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mourn.

LX

LXVI.
Uh, thou Parnassus ! 13 whom I now survey, When Paphos fell by time-accursed Time!
Sot in the frenzy of a dreamer's eye,

The queen who conquers all must yield to theeYot in the fabled landscape of a lay,

The Pleasures fled, but sought as warın a clime But soring snow-clad through thy native sky And Venus, constant to her native sea, In the wild pomp of mountain majesty!

To naught else constant, hither deign’d to fee; What marvel if I thus essay to sing ?

And fix'd her shrine within these walls of white The humblest of thy pilgrims passing by

Though not to one dome circunscribeth she Would gladly wo thine Echoes with his string, Her worship, but, devoted to her rite, Though from thy heights no more one Muse will A thousand altars rise, for ever blazing bright. wave her wing.

LXVII. LXI. ust have I dreim'd of Thee! whose glorious name

From morn till night, from night till startlea Mcn

Peeps blushing on the revel's laughing crew, Who knows not, knows not man's divinest lore:

The song is heard, the rosy garland worn,
And now I view thee, 'tis, alas! with shame

Devices quaint, and frolics ever new,
That I in feeblest accents must adore.
When I recount thy worshippers of yore

Tread on each other's kibes. A long adieu

He bids to sober joy that here sojourus:
I tremble, and can only bend the knee;

Nought interrupts the riot, though in lieu
Nor raise my voice, nor vainly dare to soar,
But gaze beneath thy cloudy canopy

Of true devotion monkish incense burns,

And love and prayer unite, or rule the hour by In silent joy to think at last I look on Thee!

turns. LXII.

LXVIII. Happier in this than mightiest bards have been,

The Sabbath comes, a day of blessed rest; Whose fate to distant homes confined their lot,

What hallows it upon this Christian shore ?

Lo! it is sacred to a soleinn feast;
Shall I unmoved behold the hallow'd scene,
Which others rave of, though they know it not?

Hark! heard you not the forest monarch's roar? Though here no more Apollo haunts his grot,

Crashing the lance, he snuffs the spouting gore And thou, the Muses' seat, art now their grave,

Of man and steed, o'erthrown beneath his horn, Some gentle spirit still pervades the spot,

The throng'd arena shakes with shoi ts for more;

Yells the mad crowd o'er entrails freshly torn, Sighs in the gale, keeps silence in the cave,

Nor shrinks the female eye, nor ev'n affects to And glides with glassy foot o'er yon melodious wave.

LXIX.
LXIII.

The seventh day this ; the jubilee of man.
Of thee hereafter.—Ev'n amidst my strain

London! right well thou know'st the day of prayer: I turn'd aside to pay my homage here;

Then thy spruce citizen, wash'd artisan, Forgot the land, the sons, the maids of Spain :

And smug apprentice gulp their weekly air: Her fate, to every freeborn bosom dear;

Thy coach of Hackney, whiskey, one-horse chair, And haild thee, not perchance without a tcar.

And humblest gig through sundry suburbs whirl, Now to my theme-but from thy holy haunt

To Hampstead, Brentford, Harrow make repair ; Let me some remnant, some memorial bear;

Till the tired jade the wheel forgets to hurl, Yield me one leaf of Daphne's deathless plant, for let thy votary's hope be deem'd an idle vaunt. Provoking envious gibe from each pedestrian churl.

LXX.
LXIV.

Some o'er thy Thames row the ribbon'd fair,
But ne'er didst thou, fair Mount! when Greece was Others along the safer turnpike fly;
Sce round thy giant base a brighter choir, (young, Some Richmond-hill ascend, some scud to Wire,
Sore'er did Delphi, when her priestess sung, And many to the steep of Highgate hie.
'The Pythian hyinn with more than mortal fire, Ask ye, Bætian shades! the reason why ? 15
Behold a train more fitting to inspire

'Tis to the worship of the solemn Horn, The song of love than Andalusia's maids,

Grasp'd in the holy hand of Mystery, (sworn. Nurst in the glowing lap of soft desire :

In whose dread name both men and maids are Ac! that to these were given such peaceful shades and consecrate the oath with draught, and dance 1s Greece can still bestow, though Glory fly her

till morn.
glades.

