Class f\n'73 Book _. Copyright N? COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. - Hake English Glla^tni General Editor LINDSAY TODD DAMON, A.B. Professor of English Literature and Rhetoric in Brown University ADDISON — The Sir Roger De Coverley Papers — Abbott 30c ADDISON AND STEELE— Selections from The Tatler and The Spec- tator — Abbott 35c BROWNING — Selected Poems — Reynolds 40c BUNYAN — The Pilgrim's Progress — Latham 30c BURKE — Speech on Conciliation with America — Denney 25c CARLYLE — Essay on Burns — Aiton 25c CHAUCER — Selections — Greenlaw, 40c COLERIDGE — The Ancient Mariner ) , „, y i vol. — MOODY 25c LOWELL— Vision of Sir Launfal -> COOPER — The Last of the Mohicans — Lewis , 40c COOPER — The Spy — Damon 40c DANA — Two Years Before the Mast — Westcott 40c DEFOE — Robinson Crusoe — Hastings 40c DE QUINCEY — j an of Arc and Selections — Moody 25c DE QUINCEY — The Flight of a Tartar Tribe — French 25c DICKENS — A Christmas Carol, etc. — Broadus 30c DICKENS — A Tale of Two Cities — Baldwin 40c DICKENS — David Copperfleld — Baldwin 50c DRYDEN — Palamon and Arcite — Cook 25c EMERSON — Essays and Addresses — Heydrick 35c English Poems — From. Gray, Goldsmith, Pope, Byron, Macaulay, Arnold, etc. — Scudder 40c Familiar Letters — Greenlaw 40c FRANKLIN — Autobiography — Griffin 30c GASKELL (Mrs.)— Cranford— Hancock 35c GEORGE ELIOT — Silas Marner — Hancock 30c GOLDSMITH— The Vicar of Wakefield— Morton 30c HAWTHORNE — The House of the Seven Gables — Herrick 35c HAWTHORNE — Twice-Told Tales — Herrick and Bruere 40c HUGHES — Tom Brown's School Days — De Mille 35 c IRVING— Lifeof Goldsmith— Krapp 40c IRVING— The Stetch Bool— Krapp 40c IRVING — Tales of a Traveller — and parts of The Sketch Bool — Krapp 40c LAMB — Essays of Elia — Benedict 35c Sit)? Hakr Sttglisl) OUasstrs— nmftu»n LONGFELLOW — Narrative Poems — Powell 40c LOWELL — Vision of Sir Launfal — See Coleridge. MACAULAY — Essays on Addison and Johnson — Newcomer 30c MAC AULA Y — Essays on Clive and Hastings — Newcomer 35c MACAULAY — Goldsmith, Frederic The Great, Madame D'Arblay — New- comer , 30c MACAULAY — Essays on Milton and Addison — Newcomer 30c MILTON — L' Allegro, II Penseroso, Comus, and Lycidas — Neilson. . . . 25c MILTON — Paradise Lost, Books I and II— Farley 25c Old Testament Narratives — Rhodes 40c PALGRAVE — Golden Treasury — Newcomer 40c PARKMAN — The Oregon Trail — Macdonald 40c POE — Poems and Tales, Selected — Newcomer 30c POPE— Homer's Iliad, Books I, VI. XXII. XXIV— Cressy and Moody 25c RUSKIN — Sesame and Lilies — Linn 25c SCOTT — Ivanhoe — Simonds 45c SCOTT — Quentin Durward — Simonds 45c SCOTT — Lady of the Lake — Moody 30c SCOTT — Lay of the Last Minstrel — Moody and Willard 25c SCOTT — Marmion — Moody and Willard 30c SHAKSPERE — The Neilson Edition — Edited by W. A. Neilson, each. .25c As You Lite It Macbeth Hamlet Midsummer-Night's Dream Henry V Romeo and Juliet Julius Caesar The Tempest Twelfth Night SHAKSPERE — Merchant of Venice — Lovett 25c STEVENSON — Inland Voyage and Travels with a Donkey — Leonard. 35c STEVENSON— .Kidnapped— Leonard 35c STEVENSON — Treasure Island — Broadus 25c TENNYSON — Selected Poems — Reynolds 35c TENNYSON — The Princess — Copeland 25c THACKERAY — Henry Esmond — Phelps 50c THACKERAY — English Humorists — Cunliffe and Watt 30c Three American Poems — The Raven, Snow-Bound, Miles Standish — Greever 25c Types of the Short Story — Heydrick 35c Washington, Webster, Lincoln — Dennet 25c SCOTT, FORESMAN AND COMPANY CHICAGO : 623 Wabash Ave. NEW YORK : 460 Fourth Ave! ENGLISH POEMS FROM THE COLLEGE ENTRANCE REQUIREMENTS IN ENGLISH EDITED BY VIDA D. SCUDDER, M.A. PROFESSOR OF ENGLISH LITERATURE AT WELLESLEY COLLEGE SCOTT, FORESMAN AND COMPANY CHICAGO NEW YORK v ■■.. «tf y Copyright 1912, 1915 BY Scott, Foresman and Company 0; ro AUG 23 1915 ©CU411179 PEEFATOEY NOTE The selections in this volume include the majority of the shorter poems demanded by the College Entrance Ee- quirements in English. They are presented in this form because it was judged that one volume of reasonable size would be more convenient for both teachers and students than a series of very thin volumes. VlDA D, SCUDDER. CONTENTS PAGE Prefatory Note 5 Alexander Pope — Biographical Sketch 9 Text: The Eape of the Lock 25 Notes to the Eape of the Lock 52 Thomas Gray — Biographical Sketch 57 Text: Elegy, Written in a Country Churchyard 74 Notes to the Elegy 79 Oliver Goldsmith — Biographical Sketch 85 Text: The Traveller 98 The Deserted Village. 115 Notes to the Traveller 130 Notes to the Deserted Village 134 Samuel Taylor Coleridge — Biographical Sketch 141 Text: Christabel 157 Kubla Khan 181 Notes to Christabel 18*5 Notes to Kubla Khan 190 Lord Byron — Biographical Sketch 191 Text: The Prisoner of Chillon 207 Childe Harold— Canto III 221 Childe Harold— Canto IV 264 7 8 CONTENTS PAGE Notes to the Prisoner of Chillon 328 Notes to Childe Harold — Canto III 331 Notes to Childe Harold — Canto IV 337 Lord Macaulay — Biographical Sketch 359 Text : Horatius 380 The Battle of the Lake Eegillus 403 Virginia 433 The Prophecy of Capys 452 Ivry 467 The Armada 459 The Battle of Naseby 476 Notes on the Lays of Ancient Kome 480 Notes to Ivry 498 Notes to the Armada 499 Notes to the Battle of Naseby 500 Matthew Arnold — Biographical Sketch 503 Text: The Forsaken Merman 516 Sohrab and Eustum 521 Notes to Sohrab and Eustum 549 ALEXANDER POPE ALEXANDER POPE. 1688-1744. I. Our first selection in this volume takes us into Eng- lish life a little -over two hundred years ago. Queen Elizabeth has been dead a hundred and nine years, Shakespeare ninety-six. The Renaissance has spent its force, the civil wars between Cavalier and Puritan which had wrecked England during the central seven- teenth century are over, and the last Stuart has worn an English crown. England since 1688 has been a constitutional monarchy. Queen Anne is now on the throne; Addison and Steele are just about to estab- lish The Tatler and The Spectator. Swift, an older man, greatest of our satirists, has already written The Tale of a Tub, and is about to throw himself energet- ically into politics; but he will not publish Gulliver's Travels for fourteen years. The rising poet is a young man twenty-four years old, Alexander Pope; every one is reading his Rape of the Lock, that clever society poem which is so amazingly well-written, and hits off in such an entertaining way a number of well-known people. From the time when this poem was written till the end of his life, Pope remained the true representative of the tastes and standards of his day. He was the poet of a time that had turned away, bored and sated, from romance, from passion, faith, and devotion to beauty, toward clear thinking, keen observation, and accurate and clever expression. We twentieth cen- 11 12 SHORTEK ENGLISH POEMS tury folk have undergone another reaction in taste. It seems to us that either the age of Shakespeare or that of Wordsworth produced greater poets than that of Pope. But there is still much for us to enjoy in the literature of what is called the Age of Prose and Reason, or the Pseudo-Classic Age ; and we have im- portant things to learn from it. Pope was born in 1688, the year of that Revolution which finally established England as a country under Protestant rule. His father, a retired linen-draper, was a Roman Catholic, and the family faith shut the boy off from the usual education of an English gentle- man, which in those intolerant days was open only to Protestants. Perhaps he did not lose much by being self-educated. At all events, when he was only a tiny fellow, he already showed that absorbing enthusiasm for letters and the intellectual life which he was never to lose. Literary work was the object and central interest of Pope's entire career. Milton laid aside his poetic pen for twenty long years of his maturity, in order to serve his country. Shakespeare wrote his plays partly, at least, for practical reasons. But Pope lived only to write, and there is little story to tell of him beyond the story of his life-long devotion. The boy "lisped in numbers, for the numbers came." When eight years old, he was already read- ing the classics lovingly, and making translations from the Latin poet, Statins. At twelve, he wrote four thousand lines of an epic, and it is significant of the early ripening of his powers that he used lines from this epic toward the end of his life, in his great- est work, The Dunciad. When only sixteen, he pub- ALEXANDEB POPE 13 lished a series of "Pastorals" which at once gave him literary standing in the eyes of his contemporaries. We may be allowed today to find these poems artificial and flat; yet we shall not do amiss if we ask how many lads of sixteen could now show such unfailing accuracy in the use of metre, such choice mastery of diction, or could write with such fluent ease and grace. From this time till his death in 1744, Pope worked at his chosen art; practicing what the times called "niceties of versification," ardently polishing his lines, and turning them with equal deftness, no matter what subject engaged his attention. The literary life of the age was far more concen- trated than it is now. It centred in London, and the authors of the day all knew one another more or less intimately. They formed little coteries, often marked by bitter rivalry, the members of which met for keen interchange of wit and gossip at the various coffee houses or clubs, where politics, literature, and religion were the great topics of discussion. Pope tried to share this gay, exciting life of "the Town," but he was not strong enough for it. He withdrew into a certain amount of seclusion, in his beloved country-house at Twickenham, on the banks of the Thames, and here the world found him out, for he was a very famous man; here, till his death at the age of fifty-six, he passed his time, writing his books, amusing himself by laying out his garden in the fan- tastic taste of his time, and busily entertaining his friends; discussing philosophy with Bolingbroke, or literature with Swift, and too often, more's the pity, wasting his energy on some personal quarrel or con- 14 SHORTER ENGLISH POEMS troversy which embittered his spirit and added venom to his pen. Pope is a vivid personality to us still. He was a sickly and puny little man, bald-headed and deformed, inclined in youth to hypochondria, and always af- flicted with extreme nervous sensitiveness and excita- bility. He was capricious, jealous, and self-centred; capable of sharp, unreasonable suspicions and antag- onisms ; and he took cruel reprisals on his adversaries with his clever verses. But when we are tempted to distress by the petulance and acrimony which he sometimes showed, we must remember how much he constantly suffered. One can not read of him without compassion, or without respect for the delicacy and dignity of his reticence concerning his personal ills. There is also a fine side to his character. He was a devoted son, who nursed with unfailing tenderness the last years of his aged mother. To the few people whom he trusted, like Swift, Gay, and his honored friend, Martha Blount, he showed a staunch and loyal affection. Above all, we must respect his disinter- ested and steady service to the cause of letters. In religion, Pope never nominally deserted the faith of his fathers; but his writings show that his real sympathy was with the facile Deist philosophy of the time, which he immortalized in the Essay on Man. No one now would consider this a great philosophical poem, or rank Pope as a profound thinker. But he was a clever and honest man, and an admirable writer. Was he also a great poet ? His own age thought so ; Lord Byron thought so. Today, every reader must decide the question for himself. ALEXANDER POPE 15 II. When Pope- was very young a critic, William Walshe, had given him a piece of advice which influ- enced him greatly. He told Pope that "there was one way still left open by which he might excel any of his predecessors, which was by correctness; that although we had had several great poets, we ' as yet could boast of none that were perfectly correct, there- fore he advised him to make this quality his particular study." Correctness may seem a pedestrian aim for a poet; originality, emotion, beauty, the thrill of an intenser life, are what most of us seek in poetry. But to Pope, correctness meant the same thing as perfection, and we can recognize something fine and elevated in the painstaking enthusiasm which sought to express perfectly what is already known, rather than to record a personal experience, or to press into undiscovered regions. Our poetry, which had often been extravagant and obscure during the great period of the Renaissance, needed just what Pope, following his predecessor, Dryden, sought to give it: grace, ease, precision, and conciseness of utterance, the con- trol of vagaries, the mastery involved in perfect art. Nine-tenths of Pope's work, exclusive of his long translations, was written in one verse-form, the heroic couplet. He did not invent the couplet; Dryden, before his day, had established it as the favorite and dominant form ; but Pope polished it. He could not endow it with more rhetorical force than Dryden had done, but in his hands it gained a more unfailing point and flash. The great romantic period which preceded the Pseudo-Classic Age had revelled in blank 16 SHOETEE ENGLISH POEMS verse and in variety of lyric movements. Pope's ti cared nothing for variety, in style or substance, turned away from the rich and free tradition of Enj lish poetry, studied French or Latin models, soug formal excellence rather than originality, assumec that there must be one best and most expressive in strument in poetry, and, convinced that it had foun this instrument in the couplet, used that couplet for every conceivable purpose. Nor, from its point o" view, was it wholly wrong. The century did no care to roam far afield, or to probe very deep for its subjects. It liked transcripts from life, moral discus- sion, mild philosophy, satire. For all these, the heroic couplet was an excellent vehicle. So men confined themselves to it, and tried to polish this verse-form of their predilection to the last point of conciseness and brilliancy. In this aim, Pope succeeded above all others. He is the most quotable of authors. It j 1 is a good exercise to select epigrams from his works, such as the Essay on Criticism or the Essay on Man, and then try to convey his idea in one's own words. | One finds how extreme was the care with which he selected his phrases and compressed what he had tc say into the smallest possible compass, so that the thought is presented with the exact symmetry an finish of a mathematical proposition. For forms of government let fools contest. Whatever is best administered is best. Self-love thus pushed to social, to divine, Gives thee to make thy neighbor's blessing thine. It is suggestive to compare Pope's early work, the Pastorals, all written in rhymed couplets, with the ALEXANDEK POPE 17 ^parallel work of Spenser's youth, his Shepheard's P Calendar. Spenser's work draws in a way on the i same tradition as Pope's; but its interest consists " chiefly in the poet's eager experiments with different I metres. His pipes discourse sweet varied music, while i Pope's grind out one perpetual tune, monotonous 3 enough to weary a shepherdess in the most decorous * r of Arcadias. Yet this tune is rendered with a fine- •* ness of ear and surety of touch which yield a delight jV of their own. The first period of Pope 's activity lasts from 1709, when the Pastorals were published, to 1715. His chief works during this period were a poem on Windsor Forest, an Essay on Criticism, and The Rape of the Lock (1712). The poem on Windsor Forest is chiefly interesting because it shows that Pope, like most men of his day, cared not a whit for natural beauty, and had never really looked at a woods. The Essay on ■ Criticism adapted many maxims from the French Boileau, and added others derived from his own com- mon sense. No dream of beauty or of splendid deeds '■ stirred the youthful Pope, but considerations about "' literature. Those Eules of old discovered, not devised, Are Nature still, but Nature methodized. A little learning is a dangerous thing, Drink deep, or taste not the Pierian spring. A series of neat, sententious couplets like these con- stitute the poem; admirably terse and quotable, but strange utterance for a youthful poet. The Rape of the Lock followed within a year, and in this first and most kindly of his satires, Pope found 18 SHORTER ENGLISH POEMS his true field. For it was as a satirical poet that he was to attain the full play of his powers. He, in common with his time, was much interested in ideas ; and poems like the Essay on Criticism and the Essay on Man reflect the didactic and moralizing tone of the age. But since he was human he was really far more interested in people, and, being interested in them rather through the brain than through the heart, he naturally turned to satire. Pope's epigrammatic morality and deftly turned critical axioms have an enduring worth, but his satirical poems are the best heritage he has left us. Before we consider his later work, however, we must mention his translations. From boyhood, the classics had been the chief object of his veneration, and he now set himself to turning the Iliad into Eng- lish verse, — using heroic couplets, of course. The first four books, published in 1715, were a brilliant success, and he continued till he had presented both the Iliad and the Odyssey to the public, although in translating the Odyssey he enlisted the help of other writers. These translations brought him a great deal of money. Milton was paid ten pounds for the first edition of Paradise Lost. Pope received for his Homeric translations eight thousand pounds, and the world would now let them all go rather than lose a single book of Paradise Lost. The difference between real values and money values could not be better illustrated; yet Pope's translations are admirable in their way, though no one would now claim that they represent the true spirit of the Greeks. The remainder of Pope's work falls into the two ALEXANDEK POPE 19 main divisions of didactic poems and satires, although the two divisions overlap. On the whole, the Moral Essays, including the famous Essay on Man, yield in vitality to the Satires, which have more concrete and personal value. Sometimes, indeed, we may consider the Satires too personal. Pope thought, as the satirist always does, that he was defending morality and at- tacking vice. In reality, he was too often satisfying a personal grudge. But however much we may be pained at the occasional pettiness or cruelty of his tone, we cannot help enjoying his unsparing pene- tration into human weakness, and the veracity of his types. Age cannot wither such workmanship. In Pope's Satires, the genius of the time sparkles as brightly and as coldly as when they were first written. Where all is excellent, it is hard to select passages for comment, but we may single out for mention the Epistle to Dr. Arouthnot, which contains the scathing portrait of Pope's erewhile friend, the dignified and kindly Addison. The greatest of Pope's poems, however, is unques- tionably a satire of more general type, — The Dunciad. This was published in 1728, the second edition, which quickly followed the first, being dedicated to Swift. It is a mock-heroic epic, full of caustic contemporary portraits, but rising into dignity through the general scheme to which these portraits are merely incidental. The whole poem is an attack on Stupidity. It is excruciatingly funny sometimes, but it is much more than funny. To view one's personal enemies as dunces is doubtless very mean and narrow, but Pope 's unfortunate butts are forgotten now-a-days, except 20 SHORTER ENGLISH POEMS as they are transformed by his scintillating pen into immortal types; and the poet, in attacking that Dull- ness which to his mind was the. greatest enemy of the human race, and in exalting by implication the intellectual power which commanded his fullest de- votion, has risen to heights of imaginative insight and creative force that he has nowhere else attained. III. If The Dunciad is the greatest of Pope's Satires, and hence of his poems, The Rape of the Lock is the most popular, readable, and delightful. It was the work of his youth, and there is more fantasy and less didacticism in it than in any of his later writings. It is satirical, but the satire is untouched by a sneer, or touched so delicately that the hint of bitterness only adds to the flavor. The poem is a skit on the society life of the time. Miss Arabella Fermor, a pretty, fashionable girl, was much annoyed because a certain Lord Petre had snipped off in fun a lock of her hair. Her family and his had quarrelled in consequence, and Pope wrote, hoping by his good-humored verse to heal the breach between them. As first written, the poem included only two cantos. Pope later en- larged it by adding the charming " machinery" of the Sylphs; he did this contrary to Addison's advice, and Addison's disapproval of the proposed change may have been the cause of Pope's break with him. It was a pity that they quarrelled. Addison was mistaken, for we could ill spare the Sylphs; but no one can wonder at his honest opinion, given in ad- vance, before he could tell what Pope would make of them. ALEXANDER POPE 21 In one sense, The Rape of the Loch may be viewed as the romantic epic of the age of Queen Anne ; at least, if this poem will not serve, the age has no other. It bears the same relation to its time that the Faerie Queene of Spenser bears to the age of Elizabeth ■ and the fact that it is a burlesque only goes to reinforce the point. And, if one so takes it, how striking is the fact that through the whole poem we never escape into the region of either romance or epic at all ! No Gloriana, queen of faerie, rules us here, — only "great Anna, whom three realms obey." The "action" is a squab- ble, the weapons bodkins and scissors. In no part of the poem do we get so clear a sense of the qualities and manners of the age as in the professedly super- natural portions. Through their occupations, their interests, their punishments, the airy Sylphs, touched with Pope's most demure and dainty pen, witness as no flesh and blood personages could do to the im- prisonment of eighteenth century fancy within the habits of the day. The evil powers who launch dis- aster are the enemies of fashionable life, — Spleen, or moroseness, with her attendants, Headache and Ill- health, Affectation and Ill-nature. One has only to compare Pope's Ariel with the Ariel of Shakespeare, as to nature and function, to realize the contrast be- tween an imagination voluntarily earthbound, and one that soars free in skyey space. This sort of supernatural machinery is, of course, part of the imitation of the genuine epic, and one's pleasure in reading The Rape of the Lock is much keener if one has some knowledge of the original type 22 SHORTER ENGLISH POEMS which Pope is burlesquing. All the proportions of the epic are here, reduced to the purposes of gal- lantry and realism: the pompous Introduction, with its appeal to the muse, the careful development of the action, the deed and its reprisals, the climax and catastrophe, worked out with a finish that extends to the last detail, yet with an effect of spontaneity that is the last triumph of conscious art. Nothing could catch the grand tone more effectively, more funnily, than such passages as the sacrifice of the Baron with his Altar "of twelve vast French romances, neatly gilt, ' ' than his Oath, or than the appeal of Umbriel to Spleen. Indeed, the mock-heroic tone is carried out without faltering, and the piquant contrast be- tween the assumed grandeur and the real pettiness is in the. choicest vein of raillery. The neat turns of phrase, the clever innuendoes, the polish and sparkle of the verse, each student must discover for himself, by line to line scrutiny. The Rape of the Lock is an excellent poem for group study also; it has charm, but a charm not too elusive for analysis nor too lofty to discuss. In the devices used, two recur most constantly : anti-climax and antithesis. Antithesis indeed is the life of the heroic couplet. It can easily degenerate into a trick; Pope himself de- scribes to us a certain literary man, His wit all see-saw between That and This, And he himself one vile antithesis. Sometimes, even in The Rape of the Lock, his own use of the figure annoys us by its perpetual iteration, yet we cannot as a rule deny its neatness, effectiveness, ALEXANDEK POPE 23 and point. In this poem, it is continually blended with anti-climax, so soberly, so consistently carried out that it attains with inimitable success Pope 's end, of belittling the important and exalting the petty. Not louder shrieks to pitying heav'n are cast, When husbands, or when lap-dogs, breathe their last; Or when rich China vessels fall'n from high, In glitt'ring dust and painted fragments lie! Not youthful kings in battle seiz'd alive, Not scornful virgins who their charms survive, Not ardent lovers robbed of all their bliss, Not ancient ladies when refused a kiss, Not tyrants fierce that unrepenting die, Not Cynthia when her manteau's pinn'd awry, E'er felt such rage, resentment, and despair, As thou, sad virgin! for thy ravished hair. This is epic in Looking- Glass Land, with all the emphasis reversed. By no other style probably could we gain so entertaining and felicitous a con- ception of the sentiments and customs of the period. Through its mock solemnity, the prosaic details of worldly life are invested with a certain glamor, even while we realize their absurdity. And our laughter is without meanness. Some people, to be sure, resent the patronizing attitude toward women, and find a concealed slight beneath the affected language of gal- lantry and compliment. But surely this is to break a butterfly on the wheel. It is not a poem to appeal to a suffragette, and perhaps no writer now-a-days, speaking of women, would indite such a line as that about "The moving Toy-shop of their heart.' ' But toward "The Fair" Pope simply took the ordinary playful tone of his age, the tone of Addison ; and cer- 24 SHORTER ENGLISH POEMS tainly Sir Plume is less an ornament to the one sex than Belinda to the other! Is The Rape of the Lock poetry? Yes, if sensitive workmanship, bright fancy, and happy delineation of an attractive phase of life can make a poem. The Belle, lingering over her toilet and her tea, the Beau of amber snuff-box justly vain, And the nice conduct of a clouded cane are less inspiring figures than Spenser's St. George fighting his dragon, or his sweet Una on her snow- white ass ; but they have their own place in the richly- peopled world of the imagination. At all events, the poem is nearer poetry than most things which Pope wrote, for it is less didactic and more concrete. No one would claim for it the highest imaginative quali- ties ; but it is conceived with true delicacy of glancing and fantastic invention, and is carried out with deft precision. It is poetry, as the ivory fan of a belle of the period, or the snuff-box of a beau, painted in miniature with fine touches of pure gay color, may be art, Raphael and Leonardo are the great masters ; but the fans and snuff-boxes too are treasured in museums, for into these also something of life's pre- ciousness has passed. THE RAPE OF THE LOCK. AN HEROI-COMICAL POEM. Nolueram, Belinda, tuos violare capillos ; Sed juvat,-hoc precibus me tribuisse tuis. Martial. TO MRS. ARABELLA FERMOR. Madam, — It will be in vain to deny that I have some regard for this piece, since I dedicate it to you. Yet you may bear me witness it was intended only to divert a few young ladies, who have good sense and good humor enough to laugh not only at their sex's little unguarded follies, but at their own. But as it was communicated with the air of a secret, it soon found its way into the world. An imperfect copy having been offer 'd to a bookseller, you had the good- nature for my sake to consent to the publication of one more correct : This I was fore 'd to, before I had executed half my design, for the Machinery was entirely wanting to complete it. The Machinery, Madam, is a term invented by the critics to signify that part which the Deities, Angels, or Demons are made to act in a poem ; for the ancient poets are in one respect like many modern ladies : let an action be never so trivial in itself, they always make it appear of the utmost importance. These Machines I determined to raise, on a very new and odd foundation, the Rosicrucian doctrine of Spirits, I know how disagreeable it is to make use of hard words before a lady; but 'tis so much the concern 25 26 SHORTER ENGLISH POEMS of a poet to have his works understood, and particu- larly by your sex, that you must give me leave to explain two or three difficult terms. The Rosicru- cians are a people I must bring you acquainted with. The best account I know of them is in a French book call'd Le Comte de Gabalis, which both in its title and size is so like a novel that many of the fair sex have read it for one by mistake. According to these gen- tlemen, the four elements are inhabited by Spirits, which they call Sylphs, Gnomes, Nymphs, and Sala- manders. The Gnomes, or daemons of Earth, delight in mischief; but the Sylphs, whose habitation is in the air, are the best conditioned creatures imaginable. For they say, any mortals may enjoy the most inti- mate familiarities with these gentle spirits, upon a condition very easy to all true adepts, an inviolate preservation of chastity. As to the following Cantos, all the personages of them are as fabulous as the Vision at the beginning, or the Transformation at the end (except the loss of your hair, which I always mention with reverence). The human persons are as fictitious as the airy ones; and the character of Belinda, as it is now managed, resembles you in nothing but in beauty. If this poem had as many graces as there are in your person or in your mind, yet I could never hope it would pass through the world half so uncensur'cl as you have done. But let its fortune be what it will, mine is happy enough to have given me this occasion of assuring you that I am, with the truest esteem, Madam, Your most obedient, humble servant, A. Pope. THE EAPE OF THE LOCK 27 CANTO I. What dire offence from am'rous causes springs, What mighty contests rise from trivial things, I sing. This verse to Caryl, Muse ! is due : This, ev'n Belinda may vouchsafe to view: 5 Slight is the subject, but not so the praise, If she inspire, and he approve my lays. Say what strange motive, Goddess ! could compel A well-bred lord t' assault a gentle belle? say what stranger cause, yet unexplor'd, .0 Could make a gentle belle reject a lord? In tasks so bold, can little man engage, And in soft bosoms dwells such mighty rage? Sol thro' white curtains shot a tim'rous ray, And op'd those eyes that must eclipse the day; 15 Now lap-dogs give themselves the rousing shake, And sleepless lovers just at twelve awake; Thrice rung the bell, the slipper knock 'd the ground, And the press 'd watch return 'd a silver sound. Belinda still her downy pillow prest, 20 Her guardian Sylph prolong 'd the balmy rest : 'Twas he had summon 'd to her silent bed The morning dream that hover 'd o'er her head; A youth more glitt'ring than a Birth-night Beau, (That ev'n in slumber caused her cheek to glow) 25 Seem'd to her ear his winning lips to lay, And thus in whispers said, or seem'd to say: "Fairest of mortals, thou distinguish 'd care Of thousand bright Inhabitants of Air! If e'er one vision touch 'd thy infant thought, 30 Of all the nurse and all the priest have taught — Of airy elves by moonlight shadows seen, 28 SHORTER ENGLISH POEMS The silver token, and the circled green, Or virgins visited by Angel-pow'rs, With golden crowns and wreaths of heav 'nly flow 'rs — 35 Hear and believe ! thy own importance know, Nor bound thy narrow views to things below. Some secret truths, from learned pride conceal'd, To maids alone and children are reveal'd. What tho' no credit doubting Wits may give? 40 The fair and innocent shall still believe. Know, then, unnumber'd Spirits round thee fly, The light militia of the lower sky : These, tho' unseen, are ever on the wing, Hang o'er the Box, and hover round the Ring. 45 Think what an equipage thou hast in air, And view with scorn two pages and a chair. As now your own, our beings were of old, And once inclos 'd in woman 's beauteous mould ; Thence, by a soft transition, we repair bo From earthly vehicles to these of air. Think not, when woman's transient breath is fled, That all her vanities at once are dead ; Succeeding vanities she still regards, And tho' she plays no more, o'erlooks the cards. 55 Her joy in gilded chariots, when alive, And love of Ombre, after death survive. For when the Fair in all their pride expire, To their first elements their souls retire. The sprites of fiery termagants in flame 60 Mount up, and take a salamander's name. Soft yielding minds to water glide away, And sip, with nymphs, their elemental tea. The graver prude sinks downward to a Gnome, THE RAPE OF THE LOCK 29 In search of mischief still on earth to roam. ; The light coquettes in Sylphs aloft repair, And sport and flutter in the fields of air. ' ' Know further yet : whoever fair and chaste Rejects mankind, is by some Sylph embrac'd; For spirits, freed from mortal laws, with ease ) Assume what sexes and what shapes they please. What guards the purity of melting maids, In courtly balls and midnight masquerades, Safe from the treacherous friend, the daring spark, The glance by day, the whisper in the dark, 5 When kind occasion prompts their warm desires, When music softens, and when dancing fires? "lis but their Sylph, the wise celestials know, Tho' honor is the word with men below. Some nymphs there are too conscious of their face, o For life predestin'd to the Gnome's embrace. These swell their prospects and exalt their pride, When offers are disdain 'd, and love deny'd; Then gay ideas crowd the vacant brain, While peers, and dukes, and all their sweeping train, 5 And garters, stars, and coronets appear, And in soft sounds, 'Your Grace' salutes their ear. 'Tis these that early taint the female soul, Instruct the eyes of young coquettes to roll, Teach infant-cheeks a hidden blush to know, '0 And little hearts to flutter at a Beau. "Oft, when the world imagine women stray, The Sylphs thro' mystic mazes guide their way; Thro' all the giddy circle they pursue, And old impertinence expel by new. »5 What tender maid but must a victim fall 30 SHOETEE ENGLISH POEMS To one man's 'treat, but for another's ball, "When Florio speaks what virgin could withstand, If gentle Damon did not squeeze her hand? With varying vanities, from ev'ry part, 100 They shift the moving toyshop of their heart ; Where wigs with wigs, with sword-knots sword-knots strive, Beaus banish beaus, and coaches coaches drive. This erring mortals levity may call; Oh blind to truth ! the Sylphs contrive it all. 105 "Of these am I, who thy protection claim, A watchful sprite, and Ariel is my name. Late, as I rang'd the crystal wilds of air, In the clear mirror of thy ruling star I saw, alas ! some dread event impend, no Ere to the main this morning sun descend, But heav'n reveals not what, or how, or where. Warn 'd by the Sylph, oh pious maid, beware ! This to disclose is all thy guardian can : Beware of all, but most beware of Man ! ' ' us He said; when Shock, who thought she slept too long, Leap'd up, and wak'd his mistress with his tongue. 'Twas then, Belinda! if report say true, Thy eyes first open 'd on a billet-doux ; Wounds, charms, and ardors were no sooner read, 120 But all the vision vanish 'd from thy head. And now, unveil 'd, the toilet stands display 'd, Bach silver vase in mystic order laid. First, rob'd in white, the nymph intent adores, With head uncover 'd, the cosmetic pow'rs. 125 A heav'nly image in the glass appears; THE EAPE OF THE LOCK 31 To that she bends, to that her eyes she rears. Th' inferior priestess, at her altar's side, Trembling begins the sacred rites of Pride. Unnumber'd treasures ope at once, and here .30 The various off 'rings of the world appear; From each she nicely culls with curious toil, And decks the goddess with the glitt'ring spoil. This casket India's glowing gems unlocks, And all Arabia .breathes from yonder box ; .35 The tortoise here and elephant unite, Transform 'd to combs, the speckled and the white. Here files of pins extend their shining rows, Puffs, powders, patches, Bibles, billet-doux. Now awful beauty puts on all its arms; The Fair each moment rises in her charms, Repairs her smiles, awakens ev'ry grace, And calls forth all the wonders of her face; Sees by degrees a purer blush arise, And keener lightnings quicken in her eyes. 45 The busy Sylphs surround their darling care, These set the head, and those divide the hair, Some fold the sleeve, whilst others plait the gown ; And Betty's prais'd for labors not her own. canto n. Not with more glories, in th ' etherial plain, The sun first rises o'er the purpled main, Than, issuing forth, the rival of his beams Launch 'd on the bosom of the silver Thames. 5 Fair nymphs, and well-drest youths around her shone, But ev'ry eye was fixed on her alone. On her white breast a sparkling cross she wore, 32 SHORTER ENGLISH POEMS Which Jews might kiss, and infidels adore. Her lively looks a sprightly mind disclose, 10 Quick as her eyes, and as unfix 'd as those. Favors to none, to all she smiles extends • Oft she rejects, but never once offends. Bright as the sun, her eyes the gazers strike, And, like the sun, they shine on all alike. 15 Yet graceful ease, and sweetness void of pride, Might hide her faults, if belles had faults to hide ; If to her share some female errors fall, Look on her face, and you'll forget 'em all. This nymph, to the destruction of mankind, 20 Nourish 'd two locks, which graceful hung behind In equal curls, and well conspir'd to deck With shining ringlets the smooth iv'ry neck. Love in these labyrinths his slaves detains, And mighty hearts are held in slender chains. 25 With hairy springes we the birds betray, Slight lines of hair surprise the finny prey, Fair tresses man's imperial race ensnare, And beauty draws us with a single hair. Th' advent 'rous baron the bright locks admir'd; 30 He saw, he wish'd, and to the prize aspir'd, Resolv'd to win, he meditates the way, By force to ravish, or by fraud betray; For when success a lover's toil attends, Few ask if fraud or force attain 'd his ends. 35 For this, ere Phoebus rose, he had implor'd Propitious heav'n, and ev'ry pow'r ador'd, But chiefly Love — to Love an altar built Of twelve vast French romances, neatly gilt. There lay three garters, half a pair of gloves, THE EAPE OF THE LOCK 33 40 And all the trophies of his former loves ; With tender billet-doux he lights the pyre, And breathes three am'rous sighs to raise the fire. Then prostrate falls, and begs with ardent eyes Soon to obtain, and long possess the prize : 45 The pow'rs gave ear, and granted half his pray'r ; The rest the winds dispers'd in empty air. But now secure the painted vessel glides, The sun-beams trembling on the floating tides, While melting music steals upon the sky, bo And soften 'd sounds along the waters die. Smooth flow the waves, the zephyrs gently play, Belinda smil'd, and all the world was gay. All. but the Sylph ; with careful thoughts opprest, Th' impending woe sat heavy on his breast. 55 He summons strait his denizens of air; The lucid squadrons round the sails repair: Soft o'er the shrouds aerial whispers breathe, That seem'd but zephyrs to the train beneath. Some to the sun their insect-wings unfold, 60 Waft on the breeze, or sink in clouds of gold ; Transparent forms, too fine for mortal sight, Their fluid bodies half dissolved in light, Loose to the wind their airy garments flew, Thin glitt'ring textures of the filmy dew, 65 Dipt in the richest tincture of the skies, Where light disports in ever-mingling dyes, While ev'ry beam new transient colors flings, Colors that change when'er they wave their wings. Amid the circle, on the gilded mast, 70 Superior by the head, was Ariel plac'd; His purple pinions op'ning to the sun, 34 SHOKTEK ENGLISH POEMS He raised his azure wand, and thus begun : '■'Ye Sylphs and Sylphids, to your chief give ear! Fays, Fairies, Genii, Elves, and Demons, hear ! 75 Ye know the spheres and various tasks assign 'd By laws eternal to th' aerial kind. Some in the fields of purest ether play, And bask and whiten in the blaze of day. Some guide the course of wand 'ring orbs on high, so Or roll the planets thro ' the boundless sky. Some, less refin'd, beneath the moon's pale light Pursue the stars that shoot athwart the night, Or suck the mists in grosser air below, Or dip their pinions in the painted bow, 85 Or brew fierce tempests on the wintry main, Or o 'er the glebe distill the kindly rain. Others on earth o'er human race preside, Watch all their ways, and all their actions guide : Of these the chief the care of nations own, so And guard with arms divine the British Throne. "Our humbler province is to tend the Fair, Not a less pleasing, tho ' less glorious care ; To save the powder from too rude a gale, Nor let th' imprison 'd essences exhale; 95 To draw fresh colors from the vernal flow'rs; To steal from rainbows, ere they drop in show'rs A brighter wash ; to curl their waving hairs, Assist their blushes, and inspire their airs : Nay, oft, in dreams invention we bestow, ioo To change a flounce, or add a furbelow. ' ' This day black omens threat the brightest Fair That e'er deserv'd a watchful spirit's care; Some dire disaster, or by force, or slight; THE EAPE OE THE LOCK 35 But what, or where, the fates have wrapt in night. 105 Whether the nymph shall break Diana 's law, Or some frail China jar receive a flaw; Or stain her honor, or her new brocade, Forget her pray 'rs, or miss a masquerade, Or lose her heart, or necklace, at a ball ; no Or whether Heav'n has doom'd that Shock must fall. Haste, then, ye spirits ! to your charge repair : The flutt'ring fan be Zephyretta's care; The drops to thee, Brillante, we consign; And, Momentilla, let the watch be thine ; 115 Do thou, Crispissa, tend her fav'rite lock; Ariel himself shall be the guard of Shock. To fifty chosen sylphs, of special note, We trust the important charge, the petticoat : Form a strong line about the silver bound, 120 And guard the wide circumference around. " Whatever spirit, careless of his charge, His post neglects, or leaves the Fair at large, Shall feel sharp vengeance soon o'ertake his sins: Be stopp'd in vials, or transfix 'd with pins, 125 Or plung'd in lakes of bitter washes lie, Or wedg'd whole ages in a bodkin's eye; Gums and pomatums shall his flight restrain, While clogg'd he beats his silken wings in vain; Or alum styptics with contracting pow'r 130 Shrink his thin essence like a rivel'd flow'r; Or, as Ixion fix'd, the wretch shall feel The giddy motion of the whirling mill, In fumes of burning chocolate shall glow, And tremble at the sea that froths below ! ' ' 135 He spoke; the spirits from the sails descend. 36 SHOETEE ENGLISH POEMS Some, orb in orb, around the nymph extend; Some thrid the mazy ringlets of her hair; Some hang upon the pendants of her ear. "With beating hearts the dire event they wait, 140 Anxious, and trembling for the birth of Fate. CANTO III. Close by those meads, for ever crown 'd with flow 'rs "Where Thames with pride surveys his rising tow'rs, There stands a structure of majestic frame, Which from the neighboring Hampton takes its name. 5 Here Britain's statesmen oft the fall foredoom Of foreign tyrants, and of nymphs at home ; Here thou, great Anna! whom three realms obey, Dost sometimes counsel take — and sometimes tea. Hither the heroes and the nymphs resort, 10 To taste awhile the pleasures of a court. In various talk th' instructive hours they past, Who gave the ball, or paid the visit last; One speaks the glory of the British Queen, And one describes a charming Indian screen; 15 A third interprets motions, looks, and eyes ; At ev'ry word a reputation dies. Snuff, or the fan, supply each pause of chat, With singing, laughing, ogling, and all that. Meanwhile, declining from the noon of day, 20 The sun obliquely shoots his burning ray; The hungry judges soon the sentence sign, And wretches hang that jury-men may dine ; The merchant from th' Exchange returns in peace, And the long labors of the toilet cease. 25 Belinda now, whom thirst of fame invites, THE EAPE OF THE LOCK 37 Burns to encounter two advent 'rous knights, At Ombre singly to decide their doom ; And swells her breast with conquests yet to come. Straight the three bands prepare in arms to join, 30 Each band the number of the sacred nine. Soon as she spreads her hand, th' aerial guard Descend, and sit on each important card : First Ariel perch 'd upon a Matadore, Then each according to the rank they bore; 35 For Sylphs, yet mindful of their ancient race, Are, as when women, wondrous fond of place. Behold four Kings in majesty rever'd, "With hoary whiskers and a forky beard; And four fair Queens, whose hands sustain a flow'r, 40 Th' expressive emblem of their softer pow'r; Four Knaves in garbs succinct, a trusty band, Caps on their heads, and halberds in their hand; And particolor'd troops, a shining train, Drawn forth to combat on the velvet plain. 45 The skillful nymph reviews her force with care ; Let Spades be trumps ! she said ; and trumps they were. Now move to war her sable Matadores, In show like leaders of the swarthy Moors. Spadillio first, unconquerable lord! 50 Led off two captive trumps, and swept the board. As many more Manillio forced to yield, And march 'd a victor from the verdant field. Him Basto followed, but his fate more hard Gain'd but one trump and one plebeian card. 55 With his broad sabre next, a chief in years, The hoary Majesty of Spades appears, 38 SHOBTER ENGLISH POEMS Puts forth one manly leg, to sight reveal'd; The rest his many-color 'd robe conceal'd. The rebel Knave, who dares his prince engage, 60 Proves the just victim of his royal rage. Ev'n mighty Pam, that Kings and Queens o'erthrew And mow'd down armies in the fights of Loo, Sad chance of war! now destitute of aid, Falls undistinguish 'd by the victor Spade! 65 Thus far both armies to Belinda yield; Now to the Baron fate inclines the field. His warlike amazon her host invades, Th' imperial consort of the crown of Spades. The Club 's black tyrant first her victim dy 'd, 70 Spite of his haughty mien, and barb 'rous pride : What boots the regal circle on his head, His giant limbs, in state unwieldy spread, That long behind he trails his pompous robe, And of all monarchs only grasps the globe? 75 The Baron now his Diamonds pours apace ; Th ' embroider 'd King who shows but half his face, And his refulgent Queen, with pow'rs combin'd, Of broken troops an easy conquest find. Clubs, Diamonds, Hearts, in wild disorder seen, so With throngs promiscuous strow the level green. Thus when dispers'd a routed army runs Of Asia's troops, and Afric's sable sons, With like confusion different nations fly, Of various habit, and of various dye ; 85 The pierc 'd battalions disunited fall, In heaps on heaps; one fate o'erwhelms them all. The Knave of Diamonds tries his wily arts, And wins (oh shameful chance !) the Queen of Hearts. THE EAPE OF THE LOCK 39 At this the blood the virgin's cheek forsook, 90 A livid paleness spreads o 'er all her look ; She sees, and trembles at th' approaching" ill, Just in the jaws of ruin, and Codille. And now (as oft in some distemper 'd state) On one nice trick depends the gen'ral fate; ( 95 An ace of Hearts steps forth ; The King unseen Lurk 'd in her hand, and mourn 'd his captive Queen : He springs to vengeance with an eager pace, And falls like thunder on the prostrate Ace. The nymph exulting fills with shouts the sky ; loo The walls, the woods, and long canals reply. Oh thoughtless mortals ! ever blind to fate, Too soon dejected, and too soon elate, Sudden these honors shall be snatch 'd away, And curs'd for ever this victorious day. 105 For lo! the board with cups and spoons is crown 'd, The berries crackle, and the mill turns round ; On shining altars of Japan they raise The silver lamp ; the fiery spirits blaze : From silver spouts the grateful liquors glide, no While China's earth receives the smoking tide. At once they gratify their scent and taste, And frequent cups prolong the rich repast. Straight hover round the Fair her airy band ; Some, as she sipp'd, the fuming liquor fann'd, 115 Some o'er her lap their careful plumes display 'd, Trembling, and conscious of the rich brocade. Coffee (which makes the politician wise, And see thro' all things with his half-shut eyes) Sent up in vapors to the Baron's brain 120 New stratagems, the radiant Lock to gain. 40 SHORTER ENGLISH POEMS Ah cease, rash youth ! desist ere 'tis too late, Fear the just gods, and think of Scylla's fate ! Chang 'd to a bird, and sent to flit in air, She dearly pays for Nisus' injur 'd hair! 125 But when to mischief mortals bend their will, How soon they find fit instruments of ill ! Just then Clarissa drew with tempting grace A two-edg'd weapon from her shining case; So ladies in romance assist their knight, 130 Present the spear, and arm him for the fight. He takes the gift with rev'rence, and extends The little engine on his fingers' ends; This just behind Belinda's neck he spread, As o'er the fragrant steams she bends her head. 135 Swift to the Lock a thousand sprites repair ; A thousand wings by turns blow back the hair ; And thrice they twitch 'd the diamond in her ear ; Thrice she look'd back, and thrice the foe drew near. Just in that instant, anxious Ariel sought 140 The close recesses of the virgin 's thought ; As on the nosegay in her breast reclin'd, He watch 'd th' ideas rising in her mind, Sudden he view 'd, in spite of all her art, An earthly lover lurking at her heart. 145 Amaz'd, confus'd, he found his pow'r expir'd, Resign 'd to fate, and with a sigh retir'd. The Peer now spreads the glitt'ring forfex wide, T ' inclose the Lock ; now joins it, to divide. Ev'n then, before the fatal engine clos'd, 150 A wretched Sylph too fondly interpos 'd ; Fate urg'd the shears, and cut the Sylph in twain (But airy substance soon unites again) : THE EAPE OF THE LOCK 41 The meeting points the sacred hair dissever From the fair head, for ever, and for ever! 155 Then flash 'd the living lightning from her eyes, And screams of horror rend th' affrighted skies. Not louder shrieks to pitying heav 'n are cast, "When husbands, or when lapdogs breathe their last; Or when rich China vessels fall'n from high, 160 In glittering dust and painted fragments lie ! "Let wreaths of triumph now my temples twine," The victor cried; "the glorious prize is mine ! While fish in streams, or birds delight in air, Or in a coach and six the British Fair, 165 As long as Atalantis shall be read, Or the small pillow grace a lady's bed; While visits shall be paid on solemn days, When num'rous waxlights in bright order blaze; While nymphs take treats, or assignations give, 170 So long my honor, name, and praise shall live ! What Time would spare, from Steel receives its date, And monuments, like men, submit to fate ! Steel could the labor of the gods destroy, And strike to dust th' imperial tow'rs of Troy; L75 Steel could the works of mortal pride confound And hew triumphal arches to the ground. What wonder then, fair nymph ! thy hair should feel The conqu'ring force of unresisted steel?" CANTO IV. But anxious cares the pensive nymph oppressed, And secret passions labor 'd in her breast. Not youthful kings in battle seiz'd alive, Not scornful virgins who their charms survive, Not ardent lovers robb'd of all their bliss, 42 SHORTER ENGLISH POEMS Not ancient ladies when refus'd a kiss, Not tyrants fierce that unrepenting die, Not Cynthia when her manteau 's pinn 'd awry, E 'er felt such rage, resentment, and despair, 10 As thou, sad virgin ! for thy ravish 'd hair. For, that sad moment when the Sylphs withdrew And Ariel weeping from Belinda flew, Umbriel, a dusky, melancholy sprite, As ever sullied the fair face of light, 15 Down to the central earth, his proper scene, Repairs to search the gloomy cave of Spleen. Swift on his sooty pinions flits the Gnome, And in a vapor reach 'd the dismal dome. No cheerful breeze this sullen region knows, 20 The dreaded East is all the wind that blows. Here in a grotto, sheltered close from air, And screen 'd in shades from day's detested glare, She sighs for ever on her pensive bed, Pain at her side, and Megrim at her head. 25 Two handmaids wait the throne ; alike in place, But diff'ring far in figure and in face. Here stood Ill-nature like an ancient maid, Her wrinkled form in black and white array 'd ; With store of pray 'rs for mornings, nights, and noons, 30 Her hand is filPd; her bosom with lampoons. There Affectation, with a sickly mien, Shows in her cheek the roses of eighteen, Practie 'd to lisp and hang the head aside, Faints into airs and languishes with pride ; 35 On the rich quilt sinks with becoming woe, Wrapt in a gown for sickness and for show. The fair ones feel such maladies as these, THE RAPE OF THE LOCK 43 When each new night-dress gives a new disease. A constant vapor o'er the palace flies, > Strange phantoms rising as the mists arise, Dreadfnl as hermit's dreams in haunted shades, Or bright as visions of expiring maids : Now glaring fiends, and snakes on rolling spires, Pale spectres, gaping tombs, and purple fires ; ; Now lakes of liquid gold, elysian scenes, And crystal domes, and angels in machines. Unnumber'd throngs on every side are seen, Of bodies chang'd to various forms by Spleen. Here living Tea-pots stand, one arm held out, » One bent ; the handle this, and that the spout ; A Pipkin there, like Homer's tripod, walks; Here sighs a Jar, and there a Goose-pie talks ; 55 Safe pass'd the Gnome thro' this fantastic band, A branch of healing spleenwort in his hand. Then thus address 'd the pow'r — "Hail, wayward Queen ! Who rule the sex to fifty from fifteen; Parent of Vapors, and of female wit, 60 Who give th' hysteric, or poetic fit; On various tempers act by various ways, Make some take physic, others scribble plays ; Who cause the proud their visits to delay, And send the godly in a pet to pray ! 65 A nymph there is, that all thy pow'r disdains, And thousands more in equal mirth maintains. But, oh ! if e 'er thy Gnome could spoil a grace, Or raise a pimple on a beauteous face, Like citron-waters matrons' cheeks inflame, 44 SHOETEE ENGLISH POEMS 70 Or change complexions at a losing game ; Or caus'd suspicion when no soul was rude, Or discompos'd the head-dress of a prude, Or e'er to costive lapdog gave disease, Which not the tears of brightest eyes could ease, 75 Hear me, and touch Belinda with chagrin; That single act gives half the world the spleen. ' ' The goddess with a discontented air Seems to reject him, tho' she grants his pray'r. A wond'rous Bag with both her hands she binds, so Like that where once. Ulysses held the winds ; There she collects the force of female lungs, Sighs, sobs, and passions, and the war of tongues. A Vial next she fills with fainting fears, Soft sorrows, melting griefs, and flowing tears. 85 The Gnome rejoicing bears her gift away, Spreads his black wings, and slowly mounts to day. Sunk in Thalestris' arms the nymph he found, Her eyes dejected, and her hair unbound. Full o'er their heads the swelling Bag he rent, so And all the furies issued at the vent. Belinda burns with more than mortal ire, And fierce Thalestris fans the rising fire. "0 wretched maid!" she spread her hands, and cry'd, (While Hampton's echoes "Wretched maid!" replied,) 95 "Was it for this you took such constant care The bodkin, comb, and essence to prepare ? For this your locks in paper durance bound ? For this with tort 'ring irons, wreath 'd around? For this with fillets strain 'd your tender head, THE EAPE OF THE LOCK 45 too And bravely bore the double loads of lead ? Gods ! shall the ravisher display your hair, While the fops envy, and the ladies stare ? Honor forbid! at whose unrivall'd shrine Ease, pleasure, virtue, all, our sex resign. 105 Methinks already I your tears survey, Already hear the horrid things they say, Already see you a degraded toast, And all your honor in a whisper lost ! How shall I then your helpless fame defend? 110 'T will then be infamy to seem your friend ! And shall this prize, th' inestimable prize, Expos'd through crystal to the gazing eyes, And heighten 'd by the diamond's circling rays, On that rapacious hand for ever blaze ? 115 Sooner shall grass in Hyde-park Circus grow, And Wits take lodgings in the sound of Bow ; Sooner let earth, air, sea, to chaos fall, Men, monkeys, lapdogs, parrots, perish all!" She said; then raging to Sir Plume repairs, 120 And bids the beau demand the precious hairs : (Sir Plume, of amber snuff-box justly vain, And the nice conduct of a clouded cane) With earnest eyes, and round unthinking face, He first the snuff-box open'd, then the case, 125 And thus broke out — ' ' My Lord ! why, what the devil ! Zounds! damn the Lock! 'fore Gad, you must be civil ! Plague on 't! 't is past a jest — nay prithee, pox! Give her the hair" — he spoke, and rapp'd his box. "It grieves me much," reply 'd the peer again, 46 SHOKTEE ENGLISH POEMS 130 "Who speaks so well should ever speak in vain; But by this Lock, this sacred Lock I swear, (Which never more shall join its parted hair; Which never more its honors shall renew, Clipp'd from the lovely head where late it grew,) 135 That, while my nostrils draw the vital air, This hand, which won it, shall for ever wear." He spoke; and speaking, in proud triumph spread The long-contended honors of her head. But Umbriel, hateful Gnome ! forbears not so ; 140 He breaks the Vial whence the sorrows flow. Then see ! the nymph in beauteous grief appears, Her eyes half -languishing, half-drown 'd in tears; On her heav'd bosom hung her drooping head, Which, with a sigh, she rais 'd ; and thus she said : 145 "For ever curs'd be this detested day, Which snatch 'd my best, my fav'rite curl away! Happy! ah ten times happy had I been, If Hampton Court these eyes had never seen! Yet am not I the first mistaken maid, 150 By love of courts to num'rous ills betray 'd. Oh had I rather unadmir'd remain 'd In some lone isle, or distant northern land, Where the gilt chariot never marks the way, Where none learn Ombre, none e'er taste Bohea! 155 There kept my charms conceal'd from mortal eye, Like roses, that in deserts bloom and die. What mov'd my mind with youthful lords to roam? Oh had I stay'd, and said my pray'rs at home ! 'T was this, the morning omens seem'd to tell: 160 Thrice from my trembling hand the patch-box fell ; The tottering china shook without a wind; THE EAPE OF THE LOCK 47 Nay, Poll sat mute, and Shock was most unkind! A Sylph too warn'd me of the threats of fate, In mystic visions, now believ ? d too late ! '165 See the poor remnants of these slighted hairs ! My hands shall rend what ev'n thy rapine spares. These, in two sable ringlets taught to break, Once gave new beauties .to the snowy neck ; The sister lock now sits uncouth, alone, 170 And in its fellow 's fate foresees its own ; Uncurl'd it hangs, the fatal shears demands, And tempts once more thy sacrilegious hands. Oh hadst thou, cruel! been content to seize Hairs less in sight, or any hairs but these!'* CANTO V. She said: the pitying audience melt in tears; But Fate and Jove had stopp'd the Baron's ears. In vain Thalestris with reproach assails; For who can move when fair Belinda fails? 5 Not half so fix'd the Trojan could remain, While Anna begg'd and Dido rag'd in vain. Then grave Clarissa graceful wav'd her fan; Silence ensu'd, and thus the nymph began: "Say, why are beauties prais'd and honor 'd most, 10 The wise man 's passion, and the vain man 's toast ? Why deck'd with all that land and sea afford, Why angels call'd, and angel-like ador'd? Why round our coaches crowd the white-glov'd beaux ? Why bows the side-box from its inmost rows? 15 How vain are all these glories, all our pains, Unless good sense preserve what beauty gains, 48 SHORTER ENGLISH POEMS That men may say, when we the front-box grace, ' Behold the first in virtue as in face ! ' Oh ! if to dance all night, and dress all day, 20 Charm 'd the small-pox, or chas'd old age away; Who would not scorn what housewife's cares produce, Or who would learn one earthly thing of use? To patch, nay ogle, might become a saint; Nor could it sure be such a sin to paint. 25 But since, alas ! frail beauty must decay ; Curl'd or uncurl'd, since locks will turn to gray; Since painted, or not painted, all shall fade, And she who scorns a man, must die a maid; What then remains but well our pow'r to use, 30 And keep good-humor still whate 'er we lose ? And trust me, dear ! good-humor can prevail, When airs, and flights, and screams, and scolding fail. Beauties in vain their pretty eyes may roll; Charms strike the sight, but merit wins the soul. ' ' 35 So spoke the dame, but no applause ensu'd; Belinda frowned, Thalestris call'd her prude. "To arms, to arms!" the fierce virago cries, And swift as lightning to the combat flies. All side in parties, and begin th' attack; 40 Fans clap, silks rustle, and tough whalebones crack ; Heroes' and heroines' shouts confus'dly rise, And bass, and treble voices strike the skies. No common weapons in the hands are found; Like gods they fight, nor dread a mortal wound. 45 So when bold Homer makes the gods engage, And heav'nly breasts with human passions rage; 'Gainst Pallas, Mars ; Latona, Hermes arms ; THE RAPE OF THE LOCK 49 And all Olympus rings with loud alarms; Jove's thunder roars, heav'n trembles all around; 50 Blue Neptune storms, the bellowing deeps resound ; Earth shakes her nodding tow'rs, the ground gives way, And the pale ghosts start at the flash of day! Triumphant Umbriel, on a sconce's height, Clapp 'd his glad wings, and sate to view the fight. 55 Propp 'd on their bodkin spears, the sprites survey The growing combat, or assist the fray. While thro' the press enrag'd Thalestris flies, And scatters death around from both her eyes, A beau and witling perish 'd in the throng; 60 One died in metaphor, and one in song. ' ' cruel nymph ! a living death I bear, ' ' Cried Dapperwit, and sunk beside his chair. A mournful glance Sir Fopling upward cast ; "Those eyes are made so killing" — was his last. 65 Thus on Masander's flow'ry margin lies Th' expiring swan, and as he sings he dies. When bold Sir Plume had drawn Clarissa down, Chloe stepp'd in, and kill'd him with a frown; She smil'd to see the doughty hero slain/ 70 But, at her smile, the beau reviv'd again. Now Jove suspends his golden scales in air, Weighs the men's wits against the lady's hair; The doubtful beam long nods from side to side ; At length the wits mount up, the hairs subside. 75 See, fierce Belinda on the Baron flies, With more than usual lightning in her eyes ; Nor fear'd the chief th' unequal fight to try, Who sought no more than on his foe to die. 50 SHOETEE ENGLISH POEMS But this bold lord, with manly strength endu'd, so She with one finger and a thumb subdu'd: Just where the breath of life his nostrils drew, A charge of snuff the wily virgin threw; The Gnomes direct, to ev'ry atom just, The pungent grains of titillating dust. 85 Sudden with starting tears each eye o'erflows, And the high dome re-echoes to his nose. - "Now meet thy fate," incens'd Belinda cry'd, And drew a deadly bodkin from her side. (The same, his ancient personage to deck, so Her great-great-grandsire wore about his neck, In three seal-rings; which after, melted down, Form'd a vast buckle for his widow's gown; Her infant grandame's whistle next it grew, The bells she jingled, and the whistle blew; 95 Then in a bodkin grac'd her mother's hairs, Which long she wore, and now Belinda wears.) "Boast not my fall," he cried, "insulting foe! Thou by some other shalt be laid as low. Nor think, to die dejects my lofty mind; ioo All that I dread is leaving you behind ! Rather than so, ah let me still survive, And burn in Cupid's flames — but burn alive." 1 i Restore the Lock ! ' ' she cries ; and all around "Restore the Lock!" the vaulted roofs rebound. 105 Not fierce Othello in so loud a strain Roar'd for the handkerchief that caus'd his pain. But see how oft ambitious aims are cross 'd, And chiefs contend till all the prize is lost! The Lock, obtain 'd with guilt, and kept with pain, no In ev'ry place is sought, but sought in vain. THE EAPE OF THE LOCK 51 With such a prize no mortal must be blest, So heav'n decrees! with heav'n who can contest? Some thought it mounted to the lunar sphere, Since all things lost on earth are treasured there. 115 There heroes' wits are kept in pond'rous vases, And beaux in snuff-boxes and tweezer-cases. There broken vows and death-bed alms are found, And lovers' hearts with ends of riband bound, The courtier's promises, and sick man's pray'rs, 120 The smiles of harlots, and the tears of heirs, . Cages for gnats, and chains to yoke a flea, Dried butterflies, and tomes of casuistry. But trust the Muse — she saw it upward rise, Tho' mark'd by none but quick poetic eyes; 125 (So Rome's great founder to the heav'ns withdrew, To Proculus alone confess 'd in view) A sudden star, it shot thro ' liquid air, And drew behind a radiant trail of hair. Not Berenice's locks first rose so bright, 130 The heav'ns bespangling with dishevel 'd light. The Sylphs behold it kindling as it flies, And pleas 'd pursue its progress thro' the skies. This the beau monde shall from the Mall survey, And hail with music its propitious ray. 135 This the blest lover shall for Venus take, And send up vows from Eosamonda's lake; This Partridge soon shall view in cloudless skies, When next he looks thro' Galileo's eyes; And hence th' egregious wizard shall foredoom 140 The fate of Louis, and the fall of Eome. Then cease, bright nymph! to mourn thy ravish 'd hair 52 SHOETEE ENGLISH POEMS Which adds new glory to the shining sphere ! Not all the tresses that fair head can boast, Shall draw such envy as the Lock you lost: 145 For after all the murders of your eye, "When, after millions slain, yourself shall die : When those fair suns shall set, as set they must, And all those tresses shall be laid in dust, This Lock the Muse shall consecrate to fame, 150 And 'midst the stars inscribe Belinda's name. EAPE OF THE LOCK. NOTES. The Rape of the Lock is one of the longest occasional poems in any literature. It was translated into French by Marmontel. Tope was extremely* proud of the poem, and it is said that the compli- ment conveyed in it made Miss Arabella Fermor, the heroine, very vain. Nolueram, etc. : "I was unwilling, Belinda, to disarrange thy locks ; but it pleases me to pay this tribute to thy prayers." Mrs. Arabella Fermor. Mrs., an abbreviation of Mistress, was then the usual title of an unmarried woman. Cf. Shakespeare's "Mistress Anne Page." CANTO I. Line 3. Caryl: Mr. John Caryl was the gentleman who bad suggested to Pope that a humorous poem might restore the families of Miss Fermor and Lord Petre to good nature. 23. Birth-night Beau: Such a fine gentleman as might be seen at the State Ball annually given on the King's birthday. 32. The silver token, etc. Such allusions show that even the artificial eighteenth century had not forgotten the fairy folk-lore dear to the popular heart. 34. Wreaths of heav'nly flow'rs, a possible reminiscence of Massinger's Virgin Martyr, in which the heroine, Dorothea, is so visited, according to an old legend. 39. Doubting Wits: Wit is a favorite word of the period. Here it applies to sophisticated, clever people. It has many other uses. Follow it through the poem. 44. The Box is an opera box. The Ring is originally a circus ring ; the reference here is to a circular promenade in Hyde Park. 46. Two pages and a chair: The allusion is to a sedan chair, in which ladies were then carried by little pages. THE RAPE OF THE LOCK: NOTES 53 54, 55. "Quae gratia currum Armorumque fuit vivis, quae cura nitentes Paseere equos, eadem sequitur tellure repostos." Virg. Aen., vi. Pope. 56. Ombre: A game of cards which we are soon to meet, said to be the oldest known to Europe. 59-66. This analysis of the Fair is certainly not flattering. Did Pope know no women except termagants, weaklings, prudes, and coquettes? 108. "The language of the Platonists." Pope. 115. Shock. Her pet dog ; Shock means shaggy. Cf. our phrase, "a shock of hair." 121 seq. The toilet was at that period a solemn and elaborate rite, which is celebrated in drama and essay as well as in poetry. 138. Note the alliteration and the mischief. CANTO II. 7. A sparkling cross: Spenser's Knight of Holiness wore a red cross upon his shield. What a contrast in the two conceptions ! But the language of hyperbole rarely turned a more graceful com- pliment than this. 28. In allusion to those lines of Hudibras, applied to the same purpose, — "And tho' it be a two-foot trout, 'Tis with a single hair pull'd out." Warburton. 38. These great French romances began to be popular in the 17th century, and were the favorite reading of society. Glelie, one of the best liked, consisted of ten volumes, of eight hundred pages each. The modern novel had not yet appeared. Richardson's Pamela was published in 1740, twenty-eight years after The Rape of the Lock. 45. Pope refers to the Aeneid, Book XI, verses 794-5. It was proper for an epic hero to sacrifice to the gods before starting on his exploit. 47 seq. Note through these lines the liquid flow of the verse. 60 seq. This description shows a sense for color and visible beauty rare in Pope. 74. An imitation of Satan's address to his followers, Paradise Lost, V, 601. "Thrones, Dominations, Princedoms, Virtues, Powers." 90-100. Nothing could be more felicitous or more in the taste of the time than this description, unless it be the sly humor with which the punishments of the Sylphs are described below. 105 seq. Here are antithesis and anticlimax skilfully inter- woven. The anticlimax in 106 is repeated in Canto III, 159. 112. Notice the appropriateness of the pretty names. 54 SHORTER ENGLISH POEMS 127. Washes, gums, pomatums are cosmetic aids to the toilet. 131. Ixion. Would-be lover of Juno, punished by Jove by being bound to an ever-rolling^ wheel. 132. The mill is the chocolate grinder. 133. Fumes of burning chocolate. A fitting and amusing climax. Chocolate was a favorite beverage, often taken in bed before the day began. CANTO III. 4. The neighb'ring Hampton: Hampton Court is still a favorite resort. 7. Tea is not a false rhyme. It was always pronounced tay in Pope's time. Cf. Bohea, IV, 154. 27. Ombre was the bridge of the period. The name is from the Spanish word for man. "It was a game of Spanish origin. The three principal trumps were called Matadores ; these are, in the _ order of their rank, Spadillo, the ace of spades ; Manillo, the deuce of clubs when trumps are black, the seven when they are red ; and Basto, the ace of clubs." 62. In the game of Loo, Pam is the highest card. Loo was a game which long held popular favor. Wordsworth in the Prelude, Book I, Line 516, tells us how he and his mates played it in winter evenings when he was a little boy. 92. Codille: A term in Ombre. If the Baron takes more tricks than Belinda, he will win the codille. 107. It is now time for coffee, served in china cups. This was Pope's own favorite beverage. Altars of Japan are little japanned tables. 123. Think of Scylla's fate: Pope refers to Ovid, Metamorphoses, VIII. 152. Pope takes pains to inform us that this is a parody of Milton. In a note he refers us to the following passage : — "But the ethereal substance closed, Not long divisible ; and from the gash A stream of nectarous humor issuing flowed Sanguine, such as celestial spirits may bleed." Paradise Lost, VI. 330-334. 163-170. "Dum juga montis aper, fluvios dum piscis amabit, Semper honos nomenque tuum, laudesque manebunt." Virgil, Eclogues, V. 76, 77. 165. Atalantis was a rather scandalous book written by a Mrs. Manley. 170 seq. All this is admirable burlesque of real epic tone, rhetoric taking the place of sublimity. CANTO IV. 15. A descent to the shadowy realms of night or evil was a proper episode in an epic. Cf. Duessa's visit to Night, Faerie THE EAPE OF THE LOCK: NOTES 55 Queene, Book I, Canto V, and the descent of Aeneas to Hades, Aeneid, VI. 24. Megrim: "Migraine," sick headache; a complaint of fine ladies. 30. Lampoons: Common in those days, not in comic papers as now, but in freely circulated broadsides. 50. The fantastic runs riot. Pope is thinking of insane people. Insanity, with all its strange delusions, was especially common in his day. 51. Homer's tripod walks: See Horn. Iliad, XVIII, of Vulcan's walking tripods. Warourton. 56. Spleentvort; A plant called miltwaste. 58. Who rule the sex: A "you" must be supplied before the relative pronoun. 59. Vapors: A fashionable difficulty of society women akin to- hysterics or the blues. 69. Citron-waters: "Spirits distilled from citron rind." 80. Aeolus, god of the winds, gave wandering Ulysses a bag of winds to carry him home ; but his companions opened the bag and the winds escaped. 87. Thalestris was Mrs. Morley, sister of Sir George Brown, Pope's Sir Plume. 106. Horrid was a term of more dignity then than now. 109. To be a toast was the aspiration of every pretty girl. 114. She thinks he may make the hair into a hair ring, such as our great-grandfathers wore. 116. The sound of Boiv: Within the sound of Bow bells lay the least fashionable quarter of the city. 121. Sir Plume: "Sir George Brown. He was the only one of the Party who took the thing seriously. He was angry, that the Poet should make him talk nothing but nonsense; and, in truth, one could not well blame him." Warourton. 125. Admirable descriptive line. Sir Plume's broken remarks are very amusing. On the other hand, the peer who begins to speak in line 130 is a polished and fluent gentleman. 160. Patch-oox: Belles adorned their faces with little black patches of court-plaster, to bring out the brilliancy of their skin* canto v. 5-6. The Trojan: Aeneas, deaf to Dido's entreaties not to leave her. 7. Grave Clarissa: "A new character introduced in the subse- quent editions to open more clearly the moral of the poem, in a parody of the speech of Sarpedon to Glaucus in Homer, Iliad, Bk. XII." Pope. Clarissa's speech is a model of 18th century good sense and morality. 40. Notice the onomatopoeia. 56 SHOBTEE ENGLISH POEMS 45. Pope refers to Homer, Iliad, XX. The absurdity is rising with the excitement. 53. Triumphant TJmoriel: "Minerva in like manner, during the battle of Ulysses with the Suitors in Odyss., perches on a beam of the roof to behold it." Pope. 71. Pope refers to Homer, Iliad: VIII, and Virgil, Aeneid: XII. 89. An interesting heirloom. 105. Not fierce Othello: Here is evidence that Shakespeare was holding the stage even in this unsympathetic time. Pope himself edited Shakespeare. His edition was published in 1725. 113. Pope refers to Ariosto, Canto XXXIV. 125-6. Mars, father of Romulus, according to the legend, car- ried him to the skies in a fiery chariot. Shortly afterward, Romulus appeared to Proculus Julius, a senator, and commanded the Romans to worship him under the name of Quirinus. 129. Berenice: Wife of Ptolemy III of Egypt. Her hair, which she dedicated in the temple to her husband's safe return from fighting, became a constellation. 133. The Mall: A promenade of the time. Cf. the Mall on Boston Common. 137. This Partridge soon: "John Partridge was a ridiculous star-gazer, who in his Almanacks every year never fail'd to predict the downfall of the Pope, and the King of France, then at war with the English." Pope. Partridge was the butt of a famous hoax by Swift. THOMAS GRAY 57 THOMAS GEAY. 1716—1771. I. Gray was born in 1716, in a decade when Addisor* and Pope, Steele and Swift, were delighting the English public with their keen wit and their ironic worldly wis- dom. He died in 1771, five years before the American Declaration of Independence, and eighteen years before the Fall of the Bastille in France. His life thus covered the central portion of the eighteenth centnry. It was a period when no great faith or hope was exciting the world, when people admired correctness rather than orig- inality, and when English letters inclined rather to prose than to poetry. Dr. Johnson was in London, playing the role of literary dictator; in his hands and in those of Oliver Goldsmith and others, periodical journals con- tinued the tradition established in Queen Anne's day by Addison and Steele. The novel, in the hands of Eichard- son, Fielding, Sterne, and Smollett, was expressing con- temporary life with a new breadth, zest, and freedom. Over on the Continent, Voltaire and Diderot were flash- ing a cold light across the age. Lessing, the great ration- alistic critic, flourished in Germany. Far in the North, a man quite apart from his century, the seer and mystic Emanuel Swedenborg was bearing firm witness to much that the spirit of the times most scornfully ignored. Jean Jacques Eousseau, a restless genius, full of passion destined to stir almost at once a new life in England, was, it is interesting to notice, almost an exact contempo- 59 60 SHOETEE ENGLISH POEMS rary of Gray : his Nouvelle Heloise appeared in 1760, ten years after the Elegy in a Country Churchyard. Poets, at this time, were few and far between. Apart from Oliver Goldsmith, the only English poet of real importance besides Gray himself was Gray's brother in spirit, Collins. "A sort of spiritual east wind," says Matthew Arnold, "was at that time blowing"; we shall probably not be wrong if we agree with him in account- ing by this prevalent atmosphere for the slightness in quantity of Gray's production and for the impression it conveys of a man stirred by deeper emotions than he can express. Gray was a scholar-poet. 1 A friend wrote, "Mr. Gray was perhaps the most learned man in Europe," and the claim appears to have been just. The poet was at. home in every branch of history : he was an unwearied student of metaphysics and politics, an eager antiquarian, and he had a fine taste in "painting, prints, architecture, and gardening." We know him to have been an ardent stu- dent of the natural sciences as his age conceived them, a fine and fastidious lover of the classics, and an omnivorous reader in many languages. In short, he represents that union of wide culture and sound scholar- ship which, as specialization increases, is becoming in- creasingly difficult to attain, but which marked to a rare degree a few of the distinguished men of the eighteenth century? It is quite fitting that we see a man of such tastes and acquirements against the background of the great 1 It is interesting to notice, as Matthew Arnold suggests in another connection, quoting from Sainte Beuve, "how often we see the alli- ance, singular as it may at first sight appear, of the poetical genius with the genius for scholarship and philology." THOMAS GEAY 61 university where he spent his life. Gray's uneventful biography may be briefly chronicled. He was born of simple folk: his mother and aunt, to both of whom he was sincerely attached, kept a milliners' shop in London. The father was apparently half insane, but the women of the family managed to give the clever boy the education of an English gentleman, at Eton and at Cambridge. In the eighteenth century, the English universities were hardly great centres of intellectual activity. The life in them was rather dull and languid; the education was stereotyped, confined to mediaeval lines, and not nearly so stimulating as it is today. But the beautiful old town presented then as now its noble buildings and wide sweeps of greensward dotted by great trees : and it had in its keeping that great gift which modern universities offer all too rarely, — the gift of scholastic leisure. Here Gray's life was to be passed. But first he knew for three years the privilege that has always been deemed essential to the training of an English scholar, — extended travel on the Continent. In 1739, he went to Europe as the guest of his school friend, Horace Walpole. Walpole, the son of Sir Eobert Walpole, the prime minister, was an erratic, clever, rest- less, superficial man. He is known in English literature as the author of many sprightly letters which throw much light on his time, and of an extraordinary story, The Castle of Otranto, one of the landmarks of the Romantic Revival. Before very long Gray and Walpole disagreed, and Gray returned to England alone, after a three years' absence, to settle down in his university. After a few years he renewed his relation with Walpole ; in time he made many other friends, especially, as he 52 SHOETEE ENGLISH POEMS grew older, among younger men. He had indeed a rare capacity for warm friendship ; and we may agree with a Swiss friend of his named Bonstetten that Gray would have been a happier man and have written more poetry had he married and known the joys of fatherhood. However, the semi-monastic life at the university suited his tastes very well. He held at one time the professor- ship of Poetry, but, according to a curious fashion of the times, never gave any lectures. He was offered, and declined, the laureateship. There is nothing further to record in outward events, except his death, which occurred in 1771. Gray lived somewhat apart from the other literary men of his day. He declined, for instance, to meet Dr. John- son; and the surly old dictator reciprocated with an un- reasonable distaste for his poetry. But Gray's aloofness from his contemporaries was more than external: he really did undergo different experiences from theirs. They were sons of the pseudo-classic age ; their great lik- ing was for the literature of Rome and for the French books formed upon it: Gray had a fine appreciation of classical literature, but his affinity was rather for the Greek than for the Roman. They repudiated with scorn and impatience all that was "Gothicke" : Gray was fas- cinated by Norse, Celtic and mediaeval literature, that is, by the remote, primitive, and rude. Few of his con- temporaries cared to stir often out of London : Gray was one of the first men to be sensitive to the beauty of wild nature, and to feel toward mountains and precipices somewhat as Wordsworth, Byron, Shelley, and Ruskin taught the nineteenth century to feel. The men of his day still used exclusively heroic couplets ; Gray enjoyed THOMAS GEA? 63 and experimented with finely wrought lyrical forms. No wonder that he withdrew within himself. His in- stinctive reserve was increased by an inclination to a constitutional melancholy, or "leucocholy," — as he called it, — a mild "white" depression that at times threatened to inhibit his powers. He liked to write: it was, as he told Walpole, his greatest pleasure. But freedom and power seldom visited him, and when they did, made short and elusive stay. Profoundly stirred at times by the instincts of the coming age, he was ill at ease between the limitations of his own nature and the critical canons of his day. He allowed few men to penetrate his intimacy, but those few loved him keenly and honored him truly : and his reticent figure, while it still leaves the majority indifferent, will always be especially attractive to those to whom it appeals at all. II. Swinburne said that the Muse gave birth to Collins: she only gave suck to Gray. Yet in spite of this dictum we must accept the statement of Mr. Gosse that Gray is the most important poetical figure in our literature between Pope and Wordsworth. This is partly due to the preciseness with which his work represents the transition from an earlier period to that which was to follow. In his scant but highly finished achievement we can recognize clearly the "notes" of successive poetic schools, and one of the charms of these poems for the scholarly reader is the various literary associations which they evoke. Yet even while we perceive the sequence of associations, we realize that we are listening to no mere ecnoes of otner men. Gray's genius was dis- 64 SHOETEE ENGLISH POEMS tinctive. His poetry may seem at first impersonal and cold; but through its reticence the sensitive reader finds no difficulty in seeing the man. He did not merely wear his learning as an ornament, he made it a part of himself : the different influences which his poems reflect are no fashions adopted languidly to- suit the mood of the hour, but forces that have stirred his being to the depths. The melodies he gives us are no less genuine because they are no "native wood-notes wild," but proceed from an instrument shaped by conscious art. The first group of poems in the slender volume that represents Gray's entire work in verse, contains a few odes written in the year 1742, when he was twenty-six years old : To Spring; On a Distant Prospect of Eton College; On Adversity. Already in these poems Gray breaks away from the heroic couplet into free lyrical forms. But these carefully phrased odes fall cold on the ear. They reflect the inveterate pleasure of the eighteenth century in personification and abstraction, and the current habit of moralizing, so fatal, from the modern point of view, to true imaginative verse. The lover of Gray can rightly commend the grace, the elabo- rately delicate workmanship, of these lyrics : but Gray never would have been the most important figure in our poetic history between Pope and Wordsworth had he continued to write in this vein. During this same year, the Elegy was begun but not completed : and now there fell on Gray, for some reason, a long-continued incapacity to write. For five years he lived a life of academic seclusion, apparently un- visited by creative impulse. He broke silence in 1747 THOMAS GEAY 65 with a charming and gay trifle, the Ode on Horace Walpole's cat, drowned in a vase of "goldfishes : and in 1750, exactly one hundred years before Tennyson pub- lished In Memoriam, he finished the Elegy in a Country Churchyard. It was not until seven years later that he published his two important and elaborate Pindaric odes, The Progress of Poesy and The Bard. Of the Elegy we shall speak later. The two odes are of great significance in the history of English letters. The Progress of Poesy, severely formal in structure, is suf- fused by a fine imaginative fervor, a subtle and pene- trating perception of beauty, strange indeed to that prosaic age. It shows how a critical subject, dealing not with life but with the imaginative interpretation of life, may so quicken emotion that it becomes fit inspira- tion for lofty poetry. The Bard is in some ways on a still higher level: it marks the free play of a type of enthusiasm which Pope, Addison, Johnson would alike have despised. Gray is fired by an old legend that the bards of Wales were massacred by order of King Edward I. He imagines an ancient bard, the solitary survivor of his class, high on a cliff above a gloomy defile through which the King passes; denouncing, cursing, lamenting, till his impassioned chant evokes the vision of the grisly band of his murdered comrades, who together weave the bloody tissue of Edward's line and in weird chorus predict the tragic fate of his descendants. At the end the bard plunges from the precipice into the roaring flood. It is a wild and striking theme. The poem is born of that reaction from suave or satiric pictures of artificial life, that craving for the primeval, the passionate, the strange, which were beginning to qq SHORTER ENGLISH POEMS stir in the breast of the decorous eighteenth century. It is one of the great landmarks in the progress of what we know as the Eomantic Eevolt. In Gray's later life he yielded himself almost wholly to the romantic impulse. A French book on Norse mythology, by Paul Henri Mallet, fired his imagination. He learned Icelandic, — an unheard-of feat in those days, — and became as fascinated with the ancient myths of the far North as William Morris was to be in the nineteenth century. Two odes, The Fatal Sister and The Descent of Odin, and certain fragmentary transla- tions from the Welsh, are the fruits of this enthusiasm, in which Gray was more than a century in advance of his age. The incongruous precision by which impres- sions of savage beauty and terror are presented, still, however, betrays the eighteenth century, and the poems are singularly interesting monuments of a transforma- tion of poetic taste. These poems end the significant work of Gray in verse. But wholly to know him, one must turn also to his prose. 