IX. His had been quaff"d too quickly, and he found And heavy though it clank'd not; worn with pain, Which pined although it spoke not, and grew keen, Entering with every step he took through many a scene. X. Secure in guarded coldness, he had mix'd He found in wonder-works of God and Nature's hand. XI. But who can view the ripen'd rose, nor seek Yet with a nobler aim than in his youth's fond prime. XII. But soon he knew himself the most unfit Of men to herd with Man; with whom he held Little in common; untaught to submit His thoughts to others, though his soul was quell'd In youth by his own thoughts; still uncompell'd, He would not yield dominion of his mind To spirits against whom his own rebell'd; Proad though in desolation; which could find A life within itself, to breathe without mankind. XIII. Where rose the mountains, there to him were friends; Where roll'd the ocean, thereon was his home; sculpture of a beautiful alabaster vase, only seen to perfection when lighted up from within. The flashes of mirth, kayety, indignation, or satirical dislike, which frequently animated Lord Byron's countenance, might, during an eveBag's conversation, be mistaken, by a stranger, for the habitual expression, so easily and so happily was it formed for them all; but those who had an opportunity of studying his features for a length of time, and upon various occasions, both of rest and emotion, will agree that their proper lanrage was that of melancholy. Sometimes shades of this glom interrupted even his gayest and most happy momeats.-STR WALTER SCOTT.]] In the third canto of Childe Harold there is much inequality. The thoughts and images are sometimes labored: bi still they are a very great improvement upon the first two cantos. Lord Byron here speaks in his own language ast character, not in the tone of others :-he is describing, Bot inventing: therefore he has not, and cannot have, the freedom with which fiction is composed. Sometimes he has a conciseness which is very powerful, but almost abrupt. From trusting himself alone, and working out his own deep-buned thoughts, he now, perhaps, fell into a habit of kooring, even where there was no occasion to labor. In the first sixteen stanzas there is yet a mighty but groaning The desert, forest, cavern, breaker's foam, Like the Chaldean, he could watch the stars, To which it mounts, as if to break the link That keeps us from yon heaven which woos us to its brink. burst of dark and appalling strength. It was unquestionably the unexaggerated picture of a most tempestuous and sombre, but magnificent soul !-BRYDGES.] 2 [These stanzas,-in which the author, adopting more distinctly the character of Childe Harold than in the original poem, assigns the cause why he has resumed his Pilgrim's staff, when it was hoped he had sat down for life a denizen of his native country,-abound with much moral interest and poetical beauty. The commentary through which the meaning of this melancholy tale is rendered obvious, is still in vivid remembrance; for the errors of those who excel their fellows in gifts and accomplishments are not soon forgotten. Those scenes, ever most painful to the bosom, were rendered yet more so by public discussion; and it is at least possible that amongst those who exclaimed most loudly on this unhappy occasion, were some in whose eyes literary superiority exag gerated Lord Byron's offence. The scene may be described in a few words:-the wise condemned-the good regretted -the multitude, idly or maliciously inquisitive, rushed from place to place, gathering gossip, which they mangled and exaggerated while they repeated it; and impudence, ever ready to hitch itself into notoriety, hooked on, as Falstaff enjoins Bardolph, blustered, bullied, and talked of "pleading a cause," and "taking a side."-SIR WALTER SCOTT.] XVIII. And Harold stands upon this place of skulls, Fit retribution! Gaul may champ the bit praise! XX. XXII. Did ye not hear it?-No; 'twas but the wind, And nearer, clearer, deadlier than before! XXIII. Within a window'd niche of that high hall No; prove before ye He rush'd into the field, and, foremost fighting, fell. If not, o'er one fallen despot boast no more! In vain fair cheeks were furrow'd with hot tears For Europe's flowers long rooted up before The trampler of her vineyards; in vain years Of death, depopulation, bondage, fears, Have all been borne, and broken by the accord Of roused-up millions: all that most endears Glory, is when the myrtle wreathes a sword Such as Harinodius3 drew on Athens' tyrant lord. XXI. There was a sound of revelry by night,' The lamps shone o'er fair women and brave men; Soft eyes look'd love to eyes which spake again, And all went merry as a marriage-bell; [knell! But hush! hark! a deep sound strikes like a rising XXIV. Ah! then and there was hurrying to and fro, And gathering tears, and tremblings of distress, And cheeks all pale, which but an hour ago Blush'd at the praise of their own loveliness; And there were sudden partings, such as press The life from out young hearts, and choking sighs Which ne'er might be repeated; who could guess If ever more should meet those mutual eyes, Since upon night so sweet such awful morn could rise! XXV. And there was mounting in hot haste: the steed, The mustering squadron, and the clattering car, Went pouring forward with impetuous speed, And swiftly forming in the ranks of war; And the deep thunder peal on peal afar; And near, the beat of the alarming drum Roused up the soldier ere the morning star; While throng'd the citizens with terror dumb, Or whispering, with white lips-"The foe! They come! they come !" 