v N * > c- V *>. .v. V ' \> ^ ,0 0, A- ./> ,0o xV^ X°°- ^ ^ :< ,0' , s tnJ'* '> ^ "+. : .%* -v .A •\ HB, s* ^ GEORGE GORDON, LORD BYRON After the portrait l>y Kramer m? 9 sgggSS^ SELECTIONS FROM BYRON The Prisoner of Chillon, Mazeppa and Other Poems ® fS^ 3 ^ Edited With Introduction and Notes BY SAMUEL MARION TUCKER Professor of English Literature, Florida State College por Women GINN & COMPANY BOSTON NEW YORK • CHICAGO • LONDON tf ] LIBRARY of CONGRESS Two Goote Received AUG 27 190? Copynsrht Entry CLASS fit 'aXc COPY B. ., nlo. £ > Copyright, 1907 By SAMUEL MARION TUCKER ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 77-8 GINN & COMPANY • PRO- PRIETORS • BOSTON • U.S.A. TO WILLIAM PETERFIELD TRENT PROFESSOR OF ENGLISH LITERATURE IN COLUMBIA UNIVERSITY THIS LITTLE VOLUME IS INSCRIBED IN GRATITUDE AND ESTEEM PREFACE The primary purpose of this book is to give the young Wader some insight into Byron's genius by presenting for tudy and for reading those of his poems which should make he most immediate appeal. For such a purpose much of Byron's poetry is admirably fitted, since, as a whole, it is not ibstruse in its subject-matter, is lucid in its expression, and, ibove all, is spirited and energetic. To teach the essential spirit of literature, not grammar, philology, or rhetoric, surely should be our aim when we pre- sent poetry to our classes. Even history, biography, mythology, )r anything else, except as these are absolutely essential to a uroper appreciation of the poem, are not really within our province. Teachers of literature have something to do that sannot be done by teachers of other subjects ; and we have 10 business to poach upon the preserves of our colleagues. A ;reat poem, rightly presented, is sure not only to give aes- hetic pleasure, but to train the mind and the heart as well. n this connection it may not be amiss for one of his old ■tudents to acknowledge the help he has received from three assays by Professor W. P. Trent, — " Teaching the Spirit of literature," in The Authority of Criticism, and " The Aims ind Methods of Literary Study" and "Teaching Literature," n Greatness in Literature. The length of the Introduction to this book, especially of he biographical part, can perhaps be justified by Byron's mportance as a historic figure and by the intimate relations viii SELECTIONS FROM BYRON subsisting between his life and his works. The criticism claims to be neither technical nor subtle, but attempts to deal rather in broad generalizations which may appeal to the young reader and yet not mislead him. In the introduction, the notes, and the critical comments I have tried to be accurate in matters of fact, and still to present both facts and opinions in a style that might awaken interest — without which all liter ary study is of course soulless and ineffective. In the choice of selections for this volume The Prisonev of Chillon and Mazeppa, since they are among the college entrance requirements, were naturally the first consideration.! Other poems, in whole or in part, have been included, either for study or for reading, that the book may perhaps be found useful in college classes also. Lack of space, the purpose o:f the volume, and, in some cases, objectionable matter in the poems themselves have excluded from this collection th« dramas, the longer narrative poems, and the satires; buj Childe Harold and Don Juan very well lend themselves t( selection, and we find among Byron's poems many beautifu and appropriate lyrics. It is hoped that the notes may be found sufficiently elabo rate to pave the way to a full appreciation of the poems, with out hampering the instructor or interfering with the student self-activity. I was in such dread of over-editing, having severa terrible examples before my eyes, that my first intention wa to include nothing in the notes that could be found by th student in any ordinary work of reference. So rigorous policy, however, seemed to be mistaken in view of the fac that in some cases such works of reference may not be readil accessible ; hence the historical, geographical, and othe annotations. Some of Byron's allusions are of doubtful si£ nificance, and in such instances I have expressed merely a opinion. PREFACE ix Acknowledgments are due to Mr. John Murray, of London, or his courteous permission to use his definitive text of Byron's loems, as edited by Mr. Coleridge and published in the welve-volume edition of the prose and poetical works of Lord Jyron, and in the one-volume edition of the poems, both of /hich editions are imported into this country by Messrs. Charles Scribner's Sons. The spelling of this text has, with- •ut exception, been preserved, even in its obvious inconsisten- ces. Certain changes in Byron's erratic punctuation, however, eemed absolutely necessary in the interests of clearness. It nay be that the punctuation still remains somewhat inconsist- :nt both with itself and with modern usage, but it is hoped hat the poet's meaning will always be readily apparent. The obligation to Mr. Murray is profound, since the use of his poleridge text, a monument of Byronic scholarship, greatly nhances the value of the present book. I am also indebted o my friend, Chief Justice Shackleford, of the Supreme Court )f Florida, for suggestions as to the nature of the selections, md to my friend and colleague, Professor B. C. Bondurant, for aluable aid in many ways. c „, Tallahassee, Florida CONTENTS Page [ntroduction xiii Laciiin Y Gair i Maid of Athens, ere we Part 3 jloDERN Greece 4 S.NOW Ye the Land? 5 She Walks in Beauty 6 Song ok Saul before his Last Battle*. .... 7 Vision ok Belshazzar ........ 8 Tiik Destruction ok Sennacherib 10 stanzas kor Music n Napoleon's Farewell 13 Stanzas for Music 14 Fare Thee Weli 15 Sonnet on Chillon . ........ 17 The Prisoner of Chillon 18 Stanzas to Augusta 32 Prometheus 34 When we Two Parted 36 The Coliseum by Moonlight 38 To Thomas Moore 39 Selections from Childe Harold Greece before the Revolution of 1821 . . . . 41 The Eve before Waterloo 14 The Rhine 46 Venice . 47 xi x ii SELECTIONS FROM BYRON Page The " Cascata del Marmore " 49 Rome 50 The Dying Gladiator 5^ The Ocean 53 Mazeppa vS5 Stanzas 8 4 Stanzas Written on the Road between Florence and Pisa 85 Selections from Don Juan "'Tis Sweet to Hear ..." 87J The Shipwreck j . . . 8» The Isles of Greece 94 Sweet Hour of Twilight 97\ On this Day I Complete my Thirty-sixth Year . . 9S INTRODUCTION GEORGE GORDON, LORD BYRON Less than a century ago Byron shared with Napoleon the onder of Europe. With the sole exception of Shakespeare, rron a great tne autnor oi Childe Harold and Do?i Juan is still storicai and to the foreign world by far the greatest figure in erary gure English poetry. His influence upon European litera- ire has been almost incalculable. Perhaps never did a man's ^rsonality more deeply impress his generation ; and Byron's )ems are but a revelation of his personality, — complex, power- 1, and brilliant. All this inevitably leads us to some considera- Dn of the poet's life, character, and place in literature. Byron, always something of a fighter and adventurer, sprang om an old and fighting stock. The Byrons, or Buruns, were Ton's Normans, who came over with the Conqueror, cestry an( j are men tioned in his Domesday Book. They irhaps took part in the Crusades ; certainly they fought at -ecy, and at Calais one of them was knighted. Various Sir >hns, Sir Richards, and Sir Nicholases continued the fighting idition, and in 1643 one particular Sir John, a prominent Dyalist, was created Baron of Rochdale for his services to e royal cause. For us the chief interest in Byron's pedigree begins with 22, in which year his great-uncle, the fifth lord, was born. l he wicked "The wicked lord," as he came to be known, i " having murdered a relative, Mr. Chaworth, bore unenviable reputation. He left the ancestral property in XIV SELECTIONS FROM BYRON a ruinous condition, and made the name of Byron a rather questionable heritage for his descendants. His brother, John The seaman Byron, became a famous seaman and traveler, who and traveler wr ote an entertaining autobiography, from which his illustrious grandson, the poet, gained material for some of his poetry. The eldest son of this traveler and seaman, also named John Byron, the father of the poet, was born in 1751, and became a captain in the Guards. He was a dissipated, worthless fellow/ known as " Mad Jack," though his character seems; "Mad Jack" J , . to have been somewhat redeemed by a certain^ careless generosity and good nature. He eloped with the wifej of the Marquis of Carmarthen, and married her after she had, secured a divorce from her former husband. 0:1 Byron's birth ^ marriage was born Augusta, afterwards Mrsj Leigh, the poet's half-sister. This first wife died in 1784, anc! in the next year the fortune hunter entrapped a Scotch lady] Miss Catherine Gordon, of Gight, who was of an old famirj and possessed considerable estates. On January 22, 1788J the boy known as George Gordon Byron was born in Hollej Street, London. Soon after this event, having squandered a| of his wife's fortune, "Jack" Byron deserted his family, fleli to France, and there died in 1 791. u The boy George came into the world heavily handicappec His father's race was a violent one ; his mother's, foolisl Had Byron's mother been other than she wa Character of J . , Byron's the tenor of her son's life might have been moi mother equable. But "Mrs. Byron," as the boy ofte called her, was a vain, impulsive woman, hysterical and pa sionate, and utterly capricious in her treatment of her sojl She alternately abused and petted him ; would berate him a "lame brat" one instant, and caress him the next. S although she was always ready to sacrifice herself for Mil INTRODUCTION XV nd doubtless really loved him in her own way, their relations rere in general most unfortunate. She was no mother for such boy as Byron, — headstrong, passionate, moody, as he was. Your mother's a fool," once remarked a fellow-schoolboy. I know it," was the startling and significant reply. This was not all : Byron was lame. This lameness has een the subject of endless controversy ; but it is now finally yron's stated, and probably with truth, that he "was ness afflicted with an infantile paralysis which affected tie muscles of the right leg and foot." From this resulted slight limp, never corrected, in spite of severe treatment, bout this deformity, which was scarcely noticeable, Byron p to the very end of his life was abnormally sensitive. What a pretty boy Byron is ! " remarked a friend of his urse ; " what a pity he is lame ! " Thereupon the boy, with ashing eyes, struck at her with his baby whip, exclaiming, Dinna speak of it ! " This abnormal sensitiveness undoubt- ily colored his views of society and embittered his disposition. Byron's life now falls into five clearly defined periods, — s early school life up to and through his Harrow days ; his ve epochs of university career ; his two years' stay in southern mm' s life Europe; his London residence, marriage, and ibsequent unpopularity ; and his life abroad until his death, 1824, at the age of thirty-six. In 1790 Mrs. Byron took her son to Aberdeen and put m to school under various tutors. He showed himself a hooi days poor student, but read with avidity all the history Aberdeen anc j rom ance he could find. From 1794 to 1798 ! attended the grammar school, during which period he was nt, in order to recuperate after an attack of scarlet fever, Ballater. Here he wandered through the mountains and ded to his passionate love of the sea, gained at Aberdeen, e love of mountain scenery that glorifies so much of his XVI verse. SELECTIONS FROM BYRON In 1794, through the death of a cousin, he became the j nexTheir to the title, and in 1798 the death of -the wicked j lord " made him, at the age of ten, the sixth Lord Byron. After this event Mrs. Byron left at once for Newstead Abbey, j the ancestral estate in Nottinghamshire. The desolation ofj At Netting- the family home forced the two into residence atj ham Nottingham. Here young Byron was placed undeij the treatment of a quack named Lavender, who inflicted upon the boy unnecessary and fruitless torture, which he is said to* have borne with remarkable fortitude. When his tutor referred to his suffering he replied, -Never mind, Mr. Rogers; you shall not see any sign of it in me." Within a year he was taken to London for treatment and put to school at Dulwich. Here he was contented, and did well, according to Atnuiwich the testimony of Dr . Glennie, the head master, who speaks of Byron's wide reading in history and poetry, and of his good humor while, among his comrades. In spite of all this, however, Mrs. Byron was not satisfied and at her request her son was removed by his guardian Lord Carlisle, to the great public school at Han LifeatHarrow ^ Here he remained unti i l8 o 4 , leading prett much the ordinary schoolboy life — with a difference ; fo sometimes he went off by himself and dreamed. At this tim the head master of Harrow was Dr. Drury, a famous teachei who seems to have understood his eccentric yet gifted pupi and for whom Byron always entertained an affectionate regarc « He was," Byron says, " the best, the kindest (and yet stric too) friend I ever had ; and I look on him still as a fathe