Had made Despair a smilingness assume, [wreck Which, though 't were wild,-as on the plunder'd When mariners would madly meet their doom With draughts intemperate on the sinking deck,— Did yet inspire a cheer, which he forebore to check. (1) XVII. Stop! for thy tread is on an empire's dust! An earthquake's spoil is sepulchred below! Is the spot mark'd with no colossal bust? Nor column trophied for triumphal show? None; but the moral's truth tells simpler so, As the ground was before, thus let it be;How that red rain hath made the harvest grow! And is this all the world has gain'd by thee, Thou first and last of fields! king-making Victory? XVIII. And Harold stands upon this place of skulls, The grave of France, the deadly Waterloo; How in an hour the power which gave annuls Its gifts, transferring fame as fleeting too! In "pride of place" (2) here last the eagle flew, Then tore with bloody talon the rent plain,(3) Pierced by the shaft of banded nations through; Ambition's life and labours all were vain; [chain. He wears the shatter'd links of the world's broken XIX. Fit retribution! Gaul may champ the bit, And foam in fetters;-but is Earth more free? Did nations combat to make one submit; Or league to teach all kings true sovereignty? What! shall reviving Thraldom again be The patch'd-up idol of enlighten'd days? Shall we, who struck the lion down, shall we Pay the wolf homage? proffering lowly gaze [praise! And servile knees to thrones? No; prove before ye is composed. Sometimes he has a conciseness which is very powerful, but almost abrupt. From trusting himself alone, and working out his own deep-buried thoughts, he now, perhaps, fell into a habit of labouring, even where there was no occasion to labour. In the first sixteen stanzas there is yet a mighty but groaning burst of dark and appalling strength. It was unquestionably the unexaggerated picture of a most tempestuous and sombre but magnificent soul!"-L. E. (1) "These stanzas,-in which the author, adopting more distinctly the character of Childe Harold than in the original poem, assigns the cause why he has resumed his Pilgrim's staff, when it was hoped he had sat down for life a denizen of his native country,-abound with much moral interest and poetical beauty. The commentary through which the meaning of this melancholy tale is rendered obvious is still in vivid remembrance; for the errors of those who excel their fellows in gifts and accomplishments are not soon forgotten. Those scenes, ever most painful to the bosom, were rendered yet more so by public discussion; and it is at least possible that amongst those who exclaimed most loudly on this unhappy occasion, were some in whose eyes literary superiority exaggerated Lord Byron's offence. The scene may be described in a few words :-- the wise con. demned-the good regretted-the multitude, idly or ma liciously inquisitive, rushed from place to place, gathering gossip, which they mangled and exaggerated while they re peated it; and impudence, ever ready to hitch itself into notoriety, hooked on, as Falstaff enjoins Bardolph, blustered, bullied, and talked of pleading a cause,' and 'taking a eide.'" Sir Walter Scott.-L. E. (2) "Pride of place" is a term of falconry, and means the highest pitch of flight. See Macbeth, etc. "An eagle towering in his pride of place," etc. (3) In the original draught of this stanza (which, as well XX. If not, o'er one fallen despot boast no more! There was a sound of revelry by night,(5) The lamps shone o'er fair women and brave men; Soft eyes look'd love to eyes which spake again, XXII. Did ye not hear it?-No; 'twas but the wind, Or the car rattling o'er the stony street; On with the dance! let joy be unconfined; No sleep till morn, when Youth and Pleasure meet To chase the glowing Hours with flying feetBut, hark!-that heavy sound breaks in once more, As if the clouds its echo would repeat; And nearer, clearer, deadlier than before! Arm! arm! it is-it is-the cannon's opening roar ! XXIII. Within a window'd niche of that high hall as the preceding one, was written after a visit to the field of Waterloo), the lines stood "Here his last flight the haughty eagle flew. Then tore with bloody beak the fatal plain," On seeing these lines, Mr. Reinagle sketched a spirited chained eagle, grasping the earth with his talons. The circumstance being mentioned to Lord Byron, he wrote thus to a friend at Brussels,-"Reinagle is a better poet and a better ornithologist than I am: eagles, and all birds of prey, attack with their talons, and not with their beaks; and I have altered the line thus: Then tore with bloody talon the rent plain.' This is, I think, a better line, besides its poetical justice." -L. E. (4) See the famous song on Harmodius and Aristogiton. The best English translation is in Bland's Anthology, by Mr. (now Lord) Denman, "With myrtle my sword will I wreathe," etc. (5) "There can be no more remarkable proof of the greatness of Lord Byron's genins, than the spirit and interest he has contrived to communicate to his picture of the often-drawn and difficult scene of the breaking up from Brussels before the great battle. It is a trite remark, that poets generally fail in the representation of great events, where the interest is recent, and the particulars are consequently clearly and commonly known. It required some courage to venture on a theme beset with so many dangers, and deformed with the wrecks of so many former adventures. See, however, with what easy strength he enters upon it, and with how much grace he gradually finds his way back to his own peculiar vein of sentiment and diction!" Jeffrey.