THE CURSE OF MINERVA.' "Pallas te hoc vulnere, Pallas Immolat, et pœnam scelerato ex sanguine sumit." Athens, Capuchin Convent, March 17, 1811. SLOW sinks, more lovely ere his race be run, O'er the hush'd deep the yellow beam he throws, On such an eve his palest beam he cast And dark the mountain's once delightful dyes; This fierce philippic on Lord Elgin, whose collection of Athenian marbles was ultimately purchased for the nation, in 1816, at the cost of thirty-five thousand pounds. was whiten at Athens, in March, 1811, and prepared for publiCaton along with the "Hints from Horace;" but, like that Canre, suppressed by Lord Byron, from motives which the reader will easily understand. It was first given to the world in 1928. Few can wonder that Lord Byron's feelings should have been powerfully excited by the spectacle of the Gespoiled Parthenon; but it is only due to Lord Elgin to acep in mind, that, had those precious marbles remained, taey must, in all likelihood, have perished forever amidst tae niserable scenes of violence which Athens has since witnessed; and that their presence in England has already, by universal admission, been of the most essential advantage Define arts of our own country. The political allusions ta this poem are not such as require much explanation. It contains many lines, which, it is hoped, the author, on maure reflection, disapproved of-but is too vigorous a speciten of his lambics to be omitted in any collective edition of his works.] [The splendid lines with which this satire opens, down As thus, within the walls of Pallas' fane," first appeared at the commencement of the third Canto of the Corsair, the author having, at that time, abandoned all notion of pubushing the piece of which they originally made part.] Socrates drank the hemlock a short time before sunset, the hour of execution,) notwithstanding the entreaties of as disciples to wait till the sun went down. Eneid, lib. xii. No murky vapor, herald of the storm, The groves of olive scatter'd dark and wide, Again the gean, heard no more afar, Lulls his chafed breast from elemental war; Again his waves in milder tints unfold Their long expanse of sapphire and of gold, Mix'd with the shades of many a distant isle, That frown, where gentler occan deigns to smile. As thus, within the walls of Pallas' fane, I mark'd the beauties of the land and main, Alone, and friendless, on the magic shore, Whose arts and arms but live in poets' lore; Oft as the matchless dome I turn'd to scan, Sacred to gods, but not secure from man, The past return'd, the present seem'd to cease, And Glory knew no clime beyond her Greece! Hours roll'd along, and Dian's orb on high Had gain'd the centre of her softest sky; And yet unwearied still my footsteps trod O'er the vain shrine of many a vanish'd god: But chiefly, Pallas! thine; when Hecate's glare, Check'd by thy columns, fell more sadly fair The twilight in Greece is much shorter than in our own country; the days in winter are longer, but in summer of less duration. The kiosk is a Turkish summer-house; the palm is without the present walls of Athens, not far from the temple of Theseus, between which and the tree the wall intervenes. Cephisus' stream is indeed scanty, and Ilissus has no stream at all. [During our residence of ten weeks at Athens, there was not, I believe, a day of which we did not devote a part to the contemplation of the noble monuments of Grecian genius, that have outlived the ravages of time, and the outrage of barbarous and antiquarian despoilers. The Temple of Theseus, which was within five minutes' walk of our lodgings, is the most perfect ancient edifice in the world. In this fabric, the most enduring stability, and a simplicity of design peculiarly striking, are united with the highest elegance and accuracy of workmanship; the characteristic of the Doric style, whose chaste beauty is not, in the opinion of the first artists, to be equalled by the graces of any of the other orders. A gentleman of Athens, of great taste and skill, assured us that, after a continued contemplation of this temple, and the remains of the Parthenon, he could never again look with his accustomed satisfaction upon the Ionic and Corinthian ruins of Athens, much less upon the specimens of the more modern species of architecture to be seen in Italy.