whose warnings I have remembered but too well, though tc late, when I have erred, and whose counsel I have but fo lowed when I have done well or wisely." Though he gre to love Harrow as the time approached for him to leave i Byron at first hated the discipline of the school, and w INTRODUCTION xvii fever an accurate scholar. But he was a great reader, and Ivas fond of declaiming, at which he was remarkably good. In ithletic sports, where he figured as a leader, swimming and -owing were his special favorites, for with these his lameness iid not interfere. Fighting, it seems, was a pastime with him ; md his physical prowess was often exercised in behalf of smaller md weaker boys, whom he characteristically regarded as the victims of tyranny. To one of these he once said, " Harness, f any one bullies you, tell me, and I '11 thrash him if I can." The warm friendships that were always to mark Byron's life 3xisted even in his Harrow days. Among these friends were Friends at the Duke of Dorset, his favorite fag; Sir Robert Harrow Peel, afterwards the famous statesman ; and Lord tlare. For the last named, Byron's affection was peculiarly romantic. Many years later, after contact with the world had jomewhat embittered his disposition, his affection for Clare had suffered no change. As late as 182 1 he said, " I never hear the name of Clare without a beating of the heart, even now." But tione of these friends played any great part in his after life. More romantic than any friendship, and perhaps as lasting is any attachment Byron ever experienced, was his very real Miss cna- an d ardent love for his cousin, Mary Ann Cha- worth worth. The love was all on Byron's side, however, [or the young lady was so far from returning the senti- ment that she could rather unfeelingly refer to her young lover as " that lame boy," — a remark which Byron overheard and bitterly resented. Miss Chaworth married in 1805, and Byron never wholly recovered from this first disappointment. ttts powerful poem, The Dream, written in 18 16, is merely a testimony to the strength and duration of the attachment. In 1805 Byron regretfully left Harrow for Trinity Col- lege, Cambridge. Here he took his M.A. degree three years later, apparently without really earning it ; for his studies were xviii SELECTIONS FROM BYRON very erratically conducted, and he was absent from college during the entire year of 1807. Though Byron wished to go toj Life at Cam- Oxford, and so entered Cambridge in a bad temper,] bridge ve t he made the most of his life there, from ai social standpoint at least. For sports — cricket, shooting, box-l ing, and riding — he felt all his former fondness, and in them] showed the same leadership as at Harrow. Again he becamd the center of a coterie of friends, — this time a brilliant set, : some of whom were to influence his later life, and one or two) of whom, such as Hobhouse and Hodgson, were to remain forever his ardent champions. Newstead Abbey had been let, and Byron spent his vacations in London, and with Byron's rela- J l tions with his his mother at Southwell. The scenes that here tooW mother place between mother and son were surely such as never other poet experienced. At times Mrs. Byron seemed quite insane ; and on one occasion both separately made vis-; its to the local apothecary, each begging him not to sell poison to the other. Quarrels and reconciliations alternated, and deserve attention only because such unnatural relations could not fail to have their effect for the worse on Byron's dispo-i sition, and should perhaps mitigate our blame for certair features of his after life. Poetry was an early passion with Byron, and in January 1807, he privately printed his first volume, Poems 011 Various Occasions. This was followed in March by a second volume printed at Newark, which he called Hours of Idleness. In this not very remarkable effort there was still some little promise o:| "Hours of genius, but its main importance lies in the fact tha f idleness ' ' ft prompted the famous criticism written by Lore Brougham, and printed in The Edinburgh Review for January) 1808. The Edinburgh's onslaught was terrific. The inoffen| sive little volume of juvenile verse certainly did not deserve the sarcasm and abuse heaped upon it by the distinguishec INTRODUCTION xix ritic ; but that was often the way of critics in those days. The view stung Byron to fury. He had long been an admirer of he poetry of Pope, and now deliberately planned an elaborate terary satire, after the model of The Dmiciad, which should ttack, and, as the author hoped, annihilate, not only the Scotch bviewers but the inoffensive English poets as well. At Cambridge Byron indulged in all kinds of dissipation, hich, in accord with his histrionic character, he had the bad aste to boast about. What he told about himself, little as his xploits redounded to his credit, was probably true, and he ife at New- loved to parade it. Such was his tendency almost tead Abbey to t h e enc [ f hj s iif e , until Missolonghi made im a hero. Newstead being now untenanted, he took up is residence there, surrounding himself with a wild and ilarious set, — Hobhouse, Matthews, Scrope Davies, and ther Cambridge friends. High carnival reigned in the fine Id Gothic building ; but to such revels it had, perhaps, long een accustomed. All sorts of absurd and outrageous prac- ices were encouraged. The company dressed as monks and rank wine out of a human skull made into a drinking cup ; ot up in the dead of night to practice pistol shooting; and ldulged in many other freaks of the same kind. Byron loved animals, and surrounded himself now as always nth a whole menagerie of pets, — dogs, monkeys, parrots, nd bears. He once took a pet bear to college with him, ove of ani- anc * on b em S asked what he meant to do with it iais: Boat- responded, to the indignation of the college author- ities, " He shall sit for a fellowship." To Boat- wain, a Newfoundland dog, he was especially attached, /hen Boatswain died his master's misanthropy, as well as his )ve for his pet, found expression in the famous epitaph, To mark a friend's remains these stones arise ; I never knew but one, and here he lies, — xx SELECTIONS FROM BYRON a statement both untrue and affected, but not without some! excuse. Such sentiments, if sincere, sprang naturally, event inevitably, from Byron's morbid outlook on life. He alter-j nated between fits of hilarious mirth and moods of profound; gloom. His satirical and clear-sighted friend, Scrope Daviesl must have proved a wholesome antidote. " I shall go mad,"j the poet once exclaimed, in one of his despairing and pas-J sionate moods. " It is much more like silliness than madness,"! cuttingly remarked Davies. Byron's coming of age in 1809 was, on account of lack on means, celebrated very quietly at Newstead ; and after this! event the young peer went up to London to take his seat inji the House of Lords. When introduced, he appeared awkward j and ill at ease. "I have taken my seat, and now I will go abroad," was his remark after the ceremony. In the same< Byron's com- month English Bards and Scotch Rcvieiuers, the H mmseofLords^ sat i re on which he had been working for a year,i "English was given to the public. Its effect was immediate. | Scote^Re ^ e scatnm g sarcasm, often merciless and in thej viewers" worst possible taste, fell alike on the just and on the unjust, on small and on great, even on such famous poets ass Scott and Moore. It delighted the public, and forever estab- lished Byron's ability to fight his own battles, and the impos- sibility of attacking him with impunity. The lamb had shown himself a lion. But he soon became heartily ashamed of his boyish satire, and tried to withdraw it from circulation ; while some of the poets he so unjustly attacked became afterwards his warmest friends. The third epoch in Byron's life began in 1809, when he borrowed money and left England for an extended tour through southern Europe, accompanied by his friend Hob- house and several servants. After visiting Portugal and Spain, he stopped at Sardinia and Malta, and spent the greater part INTRODUCTION \xi f two years wandering about Albania and Greece. He was Dtertained by the famous Albanian bandit and despot, Ali 'asha ; visited Missolonghi, where some twelve years later he /as to die ; and spent several months at Athens, where he nished the first canto of Childe Harold and met the young tour through girl to whom he addressed his Maid of Athens. outhemEu- T n March, 1S10, he was at Smyrna. Here he corn- Maid of Ath- pleted the second canto of Childe Harold, and ns " shortly after, in April of the same year, accom- )lished his famous feat of swimming across the Hellespont. )f this achievement Byron was inordinately proud, and he elebrated it both in his letters and in his poems. He took special delight in the classical associations connected with his exhibition of his prowess and looked upon himself as a econd Leander. For over a year he wandered about the .djacent country, visiting Constantinople, and incidentally gathering material for his Eastern romances. Some of his idventures were undoubtedly romantic enough for even his laring disposition, but they gathered around them the most ibsurd exaggerations, and to this day it is difficult to separate he truth from the falsehood. Whatever may have been the •omantic side of this two years' wandering, the experience Drobably fostered the poet's personal interest in Greece, pro- vided him with new literary material, and certainly greatly mlarged his knowledge of the world. Tired of this sort of life, Byron finally returned to England )y sea in July, 1811. He reached home to find trouble. Not jetum to on ty were his finances in a desperate state, but his England; mother died on August 1, before he could reach leath of , . , _ , , , , , _, , , Byron's ner slcle - " I now i ee l the truth of Gray s obser- nother vation, that we only can have one mother. Peace oe with her," he said; and he spoke with sincerity, doubtless, Eor after all she was his mother, and had loved him. xxii SELECTIONS FROM BYRON Upon his return to England Byron entered on the fourtl period of his life, — that of his extraordinary London careei his first literary fame, his marriage, and his subsequent unpoj ularity. At this period began his warm friendship with the famous Irish poet, Tom Moore, whom he had ridiculed in LifeinLon- English Bar ds. The Irishman generously forgave don ; Tom tn e attack, and the two became the best of friends. IMoorc * "Chiide Moore's biography of his fellow- poet, The Letters Harold" and Journals of Lord Byron, is one of the most admirable books of its kind in existence, — discriminating trustworthy, and sympathetic. Shortly after his return, Byron was asked by his relative, Dallas what poems he had brought back with him. The poet handed over to his friend an inferior! satire which he had named Hints from Horace. Dallas, dis- appointed, asked, " Have you no other result of your travels? To this Byron answered, " A few short pieces, and a lot of i Spenserian stanzas ; not worth troubling you with, but you are. welcome to them." These "Spenserian stanzas" of which] their author thought so little were the first two cantos of Chiide Hai'old y whose publication, in the spring of 1812, brought immediate and widespread popularity. " I awoke one morn- ing and found myself famous," said the poet. These first two cantos of Chiide Harold, with their melancholy young hero, their declamatory rhetoric, and their commonplaces, were ex- actly on the level of their age, and suited the public taste to perfection. It may be doubted whether the two later and! infinitely finer cantos, written several years afterwards, could possibly have created so tremendous a sensation. Byron's youth, personal beauty, rank, and genius now lifted him to the pinnacle of social favor. He posed as a mere liter- ary dilettante, — a lord who amused himself by occasional ventures into literature, and aimed to discriminate sharply between professional writers, whom he affected to despise, INTRODUCTION xxiii and men of rank who condescended to dabble in letters. This, however, was only a phase, and passed away as Byron grew B on's so- to ta ^ e ^ s art more seriously. These were years ciai and liter- of unalloyed social and literary triumphs; also, ary popularity ^ mugt ^ con f esse( ^ f dissipation, and of poetic power expended upon unworthy achievements. But Byron's literary activity was remarkable. The success of his Childe Harold stimulated him to further effort. His verse romances of Eastern life poured forth in astonishing profusion. Between May, 1813 and 18 16, The Giaour ; The Bride of Abydos, The Corsair, Lara, The Siege of Corinth, and Parisina were writ- ten and published. All are variations on one single theme, with but one hero under many disguises, and that hero Byron himself. Some of these tales were written in the meter that Scott had rendered popular, and, though inferior in many ways to Marmion and its companion pieces, quite eclipsed the fresher and more wholesome romances of the older poet. On the first day of its publication The Corsair sold ten thou- sand copies: and the total profits from all the The Eastern , , , , romances; tales amounted to several thousand pounds. But Hebrew^ Byron wrote for love of