XXXIX.

Lo! where the Giant on the mountain stands,
His blood-red tresses deep'ning in the sun,
With death-shot glowing in his fiery hands,
And eye that scorcheth all it glares upon;
Restless it rolls, now fix'd, and now anon
Flashing afar, and at his iron feet

Destruction cowers, to mark what deeds are done;
For on this morn three potent nations meet,

To shed before his shrine the blood he deems most

sweet.

XL.

By Heaven! it is a splendid sight to see (For one who hath no friend, no brother there) Their rival scarfs of mix'd embroidery, Their various arms that glitter in the air! What gallant war-hounds rouse them from their lair, And gnash their fangs, loud yelling for the prey! All join the chase, but few the triumph share; The Grave shall bear the chiefest prize away, And Havoe scarce for joy can number their array. XLI.

Three hosts combine to offer sacrifice;

Three tongues prefer strange orisons on high;
Three gaudy standards flout the pale blue skies;
The shouts are France, Spain, Albion, Victory!
The foe, the victim, and the fond ally
That fights for all, but ever fights in vain,
Are met-as if at home they could not die-
To feed the crow on Talavera's plain,

And fertilize the field that each pretends to gain.'

XLII.

There shall they rot-Ambition's honor'd fools!" Yes, Honor decks the turf that wraps their clay! Vain Sophistry! in these behold the tools, The broken tools, that tyrants cast away By myriads, when they dare to pave their way With human hearts-to what?-a dream alone. Can despots compass aught that hails their sway? Or call with truth one span of earth their own, Save that wherein at last they crumble bone by bone?

XLIII.

Oh, Albuera, glorious field of grief!
As o'er thy plain the Pilgrim prick'd his steed,
Who could foresee thee, in a space so brief,

A scene where mingling foes should boast and bleed!
Peace to the perish'd! may the warrior's meed
And tears of triumph their reward prolong!
Till others fall where other chieftains lead,
Thy name shall circle round the gaping throng,
Aad shine in worthless lays, the theme of transient
song.*

1 See APPENDIX, Note A.

There let them rot-while rhymers tell the fools
How honor decks the turf that wraps their clay!
Liars avaunt!"-MS.]

This stanza is not in the original MS. It was written a Newstead, in August, 1811, shortly after the battle of Amera.]

[{"At Seville, we lodged in the house of two Spanish unmarmeladies, women of character, the eldest a fine woman, the youngest pretty. The freedom of manner, which is Egéral here, astonished me not a little; and, in the course of further observation, I find that reserve is not the characteristic of Spanish belles. The eldest honored your unworthy son with very particular attention, embracing him wch great tenderness at parting, (I was there but three days, after cutting off a lock of his hair, and presenting him with one of her own, about three feet in length, which I

XLIV

Enough of Battle's minions! let them play Their game of lives, and barter breath for fame: Fame that will scarce reanimate their clay, Though thousands fall to deck some single name. In sooth 'twere sad to thwart their noble aim Who strike, blest hirelings! for their country's good, And die, that living might have proved her shame; Perish'd, perchance, in some domestic feud, Or in a narrower sphere wild Rapine's path pursued. XLV.

Full swiftly Harold wends his lonely way Where proud Sevilla' triumphs unsubdued: Yet is she free-the spoiler's wish'd-for prey! Soon, soon shall Conquest's fiery foot intrude, Blackening her lovely domes with traces rude. Inevitable hour! 'Gainst fate to strive Where Desolation plants her famish'd brood Is vain, or Ilion, Tyre might yet survive, And Virtue vanquish all, and Murder cease to thrive.

send, and beg you will retain till my return. Her last words were, Adios, tu hermoso me gusto mucho.' 'Adieu, you pretty fellow! you please me much.'"-Lord B. to his Mother, Aug. 1809.]

