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trary, I still maintain to be a fictitious personage,) i

ΤΟ IANTHE. it has been stated, that, besides the anachronism, he is very unknightly, as the times of the Knights Not in those climes where I have late been were times of love, honor, and so forth. Now it so

straying, happens that the good old times, when “l'amour Though Beauty long hath there been matchless du bon vieux tems l'amour antique" flourished,

deemid; were the most profligate of all possible centuries. Not in those visions to the heart displaying Those who have any doubts on this subject may| Forms which it sighs but to have only dream'd, consult St. Palaye, passim, and more particularly Hath aught like thee in truth or fancy seem'd: vol. ii., page 69. The vows of chivalry were no Nor, having seen thee, shall I vainly seek better kept than any other vows whatsoever; and To paint those charms which varied as they beam'd: the songs of the Troubadours were not more decent, To such as see thee not my words were weak; and certainly were much less refined, than those of To those who gaze on thee what language could Ovid. The “Cours d'amour, parlemens d'amour ou they speak ? de courtesie et de gentilesse” had much more of love than of courtesy or gentleness. See Rolland Ah! may'st thou ever be what now thou art, on the same subject with St. Palaye. Whatever Nor unbeseem the promise of thy spring. other objection may be urged to that most unamia As fair in form, as warm yet pure in heart, ble personage, Childe Harold, he was so far perfectly Love's image upon earth without his wing, knightly in his attributes"No waiter, but al And guileless beyond Hope's imagining ! knight templar.”* By the by, I fear that Sirl And surely she who now so fondly rears Tristrem and Sir Lancelot were no better than they| Thy youth, in thee, thus hourly brightening, should be, although very poetical personages and Beholds the rainbow of her future years, true knights “sans peur,” though not “sans re-Before whose heavenly hues all sorrow disappears. proche.” If the story of the institution of the “ Garter” be not a fable, the knights of that order

Young Peri of the West !—'tis well for me have for several centuries borne the badge of a

My years already doubly number thine; Countess of Salisbury of indifferent memory. So

My loveless eye umoved may gaze on thee, much for chivalry. Burke need not have regretted

And safely view thy ripening beauties shine; that its days are over, though Maria Antoinette was

Happy, I ne'er shall see them in decline; quite as chaste as most of those in whose honors

Happier, that while all younger hearts shall bleed, lances were shivered, and knights unhorsed.

Mine shall escape the doom thine eyes assign Before the days of Bayard, and down to those of1 To those whose admiration shall succeed. Sir Joseph Banks, (the most chaste and celebrated But

ated But mix'd with pangs to Love's even loveliest hours of ancient and modern times,) few exceptions will

decreed. be found to this statement, and I fear a little investigation will teach us not to regret these monstrous

Oh! let that eye, which, wild as tiie Gazelle's, mummeries of the middle ages. I. now leave “Childe Harold," to live his day,

Now brightly bold or beautifully shy,

Wins as it wanders, dazzles where it dwells, such as he is; it had been more agreeable, and cer

Glance o'er this page, nor to my verse deny tainly more easy, to have drawn an amiable charac

That smile for which my breast might vainly sigh, ter. It had been easy to varnish over his faults, to

Could I to thee be ever more than friend: make him do more and express less, but he never was intended as an example, further than to show

This much, dear maid, accord: nor question why

To one so young my strain I would commend, that early perversion of mind and morals leads to

But bid me with my wreath one matchless lily blend. satiety of past pleasures and disappointment in new ones, and that even the beauties of nature, and the stimulus of travel (except ambition, the most |

Such is thy name with this my verse entwined ; powerful of all excitements) are lost on a soul so

And long as kinder eyes a look shall cast constituted, or rather misdirected. Had I pro

On Harold's page, Ianthe's here enshrined ceeded with the poem, this character would have

Shall thus be first beheld, forgotten last: deepened as he drew to the close; for the outline

My days once number'd, should this homage past which I once meant to fill up for him was, with

Attract thy fairy fingers near the lyre some exceptions, the sketch of a modern Timon,

Of him who hail'd thee, loveliest as thou wast, perhaps a poetical Zeluco.

