Byron's engagement to Miss Milbanke took_The Works of Lord Byron. Vol. 3

the remainder of the year was passed in London, at his chambers in the

Albany. The so-called _Hebrew Melodies_ were, probably, begun in the

late autumn of that year, and were certainly finished at Seaham, after

his marriage had taken place, in January-February, 1815. It is a natural

and pardonable conjecture that Byron took to writing sacred or, at any

rate, scriptural verses by way of giving pleasure and doing honour to

his future wife, "the girl who gave to song What gold could never buy."

They were, so to speak, the first-fruits of a seemlier muse.

It is probable that the greater number of these poems were in MS. before

it occurred to Byron's friend and banker, the Honble. Douglas James

William Kinnaird (1788-1830), to make him known to Isaac Nathan

(1792-1864), a youthful composer of "musical farces and operatic works,"

who had been destined by his parents for the Hebrew priesthood, but had

broken away, and, after some struggles, succeeded in qualifying himself

as a musician.

Byron took a fancy to Nathan, and presented him with the copyright of

his "poetical effusions," on the understanding that they were to be set

to music and sung in public by John Braham. "Professional occupations"

prevented Braham from fulfilling his part of the engagement, but a

guinea folio (Part. I.) ("_Selections of Hebrew Melodies, Ancient and

Modern_, with appropriate symphonies and accompaniments, by I. Braham

and I. Nathan, the poetry written expressly for the work by the Right

Honourable Lord Byron")--with an ornamental title-page designed by the

architect Edward Blore (1789-1879), and dedicated to the Princess

Charlotte of Wales--was published in April, 1815. A second part was

issued in 1816.

The preface, part of which was reprinted (p. vi.) by Nathan, in his

_Fugitive Pieces and Reminiscences of Lord Byron_, London, 1829, is not

without interest--

"The Hebrew Melodies are a selection from the favourite airs which

are still sung in the religious ceremonies of the Jews. Some of

these have, in common with all their Sacred airs, been preserved by

memory and tradition alone, without the assistance of written

characters. Their age and originality, therefore, must be left to

conjecture. But the latitude given to the taste and genius of their

performers has been the means of engrafting on the original

Melodies a certain wildness and pathos, which have at length become

the chief characteristics of the sacred songs of the Jews....

"Of the poetry it is necessary to speak, in order thus publicly to

acknowledge the kindness with which Lord Byron has condescended to

furnish the most valuable part of the work. It has been our

endeavour to select such melodies as would best suit the style and

sentiment of the poetry."

Moore, for whose benefit the Melodies had been rehearsed, was by no

means impressed by their "wildness and pathos," and seems to have

twitted Byron on the subject, or, as he puts it (_Life_, p. 276), to

have taken the liberty of "laughing a little at the manner in which some

of the Hebrew Melodies had been set to music." The author of _Sacred

Songs_ (1814) set to airs by Beethoven, Mozart, Haydn, etc., was a

critic not to be gainsaid, but from the half-comical petulance with

which he "curses" and "sun-burns" (Letters to Moore, February 22, March

8, 1815, _Letters_, 1899, iii. 179, 183) Nathan, and his "vile Ebrew

nasalities," it is evident that Byron winced under Moore's "chaff."

Apart from the merits or demerits of the setting, the title _Hebrew

Melodies_ is somewhat misleading. Three love-songs, "She walks in Beauty

like the Night," "Oh! snatched away in Beauty's Bloom," and "I saw thee

weep," still form part of the collection; and, in Nathan's folio (which

does not contain "A spirit passed before me"), two fragments, "It is the

hour when from the boughs" and "Francesca walks in the shadow of night,"

which were afterwards incorporated in _Parisina_, were included. The

_Fugitive Pieces_, 1829, retain the fragments from _Parisina_, and add

the following hitherto unpublished poems: "I speak not, I trace not,"

etc., "They say that Hope is Happiness," and the genuine but rejected

Hebrew Melody "In the valley of waters we wept on the day."

It is uncertain when Murray's first edition appeared. Byron wrote to

Nathan with regard to the copyright in January, 1815 (_Letters_, 1899,

iii. 167), but it is unlikely that the volume was put on the market

before Nathan's folio, which was advertised for the first time in the

_Morning Chronicle_, April 6, 1815; and it is possible that the first

public announcement of the _Hebrew Melodies_, as a separate issue, was

made in the _Courier_, June 22, 1815.

The _Hebrew Melodies_ were reviewed in the _Christian Observer_, August,

1815, vol. xiv. p. 542; in the _Analectic Magazine_, October, 1815, vol.

vi. p. 292; and were noticed by Jeffrey [The _Hebrew Melodies_, though

"obviously inferior" to Lord Byron's other works, "display a skill in

versification and a mastery in diction which would have raised an

inferior artist to the very summit of distinction"] in the _Edinburgh

Review_, December, 1816, vol. xxvii. p. 291.

The subsequent poems were written at the request of my friend, the Hon.

Douglas Kinnaird, for a Selection of Hebrew Melodies, and have been

published, with the music, arranged by Mr. Braham and Mr. Nathan.

_January_, 1815.

HEBREW MELODIES

SHE WALKS IN BEAUTY.[287]

She walks in Beauty, like the night

Of cloudless climes and starry skies;

And all that's best of dark and bright

Meet in her aspect and her eyes:

Thus mellowed to that tender light

Which Heaven to gaudy day denies.

II.

One shade the more, one ray the less,

Had half impaired the nameless grace

Which waves in every raven tress,

Or softly lightens o'er her face;

Where thoughts serenely sweet express,

How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.

III.

And on that cheek, and o'er that brow,

So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,

The smiles that win, the tints that glow,

But tell of days in goodness spent,

A mind at peace with all below,

A heart whose love is innocent!

_June_ 12, 1814.

THE HARP THE MONARCH MINSTREL SWEPT.

The Harp the Monarch Minstrel swept,[le]

The King of men, the loved of Heaven!

Which Music hallowed while she wept

O'er tones her heart of hearts had given--

Redoubled be her tears, its chords are riven!

It softened men of iron mould,

It gave them virtues not their own;

No ear so dull, no soul so cold,

That felt not--fired not to the tone,

Till David's Lyre grew mightier than his Throne!

II.

It told the triumphs of our King,[lf]

It wafted glory to our God;

It made our gladdened valleys ring,

The cedars bow, the mountains nod;

Its sound aspired to Heaven and there abode![288]

Since then, though heard on earth no more,[lg]

Devotion and her daughter Love

Still bid the bursting spirit soar

To sounds that seem as from above,

In dreams that day's broad light can not remove.

IF THAT HIGH WORLD.

If that high world,[289] which lies beyond

Our own, surviving Love endears;

If there the cherished heart be fond,

The eye the same, except in tears--

How welcome those untrodden spheres!

How sweet this very hour to die!

To soar from earth and find all fears

Lost in thy light--Eternity!

II.

It must be so: 'tis not for self

That we so tremble on the brink;

And striving to o'erleap the gulf,

Yet cling to Being's severing link.[lh]

Oh! in that future let us think

To hold each heart the heart that shares,

With them the immortal waters drink,

And soul in soul grow deathless theirs!

THE WILD GAZELLE.

The wild gazelle on Judah's hills

Exulting yet may bound,

And drink from all the living rills

That gush on holy ground;

Its airy step and glorious eye[290]

May glance in tameless transport by:--

II.

A step as fleet, an eye more bright,

Hath Judah witnessed there;

And o'er her scenes of lost delight

Inhabitants more fair.

The cedars wave on Lebanon,

But Judah's statelier maids are gone!

III.

Than Israel's scattered race;

For, taking root, it there remains

In solitary grace:

It cannot quit its place of birth,

It will not live in other earth.

IV.

But we must wander witheringly,

In other lands to die;

And where our fathers' ashes be,

Our own may never lie:

Our temple hath not left a stone,

And Mockery sits on Salem's throne.

OH! WEEP FOR THOSE.

Oh! weep for those that wept by Babel's stream,

Whose shrines are desolate, whose land a dream;

Weep for the harp of Judah's broken shell;

Mourn--where their God hath dwelt the godless dwell!

II.

And where shall Israel lave her bleeding feet?

And when shall Zion's songs again seem sweet?

And Judah's melody once more rejoice

The hearts that leaped before its heavenly voice?

III.

Tribes of the wandering foot and weary breast,

How shall ye flee away and be at rest!

The wild-dove hath her nest, the fox his cave,

Mankind their country--Israel but the grave!

ON JORDAN'S BANKS.

On Jordan's banks the Arab's camels stray,

On Sion's hill the False One's votaries pray,

The Baal-adorer bows on Sinai's steep--

Yet there--even there--Oh God! thy thunders sleep:

II.

There--where thy finger scorched the tablet stone!

There--where thy shadow to thy people shone!

Thy glory shrouded in its garb of fire:

Thyself--none living see and not expire!

III.

Oh! in the lightning let thy glance appear;

Sweep from his shivered hand the oppressor's spear!

How long by tyrants shall thy land be trod?

How long thy temple worshipless, Oh God?

JEPHTHA'S DAUGHTER.[291]

Since our Country, our God--Oh, my Sire!

Demand that thy Daughter expire;

Since thy triumph was bought by thy vow--

Strike the bosom that's bared for thee now!

II.

And the voice of my mourning is o'er,

And the mountains behold me no more:

If the hand that I love lay me low,

There cannot be pain in the blow!

III.

And of this, oh, my Father! be sure--

That the blood of thy child is as pure

As the blessing I beg ere it flow,

And the last thought that soothes me below.

IV.

Though the virgins of Salem lament,

Be the judge and the hero unbent!

I have won the great battle for thee,

And my Father and Country are free!

When this blood of thy giving hath gushed,

When the voice that thou lovest is hushed,

Let my memory still be thy pride,

And forget not I smiled as I died!

OH! SNATCHED AWAY IN BEAUTY'S BLOOM.[292]

Oh! snatched away in beauty's bloom,

On thee shall press no ponderous tomb;

But on thy turf shall roses rear

Their leaves, the earliest of the year;

And the wild cypress wave in tender gloom:[li]

II.

And oft by yon blue gushing stream

Shall Sorrow lean her drooping head,[lj]

And feed deep thought with many a dream,

And lingering pause and lightly tread;

Fond wretch! as if her step disturbed the dead!

III.

Away! we know that tears are vain,

That Death nor heeds nor hears distress:

Will this unteach us to complain?

Or make one mourner weep the less?

And thou--who tell'st me to forget,[lk]

Thy looks are wan, thine eyes are wet.[ll][293]

[Published in the _Examiner_, April 23, 1815.]

MY SOUL IS DARK.

My soul is dark--Oh! quickly string[294]

The harp I yet can brook to hear;

And let thy gentle fingers fling

Its melting murmurs o'er mine ear.

If in this heart a hope be dear,

That sound shall charm it forth again:

If in these eyes there lurk a tear,

'Twill flow, and cease to burn my brain.

II.

But bid the strain be wild and deep,

Nor let thy notes of joy be first:

I tell thee, minstrel, I must weep,

Or else this heavy heart will burst;

For it hath been by sorrow nursed,

And ached in sleepless silence long;

And now 'tis doomed to know the worst,

And break at once--or yield to song.[295]

I SAW THEE WEEP.

I saw thee weep--the big bright tear

Came o'er that eye of blue;[296]

And then methought it did appear

A violet dropping dew:

I saw thee smile--the sapphire's blaze

Beside thee ceased to shine;

It could not match the living rays

That filled that glance of thine.

II.

As clouds from yonder sun receive

A deep and mellow dye,

Which scarce the shade of coming eve

Can banish from the sky,

Those smiles unto the moodiest mind

Their own pure joy impart;

Their sunshine leaves a glow behind

That lightens o'er the heart.

THY DAYS ARE DONE.

Thy days are done, thy fame begun;

Thy country's strains record

The triumphs of her chosen Son,

The slaughters of his sword!

The deeds he did, the fields he won,

The freedom he restored!

II.

Though thou art fall'n, while we are free

Thou shall not taste of death!

The generous blood that flowed from thee

Disdained to sink beneath:

Within our veins its currents be,

Thy spirit on our breath!

