debase ; 
 
 Scourge, with a whip of scorpions, those 
 
 Whom vice and envy made my foes." 
 
 Upon his hand she laid her own — 
 
 Light was the touch, but it thrilPd to the bone, 
 
 And shot a chillness to his heart, 
 
 Which fix'd him beyond the power to start. 
 
 Though slight was that grasp so mortal cold, 
 
 He could not loose him from its hold ; 
 
 But never did clasp of one so dear 
 
 Strike on the pulse with such feeling of fear, 
 
 As those thin fingers long and white, 
 
 Froze through his blood by their touch that night. 
 
 The feverish glow of his brow was gone, 
 
 And his heart sank so still that it felt like stone, 
 
 As he look'd on the face, and beheld its hue 
 
 So deeply changed from what he knew : 
 
 Fair but faint — without the ray 
 
 Of mind, that made each feature play 
 
 Like sparkling waves on a sunny day ; 
 
 And her motionless lips lay still as death, 
 
 And her words came forth without her breath 
 
LORD BYRON. 45 
 
 And there rose not a heave o'er her bosom's swell, 
 
 And there seem'd not a pulse in her veins to dwell. 
 
 Though her eye shone out, yet the lids were fix'd, 
 
 And the glance that it gave was wild and unmix'd 
 
 With aught of change, as the eyes may seem 
 
 Of the restless who walk in a troubled dream 
 
 Like the figures on arras, that gloomily glare, 
 
 Stirr'd by the breath of the wintery air, 
 
 So seen by the dying lamp's fitful light, 
 
 Lifeless, but life-like, and awful to sight ; 
 
 As they seem, thro' the dimness, about to come down 
 
 From the shadowy wall where their images frown ; 
 
 Fearfully flitting to and fro, 
 
 As the gusts on the tapestry come and go. 
 
 " If not for love of me be given 
 
 Thus much, then, for the love of heaven,— 
 
 Again I say— <hat turban tear 
 
 From off thy faithless brow, and swear 
 
 Thine injured country's sons to spare, 
 
 Or thou art lost ; and never shalt see, 
 
 Not earth — that's past — but heaven or me. 
 
 If this thou dost accord, albeit 
 
 A heavy doom 'tis thine to meet, 
 
 That doom shall half absolve thy sin, 
 
 And mercy's gate may receive thee within : 
 
 But pause one moment more, and take 
 
 The curse of him thou didst forsake ; 
 
 And look once more to heaven, and see 
 
 Its love for ever shut from thee. 
 
 There is a light cloud by the moon — 
 
 'Tis passing, and will pass full soon — 
 
 If, by the time its vapoury sail 
 
 Hath ceased her shaded orb to veil, 
 
46 THE BEAUTIES OF 
 
 Thy heart within thee is not changed. 
 Then God and man are both avenged ; 
 Dark will thy doom be, darker still 
 Thine immortality of ill." 
 
 Alp look'd to heaven, and saw on high 
 
 The sign she spake of in the sky ; 
 
 But his heart was swollen, and turn'd aside, 
 
 By deep interminable pride. 
 
 This first false passion of his breast 
 
 Roll'd like a torrent o'er the rest. 
 
 He sue for mercy ! He ! dismay'd 
 
 By wild words of a timid maid ! 
 
 Hie, wrong'd by Venice, vow to save 
 
 Her sons, devoted to the grave ! 
 
 No — though that cloud were thunder's worst, 
 
 And charged to crush him — let it burst ! 
 
 He look'd upon it earnestly, 
 
 Without an accent of reply ; 
 
 He watch'd it passing ; it is flown : 
 
 Full on his eye the clear moon shone, 
 
 And thus he spake — " Whate'er my fate, 
 
 I am no changeling — 'tis too late : 
 
 The reed in storms may bow and quiver, 
 
 Then rise again ; the tree must shiver. 
 
 What Venice made me, I must be, 
 
 Her foe in all, save love to thee : 
 
 But thou art safe : oh, fly with me !" 
 
 He turned, but she i3 gone ! 
 
 Nothing is there but the column stone. 
 
 Hath she sunk in the earth, or melted in air ? 
 
 He saw not, he knew not ; but nothing is there. 
 
LORD BYRON. 47 
 
 The night is past, and shines the sun 
 
 As if that morn were a jocund one. 
 
 Lightly and brightly breaks away 
 
 The morning from her mantle gray, 
 
 And the Noon will look on a sultry day. 
 
 Hark to the trump, and the drum, 
 
 And the mournful sound of the barbarous horn, 
 
 And the flap of the banners, that flit as they're borne, 
 
 And the neigh of the steed, and the multitude's hum, 
 
 And the clash, and the shout, " they come, they come I" 
 
 The horsetails are pluck'd from the ground, and the 
 
 sword 
 From its sheath ; and they form, and but wait for the 
 
 word. 
 Tartar, and Spahi, and Turcoman, 
 Strike your tents, and throng to the van ; 
 Mount ye, spur ye, skirr the plain, 
 That the fugitive may flee in vain, 
 When he breaks from the town ; and none escape, 
 Aged or young, in the Christian shape ; 
 While your fellows on foot, in a fiery mass, 
 Bloodstain the breach through which they pass. 
 The steeds are all bridled, and snort to the rein : 
 Curved is each neck, and flowing each mane ; 
 White is the foam of their champ on the bit : 
 The spears are uplifted ; the matches are lit ; 
 The cannon are pointed, and ready to roar, 
 And crush the wall they have crumbled before : 
 Forms in his phalanx each Janizar ; 
 Alp at their head ; his right arm is bare, 
 So is the blade of his scimitar ; 
 The khan and the pachas are all at their post : 
 The vizier himself at the head of the host. 
 
48 THE BEAUTIES OF 
 
 When the culverin's signal is fired, then on ; 
 
 Leave not in Corinth a living one — 
 
 A priest at her altars, a chief in her halls, 
 
 A hearth in her mansions, a stone on her walls. 
 
 God and the prophet — Allah Hu ! 
 
 Up to the skies with that wild halloo 1 
 
 " There the breach lies for passage, the ladder to scale ; 
 
 And your hands on your sabres, and how should ye fail I 
 
 He who first downs with the red cross may crave 
 
 His heart's dearest wish ; let him ask it and have l" 
 
 Thus utter 'd Coumourgi, the dauntless vizier ; 
 
 The reply was the brandish of sabre and spear, 
 
 And the shout of fierce thousands in joyous ire: — 
 
 Silence — hark to the signal — fire ! 
 
 As the wolves, that headlong go 
 
 On the stately buffalo, 
 
 Though with fiery eyes, and angry roar, 
 
 And hoofs that stamp, and horns that gore, 
 
 He tramples on earth, or tosses on high 
 
 The foremost, who rush on his strength but to die : 
 
 Thus against the wall they went, 
 
 Thus the first were backward bent ; 
 
 Many a bosom, sheath 'd in brass, 
 
 Strew'd the earth like broken glass, 
 
 Shiver'd by the shot, that tore 
 
 The ground whereon they moved no more : 
 
 Even as they fell, in files they lay, 
 
 Like the mower's grass at the close of day, 
 
 When his work is done on the levelled plain ; 
 
 Such was the fall of the foremost slain. 
 
 As the spring-tides, with heavy plash, 
 From the cliffs invading dash 
 
LORD BYRON. 49 
 
 Huge fragments, sapp'd by the ceaseless flow, 
 
 Till white and thundering down they go, 
 
 Like the avalanche's snow 
 
 On the Alpine vales below ; 
 
 Thus at length outbreathed and worn, 
 
 Corinth's son3 were downward borne 
 
 By the long and oft renewed 
 
 Charge of the Moslem multitude. 
 
 In firmness they stood, and in masses they fell, 
 
 Heap'd, by the host of the infidel, 
 
 Hand to hand, and foot to foot : 
 
 Nothing there, save death, wa3 mute ; 
 
 Stroke, and thrust, and flash, and cry 
 
 For quarter, or for victory, 
 
 Mingle there with the volleying thunder, 
 
 Which makes the distant cities wonder 
 
 How the sounding battle goes, 
 
 If with them, or for their foes ; 
 
 If they must mourn, or may rejoice 
 
 In that annihilating voice, 
 
 Which pierces the deep hills through and through 
 
 With an echo dread and new : 
 
 You might have heard it, on that day, 
 
 O'er Salamis and Megara ; 
 
 (We have heard the hearers say,) 
 
 Even unto Piraeus bay. 
 
 From the point of encountering blades to the hilt, 
 Sabres and swords with blood were gilt ! 
 But the rampart is won, and the spoil begun, 
 And all but the after carnage done. 
 Shriller shrieks now mingling come 
 From within the plundered dome : 
 E 
 
50 THE BEAUTIES OF 
 
 Hark to the haste of flying feet, 
 That splash in the blood of the slippery street ; 
 But here and there, where 'vantage ground 
 Against the foe may still be found, 
 Desperate groups, of twelve or ten, 
 Make a pause, and turn again — 
 With banded backs against the wall, 
 Fiercely stand, or fighting fall. 
 
 There stood an old man — his hairs were white, 
 
 But his veteran arm was full of might : 
 
 So gallantly bore he the brunt of the fray, 
 
 The dead before him, on that day, 
 
 In a semicircle lay ; 
 
 Still he combatted unwounded, 
 
 Though retreating, unsurrounded. 
 
 Many a scar of former fight 
 
 Lurk'd beneath his corslet bright ; 
 
 But of every wound his body bore, 
 
 Each and all had been ta'en before : 
 
 Though aged he was, so iron of limb, 
 
 Few of our youth could cope with him ; 
 
 And the foes, whom he singly kept at bay, 
 
 Outnumber'd his thin hairs of silver gray. 
 
 From right to left his sabre swept : 
 
 Many an Othman mother wept 
 
 Sons that were unborn, when dipp'd 
 
 His weapon first in Moslem gore, 
 
 Ere his years could count a score. 
 
 Of all he might have been the sire 
 
 Who fell that day beneath his ire : 
 
 For, sonless left long years ago, 
 
 His wrath made many a childless foe ; 
 
LORD BYRON. 51 
 
 And since the day, when in the strait 
 
 His only boy had met his fate, 
 
 His parent's iron hand did doom 
 
 More than a human hecatomb. 
 
 If shades by carnage be appeased, 
 
 Patroclus' spirit less was pleased 
 
 Than his, Minotti's son, who died 
 
 Where Asia's bounds and ours divide. 
 
 Buried he lay, where thousands before 
 
 For thousands of years were inhumed on the shore : 
 
 What of them is left, to tell 
 
 Where they lie, and how they fell ? 
 
 Not a stone on their turf, nor a bone in their graves ; 
 
 But they live in the verse that immortally saves. 
 
 Hark to the Allah shout ! a band 
 
 Of the Mussulman bravest and best is at hand : 
 
 Their leader's nervous arm is bare, 
 
 Swifter to smite, and never to spare — 
 
 Unclothed to the shoulder it waves them on ; 
 
 Thus in the fight is he ever known : 
 
 Others a gaudier garb may show, 
 
 To tempt the spoil of the greedy foe ; 
 
 Many a hand's on a richer hilt, 
 
 But none on a steel more ruddily gilt ; 
 
 Many a loftier turban may wear ; — 
 
 Alp is but known by the white arm bare ; 
 
 Look through the thick of the fight, 'tis there ! 
 
 There is not a standard on that shore 
 
 So well advanced the ranks before ; 
 
 There is not a banner in Moslem war 
 
 Will lure the Delhis half so far ; 
 
 It glances like a falling star ! 
 
52 THE BEAUTIES OF 
 
 Where'er that mighty arm is seen, 
 The bravest be, or late have been ; 
 There the craven cries for quarter 
 Vainly to the vengeful Tartar ; 
 Or the hero, silent lying, 
 Scorns to yield a groan in dying ; 
 Mustering his last feeble blow 
 'Gainst the nearest levell'd foe, 
 Though faint beneath the mutual wound, 
 Grappling on the gory ground. 
 
 Still the old man stood erect, 
 And Alp's career a moment check'd. 
 " Yield thee, Minotti ; quarter take, 
 For thine own, thy daughter's sake." 
 
 " Never, renegado, never ! 
 
 Though the life of thy gift would last for ever." 
 
 " Francesca ! — Oh my promised bride ! 
 Must she too perish by thy pride ?" 
 
 " She is safe."—" Where ? where?"—" In heaven, 
 
 From whence thy traitor soul is driven — 
 
 Far from thee, and undefiled." 
 
 Grimly then Minotti smiled, 
 
 As he saw Alp staggering bow 
 
 Before his words, as with a blow. 
 
 " Oh God ! when died she ?"— " Yesternight— 
 
 Nor weep I for her spirit's flight : 
 
 None of my pure race shall ,be 
 
 Slaves to Mahomet and thee — 
 
 Come on !" — That challenge is in vain — 
 
 Alp's already with the slain ! 
 
LORD BYRON. 53 
 
 While Minotti's words were wreaking 
 
 More revenge in bitter speaking 
 
 Than his falchion's point had found, 
 
 Had the time allow'd to wound, 
 
 From within the neighbouring porch 
 
 Of a long defended church, 
 
 Where the last and desperate few 
 
 Would the failing fight renew, 
 
 The sharp shot dash'd Alp to the ground ; 
 
 Ere an eye could view the wound 
 
 That crash'd through the brain of the infidel, 
 
 Round he spun, and down he fell ; 
 
 A flash like fire within his eyes 
 
 Blazed, as he bent no more to rise, 
 
 And then eternal darkness sunk 
 
 Through all the palpitating trunk ; 
 
 Nought of life left, save a quivering 
 
 Where his limbs were slightly shivering; 
 
 They turn'd him on his back ; his breast 
 
 And brow were stain'd with gore and dust, 
 
 And through his lips the life-blood oozed, 
 
 From its deep veins lately loosed ; 
 
 But in his pulse there was no throb, 
 
 Nor on his lips one dying sob ; 
 
 Sigh, nor word, nor struggling breath 
 
 Heralded his way to death : 
 
 Ere his very thought could pray, 
 
 Unanealed he passed away, 
 
 Without a hope from mercy's aid, — 
 
 To the last a renegade. 
 
 Fearfully the yell arose 
 Of his followers, and his foes ; 
 These in joy, in fury those : 
 E 2 
 
54 THE BEAUTIES OF 
 
 Then again in conflict mixing, 
 Clashing swords, and spears transfixing, 
 Interchanged the blow and thrust, ' 
 Hurling warriors in the dust. 
 Street by street, and foot by foot, 
 Still Minotti dares dispute 
 The latest portion of the land 
 Left beneath his high command ; 
 With him, aiding heart and hand, 
 The remnant of his gallant band. 
 Still the church is tenable, 
 
 Whence issued late the fated ball 
 That half avenged the city's fall, 
 When Alp, her fierce assailant, fell : 
 Thither bending sternly back, 
 They leave before a bloody track ; 
 And, with their faces to the foe, 
 Dealing wounds with every blow, 
 The chief, and his retreating train, 
 Join to those within the fane ; 
 There they yet may breathe awhile, 
 Sheltered by the massy pile. 
 
 Brief breathing- time ! the turban'd host, 
 t With added ranks and raging boast, 
 Press onwards with such strength and heat. 
 Their numbers balk their own retreat ; 
 For narrow the way that led to the spot 
 Where still the Christians yielded not ; 
 And the foremost, if fearful, may vainly try 
 Through the massy column to turn and fly; 
 They perforce, must do or die. 
 They die ; but ere their eyes could close, 
 Avenger* o'er their bodies rose ; 
 
LORD BYRON. 55 
 
 Fresh and furious, fast they fill 
 The ranks unthinn'd, though slaughter'd still ; 
 And faint the weary Christians wax 
 Before the still renew'd attacks : 
 And now the Othmans gain the gate ; 
 Still resists its iron weight, 
 And still, all deadly aim'd and hot, 
 From every crevice comes the shot ; 
 From every shatter'd window pour 
 The volleys of the sulphurous shower : 
 But the portal wavering grows and weak — 
 The iron yields, the hinges creak — 
 It bends — it falls — and all is o'er ; 
 Xost Corinth may resist no more ! 
 
 r Darkly, sternly, and all alone, 
 
 Minotti stood o'er the altar stone : 
 
 Modonna's face upon him shone, 
 
 Painted in heavenly hues above, 
 
 With eyes of light and looks of love ; 
 
 And placed upon that holy shrine 
 
 To fix our thoughts on things divine, 
 
 When pictured there, we kneeling see 
 
 Her, and the boy-God on her knee, 
 
 Smiling sweetly on each prayer 
 
 To heaven, as if to waft it there. 
 
 Still she smiled ; even now she smiles, 
 
 Though slaughter streams along her aisles : 
 
 Minotti lifted his aged eye, 
 
 And made the sign of a cross with a sigh, 
 
 Then seized a torch which blazed thereby ; 
 
 And still he stood, while, with steel and flame. 
 
 Inward and onward the Mussulman came, 
 
56 
 
 THE BEAUTIES OF 
 
 The vaults beneath the mosaic stone 
 
 Contain'd the dead of ages gone ; 
 
 Their names were on the graven floor, 
 
 But now illegible with gore ; 
 
 The carved crests, and curious hues 
 
 The varied marble's veins diffuse, 
 
 Were smear'd, and slippery — stain'd, and strown 
 
 With broken swords, and helms o'erthrown : 
 
 There were dead above, and the dead below 
 
 Lay cold in many a coffin'd row ; 
 
 You might see them piled in sable state, 
 
 By a pale light through a gloomy grate ; 
 
 But War had enter'd their dark caves, 
 
 And stored .along the vaulted graves 
 
 Her sulphurous treasures, thickly spread 
 
 In masses by the fleshless dead : 
 
 Here, throughout the siege, had been 
 
 The Christians' chiefest magazine ; 
 
 To these a late form'd train now led, 
 
 Minotti's last and stern resource 
 
 Against the foe's o'erwhelming force. 
 
 The foe came on, and few remain 
 To strive, and those»must strive in vain : 
 For lack of further lives, to slake 
 The thirst of vengeance, now awake, 
 With barbarous blows they gash the dead, 
 And lop the already lifeless head, 
 And fell the statues from their niche, 
 And spoil the shrines of offerings rich ; 
 And from each other's rude hands wrest 
 The silver vessels saints had bless'd. 
 To the high altar on they go ; 
 Oh, but it made a glorious show ! 
 
LORD BYRON. 
 
 On its table still behold 
 
 The cup of consecrated gold ; 
 
 Massy and deep, a glittering prize, 
 
 Brightly it sparkles to plunderers' eyes : 
 
 That morn it held the holy wine, 
 
 Converted by Christ to his blood so divine, 
 
 Which his worshippers drank at the break of day, 
 
 To shrive their souls ere they join'd in the fray. 
 
 Still a few drops within it lay ; 
 
 And round the sacred table glow 
 
 Twelve lofty lamps, in splendid row, 
 
 From the purest metal cast : 
 
 A spoil — the richest, and the last. 
 
 So near they came, the nearest stretch'd 
 To grasp the spoil he almost reach'd, 
 
 When old Minotti's hand 
 Touch'd with the torch the train — 
 
 'Tis fired I 
 Spire, vaults, the shrine, the spoil, the slain, 
 
 The turban'd victors, the Christian band, 
 All that of living or dead remain, 
 Hurl'd on high with the shiver'd fane, 
 
 In one wild roar expired ! 
 The shatter'd town — the walls thrown down — 
 The waves a moment backward bent — 
 The hills that shake, although unrent, 
 
 As if an earthquake pass'd — 
 The thousand shapeless things all driven 
 In cloud and flame athwart the heaven, 
 
 By that tremendous blast — 
 Proclaim 'd the desperate conflict o'er 
 On that too long afflicted shore: 
 
 57 
 
58 THE BEAUTIES OF 
 
 Up to the sky like rockets go 
 
 All that mingled there below : 
 
 Many a tall and goodly man, 
 
 Scorch'd and shrivell'd to a span, 
 
 When he fell to earth again 
 
 Like a cinder strew'd the plain : 
 
 Down the ashes shower like rain ; 
 
 Some fell in the gulf, which received the sprinkles 
 
 With a thousand circling wrinkles ; 
 
 Some fell on the shore, but, far away, 
 
 Scatter'd o'er the isthmus lay ; 
 
 Christian or Moslem, which be they? 
 
 Let their mothers see and say ! 
 
 When in cradled rest they lay, 
 
 And each nursing mother smiled 
 
 On the sweet sleep of her child, 
 
 Little deem'd she such a day 
 
 Would rend those tender limbs away. 
 
 Not the matrons that them bore 
 
 Could discern their offspring more ; 
 
 That one moment left no trace 
 
 More of human form or face 
 
 Save a scatter'd scalp or bone : 
 
 And down came blazing rafters, strown 
 
 Around, and many a falling stone, 
 
 Deeply dinted in the clay, 
 
 All blacken'd there and reeking lay. 
 
 All the living things that heard 
 
 That deadly earth shock disappear'd : 
 
 The wild birds flew ; the wild dogs fled, 
 
 And howling left the unburied dead; 
 
 The camels from their keepers broke ; 
 
 The distant steer forsook the yoke — 
 
LORD BYRON. 59 
 
 The nearer steed plung'd o'er the plain, 
 And burst his girth, and tore his rein : 
 The bull-frog's note, from out the marsh 
 Deep mouth , d arose, and doubly harsh ; 
 The wolves yell'd on the cavern'd hill, 
 lYhere echo roll'd in thunder still : 
 The jackal's troop, in gather'd cry, 
 Bay'd from afar complainingly, 
 With a mix'd and mournful sound, 
 Like crying babe, and beaten hound : 
 With sudden wing, and ruffled breast, 
 The eagle left his rocky nest, 
 And mounted nearer to the sun, 
 The clouds beneath him seem'd so dun ; 
 Their smoke assail'd his startled beak, 
 And made him higher soar and shriek- 
 Thus was Corinth lost and won ! 
 
 THE BULL FIGHT. 
 
 The spacious area clear'd, 
 Thousands on thousands piled are seated round ; 
 Long ere the first loud trumpet's note is heard, 
 No vacant space for lated wight is found : 
 Here dons, grandees, but chiefly dames abound, 
 Skill'd in the ogle of a roguish eye, 
 Yet ever well inclined to heal the wound; 
 None through their cold disdain are doom'd to die, 
 As moon-struck bards complain, by love's sad archery. 
 
 Hush'd is the din of tongues— on gallant steeds, 
 With milk-white crest, gold spur, and iight-poised 
 lance, 
 
60 THE BEAUTIES OF 
 
 Four cavaliers prepare for venturous deeds, 
 And lowly bending to the lists advance ; 
 Rich are their scarfs, their charger's featly prance : 
 If in the dangerous game they shine to-day, 
 The crowds loud shout and ladies lovely glance, 
 Best prize of better acts, they bear away, 
 And all that kings or chiefs e'er gain their toils repnp 
 
 In costly sheen and gaudy cloak array'd, 
 But all afoot, the light-limb'd Matadore 
 Stands in the centre, eager to invade 
 The lord of lowing herds ; but not before 
 The ground with cautious tread, is traversed o'er, 
 Lest aught unseen should lurk to thwart his speed 
 His arms a dart, he fights aloof, nor more 
 Can man achieve without the friendly steed, 
 Alas ! too oft condemn'd for him to bear and bleed. 
 
 Thrice sounds the clarion ; lo ! the signal falls, 
 The den expands, and Expectation mute 
 Gapes round the silent Circle's peopled walls. 
 Bounds with one lashing spring the mighty brute, 
 And, wildly staring, spurns, with sounding foot, 
 The sand, nor blindly rushes on his foe : 
 Here, there, he points his threatening front, to suit 
 His first attack, wide waving to and fro 
 His angry tail ; red rolls his eye's dilated glow. 
 
 Sudden he stops ; his eye is fixed : away, 
 Away, thou heedless boy ! prepare the spear : 
 Now is thy time, to perish, or display 
 The skill that yet may check his mad career. 
 With well-timed croupe the nimble coursers veer, 
 
LORD BYRON. 
 
 61 
 
 On foams the bull, but not unscathed he goes ; 
 Streams from his flank the crimson torrent clear : 
 He flies, he wheels, distracted with his throes ; 
 Dart follows dart ; lance, lance ; loud bellowings speak 
 his woes. 
 
 Again he comes ; nor dart nor lance avail, 
 Nor the wild plunging of the tortured horse ; 
 Though man and man's avenging arms assail, 
 Vain are his weapons, vainer is his force. 
 One gallant steed is stretch'd a mangled corse ; 
 Another, hideous sight ! unseam'd appears, 
 His gory chest unveils life's panting source, 
 Though death-struck still his feeble frame he rears, 
 Staggering, but stemming all, his lord unharm'd he 
 bears. 
 
 Foil'd, bleeding, breathless, furious to the last, 
 Full in the centre stands the bull at bay, 
 Mid wounds, and clinging darts, and lances brast, 
 And foes disabled in the brutal fray : 
 And now the Matadores around him play, 
 Shake the red cloak, and poise the ready brand : 
 Once more thro' all he bursts his thundering way — 
 Vain range ! the mantle quits the conynge hand, 
 Wraps his fierce eye — 'tis past — he sinks upon the sand ! 
 
 Where his vast neck just mingles with the spine, 
 Sheathed in bis form the deadly weapon lies. 
 He stops — he starts — disdaining to decline : 
 Slowly he falls, amidst triumphant cries, 
 Without a groan, without a struggle dies. 
 F 
 
62 THE BEAUTIES OF 
 
 The decorated car appears — on high 
 The corse is piled — sweet sight for vulgar eyes- 
 Four steeds that spurn the rein, as swift as shy, 
 Hurl the dark bulk along, scarce seen in dashing by. 
 
 Such the ungentle sport that oft invites 
 
 The Spanish maid, and cheers the Spanish swain. 
 
 THE DREAM. 
 
 Sleep hath its own world, 
 A boundary between the things misnamed 
 Death and existence : Sleep hath its own world, 
 And a wide realm of wild reality, 
 And dreams in their development have breath, 
 And tears, and tortures, and the touch of joy ; 
 They leave a weight upon our waking thoughts, 
 They take a weight from off our waking toils, 
 They do divide our being ; they become 
 A portion of ourselves as of our time, 
 And look like heralds of eternity ; 
 They pass like spirits of the past, — they speak 
 Like sybils of the future ; they have power — 
 The tyranny of pleasure and of pain ; 
 They make us what we were not — what they will, 
 And shake us with the vision that's gone by, 
 The dread of vanish'd shadows — Are they so ? 
 Is not the past all shadow ? What are they ? 
 Creations of the mind ? — The mind can make 
 Substance, and people planets of its own 
 With beings brighter than have been, and give 
 
LORD BYRON. 
 
 A breath to forms which can outlive all flesh. 
 I would recall a vision which I dream'd 
 Perchance in sleep — for in itself a thought, 
 A slumbering thought, is capable of years, 
 And curdles a long life into one hour. 
 
 I saw two beings in the hues of youth 
 Standing upon a hill, a gentle hill, 
 Green and of mild declivity, the last 
 As 'twere the cape of a. long ridge of such, 
 Save that there was no sea to lave its base, 
 But a most living landscape, and the wave 
 Of woods and cornfields, and the abodes of men 
 Scatter'd at intervals, and wreathing smoke 
 Arising from such rustic roofs ; — the hill 
 Was crown 'd with a peculiar diadem 
 Of trees, in circular array, so fix'd, 
 Not by the sport of nature, but of man : 
 These two, a maiden and a youth, were there 
 Gazing — the one on all that was beneath 
 Fair as herself — but the boy gazed on her ; 
 And both were young, and one was beautiful : 
 And both were young — yet not alike in youth. 
 As the sweet moon on the horizon's verge 
 The maid was on the eve of womanhood ; 
 The boy had fewer summers, but his heart 
 Had far outgrown his years, and to his eye 
 There was but one beloved face on earth, 
 And that was shining on him ; he had look'd 
 Upon it till it could not pass away ; 
 He had no breath, no being, but in hers ; 
 She was his voice ; he did not speak to her, 
 But trembled on her words ; she was his sight, 
 For his eye followed hers, and saw with hers, 
 
 63 
 
64 THE BEAUTIES OF 
 
 Which colour'd all his objects : — he had ceased 
 
 To live within himself; she was his life, 
 
 The ocean to the river of his thoughts, 
 
 Which terminated all : upon a tone, 
 
 A touch of hers, his blood would ebb and flow, 
 
 And his cheek change tempestuously — his heart 
 
 Unknowing of its cause of agony. 
 
