and express less, but he never was intended as an example, further than to show that early perversion of mind and morals leads to satiety of past pleasures and and be either droll or pathetic, descriptive or sentimental, tender or satirical, as the humour strikes me; tr. if I mistake not, the measure which I have adopted simis equally of all these kinds of composition.»-disappointment in new ones, and that even the beauties wagthened in my opinion by such authority, and by te example of some in the highest order of Italian 1, I shall make no apology for attempts at similar victions in the following composition; satisfied that, they are unsuccessful, their failure must be in the tention, rather than in the design sanctioned by the Tactice of Ariesto, Thomson, and Beattie. ADDITION TO THE PREFACE. I have now waited till almost all our periodical jourhave distributed their usual portion of criticism. the justice of the generality of their criticisms I at nothing to object; it would ill become me to A with their very slight degree of censure, when, waps, if they had been less kind they had been more d. Returning, therefore, to all and each my best s for their liberality, on one point alone shall I ture an observation. Amongst the many objections y urged to the very indifferent character of the at Childe» (whom, notwithstanding many hints The contrary, I still maintain to be a fictitious perwae. it has been stated that, besides the anachron he is very unknightly, as the times of the knights > times of love, honour, and so forth. Now it so *spens that the good old times, when «l'amour du vieux temps, l'amour antique» flourished, were the Est profligate of all possible centuries. Those who any doubts on this subject may consult St Palaye, , and more particularly vol. ii. page 69. The s of chivalry were no better kept than any other rows whatsoever, and the songs of the Troubadours se not more decent, and certainly were much less ed, than those of Ovid.-The Cours d'amour, parled'amour ou de courtoisie et de gentilesse,» had much more of love than of courtesy or gentleness.-See Lindon the same subject with St Palaye.-Whatever Ker objection may be urged to that most unamiable prwnage Childe Harold, he was so far perfectly knight in bis attributes-No waiter, but a knight templay the bye, I fear that Sir Tristram and Sir Laserlot were no better than they should be, although wer poctical personages and true knights « sans peur,» gh not e sans reproche. If the story of the instion of the Garters be not a fable, the knights of and ender have for several centuries borne the badge of 1 Countess of Salisbury, of indifferent memory. So ath for chivalry. Burke need not have regretted at its days are over, though Maria Antoinette was te as chaste as most of those in whose honours anres were shivered, and knights unhorsed. Before the days of Bayard, and down to those of Sir ph Banks the most chaste and celebrated of anvat and modern times), few exceptions will be found this statement, and I fear a little investigation will us not to regret these monstrous mummeries of ter middle ages. I now leave Childe Harold» to live his day, such as ; it had been more agreeable, and certainly more to have drawn an amiable character. It had been y to varnish over his faults, to make him do more • Bese Letters. The Rovers-Antejacobin. of nature, and the stimulus of travel (except ambition, the most powerful of all excitements), are lost on a soul so constituted, or rather misdirected. Had I proceeded with the poem, this character would have deepened as he drew to the close; for the outline which I once meant to fill up for him was, with some exceptions, the sketch of a modern Timon, perhaps a poetical Zeluco. TO IANTHE. NoT in those climes where I have late been straying, To paint those charms which varied as they beam'd— Ah! may'st thou ever be what now thou art, Oh! let that eye, which, wild as the gazelle's, Such is thy name with this my verse entwined; Of him who hail'd thee, loveliest as thou wast, Though more than Hope can claim, could Friendship XIV. On, on the vessel flies, the land is gone, His fabled golden tribute bent to pay; XX. Then slowly climb the many-winding way, And steer twixt fertile shores where yet few rustics reap. In hope to merit heaven by making earth a hell. XV. Oh, Christ! it is a goodly sight to see What Heaven hath done for this delicious land! What fruits of fragrance blush on every tree! What goodly prospects o'er the hills expand! But man would mar them with an impious hand : And when the Almighty lifts his fiercest scourge 'Gainst those who most transgress his high command, With treble vengeance will his hot shafts urge Gaul's locust host, and earth from fellest foemen purge. XVI. What beauties doth Lisboa first unfold? Her image floating on that noble tide, Which poets vainly pave with sands of gold, But now whereon a thousand keels did ride Of mighty strength, since Albion was allied, And to the Lusians did her aid afford: A nation swoln with ignorance and pride, Who lick yet loathe the hand that waves the sword To save them from the wrath of Gaul's unsparing lord. XVII. But whoso entereth within this town, XXI. And here and there, as up the crags you spring, Mark many rude-carved crosses near the path: Yet deem not these devotion's offeringThese are memorials frail of murderous wrath: For wheresoe'er the shrieking victim hath Pour'd forth his blood beneath the assassin's knife, Some hand erects a cross of mouldering lath; And grove and glen with thousand such are rife Throughout this purple land, where law secures not life. 3 XXII. On sloping mounds, or in the vale beneath, Are domes where whilome kings did make repair; But now the wild flowers round them only breathe; Yet ruin'd splendour still is lingering there. And yonder towers the prince's palace fair : There thou too, Vathek! England's wealthiest son, Once form'd thy paradise, as not aware When wanton wealth her mightiest deeds hath done, Meek peace voluptuous lures was ever wont to shun. XXIII. Here didst thou dwell, here schemes of pleasure plan, But now, as if a thing unblest by man, Though shent with Egypt's plague, unkempt, unwash'd, Swept into wrecks anon by time's ungentle tide! |