1 In his letters, late and early, and in his Journal in the Lakes, written two years before his death, Gray is more off his guard than in his verse: and they reveal him to have been in his instincts practically a modern man. One can trace through Gray's prose an almost complete prophecy of the awakening and growth of modern romantic feeling. It is full of evi- dences of exquisite taste and sound critical feeling, such as Matthew Arnold need not have disowned. It reveals the wide range of intellectual interests that doubtless helped to preserve the sanity of a nature inclined to 1 Excellently edited by Mr. Gosse. THOMAS GEAY 67 introspective brooding, if not to melancholia : and above ail it shows a feeling for natural beauty entirely new in his generation. "You cannot imagine/' Addison had writ- ten after vivid descriptions of the horrors of a journey across the Alps, "how pleased I am at the sight of a plain." But Gray, not many years later, can break into rhapsodies over the glory of the mountain landscape around the Grande Chartreuse : "Not a precipice, not a torrent, not a cliff, but is pregnant with religion and poetry." Mountains to him were "monstrous creatures of God." The experiences of his spirit among the Eng- lish lakes or the Welsh hills are charming reading still. If one adds the testimony of the prose to that of the poetry, it is hard to avoid agreeing with Matthew Arnold that had Gray lived three-quarters of a century later, in a more favorable air, he might have proved himself, in quantity as in quality of achievement, a worthy comrade to Keats, Wordsworth, and Shelley. He lived in the twilight, when the romantic dawn was faint and chill: yet all who love the sober purity of the light before the sun has risen should love his poetry. "The style I have aimed at," he said, "is extreme conciseness of expression, yet pure, perspicuous, and musical." Pure, perspicuous, musical ! They are words which no verse in the language more fully deserves than his. III. It is curious that a fastidious recluse, whose point of view was so largely academic as that of Gray, should have written what was long the most widely popular poem in English literature. The fact may suggest that 68 SHOETEE ENGLISH POEMS the experiences and reflections of the keenest scholars are, after all, fundamentally much the same as those of everyone else: or it may show that the finest re- sources of poetic art are most effectively used on a subject of universal appeal. Someone has well pointed out that Gray doubtless found it as natural to write for his masterpiece a poem dealing with the common- places of our mortality as each new artist finds it to give to the world his conception of the Madonna. Gray kept the Elegy by him for a long while before he finally finished it and sent it to Walpole. Even then, he did not publish it until news of a pirated edition reached him • when it was published, he did not at first sign his name. The authorship, however, could not remain a secret : probably he did not really wish it to do so; and it is a credit to the times that the high excel- lence of the poem was at once recognized. The measure used by Gray, — the quatrain composed of iambic pentameters with alternate rhymes, — had been pronounced by Dryden, doubtless with some exag- geration, to be "the most magnificent that our language afforded." He had himself composed in it his Annus Mirabilis. Gray popularized the measure and in a way consecrated it to elegiac use. Its rich amplitude, even flow, and lofty dignity are evident at once. If we com- pare with the movement of this- stanza some of the exquisite lyrical measures in Gray, — as, for instance, in the Progress of Poesy or the unfinished Ode on Vicissi- tude, — the rare fineness of his ear and the variety in his singing tones will be evident at once. If the melody charms, the imagery is no less perfect, especially at the beginning and the end, which present THOMAS GEAY 69 us with concrete pictures framing the more general re- flections of the central portion of the poem. The whole poem is "a twilight piece," to borrow a phrase from Browning; during the first four stanzas, the darkness gradually closes in, with exquisite gradations from dusk to moonlight. The atmosphere and the scene afford an ideal setting for pensive meditation, in which now and again the memory of "incense-breathing Morn" affords the beauty of contrast. It is even more true of the Elegy, than of Gray's other works that it is in one way not an original poem. To a cultured reader, the undertones of association constitute much of the charm. Every line can be annotated by parallel passages from other literatures, — Greek, Latin, Italian, French, and English. We shall mention in the notes only a few of such passages, and those chiefly from Milton, because to this poet Gray owed a special debt. But the process, if one has leisure, is interesting. It. as- suredly shows the breadth of Gray's reading, although one is tempted to ascribe many resemblances which the critics point out rather to natural coincidence than to conscious borrowing. But if Gray takes his good where he finds it, as the French proverb says, he makes it intimately his own. True wit is Nature to advantage dressed, — What oft was thought but ne'er so well expressed. All poetry is more than is commonly recognized the consummate flower of a long social process, and a poem is none the worse, nay, it is better, because it puts the final stamp of perfect excellence on an idea which hun- dreds of writers have before rendered. 70 SHOETEE ENGLISH POEMS Not only is the theme of the Elegy commonplace, and the detail full of poetic echoes : the poem as a whole is the best example of a type of writing widely current at that time which is in itself so consciously literary as to seem to many artificial. The poetry of Milton in general, and his II Penseroso in particular, exerted a surprising influence over a whole group of jDoets dur- ing the middle of the eighteenth century. To revel in the sweets of Melancholy became the order of the day. Yet there was more in this than a literary fashion. In an age so lacking in poetic and positive inspiration, melancholy was the easiest and most natural mood for sensitive and imaginative men. Who can conceive a contemporary of Johnson's breaking into exultation, like Shelley in The Skylark, or penetrating to the deeper sources of permanent joy, like Wordsworth in The Daffodils f The mood of pensive reflection was the mood native to the age. Death, above all, is the great Eeality which no decorum can obscure: and on Death the sentiment of the time brooded incessantly. Two great and lovely poems stand out, in a mass of kindred verse, as the chief contribution of this mood to English poetry: the one is, of course, Gray's Elegy; the other is the Ode to Evening of William Collins. The two may well be compared, and it will be evident, despite entire difference in the scheme and subject, that the same order of feeling inspires them. Collins's ode reads like a commentary on the Elegy, expressing a temperament even more sensitive but less intellectual than that of Gray. We have placed the Elegy in its period and in its relation to poetic tradition and contemporary work. THOMAS GEAY 71 The best way to feel its intrinsic value is to learn it by- heart and to let its quiet and stately music set the tune to a series of one's days. In spite of the fact that the poem is, as we have shown, the product of a definite Kterary movement, close acquaintance with it reveals two things that impart to it an intimate and individual charm. The first is the implied revelation of per- sonality: the second, the sense, rare indeed in a time which valued chiefly the exclusive, the sophisticated, and the novel, of fellowship with the universal, the simple, and the abiding : with Poverty and Labor, with Nature and with Death. Gray does not, to be sure, reveal himself as Shelley does in Adonais, or Tennyson in In Memoriam. Com- pared with these poems, also elegiac, the Elegy remains impersonal, even to the close. But it is in vain that the intentional pose, so to speak, retains that impersonal attitude demanded by the conventions of the time and grateful to Gray's natural reserve. The whole tone of the poem, its every detail and cadence, reveal a per- sonal feeling uninterrupted by one false or jarring note. The twilight landscape at the opening, and the sub- dued sadness of the general reflections on mortality lead to the last stanzas, where we get the direct picture of the poet's soul. For Gray, by a slight turn, looks forward and thinks of himself as buried in the church- yard; and so the poem does not, after all, confine itself to general musings, but, like Bion's Elegy on Mosclius, or Shelley's Adonais, or Milton's Lycidas, mourns with a note of individual sorrow, touched in this case by self-pity, over one dear dead youth. In this self-revelation we have an earnest of that 72 SHOETEE ENGLISH POEMS poetry of the interior life which was to be the gift of the nineteenth century to the world. No less do we find in the Elegy a faint prophecy of the democratic breadth of the coming age. Gray not only draws from deeper wells than most of his contemporaries; he also gazes wider afield. The "storied urn and animated bust" — such trophies of the distinguished dead as greet the tourists' eyes in every large English church — do not arrest him. Outside, under the yew-tree, he loves to linger, tenderly meditating on the graves of the humble and unknown. If the familiar lines concerning the emptiness of worldly glory read like platitudes, let us realize that these are platitudes all too seldom appre- hended as truths. Eeverence for "the short and simple annals of the poor," gives to the Elegy high sincerity and enduring worth. Yet, in conclusion, it is hard; to resist a sense of disappointment when one sets the Elegy beside other great elegies of the English race. For the first thing that strikes one about all these other poems, is, that the thought of Death is transfigured in them by the thought of Immortality. In Lycidas, the elegy of the seventeenth century, classical memories blend strangely with the Hebraic theme, but echoes of The inexpressive nuptial song In the blest kingdoms meek of joy and love sound through the Miltonic harmonies. In Adonais, the elegy of the post-Eevolutionary age, though the thought of personal immortality is absent, the poet is rapt by the vision of the soul of man as "a portion of the Eternal." In In Memoriam, the Victorian elegy, THOMAS GEAY 73 Tennyson through many tempests reaches an assured haven, whence he perceives triumphantly that Love can never be bound of Death. Compared with these, we must indeed feel that Gray's world is "left to darkness." In vain we long that he should lift his eyes, if only for one brief moment, from graves to stars. Nay, — place the Elegy, not heside a supreme expression" of vic- torious faith, like Adonais or In Memoriam, but beside a casual poem like Wordsworth's We Are Seven, — are we not forced to recognize that the little cottage girl, with her clustering curls, who persistently counts her dead brothers and sisters among her living playfellows, had a vision denied to the poet-scholar ? But let us not ask from Gray what he cannot give us. Eather let us recognize what he brings : a deep sense of the realities of human life, a grave piety, a sensitive and pure emotion that never lacks the restraining grace of self-control. And all these are expressed in verse whose high perfec- tion of finish, whose noble harmonies and lovely images, make an appeal to the universal heart that time can not wither nor custom stale. ELEGY, WRITTEN IN A COUNTRY CHURCHYARD. The curfew tolls the knell of parting day, The lowing herd wind slowly o'er the lea, The plowman homeward plods his weary way, And leaves the world to darkness and to me. 5 Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight, And all the air a solemn stillness holds, Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight, And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds ; Save that from yonder ivy-mantled tow'r, 10 The moping owl does to the moon complain Of such as, wandering near her secret bow'r, Molest her ancient solitary reign. Beneath those rugged elms, that yew-tree's shade, Where heaves the turf in many a mouldering heap, 15 Each in his narrow cell forever laid, The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep. The breezy call of incense-breathing Morn, The swallow twitt'ring from the straw-built shed, The cock's shrill clarion, or the echoing horn, 20 No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed. For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn, Or busy housewife ply her evening care ; 74 GBAY'S ELEGY 75 No children run to lisp their sire V return, Or climb his knees the envied kiss to share. 25 Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield, Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has broke ; How jocund did they drive their team afield ! How bow'd the woods beneath their sturdy stroke ! Let not Ambition mock their useful toil, 30 Their homely joys, and destiny obscure ; Eor Grandeur hear with a disdainful smile The short and simple annals of the poor. The boast of heraldry, the pomp of pow'r, And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave, 35 Awaits alike th' inevitable hour. The paths of glory lead but to the grave. Nor you, ye proud, impute to these the fault, If Memory o'er their tomb no trophies raise, Where thro' the long-drawn aisle and fretted vault 40 The pealing anthem swells the note of praise. Can storied urn, or animated bust, Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath ? Can Honour's voice provoke the silent dust, Or Flatt'ry soothe the dull cold ear of death ? 45 Perhaps in this neglected spot is laid Some heart once pregnant with celestial fire, Hands, that the rod of empire might have .sway'd, Or wak'd to ecstasy the living lyre. 76 SHORTER ENGLISH POEMS But Knowledge to their eyes her ample page 30 Eich with the spoils of time did ne'er unroll ; Chill Penury repressed their noble rage, And froze the genial current of the soul. Full many a gem of purest ray serene The dark unf athom'd caves of ocean bear ; 55 Full many a flower is born to blush unseen, And waste its sweetness on the desert air. Some village Hampden, that with dauntless breast The little Tyrant of his fields withstood, Some mute inglorious Milton here may rest, 60 Some Cromwell guiltless of his country's blood. Th' applause of listening senates to command, The threats of pain and ruin to despise, To scatter plenty o'er a smiling land, And read their hist'ry in a nation's eyes, 65 Their lot forbade : nor circumscrib'd alone Their growing virtues, but their crimes confin'd ; Forbade to wade thro' slaughter to a throne, And shut the gates of mercy on mankind ; The struggling pangs of conscious truth to hide, 70 To quench the blushes of ingenuous shame, Or heap the shrine of Luxury and Pride With incense kindled at the Muse's flame. f Far from the madding crowd's ignoble strife, Their sober wishes never learn'd to stray ; J GBAY'S ELEGY 77 '5 Along the cool sequester'd vale of life They kept the noiseless tenor of their way. Yet ev'n these bones from insult to protect, Some frail memorial still erected nigh, With uncouth rh}anes and shapeless sculpture deck'd 10 Implores the passing tribute of a sigh. Their name, their years, spelt by th' unlettered Muse, The place of fame and elegy supply ; And many a holy text around she strews, That teach the rustic moralist to die. 85 For who, to dumb Forgetfulness a prey, This pleasing anxious being e'er resigned, Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day, Nor cast one longing, lingering look behind ? On some fond breast the parting soul relies, 90 Some pious drops the closing eye requires ; Ev'n from the tomb the voice of Nature cries, Ev'n in our ashes live their wonted fires. For thee, who, mindful of th' unhonour'd dead, Dost in these lines their artless tale relate ; 95 If chance, by lonely Contemplation led, Some kindred spirit shall enquire thy fate, — Haply some hoary-headed swain may say, "Oft have we seen him at the peep of dawn Brushing with hasty steps the dews away, 100 To meet the sun upon the upland lawn : 78 SHORTER ENGLISH POEMS "There at the foot of yonder nodding beech, That wreathes its old fantastic roots so high, His listless length at noontide would he stretch, And pore upon the brook that babbles by. 105 "Hard by yon wood, now smiling as in scorn, Muttering his wayward fancies he would rove ; Now drooping, woeful-wan, like one forlorn, Or craz'd with care, or cross'd in hopeless love. "One morn I miss'd him on the customed hill, Ho Along the heath, and near his f av'rite tree ; Another came ; nor yet beside the rill, Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood was he ; "The next, with dirges due in sad array, Slow through the church-way path we saw him . borne : — 115 Approach and read (for thou canst read) the lay Grav'd on the stone beneath yon aged thorn." THE EPITAPH. Here rests his head upon the lap of Earth, A youth, to Fortune and to Fame unknown : Fair Science frown'd not on his humble birth, 120 And Melancholy marked him for her own. Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere, Heav'n did a recompense as largely send ; He gave to Misery all he had, a tear, He gained from Heav'n ('twas all he wished) a friend. GBAY'S ELEGY 79 123 No farther seek his merits to disclose, Or draw his frailties from their dread abode, (There they alike in trembling hope repose,) The bosom of his Father and his God. ELEGY WEITTEN IN A COUNTEY CHUECHYAED. NOTES. Line 1. Gray himself annotated this line by quoting an ex- quisite passage from the opening of the eighth canto of Dante's Purgatorio : Squilla di lontano, Che paia il giorno pianger che si muore. The translation of the whole passage is : " 'Twas now the hour . . . that pierces the new pilgrim with love, if from afar he hears the chimes which seem to mourn for the dying day." Curfew: From "couvre-feu" : a bell rung during the middle ages about eight o'clock, to bid people cover their fires and put out their lights. A few years ago, the curfew could still be heard in some parts of England. 2. Wind: Another reading is "winds," but "wind" is better. Gray wants us to see the cattle meandering over the meadow, as their habit is when homeward-bound, rather than going in a straight file. Lea: An old word for meadow. 3. Why did Gray use so many long o's? E. g., "tolls," "lowing," "slowly," "homeward." 5. Glimmering: This is the only time that Gray uses this word, though at one other point he has "glimmerings." "Glitter- ing," on the other hand, is a great favorite with him. 6. What is the subject of "holds"? Watch Gray's habit with regard to inversions. 8. As the darkness grows, we begin to hear more than we see. Note the drone of the beetle, the "drowsy tinkling" of far cow- bells, the hooting owl. Gray, like Wordsworth, knew how many sounds that would escape attention in daylight seem, as dusk gathers, to fill while they do not interrupt the silence. 13. Yew-tree's shade: Yews are common in English church- yards. Compare Tennyson's In Memoriam, Canto II : Old Yew, which graspest at the stones That name the underlying dead, Thy fibres net the dreamless head, Thy roots are wrapt about the bones. oq SHORTER ENGLISH POEMS O not for thee the glow, the bloom, Who changest not in any gale, Nor branding summer suns avail To touch thy thousand years of gloom. Perhaps the finest yews in English poetry are Wordsworth's "Fraternal Four of Borrowdale," in Yew-Trees — A pillared shade, Upon whose grassless floor of red-brown hue, By sheddings from the pining umbrage tinged Perennially, — beneath whose sable roof Of boughs, as if for festal purpose, decked With unrejoicing berries, — ghostly Shapes May meet at noon-tide ; Fear and trembling Hope, Silence and Foresight ; Death the Skeleton And Time the Shadow. 16. Rude, in the sense of "humble," "low," "uncivilized," "un- polished." 17. Note how the sounds of this lovely stanza contrast with those that preceded. Gray presents his dawn, like his twilight, through sound rather than sight impressions. Paraphrase incense-breathing. The word was absent from an early version. What do we gain from it? 21. Compare with the picture suggested in this stanza that elaborated by Burns in The Cotter's Saturday Night. Burns used the next stanza but one as a motto for his poem. 22. Ply her evening care: "Whether the phrase be good or bad, It is the kind of diction against which Wordsworth vigorously protested. When he had occasion to describe a similar scene, he wrote : She I cherished turned her wheel Beside an English fire." — Wattrous. It is good exercise to go through the Elegy distinguishing the places where Gray uses the concrete language native to poetry from those in which he slips into the generalized and abstract speech common to his age. 26. Glebe: "The cultivated land belonging to a parish church or ecclesiastical benefice." 27. Drive their team afield: See Milton's Lycidas, line 27. 29. Do you like the personifications? 33. The boast of heraldry: The pride of rank. Birth, force, beauty, and wealth are of course four things most valued by the world : they lead to glory as a climax. 35. Aioaits is often printed "await." But Gray wrote the word GKAY'S ELEGY: NOTES 81 as in the text. He was steeped in Milton and had learned from his master a love of inversions. 36. This is the passage quoted by General Wolfe on his way to take Quebec and die : ''For two full hours the procession of boats, borne on the current, steered silently down the St. Lawrence. The stars were visible, but the night was moonless and sufficiently dark. The general was in one of the foremost boats, and near him was a young midshipman, John Robison, afterwards professor of natural philosophy in the University of Edinburgh. He used to tell in his later life how Wolfe, with a low voice, repeated Gray's Elegy in a Country Churchyard to the officers about him. Probably it was to relieve the intense strain of his thoughts. Among the rest was the verse which his own fate was soon to illustrate : 'The paths of glory lead but to the grave.' 'Gentlemen,' he said as his recital ended, 'I would rather have written those lines than take Quebec' None were there to tell him that the hero is greater than the poet." Parkman's Montcalm and Wolfe, II, 285. This story has lately been investigated and substantiated. 39. Fretted: A fret is an architectural ornament, made by carving, cutting or embossing. 41. Storied: "Storied windows richly dight." II Penseroso. . Stained glass picturing stories, from saint-legend or scripture. 43. Provoke the silent dust: Provoke in the etymological sense of "call forth." 51. Rage: What sort of "rage" deserves the epithet "noble"? Gray broods more calmly over the possible waste of genius entailed by "chill penury" than we do today. 52. Genial may mean "warm, kindly," or "native, inborn." 53-56. Platitudes, but perfectly put. 57. There is an interesting early version to this stanza. Gray, fine classical scholar that he was, first wrote : Some village Cato, who, with dauntless breath, The little Tyrant of his fields withstood, Some mute inglorious Tully here may rest, Some Caesar guiltless of his country's blood. The change to the English names was a bold act in those days of literary convention. It gives much more reality to this picture of an English Churchyard. The new form has an added force when we realize that Hampden, the patriot of the days of Charles I, lived in the county of the Churchyard, and that Milton finished his Paradise Lost only a few miles away. Gray's allusion to Cromwell reflects the general attitude of the eighteenth century- It was not till Carlyle wrote that Cromwell came to be appreciated at his true value. 82 SHORTER ENGLISH POEMS It would be well for the student to compare the ancients of the first version with the moderns of the second and to explain why in each case one name could fill the place of the other. 61. Here begins' a long periodic sentence, quite in the Latin manner. But the continuity between stanzas affords a pleasant variety to the ear. 71. Gray is thinking cf the adulation given to noble or royal patrons by literature. Cf. the mass of flattering verse addressed to Queen Elizabeth. At this time, the system of patronage was dying hard. See Johnson's Letter to Lord Chesterfield. In Gray's first manuscript, the poem continued with the four following stanzas, with which, as Mason, Gray's friend, tells us, it was meant to conclude. Note how carefully Gray wove the phrases which he liked best in these lines into the final version : The thoughtless world to majesty may bow, Exalt the brave, and idolize success ; But more to innocence their safety owe, Than pow'r or genius e'er conspired to bless. And thou who mindful of th' unhonor'd dead Dost in these notes their artless tale relate, By night and lonely contemplation led To wander in the gloomy walks of fate ; Hark, how the sacred calm, that breathes around, Bids every fierce tumultuous passion cease : In still small accents whisp'ring from the ground, A grateful earnest of eternal peace. No more, with reason and thyself at strife, Give anxious cares and endless wishes room ; But through the cool sequester'd vale of life Pursue the silent tenor of thy doom. 73. Far from the madding crowd's ignoble strife: Madding means not maddening, but acting madly. 76. Tenor: From the Latin tenor, a holding-on. 81. There is a mis-spelled epitaph on a tomb-stone under the very yew pointed out as standing in Gray's time in the grave-yard of Stoke Pogis, which is the scene of the Elegy. 86. Pleasing anxious: Note the fine epitome of human experi- ence in these two words. 93. The abrupt turn at this point gives a new and personal interest to the generalizations of the poem. But Gray's reticence GKAY'S ELEGY: NOTES 83 still preserves a little veil by his device of apostrophizing himself in the third person. 95. Chance: Perchance. 97. The Hoary-headed swain walks out of an eighteenth-century pastoral, not out of a real village. Wordsworth would never have used this phrase. 99. See Paradise Lost, V. 429. 100. After this stanza, in the first version, followed four lines : it is hard to see why they were omitted, since, as Mason says, they have "the same sort of Doric delicacy which charms us peculiarly in this part of the poem," and as he also points out, they complete the account of the poet's day : Him have we seen the greenwood side along, While o'er the heath we hied, our labour done, Oft as the woodlark pip'd her farewell song, With wistful eyes pursue the setting sun. 101. If any proof were needed that Gray has himself in mind in this pathetic portrait of the young poet, it may be found in the following passage from a letter written by him to Walpole in September, 1737. The wood described is that containing the famous Burnham beeches : "I have at the distance of half a mile through a green lane, a forest (the vulgar call it a common) all my own, at least as good as so, for I spy no human thing in it but myself. It is a little chaos of mountains and precipices. . . . Both vale and hill are covered with most venerable beeches, and other very reverend vegetables, that, like most other ancient people, are always dream- ing out their old stories to the winds. . . "At the foot of one of these squats ME ; (I, II Penseroso) and there grow to a trunk the whole morning." 111. Another, day, not person. 116. Here came, in the original version, an omitted stanza which almost everyone wishes that Gray had retained ; for there is none more beautiful in the Elegy. His reason for leaving it out was to have the Epitaph follow directly the invitation to read. But he hesitated, constantly inserting the stanza and then omitting it again, so that Mr. Gosse says that we need not regard it as finally cancelled : There scatter'd oft, the earliest of the year, By hands unseen are show'rs of violets found ; The redbreast loves to build and warble there, And little footsteps lightly print the ground. 84 SHQETEE ENGLISH POEMS 119. Fair Science: Gray habitually uses Science in the sense of learning or knowledge. See his Ode on a Distant Prospect of Eton College, line 3 : Where grateful Science still adores Her Henry's holy shade. 128. Do you agree with some critics who find the Epitaph more frigid and artificial than the rest of the poem? Or does it touch yeu? OLIVEE GOLDSMITH 85 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 1728—1774. I. It was in a good year for English letters that Oliver Goldsmith was born : for in this year Pope published his Dunciad, Thomson his poem on Spring, and Gay his Beggar's Opera. Goldsmith, unlike the three poets just mentioned, was an Irishman. His father was a poor, unworldly, and gentle Protestant clergyman. The boy, until he was seventeen, lived in the country. He was thought to be a dull child, and the smallpox disfigured his face so that he remained to the end of his life unusually ugly. He attended Trinity College, Dublin : Burke was there at the same time, but the two youths did not know each other. Goldsmith was not happy in his college life, but he took his degree in 1749, lowest in the list. He knocked about for a few years; studied medicine at the University of Edin- burgh, and later at Leyden: and wandered over the Continent, penniless, and making his way by various devices, much as students in the middle ages used to do. Sometimes he earned his passage by flute-playing. He has given a pretty account in The Traveller of the sprightly French peasants dancing to the music of the strolling Irish player. At twenty-seven, Goldsmith settled down in London for the remainder of his life. He had a doctor's de- gree ; but it was as a man of letters that he picked up a precarious living. London was at this time full of 87 88 SHOKTEB ENGLISH POEMS authors. A large reading public had grown up during the eighteenth century, so that writers were escaping from their old thraldom to rich patrons and growing able to support themselves independently. But the task was no easy one, and the best writers of the day, unless, like Gray, they held an academic position, were likely to know a hard struggle. No one struggled harder than Goldsmith. Beneath an indolent exterior he concealed an immense power of work, as anyone who reads the long list of his hack writings can see. He was always carelessly generous and he lived from hand to mouth : but no one could call him lazy. Like most writers of the day, he began by writing for the numerous periodicals, which, following the fashion set by Addison and Steele, were the chief literary type then current. It was not long before some of these papers, collected later under the title The Citizen of the World, made a hit. They were an entertaining study of English life from the point of view of an imaginary visitor from China : a device revived in our own day by Mr. Lowes-Dickenson in his Letters of a Chinese Official. Goldsmith was already favorably known by an Inquiry into the State of Polite Learning in Europe, published in 1759. And now, when he was only a little over thirty years old, he formed the ac- quaintance, soon to ripen into friendship, of the burly and lovable dictator of English letters with whom his name is always associated, — Dr. Johnson. Johnson was the centre of the literary life of London. The doings of the brilliant group in which Goldsmith played a part secondary only to his own is chronicled for all time by his biographer, Boswell ; to the pages of OLIVEE GOLDSMITH 89 the immortal biographer and to the other memoirs of the period, the student must turn for an inimitably vivid record of the personality and ways, the speech, the tastes, the habits of those good comrades and great men, over whose converse everyone loves to linger, — Sir Joshua Reynolds, Burke, Garrick, Goldsmith. Here we can only chronicle the story, told by Johnson himself, how late in the year 1764 Goldsmith in great distress sent for Johnson, having been arrested for rent: how Johnson bore away a manuscript novel, called The Vicar of Wakefield, sold it for sixty pounds, — three hundred dollars, — and set his friend free. The price was little for that delightful work: yet the fact that Johnson could secure such a sum proves that Goldsmith had already a certain reputation. More prosperous days came later. Many of the ablest men in the eighteenth century were unhappy: several, including Gray, Collins, Cowper, and Johnson himself, were over-shadowed by mental disease. But Goldy, as the great Doctor called him, was apparently a fairly happy man, who enjoyed his friends, his trips into the country and to the Continent, and not least the innocent personal vanities which are mercilessly recorded for us in contemporary accounts. He achieved distinction in one line of letters after another. First known as a light essayist, his poem The Traveller, published in 1764, when he was thirty-six years old, gave him a leading position among writers of verse, a position confirmed by The Deserted Village six years later. His novel, The Vicar of Wakefield, published in 1766, found its way at once to people's 90 SHORTER ENGLISH POEMS hearts: and his two dramas, The Good-Natured Man (1767) and She Stoops to Conquer (1771), had a charm that still holds the stage. Goldsmith was a blunderer in social converse, and funny stories are told of his awkwardness and simplicity. Yet he had on occasion a pretty wit of his own, and if people laughed at him, they loved him. When news came of his death, Burke burst into tears and Reynolds painted no more that day. "Let not his frailties be remembered: he was a very great man," said Dr. Johnson. " Frailties" he had in abundance, but his instincts were pure and gay, his spirit was sensitive to all fine things, his whole nature, in a worldly age, was unworldly, tender, and sincere. In that famous group there is no other man who appeals so warmly to the affections. II. Goldsmith is one of the most charming and versatile of English writers. Great writers usually do one thing supremely well. Shakespeare wrote dramas, Shelley lyrics, Thackeray novels. Goldsmith did many things: none supremely, all delightfully. We need not speak of the hack work he conscientiously performed, the History of England, the compilations of scientific information: putting these aside, how much remains! Goldsmith's essays, especially those collected as The Citizen of the World, are the most graceful writing of that order between Addison and Lamb : his two dramas are, with the exception of the plays of Sheridan, the most living comedies in an undramatic age : The Vicar of Wakefield is an idyll OLIVER GOLDSMITH 91 that has become a classic : and the two companion poems, The Deserted Village and The Traveller, give him an assured place among English poets. Goldsmith wrote in the middle of the eighteenth century. The men who carried on the pseudo-classic traditions were his contemporaries; so too were the leaders of the romantic revolt, Gray, Collins, Dr. Percy of the Reliques, and Horace Walpole. The great novelists, Eichardson, (for whom he was once proofreader) Fielding, and Smollett, had im- mediately preceded him. The stars of Gibbon, Hume, and Adam Smith were rising. For the Romantic school Goldsmith had no liking, and he adhered stoutly to old forms: but nevertheless the new spirit is in his work. True, it shows no trace of that awaken- ing imaginative passion memorable in the poems of Gray and Collins. Goldsmith's imagination was weak: his subjects were drawn from what he had observed or experienced in the flesh, and when, as in The Citizen of the World, he spins a thread of story out of pure fantasy, his work is laughable to a degree. But if deficient in imagination, it is redolent of feeling. Emotion of that purest type in which tears and laughter blend, makes The Vicar of Wake- field a limpid source of refreshment, whether to a Goethe or to a little school-girl. His comedies are provocative of hearty laughter, but the laughter is innocent and loving, not barbed with a sneer like the laughter of Swift or Pope. It is humor indeed that saves his sentiment from sentimentality, and it is largely humor that enables us to claim Goldsmith as one of the pioneers of literary 92 SHOETEE ENGLISH POEMS realism. His realism is not sustained. Sweet Auburn may be a true village, but the inhabitants wend their way to a country of fantasy. The plot of The Vicar of Wakefield is full of harmless conventions; nor is the joyous world of the comedies quite the actual world. Yet there is evident in all Goldsmith's writings the instinctive quest of simplicity and truth. He really prefers the Vicar of Wakefield for a hero to any of the fine folk who move in stately minuet through the literature of the age of Queen Anne. He was in a sense a man of the world; his essays attest a keen if not profound gift of social criticism (as in the enter- taining panegyric of the beauty of the ladies of China as compared with those of England) ; yet he was never worldly. His books evince a nature of rare delicacy, in which the keynote is a gentle sincerity that charms us still. Many eighteenth century writers seem suc- cessfully to hide themselves when they write : if it were not for Boswell, who would know Dr. Johnson? Goldsmith, on the contrary, revealed himself, and the man he reveals is one whom everyone must love. III. "Warm sympathy mingles with keen powers of observation in The Traveller, a poem that records the impressions of different nations received by Goldsmith in his youthful travels. Perhaps the powers of obser- vation are the more evident. The poem is full of general statements, aptly put, about great countries and various racial types. But The Deserted Village has always been the more popular of the two poems, OLIVER GOLDSMITH 93 just because it is the one in which Goldsmith's heart speaks most clearly. It lingers fondly over the fate of one little village such as he loved when a boy. It may not possess the highest qualities of poetry: but it is written in English beautifully pure; it is full of feeling and of gentle humorous wisdom; it gives us delightful sketches of innocent country life and of two or three quaint village people; and with all its quiet tone, it is aflame with a noble passion for social justice and a fine, hot sympathy with the wrongs of the poor. Let us first note the form of the poems. In the preface to The Traveller Goldsmith says: "What criticisms have we not heard of late, in favor of blank verse, Pindaric odes, choruses, anapests, and iambics, alliterative care, and happy negligence ! " It happened that Gray had recently published his Pin- daric Odes, and that discussion had indeed been rife regarding the advisability of enlarging the borders of poetic style. Goldsmith was a conservative so far as the metrical form of his poems is concerned. He adhered to the chief poetic tradition of his cen- tury in using the so-called heroic couplet which had been brought to perfection by Dryden and Pope and which had for more than one generation driven all free movement of poetic feeling out of the field in favor of " a wit all see-saw between That, and This. ' ' We may question whether the couplet, with its demand for epigrammatic conciseness, was the best possible vehicle for the sympathetic picture of village life which Goldsmith desired to present in The Deserted Village. It was better adapted to the generalizations 94 SHORTEB ENGLISH POEMS of The Traveller. But in both poems he draws from his measure, to a certain degree, effects of a new order. His treatment is less brilliant than spon- taneous. Pope's couplets are chiselled like a cameo. Goldsmith's flow quietly, like his own "glassy" and "never-failing brook" between their careful banks. Goldsmith has more touches of pure poetry and fewer rhetorical figures. Pope could no more have written the line "Sweet as the primrose peeps beneath the thorn" than Goldsmith could have described the toilette of Belinda. If we have fewer antitheses and epigrams in Goldsmith, however, we have a like per- fection of finish within the limits of the line or coup- let, a like search for condensation and for classical precision of outline. Another age was to break loose from tradition altogether and to draw from the coup- let a music fresh and strange. Compare these four well-known lines from The Deserted Village with the passage from Keats 's Sleep and Poetry which follows : As some tall cliff that lifts its awful form Swells from the vale and midway leaves the storm, Though round its breast the rolling clouds are spread, Eternal sunshine settles on its head. Yes, in spite of all, Some shape of beauty moves away the pall From our dark spirits. Such the sun, the moon, Trees young and old, sprouting a shady boon For simple sheep. Note how great the gain to the modern ear from the freedom and variety with which Keats 's music over- flows the ends of lines. But no one was writing in this way in Goldsmith's time. He made a singularly OLIVEE GOLDSMITH 95 perfect use of the instrument ready to his hand, and it is profitable to study his diction line by line, noting how each word is charged with significance and each phrase adds to the luminous completeness of the whole. Bartlett in his Familiar Quotations gives no less than forty-one lines from The Traveller, and seventy-four from The Deserted Village. These sur- prising figures show how thoroughly England has made the poems her own. The description of Auburn is full of reminiscences of Lissoy, the Irish village where Goldsmith lived as a child. People said then that the eviction of the peasants in obedience to the cruel greed of the land- lord might occur across the Channel, but could not happen in England. Goldsmith, as may be seen in the graceful dedication of the poem to Sir Joshua Eeynolds, insisted that it could: but without doubt dim memories of what happened in sorrowful Erin affected his ostensible pictures of English life. The portraits of the Parson and the Schoolmaster, which give the poem so much of its charm, are Irish por- traits : The Parson was drawn partly from his father, partly from the beloved brother to whom he dedi- cated The Traveller, and who, like the Parson in the poem, was, he tells us, "passing rich on forty pounds a year." This description is one of the best char- acter studies in English verse. It is curiously like Chaucer's account of his poor parson in the Prologue to The Canterbury Tales; and every student should compare the two passages and note with interest how the humble service of the People in the Name of God has produced the same types from age to age. There 96 SHORTER ENGLISH POEMS is more Iramor in the portrait of the Schoolmaster, Goldsmith's old teacher in Lissoy, — yet this picture, too, is full of sympathy. Indeed, the sympathy in all these studies puts The Deserted Village in quite a dif- ferent class from the clever character-sketching in verse practiced by Pope and Dryden. It is interesting to compare such a study as Zimri in Dryden 's Absalom and Achitophel, or Atticus in Pope's Epistle to Dr. Arbuthnot with these loving verses of Goldsmith's. Dryden and Pope point their couplets with venom. Goldsmith's laugh is always affectionate. Does satire or sympathy, criticism or affection, penetrate to a deeper understanding of character? All literature and life suggest the question. Poetry, said Milton, should be "simple, sensuous, and passionate," and Wordsworth adds that poetry can only exist where "it can find an atmosphere of sensation in which to move its wings." Goldsmith, like most men of his day, was careless of this truth, and in parts of his poems abstractions ring cold on the ear. Yet even in these, though the poetry may flag, the thought and spirit are fine ; the wide social outlook bespeaks a man not only of tender heart but of clear, grave intellectual vision. Goldsmith may have been hazy about his economic facts in detail: but that absorption of the land of England by great estates, which so moved his indignation, is a crying evil which still strikes the eye even of the tourist, and which is even now vigorously demanding redress through political struggle. Perhaps the poet's evicted immigrants never made their way to those dimly- conceived regions "where wild Altama murmurs to OLIVEE GOLDSMITH 97 their woe." But there were plenty of evictions in Ireland, and today many a depopulated village in southern Italy shows conditions not literally similar nor due to the same cause as those described by Gold- smith, yet vividly suggested by his lines. It is with a fine turn at the end that the poet sees, no longer the poor simple people, but the, rural virtues them- selves, sadly leaving the land where luxury and greed have become masters: some of his ringing couplets may well sound in our American ears today, as he tells us how wide the limits stand Between a splendid and a happy land. or exclaims in noble anger, 111 fares the land, to hastening ills a prey, Where wealth accumulates, and men decay; These poems, then, follow in many respects the pseudo-classic tradition of the eighteenth century. But they also mark the quickening of a new spirit. Far more explicitly than Gray's Elegy they shift the centre of interest from court and town and the arti- ficial society which Pope and Addison and the novel- ists of the age revelled in describing, to simple village life. The Deserted Village, in particular, is suffused by undisguised tenderness, and it is full of solicitude for the humble, and of a social passion in which Gold- smith is distinctly in advance of his generation, and a precursor of the school that is to the fore today in political economy. We can trace in it but vaguely that rebirth of beauty and of wonder already dimly prophesied in the poetry of Gray and of Collins: 98 SHORTER ENGLISH POEMS but we do find in it a harbinger of that poetry of personal sentiment and of democratic sympathies which was to be one of the glories of the coming age. The poem points the way to Burns 's The Cotter's Saturday Night, to Wordsworth 's Michael and Leech- Gatherer, and to all those interpretations of the beauty and pathos in the lives of the poor which were to form a distinctive feature alike of the poetry and the fiction of the nineteenth century. THE TRAVELLER. DEDICATION. TO THE REV. HENRY GOLDSMITH. Dear Sir, — I am sensible that the friendship be- tween us can acquire no new force from the ceremonies of a dedication; and perhaps it demands an excuse thus to prefix your name to my attempts, which you decline giving with your own. But as a part of this poem was formerly written to you from Switzer- land, the whole can now, with propriety, be only inscribed to you. It will also throw a light upon many parts of it, when the reader understands that it is addressed to a man who, despising fame and fortune, has retired early to happiness and obscurity, with an income of forty pounds a year. I now perceive, my dear brother, the wisdom of your humble choice. You have entered upon a sacred office, where the harvest is great, and the laborers are THE TRAVELLER 99 but few; while you have left the field of ambition, where the laborers are many, and the harvest not worth carrying away. But of all kinds of ambition, — what from the refinement of the times, from differ- ent systems of criticism, and from the divisions of party, — that which pursues poetical fame is the wildest. Poetry makes a principal amusement among un- polished nations; but in a country verging to the extremes of refinement, painting and music come in for a share. As these offer the feeble mind a less laborious entertainment, they at first rival poetry, and at length supplant her : they engross all that favor once shown to her, and, though but younger sisters, seize upon the elder's birthright. Yet, however this art may be neglected by the powerful, it is still in greater danger from the mis- taken efforts of the learned to improve it. What criticisms have we not heard of late in favor of blank verse and Pindaric odes, choruses, anapests and iambics, alliterative care and happy negligence! Every absurdity has now a champion to defend it; and as he is generally much in the wrong, so he has always much to say; for error is ever talkative. But there is an enemy to this art still more danger- ous — I mean party. Party entirely distorts the judg- ment, and destroys the taste. When the mind is once infected with this disease, it can only find pleasure in what contributes to increase the distemper. Like the tiger, that seldom desists from pursuing man after having once preyed upon human flesh, the reader, who has once gratified his appetite with calumny, makes, 100 SHORTER ENGLISH POEMS ever after, the most agreeable feast upon murdered reputation. Such readers generally admire some half-witted thing, who wants to be thought a bold man, having lost the character of a wise one. Him they dignify with the name of poet : his tawdry lam- poons are called satires, his turbulence is said to be force, and his frenzy fire. What reception a poem may find, which has neither abuse, party, nor blank verse to support it, I cannot tell, nor am I solicitous to know. My aims are right. Without espousing the cause of any party, I have at- tempted to moderate the rage of all. I have endeav- ored to show, that there may be equal happiness in states that are differently governed from our own; that every state has a particular principle of happi- ness, and that this principle in each may be carried to a mischievous excess. There are few can judge, better than yourself, how far these positions are illus- trated in this poem. I am, dear Sir, Your most affectionate Brother, Oliver Goldsmith. Remote, unfriended, melancholy, slow, — Or by the lazy Scheldt or wandering Po ; Or onward, where the rude Carinthian boor Against the houseless stranger shuts the door; 5 Or where Campania's plain forsaken lies, A weary waste expanding to the skies; — Where'er I roam, whatever realms to see, My heart untravell'd fondly turns to thee; Still to my brother turns, with ceaseless pain, ~ 10 And drags at each remove a lengthening chain. THE TEAVELLEE 101 Eternal blessings crown my earliest friend, And round his dwelling guardian saints attend: Blest be that spot, where cheerful guests retire To pause from toil, and trim their evening fire; 15 Blest that abode, where want and pain repair, And every stranger finds a ready chair; Blest be those feasts with simple plenty crown 'd, Where all the, ruddy family around Laugh at the jests or pranks that never fail, 20 Or sigh with pity at some mournful tale, Or press the bashful stranger to his food, And learn the luxury of doing good. But me, not destin'd such delights to share, My prime of life in wandering spent and care — 25 Impell'd, with steps unceasing, to pursue Some fleeting good, that mocks me with the view ; That, like the circle bounding earth and skies, Allures from far, yet, as I follow, flies; — My fortune leads to traverse realms alone, 30 And find no spot of all the world my own. Ev'n now, where Alpine solitudes ascend, I sit me down a pensive hour to spend; And, plac'd on high above the storm's career, Look downward where an hundred realms appear : 35 Lakes, forests, cities, plains, extending wide, The pomp of kings, the shepherd's humbler pride. "When thus creation's charms around combine, Amidst the store, should thankless pride repine? Say, should the philosophic mind disdain 40 That good which makes each humbler bosom vain ? Let school-taught pride dissemble all it can, 102 SHOETEE ENGLISH POEMS These little things are great to little man; And wiser he, whose sympathetic mind Exults in all the good of all mankind. 45 Ye glittering towns, with wealth and splendor crown 'd, Ye fields, where summer spreads profusion round, Ye lakes, whose vessels catch the busy gale, Ye bending swains, that dress the flowery vale; For me your tributary stores combine : 50 Creation 's heir, the world — the world is mine ! As some lone miser, visiting his store, Bends at his treasure, counts, recounts it o'er: Hoards after hoards his rising raptures fill, Yet still he sighs, for hoards are wanting still : 55 Thus to my breast alternate passions rise, Pleas 'd with each good that Heaven to man supplies : Yet oft a sigh prevails, and sorrows fall, To see the hoard of human bliss so small; And oft I wish, amidst the scene, to find 60 Some spot to real happiness consign 'd, Where my worn soul, each wandering hope at rest May gather bliss to see my fellows blest. But where to find that happiest spot below, Who can direct, when all pretend to know? 65 The shuddering tenant of the frigid zone Boldly proclaims that happiest spot his own ; Extols the treasures of his stormy seas, And his long nights of revelry and ease; The naked negro, panting at the line, 70 Boasts of his golden sands and palmy wine, Basks in the glare, or stems the tepid wave, THE TRAVELLER 103 And thanks his gods for all the good they gave. Such is the patriot's boast, where'er we roam; His first, best country ever is at home. 75 And yet, perhaps, if countries we compare, And estimate the blessings which they share, Though patriots flatter, still shall wisdom find An equal portion dealt to all mankind; As different good, by art or nature given, [80 To different nations makes their blessings even. Nature, a mother kind alike to all, Still grants her bliss at labor's earnest call; With food as well the peasant is supplied On Idra's cliffs as Arno's shelvy side; 85 And, though the rocky-crested summits frown, These rocks by custom turn to beds of down. From art more various are the blessings sent: Wealth, commerce, honor, liberty, content. Yet these each other's power so strong contest, 90 That either seems destructive of the rest. Where wealth and freedom reign, contentment fails, And honor sinks where commerce long prevails. Hence every state, to one lov'd blessing prone, Conforms and models life to that alone : 95 Each to the favorite happiness attends, And spurns the plan that aims at other ends; Till, carried to excess in each domain, This favorite good begets peculiar pain. But let us try these truths with closer eyes, ioo And trace them through the prospect as it lies. Here for a while, my proper cares resign 'd, Here let me sit in sorrow for mankind : 104 SHOKTEB ENGLISH POEMS Like yon neglected shrub, at random cast, That shades the steep, and sighs at every blast. 105 Far to the right, where Apennine ascends, Bright as the summer, Italy extends; Its uplands sloping deck the mountain's side, Woods over woods in gay theatric pride ; "While oft some temple's mouldering tops between no With venerable grandeur mark the scene. Could nature's bounty satisfy the breast, The sons of Italy were surely blest. Whatever fruits in different climes are found, That proudly rise, or humbly court the ground; lis Whatever blooms in torrid tracts appear, Whose bright succession decks the varied year; Whatever sweets salute ^the northern sky With vernal lives, that blossom but to die: These, here disporting, own the kindred soil, 120 Nor ask luxuriance from the planter's toil; While sea-born gales their gelid wings expand To winnow fragrance round the smiling land. But small the bliss that sense alone bestows, And sensual bliss is all the nation knows. 125 In florid beauty groves and fields appear, Man seems the only growth that dwindles here. Contrasted faults through all his manners reign: Though poor, luxurious; though submissive, vain; Though grave, yet trifling; zealous, yet untrue; 130 And even in penance planning sins anew. All evils here contaminate the mind, That opulence departed leaves behind. For wealth was theirs ; not far remov 'd the date, THE TRAVELLER 105 When commerce proudly flourished through the state. 135 At her command the palace learnt to rise, Again the long-fallen column sought the skies; The canvas glow'd beyond ev'n nature warm, The pregnant quarry teem'd with human form; Till, more unsteady than the southern gale, 140 Commerce on other shores display 'd her sail; While nought remain 'd of all that riches gave, But towns unmann'd, and lords without a slave a And late the nation found, with fruitless skill, Its former strength was but plethoric ill. 145 Yet still the loss of wealth is here supplied By arts, the splendid wrecks of former pride ; From these the feeble heart and long-fallen mind An easy compensation seem to find. Here may be seen, in bloodless pomp array 'd, 150 The pasteboard triumph and the cavalcade ; Processions form'd for piety and love, A mistress or a saint in every grove. By sports like these are all their cares beguil'd, The sports of children satisfy the child; 155 Each nobler aim, rep rest by long control, Now sinks at last, or feebly mans the soul; While low delights, succeeding fast behind, In happier meanness occupy the mind. As in those domes where Cassars once bore sway, i60Defac'd by time and tottering in decay, There in the ruin, heedless of the dead, The shelter-seeking peasant builds his shed; And, wondering man could want the larger pile, Exults, and owns his cottage with a smile. 106 SHOETEE ENGLISH POEMS 165 My soul, turn from them; turn we to survey Where rougher climes a nobler race display; Where the bleak Swiss their stormy mansion tread, And force a churlish soil for scanty bread. No product here the barren hills afford, 170 But man and steel, the soldier and his sword ; No vernal blooms their torpid rocks array, But winter lingering chills the lap of May; No zephyr fondly sues the mountain's breast, But meteors glare, and stormy glooms invest. 175 Yet still, even here, content can spread a charm, Redress the clime, and all its rage disarm. Though poor the peasant's hut, his feasts though small, He sees his little lot the lot of all; Sees no contiguous palace rear its head 180 To shame the meanness of his humble shed ; No costly lord the sumptuous banquet deal To make him loathe his vegetable meal; But calm, and bred in ignorance and toil, Each wish contracting, fits him to the soil. 185 Cheerful, at morn, he wakes from short repose, Breasts the keen air, and carols as he goes; With patient angle trolls the finny deep, Or drives his venturous ploughshare to the steep; Or seeks the den where snow-tracks mark the way, 190 And drags the struggling savage into day. At night returning, every labor sped, He sits him down, the monarch of a shed; Smiles by his cheerful fire, and round surveys His children's looks, that brighten at the blaze; THE TEAVELLEE 107 195 While his lov'd partner, boastful of her hoard, Displays her cleanly platter on the board ; And haply too some pilgrim, thither led, With many a tale repays the nightly bed. Thus every good his native wilds impart, 200 Imprints the patriot passion on his heart; And ev'en those hills that round his mansion rise Enhance the bliss his scanty fund supplies. Dear is that shed to which his soul conforms, And dear that hill which lifts him to the storms : 205 And as a child, when scaring sounds molest, Clings close and closer to the mother's breast, So the loud torrent and the whirlwind's roar But bind him to his native mountains more. Such are the charms to barren states assign 'd; 210 Their wants but few, their wishes all confin'd. Yet let them only share the praises due ; If few their wants, their pleasures are but few; For every want that stimulates the breast Becomes a source of pleasure when redrest. 215 Whence from such lands each pleasing science flies, That first excites desire, and then supplies; Unknown to them, when sensual pleasures cloy, To fill the languid pause with finer joy; Unknown those powers that raise the soul to flame 220 Catch every nerve, and vibrate through the frame, Their level life is but a smouldering fire, Unquench'd by want, unfann'd by strong desire; Unfit for raptures, or, if raptures cheer On some high festival of once a year, 108 SHOETEE ENGLISH POEMS 225 In wild excess the vulgar breast takes fire, Till, buried in debauch, the bliss expire. But not their joys alone thus coarsely flow; Their morals, like their pleasures, are but low. For, as refinement stops, from sire to son, 230 Unalter 'd, unimprov 'd, the manners run ; And love's and friendship's finely pointed dart Fall blunted from each indurated heart. Some sterner virtues o'er the mountain's breast May sit, like falcons cowering on the nest ; 235 But all the gentler morals, such as play Through life's more cultur'd walks, and charm the way, — These, far dispers'd, on timorous pinions fly, To sport and flutter in a kinder sky. To kinder skies, where gentler manners reign, 240 I turn ; and France displays her bright domain. Gay, sprightly land of mirth and social ease, Pleas 'd with thyself, whom all the world can please, How often have I led thy sportive choir, With tuneless pipe, beside the murmuring Loire! 245 Where shading elms along the margin grew, And freshen 'd from the wave the zephyr flew; And haply, though my harsh touch, faltering still, But mock'd all tune, and marr'd the dancer's skill, Yet would the village praise my wondrous power, 250 And dance, forgetful of the noontide hour. Alike all ages : dames of ancient days Have led their children through the mirthful maze; And the gay grandsire, skill'd in gestic lore, Has frisk 'd beneath the burthen of three-score. THE TRAVELLER 109 255 So blest a life these thoughtless realms display, Thus idly busy rolls their world away. Theirs are those arts that mind to mind endear, For honor forms the social temper here : Honor, that praise which real merit gains, 260 Or even imaginary worth obtains, Here passes current; paid from hand to hand, It shifts in splendid traffic round the land; From courts, to camps, to cottages it strays, And all are taught an avarice of praise. 265 They please, are pleas 'd ; they give to get esteem, Till, seeming blest, they grow to what they seem. But while this softer art their bliss supplies, It gives their follies also room to rise ; For praise too dearly lov'd, or warmly sought, 270 Enfeebles all internal strength of thought : And the weak soul, within itself unblest, Leans for all pleasure on another's breast. Hence ostentation here, with tawdry art, Pants for the vulgar praise which fools impart; 275 Here vanity assumes her pert grimace, And trims her robes of frieze with copper lace ; Here beggar pride defrauds her daily cheer, To boast one splendid banquet once a year: The mind still turns where shifting fashion draws, 280 Nor weighs the solid worth of self-applause. To men of other minds my fancy flies, Embosom 'd in the deep where Holland lies. Methinks her patient sons before me stand, Where the broad ocean leans against the land, 285 And, sedulous to stop the coming tide, HO SHORTER ENGLISH POEMS Lift the tall rampire's artificial pride. Onward methinks, and diligently slow, The firm connected bulwark seems to grow, Spreads its long arms amidst the watery roar, 290 Scoops out an empire, and usurps the shore. While the pent ocean, rising o'er the pile, Sees an amphibious world beneath him smile; The slow canal, the yellow-blossom 'd vale, The willow-tufted bank, the gliding sail, 295 The crowded mart, the cultivated plain, — A new creation rescued from his reign. Thus, while around the wave-subjected soil Impels the native to repeated toil, Industrious habits in each bosom reign, 300 And industry begets a love of gain. Hence all the good from opulence that springs, With all those ills superfluous treasure brings, Are here display 'd. Their much lov'd wealth imparts Convenience, plenty, elegance, and arts; 305 But, view them closer, craft and fraud appear ; Even liberty itself is barter 'd here. At gold's superior charms all freedom flies; The needy sell it, and the rich man buys. A land of tyrants, and a den of slaves, 3io Here wretches seek dishonorable graves, And calmly bent, to servitude conform, Dull as their lakes that slumber in the storm. Heavens! how unlike their Belgic sires of old — Rough, poor, content, ungovernably bold; 315 War in each breast, and freedom on each brow ; How much unlike the sons of Britain now! THE TEAVELLEE HI Fir'd at the sound, my genius spreads her wing, And flies where Britain courts the western spring ; Where lawns extend that scorn Arcadian pride, 320 And brighter streams than fam'd Hydaspes glide. There all around the gentlest breezes stray, There gentle music melts on every spray; Creation's mildest charms are there combin'd: Extremes are only in the master 's mind ! 325 Stern o 'er each bosom reason holds her state, With daring aims irregularly great; Pride in their port, defiance in their eye, I see the lords of human kind pass by; Intent on high designs, a thoughtful band, 330 By forms unf ashion 'd, fresh from Nature 's hand, Fierce in their native hardiness of soul, True to imagin 'd right, above control ; While even the peasant boasts these rights to scan, And learns to venerate himself as man. 335 Thine, Freedom, thine the blessings pictur'd here, Thine are those charms that dazzle and endear ; Too blest, indeed, were such without alloy; But, foster 'd even by freedom, ills annoy, That independence Britons prize too high 340 Keeps man from man, and breaks the social tie ; The self-dependent lordlings stand alone, All claims that bind and sweeten life unknown. Here, by the bonds of nature feebly held, Minds combat minds, repelling and repell'd; 345 Ferments arise, imprison 'd factions roar, Represt ambition struggles round her shore; Till, over-wrought, the general system feels Its motions stop, or frenzy fire the wheels. 112 SHORTER ENGLISH POEMS Nor this the worst. As nature 's ties decay, 350 As duty, love, and honor fail to sway, Fictitious bonds, the bonds of wealth and law, Still gather strength, and force unwilling awe. Hence all obedience bows to these alone, And talent sinks, and merit weeps unknown ; 355 Till time may come, when, stript of all her charms, The land of scholars, and the nurse of arms, Where noble stems transmit the patriot flame, Where kings have toil 'd and poets wrote for fame, One sink of level avarice shall lie, 360 And scholars, soldiers, kings, unhonor'd die. Yet think not, thus when Freedom's ills I state, I mean to flatter kings, or court the great: Ye powers of truth, that bid my soul aspire, Far from my bosom drive the low desire ; 365 And thou, fair Freedom, taught alike to feel The rabble's rage, and tyrant's angry steel; Thou transitory flower, alike undone By proud contempt, or favor's fostering sun, Skill may thy blooms the changeful clime endure ! 370 I only would repress them to secure : For just experience tells, in every soil, That those who think must. govern those that toil; And all that Freedom's highest aims can reach, Is but to lay proportion 'd loads on each. 375 Hence, should one order disproportion 'd grow, Its double weight must ruin all below. Oh, then how blind to all that truth requires, Who think it freedom when a part aspires! THE TRAVELLER 113 Calm is my soul, nor apt to rise in arms, 380 Except when fast approaching danger warms : But when contending chiefs blockade the throne, Contracting regal power to stretch their own; When I behold a factious band agree To call it freedom when themselves are free ; 385 Each wanton judge new penal statutes draw, Laws grind the poor, and rich men rule the law; The wealth of climes, where savage nations roam, Pillag'd from slaves to purchase slaves at home; Fear, pity, justice, indignation, start, Tear off reserve, and bare my swelling heart; Till, half a patriot, half a coward grown, I fly from petty tyrants to the throne. Yes, Brother, curse with me that baleful hour, When first ambition struck at regal power, 395 And thus polluting honor in its source, Gave wealth to sway the mind with double force. Have we not seen, round Britain's peopled shore, Her useful sons exchang'd for useless ore? Seen all her triumphs but destruction haste, 400 Like flaring tapers brightening as they waste, Seen opulence, her grandeur to maintain, Lead stern depopulation in her train, And over fields where scatter 'd hamlets rose, In barren, solitary pomp repose? 405 Have we not seen, at pleasure 's lordly call, The smiling, long frequented village fall? Beheld the duteous son, the sire decay 'd, The modest matron, and the blushing maid, Forc'd from their homes, a melancholy train, 114 SHORTER ENGLISH POEMS 410 To traverse climes beyond the western main ; "Where wild Oswego spreads her swamps around, And Niagara stuns with thundering sound? Even now, perhaps, as there some pilgrim strays Through tangled forests, and through dangerous ways, 415 Where beasts with man divided empire claim, And the brown Indian marks with murderous aim; There, while above the giddy tempest flies, And all around distressful yells arise, The pensive exile, bending with his woe, 420 To stop too fearful, and too faint to go, Casts a long look where England's glories shine, And bids his bosom sympathize with mine. Vain, very vain, my weary search to find That bliss which only centres in the mind: 425 Why have I stray 'd from pleasure and repose, To seek a good each government bestows? In every government, though terrors reign, Though tyrant kings or tyrant laws restrain, How small, of all that human hearts endure, 430 That part which laws or kings can cause or cure ! Still to ourselves in every place consign 'd, Our own felicity we make or find: With secret course, which no loud storms annoy, Glides the smooth current of domestic joy. 435 The lifted axe, the agonizing wheel, Luke's iron crown, and Damiens' bed of steel, To men remote from power but rarely known, Leave reason, faith, and conscience, all our own. THE DESEETED VILLAGE H5 THE DESEETED VILLAGE. DEDICATION. TO SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS. Dear Sir, — I can have no expectations, in an address of this kind, either to add to your reputation, or to establish my own. You can gain nothing from my admiration, as I am ignorant of that art in which you are said to excel; and I may lose much by the severity of your judgment, as few have a juster taste in poetry than you. Setting interest, therefore, aside, to which I never paid much attention, I must be indulged at present in following my affections. The only dedication I ever made was to my brother, because I loved him better than most other men. He is since dead. Permit me to inscribe this poem to you. How far you may be pleased with the versification and mere mechanical parts of this attempt, I do not pretend to inquire; but I know you will object (and indeed several of our best and wisest friends concur in the opinion), that the depopulation it deplores is no- where to be seen, and the disorders it laments are only to be found in the poet's own imagination. To this I can scarce make any other answer than that I sincerely believe what I have written; that I have taken all pos- sible pains, in my country excursions, for these four or five years past, to be certain of what I allege; and that all my views and inquiries have led me to believe those miseries real, which I here attempt to display. But this is not the place to enter into an inquiry, whether the country be depopulating or not ;the discussion would take up much room, and I should prove myself, at best, an in- different politician, to tire the reader with a long preface, when I want his unfatigued attention to a long poem. In regretting the depopulation of the country, I inveigh against the increase of our luxuries, and here also I expect the shout of modern politicians against me. For twenty or thirty years past, it has been the fashion 116 SHORTER ENGLISH POEMS to consider luxury as one of the greatest national advan- tages; and all the wisdom of antiquity, in that par- ticular, as erroneous. Still, however, I must remain a professed ancient on that head, and continue to think those luxuries prejudicial to states by which so many vices are introduced, and so many kingdoms have been undone. Indeed, so much has been poured out of late on the other side of the question, that, merely for the sake of novelty and variety, one would sometimes wish to be in the right. — I am, dear Sir, Your sincere Friend and ardent Admirer, Oliver Goldsmith. Sweet Auburn ! loveliest village of the plain, Where health and plenty cheered the laboring swain, Where smiling spring its earliest visit paid, And parting summer's lingering blooms delay'd; 5 Dear lovely bowers of innocence and ease, Seats of my youth, when every sport could please, How often have I loitered o'er thy green, Where humble happiness endear'd each scene ! How often have I paus'd on every charm, 10 The sheltered cot, the cultivated farm, The never-failing brook, the busy mill, The decent church that topt the neighboring hill, The hawthorn bush with seats beneath the shade, For talking age and whispering lovers made ! 15 How often have I blest the coming day, When toil remitting lent its turn to play, And all the village train, from labor free, Led up their sports beneath the spreading tree; While many a pastime circled in the shade, 20 The young contending as the 'old survey'd; And many a gambol frolick'd o'er the ground, THE DESEBTED VILLAGE H7 And sleights of art and feats of strength went round: And still, as each repeated pleasure tir'd, Succeeding sports the mirthful band inspired; 25 The dancing pair that simply sought renown, By holding out, to tire each other down; The swain mistrustless of his smutted face, While secret laughter titter'd round the place; The bashful virgin's sidelong looks of love, 30 The matron's glance that would those looks reprove : These were thy charms, sweet village ! sports like these, With sweet succession, taught e'en toil to please; These round thy bowers their cheerful influence shed, These were thy charms, — but all these charms are fled. 35 Sweet smiling village, loveliest of the lawn ! Thy sports are fled, and all thy charms withdrawn ; Amidst thy bowers the tyrant's hand is seen, And desolation saddens all thy green: One only master grasps the whole domain, 40 And half a tillage stints thy smiling plain. No more thy glassy brook reflects the day, But chok'd with sedges works its weedy way; Along thy glades, a solitary guest, The hollow-sounding bittern guards its nest; 45 Amidst thy desert-walks the lapwing flies, And tires their echoes with unvaried cries. Sunk are thy bowers in shapeless ruin all, And the long grass o'ertops the mouldering wall; And, trembling, shrinking from the spoiler's hand 50 Far, far away thy children leave the land. Ill fares the land, to hastening ills a prey, Where wealth accumulates, and men decay; 113 SHORTER ENGLISH POEMS Princes and lords may flourish, or may fade: A breath can make them, as a breath has made, 55 But a bold peasantry, their country's pride, When once destroy'd, can never be supplied. A time there was, ere England's griefs began, When every rood of ground maintain'd its man; For him light labor spread her wholesome store, 60 Just gave what life requir'd, but gave no more ; His best companions, innocence and health; And his best riches, ignorance of wealth. But times are alter'd; trade's unfeeling train Usurp the land, and dispossess the swain; 65 Along the lawn, where scatter'd hamlets rose, Unwieldy wealth and cumbrous pomp repose; And every want to opulence allied, And every pang that folly pays to pride. Those gentle hours that plenty bade to bloom, 70 Those calm desires that ask'd but little room, Those healthful sports that grac'd the peaceful scene, Liv'd in each look, and brighten'd all the green: These, far departing, seek a kinder shore, And rural mirth and manners are no more. 75 Sweet Auburn! parent of the blissful hour, Thy glades forlorn confess the tyrant's power. Here, as I take my solitary rounds Amidst thy tangling walks and ruin'd grounds, And, many a year elaps'd, return to view 80 Where once the cottage stood, the hawthorn grew, Eemembrance wakes, with all her busy train, Swells at my breast, and turns the past to pain. THE DESEKTED VILLAGE H9 Tn all my wanderings round this world of care, . In all my griefs — and God has given my share — S5 I still had hopes, my latest hours to crown, Amidst these humble bowers to lay me down; To husband out life's taper at the close, And keep the flame from wasting by repose; I still had hopes — for pride attends us still — 90 Amidst the swains to show my book-learn'd skill, Around my fire an evening group to draw, And tell of all I felt, and all I saw; And, as a hare whom hounds and horns pursue Pants to the place from whence at first she flew, 95 I still had hopes, my long vexations past, Here to return, — and die at home at last. blest retirement! friend to life's decline, Retreat from care, that never must be mine, How blest is he who crowns in shades like these loo A youth of labor with an age of ease ; Who quits a world where strong temptations try, And, since 't is hard to combat, learns to fly ! For him no wretches, born to work and weep, Explore the mine, or tempt the dangerous deep ; 105 No surly porter stands in guilty state, To spurn imploring famine from the gate: But on he moves to meet his latter end, Angels around befriending virtue's friend; Bends to the grave with unperceiv'd decay, 110 While resignation gently slopes the way; And, all his prospects brightening to the last, His heaven commences ere the world be past. Sweet was the sound, when oft at evening's close 120 SHOETEE ENGLISH POEMS Up yonder hill the village murmur rose. lis There, as I passed with careless steps and slow, The mingling notes came sqften'd from below; The swain responsive as the milkmaid sung, The sober herd that low'd to meet their young; The noisy geese that gabbled o'er the pool; 120 The playful children just let loose from school ; The watch-dog's voice that bay'd the whispering wind, And the loud laugh that spoke the vacant mind: These all in sweet confusion sought the shade, And fill'd each pause the nightingale had made. 125 But now the sounds of population fail, No cheerful murmurs fluctuate in the gale, No busy steps the grass-grown footway tread, But all the bloomy flush of life is fled. All but yon widow' d, solitary thing 130 That feebly bends beside the plashy spring ; She, wretched matron, — forc'd in age, for bread, To strip the brook with mantling cresses spread, To pick her wintry fagot from the thorn, To seek her nightly shed, and weep till morn — 135 She only left of all the harmless train, The sad historian of the pensive plain. Near yonder copse, where once the garden smil'd, And still where many a garden flower grows wild, There, where a few torn shrubs the place disclose, 140 The village preacher's modest mansion rose. A man he was to all the country dear, And passing rich with forty pounds a year. Eemote from towns he ran his godly race, Nor e'er had chang'd, nor wish'd to change, his place ; THE DESERTED VILLAGE 121 145 Unpractised he to fawn, or seek for power, By doctrines fashion' d to the varying hour; Far other aims his heart had learn' d to prize, More skill'd to raise the wretched than to rise. His house was known to all the vagrant train, 150 He chid their wanderings, but reliev'd their pain ; The long-remember' d beggar was his guest, Whose beard descending swept his aged breast; The ruin'd spendthrift, now no longer proud, Claimed kindred there, and had his claims allow'd; 155 The broken soldier, kindly bade to stay, Sate by his fire, and talk'd the night away; Wept o'er his wounds, or, tales of sorrow done, Shoulder'd his crutch, and shew'd how fields were won. Pleas'd with his guests, the good man learn'd to glow, 160 And quite forgot their vices in their woe ; Careless their merits or their faults to scan. His pity gave ere charity began. Thus to relieve the wretched was his pride, And e'en his failings lean'd to virtue's side : 165 But in his duty prompt at every call, He watch'd and wept, he pray'd and felt for all. And as a bird each fond endearment tries To tempt its new-fledg'd offspring to the skies, He tried each art, reprov'd each dull delay, 170 Allur'd to brighter worlds, and led the way. Beside the bed where parting life was laid, And sorrow, guilt, and pain, by turns dismay'd, The reverend champion stood. At his control, Despair and anguish fled the struggling soul; 122 SHOETEE ENGLISH POEMS J 175 Comfort came down the trembling wretch to raise, And his last faltering accents whispered praise. At church, with meek and unaffected grace, His looks adorned the venerable place; Truth from his lips prevailed with double sway, 180 And fools, who came to scoff, remain' d to pray. The service past, around the pious man, With steady zeal, each honest rustic ran; Even children follow' d, with endearing wile, And plucked his gown, to share the good man's smile, 185 His ready smile a parent's warmth exprest, Their welfare pleas'd him, and their cares distrest; To them his heart, his love, his griefs, were given, But all his serious thoughts had rest in heaven: As some tall cliff that lifts its awful form, 190 Swells from the vale, and midway leaves the storm, Though round its breast the rolling clouds are spread, Eternal sunshine settles on its head. Beside yon straggling fence that skirts the way With blossom'd furze unprontably gay, 195 There, in his noisy mansion, skill'd to rule, The village master taught his little school. A man severe he was, and stern to view; I knew him well, and every truant knew: Well had the boding tremblers learn'd to trace 200 The day's disasters in his morning face ; Full well they laugh'd, with counterfeited glee At all his jokes, for many a joke had he : Full well the busy whisper, circling round, Convey'd the dismal tidings when he frown'd. 205 Yet he was kind, or, if severe in aught, THE DESEBTED VILLAGE 123 The love lie bore to learning was in fault. The village all declared how much he knew; 7 Twas certain he could write, and cipher, too ; Lands he could measure, terms and tides presage, 210 And even the story ran that he could gauge ; In arguing, too, the parson own'd his skill, For even though vanquished he could argue still; While words of learned length and thundering sound Amaz'd the gazing rustics ranged around; 215 And still they gaz^d, and still the wonder grew That one small head could carry all he knew. But past is all his fame. The very spot, Where many a time he triumphed, is forgot. Near yonder thorn, that lifts its head on high, 220 Where once the sign-post caught the passing eye, Low lies that house where nut-brown draughts inspired, Where gray-beard mirth and smiling toil retired, Where village statesmen talked with looks profound, And news much older than their ale went round. 