 But she in these fond feelings had no share : 
 
 Her sighs were not for him ; to her he was 
 
 Even as a brother — but no more : 'twas much, 
 
 For brotherless she was, save in the name 
 
 Her infant friendship had bestowed on him ; 
 
 Herself the solitary scion left 
 
 Of a time-honour'd race. — It was a name 
 
 Which pleased him, and yet pleased him not — and why? 
 
 Time taught him a deep answer — when she loved 
 
 Another; even now; she loved another, 
 
 And on the summit of that hill she stood 
 
 Looking afar if yet her lover's steed 
 
 Kept pace with her expectancy, and flew. 
 
 A change came o'er the spirit of my dream. 
 
 There was an ancient mansion, and before 
 
 Its walls there was a steed caparieon'd : 
 
 Within an antique Oratory stood 
 
 The Boy of whom I spake ; — he was alone, 
 
 And pale, and pacing to and fro ; anon 
 
 He sate him down, and seized a pen, and traced 
 
 Words which I could not guess of; then he lean'd 
 
 His bow'd head on his hands, and shook as 'twere 
 
 With a convulsion — then arose again, 
 
 And with his teeth and quivering hands did tear 
 
 What he had written, but he shed no tears. 
 
 And he did calm himself, and fix his brow 
 
LORD BYRON. **> 
 
 Into a kind of quiet ; as he paused, 
 
 The Lady of his love re-enter'd there, 
 
 She was serene and smiling then, and yet 
 
 She knew she was by him beloved, — she knew, 
 
 For quickly comes such knowledge, that his heart 
 
 Was darken'd with her shadow, and she saw 
 
 That he was wretched, but she saw not all. 
 
 He rose, and with a cold and gentle grasp 
 
 He took her hand ; a moment o'er his face 
 
 A tablet of unutterable thoughts 
 
 Was traced, and then it faded, as it came ; 
 
 He dropp'd the hand he held, and with slow steps 
 
 Retired, but not as bidding her adieu, 
 
 For they did part with mutual smiles ; he pass'd 
 
 From out the massy gate of that old Hall, 
 
 And mounting on his steed he went his way ; 
 
 And ne'er repass'd that hoary threshold more. 
 
 A change came o'er the spirit of my dream. 
 The boy was sprung to manhood : in the wilds 
 Of fiery climes he made himself a home, 
 And his Soul drank their sunbeams ; he was girt 
 With strange and dusky aspects ; he was not 
 Himself like what he had been ; on the sea 
 And on the shore he was a wanderer ; 
 There was a mass of many images 
 Crowded like waves upon me, but he was 
 A part of all ; and in the last he lay 
 Reposing from the noon-tide sultriness, 
 Couch'd among fallen columns, in the shade 
 Of ruin'd walls that had survived the names 
 Of those who rear'd them ; by his sleeping side 
 Stood camels grazing, and some goodly steeds 
 Were fasten'd near a fountain ; and a man 
 F 2 
 
66 
 
 THE BEAUTIES OF 
 
 Clad in a flowing garb did watch the while, 
 While many of his tribes slumber'd around : 
 And they were canopied by the blue sky, 
 So cloudless, clear, and purely beautiful, 
 That God alone was to be seen in Heaven. 
 
 A change came o'er the spirit of my dream. 
 The Lady of his love was wed with One 
 Who did not love her better : — in her home, 
 A thousand leagues from his, — her native home, 
 She dwelt, begirt with growing Infancy, 
 Daughters and sons of Beauty, — but behold ! 
 Upon her face there was the tint of grief, 
 The settled shadow of an inward strife, 
 And an unquiet drooping of the eye 
 As if its lid were charged with unshed tears. 
 What could her grief be ? — she had all she loved, 
 And he who had so loved her was not there 
 To trouble with bad hopes, or evil wish, 
 Or ill-repress'd affliction, her pure thoughts. 
 What could her grief be ? — She had loved him not, 
 Nor given him cause to deem himself beloved, 
 Nor could he be a part of that which prey'd 
 Upon her mind — a spectre of the past. 
 
 A change came o'er the spirit of my dream. 
 The wanderer was return'd. — I saw him stand 
 Before an Altar— with a gentle bride ; 
 Her face was fair, but was not that which made 
 The Starlight of his Boyhood ; — as he stood 
 Even at the altar, o'er his brow there came 
 The self-same aspect, and the quivering shock 
 That in the antique Oratory shook 
 His bosom in its solitude , — and then — 
 
LORD BYRON. 
 
 67 
 
 As in that hour — a moment o'er his face 
 
 The tablet of unutterable thoughts 
 
 Was traced, — and then it faded as it came, 
 
 And he stood calm and quiet, and he spoke 
 
 The fitting vows, but heard not his own words, 
 
 And all things reel'd around him ; he could see 
 
 Not that which was, nor that which should have been — 
 
 But the old mansion, and the accustom'd hall, 
 
 And the remember'd chambers, and the place, 
 
 The day, the hour, the sunshine, and the shade, 
 
 All things pertaining to that place and hour, 
 
 And her who was his destiny, came back 
 
 And thrust themselves between him and the light: 
 
 What business had they there at such a time ? 
 
 A change came o'er the spirit of my dream. 
 The Lady of his love ; — Oh ! she was changed 
 As by the sickness of the soul : her mind 
 Had wander'd from its dwelling, and her eyes 
 They had not their own lustre, but the look 
 Which is not of the earth ; she was become 
 The queen of a fantastic realm : her thought! 
 Were combinations of disjointed things ; 
 And forms impalpable and unperceived 
 Of others' sight familiar were to hers. 
 And this the world calls frenzy ; but the wiie 
 Have a far deeper madness, and the glance 
 Of melancholy is a fearful gift ; 
 What is it but the telescope of truth ? 
 Which strips the distance of its phantasies. 
 And brings life near in utter nakedness. 
 Making the cold reality too real ! 
 
68 THE BEAUTIES OF 
 
 A change came o'er the spirit of my dream. — 
 
 The Wanderer was alone as heretofore, 
 
 The beings which surrounded him were gone, 
 
 Or were at war with him, he was a mark 
 
 For blight and desolation, compass'd round 
 
 With Hatred and Contention ; Pain was mix'd 
 
 In all which was served up to him, until 
 
 Like to the Pontic monarch of old days, 
 
 He fed on poisons, and they had no power, 
 
 But were a kind of nutriment ; he lived 
 
 Through that which had been death to many men, 
 
 And made him friends of mountains : with the stars 
 
 And the quick Spirit of the Universe 
 
 He held his dialogues ; and they did teach 
 
 To him the magic of their mysteries ; 
 
 To him the book of night was open"d wide 
 
 And voices from the deep abyss reveal'd 
 
 A marvel and a secret — Be it so. 
 
 My dream was past ; it had no further change. 
 
 It was of a strange order, that the doom 
 
 Of these two creatures should be thus traced out 
 
 Almost like a reality — the one 
 
 To end in madness — both in misery. 
 
 THE PRISONER OF CHILLON. 
 
 My hair is gray, but not with years, 
 
 Nor grew it white 
 
 In a single night, 
 As men's have grown from sudden fears ■ 
 
LORD BYRON. 69 
 
 My limbs are bow'd, though not with toil, 
 
 But rusted with a vile repose, 
 For they have been a dungeon's spoil, 
 
 And mine has been the fate of those 
 To whom the goodly earth and air 
 Are bann'd, and barr'd — forbidden fare ; 
 But this was for my father's faith 
 I suffer'd chains and courted death ; 
 That father perish'd at the stake 
 For tenets he would not forsake ; 
 And for the same his lineal race 
 In darkness found a dwelling-place ; 
 We were seven — who now are one, 
 
 Six in youth, and one in age, 
 Finish'd as they had begun, 
 
 Proud of Persecution's rage ; 
 One in fire, and two in field, 
 Their belief with blood have seal'd; 
 Dying as their father died, 
 For the God their foes denied ; 
 Three were in a dungeon cast, 
 Of whom this wreck is left the last. 
 
 There are seven pillars of gothic mould, 
 In Chillon's dungeon's deep and old, 
 There are seven columns, massy and gray, 
 Dim with a dull imprison'd ray, 
 A sunbeam which hath lost its way, 
 And through the crevice and the cleft 
 Of the thick wall is fallen and left ; 
 Creeping o'er the floor so damp, 
 Like a marsh's meteor lamp : 
 
70 THE BEAUTIES OF 
 
 And in each pillar there is a ring, 
 
 And in each ring there is a chain ; 
 That iron is a cankering thing, 
 
 For in these limbs its teeth remain, 
 With marks that will not wear away, 
 Till I have done with this new day, 
 Which now is painful to these eyes, 
 Which have not seen the sun so rise 
 For years — I cannot count them o'er, 
 I lost their long and heavy score, 
 When my last brother droop'd and died, 
 And I lay living by his side. 
 
 They chain' d us each to a column stone, 
 And we were three — yet, each alone, 
 We could not move a single pace, 
 We could not see each other's face, 
 But with that pale and livid light 
 That made us strangers in our sight ; 
 And thus together — yet apart, 
 Fetter'd in hand, but pined in heart; 
 'Twas still some solace in the dearth 
 Of the pure elements of earth, 
 To hearken to each other's speech, 
 And each turn comforter to each, 
 With some new hope, or legend old, 
 Or song heroically bold ; 
 But even these at length grew cold. 
 Our voices took a dreary tone, 
 An echo of the dungeon-stone, 
 A grating sound — not full and free 
 As they of yore were wont to be : 
 It might be fancy — but to me 
 They never sounded like our own. 
 
LORD BYRON. 71 
 
 I was the eldest of the three, 
 
 And to uphold and cheer the rest 
 
 I ought to do — and did my best — 
 And each did well in his degree. 
 
 The youngest, whom my father loved, 
 Because our mother's brow was given 
 To him — with eyes as blue as heaven, 
 
 For him my soul was sorely moved ; 
 And truly might it be distrest 
 To see such bird in such a nest ; 
 For he was beautiful as day — 
 
 (When day was beautiful to me 
 
 As to young eagles, being free)— 
 
 A polar day, which will not see 
 A sunset till its summer's gone, 
 
 Its sleepless summer of long light, 
 The snow-clad offspring of the sun : 
 
 And thus he was as pure and bright, 
 And in his natural spirit gay, 
 With tears for nought but others' ills, 
 And then they flow'd like mountain rills, 
 Unless he could assuage the wo 
 Which he abhorr'd to view below. 
 
 The other was as pure of mind, 
 But form'd to combat with his kind; 
 Strong in his frame, and of a mood 
 Which 'gainst the world in war had stood 
 And perish'd in the foremost rank 
 
 With joy : — but not in chains to pine j 
 His spirit wither'd with their clank, 
 
 I saw it silently decline — 
 
 And so perchance in sooth did mine; 
 
72 THE BEAUTIES OF 
 
 But yet I forced it on to cheer 
 Those relics of a home so dear. 
 He was a hunter of the hills, 
 
 Had follow'd there the deer and wolf ; 
 
 To him this dungeon wa3 a gulf, 
 And fetter'd feet the worst of ills. 
 
 Lake Leman lies by Chillon's walls : 
 A thousand feet in depth below 
 Its massy waters meet and flow ; 
 Thus much the fathom-line was sent 
 From Chillon's snow-white battlement, 
 
 Which round about the wave enthralls • 
 A double dungeon wall and wave 
 Have made — and like a living grave. 
 Below the surface of the lake 
 The dark vault lies wherein we lay 
 We heard it ripple night and day ; 
 
 Sounding o'er our heads it knock'd ; 
 And I have felt the winter's spray 
 Wash through the bars when winds were high 
 And wanton in the happy sky ; 
 
 And then the very rock hath rock'd, 
 
 And I have felt it shake, unshock'd, 
 Because I could have smiled to see 
 The death that would have set me free. 
 
 I said my nearer brother pined, 
 I said his mighty heart declined, 
 He loath'd and put away his food ; 
 It was not that 'twas coarse and rude, 
 For we were used to hunter's fare, 
 And for the like had little care : 
 
LORD BYRON. 73 
 
 The milk drawn from the mountain goat 
 Was changed for water from the moat, 
 Our bread was such as captive's tears 
 Have moisten'd many a thousand years, 
 Since man first pent his fellow men 
 Like brutes within an iron den : 
 But what were these to us or him? 
 These wasted not his heart or limb : 
 My brother's soul was of that mould 
 Which in a palace had grown cold, 
 Had his free breathing been denied 
 The range of the steep mountain's side ; 
 But why delay the truth? — he died. 
 I saw, and could not hold his head, 
 Nor reach his dying hand — nor dead, 
 Though hard I strove, but strove in vain, 
 To rend and gnash my bonds in twain. 
 He died — and they unlock'd his chain, 
 And scoop'd for him a shallow grave 
 Even from the cold earth of our cave. 
 I begg'd them, as a boon, to lay 
 His corse in dust whereon the day 
 Might shine — it was a foolish thought, 
 But then within my brain it wrought, 
 That even in death his freeborn breast 
 In such a dungeon could not rest. 
 I might have spared my idle prayer — 
 They coldly laugh'd — and laid him thereu 
 The flat and turfless earth above 
 The being we so much did love ; 
 His empty chain above it leant, 
 Such murder's fitting monument ! 
 
4 THE BEAUTIES OF 
 
 But he, the favourite and the flower, 
 
 Most cherish'd since his natal hour, 
 
 His mother's image in fair face, 
 
 The infant love of all his race, 
 
 His martyr'd father's dearest thought, 
 
 My latest care, for whom I sought 
 
 To hoard my life, that his might be 
 
 Less wretched now, and one day free : 
 
 He, too, who yet had held untired 
 
 A spirit natural or inspired — 
 
 He, too, was struck, and day by day 
 
 Was wither'd on the stalk away. 
 
 Oh God ! it is a fearful thing 
 
 To see the human soul take wing 
 
 In any shape, in any mood : — 
 
 I've seen it rushing forth in blood, 
 
 I've seen it on the breaking ocean 
 
 Strive with a swollen convulsive motion, 
 
 I've seen the sick and ghastly bed 
 
 Of sin delirious with its dread : 
 
 But these were horrors — this was wo 
 
 Unmix'd with such — but sure and slow : 
 
 He faded, and so calm and meek, 
 
 So softly worn, so sweetly weak, 
 
 So tearless, yet so tender — kind, 
 
 And grieved for those he left behind ; 
 
 With all the while a cheek whose bloom 
 
 Was as a mockery of the tomb, 
 
 Whose tints as gently sunk away 
 
 As a departing rainbow's ray — 
 
 An eye of most transparent light, 
 
 That almost made the dungeon bright, 
 
LORD BYRON. 75 
 
 And not a word of murmur — not 
 
 A groan o'er his untimely lot, — 
 
 A little talk of better days, 
 
 A little hope my own to raise, 
 
 For I was sunk in silence — lost 
 
 In this last loss, of all the most ; 
 
 And then the sighs he would suppress 
 
 Of fainting nature's feebleness, 
 
 More slowly drawn, grew less and less : 
 
 I listen'd, but I could not hear — 
 
 I call'd ! for I was wild with fear; 
 
 I knew 'twas hopeless, but my dread 
 
 Would not be thus admonished ; 
 
 I call'd, and thought I heard a sound — 
 
 I burst my chain with one strong bound, 
 
 And rush'd to him : — I found him not, 
 
 / only stirr'd in this black spot, 
 
 / only lived — I only drew 
 
 The accursed breath of dungeon-dew ; 
 
 The last — the sole — the dearest link 
 
 Between me and the eternal brink, 
 
 Which bound me to my failing race, 
 
 Was broken in this fatal place. 
 
 One on the earth, and one beneath — 
 
 My brothers — both had ceased to breathe. 
 
 I took that hand which lay so still, 
 
 Alas ! my own was full as chill ; 
 
 I had not strength to stir, or strive, 
 
 But felt that I was still alive — 
 
 A frantic feeling, when we know 
 
 That what we love shall ne'er be so. 
 
 I know not why 
 
 I could not die, 
 
76 THE BEAUTIES OF 
 
 I had no earthly hope — but faith, 
 And that forbade a selfish death. 
 
 What next befel me then and there 
 
 I know not well — I never knew— 
 
 First came the loss of light, and air, 
 
 And then of darkness too : 
 I hatf ne thought, no feeling — none— 
 Among the stones I stood a stone, 
 And was, scarce conscious what I wist, 
 As shrubless crags within the mist ; 
 For all was blank, and bleak, and gray, 
 It was not night — it was not day, 
 It was not even the dungeon-light, 
 So hateful to my heavy sight, 
 But vacancy absorbing space, 
 And fixedness — without a place ; 
 There were no stars — no earth — no time- 
 No check — no change — no good — no crime- 
 But silence, and a stirless breath 
 Which neither was of life nor death ; 
 A sea of stagnant idleness, 
 Blind, boundless, mute, and motionless ! 
 
 A light broke in upon my brain, — 
 
 It was the carol of a bird ; 
 It ceased, and then it came again, 
 
 The sweetest song ear ever heard, 
 And mine was thankful till my eyes 
 Ran over with the glad surprise, 
 And they that moment could not see 
 I was the mate of misery ; 
 But then by dull degrees came back 
 My senses to their wonted track, 
 
LORD 5YRON. 
 
 I saw the dungeon walls and floor 
 
 Close slowly round me as before, 
 
 I saw the glimmer of the sun 
 
 Creeping as it before had done, 
 
 But through the crevice where it came 
 
 That bird was perch'd, as fond and tame,. 
 
 And tamer than upon the tree ; 
 A lovely bird, with azure wings, 
 And song that said a thousand things, 
 
 And seem'd to say them all for me ! 
 I never saw its like before, 
 I ne'er shall see its likeness more : 
 It seem'd like me to want a mate, 
 But was not half so desolate, 
 And it was come to love me when 
 None lived to love me so again, 
 And cheering from my dungeon's brink, 
 Had brought me back to feel and think. 
 I know not if it late were free, 
 
 Or broke its cage to perch on mine, 
 But knowing well captivity, 
 
 Sweet bird ! I could not wish for thine ! 
 Or if it were, in winged guise, 
 A visitant from Paradise ; 
 For — Heaven forgive that thought ! the wL 
 Which made me both to weep and smile ; 
 I sometimes deem'd that it might be 
 My brother's soul come down to me ; 
 But then at last away it flew, 
 And then 'twas mortal — well I knew, 
 For he would never thus have flown, 
 And left me twice so doubly lone, — 
 Lone — as the corse within its shroud, 
 Lone — as a solitary cloud. 
 G % 
 
 77 
 
78 THE BEAUTIES OF 
 
 A single cloud on a sunny day, 
 While all the rest of heaven is clear, 
 A frown upon the atmosphere, 
 That hath no business to appear 
 
 When skies are blue, and earth is gay. 
 
 A kind of change came in my fate, 
 My keepers grew compassionate, 
 I know not what had made them so, 
 They were inured to sights of wo, 
 But so it was : — my broken chain 
 With links unfasten'd did remain, 
 And it was liberty to stride 
 Along my cell from side to side, 
 And up and down, and then athwart, 
 And tread it over every part ; 
 And round the pillars one by one, 
 Returning where my walk begun, 
 Avoiding only, as I trod, 
 My brothers' graves without a sod ; 
 For if I thought with heedless tread 
 My step profaned their lowly bed, 
 My breath came gaspingly and thick, 
 And my crush 'd heart fell blind and sick. 
 
 I made a footing in the wall, 
 It was not therefrom to escape, 
 
 For I had buried one and all, 
 
 Who loved me in a human shape ; 
 
 And the whole earth would henceforth be 
 
 A wider prison unto me : 
 
 No child — no sire — no kin had I, 
 
 No partner in my misery ; 
 
LORD BYRON. 79 
 
 I thought of this, and I was glad, 
 
 For thought of them had made me mad ; 
 
 But I was curious to ascend 
 
 To my barr'd windows, and to bend 
 
 Once more, upon the mountains high, 
 
 The quiet of a loving eye. 
 
 I saw them— and they were the same, 
 They were not changed like me in frame ; 
 I saw their thousand years of snow 
 On high — their wide long lake below, 
 And the blue Rhone in fullest flow ; 
 I heard the torrents leap and gush 
 O'er channell'd rock and broken bush ; 
 I saw the white-wall'd distant town, 
 And whiter sails go skimming down ; 
 And then there was a little isle, 
 Which in my very face did smile, 
 
 The only one in view ; 
 A small green isle, it seem'd no more, 
 Scarce broader than my dungeon floor, 
 But in it there were three tall trees, 
 And o'er it blew the mountain breeze, 
 And by it there were waters flowing, 
 And on it there were young flowers growing, 
 
 Of gentle breath and hue. 
 The fish swam by the castle wall, 
 And they seem'd joyous each and all : 
 The eagle rode the rising blast, 
 Methought he never flew so fast 
 As then to me he seem'd to fly, 
 And then new tears came in my eye, 
 
80 THE BEAUTIES OF 
 
 And I felt troubled — and would fain 
 I had not left my recent chain ; 
 And when I did descend again, 
 The darkness of my dim abode 
 Fell on me as a heavy load ; 
 It was as is a new-dug grave, 
 Closing o'er one we sought to save, 
 And yet my glance, too much opprest, 
 Had almost need of such a rest. 
 
 It might be months, or years, or days, 
 
 I kept no count — I took no note, 
 I had no hope my eyes to raise, 
 
 And clear them of their dreary mote ; 
 At last men came to set me free, 
 
 I ask'd not why, and reck'd not wher< 
 It was at length the same to me, 
 Fetter'd or fetterless to be, 
 
 I learn'd to love despair. 
 And thus when they appear'd at last, 
 And all my bonds aside were cast, 
 These heavy walls to me had grown 
 A hermitage — and all my own ! 
 And half I felt as they were come 
 To tear me from a second home. 
 With spiders I had friendship made, 
 And watch'd them in their sullen trade ; 
 Had seen the mice by moonlight play, 
 And why should I feel less than they ? 
 We were all inmates of one place, 
 And I, the monarch of each race, 
 Had power to kill — yet, strange to tell '. 
 In quiet we had learn'd to dwell — 
 

 LORD BYROK. 81 
 
 My very chains and I grew friends, 
 So much a long communion tends 
 To make us what we are : — even I 
 Regain'd my freedom with a sigh. 
 
 PATRIOT MARTYRS. 
 
 They never fail who die 
 In a great cause : the block may soak their gore ; 
 Their heads may sodden in the sun ; their limbs 
 
 Be strung to city gates and castle walls 
 
 But still their spirit walks abroad. Though years 
 
 Elapse, and others share as dark a doom, 
 
 They but augment the deed and sweeping thoughts 
 
 Which overpower all others, and conduct 
 
 The world at last to freedom ! What were we, 
 
 If Brutus had not lived ? He died in giving 
 
 Rome liberty, but left a deathless lesson 
 
 A name which is a virtue, and a soul 
 
 Which multiplies itself throughout all time, 
 
 When wicked men wax mighty, and a state 
 
 Turns servile. 
 
 THE BRIDE OF ABYDOS. 
 I. 
 
 Know ye the land where the cypress and myrtle 
 Are emblems of deeds that are done in their clime ? 
 
 Where the rage of the vulture, the love of the turtle, 
 Now melt into sorrow, now madden to crime? 
 
82 THE BEAUTIES OF 
 
 Know ye the land of the cedar and vine, 
 Where the flowers ever blossom, the beams ever shine ; 
 Where the light wings of Zephyr, oppress'd with per- 
 fume, 
 Wax faint o'er the gardens of Gul in her bloom; 
 Where the oitron and olive are fairest of fruit, 
 And the voice of the nightingale never is mute ; 
 Where the tints of the earth, and the hues of the sky, 
 In colour though varied, in beauty may vie, 
 And the purple of Ocean is deepest in die ; 
 Where the virgins are soft as the roses, they twine, 
 And all, save the spirit of man, is divine ? 
 'Tis the clime of the east ; 'tis the land of the sun — 
 Can he smile on such deeds as his children have done 
 Oh ! wild as the accents of lovers' farewell 
 Are the hearts which they bear, and the tales which 
 they tell. 
 
 Begirt with many a gallant slave, 
 
 Appareli'd as becomes the brave, 
 
 Awaiting each his Lord's behest 
 
 To guide his steps, or guard his rest, 
 Old Giaffir sate in his Divan : 
 
 Deep thought was in his aged eye ; 
 And though the face of Mussulman 
 
 Not oft betrays to standers by 
 The mind within, well skill'd to hide 
 All but unconquerable pride, 
 His pensive cheek and pondering brow 
 Did more than he was wont avow. 
 
 " Let the chamber be clear'd." — The train disappear'd. 
 " Now call me the chief of the Haram guard." 
 
LORD BYRON. 
 
 With Giaffir is none but his only son, 
 
 And the Nubian awaiting the sire's award. 
 I Haroun — when all the crowd that wait 
 Are pass'd beyond the outer gate, 
 (Wo to the head whose eye beheld 
 My child Zuleika's face unveil'd !) 
 Hence, lead my daughter from her tower ; 
 Her fate is fix'd this very hour : 
 Yet not to her repeat my thought ; 
 By me alone be duty taught !" 
 
 * Pacha ! to hear is to obey." 
 No more must slave to despot say — 
 Then to the tower had ta'en his way, 
 But here young Selim silence brake, 
 
 First lowly rendering reverence meet - 
 And downcast look'd, and gently spake, 
 
 Still standing at the Pacha's feet : 
 For son of Moslem must expire, 
 Ere dare to sit before his sire I 
 
 " Father ! for fear that thou should'st chide 
 My sister, or her sable guide, 
 Know — for the fault, if fault there be, 
 "Was mine, then fall thy frowns on me— 
 So lovelily the morning shone, 
 
 That — let the old and weary sleep— 
 I could not ; and to view alone 
 
 The fairest scenes of land and deep, 
 With none to listen and reply 
 To thoughts with which my heart beat high 
 Were irksome — for whate'er my mood, 
 In sooth I love not solitude ; 
 
84 THE BEAUTIES OF 
 
 I on Zuleika's slumber broke, 
 And, as thou knowest that for me 
 Soon turns the Haram's grating key, 
 Before the guardian slaves awoke 
 We to the cypress groves had flown, 
 And made earth, main, and heaven our own ! 
 There linger'd we, beguiled too long 
 With Mejnoun's tale, or Sadi's song; 
 Till I, who heard the deep tambour 
 Beat thy Divan's approaching hour, 
 To thee and to my duty true, 
 Warn'd by the sound, to greet thee flew : 
 But there Zuleika wanders yet — 
 Nay, father, rage not — nor forget 
 That none can pierce that secret bower 
 But those who watch the women's tower." 
 
 " Son of a slave" — the Pacha said — 
 
 " From unbelieving mother bred, 
 
 Vain were a father's hope to see 
 
 Aught that beseems a man in thee. 
 
 Thou, when thine arm should bend the bow, 
 And hurl the dart, and curb the steed, 
 Thou, Greek in soul if not in creed, 
 
 Must pore where babbling waters flow, 
 
 And watch unfolding roses blow. 
 
 Would that yon orb, whose matin glow 
 
 Thy listless eyes so much admire, 
 
 Would lend thee something of his fire ! 
 