[A kind of fiddle, with only two strings, played on by a bow, said to have been brought by the Moors into Spain.] 6" Viva el Rey Fernando!" Long live King Ferdinand! is the chorus of most of the Spanish patriotic songs. They are chiefly in dispraise of the old king Charles, the Queen, and the Prince of Peace. I have heard many of them: some of the airs are beautiful. Don Manuel Godoy, the Principe de la Paz, of an ancient but decayed family, was born at Badajoz, on the frontiers of Portugal, and was originally in the ranks of the Spanish guards; till his person attracted the queen's eyes, and raised him to the dukedom of Alcudia, &c. &c. It is to this man that the Spaniards universally impute the ruin of their country.

XLIX.

On yon long, level plain, at distance crown'd
With crags, whereon those Moorish turrets rest,
Wide scatter'd hoof-marks dint the wounded ground;
And, scathed by fire, the greensward's darken'd vest
Tells that the foe was Andalusia's guest:

Here was the camp, the watch-flame, and the host,
Here the bold peasant storm'd the dragon's nest;
Still does he mark it with triumphant boast,
And points to yonder cliffs, which oft were won and
lost.
L.

And whomsoe'er along the path you meet Bears in his cap the badge of crimson hue, Which tells you whom to shun and whom to greet:1 Wo to the man that walks in public view Without of loyalty this token true: Sharp is the knife, and sudden is the stroke; And sorely would the Gallic foeman rue, If subtle poniards, wrapt beneath the cloak, Could blunt the sabre's edge, or clear the cannon's smoke.

LI.

At every turn Morena's dusky height
Sustains aloft the battery's iron load;
And, far as mortal eye can compass sight,
The mountain-howitzer, the broken road,
The bristling palisade, the fosse o'erflow'd,
The station'd bands, the never-vacant watch,
The magazine in rocky durance stow'd,

The holster'd steed beneath the shed of thatch, The ball-piled pyramid,2 the ever-blazing match,

LII.

Portend the deeds to come:-but he whose nod
Has tumbled feebler despots from their sway,
A moment pauseth ere he lifts the rod;
A little moment deigneth to delay:

Soon will his legions sweep through these their way;
The West must own the Scourger of the world.
Ah! Spain! how sad will be thy reckoning-day,
When soars Gaul's Vulture, with his wings unfurl'd,
And thou shalt view thy sons in crowds to Hades hurl'd.

LIII.

And must they fall? the young, the proud, the brave,
To swell one bloated Chief's unwholesome reign?
No step between submission and a grave?
The rise of rapine and the fall of Spain?
And doth the Power that man adores ordain
Their doom, nor heed the suppliant's appeal?
Is all that desperate Valor acts in vain?
And Counsel sage, and patriotic Zeal,

LIV.

Is it for this the Spanish maid, aroused, Hangs on the willow her unstrung guitar, And, all unsex'd, the anlace hath espoused, Sung the loud song, and dared the deed of war? And she, whom once the semblance of a scar Appall'd, an owlet's larum chill'd with dread, Now views the column-scattering bay'net jar, The falchion flash, and o'er the yet warm dead Stalks with Minerva's step where Mars might quake to tread. LV.

Ye who shall marvel when you hear her tale, Oh! had you known her in her softer hour, Mark'd her black eye that mocks her coal-black veil, Heard her light, lively tones in Lady's bower, Seen her long locks that foil the painter's power, Her fairy form, with more than female grace, Scarce would you deem that Saragoza's tower Beheld her smile in Danger's Gorgon face, Thin the closed ranks, and lead in Glory's fearful chase.

LVI.

Her lover sinks-she sheds no ill-timed tear;
Her chief is slain-she fills his fatal post;
Her fellows flee-she checks their base career;
The foe retires-she heads the sallying host:
Who can appease like her a lover's ghost?
Who can avenge so well a leader's fall?

What maid retrieve when man's flush'd hope is lost?
Who hang so fiercely on the flying Gaul,

Foil'd by a woman's hand, before a batter'd wall?"

LVII.

Yet are Spain's maids no race of Amazons,
But form'd for all the witching arts of love:
Though thus in arms they emulate her sons,
And in the horrid phalanx dare to move,
"Tis but the tender fierceness of the dove,
Pecking the hand that hovers o'er her mate:
In softness as in firmness far above

Remoter females, famed for sickening prate; Her mind is nobler sure, her charms perchance as great.