writing, not for money, though he needed the latter badly enough; so with characteristic generosity he handed over the proceeds to his rather ungrateful relative, Dallas. The Giaour is per- haps the best of these tales, now little read and almost for- otten, which represent the literary fashion of a day, and to the taste of the present generation seem commonplace and :rude. Hebrew Melodies, however, published early in 18 15, contained some excellent lyrics, among others the match- less She Walks in Beauty and the favorite Destruction of Sennacherib. Byron made several speeches in Parliament, and created a favorable impression. As a born orator and a vigorous protester xxiv SELECTIONS FROM BYRON against what he considered oppression and tyranny, he might, Byron in Par- perhaps, have become a great parliamentary figure liament DU t ft | s fortunate for literature that his energies were turned into other channels. At this time Byron wore an air of rather pretentious melan- choly, which probably was sincere enough, but of which he was entirely too conscious. Though not without some excuse for his despondency, — the death of his mother, the recent loss of several intimate friends, the constant sense of his lameness, — he was still a born actor, and happy only when in the lime- b ron's mei- n § nt - ^ ne P ose was popular an d effective. In ancnoiy;Au- London, Byronic melancholy became the vogue. gus a eig Even the poet's very peculiarities of dress were imitated. Into this unwholesome atmosphere entered at least one refreshing influence. Augusta Leigh, Byron's half-sister, visited him in London in June, 1813. This visit strengthened their mutual affection, and the strong and beautiful bonds binding the brother and sister together were severed only by death. Among all the great men whom the poet met in his London life, none impressed him more than Scott. The mighty " Wizard of the North," whose poetic star had been eclipsed by Childe Harold, extended to the younger poet a generous appreciation and sympathy that could not fail to conciliate even one so resentful as Byron of any air of patronage and condescension. The two met in London in the spring of 1 815, and again in September of the same year. Of Byron, Scott said : " What I liked about him, besides his Walter Scott boundless genius, was his generosity of spirit as well as of purse, and his utter contempt of all the affectations of literature. . . . He wrote from impulse, never from effort, and therefore I have always reckoned Burns and Byron the most genuine poetic geniuses of my time, and of half a century INTRODUCTION XXV before me. We have many men of high poetic talents, but none )f that ever-gushing and perennial fountain of natural waters." Byron felt that the time had come for him to marry ; and le now, at the age of twenty-six, deliberately made his choice or, rather, allowed it to be made for him. Anna Isabella ilbanke was pretty, clever, and accomplished. More than his, she was the daughter of Sir Ralph Milbanke, and an eiress. A marriage was finally arranged between the poet, ho needed money, and the heiress, who appreciated fame nd social position. The marriage, which took place on Jan- ry 2, 1815, was bound to be unhappy, and so it proved. Lady Byron probably at first loved her husband, _arriage to ' J . . Miss Mil- but loved herself more, and was quite intolerant ianke; sepa- f suc h irregularities as marked his social career : ation -—-5 — and Byron s character — impatient of restraint, ielf-centered, moody, passionate — was unintelligible to her. Only a year passed before Lady Byron, with her daughter A.da, one month old, left her husband forever. Her conduct las never been explained ; and Byron, so garrulous about nost of his private affairs, maintained on this one topic an ilmost complete silence. It is enough for us to know that :heir temperaments were incompatible. But the whole affair s so notorious, and bore so important a relation to the poet's ifter life, that it cannot be passed over without some mention. The separation marked the reaction of favor against the larling of society. The British public, according to Macaulay, low entered upon "one of its periodical fits of morality." Byron lad been overpraised ; he was now to be heartily condemned. Though he was no worse than other men of the same set, his misdemeanors were retailed, and innumerable Jnpopularity scandals about him were wholly invented. The ;mall literary fry, who envied his success, joyously swarmed tbout to smirch his name ; the newspapers attacked him xxvi SELECTIONS FROM BYRON unsparingly and bitterly ; an unfortunate and tactless poem, which he wrote in an angry mood, added to the universal indignation. Byron was ostracized from society — was even hissed on the streets. He had before been famous ; he was now infamous. There was only one thing for him to do, — to leave England forever. Years later he wrote : " The press was active and scurrilous. . . . My name — which had been a knightly or a noble one since my fathers helped to conquer the kingdom for William the Norman — was tainted. I felt that if what was whispered and muttered and murmured was true, I was unfit for England ; if false, England was unfit for me." So in April, 1816, he left his country, home, and friends. Final de ^ s nnances were, as usual, in a tangle. Two parture from years later Newstead had to be sold, and the pro- England C eeds — ninety thousand pounds — went mostly to pay off mortgages and debts. With this final departure from England began the fifth and last period of the poet's life. Byron's exile opened a new and better era of his poetic activity. It revealed to him a new world, and it was a tonic to his energies. Without it he might never have proved so great a poet and so powerful a force in European literature. He sailed first for Ostend, and traveled through Belgium, visit- ing Brussels, where his imagination heard the " sound of revelry by night," and Waterloo, where his " tread was on an empire's dust " ; he went up the Rhine, his " exulting and abounding river," and thence to Basel, Bern, Lausanne, and Geneva. At the last-named city he met Shelley. Byron now came into inti- mate contact with a poet whose idealism profoundly attracted r n in nniu Shelley taught him many things, and his influ- Switzeriand; ence is seen in several of Byron's productions, Shelley £ rQm ^ no ble Prometheus to the more elaborate Prisoner of Chitton. Byron's attitude towards Shelley's poetry was not always favorable, — indeed, it is doubtful if he fully INTRODUCTION xxvii ippreciated the great genius of his friend ; but his admira- ion for Shelley the man was unbounded, — "the best and .east selfish man I ever knew," he calls him. Shelley looked jpon Byron as The Pilgrim of Eternity, whose fame Over his living head like heaven was bent, 3ut could scarcely sympathize with some of Byron's traits )f character or habits of life. Nevertheless, the friendship between the two poets, whose names are so often linked ogether, continued until the end. In September Byron journeyed through Switzerland, inci- lentally gathering material for his lyrical drama, Manfred, and or the later cantos of Childe Harold, in which the grandeur )f the Alpine scenery plays so large a part. Already, in June, tfhile detained by bad weather at a little village named Ouchy, . near Lausanne, he had written The Prisoner of The Prisoner J rfcniiion;" C/ullon, a tribute to moral and political liberty, • chime an( j a tremendous advance over his earlier romances larold again . in verse. About this time, too, he completed the hird canto of Childe Harold. Switzerland had taught him her nighty lessons, and in October he crossed over into Italy, ac- ompanied by his friend Hobhouse, the companion of his earlier vanderings. They journeyed first to Verona, then to Ferrara 'which inspired The Lament of Tasso), to Florence, to Rome " the Niobe of nations," where he sat for his bust to the p-eat Danish sculptor, Thorwaldsen), and finally to his Mecca, /enice, the "sea Cybele, fresh from ocean." All through Pour through this tour the P oet had been collecting material taiy;"Man- for some of his noblest productions; but for us the fairest flower of the Italian wandering is the ourth canto of Childe Harold, a glorification of Italy, which vas finished in Venice in the early spring of 1818, about xxviii SELECTIONS FROM BYRON the same time with Manfred, a strange, mystical, dramatic) poem bearing some general resemblance to Goethe's Fausm The period of Byron's Venetian residence — extending! through the greater part of two years — is one over whichf any lover of his fame would gladly draw a veil. Such a life of excesses of every kind was unworthy of a true man, mucHl more so of a great poet. He wallowed in the mire, withl results disastrous to his health, character, and reputation.!! But, strangely enough, the period was one oil f/veni'ceT 6 intense literary activity. One elaborate poemi "Mazeppa"; a fj_ er another was turned out, with seemingly}' " Don Juan " inexhaustible fertility, showing in the main a steady) growth in art and in power. To this period belong Beppi Mazeppa, and the earliest cantos of his masterpiece, Don Juan. In August, 1818, he was visited by Shelley, whl records their walks and talks in his Julian and Maddalk Tom Moore also came to see him while he was living ir! Venice, and in his famous biography gives many interesting details about his visit. As at Newstead, Byron had filled hi house with animals, and " Keep clear of the dog," " Take carej or the monkey will fly at you," were among his reassuring cautions to Moore as the two felt their way up the stairs ill the dark. At this time, too, there came into Byron's life an influenc which, though springing from an illegal relationship, brightens his existence and inspired his poetic genius. The Counter Guiccioli was the young and beautiful wife of an old Italia count. She was, furthermore, highly educated and attractive with considerable depth of character and capacity for feeling Byron and the countess met by chance ; the attachmerll Countess between the two was immediate and endurinj I Guiccioli Henceforth she played a large part in the poetc life. They were together now and again at Venice, Bologn INTRODUCTION xxix lavenna, Pisa, and Genoa, — in fact, until Byron left Italy pr Greece. Whatever we of the present day may think of he character of the relationship, and certainly that is beyond pprobation, it is admitted that the Countess Guiccioli was a pfining influence in Byron's life. She was a faithful friend, nd we must remember, in estimating her character, that talian society at this period was somewhat too tolerant of rch relationships. Any biography of Byron, however brief, r hich should omit some mention of so important a factor, ould be essentially incomplete. After some two years at Venice, Byron removed to Bologna, ad later to Ravenna. These changes of residence were dic- tated by the movements of the countess, whose fe at Ra- :nna ; liter- family, the Gambas, were ardent workers in the yactivity; cause f Italian liberty. When one locality grew uncomfortable for them by reason of the suspi- ons of the dominant Austrian government, they went else- here and continued their operations afresh. At Ravenna yron's literary activity continued unabated. Here he wrote is brilliant satire, The Vision of Judgjnent, and entered the lists ; a dramatist with the Venetian plays, Marino Faliero and lie Two Foscari, as well as with the more successful Sardana- alus. None of these, however, compares in power of imagi- ition or in splendor of expression with the great dramatic 3em, Cain, written at about the same time. Byron had always been an ardent and probably sincere, lough rather too declamatory, lover of liberty, both moral id political, and he had long been known to all Europe as the poet of revolt." " I have simplified my politics into an :ter detestation of all existing governments," he once said, is sympathy with the oppressed masses was rather com tr- ending, but he was nevertheless quite ready to act upon his try positive convictions. Italy was secretly struggling for XX x SELECTIONS FROM BYRON independence of the galling Austrian yoke. The conspirators were working largely through a society known as the Carbonari. Of this organization Byron's friends, the Gambas, J Stowed" were enthusiastic members. The author of the. Italian free- fourth canto of Childe Harold and of The Prophecy dom of Dante, which was intended for the Italians as I vision of their independence, was naturally an object of sus- picion to the Austrians. For this Byron did not care a straw, and he delighted to flaunt his revolutionary principles in thi very faces of his foes. He moved about with the Gambas, however, and after consulting with Shelley, left Ravenna for Pisa in October, 1821. At this place Shelley had secured for his use the Lanfranchi palace, in which Byron lived and worked! industriously for ten months, riding and shooting/ Life at Pisa for amusement) an d entertaining his friends; Shelley was near by, at Lerici, on the Gulf of Spezia. Long before this time Byron had become a great figure ir the world's regard. The publication of one of his poems wa an important literary event. From his work he derived ; large income and could