Such is the most my memory may desire ;

Though more than Hope can claim, could Friends • The Roren. Antifacobin.

ship less requires



OH, thou ! in Hellas deem'd of heavenly birth,
Muse! form'd or fabled at the minstrel's will!
Since shamed full oft by later lyres on earth,
Mine dares not call thee from thy sacred hill:
Yet there I've wander'd by thy vaunted rill;
Yes! sigh'd o’er Delphi's long deserted shrine,
Where, save that feeble fountain, all is still;

Nor mote my shell awake the weary Nine
Ic grace so plain a tale-this lowly lay of mine.

For he through Sin's long labyrinth had run,
Nor made atonement when he did amiss,
Had sigh’d to many though he loved but one,
And that loved one, alas! could ne'er be his.
Ah, happy she! to 'scape from him whose kiss
Had been pollution unto aught so chaste;
Who soon had left her charms for vulgar bliss,

And spoil'd her goodly lands to gild his waste,
Nor calın domestic peace had ever deign'd to taste


Whilome in Albion's isle there dwelt a youth, And now Childe Harold was sore sick at heart, Who ne in virtue's ways did take delight;

And from his fellow bacchanals would flee; But spent his days in riot most uncouth,

'Tis said, at times the sullen tear would start, And vex'd with mirth the drowsy ear of Night. But Pride congeal'd the drop within his ee: Ah, me! in sooth he was a shameless wight, Apart he stalk'd in joyless reverie, Sore given to revel and ungodly glee;

And from his native land resolv'd to go, Few earthly things found favor in his sight

And visit scorching climes beyond the sea; Save concubines and carnal companie,

With pleasure drugg’d he almost long'd for wo, And flaunting wassailers of high and low degree. And e'en for change of scene would seek the shades


Childe Harold was he hight,-but whence his name The Childe departed from his father's hall:
And lineage long, it suits ine not to say;

It was a vast and venerable pile;
Suffice it, that perchance hey were of fame, So old, it seemed only not to fall,
And had been glorious in another day:

Yet strength was pillar'd in each massy aisle. But one sad losel soils a :tame for aye,

Monastic dome! condemn'd to uses vile! However mighty in the o'den time:

Where Superstition once had made her den, Nor all that 'ieralds rake from coffin'd clay, Now Paphian girls were known to sing and smile; Nor florid prcse, nor horied lies of rhyme,

And monks might deem their time was come agen, Can blazon evil deeds, or consecrate a crime. If ancient tales say true, nor wrong these holy men.


Childe Harold bask'd him in the noontide sun, Yet ofttimes in his maddest mirthful mood
Disporting there like any other fly;

Strange pangs would flash along Childe Harold's Nor deem'd before his little day was done

As if the memory of some deadly feud [brow, One blast might chill him into misery.

Or disappointed passion lurk'd below: But long ere scarce a third of his pass'd by, | But this none knew, nor haply cared to know; Worse than adversity the Childe befell;

· For his was not that open, artless soul He felt the fulnegs of satiety:

That feels relief by bidding sorrow flow, Then loathed he ix Sis native land to dwell, Nor sought he friend to counsel or condole, Whica seem'd to him more lone than Eremite's sad Whate'er his grief mote be, which he could not cell.


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And none did love him--though to hall and bower
He gather'd revellers from far and near,
He knew them flatt'rers of the festal hour;
The heartless parasites of present cheer.
Yea! none did love him-not his lemans dear-
But pomp and power alone are woman's care,
And where these are light Eros finds a fere;

Maidens, like moths, are ever caught by glare, And Mammon wins his way where Seraphs might despair.