 Thou, who wouldst see this battlement 
 
 By Christian cannon piecemeal rent ; 
 
 Nay, tamely view old Stambol's wall 
 
 Before the dogs of Moscow fell, 
 
LORD BYUOK. 85 
 
 Nor strike one stroke for life and death 
 Against the curs of Nazareth ! 
 Go — let thy less than woman's hand 
 Assume the distaff — not the brand. 
 But, Haroun ! — to my daughter speed : 
 And hark — of thine own head take heed — 
 If thus Zuleika oft takes wing — 
 Thou seest yon bow — it hath a string 1" 
 
 No sound from Selim's lip was heard, 
 
 At least that met old Giaffir's ear, 
 But every frown and every word 
 Pierced keener than a Christian's sword. 
 
 " Son of a slave ! — reproach'd with fear ! 
 Those gibes had cost another dear. 
 Son of a slave ! — and who my sire i n 
 
 Thus held his thoughts their dark career, 
 And glances ev'n of more than ire 
 
 Flash forth, then faintly disappear. 
 Old Giamr gazed upon his son 
 
 And started ; for within his eye 
 He read how much his wrath had done ; 
 He saw rebellion there begun : 
 
 " Come hither, boy — what, no reply ? 
 I mark thee — and I know thee too ; 
 But there be deeds thou dar'st not do : 
 But if thy beard had manlier length, 
 And if thy hand had skill and strength, 
 I'd joy to see thee break a lance, 
 Albeit against my own perchance." 
 As sneeringly these accents fell, 
 On Selim's eye he fiercely gazed : 
 
 That eye return'd him glance for glance, 
 And proudly to his sire's was raised, 
 H 
 
86 THE BEAUTIES OF 
 
 Till Giaffir's quail d and shrunk askance — 
 And why — he felt, but durst not tell. 
 " Much I misdoubt this wayward boy 
 Will one day work me more annoy : 
 I never loved him from his birth, 
 And — but his arm is little worth, 
 And scarcely in the chase could cope 
 With timid fawn or antelope, 
 Far less would venture into strife 
 Where man contends for fame and life — 
 I would not trust that look or tone : 
 No — nor the blood so near my own. 
 That blood — he hath not heard — no more — 
 I'll watch him closer than before. 
 He is an Arab to my sight, 
 Or Christian crouching in the fight — 
 But hark ! — I hear Zuleika's voice ; 
 Like Houris' hymn it meets mine ear : 
 She is the offspring of my choice ; 
 Oh ! more than ev'n her mother dear, 
 With all to hope, and nought to fear — 
 My Peri ! ever welcome here ! 
 Sweet, as the desert-fountain's wave 
 To lips just cool'd in time to save — 
 Such to my longing sight art thou ; 
 Nor can they waft to Mecca's shrine 
 More thanks for life, than I for thine, 
 Who blest thy birth, and bless thee now." 
 
 Fair, as the first that fell of womankind, 
 
 When on that dread yet lovely serpent smiling, 
 
 Whose image then was stamp'd upon her mind — 
 But once beguiled — and ever more beguiling; 
 
LORD BYRON 87 
 
 Dazzling, as that, oh ! too transcendant vision 
 To Sorrow's phantom peopled slumber given, 
 
 When heart meets heart again in dreams Elysian, 
 And paints the lost on Earth revived in Heaven ; 
 
 Soft, as the memory of buried love : 
 
 Pure, as the prayer which Childhood wafts above ; 
 
 Was she — the daughter of that rude old Chief, 
 
 Who met the maid with tears — but not of grief. 
 
 Who hath not proved how feebly words essay 
 To fix one spark of Beauty's heavenly ray? 
 Who doth not feel, until his failing sight 
 Faints into dimness with its own delight, 
 His changing cheek, his sinking heart confess 
 The might — the majesty of Loveliness? 
 Such was Zuleika — such around her shone 
 The nameless charms unmark'd by her alone ; 
 The light of love, the purity of grace, 
 The mind, the Music breathing from her face, 
 The heart whose softness harmonized the whole— 
 And, oh ! that eye was in itself a Soul ! 
 Her graceful arms in meekness bending 
 
 Across her gently-budding breast ; 
 At one kind word those arms extending 
 
 To clasp the neck of him who blest 
 
 His child caressing and carest, 
 
 Zuleika came — and Giaffier felt 
 
 His purpose half within him melt : 
 
 Not that against her fancied weal 
 
 His heart though stern could ever feel : 
 
 Affection chain'd her to that heart ; 
 
 Ambition tore the links apart. 
 
88 THE^ BEAUTIES OF 
 
 " Zuleika ! child of gentleness ! 
 
 How dear this very day must telJ 
 When I forget my own distress, 
 
 In losing what I love so well, 
 
 To bid thee with another dwell : 
 Another ! and a braver man 
 Was never seen in battle's van. 
 
 We Moslem reck not much of blood ; 
 But yet the line of Carasman 
 
 Unchanged, unchangeable hath stood 
 First of the bold Timariot bands 
 That won and well can keep their lands. 
 Enough that he who comes to woo 
 Is kinsman of the Bey Oglou : 
 His years need scarce a thought employ ; 
 I would not have thee wed a boy. 
 And thou shalt have a noble dower : 
 And his and my united power 
 Will laugh to scorn the death-firman, 
 Which others tremble but to scan, 
 And teach the messenger what fate 
 The bearer of such boon may wait. 
 And now thou know'st thy father's will ; 
 
 All that thy sex hath need to know : 
 'Twas mine to teach obedience still — 
 
 The way to love, thy lord may show. 1 ' 
 
 In silence bowM the virgin's head ; 
 
 And if her eye was fill'd with tears 
 That stifled feeling dare not shed, 
 And changed her cheek from pale to red, 
 
 And red to pale, as through her ears 
 
LORD BYRON. 89 
 
 Those winged words like arrows sped, 
 
 What could such be but maiden fears ? 
 So bright the tear in Beauty's eye, 
 Love half regrets to kiss it dry ; 
 So sweet the blush of Bashfulness, 
 Even Pity scarce can wish it less ! 
 Whate'er it was the sire forgot ; 
 Or if remember 'd, mark'd it not; 
 Thrice clapp'd his hands, and call'd his steed, 
 
 Resign'd his gem-adorn'd Chibouque, 
 And mounting featly for the mead, 
 
 With Maugrabee and Mamaluke, 
 
 His way amid his Delis took, 
 To witness many an active deed 
 With sabre keen, or blunt jereed. 
 The Kislar only and his Moors 
 Watch well the Haram's massy doors. 
 
 His head was leant upon his hand, 
 
 His eye look'd over the dark blue water 
 
 That swiftly glides and gently swells 
 
 Between the winding Dardanelles ; 
 
 But yet he saw nor sea nor strand, 
 
 Nor even his Pacha's turban'd band 
 Mix in the game of mimic slaughter, 
 
 Careering cleave the folded felt 
 
 With sabre stroke right sharply dealt ; 
 
 Nor mark'd the javelin-darting crowd, 
 
 Nor heard their Ollahs wild and loud — 
 He thought but of old Giaffir's daughter ! 
 
 No word from Selim's bosom broke ; 
 One sigh Zuleika's thought bespoke : 
 H2 
 
90 THE BEAUTIES OF 
 
 Still gazed he through the lattice grate, 
 Pale, mute, and mournfully sedate. 
 To him Zuleika's eye was turn'd, 
 But little from his aspect leam'd : 
 Equal her grief, yet not the same ; 
 Her heart confess'd a gentler flame : 
 But yet that heart alarm'd or weak, 
 She knew not why, forbade to speak. 
 Yet speak she must — but when essay ? 
 " How strange he thus should turn away ! 
 Not thus we e'er before have met ; 
 Not thus shall be our parting yet." 
 Thrice paced she slowly through the room, 
 
 And watch'd his eye — it still was fix'd : 
 
 She snatch 'd the urn wherein was mix'd 
 The Persian Atar-gul's perfume, 
 And sprinkled all its odours o'er 
 The pictured roof and marble floor : 
 The drops, that through his glittering vest 
 The playful girl's appeal addrest, 
 Unheeded o'er his bosom flew, 
 As if that breast, were marble too. 
 " What sullen yet ? it must not be — 
 Oh ! gentle Selim, this from thee I" 
 She saw in curious order set 
 
 The fairest flowers of Eastern land — 
 " He loved them once ; may touch them yet, 
 
 If ofler'd by Zuleika's hand." 
 The childish thought was hardly breathed 
 Before the Rose was pluck'd and wreathed ; 
 The next fond moment saw her seat 
 Her fairy form at Seiim's feet : 
 " This Rose, to calm my brother's cares, 
 A message from the Bulbul bears ; 
 
LORD BYRON. 91 
 
 It says to-night he will prolong 
 For Selim's ear his sweetest song ; 
 And though his note is somewhat sad, 
 He'll try for once a strain more glad, 
 With some faint hope his alter'd lay 
 May sing these gloomy thoughts away. 
 
 " What not receive my foolish flower ? 
 
 Nay then I am indeed unblest : 
 
 On me can thus thy forehead lower? 
 
 And know'st thou not who loves thee best 
 Oh, Selim dear I Oh, more than dearest ! 
 Say, is it me thou hat'st or fearest ? 
 Come, lay thy head upon my breast, 
 And I will kiss thee into rest, 
 Since words of mine, and songs must fail, 
 Ev'n from my fabled nightingale. 
 I knew our sire at times was stern, 
 But this from thee had yet to learn : 
 Too well I know he loves thee not ; 
 But is Zuleika's love forgot ? 
 Ah ! deem I right ? the Pacha's plan — 
 This kinsman Bey of Carasman 
 Perhaps may prove some foe of thine. 
 If so, I swear by Mecca's shrine, 
 If shrines that ne'er approach allow 
 To woman's step admit her vow, 
 Without thy free consent, command, 
 The Sultan should not have my hand . 
 Think'st thou that I could bear to part 
 With thee, and learn to halve my heart? 
 Ah! were I severed from thy side, 
 Where were thy friend — and who my guide ? 
 
92 THE BEAUTIES OF 
 
 Years have not seen, Time shall not see 
 The hour that tears my soul from thee : 
 Even AzraeL, from his deadly quiver 
 
 When flies that shaft, and fly it must, 
 That parts all else, shall doom for ever 
 
 Our hearts to undivided dust !" 
 
 He lived — he breathed — he moved — he felt ; 
 He raised the maid from where she knelt ; 
 His trance was gone — his keen eye shone 
 With thoughts that long in darkness dwelt ; 
 With thoughts that burn — in rays that melt. 
 As the stream late conceal'd 
 
 By the fringe of its willows, 
 When it rushes reveal'd 
 
 In the light of its billows ; 
 As the bolt bursts on high 
 
 From the black cloud that bound it, 
 Flash'd the soul of that eye 
 
 Through the long lashes round it. 
 A war-horse at the trumpet's sound, 
 A lion roused by heedless hound, 
 A tyrant waked to sudden strife 
 By graze of ill-directed knife, 
 Starts not to more convulsive life 
 Than he, who heard that vow, display'd, 
 And all, before repress'd, betray'd : 
 " Now thou art mine, for ever mine, 
 With life to keep, and scarce with life resign 
 Now thou art mine, that sacred oath, 
 Though sworn by one, hath bound us both. 
 Yes, fondly, wisely hast thou done, 
 That vow hath saved more heads than one : 
 
LORD BYRON. 
 
 But blench not thou — thy simplest tress 
 
 Claims more from me than tenderness ; 
 
 I would not wrong the slenderest hair 
 
 That clusters round thy forehead fair, 
 
 For all the treasures buried far 
 
 Within the caves of Istakar. 
 
 This morning clouds upon me lower'd, 
 
 Reproaches on my head were shower'd, 
 
 And Giaffir almost call'd me coward ! 
 
 Now I have motive to be brave ; 
 
 The son of his neglected slave, 
 
 Nay, start not, 'twas the term he gave, 
 
 May show, though little apt to vaunt, 
 
 A heart his words nor deeds can daunt. 
 
 His son, indeed ! — yet, thanks to thee, 
 
 Perchance I am, at least shall be ; 
 
 But let our plighted secret vow 
 
 Be only known to us as now. 
 
 I know the wretch who dares demand 
 
 From Giaffir thy reluctant hand ; 
 
 More ill-got wealth, a meaner soul 
 
 Holds not a Musselim's control : 
 
 Was he not bred in Egripo ? 
 
 A viler race let Israel show ! 
 
 But let that pass — to nrme be told 
 
 Our oath ; the rest shall time unfold. 
 
 To me and mine leave Osman Bey ; 
 
 I've partizan's for peril's day : 
 
 Think not I am what I appear ; 
 
 I've arms, and friends, and vengeance near." 
 
 M Think not thou art what thou appearest ! 
 My Selim, thou art sadly changed : 
 
94 
 
 THE BEAUTIES OF 
 
 This morn I saw thee gentlest, dearest ; 
 
 But now thou'rt from thyself estranged. 
 My love thou surely knew'st before, 
 It ne'er was less, nor can be more. 
 To see thee, hear thee, near thee stay, 
 
 And hate the night I know not why, 
 Save that we meet not but by day ; 
 
 With thee to live, with thee to die, 
 
 I dare not to my hope deny : 
 Thy cheek, thine eyes, thy lips to kiss, 
 Like this — and this — no more than this ; 
 For, Alia ! sure thy lips are flame : 
 
 What fever in thy veins is flushing? 
 My own have nearly caught the same, 
 
 At least I feel my cheek too blushing. 
 To sooth thy sickness, watch thy health, 
 Partake, but never waste thy wealth, 
 Or stand with smiles unmurmuring by, 
 And lighten half thy poverty ; 
 Do all but close thy dying eye, 
 For that I could not live to try ; 
 To these alone my thoughts aspire: 
 More can I do ? or thou require ? 
 But, Selim, thou must answer why 
 We need so much of mystery ? 
 The cause I cannot dream nor tell, 
 But be it, since thou say'st 'tis well; 
 Yet what thou mean'st by ' arms' and ' friends,' 
 Beyond my weaker sense extends. 
 I meant that Giaffir should have heard 
 
 The very vow I plighted thee ; 
 His wrath would not revoke my word : 
 
 But surely he would leave me free. 
 
 Can this fond wish seem strange in me, 
 
LORD BYRON. 95 
 
 To be what I have ever been ? 
 What other hath Zuleika seen 
 From simple childhood's earliest hour? 
 
 What other can she seek to see 
 Than thee, companion of her bower, 
 
 The partner of her infancy ? 
 These cherish'd thoughts with life begun, 
 
 Say, why must I no more avow ? 
 What change is wrought to make me shun 
 
 The truth ; my pride, and thine till now? 
 To meet the gaze of strangers' eyes 
 Our law, our creed, our God denies ; 
 Nor shall one wandering thought of mine 
 At such, our Prophet's will, repine : 
 No ! happier made by that decree ! 
 He left me all in leaving thee. 
 Deep were my anguish, thus compell'd 
 To wed with one I ne'er beheld : 
 This wherefore should I not reveal ? 
 Why wilt thou urge me to conceal ? 
 I know the Pacha's haughty mood 
 To thee hath never boded good ; 
 And he so often storms at nought, 
 Allah ! forbid that e'er he ought ! 
 And why I know not, but within 
 My heart concealment weighs like sin. 
 If then such secrecy be crime, 
 
 And such it feels while lurking here ; 
 Oh, Selim ! tell me yet in time, 
 
 Nor leave me thus to thoughts of fear 
 Ah ! yonder see the Tchocadar, 
 My father leaves the mimic war ; 
 I tremble now to meet his eye — 
 Say, Selim, can'st thou tell me why?" 
 
96 THE BEAUTIES OF 
 
 " Zuleika — to thy tower's retreat 
 
 Betake thee — Giaffir I can greet : 
 
 And now with him I fain must prate 
 
 Of firmans, imposts, levies, state. 
 
 There's fearful news from Danube's banks, 
 
 Our Vizier nobly thins his ranks, 
 
 For which the Giaour may give him thanks 1 
 
 Our Sultan hath a shorter way 
 
 Such costly triumph to repay. 
 
 But, mark me, when the twilight drum 
 Hath warn'd the troops to food and sleep, 
 
 Unto thy cell will Selim come : 
 Then softly from the Haram creep 
 Where we may wander by the deep: 
 Our garden battlements are steep ; 
 
 Nor these will rash intruder climb 
 
 To list our words, or stint our time ; 
 
 And if he doth, I want not steel 
 
 Which some have felt, and more may feel. 
 
 Then shalt thou learn of Selim more 
 
 Than thou hast heard or thought before; 
 
 Trust me, Zuleika — fear not me ! 
 
 Thou know'st I hold a Haram key." 
 
 " Fear thee, my Selim ! ne'er till now 
 Did word like this — " 
 
 " Delay not thou ; 
 I keep the key — and Haroun's guard 
 Have some, and hope of more reward. 
 To-night, Zuleika, thou shalt hear 
 My tale, my purpose, and my fear : 
 I am not, love ! what I appear." 
 
LORD BYRON. 97 
 
 II. 
 
 The winds are high on Helle's wave, 
 
 As on that night of stormy water 
 When Love, who sent, forgot to save 
 The young, the beautiful, the brave, 
 
 The lonely hope of Sestos' daughter. 
 Oh ! when alone along the sky 
 Her turret-torch was blazing high, 
 Though rising gale, and breaking foam, 
 And shrieking sea-birds warn'd him home ; 
 And clouds aloft and tides below, 
 With signs and sounds, forbade to go, 
 He could not see, he would not hear 
 Or sound or sign foreboding fear ; 
 His eye but saw that light of love, 
 The only star it hail'd above ; 
 His ear but rang with Hero's song, 
 M Ye waves, divide not lover's long !" — 
 That tale is old, but love anew 
 May nerve young hearts to prove as true. 
 
 The winds are high, and Helle's tide 
 
 Rolls darkly heaving to the main ; 
 And Night's descending shadows hide 
 
 That field with blood bedew'd in vain, 
 The desert of old Priam's pride ; 
 
 The tombs, sole relics of his reign, 
 All — save immortal dreams that could beguile 
 The blind old man of Scio's rocky isle ! 
 
 Oh ! yet — for there my steps have been ; 
 
 These feet have press'd the sacred shore, 
 These limbs that buoyant wave hath borne — 
 Minstrel ! with thee to muse, to mourn, 
 
 I 
 
98 THE BEAUTIES OF 
 
 To trace again those fields of yore, 
 Believing every hillock green 
 
 Contains no fabled hero's ashes, 
 And that around the undoubted scene 
 
 Thine own " broad Hellespont" still dashes, 
 Be long my lot ! and cold were he 
 Who there could gaze denying thee ! 
 
 The night hath closed on Helle's stream, 
 
 Nor yet hath risen on Ida's hill 
 That moon, which shone on his high theme : 
 No warrior chides her peaceful beam, 
 
 But conscious shepherds bless it still. 
 Their flocks are grazing on the mound 
 
 Of him who felt the Dardan's arrow : 
 That mighty heap of gather'd ground 
 Which Amnion's son ran proudly round, 
 By nations rais'd, by monarchs crown'd, 
 
 Is now a lone and nameless barrow ! 
 
 Within — thy dwelling-place how narrow ! 
 Without — can only strangers breathe 
 The name of him that was beneath : 
 Dust long outlasts the storied stone ; 
 But Thou — thy very dust is gone ! 
 
 Late, late to-night will Dian cheer 
 
 The swain, and chase the boatman's fear ; 
 
 Till then — no beacon on the cliff 
 
 May shape the course of struggling skiff; 
 
 The scatter 'd lights that skirt the bay, 
 
 All, one by one, have died away ; 
 
 The only lamp of this lone hour 
 
 Is glimmering in Zuleika's tower. 
 
LORD BYRON. 99 
 
 Yes ! there is light in that lone chamber, 
 
 And o'er her silken Ottoman 
 Are thrown the fragrant beads of amber, 
 
 O'er which her fairy fingers ran ; 
 Near these, with emerald rays beset, 
 (How could she thus that gem forget : 
 Her mother's sainted amulet, 
 Whereon engraved the Koorsee text, 
 Could smooth this life, and win the next : 
 And by her Comboloio lies 
 A Koran of illumined dyes ; 
 And many a bright emblazon'd rhyme 
 By Persian scribes redeem'd from time ; 
 And o'er those scrolls, not oft so mute, 
 Reclines her now neglected lute ; 
 And round her lamp of fretted gold 
 Bloom flowers in urns of China'3 mould ; 
 The richest work of Iran's loom, 
 And Sheeraz' tribute of perfume ; 
 All that can eye or sense delight 
 
 Are gather'd in that gorgeous room : 
 
 But yet it hath an air of gloom. 
 She, of this Peri cell the sprite, 
 What doth she hence, and on so rude a night? 
 
 Wrapt in the darkest sable vest, 
 
 Which none save noblest Moslem wear, 
 To guard from winds of heaven the breast 
 
 As heaven itself to Selim dear, 
 With cautious steps the thicket threading, 
 
 And starting oft, as through the glade 
 
 The gust its hollow moanings made, 
 Till on the smoother pathway treading, 
 More free her timid bosom beat, 
 
100 THE BEAUTIES OF 
 
 The maid pursued her silent guide ; 
 And though her terror urged retreat, 
 How could she quit her Selim's side ? 
 How teach her tender lips to chide ? 
 
 They reach'd at length a grotto, hewn 
 
 By nature, but enlarged by art, 
 Where oft her lute she wont to tune, 
 
 And oft her Koran conn'd apart ; 
 And oft in youthful reverie 
 She dream'd what Paradise might be : 
 Where woman's parted soul shall go 
 Her Prophet had disdain'd to show ; 
 But Selim's mansion was secure, 
 Nor deem'd she, could he long endure 
 His bower in other worlds of bliss, 
 Without her, most beloved in this ! 
 Oh ! who so dear with him could dwell ? 
 What Houri sooth him half so well ? 
 
 Since last she visited the spot 
 
 Some change seem'd wrought within the grot 
 
 It might be only that the night 
 
 Disguised things seen by better light: 
 
 That brazen lamp but dimly threw 
 
 A ray of no celestial hue ; 
 
 But in a nook within the cell 
 
 Her eye on stranger objects fell. 
 
 There arms were piled, not such as wield 
 
 The turban'd Delis in the field ; 
 
 But brands of foreign blade and hilt, 
 
 And one was red — perchance with guilt ! 
 
 Ah ! how without can blood be spilt ? 
 
LORD BYRON. 101 
 
 A cup too on the board was set 
 That did not seem to hold sherbet. 
 What may this mean ? she turn'd to see 
 Her Selim— " Oh ! can this be he ?" 
 
 His robe of pride was thrown aside, 
 His brow no high-crown'd turban bore ; 
 
 But in its stead a shawl of red, 
 
 Wreath'd lightly round, his temples wore : 
 
 That dagger, on whose hilt the gem 
 
 Were worthy of a diadem, 
 
 No longer glitter d at his waist, 
 
 Where pistols unadorn'd were braced; 
 
 And from his belt a sabre swung, 
 
 And from his shoulder loosely hung 
 
 The cloak of white, the thin capote 
 
 That decks the wandering Candiote : 
 
 Beneath — his golden plated vest 
 
 Clung like a cuirass to his breast ; 
 
 The greaves below his knee that wound 
 
 With silvery scales were sheathed and bound. 
 
 But were it not that high command 
 
 Spake in his eye, and tone, and hand, 
 
 All that a careless eye could see 
 
 In him was some young Galiongee. 
 
 " I said I was not what I seem'd ; 
 And now thou seest my words were true : 
 I have a tale thou hast not dream'd, 
 If sooth — its truth must others rue. 
 My story now 'twere vain to hide, 
 I must not see thee Osman's bride : 
 But had not thine own lips declared 
 How much of that young heart I shared, 
 I 2 
 
102 THE BEAUTIES OF 
 
 1 could not, must not, yet have shown 
 The darker secret of my own. 
 In this I speak not now of love; 
 That, let time, truth, and peril prove : 
 But first — Oh ! never wed another — 
 Zuleika ! I am not thy brother 1" 
 
 " Oh ! not my brother ! — yet unsay — 
 
 God ! am I left alone on earth 
 To mourn — I dare not curse — the day 
 
 That saw my solitary birth ? 
 Oh ! thou wilt love me now no more ! 
 
 My sinking heart forboded ill ; 
 But know me all 1 was before ; 
 
 Thy sister — friend — Zuleika still. 
 Thou led'st me here perchance to kill ; 
 
 If thou hast cause for vengeance, see I 
 My breast is offer'd — take thy fill ! 
 
 Far better with the dead to be 
 
 Than live thus nothing now to thee : 
 Perhaps far worse, for now I know 
 Why Giaffir always seem'd thy foe ; 
 And I, alas ! am Giaffir's child, 
 For whom thou wert contemn'd, reviled. 
 If not thy sister — would'st thou save 
 My life, Oh ! bid me be thy slave !" 
 
 " My slave, Zuleika ! — nay, I'm thine : 
 But, gentle love, this transport calm, 
 
 Thy lot shall yet be link'd with mine ; 
 
 I swear it by our Prophet's shrine, 
 
 And be that thought thy sorrow's balm. 
 
 So may the Koran verse display'd 
 
 Upon its steel direct my blade, 
 
LO^D BYRON. 103 
 
 In danger's hour to guard us both, 
 
 As I preserve that awful oath ! 
 
 The name in which thy heart hath prided 
 
 Must change ; but, my Zuleika, know, 
 That tie is widen'd, not divided, 
 
 Although thy Sire's my deadliest foe. 
 My father was to Giaffir all 
 
 That Selim late was deem'd to thee ; 
 That brother wrought a brother's fall, 
 
 But spared, at least, my infancy ; 
 And lull'd me with a vain deceit 
 That yet a like return may meet. 
 He rear'd me, not with tender help, 
 
 But like the nephew of a Cain ; 
 He watch'd me like a lion's whelp, 
 
 That gnaws and yet may break his chain, 
 
 My father's blood in every vein 
 Is boiling ; but for thy dear sake 
 No present vengeance will I take; 
 
 Though here I must no more remain. 
 But first, beloved Zuleika ! hear 
 How Giaffir wrought this deed of fear. 
 
 M How first their strife to rancour grew, 
 
 If love or envy made them foes, 
 It matters little if I knew ; 
 In fiery spirits, slights, though few 
 
 And thoughtless, will disturb repose. 
 In war Abdallah's arm was strong, 
 Remember'd yet in Bosniac song, 
 And Paswan's rebel hordes attest 
 How little love they bore such guest : 
 His death is all I need relate, 
 ^he stern effect of Giaffii 's hate ; 
 
104 THE BEAUTIES OF 
 
 And how my birth disclosed to me, 
 Whate'er beside it makes, hath made me free. 
 
 " When Paswan, after years of strife, 
 At last for power, but first for life, 
 In Widin's walls too proudly sate, 
 Our Pachas rallied round the state; 
 Nor last nor least in high command 
 Each brother led a separate band ; 
 They gave their horsetails to the wind, 
 
 And mustering in Sophia's plain 
 Their tents were pitch'd, their post assign'd*, 
 To one, alas ! assign'd in vain ! 
 What need of words ? the deadly bowl, 
 
 By Giaffir's order drugged and given, 
 With venom subtle as his soul, 
 
 Dismiss'd Abdallah's hence to heaven. 
 Reclined and feverish in the bath, 
 
 He, when the hunter's sport was up, 
 But little deem'd a brother's wrath 
 
 To quench his thirst had such a cup : 
 The bowl a bribed attendant bore ; 
 He drank one draught, nor needed more ! 
 If thou my tale, Zuleika, doubt, 
 Call Haroun — he can tell it out. 
 
 ** The deed once done, and Paswan's feud 
 In part suppress'd, though ne'er subdued, 
 Abdallah's Pachalick was gain'd : — 
 Thou know'st not what in our Divan 
 Can wealth procure for worse than man— 
 Abdallah's honours were obtain'd 
 By him a brother's murder stain'd ; 
 
LORD BYRON. 105 
 
 Tis true, the purchase nearly drain'd 
 
 His ill-got treasure, soon replaced. 
 