now afford to be independent. The tone of some of his later productions was such that his old London publisher, Murray, was unwilling to give them to th< public. In order to control a medium for the circulation oi his ideas and the publication of his poems, he conceived th notion of founding a periodical of his own. Largel ;i gh The nt at Shelley's instigation, Leigh Hunt, the Londol and Liberal" ra dical and poet, was asked over to take charge d the new venture, which was to be named The Liberal In Jul)' 1822, the Hunts — for the editor was accompanied by his wif and six children — appeared on the scene. Four numbers c The Liberal were published, the last in July, 1823. But thi venture was a failure, mainly owing to the fact that, in th very nature of things, two such men as Hunt and Byron coul! INTRODUCTION xxxi Dt agree. The Hunts were impecunious and improvident, and died on Byron's bounty. Of this attitude the poet soon tired. he result was disruption and the financial failure of the paper. Before The Liberal had ceased publication, however, and hile Leigh Hunt was still at Byron's house, occurred a trag- iy that plunged both men into mourning. In July, 1822, helley was drowned while sailing on the Gulf of Spezia. yron was present at the cremation of the body, that weird sath of an d tragic event which has impressed itself so ieiiey powerfully upon the imagination of mankind. In the following September Byron removed to Genoa, his nal place of residence in Italy. Here he finished the six ;enth canto of Dan Juan, still leaving the poem incomplete, his was his last work of any note. He now stood on the verv innacle of poetic fame. He had proved his power as a lyrist, ritten one of the greatest of descriptive poems, accomplished jnoa;"Don something in the drama, and as narrative poet ; an " and satirist reigned supreme. Nothing, apparently, ;mained to be achieved in the realm of poetry. He was rowing tired of it all, even of the applause and adulation ^at once were as music in his ears. Pleasure palled on him ; issipation had left its inevitable and ugly mark upon his health [id his noble personal beauty. He wanted new worlds to onquer, and soon came the opportunity. Greece was in the jidst of a desperate struggle for independence of Turkey, eset with foes without and within, she was in dire straits for : ecianiib- want °^ monev an d competent leadership. In ty:anew England a "Greek Committee" of prominent men had been formed to promote the cause of recian independence. This committee felt the need of Jding to their number some great name of powerful influ- iice among the Greeks themselves. In April, 1823, Byron as elected to membership. After a creditable hesitation he xxxii SELECTIONS FROM BYRON accepted, and offered money and counsel. Tired of inaction] dissatisfied with his former achievements, longing for new renown, and genuinely sympathizing with the Greeks, he threw himself into the cause with all his wonderful ardor and Byron's de- ener gY- ° n J ul y J 4, 1823, he sailed for Greecej parture for on the brig Hercules, which he had purchased and loaded with stores and arms. And now opens the last and by far the most creditable act in the complicated drama of the poet's life. In August Byron reached his destination, Cephalonia, and there remained until the end of the year, awaiting instruc] tions. With this period is connected an interesting anJ amusing experience that throws a peculiar side light upon certain aspects of the poet's character. Dr. Kennedy, a Scotch physician and a warm Presbyterian, was conducting a series of religious meetings at the neighboring At Cephalo- „ A ,. ^ 7 . , ,1 nia-Dr. Ken- town of Argostoli. Byron, always a curious though nedy and re- sometimes a scoffing inquirer, had from the begiin ning been interested in religion. Without anj really justifiable basis, he had been looked upon in Englandi: especially since the publication of Cain, as an utter atheist j Fond of religious disputation, and arguing acutely yet good' humoredly upon religious subjects, he invariably representee himself as a seeker after light. After attending Dr. Kennedy': meetings he grew to know and admire the sincerely goocj man, and there ensued between the two a series of elaborati theological discussions in which the poet seems to have ha< the best of it, though up to the end the good doctor was stil hoping to bring his brilliant opponent to see the error of hi ways. But Byron can scarcely with justice be called a scoffej) at religion. His fundamental attitude toward such matters rather that of a skeptical yet really earnest seeker after tb| actual truth as apart from superstition and sham. INTRODUCTION xxxiii Finally, in December, Byron went to the stronghold of Mis- Olonghi to join the Greek leader, Prince Mavrocordatos. He *ought with him four thousand pounds of his personal loan nd the magic of his presence. Daring and resourceful as he /as, the situation that confronted him was enough to tax even is energy, sympathy, and clear judgment. But Byron had ever shown himself in his true colors until confronted with a Lssoionghi; situation that called ^r all the qualities of a hero, tyronasgen- Everywhere about him was discord, intrigue, mis- talesman mana gement, and disorder. In all this he showed himself a general and a statesman. At his touch nity sprang from discord, and order from confusion. Ships vere built, fortifications repaired, troops organized and drilled, 'lis resourcefulness and self-command were instant and un- ailing. The Greeks recognized his ability by appointing him o lead the important military expedition against the Turkish tronghold, Lepanto; but, in spite of his eagerness to be in he actual conflict, this attack never took place. For all his ourage, Byron never had a chance to fight. On January 22, 1824, in the midst of confusion and alarms, :isiast he wrote his last poem of any note, the lines on oem(?) his t hi r ty- S ixth birthday. They breathe the new nd nobler spirit that was now animating his life : The sword, the banner, and the field, Glory and Greece, around me see ! The Spartan, borne upon his shield, Was not more free. Pleasure, ease, luxury, self-contentment, even poetry, had een left behind forever. The hero had replaced the man of be world ; the soldier, the poet. About this time came the Bginning of the end. Byron's health, undermined by wrong ving and by the extremely ascetic regimen he insisted upon xxxiv SELECTIONS FROM BYRON following, began to give way under the strain. Missolonghi was a fever-stricken place, which his friends were continually* The begin- beseeching him to leave. But he stuck to his post,] ning of the end though beset by sickness and burdened with heavy] cares. When preparing for the attack against Lepanto, the| Suliotes, forming a contingent of the Greek troops, revolted. This threw Byron into a convulsive attack, from which he had 1 not recovered when the mutinous soldiers actually broke intol his sick room, demanding redress. His courage and control] of the situation, under these terrible circumstances, is said to have been sublime. Byron's will conquered. He rallied in health for a time," and displayed much of his former vivacity. On March 30 hes was presented with the freedom of the city of Missolonghi.; But the end was not far off. On April 9 he rode out, wall drenched with rain, yet insisted upon returning home in a b ron'sm- b° at - He was soon seized with a rheumatiq ness and fever, and all the efforts of his physicians proved, unavailing. In his delirium he fancied himself leading the attack against Lepanto, crying, " Forwards ! for-i wards ! follow me!" We cannot fail to recall the deathbed^ of " the great emperor who with the great poet divided tht wonder of Europe." He mentioned Lady Byron, Augusta hv: {] sister, Ada his daughter; and on April 19, with " Now I shal, go to sleep," he died. Byron's death, to the Greeks, came in the nature of « national calamity. Greece was plunged into mourning. Sh( had lost a brilliant and heroic champion, the one man abovok all others on whom her hopes were fixed. " England has los ;r her brightest genius, Greece her noblest friend," wrote Colone interment at Stanhope, another distinguished worker for Greciai, « Hucknaii freedom. The remains of the poet were sent dl England and arrived there in May. Interment in Westminste^ INTRODUCTION xxxv bbey was refused, and Byron was laid to rest on July i6, 524, beside his mother and his ancestors, in the village aurchyard of Hucknall. Byron's personality and character have furnished food for most endless discussion. All who knew him agreed as to his onderful personal beauty and attractiveness. Scott said he id "a countenance to dream of," and an irresistible charm E address. His head was small, and covered with light-brown iris ; his complexion, colorless ; his eyes, light gray ; his ■rsonaiap- moutn > perfectly molded. Various portraits agree arance; in giving him a high forehead, regularity of fea- tures, and an expression of brilliant intelligence, [is manner with his intimates was genial and delightful, lough not always equable ; his love of fun was almost supera- undant, manifesting itself in flashes between fits of melan- koly and depression. To the latter his lameness and his early ivironment, as well as his irregular habits, may have largely ontributed. Child of his strange race as he was, Byron was so the victim of unfortunate circumstances. This should ever be forgotten when we are estimating his wonderfully implex and paradoxical traits of character. What were those traits, forming the personality that so bwerfully impressed itself upon a whole continent? On the ne side, absurd vanity, often displayed in many unworthy ttle ways ; habitual arrogance and pride of rank ; an uncer- dn temper, impulsive, even violent, running into extravagant yron's un- fits of passion ; a tendency towards self-indulgence tractive side that led him, genius and poet though he was, into riminal excesses. I On the other and better side we find dauntless physical cour- se, and moral courage even more splendid than the physical ; j remarkable fondness for small, defenseless creatures of all inds; a warm heart for his friends and lasting fidelity and xxxvi SELECTIONS FROM BYRON attachment to the few who befriended and believed in him; princely generosity of heart and purse ; but, even above all His finer this, the two supreme traits that make the man's' qualities poetry so great and enduring, — an intense and consuming hatred of hypocrisy and sham in every phase of life,] and just as sincere and ardent a love of every kind of liberty. Underneath all this superficial contradiction lay a will o$ iron and a capacity for genuine self-sacrifice and heroism that rose to actual greatness when occasion demanded, as at Misso- longhi. Byron was not a good man, but his character so colors: and molds his poetry as to render it inevitable that we should know something of his extraordinary personality. Compound of gold and clay that he was, his often sordid and unworthy] a final esti- life was fairly redeemed by his heroic death, and; mate so we mav s ^[\\ apply to him at least a part of| Dr. Johnson's beautiful tribute to his friend Goldsmith, — " Enough of his failings ; he was a very great man." Farewell, thou Titan fairer than the gods ! Farewell, farewell, thou swift and lovely spirit, Thou splendid warrior with the world at odds, Unpraised, unpraisable beyond thy merit ; Chased, like Orestes, by the furies' rods, Like him at length thy peace dost thou inherit ; Beholding whom, men think how fairer far Than all the steadfast stars the wandering star ! Andrew Lang, in Letters to Dead Authors BYRON AS A POET For almost a century Byron's place as a poet has been the' theme of constant dispute. Was he truly a great poet, or merely a retailer of cheap commonplaces clothed in preten- tious rhetoric? The distinguished English critic, Professoi Saintsbury, says : " Byron seems to me a poet distinctly o: INTRODUCTION wxvii he second class, ami not even of the best kind of second. . . His verse is to the greatest poetry what melodrama is o tragedy, what plaster is to marble, what pinchbeck is to jold" (A History of Nineteenth Century Literature, p. 80). But Mr. Matthew Arnold, perhaps the most famous of all Mversit of En S ush literar Y critics, himself a great poet, says, on pinion; the contrary : " Wordsworth and Byron stand, it iaintsburyand seems to me fi rst ancJ p reem inent in actual per- irnold L l formance, a glorious pair, among the English poets )f this century. . . . When the year 1900 is turned, and our .Uion comes to recount her poetic glories in the century vhich has then just ended, the first names with her will be hese " {Essay on Byron). Which shall we follow? or shall we rather find a safer point f view between these two extremes? Byron was born in the midst of an era of revolution. Five ears before his birth the American colonies had gained their tidependence. One year after his birth the French Revolu- ion began. For the fifty years following that terrible social ataclysm the progress of liberal ideas was widespread and apid. All Europe felt the new impulse toward national idependence and personal liberty, toward free thought, free peech, and democracy. Byron saw Napoleon's rise to supreme nage