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His friends the more for his long absence prized him, They reach'd the island, he transferr'd his lading, Finding he'd wherewithal to make them gay, And self and live stock, to another bottom,
With dinners, where he oft became the laugh of And pass'd for a true Turkey-merchant, trading
them, With goods of various naines, but I forgot 'em. For stories - but I don't believe the half of them. Huwever, he got off by this evading, Or else the people would perhaps have shot him;
XCIX. And thus at Venice i landed to reclaim
Whate'er his youth had suffer'd, his old age His wife, religion, house, and Christian name.
With wealth and talking make him some amends ;
Though Laura sometimes put him in a rage,
I've heard the Count and he were always friends. His wife received, the patriarch re-baptized him, My pen is at the bottom of a page,
(He made the church a present, by the way); Which being finish'd, here the story ends; He then threw off the garments which disguised him, 'Tis to be wish'd it had been sooner done,
And borrow'd the Count's smallclothes for a day : But stories somehow lengthen when begun. ?
ADVERTISEMENT. “ CELUI qui remplissait alors cette place était un gentilhomme Polonais, nommé Mazeppa, né dans le
palatinat de Podolie : il avait été élevé page de Jean Casimir, et avait pris à sa cour quelque teinture des belles-lettres. Une intrigue qu'il eut dans sa jeunesse avec la femme d'un gentilhomme Polonais ayant été
! (" You ask me," says Lord Byron, in a letter written in intelligible object ;-a mere piece of lively and loquacious 182, - for a volume of Manners, &c. on Italy. Perhaps I am prattling, in short, upon all kinds of frivolous subjects, - a sort in the case to know more of them than most Englishmen, of gay and desultory babbling about Italy and England, Turks, because I have lived among the natives, and in parts of the balls, literature, and fish sauces. But still there is something country where Englishmen never resided before (I speak of very engaging in the uniform gaiety, politeness, and good Romagna and this place particularly); but there are many humour of the author, and something still more striking and reasons why I do not choose to treat in print on such a subject. admirable in the matchless facility with which he has cast into Their moral is not your moral; their life is not your life ; you regular, and even difficult, versification the unmingled, unwould not understand it: it is not English, nor French, nor constrained, and unselected language of the most light, familiar, Gerinan, which you would all understand. The conventual and ordinary conversation. With great skill and felicity, he education, the cavalier servitude, the habits of thought and has furnished us with an example of about one hundred living, are so entirely different, and the difference becomes so stanzas of good verse, entirely composed of common words, in much more striking the more you live intimately with them, their common places; never presenting us with one sprig of that I know not how to make you comprehend a people who what is called poetical diction, or even making use of a single are at once temperate and profligate, serious in their characters inversion, either to raise the style or assist the rhyme, but and buffoons in their amusements, capable of impressions and running on in an inexhaustible series of good easy colloquial passions, which are at once sudden and durable (what you find phrases, and finding them fall into verse by some unaccountable in no other nation), and who actually have no society (what and happy fatality. In this great and characteristic quality it we would call so), as you may see by their comedies; they is almost invariably excellent. In some other respects, it is have no real comedy, not even in Goldoni, and that is because more unequal. About one half is as good as possible, in the they have no society to draw it from. Their conversazioui style to which it belongs; the other half bcars, perhaps, are not society at all. They go to the theatre to talk, and into too many marks of that haste with which such a work must company to hold their tongues. The women sit in a circle, necessarily be written. Some passages are rather too snappish, and the men gather into groups, or they play at dreary faro, and some run too much on the cheap and rather plebeian or lotto reale,' for small sums. Their academie are concerts humour of out-of-the-way rhymes, and strange-sounding words like our own, with better music and more form. Their best
and epithets. But the greater part is extremely pleasant, things are the carnival balls and masquerades, when every amiable, and gentlemanlike. – JEFFREY.) body runs mad for six weeks. After their dinners and suppers 3 [The following “lively, spirited, and pleasant tale," as Mr. they make extempore verses and buffoon one another; but it
Gifford calls it, on the margin of the MS., was written in the is in a humour which you would not enter into, ye of the north. autumn of 1818, at Ravenna. We extract the following from - in their houses it is better. As for the women, from the
a reviewal of the time :-"MAZEPPA is a very fine and fisherman's wife up to the nobil daina, their system has its spirited sketch of a very noble story, and is every way worthy rules, and its fitnesses, and its decorums, so as to be reduced of its author. The story is a well-known one ; namely, that to a kind of discipline or game at hearts, which admits few
of the young Pole, who, being bound naked on the back of a deviations, unless you wish to lose it. They are extremely wild horse, on account of an intrigue with the lady of a certain tenacious, and jealous as furies, not permitting their lovers great noble of his country, was carried by his steed into the even to marry if they can help it, and keeping them always heart of the Ukraine, and being there picked up by some close to them in public as in private, whenever they can. In
Cossacks, in a state apparently of utter hopelessness and ex. short, they transfer marriage to adultery, and strike the not hau n, recovered, and lived to be long after the prince and out of that commandment. The reason is, that they marry for leader of the nation among whom he had arrived in this their parents, and love for themselves. They exact fidelity
extraordinary manner. Lord Byron has represented the from a lover as a debt of honour, while they pay the husband
strange and wild incidents of this adventure, as being related as a tradesman, that is, not at all. You hear a person's
in a half serious, half
sportive way, by Mazeppa himself, to no character, male or female, canvassed, not as depending on their
less a person than Charles the Twelfth of Sweden, in some conduct to their husbands or wives, but to their mistress or
of whose last campaigns the Cossack Hetinan took a distin. lorer. If I wrote a quarto, I don't know that I could do more guished part He tells it during the desolate bivouack of than amplify what I have here noted.”)