225 Imagination fondly stoops to trace The parlor splendors of that festive place : The whitewashed wall, the nicely sanded floor, The varnish'd clock that clicked behind the door; The chest, contrived a double debt to pay, 230 A bed by night, a chest of drawers by day; The pictures placed for ornament and use, The twelve good rules, the royal game of goose; The hearth, except when winter chill' d the day, With aspen boughs, and flowers, and fennel gay, 235 While broken teacups, wisely kept for show, Eang'd o'er the chimney, glisten'd in a row. 124 SHORTER ENGLISH POEMS Vain, transitory splendors ! could not all Eeprieve the tottering mansion from its fall? Obscure it sinks, nor shall it more impart 240 An hour's importance to the poor man's heart. Thither no more the peasant shall repair To sweet oblivion of his daily care ; No more the farmer's news, the barber's tale, No more the woodman's ballad shall prevail; 245 No more the smith his dusky brow shall clear, Eelax his ponderous strength, and lean to hear; The host himself no longer shall be found Careful to see the mantling bliss go round; Nor the coy maid, half willing to be prest, 250 Shall kiss the cup to pass it to the rest. Yes ! let the rich deride, the proud disdain, These simple blessings of the lowly train; To me more dear, congenial to my heart, One native charm, than all the gloss of art. 255 Spontaneous joys, where nature has its play, The soul adopts, and owns their first-born sway; Lightly they frolic o'er the vacant mind, Unenvied, unmolested, unconfin'd. But the long pomp, the midnight masquerade, 260 With all the freaks of wanton wealth array'd, — In these, ere triflers half their wish obtain, The toiling pleasure sickens into pain; And even while fashion's brightest arts decoy, The heart, distrusting, asks if this be joy. 265 Ye friends to truth, ye statesmen, who survey The rich man's joys increase, the poor's decay, 'T is yours to judge how wide the limits stand THE DESEBTED VILLAGE 125 Between a splendid and a happy land. Proud swells the tide with loads of freighted ore, 270 And shouting Folly hails them from her shore ; Hoards e'en beyond the miser's wish abound, And rich men flock from all the world around. Yet count our gains : this wealth is but a name, That leaves our useful products still the same. 275 Not so the loss. The man of wealth and pride Takes up a space that many poor supplied; Space for his lake, his park's extended bounds, Space for his horses, equipage, and hounds: The robe that wraps his limbs in silken sloth 280 Has robb'd the neighboring fields of half their growth; His seat, where solitary sports are seen, Indignant spurns the cottage from the green; Around the world each needful product flies, For all the luxuries the world supplies. 285 While thus the land, adorn'd for pleasure, all In barren splendor feebly waits the fall. As some fair female, unadorn'd and plain, Secure to please while youth confirms her reign, Slights every borrow'd charm that dress supplies, 290 Nor shares with art the triumph of her eyes ; But when those charms are past, for charms are frail, When time advances, and when lovers fail, She then shines forth, solicitous to bless, In all the glaring impotence of dress: 295 Thus fares the land, by luxury betray'd, In nature's simplest charms at first array'd; But, verging to decline, its splendors rise, Its vistas strike, its palaces surprise; 126 SHOETEE ENGLISH POEMS While, scourged by famine from the smiling land, 300 The mournful peasant leads his humble band ; And while he sinks, without one arm to save, The country blooms — a garden and a grave. Where then, ah! where shall poverty reside, To 'scape the pressure of contiguous pride? 305 If to some common's fenceless limits stray'd, He drives his flock to pick the scanty blade, Those fenceless fields the sons of wealth divide, And even the bare-worn common is denied. If to the city sped, what waits him there? 310 To see profusion that he must not share ; To see ten thousand baneful arts combin'd, To pamper luxury, and thin mankind; To see those joys the sons of pleasure know Extorted from his fellow-creature's woe. 315 Here, while the courtier glitters in brocade, There the pale artist plies the sickly trade; Here, while the proud their long-drawn pomps display, There the black gibbet glooms beside the way. The dome where Pleasure holds her midnight reign, 320 Here, richly deck'd, admits the gorgeous train ; Tumultuous grandeur crowds the blazing square, The rattling chariots clash, the torches glare. Sure scenes like these no troubles e'er annoy ! Sure these denote one universal joy! 325 Are these thy serious thoughts ? Ah ! turn thine eyes Where the poor houseless shivering female lies. She once, perhaps, in village plenty blest, Has wept at tales of innocence distrest; Her modest looks the cottage might adorn, THE DESERTED VILLAGE 127 330 Sweet as the primrose peeps beneath the thorn ; Now lost to all — her friends, her virtue tied — Near her betrayer's door she lays her head, And, pinch'd with cold, and shrinking from the shower, With heavy heart deplores that luckless hour, 385 When idly first, ambitious of the town, She left her wheel, and robes of country brown. Do thine, sweet Auburn, thine, the loveliest train, Do thy fair tribes participate her pain? Even now, perhaps, by cold and hunger led, 340 At proud men's doors they ask a little bread. Ah, no ! To distant climes, a dreary scene, Where half the convex world intrudes between, Through torrid tracts with fainting steps they go, Where wild Altama murmurs to their woe. 345 Far different there from all that charm'd before, The various terrors of that horrid shore: Those blazing suns that dart a downward ray, And fiercely shed intolerable day; Those matted woods where birds forget to sing, 350 But silent bats in drowsy clusters cling ; Those pois'nous fields with rank luxuriance crown' d, Where the dark scorpion gathers death around; Where at each step the stranger fears to wake The rattling terrors of the vengeful snake ; 355 Where crouching tigers wait their hapless prey And savage men more murderous still than they ; While oft in whirls the mad tornado flies, Mingling the ravag'd landscape with the skies. Far different these from every former scene, 560 The cooling brook, the grassy-vested green, . 128 SHOKTER ENGLISH POEMS The breezy covert of the warbling grove, That only sheltered thefts of harmless love. Good Heaven ! what sorrows gloom'd that parting day That call'd them from their native walks away; 365 When the poor exiles, every pleasure past, Hung round the bowers, and fondly look'd their last, And took a long farewell, and wished in vain For seats like these beyond the western main; And, shuddering still to face the distant deep, 370 Keturn'd and wept, and still returned to weep ! The good old sire the first prepared to go To new-found worlds, and wept for others' woe; But for himself, in conscious virtue brave, He only wished for worlds beyond the grave. 375 His lovely daughter, lovelier in her tears, The fond companion of his helpless years, Silent went next, neglectful of her charms, And left a lover's for a father's arms. With louder plaints the mother spoke her woes, 380 And bless'd the cot where every pleasure rose ; And kiss'd her thoughtless babes with many a tear And clasp'd them close, in sorrow doubly dear; Whilst her fond husband strove to lend relief In all the silent manliness of grief. 385 Luxury! thou curst by Heaven's decree, How ill exchang'd are things like these for thee! How do thy potions, with insidious joy, Diffuse their pleasures only to destroy! Kingdoms by thee, to sickly greatness grown, THE DESEBTED VILLAGE 129 390 Boast of a florid vigor not their own. At every draught more large and large they grow, A bloated mass of rank, unwieldy woe; Till sapp'd their strength, and every part unsound, Down, down they sink, and spread a ruin round. 395 Even now the devastation is begun, And half the business of destruction done; Even now, methinks, as pondering here I stand, I see the rural "Virtues leave the land. Down where yon anchoring vessel spreads the sail 400 That, idly waiting, flaps with every gale, Downward they move, a melancholy band, Pass from the shore, and darken all the strand. Contented Toil, and hospitable Care, And kind connubial Tenderness, are there; 405 And Piety with wishes placed above, And steady Loyalty, and faithful Love. And thou, sweet Poetry, thou loveliest maid, Still first to fly where sensual joys invade; Unfit, in these degenerate times of shame, 410 To catch the heart, or strike for honest fame ; Dear charming nymph, neglected and decried, My shame in crowds, my solitary pride; Thou source of all my bliss and all my woe, That f ound'st me poor at first, and keep'st me so ; 415 Thou guide, by which the nobler arts excel, Thou nurse of every virtue, fare thee well! Farewell ! and oh ! where'er thy voice be tried, On Torno's cliffs, or Pambamarca's side, Whether where equinoctial fervors glow, 420 Or winter wraps the polar world in snow, 130 SHOETEE ENGLISH POEMS Still let thy voice, prevailing over time, Redress the rigors of the inclement clime ; Aid slighted truth with thy persuasive strain, Teach erring man to spurn the rage of gain ; 425 Teach him that states of native strength possest, Though very poor, may still be very blest; That trade's proud empire hastes to swift decay, As ocean sweeps the labor 'd mole away ; While self-dependent power can time defy, 430 As rocks resist the billows and the sky. THE TEAVELLEE. NOTES. TITLE. Dr. Johnson was disposed to prefer The Traveller to The Deserted Village. "Take him as a poet," he said of Goldsmith, "his Traveller is a very fine performance. Ay, and so is his Deserted Village, were it not sometimes too much the echo of his Traveller." The poem was begun in Switzerland in 1755, but not finished till 1764. European travel was less common then than now, and Goldsmith's record of the reflections inspired by his wanderings had freshness for him and for his readers. DEDICATION. Dear Sir: The eighteenth century formality appears quaintly in this address to Goldsmith's brother. Even in public no one today would accost his brother as "Dear Sir." But it was characteristic of Goldsmith at his best to dedicate this poem to his brother, a poor Irish parson, at a time when it was the habit to dedicate verse to distinguished and wealthy patrons. What criticism have we not heard of late: Goldsmith is alluding to the movement in favor of freer versification and more lyrical measures, represented by the poetry of Gray and Collins. In points of form he threw himself on the side of the conventions of his day. A little later he alludes to the influence of politics on literary reputation. Churchill, at whom these bitter remarks were aimed, died before The Traveller was published. Line 1 : "The story is told by Boswell that at a meeting of the Literary Club just after the publication of the poem somebody asked Goldsmith what he meant by the word 'slow' ; did he mean tardi- ness of locomotion? 'Yes,' replied Goldsmith, but Johnson caught THE TEAVELLEE: NOTES 131 him up, saying : 'No, sir, you did not mean tardiness of locomo- tion ; you meant that sluggishness of mind which comes upon a man in solitude.' 'Ah, that was what I meant,' Goldsmith rejoined, accepting the more subtle interpretation." 2. Or . . . or: A Latin form. 3. The rude Carinthian boor: Carinthia is a mountainous duchy of Austria-Hungary, east of the Tyrol. Meredith's heroine in The Amazing Marriage is named for it. 5. Campania's Plain: Campania was the ancient name of a famous province in southern Italy. 10. In his Citizen of the World, Goldsmith repeats this senti- ment in prose : "The farther I travel I feel the pain of separation with stronger force. Those ties that bind me to my native country and you are still unbroken ; by every remove I only drag a greater length of chain." 26. Some fleeting good: This image of an endless journey in pursuit of the unattained ideal has always haunted the poets. It is curious to compare with this restrained passage a poem like Shelley's Alastor, which develops the same theme at the most in- tense moment of the romantic revival. 31. Where Alpine solitudes ascend: Is not this the first poetic treatment of Switzerland? Many were to follow, among which Coleridge's Hymn Before Sunrise in the Vale of Chamouni, and Byron's Manfred at once occur to mind. There is little distinctive in Goldsmith's treatment of the landscape, nor can we discover just where he is, except that from his vantage point he looks down over Italy. 41. School-taught pride: Intellectual pride, resulting from the teaching in schools of philosophy. 48. Dress the flowery vale: Our first parents were told to dress and keep the earth. Genesis II, 15. 60. Compare the search of the characters in Johnson's Rasselas for the happiest spot on earth. This is rather a favorite idea of the 18th century. In the 17th century Bunyan's Christian, quite unconcerned with happiness, starts out to find salvation. 69. The line is of course the equator. Cf. Ancient Mariner, gloss on part VI. 75. If countries ice compare: Studies in racial psychology such as Goldsmith now leads up to are always as fascinating as they are elusive. But after the 18th century they are more often found in prose than in verse. The natural works with which to compare The Traveller are such books as Arnold Bennett's Your United States, Price Collier's England and the English, Emerson's English Traits, etc. 84. On Idra's cliffs: Idra, a Welsh mountain. 98. Peculiar pain: Not a curious pain but a special pain. 103. The personal touch in the simile at once quickens feeling. Most of the poem is so impersonal that it seems cold. 132 SHORTER ENGLISH POEMS 105. Very generalized description of Italian landscape. The day of the concrete in description has not dawned, and these lines might have been written by some one who had never seen Italy. 120. The fertility of Italy, on the contrary, is due to infinite labor and patience in the culture of the soil. Goldsmith writes from a provincial English point of view, sweepingly and inaccurately. 124. Sensual corresponds to sense in the preceding line : phys- ical. Goldsmith's analysis of Italian character seems strangely unfair to the land of Dante and Michael Angelo. Though Italy, when he wrote, was at a low point of her spiritual and temporal fortunes, his tone toward her is in strange contrast to the tone of 19th century poets, — Byron, Swinburne, and the Brownings. 133. For wealth was theirs: The following lines allude to the Italy of the Renaissance. 136. The allusion is to the habit of the Renaissance of pillaging the ancient ruins which abound on Italian soil, for new building material. 166. Where rougher climes: Goldsmith gives no indication of the glory of Swiss landscape. He is wholly occupied, as is his cus- tom, with the qualities of the inhabitants. Cf. Ruskin's study of the reaction of mountain scenery on character, in the chapters on "The • Mountain Gloom" and "The Mountain Glory," Modem Painters, Vol. III. 190. The struggling savage: Beast is understood. 210 seq. Goldsmith attempts a balanced judgment. His study of the rude mountaineers who miss life's finer pleasures contrasts with his picture of the enervated Italians, spoiled by self-indul- gence. Many people who know the Swiss peasant feel in him no lack of the "gentler morals." 240. France displays her oright domain: The treatment of France is far more sympathetic than that accorded to Italy or Switzerland. The lines are full of charming personal reminiscence, and the judgment is acute. The 18th century had more native affinity for the French genius than for that of any other country. The turn of Italy in exercising fascination was to come in the next century. 253. Gestic: "Relating to bodily gestures, referring particularly to dancing." The dancing instincts of the French found happy ex- pression in the early and idyllic phases of the French Revolution, when Wordsworth saw the peasants in many a hamlet, dancing around the liberty tree, as he tells us in Book VI of the Prelude. 258. Honor forms the social temper here: An especially felic- itous line to describe the French disposition. 284. A fine descriptive line. Much of Holland is protected by embankment against the sea. 306. "Referring possibly to the custom which permitted parents to sell their children's labor for a term of years." 309. "In The Citizen of the World exactly the same words recur. 'A nation once famous for setting the world an example THE TEAVELLEE: NOTES 133 of freedom is now become a land of tyrants and a den of slaves.' " Goldsmith was as unfair in his comments on the Dutch as he was in his comments on the Italians. 313. Their Belgic sires: "Horum omnium fortissimae sunt Bel- gae," said Caesar, a judgment not disproved by late events. 318 seq. See a similar passage in The Citizen of the World. Coming to his own land, Goldsmith seeks to view its faults and virtues with disinterested eyes, and in proportion as he knew Eng- lishmen better than Italians or Swiss or Dutch, his judgment is more pertinent. 319. Arcadian pride: Arcadia was famous for its lawns. 320. Hydaspes: A large river, tributary to the Indus; known to the Greeks through Alexander's Indian campaign. 327. Pride in their port: A famous passage. Here is a resident of England and a native of the British Isles acknowledging the national arrogance that so irritates other people. 330. By forms unfashion'd: He is thinking of the love of the Latin races for formal institutions, compared with the individual- ism and independence of the English. 340. Severe but keen judgment. Cf. Carlyle on England, years later. 345-360. "It is extremely difficult to induce a number of free beings to co-operate for their mutual benefits : every possible ad- vantage will necessarily be sought, and every attempt to procure it must be attended with a new fermentation." Citizen of the World. We may remember that within a century England had become, as Karl Marx pointed out, the classic land of laissez faire in industry and politics. Goldsmith indicates eloquently the rising dangers of commercialism and the mercenary spirit ; but after all, his dark prophecy has never been fulfilled. 357. Noole stems: Latin stemmae, families, houses. 365. Fair Freedom: Freedom is already loved in England, though not as the Revolution was to love her, or as we love her now that democracy is in the air. 371-376. The theory sounds well, but what if the day should ever arrive when those who toil should also be those who think? 386. A succinct line. The sincerity of Goldsmith, and the im- portance of the idea to him are evident from the fact that this ; phrase is repeated in the Vicar of Wakefield, ch. 19. Here, as ins The Deserted Village, the passion for social justice inspires his" choicest eloquence. He is first and foremost a social critic, doing the same sort of work for his generation that Matthew Arnold did for our fathers. 396. Cave wealth to stvay the mind: Gave the power to wealth. Goldsmith seems to lament, as Carlyle did, the good old days of absolute monarchy. 402. Here is the theme of his future poem, The Deserted Village. 412. And Niagara stuns: A fine pronunciation which we have 134 SHORTER ENGLISH POEMS unfortunately spoiled. How surprised Goldsmith would have been to know that boys and girls would busily study his poem in these very regions. 420. Dr. Johnson wrote this line. 423. Goldsmith reverts to his theme, the search for happiness, lie turns to the sage conclusion that geographical or political con- ditions have little to do with felicity, and lines 431, 432 are the wisest in the poem. Dr. Johnson, however, was the author of them. He wrote the last ten lines, excepting lines 433, 436. 436. Luke's iron croivn: Two brothers, George and Luke Dosa, led a revolt against the Hungarian nobility early in the sixteenth cen- tury, but it was George who was tortured by a crown of red hot iron. Damiens' bed of steel: "Robert Frangois Damiens was put to death with revolting barbarity, in the year 1757, for an attempt to assassinate Louis XW THE DESERTED VILLAGE. NOTES. The Dedication: Sir Joshua, the great painter to whom the poem is dedicated in these graceful and touching words, was so pleased with the compliment that he painted a picture called "Resignation, " representing an aged beggar, which was to be engraved and to carry the inscription : "This attempt to express a character in The Deserted Village is dedicated to Dr. Goldsmith by his sincere friend and admirer, Joshua Reynolds." Goldsmith was wrong in his opinion that England was "depopu- lating," but not wrong in his general view of the land question. When he inveighed "against the increase of our luxuries" he may have been a "professed ancient" to his own time, but he was also a prophet of the future. Many of the greatest nineteenth century thinkers, Carlyle and Ruskin especially, were to make his cry the burden of their teaching. Today, even "modern politicians" and economists shout no longer against him but for him : and only the rash and ignorant person dares to claim that the production of luxuries can in the long run relieve economic distress. 12. Decent: Akin to Latin "decus," honor, and used in its frequent eighteenth century sense of becoming, comely, fit. Com- pare Wordsworth's Prelude, Book IV, 21 : I saw the snow-white church upon her hill Sit like a throned Lady, sending out A gracious look all over her domain. 24, etc. This description, although in the slightly formal manner of the times, presents real memories of a real village. It is quite THE DESERTED VILLAGE: NOTES 135 different in tone from the pastoral poetry of the sixteenth ana seventeenth centuries, which was usually written by men who knew little of country life at first hand, but who invented a pretty dream-land where the manners and customs were derived rather from Sicily than from England, and where the fruits of civilization might be enjoyed without its pains. On the other hand, Gold- smith does not present his village nearly as vividly as Crabbe or Burns or Wordsworth would have done. His poem is transitional between the conventionality of the older pastoral and modern realism. 39. One only master: In 1910, one-tenth of the inhabitants of England owned nine-tenths of the land: Whole villages often belong to the great landed estates as part of their property. See for an admirable description of such a village, the opening chapters of Trollope's novel, Dr. Thome: and for a picture of the constant ill-feeling between the tillers of the soil and the landed gentry. Charles Kingsley's Yeast. 40. Half a tillage: The land is kept for shooting, not for agri- culture. 44. The hollow-sounding bittern: A bittern is a kind of heron, a marsh-bird. 51. Ill fares the land, etc.: Goldsmith is deeply in earnest in the following passage. Note the strong progressive word, "hasten- ing." And compare the long adaress of the Vicar in the nineteenth chapter of The Vicar of Wakefield, especially the passage begin- ning : "An accumulation of wealth, however, must necessarily be the consequence when, as at present, more riches flow in from external commerce than from internal industry," and ending : "Those, however, who are willing to move in a great man's vortex are only such as must be slaves, the rabble of mankind." "There is no wealth but life," said John Ruskin in a memorable epigram. And he accordingly defined the aim of political economy to be "The multiplication of human life at the highest standard." 58. Maintained its man: Peasant-proprietorship is still urged by many thoughtful people as the solution of the land-question. Others prefer communal or state ownership, with carefully guarded methods of tenure. But what is the time of which Goldsmith is thinking when he says, "Ere England's griefs be^an"? Not the middle ages, with their system of villeinage. Not the fifteenth century, with the miseries of which one may read in the first book of Sir Thomas More's Utopia. Hardly the sixteenth century, or the seventeenth. One fears that it was the Saturnian Age ever dear to poetic dream. 63. Trade's unfeeling train: Note the instinctive delight of the poet in agriculture and his distaste for commerce. It is worth noting that many of the great landholders in England today made their money in trade. 67. And every tvant to opulence allied: What are some of the 136 SHOETEE ENGLISH POEMS wants "to opulence allied" as compared with those allied to pov- erty? ■80. This entire line is the object of "view." S3. This, the most touching section of the poem, is written in -singularly pure and simple English. 103. For Mm no wretches, etc.: The following passage evinces Goldsmith's sensitiveness in a surprising way. The recoil from profiting by the painful labor of others is one of the best products of modern democracy. But here it is, in the full tide of the eighteenth century, felt as keenly as Ruskin could have felt it. Another eighteenth century worthy, the saintly American Quaker, John Wooiman, suffered agonies from this same cause. 114. The village murmur: Charmingly analyzed in the following lines. Only we should hardly today take a pensive pleasure in hearing, even blended with other sounds, "the loud laugh that spoke the vacant mind." Carlyle, looking down at a village from a hill-top, takes especial satisfaction in watching the colored smoke that spouts from cot- tage chimneys and suggests dinners a-cooking (Sartor Resartus). Is anything too homely to be proper material for poetry? Gab- bling geese, mooing cows, screaming children, barking dogs, none of them produce music. What is the secret of their charm to the imagination in this passage? 129. Yon tvidow'd solitary tiling: This single figure on whom our eyes are now fixed anticipates the type of subject dear to Wordsworth in poetry and to Millet in painting. This special old woman has been identified by curious critics as one Catherine Gerarty : but really, Goldsmith need not have had any individual in mind. 142. Passing rich with forty pounds a year: "Passing" is used in the sense often found in Shakespeare: the expression "passing strange" still seems hardly obsolete. In Goldsmith's dedication of The Traveller to his brother Henry, a clergyman in Ireland, we read that the poem "is addressed to a man who, despising fame and fortune, has retired early to happi- ness and obscurity, with an income of forty pounds a year. I now perceive, my dear brother, the wisdom of your humble choice." This whole description is most deservedly a familiar quotation. 160, 161. Would these two lines appear admirable, do you think, to our modern Associated Charities? 194. With blossom'd furze: One of the lines that shows Gold- smith the poet. 196. The village master: Identified with Thomas Byrne, famil- iarly known as "Paddy Byrne," an old soldier who taught school in Lissoy when the poet was a little boy. 209. Terms are the terms of law-courts and universities. Tides are not tides on the sea, but seasons like Christmastide, Eastertide. THE DESEKTED VILLAGE: NOTES 137 210. Gauge: "A ganger is in some places a sworn officer, whose duty it is to measure the contents of hogsheads, barrels, or casks." 220. Compare the talk at the Inn with similar scenes presented by Dickens and George Eliot. Old-fashioned English inns have furnished much delightful material to literature. 225, etc. The following description of an author's bed-chamber was sent by Goldsmith to his brother some time earlier than the date of The Deserted Village. It is doubtless a picture of his own way of living in the days of his poverty. A comparison with the passage in the text will show the careful and minute art which has gone to shaping a poem so seemingly spontaneous, so easy and simple in movement, as The Deserted Village. Writers in the eighteenth century spared no pains with their lines, and the best of them well knew that ease and plainness in the style were no result of an easy-going way of writing but of deliberate effort. Where the Red Lion, staring o'er the way, Invites each passing stranger that can pay ; Where Calvert's butt, and Parson's black champagne, Regale the drabs and bloods of Drury-lane ; There, in a lonely room, from bailiffs snug, The Muse found Scroggen stretch'd beneath a rug. A window, patch'd with paper, lent a ray, That dimly show'd the state in which he lay ; The sanded floor that grits beneath the tread ; The humid wall with paltry pictures spread ; The royal game of goose was there in view, And the twelve rules the royal martyr drew ; The seasons, fram'd with listing, found a place, A»nd brave prince William show'd his lampblack faoe. The morn was cold ; he views with keen desire The rusty grate unconscious of a fire : With beer and milk arrears the frieze was scor'd, And five crack'd teacups dress'd the chimney board ; A nightcap deck'd his brows instead of bay, A cap by night, — a stocking all the day ! 232. The twelve good rules: Portraits of King Charles, by a queer twist of favor become a popular hero, in those days adorned inns and lodgings much as portraits of Lord Byron did within liv- ing memory. Beneath the portrait would be engraved the Twelve Rules assigned to the Royal Martyr. They ran : 1. Urge no healths. 2. Profane no divine ordinances. 3. Touch no state matters. 4. Reveal no secrets. 5. Pick no quarrels. 6. Make no companions. 7. Maintain no ill opinions. 8. Keep no bad company. 9. Encourage no vice. 10. Make no long meal. 11. Re- 138 SHOBTER ENGLISH POEMS peat no grievances. 12. Lay no wagers. The royal game of goose was a species of checkers. Goldsmith, for once, is less afraid of the concrete than Words- worth. See The Prelude, Book I, 509, for a description of the Royal Game of Goose. 244. The woodman's ballad: The woodman is the man used to the woods, the hunter. Perhaps he sang a ballad of Robin Hood and the good greenshawe. 262. The toiling pleasure sickens into pain: Again a line that summarizes a whole train of thought and experience. 265-286. Carlyle, a little over half a century later, was to say much the same thing with even more force. What in Goldsmith is admirable general statement becomes in Carlyle direct analysis : "The condition of England ... is justly regarded as one of the most ominous and withal one of the strangest ever seen in this world. England is full of wealth, of multifarious produce, supply for human want in every kind ; yet England is dying of inanition. With unabated bounty the land of England blooms and grows ; waving with yellow harvests ; thick-studded with workshops, industrial implements, with fifteen millions of workers : The work they have done is here, abundant, exuberant, on every hand of us ; and behold, some baleful fiat as of Enchantment has gone forth, saying, Touch it not, ye workers ; none of you can touch it, no man of you shall be the better for it ; this is enchanted fruit." Past and Present. 287. Female: Now a vulgarism, but in good use at that time. 295. Other great invectives against luxury may be found in the writings of Ruskin, Tolstoy, and William Morris. It is note- worthy that poets and artists are especially prominent among the enemies of extravagance and waste. Can you cite any instances in history of the process described by Goldsmith? 308. Even the bare-worn common: This line illustrates the change then going on in agricultural holdings. 316. Artist: Artizan. 318. The black gibbet: This is no fancy picture. In Goldsmith's time many trifling offences were punishable by death, and the gallows, with a corpse hanging from it. was still a familiar object on country cross-roads. Goldsmith makes clear that it was to be met in the city also. 341. Shortly before this time, the philanthropist Oglethorpe, the founder of the State of Georgia, had welcomed a number of poor debtors to the colony of Georgia. This fact has worked on Goldsmith's imagination. But the description given here does not at all resemble Georgia, although the Altama is a Georgian river. 363-384. Although there is a good deal of poetic convention- ality in the account of the departure of the exiles, and although many lines have rather a prim eighteenth century quality, the general feeling in this passage is sweet and sound. Similar scenes THE DESERTED VILLAGE: NOTES 139 may be witnessed any day now in Italy. De Amicis, the Italian writer, in a book called On the Ocean, has an excellent and moving account of the departure of poor emigrants from their native land and of the terrors and joys of a sea-voyage to their new homes. 395, etc. This vision of "the rural virtues" leaving the land as the poor emigrants had done, presents in imaginative form the national catastrophe which Goldsmith has had in view throughout. We love best to linger on the portraits of the Parson and the Schoolmaster and the graceful descriptions of the happy village. But the poet wrote with serious purpose, using the fate of his village to illustrate what he conceived to be a great and threat- ening evil. This concluding section combines his intellectual con- viction with his poetic instinct and is a fitting termination to both strains in the poem. 410, etc. Goldsmith only mentions the other departing Virtues : but he gives ten charming lines to Poetry. He was more intimate perhaps with her than with the others. Do you approve of having Poetry put among the rural virtues? Does she really flee the land given over to luxury? 418. Torno is a river dividing Sweden from Russia and falling into the Gulf of Bothnia. Pambamarca is a mountain near Quito. Goldsmith wanted a Northern and a Southern name. 423. Aid slighted truth with thy persuasive strain: Goldsmith's idea of the function of poetry may seem didactic. But it was shared by Shelley, who wrote in A Defense of Poetry, "The great instru- ment of moral good is the imagination ; and poetry administers to the effect by acting upon the cause." 427. That trade's proud empire, etc.: Dr. Johnson told Boswell that he had written the last four lines of The Deserted Village. Y'e might not have suspected this from internal evidence, but the stately lines are characteristic of Johnson. SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE 141 SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE. 1772-1834. The output of Coleridge by which he lives as a poet is probably less than that of any other English poet of the first order except Gray. But there is this dif- ference; one can ascribe the comparative sterility of Gray's genius to the "spiritual East Wind" which during his life-time blighted all free imaginative growth; while Coleridge lived at the height of the Romantic Revival, at a time when the sweetest and most life-giving winds of heaven were blowing on the dead bones of English poetry. The age of Pope was behind him, with its artificial cleverness; so was the age of Goldsmith and Gray, with its pathetic stir of feeling and fancy half -stifled, by the surrounding at- mosphere. Coleridge himself had a large share in experiencing and extending the new life of his age; and we must find explanation for the paucity of his product, not in any lack of poetic power or sensitive- ness, nor in any surrounding circumstance, but solely in moral and personal weakness. That weakness we dare not ignore, yet, reading the exquisite poetry which he gave us at his best, gratitude must be our chief instinct toward him; nor may we forget that in addition to poems which most completely convey the spell of beauty and wonder in which the romantic temper delights, Coleridge through his prose writings 143 144 SHORTEB ENGLISH POEMS and his conversation influenced the religious and phil- osophical thought of England in a way that is still vital. The father of the future philosopher-poet, a country clergyman, died when the little boy was nine years old. Coleridge was then sent to the famous Charter- house School at Christ's Hospital, London, of which Thackeray was to write in The Newcomes; there he remained eight years. We have a memorable picture of the "Blue-coat Boy," written by his schoolmate and life-long friend, the charming essayist, Charles Lamb: Come back into memory, like as thou wert in the day- spring of thy fancies, with hope like a fiery column before thee, — the dark pillar not yet turned, — Samuel Taylor Cole- ridge, — logician, metaphysician, bard! How have I seen the casual passer through the cloisters stand still, entranced with admiration, (while he weighed the disproportion between the speech and the garb of the young Mirandula), to hear thee un- fold, in thy deep and sweet intonations, the mysteries of Iamblicus or Plotinus), (for even in those years thou waxedst not pale at such philosophic draughts), or reciting Homer in his Greek or Pindar, — while the walls of the old Grey-Friars re-echoed to the accents of the Inspired Charity Boy! Through the emotional and almost lyrical wording of this well-known passage, we certainly gain the im- pression that Coleridge was an extraordinary boy. Such an impression he made on every one who met him, and he was fortunate in friends, more than one of whom was himself a man of genius. William Wordsworth has a beautiful passage about Coleridge in his youth, which confirms the image given by Lamb : SAMUEL TAYLOE COLERIDGE 145 I have thought Of thee, thy learning, gorgeous eloquence, And all the strength and plumage of thy youth, Thy subtle speculations, toils abstruse Among the schoolmen, and Platonic forms Of wild ideal pageantry. . . . The self -created sustenance of -a mind Debarred from Nature's living images, Compelled to be a life unto herself, And unrelentingly possessed by thirst Of greatness, love, and beauty. The "metaphysician" is more prominent than the "bard" in these passages; and Wordsworth interests us in his characteristic suggestion that city life was responsible for the speculative and introspective habit of mind which was to help inhibit the free play of imagination in his friend. Yet after all, Coleridge spent only seven or eight years in the city. In 1791, he left the Blue-coat School for the University of Cambridge, entering soon after Wordsworth had left his Alma Mater. For some unexplained reason, he ran away from the University to become a soldier, but soon returned, and remained till 1794, when he left without taking a degree. Thus he was a uni- versity student during the years when the French Revolution, which affected all the poets of the day profoundly, was running the most dramatic portion of its course. For a time, Coleridge embraced the radical revolutionary ideas; and soon after leaving college, he and the young poet Southey, whose ac- quaintance he had made in 1793, formed a wonderful scheme for retiring to the banks of the Susquehanna, and there establishing an ideal commonwealth which 146 SHORTER ENGLISH POEMS S the Iflhnr they called Pantisocracy. In this community, as name implies, all were to be social equals, and labor and literature were to divide the time of the fortunate colonists. The Pantisocracy, strange to say, was never founded, but Coleridge retained for some years vio- lent Jacobin opinions, which gradually yielded to more conservative and mystical views. Meantime, he and Southey had married sisters, and Coleridge had begun his earnest but rather unpractical and futile efforts to make his way in the world. He edited for a few months a review, called The Watchman, he de- livered lectures, he preached as a Unitarian minister, his voice rising, as one hearer says, "like a steam of rich distilled perfumes." His sincerity and genius impressed every one, devoted friends did all they could to smooth his way, and for a time the prospects seemed bright. It was in 1795 that the best fortune of his life befell him ; for in that year he formed an ardent friendship with Wordsworth, and with Wordsworth's rare sister, Dorothy. To this delightful relation, we owe much that is best and most inspired in Coleridge's poetic work, as he owed to it the chief happiness of his life. Together the two poets, full of the high spirits and visionary raptures of youth, planned and wrote the volume of Lyrical Ballads, which appeared in 1798 and which has truly been called the manifesto of the new romantic school. This volume included some of Wordsworth's loveliest lyrics, and the great Lines Written Above Tintern Abbey; Coleridge's most im- portant contribution was The Ancient Mariner. The purpose of the poets was characteristic. Wordsworth SAMUEL TAYLOE COLEKIDGE 147 was to reveal the romance in common things, while Coleridge was to bring the strange and the remote near to the common heart. Each poet achieved mar- velously well his appointed task, and the poems in the little book throw a similar light, at once familiar and mystical, over the weird supernatural adventures of the Ancient Mariner and the prattlings about death of a little cottage girl. The year of the Lyrical Ballads, — 1797-1798, — was the Annus Mirabilis of Coleridge's genius. His life from this point on presents a picture of thwarted en- deavors and growing weakness. Yet the change was gradual. After the waning of his social hopes, he turned to German philosophic studies, and spent some time in Germany. On his return, he stayed for a while in the lovely English Lake country where his friends had now settled, and the trio — Wordsworth, Dorothy, and Coleridge — knew happy times wander- ing over the hills or sitting in the garden of the tiny Dove Cottage which is now a pilgrim shrine. Two sons had been born to him, and despite a certain strain in his domestic . relations, life opened richly. But already he had begun his struggle against ill health. It was in 1801 that he first took opium in order to relieve pain ; and continued taking it as we must be- lieve to relieve mental restlessness and distress. "His excitable and dreamy temperament fell an easy victim to the drug, and we contemplate for years the painful spectacle of a Coleridge whom neither the generous help of his devoted friends nor' the ceaseless efforts of his own conscience succeeded in rescuing from his chains. Southey in the meantime supported his 148 SHOETER ENGLISH POEMS family ; and Coleridge, who, despite his weakness, was a sensitive, high-principled, and truly religious man, suffered piteously if intermittently from the situation. Through the help of a physician, Dr. Gillman, he rallied somewhat at last ; and he spent the concluding fifteen years of his life in the family of this doctor, gathering round him a group of young disciples over whom he exercised his own wonderful spell, and seek- ing in vain to prepare for posterity his magnum opus, a great philosophic work which was to place the spir- itual interpretation of the universe on a firm founda- tion. It was through conversation rather than through writing that in these later times he left his mark on his generation, and many an account has come down to us of that amazing talk: the best probably was written by Carlyle in his Life of John Sterling, (chap- ter VIII.). Against this description, not wholly favor- able, we may place the words of Charles Lamb written a few weeks before his own death: "His great and dear spirit haunts me ; I never saw his likeness, nor probably the world can see again.' ' Wordsworth called him "The most wonderful man I have ever known." And one likes in concluding the impres- sion of the man, to recall the portrait drawn by Dorothy in his youth : ' ' He is a wonderful man. His conversation teems with soul, mind, and spirit. . . . At first I thought him very plain, that is for about three minutes; he is pale, thin, has a wide mouth, thick lips, and not very good teeth, longish, loose- growing, half-curling rough black hair. But if you hear him speak for five minutes you think no more of them. His eye is large and full, and not very dark, SAMUEL TAYLOE COLEEIDGE 149 but grey, — such an eye as would receive from a heavy soul the dullest expression; but it speaks every emo- tion of his animated mind; it has more of the 'poet's eye in a fine frenzy rolling' than I ever witnessed. He has fine dark eyebrows, and an over-hanging forehead. ' ' II. We spoke of Coleridge's poetic product as slender, yet after all his verse fills a fairly large volume. Be- side the little that bears the hall-mark of authentic inspiration, he wrote various other things: several dramas, — a translation of Schiller's Wallenstein, and three original plays, Osorio, Remorse, and Zapolya, beside a curious joint product of his youth and Southey's called The Fall of Robespierre. We find meditative poems, like The Molian Harp, Religious Musings, Fears in Solitude, and the better known Hymn Before Sunrise in the Yale of Chamounix. We find the really fine odes, France and Dejection, and we find a number of occasional pieces and frag- ments. But all these are unimportant compared with the small group — mostly the product of a brief period of his youth — that includes Christabel, Kubla Khan, and The Ancient Mariner. These outsoar the others as a lark outsoars a sparrow. They date mostly from the happy times of his early friendship with Words- worth, but before the poets met the quality of Cole- ridge at his best had once or twice been evident. Lewti, a little love poem in which we first catch the magic of his accents, dates from 1794; and after his short period of inspiration had closed, the old light now and again flashes for a moment through his writ- 150 SHORTER ENGLISH POEMS ing, as in Glycine's exquisite song in Zapolya, or in the touching, haunting lyric, Youth and Age. We may believe Coleridge to have been right when he said wistfully, in speaking of the unfinished condition of Christ ao el, that if only he could have a quiet mind and hear good music he could to the end have written as good verse as ever. His work for English letters, however, is not con- fined to his verse. He wrote much prose, more or less scattered and inchoate in form, but fruitful in suggestion. His Essays in the two reviews he pub- lished, The Watchman and The Friend, his Bio- graphia Litteraria, his Aids to Reflection, fill solid volumes. Even his Table Talk has been treasured by those who felt that each word which fell from his lips was precious. No one can deny the value of this work. The literary criticisms found especially in the Biographia Litteraria remain to this day fecund in suggestiveness and in wisdom ; as to his philosophical thinking, though his most devoted disciple struggled in vain after his death to compress it within the limits of a system, we may at least say that the attitude he suggested has been the starting point for much later Christian speculation in England. And yet, while we recognize the full value of Coleridge's varied contri- bution, we can but grieve to recognize in him, as Shelley said, a mind Within its own exceeding lustre blind — thought-bewildered, as it were, to the end. This bewilderment does not show itself in his poems. These are an organic part of that romantic movement SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE 151 which inspired also Scott, Shelley, Wordsworth, Byron, and Keats. Scott was moved to write his Lay of the Last Minstrel by the as yet unpublished manu- script of Christ ab el. The Ancient Mariner marks the climax of that quickening devotion with which old ballads had been studied ever since Bishop Percy published his Reliques of Ancient English Poetry in 1765. On every hand, we see that Coleridge strength- ened the impulses of his period and was docile to these impulses even when he focussed them into rays of new potency and beauty. At first sight, it seems inconceivable that the prose and poetry of Coleridge should be products of the same genius; the prose, though eloquent and pro- found, so clumsy, halting, fragmentary; at its best, laden with didacticism, and at its worst recalling the hopelessly commonplace moral musings of the eighteenth century; the finer poetry, on the other hand, so flute-like in purity of tone, so incomparable for the release of mortal speech from its fetters. But the poetry and the prose have one fundamental fact in common : that mysticism of temperament which in the prose seeks humbly and more or less vainly to submit itself to the yoke of logic and sanctified com- mon sense, but in the poetry soars free. His work as a whole recalls the wise words of George Macdon- ald: "In wonder begins the soul of man, in wonder it ends; and investigation fills up the interspace." Coleridge's poetry belongs to that strange quarter of a century when the power to create myth seems reborn in the world of imagination. Like Shelley in Pro- metheus Unbound, like Keats in Hyperion, he does 152 SHOETEE ENGLISH POEMS not invent, but sees. His arctic waters, his skeleton ship across the setting sun, his water-snakes dripping flakes of light, quicken our horror, awe, and love, "because they were no artificial symbol, but a gift vouchsafed his inward eye. This power of vision and of freed emotion blesses him chiefly when the labors of his thought are suspended. Religious Musings, Fears in Solitude, though they have admirable lines, are the work of a humble Christian thinker, and are moralized till the imagination pales. Kubla Khan and Christ ah el are the direct expression of a spirit freed from earthly trammels and rejoicing unhampered in the wonder of life, experienced where beauty is eternal. Perhaps the most marked thing about his best poems is the incommunicable magic of the style. "His magic, that which makes his poetry, was but the re- lease in art of a winged thought fluttering helplessly among speculations and theories," said Symons: "It was the song of release. ' ' " The most decrepit vocable in the language,'' said Lowell, "flings away its crutches to dance and sing at his bidding. ' ' Cadence, movement, diction, have a charm that is beyond all praise. Coleridge's own distinction between prose and poetry may help us a little: "Prose, — words in their best order ; poetry, — the best words in the best order. ' ' The best words : any one who studies The Ancient Mariner or Christaoel discovers what they are : very simple words in this case, that carry thought beyond itself into vision : The Sun's rim dips: the stars rush out: At one stride comes the dark: SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE 153 With far-heard whisper, o'er the sea, Off shot the spectre bark. We listened and looked side-ways up! Fear at my heart, as at a cup, My life-blood seemed to sip! . . . They are the best words, but their order is not so different from that of prose; nor need we wonder, since the order of good prose is to be the best. In addition to style, and perhaps yet more impor- tant, one notes imagination : what gives value to Kubla Khan is certainly not ideas, nor moral concepts. Cole- ridge has the imagination that penetrates ultimate secrets, recognizing innumerable trembling meanings behind the veil of sense. There is an exquisite Tight- ness of tone, in which each detail, however simple and external, plays its part in the creation of the desired mood. There is the hint of what must never be said: A sight to dream of, not to tell, — ■ O save her, save sweet Christabel! There is the light straight from the sky, in which his genius is singing: A sunny shaft I did behold, From sky to earth it slanted: And poised therein a bird so bold — Sweet bird, thou wert enchanted — One likes to multiply from Coleridge's own words the images of his genius. .And finally, behind imagination and loveliness of style there is a pure normal sense of the worth of blest human things: tenderness, with its rich range 154 SHORTER ENGLISH POEMS from pity to adoration, fellowship with man and beast, rectitude, duty. The Ancient Mariner carries us on a voyage most adventurous, over weird waters on an unknown plane of being haunted by strange sights and sounds, only that we may return to our home-harbor, competent to know that the last lines of the poem express no platitude, but the end of all adventure : He prayeth best who loveth best All things, both great and small. The strange hints of Christabel, with its almost un- bearable suggestion of beauty and horror, are placed in a setting of simple girlish compassion and hospi- tality, and the lines that have most made their way into the general heart describe the common and en- during pain of broken friendship. Coleridge's verse is no empty fantasy: at its most faery-like, it holds in solution the dearest feelings and achievements of our everyday human life. In his own words, his mind "can call goodness its play-fellow. ' ' III. "What has been said in general applies to the special poems included in this volume, and they require little further comment. The Ancient Mariner is not given here because it is already included in another volume of this series, with the excellent editorship of the late William Vaughn Moody. Kubla Khan, so Coleridge tells us, was composed in a dream at the time when his genius was at its height, in 1798. It has thus a special psychological interest; SAMUEL TAYLOB COLERIDGE 155 and its charm is in the dream-like images which its interwoven melodies evoke. There is even a remem- bered vision within the dream itself, so that we are kept at two removes from waking reality ! No one need seek here for coherence or definite meaning ; the human element, on which we just said that Coleridge's poetry is usually founded, is not here to be found. But the final couplet gives, as no pedestrian speech can do, the impression which such verse conveys. The sensitiveness to sound in which Coleridge excelled most poets here blends with images of sight and mo- tion to create a mood of delighted awe, which is the final triumph always desired by romantic art. "It has just enough meaning to give it bodily existence, ' ' writes a critic: "otherwise it would be disembodied music. It seems to hover in the air like one of the island enchantments of Prospero. . . . Lamb, who tells us how Coleridge repeated it 'so enchant- ingly that it irradiates and brings heaven and elysian bowers into my parlor when he says or sings it to me, ' doubted whether it would 'bear daylight.' It seemed to him that such witchcraft could hardly outlast the night. It has outlasted the century, and may still be used as a touchstone ; it will determine the poetic value of any lyric poem you place beside it."* The first part of Christabel was written in 1798, the second probably in 1801 ; the poem remains unfin- ished, perhaps to our loss, perhaps to our gain. It was originally meant for a second volume of Lyrical Ballads, which never materialized, partly because Coleridge could not finish his work on time. For * Arthur Symons : The Romantic Movement in English Poetry. 156 SHOETEE ENGLISH POEMS years it remained in manuscript, enthralling and in- fluencing all who heard it, and was finally in 1816 published in its fragmentary condition at the request of Byron. Coleridge himself liked the first canto best. "Certainly," he said, "it is more perfect, has more of the true wild weird spirit than the last." This is unquestionably true ; the first canto is pure wizardry, "witchery by daylight," as the Quarterly Review remarked with more felicity than it usually showed in its criticisms. The second, though spirited and mu- sical, is more in the ordinary vein of the romantic ballad, as handled, for instance, by Sir Walter Scott. We must however remember, in making any such com- parison, that Scott had received his inspiration in part from this very poem, and that the originality of Coleridge is unquestioned, Moreover the lively nar- rative of poems like Marmion or The Lady of the Lake, or the pleasing use of faery charm in The Lay of the Last Minstrel, can hardly be compared with the elu- sive quality of Christabel, verse which transports us less into the mediaeval past than into a world inhabited by pure imaginative conceptions of beauty or horror. * " In Christ ah el there is a literal spell, not acting along any logical lines, not attacking the nerves, not terrify- ing, not intoxicating, but like a slow enveloping mist, which blots out the real world and leaves us unchilled by any 'airs from heaven or blasts from hell,' but in the native air of some middle region. ... I know no other verse in which the effects of music are so precisely copied in metre. Shelley you feel sings like a bird ; Blake like a child or an angel ; but Coleridge certainly writes music." * Arthur Symons, The Romantic Movement in English Poetry. SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE 157 Critics discuss whether or no Coleridge knew what was to be the outcome of the story. Perhaps he did, though Wordsworth denied it; we never shall know. Yet in itself, reduced to plain prose, the story of the witch who weaves an evil enchantment round a fair and gentle maid, alienating from her her father's love, and possibly separating her from, her lover, is no more wild or strange than many another tale told in verse or prose during a period fascinated like the first quarter of the nineteenth century with strange romantic themes. The spell is in the treatment and the metre. Coleridge once dropped a pregnant hint : he said that the poem was "partly founded on the idea that the virtuous of the world save the wicked, " — a hint allowing us to believe that the discomfiture of his "sweet Christabel" might have been temporary, and that in the end the boundless pity of her maiden heart might have redeemed the doubtless spell-bound Geraldine. At another time, Coleridge suggested a different and longer plan, which will be found in the Notes. Meanwhile, for further introduction to the poem, we shall do best to turn to his own Preface : CHRISTABEL. PREFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION. 1816. The first part of the following poem was written in the year 1797, at Stowey, in the county of Somerset. The second part, after my return from Germany, in 158 SHOETER ENGLISH POEMS the year 1800, at Keswick, Cumberland. Since the latter date my poetic powers have been, till very lately, in a state of suspended animation. But as, in my very first conception of the tale, I had the whole present to my mind, with the wholeness, no less than with the liveliness of a vision ; I trust that I shall be able to embody in verse the three parts yet to come, in the course of the present year. 1 It is probable, that if the poem had been finished at either of the former periods, or if even the first and second part had been published in the year 1800, the impression of its originality would have been much greater than I dare at present expect. But for this, I have only my own indolence to blame. The dates are mentioned for the exclusive purpose of precluding charges of plagiarism or servile imitation from my- self. For there is amongst us a set of critics, who seem to hold, that every possible thought and image is traditional ; who have no notion that there are such things as fountains in the world, small as well as great; and who would therefore charitably derive every rill they behold flowing, from a perforation made in some other man 's tank. I am confident, how- ever, that as far as the present poem is concerned, the celebrated poets whose writings I might be suspected of having imitated, either in particular passages, or in the tone and the spirit of the whole, would be among the first to vindicate me from the charge, and who, on any striking coincidence, would permit me to address them in this doggerel version of two monkish Latin hexameters: — 1 But this hope was illusory. CHBISTABEL 159 ' ' 'Tis mine and it is likewise yours ; But an if this will not do, Let it be mine, dear friend! for I Am the poorer of the two." I have only to add, that the metre of the Christabel is not, properly speaking, irregular, though it may seem so from its being founded on a new principle; namely, that of counting in each line the accents, not the syllables. Though the latter may vary from seven to twelve, yet in each line the accents will be found to be only four. Nevertheless this occasional varia- tion in number of syllables is not introduced wan- tonly, or for the mere ends of convenience, but in correspondence with some transition, in the nature of the imagery or passion. 'Tis the middle of night by the castle clock, And the owls have awakened the crowing cock, Tu— whit !- Tu— whoo ! And hark, again! the crowing cock, 6 How drowsily it crew. Sir Leoline, the Baron rich, Hath a toothless mastiff, which From her kennel beneath the rock Maketh answer to the clock, 10 Four for the quarters, and twelve for the hour ; Ever and aye, by shine and shower, Sixteen short howls, not over loud; Some say, she sees my lady's shroud. 160 SHORTER ENGLISH POEMS Is the night chilly and dark ? 15 The night is chilly, but not dark. The thin gray cloud is spread on high, It covers but not hides the sky. The moon is behind, and at the full ; And yet she looks both small and dull. 20 The night is chill, the cloud is gray : 'Tis a month before the month of May, And the Spring comes slowly up this way. The lovely lady, Christabel, "Whom her father loves so well, 25 "What makes her in the wood so late, A furlong from the castle gate? She had dreams all yesternight Of her own betrothed knight; And she in the midnight wood will pray 30 For the weal of her lover that's far away. She stole along, she nothing spoke, The sighs she heaved were soft and low, And naught was green upon the oak But moss and rarest mistletoe ; 35 She kneels beneath the huge oak tree, And in silence prayeth she. The lady sprang up suddenly, The lovely lady, Christabel! It moaned as near, as near can be, 40 But what it is she cannot tell. — On the other side it seems to be, Of the huge, broad-breasted, old oak tree. CHEISTABEL 161 The night is chill ; the forest bare ; Is it the wind that moaneth bleak ? 45 There is not wind enough in the air To move away the ringlet curl From the lovely lady's cheek — There is not wind enough to twirl The one red leaf, the last of its clan, 50 That dances as often as dance it can, Hanging so light, and hanging so high, On the topmost twig that looks up at the sky. Hush, beating heart of Christabel! Jesu Maria, shield her well! 55 She folded her arms beneath her cloak, And stole to the other side of the oak. What sees she there? There she sees a damsel bright, Drest in a silken robe of white, 60 That shadowy in the moonlight shone : The neck that made that white robe wan, Her stately neck, and arms were bare ; Her blue-veined feet unsandall'd were, And wildly glittered here and there 65 The gems entangled in her hair. I guess, 't was frightful there to see A lady so richly clad as she — _ Beautiful exceedingly! "Mary mother, save me now!" 70 (Said Christabel,) "And who art thou?" 162 SHOKTEK ENGLISH POEMS The lady strange made answer meet, And her voice was faint and sweet: — ■ "Have pity on. my sore distress, I scarce can speak for weariness:" 15 ' ' Stretch forth thy hand, and have no fear ! ' ' Said Christabel, ' ' How earnest thou here ? ' ' And the lady, whose voice was faint and sweet, Did thus pursue her answer meet : — . "My sire is of a noble line, so And my name is Geraldine : Five warriors seized me yestermorn, Me, even me, a maid forlorn : They choked my cries with force and fright, And tied me on a palfrey white. 85 The palfrey was as fleet as wind, And they rode furiously behind. They spurred amain, their steeds were white : And once we crossed the shade of night. As sure as Heaven shall rescue me, 90 I have no thought what men they be ; Nor do I know how long it is (For I have lain entranced iwis) Since one, the tallest of the five, Took me from the palfrey's back, 95 A weary woman, scarce alive. Some muttered words his comrades spoke : He placed me underneath this oak ; He swore they would return with haste; Whither they went I cannot tell — loo I thought I heard, some minutes past, Sounds as of a castle bell. CHEISTABEL 163 Stretch forth thy hand (thus ended she,) And help a wretched maid to flee." Then Christabel stretched forth her hand, 105 And comforted fair Geraldine : ( ' Oh, well, bright dame ! may you command The service of Sir Leoline; And gladly our stout chivalry "Will he send forth, and friends withal, no To guide and guard you safe and free Home to your noble father's hall." She rose : and forth with steps they passed That strove to be, and were not, fast. Her gracious stars the lady blest, 115 And thus spake on sweet Christabel : "All our household are at rest, The hall as silent as the cell; Sir Leoline is weak in health, And may not well awakened be, 120 But we will move as if in stealth, And I beseech your courtesy, This night, to share your couch with me." They crossed the moat, and Christabel Took the key that fitted well ; 125 A little door she opened straight, All in the middle of the gate ; The gate that was ironed within and without, Where an army in battle array had marched out. The lady sank, belike through pain, 130 And Christabel with might and main 164 SHORTER ENGLISH POEMS Lifted her up, a weary weight, Over the threshold of the gate : Then the lady rose again, And moved, as she were not in pain. 185 So free from danger, free from fear, They crossed the court : right glad they were. And Christabel devoutly cried To the lady by her side : ' ' Praise we the Virgin all divine 140 Who hath rescued thee from thy distress ! ' ' "Alas, alas!" said Geraldine, "I cannot speak for weariness." So free from danger, free from fear, They crossed the court : right glad they were. 145 Outside her kennel the mastiff old Lay fast asleep, in moonshine cold. The mastiff old did not awake, Yet she an angry moan did make ! And what can ail the mastiff bitch ? 150 Never till now she uttered yell Beneath the eye of Christabel. Perhaps it is the owlet's scritch: For what can ail the mastiff bitch? They passed the hall, that echoes still, 155 Pass as lightly as you will ! The brands were flat, the brands were dying, Amid their own white ashes lying; But when the lady passed, there came A tongue of light, a fit of flame ; CHEISTABEL 165 160 And Christabel saw the lady 's eye, And nothing else saw she thereby, Save the boss of the shield of Sir Leoline tall, Which hung in a murky old niche in the wall. "Oh softly tread," said Christabel, 165 "My father seldom sleepeth well." Sweet Christabel her feet doth bare, And jealous of the listening air, They steal their way from stair to stair, Now in glimmer, and now in gloom, 170 And now they pass the Baron 's room, As still as death, with stifled breath! And now have reached her chamber door ; And now doth Geraldine press down The rushes of the chamber floor. 175 The moon shines dim in the open air, And not a moonbeam enters here. But they without its light can see The chamber carved so curiously, Carved with figures strange and sweet, 180 All made out of the carver's brain, For a lady's chamber meet: The lamp with twofold silver chain Is fastened to an angel's feet. The silver lamp burns dead and dim; 185 But Christabel the lamp will trim. She trimmed the lamp, and made it bright, And left it swinging to and fro, While Geraldine, in wretched plight, Sank down upon the floor below. 166 SHOETEB ENGLISH POEMS 190 "0 weary lady, Geraldine, I pray you, drink this cordial wine ! It is a wine of virtuous powers ; My mother made it of wild flowers. " "And will your mother pity me, 195 Who am a maiden most forlorn ? ' ' Christabel answered — "Woe is me! She died the hour that I was born. I have heard the gray-haired friar tell, How on her death-bed she did say, 200 That she should hear the castle-bell Strike twelve upon my wedding-day. mother dear ! that thou wert here ! ' ' ' ' I would, ' ' said Geraldine, i ' she were ! ' ' But soon with altered voice, said she — 205 ' ' Off, wandering mother ! Peak and pine ! 1 have power to bid thee flee." Alas! what ails poor Geraldine? Why stares she with unsettled eye? Can she the bodiless dead espy? 210 And why with hollow voice cries she, "Off, woman, off! this hour is mine — Though thou her guardian spirit be, Off, woman, off! 'tis given to me." Then Christabel knelt by the lady's side, '2T5 And raised to heaven her eyes so blue — "Alas!" said she, this ghastly ride — "Dear lady! it hath wildered you!" The lady wiped her moist cold brow, And faintly said, " 'tis over now!" CHEISTABEL 167 220 Again the wild-flower wine she drank : Her fair large eyes 'gan glitter bright, And from the floor whereon she sank, The lofty lady stood upright; She was most beautiful to see, 225 Like a lady of a far countree. And thus the lofty lady spake — "All they, who live in the upper sky, Do love you, holy Christabel! And you love them, and for their sake 230 And for the good which me befell, Even I in my degree will try, Fair maiden, to requite you well. But now unrobe yourself ; for I Must pray, ere yet in bed I lie." 235 Quoth Christabel, ' ' So let it be ! " And as the lady bade, did she. Her gentle limbs did she undress, And lay down in her loveliness. But through her brain of weal and woe 240 So many thoughts moved to and fro, That vain it were her lids to close : So half-way from the bed she rose, And on her elbow did recline To look at the lady Geraldine. 245 Beneath the lamp the lady bowed, And slowly rolled her eyes around; Then drawing in her breath aloud, Like one that shuddered, she unbound 168 SHOETEE ENGLISH POEMS The cincture from beneath her breast: 250 Her silken robe, and inner vest, Dropt to her feet, and full in view, Behold! her bosom and half her side — A sight to dream of, not to tell! Oh shield her! shield sweet Christabel! 255 Yet Geraldine nor speaks nor stirs; Ah ! what a stricken look was hers ! Deep from within she seems half-way To lift some weight with sick assay, And eyes the maid and seeks delay; 260 Then suddenly, as one defied, Collects herself in scorn and pride, And lay down by the maiden's side! — And in her arms the maid she took, Ah well-a-day! 265 And with low voice and doleful look These words did say: ' ' In the touch of this bosom there worketh a spell, Which is lord of thy utterance, Christabel! Thou knowest tonight, and wilt know tomorrow, 270 This mark of my shame, this seal of my sorrow ; But vainly thou warrest, For this is alone in Thy power to declare, That in the dim forest 275 Thou heard 'st a low moaning, And found 'st a bright lady, surpassingly fair: And didst bring her home with thee in love and in charity, To shield her and shelter her from the damp air. ' ' CHBISTABEL 169 THE CONCLUSION TO PART I. It was a lovely sight to see 280 The lady Christabel, when she Was praying at the old oak tree. Amid the jagged shadows Of mossy leafless boughs, Kneeling in the moonlight, 285 To make her gentle vows; Her slender palms together prest, Heaving sometimes on her breast ; Her face resigned to bliss or bale — ■ Her face, oh call it fair not pale, 290 And both blue eyes more bright than clear, Each about to have a tear. With open eyes (ah woe is me!) Asleep, and dreaming fearfully, Fearfully dreaming, yet iwis, 295 Dreaming that alone, which is — sorrow and shame ! Can this be she, The lady, who knelt at the old oak tree? And lo! the worker of these harms, That holds the maiden in her arms, 300 Seems to slumber still and mild, As a mother with her child. A star hath set, a star hath risen, Geraldine! since arms of thine Have been the lovely lady's prison. 305 O Geraldine ! one hour was thine — Thou'st had thy will! By tairn and rill, The night-birds all that hour were still. 170 SHORTER ENGLISH POEMS But now they are jubilant anew, From cliff and tower, tu — whoo! tu — whoo! 310 Tu — whoo ! tu — whoo ! from wood and fell ! And see ! the lady Christabel Gathers herself from out her trance ; Her limbs relax, her countenance Grows sad and soft ; the smooth thin lids 315 Close o 'er her eyes ; and tears she sheds — Large tears that leave the lashes bright ! And oft the while she seems to smile As infants at a sudden light! Yea, she doth smile, and she doth weep, 320 Like a youthful hermitess, Beauteous in a wilderness, Who, praying always, prays in sleep. And, if she move unquietly, Perchance, 'tis but the blood so free, 325 Comes back and tingles in her feet. No doubt she hath a vision sweet. What if her guardian spirit 'twere? What if she knew her mother near ? But this she knows, in joys and woes, 330 That saints will aid if men will call : For the blue sky bends over all ! PART II. Each matin bell, the Baron saith, Knells us back to a world of death. These words Sir Leoline first said, 335 When he rose and found his lady dead ; These words Sir Leoline will say, Many a morn to his dying day ! CHRISTABEL 171 And hence the custom and law began, That still at dawn the sacristan, 340 Who duly pulls the heavy bell, Five and forty beads must tell Between each stroke — a warning knell, Which not a soul can choose but hear From Bratha Head to Wyndermere. 345 Saith Bracy the bard, So let it knell ! And let the drowsy sacristan Still count as slowly as he can ! There is no lack of such, I ween, As well fill up the space between. 350 In Langdale Pike and Witch 's lair, And Dungeon-ghyll so foully rent, With ropes of rock and bells of air Three sinful sextons' ghosts are pent, Who all give back, one after t'other, 355 The death-note to their living brother ; And oft too, by the knell offended, Just as their one ! two ! three ! is ended, The devil mocks the doleful tale With a merry peal from Borodale. 360 The air is still ! through mist and cloud That merry peal comes ringing loud; And Geraldine shakes off her dread, And rises lightly from the bed ; Puts on her silken vestments white, 365 And tricks her hair in lovely plight, And nothing doubting of her spell Awakens the lady Christabel. 172 SHOETER ENGLISH POEMS "Sleep yon, sweet lady Christabel? I trust that you have rested well/' 370 And Christabel awoke and spied The same who lay down by her side — Oh rather say, the same whom she Eaised up beneath the old oak tree ! Nay, fairer yet; and yet more fair! 375 For she belike hath drunken deep Of all the blessedness of sleep ! And while she spake, her looks, her air Such gentle thankfulness declare, That (so it seemed) her girded vests 380 Grew tight beneath her heaving breasts. "Sure I have sinned!" said Christabel, ' ' Now heaven be praised if all be well ! ' ' And in low faltering tones, yet sweet, Did she the lofty lady greet, 385 With such perplexity of mind As dreams too lively leave behind. So quickly she rose, and quickly arrayed Her maiden limbs, and having prayed That He, who on the cross did groan, 390 Might wash away her sins unknown, She forthwith led fair Geraldine To meet her sire, Sir Leoline. The lovely maid and lady tall Are pacing both into the hall, 395 And pacing on through page and groom, Enter the Baron's presence-room. CHRISTABEL 173 The Baron rose, and while he prest His gentle daughter to his breast, With cheerful wonder in his eyes 400 The lady Geraldine espies, And gave such welcome to the same, As might beseem so bright a dame ! But when he heard the lady's tale, And when she told her father's name, 405 Why waxed Sir Leoline so pale, Murmuring o'er the name again, Lord Roland de Vaux of Tryermaine? Alas! they had been friends in youth; But whispering tongues can poison truth; 410 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. And thus it chanced, as I divine, 415 With Roland and Sir Leoline. Each spake words of high disdain And insult to his heart's best brother: They parted — ne'er to meet again! But never either found another 420 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, 425 Shall wholly do away, I ween, The marks of that which once hath been. 174 SHOETEE ENGLISH POEMS Sir Leoline, a moment's space, Stood gazing on the damsel's face: And the youthful Lord of Tryermaine 430 Came back upon his heart again. Oh then the Baron forgot his age, His noble heart swelled high with rage; He swore by the wounds in Jesu's side, He would proclaim it far and wide 435 With trump and solemn heraldry, That they who thus had wronged the dame, Were base as spotted infamy! ' ' And if they dare deny the same, My herald shall appoint a week, 440 And let the recreant traitors seek My tourney court — that there and then I may dislodge their reptile souls From the bodies and forms of men ! ' ' He spake : his eye in lightning rolls ! 445 For the lady was ruthlessly seized ; and he kenned In the beautiful lady the child of his friend ! And now the tears were on his face, And fondly in his arms he took Fair Geraldine, who met the embrace, 450 Prolonging it with joyous look. Which when she viewed, a vision fell Upon the soul of Christabel, The vision of fear, the touch and pain! She shrunk and shuddered, and saw again — 455 (Ah, woe is me ! Was it for thee, Thou gentle maid! such sights to see?) CHEISTABEL 175 Again she saw that bosom old, Again she felt that bosom cold, And drew in her breath with a hissing sound : 460 Whereat the Knight turned wildly round, And nothing saw but his own sweet maid With eyes upraised, as one that prayed. The touch, the sight, had passed away, And in its stead that vision blest, 465 Which comforted her after-rest While in the lady's arms she lay, Had put a rapture in her breast, And on her lips and o'er her eyes Spread smiles like light! With new surprise, 470 "What ails then my beloved child?" The Baron said — His daughter mild Made answer, "All will yet be well!" I ween, she had no power to tell Aught else : so mighty was the spell. 475 Yet he, who saw this Geraldine, Had deemed her sure a thing divine. Such sorrow with such grace she blended, As if she feared she had offended Sweet Christabel, that gentle maid! 480 And with such lowly tones she prayed, She might be sent without delay Home to her father's mansion. "Nay! Nay, by my soul!" said Leoline. I I Ho ! Bracy, the bard, the charge be thine ! 176 SHOETEE ENGLISH POEMS 485 Go thou, with music sweet and loud, And take two steeds with trappings proud, And take the youth whom thou lov'st best To bear thy harp, and learn thy song, And clothe you both in solemn vest, 490 And over the mountains haste along, Lest wandering folk, that are abroad, Detain you on the valley road. And when he has crossed the Irthing flood, My merry bard ! he hastes, he hastes 495 Up Knorren Moor, through Halegarth Wood, And reaches soon that castle good Which stands and threatens Scotland's wastes. "Bard Bracy; bard Bracy! your horses are fleet, Ye must ride up the hall, your music so sweet 500 More loud than your horses' echoing feet! And loud and loud to Lord Koland call, Thy daughter is safe in Langdale hall! Thy beautiful daughter is safe and free- Sir Leoline greets thee thus through me. 505 He bids thee come without delay With all thy numerous array; And take thy lovely daughter home : And he will meet thee on the way With all his numerous array 510 White with their panting palfreys' foam: And by mine honor ! I will say, That I repent me of the day When I spake words of fierce disdain To Roland de Vaux of Tryermaine 1^- 515 — For since that evil hour hath flown/ CHEISTABEL 177 Many a summer's sun hath shone; Yet ne 'er found I a friend again Like Roland de Vaux of Tryermaine." The lady fell, and clasped his knees, 520 Her face upraised, her eyes o'erflowing; And Bracy replied, with faltering voice, His gracious hail on all bestowing! — "Thy words, thou sire of Christabel, Are sweeter than my harp can tell; 525 Yet might I gain a boon of thee, This day my journey should not be, So strange a dream hath come to me; That I had vowed with music loud To clear yon wood from thing unblest, 530 "Warned by a vision in my rest ! For in my sleep I saw that dove, That gentle bird, whom thou dost love, And call'st by thy own daughter's name — Sir Leoline ! I saw the same 535 Fluttering, and uttering fearful moan, Among the green herbs in the forest alone. Which when I saw and when I heard, I wonder 'd what might ail the bird; For nothing near it could I see, 540 Save the grass and green herbs underneath the old tree. "And in my dream methought I went To search out what might there be found ; And what the sweet bird's trouble meant, That thus lay fluttering on the ground. 178 SHOETER ENGLISH POEMS 545 I went and peered, and could descry No cause for her distressful cry; But yet for her dear lady's sake I stooped, me thought, the dove to take, When lo! I saw a bright green snake 550 Coiled around its wings and neck, Green as the herbs on which it couched, Close by the dove's its head it crouched; And with the dove it heaves and stirs, Swelling its neck as she swelled hers! 555 I woke ; it was the midnight hour, The clock was echoing in the tower; But though my slumber was gone by, This dream it would not pass away — It seems to live upon my eye! 560 And thence I vowed this self -same day, With music strong and saintly song, To wander through the forest bare, Lest aught unholy loiter there.' ' Thus Bracy said : the Baron, the while, 565 Half -listening heard him with a smile ; Then turned to Lady Geraldine, His eyes made up of wonder and love ; And said in courtly accents fine, "Sweet maid, Lord Roland's beauteous dove, 570 With arms more strong than harp or song, Thy sire and I will crush the snake ! ' ' He kissed her forehead as he spake, And Geraldine, in maiden wise, Casting down her large bright eyes, 575 With blushing cheek and courtesy fine CHRISTABEL 179 She turned her from Sir Leoline ; Softly gathering up her train, That o'er her right arm fell again ; And folded her arms across her chest, 580 And couched her head upon her breast, And looked askance at Christabel — Jesu Maria, shield her well ! A snake's small eye blinks dull and shy, And the lady 's eyes they shrunk in her head, 585 Each shrunk up to a serpent's eye, And with somewhat of malice, and more of dread, At Christabel she looked askance! — One moment — and the sight was fled! But Christabel in dizzy trance 590 Stumbling on the unsteady ground Shuddered aloud, with a hissing sound; And Geraldine again turned round, And like a. thing that sought relief, Full of wonder and full of grief, 595 She rolled her large bright eyes divine Wildly on Sir Leoline. The maid, alas ! her thoughts are gone, She nothing sees — no sight but one ! The maid, devoid of guile and sin, 600 I know not how, in fearful wise So deeply had she drunken in That look, those shrunken serpent eyes, That all her features were resigned To this sole image in her mind; 180 SHOETEE ENGLISH POEMS 605 And passively did imitate That look of dull and treacherous hate ! And thus she stood in dizzy trance, Still picturing that look askance With forced unconscious sympathy 610 Full before her father's view — As far as such a look could be, In eyes so innocent and blue ! And when the trance was o 'er, the maid Paused awhile, and inly prayed,: 615 Then falling at the Baron's feet, "By my mother's soul do I entreat That thou this woman send away!" She said : and more she could not say : For what she knew she could not tell, 620 'ermastered by the mighty spell. Why is thy cheek so wan and wild, Sir Leoline? Thy only child Lies at thy feet, thy joy, thy pride, So fair, so innocent, so mild ; 625 The same, for whom thy lady died ! Oh by the pangs of her dear mother Think thou no evil of thy child! For her, and thee, and for no other, She prayed the moment ere she died: 630 Prayed that the babe for whom she died, Might prove her dear lord's joy and pride! That prayer her deadly pangs beguiled, Sir Leoline! And wouldst thou wrong thy only child, 635 Her child and thine? CHEISTABEL 181 Within the Baron's heart and brain If thoughts, like these, had any share, They only swelled his rage and pain, And did but work confusion there. 