-HOBHOUSE.] O'er the chill marble, where the startling tread Yes, 'twas Minerva's self; but, ah! how changed Her helm was dinted, and the broken lance Another name with his pollutes my shrine: Behold where Dian's beams disdain to shine! Some retribution still might Pallas claim, When Venus half avenged Minerva's shame." She ceased awhile, and thus I dared reply, Ask'st thou the difference? From fair Phyle's towers And well I know within that bastard land A land of meanness, sophistry, and mist. “Mortal!”—'twas thus she spake—"that blush of | Till, burst at length, each watery head o’erflows, shame Proclaims thee Briton, once a noble name; 'Scaped from the ravage of the Turk and Goth,' Recount the relics torn that yet remain : That Adrian rear'd when drooping Science mourn'd. That all may learn from whence the plunderer came, [On the plaster wall, on the west side of the chapel, these words have been very deeply cut: QUOD NON FECERUNT GOTI, HOC FECERUNT SCOTI. The mortar wall, yet fresh when we saw it, supplying the place of the statue now in Lord Elgin's collection, serves as a comment on this text. This eulogy of the Goths alludes to an unfounded story of a Greek historian, who relates that Alaric, either terrified by two phantoms, one of Minerva herself, the other of Achilles, terrible as when he strode towards the walls of Troy to his friends, or struck with a reverential respect, had spared the treasures, ornaments, and people of the venerable city.-HOBHOUSE.] 2 [In the original MS. "Ah, Athens! scarce escaped from Turk and Goth: Hell sends a paltry Scotchman worse than both."] Foul as their soil, and frigid as their snows. "Mortal!" the blue-eyed maid resumed, "once more Bear back my mandate to thy native shore. "First on the head of him who did this deed My curse shall light,-on him and all his seed: Without one spark of intellectual fire, Be all the sons as senseless as the sire: If one with wit the parent brood disgrace, Believe him bastard of a brighter race: This is spoken of the city in general, and not of the Acropolis in particular. The temple of Jupiter Olyansas, by some supposed the Pantheon, was finished by Hadnas sixteen columns are standing, of the most beautiful maint and architecture 4 [On the original MS. is, written "Aspice quos Pallas Scoto concedit honores, Infra stat nomen-facta supraque vide "j [For Lord Byron's detailed remarks on Lord EN dealing with the Parthenon, see APPENDIX, note A. to the second canto of Childe Harold.] His lordship's name, and that of one who no longer bears it, are carved conspicuously on the Parthenon; above, a a part not far distant, are the torn remnants of the basso re lievos, destroyed in a vain attempt to remove them. 7 "Irish bastards," according to Sir Callaghan O'Brailag han. Still with his hireling artists let him prate, To sell, and make-may Shame record the day!- creep, To lounge and lucubrate, to prate and peep; The room with transient glance appears to skim, | Exclaims, These Greeks indeed were proper men!' When shall a modern maid have swains like these! And last of all, amidst the gaping crew, In silent indignation mix'd with grief, Link'd with the fool that fired the Ephesian dome, "So let him stand, through ages yet unborn, Or break the compact which herself had made; In 1816, thirty-five thousand pounds were voted by Parliament for the purchase of the Elgin marbles.] Mr. West, on seeing the "Elgin Collection," (I suppose we shall hear of the "Abershaw" and "Jack Shephard" collection,) declares himself a mere tyro" in art. * Poor Cribb was sadly puzzled when the marbles were first exhibited at Elgin House: he asked if it was not "a stone shop?"-He was right; it is a shop. [That the Elgin marbles will contribute to the improvement of art in England, cannot be doubted. They must certainly open the eyes of the British artists, and prove that the true and only road to simplicity and beauty is the study of nature. But, had we a right to diminish the in Lo! there Rebellion rears her ghastly head, "Look on your Spain!-she clasps the hand she hates, But boldly clasps, and thrusts you from her gates. Can spare a few to fight, and sometimes fly. "Look last at home-ye love not to look there; No misers tremble when there's nothing left. "Now fare ye well! enjoy your little hour; Go, grasp the shadow of your vanish'd power; Gloss o'er the failure of each fondest scheme; Your strength a name, your bloated wealth a dream. Gone is that gold, the marvel of mankind, Vain is each voice where tones could once command; E'en factions cease to charm a factious land: And light with maddening hands the mutual pile. ""Tis done, 'tis past, since Pallas warns in vain ; The Furies seize her abdicated reign: Wide o'er the realm they wave their kindling brands, And wring her vitals with their