III.

Thy name, our charging hosts along,

Shall be the battle-word!

Thy fall, the theme of choral song

From virgin voices poured!

To weep would do thy glory wrong:

Thou shalt not be deplored.

SAUL.

Thou whose spell can raise the dead,

Bid the Prophet's form appear.

"Samuel, raise thy buried head!

King, behold the phantom Seer!"

Earth yawned; he stood the centre of a cloud:

Light changed its hue, retiring from his shroud.[lm]

Death stood all glassy in his fixéd eye;

His hand was withered, and his veins were dry;

His foot, in bony whiteness, glittered there,

Shrunken and sinewless, and ghastly bare;

From lips that moved not and unbreathing frame,

Like caverned winds, the hollow accents came.

Saul saw, and fell to earth, as falls the oak,

At once, and blasted by the thunder-stroke.[ln]

II.

"Why is my sleep disquieted?

Who is he that calls the dead?

Is it thou, O King? Behold,

Bloodless are these limbs, and cold:[lo]

Such are mine; and such shall be

Thine to-morrow, when with me:

Ere the coming day is done,

Such shalt thou be--such thy Son.

Fare thee well, but for a day,

Then we mix our mouldering clay.

Thou--thy race, lie pale and low,

Pierced by shafts of many a bow;

And the falchion by thy side

To thy heart thy hand shall guide:

Crownless--breathless--headless fall,

Son and Sire--the house of Saul!"[297]

Seaham, _Feb._, 1815.

SONG OF SAUL BEFORE HIS LAST BATTLE.

Warriors and chiefs! should the shaft or the sword

Pierce me in leading the host of the Lord,

Heed not the corse, though a King's, in your path:[lp]

Bury your steel in the bosoms of Gath!

II.

Thou who art bearing my buckler and bow,[lq]

Should the soldiers of Saul look away from the foe,

Stretch me that moment in blood at thy feet!

Mine be the doom which they dared not to meet.

III.

Farewell to others, but never we part,

Heir to my Royalty--Son of my heart![lr]

Bright is the diadem, boundless the sway,

Or kingly the death, which awaits us to-day!

Seaham, 1815.

"ALL IS VANITY, SAITH THE PREACHER"

Fame, Wisdom, Love, and Power were mine,

And Health and Youth possessed me;

My goblets blushed from every vine,

And lovely forms caressed me;

I sunned my heart in Beauty's eyes,

And felt my soul grow tender;

All Earth can give, or mortal prize,

Was mine of regal splendour.

II.

I strive to number o'er what days[ls]

Remembrance can discover,

Which all that Life or Earth displays

Would lure me to live over.

There rose no day, there rolled no hour

Of pleasure unembittered;[298]

And not a trapping decked my Power

That galled not while it glittered.

III.[lt]

The serpent of the field, by art

And spells, is won from harming;

But that which coils around the heart,

Oh! who hath power of charming?

It will not list to Wisdom's lore,

Nor Music's voice can lure it;

But there it stings for evermore

The soul that must endure it.

Seaham, 1815.

WHEN COLDNESS WRAPS THIS SUFFERING CLAY.

When coldness wraps this suffering clay,[lu]

Ah! whither strays the immortal mind?

It cannot die, it cannot stay,

But leaves its darkened dust behind.

Then, unembodied, doth it trace

By steps each planet's heavenly way?[lv]

Or fill at once the realms of space,

A thing of eyes, that all survey?

II.

Eternal--boundless,--undecayed,

A thought unseen, but seeing all,

All, all in earth, or skies displayed,[lw]

Shall it survey, shall it recall:

Each fainter trace that Memory holds

So darkly of departed years,

In one broad glance the Soul beholds,

And all, that was, at once appears.

III.

Before Creation peopled earth,

Its eye shall roll through chaos back;

And where the farthest heaven had birth,

The Spirit trace its rising track.

And where the future mars or makes,

Its glance dilate o'er all to be,

While Sun is quenched--or System breaks,

Fixed in its own Eternity.

IV.

Above or Love--Hope--Hate--or Fear,

It lives all passionless and pure:

An age shall fleet like earthly year;

Its years as moments shall endure.

Away--away--without a wing,

O'er all--through all--its thought shall fly,

A nameless and eternal thing,

Forgetting what it was to die.

Seaham, 1815.

VISION OF BELSHAZZAR.[299]

The King was on his throne,

The Satraps thronged the hall:[lx]

A thousand bright lamps shone

O'er that high festival.

A thousand cups of gold,

In Judah deemed divine--[ly]

Jehovah's vessels hold

The godless Heathen's wine!

II.

In that same hour and hall,

The fingers of a hand

Came forth against the wall,

And wrote as if on sand:

The fingers of a man;--

A solitary hand

Along the letters ran,

And traced them like a wand.

III.

The monarch saw, and shook,

And bade no more rejoice;

All bloodless waxed his look,

And tremulous his voice.

"Let the men of lore appear,

The wisest of the earth,

And expound the words of fear,

Which mar our royal mirth."

IV.

Chaldea's seers are good,

But here they have no skill;

And the unknown letters stood

Untold and awful still.

And Babel's men of age

Are wise and deep in lore;

But now they were not sage,

They saw--but knew no more.

A captive in the land,

A stranger and a youth,[300]

He heard the King's command,

He saw that writing's truth.

The lamps around were bright,

The prophecy in view;

He read it on that night,--

The morrow proved it true.

VI.

"Belshazzar's grave is made,[lz]

His kingdom passed away.

He, in the balance weighed,

Is light and worthless clay;

The shroud, his robe of state,

His canopy the stone;

The Mede is at his gate!

The Persian on his throne!"

SUN OF THE SLEEPLESS!

Sun of the sleepless! melancholy star!

Whose tearful beam glows tremulously far,

That show'st the darkness thou canst not dispel,

How like art thou to Joy remembered well!

So gleams the past, the light of other days,

Which shines, but warms not with its powerless rays:

A night-beam Sorrow watcheth to behold,

Distinct, but distant--clear--but, oh how cold!

WERE MY BOSOM AS FALSE AS THOU DEEM'ST IT TO BE.

Were my bosom as false as thou deem'st it to be,

I need not have wandered from far Galilee;

It was but abjuring my creed to efface

The curse which, thou say'st, is the crime of my race.

II.

If the bad never triumph, then God is with thee!

If the slave only sin--thou art spotless and free!

If the Exile on earth is an Outcast on high,

Live on in thy faith--but in mine I will die.

III.

I have lost for that faith more than thou canst bestow,

As the God who permits thee to prosper doth know;

In his hand is my heart and my hope--and in thine

The land and the life which for him I resign.

Seaham, 1815.

HEROD'S LAMENT FOR MARIAMNE.[301]

Oh, Mariamne! now for thee

The heart for which thou bled'st is bleeding;

Revenge is lost in Agony[ma]

And wild Remorse to rage succeeding.[mb]

Oh, Mariamne! where art thou?

Thou canst not hear my bitter pleading:[mc]

Ah! could'st thou--thou would'st pardon now,

Though Heaven were to my prayer unheeding.

II.

And is she dead?--and did they dare

Obey my Frenzy's jealous raving?[md]

My Wrath but doomed my own despair:

The sword that smote her 's o'er me waving.--

But thou art cold, my murdered Love!

And this dark heart is vainly craving[me]

For he who soars alone above,

And leaves my soul unworthy saving.

III.

She's gone, who shared my diadem;

She sunk, with her my joys entombing;

I swept that flower from Judah's stem,

Whose leaves for me alone were blooming;

And mine's the guilt, and mine the hell,

This bosom's desolation dooming;

And I have earned those tortures well,[mf]

Which unconsumed are still consuming!

_Jan._ 15, 1815.

ON THE DAY OF THE DESTRUCTION OF JERUSALEM BY TITUS.

From the last hill that looks on thy once holy dome,[mg]

I beheld thee, oh Sion! when rendered to Rome:[mh]

'Twas thy last sun went down, and the flames of thy fall

Flashed back on the last glance I gave to thy wall.

II.

I looked for thy temple--I looked for my home,

And forgot for a moment my bondage to come;[mi]

I beheld but the death-fire that fed on thy fane,

And the fast-fettered hands that made vengeance in vain.

III.

On many an eve, the high spot whence I gazed

Had reflected the last beam of day as it blazed;

While I stood on the height, and beheld the decline

Of the rays from the mountain that shone on thy shrine.

IV.

And now on that mountain I stood on that day,

But I marked not the twilight beam melting away;

Oh! would that the lightning had glared in its stead,

And the thunderbolt burst on the Conqueror's head![mj]

But the Gods of the Pagan shall never profane

The shrine where Jehovah disdained not to reign;

And scattered and scorned as thy people may be,

Our worship, oh Father! is only for thee.

1815.

BY THE RIVERS OF BABYLON WE SAT DOWN AND WEPT.[302]

We sate down and wept by the waters[303]

Of Babel, and thought of the day

When our foe, in the hue of his slaughters,

Made Salem's high places his prey;

And Ye, oh her desolate daughters!

Were scattered all weeping away.

II.

While sadly we gazed on the river

Which rolled on in freedom below,

They demanded the song; but, oh never

That triumph the Stranger shall know![mk]

May this right hand be withered for ever,

Ere it string our high harp for the foe!

III.

On the willow that harp is suspended,

Oh Salem! its sound should be free;[ml]

And the hour when thy glories were ended

But left me that token of thee:

And ne'er shall its soft tones be blended

With the voice of the Spoiler by me!

_Jan._ 15, 1813.

"BY THE WATERS OF BABYLON."

In the valley of waters we wept on the day

When the host of the Stranger made Salem his prey;

And our heads on our bosoms all droopingly lay,

And our hearts were so full of the land far away!

II.

The song they demanded in vain--it lay still

In our souls as the wind that hath died on the hill--

They called for the harp--but our blood they shall spill

Ere our right hands shall teach them one tone of their skill.

III.

All stringlessly hung in the willow's sad tree,

As dead as her dead-leaf, those mute harps must be:

Our hands may be fettered--our tears still are free

For our God--and our Glory--and Sion, Oh _Thee!_

1815.

THE DESTRUCTION OF SENNACHERIB.

The Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold,

And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold;

And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the sea,

When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee.

II.

Like the leaves of the forest when Summer is green,

That host with their banners at sunset were seen:

Like the leaves of the forest when Autumn hath blown,[304]

That host on the morrow lay withered and strown.

III.

For the Angel of Death spread his wings on the blast,

And breathed in the face of the foe as he passed;

And the eyes of the sleepers waxed deadly and chill,

And their hearts but once heaved--and for ever grew still!

IV.

And there lay the steed with his nostril all wide,

But through it there rolled not the breath of his pride;

And the foam of his gasping lay white on the turf,[mm]

And cold as the spray of the rock-beating surf.[mn]

And there lay the rider distorted and pale,

With the dew on his brow, and the rust on his mail:[mo]

And the tents were all silent--the banners alone--

The lances unlifted--the trumpet unblown.

VI.

And the widows of Ashur are loud in their wail,[mp]

And the idols are broke in the temple of Baal;

And the might of the Gentile, unsmote by the sword,[mq]

Hath melted like snow in the glance of the Lord!

Seaham, Feb. 17, 1815.

A SPIRIT PASSED BEFORE ME.

FROM JOB.

A spirit passed before me: I beheld

The face of Immortality unveiled--

Deep Sleep came down on every eye save mine--

And there it stood,--all formless--but divine:

Along my bones the creeping flesh did quake;

And as my damp hair stiffened, thus it spake:

II.

"Is man more just than God? Is man more pure

Than he who deems even Seraphs insecure?

Creatures of clay--vain dwellers in the dust!

The moth survives you, and are ye more just?

Things of a day! you wither ere the night,

Heedless and blind to Wisdom's wasted light!"

FOOTNOTES:

[287] {381} [In a manuscript note to a letter of Byron's, dated June 11,

1814, Wedderburn Webster writes, "I _did_ take him to Lady Sitwell's

party.... He there for the first time saw his cousin, the beautiful Mrs.