LVIII.

The seal Love's dimpling finger hath impress'd
Denotes how soft that chin which bears his touch:"
Her lips, whose kisses pout to leave their nest,
Bid man be valiant ere he merit such:
Her glance how wildly beautiful! how much
Hath Phoebus woo'd in vain to spoil her cheek,
Which glows yet smoother from his amorous clutch!
Who round the North for paler dames would seek?

weak!

1 The red cockade, with "Fernando VII.," in the centre. 2 All who have seen a battery will recollect the pyramidal form in which shot and shells are piled. The Sierra Morena was fortified in every defile through which I passed in my way to Seville.

? Such were the exploits of the Maid of Saragoza, who by her valor elevated herself to the highest rank of heroines. When the author was at Seville, she walked daily on the Prado, decorated with medals and orders, by command of the Junta.--The exploits of Augustina, the famous heroine of both the sieges of Saragoza, are recorded at length in Southey's History of the Peninsular War. At the time when she first attracted notice, by mounting a battery where her lover had fallen, and working a gun in his room, she was in her twenty-second year, exceedingly pretty, and in a soft

feminine style of beauty. She has further had the honor to be painted by Wilkie, and alluded to in Wordsworth's Dissertation on the Convention (misnamed) of Cintra; where a noble passage concludes in these words :-" Saragoza has exemplified a melancholy, yea, a dismal truth,-yet consolatory and full of joy,-that when a people are called suddenly to fight for their liberty, and are sorely pressed upon, their best field of battle is the floors upon which their children have played; the chambers where the family of each man has slept; upon or under the roofs by which they have been sheltered; in the gardens of their recreation; in the street, or in the market-place; before the altars of their temples, and among their congregated dwellings, blazing or uprooted."]

4 Sigilla in mento impressa Amoris digitulo Vestigio demonstrant mollitudinem." AUL. GEL

This stanza was written in Turkey.

* Beauties that need not fear a broken vow."-MS.] Long black hair, dark languishing eyes, clear olive complemous, and forms more graceful in motion than can be ceived by an Englishman, used to the drowsy, histless air This countrywomen, added to the most becoming dress, a1 at the same time, the most decent in the world, render * Spanish beauty irresistible.”—B. to his Mother, Aug. 1809.] 'These stanzas were written in Castri, (Delphos,) at the foot of Parnassus, now called Atakupa, (Liakura,) Dec. 1809.

Upon Parnassus, going to the fountain of Delphi, (Castri.) in 1809, I saw a flight of twelve eagles, (Hobhouse Sys they were vultures-at least in conversation,) and I weized the omen. On the day before, I composed the lines Parnassus, (in Childe Harold,) and on beholding the hals, had a hope that Apollo had accepted my homage. I have at least had the name and fame of a poet, during the poetical period of life, (from twenty to thirty ;)-whether it

last is another matter: but I have been a votary of the testy and the place, and am grateful for what he has done my behalf, leaving the future in his hands, as I left the pas.-B. Drary, 1821.]

Casting the eye over the site of ancient Delphi, one carsot possibly imagine what has become of the walls of for banerous buildings which are mentioned in the history of its former magnificence,-buildings which covered two res of ground. With the exception of the few terraces supporting walls, nothing now appears. The various

robberies by Sylla, Nero, and Constantine, are inconsiderable; for the removal of the statues of bronze, and marble, and ivory, could not greatly affect the general appearance of the city. The acclivity of the hill, and the foundations being placed on rock, without cement, would no doubt render them comparatively easy to be removed or hurled down into the vale below; but the vale exhibits no appearance of accumulation of hewn stones; and the modern village could have consumed but few. In the course of so many centuries, the débris from the mountain must have covered up a great deal, and even the rubbish itself may have acquired a soil sufficient to conceal many noble remains from the light of day. Yet we see no swellings or risings in the ground, indicating the graves of the temples. All therefore is mystery, and the Greeks may truly say, 'Where stood the walls of our fathers? scarce the mossy tombs remain!" -H. W Williams's Travels in Greece, vol. ii. p. 254.]

