And hence is haunted with a rhyming rage -
Feared like a bear just bursting from his cage.
If free, all fly his versifying fit,

Fatal at once to simpleton or wit.

But him, unhappy! whom he seizes, — him
He flays with recitation limb by limb;

Probes to the quick where'er he makes his breach, And gorges like a lawyer- or a leech.

THE CURSE OF MINERVA.

"Pallas te hoc vulnere, Pallas

Immolat, et pœnam scelerato ex sanguine sumit."

Eneid, lib. xii.

(125)

[The Curse of Minerva was written at Athens in 1811. It was prompted by Byron's indignation at Lord Elgin, who had just carried from Greece a large collection of antique sculptures torn from the Parthenon and other edifices. This collection was purchased in 1816 by the British Government and placed in the British Museum. In justice to Lord Elgin it may be said with truth that he rescued these precious relics of ancient art from barbarism and decay, and placed them where they are likely to be preserved, admired, and studied for ages to come.

The first authentic edition of The Curse of Minerva was published in 1828, but Byron speaks in a letter, dated March, 1816, of a miserable and stolen copy printed in some magazine. The first four paragraphs were, however, printed as the beginning of the third canto of the Corsair.]

(126)

THE CURSE OF MINERVA.

Athens, Capuchin Convent, March 17, 1811.

SLOW sinks, more lovely ere his race be run,
Along Morea's hills the setting sun;
Not, as in northern climes, obscurely bright,
But one unclouded blaze of living light;

O'er the hushed deep the yellow beam he throws
Gilds the green wave that trembles as it glows;
On old Ægina's rock and Hydra's isle
The god of gladness sheds his parting smile;
O'er his own regions lingering loves to shine,
Though there his altars are no more divine.
Descending fast, the mountain-shadows kiss
Thy glorious gulf, unconquered Salamis !
Their azure arches through the long expanse,
More deeply purpled, meet his mellowing glance,
And tenderest tints, along their summits driven,
Mark his gay course, and own the hues of heaven;
Till, darkly shaded from the land and deep,
Behind his Delphian rock he sinks to sleep.

On such an eve his palest beam he cast When, Athens! here thy wisest looked his last.