X. Childe Harold had a mother--not forgot, Though parting from that mother he did shun; A sister whom he loved, but saw her not Before his weary pilgrimage begun : If friends he had, he bade adieu to none. Yet deem not thence his breast a breast of steel ; Ye, who have known what 'tis to dote upon

A few dear objects, will in sadness feel Such partings break the heart they fondly hope to


“ A few short hours, and He will rise

To give the Morrow birth;
And I shall hail the main and skies,

But not my mother Earth.
Deserted is my own good hall,

Its hearth is desolate; Wild weeds are gathering on the wall; My dog howls at the gate.

3. " Come hither, hither, my little page!

Why dost thou weep and wail?
Or dost thou dread the billows' rage,

Or tremble at the gale ?
But dash the tear-drop from thine eye,

Our ship is swift and strong: Our fleetest falcon scarce could fly More merrily along."

4. "Let winds be shrill, let waves roll high,

I fear not wave nor wind;
Yet marvel not, Sir Childe, that I

Am sorrowful in mind;
For I have from my father gone,

A mother whom I love,
And have no friend, save these alone,

But thee and one above.


His house, his home, his heritage, his lands,
The laughing dames in whom he did delight,
Whose large blue eyes, fair locks, and snowy hands
Might shake the saintship of an anchorite,
And long had fed his youthful appetite;
His goblets brimm'd with every costly wine,
And all that mote to luxury invite,

Without a sigh he left, to cross the brine, And traverse Paynim shores, and pass Earth's central line.

XII. The sails were fill'd, and fair the light winds blew, As glad to waft him from his native home; And fast the white rocks faded from his view, And soon were lost in circumambient foam : And then, it may be, of his wish to roam Repented he, but in his bosom slept The silent thought, nor from his lips did come

One word of wail, whilst others sat and wept, And to the reckless gales unmanly moaning kept.

5. "My father bless'd me fervently,

Yet did not much complain; But sorely will my mother sigh

Till I come back again.'“Enough, enough, my little lad!

Such tears become thine eye; If I thy guileless bosom had, Mine own would not be dry.


Come hither, hither, my staunch yeoman

Why dost thou look so pale?
Or dost thou dread a French foeman?

Or shiver at the gale?”
*Deem'st thou I tremble for my life?

Sir Childe, I'm not so weak; But thinking on an absent wife

Will blanch a faithful cheek.


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

And fleeting shores receded from his sight,
Thus to the elements he pour'd his last “Good


*My spouse and boys dwell near thy hall,

Along the bordering lake;
And when they on their father call,

What answer shall she make?'-
“Enough, enough, my yeoman good,

Thy grief let none gainsay; But I, who am of lighter mood,

Will laugh to flee away.

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XVIII. " And now I'm in the world alone,

Poor, paltry slaves ! yet born ʼmidst noblest scenes, Upon the wide, wide sea :

Why, Nature, waste thy wonders on such men ? But why should I for others groan,

Lo! Cintra's glorious Eden intervenes
When none will sigh for me?

In variegated maze of mount and glen.
Perchance my dog will whine in vain

Ah, me! what hand can pencil guide, or ren, Till fed by stranger hands;

To follow half on which the eye dilates, But long ere I come back again,

Through views more dazzling unto mortal ken He'd tear me where he stands.

Than those whereof such things the bard relates,

Who to the awe-struck world unlock'd Elysium's 10.

gates ? “ With thee, my bark, I'll swiftly go

Athwart the foaming brine;

The horrid crags, by toppling convent crown'd, Nor care what land thou bear'st me tuo,

The cork-trees hoar that clothe the shaggy steep, So not again to mine.

The mountain-moss by scorching skies imbrown'd, Welcome, welcome, ye dark blue waves !

The sunken glen, whose sunless shrubs must weep, And when you fail my sight,

The tender azure of the unruffled deep, Welcome, ye deserts, and ye caves !

The orange tints that gild the greenest bough, My native Land-Good Night!"

The torrents that from cliff to valley leap,

The vine on high, the willow branch below, XIV.