 Would'st question whence ? Survey the Waste, 
 
 And ask the squalid peasant how 
 
 His gains repay his broiling brow ! — 
 
 Why me the stern usurper spared, 
 
 Why thus with me his palace shared, 
 
 I know not. Shame, regret, remorse, 
 
 And little fear from infant's force ; 
 
 Besides, adoption as a son 
 
 By him whom heaven accorded none, 
 
 Or some unknown cabal, caprice, 
 
 Preserved me thus ; — but not in peace : 
 
 He cannot curb his haughty mood, 
 
 Nor I forgive a father's blood. 
 
 " Within thy father's house are foes ; 
 
 Not all who break his bread are true : 
 To these should I my birth disclose, 
 
 His days, his very hours were few : 
 They only want a heart to lead, 
 A hand to point them to the deed. 
 But Haroun only knows, or knew 
 
 This tale, whose close is almost nigh : 
 He in Abdallah's palace grew, 
 
 And held that post in his Serai 
 
 Which holds ne here — he saw him die : 
 But what could single slavery do ? 
 Avenge his lord ? alas ! too late ; 
 Or save his son from such a fate ? 
 He chose the last, and when elate, 
 
 With foes subdued, or friends betray'd ; 
 Proud Giaffir in high triumph sate, 
 He led me helpless to his gate, 
 
106 THE BEAUTIES OF 
 
 And not in vain it seems essay'd 
 
 To save the life for which he pray'd. 
 The knowledge of my birth secured 
 
 From all and each, but most from me ; 
 Thus Giaffir's safety was ensured. 
 
 Removed he too from Roumelie 
 To this our Asiatic side, 
 Far from our seats by Danube's tide, 
 
 With none but Haroun, who retains 
 Such knowledge — and that Nubian feels 
 
 A tyrant's secrets are but chains, 
 From which the captive gladly steals, 
 And this and more to me reveals : 
 Such still to guilt just Allah sends 
 Slaves, tools, accomplices — no friends . 
 
 " All this, Zuleika, harshly sounds ; 
 
 But harsher still my tale must be : 
 llowe'er my tongue thy softness wounds, 
 
 Yet I must prove all truth to thee. 
 
 I saw thee start this garb to see, 
 Yet is it one I oft have worn, 
 
 And long must wear : this Galiong^e, 
 To whom thy plighted vow is sworn, 
 
 Is leader of those pirate hordes, 
 
 Whose laws and lives are on their swords ; 
 To hear whose desolating tale 
 Would make thy waning cheek more pale : 
 Those arms thou seest my band have brought, 
 The hands that wield are not remote ; 
 This cup too for the rugged knaves 
 
 Is fill'd — once quaff 'd, they ne'er repine : 
 Our Prophet might forgive the slaves ; 
 
 They're only infidels in wine. 
 
LORD BYRON. 107 
 
 u What could I be ? Proscribed at home, 
 
 And taunted to a wish to roam : 
 
 And listless left — for Giaffir's fear 
 
 Denied the courser and the spear — 
 
 Though oft— Oh, Mahomet ! how oft !— 
 
 In full Divan the despot scoff'd, 
 
 As if my weak unwilling hand 
 
 Refused the bridle or the brand : 
 
 He ever went to war alone, 
 
 And pent me here untried — unkncrwn ; 
 To Haroun's care with women left, 
 By hope unblest, of fame bereft. 
 While thou — whose softness long endear'd, 
 Though it unmann'd me, still had cheer'd— 
 To Brusa's walls for safety sent, 
 Awaitedst there the field's event. 
 Haroun, who saw my spirit pining 
 
 Beneath inaction's sluggish yoke, 
 His captive, though with dread resigning, 
 
 My thraldom for a season broke, 
 On promise to return before 
 The day when Giaffir's charge was o'er. 
 'Tis vain — my tongue cannot impart 
 My almost drunkenness of heart, 
 When first this liberated eye 
 Survey'd Earth, Ocean, Sun, and Sky, 
 As if my spirit pierced them through, 
 And all their inmost wonders knew ! 
 One word alone can paint to thee 
 That more than feeling — I was Free ! 
 E'en for thy presence ceased to pine ; 
 The world — nay — Heaven itself wa3 mine 1 
 
IQS THE BEAUTIES OF 
 
 " The shallop of a trusty Moor 
 Convey'd me from this idle shore ; 
 I long'd to see the isles that gem 
 Old Ocean's purple diadem : 
 I sought by turns, and saw them all ; 
 
 But when and where I joiu'd the crew, 
 With whom I'm pledged to rise or fall, 
 
 When all that we design to do 
 Is done, 'twill then be time more meet 
 To tell thee, when the tale's complete. 
 
 " 'Tis true, they are a lawless brood, 
 But rough in form, nor mild in mood; 
 And every creed, and every race, 
 With them hath found — may find a place; 
 But open speech, and ready hand, 
 Obedience to their chiefs command ; 
 A soul for every enterprise, 
 That never sees with terror's eyes ; 
 Friendship for each, and faith to all, 
 And vengeance vow'd for those who fall, 
 Have made them fitting instruments 
 For more than ev'n my own intents. 
 And some — and I have studied all 
 
 Distinguish'd from the vulgar rank, 
 But chiefly to my council call 
 
 The wisdom of the cautious Frank— 
 And some to higher thoughts aspire, 
 
 The last of Lambro's patriots there 
 
 Anticipated freedom share : 
 And oft around the cavern fire 
 On visionary schemes debate, 
 
LORD BYRON. 109 
 
 To snatch the Rayahs from their fate- 
 So let them ease their hearts with prate 
 Of equal rights, which man ne'er knew ; 
 I have a love for freedom too. 
 Ay ! let me like the ocean-Patriarch roam, 
 Or only know on land the Tartars home ! 
 My tent on shore, my galley on the sea, 
 Are more than cities and Serais to me : 
 Borne by my steed, or wafted by my sail, 
 Across the desert, or before the gale, 
 Bound where thou wilt, my barb I or glide, my prow 
 But be the star that guides the wanderer, Thou ! 
 Thou, my Zuleika! share and bless my bark; 
 The Dove of peace and promise to mine ark ! 
 Or, since that hope denied in worlds of strife, 
 Be thou the rainbow to the storms of life ! 
 The evening beam that smiles the clouds away, 
 And tints to-morrow with prophetic ray ! 
 Blest--as the Muezzin's strain from Mecca's wall 
 To pilgrim's pure and prostrate at his call ; 
 Soft — as the melody of youthful days, 
 That steals the trembling tear of speechless praise ; 
 Dear — as his native song to Exile's ears, 
 Shall sound each tone thy long-loved voice endears. 
 For thee in tho3e bright isles is built a bower 
 Blooming as Aden in its earliest hour. 
 A thousand swords, with Selim's heart and hand, 
 Wait — wave — defend — destroy — at thy command ! 
 Girt by my band, Zuleika at my side, 
 The spoil of nations shall bedeck my bride. 
 The Haram's languid years of listless ease 
 Are well resign'd for cares — for joys like these : 
 Not blind to fate, I see, where'er I rove, 
 Urmumber'd perils — but one only love 1 
 K 
 
110 THE BEAUTIES OF 
 
 Yet well my toils shall that fond breast repay, 
 Though fortune frown, or falser friends betray. 
 How dear the dream in darkest hours of ill, 
 Should all be changed, to find thee faithful still i 
 Be but thy soul, like Selim's, firmly shown ; 
 To thee be Selim's tender as thine own ; 
 To sooth each sorrow, share in each delight 
 Blend every thought, do all — but disunite ! 
 Once free, 'tis mine our horde again to guide ; 
 Friends to each other, foes to aught beside : 
 Yet there we follow but the bent assign'd 
 By fatal Nature to man's warring kind : 
 Mark ! where his carnage and his conquests cease ! 
 He makes a solitude, and calls it — peace ! 
 I, like the rest, must use my skill or strength, 
 But ask no land beyond my sabre's length : 
 Power sways but by division — her resource 
 The blest alternative of fx-aud or force ! 
 Ours be the last ; in time deceit may come 
 When cities cage us in a social home : 
 There ev'n thy soul might err — how oft the heart 
 Corruption shakes which peril cvml.l not ^a^t* 
 And woman, more than man, when death or wo 
 Or even Disgrace would lay her lover low, 
 Sunk in the lap of Luxury will shame — 
 Away suspicion ! — not Zuleika's name ! 
 But life is hazard at the best; and here 
 No more remains to win, and much to fear. 
 Yes, fear ! — the doubt, the dread of losing thee, 
 By Osman's power, and Giaffir's stern decree. 
 That dread shall vanish with the favouring gale, 
 Which Love to-night hath promised to my sail : 
 No danger daunts the pair his smile hath blest, 
 Their steps still roving, but their hearts at rest. 
 
LORD BYRON. Ill 
 
 With thee all toils are sweet, each clime hath charms ; 
 
 Earth — sea alike — our world within our arms I 
 
 Ay — let the loud winds whistle o'er the deck, 
 
 So that those arms cling closer round my neck : 
 
 The deepest murmur of this lip 3hall be 
 
 No sigh for safety, but a prayer for thee ! 
 
 The war of elements no fears impart 
 
 To Love, whose deadliest bane is human Art : 
 
 There lie the only rocks our course can check ; 
 
 Here moments menace — there are years of wreck ! 
 
 But hence ye thoughts that rise in Horror's shape !i 
 
 This hour bestows, or ever bars escape. 
 
 Few words remain of mine my tale to close ; 
 
 Of thine but one to waft us from our foes ; 
 
 Yea — foes — to me will Giaffir's hate decline ? 
 
 And is not Osman, who would part us, thine ? 
 
 " His head and faith from doubt and death 
 Return'd in time my guard to save : 
 Few heard, none told, that o'er the wave 
 
 From isle to isle I roved the while : 
 
 And sh o. though p irt< d from my band 
 
 Too seluuii. -iow I leave the land, 
 
 No deed they've done, nor deed shall do, 
 
 Ere I have heard anu doom'd it too : 
 
 I form the plan, decree the spoil, 
 
 'Tis fit I oftener share the toil. 
 
 But now too long I've held thine ear; 
 
 Time presses, floats my bark, and here 
 
 We leave behind but hate and fear. 
 
 To-morrow Osman with his train 
 
 Arrives — to-night must break thy chain : 
 
 And would'st thou save that haughty Bey, 
 Perchance, his life who gave thee thine, 
 
U2 THE BEAUTIES OF 
 
 With me this hour away — away ! 
 
 But yet, though thou art plighted mine, 
 Would'st thou recal thy willing vow, 
 Appall 'd by truths imparted now, 
 Here rest I — not to see thee wed : 
 But be that peril on my head V 
 
 Zuleika, mute and motionless, 
 
 Stood like that statue of distress, 
 
 When, her last hope for ever gone, 
 
 The mother harden'd into stone ; 
 
 All in the maid that eye could see 
 
 Was but a younger Niobe. 
 
 But ere her lip, or even her eye, 
 
 Essay'd to speak, or look reply, 
 
 Beneath the garden's wicket porch 
 
 Far flash'd on high a blazing torch ! 
 
 Another — and another — and another — 
 
 * Oh ! fly — no more — yet now my more than brother P* 
 
 Far, wide, through every thicket spread, 
 
 The fearful lights are gleaming red ; 
 
 Nor these alone — for each right hand 
 
 Is ready with a sheathless brand. 
 
 They part, pursue, return, and wheel 
 
 With searching flambeau, shining steel ; 
 
 And last of all, his sabre waving, 
 
 Stern Giaffir in his fury raving : 
 
 And now almost they touch the cave — 
 
 Oh ! must that grot be Selim's grave ? 
 
 Dauntless he stood — " 'Tis come — soon past — 
 One kiss, Zuleika — 'tis my last : 
 
 But yet my band not far from shore 
 May hear the signal, see the flash ; 
 
LORD BYRON. 113 
 
 Yet now too few — the attempt were rash : 
 
 No matter— yet one effort more." 
 Forth to the cavern mouth he stept 
 
 His pistol's echo rang on high. 
 Zuleika started not, nor wept, 
 
 Despair benum'd her breast and eye ! — 
 " They hear me not, or if they ply 
 Their oars, 'tis but to see me die ; 
 That sound hath drawn my foes more nigh. 
 Then forth my father's scimitar, 
 Thou ne'er hast seen less equal war ! 
 Farewell, Zuleika ! — Sweet ! retire : 
 
 Yet stay within — here linger safe, 
 
 At thee his rage will only chafe. 
 Stir not — lest even to thee perchance 
 Some erring blade or ball should glance. 
 Fear'st thou for him ? — may I expire 
 If in this strife I seek thy sire ! 
 No — though by him that poison pour'd ; 
 No — though again he call me coward ! 
 But tamely shall I meet their steel ? 
 No — as each crest save his may feel I" 
 
 One bound he made, and gain'd the sand • 
 
 Already at his feet hath sunk 
 The foremost of the prying band ; 
 
 A gasping head, a quivering trunk : 
 Another falls — but round him close 
 A swarming circle of his foes ; 
 From right to left his path he cleft, 
 
 And almost met the meeting wave : 
 His boat appears — not five oars' length — 
 His comrades strain with desperate strength — 
 K 2 
 
1 14 THE BEAUTIES OP 
 
 Oh ! are they yet in time to save ? 
 
 His feet the foremost breakers lave ; 
 His band are plunging in the bay, 
 Their sabres glitter through the spray; 
 Wet — wild — unwearied to the strand 
 They struggle — now they touch the land ! 
 They come — 'tis but to add to slaughter-.-. 
 His heart's best blood is on the water J 
 
 Escaped from shot, unharm'd by steel, 
 
 Or scarcely grazed its force to feel, 
 
 Had Selim won, betray'd, beset, 
 
 To where the strand and billows met : 
 
 There as his last step left the land, 
 
 And the last death-blow dealt his hand — 
 
 Ah ! wherefore did he turn to look 
 
 For her his eye but sought in vain ? 
 That pause, that fatal gaze he took, 
 
 Hath doom'd his death, or fix'd his chain. 
 Sad proof, in peril and in pain, 
 How late will Lover's hope remain ! 
 His back was to the dashing spray ; 
 Behind, but close, his comrades lay, 
 When, at the instant, hiss'd the ball — 
 " So may the foes of Giaffir fall !" 
 Whose voice is heard? whose carbine rangf 
 Whose bullet through the night-air sang, 
 Too nearly, deadly aim'd to err ? 
 'Tis thine— Abdallah's Murderer I 
 The father slowly rued thy hate, 
 The son hath found a quicker fate : 
 Fast from his breast the blood is bubbling, 
 The whiteness of the sea-foam troubling — 
 
LORD BYRON. 115 
 
 If aught his lips essay 'd to groan, • 
 The rushing billows choak' J the tone ! 
 
 Morn slowly rolls the clouds away ; 
 
 Few trophies of the fight are there : 
 The shouts that shook the midnight-bay 
 Are silent ; but some signs of fray 
 
 That strand of strife may bear, 
 Anil fragments of each shiver'd brand; 
 Steps stamp'd ; and dash'd into the sand 
 The print of many a struggling hand 
 
 May there be mark'd ; nor far remote 
 
 A broken torch, an oarless boat ; 
 And tangled on the weeds that heap 
 The beach where shelving to the deep 
 
 There lies a white Capote ! 
 'Tis rent in twain — one dark-red stain 
 The wave yet ripples o'er in vain : 
 
 But where is he who wore? 
 Ye ! who would o'er his relics weep 
 Go, seek them where the surges sweep 
 Their burthen round Sigseum's steep 
 
 And cast on Lemnos' shore : 
 The sea-birds shriek above the prey, 
 O'er which their hungry beaks delay, 
 As shaken on his restless pillow, 
 His head heaves with the heaving billow ; 
 That hand, whose motion is not life, 
 Yet feebly seems to menace strife, 
 Flung by the tossing tide on high, 
 
 Then levell'd with the wave — 
 What recks it, though that corse shall lie 
 
 Within a living grave ? 
 
116 THE BEAUTIES OF 
 
 The bird that tears that prostrate form 
 
 Hath only robb'd the meaner worm ; 
 
 The only heart, the only eye 
 
 Had bled or wept to see him die ; 
 
 Had seen those scatter'd limbs composed, 
 And mourn'd above his turban-stone, 
 
 That heart hath burst — that eye was closed- 
 Yea — closed before his own ! 
 
 By Helle's stream there is a voice of wail I 
 And woman's eye is wet — man's cheek is p? 
 Zuleika ! last of Giaffir's race, 
 
 Thy destin'd lord is come too late ; 
 He sees not — ne'er shall see thy face ! 
 
 Can he not hear 
 The loud Wul-wulleh warn his distant ear 
 
 Thy handmaids weeping at the gate, 
 
 The Koran-chanters of the hymn of fatt. 
 
 The silent slaves with folded arms that v 
 Sighs in the hall, and shrieks upon the gale, 
 
 Tell him thy tale ! 
 Thou didst not view thy Selim fall I 
 
 That fearful moment when he left the cave 
 Thy heart grew chill : 
 He was thy hope — thy joy — thy love — thine all — 
 And that last thought on him thou could'st not save 
 
 Sufficed to kill ; 
 Burst forth in one wild cry — and all was still. 
 
 Peace to thy broken heart, and virgin grave ! 
 Ah ! happy ! but of life to lose the worst ! 
 That grief— though deep — though fatal — was thy first ! 
 Thrice happy ! ne'er to feel nor fear the force 
 Of absence, shame, pride, hate, revenge, remorse 1 
 
LORD BYRON. \\7 
 
 And, oh ! that pang where more than Madness lies ! 
 The worm that will not sleep — and never dies ; 
 Thought of the gloomy day and ghastly night, 
 That dreads the darkness, and yet loathes the light, 
 That winds around, and tears the quivering heart ! 
 Ah ! wherefore not consume it — and depart ! 
 
 Wo to thee, rash and unrelenting chief! 
 
 Vainly thou heap'st the dust upon thy head, 
 Vainly the sackcloth o'er thy limbs dost spread : 
 By that same hand Abdallah — Selim bled. 
 Now let it tear thy beard in idle grief: 
 Thy pride of heart, thy bride for Osman's bed, 
 She, whom thy sultan had but seen to wed, 
 Thy Daughter's dead ! 
 Hope of thine age, thy twilight's lonely beam, 
 The Star hath set that shone on Helle's stream. 
 What quench'd its ray ? — the blood that thou hast shed ! 
 Hark ! to the hurried question of Despair : 
 " Where is my child?" an Echo answers — " Where ?" 
 
 Within the place of thousand tombs 
 
 That shine beneath, while dark above 
 The sad but living cypress glooms 
 
 And withers not, though branch and leaf 
 Are stamp'd with an eternal grief, 
 
 Like early unrequited Love, 
 One spot exists, which ever blooms, 
 
 Ev'n in that deadly grove — 
 A single rose is shedding there 
 
 Its lonely lustre, meek and pale : 
 It looks as planted by Despair — 
 
 So white — so faint — the slightest gale 
 Might whirl the leaves on high ; 
 
118 THE BEAUTIES OF 
 
 And yet, though storms and blight assail, 
 And hands more rude than wintry sky 
 
 May wring it from the stem — in vain — 
 
 To-morrow sees it bloom again ! 
 The stalk some spirit gently rears, 
 And waters with celestial tears ; 
 
 For well may maids of Helle deem 
 That this can be no earthly flower, 
 Which mocks the tempest's withering hour, 
 And buds unshelter'd by a bower ; 
 Nor droops, though spring refuse her shower. 
 
 Nor woos the summer beam : 
 To it the live-long night there sings 
 
 A bird unseen — but not remote : 
 Invisible his airy wings, 
 But soft as harp that Houri strings 
 
 His long entrancing note ! 
 It were the Bulbul ; but his throat, 
 
 Though mournful, pours not such a strain : 
 For they who listen cannot leave 
 The spot, but linger there and grieve 
 
 As if they loved in vain ! 
 And yet so sweet the tears they shed, 
 'Tis sorrow so unmix'd with dread, 
 They scarce can bear the morn to break 
 
 That melancholy spell, 
 And longer yet would weep and wake, 
 
 He sings so wild and well ! 
 But when the day-blush bursts from high 
 Expires that magic melody. 
 And some have been who could believe 
 (So fondly youthful dreams deceive, 
 
 Yet harsh be they that blame) 
 
LORD BYRON. 119 
 
 That note so piercing and profound 
 Will shape and syllable its sound 
 
 Into Zuleika's name. 
 'Tis from her cypress' summit heard, 
 That melts in air the liquid word : 
 'Tis from her lowly virgin earth 
 That white rose takes its tender birth. 
 There late was laid a marble stone ; 
 Eve saw it placed — the Morrow gone ! 
 It was no mortal arm that bore 
 That deep-fix'd pillar to the shore ; 
 For there, as Helle's legends tell, 
 Next morn 'twas found where Selim fell ; 
 Lash'd by the tumbling tide, whose wave 
 Denied his bones a holier grave : 
 And there by night, reclined, 'tis said, 
 Is seen a ghastly turban'd head : 
 And hence extended by the billow, 
 'Tis named the " Pirate-phantom's pillow !" 
 Where first it lay that mourning flower 
 Hath flourish'd ; flourisheth this hour, 
 Alone and dewy, coldly pure and pale; 
 As weeping Beauty's cheek at Sorrow's tale ! 
 
 THE FATE OE BEAUTY. 
 
 Rising on its purple wing 
 The insect-queen of eastern spring, 
 O'er emerald meadows of Kashmeer 
 Invites the young pursuer near, 
 And leads him on from flower to flower 
 A weary chase and wasted hour, 
 
120 THE BEAUTIES OF 
 
 Then leaves him, as it soars on high, 
 With panting heart and tearful eye : 
 So beauty lures the full-grown child, 
 With hue as bright, and wing as wild ; 
 A chase of idle hopes and fears, 
 Begun in folly, closed in tears. 
 If won, to equal ills betray'd, 
 Wo waits the insect and the maid ; 
 A life of pain, the loss of peace, 
 From infant's play, and man's caprice : 
 The lovely toy so fiercely sought 
 Hath lost its charm by being caught, 
 For every touch that wooed its stay 
 Hath brush'd its brightest hues away, 
 Till charm, and hue, and beauty gone, 
 'Tis left to fly or fall alone. 
 With wounded wing, or bleeding breast, 
 Ah ! where shall either victim rest ? 
 Can this with faded pinion soar 
 From rose to tulip as before ? 
 Or Beauty, blighted in an hour, 
 Find jo)' within her broken bower? 
 No : gayer insects fluttering by 
 Ne'er droop the wing o'er those that die, 
 And lovelier things have mercy shown 
 To every failing but their own, 
 And every wo a tear can claim 
 Except an erring sister's shame. 
 
LORD BYRON. 121 
 
 CONSCIENCE. 
 
 The Mind, that broods o'er guilty woes, 
 
 Is like the Scorpion girt by fire, 
 In circle narrowing as it glows, 
 The flames around their captive close, 
 Till inly search'd by thousand throes, 
 
 And maddening in her ire, 
 One sad and sole relief she knows, 
 The sting she nourish'd for her foes, 
 Whose venom never yet was vain, 
 Gives but one pang, and cures all pain, 
 And darts into her desperate brain : 
 So do the dark in soul expire, 
 Or live like Scorpion girt by fire ; 
 So writhes the mind Remorse hath riven, 
 Unfit for earth, undoom'd for heaven, 
 Darkness above, despair beneath, 
 Around it flame, within it death ! 
 
 DIAMOND. 
 
 Sweet sparkler ! 
 Thou more than stone of the philosopher ! 
 Thou touchstone of Philosophy herself! 
 Thou bright eye of the Mine! thou load-star of 
 The soul ! the true magnetic Pole to which 
 All hearts point duly north, like trembling needles ! 
 Thou flaming Spirit of the earth ! which sitting 
 High on the monarch's diadem, attractest 
 More worship than the majesty who sweats 
 Beneath the crown which makes his head ache, like 
 Millions of hearts which bleed to lend it lustre ! 
 L 
 
122 THE BEAUTIES OF 
 
 Earth shall be ocean ! 
 And no breath, 
 Save of the winds, be on the unbounded wave ! 
 Angels shall tire their wings, but find no spot : 
 Not even a rock from out the liquid grave 
 
 Shall lift its point to save, 
 Or show the place where strong Despair hath died, 
 After long looking o'er the ocean wide 
 For the expected ebb which cometh not : 
 All shall be void, 
 Destroyed ! 
 Another element shall be the lord 
 
 Of life, and the abhorr'd 
 Children of dust be quench'd ; and of each hue 
 Of earth nought left but the unbroken blue ; 
 And of the variegated mountain 
 Shall nought remain 
 Unchanged, or of the level plain ; 
 Cedar and pine shall lift their tops in vain . 
 All merged within the universal fountain, 
 Man, earth, and fire, shall die, 
 And sea and sky 
 Look vast and lifeless in the eternal eye. 
 
 NAPOLEON. 
 
 Where is he, the modern, mightier far, 
 Who, born no king, made monarchs draw his car ; 
 The new Sesostris, whose unharnessed kings, 
 Freed from the bit, believe themselves with wings, 
 
LORD BYRON. 123 
 
 And spurn the dust o'er which they crawled of late, 
 
 Char i to the chariot of the chfeftain's state ? 
 
 Yes . where is he, the Champion and the Child 
 
 Of all that's great or little, wise or wild ? 
 
 Whose game was empires, and whose stakes were 
 
 thrones ? 
 Whose table, earth — whose dice were human bones ? 
 Behold the grand result in yon lone isle, 
 Ar, 1, as thy nature urges, weep or smile. 
 Sigh to behold the eagle's lofty rage 
 Reduced to nibble at his narrow cage ; 
 Smile to survey the Queller of the Nations 
 Now daily squabbling o'er disputed rations ; 
 Weep to perceive him mourning, as he dines, 
 O'er curtailed dishes and o'er stinted wines ; 
 O'er petty quarrels upon petty things — 
 Is this the man who scourged or feasted kings ? 
 Behold the scales in which his fortune hangs, 
 A surgeon's statement and an earl's harangues ! 
 A bust delayed, a book refused, can shake 
 The sleep of him who kept the world awake. 
 Is this indeed the Tamer of the great, 
 Now slave of all could teaze or irritate — 
 The paltry jailer and the prying spy, 
 The staring stranger with his note-book nigh ? 
 Plunged in a dungeon he had still been great ; 
 How low, how little, was this middle state, ' 
 Between a prison and a palace, where 
 How few could feel for what he had to bear ! 
 Vain his complaint, — my lord presents his bill, 
 His food and wine were doled out duly still : 
 Vain was his sickness, — never was a clime 
 So free from homicide — to doubt's a crime ; 
 
124 THE BEAUTIES OF 
 
 And the stiff Surgeon, who maintained his cause, 
 Hast lost his place, and gained the world's applause. 
 But smile — though all the pangs of brain and heart 
 Disdain, defy, the tardy aid of art ; 
 Though, save the few fond friends, and imaged face 
 Of that fair boy his sire shall ne'er embrace, 
 None stand by his low bed — though even the mind 
 Be wavering, which long awed and awes mankind ; 
 Smile — for the fettered Eagle breaks his chain, 
 And higher worlds than this are his again. 
 
 How, if that soaring Spirit still retain 
 A conscious twilight of his blazing reign, 
 How must he smile, on looking down, to see 
 The little that he was and sought to be ! 
 What though his name a wider empire found 
 Than his ambition, though with scarce a bound ; 
 Though first in glory, deepest in reverse, 
 He tasted empire's blessings and its curse ; 
 Though kings, rejoicing in their late escape 
 From chains, would gladly be their tyrant's ape ; 
 How must he smile, and turn to yon lone grave, 
 The proudest sea-mark that o'ertops the wave ! 
 What though his jailer, duteous to the last, 
 Scarce deemed the coffin's lead could keep him fast 
 Refusing one poor line along the lid, 
 To date the birth and death of all it hid, 
 That name shall hallow the ignoble shore, 
 A talisman to all save him who bore : 
 The fleets that sweep before the eastern blast 
 Shall hear their sea-boys hail it from the mast ; 
 When Victory's Gallic column shall but rise, 
 Like Porapey's pillar, in a desert's skies, 
 
LORD BYRON. 125 
 
 The rocky isle that holds or held his dust 
 
 Shall crown the Atlantic like the hero's bust, 
 
 And mighty Nature o'er his obsequies 
 
 Do more than niggard Envy still denies. 
 