of power, his victories at Austerlitz, Marengo, Jena, volution and Wagram ; his retreat from Moscow, and his final verthrow at Waterloo. He saw old institutions, beliefs, and Ustoms summoned before the bar of reason and overthrown Imost in a day. He felt the powerful impulse toward new lought in politics, literature, and religion. He saw a common evolutionary sentiment make Liberty, Democracy, Reason, .evolution, the watchwords in almost every country of Europe. Byron and Shelley, far beyond all other English poets, were le children of this new thought. They were indeed " poets xxxviii SELECTIONS FROM BYRON of revolt," not only abreast of the new movements in every sphere of activity, but even ahead of them. While Words- worth was quietly communing with Nature in his Westmore- land hills ; while Coleridge was dreaming about the supernatural, and Keats was worshiping Beauty, apart from the crowd, — Byron and Shelley, the apostles of revolution, were living and The "poets working in a world of men. Byron's poems, from of revolt" fi rs t t } asij rm g w i in vigorous protests against "tyranny," eloquent praise of "liberty," national and per- sonal, and bitter denunciation of oppression, superstition, and worn-out customs. In the main, the protest and the praise are real and sincere ; almost always they are eloquent ; often they are splendid. If Cain is a voice crying out for rational- ■ ism in religion, Childe Harold is one long, fervent tribute to' liberty and democracy, and Don Juan is one superb protest against superstition and sham. The reforms that Byron advocated, the ideas that he set forth through the entire range of his poems, were not fully to reach their fruition until almost a generation after his death, in the revolutions of 1848; but even during his lifetime he was to such an extent the voice of his revolutionary age that his name became to Europe at large the synonym of progress and revolt. The energy and power with which he set forth his opinions, and the pomp and circumstance with which he gathered up and interpreted the thought and emotion of a b ron's con- con tinent, dazzled the public and made it captive temporary to the splendid sweep and eloquence of his verse. This was his unique triumph while he lived, and it has since proved almost his undoing. That Byron was a great historic figure cannot be gainsaid ; but what remains, now that the reforms he so ardently advocated have long since becomel established facts, and the daring ideas he advanced have longr been platitudes? INTRODUCTION xxxix Byron's fascinating personality also had its effect on his nmense contemporary fame ; but the time has passed When thousands counted every groan, And Europe made his woe her own. he spell that enchanted Europe has dissolved ; yet some- ling fnore substantial still remains to be considered. Byron, as we have seen, even now figures to the continent > the greatest English poet next to Shakespeare. His works ave been translated into every important foreign language. fo less a poet and critic than Goethe has pronounced him the greatest genius of the century." Castelar, the Spaniard ; ainte-Beuve and Taine, the Frenchmen ; Elze, the German ; is influence Mazzini, the Italian, who said, "Byron led the >on European genius of Britain on a pilgrimage throughout all Europe," — all bear witness to his tremendous ifluence and universal popularity. So unanimous a verdict lould make us pause, and lead us to examine the evidence i which it is founded. Byron's literary activity was phenomenal. Within eighteen jars he wrote, as Mr. Coleridge reminds us, two epics or jasi-epics, twelve tales, eight dramas, seven or eight satires, , a and a multitude of occasional poems, lyrics, and pron's ver- r 7 J J tiiity; lack epigrams. This is the sum of his achievement, — lentand'of a versat ^ e one * Though his play Werner for a chitectonic time held the stage, as a dramatic poet he is vir- tually a failure. A dramatist must possess the gift objective characterization. In this Byron was singularly jcking. So self-centered a poet could create no real figures !>art from himself. " He made the men after his own image ; e women, after his own heart." Another fatal defect is pron's lack of what is called " the architectonic faculty," — e ability to plan and construct a harmonious and complete xl SELECTIONS FROM BYRON whole. Childe Harold is but a series of short poems; even Don Juan is little more. Rendered a unit by the poetl personality only, Byron's masterpiece fascinates the mature reader not through the adventures of its hero, but through the poet's own comments and reflections, and through interspersed! lyric passages of singular beauty and power. This same failure in dramatic characterization follows u through all of Byron's earlier narrative poems. His elaborate Eastern tales, while they show narrative verve, and contain Byron's nar- admirable passages, have long since lost their rative poems pristine savor. The two narrative poems which still live as wholes, and must live indefinitely it would now seem, are The Prisoner of Chillon and Mazeppa, which are thoroughly true and sincere. Byron's place as a lyric poet is still in dispute. Certainly^ his really fine lyrics are few in number, but the author of She> Walks in Beauty, Stanzas to Augusta, On this Day I complete my Thirty-sixth Year, cannot be refused recognition as a lyrist. Byron as a That Byron is not a supreme lyric poet is due ratherl lyrist t i ac k of effort than to lack of power. The auto-ij biographic character of his best lyrics, laying bare to the whole! earth, utterly and some would say shamelessly, the poet's inmost} emotions, is redeemed by the powerful and complex person ality inspiring them and giving them interest and value. Childe Harold is beyond doubt a great contribution descriptive and reflective poetry ; and here Byron approacheit that climax of his power to be fully attained only in Don Juan\\ As a satirist Byron is quite supreme among Eng As descrip- tivepoet; as l lsn poets. Here we need not qualify our praise satirist; "Don Satire in the hands of this master is no longer sor Juan " did and realistic ; it is transfigured into something highly imaginative and ideal. Acute criticism of life, extemoi sive knowledge of human nature, the most abounding anil tc | INTRODUCTION xli bxhaustible energy, — all this abides in Byron's masterpiece, s chief claim to immortality. What is Byron's place among the world poets, the supreme w? Homer, yKschylus, Sophocles, Dante, Shakespeare, Mil- n, (ioethe, perhaps one or two others, were poets of the *hest architectonic power, and of unfailing art. Above all •on's place tn ^ s ' tne * r S reat works show a "high serious- ongthe ness" and a noble and consistent outlook on life, rid poets Among these poets of the first order it is doubt- l if Byron can with any justice be ranked. Though Don tan is an elaborate work of highly sustained art, it is defi- ant in characterization, in organism, and in a serious and nsistent point of view. Thus, superb as it is, it yet can arcely be placed among the world's supreme masterpieces poetry. We must, then, compare Byron with the poets of the second der, and, naturally, with those of England. Even here, we have seen, reigns a variety of opinion. As a close id accurate student of nature and a portrayer of her more timate and peculiar beauties, Byron cannot compare with 'ordsworth. Neither has he the power to take a seem- Tonascom- ingly commonplace or prosaic subject and lift it red with his j nto poetry by the magic of his treatment, as do mporaries Wordsworth and Arnold. He has nothing of the ,d successors haunting magic and rich melodies of Coleridge; ie delicacy, the sensuous beauty, as well as the perfect agression, of Keats, are utterly beyond him. With Shelley, ; a lyric poet and a master of music, he cannot for an instant * compared. r I ennyson is an infinitely finer and more care- [1 artist. Byron is lacking in the sound knowledge of life, ie wide scholarship, the profound insight into the human ml, that render Browning so potent a force in poetry. What, ten, remains? xlii SELECTIONS FROM BYRON The answer is easily found. Any one who reads the few selections in the present volume cannot fail to be impressed' with the one trait that, above everything else, marks them aa a whole, — their fire, their vigor, their " exulting and abound- ing " energy. In this Byron takes his place second only to Shakespeare. Energy and strength are no small poetical assets. Byron is the greatest singer of the mountains and the sea. The Apostrophe to the Ocean, the stanzas on the Alps, thi Someperma- Rhine, the Marble Cascade, in the energy and/ of Q b ron^s" 58 swee P °f tneir splendid verse, are worthy of theii poetry theme. Byron, too, can make the dead past livl again as can no other poet : he finds out the poetry in historf and quickens it to life. We are swept along with him in thi impetuous torrent of his verse, and inspired by the poet's owii emotion. It is idle to say that Byron is only too often a faulty artistjt careless, sometimes even uncouth. He does not belong to thi order of the poets of art. He worked on a large scale, — painted Byron not an on an immense canvas in vivid colors. To assert! art poet furthermore, that Byron says only the thing thai} is obvious, is instantly to provoke the answer that he says thaji thing as no other could, and glorifies it while saying it. He iji perhaps not a profoundly original thinker, yet he expressed interpreted, and applied the thought of a whole continent. A\ definite philosophy of life and coherent teaching he nevei; attempted, but he voiced universal hopes and aspirations ■ spirited and inspiring verse. His faults of technic, even hi: frequent lapses from good taste, are forgotten ir His essential , . * . r & r ,.„,,. greatness : ms actual greatness. After reading all of his work sincerity and — unequal, disappointing, crude, as much of i is, — we must finally say, with Mr. Swinburne, tha " his is the splendid and imperishable excellence of sincerity and strength." INTRODUCTION xliii REFERENCES The standard, and apparently definitive, edition of the complete )rks of Lord Byron is that published by Mr. John Murray of )ndon. In this edition the prose works, in six volumes, are ited by Mr. R. W. Prothero ; and the poetical works, in seven Humes, are edited by Mr. Ernest Hartley Coleridge. A one- Hume edition, The Poetical Works of Lord Byron, is also pub- :hed by Mr. John Murray, with introduction and notes by Mr. Meridge. Both editions are imported into this country by jessrs. Charles Scribner's Sons. For ordinary purposes the [e-volume edition is superior to any other and can hardly superseded. For a further study of Byron and his poems the student will d the following critical and biographical books and articles lpf ul and interesting : Byron, by John Nichol, in the English Men of Letters Series. Essay on Moore's Life of Lord Byron, Macaulay. Byron, by Matthew Arnold, in Essays in Criticism, Second Series. The Byron Revival, by W. P. Trent, in The Authority of Criticism. Byron, by Theodore Watts-Dunton, in the revised edition of 'lambers's Encyclopedia of English Literature. Needless to say, the bibliography of Byron is almost endless, is not so easy, however, to find estimates of his genius which f neither on the side of undue depreciation nor on that of exces- re praise. There is only one way by which to arrive at a satis- ctory conclusion, — and that is by a thorough and careful ading of Byron's works. SELECTIONS FROM BYRON LACHIN Y GAIR rhis poem was first printed in Hours of Idleness ; 1807. It is prob- r the best of Byron's juvenile poems. ' Lachin y Gair, or, as it is pronounced in the Erse, Loch na Garr, ers proudly preeminent in the northern Highlands, near Invercauld. ! of our modern tourists mentions it as the highest mountain, per- s, in Great Britain. Be this as it may, it is certainly one of the most lime and picturesque amongst our ' Caledonian Alps.' Its appearance f a dusky hue, but the summit is the seat of eternal snows. Near hin y Gair I spent some of the early part of my life, the recollection rhich has given birth to these stanzas." — Byron's note AWAY, ye gay landscapes, ye gardens of roses ! l\ In you let the minions of luxury rove ; Restore me the rocks, where the snow-flake reposes, Though still they are sacred to freedom and love : et, Caledonia, belov'd are thy mountains, Round their white summits though elements war ; hough cataracts foam 'stead of smooth-flowing fountains, I sigh for the valley of dark Loch na Garr. II . h ! there my young footsteps in infancy wander'd : My cap was the bonnet, my cloak was the plaid ; n chieftains, long perish'd, my memory ponder 'd, As daily I strode through the pine-cover'd glade ; 2 SELECTIONS FROM BYRON I sought not my home till the day's dying glory Gave place to the rays of the bright polar star ; For fancy was cheer'd by traditional story, Disclos'd by the natives of dark Loch na Garr. Ill " Shades of the dead ! have I not heard your voices Rise on the night-rolling breath of the gale? " Surely, the soul of the hero rejoices, And rides on the wind, o'er his own Highland vale ! Round Loch na Garr, while the stormy mist gathers, Winter presides in his cold icy car : Clouds there encircle the forms of my Fathers ; 1 They dwell in the tempests of dark Loch na Garr. IV " 111 starr'd, though brave, did no visions foreboding Tell you that fate had forsaken your cause ? " Ah ! were you destin'd to die at Culloden, 2 Victory crown'd not your fall with applause : Still were you happy : in Death's earthy slumber You rest with your clan in the caves of Braemar ; The Pibroch 3 resounds, to the piper's loud number, Your deeds, on the echoes of dark Loch na Garr. V Years have roll'd on, Loch na Garr, since I left you, Years must elapse ere I tread you again : Nature of verdure and flowers has bereft you, Yet still are you dearer than Albion's plain : 1 Many of Byron's maternal ancestors, the Gordons, fought for the Stua Pretender, Prince Charles. 