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 Havoc 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. 1

XLII.

There shall they rot - Ambition's honour'd fools!? Yes, Honour 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,
And shine in worthless lays, the theme of transient
song.3

1 See APPENDIx, Note A.

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

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

[At Seville, we lodged in the house of two Spanish unmarried ladies, women of character, the eldest a fine woman, the youngest pretty. The freedom of manner, which is general 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 honoured your unworthy son with very particular attention, embracing him with 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

XLIV.

Enough of Battle's minions! let them play Their game of lives, and barter breath for fame : Fame that will scarce re-animate 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.

XLVI.

But all unconscious of the coming doom,
The feast, the song, the revel here abounds;
Strange modes of merriment the hours consume,
Nor bleed these patriots with their country's wounds:
Nor here War's clarion, but Love's rebeck 5 sounds;
Here Folly still his votaries inthralls; [rounds :
And young-eyed Lewdness walks her midnight
Girt with the silent crimes of Capitals,

Still to the last kind Vice clings to the tott'ring walls.

XLVII.

Not so the rustic- with his trembling mate
He lurks, nor casts his heavy eye afar,
Lest he should view his vineyard desolate,
Blasted below the dun hot breath of war.
No more beneath soft Eve's consenting star
Fandango twirls his jocund castanet:

Ah, monarchs! could ye taste the mirth ye mar,
Not in the toils of Glory would ye fret ;

The hoarse dull drum would sleep, and Man be happy

yet!

XLVIII.

How carols now the lusty muleteer?

Of love, romance, devotion is his lay,

As whilome he was wont the leagues to cheer, His quick bells wildly jingling on the way? No! as he speeds, he chants "Viva el Rey !"6 And checks his song to execrate Godoy, The royal wittol Charles, and curse the day When first Spain's queen beheld the black-eyed boy, And gore-faced Treason sprung from her adulterate joy.

own, about three feet in length, which I 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 Ba dajoz, 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.

3 Such were the exploits of the Maid of Saragoza, who by her valour 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

weak!

of beauty. She has further had the honour 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 marketplace; before the altars of their temples, and among their congregated dwellings, blazing or uprooted."]

"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 plexions, and forms more graceful in motion than can be ceived by an Englishman, used to the drowsy, listless air of his countrywomen, added to the most becoming dress, and, at the same time, the most decent in the world, render a Spanish beauty irresistible."- B. to his Mother, Aug. 1809.] ⚫ These stanzas were written in Castri (Delphos), at the foot of Parnassus, now called Azuga (Liakura), Dec. 1809.

Upon Parnassus, going to the fountain of Delphi Catri, in 1809, I saw a flight of twelve eagles (Hobhouse ay they were vultures-at least in conversation), and I esed the omen. On the day before, I composed the lines to Parnassus in Childe Harold), and on beholding the birds, had be that Apollo had accepted my homage. I have at least bad the name and fame of a poet, during the poetical period dfafe (from twenty to thirty); - whether it will last is another matter: but I have been a votary of the deity and the place, and am grateful for what he has done in my behalf, leaving the future in his hands, as I left the past."-B. Diary, 1821.] [Casting the eye over the site of ancient Delphi, one cannot possibly imagine what has become of the walls of the umerous buildings which are mentioned in the history of its farmer magnificence, - buildings which covered two miles of ground. With the exception of the few terraces or supporting walls, nothing now appears. The various robberies by Sylla, Nera, 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.]

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

["Some glorious thought to my petition grant."- MS.] 9 Seville was the Hispalis of the Romans.

10 ["The lurking lures of thy enchanting gaze."— MS.] 11["Cadiz, sweet Cadiz !-it is the first spot in the creation. 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:
Nought interrupts the riot, though in lieu
Of true devotion monkish incense burns,
And love and prayer unite, or rule the hour by turns. 1

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. 2

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? 3
'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. 5

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.] ["And droughty then alights, and roars for Roman purl." -MS.J

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 Baotia, where the first riddle was propounded and solved.

4 [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."]

5 ["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 bust of pathos or splendour, 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 manège." -MS.]

LXXVII.

