Kissing his feet with murmurs; and the wood, The covert of old trees, with trunks all hoar, But light leaves, young as joy, stands where it stood, Offering to him, and his, a populous solitudeCII. A populous solitude of bees and birds, And fairy-form'd and many-color'd things, Who worship him with notes inore sweet than words, Aud innocently open their glad wings, Fearless and full of life: the gush of springs, And fall of lofty fountains, and the bend Of stirring branches, and the bud which brings The swiftest thought of beauty, here extend, Mingling, and made by Love, unto one mighty end. CIII. He who hath loved not, here would learn that lore, For this is Love's recess, where vain men's woes, those, For 'tis his nature to advance or die; He stands not still, but or decays, or grows Into a boundless blessing, which may vie With the immortal lights, in its eternity! CIV. 'Twas not for fiction chose Rousseau this spot, Peopling it with affections; but he found It was the scene which passion must allot To the mind's purified beings; 'twas the ground Where early Love his Psyche's zone unbound, And hallow'd it with loveliness; 'tis lone, And wonderful, and deep, and hath a sound, And sense, and sight of sweetness; here the Rhone Hath spread himself a couch, the Alps have rear'd a throne. CV. Lausanne! and Ferney! ye have been the abodes They were gigantic minds, and their steep aim Of Heaven, again assail'd, if Heaven the while than smile. for his sister, closes with the following mournful passage:"In the weather, for this tour, of thirteen days, I have been very fortunate-fortunate in a companion" (Mr. Hobhouse) fortunate in our prospects, and exempt from even the lele petty accidents and delays which often render journeys in a less wild country disappointing. I was disposed to be pessed. I am a lover of nature, and an admirer of beauty. I can bear fatigue, and welcome privation, and have seen some of the noblest views in the world. But in all this,the recollection of bitterness, and more especially of recent and more home desolation, which must accompany me through life, has preyed upon me here; and neither the sc of the shepherd, the crashing of the avalanche, nor the torrent, the mountain, the glacier, the forest, nor the cloud, have for one moment lightened the weight upon my heart, Dor enabled me to lose my own wretched identity, in the majesty, and the power, and the glory around, above, and Sedeath me."] Stanzas xcix. to cxv. are exquisite. They have every thing which makes a poetical picture of local and particular scenery perfect. They exhibit a miraculous brilliancy and force of fancy; but the very fidelity causes a little constraint and labor of language. The poet seems to have been so engrossed by the attention to give vigor and fire to the imagery, that he both neglected and disdained to render himself more harmonious by diffuser words, which, while they might have improved the effect upon the ear, might have weakened the impression upon the mind. This mastery over new matter-this supply of powers equal not only to an untouched subject, but that subject one of peculiar and unequalled grandeur and beauty-was sufficient to occupy the strongest poetical faculties, young as the author was, without adding to it all the practical skill of the artist. The stanzas, too, on Voltaire and Gibbon are discriminative, sagacious, and just. They are among the proofs of that very great variety of talent which this Canto of Lord Byron exhibits.-SIR E. BRYDGES.] 2 See Appendix, Note [G.] $ Voltaire and Gibbon. CVI. The one was fire and fickleness, a child, Most mutable in wishes, but in mind A wit as various,-gay, grave, sage, or wild,— Historian, bard, philosopher, combined; He multiplied himself among mankind, The Proteus of their talents: But his own Breathed most in ridicule,-which, as the wind, Blew where it listed, laying all things prone,Now to o'erthrow a fool, and now to shake a throne. CVII. The other, deep and slow, exhausting thought, And hiving wisdom with each studious year, In meditation dwelt, with learning wrought, And shaped his weapon with an edge severe, Sapping a solemn creed with solemn sneer; The lord of irony,-that master-spell, Which stung his foes to wrath, which grew from fear, And doom'd him to the zealot's ready Hell, Which answers to all doubts so eloquently well. "If it be thus, For Banquo's issue have I filed my mind."-MACBETH." 