fiery hands. But one convulsive struggle still remains, And Gaul shall weep ere Albion wear her chains. The banner'd pomp of war, the glittering files, O'er whose gay trappings stern Bellona smiles; The brazen trump, the spirit-stirring drum, That bid the foe defiance ere they come ; The hero bounding at his country's call, The glorious death that consecrates his fall, Swell the young heart with visionary charms, And bid it antedate the joys of arms. But know, a lesson you may yet be taught, SIR, TO THE PUBLISHER. I AM a country gentleman of a midland county. I might have been a parliament-man for a certain borough; having had the offer of as many votes as General T. at the general election in 1812.3 But I was all for domestic happiness; as, fifteen years ago, on a visit to London, I married a middle-aged maid of honor. We lived happily at Hornem Hall till last season, when my wife and I were invited by the Countess of Waltzaway (a distant relation of my spouse) to pass the winter in town. Thinking no harm, and our girls being come to a marriageable (or, as they call it, marketable) age, and having ["The beautiful but barren Hymettus, the whole coast of Attica, her hills and mountains, Pentelicus, Anchesmus, Philopappus, &c. &c., are in themselves poetical; and would be so if the name of Athens, of Athenians, and her very ruins, were swept from the earth. But, am I to be told that the nature' of Attica would be more poetical without the 'art' of the Acropolis of the Temple of Theseus and of the still all Greek and glorious monuments of her exquisitely artificial genius? Ask the traveller what strikes him as most poetical, the Parthenon, or the rock on which it stands? The COLUMNS of Cape Colonna, or the Cape itself? The rocks at the foot of it, or the recollection that Falconer's ship was bulged upon them? There are a thousand rocks and capes far more picturesque than those of the Acropolis and Cape Sunium in themselves. But it is the art,' the columns, the temples, the wrecked vessel, which give them their antique and their modern poetry, and not the spots themselves. I opposed, and will besides a Chancery suit inveterately entailed upon the family estate, we came up in our old chariot,— of which, by the by, my wife grew so much ashamed in less than a week, that I was obliged to buy a second-hand barouche, of which I might mount the box, Mrs. H. says, if I could drive, but never see the inside-that place being reserved for the Honorable Augustus Tiptoe, her partner-general and operaknight. Hearing great praises of Mrs. H.'s dancing, (she was famous for birthnight minuets in the latter end of the last century,) I unbooted, and went to a ball at the Countess's, expecting to see a country dance, or, at most, cotillions, reels, and all the ol paces to the newest tunes. But, judge of my surprise, on arriving, to see poor dear Mrs. Hornem with her ever oppose, the robbery of ruins from Athens, to instruct the English in sculpture; but why did I do so? The reas are as poetical in Piccadilly as they were in the Partherch but the Parthenon and its rock are less so without them Such is the poetry of art.”—Byron Letters, 1821.) [This trifle was written at Cheltenham in the autum of 1812, and published anonymously in the spring of th following year. It was not very well received at the tipe by the public; and the author was by no means antros that it should be considered as his handiwork. "I hear he says, in a letter to a friend, "that a certain males as publication on waltzing is attributed to me. This report I suppose, you will take care to contradict; as the auther. I am sure, will not like that I should wear hus cap and bells."] 3 State of the poll, (last day,) 5. arms half round the loins of a huge hussar-looking gentleman I never set eyes on before; and his, to say truth, rather more than half round her waist, turning round, and round, and round, to a d- -d see-saw up-and-down sort of tune, that reminded me of the " Black-joke," only more "affetuoso," till it made me quite giddy with wondering they were not so. By-and-by they stopped a bit, and I thought they would sit or fall down:-but no; with Mrs. H.'s hand on his shoulder, "quam familiariter," (as Terence said, when I was at school,) they walked about a minute, and then at it again, like two cockchafers spitted on the same bodkin. I asked what all this meant, when, with a loud laugh, a child no older than our Wilhelmina (a name I never heard but in the Vicar of Wakefield, though her mother would call her after the Princess of