The Works of Lord Byron Volume II Part 18

Engracia. Capitulation']. The reply was, 'Quartel-general, Zaragoza.

Guerra al cuchillo' ['Head-quarters, Zaragoza. War at the knife's point']." Subsequently, December, 1808, when Moncey (1754-1842) again called upon him to surrender, he appealed to the people of Madrid. "The dogs," he said, "by whom he was beset scarcely left him time to clean his sword from their blood; but they still found their grave at Zaragoza." Southey notes that "all Palafox's proclamations had the high tone and something of the inflection of Spanish romance, suiting the character of those to whom it was directed" (_Peninsular War_, ii. 25; iii. 152; _Narrative of the Siege_, by C. R. Vaughan, 1809, pp. 22, 23).

Napier, whose account of the first siege of Zaragoza is based on Caballero's _Victoires et Conquetes des Francais_, and on the _Journal of Lefebvre's Operations_ (MSS.), does not record these romantic incidents. He attributes the raising of the siege to the "bad discipline of the French, and the system of terror established by the Spanish leaders." The inspirers and proclaimers of "war even to the knife" were, he maintains, _Tio_ or Goodman Jorge (Jorge Ibort) and Tio Murin, and not Palafox, who was ignorant of war, and who, on more than one occasion, was careful to provide for his own safety (_History of the War in the Peninsula_, i. 41-46).]

19.

And thou, my friend! etc.

Stanza xci. line 1.

The Honourable John Wingfield, of the Guards, who died of a fever at Coimbra (May 14, 1811). I had known him ten years, the better half of his life, and the happiest part of mine. In the short s.p.a.ce of one month I have lost _her_ who gave me being, and most of those who had made that being tolerable. To me the lines of Young are no fiction--

"Insatiate archer! could not one suffice?

Thy shaft flew thrice, and thrice my peace was slain, And thrice ere thrice yon moon had fill'd her horn."

_Night Thoughts: The Complaint_, Night i.

(London, 1825, p. 5).

I should have ventured a verse to the memory of the late Charles Skinner Matthews, Fellow of Downing College, Cambridge, were he not too much above all praise of mine. His powers of mind, shown in the attainment of greater honours, against the ablest candidates, than those of any graduate on record at Cambridge, have sufficiently established his fame on the spot where it was acquired; while his softer qualities live in the recollection of friends who loved him too well to envy his superiority. [To an objection made by Dallas to this note, Byron replied, "I was so sincere in my note on the late Charles Matthews, and do feel myself so totally unable to do justice to his talents, that the pa.s.sage must stand for the very reason you bring against it. To him all the men I ever knew were pigmies. He was an intellectual giant. It is true I loved Wingfield better; he was the earliest and the dearest, and one of the few one could never repent of having loved: but in ability--ah! you did not know Matthews,!"--_Letters_, 1898, ii. 8. [For Charles Skinner Matthews, and the Honourable John Wingfield, see _Letters_, 1898, i. 150 note, 180 note. See, too, "Childish Recollections," _Poems_, 1898, i. 96, note.]

FOOTNOTES:

[110] {88} [_Vide post_, p. 196, note 1.]

[111] [In a letter to J. B. S. Morritt, April 26, 1811, Sir Walter Scott writes, "I meditate some wild stanzas referring to the Peninsula; if I can lick them into any shape, I hope to get something handsome from the booksellers for the Portuguese sufferers: 'Silver and gold have I none, but that which I have I will give unto them.' My lyrics are called The Vision of Don Roderick."--Lockhart's _Mem. of the Life of Sir W. Scott_, 1871, p. 205.]

[112] {89} [Francois Horace Bastien Sebastiani (1772-1851), one of Napoleon's generals, defeated the Spanish at Ciudad Real, March 17, 1809. In his official report he said that he had sabred more than 3000 Spaniards in flight. At the battle of Talavera, July 27, his corps suffered heavily; but at Almonacid, August 11, he was again victorious over the Spanish.]

CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE

CANTO THE SECOND.

Childe Harold Canto 2.

Byron. Joannina in Albania.

Begun Oct. 31st 1809.

Concluded Canto 2. Smyrna.

March 28^th^, 1810. [MS. D.]

CANTO THE SECOND

I.[113]

Come, blue-eyed Maid of Heaven!--but Thou, alas!

Didst never yet one mortal song inspire-- G.o.ddess of Wisdom! here thy temple was, And is, despite of War and wasting fire,[1.B.]

And years, that bade thy worship to expire: But worse than steel, and flame, and ages slow,[2.B.]

Is the dread sceptre and dominion dire Of men who never felt the sacred glow That thoughts of thee and thine on polished b.r.e.a.s.t.s bestow.

II.

Ancient of days! august Athena! where,[do]

Where are thy men of might? thy grand in soul?

Gone--glimmering through the dream of things that were:[dp]

First in the race that led to Glory's goal, They won, and pa.s.sed away--is this the whole?

A schoolboy's tale, the wonder of an hour!

The Warrior's weapon and the Sophist's stole[114]

Are sought in vain, and o'er each mouldering tower, Dim with the mist of years, gray flits the shade of power.[dq]

III.

Son of the Morning, rise! approach you here!

Come--but molest not yon defenceless Urn: Look on this spot--a Nation's sepulchre!

Abode of G.o.ds, whose shrines no longer burn.[dr]

Even G.o.ds must yield--Religions take their turn: 'Twas Jove's--'tis Mahomet's--and other Creeds Will rise with other years, till Man shall learn Vainly his incense soars, his victim bleeds; Poor child of Doubt and Death, whose hope is built on reeds.[ds]

IV.

Bound to the Earth, he lifts his eye to Heaven-- Is't not enough, Unhappy Thing! to know Thou art? Is this a boon so kindly given, That being, thou would'st be again, and go, Thou know'st not, reck'st not to what region, so[115]

On Earth no more, but mingled with the skies?

Still wilt thou dream on future Joy and Woe?[dt]

Regard and weigh yon dust before it flies: That little urn saith more than thousand Homilies.

V.

Or burst the vanished Hero's lofty mound; Far on the solitary sh.o.r.e he sleeps:[3.B.]

He fell, and falling nations mourned around; But now not one of saddening thousands weeps, Nor warlike worshipper his vigil keeps Where demi-G.o.ds appeared, as records tell.[du][116]

Remove yon skull from out the scattered heaps: Is that a Temple where a G.o.d may dwell?

Why ev'n the Worm at last disdains her shattered cell!

VI.

Look on its broken arch, its ruined wall, Its chambers desolate, and portals foul: Yes, this was once Ambition's airy hall, The Dome of Thought, the Palace of the Soul: Behold through each lack-l.u.s.tre, eyeless hole, The gay recess of Wisdom and of Wit[117]

And Pa.s.sion's host, that never brooked control: Can all Saint, Sage, or Sophist ever writ, People this lonely tower, this tenement refit?

VII.

Well didst thou speak, Athena's wisest son![118]

"All that we know is, nothing can be known."

Why should we shrink from what we cannot shun?

Each hath its pang, but feeble sufferers groan With brain-born dreams of Evil all their own.

Pursue what Chance or Fate proclaimeth best; Peace waits us on the sh.o.r.es of Acheron: There no forced banquet claims the sated guest, But Silence spreads the couch of ever welcome Rest.