Wilmot [who had appeared in mourning with numerous spangles in her

dress]. When we returned to ... the Albany, he ... desired Fletcher to

give him a _tumbler of brandy_, which he drank at once to Mrs. Wilmot's

health.... The next day he wrote some charming lines upon her, 'She

walks in beauty,' etc."--_Letters_, 1899, iii. 92, note 1.

Anne Beatrix, daughter and co-heiress of Eusebius Horton, of Catton

Hall, Derbyshire, married Byron's second cousin, Robert John Wilmot

(1784-1841), son of Sir Robert Wilmot of Osmaston, by Juliana, second

daughter of the Hon. John Byron, and widow of the Hon. William Byron.

She died February 4, 1871.

Nathan (_Fugitive Pieces_, 1829, pp. 2, 3) has a note to the effect that

Byron, while arranging the first edition of the _Melodies_, used to ask

for this song, and would not unfrequently join in its execution.]

[le] {382}

_The Harp the Minstrel Monarch swept,_

_The first of men, the loved of Heaven,_

_Which Music cherished while she wept_.--[MS. M.]

[lf] {383} _It told the Triumph_----.--[MS. M.]

[288] ["When Lord Byron put the copy into my hand, it terminated with

this line. This, however, did not complete the verse, and I asked him to

help out the melody. He replied, 'Why, I have sent you to Heaven--it

would be difficult to go further!' My attention for a few moments was

called to some other person, and his Lordship, whom I had hardly missed,

exclaimed, 'Here, Nathan, I have brought you down again;' and

immediately presented me the beautiful and sublime lines which conclude

the melody."--_Fugitive Pieces_, 1829, p. 33.]

[lg]

_It there abode, and there it rings_,

_But ne'er on earth its sound shall be;_

_The prophets' race hath passed away;_

_And all the hallowed minstrelsy_--

_From earth the sound and soul are fled_,

_And shall we never hear again?_--[MS. M. erased.]

[289] [According to Nathan, the monosyllable "if" at the beginning of

the first line led to "numerous attacks on the noble author's religion,

and in some an inference of atheism was drawn."

Needless to add, "in a subsequent conversation," Byron repels this

charge, and delivers himself of some admirable if commonplace sentiments

on the "grand perhaps."-_Fugitive Pieces_, 1829, pp. 5, 6.]

[lh] {384} ----_breaking link_.--[Nathan, 1815, 1829.]

[290] [Compare _To Ianthe_, stanza iv. lines 1, 2--

"Oh! let that eye, which, wild as the Gazelle's,

Now brightly bold or beautifully shy."

Compare, too, _The Giaour_, lines 473, 474--

"Her eye's dark charm 'twere vain to tell,

But gaze on that of the Gazelle."

_Poetical Works_, 1899, ii. 13; _et ante_, p. 108.]

[291] {387} [Nathan (_Fugitive Pieces_, 1829, pp. 11, 12) seems to have

tried to draw Byron into a discussion on the actual fate of Jephtha's

daughter--death at her father's hand, or "perpetual seclusion"--and that

Byron had no opinion to offer. "Whatever may be the absolute state of

the case, I am innocent of her blood; she has been killed to my hands;"

and again, "Well, my hands are not imbrued in her blood!"]

[292] {388} ["In submitting the melody to his Lordship's judgment, I

once inquired in what manner they might refer to any scriptural subject:

he appeared for a moment affected--at last replied, 'Every mind must

make its own references; there is scarcely one of us who could not

imagine that the affliction belongs to himself, to me it certainly

belongs.' 'She is no more, and perhaps the only vestige of her existence

is the feeling I sometimes fondly indulge.'"--_Fugitive Pieces_, 1829,

p. 30. It has been surmised that the lines contain a final reminiscence

of the mysterious Thyrza.]

[li] ----_in gentle gloom._--[MS. M.]

[lj]

_Shall Sorrow on the waters gaze_,

_And lost in deep remembrance dream_,

_As if her footsteps could disturb the dead._--[MS. M.]

[lk] {389} _Even thou_----.--[MS. M.]

[ll]

IV.

_Nor need I write to tell the tale_,

_My pen were doubly weak;_

_Oh what can idle words avail_,

_Unless my heart could speak?_

_By day or night, in weal or woe_,

_That heart no longer free_

_Must bear the love it cannot show_,

_And silent turn for thee_.--[MS. M.]

[293] [Compare "Nay, now, pry'thee weep no more! you know, ... that 'tis

sinful to murmur at ... Providence."--"And should not that reflection

check your own, my Blanche?"--"Why are your cheeks so wet? Fie! fie, my

child!"--_Romantic Tales_, by M. G. Lewis, 1808, i. 53.]

[294] [Compare "My soul is dark."--Ossian, "Oina-Morul," _The Works of

Ossian_, 1765, ii. 279.]

[295] {390} ["It was generally conceived that Lord Byron's reported

singularities approached on some occasions to derangement; and at one

period, indeed, it was very currently asserted that his intellects were

actually impaired. The report only served to amuse his Lordship. He

referred to the circumstance, and declared that he would try how a

_Madman_ could write: seizing the pen with eagerness, he for a moment

fixed his eyes in majestic wildness on vacancy; when, like a flash of

inspiration, without erasing a single word, the above verses were the

result."--_Fugitive Pieces_, 1829, p. 37.]

[296] [Compare the first _Sonnet to Genevra_ (addressed to Lady Frances

Wedderburn Webster), "Thine eye's blue tenderness."]

[lm] {392}

_He stands amidst an earthly cloud_,

_And the mist mantled o'er his floating shroud_.--[MS. erased.]

[ln] _At once and scorched beneath_----.--[MS. Copy (1, 2).]

[lo] _Bloodless are these bones_----.--[MS.]

[297] ["Since we have spoken of witches," said Lord Byron at Cephalonia,

in 1823, "what think you of the witch of Endor? I have always thought

this the finest and most finished witch-scene that ever was written or

conceived; and you will be of my opinion, if you consider all the

circumstances and the actors in the case, together with the gravity,

simplicity, and dignity of the language."--_Conversations on Religion

with Lord Byron_, by James Kennedy, M.D., London, 1830, p. 154.]

[lp] {393} _Heed not the carcase that lies in your path_.--[MS. Copy

(1).]

[lq]

----_my shield and my bow_,

_Should the ranks of your king look away from the foe_.--[MS.]

[lr] {394}

_Heir to my monarchy_----.--[MS.]

Note to _Heir_--Jonathan.--[Copy.]

[ls]

_My father was the shepherd's son_,

_Ah were my lot as lowly_

_My earthly course had softly run_.--[MS.]

[298] {395} [Compare _Childe Harold_, Canto I. stanza lxxxii.

lines 8, 9--

"Full from the fount of Joy's delicious springs

Some bitter o'er the flowers its bubbling venom flings."

_Poetical Works_, 1899, ii. 73, and note 16, p. 93.]

[lt]

_Ah! what hath been but what shall be_,

_The same dull scene renewing?_

_And all our fathers were are we_

_In erring and undoing_.--[MS.]

[lu] _When this corroding clay is gone_.--[MS. erased.]

[lv] _The stars in their eternal way_.--[MS. L. erased.]

[lw] {396} _A conscious light that can pervade_.--[MS. erased.]

[299] {397} [Compare the lines entitled "Belshazzar" (_vide post_, p.

421), and _Don Juan_, Canto III. stanza lxv.]

[lx] ----_in the hall_.--[Copy.]

[ly] _In Israel_----.--[Copy.]

[300] {398} [It was not in his youth, but in extreme old age, that

Daniel interpreted the "writing on the wall."]

[lz] _Oh king thy grave_----.--[Copy erased.]

[301] {400} [Mariamne, the wife of Herod the Great, falling under the

suspicion of infidelity, was put to death by his order. Ever after,

Herod was haunted by the image of the murdered Mariamne, until disorder

of the mind brought on disorder of body, which led to temporary

derangement. See _History of the Jews_, by H. H. Milman, 1878, pp. 236,

237. See, too, Voltaire's drama, _Mariamne_, _passim_.

Nathan, wishing "to be favoured with so many lines pathetic, some

playful, others martial, etc.... one evening ... unfortunately (while

absorbed for a moment in worldly affairs) requested so many _dull_

lines--meaning _plaintive_." Byron instantly caught at the expression,

and exclaimed, "Well, Nathan! you have at length set me an easy task,"

and before parting presented him with "these beautifully pathetic lines,

saying, 'Here, Nathan, I think you will find these _dull_

enough.'"--_Fugitive Pieces_, 1829, p. 51.]

[ma]

_And what was rage is agony_.--[MS. erased.]

_Revenge is turned_----.--[MS.]

[mb] _And deep Remorse_----.--[MS.]

[mc] _And what am I thy tyrant pleading_.--[MS. erased.]

[md]

_Thou art not dead--they could not dare_

_Obey my jealous Frenzy's raving_.--[MS.]

[me] _But yet in death my soul enslaving_.--[MS. erased.]

[mf] {401} _Oh I have earned_----.--[MS.]

[mg] ----_that looks o'er thy once holy dome_.--[MS.]

[mh]

----_o'er thy once holy wall_

_I beheld thee O Sion the day of thy fall_.--[MS. erased.]

[mi] _And forgot in their ruin_----.--[MS. erased.]

[mj] {402}

_And the red bolt_----.--[MS. erased.]

_And the thunderbolt crashed_----.--[MS.]

[302] [The following note, in Byron's handwriting, is prefixed to the

copy in Lady Byron's handwriting:--

"Dear Kinnaird,--Take only _one_ of these marked 1 and 2 [i.e. 'By

the Rivers,' etc.; and 'By the waters,' _vide_ p. 404], as both are

but different versions of the _same thought_--leave the choice to

any important person you like.

Yours,

B."]

[303] [Landor, in his "Dialogue between Southey and Porson" (_Works_,

1846, i. 69), attempted to throw ridicule on the opening lines of this

"Melody."

"A prey in 'the hue of his slaughters'! This is very pathetic; but

not more so than the thought it suggested to me, which is plainer--

'We sat down and wept by the waters

Of Camus, and thought of the day

When damsels would show their red garters

In their hurry to scamper away.'"]

[mk] {403}

_Our mute harps were hung on the willow_

_That grew by the stream of our foe_,

_And in sadness we gazed on each billow_

_That rolled on in freedom below_.--[MS, erased.]

[ml]

_On the willow that harp still hangs mutely_

_Oh Salem its sound was for thee_.--[MS. erased.]

[304] {405} [Compare--"As leaves in autumn, so the bodies fell." _The

Barons' Wars_, by Michael Drayton, Bk. II. stanza lvii.; Anderson's

_British Poets_, iii. 38.]

[mm] _And the foam of his bridle lay cold on the earth_.--[MS.]

[mn] ----_of the cliff-beating surf_.--[MS.]

[mo] _With the crow on his breast_----.--[MS.]

[mp] _And the widows of Babel_----.--[MS. erased.]

[mq] _And the voices of Israel are joyous and high_.--[MS. erased.]

POEMS 1814-1816.

FAREWELL! IF EVER FONDEST PRAYER.

Farewell! if ever fondest prayer

For other's weal availed on high,

Mine will not all be lost in air,

But waft thy name beyond the sky.

'Twere vain to speak--to weep--to sigh:

Oh! more than tears of blood can tell,

When wrung from Guilt's expiring eye,[305]

Are in that word--Farewell!--Farewell!

These lips are mute, these eyes are dry;

But in my breast and in my brain,

Awake the pangs that pass not by,

The thought that ne'er shall sleep again.

My soul nor deigns nor dares complain,

Though Grief and Passion there rebel:

I only know we loved in vain--

I only feel--Farewell!--Farewell!

[First published, _Corsair_, Second Edition, 1814.]

WHEN WE TWO PARTED.

When we two parted

In silence and tears,

Half broken-hearted

To sever for years,

Pale grew thy cheek and cold,

Colder thy kiss;

Truly that hour foretold[mr]

Sorrow to this.

The dew of the morning[ms]

Sunk chill on my brow--

It felt like the warning

Of what I feel now.

Thy vows are all broken,[mt]

And light is thy fame:

I hear thy name spoken,

And share in its shame.