Swappenbach) said, "Lord! Mr. Hornem, can't you see they are valtzing" or waltzing, (I forget which ;) and then up she got, and her mother and sister, and away they went, and round-abouted it till supper-time. Now, that I know what it is, I like it of all things, and so does Mrs. H., (though I have broken my shins, and four times overturned Mrs. Horuem's maid, in practising the preliminary steps in a morning.) Indeed, so much do I like it, that having a turn for rhyme, tastily displayed in some election ballads, and songs in honor of all the victories, (but till lately I have had little practice in that way,) I sat down, and with the aid of William Fitzgerald, Esq., and a few hiats from Dr. Busby, (whose recitations I attend, and am monstrous fond of Master Busby's manner of delivering his father's late successful" Drury Lane Address,") I composed the following hymn, wherewithal to make my sentiments known to the public; whom, nevertheless, I heartily despise, as well as the critics. 2 I am, Sir, yours, &c. &c. HORACE HORNEM. THE WALTZ. Mrse of the many-twinkling feet! whose charms Are now extended up from legs to arms; My Latin is all forgotten, if a man can be said to have forgotten what he never remembered; but I bought my titlepage motto of a Catholic priest for a three-shilling bank token, after much haggling for the even sixpence. grudged the money to a papist, being all for the memory of Perceval and "No popery," and quite regretting the downfall of the pope, because we can't burn him any more. [See ante, p. 431.] [See "Rejected Addresses."] "Glance their many-twinkling feet."-GRAY. To rival Lord Wellesley's, or his nephew's, as the reader pleases-the one gained a pretty woman, whom he deserved, by fighting for; and the other has been fighting in the Peninsula many a long day, "by Shrewsbury clock," without gaining any thing in that country but the title of "the Great Lord," and "the Lord;" which savors of profaDation, having been hitherto applied only to that Being to whom Te Deums" for carnage are the rankest blasphemy.It is to be presumed the general will one day return to his Sabine farm; there "To tame the genius of the stubborn plain, The Lord Peterborough conquered continents in a summer; we do more-we contrive both to conquer and lose them in Terpsichore !-too long misdeem'd a maid- Waltz." Hail, nimble nymph! to whom the young hussar, Hail, moving Muse! to whom the fair one's breast 116 Imperial Waltz! imported from the Rhine, (Famed for the growth of pedigrees and wine,) Long be thine import from all duty free, And hock itself be less esteem'd than thee: In some few qualities alike-for hock Improves our cellar-thou our living stock. The head to hock belongs-thy subtler art Intoxicates alone the heedless heart: Through the full veins thy gentler poison swims, And wakes to wantonness the willing limbs. Oh, Germany! how much to thee we owe, As heaven-born Pitt can testify below, Ere cursed confederation made thee France's, And only left us thy dd debts and dances! Of subsidies and Hanover bereft, We bless thee still-for George the Third is left! Of kings the best-and last, not least in worth, For graciously begetting George the Fourth. a shorter season. If the "great Lord's" Cincinnatian progress in agriculture be no speedier than the proportional average of time in Pope's couplet, it will, according to the farmers' proverb, be "ploughing with dogs." By the by-one of this illustrious person's new titles is forgotten-it is, however, worth remembering-" Salvador del mundo!" credite, posteri! If this be the appellation annexed by the inhabitants of the Peninsula to the name of a man who has not yet saved them-query-are they worth saving, even in this world? for, according to the mildest modifications of any Christian creed, those three words make the odds much against them in the next.-" Saviour of the world," quotha-it were to be wished that he, or any one else, could save a corner of it-his country. Yet this stupid misnomer, although it shows the near connection between superstition and impiety, so far has its use, that it proves there can be little to dread from those Catholics inquisitorial Catholics too) who can confer such an appellation on a Protestant. I suppose next year he will be entitled the " Virgin Mary" if so, Lord George Gordon himself would have nothing to object to such liberal bastards of our Lady of Babylon. [Among the addresses sent in to the Drury Lane Committee was one by Dr. Busby, which began by asking"When energizing objects men pursue, What are the prodigies they cannot do?"] |