2 Culloden : the battle that put an end to the hopes of the House of Stuai It was fought near Inverness, Scotland, April 16, 1746. s Pibroch : the martial music played on the bagpipe, but in this instant Byron probably refers to the instrument itself. MAID OF ATHENS, ERE WE PART England ! thy beauties are tame and domestic, To one who has rov'd on the mountains afar : Oh ! for the crags that are wild and majestic, The steep, frowning glories of dark Loch na Garr. MAID OF ATHENS, ERE WE PART Zo>r/ fxov, cms dyairC) This, perhaps the most popular of Byron's lyrics, was written at Athens in 1810, and addressed to a young girl, Theresa Macri, daughter f Byron's landlady, the widow of a former English vice consul. The jxreek refrain means " My life, I love you." MAID of Athens, ere we part, Give, oh give me back my heart ! Or, since that has left my breast, Keep it now, and take the rest ! Hear my vow before I go, Zo)rj fxov, cm? ayairoi. II By those tresses unconfined, Wooed by each ^Egean wind ; By those lids whose jetty fringe Kiss thy soft cheeks' blooming tinge ; By those wild eyes like the roe, Zwrj fxov, eras ayairui. Ill By that lip * long to taste ; By that zone-encircled waist; SELECTIONS FROM BYRON By all the token-flowers that tell What words can never speak so well ; By Love's alternate joy and woe, Tiinrj fjiov, cas aya-iru. IV Maid of Athens ! I am gone : Think of me, sweet ! when alone. Though I fly to Istambol, 1 Athens holds my heart and soul : Can I cease to love thee ? No ! Zwrj fxov, acts dya7T(o. MODERN GREECE (From The Giaour) 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 marked the mild angelic air, The rapture of Repose that 's there, The fixed 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 1 Istambol : Constantinople. KNOW \ E THE LAND? 5 The doom he dreads, yel dwells upon ; ¥es, l>ut for these and these alone, Some moments, aye, one treacherous hour, I le still might doubt the Tyrant's power ; 20 So fair, so calm, so softly sealed, The first, last look by Death revealed ! Such is the aspect of this shore : 'T is 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, 30 Expression's last receding ray, A gilded Halo hovering round decay, The farewell beam of Feeling past away ! Spark of that flame, perchance of heavenly birth, Which gleams, but warms no more its cherished earth ! KNOW YE THE LAND? This introduction to The Bride of A by Jos, written in 1813, was erhaps suggested by the opening lines of Goethe's Mignon: " Kennst du das Land wo die Citronen bliihn ? " 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? Know ye the land of the cedar and vine, Where the flowers ever blossom, the beams ever shine ; 6 SELECTIONS FROM BYRON Where the light wings of Zephyr, oppressed with perfume, Wax faint o'er the gardens of Gul 1 in her bloom ; Where the citron 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 dye ; 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. SHE WALKS IN BEAUTY (From Hebrew Melodies) Byron, at the request of a friend, wrote a number of lyrics to be set to music. In April, 1815, these were published, with the music under the title of Selections of Hebrew Melodies. Though the poet was, or pretended to be, ashamed of the volume, at least five of its twenty three poems have achieved immortality. Only fifteen are on Biblical themes ; and the first in order, She Walks in Beauty, has for its sum ject Anne Horton, who married Byron's cousin, Robert Wilmot. This is perhaps Byron's most finished lyric poem, though written long before his poetic power reached its climax. 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 mellowed to that tender light Which Heaven to gaudy day denies. 1 Gul : the rose. SONG OF SAUL BEFORE HIS LAST BATTLE II One shade the more, one ray the less, Had half impaired the nameless grace 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. Ill 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 ! SONG OF SAUL BEFORE HIS LAST BATTLE The death of Saul is related in i Samuel xxxi ; though Byron's 'png is of course purely imaginary. I WARRIORS and Chiefs ! should the shaft or the sword Pierce me in leading the host of the Lord, Heed not the corse, though a King's, in your path : Bury your steel in the bosoms of Gath ! II Thou who art bearing my buckler and bow, Should the soldiers of Saul look away from the foe, Stretch me that moment in blood at thy feet ! Mine be the doom which they dared not to meet. SELECTIONS FROM BYRON III Farewell to others, but never we part, Heir to my Royalty — Son of my heart ! Bright is the diadem, boundless the sway, Or kingly the death, which awaits us to-day ! * VISION OF BELSHAZZAR The Vision of Belshazzar is based upon Daniel v. THE King was on his throne, The Satraps thronged the hall A thousand bright lamps shone O'er that high festival. A thousand cups of gold, In Judah deemed divine — Jehovah's vessels hold The godless Heathen's wine ! II In that same hour and hall, The fingers of a hand Came forth against the wall, And wrote as if on sand : The fingers of a man ; — A solitary hand Along the letters ran, And traced them like a wand. 1 Tn this last stanza Saul addresses Jonathan. VISION OF BELSHAZZAR ill The monarch saw, and shook, And bade no more rejoice ; All bloodless waxed his look, And tremulous his voice. " Let the men of lore appear, The wisest of the earth, And expound the words of fear, Which mar our royal mirth." IV Chaldea's seers are good, But here they have no skill ; And the unknown letters stood Untold and awful still. And Babel's men of age Are wise and deep in lore ; But now they were not sage, They saw — but knew no more. A captive in the land, A stranger and a youth, He heard the King's command, He saw that writing's truth. The lamps around were bright, The prophecy in view ; He read it on that night, — The morrow proved it true. VI " Belshazzar's grave is made, His kingdom passed away, 10 SELECTIONS FROM BYRON He, in the balance weighed, Is light and worthless clay ; The shroud, his robe of state, His canopy the stone ; The Mede is at his gate ! The Persian on his throne ! " THE DESTRUCTION OF SENNACHERIB See 2 Kings xviii and xix for the historical incident. I THE Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold, And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold ; And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the sea, When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee. II Like the leaves of the forest when Summer is green, That host with their banners at sunset were seen : Like the leaves of the forest when Autumn hath blown, That host on the morrow lay withered and strown. Ill For the angel of Death spread his wings on the blast, And breathed in the face of the foe as he passed ; And the eyes of the sleepers waxed deadly and chill, And their hearts but once heaved — and forever grew still ! IV And there lay the steed with his nostril all wide, But through it there rolled not the breath of his pride ; And the foam of his gasping lay white on the turf, And cold as the spray of the rock-beating surf. STANZAS FOR MUSIC i i V And there lay the rider distorted and pale, With the dew on his brow, and the rust on his mail: And the tents were all silent — the banners alone — The lances nnlifted — the trumpet unblown. VI And the widows of Ashnr l are loud in their wail, And the idols are broke in the temple of Baal; And the might of the Gentile, unsmote by the sword, Hath melted like snow in the glance of the Lord ! STANZAS FOR MUSIC THERE 'S NOT A JOY THE WORLD CAN GIVE O Lachrymarum fons, tenero sacros Ducentium ortus ex animo: quater Felix ! in imo qui scatentem Pectore te, pia Nympha, sensit. — Gray's Poemata These stanzas were written on hearing of the death of the Duke of 3orset, who was killed by a fall from his horse while hunting, in March, 15. Dorset had been among Byron's warmest friends at Harrow. "Do you remember the lines I sent you early last year? ... I nean those beginning, ' There 's not a joy the world can give,' etc., on irhich I pique myself as being the truest, though the most melancholy, ever w T rote." — Byron's letter to Moore, Mareli, 1S16 I THERE'S not a joy the world can give like that it takes away, Vhen the glow of early thought declines in Feeling's dull decay ; Tis not on Youth's smooth cheek the blush alone, which fades so fast, But the tender bloom of heart is gone, ere Youth itself be past. 1 Ashur : the highest god of the Assyrians ; but the word here stands for the ountry of Assyria itself. 12 SELECTIONS FROM BYRON II Then the few whose spirits float above the wreck of happiness Are driven o'er the shoals of guilt or ocean of excess : The magnet of their course is gone, or only points in vain The shore to which their shivered sail shall never stretch again. Ill Then the mortal coldness of the soul like Death itself comei down ; It cannot feel for others' woes, it dare not dream its own ; That heavy chill has frozen o'er the fountain of our tears, And though the eye may sparkle still, 'tis where the ice appears* IV Though wit may flash from fluent lips, and mirth distract thi breast, Through midnight hours that yield no more their former hop© of rest ; 'T is but as ivy-leaves around the ruined turret wreath, All green and wildly fresh without, but worn and grey beneath,! V Oh, could I feel as I have felt, — or be what I have been, Or weep as I could once have wept, o'er many a vanished scene ; As springs, in deserts found, seem sweet, all brackish though they be, So, midst the withered waste of life, those tears would flow tq] me. NAPOLEON'S FAREWELL 1 3 NAPOLEON'S FAREWELL (From the French) This poem was written in London in 1815, soon after the battle f Waterloo. It is one of several productions concerned with Napo- jon, " the great Emperor who with the great poet divided the won- er of Europe." The anapaestic meter employed in this and several ther of Byron's most popular poems is one that lends itself easily b spirited effects. It was a great favorite with Tom Moore, whose fluence is clearly seen both here and elsewhere, as in the Stanzas for [usic and Stanzas written between Florence and Pisa. FAREWELL to the Land where the gloom of my Glory Arose and o'ershadowed the earth with her name — he abandons me now — but the page of her story, lie brightest or blackest, is filled with my fame, have warred with a World which vanquished me only ^hen the meteor of conquest allured me too far ; have coped with the nations which dread me thus lonely, he last single Captive to millions in war. II arewell to thee, France ! when thy diadem crowned me, made thee the gem and the wonder of earth, — fut thy weakness decrees I should leave as I found thee, )ecayed in thy glory and sunk in thy worth, fh ! for the veteran hearts that were wasted n strife with the storm, when their battles were won — "hen the Eagle, whose gaze in that moment was blasted, lad still soared with eyes fixed on Victory's sun ! Ill arewell to thee, France ! — but when Liberty rallies ^nce more in thy regions, remember me then, — 14 SELECTIONS FROM BYRON The Violet 1 still grows in the depth of thy valleys ; Though withered, thy tear will unfold it again. Yet, yet, I may baffle the hosts that surround us, And yet may thy heart leap awake to my voice — There are links which must break in the chain that has bound us, Then turn thee and call on the Chief of thy choice ! STANZAS FOR MUSIC (Written in England, March, 1816) I THERE be none of Beauty's daughters With a magic like thee ; And like music on the waters Is thy sweet voice to me : When, as if its sound were causing The charmed Ocean's pausing, The waves lie still and gleaming, And the lulled winds seem dreaming : II And the Midnight Moon is weaving Her bright chain o'er the deep ; Whose breast is gently heaving, As an infant's asleep : So the spirit bows before thee, To listen and adore thee ; With a full but soft emotion, Like the swell of Summer's ocean. 