I've no sort of objection,
Very good! So I'm not of the party to take the infection.
Lady Blueb. Perhaps you have doubts that they
ever will take?

Lady Blueb. He means nought-'tis his phrase.

Lady Bluem.
He grows rude.
Lady Blueb. He means nothing; nay, ask him.
Lady Bluem.
Pray, sir! did you mean

What you say?

Ink.

Never mind if he did; 't will be seen That whatever he means won't alloy what he says. Both. Sir!

Ink. Pray be content with your portion of praise; 'T was in your defence.

Both.

If you please, with submission,

I can make out my own.
Ink.
It would be your perdition.
While you live, my dear Botherby, never defend
Yourself or your works; but leave both to a friend.
Apropos-Is your play then accepted at last?

Both. At last?

Ink. Not at all; on the contrary, those of the lake
Have taken already, and still will continue
To take-what they can, from a groat to a guinea,
Of pension or place;-but the subject's a bore. ww
Lady Bluem. Well, sir, the time's coming. huht
Ink.
Scamp don't you feel sore?
What say you to this?
Scamp.

They have merit, I own;
Though their system's absurdity keeps it unknown.
Ink. Then why not unearth it in one of your lec
tures?

Scamp. It is only time past which comes under my strictures.

Lady Blueb. Come, a truce with all tartness ;-the joy of iny heart

Is to see Nature's triumph o'er all that is art.

Ink. Why I thought-that's to say-there had Wild Nature !-Grand Shakspeare!
pass'd

A few green-room whispers, which hinted,-you know
That the taste of the actors at best is so-so.

Both. Sir, the green-room's in rapture, and so's the

Committee.

Ink. Ay-yours are the plays for exciting our "pity And fear," as the Greek says: for "purging the

mind,"

I doubt if you'll leave us an equal behind.

Both. I have written the prologue, and meant to have pray'd

or a spice of your wit in an epilogue's aid.

Both

And down Aristotle !
Lady Bluem. Sir George thinks exactly with Lady
Bluebottle:

And my Lord Seventy-four, who protects our dear
Bard,

And who gave him his place, has the greatest regard
For the poet, who, singing of pedlars and asses,
Has found out the way to dispense with Parnassus.
Tra. And you, Scamp!-

Scamp. I needs must confess I'm embarrass'd.
Ink. Don't call upon Scamp, who's already so
harass'd

Ink. Well, time enough yet, when the play's to be With old schools, and new schools, and no schools, play'd.

Is it cast yet?

Both.

The actors are fighting for parts,
As is usual in that most litigious of arts.
Lady Blueb. We'll all make a party, and go the
first night.

Tra. And you promised the epilogue, Inkel.
Ink.

and all schools.

Tra. Well, one thing is certain, that some must be

fools.

I should like to know who.
Ink.
And I should not be sorry
To know who are not-it would save us some worry.
Lady Blueb. A truce with remark, and let nothing
control

Not quite. This "feast of our reason and flow of the soul."
Oh! my dear Mr. Botherby! sympathise !—I
Now feel such a rapture, I'm ready to fly,

However, to save my friend Botherby trouble,
I'll do what I can, though my pains must be double.
Tra. Why so?

Ink. ;i dai be To do justice to what goes before.
Both. Sir, I'm happy to say, I've no fears on that

score.

Your parts, Mr. Inkel, are―

* Grange is or was a famous pastry-cook and fruiterer in Piccadilly.

I feel so elastic-"so buoyant-so buoyant !"*
Ink. Tracy open the window.
Tra.
I wish her much joy on 't.
Both. For God's sake, my Lady Bluebottle, check

not

* Fact froin life, with the words.

CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE:

A ROMAUNT.

L'univers est une espèce de livre, dont on n'a lu que la première page quand on n'a vu que son pays. J'en ai feuilleté un assez grand nombre, que j'ai trouvé également mauvaises. Cet examen ne m'a point été infructueux. Je haissais ma patrie. Toutes les impertinences des peuples divers, parmi lesquels j'ai vécu m'ont réconcilié avec elle. Quand je n'aurais tiré d'autre bénéfice de mes voyages que celui-là, je n'en regretterais ni les frais ni les fatigues.'-LE COSMOPOLITE.

PREFACE TO THE FIRST AND SECOND CANTOS.

THE following poem was written, for the most part, amidst the scenes which it attempts to describe. It was begun in Albania; and the parts relative to Spain and Portugal were composed from the author's observations in those countries. Thus much it may be necessary to state for the correctness of the descriptions. The scenes attempted to be sketched are in Spain, Portugal, Epirus, Acarnania, and Greece. There, for the present, the poem stops: its reception will determine whether the author may venture to conduct his readers to the capital of the East, through Ionia and Phrygia: these two Cantos are merely experimental.

A fictitious character is introduced for the sake of giving some connection to the piece; which, however, makes no pretensions to regularity. It has been suggested to me by friends, on whose opinions I set a high value, that in this fictitious character, 'Childe Harold,' I may incur the suspicion of having intended some real personage: this I beg leave, once for all, to disclaim. Harold is a child of imagination, for the purpose I have stated. In some very trivial particulars, and those merely local, there might be grounds for such a notion; but in the main points, I should hope, none whatever."

It is almost superfluous to mention that the appellation Childe,' as 'Childe Waters,' 'Childe Childers,* etc., is used as more consonant with the old structure of versification which I have adopted. The 'Good Night,' in the beginning of the first Canto, was suggested by Lord Maxwell's Good Night,' in the Border Minstrelsy, edited by Mr. Scott.

