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The lists are oped, the spacious area clear’d, He flies, he wheels, distracted with his throes; Thousands on thousands piled are seated Dart follows dart; lance, lance; loud bellowround;
ings speak his woes. Long ere the first loud trumpet's note is heard, Ne vacant space for lated wight is found : Again he comes; nor dart nor lance avail, Here dons, grandees, but chiefly dames Nor the wild plunging of the tortured horse;
Though man and man's avenging arms assail, Skill'd in the ogle of a roguish eye, Vain are his weapons, vainer is his force. Yet ever well inclined to heal the wound; One gallant steed is stretch'd a mangled None through their cold disdain are doom'd
corse ; to die,
Another, hideous sight! unseam'd appears, As moon-struck bards complain, by Love's His gory chest unveils life's panting source, sad archery Though death-struck still his feeble frame
he rears, Hush'd is the din of tongues--on gallant Staggering, but stemming all, his lord unsteeds,
harm'd he bears. With milk-white crest, gold spur, and light
poised lance, Foil'd, bleeding, breathless, furious to the Four cavaliers prepare for venturous deeds,
last, And lowly bending to the lists advance; Full in the centre stands the bull at bay, Rich are their scarfs, their chargers featly Mid wounds, and clinging darts, and lances prance :
brast, If in the dangerous game they shine to-day, And foes disabled in the bratal fray: The crowd's loud shout and ladies' lovely And now the Matadores around him play,
Shake the red cloak, and poise the ready Best prize of better acts, they bear away,
brand : And all that kings or chiefs e'er gain their Once more through all he bursts his thunder
Vain rage! the mantle quits the conyuge In costly sheen and gaudy cloak array'd,
hand, But all afoot, the light-limb'd Matadore Wraps his fierce eye--'tis past—he sinks upon Stands in the centre, eager to invade
the sand! The lord of lowing herds; but not before The ground, with cautious tread, is travers- Where his vast neck just mingles with the ed o'er,
spine, Lest aught unseen should lurk to thwart his Sheathed in his form the deadly weapon lies,
He stops-he starts--disdaining to decline : His arms a dart, he fights aloof, nor more Slowly he falls, amidst triumphant cries, Can man achieve without the friendly steed, Without a groan, without a struggle, dies. Alas! too oft condemn’d for him to bear and The decorated car appears-on high
dashing by. Bounds with one lashing spring the mighty
Such the ungentle sport that oft invites And, wildly staring, spurns, with sounding The Spanish maid, and cheers the Spanish foot,
swain. The sand, nor blindly rushes on his foe: Nurtured in blood betimes, his heart delights Here, there, he points his threatening front In vengeance, gloating on another's pain.
What private feuds the troubled village His first attack, wide waving to and fro
stain ! His angry tail ; red rolls his eye's dilated Though now one phalanx'd host should meet glow.
Enough, alas! in humble homes remain, Sudden he stops; his eye is fix’d: away, To meditate 'gainst friends the secret blow, Away, thou heedless boy! prepare the speat: For some slight cause of wrath, whence life's Now is thy time, to perish, or display
warm stream must flow. The skill that yet may check his mad career. With well-timed croupe the nimble coursers But Jealousy has fled: his bars, his bolte,
His wither'd centinel, Duenna sage! On foams the bull, but not unscathed he goes; And all whereat the generous soul revolto, Streams from his flank the crimson torrent which the stern dotard deemid he could clear:
Have pass'd to darkness with the vanishid It is that weariness which springs
From all I meet, or hear, or see : Who late so free as Spanish girls were seen To me no pleasure Beauty brings; (Ere War uprose in his volcanic rage), Thine eyes have scarce a charm for me. With braided tresses bounding o'er the green, While on the gay dance shone Night's lover- It is that settled, ceaseless gloom
loving Queen ? The fabled Hebrew wanderer bore;
That will not look beyond the tomb,
What Exile from himself can flee? But now his wayward bosom was unmoved, To Zones, though more and more remote, For not yet had he drunk of Lethe's stream; Still, still pursues, where-e'er I be, And lately had he learn’d with truth to deem The blight of life—the demon, Thought. Love has no gift so grateful as his wings: How fair, how young, how soft soe'er he Yet others rapt in pleasure seem,
And taste of all that I forsake; Full from the fount of Joy's delicious springs Oh! may they still of transport dream, Some bitter o'er the flowers its bubbling ve- And ne'er, at least like me, awake!