1 The violet : when Napoleon was banished to Elba, in April, 181 4, it wa predicted by his partisans that he would return to France with the violets in the following spring. For this reason the violet was taken as the Napoleonic emblem. Now, though defeated and exiled, Napoleon is represented in the poem as hoping to return from St. Helena, as he did from Elba. FARE THEE WELL FARE THEE WELL 15 The sincerity of this poem, which was written in March, [816, on after the separation from Lady Byron and shortly before the poet's final departure from England, has been seriously questioned. It seems almost incredible that any man, even one so spectacular as Byron, could lay bare to the world such emotions. Yet, according to Byron, as quoted by Moore, the verses were written under stress of profound feeling, were not intended for publication, and were given to the public only " through the injudicious zeal of a friend whom he suffered to take a copy." Alas ! they had been friends in youth; But whispering tongues can poison truth ; And Constancy lives in realms above; And life is thorny ; and youth is vain ; And to be wroth with one we love, Doth work like madness in the brain. But never either found another To free the hollow heart from paining — They stood aloof, the scars remaining, Like cliffs which had been rent asunder; A dreary sea now flows between, But neither heat, nor frost, nor thunder, Shall wholly do away, I ween, The marks of that which once hath been. — Coleridge's Christabel FARE thee well ! and if forever, Still forever, fare thee well: Even though unforgiving, never ' Gainst thee shall my heart rebel. Would that breast were bared before thee Where thy head so oft hath lain, While that placid sleep came o'er thee Which thou ne'er canst know again : Would that breast, by thee glanced over, Every inmost thought could show ! Then thou would'st at last discover Twas not well to spurn it so." lb SELECTIONS FROM BYRON Though the world for this commend thee — Though it smile upon the blow, Even its praises must offend thee, Founded on another's woe : Though my many faults defaced me, Could no other arm be found, Than the one which once embraced me, To inflict a cureless wound ? Yet, oh yet, thyself deceive not — Love may sink by slow decay, But by sudden wrench, believe not Hearts can thus be torn away : Still thine own its life retaineth — Still must mine, though bleeding, beat ; And the undying thought which paineth Is — that we no more may meet. These are words of deeper sorrow Than the wail above the dead ; Both shall live — but every morrow Wake us from a widowed bed. And when thou would'st solace gather — When our child's first accents flow — Wilt thou teach her to say " Father ! " Though his care she must forego? When her little hands shall press thee — When her lip to thine is pressed — Think of him whose prayer shall bless thee — Think of him thy love had blessed ! Should her lineaments resemble Those thou never more may'st see, Then thy heart will softly tremble With a pulse yet true to me. All my faults perchance thou knowest — All my madness — none can know ; SONNET ON CHILLON i; All my hopes — where'er thou goest Wither — yet with thee they go. Every feeling hath been shaken ; Pride — which not a world could bow so Bows to thee — by thee forsaken, Even my soul forsakes me now. But 'tis done — all words are idle Words from me are vainer still ; But the thoughts we cannot bridle Force their way without the will. Fare thee well ! thus disunited — Torn from every nearer tie — Seared in heart — and lone — and blighted More than this I scarce can die. 60 SONNET ON CHILLON This sonnet, one of the noblest of its kind, though prefixed to rhe l^nsoner of Chilian, was in fact written later than that poem as n especial tribute to the Swiss patriot, Bonnivard. Francois de Bonnivard was born near Geneva, in 1496, and succ- eeded in 15 10 to the priory of St. Victor, just outside the walls of (he city. As an ardent republican, he espoused the cause of Geneva gainst the Duke of Savoy, on whose entrance into the city in 15 ro ionmvard was seized and imprisoned for two years at Grolee. Again, 1 1530, he was captured by robbers and handed over to the Duke ho this time imprisoned him in the famous Castle of Chillon. Here onn.vard remained for six years, until liberated by the Bernese and enevese. By this time Geneva had established her freedom, and ie patriot was honored and pensioned by the people for whom he ad suffered so long. Bonnivard lived in peace through the remainder ^ his life, wrote a history of Geneva, and, when he died, either in 57o or in 157 1, left his books as a legacy to the city. ETERNAL Spirit of the chainless Mind ! Brightest in dungeons, Liberty ! thou art For there thy habitation is the heart — The heart which love of thee alone can bind ; 18 SELECTIONS FROM BYRON And when thy sons to fetters are consigned — To fetters, and the damp vault's dayless gloom, Their country conquers with their martyrdom, And Freedom's fame finds wings on every wind. Chillon ! thy prison is a holy place, And thy sad floor an altar — for 't was trod, Until his very steps have left a trace Worn, as if thy cold pavement were a sod, By Bonnivard ! — May none those marks efface ! For they appeal from tyranny to God. THE PRISONER OF CHILLON Among the great lakes of the world, Geneva is famous for th beauty of its surroundings and the depth and purity of its waters. It was known to the Romans as Lacus Lemannus, whence Byron's favorite name for it, " Lake Leman." At the eastern end of Lake Geneva, on an isolated rock at the edge of the water, rises the picturesque building known as the Casthl of Chillon, its walls washed by the waters of the lake, which hert, attain a depth of nearly one thousand feet. The foundations of the castle date from a very early period; though as it stands, with its! one central tower surrounded by towers either semicircular or squaret it is essentially of the thirteenth century. In the eighteenth century it was used as a state prison, and afterwards as an arsenal. In thi: building, rendered famous by his genius, Byron lays the scene of hi: Prisoner of Chillon. The hero of the poem is an entirely fictitioui personage, whose dreadful captivity bears little resemblance to tha of Bonnivard, although the latter is often and wrongly supposed t< be the hero. But Byron himself says in the " advertisement" pre fixed to The Prisoner of Chillon : " When this poem was composed was not sufficiently aware of the history of Bonnivard, or I shouli have endeavoured to dignify the subject by an attempt to celebrat his courage and his virtues." But, although the whole story is purely imaginary, we must alloi the poem — in addition to its high poetic truth — a certain measur of historical probability, when we remember the deeds done in th: days of religious intolerance and persecution, before men had learne* to acknowledge the freedom of the individual conscience. Byron wrote The Prisoner of Chillon in two days — June 26 and 1816, while detained by bad weather at the village of Ouchy, ne < ' A.STLE OF CHILLON Exterior THE PRISONER OF CHILLON 19 Bausanne. In dignity of theme and in descriptive power it far sur- passes any of the narrative poems th.it preceded it. The hopeless captivity, the deaths of the two young brothers, the prisoner's grief, lis unconsciousness of time and space in A sea of stagnant idleness, Blind, boundless, mute, and motionless; the carol of the bird arousing him from his despair, his contentment with captivity, and at last — the crown of his desolation — his regain- ing his freedom with a sigh, — all these are scenes that could be adequately pictured only by the hand of a great master. MY hair is grey, but not with years, Nor grew it white In a single night, As men's have grown from sudden fears : My limbs are bowed, 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 ait- Are banned and barred — forbidden fare ; But this was for my father's faith I suffered chains and courted death ; That father perished 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, Finished as they had begun, Proud of Persecution's rage; One in fire, and two in field, Their belief with blood have sealed, Dying as their father died, For the God their foes denied ; — 20 SELECTIONS FROM BYRON Three were in a dungeon cast, Of whom this wreck is left the last. II There are seven pillars of Gothic mould, In Chillon's dungeons deep and old, There are seven columns, massy and grey, Dim with a dull imprisoned 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 : 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 dropped and died, And I lay living by his side. Ill They chained 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, 1 This is said to be an accurate description of the interior of the castle, excepts that the third column bears no trace of ever having had a ring. On the southern, side of this third column is carved Byron's name. THE PRISONER OF CHILLON 2 I But with that pale and livid light That made us strangers in our sight : And thus together — yet apart, Fettered in hand, but joined in heart, 'T was 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, 60 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. IV I was the eldest of the three, And to uphold and cheer the rest 70 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 distressed To see such bird in such a nest ; For he was beautiful as day — (When day was beautiful to me 80 As to young eagles, being free) — A polar day, which will not see 22 SELECTIONS FROM BYRON 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 naught but others' ills, And then they flowed like mountain rills, Unless he could assuage the woe 90 Which he abhorred to view below. V The other was as pure of mind, But formed to combat with his kind ; Strong in his frame, and of a mood Which 'gainst the world in war had stood, And perished in the foremost rank With joy : — but not in chains to pine : His spirit withered with their clank, I saw it silently decline — And so perchance in sooth did mine : But yet I forced it on to cheer Those relics of a home so dear. He was a hunter of the hills, Had followed there the deer and wolf ; To him this dungeon was a gulf, And fettered feet the worst of ills. VI 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, THE PRISONER OF CHILLON 23 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 : 1 We heard it ripple night and day ; Sounding o'er our heads it knocked ; And I have felt the winter's spray Wash through the bars when winds were high 1 20 And wanton in the happy sky ; And then the very rock hath rocked, And I have felt it shake, unshocked, Because I could have smiled to see The death that would have set me free. VII I said my nearer brother pined, I said his mighty heart declined ; He loathed and put away his food ; It was not that 'twas coarse and rude, For we were used to hunters' fare, 130 And for the like had little care : The milk drawn from the mountain goat Was changed for water from the moat ; Our bread was such as captives' tears Have moistened 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 140 1 The level of the dungeon is now about ten feet above the lake, and could lever at any time have been below its surface. SELECTIONS FROM BYRON 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 unlocked his chain, And scooped for him a shallow grave Even from the cold earth of our cave. I begged 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 laughed — and laid him there : The flat and turfless earth above The being we so much did love ; His empty chain above it leant, Such Murder's fitting monument ! VIII But he, the favourite and the flower, Most cherished since his natal hour, His mother's image in fair face, The infant love of all his race, His martyred 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 ; THE PRISONER OF CHILLON 25 He, too, who yet had held untired A spirit natural or inspired — He, too, was struck, and day by day Was withered 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 180 Strive with a swoln convulsive motion, I 've seen the sick and ghastly bed Of Sin delirious with its dread : But these were horrors — this was woe Unmixed 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 190 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 ; 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 200 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 : 26 SELECTIONS FROM BYRON I listened, but I could not hear ; I called, for I was wild with fear ; I knew 't was hopeless, but my dread Would not be thus admonished ; I called, and thought I heard a sound — I burst my chain with one strong bound, 210 And rushed to him : — I found him not, / only stirred in this black spot, / only lived, / 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 ! 220 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, I had no earthly hope — but faith, And that forbade a selfish death. 230 IX What next befell 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 had no thought, no feeling — none — - THE PRISONER OF CHILLON 27 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 grey ; It was not night — it was not day ; 240 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. 