 But what are these to him ? Can glory's lust 
 
 Touch the freed spirit of the fettered dust ? 
 
 Small care hath he of what his tomb consists, 
 
 Nought if he sleeps — nor more if he exists ; 
 
 Alike the better-seeing Shade will smile 
 
 On the rude cavern of the rocky isle, 
 
 As if his ashes found their latest home 
 
 In Rome's pantheon, or Gaul's mimic dome. 
 
 He wants not this ; but France shall feel the want 
 
 Of this last consolation, though so scant ; 
 
 Her honour, fame, and faith, demand his bones, 
 
 To rear above a pyramid of thrones ; 
 
 Or carried onward in the battle's van 
 
 To form like Guesclin's dust, her talisman. 
 
 But be it as it is, the time may come 
 
 His name shall beat the alarm like Ziska's drum. 
 
 Oh heaven ! of which he was in power a feature ; 
 Oh earth ! of which he was a noble creature; 
 Thou isle ! to be remembered long and well, 
 That saw'st the unfledged eaglet chip his shell ! 
 Ye Alps, which viewed him. in his dawning flights 
 Hover, the victor of a hundred fights ! 
 Thou Rome, who saw'st thy Caesar's deeds outdone 1 
 Alas ! why passed he too the Rubicon ? 
 The Rubicon of man's awakened rights, 
 To herd with vulgar kings and parasites ? 
 Egypt ! from whose all dateless tombs, arose 
 Forgotten Pharaohs from their long repose, 
 L 2 
 
126 THE BEAUTIES OF 
 
 And shook within their pyramids to hear 
 A new Cambyses thundering in their ear ; 
 While the dark shades of forty ages stood 
 Like startled giants by Nile's famous flood; 
 Or from the pyramid's tall pinnacle 
 Beheld the desert peopled, as from hell, 
 With clashing hosts who strewed the barren sand 
 To re-manure the uncultivated land! 
 Spain ! which, a moment mindless of the Cid, 
 Beheld his banner flouting thy Madrid ! 
 Austria ! which saw thy twice-ta'en capital 
 Twice spared, to be the traitress of his fall ! 
 Ye race of Frederic ! — Frederics but in name 
 And falsehood — heirs to all except his fame; 
 Who, crushed at Jena, crouched at Berlin, fell 
 First, and but rose to follow ; ye who dwell 
 Where Kosciusko dwelt, remembering yet 
 The unpaid amount of Catharine's bloody debt! 
 Poland ! o'er which the avenging angel past, 
 But left thee as he found thee, still a waste ; 
 Forgetting all thy still enduring claim, 
 Thy lotted people and extinguished name ; 
 Thy sigh for freedom, thy long-flowing tear, 
 That sound that crashes in the tyrant's ear ; 
 Kosciusko ! on — on — on — the thirst of war 
 Gasps for the gore of serfs and of their Czar ; 
 The half Barbaric Moscow's minarets 
 Gleam in the sun, but 'tis a sun that sets ! 
 Moscow ! thou limit of his long career, 
 For which rude Charles had wept his frozen tear 
 l'o see in vain — he saw thee — how ? with spire 
 And palace fuel to one common fire. 
 To this the soldier lent his kindling match, 
 To this the peasant gave his cottage thatch, 
 
LORD BYRON. 127 
 
 To this the merchant flung; his hoarded store, 
 
 The prince his hall — and, Moscow was no more ! 
 
 Sublimest of volcanoes ! Etna's flame 
 
 Pales before thine, and quenchless Hecla's tame ; 
 
 Vesuvius shows his blaze, an usual sight 
 
 For gaping- tourists, from his hacknied height : 
 
 Thou stand'st alone unrivalled, till the fire 
 
 To come, in which all empires shall expire. 
 
 Thou other element ! as strong and stern 
 
 To teach a lesson conquerors will not learn, 
 
 Whose icy wing flapped o'er the faltering foe, 
 
 Till fell a hero with each flake of snow ; 
 
 How did thy numbing beak and silent fang 
 
 Pierce, till hosts perished with a single pang ! 
 
 In vain shall Seine look up along its banks 
 
 For the gay thousands of his dashing ranks ; 
 
 $n vain shall France recal beneath her vines 
 
 Her youth ; their blood flows faster than her wines : 
 
 Or stagnant in their human ice remains 
 
 In frozen mummies on the Polar plains. 
 
 In vain will Italy's broad sun awaken 
 
 Her oiTspring chilled ; its beams are now forsaken. 
 
 Of all the trophies gathered from the war, 
 
 What shall return ? The conqueror's broken carl 
 
 The conqueror's yet unbroken her.rt ! Again 
 
 The horn of Roland sounds, and not in vain. 
 
 Lutzen, where fell the Swede of victory, 
 
 Beholds him conquer, but, alas ! not die : 
 
 Dresden surveys three despots fly once more 
 
 Before their sovereign, — sovereign as before ; 
 
 But there exhausted Fortune quits the field, 
 
 And Leipsic's treason bids the unvanquished yield ; 
 
 The Saxon jackal leaves the lion's side 
 
 To turn the bear's and wolf's, and fox's guide, 
 
128 THE BEAUTIES OF 
 
 And backward to the den of his despair 
 
 The forest monarch shrinks, but finds no lair I 
 
 Oh ye ! and each, and all ! Oh, France ! who found 
 
 Thy long fair fields plough'd up as hostile ground, 
 
 Disputed foot by foot, till treason, still 
 
 His only victor, from Montmartre's hill 
 
 Looked down o'er trampled Paris ; and thou, isle, 
 
 Which seest Etruria from thy ramparts smile. 
 
 Thou momentary shelter of his pride, 
 
 Till wooed by danger, his yet weeping bride ; 
 
 Oh, France ! retaken by a single march, 
 
 Whose path was through one long triumphal arch ! 
 
 Oh, bloody and most bootless Waterloo, 
 
 Which proves how fools may have their fortune too 
 
 Won, half by plunder, half by treachery ; 
 
 Oh, dull Saint Helen ! with thy jailer nigh, 
 
 Hear ! hear ! Prometheus from his rock appeal 
 
 To earth, air, ocean, all that felt or feel 
 
 His power and glory, all, who yet shall hear 
 
 A name eternal as the rolling year ; 
 
 He teaches them the lesson taught so long, 
 
 So oft, so vainly — learn to do no wrong ! 
 
 A single step into the right had made 
 
 This man the Washington of worlds betrayed ; 
 
 A single step into the wrong has given 
 
 His name a doubt to all the winds of heaven ; 
 
 The reed of Fortune and of thrones the rod, 
 
 Of Fame the Moloch or the demigod ; 
 
 His country's Caesar, Europe's Hannibal, 
 
 Without their decent dignity of fall. 
 
LORD BYRON. 129 
 
 VIRTUE. 
 
 Virtue 
 Stands like the Sun, and all which rolls around 
 Drinks life, and light, and glory from her aspect. 
 
 TWILIGHT. 
 
 It is the hour when from the boughs 
 The nightingale's high note is heard ; 
 
 It is the hour when lover's vows 
 
 Seem sweet in every whisper'd word ; 
 
 And gentle winds, and waters near, 
 
 Make music to the lonely ear. 
 
 MORNING. 
 
 Night wanes, the vapours round the mountains curl'd 
 Melt into morn, and Light awakes the world. 
 
 IGNORANCE. 
 
 None 
 E'er valu'd more thy virtues though he knew not 
 To profit by them — as the miner lights 
 Upon a vein of virgin ore, discov'ring 
 That which avails him nothing : he hath found it, 
 But 'tis not his, — but some superior's who 
 Plac'd him to dig, but not to divide the wealth, 
 Which sparkles at his feet ; nor dare he lift, 
 Nor poise it, but must grovel on, upturning 
 The sullen earth. 
 
130 THE BEAUTIES OF 
 
 LIFE. 
 
 The smallest portion of existence, 
 When twenty ages gather o'er a name ; 
 'Tis as a snow-ball which derives assistance 
 From ev'ry flake, and yet rolls on the same, 
 Ev'n till an iceberg, it may chance to grow, 
 But after all, 'tis nothing but cold snow. 
 
 Life hovers like a star 
 'Twixt night and morn, upon the horizon's verge ; 
 How little do we know that which we are ! 
 How less what we may be ! The eternal surge 
 Of time and tide rolls on, and bears afar 
 Our bubbles ; as the old burst, new emerge, 
 Lash'd from the foam of ages ; while the graves 
 Of Empires heave but like some passing waves. 
 
 FIRST LOVE. 
 
 'Tis sweet to hear 
 At midnight on the blue and moonlit deep 
 
 The song and oar of Adria's gondolier, 
 
 By distance mellow'd, o'er the waters sweep ; 
 
 'Tis sweet to see the evening star appear ; 
 'Tis sweet to listen as the night-winds creep 
 
 From leaf to leaf; 'tis sweet to view on high 
 
 The rainbow, based on ocean, span the sky. 
 
 'Tis sweet to hear the watch-dog's honest bark 
 
 Bay deep-mouth'd welcome as we draw near home 
 'Tis sweet to know there is an eye will mark 
 
LORD BYRON. 131 
 
 *Tis sweet to be awaken'd by the lark, 
 
 Or lull'd by falling waters ; sweet the hum 
 Of bees, the voice of girls, the song of birds, 
 The lisp of children, and their earliest words. 
 
 Sweet is the vintage, when the showering grapes 
 
 In Bacchanal profusion reel to earth 
 Purple and gushing: sweet are our escapes 
 
 From civic revelry, to rural mirth ; 
 Sweet to the miser are his glittering heaps, 
 
 Sweet to the father is his first-born's birth, 
 Sweet is revenge — especially to women, 
 Pillage to soldiers, prize-money to seamen. 
 
 Sweet is a legacy, and passing sweet 
 
 The unexpected death of some old lady 
 
 Or gentleman of seventy years complete, 
 
 Who've made " us youth" wait too — too long already 
 
 For an estate, or cash, or country seat, 
 
 Still breaking, but with stamina so steady, 
 
 That all the Israelites are fit to mob its 
 
 Next owner for their double-damn'd post-obits. 
 
 'Tis sweet to win, no matter how, one's laurels 
 By Wood or ink ; 'tis sweet to put an end 
 
 To strife ; 'tis sweet to have our quarrels, 
 Particularly with a tiresome friend ; 
 
 Sweet is old wine in bottles, ale in barrels ; 
 Dear is the helpless creature we defend 
 
 Against the world, and dear the school-boy spot 
 
 We ne'er forget, though there we are forgot. 
 
 But sweeter still than this, than these, than all, 
 Is first and passionate love. 
 
132 THE BEAUTIES OF 
 
 ITALY 
 
 I must say, 
 
 That Italy's a pleasant place to me, 
 Who love to see the Sun shine every day, 
 
 And vines (not nail'd to walls) from tree to tree 
 Festoon'd, much like the back scene of a play, 
 
 Or melo-drame, which people flock to see, 
 When the first act is ended by a dance 
 In vineyards copied from the south of France. 
 
 I like on Autumn evenings to ride out, 
 
 Without being forced to bid my groom be sure 
 
 My cloak is round his middle strapp'd about, 
 Because the skies are not the most secure ; 
 
 I know too that, if I stopp'd upon my route, 
 Where the green alleys windingly allure, 
 
 Reeling with grapes red wagons choke the way,— 
 
 In England 'twould be dung, dust, or a dray. 
 
 I also like to dine on becaficas, 
 
 To see the Sun set, sure he'll rise to-morrow, 
 .Not through a misty morning twinkling weak as 
 
 A drunken man's dead eye in maudlin sorrow, 
 But with all Heaven t' himself; that day will break as 
 
 Beauteous as cloudless, nor be forced to borrow 
 That sort of farthing candle light which glimmers 
 Where reeking London's smoky caldron simmers. 
 
 I love the language, that soft bastard Latin, 
 Which melts like kisses from a female mouth, 
 
 And sounds as if it should be writ on satin, 
 
 With syllables which breathe of the sweet South, 
 
LORD BYRON. 1S3 
 
 And gentle liquids gliding all so pat in, 
 
 That not a single accent seems uncouth, 
 Like our harsh northern whistling, grunting guttural, 
 Which we're obliged to hiss, and spit, and sputter all. 
 
 I like the women too (forgive my folly,) 
 
 From the rich peasant-cheek of ruddy bronze, 
 
 And large black eyes that flash on you a volley 
 Of rays that say a thousand things at once, 
 
 To the high dama's brow, more melancholy, 
 But clear, and with a wild and liquid glance, 
 
 Heart on her lips, and soul within her eyes, 
 
 Soft as her clime, and sunny as her skies. 
 
 Eve of the land which still is Paradise ! 
 
 Italian beauty ! didst thou not inspire 
 Raphael, who died in thy embrace, and vies 
 
 With all we know of heaven, or can desire, 
 In what he hath bequeathed us ? — in what guise, 
 
 Though flashing from the fervour of the lyre, 
 Would words describe thy past and present glow, 
 While yet Canova can create below ? 
 
 ST. PETER'S CHURCH. 
 
 The vast and wondrous dome, 
 To which Diana's marvel was a cell — 
 Christ's mighty shrine above his martyr's tomb ! 
 I have beheld the Ephesian's miracle — 
 Its columnsMrew the wilderness, and dwell 
 The hyaena "and the jackal in their shade : 
 I have beheld Sophia's bright roofs swell 
 1V1 
 
134 THE BEAUTIES OF 
 
 Their glitt'ring mass i' the sun, and have survey'd 
 Its sanctuary the while the usurping Moslem pray'd ; 
 
 But thou, of temples old, or altars new, 
 Standest alone — with nothing like to thee— 
 Worthiest of God, the holy and the true. 
 Since Zion's desolation, when that He 
 Forsook his former city, what could be, 
 Of earthly structures, in his honour piled, 
 Of a sublimer aspect? Majesty, 
 Power, Glory, Strength, and Beauty, all are aisled 
 In this eternal ark of worship undefiled. 
 
 Enter : its grandeur overwhelms thee not ; 
 And why? it is not lessen'd ; but thy mind, 
 Expanded by the genius of the spot, 
 Has grown colossal, and can only find 
 A. fit abode wherein appear enshrined 
 Thy hopes of immortality : and thou 
 Shalt one day, if found worthy, so defined, 
 See thy God face to face, as thou dost now 
 His Holy of Holies, nor be blasted by his brow. 
 
 Thou movest — but increasing with the advance, 
 Like climbing some great Alp, which still doth rise. 
 Deceived by its gigantic elegance ; 
 Vastness which grows — but grow3 to harmonize — 
 All musical in its immensities ; 
 
 Rich marbles — richer painting. — shrines where flame 
 The lamps of gold — and haughty dome which vies 
 In air with Earth's chief structures, tho' their frame 
 Sits on the firm-set ground — and this the clouds must 
 claim. 
 
LORD BYRON. 135 
 
 WOMAN. 
 
 The very first 
 Of human life must spring from woman's breast, 
 Your first small words are taught you from her lips, 
 Your first tears quench'd by her, and your last sighs 
 Too often breathed out in a woman's hearing, 
 When men have shrunk from the ignoble care 
 Of watching the last hour of him who led them. 
 
 MYRRHA. 
 
 I paused 
 To look upon her, and her kindled cheek ; 
 Her large black eyes, that flash'd through her long hair 
 As it stream'd o'er her ; her blue veins that rose 
 Along her most transparent brow ; her nostril 
 Dilated from its symmetry ; her lips 
 Apart ; her voice that clove through all the din, 
 As a lute's pierceth through the cymbal's clash, 
 Jarr'd but not drown'd by the loud battling ; her 
 Waved arms, more dazzling with their own born 
 
 whiteness 
 Than the steel her hand held, which she caught up 
 From a dead soldier's grasp ; all these things made 
 Her seem unto the troops a prophetess 
 Of victory, or Victory herself, 
 Come down to hail us hers. 
 
136 THE BEAUTIES OF 
 
 CONRAD THE CORSAIR. 
 
 Near yonder cave, 
 What lonely straggler looks along the wave ? 
 In pensive posture leaning on the brand, 
 Not oft a resting-staff to that red hand? 
 'Tis he — 'tis Conrad — here — as wont — alone ; 
 On — Juan ! on — and make our purpose known. 
 The bark he views — and tell him we would greet 
 His ear with tidings he must quickly meet : 
 We dare not yet approach — thou know'st his mood, 
 When strange or uninvited steps intrude. 
 
 Him Juan sought, and told of their intent — 
 He spake not — but a sign express'd assent. 
 These Juan calls — they come — to their salute 
 He bends him slightly, but his lips are mute. 
 These letters, Chief, are from the Greek— the spy 
 Who still proclaims our spoil or peril nigh : 
 Whate'er his tidings, we can well report, 
 Much that — Peace, peace ! — he cuts their prating short. 
 Wondering they turn, abash'd, while each to each 
 Conjecture whispers in his muttering speech : 
 They watch his glance with many a stealing look, 
 To gather how that eye the tidings took ; 
 But, this as if he guess'd, with head aside, 
 Perchance from some emotion, doubt, or pride, 
 He read the scroll — My tablets, Juan, hark — 
 Where is Gonsalvo ? 
 
 In the anchor'd bark. 
 There let him stay — to him this order bear. 
 Back to your duty — for my course prepare : 
 Myself this enterprise to-night will share. 
 To-night, Lord Conrad ? 
 
LORD BYRON. 137 
 
 Ay ! at set of sun : 
 The breeze will freshen when the day is done. 
 My corslet — cloak — one hour — and we are gone. 
 Sling on thy bugle — see .that free from rust, 
 My carbine-lock springs worthy of my trust ; 
 Be the edge sharpen'd of my boarding-brand, 
 And give its guard more room to fit my hand. 
 This let the Armourer with speed dispose ; 
 Last time, it more fatigued my arm than foes : 
 Mark that the signal-gun be duly fired, 
 To tell us when the hour of stay's expired. 
 
 They make obeisance, and retire in haste, 
 Too soon to seek again the watery waste : 
 Yet they repine not — so that Conrad guides, 
 And who dare question aught that he decides ? 
 That man of loneliness and mystery, 
 Scarce seen to smile, and seldom heard to sigh ; 
 Whose name appals the fiercest of his crew, 
 And tints each swarthy cheek with sallower hue ; 
 Still sways their souls with that commanding art 
 That dazzles, leads, yet chills the vulgar heart. 
 What is that spell, that thus his lawless train 
 Confess and envy, yet oppose in vain? 
 What should it be ? that thus their faith can bind? 
 The power of Thought — the magic of the mind ! 
 Link'd with success, assumed and kept with skill, 
 That moulds another's weakness to its will ; 
 Wields with their hands, but, still to these unknown, 
 Makes even their mightiest deeds appear his own. 
 Such hath it been — shall be — beneath the sun 
 The many still must labour for the one ! 
 'Tis nature's doom — but let the wretch who toils, 
 Accuse not, hate not him who wears the spoils. 
 M 2 
 
138 THE BEAUTIES OF 
 
 Oh ! if he knew the weight of splendid chains, 
 How light the balance of his humbler pains ! 
 
 Unlike the heroes of each ancient race, 
 
 Demons in act, but Gods at least in face, 
 
 In Conrad's form seems little to admire, 
 
 Though his dark eye-brow shades a glance of fire: 
 
 Robust but not Herculean — to the sight 
 
 No giant frame sets forth his common height; 
 
 Yet, in the whole, who paused to look again, 
 
 Saw more than marks the crowd of vulgar men ; 
 
 They gaze arid marvel how — and still confess 
 
 That thus it is, but why they cannot guess. 
 
 Sun-burnt his cheek, his forehead high and pale 
 
 The sable curls in wild profusion veil ; 
 
 And oft perforce his rising lip reveals 
 
 The haughtier thought it curbs, but scarce conceals. 
 
 Though smooth his voice, and calm his general mien, 
 
 Still seems there something he would not have seen . 
 
 His features' deepening lines and varying hue 
 
 At times attracted, yet perplex'd the view, 
 
 As if within that murkiness of mind 
 
 Work'd feelings fearful, and yet undefined; 
 
 Such might it be — that none could truly tell — 
 
 Too close inquiry his stern glance would quell. 
 
 There breathe but few whose aspect might defy 
 
 The full encounter of his searching eye : 
 
 He had the skill, when cunning's gaze would seek 
 
 To probe his heart and watch his changing cheek, 
 
 At once the observer's purpose to espy, 
 
 And on himself roll back his scrutiny, 
 
 Lest he to Conrad rather should betray 
 
 Some secret thought, than drag that chief's to-day. 
 
LORD BYRON. 139 
 
 There was a laughing Devjl in his sneer, 
 That raised emotions both of rage and fear ; 
 And where his frown of hatred darkly fell, 
 Hope withering fled — and Mercy sigh'd farewell ! 
 
 Slight are the outward signs of evil thought, 
 Within — within — 'twas there the spirit wrought ! 
 Love shows all changes — Hate, Ambition, Guile, 
 Betray no further than the bitter smile ; 
 The lip's least curl, the lightest paleness thrown 
 Along the govern'd aspect, speak alone 
 Of deeper passions ; and to judge their mien, 
 He, who would see, must be himself unseen. 
 Then — with the hurried tread, the upward eye, 
 The clenched hand, the pause of agony, 
 That listens, starting, lest the step too near 
 Approach intrusive on that mood of fear : 
 Then — with each feature working from the heart, 
 With feelings loosed to strengthen — not depart : 
 That rise — convulse — contend — that freeze, or glow, 
 Flush in the cheek, or damp upon the brow ; 
 Then — Stranger ! if thou canst, and tremblest not, 
 Behold his soul — the rest that soothes his lot ! 
 Mark — how that lone and blighted bosom sears 
 The scathing thought of execrated years ! 
 Behold — but who hath seen, or e'er shall see, 
 Man as himself — the secret spirit free ? 
 
 Yet was not Conrad thus by Nature sent 
 To lead the guilty — guilt's worst instrument — 
 His soul was changed, before his deeds had driven 
 Him forth to war with man and forfeit heaven. 
 Warp'd by the world in Disappointment's school, 
 In words too wise, in conduct there a fool : 
 
140 THE BEAUTIES OF 
 
 Too firm to yield, and far too proud to stoop, 
 
 Doom'd by his very virtues for a dupe, 
 
 He cursed those virtues as the cause of ill, 
 
 And not the traitors who betray'd him still ; 
 
 Nor deem'd that gifts bestow'd on better men 
 
 Had left him joy, and means to give again. 
 
 Fear'd — shunn'd — belied — ere youth had lost her force, 
 
 He hated man too much to feel remorse, 
 
 And thought the voice of wrath a sacred call, 
 
 To pay the injuries of some on all. 
 
 He knew himself a villain — but he deem'd 
 
 The rest no better than the thing he seem'd ; 
 
 And scorn'd the best as hypocrites who hid 
 
 Those deeds the bolder spirit plainly did. 
 
 He knew himself detested, but he knew 
 
 The hearts that loath'd him, crouch'd and dreaded too. 
 
 Lone, wild, and strange, he stood alike exempt 
 
 From all affection and from all contempt : 
 
 His name could sadden, and his acts surprise ; 
 
 But they that fear'd him dared not to despise : 
 
 Man spurns the worm, but pauses ere he wake 
 
 The slumbering venom of the folded snake : 
 
 The first may turn — but not avenge the blow ; 
 
 The last expires — but leaves no living foe ; 
 
 Fast to the doom'd offender's form it clings, 
 
 And he may crush — not conquer — still it stings ! 
 
 None are all evil — quickening round his heart, 
 One softer feeling would not yet depart ; 
 Oft could he sneer at others as beguiled 
 By passions worthy of a fool or child ; 
 Yet 'gainst that passion vainly still he strove, 
 And even in him ; t asks the name of Love ! 
 
LORD BYRON. 141 
 
 Yes, it was love — unchangeable — unchanged, 
 
 Felt but for one from whom he never ranged ; 
 
 Though fairest captives daily meet his eye, 
 
 He shunn'd, nor sought, but coldly pass'd them by ; 
 
 Though many a beauty droopM in prison'd bower, 
 
 None ever soothed his most unguarded hour. 
 
 Yes — it was Love — if thoughts of tenderness, 
 
 Tried in temptation, strengthen'd by distress, 
 
 Unmoved by absence, firm in every clime, 
 
 And yet— Oh more than all ! — untired by time ; 
 
 Which nor defeated hope, nor baffled wile, 
 
 Could render sullen were* «he ne'er to smile, 
 
 Nor rage could fire, nor sickness fret to vent 
 
 On her one murmur of his discontent ; 
 
 Which still would meet with joy, with calmness part, 
 
 Lest that his look of grief should reach her heart ; 
 
 Which nought removed, nor menaced to remove— 
 
 If there be love in mortals — this was love ! 
 
 He was a villain — ay — reproaches shower 
 
 On him — but not the passion, nor its power, 
 
 Which only proved, all other virtues gone, 
 
 Not guilt itself could quench this loveliest one ! 
 
 JULIA. 
 
 Her eye 
 
 Was large and dark, suppressing half its fire 
 Until she spoke, then through its soft disguise 
 
 Flash'd an expression more of pride than ire, 
 And love than either ; and there would arise 
 
 A something in them which was not desire, 
 But would have been, perhaps, but, for the soul 
 Which struggled thro', and chasten'd down the whole. 
 
142 THE BEAUTIES OF 
 
 Her glossy hair was cluster'd o'er a brow 
 
 Bright with intelligence, and fair and smooth ; 
 
 Her eyebrow's shape was like the aerial bow, 
 Her cheek all purple with the beam of youth, 
 
 Mounting, at times, to a transparent glow, 
 As if her veins ran lightning ; she, in sooth, 
 
 Possess'd an air and grace by no means common : 
 
 Her stature tall. 
 
 mawfred's address to the sun. 
 
 Glorious Orb ! the idol 
 Of early nature, and the vigorous race 
 Of undiseased mankind, the giant sons 
 Of the embrace of angels, with a sex 
 More beautiful than they, which did draw down 
 The erring spirits who can ne'er return. — 
 Most glorious orb ! thou wert a worship, ere 
 The mystery of thy making was reveal'd ! 
 Thou earliest minister of the Almighty, 
 "Which gladden'd, on their mountain tops, the hearts 
 Of the Chaldean shepherds, till they pour'd 
 Themselves in orisons ! thou material God I 
 And representative of the Unknown — 
 Who chose thee for his shadow ! Thou chief star ! 
 Centre of many stars ! which mak'st our earth 
 Endurable, and temperest the hues 
 And hearts of all who walk within thy rays! 
 Sire of the seasons ! Monarch of the climes, 
 And those who dwell in them ! for near or far, 
 Our inborn spirits have a tint of thee, 
 Even as our outward aspects ; — thou dost rise, 
 
LORD BYRON. 143 
 
 And shine, and set in glory. Fare thee well ! 
 I ne'er shall see thee more. As my first glance 
 Of love and wonder was for thee, then take 
 My latest look : thorn wilt not beam on one 
 To whom the gifts of life and warmth have been 
 Of a more fatal nature. 
 
 Manfred's soliloquy. 
 
 The Mountain of the Jungfrau.- — Time, Morning. — 
 Manfred alone upon the Cliffs. 
 