640 His heart was cleft with pain and rage, His cheeks they quivered, his eyes were wild — Dishonored thus in his old age; Dishonored by his only child, And all his hospitality 645 To the insulted daughter of his friend By more than woman's jealousy Brought thus to a disgraceful end- He rolled his eye with stern regard Upon the gentle minstrel bard, 660 And said in tones abrupt, austere — "Why, Bracy! dost thou loiter here? I bade thee hence ! ' ' The bard obeyed ; And turning from his own sweet maid, The aged knight, Sir Leoline, 655 Led forth the lady Geraldine ! THE CONCLUSION OF PART II. A little child, a limber elf, Singing, dancing to itself, A fairy thing with red round cheeks, That always finds, and never seeks, 660 Makes such a vision to the sight As fills a father's eyes with light; And pleasures flow in so thick and fast Upon his heart, that he at last Must needs express his love's excess 182 SHOETER ENGLISH POEMS 665 With words of unmeant bitterness. Perhaps 'tis pretty to force together Thoughts so unlike each other; To mutter and mock a broken charm, To dally with wrong that does no harm. 670 Perhaps 'tis tender too and pretty At each wild word to feel within A sweet recoil of love and pity. And what, if in a world of sin (0 sorrow and shame should this be true!) 675 Such giddiness of heart and brain Comes seldom save from rage and pain, So talks as it's most used to do. KUBLA KHAN; OR, A VISION IN A DREAM. A FRAGMENT. In the summer of the year 1797, the Author, then in ill health, had retired to a lonely farm-house be- tween Porlock and Linton, on the Exmoor confines of Somerset and Devonshire. In consequence of a slight indisposition, an anodyne had been prescribed, from the effect of which he fell asleep in his chair at the moment he was reading the following sentence, or words of the same substance, in Purchases Pilgrim- age: — "Here the Khan Kubla commanded a palace to be built, and a stately garden thereunto: and thus ten miles of fertile ground were inclosed with a wall. ' ' The author continued for about three hours in a pro- found sleep, at least of the external senses, during KUBLA KHAN 183 which time he has the most vivid confidence that he could not have composed less than from two to three hundred lines; if that indeed can be called composi- tion in which all the images rose up before him as things, with a parallel production of the correspond- ent expressions, without any sensation or conscious- ness of effort. On awaking he appeared to himself to have a distinct recollection of the whole, and taking his pen, ink, and paper, instantly and eagerly wrote down the lines that are here preserved. At this mo- ment he was unfortunately called out by a person on business from Porlock, and detained by him above an hour, and on his return to his room, found, to his no small surprise and mortification, that though he still retained some vague and dim recollection of the general purport of the vision, yet, with the exception of some eight or ten scattered lines and images, all the rest had passed away like the images on the sur- face of a stream into which a stone had been cast, but, alas! without the after restoration of the latter. Then all the charm Is broken — all that phantom-world so fair Vanishes, and a thousand circlets spread, And each mis-shape the other. Stay awhile, Poor youth! who scarcely dar'st lift up thine eyes — The stream will soon renew its smoothness, soon The visions will return! And lo! he stays, And soon the fragments dim of lovely forms Come trembling back, unite, and now once more The pool becomes a mirror. Yet from the still surviving recollections in his mind, the Author has frequently purposed to finish for himself what had been originally, as it were, given 184 SHOKTEB ENGLISH POEMS to him. Avpiov ahiov aaa> but the tomorrow is yet to come. In Xanadu did Kubla Khan A stately pieasure-dome decree : Where Alph, the sacred river, ran Through caverns measureless to man 5 Down to a sunless sea. So twice five miles of fertile ground With walls and towers were girdled round: And there were gardens bright with sinuous rills, Where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree; 10 And here were forests ancient as the hills, Enfolding sunny spots of greenery. But oh! that deep romantic chasm which slanted Down the green hill athwart a cedarn cover ! A savage place! as holy and enchanted 15 As e 'er beneath a waning moon was haunted By woman wailing for her demon-lover! And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething, As if this earth in fast thick pants were breathing, A mighty fountain momently was forced ; 20 Amid whose swift half -intermitted burst Huge fragments vaulted like rebounding hail, Or chaffy grain beneath the thresher's flail: And 'mid these dancing rocks at once and ever It flung up momently the sacred river. 25 Five miles meandering with a mazy motion Through wood and dale the sacred river ran, Then reached the caverns measureless to man, And sank in tumult to a lifeless ocean: And 'mid this tumult Kubla heard from far 30 Ancestral voices prophesying war ! CHEISTABEL: NOTES 185 The shadow of the dome of pleasure Floated midway on the waves; Where was heard the mingled measure From the fountain and the caves. It was a miracle of rare device, A sunny pleasure-dome with caves of ice! A damsel with a dulcimer In a vision once I saw: It was an Abyssinian maid, And on her dulcimer she played, Singing of Mount Abora. Could I revive within me, Her symphony and song, To such a deep delight 'twould win me, That with music loud and long, I would build that dome in air, That sunny dome ! those caves of ice ! And all who heard should see them there, And all should cry, Beware ! Beware ! i His flashing eyes, his floating hair ! Weave a circle round him thrice, And close your eyes with holy dread, For he on honey-dew hath fed, And drunk the milk of Paradise. CHEISTABEL. NOTES. PREFACE. Page 1. Coleridge's memory was at fault concerning the year in which the poem was written. The real date was 1798. This is proved by the Journal of Dorothy Wordsworth, from January to May, 1798. This Journal is full of jottings which promptly found their way into Coleridge's verse. The following passage in The 186 SHOETEE ENGLISH POEMS Prelude, Book 14, line 392 seq., also by the context indicates 1798 for the year : Beloved Friend When, looking back, thou seest, in clearer view Than any liveliest sight of yesterday, That summer, under whose indulgent skies Upon smooth Quantock's airy ridge we roved Unchecked, or loitered 'mid her sylvan combs, Thou in bewitching words, with happy heart, Didst chaunt the vision of that Ancient Man, The bright-eyed Mariner, and rueful woes Didst utter of the Lady Christabel. The celebrated poets: This refers to Scott and Byron. Between 1805-1810 Scott had delighted the world with verse romances, The Lay of the Last Minstrel, The Lady of the Lake, and Marmion. But his star had paled before that of Byron, who in 1813 began with The Giaour a series of romantic tales, that gained tremendous though temporary popularity. No one today would think of classi- fying Christabel with either group. It belongs to a distinct and higher order of poetry. The metre of Christabel: Wordsworth said, reported by Mr. Justice Coleridge, that he attributed Coleridge's writing so little to the extreme care and labor which he applied in elaborating his metres. He said that when Coleridge was intent on a new experi- ment in metre, the time and labor he bestowed were inconceivable; that he was quite an epicure of sound. PART I. Line 3. Each of these four syllables is accented so that the rhythm is the same as that of the preceding line, which gives us two anapests and two iambs, eleven syllables. Line 10 has three dactyls and a trochee. Coleridge's daring method, described in his preface, yields enchanting results, and the variations in the metre should be carefully studied. 16. The thin gray cloud: Here we can see the poet's imagina- tion working slowly toward the perfect expression. Dorothy's jour- nal for January 31 describes a sky effect seen by the friends. The moon "was immensely large, the sky scattered over with clouds ; these soon closed in, contracting the dimensions of the moon with- out concealing her." In the spring Coleridge's notebook has the following lines : Behind the thin Gray cloud that covered but not hid the sky The round, full moon looked small. Both passages show fine, sensitive observation, but the magic comes with the perfect word and movement of the passage as it stands. CHEISTABEL: NOTES 187 49-52. Again the germ is in Dorothy Wordsworth's journal : "March 7, 1798. William and I drank tea at Coleridge's. A cloudy sky. Observed nothing particularly interesting — the distant pros- pect obscured. One only leaf upon the top of a tree — the sole remaining leaf — danced round and round like a rag blown by the wind." §8-65. The present text is that of the revision made by Cole- ridge in 1828-29. In 1816 this passage read : There she sees a damsel bright Drest in a silken robe of white ; Her neck, her feet, her arms were bare, And the jewels disordered in her hair. 104-122. The passage in 1816 ran thus : Then Christabel stretch'd forth her hand And comforted fair Geraldine, Saying, that she should command The service of Sir Leoline ; And straight be convoy'd, free from thrall, Back to her noble father's hall. So up she rose, and forth they pass'd, With hurrying steps, yet nothing fast; Her lucky stars the lady blest, And Christabel she sweetly said — All our household are at rest, Each one sleeping on his bed ; Sir Leoline is weak in health, And may not well awaken'd be ; So to my room we'll creep in stealth, And you tonight must sleep with me. Here every change is an improvement. The direct speech con- notes a more alert imagination, placing us within ear-shot of the dialogue instead of coldly reporting it to us. Line 113 is more suggestive of some strong power abroad than is the old version. "Gracious" has dignity that "lucky" lacks. "Each one sleeping" is tautological. "Silent as the cell" helps the religious atmosphere which Coleridge subtly throws about Christabel ; and the last couplet is far more delicate than the original form. 129. It was an old tradition that evil things could not pass a threshold. 167. This lovely line was added in 1828. 175 seq. Cf. the maiden chamber of Madeline in Keats' Eve of St. Agnes. 203. Some see in this line a hint that Geraldine herself may have been no creature of darkness, though under an evil spell. 188 SHOETEE ENGLISH POEMS 218-219. The original version was so bad that it is hard to believe it authentic. The lady wiped her moist, cold brow, And faintly said, "I am better now." This and many other variant passages not quoted here, show that Coleridge's treatment was at first more colloquial and less imagina- tive than it became at the last, and that much of the exquisite detail was the result of careful revision. 226. The hints continue, that Geraldine would not have harmed Christabel could she have helped it. The wine made by Christabel's mother seems again for a moment to restore her to her better self. 252. A definite description of Geraldine's side, "lean and old and foul of hue," is in one of the manuscripts of the poem. Cole- ridge did far better to allow our shuddering imagination to play in freedom. CONCLUSION TO PART I. J 3 06. Tairn: 1 310. Fell: These are Lake Country words used for the first time in the poem. The use of them might imply that this Con- clusion was not written before 1800, when Coleridge had moved to this region and become familiar with its phrases. 318. In October, 1801, Coleridge notes this habit of his baby son Derwent. Cf. also his poem The Nightingale, lines 101-103. He knows well The evening-star : and once, when he awoke In most distressful mood (some inward pain Had made up that strange thing, an infant's dream), I hurried with him to our orchard-plot, And he beheld the moon, and, hushed at once, Suspends his sobs, and laughs most silently, While his fair eyes, that swam with undropped tears, Did glitter in the yellow moonbeam ! PART II. Coleridge said that the inspiration for this part was given him by Crashaw's Hymn to Saint Teresa, especially the passage describ- ing Teresa's journey as a little girl, when she ran away from home to seek martyrdom among the Moors. "Those verses," says Cole- ridge, ."were ever present to my mind whilst writing the second part of Christabel, if indeed by some subtle process of the mind they did not suggest the first thought of the whole poem." 344. Part II is a Lake Country poem. The scene is laid, not in the conventional mediaeval castle, but in Langdale Hall and the familiar region dear to the brother poets and richly celebrated by Wordsworth, CHRISTABEL: NOTES 189 350-360. Langdale Pike and Dungeon-ghyll both appear by name In Wordsworth's poems. The mountain-echoes Wordsworth de- lighted to notice, and he celebrates them more cheerily than does Coleridge, in his lines Joanna's Laugh. 407. Tryermaine: Scott used the same word in The Bridal of Trier main in 1813. 408. Coleridge called this passage "the best and sweetest lines I ever wrote." Some think Southey was in Coleridge's mind, others suggest other friends. The lines take us out of fairyland into the common light of everyday tenderness and pain. Byron imitated this passage, Childe Harold, Canto III., st. 94. 459. The snake suggestion runs through the poem in connec- tion with Geraldine. It recalls the frequent use in fiction (Cf. Dr. Rappacini's Daughter, Hawthorne, and Elsie Venner, Oliver Wendell Holmes) of the motif of a fair girl poisoned by venom. In mediaeval romance there is a serpent maiden under a spell (as in the Middle English poem, Sir LUteaus Desconnus). Bracy's dream, line 530, helps the suggestion and leads to line 583, where it is given most clearly. 463. The touch, the sight: In the manuscript this line read : "The pang, the sight, was passed away." Probably Coleridge changed it not to have the line resemble too closely one in the Ancient Mariner, Part VI. : "The pang, the curse with which they died Had never passed away." 475-6. Swinburne says that Christaoel is the loveliest of Cole- ridge's poems, "for simple charm of inner and outer sweetness. . . . The very terror and mystery of magical evil is imbued with this sweetness. . . . The witch has no less of it than the maiden." 582. When The Lay of the Last Minstrel appeared, Southey wrote to Wynn, March 5, 1805 : "The beginning of the story is too like Coleridge's Christobell, which he (Scott) had seen; the very line "Jesu Maria, shield her well !" is caught from it. ... I do not think [he copied anything] designedly, but the echo was in his ear, not for emulation, but propter amor em. This only refers to the beginning." CONCLUSION TO PART II. These lines were probably not originally meant for Christaoel. They were sent in a letter to Southey in May, 1801, and were probably written about that time, and referred to Coleridge's exquisite little son Hartley. They do not seem to have much con- nection with the poem except that they present the relation of parent and child. In Gilman's Life of Coleridge we are told that the poet on one occasion suggested the following scheme for the conclusion of the poem. Too much stress should not be placed on it: 190 SHORTER ENGLISH POEMS "The following relation was to have occupied a third and fourth canto, and to have closed the tale. Over the mountains, the Bard, as directed by Sir Leoline, hastes with his disciple ; but in con- sequence of one of those inundations supposed to be common to this country, the spot only where the castle once stood is discovered — the edifice itself being washed away. He determines to return. Geraldine being acquainted with all that is passing, like the weird sisters in Macbeth, vanishes. Reappearing, however, she awaits the return of the Bard, exciting in the meantime, by her wily arts, all the anger she could rouse in the Baron's breast, as well as that jealousy of which he is described to have been susceptible. The old Bard and the youth at length arrive, and therefore she can no longer personate the character of Geraldine, the daughter of Lord Roland de Vaux, but changes her appearance to that of the accepted though absent lover of Christabel. Now ensues a courtship most distressing to Christabel, who feels, she knows not why, great dis- gust for her once favored knight. This coldness is very painful to the Baron, who has no more conception than herself of the supernatural transformation. She at last yields to her father's entreaties, and consents to approach the altar with this hated suitor. The real lover returning, enters at this moment, and pro- duces the ring which she had once given him in sign of her betrothment. Thus defeated, the supernatural being Geraldine dis- appears. As predicted, the castle bell tolls, the mother's voice is heard, and to the exceeding great joy of the parties, the rightful marriage takes place, after which follows a reconciliation and ex- planation between the father and daughter." The hint dropped by Coleridge, mentioned in the Introduction, was to different effect. Probably his plan wavered in his mind. KUBLA KHAN. NOTES. Introduction, ajxpiov apiou a From spoils of nations, and the exhaustless East Pour'd in her lap all gems in sparkling showers : In purple was she robed, and of her feast Monarchs partook, and deem'd their dignity increased. In Venice Tasso's echoes are no more, And silent rows the songless gondolier ; 264 CHILDE HAEOLD 265 Her palaces are crumbling to the shore, And music meets not always now the ear ; Those days are gone, but Beauty still is here ; States fall, arts fade, but Nature doth not die, > Nor yet forget how Venice once was dear, The pleasant place of all festivity, The revel of the earth, the masque of Italy ! But unto us she hath a spell beyond Her name in story, and her long array J Of mighty shadows, whose dim forms despond Above the dogeless city's vanished sway : Ours is a trophy which will not decay With the Bialto ; Shyloek and the Moor And Pierre can not be swept or worn away, » The keystones of the arch ! — though all were o'er, For us repeopled were the solitary shore. v. The beings of the mind are not of clay ; Essentially immortal, they create And multiply in us a brighter ray ) And more beloved existence. That which Fate Prohibits to dull life in this our state Of mortal bondage, by these spirits supplied, First exiles, then replaces what we hate; Watering the heart whose early flowers have died, 45 And with a fresher growth replenishing the void. VI. Such is the refuge of our youth and age, The first from Hope, the last from Vacancy ; 266 SHORTER ENGLISH POEMS And this worn feeling peoples many a page, And, may be, that which grows beneath mine eye. Yet there are things whose strong reality Outshines our fairy-land ; in shape and hues More beautiful than our fantastic sky, And the strange constellations which the Muse O'er her wild universe is skilful to diffuse : > I saw or dreamed of such, — but let them go, — They came like truth, and disappeared like dreams ; And whatso'er they were — are now but so. I could replace them if I would; still teems My mind with many a form which aptly seems ) Such as I sought for, and at moments found : Let these too go, for waking Eeason deems Such over-weening phantasies unsound, And other voices speak and other sights surround. I've taught me other tongues, and in strange eyes 5 Have made me not a stranger — to the mind Which is itself, no changes bring surprise; Nor is it harsh to make, nor hard to find A country with — ay, or without mankind ; Yet was I born where men are proud to be, > Not without cause; and should I leave behind The inviolate island of the sage and free, And seek me out a home by a remoter sea, IX. Perhaps I loved it well ; and should I lay My ashes in a soil which is not mine, CHILDE HAKOLD 267 My spirit shall resume it — if we may Unbodied choose a sanctuary. I twine My hopes of being remember'd in my line With my land's language : if too fond and far These aspirations in their scope incline, — I 80 If my fame should be, as my fortunes are, I Of hasty growth and blight, and dull Oblivion bar x. My name from out the temple where the dead Are honoured by the nations — let it be, And light the laurels on a loftier head ! 85 And be the Spartan's epitaph on me, 'Sparta hath many a worthier son than he/ Meantime I seek no sympathies, nor need ; The thorns which I have reap'd are of the tree I planted, — they have torn me — and I bleed : m I should have known what fruit would spring from such a seed. XI. The spouseless Adriatic mourns her lord ; And annual marriage now no more renew' d, The Bucentaur lies rotting unrestored, Neglected garment of her widowhood ! 95 St. Mark yet sees his lion where he stood Stand, but in mockery of his wither'd power, Over the proud Place where an Emperor sued, And monarchs gazed and envied in the hour When Venice was a queen with an unequall'd dower. XII. loo The Suabian sued, and now the Austrian reigns — An Emperor tramples where an Emperor knelt ; 268 SHOKTER ENGLISH POEMS Kingdoms are shrunk to provinces, and chains Clank over sceptred cities; nations melt From power's high pinnacle, when they have felt 105 The sunshine for a while, and downward go Like lauwine loosen' d from the mountain's belt ; — Oh, for one hour of blind old Dandolo, Th' octogenarian chief, Byzantium's conquering foe ! XIII. Before St. Mark still glow his steeds of brass, no Their gilded collars glittering in the sun; But is not Doria's menace come to pass? Are they not bridled f — Venice lost and won, Her thirteen hundred years of freedom done, Sinks, like a sea-weed, into whence she rose ! 115 Better be whelm'd beneath the waves, and shun, Even in destruction's depth, her foreign foes, From whom submission wrings an infamous repose. XIV. In youth she was all glory, a new Tyre, Her very by-word sprung from victory, 120 The Tlanter of the Lion,' which through fire And blood she bore o'er subject earth and sea; Though making many slaves, herself still free, And Europe's bulwark 'gainst the Ottomite; — Witness Troy's rival, Candia ! Vouch it, ye 125 Immortal waves that saw Lepanto's fight ! For ye are names no time nor tyranny can blight. xv. Statues of glass — all shiver'd — the long file Of her dead Doges are declined to dust ; CHILDE HAROLD 269 But where they dwelt, the vast and sumptuous pile 130 Bespeaks the pageant of their splendid trust ; Their sceptre broken, and their sword in rust, Have yielded to the stranger ; empty halls, Thin streets, and foreign aspects, such as must Too oft remind her who and what enthralls, 135 Have flung a desolate cloud o'er Venice' lovely walls. XVI. When Athens' armies fell at Syracuse, And fetter'd thousands bore the yoke of war, Eedemption rose up in the Attic Muse, Her voice their only ransom from afar : 5 See ! as they chant the tragic hymn, the car Of the o'ermaster'd victor stops, the reins Fall from his hands — his idle scimitar Starts from its belt — he rends his captive's chains, And bids him thank the bard for freedom and his strains. XVII. > Thus, Venice, if no stronger claim were thine, Were all thy proud historic deeds forgot, Thy choral memory of the Bard divine, Thy love of Tasso, should have cut the knot Which ties thee to thy tyrants ; and thy lot ) Is shameful to the nations, — most of all, Albion, to thee : the Ocean queen should not Abandon Ocean's children ; in the fall Of Venice think of thine, despite thy watery wall. XVIII. I loved her from my boyhood ; she to me 155 Was as a fairy city of the heart, 270 SHOBTES ENGLISH POEMS Kising like water-columns from the sea, Of joy the sojourn, and of wealth the mart : And Otway, Kadcliffe, Schiller, Shakespeare's art, Had stamp'd her image in me ; and even so, 160 Although I found her thus, we did not part, Perchance even dearer in her day of woe Than when she was a boast, a marvel, and a show. XIX. I can repeople with the past — and of The present there is still for eye and thought, 165 And meditation chasten 7 d down, enough, And more, it may be, than I hoped or sought: And of the happiest moments which were wrought Within the web of my existence, some From thee, fair Venice, have their colours caught : 170 There are some feelings Time cannot benumb, Nor torture shake, or mine would now be cold and dumb. xx. But from their nature will the tannen grow Loftiest on loftiest and least sheltered rocks, Eooted in barrenness, where nought below 175 Of soil supports them 'gainst the Alpine shocks Of eddying storms ; yet springs the trunk, and mocks The howling tempest, till its height and frame Are worthy of the mountains from whose blocks Of bleak, gray granite into life it came, 180 And grew a giant tree ; — the mind may grow the same. Existence may be borne, and the deep root Of life and sufferance make its firm abode CHILDE HAEOLD 271 In bare and desolated bosoms : mute The camel labours with the heaviest load, 185 And the wolf dies in silence, — not bestowed . In vain should such example be ; if they, Things of ignoble or of savage mood, Endure and shrink not, we of nobler clay May temper it to bear, — it is but for a day. 190 All suffering doth destroy, or is destroy'd Even by the sufferer ; and, in each event, Ends : — Some, with hope replenished and rebuoy'd, Eeturn to whence they came — with like intent, And weave their web again ; some, bow'd and bent, 195 Wax gray and ghastly, withering ere their time, And perish with the reed on which they leant ; Some seek devotion, toil, war, good, or crime, According as their souls were formed to sink or climb. But ever and anon of griefs subdued There comes a token like a scorpion's sting, Scarce seen, but with fresh bitterness imbued ; And slight withal may be the things which bring Back on the heart the weight which it would fling Aside for ever : it may be a sound, — 205 A tone of music, summer's eve, or spring, A flower, the wind, the ocean, — which shall wound, Striking the electric chain wherewith we are darkly bound ; 272 SHORTER ENGLISH POEMS XXIV. And how and why we know not, nor can trace Home to its cloud this lightning of the mind, 210 But feel the shock renew'd, nor can efface The blight and blackening which it leaves behind, Which out of things familiar, undesigned, When least we deem of such, calls up to view The spectres whom no exorcism can bind, 215 The cold — the changed — perchance the dead — anew, The mourn'd, the loved, the lost — too many ! — yet how few ! XXV. But my soul wanders ; I demand it back To meditate amongst decay, and stand A ruin amidst ruins ; there to track 220 Fall'n states and buried greatness, o'er a land Which was the mightiest in its old command, And is the loveliest, and must ever be The master-mould of Nature's heavenly hand, Wherein were cast the heroic and the free, The beautiful, the brave — the lords of earth and sea, XXVI. The commonwealth of kings, the men of Eome ! And even since, and now, fair Italy, Thou art the garden of the world, the home Of all Art yields, and Nature can decree ; 230 Even in thy desert, what is like to thee ? Thy very weeds are beautiful, thy waste More rich than other climes' fertility ; Thy wreck a glory, and thy ruin graced With an immaculate charm which cannot be defaced. .. CHILDE HAEOLD 273 ' XXVII. 235 The moon is up, and yet it is not night — Sunset divides the sky with her, a sea Of glory streams along the Alpine height Of blue Friuli's mountains ; Heaven is free From clouds, hut of all colours seems to be MO Melted to one vast Iris of the West, Where the Day joins the past Eternity; While, on the other hand, meek Dian's crest Floats through the azure air, an island of the blest ! XXVIII. A single star is at her side, and reigns 245 With her o'er half the lovely heaven ; but still Yon sunny sea heaves brightly, and remains Koll'd o'er the peak of the far Ehsetian hill, As Day and Night contending were, until Nature reclaimed her order : gently flows 250 The deep-dyed Brenta, where their hues instil The odorous purple of a new-born rose, Which streams upon her stream, and glass'd within it glows, XXIX. Fill'd with the face of heaven, which from afar Comes down upon the waters ; all its hues, 255 From the rich sunset to the rising star, Their magical variety diffuse. And now they change ; a paler shadow strews Its mantle o'er the mountains ; parting day Dies like the dolphin, whom each pang imbues o With a new colour as it gasps away, The last still loveliest, till — 't is gone — and all is gray. 274 SHORTER ENGLISH POEMS There is a tomb in Arqua ; — reared in air, Pillar'd in their sarcophagus, repose The bones of Laura's lover : here repair 265 Many familiar with his well-sung woes, The pilgrims of his genius. He arose To raise a language, and his land reclaim From the dull yoke of her barbaric foes ; Watering the tree which bears his lady's name 270 With his melodious tears, he gave himself to fame. XXXI. They keep his dust in Arqua where he died, The mountain-village where his latter days Went down the vale of years ; and 't is their pride - An honest pride, and let it be their praise — 275 To offer to the passing stranger's gaze His mansion and his sepulchre ; both plain And venerably simple, such as raise A feeling more accordant with his strain Than if a pyramid form'd his monumental fane. XXXII. 280 And the soft quiet hamlet where he dwelt Is one of that complexion which seems made For those who their mortality have felt, And sought a refuge from their hopes decayed In the deep umbrage of a green hill's shade, 285 Which shows a distant prospect far away Of busy cities, now in vain display'd, For they can lure no further ; and the ray Of a bright sun can make sufficient holiday, CHILDE HAEOLD 275 XXXIII. Developing the mountains, leaves, and flowers, And shining in the brawling brook, where-by, Clear as its current, glide the sauntering hours With a calm languor, which, though to the eye Idlesse it seem, hath its mortality. If from society we learn to live, J T is solitude- should teach us how to die; It hath no flatterers ; vanity can give No hollow aid ; alone — man with his God must strive : Or, it may be, with demons, who impair The strength of better thoughts, and seek their prey 300 In melancholy bosoms, such as were Of moody texture from their earliest day And loved to dwell in darkness and dismay, Deeming themselves predestined to a doom Which is not of the pangs that pass away ; 305 Making the sun like blood, the earth a tomb, The tomb a hell, and hell itself a murkier gloom. XXXV. Ferrara, in thy wide and grass-grown streets, Whose symmetry was not for solitude, There seems as J t were a curse upon the seats 310 Of former sovereigns, and the antique brood Of Este, which for many an age made good Its strength within thy walls, and was of yore Patron or tyrant, as the changing mood Of petty power impell'd, of those who wore 315 The wreath which Dante's brow alone had worn before. 276 SHOETEE ENGLISH POEMS XXXVI. And Tasso is their glory and their shame : Hark to his strain and then survey his cell ! And see how dearly earned Torquato's fame, And where Alfonso bade his poet dwell. ) The miserable despot could not quell The insulted mind he sought to quench, and blend With the surrounding maniacs, in the hell Where he had plunged it. Glory without end Scattered the clouds away, and on that name attend i The tears and praises of all time ; while thine Would rot in its oblivion — in the sink Of worthless dust which from thy boasted line Is shaken into nothing — but the link Thou formest in his fortunes bids us think ) Of thy poor malice, naming thee with scorn. Alfonso ! how thy ducal pageants shrink From thee ! if in another station born, Scarce fit to be the slave of him thou mad'st to mourn : — Thou! form'd to eat, and be despised, and die, i Even as the beasts that perish, save that thou Hadst a more splendid trough and wider sty ; He ! with a glory round his f urrow'd brow, Which emanated then, and dazzles now, In face of all his foes, the Cruscan quire, ) And Boileau, whose rash envy could allow No strain which shamed his country's creaking lyre, That whetstone of the teeth — monotony in wire ! GHILDE HAEOLD 277 Peace to Torquato's injured shade ! ? t was his In life and death to be the mark where Wrong 345 Ami'd with her poison'd arrows, but to miss. Oh, victor unsurpassed in modern song ! Each year brings forth its millions ; but how long The tide of generations shall roll on, And not the whole combined and countless throng 350 Compose a mind like thine ! Though all in one Condensed their scattered rays, they would not form a sun XL. Great as thou art, yet paralleled by those, Thy countrymen, before thee born to shine, The Bards of Hell and Chivalry : first rose 355 The Tuscan father's comedy divine ; Then, not unequal to the Florentine The southern Scott, the minstrel who call'd forth A new creation with his magic line, And, like the Ariosto of the North, 360 Sang ladye-love and war, romance and knightly worth. XLI. The lightning rent from Ariosto's bust The iron crown of laurel's mimic'd leaves ; rTor was the ominous element unjust, For the true laurel-wreath which Glory weaves 365 Is of the tree no bolt of thunder cleaves, And the false semblance but disgraced his brow ; Yet still, if fondly Superstition grieves, Know, that the lightning sanctifies below Whate'er it strikes ; — yon head is doubly sacred now. 278 SHORTER ENGLISH POEMS 370 Italia ! oh, Italia ! thou who hast The fatal gift of beauty, which became A funeral dower of present woes and past, On thy sweet brow is sorrow ploughed by shame, And annals graved in characters of flame. 975 Oh, God ! that thou wert in thy nakedness Less lovely or more powerful, and couldst claim Thy right, and awe the robbers back, who press To shed thy blood and drink the tears of thy distress; Then mightst thou more appal; or, less desired, Be homely and be peaceful, undeplored For thy destructive charms ; then, still untired, Would not be seen the armed torrents poured Down the deep Alps ; nor would the hostile horde Of many-nation'd spoilers from the Po ; Quaff blood and water ; nor the stranger's sword Be thy sad weapon of defence, and so, Victor or vanquished, thou the slave of friend or foe Wandering in youth, I traced the path of him, The Boman friend of Borne' s least-mortal mind, ) The friend of Tully. As my bark did skim The bright blue waters with a fanning wind, Came Megara before me, and behind iEgina lay, Piraeus on the right, And Corinth on the left ; I lay reclined i Along the prow, and saw all these unite In ruin, even as he had seen the desolate sight ; — CHILDE HAEOLD 279 XLV. For Time liath not rebuilt them, but uprear'd Barbaric dwellings on their shattered site, Which only make more mourned and more endear'd 400 The few last rays of their far-scatter'd light And the crushed relics of their vanished might. The Eoman saw these tombs in his own age, These sepulchres of cities which excite Sad wonder, and his yet surviving page 405 The moral lesson bears, drawn from such pilgrimage. That page is now before me, and on mine His country's ruin added to the mass Of perished states he mourn' d in their decline, And I in desolation. All that was 410 Of then destruction is; and now, alas ! Eome — Eome imperial, bows her to the storm, In the same dust and blackness, and we pass The skeleton of her Titanic form, Wrecks of another world whose ashes still are warm. 5 Yet, Italy ! through every other land Thy wrongs should ring, and shall, from side to side; Mother of Arts, as once of arms ; thy hand Was then our guardian, and is still our guide ; Parent of our Beligion, whom the wide ) Nations have knelt to for the keys of heaven ! Europe, repentant of her parricide, Shall yet redeem thee, and, all backward driven, Eoll the barbarian tide, and sue to be forgiven. 280 SHOETEE ENGLISH POEMS But Arno wins us to the fair white walls, 5 Where the Etrurian Athens claims and keeps A softer feeling for her fairy halls. Girt by her theatre of hills, she reaps Her corn and wine and oil, and Plenty leaps To laughing life with her redundant horn. ) Along the banks where smiling Arno sweeps Was modern Luxury of Commerce born, And buried Learning rose, redeemed to a new morn. XLIX. There, too, the Goddess loves in stone, and fills The air around with beauty. We inhale > The ambrosial aspect, which, beheld, instils Part of its immortality ; the veil Of heaven is half undrawn ; within the pale We stand, and in that form and face behold What mind can make when Nature's self would fail ; i And to the fond idolaters of old Envy the innate flash which such a soul could mould. We gaze and turn away, and know not where, Dazzled and drunk with beauty, till the heart Eeels with its fulness ; there — for ever there — Chain'd to the chariot of triumphal Art, We stand as captives and would not depart. Away ! — there need no words nor terms precise, The paltry jargon of the marble mart Where Pedantry gulls Folly — we have eyes : CHILDE HAEOLD 281 450 Blood, pulse, and breast confirm the Dardan Shepherd's prize. LI. Appear'dst thou not to Paris in this guise ? Or to more deeply blest Anchises ? or, In all thy perfect goddess-ship, when lies Before thee thy own vanquished Lord of War? 455 And gazing in thy face as toward a star, Laid on thy lap, his eyes to thee upturn, Feeding on thy sweet cheek ; while thy lips are With lava kisses melting while they' burn, Showered on his eyelids, brow, and mouth, as from an urn ! in. 460 Glowing and cir cum fused in speechless love, Their full divinity inadequate That feeling to express or to improve, The gods become as mortals, and man's fate Has moments like their brightest ; but the weight 465 Of earth recoils upon us ; — let it go ! We can recall such visions, and create, From what has been or might be, things which grow Into thy statue's form and look like gods below. I leave to learned fingers and wise hands, 470 The artist and his ape, to teach and tell How well his connoisseurship understands The graceful bend and the voluptuous swell : Let these describe the undescribable ; I would not their vile breath should crisp the stream 282 SHORTER ENGLISH POEMS > Wherein that image shall for ever dwell, The unruffled mirror of the loveliest dream That ever left the sky on the deep soul to beam. In Santa Croce's holy precincts lie Ashes which make it holier, dust which is ) Even in itself an immortality, Though there were nothing save the past, and this, The particle of those sublimities Which have relapsed to chaos : here repose Angelo's, Alfieri's bones, and his, > The starry Galileo, with his woes ; Here Machiavellr's earth returned to whence it rose. These are four minds, which, like the elements, Might furnish forth creation. Italy ! Time, which hath wrong'd thee with ten thousand rents ) Of thine imperial garment, shall deny, And hath denied, to every other sky Spirits which soar from ruin : — thy decay Is still impregnate with divinity, Which gilds it with revivifying ray; > Such as the great of yore, Canova is to-day. But where repose the all Etruscan three — Dante, and Petrarch, and, scarce less than they, The Bard of Prose, creative spirit, he Of the Hundred Tales of love — where did they lay CHILDE HAEOLD 283 500 Their bones, distinguished from our common clay In death as life ? Are they resolved to dust, And have their country's marbles nought to say ? Could not her quarries furnish forth one bust? Did thev not to her breast their filial earth intrust ? 5 Ungrateful Florence ! Dante sleeps afar, Like Scipio, buried by the upbraiding shore ; Thy factions, in their worse than civil war, Proscribed the bard whose name for evermore Their children's children would in vain adore o With the remorse of ages ; and the crown Which Petrarch's laureate brow supremely wore, Upon a far and foreign soil had grown, His life, his fame, his grave, though rifled — not thine own. LVIII. Boccaccio to his parent earth bequeath'd > His dust ; and lies it not her Great among, With many a sweet and solemn requiem breathed O'er him who f orm'd the Tuscan's siren tongue 'f That music in itself, whose sounds are song, The poetry of speech ? No ; — even his tomb ) Uptorn must bear the hyaena bigot's wrong, No more amidst the meaner dead find room, Nor claim a passing sigh, because it told for whom! And Santa Croce wants their mighty dust,— Yet for this want more noted, as of yore The Caesar's pageant, shorn of Brutus' bust, 284 SHOETEE ENGLISH POEMS Did but of Kome's best Son remind her more. Happier Eavenna ! on thy hoary shore, Fortress of falling empire, honour' d sleeps The immortal exile ; Arqua, too, her store 530 Of tuneful relics proudly claims and keeps, While Florence vainly begs her banish' d dead, and weeps. LX. What is her pyramid of precious stones, Of porphyry, jasper, agate, and all hues Of gem and marble, to encrust the bones §35 Of merchant-dukes? The momentary dews Which, sparkling to the twilight stars, infuse Freshness in the green turf that wraps the dead, Whose names are mausoleums of the Muse, Are gently prest with far more reverent tread 540 Than ever paced the slab which paves the princely head. There be more things to greet the heart and eyes In Arno's dome of Art's most princely shrine, Where Sculpture with her rainbow sister vies ; There be more marvels yet — but not for mine ; i For I have been accustom'd to entwine My thoughts with Nature rather in the fields, Than Art in galleries : though a work divine Calls for my spirit's homage, yet it yields Less than it feels, because the weapon which it wields Is of another temper, and I roam By Thrasimene's lake, in the defiles CHILDE HAEOLD 285. Fatal to Koman rashness, more at home ; For there the Carthaginian's warlike wiles Come back before me, as his skill beguiles The host between the mountains and the shore, Where Courage falls in her despairing files, And torrents, swoll'n to rivers with their gore, Reek through the sultr}^ plain with legions shattered o'er, LXIII. Like to a forest fell'd by mountain winds; And such the storm of battle on this day, And such the frenzy, whose convulsion blinds To all save carnage, that, beneath the fray, An earthquake reel'd unheededly away ! None felt stern Nature rocking at his feet, And yawning forth a grave for those who lay Upon their bucklers for a winding sheet ; Such is the absorbing hate when warring nations meet! LXIV. The Earth to them was as a rolling bark Which bore them to Eternity ; they saw The Ocean round, but had no time to mark The motions of their vessel ; Nature's law, In them suspended, reck'd not of the awe Which reigns when mountains tremble, and the birds Plunge in the clouds for refuge and withdraw From their down-toppling nests ; and bellowing herds Stumble o'er heaving plains, and man's dread hath no words. LXV. Far other scene is Thrasimene now ; Her lake a sheet of silver, and her plain 286 SHORTER ENGLISH POEMS Kent by no ravage save the gentle plough ; 58§ Her aged trees rise thick as once the slain Lay where their roots are ; but a brook hath ta'en — A little rill of scanty stream and bed — A name of blood from that day's sanguine rain ; And Sanguinetto tells ye where the dead 585 Made the earth wet and turned the unwilling waters red But thou, Clitumnus, in thy sweetest wave Of the most living crystal that was e'er The haunt of river nymph, to gaze and lave Her limbs where nothing hid them, thou dost rear ) Thy grassy banks whereon the milk-white steer Grazes, — the purest god of gentle waters, And most serene of aspect, and most clear ! Surely that stream was unprof aned by slaughters — A mirror and a bath for Beauty's youngest daughters ! i And on thy happy shore a Temple still, Of small and delicate proportion, keeps, Upon a mild declivity of hill, Its memory of thee ; beneath it sweeps Thy current's calmness ; oft from out it leaps ) The finny darter with the glittering scales, Who dwells and revels in thy glassy deeps; While, chance, some scatter'd water-lily sails Down where the shallower wave still tells its bubbling tales. CHILDE HAEOLD 287 Pass not unblest the Genius of the place ! 605 If through the air a zephyr more serene Win to the brow, 't is his ; and if ye trace Along his margin a more eloquent green, If on the heart the freshness of the scene Sprinkle its coolness, and from the dry dust 610 Of weary life -a moment lave it clean With Nature's- baptism, — 't is to him ye must Pay orisons for this suspension of disgust. The roar of waters ! — from the headlong height Velino cleaves the wave- worn precipice; > The fall of waters ! rapid as the light The flashing mass foams shaking the abyss ; The hell of waters ! where they howl and hiss, And boil in endless torture ; while the sweat Of their great agony, wrung out from this ) Their Phlegethon, curls round the rocks of jet That gird the gulf around, in pitiless horror set, And mounts in spray the skies, and thence again Eeturns in an unceasing shower, which round, With its unemptied cloud of gentle rain, 625 Is an eternal April to the ground, Making it all one emerald : — how profound The gulf ! and how the giant element From rock to rock leaps with delirious bound, Crushing the cliffs, which, downward worn and rent 630 With his fierce footsteps, yield in chasms a fearful vent 288 SHOETEE ENGLISH POEMS To the broad column which rolls on, and shows More like the fountain of an infant sea Torn from the womb of mountains by the throes Of a new world, than only thus to be 5 Parent of rivers, which flow gushingly, With many windings, through the vale : — Look back ! Lo, where it comes like an eternity, As if to sweep down all things in its track, Charming the eye with dread — a matchless cataract, LXXII. o Horribly beautiful ! but on the verge, From side to side, beneath the glittering morn, An Iris sits, amidst the infernal surge. Like Hope upon a death-bed, and, unworn Its steady dyes while all around is torn 5 By the distracted waters, bears serene Its brilliant hues with all their beams unshorn ; Eesembling, 'mid the torture of the scene, Love watching Madness with unalterable mien. Once more upon the woody Apennine, 650 The infant Alps, which — had I not before Gazed on their mightier parents, where the pine Sits on more shaggy summits, and where roar The thundering lauwine — might be worshipped more ; But I have seen the soaring Jungfrau rear 665 Her never-trodden snow, and seen the hoar Glaciers of bleak Mont Blanc both far and near, And in Chimari heard the thunder-hills of fear, CHILDE HAEOLD 289 Th ? Acroceraunian mountains of old name; And on Parnassus seen the eagles fly 660 Like spirits of the spot, as ? t were for fame, For still they soared unutterably high : I've look'd on Ida with a Trojan's eye; Athos, Olympus, ^Etna, Atlas, made These hills seem things of lesser dignity, 665 All, save the lone Soracte's height, displayed Not now in snow, which asks the lyric Koman's aid LXXV. For our remembrance, and from out the plain Heaves like a long-swept wave about to break, And on the curl hangs pausing. Not in vain 670 May he, who will, his recollections rake, And quote in classic raptures, and awake The hills with Latin echoes ; I abhorr'd Too much, to conquer for the poet's sake, The drilPd dull lesson, forced down word by word 675 In my repugnant youth, with pleasure to record LXXVI. Aught that recalls the daily drug which turn'd My sickening memory ; and, though Time hath taught My mind to meditate what then it learn'd, Yet such the fix'd inveteracy wrought 680 By the impatience of my early thought, That, with the freshness wearing out before My mind could relish what it might have sought, If free to choose, I cannot now restore Its health ; but what it then detested, still abhor. 290 SHOKTEE ENGLISH POEMS LXXVII. 5 Then farewell, Horace ; whom I hated so, Not for thy faults, but mine ; it is a curse To understand, not feel thy lyric flow, To comprehend, but never love thy verse, Although no deeper Moralist rehearse o Our little life, nor Bard prescribe his art, Nor livelier Satirist the conscience pierce, Awakening without wounding the touched heart ; Yet fare thee well — upon Soracte's ridge we part. Oh Eome, my country ! city of the soul ! 695 The orphans of the heart must turn to thee, Lone mother of dead empires, and control In their shut breasts their petty misery. What are our woes and sufferance ? Come and see The cypress, hear the owl, and plod your way 700 O'er steps of broken thrones and temples, Ye ! Whose agonies are evils of a day — A world is at our feet as fragile as our clay, LXXIX. The Mobe of nations ! there she stands, - Childless and crownless, in her voiceless woe ; 70b An empty urn within her withered hands, Whose holy dust was scattered long ago : The Scipios 7 tomb contains no ashes now; The very sepulchres lie tenantless Of their heroic dwellers ; — dost thou flow, 7io Old Tiber, through a marble wilderness ? Eise, with thy yellow waves, and mantle her distress ! CHILDE HAEOLD 291 The Goth, the Christian, Time, War, Flood, and Fire, Have dealt upon the seven-hilFd city's pride ; She saw her glories star by star expire, 715 And up the steep barbarian monarchs ride Where the car climb'd the capitol ; far and wide Temple and tower went down, nor left a site : — Chaos of ruins ! who shall trace the void, O'er the dim fragments cast a lunar light, 720 And say, liere was, or is/ where all is doubly night ? The double night of ages, and of her, Night's daughter, Ignorance, hath wrapt and wrap All round us ; we but feel our way to err : The ocean hath his chart, the stars their map, 725 And Knowledge spreads them on her ample lap ; But Rome is as the desert where we steer Stumbling o'er recollections ; now we clap Our hands, and cry 'Eureka !' it is clear — When but some false mirage of ruin rises near. LXXXII. 730 Alas, the lofty city ! and alas, The trebly hundred triumphs ! and the day When Brutus made the dagger's edge surpass The conqueror's sword in bearing fame away ! Alas, for Tully's voice, and Virgil's lay, 735 And Livy's pictured page ! — but these shall be Her resurrection; all beside — decay. Alas, for Earth, for never shall we see That brightness in her eye she bore when Eome was free ! 292 SHOKTER ENGLISH POEMS Oh thou, whose chariot roll'd on Fortune's wheel, b Triumphant Sylla ! thou, who didst subdue Thy country's foes ere thou wouldst pause to feel The wrath of thy own wrongs, or reap the due Of hoarded vengeance till thine eagles flew O'er prostrate Asia ; — thou, who with thy frown 5 Annihilated senates — Eoman, too, With all thy vices, for thou didst lay down With an atoning smile a more than earthly crown, The dictatorial wreath, — couldst thou divine To what would one day dwindle that which made 750 Thee more than mortal ? and that so supine By aught than Eomans Eome should thus be laid ? She who was named Eternal ; and array'd Her warriors but to conquer — she who veil'd Earth with her haughty shadow, and displayed, 755 Until the o'er-canopied horizon f ail'd, Her rushings wings — Oh, she who was Almighty haiPd ! Sylla was first of victors ; but our own The sagest of usurpers, Cromwell ; he Too swept off senates while he hew'd the throne 760 Down to a block — immortal rebel I. See What crimes it costs to be a moment free And famous through all ages ! but beneath His fate the moral lurks of destiny ; His day of double victory and death CHTLDE HAROLD 293 765 Beheld him win two realms, and, happier, yield his breath. LXXXVI. The third of the same moon whose former course Had all bnt crown'd him, on the self-same day Deposed him gently from his throne of force, And laid him with the earth's preceding clay. 770 And show'd not Fortune thus how fame and sway, And all we deem delightful and consume Our souls to compass through each arduous way, Are in her eyes less happy than the tomb ? Were they but so in man's, how different were his doom i LXXXVII. i And thou, dread statue, yet existent in The austerest form of naked majesty ! Thou who beheldest, 'mid the assassins' din, At thy bathed base the bloody Csesar lie,' Folding his robe in dying dignity, 720 An offering to thine altar from the queen Of gods and men, great Nemesis ! did he die, And thou, too, perish, Pompey ? have ye been Victors of countless kings, or puppets of a scene ? And thou, the thunder-stricken nurse of Eome ! 785 She-wolf, whose brazen-imaged dugs impart The milk of conquest yet within the dome Where, as a monument of antique art, Thou standest ; mother of the mighty heart, Which the great founder suck'd from thy wild teat, 790 Scorch'd by the Eoman Jove's ethereal dart, 294 SHORTER ENGLISH POEMS And thy limbs black with lightning — dost thou yet Guard thine immortal cubs, nor thy fond charge forget ? Thou dost ; but all thy foster-babes are dead — The men of iron ; and the world hath rear'd i Cities from out their sepulchres. Men bled In imitation of the things they fear'd And fought and conquer'd and the same course steered, At apish distance ; but as yet none have, Nor could the same supremacy have near'd, > Save one vain man, who is not in the grave, But vanquish'd by himself, to his own slaves a slave — The fool of false dominion — and a kind Of bastard Ca3sar, following him of old With steps unequal ; for the Eoman's mind 805 Was modelFd in a less terrestrial mould, With passions fiercer, yet a judgment cold, And an immortal instinct which redeemed The frailties of a heart so soft, yet bold, Alcides with the distaff now he seem'd 8io At Cleopatra's feet, — and now himself he beam'd, And came — and saw — and conquered. But the man Who would have tamed his eagles down to flee, Like a trained falcon, in the Gallic van, Which he, in sooth, long led to victory, 815 With a deaf heart which never seemed to be CHILDE HAROLD 295 A listener to itself, was strangely framed ; With but one weakest weakness — vanity, Coquettish in ambition — still he aim'd — At what ? can he avouch — or answer what he claimed ? — • ) And would be all or nothing — nor could wait For the sure grave to level him ; few years Had fiVd him with the Caesars in his fate, On whom we tread. For this the conqueror rears The arch of triumph ! and for this the tears > And blood of earth flow on as they have flowed, _ An universal deluge, which appears Without an ark for wretched man's abode, And ebbs but to renow ! — Eenew thy rainbow, God ! What from this barren being do we reap ? 830 Our senses narrow, and our reason frail, Life short, and truth a gem which loves the deep, And all things weighed in custom's falsest scale; Opinion an omnipotence, — whose veil Mantles the earth with darkness, until right 835 And wrong are accidents, and men grow pale Lest their own judgments should become too bright, And their free thoughts be crimes, and earth have too much light. xciv. And thus they plod in sluggish misery, Eotting from sire to son, and age to age, 840 Proud of their trampled nature, and so die, Bequeathing their hereditary rage 296 SHORTER ENGLISH POEMS To the new race of inborn slaves, who wage War for their chains, and rather than be free, Bleed gladiator-like, and still engage 845 Within the same arena where they see Their fellows fall before, like leaves of the same tree. I speak not of men's creeds — they rest between Man and his Maker — but of things allowed, Averr'd, and known — and daily, hourly seen — 85€ The yoke that is upon us doubly bow'd And the intent of tyranny avow'd, The edict of Earth's rulers, who are grown The apes of him who humbled once the proud And shook them from their slumbers on the throne ; 855 Too glorious, were this all his mighty arm had done. Can tyrants but by tyrants conquered be, And Freedom find no champion and no child Such as Columbia saw arise when she Sprung forth a Pallas, arm'd and undefiled ? 860 Or must such minds be nourished in the wild, Deep in the unpruned forest, 'midst the roar Of cataracts, where nursing Nature smiled On infant Washington ? Has Earth no more Such seeds within her breast, or Europe no such shore ? xcvu. 8@5 But France got drunk with blood to vomit crime, And fatal have her Saturnalia been To Freedom's cause, in every age and clime; CHILDE HAEOLD 297 Because the deadly days which we have seen, And vile Ambition, that built up between 870 Man and his hopes an adamantine wall, And the base pageant last upon the scene, Are grown the pretext for the eternal thrall Which nips life's tree, and dooms man's worst — his second fall. XCVIII. Yet, Freedom, j^et thy banner, torn but flying, 875 Streams like the thunder-storm against the wind ; Thy trumpet voice, though broken now and dying, The loudest still the tempest leaves behind : Thy tree hath lost its blossoms, and the rind, Chopped by the axe, looks rough and little worth, 880 But the sap lasts, — and still the seed we find Sown deep, even in the bosom of the North ; So shall a better spring less bitter fruit bring forth. xcix. There is a stern round tower of other days, Firm as a fortress, with its fence of stone, 885 Such as an army's baffled strength delays, Standing with half its battlements alone, And with two thousand years of ivy grown, The garland of eternity, where wave The green leaves over all by time overthrown ; — 890 What was this tower of strength? within its cave What treasure lay so lock'd, so hid ? A woman's grave. But who was she, the lady of the dead, Tomb'd in a palace ? Was she chaste and fair ? 298 SHORTER ENGLISH POEMS Worthy a king's — or more — a Soman's bed ? 895 What race of chiefs and heroes did she bear? What daughter of her beauties was the heir? How lived, how loved, how died she ? Was she not So hononr'd — and conspicuously there, Where meaner relics must not dare to rot, 900 Placed to commemorate a more than mortal lot ? ci. Was she as those who love their lords, or they Who love the lords of others ? — such have been Even in the olden time, Home's annals say. Was she a matron of Cornelia's mien, 905 Or the light air of Egypt's graceful queen, Profuse of joy — or 'gainst it did she war, Inveterate in virtue? did she lean To the soft side of the heart, or wisely bar Love from amongst her griefs? — for such the affec- tions are. en. 910 Perchance she died in youth : it may be, bow'd With woes far heavier than the ponderous tomb That weigh'd upon her gentle dust, a cloud Might gather o'er her beauty, and a gloom In her dark eye, prophetic of the doom 915 Heaven gives its favourites — early death ; yet shed A sunset charm around her, and illume With hectic light, the Hesperus of the dead, Of her consuming cheek the autumnal leaf -like red. cm. Perchance she died in age — surviving all, 920 Charms, kindred, children — with the silver gray CHILDE HAEOLD 299 On her long tresses, which might yet recall, It may be, still a something of the day When they were braided, and her proud array And lovely form were envied, praised, and eyed 925 By Eome. — But whither would Conjecture stray ? Thus much alone we know — Metella died, The wealthiest Eoman's wife. Behold his love or pride ! civ. I know not why, but standing thus by thee, It seems as if I had thine inmate known, 980 Thou tomb ! and other days come back on me With recollected music, though the tone Is changed and solemn, like the cloudy groan Of dying thunder on the distant wind ; Yet could I seat me by this ivied stone 935 Till I had bodied, forth the heated mind, Forms from the floating wreck which Euin leaves behind ; cv. And from the planks, far shatter'd o'er the rocks, Built me a little bark of hope, once more To battle with the ocean and the shocks 940 Of the loud breakers, and the ceaseless roar Which rushes on the solitary shore Where all lies founder'd that was ever dear. But could I gather from the wave-worn store Enough for my rude boat, where should I steer ? 945 There woos no home, nor hope, nor life, save what is here. cvr. Then let the winds howl on ! their harmony Shall henceforth be my music, and the night 300 SHOKTEB ENGLISH POEMS The sound shall temper with the owlets' cry, As I now hear them, in the fading light ) Dim o'er the bird of darkness' native site, Answering each other on the Palatine, With their large eyes all glistening gray and bright, And sailing pinions. Upon such a shrine What are our petty griefs ? — let me not number mine. CVII. ) Cypress and ivy, weed and wallflower grown Matted and mass'd together, hillocks heap'd On what were chambers, arch crush' d, column strown In fragments, choked up vaults, and frescos steep'd In subterranean damps where the owl peep'd, ) Deeming it midnight : — Temples, baths, or halls ? Pronounce who can ; for all that Learning reap'd From her research hath been, that these are walls — Behold the Imperial Mount! 'tis thus the mighty falls. CVIII. There is the moral of all human tales ; > 'T is but the same rehearsal of the past, First Freedom and then Glory — when that fails, Wealth, vice, corruption, — barbarism at last. And History, with all her volumes vast, Hath but one page, — 'tis better written here > Where gorgeous Tyranny hath thus amass'd All treasures, all delights, that eye or ear, Heart, soul could seek, tongue ask. — Away with words, draw near, CHILDE HAEOLD 301 CIX. Admire, exult, despise, laugh, weep, — for here There is such matter for all feeling : — Man ! 975 Thou pendulum betwixt a smile and tear, Ages and realms are crowded in this span, This mountain, whose obliterated plan The pyramid of empires pinnacled, Of Glory's gewgaws shining in the van 980 Till the sun's rays with added flame were filPd! Where are its golden roofs? where those who dared to build? ex. Tully was not so eloquent as thou, Thou nameless column with the buried base! What are the laurels of the Caesar's brow? 985 Crown me with ivy from his dwelling-place. Whose arch or pillar meets me in the face, Titus' or Trajan's ? No — 't is that of Time : Triumph, arch, pillar, all he doth displace Scoffing; and apostolic statues climb 990 To crush the imperial urn whose ashes slept sublime, CXI. Buried in air, the deep blue sky of Rome, And looking to the stars. They had contain'd A spirit which with these would find a home, The last of those who o'er the whole earth reign'd, 995 The Eoman globe, for after none sust-ain'd But yielded back his conquests: he was more Than a mere Alexander, and, unstain'd 302 SHORTER ENGLISH POEMS With household blood and wine, serenely wore His sovereign virtues — still we Trajan's name adore. looo Where is the rock of Triumph, the high place Where Eome embraced her heroes? where the steep Tarpeian, fittest goal of Treason's race, The promontory whence the Traitor's Leap Cured all ambition? Did the conquerors heap 1005 Their spoils here? Yes; and in yon field below, A thousand years of silenced factions sleep — The Forum, where the immortal accents glow, And still the eloquent air breathes — burns with Cicero ! cxiii. The field of freedom, faction, fame, and blood: 1010 Here a proud people's passions were exhaled, From the first hour of empire in the bud To that when further worlds to conquer fail'd; But long before had Freedom's face been veil'd, And Anarchy assumed her attributes; iois Till every lawless soldier who assail'd Trod on the trembling senate's slavish mutes, Or raised the venal voice of baser prostitutes. cxiv. Then turn me to her latest tribune's name, From her ten thousand tyrants turn to thee, 1020 Eedeemer of dark centuries of shame — The friend of Petrarch — hope of Italy — Eienzi ! last of Eomans ! While the tree Of freedom's wither'd trunk puts forth a leaf CHILDE HAEOLD 303 Even for thy tomb a garland let it be — 1025 The forum's champion, and the people's chief — Her new-born Kuma thou — with reign, alas, too brief. Egeria, sweet creation of some heart Which found no mortal resting-place so fair As thine ideal breast ! whate'er thou art 1030 Or wert, — a young Aurora of the air, The nympholepsy of some fond despair; Or, it might be, a beauty of the earth, Who found a more than common votary there Too much adoring; whatsoe'er thy birth, L035 Thou wert a beautiful thought, and softly bodied forth. The mosses of thy fountain still are sprinkled With thine Elysian water-drops; the face Of thy cave-guarded spring, with years unwrinkled, Keflects the meek-eyed genius of the place, ) Whose green, wild margin now no more erase Art's works ; nor must the delicate waters sleep, Prison'd in marble; bubbling from the base Of the cleft statue, with a gentle leap The rill runs o'er, and round, fern, flowers, and. ivy creep, cxvn. 5 Fantastically tangled. The green hills Are clothed with early blossoms, through the grass The quick-eyed lizard rustles, and the bills Of summer-birds sing welcome as ye pass; 304 SHORTER ENGLISH POEMS Flowers fresh in hue, and many in their class, 1050 Implore the pausing step, and with their dyes Dance in the soft breeze in a fairy mass; The sweetness of the violet's deep bine eyes Kiss'd by the breath of heaven, seems coloured by its skies. CXVIII. Here didst thon dwell, in this enchanted cover, 1055 Egeria ! thy all heavenly bosom beating For the far footsteps of thy mortal lover. The purple Midnight veiPd that mystic meeting With her most starry canopy; and seating Thyself by thine adorer, what befell ? 1060 This cave was surely shaped out for the greeting Of an enamoured Goddess, and the cell Haunted by holy Love — the earliest oracle! And didst thou not, thy breast to his replying, Blend a celestial with a human heart; 1065 And Love, which dies as it was born, in sighing, Share with immortal transports? Could thine art Make them indeed immortal, and impart The purity of heaven to earthly joys, Expel the venom and not blunt the dart — 1070 The dull satiety which all destroys — And root from out the soul the deadly weed which cloys ? cxx. Alas ! our young affections run to waste, Or water but the desert; whence arise But weeds of dark luxuriance, tares of haste, CHIKDE HAEOLD 305 M75 Eank at the core, though tempting to the eyes, Flowers whose wild odours breathe but agonies, And trees whose gums are poison ; — such the plants Which spring beneath her steps as Passion flies O'er the world's wilderness, and vainly pants 1080 For some celestial fruit forbidden to our wants. cxxi. Oh Love ! no habitant of earth thou art — An unseen seraph, we believe in thee, A faith whose martyrs are the broken heart, But never yet hath seen, nor e'er shall see 1085 The naked eye, thy form, as it should be; The mind hath made thee, as it peopled heaven, Even with its own desiring phantasy, And to a thought such shape and image given, 1 As haunts the unquench'd soul — parch'd — wearied — wrung — and riven. CXXII. poo Of its own beauty is the mind diseased, And fevers into false creation : — where, Where are the forms the sculptor's soul hath seized ? — In him alone. Can Nature show so fair? Where are the charms and virtues which we dare M95 Conceive in boyhood and pursue as men, The unreached Paradise of our despair, Which o'er-informs the pencil and the pen, And overpowers the page where it would bloom again? cxxiii. Who loves, raves — 't is youth's frenzy ; but the cure 1100 Is bitterer still. As charm by charm unwinds 306 SHOKTER ENGLISH POEMS Which robed our. idols, and we see too sure Nor worth nor beauty dwells from out the mind's Ideal shape of such; yet still it binds The fatal spell, and still it draws us on, > Reaping the whirlwind from the oft-sown winds; The stubborn heart, its alchemy begun, Seems ever near the prize, — wealthiest when most undone. cxxiv. We wither from our youth, we gasp away — Sick — sick; unfound the boon — unslaked the thirst, i Though to the last, in verge of our decay, Some phantom lures, such as we sought at first — But all too late, — so are we doubly curst. Love, fame, ambition, avarice — 'tis the same, Each idle, and all ill, and none the worst — i For all are meteors with a different name, And Death the sable smoke where vanishes the flame. Few — none — find what they love or could have loved, Though accident, blind contact, and the strong Necessity of loving, have removed 1120 Antipathies — but to recur, ere long, Envenom'd with irrevocable wrong; And Circumstance, that unspiritual god And miscreator, makes and helps along Our coming evils with a crutch-like rod, 1125 Whose touch turns Hope to dust, — the dust we all have trod. CHILDE HAEOLD 307 CXXVI. Our life is a false nature, 't is not in The harmony of things, — this hard decree, This uneradicable taint of sin, This boundless upas, this all-blasting tree 1130 Whose root is earth, whose leaves and branches be The skies which rain their plagues on men like dew — Disease, death, bondage — all the woes we see — And worse, the woes we see not — which throb through The immedicable soul, with heart-aches ever new. CXXVII. 1135 Yet let us ponder boldly ; 9 t is a base Abandonment of reason to resign Our right of thought, our last and only place Of refuge — this, at least, shall still be mine. Though from our birth the faculty divine U4) Is chained and tortured — cabined, cribbed, confined, And bred in darkness, lest the truth should shine Too brightly on the unprepared mind, The beam pours in, fbr time and skill will couch the blind. CXXVIII. Arches on arches ! as it were that Eome, 1145 Collecting the chief trophies of her line, Would build up all her triumphs in one dome, — Her Coliseum stands; the moonbeams shine As 't were its natural torches, for divine Should be the light which . streams here, to illume i This long-explored but still exhaustless mine 308 SHOKTEB ENGLISH POEMS Of contemplation; and the azure gloom Of an Italian night, where the deep skies assume Hues which have words and speak to ye of heaven Floats o'er this vast and wondrous monument, 1155 And shadows forth its glory. There is given Unto the things of earth, which Time hath bent, A spirit's feeling; and where he hath leant His hand, but broke his scythe, there is a power, And magic in the ruin'd battlement, 1160 For which the palace of the present hour Must yield its pomp and wait till ages are its dower. cxxx. Oh, Time ! the beautifier of the dead, Adorner of the ruin, comforter And only healer when the heart hath bled — 1165 Time! the corrector where our judgments err, The test of truth, love, — sole philosopher, For all besides are sophists, from thy thrift Which never loses though it doth defer — Time, the avenger! unto thee I lift 1170 My hands and eyes and heart, and crave of thee a gift : CXXXI. Amidst this wreck, where thou hast made a shrine And temple more divinely desolate, Among thy mightier offerings here are mine, Euins of years — though few, yet full of fate: — 1175 If thou hast ever seen me too elate, Hear me not; but if calmly I have borne CHILDE HAROLD 309 Good, and reserved my pride against the hate Which shall not whelm me, let me not have worn This iron in my soul in vain — shall they not mourn? OXXXII. 1180 And thou, who never yet of human wrong Left the unbalanced scale, great Nemesis ! Here, where the ancient paid thee homage long — Thou, who didst call the Furies from the abyss, And round Orestes bade them howl and hiss 1185 For that unnatural retribution — just, Had it but been from hands less near — in this Thy former realm, I call thee from the dust! Dost thou not hear my heart? — Awake! thou shalt, and must. cxxxiii. It is not that I may not have incurred 1190 For my ancestral faults or mine the wound I bleed withal, and, had it been conferred With a just weapon, it had flowed unbound; But now my blood shall not sink in the ground; To thee I do devote it — thou shalt take 1195 The vengeance, which shall yet be sought and found, Which if I have not taken for the sake — But let that pass — I sleep, but thou shalt yet awake. CXXXIV. And if my voice break forth, 9 t is not that now I shrink from what is suffered; let him speak 1200 Who hath beheld decline upon mj brow, Or seen my mind's convulsion leave it weak: But in this page a record will I seek. 310 SHORTER ENGLISH POEMS Not in the air shall these my words disperse, Though I be ashes; a far hour shall wreak 1205 The deep prophetic fulness of this verse, And pile on human heads the mountain of my curse! cxxxv. That curse shall be Forgiveness. Have I not — Hear me, my mother Earth! behold it, Heaven! — Have I not had to wrestle with my lot? 1210 Have I not suffered things to be forgiven ? Have I not had my brain ,searM, my heart riven, Hopes sapped, name blighted, Life's life lied away? And only not to desperation driven, Because not altogether of such clay 1215 As rots into the souls of those whom I survey. From mighty wrongs to petty perfidy Have I not seen what human things could do? From the loud roar of foaming calumny To the small whisper of the as paltry few, 1220 And subtler venom of the reptile crew, The Janus glance of whose significant eye, Learning to lie with silence, would seem true, And without utterance, save the shrug or sigh, Deal round to happy fools its speechless obloquy. CXXXVII. 1225 But I have lived, and have not lived in vain: My mind may lose its force, my blood its fire, And my frame perish even in conquering pain; But there is that within me which shall tire CHILDE HAEOLD 3^1 Torture and Time, and breathe when I expire; ) Something unearthly which they deem not of, Like the remember' d tone of a mute lyre, Shall on their soften'd spirits sink, and move In hearts all rocky now the late remorse of love. CXXXVIII. The seal is set. — Now welcome, thou dread power ! 11235 Nameless, yet thus omnipotent, which here Walk'st in the shadow of the midnight hour With a deep awe, yet all distinct from fear; Thy haunts are ever where the dead walls rear Their ivy mantles, and the solemn scene 1240 Derives from thee a sense so deep and clear That we become a part of what has been, And grow unto the spot, all-seeing but unseen. CXXXIX. And here the buzz of eager nations ran, In murmur'd pity or loud-roared applause, 1245 As man was slaughtered by his fellow man. And wherefore slaughtered? wherefore, but because Such were the bloody Circus' genial laws, And the imperial pleasure. — Wherefore not? What matters where we fall to fill the maws 1250 Of worms — on battle-plains or listed spot? Both are but theatres where the chief actors rot. CXL. I see before me the Gladiator lie: He leans upon his hand — his manly brow Consents to death, but conquers agony, 312 SHORTER ENGLISH POEMS 1255 And his droop'd head sinks gradually low — And through his side the last drops, ebbing slow From the red gash, fall heavy, one by one, Like the first of a thunder-shower; and now The arena swims around him — he is gone, 1260 Ere ceased the inhuman shout which haiPd the wretch who won. cxli. ' , He heard it, but he heeded not — his eyes Were with his heart, and that was far away; He recked not of the life he lost nor prize, But where his rude hut by the Danube lay, 1265 There were his young barbarians all at play, There was their Dacian mother — he, their sire, Butchered to make a Boman holiday — All this rushed with his blood. — Shall he expire And unavenged ? — Arise ! ye Goths, and glut your ire ! CXLII. 1270 But here, where Murder breathed her bloody steam; And there, where buzzing nations choked the ways, And roar'd or murmured like a mountain stream Dashing or winding as its torrent strays ; Here, where the Boman millions' blame or praise 1275 Was death or life, the playthings of a crowd, My voice sounds much, and fall the stars' faint rays On the arena void — seats crush'd — - walls bow'd — And galleries, where my steps seem echoes strangely loud. CXLIII. A ruin — yet what ruin! From its mass 128© Walls, palaces, half -cities, have been rear'd; CHILDE HAEOLD 31 3 Yet oft the enormous skeleton ye pass, And marvel where the spoil could have appeared. Hath it indeed been plundered, or but cleared? Alas! developed, opens the decay, 1285 When the colossal fabric's form is near'd: - It will not bear the brightness of the day, Which streams too much on all, years, man have reft away. CXLIV. But when the rising moon begins to climb Its topmost arch and gently pauses there; 1290 When the stars twinkle through the loops of time, And the low night-breeze waves along the air The garland forest, which the gray walls wear Like laurels on the bald first Caesar's head; When the light shines serene but doth not glare, 1295 Then in this magic circle raise the dead : Heroes have trod this spot — 't is on their dust ye tread. 'While stands the Coliseum, Eome shall stand; When falls the Coliseum, Eome shall fall; And when Eome falls — the World/ From our own land 1300 Thus spake the pilgrims o'er this mighty wall In Saxon times, which we are wont to call Ancient; and these three mortal things are still On their foundations, and unalter'd all; Eome and her Euin past Eedemption's skill, 1305 The World, the same wide den — of thieves, or what ye will. 314 SHOETEE ENGLISH POEMS CXLVI. Simple, erect, severe, austere, sublime — Shrine of all saints and temple of all gods, From Jove to Jesus — spared and blest by time; Looking tranquility, while falls or nods 1310 Arch, empire, each thing round thee, and man plods His way through thorns to ashes — glorious dome ! Shalt thou not last? Time's scythe and tyrants' rods Shiver upon thee — sanctuary and home Of art and piety — Pantheon ! — pride of Eome ! cxlvii. 1315 Eelic of nobler days and noblest arts! DespoiPd, yet perfect, with thy circle spreads A holiness appealing to all hearts — To art a model; and to him who treads Eome for the sake of ages, Glory sheds 1320 Her light through thy sole aperture; to those Who worship, here are altars for their beads; And they who feel for genius may repose Their eyes on honoured forms whose busts around them close. CXLVIII. There is a dungeon, in whose dim drear light 1325 What do I gaze on? Nothing: Look again! Two forms are slowly shadow' d on my sight — Two insulated phantoms of the brain: It is not so; I see them full and plain — An old man, and a female young and fair, 1330 Fresh as a nursing mother, in whose vein The blood is nectar; — but what doth she there With her unmantled neck, and bosom white and bare? CHILDE HAROLD 31 5 Full swells the deep pure fountain of young life, Where on the heart and from the heart we took 55 Our first and sweetest nurture, when the wife, Blest into mother, in the innocent look Or even the piping cry of lips that brook No pain and small suspense, a joy perceives Man knows not, when from out its cradled nook 1340 She sees her little bud put forth its leaves — What may the fruit be yet ? — I know not, Cain was Eve's. CL. But here youth offers to old age the food, The milk of his own gift : — it is her sire To whom she renders back the debt of blood 1345 Born with her birth. No; he shall not expire While in those warm and lovely veins the fire Of health and holy feeling can provide Great Nature's Nile, whose deep stream rises higher Than Egypt's river : — from that gentle side 1350 Drink, drink and live, old man ! Heaven's realm holds no such tide. The starry fable of the milky way Has not thy story's purity; it is A constellation of a sweeter ray, And sacred Nature triumphs more in this Eeverse of her decree than in the abyss Where sparkle distant worlds. Oh, holiest nurse! No drop of that clear stream its way shall miss 316 SHORTER ENGLISH POEMS To thy sire's heart, replenishing its source With life, as our freed souls rejoin the universe. CLII. 1360 Turn to the Mole which Hadrian reared on high, Imperial mimic of old Egypt's piles, Colossal copyist of deformity, Whose .traveled phantasy from the far Nile's Enormous model doom'd the artist's toils 1365 . To build for giants, and for his vain earth, His shrunken ashes, raise this dome. How smiles The gazer's eye with philosophic mirth, To view the huge design which sprung from such a birth! CLIII. But lo, the dome, the vast and wondrous dome 1370 To which Diana's marvel was a cell, Christ's mighty shrine above his martyr's tomb ! I have beheld the Ephesian's miracle — Its columns strew the wilderness, and dwell The hyaena and the jackal in their shade; 1375 I have beheld Sophia's bright roofs swell Their glittering mass i' the sun, and have survey'd Its sanctuary the while the usurping Moslem pray'd ; CLIV. But thou, of temples old or altars new, Standest alone, with nothing like to thee — 1380 Worthiest of God, the holy and the true. Since Zion's desolation, when that He Forsook his former city, what could be, CHILDE HAEOLD 317 Of earthly structures, in his honor piled Of a sublimer aspect? Majesty, » Power, Glory, Strength, and Beauty, all are aisled In this eternal ark of worship undeflled. CLV. Enter: its grandeur overwhelms thee not; And why? it is not lessen'd; but thy mind, Expanded by the genius of the spot, ) Has grown colossal, and can only find A fit abode wherein appear enshrined Thy hopes of immortality; and thou Shalt one day, if found worthy, so defined, See thy God face to face as thou dost now 1395 His Holy of Holies, nor be blasted by his brow. CLVI. Thou movest — but increasing with the advance, Like climbing some great Alp, which still doth rise, Deceived by its gigantic elegance; Vastness which grows, but grows to harmonise — All musical in its immensities ; Eich marbles, richer painting, shrines where flame The lamps of gold, and haughty dome which vies In air with Earth's chief structures, though their frame Sits on the firm-set ground — - and this the clouds must claim. CLVII. 1405 Thou seest not all; but piecemeal thou must break To separate contemplation the great whole; And as the ocean many bays will make, 318 SHORTER ENGLISH POEMS That ask the eye — so here condense thy soul To more immediate objects, and control 1410 Thy thoughts until thy mind hath got by heart Its eloquent proportions, and unroll In mighty graduations, part by part, The glory which at once upon thee did not dart, Not by its fault — but thine. Our outward sense 1415 Is but of gradual grasp : and as it is That what we have of feeling most intense Outstrips our faint expression; even so this Outshining and overwhelming edifice Fools our fond gaze, and greatest of the great 1420 Defies at first our Nature's littleness, Till, growing with its growth, we thus dilate Our spirits to the size of that they contemplate. Then pause> and be enlightened; there is more In such a survey than the sating gaze 1425 Of wonder pleased, or awe which would adore The worship of the place, or the mere praise Of art and its great masters, who could raise What former time, nor skill, nor thought could plan; The fountain of sublimity displays 1430 Its depth, and thence may draw the mind of man Its golden sands, and learn what great conceptions can. Or, turning to the Vatican, go see Laocoon's torture dignifying pain — CHILDE HAEOLD 319 A father's love and mortal's agony 1435 With an immortal's patience blending. Vain The struggle; vain, against the coiling strain And gripe and deepening of the dragon's grasp, The old man's clench; the long envenom'd chain Eivets the living links, the enormous asp 1440 Enforces pang on pang, and stifles gasp on gasp. CLXI. Or view the Lord of the unerring bow, The God of life and poesy and light, — The Sun in human limbs array'd, and brow All radiant from his triumph in the fight; 1445 The shaft hath iust been shot — the arrow bright With an immortal's vengeance ; in his eye And nostril beautiful disdain and might And majesty flash their full lightnings by, Developing in that one glance the Deity. clxii. 1450 But in his delicate form — a dream of Love, Shaped by some solitary nymph, whose breast Long'd for a deathless lover from above And madden'd in that vision — are exprest All that ideal beauty ever bless'd 1455 The mind with in its most unearthly mood, When each conception was a heavenly guest — ■ A ray of immortality — and stood, Starlike, around, until they gather' d to a god ! CLXIII. And if it be Prometheus stole from Heaven 1460 The fire which we endure, it was repaid 320 SHOKTEE ENGLISH POEMS By him to whom the energy was given Which this poetic marble hath array'd With an eternal glory — which, if made By human hands, is not of human thought ; 1465 And Time himself hath hallow'd it, nor laid One ringlet in the dust; nor hath it caught A tinge of years, but breathes the flame with which 't was wrought. But where is he, the Pilgrim of my song, The being who upheld it through the past ? d Methinks he cometh late and tarries long. He is no more — these breathings are his last ; His wanderings done, his visions ebbing fast, And he himself as nothing : — if he was Aught but a phantasy, and could be class'd 5 With forms which live and suffer — let that pass — His shadow fades away into Destruction's mass, Which gathers shadow, substance, life, and all That we inherit in its mortal shroud, And spreads the dim and universal pall 1480 Through which all things grow phantoms; and the cloud Between us sinks and all which ever glow'd, Till Glory's self is twilight, and displays A melancholy halo scarce allowed To hover on the verge of darkness ; — rays 1485 Sadder than saddest night, for they distract the gaze, CHILDE HAKOLD 321 And send us prying into the To gather what we shall be when the frame Shall be resolved to something less than this Its wretched essence; and to dream of fame, 3 And wipe the dust from off the idle name We never more shall hear, — but never more, Oh, happier thought ! can we be made the same : It is enough in sooth that once we bore These fardels of the heart — the heart whose sweat was gore. clxvii. 5 Hark ! forth from the abyss a voice proceeds, A long low distant murmur of dread sound, Such as arises when a nation bleeds With some deep and immedicable wound; Through storm and darkness yawns the rending ground ; ) The gulf is thick with phantoms, but the chief Seems royal still, though with her head discrown'd; And pale, but lovely, with maternal grief She clasps a babe to whom her breast yields no relief. Scion of chiefs and monarchs, where art thou? 1505 Fond hope of many nations, art thou dead? Could not the grave forget thee, and lay low Some less majestic, less beloved head? In the sad midnight, while thy heart still bled, The mother of a moment, o'er thy boy, 1510 Death hush'd that pang for ever; with thee fled 322 SHOETEE ENGLISH POEMS The present happiness and promised joy Which fill'd the imperial isles so full it seem'd to cloy. CLXIX. Peasants bring forth in safety. — Can it be, Oh thou that wert so happy, so adored! 