Again he comes; nor dart nor lance avail, Nor the wild plunging of the tortured horse; Though man and man's avenging arms assail, Vain are his weapons, vainer is his force. One gallant steed is stretch'd a mangled corse; Another, hideous sight! unseam'd appears, His gory chest unveils life's panting source; Though death-struck, still his feeble frame he rears; Staggering, but stemming all, his lord unharm'd he bears.

LXXVIII.

Foil'd, bleeding, breathless, furious to the last,
Full in the centre stands the bull at bay,

Mid wounds, and clinging darts, and lances brast,
And foes disabled in the brutal fray :
And now the Matadores around him play,
Shake the red cloak, and poise the ready brand:
Once more through all he bursts his thundering
way-

Vain rage! the mantle quits the conynge hand, Wraps his fierce eye-'tis past-he sinks upon the sand! I

LXXIX.

Where his vast neck just mingles with the spine,
Sheathed in his form the deadly weapon lies.
He stops he starts-disdaining to decline:
Slowly he falls, amidst triumphant cries,
Without a groan, without a struggle dies.
The decorated car appears-on high

The corse is piled-sweet sight for vulgar eyes 2— Four steeds that spurn the rein, as swift as shy, Hurl the dark bulk along, scarce seen in dashing by.

LXXX.

Such the ungentle sport that oft invites The Spanish maid, and cheers the Spanish swain. Nurtured in blood betimes, his heart delights In vengeance, gloating on another's pain. What private feuds the troubled village stain! Though now one phalanx'd host should meet the foe, Enough, alas! in humble homes remain, To meditate 'gainst friends the secret blow, For some slight cause of wrath, whence life's warm stream must flow. 9

LXXXI.

But Jealousy has fled his bars, his bolts, His wither'd centinel, Duenna sage! And all whereat the generous soul revolts, Which the stern dotard deem'd he could encage, Have pass'd to darkness with the vanish'd age. Who late so free as Spanish girls were seen, (Ere War uprose in his volcanic rage,) With braided tresses bounding o'er the green, While on the gay dance shone Night's lover-loving Queen ?

[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 charining "Letters of Don Leucadio Doblado," (i. e. the Rev. Blanco 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 slaughter-house itself the professional bull-fighter gave public lessons; and such was the force of depraved custom, that ladies of the highest rank were not ashamed to appear amidst the filth and horror of the shambles. The Spaniards received this sport from the Moors, among whom it was celebrated with great pomp and splendour. See various Notes to Mr. Lockhart's Collection of Ancient Spanish Ballads. 1822]

LXXXII.

Oh! many a time, and oft, had Harold loved, Or dream'd he loved, since rapture is a dream; But now his wayward bosom was unmoved, For not yet had he drunk of Lethe's stream; And lately had he learn'd with truth to deem Love has no gift so grateful as his wings: How fair, how young, how soft soe'er he seem, Full from the fount of Joy's delicious springs + Some bitter o'er the flowers its bubbling venom flings. 5

LXXXIII.

Yet to the beauteous form he was not blind, Though now it moved him as it moves the wise; Not that Philosophy on such a mind E'er deign'd to bend her chastely-awful eyes: But Passion raves itself to rest, or flies; And Vice, that digs her own voluptuous tomb, Had buried long his hopes, no more to rise : Pleasure's pall'd victim! life-abhorring gloom Wrote on his faded brow curst Cain's unresting doom.

LXXXIV.

Still he beheld, nor mingled with the throng;
But view'd them not with misanthropic hate:
Fain would he now have join'd the dance, the song;
But who may smile that sinks beneath his fate?
Nought that he saw his sadness could abate:
Yet once he struggled 'gainst the demon's sway,
And as in Beauty's bower he pensive sate,
Pour'd forth this unpremeditated lay,

To charms as fair as those that soothed his happier day.

TO INEZ.

1.

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 woe

I bear, corroding joy and youth?
And wilt thou vainly seek to know
A pang, ev'n thou must fail to soothe ?
3.

It is not love, it is not hate,

Nor low Ambition's honours 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 reared-disgusting prize "— Or, "The corse is reared - 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.

5 ["Some bitter bubbles up, and e'en on roses stings." MS.]