3.[mu]

They name thee before me,

A knell to mine ear;

A shudder comes o'er me--

Why wert thou so dear?

They know not I knew thee,

Who knew thee too well:--

Long, long shall I rue thee,

Too deeply to tell.

In secret we met--

In silence I grieve.

That thy heart could forget,

Thy spirit deceive.

If I should meet thee[mv]

After long years,

How should I greet thee?--

With silence and tears.

[First published, _Poems_, 1816.]

[LOVE AND GOLD.[306]]

I cannot talk of Love to thee,

Though thou art young and free and fair!

There is a spell thou dost not see,

That bids a genuine love despair.

And yet that spell invites each youth,

For thee to sigh, or seem to sigh;

Makes falsehood wear the garb of truth,

And Truth itself appear a lie.

If ever Doubt a place possest

In woman's heart, 'twere wise in thine:

Admit not Love into thy breast,

Doubt others' love, nor trust in mine.

Perchance 'tis feigned, perchance sincere,

But false or true thou canst not tell;

So much hast thou from all to fear,

In that unconquerable spell.

Of all the herd that throng around,

Thy simpering or thy sighing train,

Come tell me who to thee is bound

By Love's or Plutus' heavier chain.

In some 'tis Nature, some 'tis Art

That bids them worship at thy shrine;

But thou deserv'st a better heart,

Than they or I can give for thine.

For thee, and such as thee, behold,

Is Fortune painted truly--blind!

Who doomed thee to be bought or sold,

Has proved too bounteous to be kind.

Each day some tempter's crafty suit

Would woo thee to a loveless bed:

I see thee to the altar's foot

A decorated victim led.

Adieu, dear maid! I must not speak

Whate'er my secret thoughts may be;

Though thou art all that man can reck

I dare not talk of Love to _thee_.

STANZAS FOR MUSIC.[307]

I speak not, I trace not, I breathe not thy name,[mw]

There is grief in the sound, there is guilt in the fame:

But the tear which now burns on my cheek may impart

The deep thoughts that dwell in that silence of heart.

2.[mx]

Too brief for our passion, too long for our peace,

Were those hours--can their joy or their bitterness cease?

We repent, we abjure, we will break from our chain,--

We will part, we will fly to--unite it again!

Oh! thine be the gladness, and mine be the guilt![my]

Forgive me, adored one!--forsake, if thou wilt;--

But the heart which is thine shall expire undebased[mz]

And _man_ shall not break it--whatever _thou_ mayst.[na]

And stern to the haughty, but humble to thee,

This soul, in its bitterest blackness, shall be:[nb]

And our days seem as swift, and our moments more sweet,

With thee by my side, than with worlds at our feet.

5.[nc]

One sigh of thy sorrow, one look of thy love,[nd]

Shall turn me or fix, shall reward or reprove;

And the heartless may wonder at all I resign--

Thy lip shall reply, not to them, but to _mine_.

_May_ 4, 1814.

[First published, _Letters and Journals_, 1830, i. 554.]

ADDRESS INTENDED TO BE RECITED AT

THE CALEDONIAN MEETING.[308]

Who hath not glowed above the page where Fame

Hath fixed high Caledon's unconquered name;

The mountain-land which spurned the Roman chain,

And baffled back the fiery-crested Dane,

Whose bright claymore and hardihood of hand

No foe could tame--no tyrant could command?

That race is gone--but still their children breathe,

And Glory crowns them with redoubled wreath:

O'er Gael and Saxon mingling banners shine,

And, England! add their stubborn strength to thine.

The blood which flowed with Wallace flows as free,

But now 'tis only shed for Fame and thee!

Oh! pass not by the northern veteran's claim,

But give support--the world hath given him fame!

The humbler ranks, the lowly brave, who bled

While cheerly following where the Mighty led--[309]

Who sleep beneath the undistinguished sod

Where happier comrades in their triumph trod,

To us bequeath--'tis all their fate allows--

The sireless offspring and the lonely spouse:

She on high Albyn's dusky hills may raise

The tearful eye in melancholy gaze,

Or view, while shadowy auguries disclose

The Highland Seer's anticipated woes,

The bleeding phantom of each martial form

Dim in the cloud, or darkling in the storm;[310]

While sad, she chaunts the solitary song,

The soft lament for him who tarries long--

For him, whose distant relics vainly crave

The Coronach's wild requiem to the brave!

'Tis Heaven--not man--must charm away the woe,

Which bursts when Nature's feelings newly flow;

Yet Tenderness and Time may rob the tear

Of half its bitterness for one so dear;

A Nation's gratitude perchance may spread

A thornless pillow for the widowed head;

May lighten well her heart's maternal care,

And wean from Penury the soldier's heir;

Or deem to living war-worn Valour just[311]

Each wounded remnant--Albion's cherished trust--

Warm his decline with those endearing rays,

Whose bounteous sunshine yet may gild his days--

So shall that Country--while he sinks to rest--

His hand hath fought for--by his heart be blest!

_May_, 1814.

[First published, _Letters and Journals_, 1830, i. 559.]

ELEGIAC STANZAS ON THE DEATH OF

SIR PETER PARKER, BART.[312]

There is a tear for all that die,[313]

A mourner o'er the humblest grave;

But nations swell the funeral cry,

And Triumph weeps above the brave.

For them is Sorrow's purest sigh

O'er Ocean's heaving bosom sent:

In vain their bones unburied lie,

All earth becomes their monument!

A tomb is theirs on every page,

An epitaph on every tongue:

The present hours, the future age,

For them bewail, to them belong.

For them the voice of festal mirth

Grows hushed, _their name_ the only sound;

While deep Remembrance pours to Worth

The goblet's tributary round.

A theme to crowds that knew them not,

Lamented by admiring foes,

Who would not share their glorious lot?

Who would not die the death they chose?

And, gallant Parker! thus enshrined

Thy life, thy fall, thy fame shall be;

And early valour, glowing, find

A model in thy memory.

But there are breasts that bleed with thee

In woe, that glory cannot quell;

And shuddering hear of victory,

Where one so dear, so dauntless, fell.

Where shall they turn to mourn thee less?

When cease to hear thy cherished name?

Time cannot teach forgetfulness,

While Grief's full heart is fed by Fame.

Alas! for them, though not for thee,

They cannot choose but weep the more;

Deep for the dead the grief must be,

Who ne'er gave cause to mourn before.

_October_ 7, 1814.

[First published, _Morning Chronicle_, October 7, 1814.]

JULIAN [A FRAGMENT].[314]

The Night came on the Waters--all was rest

On Earth--but Rage on Ocean's troubled Heart.

The Waves arose and rolled beneath the blast;

The Sailors gazed upon their shivered Mast.

In that dark Hour a long loud gathered cry

From out the billows pierced the sable sky,

And borne o'er breakers reached the craggy shore--

The Sea roars on--that Cry is heard no more.

There is no vestige, in the Dawning light,

Of those that shrieked thro' shadows of the Night.

The Bark--the Crew--the very Wreck is gone,

Marred--mutilated--traceless--all save one.

In him there still is Life, the Wave that dashed

On shore the plank to which his form was lashed,

Returned unheeding of its helpless Prey--

The lone survivor of that Yesterday--

The one of Many whom the withering Gale

Hath left unpunished to record their Tale.

But who shall hear it? on that barren Sand

None comes to stretch the hospitable hand.

That shore reveals no print of human foot,

Nor e'en the pawing of the wilder Brute;

And niggard vegetation will not smile,

All sunless on that solitary Isle.

The naked Stranger rose, and wrung his hair,

And that first moment passed in silent prayer.

Alas! the sound--he sunk into Despair--

He was on Earth--but what was Earth to him,

Houseless and homeless--bare both breast and limb?

Cut off from all but Memory he curst

His fate--his folly--but himself the worst.

What was his hope? he looked upon the Wave--

Despite--of all--it still may be his Grave!

He rose and with a feeble effort shaped

His course unto the billows--late escaped:

But weakness conquered--swam his dizzy glance,

And down to Earth he sunk in silent trance.

How long his senses bore its chilling chain,

He knew not--but, recalled to Life again,

A stranger stood beside his shivering form--

And what was he? had he too scaped the storm?

He raised young Julian. "Is thy Cup so full

Of bitterness--thy Hope--thy heart so dull

That thou shouldst from Thee dash the Draught of Life,

So late escaped the elemental strife!

Rise--tho' these shores few aids to Life supply,

Look upon me, and know thou shalt not die.

Thou gazest in mute wonder--more may be

Thy marvel when thou knowest mine and me.

But come--The bark that bears us hence shall find

Her Haven, soon, despite the warning Wind."

He raised young Julian from the sand, and such

Strange power of healing dwelt within the touch,

That his weak limbs grew light with freshened Power,

As he had slept not fainted in that hour,

And woke from Slumber--as the Birds awake,

Recalled at morning from the branchéd brake,

When the day's promise heralds early Spring,

And Heaven unfolded woos their soaring wing:

So Julian felt, and gazed upon his Guide,

With honest Wonder what might next betide.

Dec. 12, 1814.

TO BELSHAZZAR.

1.[ne]

Belshazzar! from the banquet turn,

Nor in thy sensual fulness fall;

Behold! while yet before thee burn

The graven words, the glowing wall,[nf]

Many a despot men miscall

Crowned and anointed from on high;

But thou, the weakest, worst of all--

Is it not written, thou must die?[ng]

Go! dash the roses from thy brow--

Grey hairs but poorly wreathe with them;

Youth's garlands misbecome thee now,

More than thy very diadem,[nh]

Where thou hast tarnished every gem:--

Then throw the worthless bauble by,

Which, worn by thee, ev'n slaves contemn;

And learn like better men to die!

Oh! early in the balance weighed,

And ever light of word and worth,

Whose soul expired ere youth decayed,

And left thee but a mass of earth.

To see thee moves the scorner's mirth:

But tears in Hope's averted eye

Lament that even thou hadst birth--

Unfit to govern, live, or die.

_February_ 12, 1815.

[First published, 1831.]

STANZAS FOR MUSIC.[315]

"O Lachrymarum fons, tenero sacros

Ducentium ortus ex animo: quater

Felix! in imo qui scatentem

Pectore te, pia Nympha, sensit."

Gray's _Poemata_.

[Motto to "The Tear," _Poetical Works_, 1898, i. 49.]

There's not a joy the world can give like that it takes away,

When the glow of early thought declines in Feeling's dull decay;

'Tis not on Youth's smooth cheek the blush alone, which fades

so fast,[ni]

But the tender bloom of heart is gone, ere Youth itself be past.

Then the few whose spirits float above the wreck of happiness

Are driven o'er the shoals of guilt or ocean of excess:

The magnet of their course is gone, or only points in vain

The shore to which their shivered sail shall never stretch again.

Then the mortal coldness of the soul like Death itself comes down;

It cannot feel for others' woes, it dare not dream its own;

That heavy chill has frozen o'er the fountain of our tears,

And though the eye may sparkle still, 'tis where the ice appears.

Though wit may flash from fluent lips, and mirth distract the breast,

Through midnight hours that yield no more their former hope of rest;

'Tis but as ivy-leaves around the ruined turret wreath[nj][316]

All green and wildly fresh without, but worn and grey beneath.

Oh, could I feel as I have felt,--or be what I have been,

Or weep as I could once have wept, o'er many a vanished scene;

As springs in deserts found seem sweet, all brackish though they be,

So, midst the withered waste of life, those tears would flow to me.

_March, 1815._

[First published, _Poems, 1816._]

ON THE DEATH OF THE DUKE OF DORSET.[317]

I heard thy fate without a tear,

Thy loss with scarce a sigh;

And yet thou wast surpassing dear,

Too loved of all to die.

I know not what hath seared my eye--

Its tears refuse to start;

But every drop, it bids me dry,

Falls dreary on my heart.

Yes, dull and heavy, one by one,

They sink and turn to care,

As caverned waters wear the stone,

Yet dropping harden there:

They cannot petrify more fast,

Than feelings sunk remain,

Which coldly fixed regard the past,

But never melt again.

[1815.]

STANZAS FOR MUSIC.

Bright be the place of thy soul!

No lovelier spirit than thine

E'er burst from its mortal control,

In the orbs of the blessed to shine.