1 "Pride of place" is a term of falconry, and means the highest pitch of flight. See Macbeth, &c. "An eagle towering in his pride of place," &c. 2 [In the original draught of this stanza, (which, as well as the preceding one, was written after a visit to the field of Waterloo,) the lines stood "Here his last flight the haughty eagle flew, Then tore with bloody beak the fatal plain." On seeing these lines, Mr. Reinagle sketched a spirited chained eagle, grasping the earth with his talons. The circumstance being mentioned to Lord Byron, he wrote thus to a friend at Brussels," Reinagle is a better poet and a better ornithologist than I am eagles, and all birds of prey, attack with their talons, and not with their beaks; and I have altered the line thus Then tore with bloody talon the rent plain.' This is, I think, a better line, besides its poetical justice."] 3 See the famous song on Harmodius and Aristogiton. The best English translation is in Bland's Anthology, by Mr. (now Lord Chief Justice) Denman, "With myrtle my sword will I wreathe," &c. [There can be no more remarkable proof of the greatness of Lord Byron's genius, than the spirit and interest he has contrived to communicate to his picture of the often-drawn and difficult scene of the breaking up from Brussels before the great Battle. It is a trite remark, that poets generally fail in the representation of great events, where the interest is recent, and the particulars are consequently clearly and commonly known. It required some courage to venture on a theme beset with so many dangers, and deformed with the wrecks of so many former adventures. See, however, with what easy strength he enters upon it, and with how much grace he gradually finds his way back to his own peculiar vein of sentiment and diction!JEFFREY.] 5 On the night previous to the action, it is said that a ball was given at Brussels.-[The popular error of the Duke of Wellington having been surprised, on the eve of the battle of Waterloo, at a ball given by the Duchess of Richmond at Brussels, was first corrected on authority, in the History of Napoleon Bonaparte, which forms a portion of the "Family Library." The Duke had received intelligence of Napoleon's decisive operations, and it was intended to put off the ball; but, on reflection, it seemed highly important that the people of Brussels should be kept in ignorance as to the course of events, and the Duke not only desired that the ball should proceed, but the general officers received his commands to appear at it-each taking care to quit the apartment as quietly as possible at ten o'clock, and proceed to join his respective division en route.] 1 Sir Evan Cameron, and his descendant Donald, the "gentle Lochiel" of the "forty-five." The wood of Soignies is supposed to be a remnant of the forest of Ardennes, famous in Boiardo's Orlando, and immortal in Shakspeare's "As you like it." It is also celebrated in Tacitus, as being the spot of successful defence by the Germans against the Roman encroachments. I have Textured to adopt the name connected with nobler associabots than those of mere slaughter. ¡Childe Harold, though he shuns to celebrate the victory of Waterloo, gives us here a most beautiful description of the evening which preceded the battle of Quatre Bras, the aarm when called out the troops, and the hurry and confason which preceded their march. I am not sure that any verses in our language surpass, in vigor and in feeling, this most beautiful description.-SIR WALTER SCOTT.) 4 See post, note to English Bards and Scotch Review ers. *["In the late battles, like all the world, I have lost a connecion-poor Frederick Howard, the best of his race. I had little intercourse of late years with his family; but I never saw or heard but good of him."-Lord B. to Mr. Moore.] • My guide from Mont St. Jean over the field seemed inte agent and accurate. The place where Major Howard fel was not far from two tall and solitary trees, (there was a tard, cut down, or shivered in the battle,) which stand a few yards from each other at a pathway's side. Beneath these he died and was buried. The body has since been removed to England. A small hollow for the present marks where it lay, but will probably soon be effaced; the plough has been upon it, and the grain is. After pointing out the different spots where Picton and other gallant men had perished, the guide said, "Here Major Howard lay: I was near him when wounded." I told him my relationship, and he seemed then still more anxious to point out the particular spot and circumstances. The place is one of the most marked in the field, from the peculiarity of the two trees above mentioned. I went on horseback twice over the field, comparing it with my recollection of similar scenes. As a plain, Waterloo seems marked out for the scene of some great action, though this may be mere imagination: I have viewed with attention those of Platea, Troy, Mantinea, Leuctra, Charonea, and Marathon; and the field around Mont St. Jean and Hougoumont appears to want little but a better cause, and that undefinable but impressive halo which the lapse of ages throws around a celebrated spot, to vie in interest with any or all of these, except, perhaps, the last mentioned. 7 [There is a richness and energy in this passage, which is peculiar to Lord Byron, among all modern poets,-a throng of glowing images, poured forth at once, with a facility and profusion, which must appear mere wastefulness to more economical writers, and a certain negligence and harshness of diction, which can belong only to an author who is oppressed with the exuberance and rapidity of his conceptions.