The Works of Lord Byron Volume II Part 8

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.

5.

It is that settled, ceaseless gloom The fabled Hebrew Wanderer bore; That will not look beyond the tomb, But cannot hope for rest before.

6.

What Exile from himself can flee?[100]

To zones though more and more remote,[di]

Still, still pursues, where'er I be, The blight of Life--the Demon Thought.[101]

7.

Yet others rapt in pleasure seem, And taste of all that I forsake; Oh! may they still of transport dream, And ne'er--at least like me--awake!

8.

Through many a clime 'tis mine to go, With many a retrospection curst; And all my solace is to know, Whate'er betides, I've known the worst.

9.

What is that worst? Nay do not ask-- In pity from the search forbear: Smile on--nor venture to unmask Man's heart, and view the h.e.l.l that's there.

Jan. 25. 1810.--[MS.]

Lx.x.xV.

Adieu, fair Cadiz! yea, a long adieu!

Who may forget how well thy walls have stood?

When all were changing thou alone wert true, First to be free and last to be subdued;[102]

And if amidst a scene, a shock so rude, Some native blood was seen thy streets to dye, A Traitor only fell beneath the feud: [17.B.]

Here all were n.o.ble, save n.o.bility; None hugged a Conqueror's chain, save fallen Chivalry!

Lx.x.xVI.

Such be the sons of Spain, and strange her Fate!

They fight for Freedom who were never free, A Kingless people for a nerveless state;[103]

Her va.s.sals combat when their Chieftains flee, True to the veriest slaves of Treachery: Fond of a land which gave them nought but life, Pride points the path that leads to Liberty; Back to the struggle, baffled in the strife, War, war is still the cry, "War even to the knife!"[18.B.]

Lx.x.xVII.

Ye, who would more of Spain and Spaniards know[dj]

Go, read whate'er is writ of bloodiest strife: Whate'er keen Vengeance urged on foreign foe Can act, is acting there against man's life: From flashing scimitar to secret knife, War mouldeth there each weapon to his need-- So may he guard the sister and the wife, So may he make each curst oppressor bleed-- So may such foes deserve the most remorseless deed!

Lx.x.xVIII.[104]

Flows there a tear of Pity for the dead?

Look o'er the ravage of the reeking plain; Look on the hands with female slaughter red; Then to the dogs resign the unburied slain, Then to the vulture let each corse remain, Albeit unworthy of the prey-bird's maw; Let their bleached bones, and blood's unbleaching stain, Long mark the battle-field with hideous awe: Thus only may our sons conceive the scenes we saw!

Lx.x.xIX.

Nor yet, alas! the dreadful work is done; Fresh legions pour adown the Pyrenees: It deepens still, the work is scarce begun, Nor mortal eye the distant end foresees.

Fall'n nations gaze on Spain; if freed, she frees More than her fell Pizarros once enchained: Strange retribution! now Columbia's ease Repairs the wrongs that Quito's sons sustained,[105]

While o'er the parent clime prowls Murder unrestrained.

XC.

Not all the blood at Talavera shed, Not all the marvels of Barossa's fight, Not Albuera lavish of the dead, Have won for Spain her well a.s.serted right.

When shall her Olive-Branch be free from blight?

When shall she breathe her from the blushing toil?

How many a doubtful day shall sink in night, Ere the Frank robber turn him from his spoil, And Freedom's stranger-tree grow native of the soil![106]

XCI.

And thou, my friend!--since unavailing woe[dk][107][19.B.]

Bursts from my heart, and mingles with the strain-- Had the sword laid thee with the mighty low, Pride might forbid e'en Friendship to complain: But thus unlaurelled to descend in vain, By all forgotten, save the lonely breast, And mix unbleeding with the boasted slain, While Glory crowns so many a meaner crest!

What hadst thou done to sink so peacefully to rest?

XCII.

Oh, known the earliest, and esteemed the most![dl][108]

Dear to a heart where nought was left so dear![dm]

Though to my hopeless days for ever lost, In dreams deny me not to see thee here!

And Morn in secret shall renew the tear Of Consciousness awaking to her woes, And Fancy hover o'er thy bloodless bier,[dn]

Till my frail frame return to whence it rose, And mourned and mourner lie united in repose.

XCIII.

Here is one fytte[109] of Harold's pilgrimage: Ye who of him may further seek to know, Shall find some tidings in a future page, If he that rhymeth now may scribble moe.

Is this too much? stern Critic! say not so: Patience! and ye shall hear what he beheld In other lands, where he was doomed to go: Lands that contain the monuments of Eld, Ere Greece and Grecian arts by barbarous hands were quelled.

FOOTNOTES:

[1] "The first and second cantos of _Childe Harold_ were written in separate portions by the n.o.ble author. They were afterwards arranged for publication; and when thus arranged, the whole was copied. This copy was placed in Lord Byron's hands, and he made various alterations, corrections, and large additions. These, together with the notes, are in his Lordship's own handwriting. The ma.n.u.script thus corrected was sent to the press, and was printed under the direction of Robt. Chas. Dallas, Esq., to whom Lord Byron had given the copyright of the poem. The MS., as it came from the printers, was preserved by Mr. Dallas, and is now in the possession of his son, the Rev. Alex. Dallas."

[See Dallas Transcript, p. 1. Mus. Brit. Bibl. Egerton, 2027. Press 526.

H. T.]

[a] {3} _Advertis.e.m.e.nt to be prefixed y^e Poem_.--[MS. B.M.]

[b] _Professes to describe_.--[MS. B.M.]

[c] ----_that in the fict.i.tious character of "Childe Harold" I may incur the suspicion of having drawn "from myself." This I beg leave once for all to disclaim. I wanted a character to give some connection to the poem, and the one adopted suited my purpose as well as any other_.--[MS.

B.M.]

[d] {4} _Such an idea_.--[MS. B.M.]