-L. E. (6) On the night previous to the action, it is said that a ball was given at Brussels [The popular error of the Duke of Wel lington having been surprised, on the eve of the battle of Wa And when they smiled because he deem'd it near, His heart more truly knew that peal too well Which stretch'd his father on a bloody bier,(1) And roused the vengeance blood alone could quell: He rush'd into the field, and, foremost fighting, fell.(2) XXIV. Ah! then and there was hurrying to and fro, And gathering tears, and tremblings of distress, And cheeks all pale, which but an hour ago Blush'd at the praise of their own loveliness; And there were sudden partings, such as press The life from out young hearts, and choking sighs Which ne'er might be repeated; who could guess If ever more should meet those mutual eyes, Since upon night so sweet such awful morn could rise! XXV. And there was mounting in hot haste: the steed, The mustering squadron, and the clattering car, Went pouring forward with impetuous speed, And swiftly forming in the ranks of war; And the deep thunder peal on peal afar; And near, the beat of the alarming drum Roused up the soldier ere the morning star; While throng'd the citizens with terror dumb, Or whispering, with white lips-"The foe! They come! they come!" XXVI. And wild and high the "Cameron's gathering" rose! And Evan's, Donald's (3) fame rings in each clans- I turn'd from all she brought to those she could not man's cars! XXVII. And Ardennes (4) waves above them her green leaves, terloo, at a ball given by the Duchess of Richmond at Brussels, was first corrected on authority, in the History of Napoleon Buonaparte, which forms a portion of the Family Library. The Duke had received intelligence of Napoleon's decisive operations, and it was intended to put off the ball; bnt, on reflection, it seemed highly important that the people of Brussels should be kept in ignorance as to the course of events, and the Duke not only desired that the ball should proceed, but the general officers received his commands to appear at it-each taking care to quit the apartment as quietly as possible at ten o'clock, and proceed to join his respective division en route.-L. E.] (1) The father of the Duke of Brunswick, who fell at Quatre-bras, received his death-wound at Jena.-L. E. (2) "This stanza is very grand, even from its total unadorn. ment. It is only a versification of the common narratives : but here may well be applied a position of Johnson, that where truth is sufficient to fill the mind, fiction is worse than useless.'" Sir E. Brydges.-L. E. (3) Sir Evan Cameron, and his descendant Donald, the "gentle Lochiel" of the "forty-five." (4) The wood of Soignies is supposed to be a remnant of the forest of Ardennes, famous in Boiardo's Orlando, and immortal in Shakspeare's As you like It. It is also cele bring. (8) XXXI. I turn'd to thee, to thousands, of whom each brated in Tacitus, as being the spot of successful defence by the Germans against the Roman encroachments. I have ventured to adopt the name connected with nobler associa tions than those of mere slaughter. (5) "Childe Harold, though he shuns to celebrate the victory of Waterloo, gives us here a most beautiful description of the evening which preceded the battle of Quatre-Bras, the alarm which called out the troops, and the hurry and con. fusion which preceded their march. I am not sure that any verses in our language surpass, in vigour and in feeling, this most beautiful description." Sir Walter Scott.— L, E. (6) See note to English Bards and Scotch Reviewers, antè, p. 61.-L. E. (7) "In the late battles, like all the world, I have lost a connection-poor Frederick Howard, the best of his race. I had little intercourse of late years with his family, but I never saw or heard but good of him." Lord B. to Mr. Moore, Feb. 1815.-P. E. (8) My guide from Mont St. Jean over the field seemed intelligent and accurate. The place where Major Howard fell was not far from two tall and solitary trees (there was a third cut down, or shivered in the battle), which stand a few yards from each other at a pathway's side. Beneath these he died and was buried. The body has since been re The Archangel's trump, not Glory's, must awake May for a moment soothe, it cannot slake So honour'd but assumes a stronger, bitterer claim. XXXII. They mourn, but smile at length; and, smiling mourn: Stands when its wind-worn battlements are gone; The bars survive the captive they enthral; [sun; The day drags through, though storms keep out the And thus the heart will break, yet brokenly live on: XXXIII. Even as a broken mirror, which the glass A thousand images of one that was, The same, and still the more, the more it breaks; Showing no visible sign, for such things are untold.