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17. 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 distinct 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 60 miles.

18 The colour of the Rhone at Geneva is blue, to a depth of tint which I have never seen equalled in water, salt ar fresh, except in the Mediterrancan and Archipelago.

19. This refers to the account in his “ Confessions," of bis passion for the Comtesse d' Houdetot, (the mistress of St. Lambert) and his long walk every morning for the sake of the single kiss, which was the common salutation of French acquaintance.

20. 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.

21. The thunder-storms to which these lines refer, occurred on the 13th of June, 1816, at midnight. I have seen among the Acrocerauniau mountains of Chimari se. veral more terrible, but none more beautiful.

22. Rousseau's Heloise, Lettre 17, part 4, note. 23. Voltaire and Gibbon.

24.

"If it be thus,
“For Banquo's issue have I filed my mind.”

Macbeth.

25. It is said by Rochefoucault “ there is always « something in the misfortunes of men's best friends not “ displeasing to them.”

END OF NOTES TO CANTO III.

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MY DEAR ROBHOUSE,

AFTER an interval of eight years between the composition of the first and last cantos of Childe Harold, the conclusion of the poem is about to be submitted io the public. In parting with so old a fr end it is not extraordinary that I should recur to one still older and better, -10 one who has beheld the birth and death of the other, and to whom I am far more indebted for the social advantages of an enlightennd friendship, than-though not ungratefulI can, or could be to Childe Harold, for any public favour reflected through the poem on the poet, to one, whom I have known long, and accompanied far, whom I have found wakeful over my sickness and kind in my sorrow, glad in my prosperity, and firm in my ad. versity, true in counsel and trusty in peril to a friend often tried and never found wanting ;-to yourself.

In so doing, I rccur from fiction to truth, and in dedi. cating to you in its complete, or at least coucluded state, a poetical work which is the longest, the most thoughtful and comprehensive of my compositions, I wish to do hon. our to myself by the record of many years intimacy with a man of learning, of talent, of steadiness, and of honour. It is not for minds like oursiogive or to receive flat. terv ; yet the praises of sincerity have ever been permitted to the voice of friendship; and it is not for you, nor even for others, but to relieve a heart which has not else

here, or lately, been so much accustomed to the encounter of good-will as to withstand the shock firmly, that I thus attempt to commemorate your good qualities, or rather the advantages which I have derived from their exertion. Even the recurrence of the date of this letter,

· the anniversary of the most unfortunate day of my past

existence, but which cannot poison my future while I re. tain the resource of your friendship, and of my own faculties, will henceforth have a more agreeable recollection for both, inasmuch as it will remind us of this my attempt to thank you for an indefatigable regard, such as few men have experienced, and no one could experience without thinking better of his species and of himself.

It has been our fortune to traverse together, at various periods, the countries of chivalry, history, and fableSpain, Greece, Asia Minor, and Italy; and what Athens and Constantinople were tous a few years ago, Venice and Rome have been more recently. - The poem also, or the pilgrim, or buth, have accompanied me from first to last; and perhaps it may be a pardonable vanity which induces nie to reflect with complacency on a composition which in some degree connects me with the spot where it was produced, and the objects it would fain describe; and how. ever unworthy it may be deemed of those magical and memorable abodes, however short it may fall of our dis. tant conceptions and immediate impressions, yet as a mark of respect for what is venerable, and of feeling for what is glorious, it has been to me a source of pleasure in the production, and I part with it with a kind of regret, which i hardly suspected that events could have left me for ima. ginary objects.