On earth thou wert all but divine,

As thy soul shall immortally be;[nk]

And our sorrow may cease to repine

When we know that thy God is with thee.

Light be the turf of thy tomb![nl][318]

May its verdure like emeralds be![nm]

There should not be the shadow of gloom

In aught that reminds us of thee.

Young flowers and an evergreen tree[nn]

May spring from the spot of thy rest:

But nor cypress nor yew let us see;

For why should we mourn for the blest?

[First published, _Examiner_, June 4, 1815.]

NAPOLEON'S FAREWELL.[319]

[FROM THE FRENCH.]

Farewell to the Land, where the gloom of my Glory

Arose and o'ershadowed the earth with her name--

She abandons me now--but the page of her story,

The brightest or blackest, is filled with my fame.[no]

I have warred with a World which vanquished me only

When the meteor of conquest allured me too far;

I have coped with the nations which dread me thus lonely,

The last single Captive to millions in war.

Farewell to thee, France! when thy diadem crowned me,

I made thee the gem and the wonder of earth,--

But thy weakness decrees I should leave as I found thee,[np]

Decayed in thy glory, and sunk in thy worth.

Oh! for the veteran hearts that were wasted

In strife with the storm, when their battles were won--

Then the Eagle, whose gaze in that moment was blasted

Had still soared with eyes fixed on Victory's sun![nq]

Farewell to thee, France!--but when Liberty rallies

Once more in thy regions, remember me then,--

The Violet still grows in the depth of thy valleys;

Though withered, thy tear will unfold it again--

Yet, yet, I may baffle the hosts that surround us,

And yet may thy heart leap awake to my voice--

There are links which must break in the chain that has bound us,

_Then_ turn thee and call on the Chief of thy choice!

_July_ 25, 1815. London.

[First published, _Examiner_, July 30, 1815.]

FROM THE FRENCH.[320]

Must thou go, my glorious Chief,

Severed from thy faithful few?

Who can tell thy warrior's grief,

Maddening o'er that long adieu?[nr]

Woman's love, and Friendship's zeal,

Dear as both have been to me--[ns]

What are they to all I feel,

With a soldier's faith for thee?[nt]

II.

Idol of the soldier's soul!

First in fight, but mightiest now;[nu]

Many could a world control;

Thee alone no doom can bow.

By thy side for years I dared

Death; and envied those who fell,

When their dying shout was heard,

Blessing him they served so well.[321]

III.

Would that I were cold with those,

Since this hour I live to see;

When the doubts of coward foes[nv]

Scarce dare trust a man with thee,

Dreading each should set thee free!

Oh! although in dungeons pent,

All their chains were light to me,

Gazing on thy soul unbent.

IV.

Would the sycophants of him

Now so deaf to duty's prayer,[nw]

Were his borrowed glories dim,

In his native darkness share?

Were that world this hour his own,

All thou calmly dost resign,

Could he purchase with that throne

Hearts like those which still are thine?[nx]

My Chief, my King, my Friend, adieu!

Never did I droop before;

Never to my Sovereign sue,

As his foes I now implore:

All I ask is to divide

Every peril he must brave;

Sharing by the hero's side

His fall--his exile--and his grave.[ny]

[First published, _Poems_, 1816,]

ODE FROM THE FRENCH.[322]

We do not curse thee, Waterloo!

Though Freedom's blood thy plain bedew;

There 'twas shed, but is not sunk--

Rising from each gory trunk,

Like the water-spout from ocean,

With a strong and growing motion--

It soars, and mingles in the air,

With that of lost La Bédoyère--[323]

With that of him whose honoured grave

Contains the "bravest of the brave."

A crimson cloud it spreads and glows,

But shall return to whence it rose;

When 'tis full 'twill burst asunder--

Never yet was heard such thunder

As then shall shake the world with wonder--

Never yet was seen such lightning

As o'er heaven shall then be bright'ning!

Like the Wormwood Star foretold

By the sainted Seer of old,

Show'ring down a fiery flood,

Turning rivers into blood.[324]

II.

The Chief has fallen, but not by you,

Vanquishers of Waterloo!

When the soldier citizen

Swayed not o'er his fellow-men--

Save in deeds that led them on

Where Glory smiled on Freedom's son--

Who, of all the despots banded,

With that youthful chief competed?

Who could boast o'er France defeated,

Till lone Tyranny commanded?

Till, goaded by Ambition's sting,

The Hero sunk into the King?

Then he fell:--so perish all,

Who would men by man enthral!

III.

And thou, too, of the snow-white plume!

Whose realm refused thee ev'n a tomb;[325]

Better hadst thou still been leading

France o'er hosts of hirelings bleeding,

Than sold thyself to death and shame

For a meanly royal name;

Such as he of Naples wears,

Who thy blood-bought title bears.

Little didst thou deem, when dashing

On thy war-horse through the ranks.

Like a stream which burst its banks,

While helmets cleft, and sabres clashing,

Shone and shivered fast around thee--

Of the fate at last which found thee:

Was that haughty plume laid low

By a slave's dishonest blow?

Once--as the Moon sways o'er the tide,

It rolled in air, the warrior's guide;

Through the smoke-created night

Of the black and sulphurous fight,

The soldier raised his seeking eye

To catch that crest's ascendancy,--

And, as it onward rolling rose,

So moved his heart upon our foes.

There, where death's brief pang was quickest,

And the battle's wreck lay thickest,

Strewed beneath the advancing banner

Of the eagle's burning crest--

(There with thunder-clouds to fan her,

_Who_ could then her wing arrest--

Victory beaming from her breast?)

While the broken line enlarging

Fell, or fled along the plain;

There be sure was Murat charging!

There he ne'er shall charge again!

IV.

O'er glories gone the invaders march,

Weeps Triumph o'er each levelled arch--

But let Freedom rejoice,

With her heart in her voice;

But, her hand on her sword,

Doubly shall she be adored;

France hath twice too well been taught

The "moral lesson"[326] dearly bought--

Her safety sits not on a throne,

With Capet or Napoleon!

But in equal rights and laws,

Hearts and hands in one great cause--

Freedom, such as God hath given

Unto all beneath his heaven,

With their breath, and from their birth,

Though guilt would sweep it from the earth;

With a fierce and lavish hand

Scattering nations' wealth like sand;

Pouring nations' blood like water,

In imperial seas of slaughter!

But the heart and the mind,

And the voice of mankind,

Shall arise in communion--

And who shall resist that proud union?

The time is past when swords subdued--

Man may die--the soul's renewed:

Even in this low world of care

Freedom ne'er shall want an heir;

Millions breathe but to inherit

Her for ever bounding spirit--

When once more her hosts assemble,

Tyrants shall believe and tremble--

Smile they at this idle threat?

Crimson tears will follow yet.[327]

[First published, _Morning Chronicle_, March 15, 1816.]

STANZAS FOR MUSIC.

There be none of Beauty's daughters

With a magic like thee;

And like music on the waters

Is thy sweet voice to me:

When, as if its sound were causing

The charméd Ocean's pausing,

The waves lie still and gleaming,

And the lulled winds seem dreaming:

And the midnight Moon is weaving

Her bright chain o'er the deep;

Whose breast is gently heaving,

As an infant's asleep:

So the spirit bows before thee,

To listen and adore thee;

With a full but soft emotion,

Like the swell of Summer's ocean.

_March_ 28 [1816].

[First published, _Poems_, 1816.]

ON THE STAR OF "THE LEGION OF HONOUR."[328]

[FROM THE FRENCH.]

Star of the brave!--whose beam hath shed

Such glory o'er the quick and dead--

Thou radiant and adored deceit!

Which millions rushed in arms to greet,--

Wild meteor of immortal birth!

Why rise in Heaven to set on Earth?

Souls of slain heroes formed thy rays;

Eternity flashed through thy blaze;

The music of thy martial sphere

Was fame on high and honour here;

And thy light broke on human eyes,

Like a Volcano of the skies.

Like lava rolled thy stream of blood,

And swept down empires with its flood;

Earth rocked beneath thee to her base,

As thou didst lighten through all space;

And the shorn Sun grew dim in air,

And set while thou wert dwelling there.

Before thee rose, and with thee grew,

A rainbow of the loveliest hue

Of three bright colours,[329] each divine,

And fit for that celestial sign;

For Freedom's hand had blended them,

Like tints in an immortal gem.

One tint was of the sunbeam's dyes;

One, the blue depth of Seraph's eyes;

One, the pure Spirit's veil of white

Had robed in radiance of its light:

The three so mingled did beseem

The texture of a heavenly dream.

Star of the brave! thy ray is pale,

And darkness must again prevail!

But, oh thou Rainbow of the free!

Our tears and blood must flow for thee.

When thy bright promise fades away,

Our life is but a load of clay.

And Freedom hallows with her tread

The silent cities of the dead;

For beautiful in death are they

Who proudly fall in her array;

And soon, oh, Goddess! may we be

For evermore with them or thee!

[First published, _Examiner_, April 7, 1816.]

STANZAS FOR MUSIC.

They say that Hope is happiness;

But genuine Love must prize the past,

And Memory wakes the thoughts that bless:

They rose the first--they set the last;

II.

And all that Memory loves the most

Was once our only Hope to be,

And all that Hope adored and lost

Hath melted into Memory.

III.

Alas! it is delusion all:

The future cheats us from afar,

Nor can we be what we recall,

Nor dare we think on what we are.

[First published, _Fugitive Pieces_, 1829.]

FOOTNOTES:

[305] {409} [Compare _The Corsair_, Canto I. stanza xv. lines 480-490.]

[mr] {410}

_Never may I behold_

_Moment like this_.--[MS.]

[ms]

_The damp of the morning_

_Clung chill on my brow_.--[MS. erased.]

[mt] _Thy vow hath been broken_.--[MS.]

[mu]

----_lies hidden_

_Our secret of sorrow_--

_And deep in my soul_--

_But deed more forbidden_,

_Our secret lies hidden_,

_But never forgot_.--[Erasures, stanza 3, MS.]

[mv] {411}

_If one_ should _meet thee_

_How should we greet thee?_

_In silence and tears_.--[MS.]

[306] [From an autograph MS. in the possession of Mr. Murray, now for

the first time printed.

The water-mark of the paper on which a much-tortured rough copy of these

lines has been scrawled, is 1809, but, with this exception, there is no

hint as to the date of composition. An entry in the _Diary_ for November

30, 1813, in which Annabella (Miss Milbanke) is described "as an

heiress, a girl of twenty, a peeress that is to be," etc., and a letter

(Byron to Miss Milbanke) dated November 29, 1813 (see _Letters_, 1898,

ii. 357, and 1899, iii. 407), in which there is more than one allusion

to her would-be suitors, "your thousand and one pretendants," etc.,

suggest the idea that the lines were addressed to his future wife, when

he first made her acquaintance in 1812 or 1813.]

[307] {413} ["Thou hast asked me for a song, and I enclose you an

experiment, which has cost me something more than trouble, and is,

therefore, less likely to be worth your taking any in your proposed

setting. Now, if it be so, throw it into the fire without

_phrase_."--Letter to Moore, May 4, 1814, _Letters_, 1899, iii. 80.]

[mw] _I speak not--I breathe not--I write not that name_.--[MS. erased.]

[mx] {414}

_We have loved--and oh, still, my adored one we love!_

_Oh the moment is past, when that Passion might cease._--

[MS. erased.]

[my] _The thought may be madness--the wish may be--guilt_.--[MS.

erased.]

[mz]

{_But I cannot repent what we ne'er can recall._

{_But the heart which is thine would disdain to recall_.--

[MS. erased.]

[na] ----_though I feel that thou mayst_.--[MS. L. erased.]

[nb]

_This soul in its bitterest moments shall be_,

_And our days run as swift--and our moments more sweet_,

_With thee at my side, than the world at my feet_.--[MS.]