["And walks with glassy steps o'er Aganippe's wave." -MS.]

["Some glorious thought to my petition grant."-MS.] • Seville was the Hispalis of the Romans.

19 ["The lurking lures of thy enchanting gaze."- MS.] 11["Cadiz, sweet Cadiz !-it is the first spot in the crea tion. The beauty of its streets and mansions is only excelled by the liveliness of its inhabitants. It is a complete Cythera, full of the finest women in Spain; the Cadiz belles being the Lancashire witches of their land."- Lord B. to his Mother, 1809.]

LXVII.

From morn till night, from night till startled Morn Peeps blushing on the revel's laughing crew, The song is heard, the rosy garland worn; Devices quaint, and frolics ever new, Tread on each other's kibes. A long adieu He bids to sober joy that here sojourns: Naught interrupts the riot, though in lieu Of true devotion monkish incense burns, And love and prayer unite, or rule the hour by turns.'

LXVIII.

The Sabbath comes, a day of blessed rest; What hallows it upon this Christian shore? Lo! it is sacred to a solemn feast: Hark! heard you not the forest-monarch's roar? Crashing the lance, he snuffs the spouting gore Of man and steed, o'erthrown beneath his horn; The throng'd arena shakes with shouts for more; Yells the mad crowd o'er entrails freshly torn, Nor shrinks the female eye, nor ev'n affects to mourn. LXIX.

The seventh day this; the jubilee of man.
London! right well thou know'st the day of prayer:
Then thy spruce citizen, wash'd artisan,
And smug apprentice gulp their weekly air:
Thy coach of hackney, whiskey, one-horse chair,
And humblest gig through sundry suburbs whirl;
To Hampstead, Brentford, Harrow, make repair;
Till the tired jade the wheel forgets to hurl,
Provoking envious gibe from each pedestrian churl.'
LXX.

Some o'er thy Thamis row the ribbon'd fair,
Others along the safer turnpike fly;

Some Richmond-hill ascend, some scud to Ware,
And many to the steep of Highgate hie.
Ask ye, Baotian shades! the reason why?
"Tis to the worship of the solemn Horn,
Grasp'd in the holy hand of Mystery,

In whose dread name both men and maids are sworn, And consecrate the oath' with draught, and dance till

morn.

LXXI.

All have their fooleries-not alike are thine,
Fair Cadiz, rising o'er the dark blue sea!
Soon as the matin bell proclaimeth nine,
Thy saint adorers count the rosary:

Much is the VIRGIN teased to shrive them free
(Well do I ween the only virgin there)

From crimes as numerous as her beadsmen be; Then to the crowded circus forth they fare : Young, old, high, low, at once the same diversion share.

"monkish temples share

The hours misspent, and all in turns is love and prayer."— MS.] 2["And droughty then alights, and roars for Roman purl."-MS.]

3 This was written at Thebes, and consequently in the best situation for asking and answering such a question; not as the birthplace of Pindar, but as the capital of Bootia, where the first riddle was propounded and solved.

[Lord Byron alludes to a ridiculous custom which formerly prevailed at the public-houses in Highgate, of administering a burlesque oath to all travellers of the middling rank who stopped there. The party was sworn on a pair of horns, fastened, "never to kiss the maid when he could the mistress; never to eat brown bread when he could get white; never to drink small beer when he could get strong," with many other injunctions of the like kind,to all which was added the saving clause,-" unless you like it best."]

LXXII.

The lists are oped, the spacious area clear'd,
Thousands on thousands piled are seated round;
Long ere the first loud trumpet's note is heard,
Ne vacant space for lated wight is found:
Here dons, grandees, but chiefly dames abound,
Skill'd in the ogle of a roguish eye,

Yet ever well inclined to heal the wound;
None through their cold disdain are doom'd to die,
As moon-struck bards complain, by Love's sad archery.

LXXIII.