With the different poems which have been published on Spanish subjects, there may be found some slight coincidence in the first part which treats of the Peninsula; but it can only be casual, as, with the exception of a few concluding stanzas, the whole of this poem was written in the Levant.

The stanza of Spenser, according to one of our most successful poets, admits of every variety. Dr. Beattie makes the following observation:-'Not long ago, I began a poem in the style and stanza of Spenser, in which I propose to give full scope to my inclination, and be either droll or pathetic, descriptive or sentimental, tender or satirical, as the humour strikes me: for, if I mistake not, the measure which I have adopted admits equally of all these kinds of composition. Strengthened in my opinion by such authority, and by the example of some in the highest order of Italian poets, I shall make no apology for attempts at similar variations in the following composition; satisfied that, if they are unsuccessful, their failure must be in the execution rather than in the design, sanctioned by the practice of Ariosto, Thomson, and Beattie.

LONDON, February 1812.

ADDITION TO THE PREFACE.

I HAVE now waited till almost all our periodical journals have distributed their usual portion of criticism. To the justice of the generality of their criticisms I have nothing to object; it would ill become me to quarrel with their very slight degree of censure, when, perhaps, if they had been less kind, they had been more candid. Returning, therefore, to all and each my best thanks for their liberality, on one point alone shall I venture an observation. Amongst the inany objections justly urged to the very indifferent character of the 'vagrant Childe' (whom, notwithstanding many hints to the contrary, I still maintain to be a fictitious personage), it has been stated that, besides the anachronism, he is very unknightly, as the times of the Knights were times of Love, Honour, and so forth. Now, it so happens that the good old times, when 'l'amour du bon vieux tems, l'amour antique' flourished, were the most profligate of all possible centuries. Those who have any doubts on this subject may consult Sainte-Palaye, passim, and more particularly vol. ii. p. 69. The vows of chivalry were no better kept than any other vows whatsoever; and the songs of the

Troubadours were not more decent, and certainly were much less refined, than those of Ovid. The 'Cours d'amour, parlemens d'amour, ou de courtésie et de gentilesse,' had much more of love than of courtesy or gentleness. See Roland on the same subject with Saint-Palaye. Whatever other objection may be urged to that most unamiable personage, Childe Harold, he was so far perfectly knightly in his attributes-'No waiter but a knight templar."* By the by, I fear that Sir Tristrem and Sir Lancelot were no better than they should be, although very poetical personages and true knights, sans peur,' though not 'sans reproche.' If the story of the institution of the 'Garter * be not a fable, the knights of that order have for several centuries borne the badge of a Countess of Salisbury, of indifferent memory. So much for chivalry. Burke need not have regretted that its days are over, though Marie-Antoinette was quite as chaste as most of those in whose honour lances were shivered and knights unhorsed.

Before the days of Bayard, and down to those of Sir Joseph Banks (the most chaste and celebrated of ancient and modern times), few exceptions will be found to this statement: and I fear a little investigation will teach us not to regret these monstrous mummeries of the middle ages.

I now leave 'Childe Harold' to live his day, such as he is. It had been more agreeable, and certainly more easy, to have drawn an amiable character. It had been easy to varnish over his faults, to make him do more 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 disappointment in new ones, and that even the beauties 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.

LONDON, 1813.

TO IANTHE.t

NOT in those climes where I have late been straying,

Though Beauty long hath there been matchless
deem'd,

Not in those visions to the heart displaying
Forms which it sighs but to have only dream'd,
Hath aught like thee in truth or fancy seem'd:
Nor, having seen thee, shall I vainly seek
To paint those charms which varied as they
beam'd-

To such as see thee not my words were weak;
To those who gaze on thee, what language could
they speak?

Ah! may'st thou ever be what now thou art,
Nor unbeseem the promise of thy spring,
As fair in form, as warm yet pure in heart,
Love's image upon earth without his wing,
And guileless beyond Hope's imagining!
And surely she who now so fondly rears
Thy youth, in thee, thus hourly brightening,
Beholds the rainbow of her future years,
Before whose heavenly hues all sorrow disappears.
Young Peri of the West!-'tis well for me
My years already doubly number thine;

My loveless eye unmoved may gaze on thee,
And safely view thy ripening beauties shine:

Happy, I ne'er shall see them in decline;
Happier, that while all younger hearts shall bleed,
Mine shall escape the doom thine eyes assign
To those whose admiration shall succeed,

But mix'd with pangs to Love's even loveliest hours
decreed,

Oh! let that eye, which, wild as the gazelle's,
Now brightly bold or beautifully shy,

Wins as it wanders, dazzles where it dwells,
Glance o'er this page, nor to my verse deny
That smile for which my breast might vainly sigh,
Could I to thee be ever more than friend:
This much, dear maid, accord; nor question why
To one so young my strain I would commend,
But bid me with my wreath one matchless lily blend.

Such is thy name with this my verse entwined;
And long as kinder eyes a look shall cast
On Harold's page, Ianthe's here enshrined
Shall thus be first beheld, forgotten last:
My days once number'd, should this homage past
Attract thy fairy fingers near the lyre

Of him who hail'd thee, loveliest as thou wast,
Such is the most my memory may desire;
Though more than Hope can claim, could Friendship
less require?

* The Rovers, or the Double Arrangement.

Lady Charlotte Harley, daughter of the Earl of Oxford, afterwards Lady C. Bacon.