5 Those who weep not for kings shall weep for thee, And Freedom's heart, grown heavy, cease to hoard Her many griefs for One; for she had pour'd Her orisons for thee, and o'er thy head Beheld her Iris. — Thou, too, lonely lord, ) And desolate consort — vainly wert thou wed ! The husband of a year ! the father of the dead ! Of sackcloth was thy wedding garment made; Thy bridal's fruit is ashes; in the dust The fair-hair'd Daughter of the Isles is laid, ^25 The love- of millions ! How we did intrust Futurity to her ! and, though it must - . Darken above our bones, yet fondly deem'd Our children should obey her child, and bless'd Her and her hoped-for seed, whose promise seem'd 1530 Like stars to shepherds' eyes : — 't was but a meteor beam'd. CLXXI. Woe unto us, not her; for she sleeps well: The fickle reek of popular breath, the tongue Of hollow counsel, the false oracle, Which from the birth of monarchy hath rung 1535 Its knell in princely ears till the o'er-stung CHILDE HAEOLD 323 Nations have arm'd in madness, the strange fate Which tumbles mightiest sovereigns, and hath flung Against their blind omnipotence a weight Within the opposing scale which crushes soon or late, — ) These might have been her destiny; but no, Our hearts deny it: and so young, so fair, Good without effort, great without a foe; But now a bride and mother — and now there! How many ties did that stern moment tear! » From thy Sire's to his humblest subject's breast Is linked the electric chain of that despair, Whose shock was as an earthquake's, and opprest The land which loved thee so that none could love thee best. CLXSIII. Lo,-Nemi! navell'd in the woody hills > So far, that the uprooting wind which tears The oak from his foundation, and which spills The ocean o'er its boundary, and bears Its foam against the skies, reluctant spares The oval mirror of thy glassy lake; — > And, calm as cherish'd hate, its surface wears A deep cold settled aspect nought can shake, All coil'd into itself and round, as sleeps the snake. And near Albano's scarce divided waves Shine from a sister valley; and afar The Tiber winds, and the broad ocean laves 324 SHOETEE ENGLISH POEMS The Latian coast where sprung the Epic war, 'Arms and the Man/ whose re-ascending star Eose o'er an empire : but beneath thy right Tully reposed from Eome; and where yon bar 1565 Of girdling mountains intercepts the sight The Sabine farm was till'd, the weary bard's delight. CLXXV. But I forget. — My Pilgrim's shrine is won, And he and I must part — so let it be : His task and mine alike are nearly done; 1570 Yet once more let us look upon the sea; The midland ocean breaks on him and me, And from the Alban Mount we now behold Our friend of youth, that ocean, which when we Beheld it last by Calpe's rock unfold 1575 Those waves, we f ollow'd on till the dark Euxine roil'd CLXXVI. Upon the blue Symplegades. Long years — Long, though not very many — since have done Their work on both; some suffering and some tears Have left us nearly where we had begun: 1580 Yet not in vain our mortal race hath run; We have had our reward, and it is here, — That we can yet feel gladden'd by the sun, And reap from earth, sea, joy almost as dear As if there were no man to trouble what is clear. OLXXVII. 1585 Oh that the Desert were my dwelling-place, With one fair Spirit for my minister, CHILDE HAEOLD 325 That 1 might all forget the human race, And, hating no one, love but only her ! Ye Elements, in whose ennobling stir ) I feel myself exalted, can ye not Accord me such a being? Do I err In deeming such inhabit many a spot, Though with them to converse can rarely be our lot ? OLXXVIII. There is a pleasure in the pathless woods, 5 There is a rapture on the lonely shore, There is society where none intrudes, By the deep Sea, and music in its roar : I love not Man the less, but Nature more, From these our interviews, in which I steal 3 From all I may be or have been before, To mingle with the Universe, and feel What I can ne'er express, yet can not all conceal, CLXXIX. Eoll on, thou deep and dark blue Ocean — roll ! Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain; 5 Man marks the earth with ruin — his control Stops with the shore; upon the watery plain The wrecks are all thy deed, nor doth remain A shadow of man's ravage, save his own, When, for a moment, like a drop of rain, o He sinks into thy depths with bubbling groan, Without a grave, unknell'd, uncofnn'd, and unknown. CLXXX. His steps are not upon thy paths, thy fields Are not a spoil for him, — thou dost arise 326 SHOETEE ENGLISH POEMS And shake him from thee ; the vile strength he wields 1615 For earth's destruction thou dost all despise, Spurning him from thy bosom to the skies, And send'st him, shivering in thy playful spray And howling, to his Gods, where haply lies His petty hope in some near port or bay, 1620 And dashest him again to earth : — there let him lay. clxxxi. The armaments which thunderstrike the walls Of rock-built cities, bidding nations quake And monarchs tremble in their capitals, The oak leviathans, whose huge ribs make 1625 Their clay creator the vain title take Of lord of thee and arbiter of war, — These are thy toys, and, as the snowy flake, They melt into thy yeast of waves, which mar Alike the Armada's pride or spoils of Trafalgar. clxxxii. 1630 Thy shores are empires, changed in all save thee — ■ Assyria, Greece, Eome, Carthage, what are they? Thy waters washed them power while they were free, And many a tyrant since; their shores obey The stranger, slave, or savage; their decay 1635 Has dried up realms to deserts : — not so thou, Unchangeable save to thy wild waves' play; Time writes no wrinkle on thine azure brow; Such as creation's dawn beheld, thou rollest now. CLXXXIII. Thou glorious mirror, where the Almighty's form 1640 Glasses itself in tempests; in all time, CHILDE HAEOLD 327 Calm or convulsed — in breeze, or gale, or storm, Icing the pole, or in the torrid clime Dark-heaving; — boundless, endless, and sublime — The image of Eternity — the throne 1645 Of the Invisible; even from out thy slime The monsters of the deep are made; each zone Obeys thee ; thou goest forth, dread, fathomless, alone. CLXXXIV. And I have loved thee, Ocean ! and my joy Of youthful sports was on thy breast to be 1650 Borne, like thy bubbles, onward. From a boy I wanton'd with thy breakers — they to me Were a delight; and if the freshening sea Made them a terror — 't was a pleasing fear, For I was as it were a child of thee, 1655 And trusted to thy billows far and near, And laid my hand upon thy mane — as I do her&. CLXXXV. My task is done — my song hath ceased — my theme Has died into an echo; it is fit The spell should break of this protracted dream. 1660 The torch shall be extinguished which hath lit My midnight lamp — and what is writ, is writ, — Would it were worthier ! but I am not now That which I have been — and my visions flit Less palpably before me — and the glow 1665 Which in my spirit dwelt is fluttering, faint, and low. CLXXXVI. Farewell ! a word that must be, and hath been — A sound which makes us linger ; — yet — farewell ! 328 SHOETEE ENGLISH POEMS Ye, who have traced the Pilgrim to the scene Which is his last, if in your memories dwell 1670 A thought which once was his, if on ye swell A single recollection, not in vain He wore his sandal-shoon and scallop-shell; Farewell ! with him alone may rest the pain, If such there were — with you, the moral of his strain ! THE PEISONEE OF CHILLON. NOTES. The Castle of Chillon completes the picturesque beauty of the crescent-shaped Lake of Geneva. The bright blue waters of the lake are surrounded by steep mountains, the lower slopes of which are vine-covered, while the summits cut the air in fantastic forms. At the end of the lake, the valley of the Rhone opens toward higher peaks, dimly seen and flashing with snow. The serrated Dent du Midi, however, closes the view from most points. The white castle, satisfying all ideals of a castle aroused by fairy-tale and romance, stands on a little island so close to the shore that it appears to project into the lake. People were apparently im- prisoned here as early as the ninth century. Francois Bonivard, whose name Byron erroneously spelled Bonnivard, lived in the six- teenth century. Byron did not know much about him when he wrote the poem. He said later : "When this poem was composed, I was not sufficiently aware of the history of Bonnivard, or I should have endeavored to dignify the subject by an attempt to celebrate his courage and his virtues." The real Bonivard began life as a Roman Catholic and inher- ited from an uncle a rich priory near the city of Geneva, that carried with it the title of prior. He became, however, a reformer and an ardent republican. "As soon as I began to read the history of nations," he wrote, "I felt drawn by a strong preference for republics, the interests of which I always espoused." The Duke of Savoy opposed the liberties of Geneva, and Bonivard, especially in 1519, helped to defend the city from his attacks. In 1530 he fell for the second time into the power of the Duke, who imprisoned him in Chillon for six years. During the first two years he had fairly comfortable quarters ; then "the Duke visited Chillon, and . . . . the Captain thrust me into a cell lower than the lake, where I lived four years. I had so little space for walking that I wore in the rock which was the pavement a little path or track THE PEISONEE OF CHILLON: NOTES 329 as if it had been made with a hammer." After Bonivard's release he lived many years as an honored and respected citizen of Geneva. It is said that in private life he was far from being an admirable man ; but he was certainly a person of patriotic zeal and intel- lectual power. In the bitter religious strife that prevailed, during those Reformation days, he seems to have striven to reconcile par- ties. He writes in one excellent passage : "Both factions boast of preaching Christ Crucified : and we tell the truth : for we leave Him crucified and naked upon the Tree of the Cross, and we play at dice at the foot of that Cross to know who will have His vestments." See an article entitled "The True Story of the Prisoner of Chil- lon" in The Nineteenth Century, May, 1900. Byron's name is carved on the southern side of the third column in the dungeon, but it is not certain that he carved it himself. The fifth column is that to which Bonivard is said to have been chained. Line 3. In a single night: "Ludovico Sforza and others. The same is asserted of Marie Antoinette's, the wife of Louis Sixteenth, though not in quite so short a period. Grief is said to have the same effect. To such, and not to fear, this change in hers was to be attributed." Byron. 11. My father's faith: The whole tenor of this passage suggests that Bonivard was a victim of religious persecution. But the real Bonivard was imprisoned for political reasons. 17. ~We were seven, etc. Note the increase in solemnity due to the change from the iambic to the trochaic movement. 27. There are seven pillars, etc.: There are electric lights in the dungeon now ! What sort of mould is a "Gothic mould" ? 31. A sunbeam: Of the effect of this sunlight Mr. Neaf in his Guide to the Castle of Chillon writes : "This is really so : Bonivard, from the spot where he was chained, could, perhaps, never get an idea of the loveliness and variety of radiating light which the sunbeams shed at different hours of the day. In the morning this light is of luminous and transparent shining, which the curves of the vaults send back all along the hall. During the afternoon the hall assumes a much deeper and warmer coloring, and the blue transparency of the morning disappears ; but at eventide, after the sun has set behind the Jura, the scene changes to the deep glow of fire." 73. The youngest: This picture suggests in one or two points Shelley's portrait of Lionel, in his poem, Rosalind and Helen. 82. A polar day: Analyze the pathos and beauty of this figure. 103. A hunter of the hills: The description of the elder brother reminds us that we are in Switzerland. 107. Lake Leman: Another name for the Lake of Geneva. 109. Its massy waters meet and flow: Ruskin applauds the perfect truth of each word in this line. The water is really about 330 SHOETER ENGLISH POEMS eight hundred feet deep beside the castle walls. See Modern Painters, Part IV, ch. 1, sec. 9. 160. Earth: Parse the word. 185. Unmixed with such: With such horrors. Study in the fol- lowing passage the effect of restrained pathos, culminating in the agony which gives the prisoner strength to burst his chains and rush to the side of his dead brother. 227. I Jcnoic not why: Can you explain the reason for the break in the metre? 231. It is interesting to compare the description of prison life in Silvio Pellico's My Prisons, in the story of Dr. Manette as told in Dickens's Tale of Two Cities, and the pictures of imprisonment in Russia given in the Memoirs of Prince Kropotkin, the Russian Rev- olutionist. 238. Shruoless crags ivithin the mist: What does "shrubless" add to this figure? What "within the mist"? 247. A stirless oreath: This section presents the heart of the prisoner's agony. Wby is it so brief? 284. A visitant from Paradise: "The souls of the Blessed are supposed by some to animate green birds in the fields of Paradise." 294. A solitary cloud: Is this gentle simile appropriate here? Why did not Byron add another simile of horror like the preceding? 331. The quiet of a loving eye: "Compare Wordsworth, in A Poet's Epitaph: 'The harvest of a quiet eye.' Byron had satirized Wordsworth severely in his English Bards and Scotch Reviewers. He later regretted his stricture and by such lines as these acknowledged a poetic debt." Thomas. The poetry which Byron wrote during 1816, the year of this poem, reflects the joint influ- ence of Wordsworth and Shelley. 332. Remember the gloom to which his eyes have so long been accustomed. Note what arrests his eye. First the snow-mountains, then the lake, then the little town, then the island, on which his thought rests lovingly, and then the happy free creatures in wave and air. 341. A little isle: "Between the entrance 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 over three), and from its singleness and diminutive size has a peculiar effect upon the view." — E. H. Coleridge. 378. A hermitage: Cf. Lovelace's To Althea in Prison: — Stone walls do not a prison make, Nor iron bars a cage ; Minds innocent and quiet take That for a hermitage. 381. With spiders: Byron's prisoner is not the only one who has found this possible. See Silvio Pellico. CHILDE HAROLD: CANTO III: NOTES 33^ CHILDE HAROLD: CANTO III. NOTES. "So that this application (of thought) might ohlige you to think of something else ; there is truly no other remedy except time." — Letter of the King of Prussia to D'Alembert. This canto was begun in May and finished in June, 1816, at Ouchy in Switzerland. Byron and Shelley were together at the time, and the canto shows clear traces of Shelley's influence. Stanza I. My fair child: The Honorable Ada Augusta Byron, the poet's daughter, was born in 1815. She developed unusual abil- ity in mathematics and metaphysics. Like her father, she died in her thirty-seventh year, leaving a request that her coffin be placed by his. Byron wrote these lines after separation from his wife. Stanza III. The furrows of long thought: The elaborate metaphor should be analyzed. The allusion in the first line of the stanza is to the earlier cantos of Childe Harcld. Stanza VI. After the rather empty rhetoric of the first stanzas comes this passage, which sincerely transcribes the experience of the creative artist. The "soul of my thought" is his artistic impulse. Stanza VIII. Harold is a transparent disguise for Byron. Carlyle pokes fun at passages like this opening stanza, and at the "Satanic school," as he labels Byron and his followers : "To our less philosophical readers, ... it is now clear that the so passionate Teufelsdrockh, precipitated through "a shivered uni- verse" in this extraordinary way, has only one of three things which he can next do : Establish himself in Bedlam ; begin writing Satanic Poetry ; or blow-out his brains. . . . Nowise so does Teufelsdrockh deport him. He quietly lifts his Pilgerstab (Pilgrim- staff) . . . and begins a perambulation and circumambulation of the terraqueous globe. ... He was meek, silent, or spoke of the weather and the Journals ; only by a transient knitting of those shaggy brows . . . might you have guessed what a Gehenna was within ; that a whole Satanic School were spouting, though inaudibly, there. To consume your own choler, as some chimneys consume their own smoke ; to keep a whole Satanic School spouting, if it must spout, inaudibly, is a negative, yet no slight virtue, nor one of the commonest in these times." — Sartor Resartus, Book II., Chapter VI. Stanza XIV. Like the Chaldean: The Chaldeans were famous as astrologers. Stanza XVII. The first part of the canto has been filled with meditations on Byron's personal sorrows, either in his own person or in that of his hero. Now, he begins comment on his travels, and first commemorates the field of Waterloo. Here, hardly a year before, the Duke of Wellington and the Powers allied with 332 SHORTER ENGLISH POEMS England had finally defeated Napoleon and so put an end to the ten years' despotism which had changed the map of Europe. There was as yet no monument to mark the site of the battle; a mound surmounted by the Belgian Lion was erected by William I of Hol- land in 1823. Stanza XVIII. Pride of place is a term of falconry, meaning the highest pitch of flight. See Macbeth: "An eagle towering in her pride of place Was by a mousing owl hawk'd at and killed." — Byron. For the correct form of the quotation, see Macbeth, Act II, scene IV, line 12. Byron copied these first two stanzas in a lady's album in Brus- sels. The central lines of the second then ran : Here his last flight the haughty eagle flew, Then tore with bloody beak the fatal plain. The poet was impelled to alter the lines by seeing an illustra- tion of them drawn by a Mr. Reinagle, representing "a spirited chained eagle grasping the earth with his talons." Byron wrote : "Reinagle is a better poet and a better ornithologist than I am. Eagles and all birds of prey attack with their talons and not with their beaks." The eagle is, of course, the imperial eagle of Napoleon. Stanza XIX. See the Introduction for an explanation of the tone of this passage. Compare Shelley's Sonnet, Feelings of a Republican on the Fall of Bonaparte: I know Too late, since thou and France are in the dust, That Virtue owns a more eternal foe Than Force or Fraud : old Custom, legal Crime, And bloody Faith, the foulest birth of Time. Stanza XX. Last line : Hippias and Hipparchus, the sons of Pisistratus, were the tyrants of Athens in B. C. 514. Two friends, Harmodius and Aristogiton, assassinated them at the Festival of Athena, having concealed their daggers in festive boughs of myrtle. The old Greek poem on the exploit ran : I'll wreathe my sword in myrtle-bough, The sword that laid the tyrant low, When patriots burning to be free To Athens gave equality. See for a description of an imaginary relief referring to the event, Browning's Pippa Passes, Act II. Stanza XXI. This famous Ball was given by the Duchess of Richmond at Brussels, on the fifteenth of June, the eve of the battle. Thackeray has made effective use of it in Vanity Fair. CHILDE HAEOLD: CANTO III: NOTES 333 Stanza XXIII. Frederick William, Duke of Brunswick, died in the front of the line almost in the beginning of the battle. His father had been killed in the battle of Jena in 1806. Stanza XXVI. The Scotch troops fought valiantly at Waterloo. Sir Evan Campbell fought on the Royalist side against Cromwell in the seventeenth century. His grandson, Lochiel, also an adherent of the ill-fated Stuarts, was wounded at Culloden in 1746. A great- great-grandson in command of the Highlanders was killed at Waterloo. Stanza XXVII. Byron was mistaken in thinking that the wood of Soignies, on the site of the battle, was the traditional Forest of Arden. Stanza XXIX. And partly that I did his sire some wrong. Major Frederick Howard was the son of the Earl of Carlisle, Byron's guardian, whom the poet had satirized in English Bards end Scotch Revietoers. Stanza XXX. The spot where Major Howard died was in Byron's day near two tall, solitary trees. Byron says that this battlefield "seems marked out for the scene of some great action, though this may be mere imagination : I have viewed with atten- tion those of Platea, Troy, Mantinea, Leuctra, Chaeronea, and Mara- thon ; and the field around Mont St. Jean and Hougoumont appears to want little but a better cause, and that undefinable but im- pressive halo which the lapse of ages throws around a celebrated spot, to vie in interest with any or all of these, except, perhaps, the last mentioned." Stanzas XXXVI-XLI. These reflections on the character of Napoleon gain fresher interest when we realize that while Byron wrote them, Napoleon was in exile at St. Helena. Stanza XLI. "The great error of Napoleon, 'if we have writ our annals true,' was a continued obtrusion on mankind of his want of all community of feeling for or with them ; perhaps more offensive to human vanity than the active cruelty of more trembling and suspicious tyranny. Such were his speeches to public assemblies as well as individuals ; and the single expression which he is said to have used on returning to Paris after the Russian winter had destroyed his army, rubbing his hands over a fire, 'This is pleas- anter than Moscow,' would probably alienate more favor from his cause than the destruction and reverses which led to the remark." — Byron. Philip's son: Alexander the Great, who held his power partly by his suavity and adaptability. Stanza XLV. These figures are naturally suggested by the Swiss country in which Byron was living. Stanza XLVI. The poet has now reached in his travels the famous banks of the Rhine, then as now covered with vineyards, and dotted with ruined castles. Stanza LV. The lyric interpolated in this stanza is probably 334 SHORTER ENGLISH POEMS addressed to his half-sister, Lady Augusta Lee. It was written on the banks of the Rhine, May, 1816. Drachenfels, "The Dragon's Rock" is the highest summit of the seven mountains which rise above the Rhine. There is a legend that Siegfried's dragon lived in one of the caves. The wine of the country is therefore called dragon's blood. Stanza LVI. Honor to Marceau: Marceau was a young French general, killed on the last day of the fourth year of the French Republic. His enemies as well as his friends admired his gallantry and wept over him, and his funeral was attended by officers from both armies. Stanza LVIII. Ehrenoreitstein (the broad stone of honor), opposite Coblentz, was one of the strongest fortresses in Europe. It was blown up by the French after a long siege in 1799. Stanza LXIII. Morat ! the proud, the patriot field: a spot east of the lake of Neuchatel, where Charles the Bold was defeated by the Swiss, June, 1476. More than 20,000 Burgundians are said to have been killed in this battle. Stanza LXIV. Cannae: Scene of the great battle in 216 B. C, when Hannibal defeated the Roman army. Marathon: Scene of the great battle between Greeks and Persians, B. C. 490. Draconic: Draco was author of the first code of written laws at Athens. They were extremely severe. Stanza LXV. A lonelier column: A solitary Corinthian column, left from the temple of Apollo, stands near the town of Aventicum (modern Avenches), which was the Roman capital of Helvetium. Stanza LXVI. Julia was a young Aventian priestess who died after a vain endeavor to save her father. Unluckily, the epitaph which so moved Byron was really a forgery of a sixteenth cen- tury scholar. Stanza LXVII. "This is written in the eye of Mont Blanc (June 3d, 1816), which even at this distance dazzles mine. — (July 20th) I this day observed for some time the distant reflection of Mont Blanc and Mont Argentiere in the calm of the lake, which I was crossing in my boat ; the distance of these mountains from their mirror is sixty miles." — Byron. Stanza LXXI. The arrowy Rhone: "The color of the Rhone at Geneva is blue, to a depth of tint which I have never seen equalled in water, salt or fresh, except in the Mediterranean and Archipelago." — Byron. Cf. a wonderful description of the "blue rushing" in Ruskin's Praeterita. "The Rhone flows like one lambent jewel ; its surface is nowhere, its ethereal self is everywhere, the iridescent rush and translucent strength of it blue to the shore, — and radiant to the depth. Fif- teen feet thick, of not flowing but flying water, not water, neither, — melted glacier rather one should call it, the force of CHILDE HAKOLD: CANTO III: NOTES 335 the ice is with it and the wreathing of the clouds, the gladness of the sky and the continuance of Time." Stanzas LXXVI-LXXXIV. These stanzas contain Byron's char- acter-study of Jean Jacques Rousseau, the famous Swiss writer of the eighteenth century. Rousseau's writings aroused enthusiasm for a return to more natural modes of thought and feeling. His theories of social equality played an important part in creating the Republics of the United States and of France. See Rousseau, by John Morley. The scene of Rousseau's novel, La Nouvelle Heloise, is the shores of the Lake of Geneva. Byron and Shelley read the book and visited the sites it mentions, together. Byron was evidently chiefly impressed by the element of passion in the writings of Rousseau. In the eighty-first and eighty-second stanzas, however, he does justice to the power of Rousseau's intel- lectual conceptions. Stanza LXXXII. A concise statement of Byron's estimate of the French Revolution. Compare that of Shelley, as given in the preface to The Revolt of Islam. Stanzas LXXXIII-LXXXIV. Byron wrote in 1822 : "The king- times are finishing. There will be blood shed like water and tears like mist : but the Peoples will conquer in the end. I shall not live to see it, but I foresee it." Stanzas LXXXVII-XCVI. This passage is one of the most famous of Byron's descriptions of Nature. Stanzas LXXXVIII- XCII are intended to be full of solemn calm, and are dramatically contrasted with the following stanzas, which seek to render the sublimity of the storm. Byron wrote this passage among glorious scenery. He was also at this time strongly under the influence of Wordsworth and Shelley, and had moreover been re-reading with enthusiasm the work of Rousseau, who had helped to create in Europe a new sympathy with Nature. Stanza LXXXIX. The sentiment of the latter part of this stanza is tinged with the pantheism common to the nature-poetry of this period. Stanza XG. Cytherea's zone was the magic girdle of "Venus, which endowed any one who wore it with irresistible charm. Stanza XCI. "It is to be recollected that the most beautiful and impressive doctrines of the Divine Founder of Christianity were delivered not in the TEMPLE but on the MOUNT. . . . It is one thing to read the Iliad at Sigaeum and on the tumuli, or by the springs with Mount Ida above, and the plain and rivers and Archipelago around you, and quite another to trim your taper over it in a snug library — this I KNOW. Were the early and rapid progress of what is called Methodism to be attributed to any cause beyond the enthusiasm excited by its vehement faith and doctrines, I should venture to ascribe it to the practice of preach- ing in the fields." — Byron. 336 SHOETEE ENGLISH POEMS Stanza XCII. "The thunder storm to which these lines refer occurred on the thirteenth of June, 1816, at midnight. I have seen among the Acroceraunian mountains of Chimari several more terrible but none more beautiful." — Byron. Stanza XCIII. Note the strong sense of revelling in the tumult of Nature. Such enthusiasm was as natural to Byron as a quiet joy in Nature's calmer aspects was to Wordsworth. Stanza XCIV. The critics agree that Byron borrowed this fine metaphor from the second part of Coleridge's Christaoel, where Coleridge describes the alienation of two friends : 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. Stanza XCIX. "In July, 1816, I made a voyage round the Lake of Geneva ; and as far as my own observations have led me in a not uninterested nor inattentive survey of all the scenes most celebrated by Rousseau in his 'Heloise,' I can safely say, that in this there is no exaggeration. It would be difficult to see Clarens (with the scenes around it, Vevay, Chillon, Boveret, St. Gingo, Meil- lerie, Eivan, and the entrances of the Rhone) without being forcibly struck with its peculiar adaptation to the persons and events with which it has been peopled. But this is not all : the feeling with which all around Clarens, and the opposite rocks of Meillerie, is invested, is of a still higher and more comprehensive order than the mere sympathy with individual passion ; it is a sense of the exist- ence of love in its most extended and sublime capacity, and of our own participation of its good and of its glory : it is the great prin- ciple of the universe, which is there more condensed, but not less manifested ; and of which, though knowing ourselves a part, we lose our individuality, and mingle in the beauty of the whole. If Rous- seau had never written, nor lived, the same associations would not less have belonged to such scenes. He has added to the interest of his works by their adoption ; he has shown his sense of their beauty by the selection ; but they have done that for him which no human being could do for them." — Byron. Stanzas CV-CVII. In these stanzas, Byron gives a character sketch of two famous men of the preceding age : Voltaire, the French critic and skeptic, who lived for many years at Ferney, near Geneva ; and Gibbon, the English historian, who in 1788 fin- ished his Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire at Lausanne on the site of the hotel now called by his name. CHILDE HAEOLD: CANTO IV: NOTES 337 Stanza CX. The fierce Carthaginian: Hannibal. Stanza CXIII. Had I not filed my mind: "If it be thus, For Banquo's issue have I filed my mind." — Macbeth. CHILDE HAEOLD: CANTO IV. NOTES. Byron wrote one hundred and thirty stanzas of this canto at white heat in thirty-three days after his return to Venice from a six-weeks' trip to Ferrara, Florence, and Rome, in the spring of 1817. If the reader would share the emotion of the opening stanza he should know something of the history and art of Venice. Good books to consult are Horatio Brown's Venice: an Historical Sketch, and T. Okey's The Story of Venice. Ruskin's great book, The Stones of Venice, though not to be trusted as formal history, is full of splendid passages. Merely to turn its pages is to realize how slightly Byron touched on the treasures of the city. Venice was founded by country-folk who fled from the invasion of the Huns under Attila in the fifth century, taking refuge on the little islands in the lagoon. Her power rose to its height in the fifteenth century, when she was the mistress of wide possessions to the east of her, in Dalmatia, the Grecian isles, and the Levant. Her magnificent art coincided with the height of her power and with the early stages of her decline. She remained a free Republic till 1797, when Napoleon put an end to her liberties and abolished the office of Doge. From that date to 1805 she was under the power of Austria. From 1805 till 1814 she belonged to Napoleon's Kingdom of Italy. She then passed again under Austrian domin- ion, and was, when Byron wrote, still subjected to this unendurable ignominy, which continued until the union and independence of Italy were consummated in 1866. These brief statements will explain many allusions in the text. Stanza I. The Bridge of Sighs spans with a single covered arch the narrow canal between the Palace of the Doges, well described by Ruskin, and the old city dungeon. The winged Lion's marole piles: St. Mark's Lion, the emblem of Venice, still looks proudly out from a column in the Piazza in front of St. Mark's Church, with St. Theodore and his crocodile as a pendant. 338 SHORTER ENGLISH POEMS Stanza II. A sea Cybele: Byron borrowed this figure from Sabellicus, an Italian writer of the Renaissance. Cybele, the mother of the gods, was represented as crowned with towers. Her name is usually accented on the first syllable, but there is some authority for Byron's use, which he probably caught from the Italian pronunciation, which accents the penult. Stanza III. Tasso's echoes: "The wellrknown song of the Gon- doliers, of alternate stanzas from Tasso's Jerusalem, has died with the independence of Venice." So Byron's fellow-traveler, Hobhouse, annotates this line. Crumbling to the shore: One of these palaces has now been carried away piecemeal from the Grand Canal, and forms part of Mrs. Jack Gardner's Museum at Fenway Court, Boston. See also note on line 114. The masque of Italy: Masque here means carnival, festivity. Stanza IV. The Rialto, etc.: The Rialto is the famous bridge across the Grand Canal. Shylock and the Moor need no explana- tion. But alas for Byron's proud faith in literary immortality ! How many people can identify Pierre without a note? He is a character in Otway's Venice Preserved. That Byron makes his name a monosyllable is an evidence of the provincialism of educated Englishmen in his day. Stanza VI. This worn feeling: The phrase is loosely used. ' The antecedent is that sentiment which is the theme of the last stanza. Our fairy-land of the imagination is contrasted, first, with his- toric memories, then with personal experience. Stanza VII. Are now but so: Parse "but so," if possible. Stanza VIII. The inviolate island of the sage and free: Byron's hurt resentment against England breathes through these stanzas ; yet his unwilling tribute to her in this line ranks with the best expressions of patriotism in her literature. Stanza IX. In a soil which is not mine: The poet's tempestuous spirit knew many moods. On another occasion he wrote to a friend : "I am sure my bones would not rest in an English grave, or my clay mix with the earth of that country. I believe the thought would drive me mad on my death-bed — I would not even feed your worms if I could help it." Stanza X. The temple ichere the dead are honor'd: Not "dull oblivion" but the protest of the authorities debarred Byron from burial in Westminster Abbey. The Spartan's epitaph: The answer made by the mother of Brasidas, the Spartan general, to those who praised her son. This stanza has the manly ring which atones for much of Byron's egotism and lack of self-discipline. Stanza XI. The spouseless Adriatic: Stanzas V to IX have formed an interlude. The poet now returns to Venice. This stanza is full of allusions. The Bucentaur was the barge in which the Doge annually sailed out into the Lagoon, that he might throw a CHILDE HAEOLD: CANTO IV: NOTES 339 ring into the sea in token of Venice's supremacy over the waters. St. Mark's Lion, like many other treasures, was carried to Paris by Napoleon, but was afterwards restored. The Piazza where it stands was the scene of the submission of the Emperor Frederick Bar- barossa to Pope Alexander III in 1177, a central episode in the long mediaeval struggle between the Papacy and the Empire. Frederick was of the House of Suabia. Wordsworth's Sonnet On the Extinction of the Venetian Republic is an admirable companion to these stanzas : Once did She hold the gorgeous east in fee ; And was the safeguard of the west : the worth Of Venice' did not fall below her birth, Venice, the eldest Child of Liberty. She was a maiden City, bright and free ; No guile seduced, no force could violate ; And, when she took unto herself a Mate, She must espouse the everlasting Sea. And what if she had seen those glories fade, Those titles vanish, and that strength decay ; Yet shall some tribute of regret be paid When her long life hath reached its final day : Men are we, and must grieve when even the Shade Of that which once was great, is passed away. Stanza XII. These stanzas give an indignant and accurate pic- ture of the situation of Italy. That which Wordsworth contem- plates with philosophic sorrow, as a finality, stirs Byron to a wrath charged with rebellion. Lamcine: A German word for avalanche. The word "ava- lanche" was not yet acclimated in English when Byron wrote. Blind old Dandolo: Commander-in-chief of the Venetians at the taking of Constantinople in the last decade of the twelfth century. He was eighty-five years old at the time. Stanza XIII. His steeds of brass still ramp proudly above the portal of the Church of St. Mark. They were brought from Con- stantinople by Dandolo. Are they not bridled: The allusion is to legendary history, which tells that when the Venetians in 1379 were overcome by the armies of Genoa and Padua, they sent an embassy entreating that their city be allowed to retain her independence. The Genoese sent back answer through their general, Pietro Doria : "On God's faith, gentlemen of Venice, ye shall have no peace . . . until we have first put a rein upon those unbridled horses of yours, that are upon the porch of your evangelist, St. Mark." Modern research does not support the authenticity of the story. Sinks, like a sea-iveed: Critics discuss whether Byron be think- ing of the encroachments of the literal sea or of the moral decline 340 SHOBTEE ENGLISH POEMS of the city. Why not of the second under figure of the first? The passage in its literal meaning received a striking illustration when the Campanile, one of the oldest buildings in the city, fell into ruins in 1902. See a beautiful passage parallel to this in Shelley's Lines Written Among the Euganean Hills: Sun-girt city, thou hast been Ocean's child, and then his queen : Now has come a darker day, And thou soon must be his prey. Read also the splendid tribute to Byron a little later in the same poem. Stanza XIV. A new Tyre: Consult the description of this great commercial city of the ancient world, in Ezekiel, XXVI-XXVIII. The 'Planter of the Lion': Byron here relies on a probably false etymology. The Venetians were nicknamed Pantaloni ; but the real origin of the term, which is the source of our "pantaloon" and of the Italian name for a clown, is now thought to have been the baptismal name "Pantaleone," frequently given to Venetian children in honor of St. Pantaleone, whose cult was common in Northern Italy. The Ottomite: The Turk. Troy's rival, Candia: In 1G69, Candia, an island on the coast of Crete, was lost to Venice after a defense which had lasted twenty-five years. Lepanto's fight: This naval battle against the Turks was won by the Venetians and their allies in 1570. Stanza XVI. When Athens' armies, etc.: See Plutarch's Life of Nicias and Browning's Balaustion's Adventure. In the fifth cen- tury B. C. the dramas of Euripides were so popular throughout Sicily that Athenian prisoners who could recite them were especially favored by their masters. Stanza XVII. The Ocean queen, etc.: Would this argument appeal to the practical statesman? On the other hand, is the appeal of Byron in the last stanza based on the highest ground? Stanza XVIII. I loved her from my boyhood: Byron wrote to John Murray : "Venice pleases me as much as I expected, and I expected much. It is one of those places which I know before I see them, and has always haunted me the most after the East." It is amusing today to find the crudely romantic story, Mrs. Rad- cliffe's Mysteries of Udolpho, ranked by Byron with the fine though now neglected drama, Otway's Venice Preserved, with Schiller's Geister-Seer, and with Shakespeare's Merchant of Venice. Interpret thus. Stanza XX. What is the force of Butt Tavmen is the plural of Tanne, a fir tree. The Alpine fir, Byron says, "only thrived in very rocky parts, where scarcely soil sufficient for its nourishment CHILDE HAKOLD: CANTO IV: NOTES 341 can be found. On these spots it grows to a greater height than any other tree." The propriety of introducing foreign words with no quotation marks into the text, as Byron has done here and in the case of "lauwine," is questionable. Stanzas XX-XXV. Passages like these were in Matthew Arnold's mind when he described Byron as parading over Europe "The pageant of his bleeding heart," and in Carlyle's mind, when in Sartor Resartus he sneered at the practice of crying aloud when one is hurt and represented his own suffering hero as "mute, silent, or speaking only of the weather or the Journals." Stanza XXII. Devotion, toil, war, good, or crime: Which among these resources should you say were sought by Byron? Stanza XXIII. The power of association is exquisitely sug- gested in the following lines. E. H. Coleridge calls attention here to Browning's Bishop Blougram's Apology: Just when we are safest, there's a sunset-touch, A fancy from a flower-bell, some one's death, A chorus-ending from Euripides — And that's enough for fifty hopes and fears As old and new at once as nature's self To rap and knock and enter in our soul. Stanza XXIV. Note the condensation of thought possible to poetic expression : Too many, since we lose and mourn ; how few since life at best is very lonely. Stanza XXV. Byron now turns from Venice and from the per- sonal interlude, to wanderings farther afield. The relation of the personal parts of the poem to the impersonal description is indi- cated in the opening lines of this stanza, where Byron says that he stands "A ruin among ruins." Despite his poetic melancholy, we know that he was fairly happy in Italy : and he was still a young man in the prime of vigor. Stanza XXVI. The commonwealth of kings: One of the best things in the poem is Byron's honest enthusiasm for Italy. He forgets, when he praises her, his cynicism and his assumed despair ; he forgets himself. Compare Shelley's feelings for Italy, as shown in his Letters, his Lines Among the Euganean Hills, and elsewhere. And compare the feeling of Browning, and of Mrs. Browning. Stanza XXVII. This sunset was seen by Byron as he rode one evening on the mainland opposite Venice, along the banks of the little river Brenta. He says that he saw many another equally beautiful, and one who knows Italy can well believe him. English- men are less accustomed than Americans to brilliant sunsets. Blue Friuli's mountains: The mountains meant are "the Julian Alps, which form an arc from behind Trieste to the neighborhood of Verona." The same chain, or higher summits beyond, are called below "the far Rhsetian hill," that is, the Tyrolese heights. 342 SHORTER ENGLISH POEMS Stanza XXVIII. A single star is at her side: Cf. Shelley, who describes a similar sunset seen from the Euganean Hills, looking down on the city : Autumn's evening meets me soon, Leading the infantine moon And that one star, which to her Almost seems to minister Half the crimson light she brings From the sunset's radiant springs. Compare also Coleridge's : Horned moon, with one bright star Within the nether tip. Stanza XXIX. Ruskin objects to the figure of the hues on the dying dolphin. He says that only an insensitive nature could have used it. Do you agree? Does the dolphin really change hues when dying? Stanza XXX. We now start with Byron on our travels. First we visit Arqua, a hill-village on the southeast slope of Shelley's Euganean Hills, between Padua and Ferrara. Here Petrarch spent the later years of his life, here he died. His house is adorned with charming old frescoes depicting scenes from his poems. It is at the top of the town in a fine situation. Petrarch was one of the first people in the post-Roman world to prefer country to city living. To raise a language, etc.: Petrarch, the herald of the Renais- sance in Italy, was as strong a patriot as the Italians with whom Byron was conspiring for the overthrow of the Austrian. His son- nets in the vernacular completed the work begun by Dante's Divine Comedy, of establishing Italian among the great languages of literature. The tree which bears Ms lady's name is of course the laurel. Stanza XXXIII. Idlesse: An old word, taken from Spenser, to whom Byron owes the stanzaic form of the poem. Byron did not really love solitude, as Wordsworth did. But he could .sentimentalize over it. Stanza XXXIV. Predestined to a doom: This gruesome stanza suggests an intermittent terror of Byron's that he was himself destined to eternal loss. Although often defiant in religious atti- tude, he never quite shook himself free from the older orthodoxy. It is noteworthy that solitude suggests to him gloom rather than rest and joy. He says : "The struggle is quite as likely to be with demons as with our better thoughts. Satan chose the wilder- ness for the temptation of Our Saviour. And our unsullied John Locke preferred the presence of a child to complete solitude." CHILDE HAEOLD: CANTO IV: NOTES 343 Stanza XXXV. Now we come to Ferrara, a famous center of art and letters during the Italian renaissance. See Browning's My Last Duchess. The House of Este, patrons of Tasso, who honored them in his poetry, long held rule here. Stanza XXXVI. It is popularly believed that the Duke Alfonso II "because of Tasso's political intrigues and because of his daring to love the Duke's sister," Leonora, "had the poet confined as a lunatic in a narrow cell. (Cf. Byron's Lament of Tasso, and Goethe's Torquato Tasso.) But later authorities assert that this confinement was due to the genuine insanity of the poet, and Byron's attack here may not be justifiable." — Thomas. Stanza XXXVIII. The Cruscan quire: "The Accademia della Crusca, established at Florence in 1582, with the object of purifying the national language. It censured Tasso's Jerusalem. Quire is now commonly spelled choir." — Rolfe. Boileau: "The celebrated French critic, who complained that the taste of his time preferred the tinsel of Tasso to the gold of Virgil." — Rolfe. That whetstone of the teeth: It is all very well for Byron to sneer cleverly at the heroic couplet endorsed by Boileau. But then how explain his avowed preference for the school of Pope? He wrote to Gifford that he and all his important contemporaries were on the wrong tack and Pope on the right one. Stanza XL. The Bards of Hell and Chivalry: Dante and Ariosto. We now think Dante to be the Bard of Paradise quite as truly as the Bard of Hell. But Byron really did not know much about Dante. His comparison of Ariosto to Scott, however, is felicitous and just : the first bit of discriminating criticism he has given us in his torrent of praise. The Ariosto of the North: Byron and Scott admired each other. See a generous letter from Byron to the elder poet, written after an interview with the Prince Regent in which the Prince had warmly praised Scott's poetry to the rising poet who was largely to supersede the elder in popularity. Stanza XLI. The lightning, etc.: "Before the remains of Tasso were removed from the Benedictine church to the library of Fer- rara, his bust, which surmounted the tomb, was struck by lightning, and a crown of laurels melted away." — Hothouse. "Among the Romans it was a superstition that the lightning sanctified the objects it struck. Because of this belief the Cur- tian lake and the Ruminal fig-tree in the Forum were held sacred." — Thomas. Stanza XLII. This noble stanza and the next are, Byron tells us, a free translation of a sonnet by Filicaja, an Italian poet. Stanza XLIII. The stranger's sword: Compare for the senti- ment in this whole passage, Browning's Italian in England, and Meredith's novels, Sandro Belloni and Emilia in England. Byron 344 SHOBTEE ENGLISH POEMS is only one of many Englishmen whose indignant sympathy fop Italy has been expressed in letters and in deeds. Stanza XLIV. In a celebrated letter to Cicero, Servius Sul- picius tries to console the great orator for the death of his daugh- ter Tullia. Parts of the letter describe a route by sea and land which Byron often traced. "On my return from Asia," writes Sulpicius, "as I was sailing from iEgina towards Megara, I began to contemplate the prospects of the countries around me : -ZEgina was behind, Megara before me ; Pirseus on the right, Corinth on the left ; all which towns once famous and flourishing, now lie over- turned and buried in their ruins. Upon this sight, I could not but think presently within myself : Alas ! how do we poor mortals fret and vex ourselves if any of our friends happen to die or be killed, whose life is yet so short, when the carcasses of so many noble cities lie here exposed before me in one view." Stanza XLVII. How and when was this prophecy fulfilled? Stanza XLVII1. The Etrurian Athens is Florence, situated on the river Arno. Byron did not appreciate this city, which today is deemed as interesting as Venice or Rome. He stopped there one day only, and wrote before he went : "I have not the least curiosity about Florence, though I must see it for the sake of the Venus." One of the reasons for his attitude was his indifference to painting, which is a chief glory of the city of Botticelli and Fra Angelico. He wrote : "I know nothing of painting; and I detest it unless it reminds me of something I have seen or think it possible to see, for which reason I spit upon and abhor all the saints and subjects of half the impostures I see in the churches and palaces." Ruskin was to rouse Englishmen to a different frame of mind. But Byron did feel impressed in the great Florentine galleries, and half recanted his heresy. Modem Luxury: Byron speaks truly here : Florence owed her pre-eminence in arts and letters during the Renaissance to the advance in civilization rendered possible by her commercial supremacy. Stanza XLTX. The goddess loves in stone: The Venus de Medici, long the central ornament of the Tribune, or central hall, in the Ufiizi, the chief art gallery of Florence. Byron went to Florence on purpose to rhapsodize over this famous statue, and he does so eloquently. One feels a little suspicion, however, that his raptures were partly made to order. He was really more sensi- tive to historic memories than to art. Shelley also, fainted with ecstasy before the remains of ancient sculpture, while he hardly noted the great religious art of the painters before Raphael. Stanza L. Chain'd to the chariot: Explain the allusion. The Dardan Shepherd's prize: See classical dictionary. Stanza LIV. In Santa Croce's holy precincts: Byron does not really care anything about Santa Croce. All he had to say about it in prose was that it contains "much illustrious nothing." To CHILDE HAKOLD: CANTO IV: NOTES 345 the modern traveler, the precincts are indeed "holy," not on account of the famous people buried in the church, which is a kind of Italian Westminster Abbey, but on account of its associa- tion with the sweetest of mediaeval saints, Francis of Assisi. The church contains remarkable frescoes of the early schools, some of which celebrate the life and death of St. Francis. It was built by his followers. See Ruskin's Mornings in Florence. For what was each of these men famous? Stanza LV. The elements: Water, air, earth, fire. Canova: An Italian sculptor, more highly esteemed in Byron's day than in our own. He died in 1822. Stanza LVI. Bard of Prose: Boccaccio, author of the Decamerone. Stanza LVII. Dante is buried in Ravenna. Scipio Africanus the Elder gave orders that he [Scipio] was not to be buried in Rome, but in the home of his voluntary exile, Liturnum. The inscription on his tomb, according to some historians, was : "Un- grateful country, you shall not have my ashes." Owing to the factions between the Ghibellines and the Guelfs, the parties of the Emperor and the Pope, Dante, to the everlasting shame of Florence, was exiled from the city. Compare Rossetti's beautiful poem, Dante at Verona. Stanza LVIII. Boccaccio was buried at his birthplace, Certaldo. Later, the religious authorities whom Byron calls "hyaena bigots" caused his body to be removed. Tuscan's siren tongue: Byron is said to have spoken Italian like a native. This is just praise of the language. Stanza LIX. Cwsar's pageant: Byron means a pageant decreed by Tiberius. At the public funeral of the sister of Brutus and wife of Cassius, the busts of her husband and brother were not allowed to be carried in the procession because they had conspired against Caesar. Yet, says Tacitus, their glory was the more con- spicuous in men's minds because their images were withheld. Fortress of falling empire: During the barbarian invasions Ravenna was a stronghold of the Empire. Stanza LX. Byron in this stanza alludes to the tombs of the Medici in the Chapel of San Lorenzo at Florence. He wrote to Murray : "I also went to the Medici Chapel — fine frippery in great slabs of various expensive stones, to commemorate fifty rotten and forgotten carcasses." These lines may suggest the graves of Byron's contemporaries, Keats and Shelley, in the seclusion of the English cemetery at Rome. Stanza LXI. Where Sculpture, etc.: The reference probably is to the great picture galleries at Florence. One likes the honesty of the last of the stanza. Byron wrote to Murray : "I never yet saw the picture or the statue which came a league within my con- ception or expectation ; but I have seen many mountains and seas and rivers and views . . . (that) went far beyond it." 346 SHORTER ENGLISH POEMS Stanza LXII. Thrqsimene's lake: Macaulay more accurately makes only three syllables of this name : And dark Verbenna from the hold By reedy Thrasimene. — Eoratius, 191. The lake is in modern Umbria. It was the scene of a great defeat of the Romans at the hands of Hannibal. Stanza LXIII. An earthquake, etc.: Livy is the authority for this statement. A very excellent description of the lake as the tourist today sees it. Stanza LXVI. But thou, Clitumnus: "No book of travels has omitted to expatiate on the temple of the Clitumnus, between Foligno and Spoleto, and no sight — even in Italy — is more worthy a description." — Byron. Milk-white steer: The traveler in Umbria and Tuscany is still delighted by the beauty of the white oxen and the larger mouse- colored ones. Cf. Macaulay's Horatius, 11. 46, 55. For probably the first mention, in literature, see Vergil, G-ecrgics, II, 14. Stanza LXVII. The finny darter: Do you like this paraphrase for a fish? Chance: It may chance. Stanza LXVIII. Note the etymological sense of disgust, which is tastelessness. Stanza LXIX. Velino cleaves: One object of Byron's journey was to see this famous waterfall of Terni, formed by the Velino river. He wrote that he thought it finer than any cataract in the Alps, and he spared no pains in the following stanzas. Phlegethon: One of the four rivers of Hades. The figure is well sustained. Byron had shown in Manfred his power to describe the wilder aspects of Nature. Stanza LXX. Is an eternal April to the ground. A line more delicate in beauty than is usual with Byron. Stanza LXXI. Like an eternity: Point out the effect of the similes in this stanza. Cataract and' track are a false rhyme. Stanza LXXII. The similes in this stanza should be studied. Stanza LXXIII. Their mightier parents: Byron had only just published his Manfred, which was written partly to express his feelings in the presence of Alpine scenery. The snow of the Jungfrau is no longer untrodden. Lauioine: See note, Stanza XII. The correct plural is "Lauwinen." Chimari is the name of the town near the Acroceraunian moun- tains. Acroceraunian means in Greek, peaks struck by thunder or lightning. Shelley, too, loved this sonorous name. His Arethusa . arose From her couch of snows In the Acroceraunian mountains. CHXLDE HAROLD: CANTO IV: NOTES 347 Stanza LXXIV. With a Trojan's eye must mean, from the plain of Troy : for the position of these other mountains, consult a classical atlas. Soracte's height: "This mountain (now known as San Oreste), to the north of Rome, though only 2,260 feet high, is a conspicuous object in the view from many points in the city, on account of its isolated position. Its broken contour, as it rises 'from out the plain' (we have in mind particularly the view from San Pietro di Montorio — the ancient Janiculum), at once recalls the poet's comparison to a breaking wave. Vergil refers to Soracte in the Aen. VI. 696 : 'Hi Soractis habent arces ;' and id. XI. 785 ; - Summe deum, sancti custos Soractis Apollo ;' and Horace, in Od. I. 9 : 'Vides ut alta stet nive candidum Soracte.' It is this last passage that Byron had in mind in saying that the height is 'not now in snow.' The temple of Apollo on the summit, to which Vergil alludes, is replaced by the modern church of San Silvestro." — Rolfe. Lyric Roman: Horace. See note above. Stanza LXXV II. Then farewell Horace ; whom I hated so : This passage has been a comfort to hundreds of people, disgusted with classic literature by the monotonous drill of old-fashioned classical training. Byron himself writes : "I wish to express that we become tired of the task before we can comprehend the beauty ; that we learn by rote before we can get by heart ; that the freshness is worn away, and the future pleasure and advantage deadened and destroyed, by the didactic anticipation, at an age when we can neither feel nor understand the power of compositions which it requires an acquaintance with life, as well as Latin and Greek, to relish or to reason upon. ... In some parts of the Continent young persons are taught from more common authors, and do not read the best classics till their maturity." Stanza LXXV III. Rome, my country: Byron now reaches the goal of his journey. He is more entirely his most interesting self, in the stanzas that follow, than he has been except in flashes up to this time. Can you point out why contact with the "lone mother of dead empires" should be peculiarly soothing as well as exalting to a man like Byron? Stanza LXXIX. The Niobe of nations: Consult a classical dictionary. The Scipios' tomb: Discovered in 1780 and soon rifled. Stanza LXXX. Up the steep: Tourists may still climb the Capitoline Hill and recall old days when the triumphal processions led Rome's captives up it. Stanza LXXXI, I. 2. What grammatical error do you discover in this line? Stanza LXXXII. Alas, the lofty city. Some general knowledge of Roman history, at least of the most dramatic moments, is neces- 348 SHOBTER ENGLISH POEMS sary to appreciate the stanzas that follow. See the Student's His- tory of Rome, by H. G. Liddell (Murray), or any other good Roman history. Stanza LXXXIII. Sylla, in 87 B. C, set out for a war against Mithridates before he had profited by his victory over his enemy^ Marius. He was appointed Dictator in B. C. 81, but after two years resigned the dictatorship and retired into private life. Stanza LXXXV. Cromwell arbitrarily dissolved the Long Par- liament and was responsible for the execution of Charles I, a deed which Byron here seems to regard as a crime. Stanza LXXXV. His fate: "On the third of September, Crom- well gained the victory of Dunbar (1650), a year afterwards he obtained his 'crowning mercy' of Worcester (1651) ; and a few years after (1658), on the same day, which he had ever esteemed the most fortunate for him, he died." — Byron. Stanza LXXXVII. Dread statue: The statue of Pompey, still to be seen in the Spada Palace at Rome, at the base of which, if tradition is right, Caesar fell, assassinated by Brutus. See Shake- speare's Julius Cwsar, Act III, Scene II. Compare line 732, yet existent in: What offends the ear at this point? It is such lapses in melody, such misuse of accent, not infrequent in Byron, that force us to realize how much weaker the spirit of melody was in him than it is in the greatest poets. Great Nemesis: Explain the force of this phrase. Stanza LXXXVIII. Thunder-stricken: In the Capitoline mu- seum of Rome stands a bronze wolf, a highly archaic work of the fifth century B. C. "This is probably the wolf which stood in the Capitoline Temple and was injured in B. C. 65 by lightning, of which traces are still evident on the hind-legs." Baedeker's Italy. See Cicero, third Oration Against Catiline. Which the great founder suck'd: Compare The Prophecy of Capys, line 37. But the Nurslings of the Wolf of the Capitol were added only in the Renaissance. Stanza LXXXIX, I. 7. Awkward grammar. Parse supremacy. Stanza XC. Bastard Cwsar: Napoleon was, when Byron wrote, an exile at St. Helena. In the third Canto of Childe Harold, Stanzas XXXVI-XLI, Byron has a long character-study of him. Alcides with the distaff: See classical dictionary. Stanza XCI. And came — and saw — and conquered: A trans- lation of Csesar's own words, "Veni, vidi, vici." The eagles are the French troops, trained to "flee" toward the enemy, like hawks. Stanza XCII. The tears and olood of earth: When Byron wrote Europe was still convulsed with the near memory of the great and bloody Napoleonic wars which had followed the outrages of the French Revolution. See Introduction and selections from Canto III. CHILDE HAROLD: CANTO IV: NOTES 349 Renew thy rainbow, God! An appeal peculiarly dignified and natural under the political circumstances. Stanza XCIII. Custom's falsest scale: Custom lies upon us with a weight Heavy as frost and deep almost as life. — Wordsworth : Ode on the Intimations of Immortality. Stanzas XCIII-XGVIII. It is well to summarize the view of human life and contemporary history given in these stanzas. Byron had lived through a great historic epoch, the real meaning of which was in his day hard to discern. The confusion and dis- couragement expressed in this passage are the natural reaction from the excitement of the Revolutionary hope, seemingly contra- dicted and mocked by the tyranny of Napoleon and all the cor- ruption of social life under the Empire. It is natural for a poet, musing among the ruins of Imperial Rome, to contemplate sadly the nothingness of Fame, the failure of human effort : but Byron had an especial excuse for his hopelessness, and he shows the indomitable courage of the idealist, when, after the gloom and depression of the earlier stanzas, he suddenly makes the splendid turn to faith and hope in the ninety-eighth. Stanza XGV. Earth's rulers, etc.: The Empire was followed by a revival of absolute government in Europe. See Introduction. Stanza XCVI. A Pallas: See classical dictionary. Byron was not alone in his day in turning from the apparently hopeless scene presented to a lover of freedom by European politics, to the brighter prospect of America. This stanza suggests the attitude, common at the time, of the followers of Rousseau, who believed that civilization was an evil and that the only remedy for it was a return to Nature. Stanza XCVII. But France got drunk with blood, etc.: A pain- ful but expressive figure : one aspect of a whole historic epoch summed up in a metaphor. Saturnalia: A Roman festival marked by the wildest license. The base pageant last upon the scene: "By the base pageant Byron refers to the Congress of Vienna (September, 1815) : The Holy Alliance (September 26) into which the Duke of Wellington would not enter, and the Second Treaty of Paris, November 20, 1815."— #. H. Coleridge. Thrall is equivalent to thrandom. Stanza XCVIII. Yet, Freedom, yet, etc.: This ringing stanza is one of the most memorable strains in Byron. It deserves to rank with the sonnet prefixed to The Prisoner of Chillon. We see in it just why the young conspirators and lovers of liberty all over Europe looked to the poet as a leader. Each figure here has a meaning to be carefully studied. Note (line 881) that whatever personal grievance Byron may cherish against England, it is still 350 SHORTER ENGLISH POEMS to her that he turns when at his best, as to the protector of freedom. Stanza XCIX. After the excitement in the last stanzas, Byron and his readers crave the relief of pensive meditation. Nothing could create this mood more swiftly than the Tomb of Cecilia Metella, on the Appian Way, which he now describes. As Byron suggests, we know nothing about this lady except that she was wife of the youngest Crassus, son of the Triumvir. The round tower which is her tomb was built during the reign of Augustus. Stanza CI. Egypt's graceful queen: Cleopatra. Stanza CIV. In this and the following stanza, Byron drifts back into the vein of personal sentiment. The passage is meant to be pathetic and quiet. Compare a more delicate rendering of a similar mood in Shelley's exquisite Stanzas Written in Dejection, near Naples. Stanza CVI. On the Palatine: The hill above the Forum, still covered with the great ruins of the Palace of the Caesars. Stanza CVII. Cypress and ivy, etc.: The ruins of Rome are not so romantic today as when Byron visited the city : for modern archaeologists have scraped them clear of the tangle of vines and mosses here described. On the other hand, we can meet his chal- lenge and pronounce in many cases not only tbat "these are walls," but just what walls they were. Compare with the description in this stanza, the following passage from a letter of Shelley's, picturing the Baths of Caracalla, in which he wrote part of his lyrical drama, Prometheus Unbound. '■"Never was any desolation more sublime and lovely. The per- pendicular wall of ruin is cloven into steep ravines filled up with flowering shrubs, whose thick twisted roots are knotted in the rifts of the stones. ... In one of the buttresses are the crumbling remains of an antique winding staircase. . . . Thisj^ou ascend and arrive on the summit of these piles. There grow on every side thick entangled wildernesses of myrtle, and the myrletus, and bay, and the flowering laurestinus, whose white blossoms are just developed, the white fig, and a thousand nameless plants sown by the wandering winds. . . . Come to Rome. It is a scene by which expression is overpowered, which words can not convey." Stanza CVIII. Do you find Byron's moralizings fresh, or is there to your mind a certain monotony about them? How much space do you think it would take to put into prose the ideas in this canto of Childe Harold? Stanza CIX. Thou pendulum: A frequently quoted line. In this span: Immediately around the Palatine, on which the poet is still meditating. Where are its golden roofs? The roofs of the enormous Golden House of Nero, extending from the Palatine to the Esquiline. Stanza CX. Nameless column: The column had ceased to be nameless in 1813, when it received the name of the Column of CHILDE HAROLD: CANTO IV: NOTES 351 Phocas (A. D. 608). But modern archaeology ascribes it to an earlier time, that of Diocletian, A. D. 2S4. The Arch of Titus rises at the foot of the Palatine : the column under which Trajan was buried is at some distance. In 1587 the statue of Trajan on the top was replaced by that of St. Peter. There was an old tradition that the ashes of the Emperor were in an urn on the summit of the pillar. Trajan was one of the best of the Roman Emperors. Stanza CXII. The rock of Triumph marked the spot on the Cap- itoline Hill where the Triumphs ended. The steep Tarpeian (1002) was the precipice from which criminals were thrown. See an effective scene placed above it in Hawthorne's The Marble Faun, Vol. I, Ch. 18. Yon field below: Throughout these last stanzas Byron, though his mind roams abroad, is seated on the Palatine looking down into the Forum. Stanza CXIII. The field of freedom, etc.: This stanza suggests in outline the whole history of Imperial Rome. Stanza CXIV. Rienzi: The mediaeval patriot who, inspired by the history of ancient Roman freedom, led a popular movement against the nobles and was given the classic title of Tribune in 1347. For his tragic story see Bulwer Lytton's novel, Rienzi, the Last of the Tribunes. Her new-born Numa thou: Numa, one of the seven kings of Rome, a legendary law-giver, beloved and instructed, according to the myth, by the nymph Egeria. Stanza CXV. Nympholepsy : An ecstasy that possesses one who sees a nymph in spring or fountain. Byron means that Egeria may have been the hallucination of some fondly despairing man. See Browning's poem, Numpholeptos. Stanza CXV I. The mosses of thy fountain: About a mile and a quarter from the city, a footpath leads off from the Appian Way to a small wood, commanding a view of Rome, the Campagna, and the Alban Hills, and known as the Bosco Sacro, because Numa is said here to have met Egeria. Near at hand is the so-called "Grotto of Egeria." "The grotto is a Nyinphaeum (a little sanctu- ary, sacred to a nymph), originally covered with marble, the shrine of the brook Almo, . . . and was erected at a somewhat late period." — Baedeker. Stanza CXV II. Bills: Does this word give you a shock? Why? Stanzas CXX-CXXVII. These stanzas again form a long inter- lude expressing personal emotions very slightly connected with the sights of Rome. Roman history does not afford many instances of lovers or of youthful sentiment : Byron had to hark back to the legend of Egeria to find an occasion for his very modern mus- ings. The passage shows clear evidence of the influence of Shelley, whose Epipsychidion renders in more subtle and enchanting verse, a similar attitude and emotion. 352 SHOETEK ENGLISH POEMS Stanza GXXT. The naked eye is the subject of the verbs in the preceding line. The mind hath made thee: Byron was no student of Plato, as Shelley was, yet at times throughout this passage his experience of disappointment leads him to use pseudo-platonic phrases. But Plato did not think that the image of beauty was a delusion cre- ated by the mind, but an elusive hint of a beauty really existent, invisible, and immortal. Stanza CXXIV. We wither from our youth: Byron now extends his arraignment of life to cover a wider range than disappointed affection. There is a genuine note to the lines. Compare the Chorus of Furies in Shelley's Prometheus Unbound, Act I, and the choruses in Swinburne's Atalanta in Calydon, for a similar pes- simism. Unslaked the thirst: Do you agree with Byron that the absence of satisfaction in earthly life is an evil? Or do you rather hold with Browning in Rabbi Ben Ezra, What I aspired to be, And was not, comforts me? Love, fame, ambition, avarice: Might not faith, service, the thirst for sacrifice be also counted as impelling motives? Stanza CXXVI. Our life is a false nature: This strong stanza is the climax of Byron's pessimism. Upas: Look up the "Upas Tree," and explain the figure fully. Stanza CXXVII. Yet let us ponder boldly: Byron suggests that in courageous thought is the only escape from life's miseries. Cabin 'd, cribb'd, confined: Macbeth III, IV, 24. Couch: Couching is an operation to remove a cataract by the use of a needle. Stanza C XXVIII. Coliseum: This largest theatre in the world, originally called the Flavian Amphitheatre, was completed by Titus in A. D. 80. Gladiatorial combats and wild-beast fights were the forms of amusement here offered to the Roman public, until 405 A. D., when the gladiatorial fights were forbidden. The first three stories were built upon great arches divided by columns. See Manfred, Act III, Scene IV, for another description of the Coliseum by night. Since Byron's time probably thousands of tourists have visited the Coliseum by moonlight. Stanza CXXX. Stanzas CXXX-CXXXVIII. Byron does not con- template the great monuments of history very long without turning from them to his own unhappy condition. Is the poetry better or worse for this habit of his? The following stanzas more than any others in the poem deserve Matthew Arnold's descriptive phrase already quoted. Byron feels himself deeply wronged by the English public and by those nearest CHILDE HAROLD: CANTO IV: NOTES 353 to him, and solemnly calls on Time to revenge and reinstate him. "This wreck," the ruined Coliseum, is a dramatic background for his emotions. Stanza GXXXII. Orestes: See a classical dictionary. Had it but been from hands less near: In the next stanza Byron seems to imply that he might have thought his fate just had his punishment not been inflicted by those near to him. Stanza C XXXIII. For the sake: Probably the name which he checks himself from speaking is that of his sister Augusta or his little daughter Ada. Stanza CXXXV. That curse shall be Forgiveness: There is a striking parallel to this fine turn in the first act of Shelley's Prometheus Unbound. The suffering Titan, representative of humanity, has learned through his pain to translate hate into pity, and despite the reluctance of the spiritual forces that represent the natural order, recalls the curse he has once pronounced on Jupiter, his tyrant. The recalling of this curse and the perfecting of for- giveness in the Titan's soul is the signal for the dramatic action to open. Shelley may for once have been influenced by Byron, as he wrote in 1818, a year after this canto was published. Not altogether of such clay: Perhaps there is not in English poetry a more arrogant passage than this. Stanza CXXXV I. The Janus glance: Janus, from whom our mid-winter month is named, was the Roman god who looked in two directions. Stanza CXXXV III. The seal is set: The curse is ended. If we are inclined to find the foregoing passage melodramatic, we must remember that Byron lived at the height of the Romantic move- ment. The essence of the Romantic temper is said by M. Brunetiere, the French critic, to be "the display of the Ego." Thou dread power: "The sentiment of antiquity," according to one commentator. Stanza CXXXIX. Listed: The "Lists" were in the middle ages the grounds marked off for combat in a tournament. Stanza CXL\ The Gladiator: This famous statue in the Capi- toline Museum is now known to represent, not a Gladiator dying in the Coliseum, but a Gaul, who may be dying on any battle-field. He is recognized as a Gaul by his twisted collar, short hair, and moustache. This is probably the best description of a work of art in Childe Harold. Notice that it interprets, not the emotions aroused in Byron by the statue, as in the case of his description of the Venus de Medici, but the emotions which the Gaul himself feels. Stanza CXLI. Arise! ye Goths: A fine dramatic turn, suggest- ing the final conquest of Rome by the Goths and Vandals. Stanza CXLII. Millions' blame or praise, etc.: "When one glad- iator wounded another, he shouted, 'He has it,' 'Hoc habet,' or 'Habet.' The wounded combatant dropped his weapon, and, ad- 354 SHORTER ENGLISH POEMS vancing to the edge of the arena, supplicated the spectators. If he had fought well, the people saved him, if otherwise, or as they hap- pened to be inclined, they turned down their thumbs and he was slain." — Hobhouse. Stanza (fXLIII. From its mass: In the Middle Ages the Coliseum was used as a stone quarry. Stanza CXLIV. The garland forest: See Note, line 955. Like laurels, etc.: "Suetonius informs us that Julius Caesar was particularly gratified by that decree of the senate which enabled him to wear a wreath of laurel on all occasions. He was anxious, not to show that he was the conqueror of the world, but to hide that he was bald." — Byron. Stanza CXLV. While stands the Coliseum, etc.: "This is quoted in the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire as a proof that the Coliseum was entire when seen by the Anglo-Saxon pilgrims at the end of the 7th or the beginning of the 8th century." — Byron. It is ascribed to the Venerable Bede, and the original reads : "Quamdiu stabit Coliseus, stabit et Roma ; quando cadet Coliseus, cadet Roma ; quando cadet Roma, cadet et mundus." Stanza CXLVI. Simple, erect, etc.: Byron now leaves the Coliseum and turns abruptly to talking about another Roman monu- ment, the Pantheon. The name of this building means "very sacred," not as Byron probably thought a temple of "all the gods." It was probably dedicated to the gods of the seven planets. It is a round building, lighted only by an orifice in the dome. In 609 it was consecrated as a Christian Church. It is the only ancient building in Rome still in perfect preservation. Stanza CXLV III. There is a dungeon: Another abrupt turn. In the earlier part of the poem, the transitions are naturally effected by means of some association of ideas. But from now on Byron's method is more disconnected and the poem reads like a collection of stanzas dealing with various subjects, taken almost at random from his note-book. His own note reads : "This and the three next stanzas allude to the story of a Roman daughter, which is recalled to the traveler t>y the site or pretended site of that adventure now shown at the church of San Nicola in Carcere." The imprisoned father was sentenced to die by starvation, but the daughter nourished him by milk from her breast. Stanza CXLIX. Cain was Eve's: Byron enjoys giving a cynical twist to the end of a stanza. Compare line 1305. Cynicism and sentimentality are never far apart. Stanza CLII. The Mole: Now known as the Castle of St. Angelo. Erected by Hadrian in 130, for his own tomb. See the interesting summary of the history of the building in Baedeker. Stanzas CLIII-CLX. From ancient Rome we turn to the Rome of the Renaissance. Early Christian Rome had no interest for Byron. He now dedicates seven stanzas to the Basilica of St. CHILDE HAROLD: CANTO IV: NOTES 355 Peter's, the great Church rebuilt by Bramante and Michelangelo. It is difficult to avoid feeling that in the case of buildings and works of art, Byron admired with docility what the taste of his age bade him admire. St. Peter's is a marvelous architectural monument, but to call it among all temples "worthiest of God, the Holy and the True," is to claim too much. Stanza CLIII. The Ephesian's miracle: The Temple of Diana of the Ephesians, alluded to in the Acts of the Apostles. Sophia's bright roofs: The Mosque of Santa Sophia at Con- stantinople. Stanza CLV. Overwhelms thee not: One appreciates the size of St. Peter's, not at once, but only after repeated visits. Byron expresses this fact effectively in the next stanzas. Stanza CLVI. Increasing with the advance: Can you parse "in- creasing"? Gigantic elegance: A good phrase for St. Peter's. Would it be a good phrase for an Alp? Michael Angelo said of this dome that his plan would raise the Pantheon in air. Stanza CLX. Laocoon's torture: See classical dictionary. This is the statue which affords the text to Lessing's famous treatise on aesthetics, The Laocoon. Stanza CLXI. The Lord of the unerring bote: The statue known as the Apollo Belvedere. Stanza CLXIV. The Pilgrim of my song: Childe Harold, the nominal hero of the first two cantos, who has been lost to sight since the 55th stanza of Canto III. We have not especially missed him, but as Byron draws to the end of his poem, he realizes that he must wind matters up, and these lines in which he dismisses his quondam hero into that general past of ruin on which he has throughout been dwelling, are clever and effective. Stanza CLXVI. Fardels: Burdens; a Shakespearean word. Stanza CLXVII. Hark! forth from the abyss, etc.: "From the thought of death the poet passes to the death of the Princess Charlotte, which happened when he was at Venice. No other event during the present century has caused so great a shock to public feeling in England ; and Byron himself, as we learn from his let- ters, was deeply moved by it. She was the only daughter of George IV, who at the time was Prince Regent, and consequently she was Heiress Presumptive to the British crown. She was virtuous, accomplished, large-hearted, and sympathetic, and the hopes of the nation were fixed upon her as one who might inaugurate an era of prosperity. On May 10, 1S16, she married Prince Leopold of Saxe-Coburg (afterward king of the Belgians), and on Nov. 0, 1817, she died in childbirth." — Tozer. Byron's deep and real feeling for his country, as well as his unfailing interest in political events, is evident in this passage. Stanza CLXXI. Tumbles mightiest sovereigns: "Mary died on 356 SHORTER ENGLISH POEMS the scaffold ; Elizabeth of a broken heart ; Charles V, a hermit ; Louis XIV, a bankrupt in means and glory; Cromwell, of anxiety; and, 'the greatest is behind,' Napoleon lives a prisoner. To these sovereigns a long but superfluous list might be added of names equally illustrious and unhappy." — Byron. Stanza CLXXIII. Lo, Nemi: This time, the abruptness of the transition is painfully startling. The exquisite little Lake Nemi fills an extinct crater among the Alban Hills. This is the region to which belongs the strange and haunting old story alluded to in Macaulay's Battle of the Lake Regillus, line 171. Stanza CLXXIV. The Lotion coast: On this coast began the war celebrated by Virgil in The Aeneid. Beneath thy right: The allusion is to Cicero's villa at Tusculum. The Sabine farm belonged to Horace. Byron chafed against classical studies, but they enabled him to enjoy the rich associa- tions of a landscape like this. Stanza CLXXV. Calpe's rock: Gibraltar. "Last may be the last time that Byron and Childe Harold saw the Mediterranean together. Byron had seen it in his return journey to England in 1811. Or by 'last' he may mean the last time that it burst upon his view. He had not seen the Mediterranean on his way from Geneva to Venice or on his way from Venice to Rome, but now from the Alban Mount the ocean was in full view." — E. H. Coleridge. Stanza CLXXV I. Symplegades: Two small islands near the en- trance of the Euxine or Black Sea. Gladden' d by the sun: Here is a much more wholesome note than many that the poet has struck. Stanza CLXXV II. One fair Spirit: Some commentators question whether Byron has in mind a spirit or a mortal. But the sequel eurely makes it clear that he is thinking of a spirit. Stanzas CLXXV III-CLXXXV : In spite of the diversity of sub- jects treated, this canto of the poem has had one ever-recurrent theme : the vanity of human life, illustrated by the personal experience of the poet, and by the transitoriness of human glory. It is with a fitting climax that he turns at the end to the abiding might and freedom of Nature. Coleridge, too, seeking in vain for Freedom in the range of human experience, finds it in Nature alone. Ye ocean-waves, which wheresoe'er ye rove, Yield homage only to eternal laws. — Ode to France. Do you find in these stanzas the intimate sense of communion with Nature conveyed by the poetry of Wordsworth? Or does Byron impress you as usi:\g Nature after all chiefly for purposes of contrast? Stanza CLXXX. There let him lay: This last unfortunate blunder has always made sport for the critics. Luckily the lines that it spoils are not among the best. CHILDE HAEOLD: CANTO IV: NOTES 357 Stanza CLXXXI. The Armada's pride, or spoils of Trafalgar: The Spanish Armada and a large portion of the fleet captured by the British at Trafalgar were destroyed by storms. Cf. Macaulay's poem, p. 471. Stanza CLXXXII. Thy waters tcash'd them power: These mari- time states all owed their supremacy to the facilities afforded them for commerce by their sea-coasts. Stanza CLXXXV. My midnight lamp: It is rather a pity to be reminded that the poem is not composed high among the Alban Hills, gazing on the distant sea, but by the midnight lamp in the poet's own room. THOMAS BABINGTON, LOED MACAULAY 359 THOMAS BABINGTON, LORD MACAULAY 1800-1859. I. Macaulay's birth year is the birth year of a century. "It was on the twenty-fifth of October, 1800/' says his nephew and biographer, Trevelyan, "that Lord Macaulay opened his eyes on a world that he was destined so thoroughly to learn and so intensely to enjoy." Whether Macaulay really did learn the world thor- oughly may be questioned. That is a great claim. He had a remarkable knowledge of books, of political life, and of contemporary society; but there were many reaches of knowledge and experience that he never en- tered. Of his enjoyment of the world, however, there can be no doubt; it is a pleasure to dwell on a life so laborious and happy, so full of zest, energy, and satisfy- ing achievement. Macaulay had a good tradition behind him. His father, Zachary Macaulay, was actively concerned in abolishing the slave trade, and the son's childhood was passed in constant contact with the group of high- minded men concerned with this great issue. He was a sweet-tempered, affectionate boy, normal in everything except in his prodigious cleverness; for like his contem- porary, John Stuart Mill, he was an infant phenom- enon. Many entertaining stories of his precocity may be read in the admirable biography by his nephew already alluded to. "Thank you, Madam, the agony is abated," 361 362 SHORTER ENGLISH POEMS replied the little fellow of four to an apologetic hostess when hot coffee had been spilled on his wee legs. From the age of three he read incessantly, and what is more to the point, remembered mnch. He picked up Scott's Lay of the Last Minstrel one day when he had accom- panied his mother on a call, read contentedly while she chatted, and on their return perched on the edge of her bed and repeated nearly the whole poem to her. In later years he used to say that if all copies of Paradise Lost and The Pilgrims Progress were to be destroyed, he could restore them from memory. Macaulay was no prig, however, but a perfectly natural boy. His home- sick letters when away at school were just what one would like a schoolboy to write, though few boys or men have command of such pellucid English. His parents never allowed a hint that he was cleverer than other children to reach him. In one way the result was unfortunate : Macaulay always overestimated the attainments of other people. His "Every schoolboy knows" became almost a proverbial expression, and one very discouraging to schoolboys. After a distinguished