Hush'd is the din of tongues-on gallant steeds, With milk-white crest, gold spur, and light-poised Four cavaliers prepare for venturous deeds, lance, And lowly bending to the lists advance; Rich are their scarfs, their chargers featly prance: If in the dangerous game they shine to-day, The crowd's loud shout and ladies' lovely glance, Best prize of better acts, they bear away, And all that kings or chiefs e'er gain their toils repay.

LXXIV.

In costly sheen and gaudy cloak array'd,
But all afoot, the light-limb'd Matadore
Stands in the centre, eager to invade
The lord of lowing herds; but not before
The ground, with cautious tread, is traversed o'er,
Lest aught unseen should lurk to thwart his speed:
His arms a dart, he fights aloof, nor more

Can man achieve without the friendly steed― Alas! too oft condemn'd for him to bear and bleed.

LXXV.

Thrice sounds the clarion; lo! the signal falls,
The den expands, and Expectation mute
Gapes round the silent circle's peopled walls.
Bounds with one lashing spring the mighty brute,
And, wildly staring, spurns, with sounding foot,
The sand, nor blindly rushes on his foe:

Here, there, he points his threatening front, to suit
His first attack, wide waving to and fro
His angry tail; red rolls his eye's dilated glow.

LXXVI.

Sudden he stops; his eye is fix'd: away,
Away, thou heedless boy! prepare the spear:
Now is thy time, to perish, or display

The skill that yet may check his mad career.
With well-timed croupe the nimble coursers veer;
On foams the bull, but not unscath'd he goes;
Streams from his flank the crimson torrent clear:
He flies, he wheels, distracted with his throes;
Dart follows dart; lance, lance; loud bellowings speak
his woes.

6 ["In thus mixing up the light with the solemn, it was the intention of the poet to imitate Ariosto. But it is far easier to rise, with grace, from the level of a strain generally familiar, into an occasional short burst of pathos or splendor, than to interrupt thus a prolonged tone of solemnity by any descent into the ludicrous or burlesque. In the former case, the transition may have the effect of softening or elevating; while, in the latter, it almost invariably shocks-for the same reason, perhaps, that a trait of pathos or high feeling, in comedy, has a peculiar charm; while the intrusion of comic scenes into tragedy, however sanctioned among us by habit and authority, rarely fails to offend. The poet was himself convinced of the failure of the experiment, and in none of the succeeding cantos of Childe Harold repeated it."-MOORE.]

6 [The croupe is a particular leap taught in the manége."-MS.]

[The reader will do well to compare Lord Byron's ani mated picture of the popular "sport" of the Spanish nation, with the very circumstantial details contained in the charm

Letters of Don Leucadio Doblado," (i. e. the Rev. Bianco White,) published in 1822. So inveterate was, at one time, the rage of the people for this amusement, that even boys mimicked its features in their play. In the saughter-house itself the professional bull-fighter gave public lessons; and such was the force of depraved custom, itat ladies of the highest rank were not ashamed to appear acidst the filth and horror of the shambles. The Spaniards received this sport from the Moors, among whom it was celebrated with great pomp and splendor-See various Notes to Mr. Lockhart's Collection of Ancient Spanish Ballads. 1822.]

NAY, smile not at my sullen brow;
Alas! I cannot smile again:
Yet Heaven avert that ever thou
Shouldst weep, and haply weep in vain.
2.

And dost thou ask, what secret wo
I bear, corroding joy and youth?
And wilt thou vainly seek to know
A pang, e'en thou must fail to sooth?
3.

It is not love, it is not hate,

Nor low Ambition's honors lost,
That bids me loathe my present state,
And fly from all I prized the most:
4.

It is that weariness which springs
From all I meet, or hear, or see:
To me no pleasure Beauty brings;

Thine eyes have scarce a charm for me.

2["The trophy corse is rear'd-disgusting prize"Or, "The corse is rear'd-sparkling the chariot flies."-MS.] 3 ["The Spaniards are as revengeful as ever. At Santa Otella I heard a young peasant threaten to stab a woman, (an old one to be sure, which mitigates the offence,) and was told, on expressing some small surprise, that this ethic was by no means uncommon."—MS.]

4.66

Medio de fonte leporum,

Surgit amari aliquid quod in ipsis floribus angat."

Luc.