[nc] {415}

_And thine is that love which I will never forego_

_Though the price which I pay be Eternity's woe_.--[MS. erased]

[nd] _One tear of thy sorrow, one smile_----.--[MS. erased]

[308] [The "Caledonian Meeting," at which these lines were, or were

intended to be, recited (see _Life_, p. 254), was a meeting of

subscribers to the Highland Society, held annually in London, in support

of the [Royal] _Caledonian Asylum_ "for educating and supporting

children of soldiers, sailors, and marines, natives of Scotland." "To

soothe," says the compiler of the _Report_ for 1814, p. 4, "by the

assurance that their offspring will be reared in virtue and comfort, the

minds of those brave men, through whose exposure to hardship and danger

the independence of the Empire has been preserved, is no less an act of

sound policy than of gratitude."]

[309] {416} [As an instance of Scottish gallantry in the Peninsular War

it is sufficient to cite the following list of "casualties" at the

battle of Vittoria, June 21, 1813: "The battalion [the seventy-first

Highland Light Infantry] suffered very severely, having had 1 field

officer, 1 captain, 2 lieutenants, 6 sergeants, 1 bugler, and 78 rank

and file killed; 1 field officer, 3 captains, 7 lieutenants, 13

sergeants, 2 buglers, and 255 rank and file were wounded."--_Historical

Record of the 71st Highland Light Infantry_, by Lieut. Henry J. T.

Hildyard, 1876, p. 91.]

[310] [Compare _Temora_, bk. vii., "The king took his deathful spear,

and struck the deeply-sounding shield.... Ghosts fled on every side, and

rolled their gathered forms on the wind.--Thrice from the winding vale

arose the voices of death."--_Works of Ossian_, 1765, ii. 160.]

[311] {417} [The last six lines are printed from the MS.]

[312] [Sir P. Parker fell in August, 1814, in his twenty-ninth year,

whilst leading a party from his ship, the _Menelaus_, at the storming of

the American camp near Baltimore. He was Byron's first cousin (his

father, Christopher Parker (1761-1804), married Charlotte Augusta,

daughter of Admiral the Hon. John Byron); but they had never met since

boyhood. (See letter to Moore, _Letters_, 1899, iii. 150; see too

_Letters_, i. 6, note 1.) The stanzas were included in _Hebrew

Melodies_, 1815, and in the Ninth Edition of _Childe Harold_, 1818.]

[313] [Compare Tasso's sonnet--"Questa Tomba non è, ehe non è morto,"

etc. _Rime Eroiche_, Parte Seconda, No. 38, _Opere di Torquato Tasso_,

Venice, 1736, vi. 169.]

[314] {419} [From an autograph MS. in the possession of Mr. Murray, now

for the first time printed.]

[ne] {421}

_The red light glows, the wassail flows_,

_Around the royal hall;_

_And who, on earth, dare mar the mirth_

_Of that high festival?_

_The prophet dares--before thee glows_--

_Belshazzar rise, nor dare despise_

_The writing on the wall!_

_Thy vice might raise th' avenging steel_,

_Thy meanness shield thee from the blow_--

_And they who loathe thee proudly feel_.--[MS.]

[nf] {422}

_The words of God along the wall_.--[MS. erased.]

_The word of God--the graven wall_.--[MS.]

[ng] _Behold it written_----.--[MS.]

[nh] ----_thy sullied diadem_.--[MS.]

[315] {423} [Byron gave these verses to Moore for Mr. Power of the

Strand, who published them, with music by Sir John Stevenson. "I feel

merry enough," he wrote, March 2, "to send you a sad song." And again,

March 8, 1815, "An event--the death of poor Dorset--and the recollection

of what I once felt, and ought to have felt now, but could not--set me

pondering, and finally into the train of thought which you have in your

hands." A year later, in another letter to Moore, he says, "I pique

myself on these lines as being the _truest_, though the most melancholy,

I ever wrote." (March 8, 1816.)--_Letters_, 1899, iii. 181, 183, 274.]

[ni] _'Tis not the blush alone that fades from Beauty's cheek_.--[MS.]

[nj] {424} _As ivy o'er the mouldering wall that heavily hath

crept_.--[MS.]

[316] [Compare--

"And oft we see gay ivy's wreath

The tree with brilliant bloom o'erspread,

When, part its leaves and gaze beneath,

We find the hidden tree is dead."

"To Anna," _The Warrior's Return, etc._, by Mrs. Opie, 1808, p. 144.]

[317] {425} [From an autograph MS. in the possession of Mr. Murray, now

for the first time printed. The MS. is headed, in pencil, "Lines written

on the Death of the Duke of Dorset, a College Friend of Lord Byron's,

who was killed by a fall from his horse while hunting." It is endorsed,

"Bought of Markham Thorpe, August 29, 1844." (For Duke of Dorset, see

_Poetical Works, 1898, i. 194, note 2_; and _Letters, 1899, in. 181,

note 1._)]

[nk] {426} ----_shall eternally be_.--[MS. erased.]

[nl] _Green be the turf_----.--[MS.]

[318] [Compare "O lay me, ye that see the light, near some rock of my

hills: let the thick hazels be around, let the rustling oaks be near.

Green be the place of my rest."--"The War of Inis-Thona," _Works of

Ossin_, 1765, i. 156.]

[nm] _May its verdure be sweetest to see_.--[MS.]

[nn] {427}

_Young flowers and a far-spreading tree_

_May wave on the spot of thy rest;_

_But nor cypress nor yew let it be_.--[MS.]

[319] ["We need scarcely remind our readers that there are points in

these spirited lines, with which our opinions do not accord; and,

indeed, the author himself has told us that he rather adapted them to

what he considered the speaker's feelings than his own."--_Examiner_,

July 30, 1815.]

[no] _The brightest and blackest are due to my fame_.--[MS.]

[np] _But thy destiny wills_----.--[MS.]

[nq] {428}

_Oh for the thousands of Those who have perished_

_By elements blasted, unvanquished by man_--

_Then the hope which till now I have fearlessly cherished_,

_Had waved o'er thine eagles in Victory's van_.--[MS.]

[320] ["All wept, but particularly Savary, and a Polish officer who had

been exalted from the ranks by Buonaparte. He clung to his master's

knees; wrote a letter to Lord Keith, entreating permission to accompany

him, even in the most menial capacity, which could not be

admitted."--_Private Letter from Brussels._]

[nr] {429} ----_that mute adieu_.--[MS.]

[ns] _Dear as they have seemed to me_.--[MS.]

[nt] _In the faith I pledged to thee_.--[MS.]

[nu]

_Glory lightened from thy soul_.

_Never did I grieve till now_.--[MS.]

[321] ["At Waterloo one man was seen, whose left arm was shattered by a

cannon-ball, to wrench it off with the other, and, throwing it up in the

air, exclaimed to his comrades, 'Vive l'Empereur, jusqu'à la mort!'

There were many other instances of the like: this you may, however,

depend on as true."--_Private Letter from Brussels._]

[nv] _When the hearts of coward foes_.--[MS.]

[nw] {430} ----_to Friendship's prayer_.--[MS.]

[nx]

_'Twould not gather round his throne_

_Half the hearts that still are thine_.--[MS.]

[ny]

_Let me but partake his doom_,

_Be it exile or the grave_.

or,

_All I ask is to abide_

_All the perils he must brave_,

_All my hope was to divide_.--[MS.]

or,

_Let me still partake his gloom_,

_Late his soldier, now his slave_--

_Grant me but to share the gloom_

_Of his exile or his grave_.--[MS.]

[322] {431} [These lines "are said to have been done into English verse

by R. S. ---- P. L. P. R., Master of the Royal Spanish Inqn., etc.,

etc."--_Morning Chronicle_, March 15, 1816. "The French have their

_Poems_ and _Odes_ on the famous Battle of Waterloo, as well as

ourselves. Nay, they seem to glory in the battle as the source of great

events to come. We have received the following poetical version of a

poem, the original of which is circulating in Paris, and which is

ascribed (we know not with what justice) to the Muse of M. de

Chateaubriand. If so, it may be inferred that in the poet's eye a new

change is at hand, and he wishes to prove his secret indulgence of old

principles by reference to this effusion."--Note, _ibid._]

[323] [Charles Angélique François Huchet, Comte de La Bédoyère, born

1786, was in the retreat from Moscow, and in 1813 distinguished himself

at the battles of Lutzen and Bautzen. On the return of Napoleon from

Elba he was the first to bring him a regiment. He was promoted, and

raised to the peerage, but being found in Paris after its occupation by

the Allied army, he was tried by a court-martial, and suffered death

August 15, 1815.]

[324] {432} See _Rev._ Chap. viii. V. 7, etc., "The first angel sounded,

and there followed hail and fire mingled with blood," etc. V. 8, "And

the second angel sounded, and as it were a great mountain burning with

fire was cast into the sea: and the third part of the sea became blood,"

etc. V. 10, "And the third angel sounded, and there fell a great star

from heaven, burning as it were a lamp, and it fell upon the third part

of the rivers, and upon the fountains of waters." V. 11, "And the name

of the star is called _Wormwood_: and the third part of the waters

became _wormwood_; and many men died of the waters, because they were

made bitter."

[325] Murat's remains are said to have been torn from the grave and

burnt. ["Poor dear Murat, what an end ...! His white plume used to be a

rallying point in battle, like Henry the Fourth's. He refused a

confessor and a bandage; so would neither suffer his soul or body to be

bandaged."--Letter to Moore, November 4. 1815, _Letters_, 1899, iii.

245. See, too, for Joachim Murat (born 1771), proclaimed King of Naples

and the Two Sicilies, August, 1808, _ibid_., note 1.]

[326] {434} ["Write, Britain, write the moral lesson down." Scott's

_Field of Waterloo_, Conclusion, stanza vi. line 3.]

[327] {435} ["Talking of politics, as Caleb Quotem says, pray look at

the conclusion of my 'Ode on Waterloo,' written in the year 1815, and

comparing it with the Duke de Berri's catastrophe in 1820, tell me if I

have not as good a right to the character of '_Vates_,' in both senses

of the word, as Fitzgerald and Coleridge?--

'Crimson tears will follow yet;'

and have not they?"--Letter to Murray, April 24, 1820.

In the Preface to _The Tyrant's Downfall, etc_., 1814, W. L. Fitzgerald

(see _English Bards, etc._, line 1, _Poetical Works_, 1898, i. 297, note

3) "begs leave to refer his reader to the dates of his Napoleonics ...

to prove his legitimate title to the prophetical meaning of _Vates_"

(_Cent. Mag._, July, 1814, vol. lxxxiv. p. 58). Coleridge claimed to

have foretold the restoration of the Bourbons (see _Biographia

Literaria_, cap. x.).]

[328] {436} ["The Friend who favoured us with the following lines, the

poetical spirit of which wants no trumpet of ours, is aware that they

imply more than an impartial observer of the late period might feel, and

are written rather as by Frenchman than Englishman;--but certainly,

neither he nor any lover of liberty can help feeling and regretting that

in the latter time, at any rate, the symbol he speaks of was once more

comparatively identified with the cause of Freedom."--_Examiner_. April

7, 1816.]

[329] {437} The tricolor.

THE SIEGE OF CORINTH

"Guns, Trumpets, Blunderbusses, Drums and Thunder."

Pope, _Sat._ i. 26.[330]

INTRODUCTION TO _THE SIEGE OF CORINTH_.

In a note to the "Advertisement" to the _Siege of Corinth_ (_vide post_,

p. 447), Byron puts it on record that during the years 1809-10 he had

crossed the Isthmus of Corinth eight times, and in a letter to his

mother, dated Patras, July 30, 1810, he alludes to a recent visit to the

town of Corinth, in company with his friend Lord Sligo. (See, too, his

letter to Coleridge, dated October 27, 1815, _Letters_, 1899, iii. 228.)

It is probable that he revisited Corinth more than once in the autumn of

1810; and we may infer that, just as the place and its surroundings--the

temple with its "two or three columns" (line 497), and the view across

the bay from Acro-Corinth--are sketched from memory, so the story of the

siege which took place in 1715 is based upon tales and legends which

were preserved and repeated by the grandchildren of the besieged, and

were taken down from their lips. There is point and meaning in the

apparently insignificant line (stanza xxiv. line 765), "We have heard

the hearers say" (see _variant_ i. p. 483), which is slipped into the

description of the final catastrophe. It bears witness to the fact that

the _Siege of Corinth_ is not a poetical expansion of a chapter in

history, but a heightened reminiscence of local tradition.