 Man. The spirits I have raised abandon me — 
 The spells which I have studied baffle me — 
 The remedy I reck'd of tortures me ; 
 I lean no more on super-human aid, 
 It hath no power upon the past, and for 
 The future, till the past be gulf 'd in darkness, 
 It is not of my search. — My mother Earth ! 
 And thou fresh breaking Day, and you, ye Mountain;, 
 Why are ye beautiful ? — I cannot love ye. 
 And thou, the bright eye of the universe, 
 That openest over all, and unto all 
 Art a delight — thou shin'st not on my heart. 
 And you, ye crags, upon whose extreme edge 
 I stand, and on the torrent's brink beneath 
 Behold the tall pines dwindled as to shrubs 
 In dizziness of distance ; when a leap, 
 A stir, a motion, even a breath, would bring 
 My breast upon its rocky bosom's bed 
 To rest for ever — wherefore do I pause ? 
 I feel the impulse — yet I do not plunge ; 
 I see the peril — yet do not recede ; 
 
144 THE BEAUTIES OF 
 
 And my brain reels — and yet my foot is firm : 
 
 There is a power upon me which withholds 
 
 And makes it my fatality to live ; 
 
 If it be life to wear within myself 
 
 This barrenness of spirit, and to be 
 
 My own soul's sepulchre, for I have ceased 
 
 To justify my deeds unto myself — 
 
 The last infirmity of evil. Ay, 
 
 Thou winged and cloud- cleaving minister, 
 
 [An eagle passes* 
 Whose happy flight is highest into heaven, 
 Well may'st thou swoop so near me — I should be 
 The prey, and gorge thine eaglets ; thou art gone 
 Where the eye cannot follow thee ; but thine 
 Yet pierces downward, onward, or above 
 With a pervading vision. — Beautiful ! 
 How beautiful is all this visible world ! 
 How glorious in its action and itself; 
 But we, who name ourselves its sovereigns, we, 
 Half dust, half deity, alike unfit 
 To sink or soar, with our mix'd essence make 
 A conflict of its elements, and breathe 
 The breath of degradation and of pride, 
 Contending with low wants and lofty will 
 Till our mortality predominates, 
 And men are — what they name not to themselves, 
 And trust not to each other. Hark ! the note, 
 
 [The Shepherd's pipe in the distance is heard- 
 The natural music of the mountain reed — 
 For here the patriarchal days are not 
 A pastoral fable — pipes in the liberal air, 
 Mix'd with the sweet bells of the sauntering herd ; 
 My soul would drink those echoes. — Oh, that I were 
 The viewless spirit of a lovely sound, 
 
LORD BYRON. 145 
 
 A living voice, a breathing harmony, 
 A bodiless enjoyment — born and dying 
 With the blest tone which made me ! 
 
 Enter from below a Chamois Hunter. 
 
 Chamois Hunter. Even so 
 
 This way the chamois leapt : her nimble feet 
 Have baffled me : my gains to-day will scarce 
 Repay my break-neck travail. — What is here ? 
 Who seems not of my trade, and yet hath reach'd 
 A height which none even of our mountaineers, 
 Save our best hunters, may attain : his garb 
 Is goodly, his mien manly, and his air 
 Proud as a free-born peasant's, at this distance. — 
 I will approach him nearer. ♦ 
 
 Man. (Not perceiving the other.) To be thus — 
 Gray-hair'd with anguish, like these blasted pines, 
 Wrecks of a single winter, barkless, branchless, 
 A blighted trunk upon a cursed root, 
 Which but supplies a feeling to decay — 
 And to be thus, eternally but thus, 
 Having been otherwise ! Now furrow'd o'er 
 With wrinkles, plough'd by moments, not by years ; 
 And hours — all tortured into-ages — hours 
 Which I outlive ! — Ye toppling crags of ice ! 
 Ye avalanches, whom a breath draws down 
 In mountainous o'erwhelming, come and crush me ! 
 1 hear ye momently above, beneath, 
 Crash with a frequent conflict ; but ye pass, 
 And only fall on things which still would live ; 
 On the young flourishing forest, or the hut 
 And hamlet of the harmless villager. 
 
 C. Hun. The mists begin to rise from up the valley ; 
 I'll warn him to descend, or he may chance 
 To lose at once his way and life together. 
 N 
 
146 THE BEAUTIES OF 
 
 Man. The mists boil up around the glaciers ; clouds 
 Rise curling fast beneath me, white and sulphury, 
 Like foam from the roused ocean of deep Hell, 
 Whose every wave breaks on a living shore, 
 Heap'd with the damn'd like pebbles. — I am giddy. 
 
 C. Hun. I must approach him cautiously ; if near, 
 A sudden step will startle him, and he 
 Seems tottering already. 
 
 Man. Mountains have fallen, 
 
 Leaving a gap in the clouds, and with the shock 
 Rocking their Alpine brethren ; filling up 
 The ripe green valleys with destruction's splinters ; 
 Damming the rivers with a sudden dash, 
 Which crush'd the waters into mist, and made 
 Their fountains find another channel— thus, 
 Thus, in its old age, did Mount Rosenberg — 
 Why stood I not beneath it ? 
 
 C. Hun. Friend, have a care, 
 
 Your next step may be fatal ! — for the love 
 Of him who made you, stand not on that brink I 
 
 Man. (Not hearing him.) Such would have been for 
 me a fitting tomb ; 
 My bones had then been quiet in their depth ; 
 They had not then been strewn upon the rocks 
 For the wind's pastime — as thus — thus they shall be- 
 In this one plunge. — Farewell, ye opening heavens ! 
 Look not upon me thus reproachfully — 
 Ye were not meant for me — Earth ! take these atoms ! 
 [Jls Manfred is in act to spring from the cliffy 
 the Chamois Hunter seizes and retains him 
 with a sudden grasp. 
 
LORD BYRON. 147 
 
 cain's address to his sleeping child. 
 
 He smiles, and sleeps ! — Sleep on 
 And smile, thou little, young inheritor 
 Of a world scarce less young : sleep on, and smile ! 
 Thine are the hours and days when both are cheering 
 And innocent ! thou hast not pluck'd the fruit — 
 Thou know'st not thou art naked ! Must the time 
 Come thou shalt be amerced for sins unknown, 
 Which were not thine nor mine ? But now sleep on! 
 His cheeks are reddening into deeper smiles, 
 And shining lids are trembling o'er his long 
 Lashes, dark as the cypress which waves o'er them; 
 Half open from beneath them the clear blue 
 Laughs out, although in slumber. He must dream— 
 Of what ? Of Paradise ! — Ay 1 dream of it, 
 My disinherited boy '. 'Tis but a dream ; 
 For never more thyself, thy sons, nor fathers, 
 Shall walk in that forbidden place Of joy ! 
 
 HEBREW MELODIES. 
 I. 
 
 She walks in beauty, like the night 
 Of cloudless climes and starry skies ; 
 
 And all that's best of dark and bright 
 Meet in her aspect and her eyes : 
 
 Thus mellow'd to that tender light 
 Which heaven to gaudy day denies. 
 
 One shade the more, one ray the less, 
 Had half impair'd the nameless grace 
 
148 THE BEAUTIES OF 
 
 Which waves in every raven tress, 
 Or softly lightens o'er her face ; 
 
 Where thoughts serenely sweet express 
 How pure, how dear their dwelling place. 
 
 And on that cheek, and o'er that brow 
 
 So soft, so calm, yet eloquent, 
 The smiles that win, the tints that glow, 
 
 But tell of days in goodness spent, 
 A mind at peace with all below, 
 
 A heart whose love is innocent ! 
 
 II. 
 If that high world, which lies beyond 
 
 Our own, surviving Love endears; 
 If there the cherish'd heart be fond, 
 
 The eye the same, except in tears — 
 How welcome those untrodden spheres ! 
 
 How sweet this very hour to die ! 
 To soar from earth and find all fears 
 
 Lost in thy light — Eternity ! 
 
 It must be so : 'tis not for self 
 
 That we so tremble on the brink ; 
 And striving to o'erleap the gulf, 
 
 Yet cling to Being's severing link. 
 Oh ! in that future let us think 
 
 To hold each heart the heart that shares, 
 With them the immortal waters drink, 
 
 And soul in soul grow deathless theirs ! 
 
 III. 
 Oh ! snatch'd away in beauty's bloom, 
 On thee shall press no ponderous tomb ; 
 
LORD BYRON. 149 
 
 But on thy turf shall roses rear 
 Their leaves, the earliest of the year 
 And the wild cypress wave in tender gloom : 
 
 And oft by yon blue gushing stream 
 Shall Sorrow lean her drooping head, 
 
 And feed deep thought with many a dream, 
 And lingering pause and lightly tread ; 
 Fond wretch ! as if her step disturb'd the dead I 
 
 Away ; we know that tears are vain, 
 That death nor heeds nor hears distress : 
 
 Will this unteach us to complain ? 
 Or make one mourner weep the less ? 
 
 And thou — who tell'st me to forge't, 
 
 Thy looks are wan, thine eyes are wet. 
 
 IV. 
 
 My soul is dark — Oh ! quickly string 
 
 The harp I yet can brook to hear ; 
 And let thy gentle fingers fling 
 
 Its melting murmurs o'er mine ear. 
 If in this heart a hope be dear, 
 
 That sound shall charm it forth again ; 
 If in these eyes there lurk a tear, 
 
 'Twill flow, and cease to burn my brain 
 
 But bid the strain be wild and deep, 
 
 Nor let thy notes of joy be first : 
 I tell thee, minstrel, 1 must weep, 
 
 Or else this heavy heart will burst ; 
 For it hath been by sorrow nurst, 
 
 And ached in sleepless silence long ; 
 N 2 
 
150 THE BEAUTIES OF 
 
 And now 'tis doom'd to know the worst, 
 And break at once — or yield to song. 
 
 V. 
 
 When coldness wraps this suffering clay, 
 
 Ah, whither strays the immortal mind 
 It cannot die, it cannot stay, 
 
 But leaves its darken'd dust behind, 
 Then, unembodied, doth it trace 
 
 By steps each planet's heavenly way ? 
 Or fill at once the realms of space, 
 
 A thing of eyes, that all survey ? 
 
 Eternal, boundless, undecay'd, 
 
 A thought unseen, but seeing all, 
 All, all in earth, or skies display'd, 
 
 Shall it survey, shall it recal : 
 Each fainter trace that memory holds 
 
 So darkly of departed years, 
 In one broad glance the soul beholds, 
 
 And all, that was, at once appears. 
 
 Before creation peopled earth, 
 
 Its eye shall roll through chaos back ; 
 And where the furthest heaven had birth. 
 
 The spirit trace its rising track. 
 And where the future mars or makes, 
 
 Its glance dilate o'er all to be, 
 While sun is quench'd or system breaks, 
 
 Fix'd in its own eternity. 
 
 Above or Love, Hope, Hate, or Fear, 
 It lives all passionless and pure : 
 
LORD BYRON. 151 
 
 An age shall fleet like earthly year ; 
 
 Its years as moments shall endure. 
 Away, away, without a wing, 
 
 O'er all, through all, its thought shall fly ; 
 A nameless and eternal thing, 
 
 Forgetting what it was to die. 
 
 THERESA. 
 
 Theresa's form — 
 Methinks it glides before me now, 
 Between me and yon chesnut's bough, 
 The'memory is so quick and warm ; 
 And yet I find no words to tell 
 The shape of her I loved so well : 
 She had the Asiatic eye, 
 
 Such as our Turkish neighbourhood 
 
 Hath mingled with our Polish blood, 
 Dark as above us is the sky ; 
 But through it stole a tender light, 
 Like the first mponrise at midnight ; 
 Large, dark, and swimming in the stream, 
 Which seem'd to melt to its own beam ; 
 All love, half languor, and half fire, 
 Like saints that at the stake expire, 
 And lift their raptured looks on high, 
 As though it were a joy to die. 
 A brow like a midsummer lake, 
 
 Transparent with the sun therein, 
 When waves no murmur dare to make, 
 
 And heaven beholds her face within. 
 A cheek and lip — but why proceed ? 
 
 I loved her then — I love her still. 
 
152 THE BEAUTIES OF 
 
 Her eye's dark charm 'twere vain to teU, 
 But gaze on that of the Gazelle, 
 It will assist thy fancy well ; 
 As large, as languishingly dark, 
 But Soul beam'd forth in every spark 
 That darted from beneath the lid, 
 Bright as the jewel of Giamschid. 
 Yea, Soul, and should our prophet say 
 That form was nought but breathing clay, 
 But Allah ! I would answer nay ; 
 Though on Al-Sirat's arch I stood, 
 Which totters o'er the fiery flood, 
 With Paradise within my view, 
 And all his Houris beckoning through. 
 Oh ! who young Leila's glance could read 
 And keep that portion of his creed 
 Which saith that woman is but dust, 
 A soulless toy for tyrant's, lust? 
 On her might Muftis gaze, and own 
 That through her eye the Immortal shone ; 
 On her fair cheek's unfading hue 
 The young pomegranate's blossoms strew 
 Their bloom in blushes ever new ; 
 Her hair in hyacinthine flow, 
 When left to roll its folds below, 
 As midst her handmaids in the hall 
 She stood superior to them all, 
 Hath swept the marble where her feet 
 Gleam'd whiter than the mountain sleet 
 Ere from the cloud that gave it birth 
 It fell, and caught one stain of earth. 
 
LORD BYRON. 153 
 
 The cygnet nobly walks the water ; 
 So moved on earth Circassia's daughter, 
 The loveliest bird of Franguestan ! 
 As rears her crest the ruffled Swan, 
 
 And spurns the wave with wings of pride, 
 When pass the steps of stranger man 
 
 Along the banks that bound her tide ; 
 Thus rose fair Leila's whiter neck : — 
 Thus arm'd with beauty would she check 
 Intrusion's glance, till folly's gaze 
 Shrunk from the charms it meant to praise. 
 
 TWILIGHT. 
 
 The feast was over, the slaves gone, 
 The dwarfs and dancing girls had all retired ; 
 
 The Arab lore and poet's song were done, 
 And every sound of revelry expired ; 
 
 The lady and her lover, left alone, 
 
 The rosy flood of twilight's sky admired : — 
 
 Ave Maria ! o'er the earth and sea, 
 
 That heavenliest hour of Heaven is worthiest thee ! 
 
 Ave Maria ! blessed be the hour ! 
 
 The time, the clime, the spot, where I so oft 
 Have felt that moment in its fullest power 
 
 Sink o'er the earth so beautiful and soft, 
 While swung the deep bell in the distant tower, 
 
 Or the faint dying day-hymn stole aloft, 
 And not a breath crept through the rosy air, 
 And yet the forest leaves seem'd stirr'd with prayer. 
 
154 THE BEAUTIES OF 
 
 Ave Maria ! 'tis the hour of prayer ! 
 
 Ave Maria ! 'tis the hour of love ! 
 Ave Maria ! may our spirits dare 
 
 Look up to thine and to thy Son's above ? 
 Ave Maria ! oh that face so fair ! 
 
 Those downcast eyes beneath the Almighty dove — 
 What though 'tis but a pictured image strike — 
 That painting is no idol, 'tis too like. 
 
 Some kinder casuists are pleased to say, 
 
 In nameless print — that I have no devotion ; 
 
 But set those persons down with me to pray, 
 And you shall see who has the properest notion 
 
 Of getting into Heaven the shortest way ; 
 My altars are the mountains and the ocean, 
 
 .Earth, air, stars, — all that springs from the great Whole, 
 
 Who hath produced, and will receive the soul. 
 
 Sweet hour of twilight ! — in the solitude 
 
 Of the pine forest, and the silent shore 
 Which bounds Ravenna's immemorial wood, 
 
 Rooted where once the Adrian wave flowed o'er, 
 To where the last Cesarean fortress stood, 
 
 Evergreen forest 1 which Boccacio's lore 
 And Dryden's lay made haunted ground to me, 
 How have I loved the twilight hour and thee ! 
 
 The shrill cicalas, people of the pine, j 
 
 Making their summer lives one ceaseless songi^ 
 
 Were the sole echoes, save my steed's and mine, 
 And vesper bells that rose the boughs along.; 
 
 The spectre huntsman of Onesti's line, 
 
 His hell-dogs, and their chase, and the fair throne 
 
LORD BYRON. 155 
 
 Which learn'd from this example not to fly 
 From a true lover, shadow'd my mind's eye. 
 
 Oh Hesperus ! thou bringest all good things — 
 Home to the weary, to the hungry cheer, 
 
 To the young bird the parent's brooding wings, 
 The welcome stall to the o'er-laboured steer ; 
 
 Whate'er of peace about our hearth-stone clings, 
 Whate'er our household gods protect of dear, 
 
 Are gather'd round us by thy look of rest ; ,,r- 
 
 Thou bring'st the child, too, to the mother's breast. 
 
 Soft hour ! which wakes the wish and melts the heart 
 Of those who sail the seas, on the first day 
 
 When they from their sweet friends are torn apart ; 
 Or fills with love the pilgrim on his way, 
 
 As the far bell of vesper makes him start, 
 Seeming to weep the dying day's decay ; 
 
 .* this a fancy which our reason scorns ? 
 
 Ah ! surely nothing dies but something mourns ! 
 
 SWIMMING. 
 
 Limbs ! how often have they borne me 
 Bounding o'er yon blue tide, as I have skimm'd 
 The gr 'dola along in childish race, 
 And, r »c ':ed as a young gondolier, amidst 
 
 ,' competitors, noble as I, 
 i\ u.( °.u for our pleasure in the pride of strength, 
 While the fair populace of crowding beauties, 
 Plebeian as patrician, cheer'd us on 
 With dazzling smiles, and wishes audible, 
 And waving kerchiefs, and applauding hands 
 
156 THE BEAUTIES OF 
 
 Even to the goal !■ — How many a time have I 
 Cloven with arm still lustier, breast more* daring, 
 The wave all roughened ; with a swimmer's stroke 
 Flinging the billows back from my drench'd hair, 
 And laughing from my lip the audacious brine, 
 Which kiss'd it like a wine-cup, rising o'er 
 The waves as they rose, and prouder still 
 The loftier they uplifted me ; and oft, 
 In wantonness of Spirit, plunging down 
 Into their green and glassy gulfs, and making 
 My way to shells and sea-weed, all unseen 
 By those above, till they wax'd fearful ; then 
 Returning with my grasp full of such tokens 
 As show'd that I had search'd the deep : exulting, 
 With a far-dashing stroke, and drawing deep 
 The long-suspended breath, again I spurn'd 
 The foam which broke around me, and pursued 
 My track like a sea-bird. 
 
 White as a white sail on a dusky sea, 
 When half the horizon's clouded and half free, 
 Fluttering between the dun wave and the sky, 
 Is hope's last gleam in man's extremity. 
 Her anchor parts ; but still her snowy sail 
 Attracts our eye amidst the rudest gale : 
 Though every wave she climbs divides us more, 
 The heart still follows from the loneliest shore. 
 
LORD BYRON. - 157 
 
 TIME. 
 
 The beautifier of the dead, 
 Adomer of the ruin, comforter 
 And only healer when the heart hath bled — 
 Time! the corrector where our judgments en*, 
 The test of truth, love, — sole philosopher, 
 For all beside are sophists. 
 
 INVOCATION TO NEMESIS. 
 
 Great Nemesis ! 
 Here, where the ancient paid thee homage long — 
 Thou, who didst call the Furies from the abyss, 
 And round Orestes bade them howl and hiss 
 For that unnatural retribution — just, 
 Had it been from hands less near — in this 
 Thy former realm, I call thee from the dust I 
 Dost thou not hear my heart? — Awake! thou shalt, 
 and must. 
 
 It is not that I may not have incurr'd 
 For my ancestral faults or mine the wound 
 I bleed withal, and, had it been conferr'd 
 With a just weapon, it had fiow'd unbound ; 
 But now my blood shall not sink in the ground; 
 To thee I do devote it — thou shalt take • 
 The vengeance, which shall yet be sought and found, 
 Which if I have not taken for the sake — 
 But let that pass — I sleep, but thou shalt yet awake. 
 
 And if my voice break forth, 'tis not that now 
 I shrink from what is suffer 'd : let him speak 
 O 
 
158 THE BEAUTIES OF 
 
 Who hath beheld decline upon my brow, 
 Or seen my mind's convulsion leave it weak ; 
 But in this page a record will I seek. 
 Not in the air shall these my words disperse, 
 Though I be ashes ; a far hour shall wreak 
 The deep prophetic fulness of this verse, 
 And pile on human heads the mountain of my curse ! 
 
 That curse shall be forgiveness. — Have I not — 
 Hear me, my mother Earth ! behold it, Heaven ! — 
 Have I not had to wrestle with my lot ? 
 Have I not suffer M things to be forgiven? 
 Have I not had my brain sear'd, my heart riven, 
 Hopes sapped, name blighted, Life's life lied away? 
 And only not to desperation driven, 
 Because not altogether of such clay 
 As rots into the souls of those whom I survey. * 
 
 From mighty wrongs to petty perfidy, 
 Have I not seen what human things could do ? 
 From the loud roar of foaming calumny 
 To the small whisper of the as paltry few, 
 And subtler venom of the reptile crew, 
 The Janus glance of whose significant eye, 
 Learning to lie with silence, would seem true, 
 And without utterance, save the shrug or sigh, 
 Deal round to happy fools its speechless obloquy. 
 
 But I have lived, and have not lived in vain : 
 My mind may lose its force, my blood its fire, 
 And my frame perish even in conquering pain, 
 But there is that within me which shall tire 
 Torture and Time, and breathe when I expire ; 
 
LORD BYRON. 159 
 
 Something unearthly, which they deem not of, 
 Like the remember'd tone of a mute lyre, 
 Shall on their soften'd spirits sink, and move 
 In hearts all rocky now the late remorse of love. 
 
 LIONI'S SOLILOQUY. 
 
 Pallaszo of the Patrician Lioni. 
 
 I will to rest, right weary of this revel, 
 The gayest we have held for many moons, 
 And yet, I know not why, it cheer'd me not ; 
 There came a heaviness across my heart, 
 Which in the lightest movement of the dance, 
 Though eye to eye, and hand in hand united 
 Even with the lady of my love, oppress'd me, 
 And through my spirit chill'd my blood, until 
 A damp like death rose o'er my brow ; I strove 
 To laugh the thought away, but it would not be ; 
 Through all the music ringing in my ears 
 A knell was sounding as distinct and clear, 
 Though low and far, as e'er the Adrian wave 
 Rose o'er the city's murmur in the night, 
 Dashing against the outward Lido's bulwark : 
 So that I left the festival before 
 It reach'd its zenith, and will woo my pillow 
 For thoughts more tranquil, or forgetfulness. 
 Antonio, take my mask and cloak, and light 
 The lamp within my chamber. 
 
 Anto. Yes, my lord : 
 
 Command you no refreshment ? 
 
 Lioni. Nought save sleep, 
 
160 THE BEAUTIES OF 
 
 Which will not be commanded. Let me hope it, 
 
 [Exit Antonio. 
 Though my breast feels too anxious ; I will try 
 Whether the air will calm my spirits : 'tis 
 A goodly night ; the cloudy wind which blew 
 From the Levant hath crept into its cave, 
 And the^broad moon has brighten'd. What a stillness ! 
 [Goes to an open lattice. 
 And what a contrast with the scene I left, 
 Where the tall torches' glare, and silver lamps 
 More pallid gleam along the tapestried walls, 
 Spread over the reluctant gloom which haunts 
 Those vast and dimly -latticed galleries I 
 
 «A dazzling mass of artificial light, 
 Which show'd all things, but nothing as they were. 
 There Age essaying to recall the past, 
 After long striving for the hues of youth 
 At the sad labour of the toilet, and 
 Full many a glance at the too faithful mirror, 
 Prankt forth in all the pride of ornament, 
 Forgot itself, and trusting to the falsehood 
 Of the indulgent beams, which show, yet hide, 
 Believ'd itself forgotten and was fool'd. 
 There Youth, which needed not, nor thought of suoh 
 Vain adjuncts, lavish'd its true bloom, and health, 
 And bridal beauty, in the unwholesome press 
 Of flush'd and crowded wassailers, and wasted 
 Its hours of rest in dreaming this was pleasure, 
 And so shall waste them till the sunrise streams 
 On sallow cheeks and sunken eyes, which should not 
 Have worn this aspect yet for many a year. 
 The music, and the banquet, and the wine — 
 The garlands, the rose odours, and the flowers — 
 The sparkling eyes and flashing ornaments — 
 
LORD BYRON. 161 
 
 The white arms and the raven hair — the braids 
 And bracelets ; swan-like bosoms and the necklace, 
 An India in itself, yet dazzling not 
 The eye like what it circled ; the thin robes 
 Floating like light clouds 'twixt our gaze and heaven ; 
 The many-twinkling feet so small and sylph-like, 
 Suggesting the more secret symmetry 
 Of the fair forms which terminate so well — * 
 All the delusion of the dizzy scene, 
 Its false and true enchantments — art and nature 
 Which swarm before my giddy eyes, that drank 
 The sight of beauty as the parch'd pilgrim's 
 On Arab sands the false mirage which offers 
 A lucid lake to the eluded thirst, 
 
 Are gone. — Around me are the stars and waters— * 
 Worlds mirror'd in the ocean, goodlier sight 
 Than torches glared back by a gaudy glass ; 
 And the great element, which is to space 
 What ocean is to earth, spreads its blue depths, 
 Soften'd with the first breathings of the spring ; 
 The high moon sails upon her beauteous way, 
 .Serenely smoothing o'er the lofty walls 
 Of those tall piles and sea-girt palaces, 
 Whose porphyry pillars, and whose costly fronts, 
 Fraught with the orient spoil of many marbles, 
 Like altars ranged along the broad canal, 
 Seem each a trophy of some mighty deed 
 Rear'd up from out the waters, scarce less strangely 
 Than those more massy and mysterious giants 
 Of architecture, those Titanian fabrics, 
 Which point in Egypt's plains to times that have 
 No other record. All is gentle : nought 
 Stirs rudely ; but congenial with the night, 
 Whatever walks is gliding like a spirit. 
 O 2 
 
162 THE BEAUTIES OF 
 
 The tinklings of some vigilant guitars 
 
 Of sleepless lovers to a wakeful mistress, 
 
 And cautious opening of the casement showing 
 
 That he is not unheard ; while her young hand, 
 
 Fair as the moonlight of which it seems part, 
 
 So delicately white, it trembles in 
 
 The act of opening the forbidden lattice, 
 
 To let in love through music, makes his heart 
 
 Thrill like his lyre strings at the sight ; — the dash 
 
 Phosphoric of the oar, or rapid twinkle 
 
 Of the far lights of skimming gondolas 
 
 And the responsive voices of the choir 
 
 Of boatmen answering back with verse for verse ; 
 
 Some dusky shadow chequering the Rialto ; 
 
 Some glimmering palace roof, or tapering spire, ' . 
 
 Are all the sights and sounds which here pervade 
 
 The ocean-born and earth-commanding city — 
 
 How sweet and soothing is this hour of calm I 
 
 I thank thee, Night ! for thou hast chased away 
 
 Those horrid bodements which, amidst the throng, 
 
 I could not dissipate ; and with the blessing 
 
 Of thy benign and quiet influence, — 
 
 Now will I to my couch, although to rest 
 
 Is almost wronging such a night as this. 
 
 JHORMAN ABBEY. 
 
 And now 
 Still older mansion, of a rich and rare 
 
 Mixed Gothic, such as Artists all allow 
 Few specimens yet left us can compare 
 
 Withal : it lies perhaps a little low, 
 
LORD BYRON. 163 
 
 Because the monks preferred a hill behind, 
 To shelter their devotion from the wind. 
 
 It stood embosomed in a happy valley, 
 
 Crown 'd by high woodlands, where the Druid oak 
 Stood like Caractacus in act to rally 
 
 His host, with broad arms 'gainst the thunder-stroke ; 
 And from beneath his boughs were seen to sally 
 
 The dappled foresters — as day awoke, 
 The branching stag swept down with all his herd, 
 To quaff a brook which murmur'd like a bird. 
 
 Before the mansion lay a lucid lake, 
 
 Broad as transparent, deep, and freshly fed 
 
 By a river, which its soften'd way did take 
 In currents through the calmer water spread 
 
 Around : the wild fowl nestled in the brake 
 And sedges, brooding in their liquid bed : 
 
 The woods sloped downwards to its brink, and stood 
 
 With their green faces fiVd upon the flood. 
 
