The Works of Lord Byron Volume II Part 39

[The following memorandum, in Byron's handwriting, is prefixed to the Transcription:--

"This copy is to be printed from--subject to comparison with the original MS. (from which this is a transcription) in such parts as it may chance to be difficult to decypher in the following. The notes in this copy are more complete and extended than in the former--and there is also _one stanza more_ inserted and added to this, viz. the 33d. B.

Byron. July 10th, 1816.

Diodati, near y^e Lake of Geneva."

The "original MS." to which the memorandum refers is not forthcoming (_vide ante_, p. 212), but the "sc.r.a.ps" (MS.) are now in Mr. Murray's possession. Stanzas i.-iii., and the lines beginning, "The castled Crag of Drachenfels," are missing.

Claire's Transcription (C.) occupies the first 119 pages of a substantial quarto volume. Stanzas x.x.xiii. and xcix.-cv. and several of the notes are in Byron's handwriting. The same volume contains _Sonnet on Chillon_, in Byron's handwriting; a transcription of the _Prisoners_ (_sic_) _of Chillon_ (so, too, the advertis.e.m.e.nt in the _Morning Chronicle_, October 29, 1816); _Sonnet_, "Rousseau," etc., in Byron's handwriting, and transcriptions of _Stanzas to_----, "Though the day of my destiny's over;" _Darkness_; _Churchill's Grave_; _The Dream_; _The Incantation_ (_Manfred_, act ii. sc. 1); and _Prometheus_.]

CANTO THE THIRD.

I.

Is thy face like thy mothers, my fair child!

ADA! sole daughter of my house and heart?[276]

When last I saw thy young blue eyes they smiled, And then we parted,--not as now we part, But with a hope.-- Awaking with a start, The waters heave around me; and on high The winds lift up their voices: I depart, Whither I know not; but the hour's gone by, When Albion's lessening sh.o.r.es could grieve or glad mine eye.[gh]

II.

Once more upon the waters! yet once more![277]

And the waves bound beneath me as a steed That knows his rider.[278] Welcome to their roar!

Swift be their guidance, wheresoe'er it lead!

Though the strained mast should quiver as a reed, And the rent canva.s.s fluttering strew the gale,[gi]

Still must I on; for I am as a weed, Flung from the rock, on Ocean's foam, to sail Where'er the surge may sweep, the tempest's breath prevail.

III.

In my youth's summer I did sing of One, The wandering outlaw of his own dark mind;[279]

Again I seize the theme, then but begun, And bear it with me, as the rushing wind Bears the cloud onwards: in that Tale I find The furrows of long thought, and dried-up tears, Which, ebbing, leave a sterile track behind, O'er which all heavily the journeying years Plod the last sands of life,--where not a flower appears.

IV.

Since my young days of pa.s.sion--joy, or pain-- Perchance my heart and harp have lost a string-- And both may jar: it may be, that in vain I would essay as I have sung to sing[gj]: Yet, though a dreary strain, to this I cling; So that it wean me from the weary dream Of selfish grief or gladness--so it fling Forgetfulness around me--it shall seem To me, though to none else, a not ungrateful theme.

V.

He, who grown aged in this world of woe, In deeds, not years,[280] piercing the depths of life, So that no wonder waits him--nor below Can Love or Sorrow, Fame, Ambition, Strife, Cut to his heart again with the keen knife Of silent, sharp endurance--he can tell Why Thought seeks refuge in lone caves, yet rife With airy images, and shapes which dwell Still unimpaired, though old, in the Soul's haunted cell.[gk]

VI.

'Tis to create, and in creating live[281]

A being more intense that we endow[gl]

With form our fancy, gaining as we give The life we image, even as I do now-- What am I? Nothing: but not so art thou, Soul of my thought! with whom I traverse earth, Invisible but gazing, as I glow-- Mixed with thy spirit, blended with thy birth, And feeling still with thee in my crushed feelings' dearth.

VII.

Yet must I think less wildly:--I _have_ thought Too long and darkly, till my brain became, In its own eddy boiling and o'erwrought, A whirling gulf of phantasy and flame:[gm]

And thus, untaught in youth my heart to tame, My springs of life were poisoned.[282] 'Tis too late: Yet am I changed; though still enough the same In strength to bear what Time can not abate,[gn]

And feed on bitter fruits without accusing Fate.

VIII.

Something too much of this:--but now 'tis past, And the spell closes with its silent seal--[283]

Long absent HAROLD re-appears at last; He of the breast which fain no more would feel,[go]

Wrung with the wounds which kill not, but ne'er heal; Yet Time, who changes all, had altered him In soul and aspect as in age: years steal Fire from the mind as vigour from the limb; And Life's enchanted cup but sparkles near the brim.

IX.

His had been quaffed too quickly, and he found The dregs were wormwood; but he filled again, And from a purer fount, on holier ground, And deemed its spring perpetual--but in vain!

Still round him clung invisibly a chain Which galled for ever, fettering though unseen, And heavy though it clanked not; worn with pain, Which pined although it spoke not, and grew keen, Entering with every step he took through many a scene.

X.

Secure in guarded coldness, he had mixed[gp]

Again in fancied safety with his kind, And deemed his spirit now so firmly fixed And sheathed with an invulnerable mind, That, if no joy, no sorrow lurked behind; And he, as one, might 'midst the many stand Unheeded, searching through the crowd to find Fit speculation--such as in strange land He found in wonder-works of G.o.d and Nature's hand.[gq]

XI.

But who can view the ripened rose, nor seek[gr]

To wear it? who can curiously behold The smoothness and the sheen of Beauty's cheek, Nor feel the heart can never all grow old?[gs]

Who can contemplate Fame through clouds unfold The star[284] which rises o'er her steep, nor climb?

Harold, once more within the vortex, rolled On with the giddy circle, chasing Time, Yet with a n.o.bler aim than in his Youth's fond prime.[gt][285]

XII.

But soon he knew himself the most unfit[gu]

Of men to herd with Man, with whom he held Little in common; untaught to submit His thoughts to others, though his soul was quelled In youth by his own thoughts; still uncompelled, He would not yield dominion of his mind To Spirits against whom his own rebelled, Proud though in desolation--which could find A life within itself, to breathe without mankind.

XIII.

Where rose the mountains, there to him were friends;[gv]

Where rolled the ocean, thereon was his home; Where a blue sky, and glowing clime, extends, He had the pa.s.sion and the power to roam; The desert, forest, cavern, breaker's foam, Were unto him companionship; they spake A mutual language, clearer than the tome Of his land's tongue, which he would oft forsake For Nature's pages gla.s.sed by sunbeams on the lake.

XIV.

Like the Chaldean, he could watch the stars,[gw]

Till he had peopled them with beings bright As their own beams; and earth, and earth-born jars, And human frailties, were forgotten quite: Could he have kept his spirit to that flight He had been happy; but this clay will sink Its spark immortal, envying it the light To which it mounts, as if to break the link That keeps us from yon heaven which woos us to its brink.[gx]

XV.

But in Man's dwellings he became a thing[gy]

Restless and worn, and stern and wearisome, Drooped as a wild-born falcon with clipt wing, To whom the boundless air alone were home: Then came his fit again, which to o'ercome, As eagerly the barred-up bird will beat His breast and beak against his wiry dome Till the blood tinge his plumage--so the heat Of his impeded Soul would through his bosom eat.

XVI.