2 It is said by Rochefoucault, that "there is always something in the misfortunes of men's best friends not displeasing to them." a["It is not the temper and talents of the poet, but the use to which he puts them, on which his happiness or misery is grounded. A powerful and unbridled imagination is the author and architect of its own disappointments. Its fascinations, its exaggerated pictures of good and evil, and the mental distress to which they give rise, are the natural and necessary evils attending on that quick susceptibility of feeling and fancy incident to the poetical temperament. But the Giver of all talents, while he has qualified them each with its separate and peculiar alloy, has endowed the owner with the power of purifying and refining them. But, as if to moderate the arrogance of genius, it is justly and wisely made requisite, that he must regulate and tame the fire of his fancy, and descend from the heights to which she exalts him, in order to obtain ease of mind and tranquillity. The materials of happiness, that is, of such degree of happiness as is consistent with our present state, lie around us in profusion. But the man of talents must stoop to gather them, otherwise they would be beyond the reach of the mass of society, for whose benefit, as well as for his, Providence has created them. There is no royal and no Who glorify thy consecrated pages; Thou wert the throne and grave of empires; still, The fount at which the panting mind assuages Her thirst of knowledge, quaffing there her fill, Flows from the eternal source of Rome's imperial hil CXI. Thus far have I proceeded in a theme Is a stern task of soul:-No matter,-it is taught. CXII. And for these words, thus woven into song, It may be that they are a harmless wile,The coloring of the scenes which fleet along, Which I would seize, in passing, to beguile My breast, or that of others, for a while. Fame is the thirst of youth,-but I am not So young as to regard men's frown or smile, As loss or guerdon of a glorious lot; I stood and stand alone,-remember'd or forgot. CXIII. I have not loved the world, nor the world me; Nor coin'd my cheek to smiles,-nor cried aloud They could not deem me one of such; I stood Among them, but not of them; in a shroud [could, Of thoughts which were not their thoughts, and still Had I not filed' my mind, which thus itself subdued. CXIV. I have not loved the world, nor the world me,- And virtues which are merciful, nor weave O'er others' griefs that some sincerely grieve; That two, or one, are almost what they seem,— That goodness is no name, and happiness no dream." poetical path to contentment and heart's-ease: that by which they are attained is open to all classes of mankind, and lies within the most limited range of intellect. To narrow our wishes and desires within the scope of our powers of attainment; to consider our misfortunes, however peculiar in their character, as our inevitable share in the patrimony of Adam; to bridle those irritable feelings, which ungoverned are sure to become governors; to shun that intensity of galling and self-wounding reflection which our poet has so forcibly described in his own burning language: I have thought Too long and darkly, till my brain became, -to stoop, in short, to the realities of life; repent if we have offended, and pardon if we have been trespassed against; to look on the world less as our foe than as a doubtful and capricious friend, whose applause we ought as far as possible to deserve, but neither to court nor conteinn --such seem the most obvious and certain means of keeping or regaining mental tranquillity. CVI. The one was fire and fickleness, a child, The other, deep and slow, exhausting thought, Which stung his foes to wrath, which grew from fear, Who glorify thy consecrated pages; Thou wert the throne and grave of empires; still, Thus far have I proceeded in a theme And for these words, thus woven into song, CXIII. I have not loved the world, nor the world me; They could not deem me one of such; I stood CXIV. I have not loved the world, nor the world me,- And virtues which are merciful, nor weave O'er others' griefs that some sincerely grieve; poetical path to contentment and heart's-ease: that by which they are attained is open to all classes of mankind, and lies within the most limited range of intellect. To narrow our wishes and desires within the scope of our powers of attainment to consider our misfortunes, however peculiar in their character, as our inevitable share in the patrimony of Adam; to bridle those irritable feelings, which ungoverned are sure to become governors: to shun that intensity of galling and self-wounding reflection which our poet has so forcibly described in his own burning language: -I have thought Too long and darkly, till my brain became, 3["It is not the temper and talents of the poet, but the use to which he puts them, on which his happiness or inisery is grounded. A powerful and unbridled imagination is the author and architect of its own disappointments. Its fascinations, its exaggerated