(1) There is a very life in our despair, Which feeds these deadly branches; for it were XXXV. The Psalmist number'd out the years of man: They are enough; and if thy tale be true, Thou, who didst grudge him even that fleeting span, More than enough, thou fatal Waterloo! Millions of tongues record thee, and anew Their children's lips shall echo them, and say"Here, where the sword united nations drew, "Our countrymen were warring on that day!" And this is much, and all which will not pass away. XXXVI. There sunk the greatest nor the worst of men; • Whose spirit antithetically mixt moved to England. A small hollow for the present marks where it lay, but will probably soon be effaced: the plough has been upon it, and the grain is. After pointing out the different spots where Picton and other gallant men had perished, the guide said, "Here Major Howard lay: I was near him when wounded." I told him my relationship, and he seemed then still more anxious to point out the particular spot and circumstances. The place is one of the most marked in the field, from the peculiarity of the two trees above mentioned. I went on horseback twice over the field, comparing it with my recollection of similar scenes. plain, Waterloo seems marked out for the scene of some great action, though this may be mere imagination: I have viewed with attention those of Platea, Troy, Mantinea, Leuctra, Charonea, and Marathon; and the field around Mont St. Jean and Hougoumont appears to want little but As a One moment of the mightiest, and again And shake again the world, the Thunderer of the scene! XXXVII. Conqueror and captive of the earth art thou! She trembles at thee still, and thy wild name Was ne'er more bruited in men's minds than now That thou art nothing, save the jest of Fame, Who woo'd thee once, thy vassal, and became The flatterer of thy fierceness, till thou wert A god unto thyself; nor less the same To the astounded kingdoms all inert, Who deem'd thee for a time whate'er thou didst assert. XXXVIII. Oh, more or less than man-in high or low, Battling with nations, flying from the field; Now making monarchs' necks thy footstool, now More than thy meanest soldier taught to yield; An empire thou couldst crush, command, rebuild, But govern not thy pettiest passion, nor, However deeply in men's spirits skill'd, Look through thine own, nor curb the lust of war, Nor learn that tempted Fate will leave the loftiest star. XXXIX. Yet well thy soul hath brook'd the turning tide When the whole host of hatred stood hard by, XL. Sager than in thy fortunes; for in them Ambition steel'd thee on too far to show That just habitual scorn, which could contemn Men and their thoughts; 'twas wise to feel, not so To wear it ever on thy lip and brow, And spurn the instruments thou wert to use Till they were turn'd unto thine overthrow; "Tis but a worthless world to win or lose; So hath it proved to thee, and all such lot who choose. a better cause, and that undefinable but impressive halo which the lapse of ages throws around a celebrated spot, to vie in interest with any or all of these, except, perhaps, the last-mentioned. (1) "There is a richness and energy in this passage, which is peculiar to Lord Byron, among all modern poets, -a throng of glowing images, poured forth at once, with a facility and profusion, which must appear mere wastefulness to more economical writers, and a certain negligence and harshness of diction, which can belong only to an author who is oppressed with the exuberance and rapidity of his conceptions." Jeffrey.-L. E. (2) The (fabled) apples on the brink of the lake Asphaltes were said to be fair without, and, within, ashes. Vide Tucitus, Histor. lib. v. 7. XLI. If, like a tower upon a headlong rock, Their admiration thy best weapon shone; The part of Philip's son was thine, not then (Unless aside thy purple had been thrown) Like stern Diogenes to mock at men; For sceptred cynics earth were far too wide a den.(1) XLII. But quiet to quick bosoms is a hell, And there hath been thy bane; there is a fire XLIII. This makes the madmen who have made men mad By their contagion; conquerors and kings, Founders of sects and systems, to whom add Sophists, bards, statesmen, all unquiet things Which stir too strongly the soul's secret springs, And are themselves the fools to those they fool; Envied, yet how unenviable! what stings Are theirs! One breast laid open were a school Which would unteach mankind the lust to shine or rule: XLIV. Their breath is agitation, and their life A storm whereon they ride, to sink at last, And yet so nursed and bigoted to strife, That should their days, surviving perils past, Melt to calm twilight, they feel overcast With sorrow and supineness, and so die; Even as a flame unfed, which runs to waste With its own flickering, or a sword laid by, Which eats into itself, and rusts ingloriously. XLV. He who ascends to mountain-tops shall find (1) The great error of Napoleon, "if we have writ our annals true," was a continued obtrusion on mankind of his want of all community of feeling for or with them; perhaps more offensive to human vanity than the active cruelty of more trembling and suspicious tyranny. Such were his speeches to public assemblies as well as individuals; and the single expression which he is said to have used on returning to Paris after the Russian winter had destroyed his army, rubbing his hands over a fire, "This is pleasanter than Moscow," would probably alienate more favour from his cause than the destruction and reverses which led to the remark.