career at his university, Cam- bridge, Macaulay gained a fellowship, in 1824. He was called to the bar but never practiced. Politics and lit- erature were to be the pursuits of his life. He was only twenty-five years old when his brilliant essay on Milton, which appeared in The Edinburgh Review, achieved a wide success. A few years later he entered Parliament. Zachary Macaulay, in spite of his philan- thropic ardor, had been a Tory. But his son was, when a very young man, converted to the principles of the Liberals, or, as they were then called, the Whigs, THOMAS BABINGTON, LORD MACAULAY 363 This party was now in the ascendant, and stood for gradual extension of political democracy. It neither clung to the past like the Tories nor dreamed of a far future like the Kadicals, but was satisfied with a policy of moderate reform. Macaulay, with his party, believed ardently in constitutional freedom. He thought that carefully protected and cautiously extended polit- ical rights plus free competition, with no State inter- ference in industry, would suffice to make England a perfectly prosperous country. It was at a propitious moment for him that he entered Parliament — just in time to play an effective part in the great fight that led to the indorsement of these principles in the Keform Bill of 1832. This bill enlarged the franchise, ended much political corruption, and definitely placed the balance of power in the hands of that middle and com- mercial class which was to control England during the nineteenth century as effectively as the aristocracy of birth had controlled it during the middle ages, or as the laboring classes want to control it in the future. It was to this middle class that Macaulay himself be- longed: he was to fight its battles, become its favorite author, and express its attitude better than any other writer of the Victorian age. Soon after the passage of the Eeform Bill, Macaulay received a reward for his services to his party by an appointment to the Indian Civil Service. After a few years in Imiia, during which he wrote some of his best known essays, he came home, in 1838. He held high offices : at one time he was Secretary of War, at another Postmaster-General. But his political career is a little disappointing after his early promise. In truth, liter- 364 SHOETEE ENGLISH POEMS ature rather than politics held his deepest love. In 1842 he published the Lays of. Ancient Rome, in 1843 a collection of his Essays. His literary fame was now high; hut it mounted yet more when he took advantage of an interval during which he held no seat in Parlia- ment, to complete and publish, in 1848, the first two volumes of his masterpiece, The History of England from the Accession of James II. If the story be true that Macaulay wanted to write a history which would appear on as many drawing-room tables as a popular novel, he realized his ambition. He published two more volumes in 1855, was raised to the House of Lords in 1857, and died of heart disease in 1859, without having finished his history. The work was planned on so large a scale that human powers could hardly have sufficed to complete it. Macaulay never married. He was a kind, honorable, vigorous man, of great intellectual vitality. He was some- what self-confident, and people complained that he never let anyone else share in the talking: but there can seldom have been any one else in a room so well worth hearing. Many of his greatest contemporaries, — Carlyle, Newman, Ruskin, Arnold, — were stirred by deep dissatisfaction, spiritual and social. But to him the Liberal creed of his youth always seemed to solve all problems, and he rejoiced with unshaken cheer in the commercial prosperity, the spread of popular education, and the religious freedom, of his beloved country. II. Macaulay is known as a political writer, an essayist, an historian, and a writer of verse. His speeches are THOMAS BABINGTON, LOED MACAULAY 365 today undeservedly neglected : they are admirable in their way and there is no better record of the attitude of a high-minded Liberal during the reign of Victoria. But his popularity and his solid fame alike rest upon the other three departments of his work. Macaulay's essays constituted a sort of university extension course in general knowledge for his contem- poraries, and they retain a good deal of the same value today. They have the great advantage of being inter- esting: "The most restless of juvenile minds," says Mr. Saintsbury, "if induced to enter one of Macaulay's essays, is almost certain to reappear at the other end of it, gratified and, to an appreciable extent, cultivated/' The chief reason that Macaulay is so interesting is that he is interested himself. He writes on a large va- riety of themes, and on each he has something fresh, stimulating, and convincing to say. These essays are usually nominal reviews of books, but he is very little occupied with the book under discussion. He uses it only as a point of departure for his own ideas, and in many a case the book is remembered in our day solely as having given occasion to the essay. In his themes, English literature takes the lead, with subjects derived from English history a good second. A smaller num- ber of notable essays deal with European letters or history. But the ostensible subject often allows a widely discursive treatment which would entitle Macaulay to hold Carlyle's imaginary chair, as Professor of Things in General. It is the fashion nowadays to warn people that Ma- caulay's essays are shallow. This is true in a sense. Place him beside a critic like Matthew Arnold, and the 366 SHORTER ENGLISH POEMS lack of sensitiveness and impartiality is evident at once. Nothing ever was so simple as everything appeared to him : he labored, as Saintsbury says, from "a constitu- tional incapacity for not making up his mind." Now, life is a very complex affair, and an overconfident person is snre to make blunders. Macaulay is prejudiced : Whig convictions determine his attitude toward every- thing in history and letters, and his dogmatic tone ap- pears to us no longer a strength but a weakness. -Yet, when all is said, these essays are capital reading, and to any one a little on his guard they afford an invalu- able introduction to their subjects. Only they should never be considered to have said the last word. Much in what we have been saying can be applied to the famous History. Macaulay's preferences had free play in this chronicle of the final overthrow in England of the ideal of absolute monarchy. He painted his Stuarts and all belonging to them too black, his William of Orange and the House i of Hanover too white. After his day, a school of historians arose who tried to write without sympathies, believing that truth can only be found apart from all personal prepossession. The controversy between these two schools is not yet settled, but it is interesting to notice that the pendu- lum is just now swinging back a little toward the method of Macaulay. People are beginning to say that no historian can escape the "personal equation"; that he may as well accept this fact and make the best of it, giving us his own honest interpretation of history in a harmonized story, and leave correction to come from others who will tell the story in their turn from their own point of view. Whichever school may prevail, it is THOMAS BABINGTON, LORD MACAULAY 367 certain that Macaulay's History is better reading than that of many a more dispassionate writer. Some portions, for example, the well-known Chapter III, which gives a picture of England in the seventeenth century, contrasting it with the England of Ma- caulay's own day, are extremely brilliant. Macaulay's prose style reflects the qualities of his mind. It has been accused of artificiality on account of its balance and symmetry ; but the sharp antitheses, the habitual periodic structure, the effective if rather obvious use of climax, form a natural manner for a man like Macaulay, who was always balancing thought against thought after the fashion of a parliamentary debater, who saw no half-shades, and was endowed with a great gift of systematizing material. Ma- caulay's style is excellent in exposition and in rapid narrative: moreover, it can rise to an effective elo- quence. He can praise generously, he can condemn crushingly. He builds up his style clause by clause, using language rather as a builder uses his bricks than as a musician uses his tones. But it is good building. . HI. It remains to speak of Macaulay's verse. That is the one aspect of his work which this little book presents, and the Lays of Ancient Borne, with one or two other ballads, such as Ivry and The Bat- tle of Naseby, constitute his most important poetic writing. From a man of such qualities as those on which we have just dwelt it would be idle to look for poetry of the highest order. Macaulay him- self was very modest about his poems and alluded to 368 SHOETER ENGLISH POEMS them as trifling things. These trifles, however, sold out edition after edition, and they richly deserve the popularity which they have always retained. Macaulay does not quicken our sense of the beauty or the mystery in the world. Nor is there any magic in these spirited metres such as haunts the ear in the cadences of Coleridge and Shelley. Indeed, the rhythm, though at its best it stirs the most sluggish blood, has at its worst something of that monotony that marks the cadences of Macaulay 7 s prose. But in spite of these limitations, he is an apa- thetic reader who is not moved by the Lays, for they treat heroic material with contagious enthusiasm: they are the best imaginative rendering that English liter- ature possesses of the romantic legendary history of ancient Eome. These poems spring from the intimate knowledge of classic antiquity which Macaulay shared with all edu- cated Englishmen of his day. The insistent drill in the classics which was then the distinctive feature of education is rapidly becoming, even in England, a thing of the past. Perhaps this is not to be regretted. But as one reads the Lays one can not, help feeling that the training was worth something. It quickened imagi- native enthusiasm for the great past of civilization, a thing which is really quite as important for us to know about as is the past of nature : it fixed the mind on high and splendid examples. Even if we see the old edu- cation pass without a pang, we may profit by the fruits of it as seen in the intellectual achievement of Eng- land through many generations. Among these fruits, Macaulay's Lays hold an honorable place. Kightly to read and enjoy these poems one should be THOMAS BABINGTON, LORD MACAULAY 369 familiar with, the outlines of Eoman history : one should at least have read Livy. The notes can give chopped facts, but they can not give the swing of the history nor the atmosphere of old Eoman days as Macaulay conceived it. His own introductions help a great deal, but even these presuppose more knowledge of Eoman civilization than the average boy possesses. We can not here write the History of Eome; but let us hint briefly where we must place ourselves to enjoy the Lays with intelligence. . The Lays commemorate certain great and picturesque moments in Eoman legendary history. But they do more than this, for each is supposed to be sung or said by a minstrel of later days. Thus Macaulay, as has not often enough been pointed out, anticipates Browning in his use of the dramatic lyric. He conceives these old Eoman minstrels, each stirred by a thrilling crisis to celebrate some glorious legend of his race : it will be found on close study that each Lay is carefully written in character, and the poems thus throw a double light on the story of Eome as Macaulay conceived it. The circumstances under which each Lay was supposed to be sung, and the character and point of view of the imaginary minstrel, he has explained to us in his own introductions, considerable extracts from which follow this section. We have here therefore only to speak of the legendary stories. If, then, we want to think ourselves back into the old Eoman traditions, the first Lay to read is The Prophecy of Capys. We are in the }^ear of the founding of the city, the famous traditional date, 753 b. c. Through the rich country of the Alban hills, lying to the 370 SHORTER ENGLISH POEMS south of Borne, that still gleams across the Campagna from the higher points of the city, march "two goodly youths and tall," bearing in triumph on the tip of sword and spear two shaggy frowning heads. These are the She-Wolfs Litter, Eomulus and Eemus, the twins, who have slain the wicked king who usurped their rights, and his false priest, and return to their ancestral halls amid the plaudits of the simple country folk. Here in the hall gate sits Capys, the old seer. He trembles as he discerns the approach of Romulus, and in ringing meas- ures, fire flashing from his blind eyes, pours forth a splendid prophecy of the founding of the city, and the future power of Eome. The whole spirit of the Ecman dominion, as Macaulay conceived it, is in the stately stanzas from the fifteenth to the twenty-first. The ad- vancing conquests of the city are then outlined: victory over the Etruscans and the Gauls is commemorated, and finally the poem sweeps on into a vision of the event sup- posed to be comtemporary with the writing of it, the first victory of Eome over Greece, in the year 479 a. u. c. But the image that lingers in the reader's mind is that of the bright, fierce foster-sons of the Wolf, true chil- dren of Mars, pausing in their triumphant advance to listen, to the uplifted strains of the old bard. The next poems in the historical order are the twin lays, Horatius and The Battle of the Lake Regillus. Both .are inspired by the same phase of legendary history: the struggle of Eome against the wicked kings of the House of Tarquin. According to the legend, Eome was iirst governed by a monarchy, Eomulus being the first Jdng. The last three kings belonged to an Etruscan dynasty. Their rule became increasingly hated, and THOMAS BABINGTON, LORD MACAULAY 3 71 in 510 the infamous treatment of a noble Eoman matron, Lucretia, by Sextus, the son of the king Tarquinius Superbus, resulted in a popular rising that expelled the kings and ended the monarchy. In 509 the Eoman republic, under two consuls, was established. Tarquin first invoked the aid of Lars Porsena, the king of Etruria, which lay to the north of Eome. Later, in 596, he sought the protection of the league of thirty Latin cities, to the south of Eome. Horatius presents an episode in the first struggle : The Battle of the Lake Regillus describes the conflict which ended the second. There is no need of recounting "how well Horatio kept the bridge," nor of pointing out how vividly the fighting is handled in the less dramatic but carefully wrought ballad of The Battle of the Lake Regillus. But it is worth while to suggest that the modern reader may read about Macaulay's haughty Etruscans with added enjoy- ment if he realizes the fascination of that mysterious race. Their memories pursue and baffle the traveler in Tuscany and Umbria today. Many of the little towns whose names run so trippingly from the tongue as one declaims Macaulay's verses are still standing on their hills : the visitor will find in their walls and in their an- cient buildings, huge blocks that seem to have been carved by giants — all Etruscan work. He may, if he likes, pene- trate the gloom of old tombs underground, and gaze on the lifelike recumbent effigies of Etruscan men and women, antedating the earliest legendary history of Eome, who look solemnly upon him as the guide flashes the candle in their faces. A touch of awe will surely overcome him, and if he recalls Macaulay's lines he will realize with a new glow the dramatic nature of the con- 372 SHOKTEB ENGLISH POEMS flict commemorated between the free, rude soldier of ancient Eome and the tyrants sprung from that more ancient and dominant race, whose civilization, all but miraculously advanced, was yet doomed to perish before the onward march of the Legions. To the glimpses of the Etruscans, the Romans, and the Latins afforded' by the Lays, add the suggestions of beautiful Greek myth contained in the lay on the Battle of the Lake Regillus, and the great contending races in the Italian peninsula rise up before our eyes. One more episode from the early traditions of the city Macau! ay gave us: the touching ballad of Virginia, the only thing he ever wrote, as has been justly observed, that can make the tears come to the eyes. But here also the historic interest is as strong as the merely human. Since the battle of Lake Regillus a long period has elapsed. The monarchy is past and gone: but in the republic the struggle for effective liberty now centers in the conflict of the patricians with the plebeians. The ballad, written supposedly at one crisis in that long conflict, describes the tragic occasion of an early victory of the plebeians, and the establishment of those Tribunes who were the champions of popular rights. It shows us patrician insolence and tyranny, popular uprising, liberties sealed in innocent blood. Thus do the Lays give us glimpses of the founding of the city and of the most significant moments in the legends of its early history. Add to these stories of the most stirring moments in the legendary past the constant suggestion of some real historic crisis through the cir- cumstances of the narration, and the value of the Lays to any one who would quicken his enthusiasm and his THOMAS BABINGTON, LOED MACAULAY 373 knowledge concerning the mighty city, for centuries the mistress of the world, may clearly be seen. Much that has been said concerning the Lays applies equally well to the other poems given in this volume. They too stir the blood, less by the finer thrill of imagination than by communicating heroic emotion with ringing eloquence. They bear witness to certain of Macaulay's leading enthusiasms: Ivry to his devotion to Protestantism; The Armada to his devotion to England, his country ; and Naseby to both these, and in addition to his ardent love for political and religious freedom. SELECTIONS FROM MACAULAY'S INTRODUC- TIONS. LAYS OF ANCIENT EOME. GENERAL INTRODUCTION. That what is called the history of the Kings and early Consuls of Rome is to a great extent fabulous, few scholars have, since the time of Beaufort, ven- tured to deny. It is certain that, more than three hun- dred and sixty years after the date ordinarily assigned for the foundation of the city, the public records were, with scarcely an exception, destroyed by the Gauls. It is certain that the oldest annals of the Common- wealth were compiled more than a century and a half after this destruction of the records. It is certain, therefore, that the great Latin writers of later period did not possess those materials without which a trust- 374 SHOETEE ENGLISH POEMS worthy account of the infancy of the republic could not possibly be framed. They own, indeed, that the chronicles to which they had access were filled with battles that were never fought, and Consuls that never were inaugurated ; and we have abundant proof that, in those chronicles, events of the greatest importance, such as the issue of the war with Porsena, and the issue of the war with Brennus, were grossly misrepre- sented. Under these circumstances, a wise man will look with great suspicion on the legend which has come down to us. He will distrust almost all the details, not only because they seldom rest on any solid evidence, but also because he will constantly detect in them, even when they are within the limits of physical possibility, that peculiar character, more easily under- stood than defined, which distinguishes the creations of the imagination from the realities of the world in which we live. The early history of Rome is, indeed, far more poet- ical than anything else in Latin literature. The loves of the Vestal and the God of War, the cradle laid among the reeds of Tiber, the fig-tree, the she-wolf, the shepherd's cabin, the recognition, the fratricide, the rape of the Sabines, the death of Tarpeia, the fall of Hostus Hostilius, the struggle of Mettus Curtius through the marsh, the women rushing with torn rai- ment and dishevelled hair between their fathers and their husbands, the nightly meetings of Numa and the Nymph by the well in the sacred grove, the fight of the three Romans and the three Albans, the purchase of the Sibylline books, the crime of Tullia, the simu- lated madness of Brutus, the ambiguous reply of the THOMAS BABINGTON, LOED MACAULAY 375 Delphian oracle to the Tarquins, the wrongs of Lucre- tia, the heroic actions of Horatius Codes, of Scsevola r and of Cloelia, the Battle of Regillus won by the aid of Castor and Pollux, the defense of Cremera, the touching story of Coriolanus, the still more touching story of Virginia, the wild legend about the draining of the Alban lake, the combat between Valerius Corvus and the gigantic Gaul, are among the many instances which will at once suggest themselves to every reader. The Latin literature which has come down to us is of later date than the commencement of the Second Punic War, and consists almost exclusively of works fashioned on Greek models. But there was an earlier Latin literature, a litera- ture truly Latin, which has wholly perished, — which had, indeed, almost perished long before those whom we are in the habit of regarding as the greatest Latin writers were born. That literature abounded with metrical romances, such as are found in every country where there is much curiosity and intelligence, but little reading and writing. All human beings, not utterly savage, long for some information about past times, and are delighted by narratives which present pictures to the eye of the mind. But it is only in very enlightened communities that books are readily acces- sible. Metrical composition, therefore, which, in a highly civilized nation, is a mere luxury, is, in nations imperfectly civilized, almost a necessary of life, and is valued less on account of the pleasure which it gives to the ear, than on account of the help which it gives to the memory. A man who can invent or embellish an interesting story, and put it into a form which 376 SHOETEE ENGLISH POEMS others may easily retain in their recollection, will always be highly esteemed by a people eager for amusement and information, but destitute of libraries. Such is the origin of ballad-poetry, a species of com- position which scarcely ever fails to spring up and nourish in every society, at a certain point in the progress toward refinement. The proposition that Eome had ballad-poetry is not merely in itself highly probable, but is fully proved by direct evidence of the greatest weight. This proposition being established, it becomes easy to understand why the early history of the city is unlike almost everything else in Latin literature, — native where almost everything else is borrowed, imaginative where almost everything else is prosaic. We can scarcely hesitate to pronounce that the mag- nificent, pathetic, and truly national legends, which present so striking a contrast to all that surrounds them, are broken and defaced fragments of that early poetry which, even in the age of Cato the Censor, had become antiquated, and of which Tully had never heard a line. That this poetry should have been suffered to perish will not appear strange when we consider how com- plete was the triumph of the Greek genius over the public mind of Italy. It is probable that at an early period Homer and Herodotus furnished some hints to the Latin minstrels ; but it was not until after the war with Pyrrhus that the poetry of Rome began to put off its old Ausonian character. ... It is not im- probable that, at the time when Cicero lamented the THOMAS BABINGTON, LOED MACAULAY 377 irreparable loss of the poems mentioned by Cato, a search among the nooks of the Apennines, as active as the search which Sir Walter Scott made among the descendants of the moss-troopers of Liddesdale, might have brought to light many fine remains of ancient minstrelsy. No such search was made. The Latin bal- lads perished forever. Yet discerning critics have thought that they could still perceive in the early his- tory of Rome numerous fragments of this lost poetry, as the traveler on classic ground sometimes finds, built into the heavy wall of a fort or convent, a pillar rich with acanthus leaves, or a frieze where the Amazons and Bacchanals seem to live. The theatres and tem- ples of the Greek and the Roman were degraded into the quarries of the Turk and the Goth. Even so did the ancient Saturnian poetry become the quarry in which a crowd of orators and annalists found the materials for their prose. It is not difficult to trace the process by which the old songs were transmuted into the form which they now wear. Funeral panegyric and chronicle appear to have been the intermediate links which connected the lost ballads with the histories now extant. From a very early period it was the usage that an oration should be pronounced over the remains of a noble Roman. The orator, as we learn from Polybius, was expected, on such an occasion, to recapitulate all the services which the ancestors of the deceased had, from the earliest time, rendered to the commonwealth. There can be little doubt that the speaker on whom this duty was imposed would make use of all the stories suited to his purpose which were to be found 378 SHORTER ENGLISH POEMS in the popular lays. There can be as little doubt that the family of an eminent man would preserve a copy of the speech which had been pronounced over his corpse. The compilers of the early chronicles would have recourse to these speeches, and the great histo- rians of a later period would have recourse to the chronicles. Such, or nearly such, appears to have been the process by which the lost ballad-poetry of Rome was transformed into history. To reverse that process, to transform some portions of early Roman history back into the poetry out of which they were made, is the object of this work. In the following poems the author speaks, not in his own person, but in the persons of ancient minstrels who know only what a Roman citizen, born three or four hundred years before the Christian era, may be supposed to have known, and who are in no wise above the passions and prejudices of their age and nation. To these imaginary poets must be ascribed some blun- ders, which are so obvious that it is unnecessary to point them out. The real blunder would have been to represent these old poets as deeply versed in general history, and studious of chronological accuracy. To them must also be attributed the illiberal sneers at the Greeks, the furious party spirit, the contempt for the arts of peace, the love of war for its own sake, the ungenerous exultation over the vanquished, which the reader will sometimes observe. To portray a Roman of the age of Camillas or Curius as superior to na- tional antipathies, as mourning over the devastation THOMAS BABINGTON, LORD MACAULAY 379 and slaughter by which empire and triumphs were to be won, as looking on human suffering with the sym- pathy of Howard, or as treating conquered enemies with the delicacy of the Black Prince, would be to violate all dramatic propriety. The old Romans had some great virtues, — fortitude, temperance, veracity, spirit to resist oppression, respect for legitimate authority, fidelity in the observing of contracts, dis- interestedness, ardent patriotism ; but Christian char- ity and chivalrous generosity were alike unknown to them. It would have been obviously improper to mimic the manner of any particular age or country. Something has been borrowed, however, from our own ballads, and more from Sir Walter Scott, the great restorer of our ballad-poetry. To the Iliad still greater obliga- tions are due; and those obligations have been con- tracted with the less hesitation because there is reason to believe that some of the old Latin minstrels really had recourse to that inexhaustible store of poetical images. HOKATIUS. There can be little doubt that among those parts of early Soman history which had a poetical origin was the legend of Horatius Codes. We have several ver- sions of the story, and these versions differ from each other in points of no small importance. Polybius, there is reason to believe, heard the tale recited over the remains of some consul or praetor descended from the old Horatian patricians ; for he introduces it as a speci- men of the narratives with which the Eomans were in the habit of embellishing their funeral oratory. It is remarkable that, according to him, Horatius defended the bridge alone, and perished in the waters. According to the chronicles which Livy and Dionysius followed, Horatms had two companions, swam safe to shore, and was loaded with honors and rewards. It is by no means unlikely that there were two old Soman lays about the defence of the bridge; and that, while the story which Livy has transmitted to us was preferred by the multitude, the other, which ascribed the whole glory to Horatius alone, may have been the favorite with the Horatian house. The following ballad is supposed to have been made about a hundred and twenty years after the war which it celebrates, and just before the taking of Some by the Gauls. The author seems to have been an honest citi- zen, proud of the military glory of his country, sick of the disputes of factions, and much given to pining after good old times which had never really existed. The allusion, however, to the partial manner in which the public lands were allotted could proceed only from a 380 HOEATIUS 381 plebeian ; and the allusion to the fraudulent sale of spoils marks the date of the poem, and shows that the poet shared in the general discontent with which the pro- ceedings of Camillus, after the taking of Veii, were regarded. HOEATIUS. A LAY MADE ABOUT THE YEAS, OF THE CITY CCCLX. 1 Lars Porsena of Clusium By the Nine Gods he swore That the great house of Tarquin Should suffer wrong no more. 5 By the Nine Gods he swore it, And named a trysting day, And bade his messengers ride forth East and west and south and north, To summon his array. 2 i East and west and south and north The messengers ride fast, And tower and town and cottage Have heard the trumpet's blast. Shame on the false Etruscan ; Who lingers in his home, When Porsena of Clusium Is on the march for Eome. 3 The horsemen and the footmen Are pouring in amain 382 SHOETEE ENGLISH POEMS • From many a stately market-place ; From many a fruitful plain; From many a lonely hamlet, Which, hid by beech and pine, Like an eagle's nest, hangs on the crest i Of purple Apennine ; From lordly Volaterras, Where scowls the far-famed hold Piled by the hands of giants For godlike kings of old; From seagirt Populonia, Whose sentinels descry Sardinia's snowy mountain-tops Fringing the southern sky; From the proud mart of Pisse, Queen of the western waves, Where ride Massilia's triremes Heavy with fair-haired slaves ; From where sweet Clanis wanders Through corn and vines and flowers; From where Cortona lifts to heaven Her diadem of towers. Tall are the oaks whose acorns Drop in dark Auser's rill; Fat are the stags that champ the boughs Of the Ciminian hill ; HORATIUS 383 Beyond all streams Clitumnus Is to the herdsman dear; Best of all pools the fowler loves The great Yolsinian mere. But now no stroke of woodman Is heard by Auser's rill ; No hunter tracks the stag's green path Up the Ciminian hill ; Unwatched along Clitumnus Grazes the milk-white steer ; Unharmed the waterfowl may dip In the Volsinian mere. The harvest of Arretium, This year, old men shall reap, This year, young boys in Umbro Shall plunge the struggling sheep ; And in the vats of Luna, This year, the must shall foam Round the white feet of laughing girls Whose sires have marched to Borne. There be thirty chosen prophets, The wisest of the land, Who alway by Lars Porsena Both morn and evening stand : Evening and morn the Thirty Have turned the verses o'er, 384 SHOETEE ENGLISH POEMS Traeed from the right on linen white By mighty seers of yore. 10 And with one voice the Thirty '5 Have their glad answer given: "Go f orth, go forth, Lars Porsena ; Go forth, beloved of Heaven : Go, and return in glory To Clusiunr's royal dome ; io And hang round Nurscia's altars The golden shields of Rome " 11 And now hath every city Sent up her tale of men : The foot are fourscore thousand.^ 5 The horse are thousands ten. Before the gates of Sutrium Is met the great array. A proud man was Lars Porsena Upon this trysting day. 12 For all the Etruscan armies Were ranged beneath his eye^ And many a banished Roman, And many a stout ally; And with a mighty following 5 To join the muster came The Tusculan Mamilius, Prince of the Latian name. HORATIUS 385 13 But by the yellow Tiber Was tumult and affright : ■ From all the spacious champaign To Borne men took their flight. A mile around the city, The throng stopped up the ways ; A fearful sight it was to see Through two long nights and days. 14 For aged folks on crutches, And women great with child, And mothers sobbing over babes . That clung to them and smiled, And sick men borne in litters High on the necks of slaves, And troops of sunburnt husbandmen With reaping-hooks and staves, 15 And droves of mules and asses Laden with skins of wine, And endless flocks of goats and sheep., And endless herds of kine, And endless trains of wagons That creaked beneath the weight Of corn-sacks and of household goods, Choked every roaring gate. 16 Now, from the rock Tarpeian, Could the wan burghers spy 386 SHOETEE ENGLISH POEMS The line of blazing villages 25 Bed in the midnight sky. The Fathers of the City, They sat all night and day, For every hour some horseman came With tidings of dismay. 17 so To eastward and to westward Have spread the Tuscan bands ; Nor house nor fence nor dovecote In Crustumerium stands. Verbenna down to Ostia 55 Hath wasted all the plain ; Astur hath stormed Janiculum, And the stout guards are slain. 18 Iwis, in all the Senate, There was no heart so bold, to But sore it ached, and fast it beat, When that ill news was told. Forthwith up rose the Consul, Up rose the Fathers all; In haste they girded up their gowns, 15 And hied them to the wall. 19 They held a council standing Before the Eiver-G-ate ; Short time was there, ye well may guess, For musing or debate. HOEATIUS 3g7 ) Out spake the Consul roundly : "The bridge must straight go down ; For, since Janiculum is lost, Naught else can save the town." 20 Just then a scout came flying, , All wild with haste and fear ; "To arms ! to arms ! Sir Consul : Lars Porsena is here." On the low hills to westward The Consul fixed his eye, 160 And saw the swarthy storm of dust Eise fast along the sky. 21 And nearer fast and nearer Doth the red whirlwind come ; And louder still and still more loud, 165 From underneath that rolling cloud, Is heard the trumpet's war-note proud, The trampling, and the hum. And plainly and more plainly Now through the gloom appears, 170 Far to left and far to right, In broken gleams of dark-blue light, The long array of helmets bright, The long array of spears. 22 And plainly and more plainly 175 Above that glimmering line, 388 SHORTER ENGLISH POEMS Now might ye see the banners Of twelve fair cities shine ; But the banner of proud Clusium Was highest of them all, 180 The terror of the Umbrian, The terror of the Gaul. 23 And plainly and more plainly Now might the burghers know, By port and vest, by horse and crest, 185 Each warlike Lucumo. There Cilnius of Arretium On his fleet roan was seen ; And Astur of the four-fold shield, Girt with the brand none else may wield, 190 Tolumnius with the belt of gold, And dark Verbenna from the hold By reedy Thrasymene. 24 Fast by the royal standard, Overlooking all the war, 195 Lars Porsena of Clusium Sat in his ivory car. By the right wheel rode Mamilius, Prince of the 'Latian name ; • And by the left false Sextus, 200 That wrought the deed of shame. 25 But when the face of Sextus Was seen among the foes, HOEATIUS 389 A yell that rent the firmament From all the town arose. On the house-tops was no woman But spat towards him and hissed, No child but screamed out curses, And shook its little fist. 26 But the Consul's brow was sad, And the Consul's speech was low, And darkly looked he at the wall, And darkly at the foe. "Their van will be upon us Before the bridge goes down; And if they once may win the bridge, What hope to save the town?" ; 27 Then out spake brave Horatius, The Captain of the Gate : "To every man upon this earth Death cometh soon or late ; And how can man die better Than facing fearful odds. For the ashes of his fathers, And the temples of his Gods, 28 "And for the tender mother Who dandled him to rest, And for the wife who nurses His baby at her breast, And for the holy maidens Who feed the eternal flame, 390 SHORTER ENGLISH POEMS To save them from false Sextus That wrought the deed of shame? 29 "Hew down the bridge, Sir Consul, With all the speed ye may ; 235 I, with two more to help me, Will hold the foe in play. In yon strait path a thousand May well be stopped by three. Now who will stand on either hand, 240 And keep the bridge with me ?" 30 Then out spake Spurius Lartius ; A Eamnian proud was he : "Lo, I will stand at thy right hand, And keep the bridge with thee." 245 And out spake strong Herminius ; Of Titian blood was he : "I will abide on thy left side, And keep the bridge with thee." 31 "Horatius," quoth the Consul, 250 "As thou sayest, so let it be." And straight against that great array Forth went the dauntless Three. For Eomans in Rome's quarrel Spared neither land nor gold, 255 Nor son nor wife, nor limb nor life, In the brave days of old. HOBATIUS 391 32 Then none was for a party ; Then all were for the state ; Then the great man helped the poor, And the poor man loved the great : Then lands were fairly portioned ; Then spoils were fairly sold : The Romans were like brothers In the brave days of old. 33 Now Soman is to Roman More hateful than a foe, And the Tribunes beard the high, And the Fathers grind the low. As we wax hot in faction, In battle we wax cold : "Wherefore men fight not as they fought In the brave days of old. 34 Now while the Three were tightening Their harness on their backs, The Consul was the foremost man To take in hand an axe : And Fathers mixed with Commons Seized hatchet, bar, and crow, And smote upon the planks above, And loosed the props below. 35 Meanwhile the Tuscan army. Eight glorious to behold, 392 SHOETEE ENGLISH POEMS Came flashing back the noonday light, Eank behind rank, like surges bright 285 Of a broad sea of gold. Four hundred trumpets sounded A peal of warlike glee, As that great host, with measured tread, And spears advanced, and ensigns spread, 290 Eolled slowly towards the bridge's head, Where stood the dauntless Three. 36 The Three stood calm and silent, And looked upon the foes, And a great shout of laughter 295 From all the vanguard rose ; And forth three chiefs came spurring Before that deep array; To earth they sprang, their swords they drew, And lifted high their shields, and flew aoo To win the narrow way; 37 Aunus from green Tifernum, Lord of the Hill of Vines ; And Seius, whose eight hundred slaves Sicken in Ilva's mines ; 305 And Picus, long to Clusium Vassal in peace and war, Who led to fight his Umbrian powers From that gray crag where, girt with towers, The fortress of Nequinum lowers 310 O'er the pale waves of Nar. HORATIUS 393 38 Stout Lartius hurled down Annus Into the stream beneath : Herminius struck at Seius, And clove him to the teeth : 315 At Picus brave Horatius Darted one fiery thrust ; And the proud Umbrian's gilded arms Clashed in the bloody dust. 39 Then Ocnus of Falerii Eushed on the Koman Three ; And Lausulus of Urgo, The rover of the sea ; And Aruns of Volsinium, Who slew the great wild boar, The great wild boar that had his den Amidst the reeds of Cosa's fen, And wasted fields, and slaughtered men, Along Albinia's shore. 40 Herminius smote down Aruns : Lartius laid Ocnus low : Eight to the heart of Lausulus Horatius sent a blow. "Lie there/' he cried, "fell pirate ! No more, aghast and pale, From Ostia's walls the crowd shall mark The track of thy destroying bark. No more Campania's hinds shall fly 394 SHOKTEE ENGLISH POEMS To woods and caverns when they spy Thy thrice accursed sail." 41 340 But now no sound of laughter Was heard among the foes. A wild and wrathful clamor From all the vanguard rose. Six spears' lengths from the entrance 345 Halted that deep array, And for a space no man came forth To win the narrow way. 42 But hark ! the cry is Astur : And lo ! the ranks divide ; 350 And the great Lord of Luna Comes with his stately stride. Upon his ample shoulders Clangs loud the four-fold shield, And in his hand he shakes the brand 355 Which none but he can wield. 43 He smiled on those bold Eomans A smile serene and high ; He eyed the flinching Tuscans, And scorn was in his eye. 360 Quoth he, "The she- wolf s litter Stand savagely at bay : But will ye dare to follow, Tf Astur clears the way ?" HOBATIUS 395 44 Then, whirling up his broadsword With both hands to the height, He rushed against Horatius, And smote with all his might. With .shield and blade Horatius Eight deftly turned the blow. The blow, though turned, came yet too nigh ; It missed his helm, but gashed his thigh : The Tuscans raised a joyful cry To see the red blood flow. 45 He reeled, and on Herminius He leaned one breathing-space ; Then, like a wild-cat mad with wounds, Sprang right at Astur's face. Through teeth, and skull, and helmet, So fierce a thrust he sped, The good sword stood a handbreadth out Behind the Tuscan's head. 46 And the great Lord of Luna Fell at that deadly stroke, As falls on Mount Alvernus A thunder-smitten oak. Far o'er the crashing forest The giant arms lie spread ; And the pale augurs, muttering low, Gaze on the blasted head. 396 SHORTER ENGLISH POEMS 47 o On Astur's throat Horatius Eight fiercely pressed his heel, And thrice and four times tugged amain, Ere he wrenched ont the steel. "And see/' he cried, "the welcome, 5 Fair guests, that waits you here ! What noble Lucumo comes next To taste our Eoman cheer ?" 48 But at his haughty challenge A sullen murmur ran, o Mingled of wrath and shame and dreads Along that glittering van. There lacked not men of prowess, Nor men of lordly race; For all Etrurians noblest 5 Were round the fatal place. But all Etruria's noblest Felt their hearts sink to see On the earth the bloody corpses, In the path the dauntless Three : And, from the ghastly entrance Where those bold Eomans stood, All shrank, like boys who unaware, Eanging the woods to start a hare, Come to the mouth of the dark lair Where, growling low, a fierce old bear Lies amidst bones and blood. HOEATIUS 397 50 Was none who would be foremost To lead such dire attack : But those behind cried "Forward !" And those before cried "Back ¥■ And backward now and forward Wavers the deep array ; And on the tossing sea of steel, To and fro the standards reel ; And the victorious trumpet-peal Dies fitfully away. 51 Yet one man for one moment Stood out before the crowd ; Well known was he to all the Three, And they gave him greeting loud, "Now welcome, welcome, Sextus ! Now welcome to thy home ! Why dost thou stay, and turn away ? Here lies the road to Borne." 52 Thrice looked he at the city ; Thrice looked he at the dead; And thrice came on in fury, And thrice turned back in dread ; And, white with fear and hatred, Scowled at the narrow way Where, wallowing in a pool of blood, The bravest Tuscans lay. 398 SHOETEE ENGLISH POEMS 53 But meanwhile axe and lever Have manfully been plied; 445 And now the bridge hangs tottering Above the boiling tide. "Come back, come back, Horatius !" Loud cried the Fathers all. "Back, Lartius ! back, Herminius ! 450 Back, ere the ruin fall !" 54 Back darted Spurius Lartius; Herminius darted back : And, as they passed, beneath their feet They felt the timbers crack. 455 But when they turned their faces, And on the farther shore Saw brave Horatius stand alone, They would have crossed once more. 55 But with a crash like thunder 160 Fell every loosened beam, And, like a dam, the mighty wreck Lay right athwart the stream ; And a long shout of triumph Rose from the walls of Eome, 465 As to the highest turret-tops Was splashed the yellow foam. 56 And, like a horse unbroken When first he feels the rein,, HOKATIUS 399 The furious river struggled hard, And tossed his tawny mane, And burst the curb, and bounded, Eejoicing to be free, And whirling down, in fierce career Battlement, and plank, and pier, Bushed headlong to the sea. 57 Alone stood brave Horatius, But constant still in mind ; Thrice thirty thousand foes before, And the broad flood behind. "Down with him !" cried false Sextus,, With a smile on his pale face. "Now yield thee," cried Lars Porsena, "Now yield thee to our grace." 58 Eound turned he, as not deigning Those craven ranks to see ; Naught spake he to Lars Porsena, To Sextus naught spake he ; But he saw on Palatinus The white porch of his home ; And he spake to the noble river That rolls by the towers of Eoma. 59 ."0 Tiber! father Tiber! To whom the Eomans pray, A Soman's life, a Soman's arms, Take thou in charge this day !" 400 SHOETEE ENGLISH POEMS So he spake, and, speaking, sheathed The good sword by his side, And with his harness on his back Plunged headlong in the tide. 60 jo No sound of joy or sorrow Was heard from either bank ; But friends and foes in dumb surprise, With parted lips and straining eyes, Stood gazing where he sank ; • )5 And when above the surges They saw his crest appear, All Eome sent forth a rapturous cry. And even the ranks of Tuscany Could scarce forbear to cheer. 61 io But fiercely ran the current, Swollen high by months of rain : And fast his blood was flowing, And he was sore in pain, And heavy with his armor, L5 And spent with changing blows : And oft they thought him sinking, But still again he rose. 62 Never, I ween, did swimmer, In such an evil, case, JO Struggle through such a raging flood Safe to the landing-place : ,. ' HOEATIUS 401 But his limbs were borne up bravely By the brave heart within; And our good father Tiber 525 Bore bravely up his chin. 63 "Curse on him !" quoth false Sextus ; "Will not the villain drown ? But for this stay, ere close of day We should have sacked the town!" 580 "Heaven help him !" quoth Lars Porsena, "And bring him safe to. shore ; For such a gallant feat of arms Was never seen before." And now he feels the bottom ; 535 Now on dry earth he stands ; Now round him throng the Fathers To press his gory hands • i^nd now, with shouts and clapping, And noise of weeping loud, 540 He enters through the Kiver-Gate, Borne by the joyous crowd. 65 They gave him of the corn-land, That was of public right, As much as two strong oxen 545 Could plough from morn till night ; And they made a molten image, And set it up on high, 402 SHOETEE ENGLISH POEMS And there it stands unto this day To witness if I lie. 66 550 It stands in the Comitium, Plain for all folk to see ; Horatius in his harness, Halting upon one knee : And underneath is written, 555 In letters all of gold, How valiantly he kept the bridge In the brave days of old. 67 And still his name sounds stirring Unto the men of Kome, 560 As the trumpet-blast that cries to them To charge the Volscian home ; And wives still pray to Juno For boys with hearts as bold As his who kept the bridge so well 565 In the brave days of old. 68 And in the nights of winter, When the cold north-winds blow, And the long howling of the wolves Is heard amidst the snow ; 570 When round the lonely cottage Eoars loud the tempest's din, And the good logs of Algidus Roar louder yet within : BATTLE OF THE LAKE EEGILLUS 403 69 When the oldest cask is opened, 3 And the largest lamp is lit ; When the chestnuts glow in the embers, And the kid turns on the spit ; When young and old in circle Around the firebrands close ; When the girls are weaving baskets And the lads are shaping bows ; 70 When the goodman mends his armor, And trims his helmet's plume ; When the goodwifVs shuttle merrily i Goes flashing through the loom, — With weeping and with laughter Still is the story told, How well Horatius kept the bridge In the brave days of old. THE BATTLE OF THE LAKE EEGILLUS. The following poem is supposed to have been pro- duced ninety years after the lay of Horatius. Some persons mentioned in the lay of Horatius make' their appearance again, and some appellations and epithets used in the lay of Horatius have been purposely re- peated; for, in an age of ballad-poetry, it scarcely ever fails to happen that certain phrases come to be appro- priated to certain men and things, and are regularly applied to those men and things by every minstrel. The principal distinction between the lay of Horatius and the lay of the Lake Eegillus is, that the former 404 CHOBTEB ENGLISH POEMS is meant to be purely Eoman, while the latter, though national in its general spirit, has a slight tincture of Greek learning and of Greek superstition. The story of the Tarquins, as it has come down to us, appears to have been compiled from the works of several popular poets; and one at least of those poets appears to have visited the Greek colonies in Italy, if not Greece itself, and to have had some acquaintance with the works of Homer and Herodotus. Many of the most striking ad- ventures of the house of Tarquin, before Lucretia makes her appearance, have a Greek character. In the following poem, therefore, images and inci- . dents have been borrowed, not merely without scruple, but on principle, from the incomparable battle-pieces of Homer. The popular belief at Eome, from an early period, seems to have been that the event of the great day of Eegillus was decided by supernatural agency. Castor and Pollux, it is said, had fought, armed and mounted, at the head of the legions of the commonwealth, and had afterwards carried the news of the victory with incredible speed to the city. The well in the Forum at which they had alighted was pointed out. Near the well rose their ancient temple. A great festival was kept to their honor on the ides of Quintilis, supposed to be the anniversary of the battle ; and on that day sump- tuous sacrifices were offered to them at the public charge. One spot of the margin of Lake Eegillus was regarded during many ages with superstitious awe. A mark, resembling in shape a horse's hoof, was discernible in the volcanic rock ; and this mark was believed to have been made by one of the celestial chargers. It is therefore conceivable that the appearance of Castor and Pollux may have become an article of faith before the generation which had fought at Eegillus had passed away. Nor could anything be more natural than BATTLE OF THE LAKE EEGILLUS 405 that the poets of the next. age should embellish this story, and make the celestial horsemen bear the tidings of victory to Eome. ... It was ordained that a grand muster and inspection of the equestrian body [the knights of Eome] should be part of the ceremonial performed on the anniversary of the battle of Eegillus in honor of Castor and Pollux, the two equestrian gods. All the knights, clad in purple and crowned with olive, were to meet at the Temple of Mars in the suburbs. Thence they were to ride in state to the Forum, where the Temple of the Twins stood. This pageant was, dur- ing several centuries, considered as one of the most splendid sights of Eome. In the time of Dionysius the cavalcade sometimes consisted of five thousand horse- men, all persons of fair repute and easy fortune. Songs, we know, were chanted at the religious festivals of Eome from an early period; indeed, from so early a period that some of the sacred verses were popularly ascribed to Numa and were utterly unintelligible in the age of Augustus. . . . It is therefore likely that the Censors and Pontiffs, when they had resolved to add a grand procession of knights to the other solemnities annually performed on the ides of Quintilis, would call in the aid of a poet. THE BATTLE OF THE LAKE EEGILLUS. A LAY SUNG AT THE FEAST OF CASTOR AND POLLUX ON THE IDES OF QUINTILIS, IN THE YEAR OF THE CITY CCCCLI. 1 Ho, trumpets, sound a war note ! Ho, lictors, clear the way ! The Knights will ride in all their pride Along the streets to-day. 406 SHORTER ENGLISH POEMS To-day the doors and windows Are hung with garlands all, From Castor in the Forum To Mars without the wall. Each Knight is robed in purple, With olive each is crowned ; A gallant war-horse under each Paws haughtily the ground. While flows the Yellow River, While stands the Sacred Hill, The proud Ides of Quintilis Shall have such honor still. Gay are the Martian Kalends : December's Nones are gay : But the proud Ides, when the squadron rides, Shall be Rome's whitest day. Unto the Great Twin Brethren We keep this solemn feast. Swift, swift, the Great Twin Brethren Came spurring from the east. They came o'er wild Parthenius, Tossing in waves of pine, O'er Cirrha's dome, o'er Adria's foam, O'er purple Apennine, From where with flutes and dances Their ancient mansion rings, In lordly Lacedsemon, The City of two kings, To where, by Lake Regillus, Under the Porcian height, BATTLE OF THE LAKE EEGILLUS 407 All in the lands of Tusculum, Was fought the glorious fight. Now on the place of slaughter Are cots and sheepfolds seen, And rows of vines, and fields of wheat, And apple-orchards green ; The swine crush the big acorns That fall from Corne's oaks. Upon the turf by the Fair Fount The reaper's pottage smokes. The fisher baits his angle ; The hunter twangs his bow ; Little they think on those strong limbs That moulder deep below. Little they think how sternly That day the trumpets pealed ; How in the slippery swamp of blood Warrior and war-horse reeled; How wolves came with fierce gallop, And crows on eager wings, ;. To tear the flesh of captains, And peck the eyes of kings ; How thick the dead lay scattered Under the Porcian height ; How through the gates of Tusculum Eaved the wild stream of flight; And how the Lake Eegillus Bubbled with crimson foam, What time the Thirty Cities Came forth to war with Rome. 408 SHORTER ENGLISH POEMS But, Roman, when thou standest Upon that holy ground, Look thou with heed on the dark rock That girds the dark lake round, So shalt thou see a hoof -mark Stamped deep into the flint: It was no hoof of mortal steed That made so strange a dint: There to the Great Twin Brethren Vow thou thy vows, and pray That they, in tempest and in fight, Will keep thy head alway. Since last the Great Twin Brethren Of mortal eyes were seen, Have years gone by an hundred And fourscore and thirteen. That summer a Virginius Was Consul first in place ; The second was stout Aulus, Of the Posthumian race. The Herald of the Latines From Gabii came in state : The Herald of the Latines Passed through Pome's Eastern Gate: The Herald of the Latines Did in our Forum stand ; And there he did his office, A sceptre in his hand. BATTLE OF THE LAKE EEGILLUS 409 "Hear, Senators and people Of the good town of Kome, The Thirty Cities charge you To bring the Tarquins home ; And if ye still be stubborn, To work the Tarquins wrong, The Thirty Cities warn you, Look that your walls be strong." Then spake the Consul Aulus, He spake a bitter jest : "Once the jays sent a message . Unto the eagle's nest : Now yield thou up thine eyrie Unto the carrion-kite, Or come forth valiantly, and face The jays in mortal fight. Forth looked in wrath the eagle ; And carrion-kite and jay, Soon as they saw his beak and claw, Fled screaming far away." The Herald of the Latines Hath hied him back in state ; The Fathers of the City Are met in high debate. Thus spake the elder Consul, An ancient man and wise : _ 410 SHOETEE ENGLISH POEMS "jSTow hearken, Conscript Fathers, :0 To that which I advise. In seasons of great peril 'T is good that one bear sway ; Then choose we a Dictator, Whom all men shall obey. 5 Camerium knows how deeply The sword of Aulus bites, And all our city calls him The man of seventy fights. Then let him be Dictator For six months and no more, And have a Master of the Knights, And axes twenty-four." So Aulus was Dictator, The man of seventy fights ; 135 He made iEbutius Elva His Master of the Knights. On the third morn thereafter, At dawning of the day, Did Aulus and iEbutius 140 Set forth with their array. Sempronius Atratinus Was left in charge at home With boys, and with gray-headed men, To keep the walls of Kome. 145 Hard by the Lake Eegillus Our camp was pitched at night ; Eastward a mile the Latines lay, Under the Porcian height. BATTLE OF THE LAKE EEGILLUS 4^ Far over hill and valley Their mighty host was spread ; And with their thousand watch-fires The midnight sky was red. 10 Up rose the golden morning Over the Porcian height, The proud Ides of Quintilis Marked evermore with white. Not without secret trouble Our bravest saw the foes; For girt by threescore thousand spears 5 The thirty standards rose. From every warlike city That boasts the Latian name, Foredoomed to dogs and vultures, That gallant army came; From Setia's purple vineyards, From Norba's ancient wall, From the white streets of Tusculum, The proudest town of all; From where the Witch's Fortress O'erhangs the dark-blue seas; From the still glassy lake that sleeps Beneath Aricia's trees, — Those trees in whose dim shadow The ghastly priest doth reign, The priest who slew the slayer, And shall himself be slain ; From the drear banks of Ufens, Where flights of marsh-fowl play, 412 SHOKTE.R ENGLISH POEMS And buffaloes lie wallowing 180 Through the hot summer's day ; From the gigantic watch-towers, No work of earthly men, Whence Cora's sentinels overlook The never-ending fen ; 185 From the Laurentian jungle, The wild hog's reedy home ; From the green steeps whence Anio leaps In floods of snow-white foam. 11 Aricia, Cora, Norba, 190 Velitrse, with the might Of Setia and of Tusculum, Were marshalled on the right : The leader was Mamilius, Prince of the Latian name ; 195 Upon his head a helmet Of red gold shone like flame ; High on a gallant charger Of dark-gray hue he rode; Over his gilded armor 200 A vest of purple flowed, Woven in the land of sunrise By Syria's dark-browed daughters, And by the sails of Carthage brought Far o'er the southern waters. 12 205 Lavinium and Laurentum Had on the left their post, BATTLE OE THE LAKE EEGILLUS 413 With all the banners of the marsh, And banners of the coast. Their leader was false Sextus, That wrought the deed of shame : With restless pace and haggard face To his last field he came. Men said he saw strange visions Which none beside might see, And that strange sounds were in his ears, Which none might hear but he. A woman fair and stately, But pale as are the dead, Oft through the watches of the night Sat spinning by his bed. And as she plied the distaff, In a sweet voice and low, She sang of great old houses, And fights fought long ago. So spun she, and so sang she, Until the east was gray, Then pointed to her bleeding breast, And shrieked, and fled away. 13 But in the centre thickest Were ranged the shields of foes, And from the centre loudest The cry of battle rose. There Tibur marched and Pedum Beneath proud Tarquin's rule, And Ferentinum of the rock, And Gabii of the pool. 414 SHORTER ENGLISH POEMS There rode the Volscian succors : There, in a dark stern ring, The Eoman exiles gathered close i Around the ancient king. Though white as Mount Soracte, When winter nights are long, His beard flowed down o'er mail and belt, His heart and hand were strong • > Under his hoary eyebrows Still flashed forth quenchless rage, And, if the lance shook in his gripe, 'T was more with hate than age. Close at his side was Titus I On an Apulian steed, Titus, the youngest Tarquin, Too good for such a breed. 14 Now on each side the leaders Gave signal for the charge ; > And on each side the footmen Strode on with lance and targe ; And on each side the horsemen Struck their spurs deep in gore, And front to front the armies ) Met with a mighty roar : And under that great battle The earth with blood was red ; And, like the Pomptine fog at morn, The dust hung overhead ; 3 And louder still and louder Eose from the darkened field BATTLE OF THE LAKE EEGILLUS 415 The braying of the war-horns, The clang of sword and shield, The rush of squadrons sweeping Like whirlwinds o'er the plain, The shouting of the slayers, And screeching of the slain. 15 False Sextus rode out foremost ; His look was high and bold ; His corselet was of bison's hide, Plated with steel and gold. As glares the famished eagle From the Digentian rock On a choice lamb that bounds alone Before Bandusia's flock, Herminius glared on Sextus, And came with eagle speed, Herminius on black Auster, Brave champion on brave steed ; In his right hand the broadsword That kept the bridge so well, And on his helm the crown he won When proud Fidenas fell. Woe to the maid whose lover Shall cross his path to-day ! False Sextus saw, and trembled, And turned, and fled away. As turns, as flies, the woodman In the Calabrian brake, When through the reeds gleams the round eye Of that fell speckled snake ; 416 SHOETEE ENGLISH POEMS So turned, so fled, false Sextus, And hid him in the rear, Behind the dark Lavinian ranks, 300 Bristling with crest and spear. 16 But far to north iEbutius, The Master of the Knights, Gave Tubero of Norba To feed the Porcian kites. 305 Next under those red horse-hoofs Flaccus of Setia lay ; Better had he been pruning Among his elms that day. Mamilius saw the slaughter, 310 And tossed his golden crest, And towards the Master of the Knights Through the thick battle pressed. iEbutius smote Mamilius So fiercely on the shield, 315 That the great lord of Tusculum Wellnigh rolled on the field. Mamilius smote iEbutius, With a good aim and true, Just where the neck and shoulder join, 320 And pierced him through and through; And brave iEbutius Elva Fell swooning to the ground, But a thick wall of bucklers Encompassed him around. ^ 25 His clients from the battle Bare him some little space, BATTLE OF THE LAKE EEGILLUS 417 And filled a helm from the dark lake, And bathed his brow and face; And when at last he opened 330 His swimming eyes to light, Men say, the earliest word he spake Was, "Friends, how goes the fight ?" 17 But meanwhile in the centre Great deeds of arms were wrought; 335 There Aulus the Dictator And there Valerius fought. Aulus with his good broadsword A bloody passage cleared To where, amidst the thickest foes, 340 He saw the long white beard. Flat lighted that good broadsword Upon proud Tarqunr's head. He dropped the lance ; he dropped the reins ; He fell as fall the dead. 345 Down Aulus springs to slay him, With eyes like coals of fire ; But faster Titus hath sprung down, And hath bestrode his sire. Latian captains, Boman knights, 350 Fast down to earth they spring, And hand to hand they fight on foot Around the ancient king. First Titus gave tall Cseso A death wound in the face ; 355 Tall Cseso was the bravest man Of the brave Fabian race : 418 SHOETEE ENGLISH POEMS Aulus slew Eex of Gabii, The priest of Juno's shrine : Valerius smote down Julius, 360 Of Home's great Julian line; Julius, who left his mansion High on the Velian hill, And through all turns of weal and woe Followed proud Tarquin still. 365 Now right across proud Tarquin A corpse was Julius laid ; And Titus groaned with rage and grief, And at Valerius made. Valerius struck at Titus, 370 And lopped off half his crest ; But Titus stabbed Valerius A span deep in the breast. Like a mast snapped by the tempest, Valerius reeled and fell. 375 Ah ! woe is me for the good house That loves the people well ! Then shouted loud the Latines, And with one rush they bore The struggling Romans backward 380 Three lances' length and more ; And up they took proud Tarquin, And laid him on a shield, And four strong yeomen bare him, Still senseless, from the field. 18 385 But fiercer grew the fighting Around Valerius dead : BATTLE OF THE LAKE REGILLUS 419 For Titus dragged him by the foot, And Aulus by the head. "On, Latines, on I" quoth Titus, "See how the rebels fly !" "Bomans, stand firm !." quoth Aulus, "And win this fight or die ! They must not give Valerius To raven and to kite • For aye Valerius loathed the wrong, And aye upheld the right; And for your wives and babies In the front rank he fell. Now play the men for the good house That loves the people well !" 19 Then tenfold round the body The roar of battle rose, Like the roar of a burning forest When a strong north-wind blows. Now backward, and now forward, Eocked furiously the fray, Till none could see Valerius, And none wist where he lay. For shivered arms and ensigns Were heaped there in a mound, And corpses stiff, and dying men That writhed and gnawed the ground ; And wounded horses kicking, And snorting purple foam ; Eight well did such a couch befit A Consular of Eome. 420 SHOETEE ENGLISH POEMS 20 But north looked the Dictator; North looked he long and hard ; And spake to Cains Cossus, 420 The Captain of his Guard : "Cains, of all the Eomans Thon hast the keenest sight ; Say, what through yonder storm of dust Comes from the Latian right ?" 21 425 Then answered Caius Cossus : "I see an evil sight : The banner of proud Tusculum Comes from the Latian right; I see the plumed horsemen ; 430 And far before the rest I see the dark-gray charger, I see the purple vest ; I see the golden helmet That shines far off like flame ; 435 So ever rides Mamilius, Prince of the Latian name." 22 "Now hearken, Caius Cossus : Spring on thy horse's back; Eide as the wolves of Apennine 440 Were all upon thy track; Haste to our southward battle, And never draw thy rein BATTLE OF THE LAKE EEGILLUS 421 Until thou find Herminius, And bid him come amain." 23 So Aulus spake, and turned him Again to that fierce strife; And Caius Cossus mounted, And rode for death and life. Loud clanged beneath his horse-hoofs 450 The helmets of the dead, And many a curdling pool of blood Splashed him from heel to head. So came he far to southward, Where fought the Eoman host, Against the banners of the marsh And banners of the coast. Like corn before the sickle The stout Lavinians fell, Beneath the edge of the true sword 460 That kept the bridge so well. 24 "Herminius ! Aulus greets thee ; He bids thee come with speed, To help our central battle ; For sore is there our need. 465 There wars the youngest Tarquin, And there the Crest of Flame, The Tusculan Mamilius, Prince of the Latian name. Valerius hath fallen fighting 470 In front of our array, 422 SHOETEE ENGLISH POEMS And Aulus of the seventy fields Alone upholds the day." 25 Herminius beat his bosom, But never a word he spake. > He clapped his hand on Auster's mane, He gave the reins a shake. Away, away went Auster, Like an arrow from the bow ; Black Auster was the fleetest steed » From Aufidus to Po. 26 Eight glad were all the Eomans Who, in that hour of dread, Against great odds bare up the war Around Valerius dead, » When from the south the cheering Eose with a mighty swell : "Herminius comes, Herminius, Who kept the bridge so well !" 27 Mamilius spied Herminius, And dashed across the way. "Herminius ! I have sought thee Through many a bloody day. One of us two, Herminius, Shall nevermore go home, i I will lay on for Tusculum, And lay thou on for Eome V 9 BATTLE OF THE LAKE BEGILLUS 423 28 All round them paused the battle, While met in mortal fray The Eoman and the Tusculam 50C The horses black and gray. Herminius smote Mamilius Through breastplate and through breast ; And fast flowed out the purple blood Over the purple vest. &05 Mamilius smote Herminius Through head-piece and through head; And side by side those chiefs of pride Together fell down dead. Down fell they dead together &lfc In a great lake of gore ; And still stood all who saw them fall While men might count a score. 29 Fast, fast, with heels wild spurning, The dark-gray charger fled; 515 He burst through ranks of fighting men, He sprang o'er heaps of dead. His bridle far out-streaming, His flanks all blood and foam, He sought the southern mountains, 520 The mountains of his home. The pass was steep and rugged, The wolves they howled and whined ; But he ran like a whirlwind up the pass, And he left the wolves behind. 424 SHORTER ENGLISH POEMS 525 Through many a startled hamlet Thundered his flying feet ; He rushed through the gate of Tusculum, He rushed up the long white street ; He rushed by tower and temple, 530 And paused not from his race Till he stood before his master's door In the stately market-place. And straightway round him gathered A pale and trembling crowd, 535 And when they knew him, cries of rage Brake forth, and wailing loud : And women rent their tresses For their great prince's fall ; And old men girt on their old swords, 540 And went to man the wall. 30 But, like a graven image, Black Auster kept his place, And ever wistfully he looked Into his master's face. 545 The raven-mane that daily, With pats and fond caresses, The young Herminia washed and combed, And twined in even tresses, And decked with colored ribands 550 From her own gay attire, Hung sadly o'er her father's corpse In carnage and in mire. Forth with a shout sprang Titus, And seized black Auster's rein. BATTLE OF THE LAKE EEGILLUS 425 Then Aulus sware a fearful oath, And ran at him amain. "The furies of thy brother With me and mine abide, If one of your accursed house Upon black Auster ride !" As on an Alpine watch-tower From heaven comes down the flame, Full on the neck of Titus The blade of Aulus came; And out the red blood spouted, In a wide arch and tall, As spouts a fountain in the court Of some rich Capuan's hall. The knees of all the Latines Were loosened with dismay When dead, on dead Herminius, The bravest Tarquin lay. 31 And Aulus the Dictator Stroked Auster's raven mane, With heed he looked unto the girths, With heed unto the rein. "Now bear me well, black Auster, Into yon thick array ; And thou and I will have revenge For thy good lord this day." 32 So spake he ; and was buckling Tighter black Auster's band, 426 SHOETEE ENGLISH POEMS When he was aware of a princely pair That rode at his right hand. 585 So like they were, no mortal Might one from other know; White as snow their armor was, Their steeds were white as snow. Never on earthly anvil 590 Did such rare armor gleam ; And never did such gallant steeds Drink of an earthly stream. 33 And all who saw them trembled, And pale grew every cheek; 595 And Aulus the Dictator Scarce gathered voice to speak. "Say by what name men call yon? What city is yonr home ? And wherefore ride ye in such guise wo Before the ranks of Rome ?" 34 "By many names men call us ; In many lands we dwell : Well Samothracia knows us ; Cyrene knows us well. 605 Our house in gay Tarentum Is hung each morn with flowers ; High o'er the masts of Syracuse Our marble portal towers ; But by the proud Eurotas 610 Is our dear native home ; BATTLE OF THE LAKE KEGILLUS 427 And for the right we come to fight Before the ranks of Rome." 35 So answered those strange horsemen, And each couched low his spear ; '- And forthwith all the ranks of Eome Were bold, and of good cheer. And on the thirty armies Came wonder and affright, And Ardea wavered on the left, And Cora on the right. "Eome to the charge !" cried Aulus ; "The foe begins to yield ! Charge for the hearth of Vesta ! Charge for the Golden Shield ! Let no man stop to plunder, But slay, and slay, and slay; The gods who live forever Are on our side to-day/"' 36 Then the fierce trumpet-flourish From earth to heaven arose. The kites know well the long stern swell That bids the Romans close. Then the good sword of Aulus Was lifted up to slay ; 685 Then, like a crag down Apennine, Eushed Auster through. the fray. But under those strange horsemen Still thicker lay the slain ; 428 SHORTER ENGLISH POEMS And after those strange horses 640 Black Auster toiled in vain. Behind them Pome's long battle Came rolling on the foe, Ensigns dancing wild above, Blades all in line below. 845 So comes the Po in flood-time Upon the Celtic plain ; So comes the squall, blacker than night, Upon the Adrian main. Now, by our Sire Quirimis, 650 It was a goodly sight To see the thirty standards Swept down the tide of flight. So flies the spray of Adria "When the black squall doth blow, 655 So corn-sheaves in the flood-time Spin down the whirling Po. False Sextus to the mountains Turned first his horse's head; And fast fled Ferentinum, 660 And fast Lavinium fled. The horsemen of Momentum Spurred hard out of the fray; The footmen of Velitrse Threw shield and spear away. W5 And underfoot was trampled, Amidst the mud and gore, The banner of proud Tusculum, That never stooped before. And down went Flavius Faustus, 670 Who led his stately ranks BATTLE OF THE LAKE BEGILLTJS 429 From where the apple-blossoms wave On Anio's echoing banks, And Tullus of Arpinum, Chief of the Volscian aids, And Metius with the long fair curls, The love of Anxur's maids, And the white head of Vnlso, The great Arician seer, And Nepos of Laurentum, The hunter of the deer ; And in the back false Sextus Felt the good Soman steel, And wriggling in the dust he died, Like a worm beneath the wheel. And fliers and pursuers Were mingled in a mass, And far away the battle Went roaring through the pass. 37 Sempronius Atratinus Sate in the Eastern Gate, Beside him were three Fathers, Each in his chair of state ; Fabius, whose nine stout grandsons That day were in the field, And Manlius, eldest of the Twelve Who kept the Golden Shield ; And Sergius, the High Pontiff, For wisdom far renowned ; In all Etrurians colleges Was no such Pontiff found. 430 SHORTER ENGLISH POEMS And all around the portal, And high above the wall, Stood a great throng of people, But sad and silent all ; 705 Young lads, and stooping elders That might not bear the mail, Matrons with lips that quivered, And maids with faces pale. Since the first gleam of daylight, 710 Sempronius had not ceased To listen for the rushing Of horse-hoofs from the east. The mist of eve was rising, The sun was hastening down, 715 When he was aware of a princely pair Fast pricking towards the town. So like they were, man never Saw twins so like before ; Eed with gore their armor was, 720 Their steeds were red with gore. 38 "Hail to the great Asylum ! Hail to the hill-tops seven ! Hail to the fire that burns for aye, And the shield that fell from heaveu 725 This day, by Lake Eegillus, Under the Porcian height, All in the lands of Tusculum "Was fought a glorious fight ; To-morrow your Dictator 730 Shall bring in triumph home BATTLE OF THE LAKE EEGILLUS 431 The spoils of thirty cities To deck the shrines of Eome !" 39 Then burst from that great concourse A shout that shook the towers, And some ran north, and some ran south, Crying, "The day is ours !" But on rode these strange horsemen, With slow and lordly pace ; And none who saw their bearing Durst ask their name or race. On rode they to the Forum, While laurel-boughs and flowers, From house-tops and from windows, Fell on their crests in showers. When they drew nigh to Vesta, They vaulted down amain, And washed their horses in the well That springs by Vesta's fane. And straight again they mounted, And rode to Vesta's door ; Then, like a blast, away they passed, And no man saw them more. 40 And all the people trembled, And pale grew every cheek ; And Sergius the High Pontiff Alone found voice to speak : "The gods who live forever Have fought for Eome to-day ! 432 SHOETEE ENGLISH POEMS These be the Great Twin Brethren 760 To whom the Dorians pray. Back comes the Chief in triumph Who, in the hour of fight, Hath seen the Great Twin Brethren In harness on his right. 765 Safe comes the ship to haven, Through billows and through gales. If once the Great Twin Brethren Sit shining on the sails. Wherefore they washed their horses 770 In Vesta's holy well, Wherefore they rode to Testa's door, I know, but may not tell. Here, hard by Vesta's Temple, Build we a stately dome 775 Unto the Great Twin Brethren Who fought so well for Eome. And when the months returning Bring back this day of fight, The proud Ides of Quintilis, 780 Marked evermore with white, Unto the Great Twin Brethren Let all the people throng. With chaplets and with offerings, .With music and with song ; 785 And let the doors and windows Be hung with garlands all, And let the Knights be summoned To Mars without the wall. Thence let them ride in purple 790 With joyous trumpet-sound, VIEGINIA 433 Each mounted on his war-horse, And each with olive crowned ; And pass in solemn order Before the sacred dome, 795 Where dwell the Great Twin Brethren Who fought so well for Eome !" VIEGINIA. A collection consisting exclusively of war-songs would give an imperfect, or rather an erroneous, notion of the spirit of the old Latin ballads. The Patricians, during more than a century after the expulsion of the Kings, held all the high military commands. A Plebeian, even though, like Lucius Siccius, he were distinguished by his valor and knowledge of war, could serve only in subordinate posts. A minstrel, therefore, who wished to celebrate the early triumphs of his country, could hardly take any but Patricians for his heroes. The warriors who are mentioned in the two preceding lays — Horatius, Lartius, Herminius, Aulus Posthumius, iEbu- . tins Elva, Sempronius Atratinus, Valerius Poplicola — were all members of the dominant order. But there was a class of compositions in which the great families were by no means so courteously treated. No parts of early Eoman history are richer with poetical coloring than those which relate to the long contest between the privileged houses and the commonalty. The population of Eome was, from a very early period, divided into hereditary castes, which, indeed, readily united to repel foreign enemies, but which regarded each other, during many years, with bitter animosity. . . . Among the grievances under which the Plebeians suf- - fered, three were felt as peculiarly severe. They were excluded from the highest magistracies; they were ex- cluded from all share in the public land; and they were ground down to the dust by partial and barbarous legis- lation touching pecuniary contracts 434 SHORTER ENGLISH POEMS The Plebeians were, however, not wholly without con- stitutional rights. From an early period they had been admitted to some share of political power. . . . The Plebeians had also the privilege of annually appointing officers, named Tribunes, who had no active share in the government of the Commonwealth, but who, by degrees, acquired a power formidable even to the ablest and most resolute Consuls and Dictators. The person of the Tribune was inviolable; and, though he could directly effect little, he could obstruct everything. During more than a century after the institution of the Tribuneship, the Commons struggled manfully for the removal of grievances under which they labored; and, in spite of many checks and reverses, succeeded in wringing concession after concession from the stubborn aristocracy. At length, in the year of the city 378, both parties mustered their whole strength for their last and most desperate conflict. The popular and active Tribune, Caius Licinius, proposed the three memorable laws which are called by his name, and which were intended to redress the three great evils of which the Plebeians complained. During the great Licinian contest the Plebeian poets were, doubtless, not silent. . . . These minstrels, as JSTiebuhr has remarked, appear to have generally taken the popular side. We can hardly be mistaken in sup- posing that, at the great crisis of the civil conflict, they employed themselves in versifying all the most powerful and virulent speeches of the Tribunes, and in heaping abuse on the leaders of the aristocracy. Every personal defect, every domestic scandal, every tradition dishonor- able to a noble house, would be sought out, brought into notice, and exaggerated. . . . During the Licinian conflict, Appius Claudius Crassus signalized himself by the ability and severity with which he harangued against the two great agitators. He would naturally, therefore, be the favorite mark of the Plebeian satirists ; nor would VIEGINIA 435 they have been at a loss to find a point on which he was open to attack. His grandfather, called, like himself, Appius Claudius, had left a name as much detested as that of Sextus Tarquinius. He had been Consul more than seventy years before the introduction of the Licinian laws. By availing himself of a singular crisis in public feeling, he had obtained the consent of the Commons to the abolition of the Tribuneship, and had been chief of that Council of Ten to which the whole direction of the state had been committed. In a few months his adminis- tration had become universally odious. It was swept away by an irresistible outbreak of popular fury, and its memory was still held in abhorrence by the whole city. The immediate cause of the downfall of this execrable government was said to have been an attempt made by Appius Claudius to get possession of a beautiful young girl of humble birth. It can hardly be doubted that a story so admirably adapted to the purposes both of the poet and of the demagogue would be eagerly seized upon by minstrels burning with hatred against the Patrician order, against the Claudian house, and especially against the grandson and namesake of the infamous Decemvir. In order that the reader may judge fairly of these fragments of the lay of Virginia, he must imagine him- self a Plebeian who has just voted for the reelection of Sextius and Licinius. All the power of the Patricians has been exerted to throw out the two great champions of the Commons. Every Posthumius, iEmilius, and Cornelius has used his influence to the utmost. Debtors have been let out of the workhouses on condition of voting against the men of the people ; clients have been posted to hiss and interrupt the favorite candidates; Appius Claudius Crassus has spoken with more than his usual eloquence and asperity: all has been in vain; Licinius and Sextius have a fifth time carried all the tribes; work is suspended; the booths are closed; the 436 SHOETEE ENGLISH POEMS Plebeians bear on their shoulders the two champions of liberty through the Forum. Just at this moment it is announced that a popular poet, a zealous adherent of the Tribunes, has made a new song which will cut the Claudian nobles to the heart. The crowd gathers round him, and calls on him to recite it. He takes his stand on the spot where, according to tradition, Virginia, more than seventy years ago, was seized by the pander of Appius, and begins his story. VIRGINIA. FRAGMENTS OF A LAY SUNG IN THE FOKUM ON THE DAY WHEREON LUCIUS SEXTIUS SEXTINUS LATERANUS AND CAIUS LICINIUS CALVUS STOLO WERE ELECTED TRIBUNES OF THE COMMONS THE FIFTH TIME, IN THE YEAR OF THE CITY CCCLXXXII. Ye good men of the Commons, with loving hearts and true, Who stand by the bold Tribunes that still have stood by you, Come, make a circle round me, and mark my tale with care, A tale of what Eome once hath borne, of what Rome yet may bear. 5 This is no Grecian fable, of fountains running wine, Of maids with snaky tresses, or sailors turned to swine. Here, in this very Forum, under the noonday sun, In sight of all the people, the bloody deed was done. Old men still creep among us who saw that fearful day, 10 Just seventy years and seven ago, when the wicked Ten bare sway. VIEGINIA 437 Of all the wicked Ten still the names are held accursed, And of all the wicked Ten Appius Claudius was the worst. He stalked along the Forum like King Tarquin in his pride; Twelve axes waited on him, six marching on a side ; 15 The townsmen shrank to right and left, and eyed askance with fear His lowering brow, his curling mouth, which always seemed to sneer : That brow of hate, that mouth of scorn, marks all the kindred still; For never was there Claudius yet but wished the Commons ill; Nor lacks he fit attendance ; for close behind his heels, 20 With outstretched chin and crouching pace, the client Marcus steals, His loins girt up to run with speed, be the errand what it may, And the smile flickering on his cheek, for aught his lord may say. Such varlets pimp and jest for hire among the lying Greeks : Such varlets still are paid to hoot when brave Licinius speaks. 