LXXI.
LXV.

All have their fooleries-not alike are thine,
Pair is proud Seville ; let her country boast Fair Cadiz, rising o'er the dark blue sea !
Her strength, her wealth, her site of ancient Soon as the matin bell proclaimeth nine,
Bar Cadiz, rising on the distant coast, (days; '* Thy saint adorers count the rosary:
Calls forth a sweeter, though ignoble praise. Much is the VIRGIN teased to shrive them free
Ah, Vice! how soft are thy voluptuous ways! (Well do I ween the only virgin there)
While boyish blood is mantling who can ’scape From crimes as numerous as her beadsmen be;
The fascination of thy magic gaze?

Then to the crowded circus forth they fare:
A Cherub-rydra round us dost thou gape, Young, old, high, low, at cnce the suine diversion
And mould to every taste thy dear delusive shape.

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LXXII.

LXXVIII. The lists are oped, the spacious area clear'd, Foil'd, bleeding, breathless, furious to the last, Thousands on thousands piled are seated round; Full in the centre stands the bull at bay, Long ere the first loud trumpet's note is heard, Mid wounds, and clinging darts, and lances brası Ne vacant space for lated wight is found :

And foes disabled in the brutal fray; Here dons, grandees, but chietly dames abound, And now the Matadores around him play, Skill d in the ogle of a roguish eye,

Shake the red cloak, ind poise the ready brand Yet ever well inclined to heal the wound;

Once more through all he bursts his thund'ring way Nine through their cold disdaiu are doom'd to die, Vain rage! the mantle quits the conynge hand, Ag moonstruck bards complain, by Love's sad Wraps his tierce eye-'tis past--he zirks upon the archery.

sand! LXXIII.

LXXIX.
Hush'd is the din of tongues-on gallant steeds,
With milk-white crest, gold-spur, and light-poised Where his vast neck just mingles with the spine
Four cavaliers prepare for venturous deeds, [lance, Sheathed in his forin the deadly weapon lies.
And lowly bending to the lists advance ;

He stops-he starts-disdaining to decline:
Rich are their scarfs, their chargers featly prance: Slowly he falls, amidst triumphant cries,
If in the dangerous game they shine to-day, Without a groan, without a struggle, dies.
The crowd's loud shout and ladies' lovely glance,

The decorated car appears-on high
Best prize of better acts, they bear away,

The corse is piled-sweet sight for vulgar eyes And all that kings or chiefs e'er gain their toils Four steeds that spurn the rein, as swilt as shy, repay.

Hurl the dark bulk along, scarce seen in dashing by.
LXXIV.

LXXX.
In costly sheen and gaudy cloak array'd,
But all afoot, the light-limb'd Matadore

Such the ungentle sport that oft invites
Stands in the centre, eager to invade

The Spanish maid, and cheers the Spanish swali The lord of lowing herds; but not before

Nurtured in blood betimes, his heart delights The ground, with cautious tread, is traversed o'er, In vengeance, gloating on another's pain. Lest aught unseen should lurk to thwart his speed: What private feuds the troubled village stain! His arms a dart, he fights aloof, nor more

Though now one phalanx'd host should meet the Can man achieve without the friendly steed Enough, alas! in humble homes remuin, [foe Alas! too oft condemn'd for him to bear and bleed. To meditate 'gainst friends the secret blow,

For soine slight cause of wrath, whence life's warn. LXXV.

stream must flow. Thrice sounds the clarion ; lo: the signal falls,

LXXXI.
The den expands, and Expectation mute
Gapes round the silent circle's peopled walls.

But Jealousy has fied: his bars, his bolts,
Bounds with one lashing spring the mighty brute,

His wither'd sentinel, Duenna sage!