-"Far from being deficient in that necessary branch of the politician's art which soothes the passions and conciliates the prejudices of those whom they wish to employ as instruments, Buonaparte possessed it in exquisite perfection. He seldom missed finding the very man that was fittest for his immediate purpose; and he had, in a peculiar degree, the art of moulding him to it. It was not, then, because he despised the means necessary to gain his end, that he finally fell short of attaining it, but because, confiding in his stars, his fortune, and his strength, the ends which he proposed were unattainable even by the gigantic means which he possessed." Sir I ́alter Scott.-L. E. (2) "This is certainly splendidly written, but we trust it is not true. From Macedonia's madman to the Swedefrom Nimrod to Buonaparte.-the hunters of men have pursued their sport with as much gaiety, and as little remorse, as the hunters of other animals; and have lived as cheerily in their days of action, and as comfortably in their repose, as the followers of better pursuits. It would be strange, therefore, if the other active but more innocent spirits, whom Lord Byron has here placed in the same predicament, and who share all their sources of enjoyment, without the guilt and the hardness which they cannot fail of contracting, should be more miserable or more unfriended than those splendid curses of their kind; and it would be passing strange, and pitiful, if the most precious gifts of Providence should produce only unhappiness, and mankind regard with hostility their greatest benefactors." Jeffrey.-L. E. (3) "What wants that knave that a king should have?" was King James's question on meeting Johnny Armstrong and his followers in full accoutrements.-See the Ballad. L. But Thou, exulting and abounding river! Making their waves a blessing as they flow Through banks whose beauty would endure for ever Could man but leave thy bright creation so, Nor its fair promise from the surface mow With the sharp scythe of conflict, then to see Thy valley of sweet waters, were to know Earth paved like heaven; and to seem such to me, Even now what wants thy stream?-that it should Lethe be. LI. A thousand battles have assail'd thy banks, Thus Harold inly said, and pass'd along, In glens which might have made even exile dear; Joy was not always absent from his face, [trace. But o'er it in such scenes would steal with transient LIII. Nor was all love shut from him, though his days Of passion had consumed themselves to dust. It is in vain that we would coldly gaze On such as smile upon us; the heart must Leap kindly back to kindness, though disgust Hath wean'd it from all worldlings: thus he felt, For there was soft remembrance, and sweet trust In one fond breast, to which his own would melt, And in its tenderer hour on that his bosom dwelt, LIV. And he had learn'd to love,-I know not why, For this in such as him seems strange of mood,The helpless looks of blooming infancy, Even in its earliest nurture: what subdued, To change like this, a mind so far imbued With scorn of man, it little boots to know; But thus it was; and though in solitude Small power the nipp'd affections have to grow, In him this glow'd when all beside had ceased to glow, LV. And there was one soft breast, as hath been said, (1) The castle of Drachenfels stands on the highest summit of "the Seven Mountains," over the Rhine banks: it is in ruins, and connected with some singular traditions. It is the first in view on the road from Bonn, but on the opposite side of the river; on this bank, nearly facing it, are the remains of another, called the Jew's Castle, and a large cross, commemorative of the murder of a chief by Had stood the test of mortal enmities Still undivided, and cemented more By peril, dreaded most in female eyes; But this was firm, and from a foreign shore Well to that heart might his these absent greetings pour! 1. THE castled crag of Drachenfels (1) 2. And peasant girls, with deep blue eyes, 3. I send the lilies given to me; Though long before thy hand they touch, 4. The river nobly foams and flows, Could thy dear eyes in following mine LVL. By Coblentz, on a rise of gentle ground, his brother. The number of castles and cities along the course of the Rhine on both sides is very great, and their situations remarkably beautiful.-[These verses were written on the banks of the Rhine, in May. The original pencilling is before us. It is needless to observe that they were addressed to his sister.-L. E.] |