 Its outlet dash'd into a deep cascade, 
 
 Sparkling with foam, until again subsiding, 
 
 Its shriller echoes — like an infant made 
 Quiet — sank into softer ripples, gliding 
 
 Into a rivulet ; and thus allay'd, 
 
 Pursued its course, now gleaming, and now hiding 
 
 Its windings through the woods ; now clear, now blue, 
 
 According as the skies their shadows threw. 
 
 A glorious remnant of the Gothic pile, 
 
 (While yet the church was Rome's) stood half apart 
 In a grand Arch, which once screened many an aisle : 
 
 These last had disappeared — a loss to Art : 
 
164 THE BEAUTIES OF 
 
 The first yet frown 'd superbly o'er the soil, 
 
 And kindled feelings in the roughest heart, 
 Which mounvd the power of time's or tempest's march, 
 In gazing on that venerable Arch. 
 
 Within a niche, nigh to its pinnacle, 
 
 Twelve saints had once stood sanctified in stone ; 
 But these had fallen, not when the friars fell, 
 
 But in the war which struck Charles from his throne, 
 When each house was a fortalice — as tell 
 
 The annals of full many a line undone, — 
 The gallant Cavaliers, who fought in vain 
 For those who knew not to resign or reign. 
 
 But in a higher niche, alone, but crown'd, 
 The Virgin Mother of the God-born child, 
 
 With her son in her blessed arms, look'd round, 
 
 Spared by some chance when all beside was spoil'd ; 
 
 She made the earth below seem holy ground. 
 This may be superstition, weak or wild, 
 
 But even the faintest relics of a shrine 
 
 Of any worship, wake some thoughts divine. 
 
 A mighty window, hollow in the centre, 
 Shorn of its glass of thousand colourings, 
 
 Through which the deepen'd glories once could enter, 
 Streaming from off the sun like seraphs' wings, 
 
 Now yawns all desolate ; now loud, now fainter, 
 The gale sweeps through its fretwork, and oil sings 
 
 The owl his anthem, where the silenced quire 
 
 Lie with their hallelujahs quench'd like fire. 
 
 But in the noontide of the moon, and when 
 The wind is winged from one point of heaven, 
 
LORD BYRON. 165 
 
 There moans a strange unearthly sound, which then 
 
 Is musical — a dying accent driven 
 Through the huge arch, which soars and sinks again. 
 
 Some deem it but the distant echo given 
 Back to the Night wind by the waterfall, 
 And harmonized by the old choral wall : 
 
 Others, that some original shape, or form 
 
 Shaped by decay perchance, hath given the power 
 
 (Though less than that of Memnon's statue, warm 
 In Egypt's rays, to harp at a fixed hour) 
 
 To this gray ruin, with a voice to charm. 
 Sad, but serene, it sweeps o'er tree or tower : 
 
 The cause I know not, nor can solve ; but such 
 
 The fact : — I've heard it, once perhaps too much. 
 
 Amidst the court a Gothic fountain play'd, 
 
 Symmetrical, but deck'd with carvings quaint-— 
 
 Strange faces, like to men in masquerade, 
 And here perhaps a monster, there a Saint : 
 
 The spring gush'd thro' grim mouths, of granite made, 
 And sparkled into basins, where it spent 
 
 Its little torrent in a thousand bubbles, 
 
 Like man's vain glory, and his vainer troubles. 
 
 The mansion's self was vast and venerable, 
 With more of the monastic than has been 
 
 Elsewhere preserved ; the cloisters still were stable, 
 The cells too and refectory, I ween ; 
 
 An exquisite small chapel had been able, 
 Still unimpair'd to decorate the scene : 
 
 The rest had been reformed, replaced, or sunk, 
 
 And spoke more of the baron than the monk. 
 
1(56 
 
 THE BEAUTIES OF 
 
 Huge halls, long galleries, spacious chambers, join'd 
 By no quite [awful marriage of the Arts, 
 
 Might shock a Connoisseur ; but when combined, 
 Form'd a whole which, irregular in parts, 
 
 Yet left a grand impression on the mind, 
 
 At least of those whose eyes are in their hearts. 
 
 We gaze upon a Giant for his stature, 
 
 Nor judge at first if all be true to Nature. 
 
 Steel Barons, molten the next generation 
 To silken rows of gay and garter'd Earls, 
 
 Glanced from the walls in goodly preservation ; 
 And Lady Marys blooming into girls, 
 
 With fair long locks, had also kept their station ; 
 And Countesses mature in robes and pearls ; 
 
 Also some beauties of Sir Peter Lely, 
 
 Whose drapery hints we may admire them freely. 
 
 Judges in very formidable ermine 
 
 Were there, with brows that did not much invite 
 The accused to think their Lordships weuld determine 
 
 His cause by leaning much from mi^nt to right ; 
 Bishops, who had not left a single se r mon ; 
 
 Attornies-General, awful to the .sight, 
 As hinting more (unless our judgments warp us) 
 Of the " Star Chamber" than of " Habeas Corpus." 
 
 Generals, some all in armour, of the old 
 
 And iron time, ere Lead had ta'en the lead ; 
 
 Others in wings of Marlborough's martial fold, 
 Huger than twelve of our degenerate breed : 
 
 Lordlings, with staves of white or keys of gold : 
 Nimrod's, whose canvass scarce contain 'd the steed; 
 
LORD BYRON. 167 
 
 And here and there some stern high Patriot stood, 
 Who could not get the place for which he sued. 
 
 But ever and anon, to sooth your vision, 
 Fatigued with these hereditary glories, 
 
 There rose a Carlo, Dolce, or a Titian, 
 Or wilder group of savage Salvatore's; 
 
 Here danced Albano's boys, and here the sea shone 
 In Vernet's ocean lights ; and there the stories 
 
 Of martyrs awed, as Spagnoletto tainted 
 
 His brush with all the blood of all the sainted. 
 
 Here sweetly spread a landscape of Loraine ; 
 
 There Rembrandt made his darkness equal light, 
 Or gloomy Caravaggio's gloomier stain 
 
 Bronzied o'er some lean and stoic Anchorite : — 
 But lo ! a Teniers woos, and not in vain, 
 
 Your eyes to revel in a livelier sight : 
 His bell-mouth'd goblet makes me feel quite Danish 
 Or Dutch with thirst — What ho ! a flask of Rhenislv 
 
 Though Fame is smoke, 
 Its fumes are frankincense to human thought. 
 
 SUSPICION. 
 
 Suspicion is a heavy armour, and 
 With its own weight impedes more than protects. 
 
168 THE BEAUTIES OF 
 
 FORTITUDE. 
 
 Mute 
 The camel labours with the heaviest load, 
 And the wolf dies in silence : — not bestow'd 
 In vain should example be. If they, 
 Things of ignoble, or of savage mood, 
 Endure and shrink not ; we of nobler clay 
 May temper it to bear. 
 
 WORDS. 
 
 Words are things ; 
 A small drop of ink falling like dew upon a thought, 
 Produces that which makes thousands, perhaps millions, 
 Think. 
 
 SOLITUDE. 
 
 To roam along the world's tir'd denizen, 
 With none who bless us, none whom we can bless : 
 Minions of splendour shrinking from distress '. 
 None that, with kindred consciousness endued, 
 If we were not, would seem to smile the less 
 Of all that flatter'd, follow'd, sought and sued: 
 This, This is Solitude. 
 
 To wander through the festive scene, 
 With soul but ill at ease; 
 
LORD BYRON. 169 
 
 To stray where lighter hearts have been, 
 
 And mock at thoughts like these ; 
 To look for one -mid those around, 
 
 Would glad our mournful mood, 
 Then start at mirth's distracting sound, 
 
 This— This is Solitude. 
 
 DEVOTEE. 
 
 The Devotee 
 Lives not in earth, but in his ecstacy ; 
 Around him days and worlds are heedless driven, 
 His soul is gone before his dust to heaven. 
 
 LOVE. 
 
 The all-absorbing flame 
 Which kindled by another, grows the same, 
 Wrapt in one blaze ; the pure yet funeral pile, 
 Where gentle hearts, like Bramins, sit and smile* 
 
 No habitant of earth thou art — 
 An unseen seraph, we believe in thee, 
 A faith whose martyrs are the broken heart, 
 But never yet hath seen, nor e'er shall see 
 The naked eye, thy form. 
 P 
 
170 THE BEAUTIES OF 
 
 A paler shadow strews 
 Its mantle o'er the mountains, parting; day 
 Dies like the Dolphin, when each pang embues 
 With a new colour, as it gasps away ; 
 The last still loveliest, till 'tis gone, and all is gray. 
 
 HEART. 
 
 Is like the sky, a part of heaven, 
 But changes night and day too, like the sky ; 
 Now o'er it clouds and thunder must be driven, 
 And darkness and destruction as on high ; 
 But when it hath been scorched, and pierced, and riven, 
 Its storms expire in water drops. 
 
 THE SHIPWRECK. 
 
 A wreck complete she roll'd, 
 At mercy of the waves ; whose mercies are 
 Like human beings during civil war. 
 
 Then came the carpenter, at last, with tears 
 In his rough eyes, and told the captain, he 
 
 Could do no more : he was a man in years, 
 
 And long had voyaged through many a stormy sea, 
 
 And if he wept at length, they were not fears 
 That made his eyelids as a woman's be. 
 
 But he, poor fellow, had a wife and children, 
 
 Two things for dying people quite bewildering. 
 
LORD BYKOiV. 171 
 
 The ship was evidently settling now 
 
 Fast by the head ; and, all distinction gone, 
 
 Some went to prayers again, and made a vow 
 Of candles to their saints, but there were none 
 
 To pay them with ; and some look'd o'er the bow : 
 Some hoisted out the 'boats ; and there was one 
 
 That begg'd Fedrillo for an absolution, 
 
 Who told him to be damn'd — in his confusion. 
 
 Some lash'd them in their hammocks, some put on 
 Their best clothes, as if going to a fair : 
 
 3ome cursed the day on which they saw the sun, 
 And gnash'd their teeth, and howling, tore their hairs, 
 
 And others went on as they had begun, 
 Getting the boats out, being well aware 
 
 That a tight boat will live in a rough sea, 
 
 (Jnless with breakers close beneath her lee. 
 
 The worst of all was, that in their condition, 
 Having been several days in great distress, 
 
 'Twas diiHcult to get out such provision 
 
 As now might render their long suffering less ; 
 
 Men, even when dying, dislike inanition ; 
 
 Their stock was damaged by the weather's stress, 
 
 Two casks of biscuit, and a keg of butter, 
 
 Were all that could be thrown into the cutter. 
 
 But in the long-boat they contrived to stow 
 
 Some pounds of bread, though injured by the wet ; 
 
 Water, a twenty gallon cask or so ; 
 
 Six flasks of wine ; and they contrived to get 
 
 A portion of their beef up from below, 
 And with a piece of pork, moreover, met, 
 
172 THE BEAUTIES OF 
 
 But scarce enough to serve them for a luncheon — 
 Then there was rum, eight gallons in a puncheon. 
 
 The other boats, the yawl and pinnace, had 
 Been stove in the beginning of the gale : 
 
 And the long boat's condition was but bad, 
 As there were but two blankets for a sail, 
 
 And one oar for a mast, which a young lad 
 Threw in by good luck over the ship's rail : 
 
 And two boats could not hold, far less be stored 
 
 To save one half the people then on board. 
 
 'Twas twilight, for the sunless day went down 
 Over the waste of waters ; like a veil 
 
 Which, if withdrawn, would but disclose the frown, 
 Of one who hates us, so the night was shown, 
 
 And grimly darkled o'er their faces pale, 
 
 And hopeless eyes, which o'er the deep alone 
 
 Gazed dim and desolate ; twelve days had Fear 
 
 Been their familiar ; and now Death was here. 
 
 Some trial had been making at a raft, 
 With little hope in such a rolling sea, 
 
 A sort of thing at which one would have laugh'd, 
 If any laughter at such times could be, 
 
 Unless with people who too much have quaff 'd, 
 And have a kind of wild and horrid glee, — 
 
 Half epileptical, and half hysterical : — 
 
 Their preservation would have been a miracle. 
 
 At half past eight o'clock, booms, hencoops, spars, 
 And all things, for a chance, had been cast loose, 
 
 That still could keep afloat the struggling tars, 
 For yet they strove, although of no great use : 
 
LORD BYRON. 173 
 
 There was no light in heaven but a few stars, 
 
 The boats put off o'ercrowded with their crews ; 
 She gave a heel, and then a lurch to port, 
 And going down head foremost — sunk, in short. 
 
 Then rose from sea to sky the wild farewell, 
 
 Then shriek'd the timid and stood still the brave, 
 
 Then some leap'd overboard, with dreadful yell, 
 As eager to anticipate their grave ; 
 
 And the sea yawn'd around her like a hell, 
 
 And down she suck'd with her the whirling wave. 
 
 Like one who grapples with his enemy, 
 
 And strives to strangle him before he die. 
 
 And first one universal shriek there rush'd, 
 Louder than the loud ocean, like a crash 
 
 Of echoing thunder ; and then all was hush'd, 
 Save the wild wind and the remorseless dash 
 
 Of billows ; but at intervals there gush'd, 
 Accompanied with a convulsive splash, 
 
 A solitary shriek, the bubbling cry 
 
 Of some strong swimmer in his agony. 
 
 The boats, as stated, had got. off before, 
 And in them crowded several of the crew; 
 
 And yet their present hope was hardly more 
 Than what it had been, for so strong it blew 
 
 There was slight chance of reaching any shore ; 
 And then there were too many, though so few — 
 
 Nine in the cutter, thirty in the boat, 
 
 Wero counted in them when they got afloat. 
 
 -All the rest perish'd ; near two hundred souls. 
 
 * * * * * * * 
 
 P 2 
 
174 THE BEAUTIES OF 
 
 There were two fathers in this ghastly crew, 
 And with them their two sons, of whom the one 
 
 Was more robust and hardy to the view, 
 But he died early; and when he was gone, 
 
 His nearest messmate told his sire, who threw 
 
 One glance on him, and said, " Heaven's will be done ! 
 
 I can do nothing," and he saw him thrown 
 
 Into the deep without a tear or groan. 
 
 The other father had a weaklier child, 
 
 Of a soft cheek, and aspect delicate ; 
 But the boy bore up long, and with a mild 
 
 And patient spirit held aloof his fate ; 
 Little he said, and now and then he smiled, 
 
 As if to win a part from off the weight 
 He saw increasing on his father's heart, 
 With the deep deadly thought, that they must part. 
 
 And o'er him bent his sire, and never raised 
 His eyes from off. his face, but wiped the foam 
 
 From his pale lips, and ever on him gazed, 
 
 And when the wish' d- for shower at length was come, 
 
 And the boy's eyes, which the dull film half glazed, 
 Brighten'd, and for a moment seem'd to roam, 
 
 He squeezed from out a rag some drops of rain 
 
 Into his dying child's mouth — but in vain. 
 
 The boy expired — the father held the clay, 
 And look'd upon it long, and when at last 
 
 Death left no doubt, and the dead burthen lay 
 Stiff on his heart, and pulse and hope were past, 
 
 He watch'd it wistfully, until away 
 
 'Twas borne by the rude wave wherein 'twas cast ; 
 
LORD BYRON. 175 
 
 Then he himself sunk down all dumb and shivering, 
 And gave no signs of life, save his limbs quivering*. 
 
 Now over head a rainbow, bursting through 
 
 The scattering clouds, shone, spanning the dark sea, 
 
 Resting its bright base on the quivering blue; 
 And all within its arch appear'd to be 
 
 Clearer than that without, and its wide hue 
 Wax'd broad and waving, like a banner free, 
 
 Then changed like to a bow that's bent, and then 
 
 Forsook the dim eyes of these shipwreck'd men. 
 
 It changed, of course ; a heavenly cameleon, 
 
 The airy child of vapour and the sun, 
 Brought forth in purple, cradled in vermilion, 
 
 Baptized in molten gold, and swathed in dun, 
 Glittering like crescents o'er a Turk's pavilion, 
 
 And blending every colour into one. 
 
 With twilight it again came on to blow, 
 But not with violence ; the stars shone out, 
 
 The boat made way ; yet now they were so low, 
 They knew not where nor what they were about ; 
 
 Some fancied they saw land, and some said " No !" 
 The frequent fog-banks gave them cause to doubt — 
 
 Some swore that they heard breakers, others guns, 
 
 And all mistook about the latter once, 
 
 As morning broke the light wind died away, 
 
 When he who had the watch sung out, and swore 
 
 If 'twas not land that rose with the sun's ray, 
 He wish'd that land he never might see mere ; 
 
17$ 
 
 THE BEAUTIES OF 
 
 And the rest rubb'd then- eyes, and saw a bay, 
 
 Orthought they saw, and shaped their course for shores 
 For shore it was, and gradually grew 
 Distinct, and high, and palpable to view. 
 
 And then of these some part burst into tears, 
 And others, looking with a stupid stare, 
 
 Could not yet separate their hopes from fears, 
 And seem'd as if they had no further care 
 
 While a few pray'd — (the first time for some years)— 
 And at the bottom of the boat three were 
 
 Asleep ; they shook them by the hand and head 
 
 And tried to awaken them, but found them dead. 
 
 The day before, fast sleeping on the water, 
 They found a turtle of the hawk's-bill kind, 
 
 And by good fortune gliding softly, caught hei% 
 Which yielded a day's life, and to their mind 
 
 Proved even still a more nutritious matter, 
 Because it left encouragement behind : 
 
 They thought that in such perils, more than chance 
 
 Had sent them this for their deliverance. 
 
 The land appear'd a high and rocky coast, 
 And higher grew the mountains as they drew, 
 
 Set by a current, toward it : they were lost 
 In various conjectures, for none knew 
 
 To what part of the earth they had been tost, 
 So changeable had been the winds that blew : 
 
 Some thought it was Mount iEtna, some the highlan h 
 
 Of Candia, Cyprus, Rhodes or other islands. 
 
 Meantime the current, with a rising gale, 
 
 Still set them onwards to the welcome shore, 
 
LORD BYRON. If7 
 
 Like Charon's bark of spectres, dull and pale : 
 Their living freight was now reduced to four, 
 
 And three dead, whom their strength could not avail 
 To heave into the deep with those before, 
 
 Though the two sharks still follow'd them, and dash'd 
 
 Thp spray into their faces as they splash'd. 
 
 Famine, despair, cold, thirst, and heat, had done 
 Their work on them by turns, and thinn'd them to 
 
 Such things, a mother had not known her son 
 Amidst the skeletons of that gaunt crew ; 
 
 By night chill'd, by day scorch'd, thus one by one 
 They perish'd, until withered to these few, 
 
 But chiefly by a species of self-slaughter, 
 
 In washing down Pedrillo with salt water. 
 
 As they drew nigh the land, which now was seen, 
 
 Unequal in its aspect here and there, 
 They felt the freshness of its growing green, 
 
 That waved in forest-tops, and smooth'd the air, 
 And fell upon their glazed eyes like a screen 
 
 From glistening waves, and skies so hot and bare- 
 Lovely seem'd any object that should sweep 
 Away the vast, salt, dread, eternal deep. 
 
 The shore look'd wild, without a trace of man, 
 And girt by formidable waves ; but they 
 
 Were mad for land, and thus their course they ran, 
 Though right ahead the roaring breakers lay : 
 
 A reef between them also now began 
 
 To show its boiling surf and bounding spray, 
 
 But finding no place for their landing better, 
 
 They ran the boat on shore. 
 
178 THE BEAUTIES OF 
 
 SLANDER. 
 
 A thread of candour, with a web of wiles ; 
 A lip of lies, a face form'd to conceal ; 
 And without feeling, mock at all who feel ; 
 With a vile mask the Gorgon would disown, 
 A cheek of parchment and a heart of stone. 
 
 SLEEP. 
 
 What better name may slumber's bed become? 
 
 Night's sepulchre, the universal home, 
 
 When weakness, strength, vice, virtue sunk supine 
 
 Alike in naked helplessness recline ; 
 
 Glad for a while to heave unconscious breath, 
 
 Yet wake to wrestle with the dread of death. 
 
 SMILES. 
 
 Unto the moodiest mind 
 Their own pure joy impart. 
 
 Their sunshine leaves a glow behind 
 That lightens o'er the heart. 
 
 SILENCE. 
 
 They who war 
 With their own hopes, and have been vanquish 'd, bear 
 Silence, but not submission. 
 
LORD BYRON. 179 
 
 I left him in a green old age, 
 And looking like the oak, worn, but still steady 
 Amidst the elements, whilst younger trees 
 Fell fast around him. 
 
 But still he faced the shock, 
 Obdurate as a portion of the rock 
 Whereon he stood, and fix'd his levellM gun, 
 Dark aa a sullen cloud before the sun. 
 
 DEW. 
 
 The starlight dews 
 All silently their tears of love instil, 
 Weeping themselves away, till they infuse 
 Deep into Nature's breast, the spirit of her hues. 
 
 CLARENS. 
 
 Sweet Clarens ! birth-place of deep Love '. 
 Thine air is the young breath of passionate thought ; 
 Thy trees take root in Love ; the snows above 
 The very Glaciers have his colours caught, 
 And sun set into rose-hue3 sees them wrought 
 By rays which sleep there lovingly - the rocks* 
 
180 THE BEAUTIES OF 
 
 The permanent crags, tell here of love, who sought 
 In them a refuge from the worldly shocks, 
 Which stir and sting the soul with hope that woos, then 
 mocks. 
 
 Clarens ! by heavenly feet thy paths are trod,— 
 Undying Love's, who here ascends a throne 
 To which the steps are mountains ; where the god 
 Is a pervading life and light, — so shown 
 . Not on those summits solely, nor alone 
 In the still cave and forest ; o'er the flower 
 His eye is sparkling, and his breath hath blown, 
 His soft and summer breath, whose tender power 
 Passes the strength of storms in their most desolate hour. 
 
 All things are here of him ; from the black pines, 
 Which are his shade on high, and the loud roar 
 Of torrents, where he listeneth, to the vines 
 Which slope his green path downward to the shore, 
 Where the bowld waters meet him, and adore, 
 Kissing his feet with murmurs ; and the wood, 
 The covert of old trees, with trunks all hoar, 
 But light leaves, young as joy, stands where it stood. 
 Offering to him, and his, a populous solitude, 
 
 A populous solitude of bees and birds, 
 And fairy-ibrm'd and many-colour'd things, 
 Who worship him with notes more sweet than words » 
 And innocently open their glad wings, 
 Fearless and full of life : the gush of springs, 
 And fall of lofty fountains, and the bend 
 Of stirring branches, and the bud which brings 
 The swiftest thought of beauty, here extend, 
 Mingling, and made by Love, unto one mighty end. 
 
LORD BYRON. 181 
 
 He who hath loved not, here would learn that love, 
 And make his heart a spirit ; he who knows 
 That tender mystery, will love the more, 
 For this is Love's recess, where vain men's woes, 
 And the world's waste, have driven him far from 
 
 those, 
 For 'tis his nature to advance or die ; 
 He stands not still, but or decays, or grows 
 Into a boundless blessing, which may vie 
 With the immortal lights, in its eternity I 
 
 'Twas not for fiction chose Rousseau this spot, 
 Peopling it with affections ; but he found 
 It was the scene which passion must allot 
 To the mind's purified beings ; 'twas the ground 
 Where early Love his Psyche's zone unbound, 
 And hallow'd it with loveliness : 'tis lone, 
 And wonderful, and deep, and hath a sound, 
 And sense, and sight of sweetness ; here the Rhone 
 Hath spread himself a couch, the Alps have rear'd a 
 throne. 
 
 VOLTAIRE AND GIBBON. 
 
 Gigantic minds ! their aim, 
 Was, Titan-like, on daring doubts to pile 
 Thoughts which should call down thunder, and the 
 
 flame 
 Of Heaven, again assail'd, if Heaven the while 
 On man and man's research could deign do more than 
 smile. 
 
 Q 
 
182 THE BEAUTIES OF 
 
 The one was fire and fickleness, a child, 
 Most mutable in wishes, but in mind, 
 A wit as various, — gay, grave, sage, or wild, — 
 Historian, bard, philosopher, combined ; 
 He multiplied himself among mankind, 
 The Proteus of their talents : But his own 
 Breathed most in ridicule, — which, as the wind, 
 Blew where it listed, laying all things prone, — 
 Now to o'erthrow a fool, and now to shake a throne. 
 
 The other, deep and slow, exhausting thought, 
 And hiving wisdom with each studious year, 
 In meditation dwelt, with learning wrought, 
 And shaped his weapon with an edge severe, 
 Sapping a solemn creed With solemn sneer ; 
 The lord of irony, — that master-spell, 
 Which stung his foes to wrath, which grew from fear, 
 And doom'd him to the zealot's ready Hell, 
 Which answers to all doubts so eloquently well. 
 
 Yet? peace be with their ashes, — for by them, 
 
 If merited, the penalty is paid ; 
 
 It is not ours to judge, — far less condemn ; 
 
 The hour must come when such things shall be made 
 
 Known unto all. 
 
 She to me 
 Was as a fairy city of the heart, 
 Rising like water — columns from the 9ea, 
 
LORD BYRON. \B6 
 
 Of joy the sojourn, and of wealth the mart; 
 And Otway, Radcliffe, Scheller, Shakspear's art, 
 Had stamp'd her image in me, and even so, 
 I found her thus. 
 
 TARPEIAN ROCK. 
 
 The goal of Treason's race, 
 The promontory whence the Traitor's leap 
 Cured all ambition. 
 
 Man ! 
 Thou pendulum betwixt a smile and tear. 
 
 HAIDEE. 
 
 She was tall, and fair. 
 Her brow was overhung with coins of gold, 
 
 That sparkled o'er the auburn of her hair, 
 Her clustering hair, whose longer locks were roll'd 
 
 In braids behind, and though her stature were 
 Even of the highest for a female mould, 
 
 They nearly reach'd her heel ; and in her air 
 There was a something which bespoke command, 
 As one who was a lady in the land. 
 
 Her hair, I said, was auburn ; but her eyes 
 
 Were black as death, their lashes the same hue, 
 
 Of downcast length, in whose silk shadow lies 
 Deepest attraction, for when to the view 
 
184 THE BEAUTIES OF 
 
 Forth from its raven fringe the full glance flies, 
 
 Ne'er with such force the swiftest arrow flew ; 
 'Tis as the snake late coil'd, who pours his length, 
 And hurls at once his venom and his strength. 
 
 Her brow was white and low, her cheek's pure die 
 Like twilight rosy still with the set sun ; 
 
 Short upper lip — sweet lips ! that make us sigh 
 Ever to have seen such ; for she was one 
 
 Fit for the model of a statuary. 
 
 Sweet creation of some heart 
 Which found no mortal resting-place so fair 
 As thine ideal breast ; whate'er thou art 
 Or wert, — a young Aurora of the air, 
 The nympholepsy of some fond despair ; 
 Or, it might be, a beauty of the earth, 
 Who found a more than common votary there 
 Too much adoring ; whate'er thy birth, 
 Thou wert a beautiful thought, and softly bodied forth 
 
 The mosses of thy fountain still are sprinkled 
 With thine Elysian water-drops; the face 
 Of thy cave-guarded spring, with years unwrinkled, 
 Reflects the meek-eyed genius of the place, 
 Whose green, wild margin now no more erase 
 Art's works ; nor must the delicate waters sleep, 
 Prison'd in marble, bubbling from the base 
 Of the cleft statue, with a gentle leap 
 The rills runs o'er, and round, fern, flowers, and itry, 
 creep, 
 
LORD BYRON. 185 
 
 Fantastically tangled ; the green hills 
 Are clothed with early blossoms, through the grass 
 The quick-eyed lizard rustles, and the bills 
 Of summer-birds sing welcome as ye pass ; 
 Flowers fresh in hue, and many in their class, 
 Implore the pausing step, and with their dyes 
 Dance in the soft breeze, in a fairy mass, 
 The sweetness of the violet's deep blue eyes ; 
 Kiss'd by the breath of heaven, seems coloured by its 
 skies. 
 