And all whereat the generous soul revolts,
And, wildly staring, spurns, with sounding foot,
The sand, nor blindly rushes on his foe;

Which the stern dotard deem'd he could enc. 30 Here, there, he points his threatening front, to suit

Have piss'd to darkness with: the vanish'd age. His first attack, wide waving to and fro

Who late so tree as Spanish girls were seen, His angry tail; red rolls his eye's dilated glow.

(Ere War uprose in his volcanic rage,)

With braided tresses bounding o'er the green, LXXVI.

While on the gay dance shone Night's lover-lovic

Queen?
Sudden he stops ; his eye is fix'd: away,

LXXXII.
Away, thou heedless boy! prepare the spear:
Now is thy time, to perish, or display

Oh! many a time, and oft, had Harold loved, The skill that yet may check his mad career.

Or dream'd he loved, since Rapture is a dream, With well-timed croupe the nimble coursers veer;

But now his wayward bosom was unmoved, On foams the bull, but not unscathed he goes ;

For not yet had he drunk of Lethe's stream; Streams from his flank the crims un torrent clear:

And lately had he learn'd with truth to deem He flies, he wheels, distracted with his throes ;

Love has ro gift so grateful as his wings; Dart follows dart; lance, lance; loud bellowings How fair, how young, how soft soc'er he seem, speak his woes.

Full from the fount of Joy's delicious springs

Some bitter o'er the flowers its bubbling veno LXXVII.

flings.16

LXXXII:. Again he comes; nor dart nor lance avail, Nor the wild plunging of the tortured horse; Yet to the beauteous form he was not blind, Though man, and man's avenging arins assail, Though now it moved him as it moves the wise Vain are his weapons, vainer is his force.

Not that Philosophy on such a mind One gallant steed is stretch'd a mangled corse; E'er deigned to bend her chastely-awful eyes. Another, hideous sight! unscam'd appears, But Pussion raves itself to rest, or flies; His gory chest unveils lite's pantung source ;

And Vice, that digs her own voluptuous tomb. Though death-struck, still his feeble frame he rears, Ilad buried long his hopes, no niore to rise : Staggering, but stemming all, his lord unham'd he Pleasure's pallid victim! life-abhorrius gloom bears.

Wrote on his faded brow curst Cain's uuresting doo

Through many a clime 'tis mine to gc;
Smile 01-hor venture to unmask

LXXXIV.

LXXXV. beill he beheld, nor mingled with the throng; Adieu, fair Cadiz! yea, a long adieu ! But view'd them not with misanthropic hate: Who may forget how well thy walls havo blood : Faiu would he now have joined the dance, the song, When all were changing thou alone wert true But who may smile that sinks beneath his fate? First to be frec and last to be subduea : Sought that he saw his sadness could abute: And if amidst a scene, a shock so rude, Yet once he struggled gainst the denion's sway, Some native blood was seen thy streets to dye; And as in Beauty's bower he pensive sute,

A traitor only fell beneath the feud : 17 Prur'd forth this unpremedituted lay

Here all were noble, save Nobility; Colarms as fair as those that soothed his happier None hugg'd a conqueror's chain, save faller day.

Chivalry!
TO INEZ.

LXXXVI.
1.

Such be the sons of Spain, and strange her fate! Nay, smile not at my sullen brow;

They fight for freedom who were never free; Alus! I cannot smile again :

A Kingless people for a nerveless state,

Her vassals combat when their chieftains flee, Yet Heaven avert that ever thou

True to the veriest slaves of Treachery: Shouldst weep, and haply weep in vain

Fond of a land which gave them nought but life, 2.

Pride points the path that leads to Liberty;

Back to the struggle, batfied in the strife, And dost 1 hou ask, what secret wo

War, war is still the cry,

** War even

to the I bear, corroding joy and youth?

knife!” 18 And wilt thou vainly seek .o know

LXXXVII. A pang, ev'n thou must fail to sooth?

Ye, who would more of Spain and Spaniards know, 3.