pictures of good and evil, and the inental distress to which they give rise, are the natural and necessary evils attending on that quick susceptibility of feeling and fancy incident to the poetical temperament. But the Giver of all talents, while he has qualified them each with its separate and peculiar alloy, has endowed the owner with the power of purifying and refining them. But. --to stoop, in short, to the realities of life; repent if we as if to moderate the arrogance of genius, it is justly and wisely made requisite, that he must regulate and tame the have offended, and pardon if we have been trespassed against; to look on the world less as our foe than as a fire of his fancy, and descend from the heights to which she exalts him, in order to obtain ease of mind and tranquillity. doubtful and capricious friend, whose applause we ought as The materials of happiness, that is, of such degree of hap--such seem the most obvious and certain means of keepfar as possible to deserve, but neither to court nor contemn piness as is consistent with our present state, lie around us ing or regaining mental tranquillity. in profusion. But the man of talents must stoop to gather them, otherwise they would be beyond the reach of the mass of society, for whose benefit, as well as for his, Providence has created them. There is no royal and no -Semita certe CXV. My daughter! with thy name this song begun- CXVI. To aid thy mind's development,-to watch I know not what is there, yet something like to this. Yet, though dull Hate as duty should be taught, I know that thou wilt love me; though to drain the conclusion of the poem is about to be submitted In so doing, I recur from fiction to truth; and in dedicating to you, in its complete or at least concluded state, a poetical work which is the longest, the most thoughtful and comprehensive of my compositions, I wish to do honor to myself by the record of many years' intimacy with a man of learning, of talent, of steadiness, and of honor. It is not for minds like ours to give or to receive flattery; yet the praises of sincerity have ever been permitted to the voice of friendship; and it is not for you, nor even for others, but to relieve a heart which has not elsewhere, or lately, been so much accustomed to the encounter of good-will as to withstand the shock firmly, that I thus attempt to commemorate your good qualities, or rather the advantages which I have derived from their exertion. Even the recurrence of the date of Still thou wouldst love me, still that more than life this letter, the anniversary of the most unfortunate retain. CXVIII. The child of love, though born in bitterness, CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. CANTO THE FOURTH. Visto ho Toscana, Lombardia, Romagna, day of my past existence, but which cannot poison my future while I retain the resource of your friendship, and of my own faculties, will henceforth have a more agreeable recollection for both, inasmuch as it will remind us of this my attempt to thank you for an indefatigable regard, such as few men have experienced, and no one could experience without thinking better of his species and of himself. It has been our fortune to traverse together, at various periods, the countries of chivalry, history, and fable-Spain, Greece, Asia Minor, and Italy; and what Athens and Constantinople were to us a few years ago, Venice and Rome have been more recently. The poem also, or the pilgrim, or both, have accompanied me from first to last; and perhaps it may be a pardonable vanity which induces me to reflect with complacency on a composition which in some degree connects me with the spot where it was produced, and the objects it would fain describe; and however unworthy it may be deemed of those magical and memorable abodes, however short it may fall of our distant conceptions and immediate impressions, yet as a mark of respect for what is venerable, and of feeling for what is glorious, it has been to me a source of pleasure in the production, and I part with it with a kind of regret, which I hardly suspected that events could have left me for imaginary objects. With regard to the conduct of the last canto, there will be found less of the pilgrim than in any of the TO JOHN HOBHOUSE, ESQ., A.M. F.R.S. &c. preceding, and that little slightly, if at all, separated from the author speaking in his own person. The fact is, that I had become weary of drawing a line which every one seemed determined not to perceive like the Chinese in Goldsmith's "Citizen of the World," whom nobody would believe to be a Chinese, it was in vain that I asserted, and imagined that I had drawn, a distinction between the author and the pilgrim; and the very anxiety to preserve this dif |