 Here didst thou dwell, in this enchanted cover, 
 Egeria ! thy all heavenly bosom beating 
 For the far footsteps of thy mortal lover ; 
 The purple Midnight veil'd that mystic meeting 
 With her most starry canopy, and seating 
 Thyself by thine adorer, what befel ? 
 This cave was surely shaped out for the greeting 
 Of an enamour'd Goddess, and the cell 
 Haunted by holy Love — the earliest oracle ! 
 
 REFLECTIONS ON A SCULL. 
 
 Remove yon skull from out the scattered heaps : 
 Is that a temple where a God may dwell I 
 Why ev'n the worm at last disdains her shatter'd cell ! 
 
 Look on its broken arch, its ruin'd wall, 
 Its chambers desolate, and portals foul : 
 Yes, this was once Ambition's airy hall, 
 The dome of Thought, the palace of the Soul : 
 Q 2 
 
186 THE BEAUTIES OF 
 
 Behold through each lack-lustre, eyeless hole, 
 
 The gay recess of Wisdom and of Wit, 
 
 And passion's host, that never brook'd control. 
 
 MOONLIGHT. 
 
 There is a dangerous silence in that hour, 
 
 A stillness, which leaves room for the full soul 
 
 To open all itself, without the power 
 Of calling wholly back its self-control ; 
 
 The silver light, which, hallowing tree and tower, 
 Sheds beauty and deep softness o'er the whole, 
 
 Breathes also to the heart, and o'er it throws 
 
 A loving languor, which is not repose. 
 
 The gentle savage of the wild. 
 In growth a woman, though in years a child, 
 As childhood dates within- our colder clime, 
 Where nought is ripened rapidly save crime ; 
 The infant of an infant world, as pure 
 From Nature — lovely, warm, and premature ; 
 Dusky like Night, but Night with all her stars, 
 Or cavern sparkling with its native spars ; 
 With eyes that wore a language and a spell, 
 A form like Aphrodite's in her shell ; 
 With all her loves around her on the deep 
 Voluptuous as the first approach of sleep ; 
 
LORD BYRON. 187 
 
 Yet full of life — for through her tropic cheek 
 The blush would make its way, and all but speak : 
 The sun-born blood suifus'd her neck, and threw 
 O'er her clear nut-brown skin a lucid hue, 
 Like coral reddening through the darkened wave, 
 Which draws the diver to the crimson cave. 
 Such was this daughter of the Southern Seas, 
 Herseif a billow in her energies, 
 To be*.r the bark of other's happiness, 
 Nor fee.! a sorrow till their joy grew less: 
 Her wwd and warm yet faithful bosom knew 
 No joy like what it gave. 
 
 Liglit was his form, and darkly delicate 
 That brow whereon his native sun had sate, 
 But fcacf not marr'd, though in his beams he grew, 
 The cneek where oft the unbidden blush shone thro' ; 
 Yet not such blush as mounts when health would show 
 All the heart's hue in that delighted glow ; 
 But twas a hectic tint of secret care 
 That for a burning moment fever'd there ; 
 And the wild sparkle of his eye seem'd caught 
 From high, and lighten'd with electric thought, 
 Though its black orb those long low lashes fringe, 
 Had temper'd with a melancholy tinge ; 
 Yet less of sorrow than of pride was there, 
 Or if 'twere grief, a grief that none should share : 
 And pleas'd not him the sports that please his age, 
 The trick? of youth, the frolics of the page ; 
 
188 THE BEAUTIES OF 
 
 For hours on Lara he would fix his glance, 
 A3 all- forgotten in that watchful trance ; 
 And from his chief withdrawn, he wander'd lone, 
 Brief were his answers, and his questions none ; 
 His walk the wood, his sport some foreign book; 
 His resting-place the bank that curbs the brook : 
 He seem'd, like him he served, to live apart 
 From all that lures the eje, and fills the heart ; 
 To know no brotherhood, and take from earth 
 No gift beyond that bitter boon — our birth. 
 
 If aught he loved, 'twas Lara ; but was shown 
 
 His faith in reverence and in deeds alone ; 
 
 In mute attention ; and his care, which guess'd 
 
 Each wish, fulfill 'd it ere the tongue express'd. 
 
 Still there was haughtiness in all he did, 
 
 A spirit deep that brook'd not to be chid ; 
 
 His zeal, though more than that of servile hands, 
 
 In act alone obeys, his air commands ; 
 
 As if 'twas Lara's less than his desire 
 
 That thus he served, but surely not for hire. 
 
 Slight were the tasks enjoin'd him by his lord, 
 
 To hold the stirrup, or to bear the sword ; 
 
 To tune his lute, or if he will'd it more, 
 
 On tomes of other times and tongues to pore : 
 
 But ne'er to mingle with the menial train, 
 
 To whom : e show'd nor deference nor disdain, 
 
 But that well-worn reserve which proved he knew 
 
 No sympathy with that familiar crew : 
 
 His soul, whate'er his station or his stem, 
 
 Could bow to Lara, not descend to them. 
 
 Of higher birth he seem'd, and better days, 
 
 Nor mark of vulgar toil that hand betrays, 
 
LORD BYRON. 189 
 
 So femininely white it might bespeak 
 Another sex, when match 'd with that smooth cheek, 
 But for his garb, and something in his gaze, 
 More wild and high than woman's eye betrays ; 
 A latent fierceness that far more became 
 His fiery climate than his tender frame : 
 True, in his words it broke not from his breast, 
 But from his aspect might be more than guess'd. 
 Kaled his name, though rumour said he bore 
 Another ere he left his mountain shore. 
 
 LARA. 
 
 'Tis quickly seen 
 Whate'er he be, 'twas not what he had been : 
 That brow in furrow'd lines had fix'd at last, 
 And spake of passions, but of passions past : 
 The pride, but not the fire, of early days, 
 Coldness of mien, and carelessness of praise; 
 A high demeanour, and a glance that took 
 Their thoughts from others by a single look ; 
 And that sarcastic levity of tongue, 
 The stinging of a heart the world hath stung, 
 That darts in seeming playfulnesSj around, 
 And makes those feel that will not own the wound ; 
 All these seem'd his, and something more beneath, 
 Than glance could well reveal, or accent breathe. 
 Ambition, glory, love, the common aim, 
 That some can conquer, and that all would claim, 
 Within his breast appear'd no more to strive, 
 Yet seem'd as lately they had been alive ; 
 
190 THE BEAUTIES OF 
 
 And some deep feeling it were vain to trace 
 At moments lighten'd o'er his livid face. 
 
 Not much he loved long question of the past, 
 Nor told of wondrous wilds, and deserts vast, 
 In those far lands where he had wander'd lone, 
 And — as himself would have it seem — unknown 
 Yet these in vain his eye could scarcely scan, 
 Nor glean experience from his fellow man ; 
 But what he had beheld he shunn'd to show, 
 As hardly worth a stranger's care to know ; 
 If still more prying such inquiry grew, 
 His brow fell darker, and his words more few. 
 
 Not unrejoiced to see him once again, 
 Warm was his welcome to the haunts of men ; 
 Born of high lineage, link'd in high command, 
 He mingled with the Magnates of his land ; 
 Join'd the carousals of the great and gay, 
 And saw them smile or sigh their hours away ; 
 But still he only saw, and did not share 
 The common pleasure or the general care ; 
 He did not follow what they all pursued 
 With hope still baffled still to be renew'd ; 
 Nor shadowy honour, nor substantial gain, 
 Nor beauty's preference, and the rival's pain : 
 Around him some mysterious circle thrown 
 Repell'd approach, and show'd him still alone ; 
 Upon his eye sate something of reproof, 
 That kept at least frivolity aloof; 
 And things more timid that beheld him near, 
 In silence gazed, or whisper'd mutual fear ; 
 And they the wiser, friendlier few confest 
 They deem'd him better than his air exprest. 
 
LORD BYRON. 191 
 
 'Twas strange — in youtH all action and all life, 
 Burning for pleasure ; not averse from strife ; 
 Woman — the field — the ocean — all that gave 
 Promise of gladness, peril of a grave, 
 In turn he tried — he ransack'd all below, 
 And found his recompense in joy or wo, 
 No tame, trite medium ; for his feelings sought 
 In that intenseness an escape from thought ; 
 The tempest of his heart in scorn had gazed 
 On that the feebler elements hath raised ; 
 The rapture of his heart had look'd on high, 
 And ask'd if greater dwelt beyond the sky : 
 Chain'd to excess, the slave of each extreme, 
 How woke he from the wildness of that dream ? 
 Alas ! he told not — but he did awake 
 To curse the wither'd heart that would not break. 
 
 Books, for his volume heretofore was Man, 
 
 With eye more curious he appear'd to scan,- 
 
 And oft, in sudden mood, for many a day 
 
 From all communion he would start away ; 
 
 And then, his rarely-call'd attendants said, 
 
 Thro' nights long hours would sound his hurried tread 
 
 O'er the dark gallery, where his fathers frown'd 
 
 In rude but antique" portraiture around : 
 
 They heard, but whisper'd — " that must not be known— 
 
 The sound of words less earthly than his own. 
 
 Yes, they who chose might smile, but some had seen, 
 
 They scarce knew what, but more than should have 
 
 been. 
 Why gazed he so upon the ghastly head 
 Which hands profane had gather'd from the dead, 
 That still beside his open'd volume lay, 
 As if to startle all save him away? 
 
192 THE BEAUTIES OF 
 
 Why slept he not -when others were at rest ? 
 Why heard no music, and received no guest ? 
 All was not well they deem'd — but where the wrong? 
 Some knew perchance — but 'twere a tale too long ; 
 And such besides were too discreetly wise, 
 To more than hint their knowledge in surmise ; 
 But if they would — they could" — around the board, 
 Thus Lara's vassals prattled of their lord. 
 
 In him inexplicably mix*d appear'd 
 
 Much to be lov'd and hated, sought and fear'd ; 
 
 Opinion varying o'er his hidden lot, 
 
 In praise or railing ne'er his name forgot ; 
 
 His silence form'd a theme for others' prate — 
 
 They guess"d — they gazed — they fain would know his 
 
 fate. 
 What had he been ? what was he, thus unknown, 
 Who walk'd their world, his lineage only known? 
 A hater of his kind ? yet some would say, 
 With them he could seem gay amidst the gay ; 
 But own'd, that smile if oft observ'd and near, 
 Waned in its mirth and wither'd to a sneer ; 
 That smile might reach his lip, but pass'd not by, 
 None e'er could trace its laughter to his eye : 
 Yet there was softness too in his regard, 
 At times, a heart as not by nature hard, 
 But once perceived, his spirit seem'd to chide 
 Such weakness, as unworthy of its pride, 
 And steel'd itself, as scorning to redeem 
 One doubt from others half-withheld esteem ; 
 In self-inflicted penance of a breast 
 Which tenderness might once have wrung from rest : 
 
LORD BYRON. 193 
 
 In vigilance of grief that would compel 
 The soul to hate for having loved too well. 
 
 There was in him a vital scorn of all : 
 As if the worst had fall'n which could befall, 
 He stood a stranger in this breathing world, 
 An erring spirit from another hurl'd ; 
 A thing of dark imaginings, that shaped 
 By choice the perils he by chance escaped ; 
 But 'scaped in vain, for in their memory yet 
 His mind would half exult and half regret : 
 With more capacity for love than earth 
 Bestows on most of mortal mould and birth, 
 His early dreams of good outstripp'd the truth, 
 And troubled manhood follow'd baffled youth ; 
 With thought of years in phantom chase mispent, 
 And wasted powers for better purpose lent ; 
 And fiery passions that had pour'd their wrath 
 In hurried desolation o'er his path, 
 And left the better feelings all at strife 
 In wild reflection o'er his stormy life ; 
 But haughty still, and loth himself to blame, 
 He call'd on Nature's self to share the shame, 
 And charged all faults upon the fleshly form 
 She gave to clog the soul, and feast the worm ; 
 Till he at last confounded good and ill, 
 And half mistook for fate the acts of will : 
 Too high for common selfishness, he could 
 At times resign his own for others' good, 
 But not in pity, not because he ought, 
 But in some strange perversity of thought, 
 That sway'd him onward with a secret pride 
 To do what few or none would do beside ; 
 R 
 
194 
 
 THE BEAUTIES OF 
 
 And this same impulse would, in tempting time, 
 
 Mislead his spirit equally to crime ; 
 
 So much he soar'd beyond, or sunk beneath 
 
 The men with whom he felt condemn 'd to breathe, 
 
 And long'd by good or ill to separate 
 
 Himself from all who shared his mortal state ; 
 
 His mind abhorring this had fix'd her throne 
 
 Far from the world, in regions of her own : 
 
 Thus coldly passing all that pass'd below, 
 
 His blood in temperate seeming now would flow : 
 
 Ah! happier if it ne'er with guilt had glow'd, 
 
 But ever in that icy smoothness flow'd ! 
 
 'Tis true, with other men their path he walk'd, 
 
 And like the rest in seeming did and talk'd, 
 
 Nor outraged Reason's rules by flaw nor start. 
 
 His madness was not of the head, but heart ; 
 
 And rarely wander'd in his speech, or drew 
 
 His thoughts so forth as to offend the view. 
 
 With all that chilling mystery of mien, 
 And seeming gladness to remain unseen ; 
 He had (if 'twere not nature's boon) an art 
 Of fixing memory on another's heart : 
 It was not love perchance — nor hate — nor aught 
 That words can image to express the thought ; 
 But they who saw him did not see in vain, 
 And once beheld, would ask of him again : 
 And those to whom he spake remember'd well, 
 And on the words, however light, would dwell : 
 None knew, nor how, nor why, but he entwin'd 
 Himself perforce around the hearer's mind ; 
 There he was stamp'd, in liking, or in hate, 
 If greeted once ; however brief the date 
 
LORD BYRON* 195 
 
 That friendship, pity, or aversion knew, 
 Still there within the inmost thought he grew. 
 You could not penetrate his soul, but found, 
 Despite your wonder, to your own he wound ; 
 His presence haunted still ; and from the breast 
 He forced an all unwilling interest ; 
 Vain was the struggle in that mental net, 
 His spirit seem'd to dare you to forget. 
 
 TYRANNY. 
 
 Think'st thou there is no tyranny but that 
 Of blood and chains ? The despotism of vice— 
 The weakness and the wickedness of luxury — 
 The negligence — the apathy — the evils 
 Of sensual sloth — produce ten thousand tyrants, 
 Whose delegated cruelty surpasses 
 The worst acts of one energetic master, 
 However harsh and hard in his own bearing. 
 
 Glorious mirror, wnere the Almighty's form 
 Glasses itself in tempests ; in all time, 
 Calm or convulsed — in breeze, or gale, or storm, 
 Icing the pole, or in the torrid clime 
 Dark-heaving ; — boundless, endless, and sublime — 
 The image of Eternity — the throne 
 Of the Invisible. 
 
196 
 
 THE BEAUTIES OF 
 
 THE DREAM OF SARDANAPALUS. 
 
 Not so — although ye multiplied the stars, 
 And gave them to me as a realm to share 
 From you and with you ! I would not so purchase 
 The empire of eternity. Hence — hence — 
 Old hunter of the earliest brutes ! and ye, 
 Who hunted fellow-creatures as if brutes ; 
 Once bloody mortals — and now bloodier idols, 
 If your priests lie not ! And thou, ghastly beldame ! 
 Dripping with dusky gore, and trampling on 
 The carcasses of Inde — away — away ! 
 Where am I ? Where the spectress ? Where — No — that 
 Is no false phantom : I should know it 'midst 
 All that the dead dare gloomily raise up 
 From their black gulf to daunt the living. Myrrha ! 
 
 Myr. Alas ! thou art pale, and on thy brow the drops 
 Gather like night dew. My beloved, hush — 
 Calm thee. Thy speech seems of another world, 
 And thou art loved of this. Be of good cheer ; 
 All will go well. 
 
 Sar. Thy hand — so — 'tis thy hand ; 
 
 'Tis flesh ; grasp — clasp — yet closer, till I feel 
 Myself that which I was. 
 
 Myr. At least know me 
 
 For what I am, and ever must be — thine. 
 
 Sar. I know it now. I know this life again. 
 Ah, Myrrha ! I have been where we shall be. 
 
 Myr. My lord ! 
 
 Sar. I've been i' the grave — where worms are lo» -is 
 
 And kings are But I did not deem it so ; 
 
 I thought 'twas nothing. 
 
 'Myr. So it is : except 
 
LORD BYRON. 197 
 
 Unto the timid, who anticipate 
 That which may never be. 
 
 Sar. Oh, Myrrha . 11 
 
 Sleep shows such things, what may not death disclose? 
 
 Myr. I know no evil death can show, which life 
 Has not already shown to those who live 
 Embodied longest. If there be indeed 
 A shore, where mind survives, 'twill be as mind, 
 All unincorporate : or if there flits 
 A shadow of this cumbrous clog of clay, 
 Which stalks, methinks, between our souls and heaven, 
 And fetters us to earth — at least the phantom, 
 Whate'er it have to fear, will not fear death. 
 
 Sar. I fear it not ; but I have felt — have seen — 
 A legion of the dead. 
 
 Myr. And so have I. 
 
 The dust we tread upon was once alive, 
 And wretched. But proceed : what hast thou seen/ 
 Speak it, 'twill lighten thy dimm'd mind. 
 
 Sar. Methought— 
 
 Myr. Yet pause, thou art tired — in pain — exhausted ; 
 all 
 Which can impair both strength and spirit ; seek 
 Rather to sleep again. 
 
 Sar. Not now — I would not 
 
 Dream ; though I know it now to be a dream. 
 What I have dreamt : — and canst thou bear to hear it? 
 
 Myr. I can bear all things, dreams of life or death, 
 Which I participate with you, in semblance 
 Or full reality. • 
 
 Sar. And this look'd real, 
 
 I tell you : after that these eyes were open, 
 I saw them in their flight — for then they fled. 
 
 Myr. Say on. 
 
 R 2 
 
198 THE BEAUTIES OF 
 
 Sar. I saw, that is, I dream'd myself 
 Here — here — even where we are : guests as we were, 
 Myself a host that deem'd himself but guest, 
 Willing to equal all in social freedom ; 
 But, on my right-hand and my left, instead 
 Of thee and Zames, and our custom'd meeting, 
 Was ranged on my left-hand a haughty, dark, 
 And deadly face — I could not recognise it, 
 Yet I had seen it, though I knew not where ; 
 The features were a giant's, and the eye 
 Was still, yet lighted ; his long locks curl'd down 
 On his vast bust, whence a huge quiver rose 
 With shaft-heads feather'd from the eagle's wing, 
 That peep'd up bristling through his serpent hair. 
 I invited him to fill the cup which stood 
 Between us, but he answer'd not — I filFd it — 
 He took it not, but stared upon me, till 
 I trembled at the fix'd glare of his eye : 
 I frown'd upon him as a king should frown — 
 He frown'd not in his turn, but look'd upon me 
 With the same aspect, which appall'd me more : 
 Because it changed not ; and I turn'd for refuge 
 To milder guests, and sought them on the right, 
 Where thou wert wont to be. But [He pauses. 
 
 Myr. What instead . 
 
 Sar. In thy own chair — thy own place in the banquet- 
 I sought thy sweet face in the circle — but 
 Instead — a gray-hair'd, withered, bloody-eyed, 
 And bloody-handed, ghastly, ghostly thing, 
 FemHe in garb, and crown'd upon the brow. 
 Furrow'd with years, yet sneering with the passion 
 Of vengeance, leering too with that of lust, 
 Sate : — my veins curdled. 
 
 Myr. Is this all ? 
 
LORD BYRON. 199 
 
 Sar. Upon 
 
 Her right-hand — her lank, bird-like right-hand — stood 
 A goblet, bubbling o'er with blood ; and on 
 Her left, another, fill'd with — what I saw not, 
 But turn'd from it and her. But all along 
 The table sate a range of crowned wretches, 
 Of various aspects, but of one expression. 
 Myr. And felt you not this a mere vision ? 
 Sar. No: 
 
 It was so palpable, I could have touch'd them. 
 I turn'd from one face to another, in 
 The hope to find at last one which I knew 
 Ere I saw theirs : but no — all turn'd upon me, 
 And stared, but neither ate nor drank, but stared, 
 Till I grew stone, as they seem'd half to be, 
 Yet breathing stone, for I felt life in them, 
 And life in me : there was a horrid kind 
 Of sympathy between us, as if they 
 Had lost a part of death to come to me, 
 And I the half of life to sit by them. 
 We were in an existence all apart 
 
 From heaven or earth And rather let me see 
 
 Death all than such a being ! 
 
 Myr. And the end ? 
 
 Sar. At last I sate marble as they, when rose 
 The' hunter, and the crew ; and smiling on me — 
 Yes, the enlarged but noble aspect of 
 The hunter smiled upon me — I should say, 
 His lips, for his eyes moved not — and the woman's 
 Thin lips relax'd to something like a smile. 
 Both rose, and the crown'd figures on each hand 
 Rose also, as if aping their chief shades — 
 Mere mimics even in death — but I sate still : 
 A desperate courage crept through every limb 
 
£00 THE BEAUTIES OF 
 
 And at the last I fear'd them not, but laughed 
 Full in their phantom faces. But then — then 
 The hunter laid his hand on mine: I took it, 
 And grasp'd it — but it melted from my own, 
 While he too vanish'd, and left nothing but 
 The memory of a hero, for he look'd so. 
 
 Myr'. And was : the ancestor of heroes, too. 
 And thine no less. 
 
 Sar.- Ay, Myrrha, but the woman, 
 
 The female who remain'd, she flew upon me, 
 And burnt my lips up with her noisome kisses ; 
 And, flinging down the goblets on each hand, 
 Methought their poisons flow'd around us, till 
 Each form'd a hideous river. Still she clung ; 
 The other phantoms, like a row of statues, 
 Stood dull as in our temples, but she still 
 Embraced me, while I shrunk from her, as i{^ 
 In lieu of her remote descendant, I 
 Had been the son who slew her for her incest. 
 Then — then — a chaos of all loathsome things 
 Throng'd thick and shapeless : I was dead, yet feeling- 
 Buried, and raised again — consumed by worms, 
 Purged by the flames, and wither'd in the airi 
 I can fix nothing further of my thoughts, 
 Save that I long'd for thee, and sought for thee, 
 In all these agonies, and woke and found thee. 
 
 Myr. So shalt thou find me ever at thy side, 
 Here and hereafter, if the last may be. 
 But think not of these things — the mere creations 
 Of late events acting upon a frame 
 Unused to toil, yet over- wrought by toil 
 Such as might try the sternest. 
 
 Sar. I am better. 
 
 Now that I see thee ■once more, what was seen 
 Seems nothing. 
 
LORD BYRON. 201 
 
 DARKNESS. 
 
 I had a dream. 
 The bright sun was extinguish'd, and the stars 
 Did wander darkling in the eternal space, 
 Rayless and pathless, and the icy earth 
 Swung blind and blackening in the moonless air; 
 Morn came, and went — and came, and brought no day 
 And men forgot their passions in the dread 
 Of this their desolation ; and all hearts 
 Were chill'd into a selfish prayer for light : 
 And they did live by watch-fires — and the thrones, 
 The palaces of crowned kings — the huts, 
 The habitations of all things which dwell, 
 Were burnt for beacons ; cities were consumed, 
 And men were gather'd round their blazing homes 
 To look once more into each other's face ; 
 Happy were those who dwelt within the eye 
 Of the volcanos, and their mountain-torch : 
 A fearful hope was all the world contain'd ; 
 Forests were set on fire — but hour by hour 
 They fell and faded — and the crackling trunks 
 Extinguish'd with a crash — and all was black. 
 The brows of men by the despairing light 
 Wore an unearthly aspect, as by fits 
 The flashes fell upon them ; some lay down 
 And hid their eyes and wept ; and some did rest 
 Their chins upon their clenched hands, and smiled ; 
 And others hurried to and fro, and fed 
 Their funeral piles with fuel, and look'd up 
 With mad disquietude on the dull sky, 
 The pall of a past world ; and then again 
 With curses cast them down upon the dust, 
 
202 THE BEAUTIES OF 
 
 And gnash 'd their teeth and howl'd: the wild birdi 
 
 shriek'd, 
 And, terrified, did flutter on the ground, 
 And flap their useless wings ; the wildest brutes 
 Came tame and tremulous ; and vipers crawl'd 
 And twined themselves among the multitude, 
 Hissing, but stingless — they were slain for food: 
 And War, which for a moment was no more, 
 Did glut himself again ; — a meal was bought 
 With blood, and each sate sullenly apart 
 Gorging himself in gloom : no love was left ; 
 All earth was but one thought — and that was death, 
 Immediate and inglorious ; and the pang 
 Of famine fed upon all entrails — men 
 Died, and their bones were tombless as their flesh ; 
 The meagre by the meagre were devour'd, 
 Even dogs assail'd their masters, all save one, 
 And he was faithful to a corse, and kept 
 The birds and beasts and famish'd men at bay, 
 Till hunger clung them, or the dropping dead 
 Lured their lank jaws ; himself sought out no food, 
 But with a piteous and perpetual moan 
 And a quick desolate cry, licking the hand 
 Which answer'd not with a caress — he died. 
 The crowd was famish'd by degrees ; but two 
 Of an enormous city did survive, 
 And they were enemies ; they met beside 
 The dying members of an altar-place 
 Where had been heap'd a mass of holy things 
 For an unholy usage ; they raked up, 
 And shivering scraped with their cold skeleton hands 
 The feeble ashes, and their feeble breath 
 Blew for a little life, and made a flame 
 Which was a mockery ; then they lifted up 
 
LORD EYRON. 203 
 
 Their eyes as it grew lighter, and beheld 
 
 Each other's aspects — saw, and shriek'd, and died— 
 
 Even of their mutual hideousness they died, 
 
 Unknowing who he was upon whose brow 
 
 Famine had written fiend. The world was void, 
 
 The populous and the powerful was a lump, 
 
 Seasonless, herbless, treeless, manless, lifeless — 
 
 A lump of death, a chaos of hard clay. 
 
 The rivers, lakes, and ocean all stood still, 
 
 And nothing stirred within their silent depths ; 
 
 Ships sailorless lay rotting on the sea, 
 
 And their masts fell down piece-meal ; as they dropp'd 
 
 They slept on the abyss without a surge — 
 
 The waves were dead ; the tides were in their grave, 
 
 The moon their mistress had expired before; 
 
 The winds were wither'd in the stagnant air, 
 
 And the clouds perish'd ; Darkness had no need 
 
 Of aid from them — She was the universe. 
 
 DESOLATION. 
 
 I have follow'd long 
 Thy path of desolation, as the wave 
 Sweeps after that before it, alike whelming 
 The wreck that creaks to the wild wind, and wretch 
 Who shrieks within its riven ribs, as gush 
 The waters through them. 
 
 REBELLION. 
 
 The sight 
 Of blood to crowds begets the thirst of more, 
 As the first wine cup leads to the long revel. 
 
204 
 
 THE BEAUTIES OF, &C 
 
 The magic of the mind : 
 Link'd wit L success, assum'd and kept with skill, 
 That moulds another's weakness to its will ; 
 Wields with their hands, but still to these unknown 
 Makes ev'n their mightiest deeds appear his own ; 
 Such hath it been. 
 
 HATE. 
 
 There is no passion 
 More spectral or fantastical than hate, 
 Not even its opposite, love, so peoples air 
 With phantoms, as this madness of the heart. 
 
 THE END OF FAME. 
 
 'Tis but to fill 
 
 A certain portion of uncertain paper : 
 Some Uken it to climbing up a hill, 
 
 Whose summit, like all hills, is lost in vapour ; 
 For this men write, speak, preach, and heroes kill, 
 
 And bards burn what they call their i midnight taper,' 
 To have, when the original is dust, 
 A name. 
 
 THE END. 
 
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