With regard to the conduct of the last canto, there will be found less of the pilgrim than in any of the preceding, and that little slightly, if at all, separated from the author speakiug in his own person. The fact is, that I had be. come weary of drawing a line which every one seemed determined not to perceive: like the Chinese in Goldsmith's “ Citizen of the World," whom nobody would believe to be a Chinese, it was in vain that I asserted, and imagined that I had drawn), a distinction between the author and the pilgrim : and the very anxiety to preserve this differ: ence, and disappointinent at finding it unavailing, so far crushed iny efforts in the composition, that I determined to abandon it altogether and have done so. The opinia oos which have been, or may be, formed on that subject, are nou a matter of indifference; the work is to depend on itself, and not on the writer; and the author, who has Do resources in his own mind beyond the reputation, transient or permanent, which is to arise from his literary afforts, deserves the fate of authors.

lu the course of the following Canto it was my intention, either in the text or in the notes, to have touched upon the present state of Italian literature, and perhaps of manners. But the text, within the limits I proposed, I soon found hardly sufficient for the labyrinth of external objects and the consequent reflections; and for the whole of the notes, excepting a few of the shortest, I am indebted to yourself, and these were necessarily limited to the elucidation of the text.

It is also a delicate,and no very grateful task,to dissert upon the literature and manners of a nation so dissimilar ; and requires an attention and impartiality which would induce us,though perhaps no inattentive observers, nor ignorant of the language or customs of the people amongst whom we have recently abode, to disturb, or at least defer our judgment, and more narrowly examine our information. The state of literary, as well as political party appears to run, or to have run, so high, that for a stranger to sfeer impartially between them is next to impossible. It may be enough then, at least for my purpose, to quote from their own beautiful language "Mi pare che in an paese tutto poetico, che vanta la lingua la più nobile ed insieme la più dolce, tutte tutte le vie di. verse si possono tentare, e che sinche la patria di Alfieri e di Monti non ha perduto l'antica valore, in tutte essa dovrebbe essere la prima.” Italy has great names still -Canova, Monti, Ugo Foscolo, Pindemonte, Visconti, Morelli, Cicognara, Albrizzi, Mezzophanti, Mai, Mustoxidi, Aglietti, and Vacca, will secure to the present gene. ration an honorable place in most of the departments of Art, Science, and Belles Letters; and in some the very highest-Europe--the World has but one Canova,

It has been gomewhere said by Alfieri, that“ La pianta nomo pasce più robusta in Italia che in qualunque altra terra-e che gli stessi atroci delitti che vi si commetono ne sono una prova." Without subscribing to the latter

Nii

part of this proposition, a dangerous dortrine, the truth of which may be disputed on better grounds, namely, that the Italians are in no respect more ferocious than tbeir neighbours, that man must be wilfully blind, or ignorantly heedless, who is not struck with the extraor. dinary capacity of this people, or, if such a word be ad. missible, their capabilities, the facility of their acquisiti, ons, the rapidity of their conceptions, the fire of their ge. nius, their sense of beauty, and amidst all the disadvan. tages of repeated revolutions, the desolation of battles and the despair of ages, their still unguenched “longing after immortality," the immortality of independance. And when we ourselves, in riding round the walls of Rome, heard the simple lament of the labourers' chorus, “ Ronia! Roma! Roma! Roma non è più come era pri ma," it was difficult not to contrast this melancholy dirge with the bacchanal roar of the songs of exultation still yelled from the London taverns, over the carnage of Mount St. Jean, and the betrayal of Genoa, of Italy, of France, and of the world, by men whose conduct you yourself have exposed in a work worthy of the better days of our history. For me,

“Non movero mai corda

“Ova la turba die sue ciance assorda." What Italy bas gained by the late transfer of nations, it were useless for Englishmen to enquire, till it becomes ascertained that England has acquired some hing more than a permanent army and a suspended Habeas Corpus; it is enough for them to look at home for what they have done abroad, and especially in the South,“ Verily they will have their reward,” and at no very distant period.

Wishing you, my dear Hobhouse, a safe and agreeable return to that country whose real wellfare can be dearer to none than to yourself, I dedicate to you this poem in its complete state; and repeat once more how truly I am ever

Your obliged
And affectionat friend,

BYRON.

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