Go, read whate'er is writ of bloodiest strife : It is not love, it is not hate,

Whate'er keen Vengeance urged on foreign foe Nor low Ambition's honors lost,

Can act, is acting there against man's life: That bids me loathe my present state,

From flashing scimitar to secret knife, And Hy from all I prized the most :

War mouldeth there each weapon to his need

So may he guard the sister and the wife, 4.

So may he make each curst oppressor bleed,

So may such foes deserve the most remorseless deed It is that weariness which springs

From all I meet, or hear, or see:
To me no pleasure Beauty brings;

LXXXVIII.
Thine eyes have scarce a charm for me. Flows there a tear of pity for the dead ?

Look o'er the ravage of the reeking plain;
5.

Look on the hands with female slaughter red, It is that settled, ceaseless gloom

Then to the dogs resign the unburied slain, The fabled Hebrew wanuerer bore;

Then to the vulture let each corse remain; That will not look beyond the tomb,

Albeit unworthy of the prey-bird's maw, (stain, But cannot hope for rest before.

Let their bleach'd bones, and blood's unbleaching

Long mark the battle-field with hideous awe: 6.

Thus only may our sons conceive the scenes we saw! What Exile from himself can flee? To Zones, though more and more remote,

LXXXIX. Still, still pursues, where'er I be,

Nor yet, alas! the dreadful work is done, The blight of life—the demon Thought.

Fresh legions pour adown the Pyreneen:

It deepens still, the work is scarce begun, 7.

Nor mortal eve the distant end foresees. Yes others rapt in pleasure seem,

Fall'n nations gaze on Spain; if freed, she frees And taste of all that I forsake;

More than her fell Pizarros once enchain'd: Oh! may they still of transport dream,

Strange retribution! now Columbia's case And ne'er, at least like me, awake!

Repairs the wrongs that Quito's sons sustain'd,

While o'er the parent clime prowls Murder una 8.

restrain'd.

XC. With many a retrospection curst;

Not all the blood at Talavera shed, solace is to know,

Not all the marrels of Barossa's fight, Whate'er betides, I've known the worst.

Not Albuera lavish of the dead,

Have won for Spain her well-asserted right. 9.

When shall her Olive-Branch be free from hlight, What is that worst? Nay do not ask

When shall she breathe her from the blushing toil. In pity from the search forbear:

How many a doubtful day shall sink in night,

Ere the Frank robber turn him from his spoil, Man's heart, and view the Hell that's there. And Freedom's stranger-tree grow native of the soil

And all

my

XCI.

III.
Aud thou, my friend ! 19-since unavailing wo Son of the morning, rise ! approach you here;
Burst from my heart, and mingles with the strain Come-but molest not yon defenceless in:
Had the sword laid thee with the mighty low, Look on this spot-a nation's scpulchre !
Pride inight forbid ev'n Friendship to complain ; Abode of gods, whose shrines no longer burn.
But thus unlaureld to descend in vain,

Even gods must yield-religions take their turn
By all forgotten, save the lonely breast,

'Twas Jove's—'tis Mahomct's—and other creeds And mix unbleeding with the boasted slain, Will rise with other years, till man shall learn

While Glory crowns so many a meaner crest! Vainly his incense soars, his victim bleeds ; I'nat kadst thou done to sink so peacefully to Poor child of Doubt and Death, whose hope is buih rest?

on reeds. XCII.

IV. Oh, known the earliest, and esteem'd the most!

Bound to the earth, he lifts his eye to heaven Dear to a heart where nought was left so dear!

Is't not enough, unhappy thing! to know Though to my hopeless days for ever lost,

Thou art? Is this a boon so kindly given, In dreams deny me not to see thee here !

That being, thou would'st be again, and go And Morn in secret shall renew the tear

Thou know'st not, reck'st not to what region, 8c Of Consciousness awaking to her woes,

On earth no more, but mingled with the skies?

Still wilt thou dream on future joy and wo?
And Fancy hover o'er thy bloodless bier,
Till my frail frame return to whence it rose,

Regard and weigh yon dust before it flies ;
And mourn'd und mourner lie united in repose.