25 Where'er ye shed the honey, the buzzing flies will crowd ; Where'er ye fling the carrion, the raven's croak is loud; Where'er down Tiber garbage floats, the greedy pike ye see; And wheresoe'er such lord is found, such client still will be. 438 SHORTER ENGLISH POEMS Just then, as through one cloudless chink in a black stormy sky, so Shines out the dewy morning-star, a fair young girl came by. With her small tablets in her hand, and her satchel on her arm, Home she went bounding from the school, nor dreamed of shame or harm; And past those dreaded axes she innocently ran, With bright, frank brow that had not learned to blush at gaze of man; 35 And up the Sacred Street she turned, and, as she danced along, She warbled gayly to herself lines of the good old song, How for a sport the princes came spurring from the camp, And found Lucrece, combing the fleece, under the mid- night lamp. The maiden sang as sings the lark, when up he darts his flight, 40 From his nest in the green April corn, to meet the morning light; And Appius heard her sweet young voice, and saw her sweet young face, And loved her with the accursed love of his accursed race, And all along the Forum, and up the Sacred Street, His vulture eye pursued the trip of those small glancing feet. VIKGINIA 439 45 Over the Alban mountains the light of morning broke ; From all the roofs of the Seven Hills curled the thin wreaths of smoke. The city-gates were opened ; the Forum all alive, With buyers and with sellers was humming like a hive. Blithely on brass and timber the craft sman's stroke was ringing, 53 And blithely o'er her panniers the market-girl was singing, And blithely young Virginia came smiling from her home: Ah ! woe for young Virginia, the sweetest maid in Eome I With her small tablets in her hand, and her satchel on her arm, Forth she went bounding to the school, nor dreamed of shame or harm. 55 She crossed the Forum shining with stalls in alleys gay, And just had reached the very spot whereon I stand this day, When up the varlet Marcus came; not such as when erewhile He crouched behind his patron's heels with the true client smile : He came with lowering forehead, swollen features, and clenched fist, 60 And strode across Virginia's path, and caught her by the wrist. Hard strove the frighted maiden, and screamed with look aghast; And at her scream from right and left the folk came running fast ; The money-changer Crispus, with his thin silver hairs, 440 SHOETEE ENGLISH POEMS And Hanno from the stately booth glittering with Punic wares, 65 And the strong smith Mursena, grasping a half -forged brand, And Volero the fiesher, his cleaver in his hand. All came in wrath and wonder; for all knew that fair child ; And, as she passed them twice a day, all kissed their hands and smiled; And the strong smith Muraena gave Marcus such a blow, 70 The caitiff reeled three paces back, and let the maiden go. Yet glared he fiercely round him, and growled in harsh, fell tone, "She's mine, and I will have her: I seek but for mine own: She is my slave, born in my house, and stolen away and sold, The year of the sore sickness, ere she was twelve hours old. 73 'T was in the sad September, the month of wail and fright, Two augurs were borne forth that morn ; the Consul died ere night. I wait on Appius Claudius, I waited on his sire ; Let him who works the client wrong beware the patron's ire \» So spake the varlet Marcus; and dread and silence came 80 On all the people at the sound of the great Claudian name. VIEGINIA 441 For then there was no Tribune to speak the word of might, Which makes the rich man tremble, and guards the poor man's right. There was no brave Licinius, no honest Sextius then ; But all the city, in great fear, obeyed the wicked Ten. 85 Yet ere the varlet Marcus again might seize the maid, Who clung tight to Mursena's skirt, and sobbed and shrieked for aid, Forth through the throng of gazers the young Icilius pressed, And stamped his foot, and rent his gown, and smote upon his breast, And sprang upon that column, by many a minstrel sung, 90 Whereon three mouldering helmets, three rusting swords, are hung, And beckoned to the people, and in bold voice and clear Poured thick and fast the burning words that tyrants quake to hear. "Now, by your children's cradles, now by your fathers' graves, Be men to-day, Quirites, or be forever slaves ! 95 For this did Servius give us laws ? For this did Lucrece bleed? For this was the great vengeance wrought on Tarquin's evil seed ? For this did those false sons make red the axes of their sire? For this did Scsevola's right hand hiss in the Tuscan fire ? Shall the vile fox-earth awe the race that stormed the lion's den? 442 SHORTER ENGLISH POEMS 100 Shall we,, who . could not brook one lord, crouch to the wicked Ten ? Oh for that ancient spirit which curbed the Senate's will! Oh for the tents which in old time whitened the Sacred Hill! In those brave days our fathers stood firmly side by side; They faced the Marcian fury; they tamed the Fabian pride ; 105 They drove the fiercest Quinctius an outcast forth from Home ; They sent the haughtiest Claudius with shivered fasces home. But what their care bequeathed us our madness flung away: All the ripe fruit of threescore years was blighted in a day. Exult, ye proud Patricians ! The hard-fought fight is o'er. HO We strove for honors — y t was in vain ; for freedom — 't is no more. No crier to the polling summons the eager throng ; No Tribune breathes the word of might that guards the weak from wrong. Our very hearts, that were so high, sink down beneath your will. Eiches, and lands, and power, and state — ye have them : — keep them still. I'* Still keep the holy fillets ; still keep the purple gown, The axes, and the curule chair, the car, and laurel crown : Still press us for your cohorts, and, when the fight is done, VIEGINIA 443 Still fill your garners from the soil which our good swords have won. Still, like a spreading ulcer, which leech-craft may not cure, 120 Let your foul usance eat away the substance of the poor. Still let your haggard debtors bear all their fathers bore ; Still let your dens of torment be noisome as of yore ; No fire when Tiber freezes ; no air in dogstar heat ; And store of rods for free-born backs, and holes for free- born feet. 125 Heap heavier still the fetters ; bar closer still the grate ; Patient as sheep we yield us up unto your cruel hate. But, by the Shades beneath us, and by the gods above, Add not unto your cruel hate your yet more cruel love ! Have ye not graceful ladies, whose spotless lineage springs 130 From Consuls, and High Pontiffs, and ancient Alban kings ? Ladies, who deign not on our paths to set their tender feet, Who from their cars look down with scorn upon the wondering street, Who in Corinthian mirrors their own proud smiles behold, And breathe of Capuan odors, and shine with Spanish gold? 135 Then leave the poor Plebeian his single tie to life — The sweet, sweet love of daughter, of sister, and of wife, The gentle speech, the balm for all that his vexed soul endures, The kiss, in which he half forgets even such a yoke as yours. 444 SHOBTEB ENGLISH POEMS Still let the maiden's beauty swell the father's breast with pride ; 140 Still let the bridegroom's arms infold an unpolluted bride. Spare us the inexpiable wrong, the unutterable shame, That turns the coward's heart to steel, the sluggard's blood to flame, Lest, when our latest hope is fled, ye taste of our despair, And learn by proof, in some wild hour, how much the wretched dare." 145 Straightway Yirginius led the maid a little space aside, To where the reeking shambles stood, piled up with horn and hide, Close to yon low dark archway, where, in a crimson flood, Leaps down to the great sewer the gurgling stream of blood. Hard by, a flesher on a block had laid his whittle down ; 150 Virginius caught the whittle up, and hid it in his gown. And then his eyes grew very dim, and his throat began to swell, . And in a hoarse, changed voice he spake, "Farewell, sweet child ! Farewell ! Oh, how I loved my darling ! Though stern I some- times be, To thee, thou know'st, I was not so. Who could be so to thee? 155 And how my darling loved me ! How glad she was to hear- My footstep on the threshold when I came back last year ! VIEGINIA 445 And how she danced with pleasure to see my civic crown, And took my sword, and hung it up, and brought me forth my gown ! Now all those things are over, — yes, all thy pretty ways, 160 Thy needlework-, thy prattle, thy snatches of old lays ; And none will grieve when I go forth, or smile when I return, Or watch beside the old man's bed, or weep upon his urn. The house that was the happiest within the Eoman walls, The house that envied not the wealth of Capua's marble halls, 165 Now, for the brightness of thy smile, must have eternal gloom, And for the music of thy voice, the silence of the tomb. The time is come. See how he points his eager hand this way ! She how his eyes gloat on thy grief, like a kite's upon the prey! With all his wit, he little deems that, spurned, betrayed, bereft, 170 Thy father hath in his despair one fearful refuge left. He little deems that in this hand I clutch what still can save Thy gentle youth from taunts and blows, the portion of the slave; Yea, and from nameless evil, that passeth taunt and blow, — ■ Foul outrage which thou knowest not, which thou shalt never know. 175 Then clasp me round the neck once more, and give me one more kiss ; 446 SHORTER ENGLISH POEMS And now, mine own dear little girl, there is no way but this." With that he lifted high the steel, and smote her in the side, And in her blood she sank to earth, and with one sob she died. Then, for a little moment, all people held their breath ; 180 And through the crowded Forum was stillness as of death ; And in another moment brake forth from one and all A cry as if the Volscians were coming o'er the wall. Some with averted faces shrieking fled home amain ; Some ran to call a leech ; and some ran to lift the slain ; 185 Some felt her lips and little wrist, if life might there be found ; And some tore up their garments fast, and strove to stanch the wound. In vain they ran, and felt, and stanched, for never truer blow That good right arm had dealt in fight against a Volscian foe. When Appius Claudius saw that deed, he shuddered and sank down, 190 And hid his face some little space with the corner of his gown, Till, with white lips and bloodshot eyes, Yirginius tot- tered nigh, And stood before the judgment-seat, and held the knife on high. "0 dwellers in the nether gloom, avengers of the slain, VIKGINIA 447 By this dear blood I cry to you, do. right between us twain ; 195 And even as Appius Claudius hath dealt by. me and mine, Deal you by Appius Claudius and all the Claudian line !" So spake the slayer of his child, and turned, and went his way ; But first he cast one haggard glance to where the body lay, And writhed, and groaned a fearful groan, and then, with steadfast feet, 200 Strode right across the market-place unto the Sacred Street. Then up sprang Appius Claudius : "Stop him, alive or dead ! Ten thousand pounds of copper to the man who brings his head !" He looked upon his clients ; but none would work his will. He looked upon his lictors ; but they trembled and stood still. 205 And, as Yirginius through the press his way in silence cleft, Ever the mighty multitude fell back to right and left. And he hath passed in safety unto his woful home, And there ta'en horse to tell the camp what deeds are done in Eome. By this the flood of people was swollen from every side, 210 And streets and porches round were filled with that over- flowing tide ; And close around the body gathered a little train Of them that were the nearest and dearest to the slain. 448 SHOETEE ENGLISH POEMS They brought a bier, and hung it with many a cypress crown, And gently they uplifted her, and gently laid her down. 215 The face of Appius Claudius wore the Claudian scowl and sneer, And in the Claudian note he cried, "What doth this rabble here ? Have they no crafts to mind at home, that hitherward they stray ? Ho ! lictors, clear the market-place, and fetch the corpse away !" The voice of grief and fury till then had not been loud ; 220 But a deep sullen murmur wandered among the crowd, Like the moaning noise that goes before the whirlwind on the deep, Or the growl of a fierce watch-dog but half aroused from sleep. But when the lictors at that word, tall yeomen all and strong, Each with his axe and sheaf of twigs, went down into the throng, 225 Those old men say, who saw that day of sorrow and of sin, That in the Eoman Forum was never such a din. The wailing, hooting, cursing, the howls of grief and hate, Were heard beyond the Pincian Hill, beyond the Latin Gate. But close around the body, where stood the little train 230 Of them that were the nearest and dearest to the slain, No cries were there, but teeth set fast, low whispers and black frowns, VIEGINIA 449 And breaking up of benches, and girding up of gowns ; 'T was well the lictors might not pierce to where the maiden lay, Else surety had they been all twelve torn limb from limb that day. 235 Eight glad they were to struggle back, blood streaming from their heads, With axes all in splinters, and raiment all in shreds. Then Appius Claudius gnawed his lip and the blood left his cheek ; And thrice he beckoned with his hand, and thrice he strove to speak ; And thrice the tossing Forum set up a frightful yell : 240 "See, see, thou dog ! what thou hast done ; and hide thy shame in hell ! Thou that wouldst make our maidens slaves must first make slaves of men. Tribunes ! Hurrah for Tribunes ! Down with the wicked Ten !" And straightway, thick as hailstones, came whizzing through the air Pebbles, and bricks, and potsherds, all round the curule chair ; 245 And upon Appius Claudius great fear and trembling came; For never was a Claudius yet brave against aught but shame. Though the great houses love us not, we own, to do them right, That the great houses, all save one, have borne them well in fight. Still Caius of Corioli, his triumphs and his wrongs, 450 SHORTER ENGLISH POEMS 250 His vengeance and his mercy, live in our camp-fire songs. Beneath the yoke of Furius oft have Gaul and Tuscan bowed ; And Home may bear the pride of him of whom herself is proud. But evermore a Claudius shrinks from a stricken field, And changes color like a maid at sight of sword and shield. 255 The Claudian triumphs all were won within the city towers ; The Claudian yoke was never pressed on any necks but ours. A Cossus, like a wild-cat, springs ever at the face; A Fabius rushes like a boar against the shouting chase; But the vile Claudian litter, raging with currish spite, 260 Still yelps and snaps at those who run, still runs from those who smite. So now 't was seen of Appius. "When stones began to fly, He shook, and crouched, and wrung his hands, and smote upon his thigh. "Kind clients, honest lictors, stand by me in this fray ! Must I be torn in pieces? Home, home, the nearest way !" 265 While yet he spake, and looked around with a bewildered stare, Four sturdy lictors put their necks beneath the curule chair ; And fourscore clients on the left, and fourscore on the right, Arrayed themselves with swords and staves, and loins girt up for fight. VIRGINIA 451 But, though without or staff or sword, so furious was the throng, 270 That scarce the train with might and main could bring their lord along. Twelve times the crowd made at him; five times they seized his gown ; Small chance was his to rise again, if once they got him down. And sharper came the pelting ; and evermore the yell — "Tribunes ! we will have Tribunes !" rose with a louder swell. 275 And the chair tossed as tosses a bark with tattered sail When raves the Adriatic beneath an eastern gale, When the Calabrian sea-marks are lost in clouds of spume, And the great Thunder Cape has donned his veil of inky gloom. One stone hit Appius in the mouth, and one beneath the ear ; 280 And ere he reached Mount Palatine, he swooned with pain and fear. His cursed head, that he was wont to hold so high with pride, Now, like a drunken man's, hung down, and swayed from side to side; And when his stout retainers had brought him to his door, His face and neck were all one cake of filth and clotted gore. 285 As Appius Claudius was that day, so may his grand- son be! 452 SHOETEE ENGLISH POEMS God send Rome one such other sight, and send me there to see ! THE PEOPHECY OF CAPYS. It can hardly be necessary to remind any reader that, according to the popular tradition, Eomulus, after he has slain his grand-uncle, Amulius, and restored his grandfather Numitor, determined to quit Alba, the hereditary domain of the Sylvian princes, and to found a new city. The gods, it was added, vouchsafed the clearest signs of the favor with which they regarded the enterprise, and of the high destinies reserved for the young colony. This event was likely to be a favorite theme of the old Latin minstrels. They would naturally attribute the project of Eomulus to some divine intimation of the power and prosperity which it was decreed that his city should attain. They would probably introduce seers foretelling the victories of unborn consuls and dictators, and the last great victory would generally occupy the most conspicuous place in the prediction. There is nothing strange in the supposition that the poet who was employed to celebrate the first great triumph of the Eomans over the Greeks might throw his song of exultation into this form. The occasion was one likely to excite the strongest feelings of national pride. A great outrage had been followed by a great retribution. Seven years before this time, Lucius Posthumius Megellus, who sprang from one of the noblest houses of Eome, and had been thrice Consul, was sent ambassador to Tarentum, with charge to demand reparation for grievous injuries. The Taren- tines gave him audience in their theatre, where he ad- dressed them in such Greek as he could command, which, we may well believe, was not exactly such as Cineas would have spoken. An exquisite sense of the ridiculous THE PEOPHECY OF CAPYS 453 belonged to the Greek character; and closely connected with this faculty was a strong propensity to flippancy and impertinence. When Posthumius placed an accent wrong, his hearers burst into a laugh. When he remon- strated, they hooted him, and called him a barbarian; and at length hissed him off the stage as if he had been a bad actor. As the grave Eoman retired, a buffoon, who, from his constant drunkenness, was nicknamed the Pint Pot, came up with gestures of the grossest inde- cency, and bespattered the senatorial gown with filth. Posthumius turned round to the multitude, and held up th.3 gown, as if appealing to the universal law of nations. The sight only increased the insolence of the Tarentines. They clapped their hands, and set up a shout of laughter which shook the theatre. "Men of Tarentum," said Posthumius, "it will take not a little blood to wash this gown." Eome, in consequence of this insult, declared war against the Tarentines. The Tarentines sought for allies beyond the Ionian Sea. Pyrrhus, king of Epirus, came to their help with a large army ; and, for the first time, the two great nations of antiquity were fairly matched against each other. The fame of Greece in arms, as well as in arts, was then at the height. Half a century earlier, the career of Alexander had excited the admiration and terror of all nations from the Ganges to the Pillars of Hercules. Eoyal houses, founded by Macedonian captains, still reigned at Antioch and Alexandria. That barbarian warriors, led by barbarian chiefs, should win a pitched battle against Greek valor guided by Greek science, seemed as incredible as it would now seem that the Burmese or the Siamese should, in the open plain, put to flight an equal number of the best English troops. Of the Greek generals then living, Pyrrhus was indisputably the first. Among the troops who were trained in the Greek discipline, his Epirotes ranked high. His expedition to Italy was a turning-point in the his- 454 SHORTER ENGLISH POEMS tory of the world. He found there a people who, far inferior to the Athenians and Corinthians in the fine arts, in the speculative sciences, and in all the refine- ments of life, were the best soldiers on the face of the earth. Their arms, their gradations of rank, their order of battle, their method of intrenchment, were all of Latian origin, and had all been gradually brought near to perfection, not by the study of foreign models, but by the genius and experience of many generations of great native commanders. The first words which broke from the king, when his practised eye had surveyed the Eoman encampment, were full of meaning : "These barbarians," he said, "have nothing barbarous in their military arrangements." He was at first victorious; for his own talents were superior to those of the captains who were opposed to him; and the Eomans were not prepared for the onset of the elephants of the East, which were then for the first time seen in Italy, — moving mountains, with long snakes for hands. But the victories of the Epirotes were fiercely disputed, dearly purchased, and altogether unprofitable. At length, Manius Curius Den- tatus, who had in his first consulship won two triumphs, was again placed at the head of the Eoman Common- wealth, and sent to encounter the invaders. A great bat- tle was fought near Beneventum. Pyrrhus was com- pletely defeated. He repassed the sea; and the world learned with amazement that a people had been dis- covered who, in fair fighting, were superior to the best troops that had been drilled on the system of Parmenio and Antigonus. It is said by Floras, and may easily be believed, that the triumph far surpassed in magnificence any that Eome had previously seen. The only spoils which Papirius Cursor and Fabius Maximus could exhibit were flocks and herds, wagons of rude structure, and heaps of spears and helmets. But now, for the first time, the riches of Asia and the arts of Greece adorned THE PBOPHECY OF CAPYS 455 a Soman pageant. Plate, fine stuffs, costly furniture, rare animals, exquisite paintings and sculptures, formed part of the procession. At the banquet would be assem- bled a crowd of warriors and statesmen. On such a day we may suppose that the patriotic enthusiasm of a Latin poet would vent itself in reiterated shouts of "Io Triumphe," such as were uttered by Horace on a far less exciting occasion, and in boasts resembling those which Virgil, two hundred and fifty years later, put into the mouth of Anchises. The superiority of some foreign nations, and especially of the Greeks, in the lazy arts of peace, would be admitted with disdainful candor; but preeminence in all the qualities which fit a people to subdue and govern mankind would be claimed for the Eomans. The following lay belongs to the latest age of Latin ball ad-poetry. Nasvius and Livius Andronicus were probably among the children whose mothers held them up to see the chariot of Curius go by. The minstrel who sang on that day might possibly have lived to read the first hexameters of Ennius, and to see the first comedies of Plautus. His poem, as might be expected, shows a much wider acquaintance with the geography, manners, and productions of remote nations than would have been found in compositions of the age of Camillus. But he troubles himself little about dates ; and having heard travelers talk with admiration of the Colossus of Ehodes, and of the structures and gardens with which the Macedonian kings of Syria had embellished their residence on the banks of the Orontes, he has never thought of inquiring whether these things existed in the age of Eomulus. 456 SHOETEE ENGLISH POEMS THE PEOPHECY OF CAPYS. A LAY SUNG AT THE BANQUET IN THE CAPITOL, ON THE DAY WHEREON MANIUS OURIUS DENTATUS, A SECOND TIME CONSUL, TRIUMPHED OVER KING PYRRHUS AND THE TARENTINES, IN THE YEAR OP THE CITY CCCCLXXIX. 1 Now slain is King Amulius, Of the great Sylvian line, Who reigned in Alba Longa, On the throne of Aventine. 5 Slain is the Pontiff Gamers, Who spake the words of doom: "The children to the Tiber; The mother to the tomb." 2 In Albans lake no fisher o His net to-day is flinging; On the dark rind of Alba's oaks To-day no axe is ringing; The yoke hangs o'er the manger; The scythe lies in the hay; 5 Through all the Alban villages No work is done to-day. 3 And every Alban burgher Hath donned his whitest gown; And every head in Alba o Weareth a poplar crown; THE PEOPHECY OF CAPYS 457 And every Alban doorpost With boughs and flowers is gay; For to-day the dead are living; The lost are found to-day. They were doomed by a bloody king; They were doomed by a lying priest ; They were cast on the raging flood; They were tracked by the raging beast. Eaging beast and raging flood Alike have spared the prey; And to-day the dead are living; The lost are found to-day. The troubled river knew them, And smoothed his yellow foam, And gently rocked the cradle That bore the fate of Eome. The ravening she-wolf knew them, And licked them o'er and o'er, And gave them of her own fierce milk, Eich with raw flesh and gore. Twenty winters, twenty springs, Since then have rolled away; And to-day the dead are living, The lost are found to-day. Blithe it was to see the twins, Eight goodly youths and tall, 458 SHORTER ENGLISH POEMS Marching from Alba Longa To their old grandsire's hall. Along their path fresh garlands i Are hung from tree to tree; Before them stride the pipers, Piping a note of glee. On the right goes Komulus, With arms to the elbows red, And in his hand a broadsword, And on the blade a head, - — A head in an iron helmet, With horse-hair hanging down P A shaggy head, a swarthy head, Fixed in a ghastly frown, — The head of King Amnlius Of the great Sylvian line, Who reigned in Alba Longa, On the throne of Aventine. On the left side goes Kemus, With wrists and fingers red, And in his hand a boar-spear, And on the point a head, — A wrinkled head and aged, With silver beard and hair, And holy fillets round it, Such as the pontiffs wear, — The head of ancient Camers, Who spake the words of doom: THE PEOPHECY OF CAPYS 459 "The children to the Tiber; The mother to the tomb." Two and two behind the twins Their trusty comrades go, Four-and-forty valiant men, With club, and axe, and bow. On each side every hamlet Pours forth its joyous crowd, Shouting lads and baying dogs And children laughing loud, And old men weeping fondly As Rhea's boys go by, And maids who shriek to see the heads, Yet, shrieking, press more nigh. 10 So they marched along the lake; They marched by fold and stall, By cornfield and by vineyard, Unto the old man's hall. 11 In the hall-gate sate Capys, Capys, the sightless seer; From head to foot he trembled As Eomulus drew near. And up stood stiff his thin white hair, And his blind eyes flashed fire: "Hail ! foster-child of the wondrous nurse ! Hail ! son of the wondrous sire ! 460 SHOETEE ENGLISH POEMS 12 "But thou, — what dost thou here In the old man's peaceful hall? What doth the eagle in the coop, The bison in the stall? 105 Our corn fills many a garner; Our vines clasp many a tree; Our flocks are white on many a hill; But these are not for thee. 13 "For thee no treasure ripens no In the Tartessian mine: For thee no ship brings precious bales Across the Libyan brine; Thou shalt not drink from amber; Thou shalt not rest on down; 115 Arabia shall not steep thy locks, Nor Sidon tinge thy gown. 14 "Leave gold and myrrh and jewels, Eich table and soft bed, To them who of man's seed are born, 120 Whom woman's milk have fed. Thou wast not made for lucre, For pleasure, nor for rest; Thou, that art sprung from the War-god's loins, And hast tugged at the she-wolf's breast. 15 125 "From sunrise unto sunset All earth shall hear thy fame ; THE PEOPHECY OF- CAPYS 461 A glorious city thou shalt build, And name it by thy name. And there, unquenched through ages, Like Vesta's sacred fire, Shall live the spirit of thy nurse, The spirit of thy sire. 16 "The ox toils through the furrow, Obedient to the goad; The patient ass, up flinty paths, Plods with his weary load ; With whine and bound the spaniel His master's whistle hears; And the sheep yields her patiently To the loud clashing shears. 17 "But thy nurse will hear no master; Thy nurse will bear no load; And woe to them that shear her, And woe to them that goad! When all the pack, loud baying, Her bloody lair surrounds, She dies in silence, biting hard, Amidst the dying hounds. 18 "Pomona loves the orchard; And Liber loves the vine ; And Pales loves the straw-built shed Warm with the breath of kine; 462 SHORTER ENGLISH POEMS And Venus loves the whispers Of plighted youth and maid, 155 In April's ivory moonlight Beneath the chestnut shade. 19 "But thy father loves the clashing Of broadsword and of shield; He loves to drink the steam that reeks 160 From the fresh battle-field. He smiles a smile more dreadful Than his own dreadful frown, When he sees the thick black cloud of smoke Go up from the conquered town. 20 165 "And such as is the War-god, The author of thy line, And such as she who suckled thee, Even such be thou and thine. Leave to the soft Campanian no His baths and his perfumes; Leave to the sordid race of Tyre Their dyeing- vats and looms: Leave to the sons of Carthage The rudder and the oar : 175 Leave to the Greek his marble Nymphs And scrolls of wordy lore. 21 "Thine, Eoman, is the pilum; Eoman, the sword is thine, THE PBOPHECY OF CAPYS 463 The even trench, the bristling mound, The legion's ordered line; And thine the wheels of triumph, Which with their laurelled train Move slowly up the shouting streets To Jove's eternal fame. 22 "Beneath thy yoke the Volscian Shall veil his lofty brow; Soft Capua's curled revellers Before thy chairs shall bow; The Lucumoes of Arnus Shall quake thy rods to see; And the proud Samnite's heart of steel Shall yield to only thee. 23 "The Gaul shall come against thee From the land of snow and night; Thou shalt give his fair-haired armies To the raven and the kite. 24 "The Greek shall come against thee, The conqueror of the East. Beside him stalks to battle The huge earth-shaking beast, The beast on whom the castle With all its guards doth stand, The beast who hath between his eyes The serpent for a hand. 464 SHORTER ENGLISH POEMS )5 First march the bold Epirotes, Wedged close with shield and spear; And the ranks of false Tarentum Are glittering in the rear. 25 "The ranks of false Tarentum LO Like hunted sheep shall fly; In vain the bold Epirotes Shall round their standards die. And Apennines gray vultures Shall have a noble feast 5 On the fat and the eyes Of the huge earth-shaking beast. 26 "Hurrah! for the good weapons That keep the War-god's land. Hurrah ! for Eome's stout pilum o In a stout Eoman hand. Hurrah ! for Eome's short broadsword^ That through the thick array Of levelled spears and serried shields Hews deep its gory way. 27 s "Hurrah ! for the great triumph That stretches many a mile. Hurrah ! for the wan captives That pass in endless file. Ho! bold Epirotes, whither io Hath the Eed King ta'en flight? HI THE PBOPHECY OF CAPYS 465 Ho ! dogs of false Tarentum, Is not the gown washed white? 28 "Hurrah ! for the great triumph That stretches many a mile. Hurrah ! for the rich dye of Tyre, And the fine web of Nile, The helmets gay with plumage Torn from the pheasant's wings, The belts set thick with starry gems That shone on Indian kings, The urns of massy silver, The goblets rough with gold, The many-colored tablets bright With loves and wars of old, The stone that breathes and struggles, The brass that seems to speak, — Such cunning they who dwell on high Have given unto the Greek. 29 "Hurrah ! for Manius Curius, The bravest son of Eome, Thrice in utmost need sent forth, Thrice drawn in triumph home. Weave, weave for Manius Curius The third embroidered gown: Make ready the third lofty car, And twine the third green crown; And yoke the steeds of Eosea With necks like a bended bow, 466 SHORTER ENGLISH POEMS And deck the bull, Mevania's bull, 268 The bull as white as snow. 30 "Blest and thrice blest the Roman Who sees Rome's brightest day, Who sees that long victorious pomp Wind down the Sacred Way, 265 And through the bellowing Forum And round the Suppliant's Grove, Up to the everlasting gates Of Capitolian Jove. 31 "Then where, o'er two bright havens, 270 The towers of Corinth frown ; Where the gigantic King of Day On his own Rhodes looks down ; Where soft Orontes murmurs Beneath the laurel shades; 275 Where Nile reflects the endless length Of dark-red colonnades; Where in the still deep water, Sheltered from waves and blasts, Bristle the dusky forests 280 Of Byrsa's thousand masts ; Where fur-clad hunters wander Amidst the northern ice; Where through the sand of morning-land The camel bears the spice ; 285 Where Atlas flings his shadow Far o'er the western foam, — IVEY 467 Shall be great fear on all who hear The mighty name of Rome. ' ' IVRY. A SONG OF THE HUGUENOTS. Now glory to the Lord of Hosts, from whom all glories are! And glory to our Sovereign Liege, King Henry of Navarre ! Now let there be the merry sound of music and of dance, Through thy corn-fields green, and sunny vines, oh pleasant land of France ! 6 And thou, Rochelle, our own Rochelle, proud city of the waters, Again let rapture light the eyes of all thy mourning daughters. As thou wert constant in our ills, be joyous in our joy, For cold, and stiff, and still are they who wrought thy walls annoy. Hurrah! Hurrah! a single field hath turned the chance of war, 10 Hurrah ! Hurrah ! for Ivry, and H^nry of Navarre. Oh ! how our hearts were beating, when, at the dawn of day, We saw the army of the League drawn out in long array; With all its priest-led citizens, and all its rebel peers, 468 SHOETEE ENGLISH POEMS And Appenzel's stout infantry, and Egmont's Flem- ish spears. 15 There rode the brood of false Lorraine, the curses of our land ; And dark Mayenne was in the midst, a truncheon in his hand : And, as we looked on them, we thought of Seine 's " empurpled flood, And good Coligni's hoary hair all dabbled with his blood ; And we cried unto the living God, who rules the fate of war, 20 To fight for his own holy name, and Henry of Navarre. The King is come to marshal us, in all his armor drest, And he has bound a snow-white plume upon his gal- lant crest. He looked upon his people, and a tear was in his eye ; He looked upon the traitors, and his glance was stern and high. 25 Right graciously he smiled on us, as rolled from wing to wing, Down all our line, a deafening shout, "God save our Lord the King." "An if my standard-bearer fall, as fall full well he may, For never saw I promise yet of such a bloody fray, Press where ye see my white plume shine, amidst the ranks of war, 30 And be your oriflamme today the helmet of Navarre. 7 ' IVEY 469 Hurrah ! the foes are moving. Hark to the mingled din, Of fife, and steed, and trnmp, and drum, and roaring culverin. The fiery Duke is pricking fast across Saint Andre's plain, With all the hireling chivalry of Guelders and Almayne. 35 Now by the lips of those ye love, fair gentlemen of France, Charge for the golden lilies, — upon them with the lance. A thousand spurs are striking deep, a thousand spears in rest, A thousand knights are pressing close behind the snow-white crest; And in they burst, and on they rushed, while, like a guiding star, 40 Amidst the thickest carnage blazed the helmet of Navarre. Now, God be praised, the day is ours. Mayenne hath turned his rein. D 'Aumale hath cried for quarter. The Flemish count is slain, Their ranks are breaking like thin clouds before 'a Biscay gale; The field is heaped with bleeding steeds, and flags, and cloven mail. 45 And then we thought on vengeance, and, all along our van, 470 SHORTER ENGLISH POEMS • ' Remember Saint Bartholomew," was passed from man to man. But out spake gentle Henry, "No Frenchman is my foe: Down, down, with every foreigner, but let your brethren go." Oh! was there ever such a knight, in friendship or in war, 60 As our Sovereign Lord, King Henry, the soldier of Navarre ? Right well fought all the Frenchmen who fought for France today ; And many a lordly banner God gave them for a prey. But we of the religion have borne us best in fight ; And the good Lord of Rosny hath ta'en the cornet white. 55 Our own true Maximilian the cornet white hath ta'en, The cornet white with crosses black, the flag of false Lorraine. Up with it high ; unfurl it wide ; that all the host may know How God hath humbled the proud house which wrought his church such woe. Then on the ground, while trumpets sound their loud- est point of war, 60 Fling the red shreds, a footcloth meet for Henry of Navarre. Ho ! maidens of Vienna ; Ho ! matrons of Lucerne ; Weep, weep, and rend your hair for those who never shall return. THE AEMADA 471 Ho ! Philip, send, for charity, thy Mexican pistoles, That Antwerp monks may sing a mass for thy poor spearmen's souls. 65 Ho ! gallant nobles of the League, look that your arms be bright; Ho! burghers of Saint Genevieve, keep watch and ward tonight. For our God hath crushed the tyrant, our God hath raised the slave, And mocked the counsel of the wise, and the valor of the brave. Then glory to his hoi}/ name, from whom all glories are; 70 And glory to our Sovereign Lord, King Henry of Navarre. THE ARMADA. A FRAGMENT. Attend, all ye who list to hear our noble England's praise ; I tell of the thrice famous deeds she wrought in ancient days, When that great fleet invincible against her bore in vain The richest spoils of Mexico, the stoutest hearts of Spain. 5 It was about the lovely close of a warm summer day, There came a gallant merchant-ship full, sail to Plym- outh Bay; 472 SHORTER ENGLISH POEMS Her crew hath seen Castile's black fleet, beyond Aurigny's isle, At earliest twilight, on the waves lie heaving many a mile. At sunrise she escaped their van, by God's especial grace ; 10 And the tall Pinta, till the noon, had held her close in chase. Forthwith a guard at every gun was placed along the wall; The beacon blazed upon the roof of Edgecombe 's lofty hall; Many a light fishing-bark put out to pry along the coast, And with loose rein and bloody spur rode inland many a post. 15 "With his white hair unbonneted, the stout old sheriff comes ; Behind him march the halberdiers; before him sound the drums; His yeomen round the market cross make clear an ample space ; For there behooves him to set up the standard of Her Grace. And haughtily the trumpets peal, and gaily dance the bells, 20 As slow upon the laboring wind the royal blazon swells. Look how the Lion of the sea lifts up his ancient crown, And underneath his deadly paw treads the gay lilies down. lie THE AEMADA 473 So stalked lie when he turned to flight, on that famed Picard field, Bohemia's plume, and Genoa's bow, and Caesar's eagle shield, s So glared he when at Agincourt in wrath he turned to bay, And crushed and torn beneath his claws the princely hunters lay. Ho ! strike the flagstaff deep, sir Knight : ho ! scatter flowers, fair maids: Ho ! gunners, fire a loud salute : ho ! gallants, draw your blades : Thou sun, shine on her joyously ; ye breezes, waft her wide; so Our glorious semper eadem, the banner of our pride. The freshening breeze of eve unfurled that banner's massy fold; The parting gleam of sunshine kissed that haughty scroll of gold; Night sang upon the dusky beach, and on the purple sea. Such night in England ne 'er had been, nor e 'er again shall be. 36 From Eddy stone to Berwick bounds, from Lynn to Milf ord Bay, That time of slumber was as bright and busy as the day; For swift to east and swift to west the ghastly war- flame spread, High on Saint Michael 's Mount it shone : it shone on Beachy Head. Far on the deep the Spaniard saw, along each southern shire, 474 SHORTER ENGLISH POEMS 40 Cape beyond cape, in endless range, those twinkling points of fire. The fisher left his skiff to rock on Tamar's glittering waves : The rugged miners poured to war from Mendip's sunless caves: O'er Longleat's towers, o'er Cranbourne's oaks, the fiery herald flew: He roused the shepherds of Stonehenge, the rangers of Beaulieu. 45 Right sharp and quick the bells all night rang out from Bristol town, And ere the day three hundred horse had met on Clifton down; The sentinel on Whitehall gate looked forth into the night, And saw o'erhanging Richmond Hill the streak of blood-red light. Then bugle's note and cannon's roar the deathlike silence broke, 50 And with one start, and with one cry, the royal city woke. At once on all her stately gates arose the answering fires; At once the wild alarum clashed from all her reeling spires ; From all the batteries of the Tower pealed loud the voice of fear; And all the thousand masts of Thames sent back a louder cheer: 55 And from the furthest wards was heard the rush of hurrying feet, THE AEMADA 475 And the broad streams of pikes and flags rushed down each roaring street; And broader still became the blaze, and louder still the din, As fast from every village round the horse came spurring in : And eastward straight from wild Blackheath the warlike errand went, o And roused in many an ancient hall the gallant squires of Kent. Southward from Surrey's pleasant hills flew those bright couriers forth; High on bleak Hampstead's swarthy moor they started for the north ; And on, and on, without a pause, untired they bounded still: All night from tower to tower they sprang; they sprang from hill to hill : s Till the proud peak unfurled the flag o'er Darwin's rocky dales, Till like volcanoes flared to heaven the stormy hills of "Wales, Till twelve fair counties saw the blaze on Malvern's lonely height, Till streamed in crimson on the wind the Wrekin's crest of light, Till broad and fierce the star came forth on Ely 's stately fane, ro And tower and hamlet rose in arms o'er all the boundless plain; Till Bel voir 's lordly terraces the sign to Lincoln sent, And Lincoln sped the message on o'er the wide vale of Trent; 476 SHORTER ENGLISH POEMS Till Skiddaw saw the fire that burned on Gaunt 's embattled pile, And the red glare on Skiddaw roused the burghers of Carlisle. THE BATTLE OF NASEBY. BY OBADIAH BIND-THEIR-KINGS-IN-CHAINS-AND-THEIR- NOBLES-WITH-LINKS-OF-IRON, SERJEANT IN IRETON 'S REGIMENT. Oh! wherefore come ye forth, in triumph from the North, With your hands, and your feet, and your raiment all red? And wherefore doth your rout send forth a joyous shout? And whence be the grapes of the wine-press which ye tread? 5 Oh evil was the root, and bitter was the fruit, And crimson was the juice of the vintage that we trod; For we trampled on the throng of the haughty and the strong, Who sate in the high places, and slew the saints of God. It was about the noon of a glorious day of June, 10 That we saw their banners dance, and their cuirasses shine, THE BATTLE OF NASEBY 477 And the Man of Blood was there, with his long essenced hair, And Astley, and Sir Marmaduke, and Rupert of the Rhine. Like a servant of the Lord, with his Bible and his sword, The General rode along us to form us to the fight, When a murmuring sound broke out, and swell 'd into a shout, Among the godless horsemen upon the tyrant's right. And hark! like the roar of the billows on the shore, The cry of battle rises along their charging line! For God ! for the Cause ! for the Church ! for the Laws! For Charles King of England and Rupert of the Rhine ! The furious German comes, with his clarions and his drums, His bravoes of Alsatia, and pages of "Whitehall ; They are bursting on our flanks. Grasp your pikes, close your ranks; • For Rupert never comes but to conquer or to fall. They are here ! They rush on ! We are broken ! We are gone ! Our left is borne before them like stubble on the blast. Lord, put forth thy might! Lord, defend the right! 478 SHORTER ENGLISH POEMS Stand back to back, in God's name, and fight it t the last. Stout Skippon hath a wound; the centre hath give ground : 30 Hark ! hark ! — What means the trampling of horst men on our rear? Whose banner do I see, boys? 'Tis he, thank Goc 'tis he, boys, Bear up another minute : brave Oliver is here. Their heads all stooping low, their points all in a rovv Like a whirlwind on the trees, like a deluge on th dykes, 35 Our cuirassiers have burst on the ranks of th Accurst, And at a shock have scattered the forest of hi pikes. Fast, fast, the gallants ride, in some safe nook to hid Their coward heads, predestined to rot on Tempi Bar; And he — he turns, he flies : — shame on those cruel eye 40 That bore to look on torture, and dare not look o: war. Ho! comrades scour the plain; and, ere ye strip th slain, First give another stab to make your search secure Then shake from sleeves and pockets their broad pieces and lockets, The tokens of the wanton, the plunder of the pool In Fi ii THE BATTLE OF NASEBY 479 Fools ! your doublets shone with gold, and your hearts were gay and bold, I When you kissed your lily hands to your lemans today ; And tomorrow shall the fox, from her chambers in the rocks, Lead forth her tawny cubs to howl above the prey. Where be your tongues that late mocked at heaven and hell and fate, And the fingers that once were so busy with your blades, Your perfum'd satin clothes, your catches and your oaths, Your stage-plays and your sonnets, your diamonds and your spades? Down, down, for ever down with the mitre and the crown, With the Belial of the Court and the Mammon of the Pope; There is woe in Oxford halls: there is wail in Dur- ham's Stalls: The Jesuit smites his bosom: the Bishop rends his cope. And She of the seven hills shall mourn her children's ills, And tremble when she thinks on the edge of Eng- land's sword; r lAnd the Kings of earth in fear shall shudder when they hear 480 SHOKTEE ENGLISH POEMS What the hand of God hath wrought for the Houses and the Word. LAYS OF ANCIENT EOME. NOTES. LOCALITIES: In the sixth century B. C, the Etrurians occupied Northern Italy, and extended on the west, with the Tiber for their general boundary, almost to the gates of Rome. On the eastern or Adriatic side, came the people of Latin blood, speaking the dialects of Cen- tral Italy : the Latini, the Umbri, the Sabini, the Volsci, etc. South of the Tiber, these people covered the peninsula. There were Pelagian and Greek colonies in the South, and small Phoenician colonies in Sardinia and Sicily. One of the most effective things in the Lays is the sonorous use of proper names. These serve two purposes ; first, their mere sound is so skillfully interwoven that it adds resonance and helps the swing of the measure ; second, they add to the vividness of the scene by a rich and romantic suggestion of local color. To the reader with intimate knowledge of Italy, these names have in them- selves a rare charm of association. But the younger reader does not gain much by stopping in his reading to learn that a little town is in Northern Latium or Southern Etruria. The editor has there- fore simply gathered the names together in the Geographical Index that follows, which can be consulted at will and has referred to this Index from time to time in the Notes. Additional study of a classical Atlas is recommended to students curious concerning geography. Most of the places in Horatius lie to the North of Rome, in Etruria, whence the troops march on the city. In The Battle of the Lake Regillus, the troops march from Latium, the province to the South ; but the coming of the Great White Brethren is accom- panied by many Greek names. Virginia has no geographical allu- sions. In The Prophecy of Capys, the scene is laid near Alba Longa, the mother-city of Rome ; but other localities are mentioned in the prophecy of the extending triumphs of the city. GEOGRAPHICAL INDEX. LOCALITIES IN ETRURIA ALPHABETICALLY ARRANGED: Arnus: A river in Northern Alvernus: A mountain on the Etruria : the modern Arno. border of Umbria. Later on which Florence is situated. known as Mt. Alverna ; on NOTES ON MACAULAY'S POEMS 481 this mountain St. Francis was stigmatized. Auser: A muddy little river. Arretium: A town : modern Arezzo. Ciminian: Mount Ciminus. Clanis: A river. Clitumnus: A river with beau- tiful clear springs still vis- ited. See Childe Harold, Can- to IV, 1. 586. Clausium: A town; modern Chiusi. Cortona: A town, in a lofty situation, which still keeps the same name. Cosa: A town on the sea-coast. Falerii: A town. Ferentinum: A town. Luna: A town in the very North LOCALITIES Alba Longa: The town among the hills to the South of Rome from which, according to legend, the city was settled. Algidus: A mountain. Anio: A river flowing into the Tiber. Anxur: A town. Ardea: A town. Arpinum: A town. Aricia: A town among the hills. See note to CMlde Harold, Canto IV, 1. 1549. Camerium: A town. Cora: A town. Crustumerium : A town. Fidenae: A town ; modern Castel Guibileo, on the Tiber. Oabei: A town. Janiculum: One of the Seven Hills of Rome. Laureniian: An adjective from Laurentum, a town on the sea-coast. Lavinium: On the coast; see the Acneid. of Etruria, between Pisa and Genoa. Nar: A river that flows into the Tiber. Pisae: Modern Pisa. Populonia: A town on a little peninsula. Soracte: A mountain ; see CMlde Harold, Canto IV, 1. 665. Butrium: A town. Tifernum: A town on the North- ern Tiber. Thrasymene: A lake. See Childe Harold, Canto IV, 1. 551. TJmbro: A little river flowing into the Mediterranean. Volaterrae: Modern Volterra. Volsinian mere: A lake. Volsinium: A town. IN LATIUM: N omentum: A town. Norba: A town. Ostia: The sea-port of Rome, still bearing the same naitfe. Palatinus: One of the Seven Hills of Rome, on which later the Palace of the Caesars was built. See Childe Harold, Canto IV, 1. 951. Pedum: A town. Pomptine fog: The miasma from the Pontine Marshes, which extended over the lowlands of Latium. Regillus: The small lake by which the battle was fought between the Romans and the Latins. Setia: A town. Tibur: An important town ; mod- ern Tivoli. Tusculum: A town very near Rome. Ufens: A river. Velitrae: A town. 482 SHORTER ENGLISH POEMS The Velian Hill: Another of the Seven Hills of Rome. Witch's Fortress: A promontory, named from Circe the Sor- ceress. OTHER LOCALITIES: Adria: The Adriatic Sea. Apulian: Apulia was a district in Southern Italy. Atlas: A mountain in Africa. Aufldus: A river in Apulia. Banausia: A fountain in Apulia near the birth-place of Horace. Byrsa: The citadel of Carthage. Calabrian: Calabria is still a dis- trict in Southern Italy. Campania: A province south of Latium. Capua: A city in Campania notorious for its luxury. Carthage: A famous city in Africa, long the chief rival of Rome. Cirrha: A city in Greece. Corinth: One of the chief cities in Greece. Cyrene: A mountain in Africa. Digentian: Digentia was a stream in Sabini. Eurotas: The river in Greece on which Laceda^mon or Sparta was built. Ilva: The modern island of Elba, where Napoleon was exiled. Lacedwmon: The most important city in Greece, next to Athens. Libyan: Libya was in Africa. Massilia: The modern Marseilles, in France. Mevania: A town in Umbria. Orontes: A river in Syria. Parthenius: A mountain in Greece. Po: One of the larger Italian rivers. Rhodes: An island in the iEgean Sea sacred to Apollo. Samothracia: An island in the Grecian seas. Sardinia: An island off the coast of Italy. Sidon: An ancient city in Phoe- nicia, mentioned in the Scrip- tures. Syracuse: A city in Sicily. Tarentum: A Greek town in Calabria. Tartessian: Tartessus was in Spain. Thunder-Cape: A promontory in Greece opposite Calabria. Tyre: A famous city in Phoe- nicia, usually coupled with Sidon. Vrgo: A little island off the coast of Etruria. HOEATIUS. The story is told in Livy, Book II, 10. 1. Lars Porsena: Lars was the old Etruscan word for Lord, or Chieftain. It was an hereditary title. 3. House of Tarquin: The dynasty of Tarquin. As we sa*, the House of Hapsburg. 6. Trysting day: This medieval word is in keeping »vith the frankly romantic tone of the Lays. Macaulay freely uses terms from the old English ballads. NOTES ON MACAULAY'S POEMS 483 36. Triremes: Vessels propelled by three banks of oars. Famil- iar in classic times. 37. Fair-haired slaves: Slaves from Northern countries, whose fair hair was always an amazement to the Romans. 39. Through corn, etc. In Italy the fields of grain and the vine- yards are often gay with flowers, like the bright rosy wild gladiolus, and our Love in a Mist, and red tulips. 40. Cortona: For this and preceding proper names in this stanza, see Geographical Index. 63. Must: The new wine, trodden from the grapes. Wine is still made in this way in Italy. 72. Traced from the right: Etruscan writing, derived from the Phoenicians, was written in this way, still practised in some parts of the Orient. The Etruscan religion placed great stress on omens of various kinds. 79. Royal dome: The word dome here stands for any impressive building. Cf. Latin domus, house. Compare Qoleridge's Ku~bla Khan: In Xanada did Kubla Khan A stately pleasure-dome decree. 80. Nurscia: Probably the goddess of good-fortune. 81. In the early days of Rome there was found in the court* yard of the king's palace a golden shield, which the priests de- clared had fallen from heaven ; and while it remained safe, they said, Rome could not be conquered. To protect it from theft, eleven other shields exactly like it were made, and twelve priests ap- pointed to guard the twelve shields. 83. Tale: Compare our modern word "tally." "Tale" in thi? sense means the number counted. Cf. Milton's L' Allegro: And every shepherd tells his tale. 96. Hamilius was Tarquin's son-in-law. His home, Tusculum, is famous in later Roman annals from the distinguished Romans, Cicero in particular, who had villas there. 100. Champaign: Latin campum. Compare French "Champ" and modern Italian "Campagna," by which name the level country around Rome still goes. 113. Note how admirably the impression of breathless haste is increased by the absence of any pause except a comma at the end of this line. These three stanzas are memorable for the vivid use of concrete detail in which Macaulay excels. 115. Skins of wine: The Cossacks and other Orientals still carry liquids in bottles made of skins sewed firmly together. 121. Roaring: What is the force of this word? 122. The Tarpeian rock overhung the Tiber. Tarpeia was a 484 SHOETEB ENGLISH POEMS Roman girl who agreed to throw open the doors of the citadel to the Sabines, if they would give her "what they wore on their left arms." She meant their gold bracelets ; but they threw their heavy shields upon her, as she stood waiting for her reward, and she was crushed to death. 123. Burghers: This word suits the mediaeval style of the Lays, and also brings the life of ancient Rome closely home to us. 126. The Fathers of the City: The Senators. Our half -jesting phrase, "The City Fathers," goes back to Roman associations. 130. Reference to a map will make more vivid the way in which the foes close in upon the city, till one of the sacred seven hills is stormed by them. 138. Iwis: An archaic word meaning "certainly." Macaulay prob- ably mistook the "I" for the personal pronoun, but it is really a prefix. 144. Girded up their gowns: They must be pictured clad in the long flowing Roman toga. 151. The Sublician bridge (su&Zicae=props), a wooden structure connecting Janiculum with Rome ; 250 years old at the time of Horatius. Its site is not known exactly. 162. And nearer: Has Macaulay previously varied the length of his usual eight-line stanza? Where? Why? What does he gain by changing here to a stanza of twelve lines? What is the rhyme-scheme? What use of color is there? What of sound? By what stages is the "swarthy storm of dust" gradually recognized as a glittering army? When does the army get near enough for individuals to be known? 184. Port and vest: "Port" is carriage, bearing. Cf. our "deport- ment." "Vest" is from the Latin vestis. Cf. "vestment." 185. Lucumo: The name given by Latin writers to the Etruscan chiefs. 188. Four-fold shield: Four thicknesses of hide and various metals. See Regillus, 276. 217. Brave Horatius: He was called Codes, the one-eyed. He came of a patrician family, the Luceres. Livy says that he "hap- pened to be on guard at the bridge." Compare his simple and noble speech with that of Beowulf, the Anglo-Saxon hero, when he plunges into the depths of the sea to fight a sea-monster : or with the speech of other epic heroes at decisive moments. 223, 224. Reverence for ancestors and for the gods were close together in Roman minds. The Romans usually burned their dead, though burial was not unknown. 229, 230. These maidens were the six Vestal Virgins, girls who, vowing never to marry, devoted themselves to the service of Vesta, goddess of the hearth. They kept a fire burning, night and day, upon Vesta's shrine. The Romans held them in high honor. 235. i" with two more: In Livy, Horatius offers to hold the bridge alone, but the others beg permission to join him. NOTES ON MACAULAY 'S POEMS 485 237. Ton strait path: Cf. Matthew VII, 13 : "Enter ye in at the strait gate." Not the same word as "straight." 241, etc. : Spurius Lartius and Titus Herminius are both men- tioned in Livy. 242. The Luceres (see note, 1. 217), the Ramnes, and the Tities were the three Roman tribes. The Ramnes were said to be direct descendants of Romulus, founder of Rome ; hence they were called proud. 253. For Romans in Rome's quarrel: Who is speaking here? What is the force of the interpolation? 261. Lands were -fairly portioned: Land conquered by the city was supposedly held for the common benefit of the citizens. 267. The tribunes: The official representatives of tbe tribes of the common people, or Plebs, of Rome. The Fathers (patres) were the representatives of the nobles, the Patricians. 269. As we wax hot: Two often quoted and powerful lines. 274. Harness: Armor, trappings of war. Cf. Macbeth, V. 5, 52; At least we'll die with harness on our back. 277. Commons: Macaulay again suggests the modern parallel to old Roman days by using the English parliamentary term. 304. Ilva's mines: The iron mines of Elba are still worked. 310. The pale waves of Nar: The waters of the river Nar were impregnated with sulphur, which gave them a whitish tinge. Notice how intimate Macaulay is with the rivers of Italy. Auser is really "dark" with a sort of black mud : Clitumnus flows silvery pure : Tiber, at Rome, is tawny "yellow," though nearer its source it is blue-green. 323. Aruns: The Etruscan title for a younger son. 324. The great wild boar: Macaulay alters the real legend, ac- cording to which this boar was so terrible that finally the gods, in answer to prayer, destroyed him by lightning. 333. Fell pirate: Apparently Macaulay invented him. He is given fitting home in the small island of Urgo. But if there never was a Lausulus, the Etruscans were nevertheless often pirates as well as merchants. 337. Hinds: Country-people, peasants. 346. And for a space no man came forth: In Livy, the Etruscans throw their spears from all sides against the solitary enemy. He challenges them singly, but they hesitate and for a time no one comes to meet him. 350. Luna: See Geographical Index. 366. The she-wolfs litter: See The Prophecy of Capys ; also notes to Childe Harold, Canto IV, line 789. 354. And in his hand he shakes the brand: Can you find other examples of internal rhyme in the poem? 384.- Mount Alvernus: See Geographical Index, page 314. 486 SHORTER ENGLISH POEMS 388. The pale augurs: Soothsayers, or priests who interpreted the will of the Gods by reading the flight of birds, the entrails of sacrificed beasts, etc. 412-415. These four lines all run on one rhyme. 492. O Tiber! father Tiber: The Tiber was represented in Roman sculpture of a later date as an old river-god reclining, sur- rounded by children who represented his tributaries. In Livy, this prayer reads as follows : "Father Tiber, I pray thee, Holy One, receive these arms and this thy soldier in thy propitious waters." Do you prefer this version or Macaulay's? Would Horatius have explained, at that moment, that the Romans pray to the Tiber, or would he have taken it for granted? 525. Bore bravely up his chin: Macaulay cites, in connection with this line, the following passages : Our ladye bare upp her chinne. — Ballad of Childe Waters. Never heavier man and horse Stemmed a midnight torrent's force ; Yet through good heart and Our Lady's grace, At last he gained the landing-place. Scott : Lap of the Last Minstrel. 545. Could ploiv may mean could plow a furrow round ; which, would be a good deal. Most even of the rich Romans owned little real estate ; nearly all their property was personal. 548, 549. What day? And who is speaking? 550. The Forum was the Roman place of public assembly. In the middle was the Rostra, from which all speakers addressed the people. The patricians gathered on one side, in the Comitium, the plebeians on the other, in the Forum proper. 558, 559. The story is now finished. Why does Macaulay add these stanzas? Does he show good judgment? 561. The Romans were at war with their neighbors, the Volsci, at the time this ballad is supposed to have been written. 562. The goddess of motherhood. THE BATTLE OF THE LAKE REGILLUS. The battle chronicled in the poem took place some years after the expedition of Porsena. Tarquin, still conspiring against Rome, had now appealed to the League of the Thirty Latin Cities. His son- in-law, Mamilius, nominally head of this League, turned the Thirty Cities against Rome. But this final effort of Tarquin, as the NOTES ON MACAULAY 'S POEMS 487 ballad narrates, failed completely. Just where Lake Regillus lay is in doubt. Macaulay inclines to favor the idea that it was be- tween Frascati and Monte Porzio (the "Porcian Height" of 11. 34, 148), about fifteen to twenty miles to the north of Rome. The story is told in Livy, Book II, chapters 19, 20. Title: Castor and Pollux were the twin brothers of Helen, wife of Menelaus, King of Sparta, the woman whose fatal beauty was the cause of the >Trojan War. The remains of their Temple in the Roman Forum can still be seen. 2. Lictors: The bodyguard of the magistrates. Twelve attended each consul. The insignia of office were the fasces, a bundle of rods surrounding an axe. 3. Knights: The "Equites," an order that ranked below the Senate and above the plebeians. They were a kind of honorary cavalry, recruited from among the rich young men. The use of the word is characteristic of Macaulay's intention to quicken in us the same romantic feeling toward ancient Rome which we have toward the middle ages. It would be interesting to go through the Lays, noting how cleverly mediaeval words are used as a parallel to Latin expressions. 7, 8. Castor . . . Mars: The two temples between which the procession passed. 14. The Sacred Hill: A small hill outside the city. The common people, in one famous struggle against the patricians, 494 B. C, withdrew in a body to this hill and waited there till the Tribunes they wanted were granted to them. 15-20. "The Ides of Quintilis fell on the fifteenth of July. The months were counted, and July was the fifth month, hence its name (Quintilis). In the Roman calendar, the first day of each month was named the 'Calends,' from the verb meaning to 'call' The next division was Nones, which, as the ninth day before the Ides, fell on different dates in different months. The Ides, a word of uncertain derivation, fell on the fifteenth in March, May, July. and October, on the thirteenth in other months." 17. The Martian Kalends: The first of March was the great yearly holiday of Roman women. 18. December's Nones: The fifth of December was a day devoted to wild festivities in honour of the god of the woods, Faunus. 20. Rome's whitest day: See line 156. White was lucky, black unlucky. The Latin word Candidatus, our "Candidate," meant one dressed in white for good luck. In the Te Deum. the Latin adjective for our "Noble army of martyrs" is Candidatus. 25-32. Follow their course on a map. They pass from their Eastern birth-place over mountains, cities, and seas. Their ancient mansion is their temple in Laceda3mon or Sparta, the home of Menelaus and Helen. Sparta was in ancient days governed by two kings at once. 36-50. In these martial poems, Macaulay loves to pause now 488 SHOKTEK ENGLISH POEMS and then, as in the conclusion of Horatius, to give us idyllic and pastoral pictures. The contrast helps us to realize the primitive simplicity of life in ancient Italy. 60. Note how well Macaulay in this stanza leads up to the beginning of his narrative. 69. A hoof-marlc: See Introduction. Every country has its mysterious foot-prints around which legends gather. In this poem, we are not in the region of plain human story as in Horatius, but in the solemn region of myth and religious faith. Our imagi- nations must be kindled with awe. The old Romans had a strong sense for the sanctity of localities. The word "holy" a few lines above is deliberately meant. 77. Since last: The listeners to the Lay are Romans who are still living under the same general conditions as those the poem implies. But even they have to have some information. Macaulay has shown much dramatic imagination in the way in which he puts himself at their precise point of view. 82. Consul first in place: First to have been elected : he had, however, no superior rights. 89. The Herald of the Latines: Note the stately effect produced by the repetition. 119. Conscript Fathers: The members of the Patrician order whose names were written, "conscripti," in the Senate Roll. 123. A Dictator: Roman history records many an occasion when such a temporary head of the State was chosen. 125. Camerium: A Latin city which Aulus had almost anni- hilated. 132. Axes twenty-four: All the Lictors were now to belong to him. 163. Foredoomed to dogs and vultures: Notice that Macaulay in this Lay foregoes appeal to suspense. It is an avowed song of triumph. Wherein does the excitement then consist? 173. Compare note on Childe Harold, Canto IV, 1549. Aricia had a temple dedicated to Diana, where the priest was always to be a run-away slave who gained the office only by killing his predeces- sor. Naturally the priest temporarily in charge always went armed. 195. Upon Ids head a helmet: Mamilius is in Livy "conspicuous for his armor." 201-204. Why does the metre change? Purple cloth was a famous product of Tyre on the coast of Syria. 209. False Sextus: See Horatius, 11. 199-200, and note. 217. A woman fair and stately: Lucretia. 237. The Volscian succors: Allies from the Volscian Hills. 239. The Roman exiles: The nobles who had been exiles with Tarquin. The singer is a Roman and presents them with sympathy though disapproval. 241. Mount Soracte: See Childe Harold, Canto IV, 1. 665, and note. NOTES ON MACAULAY 'S POEMS 489 251. Titus the youngest Tarquin: Really the oldest. 254. Gave signal for the charge: Livy says : "For the leaders were in the battle not merely to guide it by their strategy, but mixed in the fray themselves . . . and almost none of the chiefs came out of either army without a wound except the Roman Dictator." From this hint, Macaulay has elaborated the spirited series of single combats in which he imitated Homer. 263. The Pomptitve fog: See Geographical Index, p. 315. 277. As glares the famished eagle: Note that Macaulay in- troduces these figures of speech much more often here than in other parts of the Lays. One reason probably is to afford relief from the fighting ; another to follow the epic manner of Homer, whose formal similes are famous. 283. Black Auster: This sympathetic steed is named from the Southwest wind, which is a black wind, in Italy. Herminius is of course older than in Horatius. 308. Among his elms: Grape-vines are still frequently trained upon trees in Italy. 309. Mamilius: See note on 195. 323. A thick wall of oucklers: Bucklers are shields. In classic days they were often several feet long, and could well form a wall if placed upright edge to edge. 325. His clients: Clients in old Roman days were the depend- ents of a noble house. The term is frequently found. See Vir- ginia, 20. 332. Compare the famous story of- General Wolfe, who drove the French from Canada. Near the close of the battle of Quebec, while he lay mortally wounded, some one cried in his hearing : "They run! They run!" "Who run?" demanded Wolfe: and the answer was, "The French!" "Then," answered the general, "I can die happy." 333. But meanwhile in the centre: Note the crescendo : Tarquifl and the dictator are now to engage in single combat. Compare this battle with classic battles in Homer, and with battles described by some of those mediaeval minstrels whom Macaulay was imitating : for instance, that in the old French Chanson de Geste, The Song of Roland. See translation by O'Hagan or by Isabel Butler. 360. Rome's great Julian line: The Julian House of Rome traced its ancestry to lulus, the grandson of the hero of the iEneid. 375, 376. The first Valerius was called Publicola, the People's Friend. 383. Yeomen: Another strong old English word, which, how- ever, has not so close a parallel in Latin as most of the words Macaulay uses. 401. Macaulay alternates single combats with general pictures. Note the appeal to eye and ear. 414. Purple foam: "Purple" is Macaulay's favorite color-word. 490 SHOETEE ENGLISH POEMS He works it hard in the Lays and usually to good effect. Do you: think it is better here than "bloody" would have been? 415, 416. A stirring climax. We can imagine how fast and loud the minstrel is now singing. The patriotic passion of his hearers is at its height. Valerius had once been Consul. 431. Mamilius' armor was described in detail when first he was introduced. Now we see one reason why : he is identified by it from afar. 513. The battle is so far an even thing. At this point, Mac- aulay, with high art, pauses, and through the wild ride of the charger of Herminius and the touching sorrow of Black Auster, gives us relief. This stanza and the next prepare us for the com- ing of the Gods. The metre in the twenty-ninth stanza should be carefully studied. Note . especially how the anapaests in the lines 523, 527, 531, suggest the gallop, and the spondees of the monosyllabic line 539 the restrained sorrow and resolution of the old men. Compare The Ride of Paul Revere, and Browning's Through the Metidja, and How They Brought the Good News from Ghent to Aix. 557. The furies of thy or other: The Furies were in Greek mythology three dreadful sisters who took vengeance on murderers. "Thy brother" is of course the false Sextus. 568. Rich Capuan's hall: A hundred years after the singing of this Lay, the soldiers of Hannibal were subjugated by the seductive luxury of Capua. Compare The Prophecy of Capys, line 187. 581. The Romans must not be represented as discouraged. Aulus is going right on with. the fight. But it is time for the gods to come. 583. The "princely pair" suddenly appear, no one knows whence, in the central heat of the battle. One catches the thrill with which these lines would be received by a Roman audience. 588. Their steeds were white as snow: The emphasis on Black Auster and on the grey horse of Herminius has been directly meant to lead up to our joy in these more strange and beautiful creatures. 603. Samothracia, etc.: Macaulay suggests the wide extent of the worship of Castor and Pollux by thus mentioning places in Greece, Africa, Southern Italy, and Sicily. 605. Tarentum: For the proper names in this stanza, see Geo- graphical Index, p. 316. The house of the gods is a Temple. 614. Couched low: Leveled. 623. The hearth of Vesta: Horatius too, it will be remembered, was nerved to his feat by desire to protect the Vestal Virgins. 649. Our Sire Quirinus: Romulus after death was worshiped as Quirinus the Spear-god. 687-88. The tattle Went roaring through the pass: After the detail of the hand to hand fighting, the general term "the battle" NOTES ON MACAULAY'S POEMS 491 is just the summary we want, and the vision of the conflict sweep- ing farther and farther away and seen only in the mass, could not be better given. 689, etc. We turn to anxious and expectant Rome in a transi- tion as effective as it is abrupt. 695. The Twelve were the twelve patrician guardians of the Golden Shield and its eleven copies. 697. The High Pontiff: The Pontiff Maximus, the head of the priestly order of Rome : a most important personage. 699. Etruria's colleges: The College in this sense was an as- semblage of men devoted to the study of religious ceremonies. 721. Hail to the great Asylum: According to the legend, Romu- lus had, when he founded Rome set apart a certain section of the city for a refuge to fugitives. Note the stateliness of this greeting. 723. The fire that turns for aye: The never-dying flame tended by the Vestals. 760. The Dorians: The Greeks of the province in which Lace- daemon, the home of the Great Brethren, is situated. 768. Sit shining on the sails: Castor and Pollux are known in astronomy as one of the signs of the Zodiac, the constellation Gemini. As such they are invoked as the guides to mariners. Others interpret this line as referring to electric or phosphor- escent phenomena. 773. Here hard oy Vesta's Temple: Three columns of the Tem- ple of Castor and Pollux, still standing, are among the most impressive ruins in the Roman Forum. These columns, however, belong to a later date than the supposed date of our Lay. They probably belong to a restoration of the Temple in the time of Trajan or Hadrian. They are of Parian marble with fine Cor- inthian capitals. The temple had eight columns in front and probably thirteen on each side. "Dome" is used again in the sense of "House" or "Temple." 793. And pass in solemn order: It is effective that the pro- cession should end, as it began, the poem. VIRGINIA. Horatius and The Battle of the Lake Regillus celebrate the exploits of warriors, who, like all men of military prominence among the old Romans, belonged to the Patrician class. In Vir- ginia we have, as Macaulay points out in his Introduction, an attack upon the Patricians. The Licinian Laws, his imaginary occasion of the ballad, were three laws introduced by Caius Licinius, the Tribune or representative of the people. The first proposed to give the Plebs a share in the distribution of the public lands, the second to make them eligible to high office, and 492 SHOETEE ENGLISH POEMS the third to free them from the terrible "debtor's law" of the time. The story is found in Livy, Bk. Ill, 44-49. Maoaulay follows I.ivy very closely. 5. Of fountains running wine: Various Grecian legends, prin- cipally of Bacchus the Wine-God, include this idea. 6. See the legend of Perseus and the Gorgons, and the story of Circe, in the Odyssey. 10. The wicked Ten: The Decemvirs were Patricians who had ■ been appointed to draw up laws satisfactory to both parties and to perform the duties of magistrates for one year. They did well at first, but in their second year they used their power tyran- nically and became hated by the people. 14. Tivelve axes: Lictors. See note on Regillus, 1, 2. 20. The client: The client was expected in return for protec- tion to carry out the orders of his patron. The relation was hereditary. 23. Such varlets, etc.: This passage is quite in dramatic char- acter. It expresses the bitterness of feeling and the prejudice of plebeian Rome. 24. Licinius. The newly re-elected Tribune. See Title and Introduction. 31. With her small tablets in her hand: These tablets were thin pieces of wood covered on one side with wax, on which the pupil wrote with an iron pencil called a stylus. They were the slates of the time. The picture of the little Virginia is in a different tone from anything else in the Lays, except the few lines about "The young Herminia" in The Battle of the Lake Regillus. 35. The Sacred Street: The Via Sacra, leading to the Forum. 36. Lines of the good old song: The story is that the sons of Tarquin and their cousin, the husband of Lucrece, made a wager as to which possessed the most dutiful wife. They rode home at midnight to settle it. The wives . of the king's sons were at a banquet, but Lucrece was found spinning among her maidens. 47. The Forum all alive: We have not before in the Lays been allowed to see Rome at peace. This homely, cheerful picture is a good contrast to the tragedy to follow. 50. Panniers: Baskets usually slung at the side of a saddle. Originally meant to hold bread, as suggested by the derivation from the Latin panis. 55. With stalls in alleys gay: Very small open shops : there are many in Italian cities today. 64. Punic wares: Carthaginian. Hanno is a Carthaginian name. People then talked of Tunic wares as we today talk of wares from Paris. 66. Flesher: Butcher. These were all well-known professions among the Romans. 74. The year of the sore sickness: The plague, which devas- NOTES ON MACAU LAY'S POEMS 493 tated Rome, in 463 B. C. September is the most unhealthy month there. 76. Two augurs: See Note on Horatius, 3SS. 81. No Tribune: Note how repeatedly the purpose of the poem is indicated. 83. Honest Sextius: Fellow-Tribune with Licinius. 86. Murwna's skirt: The dress of the laboring men was not the toga, but a short garment something like a Scotch kilt. 87. The young Icilius: Betrothed to Virginia. 89. That column: Three Roman brothers, the Horatii (unre- lated to the hero of Macaulay's Lay) fought three brothers of Alba, the Curatii, to settle a dispute between Alba and Rome. All the Curatii and two of the Horatii were killed : the surviving brother brought back in triumph the armor of his enemies and hung it on this column in the Forum. 92. The burning words: Macaulay loved political oratory. Com- pare this speech of Icilius with Mark Antony's speech over the body of Caesar. 94. Quirites: Roman citizens: The word is said to be derived from Cures, a Sabine town, whose inhabitants were called Quirites. "After the Sabines and the Romans had united themselves into one community, under Romulus, the name of Quirites was taken in addition to that of Romani, the people calling themselves in a civil capacity Quirites, while in a political and military capacity they retained the name of Romans." — Andrews. 95. Serviusr Servius Tullius, sixth king of Rome, a wise law- giver, supposedly of divine origin, who gave the city her military constitution. 97. Those false sons: One of the best-known stories in Roman legendary history is that of Brutus, an early consul, who, having discovered his two sons to be involved in a conspiracy to restore Tarquin, ordered them to be beheaded. 98. Scwvola means left-handed. Caius Mucius, a young Roman noble, gained tbis surname through an exploit at the time when Porsena of Clusium was besieging Rome. He went into tbe Etrus- can camp in an attempt to kill the king, but was discovered. Brought before Porsena and questioned, he thrust his right hand into the flame of a torch and held it there quietly, to show how little he cared for torture ; then he informed Porsena that there were in Rome hundreds more young men as brave as he. The Etruscan was so impressed that he at once proposed peace on terms favorable to Rome. 102. See Regillus, 1. 14, note. 104. Marcian fury: Caius Marcius, nicknamed Coriolanus, from Corioli, one of the towns he conquered, was banished from Rome, and in revenge led the Volscians against the city. On the point of victory he was checked by the tears and prayers of his mother and his wife, who had been sent to him to intercede for the city. See 494 SHOETEE ENGLISH POEMS Regillus, 1. 356, note. The Fabian pride refers to the action of the troops of Caeso Fabius when they refused to storm the camp of the enemy, and so, by leaving the victory incomplete, deprived the general of his triumph. 105. The fiercest Quinctius: A son of the great Cincinnatus, banished for his opposition to the Plebs. 106. The haughtiest Claudius: Grandfather of the Claudius of this poem. 111. No crier to the pollings: The Romans were summoned to the elections by word of mouth and by the sound of a trumpet. 115. The holy fillets: The fillets were the insignia of the priest- hood and only Patricians might be priests. They were small bands worn on the hair. The purple gown was worn by consuls and equites on public occasions. 116. The curule chair was the chair of state. It was inlaid with ivory and had neither arms nor back. In curule chairs sat the Fathers at the Eastern Gate in the Battle of the Lake Regillus, stanza 37, waiting for news of the battle. In these chairs the Gauls found the City Fathers sitting when they raided the city in 390 B. C. The Car is the chariot used in triumphal processions : the laurel crown the wreath worn in such triumphs by the victor. 117. Press us for your cohorts: Impress. 120. Usance: Usury. 122. Your dens of torment: The debtors' prisons in Rome were notorious for horrors. 124. Holes: Stocks. Wooden frames in which the feet were held. 130. Ascanius, son of JEneas, is said to have founded Alba Longa three hundred years before Romulus laid the walls of Rome. See The Prophecy of Capys. 133. Corinthian mirrors: Corinth, like Capua, was famous for its luxury. It produced fine bronze ; mirrors in classic times were made of polished metal. 144. The asterisks throughout this poem are Macaulay's own. See his Introduction for the portion of the story which he has here omitted. He calls his verses the fragments of a lay. 146. The Roman butchering was done in the open street. 148. The great sewer: The Cloaca Maxima. 149. Whittle: Butcher's knife. 153. Why does he use the past tense? 157. My civic crown: A crown of oak leaves was granted to any soldier who saved the life of a Roman freeman in battle by killing his opponent. 162. His urn: In which the ashes were kept after his dead body had been burned. 193. O dwellers in the nether gloom: An invocation of the goda of the lower world, especially the Furies. NOTES ON MACAULAY 'S POEMS 495 213. Cypress crown: The cypress is the tree of churchyards, especially in Italy. 217. Crafts: Occupations: as in our phrase "Arts and Crafts." 221, 222. Scan these lines. 228. The Pincian Hill: One of the Seven Hills, then on the outskirts of the town. 242. Tribunes ! Hurrah for Tribunes ! The occasion of the ballad is to describe this popular rising. 246. Macaulay says of this family in his Introduction : "In war they were not distinguished by skill or valor. One of them had been entrusted with an army and had failed ignominiously. None of them had been honored with a Triumph. None of them had achieved any martial exploit." 249. Caius of Corioli: Shakespeare's Coriolanus, who took his name from the town he had conquered. See note, line 104. 251. The yoke of Furius: Marcus Furius Camillus drove the Gauls from Rome after they had captured it in 390 B. C. See The Prophecy of Capys, 193-196, note. 257. A Cosstis: Surname of a house belonging to the gens Cor- nelia. See Lake Regillus, stanza 23. 277. Sea-marks: Light-houses. 278. The great Thunder Cape: See Geographical Index, p. 316. It was a promontory in Greece, opposite Brindisi, of a volcanic nature. 2S6. The ridicule and unrestrained abuse heaped upon Appius give a truly popular quality to this Lay, quite different from the dignity of all the others. THE PEOPHECY OF CAPYS. In order fully to enjoy this Lay it is necessary to bear in mind the occasion on which it is supposed to be sung. Macaulay's pic- turesque Introduction gives a full account of this occasion, the first and dramatic victory of the Romans over the Greeks, 275 B. C. It will be noticed that Horatius is presented as composed three hundred and sixty years after the founding of the city : The Prophecy of Capys four hundred and seventy-nine years after. As Macaulay tells us, the age during which ballad poetry could be composed is drawing to an end and the period of literary poetry is about to dawn. But this Ballad, supposed to be written last, car- ries us back to the very foundation of Rome and thus spans the whole period which Macaulay had in mind. 1. Amulius, grand-uncle of Romulus, founder of Rome, was king of the city Alba Longa, which had been founded by Ascanius, son of iEneas, on the hillside above the Alban Lake. Amulius dragged Numitor, his brother, from the throne and by the advice of Camers, the high-priest, buried Numitor's daughter, Rhea Silvia, 496 SHOETEE ENGLISH POEMS alive, and threw the two baby boys who had been born to her and the God Mars into the Tiber. Through the care of the gods, how- ever, the little twins were saved and nursed by a wolf till a shep- herd found them and adopted them as his foster-children. 4. Aventine: Aventinus was a descendant of JEneas. 25. Notice the change in the metre : it would accompany a change in the music, to a slower and more solemn strain. 56. And on the blade a head: This picture has a barbaric cast. Of Irish Cuchulin we are told : "In one hand he carried nine heads, nine also in the other : the which in token of valor and of skill in arms he held at arms' length and in sight of all the army shook." "Head-hunting" still lingers among the Igorots in the Philippines. The picture Macaulay draws here indicates an earlier epoch than do the pictures of the other Lays. 80. Chib and axe and bow: Very different weapons from those used in The Battle of the Lake Regillus. 94. Capys the sightless seer: Can you remember any other instances in literature of blind old minstrels? 115. Arabian perfumes and Syrian dyes were loved and much used in the more effeminate days of Rome. Cf. Lady Macbeth : "All the perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this little hand." 121. Rome is not to be a merely commercial city : nor a center of effeminate luxury : nor a health resort. All three were familiar types to the ancients. 132. The spirit of thy sire: This is the text of the following stanzas. The present stanza is Macaulay's interpretation of the Roman spirit. 147. She dies in silence: For the same legend see Byron, Childe Harold, Canto IV, line 185. 149. Pomona: The Roman goddess of fruits and orchards. 150. Liber: An Italian rural deity. 151. Pales: A rustic divinity, it is uncertain whether god or goddess. All these are the native Italian gods, — no importations from Greece. 155. The epithet ivory is especially appropriate for the moon- light of the South. The chestnut is a common tree in Italy. 