Through many a clime 'tis mine to go, Yet to the beauteous form he was not blind, With many a retrospection curst; Though now it moved him as it moves the And all my solace is to know,
Whate'er betides, I've known the worst. Not that Philosophy on such a mind E’er deign’d to bend her chastely-awful eyes: What is that worst? Nay do not askBut Passion raves herself to rest, or flies; In pity from the search forbear: And Vice, that digs her own voluptuous tomb. Smile on-nor venture to unmask Had buried long his hopes, no more to rise: Man's heart, and view the Hell that's there. Pleasure's pallid victim ! life-abhorring
stood ? Still he beheld, nor mingled with the When all were changing thou alonewerttrue,
First to be free and last to be subdued : But view'd them not with misanthropic hate: And if amidst a scene, a shock so rude, Fain would he now have join'd the dance, the Some native blood was seen thy streets to die;
A traitor only fell beneath the feud: But who may smile that sinks beneath his Here all were noble, save Nobility;
None hugg'd a Conqueror's chain, save fallen Nought that he saw his sadness could abate:
Chivalry! Yet once he struggled 'gainst the demon's
Such be the sons of Spain, and strange her And as in Beauty's bower he pensive sate,
fate! Pour'd forth this unpremeditated lay, They fight for freedom who were never free; To charms as fair as those that soothed his A kingless people for a nerveless state,
happier day. Her vassals combat when their chieftains flee,
True to the veriest slaves of Treachery : TO INEZ.
Fond of a land which gave them nought but
life, Nay, smile not at my sullen brow, Pride points the path that leads to Liberty; Alas! I cannot smile again;
Back to the struggle, baffled in the strife, Yet heaven avert that ever thou
War, war is still the cry, “War even to the Shouldst weep, and haply weep in vain.
knife!" And dost thou ask, what secret woe Ye, who would more of Spain and Spaniards I bear, corroding joy and youth?
know, And wilt thou vainly seek to know Go, read whate'er is writ of bloodiest strife: A pang, even thou must fail to soothe? Whate'er keen Vengeance urged on foreign
foe It is not love, it is not hate,
Can act, is acting there against man's life: Nor low Ambition's honours lost, From flashing scimitar to secret knife, 'That bids me loathe my present state,
War mouldeth there each weapon to his And fly from all I prized the most :
So may he guard the sister and the wife, | Till my frall frame return to whence it rose, So may he make each curst oppressor bleed, And mournd and mourner lie united in So may such foes deserve the most remorse
repose. less deed!
Here is one fytte of Harold's pilgrimage: Flows there a tear of pity for the dead? Ye who of him may further seek to know, Look o'er the ravage of the reeking plain; Shall find some tidings in a future page, Look on the hands with female slaughter red; If he that rhymeth now may scribble moe. Then to the dogs resign the unburied slain, Is this too much ? stern Critic! say not so: Then to the vulture let each corse remain; Patience! and ye shall hear what he beheld Albeit unworthy of the prey-bird's maw, In other lands, where he was doom'd to go: Let their bleach'd bones, and blood's un- Lands that contain the monuments of Eld,
bleaching stain, Ere Greece and Grecian arts by barbarous Long mark the battle-field with hideous awe:
hands were quell’d. Thus only may our sons conceive the scenes
Nor yet, alas! the dreadful work is done,
CANTO II. Fresh legions pour adown the Pyrenees; It deepens still, the work is scarce begun, Cows, blue-eyed maid of heaven !—but thon, Nor mortal eye the distant end foresees.
alas! Fallen nations gaze on Spain; if freed, she Didst never yet one mortal song inspire
Goddess of Wisdom! here thy temple was, More than her fell Pizarros once enchain’d: And is, despite of war and wasting fire, Strange retribution! now Columbia's ease And years, that bade thy worship to expire: Repairs the wrongs that Quito's sons gus- But worse than steel, and flame,and ages tain'd,
slow, While o'er the parent clime prowls Murder Is the dread sceptre and dominion dire
unrestrain'd. Of men who never felt the sacred glow
That thoughts of thee and thine on polish'd Not all the blood at Talavera shed,
breasts bestow. Not all the marvels of Barossa's fight, Not Albuera, lavish of the dead,
Ancient of days! august Athena! where, Have won for Spain her well asserted Where are thy men of might? thy grand in right.
soul? When shall her Olive-Branch be free from Gone-glimmering through the dream of blight?
things that were: When shall she breathe her from the blush- First in the race that led to Glory's goal,
They won, and pass'd away--is this the How many a doubtful day shall sink in night,
whole? Ere the Frank robber turn him from his spoil, A school-boy's tale, the wonder of an hour! And Freedom's stranger-tree grow native of The warrior's weapon and the sophist's the soil!