Charles and the sew friends who fled with him towards 2 [This extremely clever and amusing performance affords Turkey, after the bloody overthrow of Pultowa. There is a very curious and complete specimen of a kind of diction and not a little of beauty and gracefulness in this way of setting composition of which our English literature has hitherto the picture ; - the age of Mazeppa- the calm, practised presented very few examples. It is, in itself, absolutely a indifference with which he now submits to the worst of ching of nothing - without story, characters, sentimients, or fortune's deeds - the heroic, unthinking coldness of the royal
découverte, le mari le fit lier tout nu sur un cheval farouche, et le laissa aller en cet état. Le cheval, qui était du pays de l'Ukraine, y retourna, et y porta Mazeppa, demi-mort de fatigue et de faim. Quelques paysans le secoururent: il resta long-tems parmi eux, et se signala dans plusieurs courses contre les Tartares. La supériorité de ses lumières lui donna une grande considération parmi les Cosaques : sa réputation s'augmentant de jour en jour, obligea le Czar à le faire Prince de l'Ukraine." — VOLTAIRE, Hist. de Charles XII. p. 196.
“ Le roi fuyant, et poursuivi, eut son cheval tué sous lui; le Colonel Gieta, blessé, et perdant tout son sang, lui donna le sien. Ainsi on remit deux fois à cheval, dans la fuite, ce conquérant qui n'avait pu y monter pendant la bataille.”—p. 216.
“ Le roi alla par un autre chemin avec quelques cavaliers. Le carrosse où il était rompit dans la marche; on le remit à cheval. Pour comble de disgrace, il s'égara pendant la nuit dans un bois ; làm son courage ne pouvant plus suppléer à ses forces épuisées, les douleurs de sa blessure devenues plus insupportables par la fatigue, son cheval étant tombé de lassitude, il se coucha quelques heures au pied d'un arbre, en danger d'être surpris à tout moment par les vainqueurs, qui le cherchaient de tous côtés."
This too sinks after many a league
The beacons of surrounding foes -
Are these the laurels and repose For which the nations strain their strength ? They laid him by a savage tree, In outworn nature's agony ; His wounds were stiff- his limbs were stark The heavy hour was chill and dark; The fever in his blood forbade A transient slumber's fitful aid : And thus it was; but yet through all, Kinglike the monarch bore his fall, And made, in this extreme of ill, His pangs the vassals of his will : All silent and subdued were they, As once the nations round him lay.
- p. 218.1
Since but the fleeting of a day
And chivalrous : upon the clay
Beside his monarch and his steed,
And all are fellows in their need.
And smooth'd his fetlocks and his mane,
And slack'd his girth, and stripp'd his rein, And joy'd to see how well he fed ; For until now be had the dread His wearied courser might refuse To browse beneath the midnight dews : But he was hardy as his lord, And little cared for bed and board; But spirited and docile too; Whate'er was to be done, would do. Shaggy and swift, and strong of limb, All Tartar-like he carried him ; Obey'd his voice, and came to call, And knew him in the midst of all: Though thousands were around, - and Night, Without a star, pursued her flight, That steed from sunset until dawn His chief would follow like a fawn.
I. 'Twas after dread Pultowa's day,
When fortune left the royal Swede. Around a slaughter'd army lay,
No more to combat and to bleed. The power and glory of the war,
Faithless as their vain votaries, men,
And Moscow's walls were safe again,
madman to whom he speaks - the dreary and perilous ac. companiments of the scene around the speaker and the audience, - all contribute to throw a very striking charm both of preparation and of contrast over the wild story of the Hetman. Nothing can be more beautiful, in like manner,
His sabre's hilt and scabbard felt,
Prepared and spread his slender stock;
It was a court of jousts and mimes,
A count of far and high descent,
As if from heaven he had been sent:
As few could match beneath the throne ; And he would gaze upon his store, And o'er his pedigree would pore, Until by some confusion led, Which almost look'd like want of head,
He thought their merits were his own. His wife was not of his opinion
His junior she by thirty years — Grew daily tired of his dominion ;
And, after wishes, hopes, and fears,
To virtue a few farewell tears, A restless dream or two, some glances At Warsaw's youth, some songs, and dances, Awaited but the usual chances, Those happy accidents which render The coldest dames so very tender, To deck her Count with titles given, 'T is said, as passports into heaven; But, strange to say, they rarely boast Of these, who have deserved them most.