That little urn saith more than thousand homilies.

V.
XCIII.

Or burst the vanish'd Hero's lofty mound;
Here is one fytte of Harold's pilgrimage:

Far on the solitary shore he sleeps :3 Ye who of him may further seek to know,

He fell, and falling nations mourn'd around;
Shall find some tidings in a future page,

But now not one of saddening thousands weeps,
If he that rhymeth now may scribble moe. Nor war-like worshipper bis vigil keeps
Ir this too much ? stern Critic! say not so:

Where demi-gods appear'd, as records tell.
Patience! and ye shall hear what he beheld

Remove yon scull from out the scatter'd heaps : In other lands, where he was dooni'd to go:

Is that a temple where a God may dwell ? Lands that contain the monuments of Eld,

Why ev'n the worm at last disdains her shatter'd Kre Greece and Grecian arts by barbarous hands we cell! quell’d.

VI.
Look on its broken arch, its ruin'd wall,
Its chambers desolate, and portals foul ;
Yes, this was once Ambition's airy hall,
The dome of Thought, the palace of the Soul ;
Behold through each lack-lustre, eyeless hole,

The gay recess of Wisdom and of Wit
CANTO II.

And Passion's host, that never brook'd control;

Can all saint, sage, or sophist ever writ,
I.

People this lonely tower, this tenement refit;
Come, blue-eyed maid of heaven !-but thou, alas .

VII.
Didst never yet one mortal song inspire
Goddess of Wisdom ! here thy temple was,

Well didst thou speak, Athena's wisest son !

“ All that we know is, nothing can be known." And is, despite of war and wasting fire,'

Why should we shrink from what we cannot shun! And years, that bade thy worship to expire ;

Each has his pang, but feeble sufferers groan But worse than steel, and flame, and ages slow,

With brain-born dreams of evil all their own. Is the dread sceptre and dominion dire

Pursue what Chance or Fate proclaimeth best; Of men who never felt the sacred glow

Peace waits us on the shores of Acheron : Chat thoughts of thee and thine on polish'd breasts

There no forced banquet claims the sated guest, bestow.

But Silence spreads the couch of ever welcome rest
II.

VIII.
Ancient of days ! august Athena! where,
Where are thy men of might? thy grand in soul? Yet if, as holiest men have deem'd, there be
Gone glimmering through the dream of things that A land of souls beyond that sable shore,
First in the race that led to Glory's goal (were : To shame the doctrine of the Sadducee
They won, and pass'd away—is this the whole ? And sophists, inadly vain of dubious lore;
A schoolboy's tale, the wonder of an hour! How sweet it were in concert to adore
The warrior's weapon and the sophists stole With those who made our mortal labors light!
Are sought in vain, and o'er each mouldering To hear each voice we fear'd to hear no more
tower.

Bebold each mighty shade reveal'd to sight,
Dim with the mist of years, gray flits the shade of The Bactrian, Samian sage, and all who taught the
Power.

right.

1

IX.

XV.
There, thou !-whose love and life together fled, Cold is the heart, fair Greece ! that looks on the
Have left me here to love and live in vain-

Nor feels as lovers o'er the dust they loved ;
Twined with my heart, and can I deem thee dead Dull is the eye that will not weep to see (muved
When busy Memory flashes on my brain ?

Thy walls defaced, thy mouldering shrines re
Well-I will dream that we may meet again, By British hands, which it had best behooved
And woo the vision to my vacant breast ;

To guard those relics ne'er to be restored.
If aught of young Remembrance then remain, Curst be the hour when from their isle they roved,
Be as it may Futurity's behest,

And once again thy hapless bosom gore.!
for me 'twere bliss enough to know thy spirit blest. And snatch'd thy shrinking Gods to northeir climes

abhorr'd!
X.