Are sought in vain, and o'er each mouldering And thon, my friend !-- since unavailing woe
tower, Bursts from my heart, and mingles with the Dim with the mist of years, grey flits the strain
shade of power. Had the sword laid thee with the mighty low, Pride might forbid even Friendship to com- Son of the morning, rise! approach you here!
Come—but molest not yon defenceless urn: But thus unlaureld to descend in vain, Look on this spot-a nation's sepulchre! By all forgotten, save the lonely breast, Abode of gods, whose shrines no longer bum. And mix unbleeding with the boasted slain, Even gods must yield—religions take their While Glory crowns so many a meaner crest!
turn : What hadst thon done to sink so peacefully 'Twas Jove's—'tis Mahomet's—and other to rest ?
Will rise with other years, till man shall Oh, known the earliest, and esteem'd the most!
learn Dear to a heart where nought was left 80 Vainly his incense soars, his victim bleeds ;
Poor child of Doubt and Death, whose hope Though to my hopeless days for ever lost,
is built on reeds In dreams deny me not to see thee here! And Morn in secret shall renew the tear Bound to the earth, he lifts hiseye to heaven-Of Consciousness awaking to her woes, Is't not enough, unhappy thing! to know And Fancy hover o'er thy bloodless bier, I Thou art? Is this a boon so kindly given,
That being, thou wouldst be again, and go, When busy Memory flashes on my brain ? Thou know'st not, reck’st not to what re- Well—I will dream that we may meet again,
And woo the vision to my vacant breast: On earth no more, but mingled with the skies? If aught of young Remembrance then remain, Still wilt thou dream on future joy and woe? Be as it may Futurity's behest, Regard and weigh yon dust before it flies : For me 'twere bliss enough to know thy spirit That little urn saith more than thousand
Here let me sit upon this massy stone, Or burst the vanish'd Hero's lofty mound; The marble column's yet unshaken base ; Far on the solitary shore he sleeps : Here, son of Saturn! was thy fav’rite throne: He fell, and falling nations mourn’d around; Mightiest of many such! Hence let me trace But now not one of saddening thousands That latent grandeur of thy dwelling-place.
It may not be: nor even can Fancy's eye Nor warlike-worshipper his vigil keeps Restore what Time hath labour'd to deface. Where demi-gods appear'd, as records tell. Yet these proud pillars claim no passing Remove yon skull from out the scatter'd
sigh, heaps :
Unmoved the Moslem sits, the light Greek Is that a temple where a God may dwell?
carols by. Why even the worm at last disdains her
shatter'd cell! But who, of all the plunderers of yon fane
On high, where Pallas linger'd, loth to flee Look on its broken arch, its ruin'd wall, The latest relic of her ancient reign; Its chambers desolate, and portals foul : The last, the worst, dull spoiler, who was he? Yes, this was once Ambition's airy hall, Blush, Caledonia! such thy son could be! The dome of Thought, the palace of the England! I joy no child he was of thine:
Thy free-born men should spare what once Behold through each lack-lustre,eyeless hole,
was free; The gay recess of Wisdom and of Wit Yet they could violate each saddening shrine, And Passion's host, that never brook'd And bear these altars o'er the long-reluctant control:
brine. Can all, saint, sage, or sophist ever writ, People this lonely tower, this tenement refit? But most the modern Pict's ignoble boast,
To rive what Goth, and Turk, and Time Well didst thou speak, Athena's wisest son !
hath spared : “All that we know is, nothing can be known." Cold as the crags upon his native coast, Why should we shrink from what we cannot His mind as barren and his heart as hard,
Is he whose head conceived, whose hand Each has his pang, but feeble sufferers groan
prepared, With brain-born dreams of evil all their
own. Aught to displace Athena's poor remains : Pursue what Chance or Fate proclaimeth Her sons too weak the sacred shrine to guard,
Yet felt some portion of their mother's pains, Peace waits us on the shores of Acheron: And never knew, till then, the weight of There no forced banquet claims the sated
Despot's chains. guest, But Silence spreads the couch of ever wel- What! shall it e'er be said by British tongue,
Albion was happy in Athena's tears ?