156. Thy father: The military genius of the Romans probably suggested the myth that the founder of the city was the son of Mars. 169. The soft Campanian: The fertile region south of Latium bred an effeminate race to whom contemptuous reference is often made in Latin literature. 175. His marble Nymphs: The distinctive mark of each race as conceived by the fierce and haughty Roman is given in a line or half-line. 176. Scrolls of wordy lore: Ancient books were written upon leaves of papyrus or parchment which were joined end to end and rolled on a long stick. The scroll was then unrolled to be read. NOTES ON MACAULAY 'S POEMS 497 177. The pilum: The long Roman spear. The trench was used in defense, the mound in attack. The Roman legion was made up of different numbers at different times, usually five or six thousand, divided into ten cohorts, each officered by six centurions or cap- tains of a hundred. 181. See Virginia, 116. The Triumphs in which the conqueror was borne in his triumphant car up the Capitoline Hill to the Temple of Jove with his captives in his train, were the culminating moments of the public life of Rome. It was on the occasion of such a triumph that this Lay is supposed to be sung. 185. The Volscian: The reference is to the wars of Coriolanus. . 189. The Lucumos: See Horatius 1, note. 191. The proud Samnites: Rome fought three wars against the Samnites, who lived southeast of Latium. 193. The Gaul shall come against thee: In this rapid prediction of the victorious advance of Rome, Macaulay dismisses most of her victories in one or two lines : but he puts victory over the Gauls in a four-line stanza by itself, to mark its importance by isolating it. The more special reference is probably to the famous victory over Brennus, in 390 B. C, when the cackling of the geese saved the city. 197. The Greek shall come against thee: Now we come to the especial victory which the Lay is written to commemorate. See Macaulay's Introduction. 200. The huge earth-shaking beast: The elephant, which so terrified the Romans that they were hard put to it to gain the victory. 207. False Tarentum: It was "gay Tarentum" in The Battle of the Lake Regillus. 215. Mark the change of metre. It gives an effect of gloating slowly over the feast. 217. Hurrah! for the good weapons: The Singer strikes his instrument more loudly and his voice rings forth. 225. Hurrah! for the great triumph: Here comes the prophetic vision of the Triumph, sung to an audience which has just wit- nessed the Triumph itself or perhaps awaits its coming. 230. The Red King: Pyrrhus. His name means Red. 232. Recall the story in the Introduction. 235, etc. These are the spoils of the East, the richest, as Macaulay reminds us, ever yet seen in a Roman triumph. 249. Manius Curius: His other name was Dentatus. He had defeated Pyrrhus and the Epirotes in a great battle at Beneventum in Samnium. 257. Rosea . . . Mevania: Rosea was famous for its horses, Mevania for its beautiful white bulls such as maybe seen in old Italian pictures of festal processions. 266. Th$ Suppliant's Grove: The Asylum of Romulus. See Regillus 721, note. 498 SHOETER ENGLISH POEMS 269-288. This last stanza in a superb sweep looks out over the whole expanse of the Roman Empire to be, from Greece, Syria, Egypt, and Africa, to far Northern lands and the remoter East. The Lay places us at the starting point of Roman history and con- cludes with a summary of the glory of Rome at its zenith. 277. The reference is to the Colossus of Rhodes, one of the seven wonders of the ancient world. 276. Dark red colonnades: Colonnades made of porphyry, a stone much used in Egypt. 280. Byrsa: See Geographical Index, p. 482. 285. Where Atlas: Look up the giant Atlas in a classical dic- tionary. Here the reference is rather to the African mountain range named after him. IVRY. NOTES. Ivry is a town forty miles west of Paris. Here on May 14, 1590, Henry IV, called Henry of Navarre, at the head of the Huguenots, won a victory over the Catholics led by the Duke of Mayenne, who was a brother of the Duke of Guise. This battle was an episode in the long struggle between the French Huguenots and the Catholics, which lasted from 1560 into the 17th century. It occurred during the eighth civil war, which was known as the War of the Three Henrys — Henry III, King of France, Henry, Duke of Guise, and Henry of Navarre, later Henry IV. Line 2. King Henry of Navarre, Henry IV of France, son of Jeanne D'Aubray, Queen of Navarre. He succeeded to the throne of France in 1588, on the assassination of Henry III. In 1593 he turned Catholic, to win the suffrages of the Catholic party in possession of the Capital, with the historical remark that "Paris was well worth a Mass." He remains to this day a favorite hero of the French people. 5. Rochelle, a French seaport, at this time one of the chief maritime cities of France. During the Reformation it was a centre of Calvinism. After the Massacre of St. Bartholomew, it held out for six months and a half against the Catholic army, which was finally obliged to raise the siege. 12. The Army of the League: This was the League of the Catholics against the Protestants, formed in 1575 by the in- stigation of Catherine de Medici under the leadership of the bril- liant and popular Duke of Guise. 14. Appenzet is a Canton in Switzerland, a Catholic centre. Egmont's Flemish spears: The soldiers of the Count of Egmont, & former governor of the Netherlands, who had been beheaded for treason in 1568. THE AEMADA: NOTES 499 15. The brood of false Lorraine. There were three brothers of the house of Lorraine : the Duke of Guise ; the Cardinal of Lor- raine, who was especially fierce against the Huguenots ; and the Duke of Mayenne, the leader in the present battle. 17. Seine's empurpled flood: An allusion to the Massacre of St. Bartholomew, which began in Paris, August' 24, 1572, and spread through the provinces. The total number of Protestants killed is estimated from 30,000 to 70,000. The outrage was instigated by Catherine de Medici. 18. Coligny: Admiral Coligny, leader of the Protestants, was killed in the massacre. 34. Guelders was the Netherlands. We have already heard in line 14 of the Flemish spears. Almayne is Germany. Cf. French 'Allemagne." 36. The golden lilies, the fleur de lys of France, mentioned also in the Armada, line 22. 48. How do you admire this sentiment of "gentle Henry"? 54. Rosny: Maximilian, Lord of Rosny, an important Huguenot noble. 63. Philip, King of Spain and chief of the Catholic powers. Spain at this time had large possessions in the New World. 66. Burghers of St. Genevieve: Genevieve was the patron saint of Paris. Paris was Catholic, and opposed to Henry. THE AEMADA. NOTES. The subject of the poem is the approach of the great Spanish fleet which Philip II of Spain sent against England in 1588, and which was disastrously overcome and wrecked. See for other treatments of the theme in English literature, Kingsley's Westward Ho! and Masefield's poetic drama, Philip. Line 4. The richest spoils of Mexico: Mexico had been since 1519 a dependency of Spain, which drew thence much treasure. Cf. Ivry, line 63. 7. Aurigny's Isle: The Island of Alderney in the Channel. 10. The tall Pinta: One of the Spanish ships. 23. The allusion is to the Battle of Crecy, fought in 1346, in which Edward III defeated Philip VI of France. The Genoese _ bowmen in this battle were mercenaries. The blind King of Bohemia had joined Philip's army. Since the great French wars of the 14th century, England had had no such dramatic encounter with a foreign foe as that which she was now to have with Spain. 500 SHOETEE ENGLISH POEMS 25. Agincourt: Scene of the famous battle in 1415, in which Henry V conquered the French. 30. Our glorious semper eadem. This was the motto of Queen Elizabeth. 85. Eddystone lighthouse is in the English Channel, on the west coast of England, off Cornwall, south of Plymouth. To Berwick oounds: Berwick was a border town on the extreme northeast coast of England, between Northumberland and Scotland. Lynn is a seaport of Norfolk. Milford Bay is on the southwest coast of Wales, in the county of Pembroke. Macaulay follows his blazing beacons first around the seacoast, mentioning the headlands. Then he takes us inland past Stone- henge, and then to London and the Tower. Then all around in different directions the messengers fly, till the great beacons are finally lighted, the Welsh hills, Malvern, Skiddaw, etc. Most of the places he mentions can be found in the geography. 48. Richmond Hill. Now the messenger approaches London. 67. Twelve fair counties. The view from Malvern Hills is one of the widest in England. The counties may have been Worcester, Hereford, Gloucester, Monmouth, Stafford, Salop, Warwick, Oxford, Radnor, Brecknock, Berks, and Wilts. THE BATTLE OF NASEBY. NOTES. The Battle of Naseby was fought on June 14, 1642, between the Parliamentary army under Cromwell and the Royalist forces under King Charles. The success of Cromwell marked the wreck of the Royal cause. "The two armies met near Naseby, to the northwest of North- ampton. The King was eager to fight. 'Never have my affairs been in as good a state,' he cried; and Prince Rupert was as im- patient as his uncle. On the other side, even Cromwell doubted the success of the new experiment. 'I can say this of Naseby,' he wrote soon after, 'that when I saw the enemy draw up and march in gallant order toward us, and we, a company of poor ignorant men, to seek to order our battle, the general having com- manded me to order all the horse, I could not, riding alone about my business, but smile out to God in praises, in assurance of vic- tory, because God would by things that are not bring to naught things that are. Of which I had great assurance, and God did it.' The battle began with a furious charge of Rupert uphill, which routed the wing opposed to him under Ireton ; while the Royalist foot, after a single discharge, clubbed their muskets and fell on the centre under Fairfax so hotly that it slowly and stubbornly THE BATTLE OF NASEBY: NOTES 501 gave way, but the Ironsides were conquerors on the left. A single charge broke the northern horse under Langdale, who had already fled before them at Marston Moor ; and, holding his troops firmly in hand, Cromwell fell with them on the flank of the Royalist foot in the very crisis of its success. A panic of the Royal reserve, and its flight from the field, aided his efforts ; it was in vain that Rupert returned with forces exhausted by pursuit, that Charles, in a passion of despair, called on his troopers for 'one charge more.' The battle was over : artillery, baggage, even the Royal papers, fell into the conqueror's hands. Five thousand men were sur- rendered ; only 2,000 followed the King in his headlong flight upon the west. The war was ended at a blow." — Green's Short History of the English People, Ch. VIII, Sec. 7. Compare with this poem a famous passage in Macaulay's Essay on Milton, contrasting the Puritan and the Cavalier, The prose reads like a commentary on the verse. Title. Obadiah, etc.: This weird name is no stranger than many of the Scriptural names which devotion to the Bible and a feeble sense of humor caused our Puritan forefathers to give their children. Ireton's regiment: Ireton was a prominent figure in the Civil War. He was an Independent in religion, who started his military career as captain of a troop of horse raised in Nottingham, where his estates were situated. He signed the warrant for the execu- tion of the King, and served his party well as Cromwell's lieutenant in Ireland. 11. The man of blood: Charles I, so called by the Puritans be- cause he made war on his Parliament. The reference is to II Samuel, 16 :7. 12. Rupert of the Rhine. Rupert was the nephew of Charles, and Elector Palatine. His reckless audacity here at Naseby and at Marston Moor commanded admiration, but was disastrous to his cause. 14. The General is, of course, Cromwell. The Scriptural allusion and phrases of the poem, the Bible in Cromwell's hand, and the whole stern religious spirit are true to history. The account of the battle by Green, quoted above, makes the action of the poem clear. 22. Troops from Alsace followed Rupert. Pages of Whitehall were, of course, youths attached to the English Court. 38. Temple Bar: A famous gateway of London, dividing Fleet Street from the Strand. Above it were exposed the heads of traitors. 43. Broad-pieces: Coins. 55. The University of Oxford remained to the end faithful to the King. Durham was the seat of the Archbishop of York. 57. She of the Seven Hills: The Church of Rome. A favorite Puritan attribution. 60. The Houses are the Houses of Parliament. MATTHEW ARNOLD 503 MATTHEW AKNOLD. 1822—1888. I. Matthew Arnold, probably the most eminent English critic, and certainly one of the most notable among Victorian poets, was born in the year in which Shelley died. He was three years younger than Buskin and George Eliot, twenty-seven years younger than the veteran of Victorian letters, Thomas Carlyle. His books, including both poetry and prose, express per- haps with more sensitiveness than those of any other man, the main currents in the intellectual life of the central portion of the Victorian period. By inheritance, by temperament, and by circum- stance, Matthew Arnold was a scholar. In many respects he reminds one of Gray, concerning whom he wrote an admirable essay. There is the same fastidiousness of taste, the same blending of classical and romantic in- stincts, the same academic stamp. Yet if we look at the whole scope and sweep of Matthew Arnold's achieve- ment, we must judge him to have been a larger and nobler man than his eighteenth century counterpart. Gray idled away his life in pleasant academic seclusion, devoting himself to self-culture. How well and on how many lines Arnold served his day and generation, the following summary will show. The events in Arnold's honorable, laborious life may be briefly recorded. His early associations were with the lovely country of the English lakes, and he was 505 506 SHOETEE ENGLISH POEMS brought up in a feeling of reverence for the great poet Wordsworth, the interpreter of that region. His father, Dr. Thomas Arnold, was Head-Master of Rugby. Mat- thew Arnold had his schooling partly at Rugby, partly at Winchester, another public school. That fine story, which every boy should know, Tom Browns School-days by Thomas Hughes, tells what the great school was like in the days of Matthew Arnold and of his friends Arthur Stanley and Arthur Hugh Clough. From school, Arnold passed to the university of Oxford, which he always dearly loved, and more than once beauti- fully praised. Oxford in the forties was not like the cold eighteenth century Cambridge of Gray. It had lately been stirred to the depths by a great religious movement, the revival in the Church of England known as the Oxford or Tractarian Movement. The leader of the movement, John Henry Newman, who was soon to leave the Church of England for that of Rome, was still preaching at the University Church, St. Mary's. Pusey, Keble, and other leaders were familiar figures. The type of religion then flourishing at Oxford did not attract Matthew Arnold, who, though religious, was neither a mystic nor interested in controversies between churches. But there is no doubt that the excitement over things of the mind and soul that then possessed the finer young men in the University, fostered that keen and wistful interest in spiritual matters which is the undertone of all his writings. Arnold took the Kewdigate prize for an English poem, and was elected Fellow of Oriel College in 1844. He published his first volume of poems, The Strayed Reveller, in 1848. That was a year of profound social MATTHEW AENOLD 507 upheavals. Revolutions, centering in France and Italy, were shaking the Continent; in England the year saw the cnlmination and collapse of the Chartist movement, the first general uprising of the working people in the Victorian age. In the midst of this excitement, the quiet beauty of Arnold's little volume aroused little attention, though it is interesting to find that the book was reviewed by William Michael Rossetti, in The Germ, the short-lived organ of the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood. Arnold published other volumes of poems iri 1853, 1858, and 1867. But his leisure for literary work was slight. At twenty-nine he married, and in order to support himself and his family accepted the position of Inspector of Schools, which he held almost till the end of his life. He died in 1888. During all the intervening years he put his best energy and labor at the service of his professional work, meeting its severe demands with faithful, gallant, though sometimes rueful cheer. He contrived, however, in his scant hours of freedom, not only to write poems, but to enrich English literature with a large body of valuable criticism, the most sane and sensitive that it possesses. When one looks at the goodly row of volumes in the collected edition of Arnold's works, and reflects that they represent no deliberate life- work, but the product of a scant and hard-earned leisure, one feels a resolution to allow no handicaps, however serious, to serve as excuse for failure to give the world one's best. Arnold was also for a time Professor of Poetry at Oxford. He travelled much on the Continent, in the interests of education, and he was at all times a studious lover of European literature, doing much to enlarge the 508 SHORTER ENGLISH POEMS intellectual horizon of his countrymen. Coleridge and Carlyle, in an earlier generation, had tried' hard "to Germanize the public 5? Buskin and Kossetti, in Arnold's own day, were bringing their countrymen under the spell of Italy. The country to which Arnold was espe- cially drawn was France, and through a constant effort to familiarize the English public with French literature and social life he sought to conquer that foe to all sound culture and right living, intellectual provincialism. Arnold's own mind had many of the qualities that he particularly valued in the French. His freshness and elasticity of sympathies no less than his discriminating insight entitle him to be called an English Sainte Beuve. Twice Arnold visited America on lecture-tours, and told us many salutary truths concerning ourselves. Despite his keen criticism, he liked much in our country. Indeed, his unfailing critical honesty never degenerated into indifference or contempt. He was a sharp critic of the English national life and religion, but England had no more loyal son than he, and he remained to his death a faithful communicant of her established church. In private life Arnold knew much sorrow, courageously borne : three of his sons died within four years. He was a man devoted to his family and his friends : to flowers, to animals, and to all that is lovely in natural scenery. To those at a distance, he sometimes seemed harsh and supercilious; but the ones nearest him were the ones who loved and honored him most. II. Arnold's prose writings may be divided into three groups: criticism of letters, of society, and of religion. MATTHEW ABNOLD 509 He first turned to criticism of literature, and many peo- ple think that his best and 'most enduring work was in this field. His first volumes of Essays in Criticism, comprising, besides several essays on individual writers, two admirable studies of the function of criticism and of the intellectual situation in England, appeared in 1865. The days were past when University professors delivered no lectures, and two illuminating volumes, Celtic Litera- ture and On Translating Homer, were the fruits of Mr. Arnold's professorship. The admirable quality of his work was swiftly recognized, and the essays which he contributed as introductions to editions of various authors, or as memorial addresses, have all been collected. But his mind widened from the contemplation of literature to the contemplation of life. And soon he gave the public stimulating criticism of contemporaneous society. Culture and Anarchy, the volume in which he expressed himself most fully, was published in 1869. It is one of the most stimulating books of social criti- cism in the Victorian age, a period that was noteworthy for brilliant work in this line. Like his great contempo- raries, Carlyle and Euskin, Arnold is out of sympathy with his age : unlike them, he has no reactionary im- pulses nor yearnings for the restoration of past social conditions. He accepts democracy, which they never did, and he understands the necessity of social evolution. The goal of that evolution is, as he sees it, social equality : the means, the extension of that culture which is a pas- sion for "making reason and the Will of God prevail." The thought-provocative title of the book gives the clue to his ideas. Many later essays are in the same vein as Culture and Anarchy. Two in particular, entitled Bern- 510 SHOETEE ENGLISH POEMS ocracy and Equality, may be mentioned as containing a clear expression of his ripest wisdom. It is instructive to compare the social discontent of Arnold with the com- placency of Macanlay. A man of Arnold's serious nature and tradition could not pause with criticism of letters and society: he was impelled to discuss religion also. For England was in a ferment of religious unrest, and all the great teachers, from Carlyle and Newman to George Eliot, had their solutions to offer. The title of Arnold's most important book on religious problems, Literature and Dogma, sug- gests his distinctive attitude. He felt that the highest values of Christianity could never be lost, but that they were to be retained under the form not of dogma but of literature. "Morality touched with emotion," was his famous definition of religion. God and the Bible, St. Paul and Protestantism, were books on similar lines. Arnold meant to help people to keep their faith, but he often did just the opposite. Deeply in earnest as he was, there was a flippancy of tone about his religious writings that troubled and unsettled his readers. His criticism on religion met a need of the day, but it is commonly judged to be more transitory in character and value than his criticism on letters or on social life. We may, however, notice that his attitude is in certain respects far more familiar today than it was when he wrote. In all phases of Arnold's critical work, we feel the play of those qualities which he tells us himself a sound critic should possess : intellectual curiosity, disinterested- ness, sincerity. Add to these a choice if not unerring MATTHEW AKNOLD 511 taste and a style at its best captivating and lucid, and we see what a stimulus his work as a critic gave to his age. III. That this critic should also have been a poet of a high order of excellence is at first surprising. But the sur- prise vanishes on -closer knowledge, for the poetry shows the same qualities as the prose. It answers to the much- discussed definition which he once gave. Poetry, said he, is "a criticism of life." This may not be true of all poetry, but it is in the main true of his, which is the best expression we have, if we except the work of his friend and brother poet, Arthur Hugh Clough, of certain char- acteristic phases in the experience of intellectual men in the Victorian age. In style, his poetry is exquisitely wrought : it is chiselled like a cut gem. Some people think it cold, but for others the emotion is all the more moving because the poet never yields to it without reserve, and keeps firm mastery over his instrument. Much of this emotion is elegiac in character. Arnold wrote one elabo- rate and beautiful elegy, Thyrsis, on his friend Clough. His verses on his father, on Goethe, on his little dog Geist, and on others whom he had loved, are full of noble melody and tender feeling. Moreover, all his more im- portant poems — Empedocles on 2Etna, a lyrical drama, Switzerland, Stanzas on the Grande Chartreuse, and the most felicitous lyrics — are charged with under tones of regret for what is past, mingled with uncertainty about the future. Arnold had in his early years a theory that poetry should always deal with great action and should be universal in its appeal. He withdrew his drama, Empedocles on 2Etna, for a time, because it failed to 512 SHOKTEE ENGLISH POEMS meet this requirement. But, in truth, nearly all his poetry fails to meet it. It deals, not with action, but with emotions and ideals. It appeals not to what is universal, but to experiences known only to the few. Arnold's instincts impelled him to write poems contrary to his critical convictions. Yet the poetry is none the worse for this; neither need the critical convictions be wholly despised. As a rule, these convictions were sound : but Arnold's poetry sprang from very special conditions, and it met a special need, — the interpretation of certain phases in modern experience none the less human or deserving of study because they were hardly universal. IV. In Sohrdb and Rustum Arnold did for once carry out his critical theories. The poem deals with noble and heroic action: and the story of the father slaying his own son under a misapprehension, must appeal to the universal heart. It is indeed an old, old story, held in common by Aryan, Celtic, and Germanic tradition. In Germanic legend it appears as the epic Hadubrand. Only a fragment has come down to us : in this, Hadubrand the son is killed, like Sohrab. This is probably the more ancient outcome: but in younger tradition (see the Thidrehsaga, a German folk-song) the combat ends in a reconciliation. An interesting version of the tale may be found in Irish literature. It tells us how Cuchullin, the hero of the Tales of the Eed Branch, otherwise known as the Cycle of Ulster, slew unwitting his son Connla. Aif e, the mother of Connla, was a warrior maid with whom Cuchullin had wrestled in his youth. In parting, he MATTHEW AENOLD 513 bade her place a ring on the finger of the son who was to be born to them, and send the lad to Ireland to find his father. The boy is sent, but according to an old Irish custom is put under "geasa," or fairy bonds, never to reveal his name and never to refuse a combat. He. knows all feats except one, the use of a special weapon called the "Gae Bulga." He fights ignorantly with Cuchullin, who slays him with this weapon and only as the boy is dying recognizes the ring on his finger. Over his son's body Cuchullin utters a fine lament. The story in this version is wild and primitive. In the older Persian form also it has more of the fairy-tale than in the version Arnold chose; Sohrab is only ten years old when, assisting a warrior maiden in the defence of a castle, he enters into single combat with his father and is slain by him. The story is told by the Persian epic poet Firdusi in his epic of Shahnameh. He calls it "A tale full of the waters of the eye." The version of the story followed by Arnold is that given after Firdusi by Sir John Malcolm in his History of Persia: "The young Sohrab . . . had left his mother, and sought fame under the banners of Afrasiab, whose armies he com- manded, and soon obtained a renown beyond that of all con- temporary heroes but his father. He had carded death and dismay- into the ranks of the Persians, and had terrified the boldest warriors of that country, before Eustum encountered him, which at last that hero resolved to do, under a feigned name. They met three times. The first time they parted by mutual consent, though Sohrab had the advantage; the second, the youth obtained a victory, but granted life to his unknown father; the third was fatal to Sohrab, who, when writhing in the pangs of death, warned his conqueror to shun the vengeance that is inspired by parental woes, and bade him dread the rage of the mighty Eustum, who must soon learn that he had slain 514 SHOETEE ENGLISH POEMS his son Sohrab. These words, we are told, were as death to the aged hero; and when he recovered from a trance, he called in despair for proofs of what Sohrab had said. The afflicted and dying youth tore open his mail, and showed his father a seal which his mother had placed on his arm when she discovered to him the secret of his birth, and bade him seek his father. The sight of his own signet rendered Eustum quite frantic; he cursed himself, attempting to put an end to his existence, and was only prevented by the efforts of his expiring son. After Sohrab 's death, he burnt his tents and all his goods, and car- ried the corpse to Seistan, where it was interred; the army of Turan was, agreeably to the last request of Sohrab, permitted to cross the Oxus unmolested. To reconcile us to the improba- bility of this tale, we are informed that Eustum could have no idea his son was in existence. The mother of Sohrab had written to him her child was a daughter, fearing to lose her darling infant if she revealed the truth; and Eustum, as before stated, fought under a feigned name, an usage not uncommon in the chivalrous combats of those days." Arnold treats the theme in a dignified epic style. His treatment has uplift and majesty, but it affects us perhaps less poignantly than the old Irish way of story- telling. Arnold's method reminds us of what his lectures On Translating Homer described as the method of Homer himself. "The translator of Homer," he says, "should above all be penetrated by a sense of four qualities in his author, — that he is eminently rapid, that he is emi- nently plain and direct, both in the evolution of his thought and in the expression of it, that is, both in his syntax and in his words ; that he is eminently plain and direct in the substance of his thought, that is, in his matter and ideas ; and that finally he is eminently noble." One can take these points one by one — rapidity ; plain- ness and directness of both speech and thought ; nobility of manner — and trace them in almost any isolated MATTHEW AENOLD 515 passage of Sohrab and Rustum. Taken together, they afford an all but perfect description of the merits of the poem, — merits characteristic of the classic rather than the romantic spirit. The careful metaphors are quite in the vein of those used in Homer and Vergil, and apart from these the poem has few ornaments: all is direct, simple, lucidly expressed; the feeling repressed rather than expanded, the pathos treated with a high simplicity. Arnold has studied his setting with great care and to good effect: the dress, the landscape, are alike true to history : but the effect is not that of a savage tale, such as the romanticist would make from these materials : we do not think of Rustum or of his son as half -tamed denizens of those wild Asiatic lands. Rather they are universal figures, expressing a passion and pain independent of circum- stance : and this note of universality, so different from what the romanticist would seek to give, is at once the strength of the poem and in a sense its limitation. As for The Forsaken Merman, it is a bit of pure romantic beauty, that shows Arnold swaying as far as he ever did away from the more classical tradi- tions to which he sought to maintain loyalty. The poem is Arnold's most successful experiment in free metres. THE FORSAKEN MERMAN. Come, dear children, let us away ; Down and away below ! Now my brothers call from the bay, Now the great winds shoreward blow, Now the salt tides seaward flow ; Now the wild white horses play, Champ and chafe and toss in the spray. Children dear, let us away! This way, this way! Call her once before you go — Call once yet! In a voice that she w r ill know: ' ' Margaret ! Margaret ! ' ' Children's voices should be dear (Call once more) to a mother's ear; Children's voices, wild with pain — Surely she will come again ! Call her once and come away ; This way, this way! "Mother dear, we cannot stay! The wild white horses foam and fret." Margaret! Margaret! 516 THE FOKSAKEN MEEMAN 517 Come, dear children, come away down; Call no more ! One last look at the white-wall 'd town, And the little gray church on the windy shore; Then come down! She will not come though you call all day; Come away, come away ! Children dear, was it yesterday We heard the sweet bells over the bay ? In the caverns where we lay, Through the surf and through the swell, The far-off sound of a silver bell! Sand-strewn caverns, cool and deep, Where the winds are all asleep ; Where the spent lights quiver and gleam, Where the salt weed sways in the stream, Where the sea-beasts, ranged all round, Feed in the ooze of their pasture-ground ; ■ Where the sea-snakes coil and twine, Dry their mail and bask in the brine ; Where great whales come sailing by, Sail and sail, with unshut eye, Bound the world for ever and aye? When did music come this way ? Children dear, was it yesterday? Children dear, was it yesterday (Call yet once) that she went away? Once she sate with you and me, 518 SHOETEE ENGLISH POEMS On a red gold throne in the heart of the sea, And the youngest sate on her knee. She comb'd its bright hair, and she tended it well, When down swung the sound of a far-off bell. She sigh'd, she look'd up through the clear green sea; She said : "I must go, for my kinsfolk pray In the little gray church on the shore today. 'Twill be Easter-time in the world — ah me ! And 1 lose my poor soul, Merman! here with thee." I said : "Go up, dear heart, through the waves ; Say thy prayer, and come back to the kind sea-caves ! " She smiled, she went up through the surf in the bay. Children dear, was it yesterday ? Children dear, were we long alone? ' ' The sea grows stormy, the little ones moan ; Long prayers," I said, "in the world they say; Come ! " I said ; and we rose through the surf in the bay. We went up the beach, by the sandy down Where the sea-stocks bloom, to the white-wall'd town ; Through the narrow paved streets, where all was still, To the little gray church on the windy hill. From the church came a murmur of folk at their prayers, But we stood without in the cold blowing airs. We climb 'd on the graves, on the stones worn with rains, And we gazed up the aisle through the small leaded panes. THE FORSAKEN MEEMAN 519 She sate by the pillar ; we saw her clear : ; ' Margaret, hist ! come quick, we are here ! Dear heart, ' ' I said, l ' we are long alone ; The sea grows stormy, the little ones moan." But, ah, she gave me never a look, For her eyes were seal 'd to the holy book ! Loud prays the priest; shut stands the door. Come away, children, call no more! Come away, come down, call no more ! Down, down, down ! Down to the depths of the sea ! She sits at her wheel in the humming town, Singing most joyfully. Hark what she sings: "0 joy, joy, For the humming street, and the child with its toy ! For the priest, and the bell, and the holy well ; For the wheel where I spun, And the blessed light of the sun ! ' ' And so she sings her fill, Singing most joyfully, Till the spindle drops from her hand, And the whizzing wheel stands still. She steals to the window, and looks at the sand, And over the sand at the sea ; And her eyes are set in a stare ; And anon there breaks a sigh, And anon there drops a tear, From a sorrow-clouded eye, And a heart sorrow-laden, A long, long sigh ; 520 SHOETEE ENGLISH POEMS For the cold strange eyes of a little Mermaiden And the gleam of her golden hair. Come away, away children ; Come children, come down ! The hoarse wind blows colder; Lights shine in the town. She will start from her slumber When gusts shake the door; She will hear the winds howling, Will hear the waves roar. We shall see, while above us The waves roar and whirl, A ceiling of amber, A pavement of pearl. Singing : ' ' Here came a mortal, But faithless was she ! And alone dwell for ever The kings of the sea. ' ' But, children, at midnight, When soft the winds blow, When clear falls the moonlight, When spring-tides are low ; When sweet airs come seaward From heaths starr'd with broom, And high rocks throw mildly On the blanch 'd sands a gloom ; Up the still, glistening beaches, Up the creeks we will hie, SOHEAB AND EUSTUM 521 Over banks of bright seaweed The ebb-tide leaves dry. "We will gaze, from the sand-hills, At the white, sleeping town; At the church on the hill-side — And then come back down. Singing: "There dwells a loved one, But cruel is she! She left lonely for ever The kings of the sea." SOHRAB AND RUSTUM. AN EPISODE. And the first gray of morning fill'd the east, And the fog rose out of the Oxus stream. But all the Tartar camp along the stream Was hush 'd, and still the men were plung 'd in sleep ; Sohrab alone, he slept not ; all night long He had lain wakeful, tossing on his bed. But when the gray dawn stole into his tent, He rose, and clad himself, and girt his sword, And took his horseman's cloak, and left his tent, And went abroad into the cold wet fog, Through the dim camp, to Peran-Wisa's tent. Through the black Tartar tents he pass'd, which stood Clustering like beehives on the low flat strand 522 SHOETEE ENGLISH POEMS Of Oxus, where the summer-floods overflow When the sun melts the snows in high Pamere : Through the black tents he pass'd, o'er that low strand, And to a hillock came, a little back From the stream's brink; the spot where first boat, Crossing the stream in summer, scrapes the land. The men of former times had crown 'd the top "With a clay fort; but that was fall'n, and now The Tartars built there Peran-Wisa's tent, A dome of laths, and o'er it felts were spread. And Sohrab came there, and went in, and stood Upon the thick-pil'd carpets in the tent, And found the old man sleeping on his bed Of rugs and felts, and near him lay his arms. And Peran-Wisa heard him, though the step Was dull'd; for he slept light, an old man sleep ; And he rose quickly on one arm, and said : — "Who art thou? for it is not yet clear dawn. Speak ! is there news, or any night alarm ? ' ' But Sohrab came to the bedside, and said : — i ' Thou know 'st me, Peran-Wisa ! it is I. The sun is not yet risen, and the foe Sleep, but I sleep not ; all night long I lie Tossing and wakeful; and I come to thee. For so did King Afrasiab bid me seek Thy counsel, and to heed thee as thy son, In Samarcand, before the army march 'd; And I will tell thee what my heart desires. Thou know'st if, since Ader-baijan first SOHBAB AND EUSTUM 523 I came among the Tartars and bore arms, I have still served Afrasiab well, and shown, 45 At my boy's years, the courage of a man. This too thou know'st, that while I still bear on The conquering Tartar ensigns through the world, And beat the Persians back on every field, I seek one man, One man, and one alone : so Eustum, my father ; who I hop'd should greet, Should one day greet, upon some well-fought field, His not unworthy, not inglorious son. So I long hop'd, but him I never find. Come then, hear now, and grant me what I ask ! 55 Let the two armies rest to-day : but I Will challenge forth the bravest Persian lords To meet me, man to man ; if I prevail, Eustum will surely hear it : if I fall — Old man, the dead need no one, claim no kin. 60 Dim is the rumour of a common fight Where host meets host, and many names are sunk ; But of a single combat fame speaks clear." He spoke ; and Peran-Wisa took the hand Of the young man in his, and sigh'd, and said : — "0 Sohrab, an unquiet heart is thine ! Canst thou not rest among the Tartar chiefs, And share the battle's common chance with us Who love thee, but must press for ever first, In single fight incurring single risk, 70 To find a father thou hast never seen ? That were far best, my son, to stay with us Unmurmuring : in our tents, while it is war, And when 't is truce, then in Afrasiab's towns. But, if this one desire indeed rules all, 524 SHOETEE ENGLISH POEMS 75 To seek out Eustum, seek him not through fight ! Seek him in peace, and carry to his arms, Sohrab ! carry an unwounded son ! But far hence seek him, for he is not here. For now it is not as when I was young, 80 When Eustum was in front of every fray ; But now he keeps apart, and sits at home, In Seistan, with Zal, his father old, Whether that his own mighty strength at last Feels the abhorr'd approaches of old age, 85 Or in some quarrel with the Persian King. There go ! — Thou wilt not ? Yet my heart forebodes Danger or death awaits thee on this field. Fain would I know thee safe and well, though lost To us; fain therefore send thee hence, in peace 90 To seek thy father, not seek single fights In vain. But who can keep the lion's cub From ravening, and who govern Eustum's son ? Go : I will grant thee what thy heart desires." So said he, and dropp'd Sohrab's hand, and left 95 His bed, and the warm rugs whereon he lay ; And o'er his chilly limbs his woollen coat He pass'd, and tied his sandals on his feet, And threw a white cloak round him, and he took In his right hand a ruler's staff, no sword ; loo And on his head he set his sheep-skin cap, Black, glossy, curl'd, the fleece of Kara-Kul ; And rais'd the curtain of his tent, and call'd His herald to his side, and went abroad. The sun by this had risen, and clear'd the fog 10 i From the broad Oxus and the glittering sands. And from their tents the Tartar horsemen fil'd SOHRAB ANL> EUSTUM 525 Into the open plain ; so Haman bade : Haman, who next to Peran-Wisa rul'd The host, and still was in his lusty prime. HO From their black tents, long files of horse, they streamed ; As when some grey November morn the files, In marching order spread, of long-neck'd cranes Stream over Casbin and the southern slopes Of Elburz, from the Aralian estuaries, 115 Or some frore Caspian reed-bed, southward bound For the warm Persian sea-board : so they streamed. The Tartars of the Oxus, the King's guard, First, with black sheep-skin caps and with long spears ; Large men, large steeds, who from Bokhara come 120 And Khiva, and ferment the milk of mares. Next, the more temperate Toorkmuns of the south, The Tukas, and the lances of Salore, And those from Attruck and the Caspian sands ; Light men and on light steeds, who only drink 125 The acrid milk of camels, and their wells. And then a swarm of wandering horse, who came From far, and a more doubtful service own'd ; The Tartars of Ferghana, from the banks Of the Jaxartes, men with scanty beards 130 And close-set skull-caps ; and those wilder hordes Who roam o'er Kipchak and the northern waste ; Kalmucks and unkempt Kuzzaks, tribes who stray Nearest the Pole ; and wandering Kirghizzes, Who come on shaggy ponies from Pamere : — 135 These all fil'd out from camp into the plain. And on the other side the Persians f orm'd : First a light cloud of horse, Tartars they seemed, The Ilyats of Khorassan ; and behind, 526 SHORTER ENGLISH POEMS The royal troops of Persia, horse and foot, 140 MarshalPd battalions bright in burnished steel. But Peran-Wisa with his herald came, Threading the Tartar squadrons to the front, And with his staff kept back the foremost ranks. And when Ferood, who led the Persians, saw 145 That Peran-Wisa kept the Tartars back, He took his spear, and to the front he came, And check' d his ranks, and fiVd them where they stood. And the old Tartar came upon the sand Betwixt the silent hosts, and spake, and said: — 150 "Ferood, and ye, Persians and Tartars, hear! Let there be truce between the hosts to-day, But choose a champion from the Persian lords To fight our champion Sohrab, man to man." As, in the country, on a morn in June, 155 When the dew glistens on the pearled ears, A shiver runs through the deep corn for joy, So, when they heard what Peran-Wisa said, A thrill through all the Tartar squadrons ran Of pride and hope for Sohrab, whom they lov'd. 160 But as a troop of pedlars, from Cabool, Cross underneath the Indian Caucasus, That vast sky-neighbouring mountain of milk snow; Crossing so high, that, as they mount, they pass Long flocks of traveling birds dead on the snow, 165 Chok'd by the air, and scarce can they themselves Slake their parched throats with sugared mulberries; In single file they move, and stop their breath, For fear they should dislodge the o'erhanging snows, So the pale Persians held their breath with fear. 170 And to Ferood his brother chiefs came up SOHEAB AND EUSTUM 527 To counsel; Gudurz and Zoarrah came, And Feraburz, who rul'd the Persian host Second, and was the uncle of the King; These came and counselled, and then Gudurz said : — "Ferood, shame bids us take their challenge up, Yet champion have we none to match this youth. He has the wild stag's foot, the lion's heart. But Eustum came last night; aloof he sits And sullen, and has pitched his tents apart. Him will I seek, and carry to his ear The Tartar challenge, and this young man's name : Haply will he forget his wrath, and fight. Stand forth the while,- and take their challenge up." So spake he ; and Ferood stood forth and cried : — "Old man. be it agreed as thou hast said ! Let Sohrab arm, and we will find a man." He spake: and Peran-Wisa turn'd, and strode Back through the opening squadrons to his tent. But through the anxious Persians Gudurz ran, And cross'd the camp which lay behind, and reach'd, Out on the sands beyond it, Eustum's tents. Of scarlet cloth they were, and glittering gay, Just pitch'd ; the high pavilion in the midst Was Eustum's, and his men lay camp'd around. And Gudurz enter'd Eustum's tent, and found Eustum ; his morning meal was done, but still The table stood before him, charg'd with food: A side of roasted sheep, and cakes of bread, And dark green melons ; and there Eustum sate Listless, and held a falcon on his wrist, And play'd with it ; but Gudurz came and stood Before him ; and he look'd, and saw him stand, 528 SHOETEE ENGLISH POEMS And with a cry sprang rip and dropped the bird, And greeted Gudurz with both hands, and said : — 205 "Welcome ! these eyes could see no better sight. What news ? but sit down first, and eat and drink." But Gudurz stood in the tent-door, and said :— "Not now ! a time will come to eat and drink, But not to-day: to-day has other needs. 210 The armies are drawn out, and stand and gaze ; For from the Tartars is a challenge brought To pick a champion from the Persian lords To fight their champion, and thou know'st his name : Sohrab men call him, but his birth is -hid. 215 Eustum, like thy might is this young man's ! He has the wild stag's foot, the lion's heart ; And he is young, and Iran's chiefs are old, Or else too weak ; and all eyes turn to thee. Come down and help us, Eustum, or we lose !" 220 He spoke ; but Eustum answer'd with a smile : — "Go to ! if Iran's chiefs are old, then I Am older ; if the young are weak, the King Errs strangely : for the King, for Kai Khosroo, Himself is young, and honours younger men, 225 And lets the aged moulder to their graves. Eustum he loves no more, but loves the young : The young may rise at Sohrab's vaunts, not I. For what care I, though all speak Sohrab's fame? For would that I myself had such a son, 230 And not that one slight helpless girl I have : A son so f am'd^ so brave, to send to war, And I to tarry with the snow-hair'd Zal, My father, whom the robber Afghans vex, And clip his borders short, and drive his herds, SOHEAB AND KUSTUM 529 (M And he has none to guard his weak old age. There would I go, and hang my armour up, And with my great name fence that weak old man, And spend the goodly treasures I have got, And rest my age, and hear of Sohrat/s fame, W And leave to death the hosts of thankless kings, And with these slaughterous hands draw sword no more." He spoke, and smil'd ; and Gudurz made reply : — "What then, Eustum, will men say to this, When Sohrab dares our bravest forth, and seeks KI5 Thee most of all, and thou, whom most he seeks, Hidest thy face ? Take heed lest men should say : Like some old miser, Rustum hoards Ms fame, And shuns to peril it with younger men/' And, greatly mov'd, then Eustum made reply: — K "0 Gudurz, wherefore dost thou say such words ? Thou knowest better words than this to say. What is one more, one less, obscure or f anrd, Valiant or craven, young or old, to me? Are not they mortal, am not I myself ? &55 But who for men of nought would do great deeds ? Come, thou shalt see how Eustum hoards his fame ! But I will fight unknown, and in plain arms ; Let not men say of Eustum, he was matched In single fight with any mortal man." 2K He spoke, and frown'd ; and Gudurz turn'd, and ran Back quickly through the camp in fear and joy : Fear at his wrath, but joy that Eustum came. But Eustum strode to his tent-door, and calPd His followers in, and bade them bring his arms, 265 And clad himself in steel ; the arms he chose Were plain, and on his shield was no device, 530 SHORTEE ENGLISH POEMS Only his helm was rich, inlaid with gold, And, from the Anted spine atop, a plnme Of horsehair wav'd, a scarlet horsehair plnme. 170 So arm'd, he issned forth; and Euksh, his horse, Followed him like a faithful hound, at heel, Euksh, whose renown was nois'd through all the earth : The horse, whom Eustum on a foray once Did in Bokhara by the river find 275 A colt beneath its dam, and drove him home, And rear'd him : a bright bay, with lofty crest, Dight with a saddle-cloth of broider'd green Crusted with gold, and on the ground were work'd All beasts of chase, all beasts which hunters know. 280 So followed, Eustum left his tents, and cross'd The camp, and to the Persian host appeared. And all the Persians knew him, and with shouts Hail'd; but the Tartars knew not who he was. And dear as the wet diver to the eyes 285 Of his pale wife who waits and weeps on shore, By sandy Bahrein, in the Persian Gulf, Plunging all day in the blue waves, at night, Having made up his tale of precious pearls, Rejoins her in their hut upon the sands: 290 So dear, to the pale Persians Eustum came. And Eustum to the Persian front advanced, And Sohrab arm'd in Hainan's tent, and came. And as afield the reapers cut a swath Down through the middle of a rich man's corn, *95 And on each side are squares of standing corn, And in the midst a stubble, short and bare; So on each side were squares of men, with spears Bristling, and in the midst, the open sand. SOHRAB AND RUSTUM 531 And Eustum came upon the sand, and cast DO His eyes toward the Tartar tents, and saw Sohrab come forth, and eyed him as he came. As some rich woman, on a winter's morn, Eyes through her silken curtains the poor drudge Who with numb blackened fingers makes her fire )5 At cock-crow, on a starlit winter's morn, When the frost flowers the whiten'd window-panes, And wonders how she lives, and what the thoughts Of that poor drudge may be ; so Eustum eyed The unknown adventurous youth, who from afar to Came seeking Eustum, and defying forth All the most valiant chiefs : long he perus'd His spirited air, and wonder'd who he was. For very young he seem'd, tenderly reared ; Like some young cypress, tall, and dark, and straight, .5 Which in a queen's secluded garden throws Its slight dark shadow on the moonlit turf, By midnight, to a bubbling fountain's sound: So slender Sohrab seem'd, so softly rear'd. And a deep pity enter'd Eustum's soul ;o As he beheld him coming • and he stood, And beckon'd to him with his hand, and said: — "0 thou young man, the air of heaven is soft, And warm, and pleasant ; but the grave is cold ! Heaven's air is better than the cold dead grave. 5 Behold me : I am vast, and clad in iron, And tried ; and I have stood on many a field Of blood, and I have fought with many a foe : Never was that field lost, or that foe sav'd. Sohrab, wherefore wilt thou rush on death? o Be govern'd ! quit the Tartar host, and come 532 SHORTER ENGLISH POEMS To Iran, and be as my son to me, And fight beneath, my banner till I die ! , There a*re no youths in Iran brave as thou." So he spake, mildly ; Sohrab heard his voice, 335 The mighty voice of Eustum, and he saw His giant figure planted on the sand, Sole, like some single tower, which a chief Hath builded on the waste in former years Against the robbers; and he saw that head, 340 Streak'd with its first grey hairs : hope filled his soul, And he ran forward and embraced his knees, And clasped his hand within his own, and said : — "Oh, by thy f ather's head ! by thine own soul ! Art thou not Eustum ? speak ! art thou not he ?" 345 But Eustum eyed askance the kneeling youth, And turned away, and spake to his own soul :— "Ah me, I muse what this young fox may mean ! False, wily, boastful, are these Tartar boys. For if I now confess this thing he asks, 350 And hide it not, but say: Eustum is here! He will not yield indeed, nor quit our foes, But he will find some pretext not to fight, And praise my fame, and proffer courteous gifts, A belt or sword, perhaps, and go his way. 355 And on a feast-tide, in Af rasiab's hall, In Samarcand, he will arise and cry : 'I challenged once, when the two armies camp'd Beside the Oxus, all the Persian lords To cope with me in single fight; but they 360 Shrank, only Eustum darM : then he and I Changed gifts, and went on equal terms away/ So will he speak, perhaps, while men applaud. SOHEAB AND KUSTUM 533 Then were the chiefs of Iran sham'd through me." And then he turned, and sternly spake aloud : — 365 "Eise ! wherefore dost thou vainly question thus Of Eustum ? I am here, whom thou hast call'd By challenge forth : make good thy vaunt, or yield ! Is it with Eustum only thou wouldst fight? Eash boy, men look on Eustum's face and flee ! 370 For well I know, that did great Eustum stand Before thy face this day, and were reveal'd, There would be then no talk of fighting more. But being what I am, I tell thee this : Do thou record it in thine inmost soul : 375 Either thou shalt renounce thy vaunt and yield, Or else thy bones shall strew this sand, till winds Bleach them, or Oxus with his summer-floods, Oxus in summer, wash them all away." He spoke ; and Sohrab answered, on his feet : — 380 "Art thou so fierce ? Thou wilt not fright me so ! I am no girl, to be made pale by words. Yet this thou hast said well, did Eustum stand Here on this field, there were no fighting then. But Eustum is far hence, and we stand here. Begin ! thou art more vast, more dread than I, And thou art prov'd, I know, and I am young : But yet success sways with the breath of Heaven. And though thou thinkest that thou knowest sure Thy victory, yet thou canst not surely know ; For we are all, like swimmers in the sea, Pois'd on the top of a huge wave of fatej Which hangs, uncertain to which side to fan.' And whether it will heave us up to land, Or whether it will roll us out to sea, 534 SHORTER ENGLISH POEMS 895 Back out to sea, to the deep waves of death/ We know not, and no search will make ns know : Only the event will teach us, in its hour." He spoke, and Rustum answered not, hut hurFd His spear : down from the shoulder, down it came, 400 As on some partridge in the corn, a hawk That long has towered in the airy clouds, Drops like a plummet : Sohrab saw it come, And sprang aside, quick as a flash ; the spear Hiss'd, and went quivering down into the sand, 405 Which it sent flying wide; then Sohrab threw In turn, and full struck ; Rustum's shield sharp rang, The iron plates rang sharp, but turn'd the spear. And Rustum seiz ; d his club, which none but he Could wield; an unlopp'd trunk it was, and huge, 410 Still rough : like those which men in treeless plains, To build them boats, fish from the flooded rivers, Hyphasis or Hydaspes, when, high up By their dark springs, the wind in winter-time Hath made in Himalayan forests wrack, 415 And strewn the channels with torn boughs ; so huge The club which Rustum lifted now, and struck One stroke ; but again Sohrab sprang aside, Lithe as the glancing snake, and the club came Thundering to earth, and leapt from Rust-urn's hand. 420 And Rustum followed his own blow, and fell To his knees, and with his fingers clutched the sand ; And now might Sohrab have unsheath'd his sword, And pierced the mighty Rustum while he lay Dizzy, and on his knees, and chok'd with sand: 425 But he look'd on, and smil'd, nor bar'd his sword, SOHRAB AND BUSTUM 535 But courteously drew back, and spoke, and said : — "Thou strik'st too hard ! that club of thine will float Upon the summer-floods, and not my bones. But rise, and be not wroth! not wroth am I; 30 No, when I see thee, wrath forsakes my soul. Thou say'st thou art not Bustum : be it so ! \ i ho art thou then, that canst so touch my soul ? Boy as I am, I have seen battles too ; Have waded foremost in their bloody waves, 35 And heard their hollow roar of dying men ; But never was my heart thus touched before. Are they from Heaven, these softenings of the heart? thou old warrior, let us yield to Heaven ! Come, plant we here in earth our angry spears, 40 And make a truce, and sit upon this sand, And pledge each other in red wine, like friends ; And thou shalt talk to me of Bustum's deeds. There are enough foes in the Persian host, Whom I may meet, and strike, and feel no pang ; 145 Champions enough Afrasiab has, whom thou Mayst fight : fight them, when they confront thy spear ! But oh, let there be peace ? twixt thee and me !" He ceas'd, but while he spake, Bustum had risen And stood erect, trembling with rage ; his club 150 He left to lie, but had regained his spear, Whose fiery point now in his mail'd right-hand Blaz'd bright and baleful, like that autumn-star, The baleful signs of fevers ; dust had soiFd His stately crest, and dimmed his glittering arms. 455 His breast heav'd, his lips foamed, and twice his voice Was chok'd with rage ; at last these words broke way : — "Girl ! nimble with thy feet, not with thy hands ! 536 SHOETEE ENGLISH POEMS Cur I'd minion, dancer, coiner of sweet words ! Fight : let me hear thy hateful voice no more. *60 Thou art not in Afrasiab's gardens now With Tartar girls, with whom thou art wont to dance ; But on the Oxus-sands, and in the dance Of battle, and with me, who make no play Of war : I fight it out, and hand to hand. 465 Speak not to me of truce, and pledge, and wine ! Kemember all thy valour; try thy feints And cunning ! All the pity I had is gone : Because thou hast shamed me, before both the hosts With thy light skipping tricks, and thy girl's wiles." 470 He spoke; and Sohrab kindled at his taunts, And he too drew his sword : at once they rush'd Together, as two eagles on one prey Come rushing down together from the clouds, One from the east, one from the west : their shields 475 Dash'd with a clang together, and a din Rose, such as that the sinewy woodcutters Make often in the forest's heart at morn, Of hewing axes, crashing trees : such blows Eustum and Sohrab on each other haird. 480 And you would say that sun and stars took part In that unnatural conflict; for a cloud Grew suddenly in heaven, and dark'd the sun Over the fighters' heads; and a wind rose Under their feet, and moaning swept the plain, *S5 And in a sandy whirlwind wrapp'd the pair. In gloom they twain were wrapp'd, and they alone; For both the on-looking hosts on either hand Stood in broad daylight, and the sky was pure, And the sun sparkled on the Oxus stream. SOHEAB AND EUSTUM 537 joo But in the gloom they fought, with bloodshot eyes And labouring breath ; first Eustum struck the shield Which Sohrab held stiff out : the steel-spik'd spear Eent the tough plates, but fail'd to reach the skin, And Rustum pluck'd it back with angry groan. 95 Then Sohrab with his sword smote Rustum' s helm, . Nor clove its steel quite through ; but all the crest He shore away, and that proud horsehair plume, Never till now defil'd, sank to the dust; And Rustum bow'd his head; but then the gloom oo Grew blacker, thunder rumbled in the air, And lightnings rent the cloud ; and Ruksh, the horse, Who stood at hand, utter'd a dreadful cry : No horse's cry was that, most like the roar Of some pain'd desert-lion, who all day 05 Hath trail'd the hunter's javelin in his side, And comes, at night, to die upon the sand. The two hosts heard that cry, and quak'd for fear, And Oxus curdled as it cross'd his stream. But Sohrab heard, and quail' d not, but rush'd on, 10 And struck again ; and again Rustum bow'd His head ; but this time all the blade, like glass, Sprang in a thousand shivers on the helm, And in the hand the hilt remain'd alone. Then Rustum raised his head; his dreadful eyes 15 Glar'd, and he shook on high his menacing spear, And shouted : Eustum ! — Sohrab heard that shout, And shrank amaz'd ; back he recoil'd one step, And scann'd with blinking eyes the advancing form; And then he stood bewilder'd ; and he dropp'd »20 His covering shield, and the spear pierc'd his side. He reel'd, and staggering back, sank to the ground; 538 SHORTER ENGLISH POEMS And then the gloom dispersed., and the wind fell, And the bright sun broke forth, and melted all The cloud; and the two armies saw the pair: 525 Saw Eustum standing, safe upon his feet, And Sohrab, wounded, on the bloody sand. Then, with a bitter smile, Eustum began : — "Sohrab, thou thoughtest in thy mind to kill A Persian lord this day, and strip his corpse, 530 And bear thy trophies to Afrasiab's tent, Or else that the great Eustum would come down Himself to fight, and that thy wiles would move His heart to take a gift, and let thee go. And then that all the Tartar host would praise 535 Thy courage or thy craft, and spread thy fame, To glad thy father in his weak old age. Fool, thou art slain, and by an unknown man! Dearer to the red jackals shalt thou be Than to thy friends, and to thy father old." 540 And, with a fearless mien, Sohrab replied: — "Unknown thou art : yet thy fierce vaunt is vain. Thou dost not slay me, proud and boastful man ! No : Eustum slays me, and this filial heart. For were I matched with ten such men as thee, 545 And I were that which till to-day I was, They should be lying here, I standing there. But that beloved name unnerv'd my arm : That name, and something, I confess, in thee, Which troubles all my heart, and made my shield 550 Fall ; and thy spear transfixed an unarm'd foe. And now thou boastest, and insult'st my fate. v But hear thou this, fierce man, tremble to hear : The mighty Eustum shall avenge my death, SOHEAE AND EUSTUM 539 My father, whom I seek through all the world ! 55 He shall avenge nry death, and punish thee." As when some hunter in the spring hath found A breeding eagle sitting on her nest, Upon the craggy isle of a, hill-lake, And pierced her with an arrow as she rose, 60 And followed her, to find her where she fell Far off ; — anon her mate comes winging back From hunting, and a great way off descries His huddling young left sole ; at that, he checks His pinion, and with short uneasy sweeps 65 Circles above his eyry, with loud screams Chiding his mate back to her nest; but she Lies dying, with the arrow in her side, In some far stony gorge out of his ken, A heap of fluttering feathers : never more 70 Shall the lake glass her, flying over it; JSTever the black and dripping precipices Echo her stormy scream as she sails by : As that poor bird flies home, nor knows his loss, So Eustum knew not his own loss, but stood 75 Over his dying son, and knew him not. But, with a cold incredulous voice, he said :— "What prate is this of fathers and revenge? The mighty Eustum never had a son." And, with a failing voice, Sohrab replied : — 580 "Ah yes, he had ; and that lost son am I. Surely the news will one day reach his ear, Eeach Eustum, where he sits, and tarries long, Somewhere, I know not where, but far from here; And pierce him like a stab, and make him leap 585 To arms, and cry for vengeance upon thee. 540 SHOETEE ENGLISH POEMS Fierce man, bethink thee, for an only son ! What will that grief, what will that vengeance be ? Oh, could I live till I that grief had seen ! Yet him I pity not so much, but her, 590 My mother, who in Ader-baijan dwells With that old King, her father, who grows grey With age, and rules over the valiant Koords. Her most I pity, who no more will see Sohrab returning from the Tartar camp, 595 With spoils and honour, when the war is done. But a dark rumour will be bruited up, From tribe to tribe, until it reach her ear : And then will that defenceless woman learn That Sohrab will rejoice her sight no more, 600 But that in battle with a nameless foe, By the far-distant Oxus, he is slain." He spoke ; and as he ceased, he wept aloud, Thinking of her he left, and his own death. He spoke ; but Eustum listened, plung'd in thought, 605 Nor did he yet believe it was his son Who spoke, although he calPd back names he knew ; For he had had sure tidings that the babe, Which was in Ader-baijan born to him, Had been a puny girl, no boy at all : 610 So that sad mother sent him word, for fear Eustum should seek the boy, to train in arms. And so he deemed that either Sohrab took, By a false boast, the style of Bustunr's son ; Or that men gave it him, to swell his fame. 615 So deem'd he; yet he listened, plung'd in thought. And his soul set to grief, as the vast tide Of the bright rocking ocean sets to shore SOHEAB AND EUSTUM 541 At the full moon ; tears gathered in his eyes ; For he remembered his own early youth, 20 And all its bounding rapture ; as, at dawn, The shepherd from his mountain-lodge descries A far bright city, smitten by the sun, Through many rolling clouds, so Bustum saw His youth ; saw Sohrab's mother, in her bloom ; i25 And that old King, her father, who lov'd well His wandering guest, and gave him his fair child With joy ; and all the pleasant life they led, They three, in that long-distant summer-time: The castle, and the dewy woods, and hunt 530 And hound, and morn on those delightful hills In Ader-baijan. And he saw that youth, Of age and looks to be his own dear son, Piteous and lovely, lying on the sand, Like some rich hyacinth which by the scythe 335 Of an unskilful gardener has been cut, Mowing the garden grass-plots near its bed, And lies, a fragrant tower of purple bloom, On the mown, dying grass : so Sohrab lay, Lovely in death, upon the common sand. 640 And Eustum gaz'd on him with grief, and said : — "0 Sohrab, thou indeed art such a son Whom Eustum, wert thou his, might well have lov'd. Yet here thou errest, Sohrab, or else men Have told thee false : thou art not Eustum's son, 645 For Eustum had no son ; one child he had, But one : a girl who with her mother now Plies some light female task, nor dreams of us; Of us she dreams not, nor of wounds, nor war." But Sohrab answer' d him in wrath; for now 542 SHOETEK ENGLISH POEMS 650 The anguish of the deep-fix'd spear grew fierce, And he desired to draw forth the steel, And let the blood flow free, and so to die ; But first he would convince his stubborn foe. And, rising sternly on one arm, he said: — 655 "Man, who art thou who dost deny my words ? Truth sits upon the lips of dying men ; And falsehood, while I liv'd, was far from mine. I tell thee, pricked upon this arm I bear That seal which Eustum to my mother gave, 660 That she might prick it on the babe she bore." He spoke ; and all the blood left Eustum's cheeks, And his knees totter' d, and he smote his hand Against his breast, his heavy-mailed hand, That the hard iron corslet clank'd aloud; 665 And to his heart he press'd the other hand, And in a hollow voice he spake, and said :- — "Sohrab, that were a proof which could not lie ! If thou show this, then art thou Eustum's son." Then, with weak hasty fingers, Sohrab loosed 670 His belt, and near the shoulder bar'd his arm, And show'd a sign in faint vermilion points Prick'd: as a cunning workman, in Pekin, Pricks with vermilion some clear porcelain vase, An emperor's gift; at early morn he paints, 675 And all day long ; and, when night comes, the lamp Lights up his studious forehead and thin hands : So delicately prick'd the sign appear'd On Sohrab's arm, the sign of Eustum's seal, It was that griffin, which of old rear'd Zal, m Eustum's great father, whom they left to die, A helpless babe, among the mountain-rocks ; SOHKAB AND EUSTUM 543 Him that kind creature found, and rear'd, and lov'd : Then Eustum took it for his glorious sign. And Sohrab bar'd that image on his arm, 85 And himself scanned it long with mournful eyes, And then he touch' d it with his hand, and said : — "How say'st thou ? Is that sign the proper sign Of Eustum' s son, or of some other man's?" He spoke; but Eustum gaz'd, and gaz'd, and stood 90 Speechless ; and then he utter'd one sharp cry : toy — thy father! and his voice chok'd there. And then a dark cloud passed before his eyes, And his head swam, and he sank down to earth. But Sohrab crawl'd to where he lay, and cast 95 His arms about his neck, and kiss'd his lips, And with fond faltering fingers strok'd his cheeks, Trying to call him back to life ; and life Came back to Eustum: and he op'd his eyes, And they stood wide with horror; and he seiz'd 00 In both his hands the dust which lay around, And threw it on his head, and smirched his hair, His hair, and face, and beard, and glittering arms ; And strong convulsive groanings shook his breast, And his sobs chok'd him ; and he clutch'd his sword, ' 05 To draw it, and forever let life out. But Sohrab saw his thought, and held his hands, And with a soothing voice he spake, and said : — "Father, forbear ! for I but meet to-day The doom which at my birth was written down uo In Heaven; and thou art Heaven's unconscious hand. Surely my heart cried out that it was thou, When first I saw thee ; and thy heart spoke too, 1 know it : but fate trod those promptings down 544 SHORTER ENGLISH POEMS Under its iron heel ; fate, fate engag'd 715 The strife, and hurl'd me on my father's spear. But let us speak no more of this : I find My father ; let me feel that I have found ! Come, sit beside me on this sand, and take My head betwixt thy hands, and kiss my cheeks, 720 And wash them with thy tears, and say : My son ! Quick ! quick ! for number'd are my sands of life, And swift; for Kke the lightning to this field I came, and like the wind I go away: Sudden, and swift, and like a passing wind. 725 But it was writ in Heaven that this should be." So said he, and his voice released the heart Of Eustum, and his tears broke forth : he cast His arms round his son's neck, and wept aloud, And kiss'd him. And awe fell on both the hosts, 730 When they saw Eustum's grief ; and Euksh, the horse, With his head bowing to the ground, and mane Sweeping the dust, came near, and in mute woe First to the one, then to the other, mov'd His head, as if inquiring what their grief 735 Might mean ; and from his dark compassionate eyes, The big warm tears roll'd down, and cak'd the sand. But Eustum chid him with stern voice, and said : — "Euksh, now thou grievest; but Euksh, thy feet Should first have rotted on their nimble joints, 740 Or e'er they brought thy master to this field !" But Sohrab look'd upon the horse and said : — "Is this, then, Euksh ? How often, in past days, My mother told me of thee, thou brave steed, My terrible father's terrible horse ! and said 745 That I should one day find thy lord and thee. SOHKAB AND EUSTUM 545 Come, let me lay my hand upon thy mane ! Euksh, thou art more fortunate than I : For thou hast gone where I shall never go, And snuff d the breezes of my father's home. And thou hast trod the sands of Seistan, And seen the Eiver of Helmund, and the Lake Of Zirrah ; and the aged Zal "himself Has often stroked thy neck, and given thee food, j Corn in a golden platter, soaked with wine, 5 And said: Ruksli, tear Bustum well! — but I Have never known my grandsire's furrow'd face, | Nor seen his lofty house in Seistan, Nor slak'd my thirst at the clear Helmund stream ; ! But lodg'd among my father's foes, and seen 'OAfrasiab's cities only: Samarcand, Bokhara, and lone Khiva in the waste, And the black Toorkmun tents ; and only drunk The desert rivers : Moorghab and Tejend, Kohik, and where the Kalmuks feed their sheep, s The northern Sir ; and this great Oxus stream, The yellow Oxus, by whose brink I die." Then, with a heavy groan, Eustum bewaiPd : — "Oh, that its waves were flowing over me ! Oh, that I saw its grains of yellow silt W Eoll tumbling in the current o'er my head !" But, with a grave, mild voice, Sohrab replied : — "Desire not that, my father ! thou must live : For some are born to do great deeds, and live, As some are born to be obscured, and die. J* Do thou the deeds I die too young to do, And reap a second glory in thine age : Thou art my father, and thy gain is mine. 546 SHOETEE ENGLISH POEMS But come : thou seest this great host of men Which follow me ; I pray thee, slay not these ! 780 Let me entreat for them : what have they done ? They followed me, my hope, my fame, my star. Let them all cross the Oxus back in peace. But me thou must bear hence, not send with them, But carry me with thee to Seistan, 785 And place me on a bed, and mourn for me ; Thou, and the snow-haired Zal, and all thy friends. And thou must lay me in that lovely earth, And heap a stately mound above my bones, And plant a far-seen pillar over all, 790 That so the passing horseman on the waste May see my tomb a great way off, and cry : Bohrdb, the mighty Rustum's son, lies there, Whom his great father did in ignorance Mil! And I be not forgotten in my grave." 795 And, with a mournful voice, Eustum replied :— "Fear not ! as thou hast said, Sohrab, my son, So shall it be : for I will burn my tents, And quit the host, and bear thee hence with me, And carry thee away to Seistan, S00 And place thee on a bed, and mourn for thee, With the snow-headed Zal, and all my friends. And I will lay thee in that lovely earth, And heap a stately mound above thy bones, And plant a far-seen pillar over all, 805 And men shall not forget thee in thy grave. And I will spare thy host ; yea, let them go : Let them all cross the Oxus back in peace. What should I do with slaying any more? For would that all that I have ever slain SOHKAB AND EUSTUM 547 810 Might be once more alive : my bitterest foes, And they who were called champions in their time, And through whose death I won that fame I have ! And I were nothing but a common man, A poor, mean soldier, and without renown, 815 So thou might est live too, my son, my son ! Or rather would that I, even I myself, Might now be lying on this bloody sand, Near death, and by an ignorant stroke of thine, Not thou of mine ! and I might die, not thou, 820 And I, not thou, be borne to Seistan; And Zal might weep above my grave, not thine, And say: son, I weep thee not too sore, For willingly, I know, thou met'st thine end! But now in blood and battles was my youth, 825 And full of blood and battles is my age ; And I shall never end this life of blood." Then, at the point of death, Sohrab replied : — "A life of blood indeed, thou dreadful man ! But thou shalt yet have peace ; only not now, 830 Not yet : but thou shalt have it on that day, When thou shalt sail in a high-masted ship, Thou and the other peers of Kai Khosroo, Eeturning home over the salt blue sea, From laying thy dear master in his grave." 835 And Eustum gaz'd in SohraVs face, and said: — "Soon be that day, my son, and deep that sea ! Till then, if fate so wills, let me endure." He spoke ; and Sohrab smil'd on him, and took The spear, and drew it from his side, and eas'd 840 His wound's imperious anguish ; but the blood Came welling from the open gash, and life 548 SHOKTEB ENGLISH POFMS Fiow'd with the stream ; all down his cold white side The crimson torrent ran, dim now and soil'd, Like the soil'd tissue of white violets 845 Left, freshly gathered, on their native bank, By children whom their nurses call with haste Indoors from the sun's eye; his head droop'd low, His limbs grew slack; motionless, white, he lay, White, with eyes closed ; only when heavy gasps, 850 Deep heavy gasps, quivering through all his frame, Convuls'd him back to life, he open'd them, And fix'd them feebly on his father's face; Till now all strength was ebb'd : and from his limbs Unwillingly the spirit fled away, 855 Eegretting the warm mansion which it left, And youth, and bloom, and this delightful world. So, on the bloody sand, Sohrab lay dead: And the great Eustum drew his horseman's cloak Down o'er his face, and sate by his dead son. 860 As those black granite pillars, once high-rear'd By Jemshid in Persepolis, to bear Llis house, now 'mid their broken flights of steps Lie prone, enormous, down the mountain side:, So, in the sand, lay Eustum by his son. 865 And night came down over the solemn waste, And the two gazing hosts, and that sole pair, And darken'd all; and a cold fog, with night, Crept from the Oxus. Soon a hum arose, As of a great assembly loos'd, and fires 870 Began to twinkle through the fog ; for now Both armies mov'd to camp, and took their meal : The Persians took it on the open sands Southward, the Tartars by the river marge : SOHEAB AND EUSTUM 549 And Eustum and his son were left alone. 875 But the majestic river floated on, Out of the mist and hum of that low land, Into the frosty starlight, and there mov'd, Eejoicing, through the husrr'd Chorasmian waste, Under the solitary moon : he flowed 880 Eight for the polar star, past Orgunje, Brimming, and bright, and large ; then sands begin To hem his watery march, and dam his streams, And split his currents, that for many a league The shorn and parcelled Oxus strains along 885 Through beds of sand and matted rushy isles ; Oxus, forgetting the bright speed he had In his high mountain-cradle in Pamere, A f oiFd circuitous wanderer : till at last The long ; d-for dash of waves is heard, and wide 890 His luminous home of waters opens, bright And tranquil, from whose floor the new-bath'd stars Emerge, and shine upon the Aral Sea. SOHEAB AND EUSTUM NOTES. Line 1. And: The poem begins with a conjunction in order to give the epic tone by suggesting that this story is only an episode in an action of larger scope. 2. The Oxus stream: The Oxus is for 680 miles the boundary between Afghanistan and Russia. It rises in the Pamir mountains and flows in a general northwesterly direction into the Aral Sea. It is "an imposing stream, rarely less than a thousand yards wide., and in some places fully a mile across." 11. Peran-Wisa is a famous figure in the Persian Epic : an aged sage, prime-minister to his monarch, filling something the place that Nestor fills in the Iliad. 12. Through the black Tartar tents: Throughout the poem, Arnold works up his local color carefully. It is that of the wild, half-civilized life of the tribes in Central Asia, where even today conditions are almost as primitive as in Homeric times. Some 550 SHOETEE ENGLISH POEMS critics find, however, that the Greek tone of the poem does not quite harmonize with the Oriental setting. 25. Carpets: Rugs ; one of the Persian touches. 40. Samarcand: For the numerous places mentioned in the poem consult the Century Atlas. 82. Zal, his father old: The father of Rustum was always called Zal the Aged, because he was born with white hair. The story of his wooing of Rustum's mother is familiar from many a fairy-tale. When a youth he came one day to the foot of a high tower, in which sat a maiden whom he loved as soon as he saw her. The tower appeared inaccessible, but the maiden let down to him her beautiful long black hair, and he used it as a ladder and climbed up to her. Ill, etc. One of the most striking features of the poem is the frequency of long similes, employed by Arnold with deliberate inten- tion of copying the method of Homer. It will be noted that with few exceptions they are drawn from the life and landscape of Cen- tral Asia. At first, they were apparently of a more general nature. Arnold writes to a critical friend : "What you say concerning the similes looks very just on paper. I can only say that I took a great deal of trouble to orientalize them (The Bahrein diver" — - see line 284 — "was originally an ordinary fisher), because I thought they looked strange, and jarred, if Western." 129. The Jaxartes: This river is more commonly known as the Syr Daria. It, too, flows into the Aral Sea. 160. But as a troop: Notice how constantly Arnold puts the second member of the simile first. This is the Homeric custom, but here it becomes almost mechanical. Stopford Brooke does not like the similes in this poem. He says that Arnold, like Homer himself, seems to fetch them from other poems and fit them in unsuitably. And again: "They weaken the J passion in the poem and retard the movement." The student would do well to consider whether or no he agrees with the critic. Mr. Brooke adds an excellent account of the function which a simile should serve : some may think that Arnold meets his demands more nearly than he is willing to admit : "The just simile should only be introduced when the action or the emotion is heightened, when the moment is worthy, and when, as it were in a pause, men draw in their breath to think what may happen next, for the moment has reached intensity. The simile fills that pause and allows men to breathe." 216. He has the wild stag's foot, etc. Note the force of this recurrent descriptive phrase. So in the classic epic, one phrase or epithet is reserved for each hero. 257. But I will fight unknown: A favorite device with heroes alike of epic and romance. Sir Lancelot, in Malory's Morte d' Arthur, is especially addicted to it. 284. See Note, line 111. SOHRAB AND RUSTUM: NOTES 551 302. As some rich woman: This is the first simile that is of a purely general character. The scene might be Oriental, but the lines suggest nothing but London. In themselves they are vivid and admirable : perhaps Arnold could not bear to sacrifice them when he "orientalized" his similes. 314. Like some young cypress: This, on the other hand, is in perfect keeping with the whole tone and atmosphere of the poem. 447. But oh, Let there oe peace twixt thee and me: Notice that after the first, *all the pleadings for peace come from Sohrab. 480. And you would say: In the following passage we gain an effect of supernatural awe with no real use of the supernatural. 556. -4s when some hunter: The longest of the similes. It surely meets Stopf ord Brooke's requirements in one respect : the moment is worthy and the suspense is keen. 634. Like some rich hyacinth: A figure from classical literature. 671. And showed a sign: In the old story, Sohrab wears 4 bracelet or a ring given to his mother by Rustum. The tattooed sign is far better, both because it is surer proof and because u introduces us to the griffin, who according to the legend, w^a foster-nurse to Zal. 730. And Ruksh, the horse: Compare with this passage the tears wept by the horse of Herminius in The Battle of the Lake Regilius. The prototypes of both are the horses of Achilles who weep over the body of Patroclus, in Homer. 742. Is this, then, Ruksh? The speeches of Sohrab after he is wounded make one feel his youth and boyish charm. 799-805. The repetition increases the gravity and majesty of the passage, making it round like a chant or dirge. The whole method throughout this scene between the father and the dying son is that of epic, not of dramatic, poetry : the movement is solemn and slow, and the emotion calm despite its depth. 827. Then, at the point of death: According to old legend, here followed, dying men are endowed with prophetic power. Firdusi places this episode about the middle of the career of Rustum. He has many other adventures. Among them he lives to fight with the son of Sohrab : but this time the identity of the two combatants is discovered, and they are reconciled. 865. And night came down over the solemn waste: "The poem closes in a lonely beauty. The son and the father lie alone on the plain as night falls, between the mourning hosts, none daring to intrude. The dark heaven alone is their tent and their sorrow their shroud and we hear the deep river flowing by, the image of the destiny of man that bears us on, helpless, on its breast, until with it we find the sea." — Stopford Brooke. Firdusi continues his poem with a fervid description of the wild grief of the mother of Sohrab. Arnold's severe taste excluded it. 875. But the majestic river floated on: "Below Kamish to its 552 SHOETEE ENGLISH POEMS final disappearance in the Aral Sea, the great river rolls in silent majesty through a vast expanse of sand and desert." — Encyclopwdia Britannica. Richard Holt Hutton says : "Arnold, after describing the tender farewell of Sohrab to his father, concludes with this most beautiful passage, in which the accomplished geographer turns the half- scientific, half-poetical pleasure which he always betrays in defining a geographical course to the purpose of providing a poetical ano- dyne for the pain which the tragic ending . . . has given. . . . Of course the intention may have been to make the flow of the T>xus ... a sort of parable of the unhappy Rustum's great career, ar.d the peace of his passing away; but nothing of this is so much as hinted and we should rather say that, though the course of a great river may be selected . . . for the vague analogy it presents to the chequered life of a great leader, the intention of the poet is simply to refresh his own mind after the spectacle of mis- spent heroism and clouded destiny, with the image of one of Nature's greater works in which there seems to be . . . the same loss of pristine force and grandeur, and yet a recovery of all the majestic volume and triumphant strength of the earlier period at the end." THE FORSAKEN MEEMAN. NOTE. The legend of a dweller in the sea, luring a mortal mate, is as old as ancient days of myth. Arnold was always haunted by it. For a very different handling of the same theme, see Hans Christian Andersen's lovely story of The Little Mermaid. 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