250 X 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 ; 260 I saw r 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 perched, as fond and tame, 28 SELECTIONS FROM BYRON And tamer than upon the tree ; A lovely bird, with azure wings, And song that said a thousand things, And seemed to say them all for me ! I never saw its like before, I ne'er shall see its likeness more : It seemed 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, 28 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 while Which made me both to weep and smile — I sometimes deemed 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, 29 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, 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. THE PRISONER OF CHILLON 29 XI A kind of change came in my fate, 300 My keepers grew compassionate ; I know not what had made them so, They were inured to sights of woe, But so it was : — my broken chain With links unfastened 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, 310 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 crushed heart felt blind and sick. XII I made a footing in the wall, It was not therefrom to escape, For I had buried one and all, 320 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 ; I thought of this, and I was glad, For thought of them had made me mad ; But I was curious to ascend To my barred windows, and to bend 30 SELECTIONS FROM BYRON Once more, upon the mountains high, 330 The quiet of a loving eye. XIII 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 channelled rock and broken bush ; I saw the white-walled distant town, 1 And whiter sails go skimming down ; 340 And then there was a little isle, Which in my very face did smile, The only one in view ; A small green isle, 2 it seemed 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. 350 The fish swam by the castle wall, And they seemed joyous each and all ; The eagle rode the rising blast, Methought he never flew so fast As then to me he seemed to fly ; 1 Villeneuve. 2 " Between the entrances of the Rhone and Villeneuve, not far from Chillon, is a very small island ; the only one I could perceive, in my voyage round and over the lake, within its circumference. It contains a few trees (I think not above three), and from its singleness and diminutive size has a peculiar effect upon the view." — Byron's note. 'v\"~ ■ \ ' if % It- Castle of Chillon Interior THE PRISONER OF CHILLON 31 And then new tears came in my eye, 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 360 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. XIV 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 ; 370 I asked not why, and recked not where ; It was at length the same to me, Fettered or fetterless to be, I learned to love despair. And thus when they appeared 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 : 380 With spiders I had friendship made, And watched 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, 32 SELECTIONS FROM BYRON Had power to kill — yet, strange to tell ! In quiet we had learned to dwell ; My very chains and I grew friends, So much a long communion tends To make us what we are ; — even I Regained my freedom with a sigh. STANZAS TO AUGUSTA These stanzas were written at the Villa Diodati, near Geneva, July 1816, and form one of several poems addressed to the poet's hal: sister, Augusta (Mrs. Leigh), who was true to her brother through his career, and for whom he felt the warmest affection up to the ver end of his life. This is but one among Byron's many autobiograph ical poems, the egotism of which is amply redeemed by the revel tion of a rich and interesting personality. I THOUGH the day of my Destiny 's over, And the star of my Fate hath declined, Thy soft heart refused to discover The faults which so many could find ; Though thy soul with my grief was acquainted, It shrunk not to share it with me, And the Love which my Spirit hath painted It never hath found but in Thee. II Then when Nature around me is smiling, The last smile which answers to mine, I do not believe it beguiling, Because it reminds me of thine ; And when winds are at war with the ocean, As the breasts I believed in with me, If their billows excite an emotion, It is that they bear me from Thee. STANZAS TO AUGUSTA III Though the rock of my last Hope is shivered, And its fragments are sunk in the wave, Though 1 feel that my soul is delivered To Pain — it shall not be its slave. There is many a pang to pursue me : They may crush, but they shall not contemn — They may torture, but shall not subdue me — 'Tis of Thee that I think — not of them. IV Though human, thou didst not deceive me, Though woman, thou didst not forsake, Though loved, thou forborest to grieve me, Though slandered, thou never couldst shake, — Though trusted, thou didst not disclaim me, Though parted, it was not to fly, Though watchful, 't was not to defame me, Nor, mute, that the world might belie. V Yet I blame not the World, nor despise it, Nor the war of the many with one ; If my soul was not fitted to prize it, 'T was folly not sooner to shun : And if dearly that error hath cost me, And more than I once could foresee, I have found that, whatever it lost me, It could not deprive me of Thee. VI From the wreck of the past, which hath perished, Thus much I at least may recall, 33 34 SELECTIONS FROM BYRON It hath taught me that what I most cherished Deserved to be dearest of all : In the Desert a fountain is springing, In the wide waste there still is a tree, And a bird in the solitude singing, Which speaks to my spirit of Thee. PROMETHEUS Prometheus was written in July, 1816, at the Villa Diodati. Here began the most interesting of Byron's friendships, that with his great t fellow-poet, Shelley. This poem, in subject at least, shows thef; influence of Shelley, who afterwards, in his Prometheus Unbotind, , produced a lyrical drama on the same theme, — a favorite one since I the days of /Eschylus. Byron's protest against tyranny is here voiced! in a strain rather more elevated than was characteristic of him. The student will find it interesting to compare Byron's poem with the fines Prometheus of Longfellow. (For the story of Prometheus, see Gay- - ley's Classic Myths (1903), pp. 44—46.) TITAN ! to whose immortal eyes The sufferings of mortality, Seen in their sad reality, Were not as things that gods despise ; What was thy pity's recompense? A silent suffering, and intense ; The rock, the vulture, and the chain, All that the proud can feel of pain, The agony they do not show, The suffocating sense of woe, Which speaks but in its loneliness, And then is jealous lest the sky Should have a listener, nor will sigh Until its voice is echoless. PROMETHEUS 35 II Titan ! to thee the strife was given Between the suffering and the will, Which torture where they cannot kill ; And the inexorable Heaven, And the deaf tyranny of Fate, The ruling principle of Hate, Which for its pleasure doth create The things it may annihilate, Refused thee even the boon to die : The wretched gift Eternity Was thine — and thou hast borne it well. All that the Thunderer wrung from thee Was but the Menace which flung back On him the torments of thy rack ; The fate thou didst so well foresee, But would not to appease him tell ; And in thy Silence was his Sentence, And in his Soul a vain repentance, And evil dread so ill dissembled That in his hand the lightnings trembled. Ill Thy Godlike crime was to be kind, To render with thy precepts less The sum of human wretchedness, And strengthen Man with his own mind ; But baffled as thou wert from high, Still in thy patient energy, In the endurance, and repulse Of thine impenetrable Spirit, Which Earth and Heaven could not convulse, A mighty lesson we inherit : 36 SELECTIONS FROM BYRON Thou art a symbol and a sign To Mortals of their fate and force ; Like thee, Man is in part divine, A troubled stream from a pure source ; And Man in portions can foresee His own funereal destiny ; His wretchedness, and his resistance, And his sad unallied existence : To which his Spirit may oppose Itself — an equal to all woes — And a firm will, and a deep sense, Which even in torture can descry Its own concentered recompense, Triumphant where it dares defy, And making Death a Victory. WHEN WE TWO PARTED (Written between 1814 and 1816) I WHEN we two parted In silence and tears, Half broken-hearted To sever for years, Pale grew thy cheek and cold, Colder thy kiss ; Truly that hour foretold Sorrow to this. II The dew of the morning Sunk chill on my brow — WHEN WE TWO PARTED 37 It felt like the warning Of what I feel now. Thy vows are all broken, And light is thy fame : I hear thy name spoken, And share in its shame. Ill They name thee before me, A knell to mine ear ; A shudder comes o'er me — Why wert thou so dear? They know not I knew thee, Who knew thee too well : — Long, long shall I rue thee, Too deeply to tell. IV In secret we met — In silence I grieve, That thy heart could forget, Thy spirit deceive. If I should meet thee After long years, How should I greet thee ? — With silence and tears. 38 SELECTIONS FROM BYRON THE COLISEUM BY MOONLIGHT (From Manfred, Act III, Scene IV; written in Venice, April, 1817) Scene IV. Interior of the tower Manfred alone TLIE stars are forth, the moon above the tops Of the snow-shining mountains. — 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. I do remember me, that in my youth, When I was wandering, — upon such a night I stood within the Coliseum's wall, i< 'Midst the chief relics of almighty Rome ; The trees which grew along the broken arches Waved dark in the blue midnight, and the stars Shone through the rents of ruin ; from afar The watch-dog bayed beyond the Tiber ; and More near from out the Caesar's palace came The owl's long cry, and, interruptedly, Of distant sentinels the fitful song Begun and died upon the gentle wind. Some cypresses beyond the time-worn breach 2< Appeared to skirt the horizon, yet they stood Within a bowshot. Where the Caesars dwelt, And dwell the tuneless birds of night, amidst A grove which springs through levelled battlements, And twines its roots with the imperial hearths, TO THOMAS MOOKK 39 Ivy usurps the laurel's place of growth ; — But the gladiators' bloody Circus stands, A noble wreck in ruinous perfection, While Caesar's chambers, and the Augustan halls, Grovel on earth in indistinct decay. — 30 And thou didst shine, thou rolling Moon, upon All this, and cast a wide and tender light, Which softened down the hoar austerity Of rugged desolation, and filled up, As 'twere anew, the gaps of centuries ; Leaving that beautiful which still was so, And making that which was not — till the place Became religion, and the heart ran o'er With silent worship of the Great of old, — The dead, but sceptred, Sovereigns, who still rule 40 Our spirits from their urns. TO THOMAS MOORE (Written July, 1S17) MY boat is on the shore, And my bark is on the sea ; But, before I go, Tom Moore, Here 's a double health to thee ! II Here's a sigh to those who love me, And a smile to those who hate ; And, whatever sky 's above me, Here 's a heart for every fate. 40 SELECTIONS FROM BYRON III Though the Ocean roar around me, Yet it still shall bear me on ; Though a desert should surround me, It hath springs that may be won. IV Were 't the last drop in the well, As I gasped upon the brink, Ere my fainting spirit fell, 'Tis to thee that I would drink. V With that water, as this wine, The libation I would pour Should be — peace with thine and mine, And a health to thee, Tom Moore. SELECTIONS FROM CHILDE HAROLD Childe Harold is a series of descriptive, reflective, and lyrical Stanzas, strung together on a slender thread of narrative. It is di\ ided into four cantos, and is written in the nine-line stanza of Spenser's Faerie Queene, — a measure that, in Byron's hands, becomes an instru- ment of many strings. The impressions made upon the poet by his tour through Portugal, Spain, Albania, and Greece are recorded in the first two cantos of Childe Harold, which, when published in March, 1 1812, inspired Byron's oft-quoted remark, " I awoke one morning and found myself famous." Among much that is trivial and commonplace, certain stanzas in Cantos I and II rise into greatness. But there is a vast gulf fixed between the first two and the last two cantos of Childe Harold. Cantos III and IV, published in 18 16 and 1818, respectively, first showed the w T orld the scope of Byron's genius. They form an imperishable contribution to literature. Their subject- matter is furnished by the scenery and historical associations of Bel- gium, the Rhine, Switzerland, and Italy. But Childe Harold is no mere versified notebook. Here Byron's passion for the grander aspects of nature — the mountains and the sea — finds its highest expression. The poem is even more than a series of brilliant scenic descriptions : it is, as the poet himself says, " a mark of respect for what is vener- able, and of feeling for what is glorious." Byron's sense of historic continuity and his vivid imagination bring the dead past to life again, with its art and literature, its great deeds and its mighty men, — '• The glory that was Greece, the grandeur that was Rome." GREECE BEFORE THE REVOLUTION OF 1821 (From Canto II) Though Greece, enslaved by the Turks and rent by domestic dis- cord, showed at this period little capacity for self-government, she yet regained her independence as the result of the revolution begun in 182 1. Some twelve years after writing the present stanzas Byron was to offer up his own life upon the altar of Grecian freedom. 1 Nicol, Byron (English Men of Letters), gives February 2 V % / -*V %. ^ ^ ' o * k * A x ^. x°<^. / <0 v* V ^ Deacidified using the Bookkeeper process. Neutralizing agent: Magnesium Oxide '; Treatment Date: March 2009 \ PreservationTechnologies A WORLD LEADER IN COLLECTIONS PRESERVATION 111 Thomson Park Drive 111 Thomson ParkDr Cranberry Township, I (724)779-2111 W <\ - I . > Jj* % A *+ ^ XT ^ '