Though in thy name the slaves her bosom Yet if, as holiest men have deem'd, there be
wrung, A land of souls beyond that sable shorc, Tell not the deed to blushing Europe's ears; To shame the doctrine of the Sadducee The ocean-queen, the free Britannia bears And sophists, madly vain of dubious lore; The last poor plunder from a bleeding land : How sweet it were in concert to adore Yes, she, whose gen'rous aid her name With those who made our mortal labours
Tore down those remnants with a Harpy's To hear each voice we fear'd to hear no more!
hand, Behold each mighty shade reveal'd to sight, which envious Eld forbore, and tyrants left The Bactrian, Samian sage, and all who
to stand. taught the right!
Where was thine Aegis, Pallas! that appallid Thero, thou!— whose love and life together Stern Alaric and Havoc on their way?
Where Pelens' son? whoin Hell in vain Have left me here to love and live in vain
enthrallid, I'wined with my heart, and can I deem thee His shade from Hades upon that dread day,
Bursting to light in terrible array!
What! could not Pluto spare the chief once For the lone chieftain, who majestic stalke,'
Silent and fear'd by all--not oft be talks, To scare a second robber from his prey ? With 'aught beneath him, if he would Idly he wander'd on the Stygian shore,
preserve Nor now preserved the walls he loved to That strict restraint, which broken, ever shield before.
Conquest and Fame: but Britons rarely Cold is the heart, fair Greece! that looks on
From Law, however stern, which tends their Nor feels as lovers o'er the dust they loved;
strength to nerve. Dull is the eye that will not weep to see Thy walls defaced, thy mouldering shrines Blow! swiftly blow, thou keel-compelling removed
gale! By British hands, which it had best behoved Till the broad sun withdraws his lessening To guard those relics ne'er to be restored.
ray ; Curst be the hour when from their isle they Then must the pennant-bearer slacken sail,
That lagging barks may make theirlazy way. And once again thy hapless bosom gored, Ah! grievance sore, and listless dull delay, And snatch'd thy shrinking Gods to northern To waste on sluggish hulks the sweetest climes abhorr'd!
What leagues are lost before the dawn of day, But where is Harold ? shall I then forget Thus loitering pensive on the willing seas, To urge the gloomy wanderer o'er the wave? The flapping sail haul'd down to halt for Little reck'd he of all that men regret;
logs like these! No loved-one now in feignid lament could
The moon is up; by Heaven a lovely eve! No friend the parting hand extended gave, Long streams of light o'er dancing waves Ere the cold stranger pass'd to other climes:
expand; Hard is his heart whom charms may not Now lads on shore may sigh, and maids beenslave;
lieve: But Harold felt not as in other times, Such be our fate when we return to land! And left without a sigh the land of war and Meantime some rude Arion's restless hand
Wakes the brisk harmony that sailors love;
A circle there of merry listeners stand, He that has sail'd upon the dark blue sea, Or to some well-known measure featly move, Has view'd at times, I ween, a full fair sight, Thoughtless, as if on shore they still were When the fresh breeze is fair as breeze
free to rove.
The white sail set, the gallant frigate tight; Through Calpe's straits survey the steepy Masts, spires, and strand retiring to the right,
shore; The glorious main expanding o'er the bow, Europe and Afric on each other gaze! The convoy spread like wild swans in their Lands of the dark-eyed Maid and dusky flight,
Moor The dullest sailer wearing bravely now, Alike beheld beneath pale Hecate's blaze: So gaily curl the waves hefore each dashing How softly on the Spanish shore she plays,
Disclosing rock, and slope, and forest brown,
Distinct, though darkening with her waning And oh, the little warlike world within!
phase; The well-reeved guns, the netted canopy, But Mauritania's giant-shadows frown, The hoarse command, the busy humming din, From mountain-cliff to coast descending When, at a word, the tops are mann'd on
sombre down. high: Hark to the Boatswain's call, the cheering 'Tis night, when Meditation bids us feel
We once have loved, though love is at an end: While through the seaman's hand the tackle The heart, lone mourner of its baffled zeal,
Though friendless now, will dream it had Or school-boy Midshipman that, standing by,
a friend. Strains his shrill pipe as good or ill betides, Who with the weight of years would wish And well the docile crew that skilful urchin
to bend, guides. When Youth itself survives young Love and
Joy? White is the glassy deck, without a stain, Alas! when mingling sonls forget to blend, Where on the watch the staid Lieutenant Death bath but little left him to destroy!
Ah! happy years! once more who would Look on that part which sacred doth remain
not be a boy?