History has, indeed, very little to say on the subject. The anonymous

_Compleat History of the Turks_ (London, 1719), which Byron quotes as an

authority, is meagre and inaccurate. Hammer-Purgstall (_Histoire de

l'Empire Ottoman_, 1839, xiii. 269), who gives as his authorities

Girolamo Ferrari and Raschid, dismisses the siege in a few lines; and it

was not till the publication of Finlay's _History of Greece_ (vol. v.,

a.d. 1453-1821), in 1856, that the facts were known or reported.

Finlay's newly discovered authority was a then unpublished MS. of a

journal kept by Benjamin Brue, a connection of Voltaire's, who

accompanied the Grand Vizier, Ali Cumurgi, as his interpreter, on the

expedition into the Morea. According to Brue (_Journal de la Campagne

... en_ 1715 ... Paris, 1870, p. 18), the siege began on June 28, 1715.

A peremptory demand on the part of the Grand Vizier to surrender at

discretion was answered by the Venetian proveditor-general, Giacomo

Minetto, with calm but assured defiance ("Your menaces are useless, for

we are prepared to resist all your attacks, and, with confidence in the

assistance of God, we will preserve this fortress to the most serene

Republic. God is with us"). Nevertheless, the Turks made good their

threat, and on the 2nd of July the fortress capitulated. On the

following day at noon, whilst a party of Janissaries, contrary to order,

were looting and pillaging in all directions, the fortress was seen to

be enveloped in smoke. How or why the explosion happened was never

discovered, but the result was that some of the pillaging Janissaries

perished, and that others, to avenge their death, which they attributed

to Venetian treachery, put the garrison to the sword. It was believed at

the time that Minetto was among the slain; but, as Brue afterwards

discovered, he was secretly conveyed to Smyrna, and ultimately ransomed

by the Dutch Consul.

The late Professor Kölbing (_Siege of Corinth_, 1893, p. xxvii.), in

commenting on the sources of the poem, suggests, under reserve, that

Byron may have derived the incident of Minetto's self-immolation from an

historic source--the siege of Zsigetvar, in 1566, when a multitude of

Turks perished from the explosion of a powder magazine which had been

fired at the cost of his own life by the Hungarian commander Zrini.

It is, at least, equally probable that local patriotism was, in the

first instance, responsible for the poetic colouring, and that Byron

supplemented the meagre and uninteresting historic details which were at

his disposal by "intimate knowledge" of the Corinthian version of the

siege. (See _Memoirs of the Life and Writings of the Right Hon. Lord

Byron_, London, 1822, p. 222; and _Memoirs of the Life and Writings of

Lord Byron_, by George Clinton, London, 1825, p. 284.)

It has been generally held that the _Siege of Corinth_ was written in

the second half of 1815 (Kölbing's _Siege of Corinth_, p. vii.). "It

appears," says John Wright (_Works_, 1832, x. 100), "by the original

MS., to have been begun in July, 1815;" and Moore (_Life_, p. 307), who

probably relied on the same authority, speaks of "both the _Siege of

Corinth_ and _Parisina_ having been produced but a short time before the

Separation" (i.e. spring, 1816). Some words which Medwin

(_Conversations_, 1824, p. 55) puts into Byron's mouth point to the same

conclusion. Byron's own testimony, which is completely borne out by the

MS. itself (dated J^y [i.e. January, not July] 31, 1815), is in direct

conflict with these statements. In a note to stanza xix. lines 521-532

(_vide post_, pp. 471-473) he affirms that it "was not till after these

lines were written" that he heard "that wild and singularly original and

beautiful poem [_Christabel_] recited;" and in a letter to S. T.

Coleridge, dated October 27, 1815 (_Letters_, 1899, iii. 228), he is

careful to explain that "the enclosed extract from an unpublished poem

(i.e. stanza xix. lines 521-532) ... was written before (not seeing your

_Christabelle_ [sic], for that you know I never did till this day), but

before I heard Mr. S[cott] repeat it, which he did in June last, and

this thing was begun in January, and more than half written before the

Summer." The question of plagiarism will be discussed in an addendum to

Byron's note on the lines in question; but, subject to the correction

that it was, probably, at the end of May (see Lockhart's _Memoir of the

Life of Sir W. Scott_, 1871, pp. 311-313), not in June, that Scott

recited _Christabel_ for Byron's benefit, the date of the composition of

the poem must be determined by the evidence of the author himself.

The copy of the MS. of the _Siege of Corinth_ was sent to Murray at the

beginning (probably on the 2nd, the date of the copy) of November, and

was placed in Gifford's hands about the same time (see letter to Murray,

November 4, 1815, _Letters_, 1899, iii. 245; and Murray's undated letter

on Gifford's "great delight" in the poem, and his "three critical

remarks," _Memoir of John Murray_, 1891, i. 356). As with _Lara_, Byron

began by insisting that the _Siege_ should not be published separately,

but slipped into a fourth volume of the collected works, and once again

(possibly when he had at last made up his mind to accept a thousand

guineas for his own requirements, and not for other

beneficiaries--Godwin, Coleridge, or Maturin) yielded to his publisher's

wishes and representations. At any rate, the _Siege of Corinth_ and

_Parisina_, which, says Moore, "during the month of January and part of

February were in the hands of the printers" (_Life_, p. 300), were

published in a single volume on February 7, 1816. The greater reviews

were silent, but notices appeared in numerous periodicals; e.g. the

_Monthly Review_, February, 1816, vol. lxxix. p. 196; the _Eclectic

Review_, March, 1816, N.S. vol. v. p. 269; the _European_, May, 1816,

vol. lxxix. p. 427; the _Literary Panorama_, June, 1816, N.S. vol. iv.

p. 418; etc. Many of these reviews took occasion to pick out and hold up

to ridicule the illogical sentences, the grammatical solecisms, and

general imperfections of _technique_ which marked and disfigured the

_Siege of Corinth_. A passage in a letter which John Murray wrote to his

brother-publisher, William Blackwood (_Annals of a Publishing House_,

1897, i. 53), refers to these cavillings, and suggests both an apology

and a retaliation--

"Many who by 'numbers judge a poet's song' are so stupid as not to

see the powerful effect of the poems, which is the great object of

poetry, because they can pick out fifty careless or even bad lines.

The words may be carelessly put together; but this is secondary.

Many can write polished lines who will never reach the name of

poet. You see it is all poetically conceived in Lord B.'s mind."

In such wise did Murray bear testimony to Byron's "splendid and

imperishable excellence, which covers all his offences and outweighs all

his defects--the excellence of sincerity and strength."

JOHN HOBHOUSE, ESQ.,

this poem is inscribed,

by his

FRIEND.

_January 22nd_, 1816.

"The grand army of the Turks (in 1715), under the Prime Vizier, to open

to themselves a way into the heart of the Morea, and to form the siege

of Napoli di Romania, the most considerable place in all that

country,[331] thought it best in the first place to attack Corinth, upon

which they made several storms. The garrison being weakened, and the

governor seeing it was impossible to hold out such a place against so

mighty a force, thought it fit to beat a parley: but while they were

treating about the articles, one of the magazines in the Turkish camp,

wherein they had six hundred barrels of powder, blew up by accident,

whereby six or seven hundred men were killed; which so enraged the

infidels, that they would not grant any capitulation, but stormed the

place with so much fury, that they took it, and put most of the

garrison, with Signior Minotti, the governor, to the sword. The rest,

with Signior or Antonio Bembo, Proveditor Extraordinary, were made

prisoners of war."--_A Compleat History of the Turks_ [London, 1719],

iii. 151.

NOTE ON THE MS. OF _THE SIEGE OF CORINTH_.

The original MS. of the _Siege of Corinth_ (now in the possession of

Lord Glenesk) consists of sixteen folio and nine quarto sheets, and

numbers fifty pages. Sheets 1-4 are folios, sheets 5-10 are quartos,

sheets 11-22 are folios, and sheets 23-25 are quartos.

To judge from the occasional and disconnected pagination, this MS.

consists of portions of two or more fair copies of a number of detached

scraps written at different times, together with two or three of the

original scraps which had not been transcribed.

The water-mark of the folios is, with one exception (No. 8, 1815), 1813;

and of the quartos, with one exception (No. 8, 1814), 1812.

Lord Glenesk's MS. is dated January 31, 1815. Lady Byron's transcript,

from which the _Siege of Corinth_ was printed, and which is in Mr.

Murray's possession, is dated November 2, 1815.

THE SIEGE OF CORINTH

In the year since Jesus died for men,[332]

Eighteen hundred years and ten,[333]

We were a gallant company,

Riding o'er land, and sailing o'er sea.

Oh! but we went merrily![334]

We forded the river, and clomb the high hill,

Never our steeds for a day stood still;

Whether we lay in the cave or the shed,

Our sleep fell soft on the hardest bed;

Whether we couched in our rough capote,[335] 10

On the rougher plank of our gliding boat,

Or stretched on the beach, or our saddles spread,

As a pillow beneath the resting head,

Fresh we woke upon the morrow:

All our thoughts and words had scope,

We had health, and we had hope,

Toil and travel, but no sorrow.

We were of all tongues and creeds;--

Some were those who counted beads,

Some of mosque, and some of church, 20

And some, or I mis-say, of neither;

Yet through the wide world might ye search,

Nor find a motlier crew nor blither.

But some are dead, and some are gone,

And some are scattered and alone,

And some are rebels on the hills[336]

That look along Epirus' valleys,

Where Freedom still at moments rallies,

And pays in blood Oppression's ills;

And some are in a far countree, 30

And some all restlessly at home;

But never more, oh! never, we

Shall meet to revel and to roam.

But those hardy days flew cheerily![nz]

And when they now fall drearily,

My thoughts, like swallows, skim the main,[337]

And bear my spirit back again

Over the earth, and through the air,

A wild bird and a wanderer.

'Tis this that ever wakes my strain, 40

And oft, too oft, implores again

The few who may endure my lay,[oa]

To follow me so far away.

Stranger, wilt thou follow now,

And sit with me on Acro-Corinth's brow?

I.[338]

Many a vanished year and age,[ob]

And Tempest's breath, and Battle's rage,

Have swept o'er Corinth; yet she stands,

A fortress formed to Freedom's hands.[oc]

The Whirlwind's wrath, the Earthquake's shock, 50

Have left untouched her hoary rock,

The keystone of a land, which still,

Though fall'n, looks proudly on that hill,

The landmark to the double tide

That purpling rolls on either side,

As if their waters chafed to meet,

Yet pause and crouch beneath her feet.

But could the blood before her shed

Since first Timoleon's brother bled,[339]

Or baffled Persia's despot fled, 60

Arise from out the Earth which drank

The stream of Slaughter as it sank,

That sanguine Ocean would o'erflow

Her isthmus idly spread below:

Or could the bones of all the slain,[od]

Who perished there, be piled again,

That rival pyramid would rise

More mountain-like, through those clear skies[oe]

Than yon tower-capp'd Acropolis,

Which seems the very clouds to kiss. 70

II.

On dun Cithæron's ridge appears

The gleam of twice ten thousand spears;

And downward to the Isthmian plain,

From shore to shore of either main,[of]

The tent is pitched, the Crescent shines

Along the Moslem's leaguering lines;

And the dusk Spahi's bands[340] advance

Beneath each bearded Pacha's glance;

And far and wide as eye can reach[og]

The turbaned cohorts throng the beach; 80

And there the Arab's camel kneels,

And there his steed the Tartar wheels;

The Turcoman hath left his herd,[341]

The sabre round his loins to gird;

And there the volleying thunders pour,

Till waves grow smoother to the roar.

The trench is dug, the cannon's breath

Wings the far hissing globe of death;[342]

Fast whirl the fragments from the wall,

Which crumbles with the ponderous ball; 90

And from that wall the foe replies,

O'er dusty plain and smoky skies,

With fares that answer fast and well

The summons of the Infidel.

III.