XVI.
Here let me sit upon this massy stone,

But where is Harold ? shall I then forget
The marble column's yet unshaken base;

To urge the gloomy wanderer o'er the wave?
Here, son of Saturn! was thy fav'rite throne. Little reck'd he of all that men regret ;
Mightiest of many such ! hence let me trace No loved one now in feign'd lament could rave;
The latent grandeur of thy dwelling-place.

No friend the parting hand extended gave,
It may not be; nor ev'n can Fancy's eye

Ere the cold stranger pass'd to other climes :
Restore what Time hath labored to deface.

Hard is his heart whom charms may not enslave,
Yet these proud pillars claim no passing sigh; But Harold felt not as in other tiines,
l'amored the Moslem sits, the light Greek carols And left without a sigh the land of war and crimes
by.
XI.

XVII.
But woo, of all the plunderers of yon fane

He that has sail'd upon the dark blue sea
On high, where Pallas linger'd, loath to flee Has view'd at times, I ween, a full fair sight,
The latest relic of her ancient reign;

When the fresh breeze is fair as breeze may be,
The last, the worst, dull spoiler, who was he? The white sail set, the gallant frigate tight;
Blush, Caledonia! such thy son could be !

Masts, spires, and strand retiring to the right,
England! I joy no child he was of thine: [free; The glorious main expanding o'er the bow,
Thy free-bom men should spare what once was The convoy spread like wild swans in their flight
Yet they could violate each saddening shrine,

The dullest sailer wearing bravely now,
Aud bear these altars o'er the long-reluctant brine. So gaily curl the waves before each dashing prow

.

XII.

XVIII.
But most the modern Pict's ignoble boast,

And oh, the little warlike world within!
To rive what Goth, and Turk, and Time hath The well-reeved guns, the netted canopy,
Cold as the crags upon his native coast, (spared : 6 The hoarse command, the busy humming din.
His mind as barren and his heart as hard,

When, at a word, the tops are mann'd on high i
Is he whose head conceived, whose hand prepared, Hark to the Boatswain's call, the cheering cry!
Aught to displace Athena's poor remains.

While through the scaman's hand the tackleglides;
Her sons too wenk the sacred shrine to guard, Or schoolboy Midshipman, that, standing by,
Yet felt some portion of their mother's pains," Strains his shrill pipe as good or ill betides,
And never knew, till then, the weight of Despot's And well the docile crew that skilful urchin guides.
chains.
XIII.

XIX.
What! shall it e'er be said by British tongue, White is the glassy deck, without a stain,
Allmon was happy in Athena's tears ?

Where on the watch the staid Lieutenant walks
Though in thy name the slaves her bosom wrung. Look on that part which sacred doth remain
Tel not the deed to blushing Europe's ears ; For the lone chieftain, who majestic stalks,
II: ocean queen, the free Britannia, bears Silent and fear'd by all-not oft he talks
The last poor plunder from a bleeding land; With aught beneath him, if he would preserve
Yes, she, whose gen'rous aid her name endears, That strict restraint, which broken, ever balks
Tore down those remnants with a harpy's hand, Conquest and Fame : but Britons rarely swerve
Which envious Elb forbore, and tyrants left to stand. From law, however stern, which tends their strength

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to nerve.

XIV.

XX.
Where was thine Ægis, Pallas, that appallid Blow! swiftly blow, thou keel-compelling gale!
Starn Alaric and Haroc on their way ? 8

Till the broad sun withdraws his lessening ray;
Where Peleus' son? whom Hell in vain enthrall'a, Then must the pennant-bearer slacken sail,
H s shades from Hades upon that dread day That lagging barks may make their lazy way.
Bursting to light in terrible array!

Ah! grievance sore, and listiess dull delay,
What! conld not Pluto spare the chief once more, To waste on sluggish hulks the sweetest breeze!
To scare a second robber from his prey ?

What leagues are lost, before the dawn of day,
Idly lie wander'd on the Stygian shorc,

Thus loitering pensive on the willing seas, Nor now preserved the walls he lored to shield The flapping sail haul'd down to halt for logs like before.

these!

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