Mix'd in one mighty scene, with varied beauty glow. On, on the vessel flies, the land is gone,

And winds are rude in Biscay's sleepless bay.
Four days are sped, but with the fifth, anon,

Then slowly climb the many-winding way,
New shores descried make every bosom gay;

And frequent turn to linger as you go, And Cintra's mountain greets them on their way,

From loftier rocks new loveliness survey, And Tagus dashing onward to the deep,

And rest yet at our “Lady's house of wo;"y His fabled golden tribute bent to pay;

Where frugal monks their little relics show, And soon on board the Lusian pilots leap,

And sundry legends to the stranger tell : and steer 'twixt fertile shores where yet few rustics

Here impious men have punish'd been, and lo! reap.

Deep in yon cave Honorious long did dwell, XV.

In hope to merit heaven by making earth a Hell. Oh, Christ! it is a goodly sight to see

XXI. What Heaven hath done for this delicious land!

And here and there, as up the crags you spring, What fruits of fragrance blush on every tree!

Mark many rude-carved crosses near the path: What goodly prospects o'er the hills expand !

Yet deem not these devotion's offeringBut man would mar them with an impious hand:

These are memorials frail of murderous wrath: And when the Almighty lifts his fiercest scourge

For wheresoe'er the shrieking victim hath 'Gainst those who most transgress his high

Pour'd forth his blood beneath the assassin's knife, command, With treble vengeance will his hot shafts urge

Some hand erects a cross of mouldering lath; Gaul's locust host, and earth from fellest foemen

And grove and glen with thousand such are rife

men Throughout this purple land where law secures not purge.

life 3 XVI.

XXII. What beauties doth Lisboa first unfold !

On sloping mounds, or in the vale beneath, Her image foating on that noble tide,

Are domes where whilome kings did make repair; Which poets vainly pave with sands of gold,

But now the wild flowers round them only breathe; But now whereon a thousand keels did ride

Yet ruin'd splendor still is lingering there. Of mighty strength, since Albion was allied,

And yonder towers the Prince's palace fair; And to the Lusians did her aid afford:

There thou too, Vathek ! England's wealthiest son, A nation swoln with ignorance and pride,

Once form'd thy Paradise, as not aware done, Who lick yet loathe the hand that waves the sword When wanton Wealth her mightiest deeds hath Io save them from the wrath of Gaul's unsparing Meek Peace yoluptuous lures was ever wont to sun. lord. XVII.

ΧΧΙΙΙ. But whoso entereth within this town,

Here didst thou dwell, here schemes of pleasure That, sheening far, celestial seems to be, Disconsolate will wander up and down,

Beneath yon mountain's ever beauteous brow: 'Mid many things unsightly to strange ee;

But now, as if a thing unblest by Man, For hut and palace show like filthily:

Thy fairy dwelling is as lone as thou! The dingy denizens are rear'd in dirt;

Here giant weeds a passage scarce allow Ne personage of high or mean degree

To halls deserted, portals gaping wide; Doth care for cleanness of surtout or shirt, Fresh lessons to the thinking bosom, how Shough shent with Egypt's plague, unkempt, Vain are the pleasaunces on earth supplied; unwash'd, unhurt.

Swept into wrecks anon by Time's ungentle tide


knows —


XXX. Behold the hall where chiefs were late convened ! O’er vales that teem with fruits, romantic hills, Oh! dome displeasing unto British eye!

(Oh, that such hills upheld a freeborn race !) With diadem hight foolscap, lo! a fiend,

Whereon to gaze the eye with joyance fills, (place, A little fiend that scoffs incessantly,

Childe Harold wends through many a pleasant There sits in parchment robe array'd, and by

Though sluggards deem it but a foolish chase His side is hung a seal and sable scroll,

And marvel men should quit their easy chair, Where blazon'd glare names known to chivalry, I The toilsome way, and long, long league to trace, And sundry signatures adorn the roll,

Oh! there is sweetness in the mountain air, Whereat the Urchin points and laughs with all his And life, that bloated Ease can never hope to stare. soul.