“ Well, sire, with such a hope, I'll track
V. “ I was a goodly stripling then ;
At seventy years I so may say,
Who, in my dawning time of day,
For time, and care, and war, have plough'd My very soul from out my brow;
And thus I should be disavow'd By all my kind and kin, could they Compare my day and yesterday ; This change was wrought, too, long ere age Had ta'en my features for his page : With years, ye know, lave not declined My strength, my courage, or my mind, Or at this hour I should not be Telling old tales beneath a tree, With starless skies my canopy. But let me on: Theresa's form Methinks it glides before me now, Between me and yon chestnut's bough, The memory is so quick and warm ; And yet I find no words to tell The shape of her I loved so well : She had the Asiatic eye,
Such as our Turkish neighbourhood,
Hath mingled with our Polish blood, Dark as above us is the sky;
1 This comparison of a "salt mine" may, perhaps, be permitted to a Pole, as the wealth of the country consists greatly in the salt mines.
And on the thought my words broke forth,
All incoherent as they were — Their eloquence was little worth, But yet she listend - 't is enough
Who listens once will listen twice;
Her heart, be sure, is not of ice., And one refusal no rebuff.
VII. “ I loved, and was beloved again
They tell me, Sire, you never knew
Those gentle frailties ; if 't is true,
A chief of thousands, and could lead
Them on where each would foremost bleed; But could not o'er myself evince The like control But to resume:
I loved, and was beloved again ;
But yet where happiest ends in pain. -
No other like itself - I'd give
The Ukraine back again to live
My life but to have call'd her mine
For I did oft and long repine That we could only meet by stealth.
VIII. “ For lovers there are many eyes,
And such there were on us ; – the devil
On such occasions should be civil — The devil! - I'm loth to do him wrong,
It might be some untoward saint, Who would not be at rest too long,
But to his pious bile gave ventBut one fair night, some lurking spies Surprised and seized us both. The Count was something more than irroth I was unarmd ; but if in steel, All cap-à-pie from head to heel, What 'gainst their numbers could I do? "T was near his castle, far away
From city or from succour near, And almost on the break of day;
But through it stole a tender light,
Transparent with the sun therein,
And heaven beholds her face within. A chcek and lip — but why proceed ?
I loved her then - I love her still ;
In fierce extremes - in good and ill.
I long'd, and was resolved to speak;
The accents tremulous and weak, Until one hour. There is a game,
A frivolous and foolish play,
Wherewith we while away the day ;
It was enough for me to be
So near to hear, and oh! to see
Until I saw, and thus it was,
Then through my brain the thought did pass
'C“ Until it prorės a joy to die." - NIS.)
For that which we had both forgol."-JS.)
I did not think to see another,
My moments seem'd reduced to few;
And, it may be, a saint or two,
Theresa's doom I never knew,
But he was most enraged lest such
An accident should chance to touch
Because unto himself he seem'd
The first of men, nor less he deem'd In others' eyes, and most in mine. 'Sdeath! with a page perchance a king Had reconciled him to the thing; But with a stripling of a page I felt - but cannot paint his rage.
Nor of its fields a blade of grass,
Save what grows on a ridge of wall,
Where stood the hearth-stone of the hall; And many a time ye there might pass, Nor dream that e'er that fortress was : I saw its turrets in a blaze, Their crackling battlements all cleft,
And the hot lead pour down like rain From off the scorch'd and blackening roof, Whose thickness was not vengeance-proof.
They little thought that day of pain, When launch'd, as on the lightning's flash, They bade me to destruction dash,
That one day I should come again,
The Count for his uncourteous ride.
And if we do but watch the hour,
There never yet was human power
LX. " "Bring forth the horse!'- the horse was brought;
In truth, he was a noble steed,
A Tartar of the Ukraine breed,
Wild as the wild deer, and untaught,
'Twas hut a day he had been caught;
And snapp'd the cord, which to the mane
Had bound my neck in lieu of rein, And writhing half my form about, Howl'd back my curse; but 'midst the tread, The thunder of my courser's speed, Perchance they did not hear nor heed : It rexes me - for I would fain Have paid their insult back again. I paid it well in after days : There is not of that castle gate, Its drawbridge and portcullis' weight, Stone, bar, moat, bridge, or barrier left;
XI. “ Away, away, my steed and I,
Upon the pinions of the wind,
All human dwellings left behind ; We sped like meteors through the sky, When with its crackling sound the night Is chequer'd with the northern light: Town village none were on our track,
But a wild plain of far extent,
And, save the scarce seen battlement
And a low breeze crept moaning by
I could have answer'd with a sigh –
Was nothing to his angry might,
Increas'd his fury and affright: I tried my voice, — 't was faint and low, But yet he swerv'd as from a blow; And, starting to each accent, sprang As from a sudden trumpet's clang : Meantime my cords were wet with gore, Which, oozing through my limbs, ran o'er ;