But near and nearest to the wall

Of those who wish and work its fall,

With deeper skill in War's black art,

Than Othman's sons, and high of heart

As any Chief that ever stood

Triumphant in the fields of blood; 100

From post to post, and deed to deed,

Fast spurring on his reeking steed,

Where sallying ranks the trench assail,

And make the foremost Moslem quail;

Or where the battery, guarded well,

Remains as yet impregnable,

Alighting cheerly to inspire

The soldier slackening in his fire;

The first and freshest of the host

Which Stamboul's Sultan there can boast, 110

To guide the follower o'er the field,

To point the tube, the lance to wield,

Or whirl around the bickering blade;--

Was Alp, the Adrian renegade![343]

IV.

From Venice--once a race of worth

His gentle Sires--he drew his birth;

But late an exile from her shore,[oh]

Against his countrymen he bore

The arms they taught to bear; and now

The turban girt his shaven brow. 120

Through many a change had Corinth passed

With Greece to Venice' rule at last;

And here, before her walls, with those

To Greece and Venice equal foes,

He stood a foe, with all the zeal

Which young and fiery converts feel,

Within whose heated bosom throngs

The memory of a thousand wrongs.

To him had Venice ceased to be

Her ancient civic boast--"the Free;" 130

And in the palace of St. Mark

Unnamed accusers in the dark

Within the "Lion's mouth" had placed

A charge against him uneffaced:[344]

He fled in time, and saved his life,

To waste his future years in strife,[oi]

That taught his land how great her loss

In him who triumphed o'er the Cross,

'Gainst which he reared the Crescent high,

And battled to avenge or die. 140

Coumourgi[345]--he whose closing scene

Adorned the triumph of Eugene,

When on Carlowitz' bloody plain,

The last and mightiest of the slain,

He sank, regretting not to die,

But cursed the Christian's victory--

Coumourgi--can his glory cease,

That latest conqueror of Greece,

Till Christian hands to Greece restore

The freedom Venice gave of yore? 150

A hundred years have rolled away

Since he refixed the Moslem's sway;

And now he led the Mussulman,

And gave the guidance of the van

To Alp, who well repaid the trust

By cities levelled with the dust;

And proved, by many a deed of death,

How firm his heart in novel faith.

VI.

The walls grew weak; and fast and hot

Against them poured the ceaseless shot, 160

With unabating fury sent

From battery to battlement;

And thunder-like the pealing din[oj]

Rose from each heated culverin;

And here and there some crackling dome

Was fired before the exploding bomb;

And as the fabric sank beneath

The shattering shell's volcanic breath,

In red and wreathing columns flashed

The flame, as loud the ruin crashed, 170

Or into countless meteors driven,

Its earth-stars melted into heaven;[ok]

Whose clouds that day grew doubly dun,

Impervious to the hidden sun,

With volumed smoke that slowly grew[ol]

To one wide sky of sulphurous hue.

VII.

But not for vengeance, long delayed,

Alone, did Alp, the renegade,

The Moslem warriors sternly teach

His skill to pierce the promised breach: 180

Within these walls a Maid was pent

His hope would win, without consent

Of that inexorable Sire,

Whose heart refused him in its ire,

When Alp, beneath his Christian name,

Her virgin hand aspired to claim.

In happier mood, and earlier time,

While unimpeached for traitorous crime,

Gayest in Gondola or Hall,

He glittered through the Carnival; 190

And tuned the softest serenade

That e'er on Adria's waters played

At midnight to Italian maid.[om]

VIII.

And many deemed her heart was won;

For sought by numbers, given to none,

Had young Francesca's hand remained

Still by the Church's bonds unchained:

And when the Adriatic bore

Lanciotto to the Paynim shore,

Her wonted smiles were seen to fail, 200

And pensive waxed the maid and pale;

More constant at confessional,

More rare at masque and festival;

Or seen at such, with downcast eyes,

Which conquered hearts they ceased to prize:

With listless look she seems to gaze:

With humbler care her form arrays;

Her voice less lively in the song;

Her step, though light, less fleet among

The pairs, on whom the Morning's glance 210

Breaks, yet unsated with the dance.

IX.

Sent by the State to guard the land,

(Which, wrested from the Moslem's hand,[346]

While Sobieski tamed his pride

By Buda's wall and Danube's side,[on]

The chiefs of Venice wrung away

From Patra to Euboea's bay,)

Minotti held in Corinth's towers[oo]

The Doge's delegated powers,

While yet the pitying eye of Peace 220

Smiled o'er her long forgotten Greece:

And ere that faithless truce was broke

Which freed her from the unchristian yoke,

With him his gentle daughter came;

Nor there, since Menelaus' dame

Forsook her lord and land, to prove

What woes await on lawless love,

Had fairer form adorned the shore

Than she, the matchless stranger, bore.[op]

The wall is rent, the ruins yawn; 230

And, with to-morrow's earliest dawn,

O'er the disjointed mass shall vault

The foremost of the fierce assault.

The bands are ranked--the chosen van

Of Tartar and of Mussulman,

The full of hope, misnamed "forlorn,"[347]

Who hold the thought of death in scorn,

And win their way with falchion's force,

Or pave the path with many a corse,

O'er which the following brave may rise, 240

Their stepping-stone--the last who dies![oq]

XI.

'Tis midnight: on the mountains brown[348]

The cold, round moon shines deeply down;

Blue roll the waters, blue the sky

Spreads like an ocean hung on high,

Bespangled with those isles of light,[or][349]

So wildly, spiritually bright;

Who ever gazed upon them shining

And turned to earth without repining,

Nor wished for wings to flee away, 250

And mix with their eternal ray?

The waves on either shore lay there

Calm, clear, and azure as the air;

And scarce their foam the pebbles shook,

But murmured meekly as the brook.

The winds were pillowed on the waves;

The banners drooped along their staves,

And, as they fell around them furling,

Above them shone the crescent curling;

And that deep silence was unbroke, 260

Save where the watch his signal spoke,

Save where the steed neighed oft and shrill,

And echo answered from the hill,

And the wide hum of that wild host

Rustled like leaves from coast to coast,

As rose the Muezzin's voice in air

In midnight call to wonted prayer;

It rose, that chanted mournful strain,

Like some lone Spirit's o'er the plain:

'Twas musical, but sadly sweet, 270

Such as when winds and harp-strings meet,

And take a long unmeasured tone,

To mortal minstrelsy unknown.[os]

It seemed to those within the wall

A cry prophetic of their fall:

It struck even the besieger's ear

With something ominous and drear,[350]

An undefined and sudden thrill,

Which makes the heart a moment still,

Then beat with quicker pulse, ashamed 280

Of that strange sense its silence framed;

Such as a sudden passing-bell

Wakes, though but for a stranger's knell.[ot]

XII.

The tent of Alp was on the shore;

The sound was hushed, the prayer was o'er;

The watch was set, the night-round made,

All mandates issued and obeyed:

'Tis but another anxious night,

His pains the morrow may requite

With all Revenge and Love can pay, 290

In guerdon for their long delay.

Few hours remain, and he hath need

Of rest, to nerve for many a deed

Of slaughter; but within his soul

The thoughts like troubled waters roll.[ou]

He stood alone among the host;

Not his the loud fanatic boast

To plant the Crescent o'er the Cross,

Or risk a life with little loss,

Secure in paradise to be 300

By Houris loved immortally:

Nor his, what burning patriots feel,

The stern exaltedness of zeal,

Profuse of blood, untired in toil,

When battling on the parent soil.

He stood alone--a renegade

Against the country he betrayed;

He stood alone amidst his band,

Without a trusted heart or hand:

They followed him, for he was brave, 310

And great the spoil he got and gave;

They crouched to him, for he had skill

To warp and wield the vulgar will:[ov]

But still his Christian origin

With them was little less than sin.

They envied even the faithless fame

He earned beneath a Moslem name;

Since he, their mightiest chief, had been

In youth a bitter Nazarene.

They did not know how Pride can stoop, 320

When baffled feelings withering droop;

They did not know how Hate can burn

In hearts once changed from soft to stern;

Nor all the false and fatal zeal

The convert of Revenge can feel.

He ruled them--man may rule the worst,

By ever daring to be first:

So lions o'er the jackals sway;

The jackal points, he fells the prey,[ow][351]

Then on the vulgar, yelling, press, 330

To gorge the relics of success.

XIII.

His head grows fevered, and his pulse

The quick successive throbs convulse;

In vain from side to side he throws

His form, in courtship of repose;[ox]

Or if he dozed, a sound, a start

Awoke him with a sunken heart.

The turban on his hot brow pressed,

The mail weighed lead-like on his breast,

Though oft and long beneath its weight 340

Upon his eyes had slumber sate,

Without or couch or canopy,

Except a rougher field and sky[oy]

Than now might yield a warrior's bed,

Than now along the heaven was spread.

He could not rest, he could not stay

Within his tent to wait for day,[oz]

But walked him forth along the sand,

Where thousand sleepers strewed the strand.

What pillowed them? and why should he 350

More wakeful than the humblest be,

Since more their peril, worse their toil?

And yet they fearless dream of spoil;

While he alone, where thousands passed

A night of sleep, perchance their last,

In sickly vigil wandered on,

And envied all he gazed upon.

XIV.

He felt his soul become more light

Beneath the freshness of the night.

Cool was the silent sky, though calm, 360

And bathed his brow with airy balm:

Behind, the camp--before him lay,

In many a winding creek and bay,

Lepanto's gulf; and, on the brow

Of Delphi's hill, unshaken snow,[pa]

High and eternal, such as shone

Through thousand summers brightly gone,

Along the gulf, the mount, the clime;

It will not melt, like man, to time:

Tyrant and slave are swept away, 370

Less formed to wear before the ray;

But that white veil, the lightest, frailest,[352]

Which on the mighty mount thou hailest,

While tower and tree are torn and rent,

Shines o'er its craggy battlement;

In form a peak, in height a cloud,

In texture like a hovering shroud,

Thus high by parting Freedom spread,

As from her fond abode she fled,

And lingered on the spot, where long 380

Her prophet spirit spake in song.[pb]

Oh! still her step at moments falters

O'er withered fields, and ruined altars,

And fain would wake, in souls too broken,

By pointing to each glorious token:

But vain her voice, till better days

Dawn in those yet remembered rays,

Which shone upon the Persian flying,

And saw the Spartan smile in dying.

XV.

Not mindless of these mighty times 390

Was Alp, despite his flight and crimes;

And through this night, as on he wandered,[pc]

And o'er the past and present pondered,

And thought upon the glorious dead

Who there in better cause had bled,

He felt how faint and feebly dim[pd]

The fame that could accrue to him,

Who cheered the band, and waved the sword,[pe]

A traitor in a turbaned horde;

And led them to the lawless siege, 400

Whose best success were sacrilege.

Not so had those his fancy numbered,[353]

The chiefs whose dust around him slumbered;

Their phalanx marshalled on the plain,

Whose bulwarks were not then in vain.

They fell devoted, but undying;

The very gale their names seemed sighing;

The waters murmured of their name;

The woods were peopled with their fame;

The silent pillar, lone and grey, 410

Claimed kindred with their sacred clay;

Their spirits wrapped the dusky mountain,

Their memory sparkled o'er the fountain;[pf]

The meanest rill, the mightiest river

Rolled mingling with their fame for ever.

Despite of every yoke she bears,

That land is Glory's still and theirs![pg]

'Tis still a watch-word to the earth:

When man would do a deed of worth

He points to Greece, and turns to tread, 420

So sanctioned, on the tyrant's head:

He looks to her, and rushes on

Where life is lost, or Freedom won.[ph]

XVI.

Still by the shore Alp mutely mused,

And wooed the freshness Night diffused.

There shrinks no ebb in that tideless sea,[354]

Which changeless rolls eternally;

So that wildest of waves, in their angriest mood,[pi]

Scarce break on the bounds of the land for a rood;

And the powerless moon beholds them flow, 430

Heedless if she come or go:

Calm or high, in main or bay,

On their course she hath no sway.

The rock unworn its base doth bare,

And looks o'er the surf, but it comes not there;

And the fringe of the foam may be seen below,

On the line that it left long ages ago:

A smooth short space of yellow sand[pj][355]

Between it and the greener land.

Byron's engagement to Miss Milbanke took place in September, 1814, and