-JEFFREY.] XXXIV. There is a very life in our despair, Which feeds these deadly branches; for it were Itself to Sorrow's most detested fruit, Like to the apples' on the Dead Sea's shore, Such hours 'gainst years of life, say, would he name threescore? XXXV. The Psalmist number'd out the years of man: They are enough; and if thy tale be true, Thou, who didst grudge him even that fleeting span, More than enough, thou fatal Waterloo! Millions of tongues record thee, and anew Their children's lips shall echo them, and say"Here, where the sword united nations drew, Our countrymen were warring on that day!" And this is much, and all which will not pass away. XXXVI. There sunk the greatest, nor the worst of men, Whose spirit antithetically mix'd One moment of the mightiest, and again On little objects with like firmness fix'd, Extreme in all things! hadst thou been betwixt, Thy throne had still been thine, or never been; For daring made thy rise as fall: thou seek'st Even now to reassume the imperial mien, And shake again the world, the Thunderer of the scene! XXXVII. Conqueror and captive of the earth art thou! Who deem'd thee for a time whate'er thou didst assert. XXXVIII. Oh, more or less than man-in high or low, Look through thine own, nor curb the lust of war, Nor learn that tempted Fate will leave the loftiest star. XXXIX. Yet well thy soul hath brook'd the turning tide Their admiration thy best weapon shone; For sceptred cynics earth were far too wide a den." But quiet to quick bosoms is a hell, And there hath been thy bane; there is a fire And motion of the soul which will not dwell In its own narrow being, but aspire Beyond the fitting medium of desire; And, but once kindled, quenchless evermore, Preys upon high adventure, nor can tire Of aught but rest; a fever at the core, Fatal to him who bears, to all who ever bore. XLIII. This makes the madmen who have made men mad By their contagion; Conquerors and Kings, Founders of sects and systems, to whom add Sophists, Bards, Statesmen, all unquiet things Which stir too strongly the soul's secret springs, And are themselves the fools to those they fool; Envied, yet how unenviable! what stings Are theirs! One breast laid open were a school Which would unteach mankind the lust to shine or rule: XLIV. Their breath is agitation, and their life A storm whereon they ride, to sink at last, And yet so nursed and bigoted to strife, That should their days, surviving perils past, Melt to calm twilight, they feel overcast With sorrow and supineness, and so die; Even as a flame unfed, which runs to waste With its own flickering, or a sword laid by, Which eats into itself, and rusts ingloriously. 1 The (fabled) apples on the brink of the lake Asphaltes were said to be fair without, and, within, ashes." Tacitus, Histor. lib. v. 7. Vide 2 The great error of Napoleon, "if we have writ our annals true," was a continued obtrusion on mankind of his want of all community of feeling for or with them; perhaps more offensive to human vanity than the active cruelty of more trembling and suspicious tyranny. Such were his speeches to public assemblies as well as individuals; and the single i expression which he is said to have used on returning to Paris after the Russian winter had destroyed his army, rubbing his hands over a fire, "This is pleasanter than Moscow," would probably alienate more favor from his cause than the destruction and reverses which led to the remark. This is certainly splendidly written, but we trust it is not true. From Macedonia's madman to the Swede-from Nimrod to Bonaparte,-the hunters of men have pursued their sport with as much gayety, and as little remorse, as the haulers of other animals; and have lived as cheerily in their days of action, and as comfortably in their repose, as the followers of beiter pursuits. It would be strange, therefore, of the other active but more innocent spirits, whom Lord Byron has here placed in the same predicament, and who share all their sources of enjoyment, without the guilt and Nor its fair promise from the surface mow With the sharp scythe of conflict, then to see Thy valley of sweet waters, were to know Earth paved like Heaven; and to seem such to me, Even now what wants thy stream?-that it should Lethe be. LI. A thousand battles have assail'd thy banks, Thus Harold inly said, and pass'd along, In glens which might have made even exile dear: LIII. [trace. Nor was all love shut from him, though his days Of passion had consumed themselves to dust. It is in vain that we would coldly gaze On such as smile upon us; the heart must Leap kindly back to kindness, though disgust Hath wean'd it from all worldlings: thus he felt, For there was soft remembrance, and sweet trust In one fond breast, to which his own would melt, And in its tenderer hour on that his bosom dwelt. LIV. And he had learn'd to love,-I know not why, For this in such as him seems strange of mood,— The helpless looks of blooming infancy, Even in its earliest nurture; what subdued, To change like this, a mind so far imbued With scorn of man, it little boots to know; But thus it was; and though in solitude Small power the nipp'd affections have to grow, In him this glow'd when all beside had ceased to glow. LV. And there was one soft breast, as hath been said, But this was firm, and from a foreign shore [pour! Well to that heart might his these absent greetings the hardness which they cannot fail of contracting, should be more miserable or more unfriended than those splendid curses of their kind; and it would be passing strange, and pitiful, if the most precious gifts of Providence should produce only unhappiness, and mankind regard with hostility their greatest benefactors.-JEFFREY.] 2 What wants that knave that a king should have?" was King James's question on meeting Johnny Armstrong and his followers in full accoutrements.-See the Ballad. |