More bleak to view the hills at length recede, Convention is the dwarfish demon styled

And, less luxuriant, smoother vales extend: That foil'd the knights in Marialva's dome :

Immense horizon-bounded plains succeed ! Of brains (if brains they had) he them beguiled,

Far as the eye discerns, withouten end, And turn'd a nation's shallow joy to gloom.

Spain's realms appear whereon her shepherds tend Here Folly dash'd to earth the victor's plume,

Flocks, whose rich fleece right well the trader And Policy regained what arms had lost; For chiefs like ours in vain may laurels bloom!

Now must the pastor's arm his lambs defend • Wo to the conqu’ring, not the conquer'd host,

For Spain is compass'd by unyielding foes, Since baffled Triumph droops on Lusitania’s coast.

And all must shield their all, or share Subjection's

woes. XXVI.

XXXII. And ever since that martial synod met,

Where Lusitania and her sister meet, Britannia sickens, Cintra! at thy name;

Deem ye what bounds the rival realms divide ? And folks in office at the mention fret,

Or ere the jealous queens of nations greet,
And fain would blush, if blush they could, for Doth Tayo interpose his mighty tide ?
How will posterity the deed ploclaim! (shame. / Or dark Sierras rise in craggy pride ?
Will not our own and fellow-nations sneer,

Or fence of art, like China's vasty wall ? -
To view these champions cheated of their fame, Ne barrier wall, ne river deep and wide,

By foes in fight o'erthrown, yet victors here, Ne horrid crags, nor mountains dark and tall, Where Scorn her finger points through many a com- Rise like the rocks that part Hispania's land from ing year?


So deem'd the Childe, as o'er the mountains he

But these between a silver streamlet glides, Did take his way in solitary guise:

And scarce a name distinguisheth the brook, Sweet was the scene, yet soon he thought to flee,

Though rival kingdoms press its verdant sides. More restless than the swallow in the skies:

Here leans the idle shepherd on his crook, Though here a while he learned to moralize,

And vacant on the rippling waves doth look, For meditation fix'd at times on him;

That peaceful still’twixt bitterest foemen flow; And conscious Reason whisper'd to despise

For proud each peasant as the noblest duke: His early youth misspent in maddest whim;

Well doth the Spanish hind the difference know But as he gazed on truth his aching eyes grew dim."

dim. \'Twixt him and Lusian slave, the lowest of the lowo XXVIII.


But ere the mingling bounds have far been passid, To horse! to horse! he quits, for ever quits

Dark Guadiana rolls his power along A scene of peace, though soothing to his soul;

In sullen billows, murmuring and vast, Again he rouses from his moping fits,

So noted ancient roundelays among. But seeks not now the harlot and the bowl.

Whilome upon his banks did legions throng Onward he flies, nor fix'd as yet the goal

Of Moor and knight, in mailed splendor drest: Where he shall rest him on his pilgrimage;

Here ceased the swift their race, here sunk the And o'er him many changing scenes must roll

The Paynim turban and the Christian crest[strong; Ere toil his thirst for travel can assuage,

Mix'd on the bleeding stream, by floating hosts opOr he shall calm his breast, or learn experience



Oh, lovely Spain ! renown'd romantic land ! Yet Mafra shall one moment claim delay, 5

Where is that standard which Pelagio bore, Where dwelt of yore the Lusians' luckless queen;| When Cava's traitor-sire first call’d the band And church and court did mingle their array, That dyed thy mountain streams with Gothic And mass and revel were alternate seen;

gore:7 Lordlings and freres-ill-sorted fry I ween! Where are those bloody banners which of yore But here the Babylonian whore hath built Waved o'er thy sons, victorious to the gale, A dome, where flaunts she in such glorious sheen, And drove at last the spoilers to their shore ? (pale,

That men forget the blood which she hath spilt, | Red gleam'd the cross, and waned the crescent And bow the knee to Pomp that loves to varnish While Afric's echoes thrill’d with Moorish matrons' guilt.


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