The Works of Lord Byron Volume I Part 50

Round Loch na Garr, while the stormy mist gathers, Winter presides in his cold icy car: Clouds, there, encircle the forms of my Fathers; They dwell in the tempests of dark Loch na Garr.

4.

"Ill starr'd, [3] though brave, did no visions foreboding Tell you that fate had forsaken your cause?"

Ah! were you destined to die at Culloden, [4]

Victory crown'd not your fall with applause: Still were you happy, in death's earthy slumber, You rest with your clan, in the caves of Braemar; [5]

The Pibroch [6] resounds, to the piper's loud number, Your deeds, on the echoes of dark Loch na Garr.

5.

Years have roll'd on, Loch na Garr, since I left you, Years must elapse, ere I tread you again: Nature of verdure and flowers has bereft you, Yet still are you dearer than Albion's plain: England! thy beauties are tame and domestic, To one who has rov'd on the mountains afar: Oh! for the crags that are wild and majestic, The steep, frowning glories of dark Loch na Garr. [7]

[Footnote 1: 'Lachin y Gair', or, as it is p.r.o.nounced in the Erse, 'Loch na Garr', towers proudly pre-eminent in the Northern Highlands, near Invercauld. One of our modern tourists mentions it as the highest mountain, perhaps, in Great Britain. Be this as it may, it is certainly one of the most sublime and picturesque amongst our "Caledonian Alps."

Its appearance is of a dusky hue, but the summit is the seat of eternal snows. Near Lachin y Gair I spent some of the early part of my life, the recollection of which has given birth to the following stanzas.

[Prefixed to the poem in 'Hours of Idleness' and 'Poems O. and T.']

[Footnote 2: This word is erroneously p.r.o.nounced 'plad'; the proper p.r.o.nunciation (according to the Scotch) is shown by the orthography.]

[Footnote 3: I allude here to my maternal ancestors, "the Gordons," many of whom fought for the unfortunate Prince Charles, better known by the name of the Pretender. This branch was nearly allied by blood, as well as attachment, to the Stuarts. George, the second Earl of Huntley, married the Princess Annabella Stuart, daughter of James I. of Scotland.

By her he left four sons: the third, Sir William Gordon, I have the honour to claim as one of my progenitors.]

[Footnote 4: Whether any perished in the Battle of Culloden, I am not certain; but, as many fell in the insurrection, I have used the name of the princ.i.p.al action, "pars pro toto."]

[Footnote 5: A tract of the Highlands so called. There is also a Castle of Braemar.]

[Footnote 6: The Bagpipe.--'Hours of Idleness'. (See note, p. 133.)]

[Footnote 7: The love of mountains to the last made Byron

"Hail in each crag a friend's familiar face, And Loch na Garr with Ida looked o'er Troy."

'The Island' (1823), Canto II. stanza xii.]

TO ROMANCE.

1.

Parent of golden dreams, Romance!

Auspicious Queen of childish joys, Who lead'st along, in airy dance, Thy votive train of girls and boys; At length, in spells no longer bound, I break the fetters of my youth; No more I tread thy mystic round, But leave thy realms for those of Truth.

2.

And yet 'tis hard to quit the dreams Which haunt the unsuspicious soul, Where every nymph a G.o.ddess seems, [i]

Whose eyes through rays immortal roll; While Fancy holds her boundless reign, And all a.s.sume a varied hue; When Virgins seem no longer vain, And even Woman's smiles are true.

3.

And must we own thee, but a name, And from thy hall of clouds descend?

Nor find a Sylph in every dame, A Pylades [1] in every friend?

But leave, at once, thy realms of air [ii]

To mingling bands of fairy elves; Confess that woman's false as fair, And friends have feeling for--themselves?

4.

With shame, I own, I've felt thy sway; Repentant, now thy reign is o'er; No more thy precepts I obey, No more on fancied pinions soar; Fond fool! to love a sparkling eye, And think that eye to truth was dear; To trust a pa.s.sing wanton's sigh, And melt beneath a wanton's tear!

5.

Romance! disgusted with deceit, Far from thy motley court I fly, Where Affectation holds her seat, And sickly Sensibility; Whose silly tears can never flow For any pangs excepting thine; Who turns aside from real woe, To steep in dew thy gaudy shrine.

6.

Now join with sable Sympathy, With cypress crown'd, array'd in weeds, Who heaves with thee her simple sigh, Whose breast for every bosom bleeds; And call thy sylvan female choir, To mourn a Swain for ever gone, Who once could glow with equal fire, But bends not now before thy throne.

7.

Ye genial Nymphs, whose ready tears [iii]

On all occasions swiftly flow; Whose bosoms heave with fancied fears, With fancied flames and phrenzy glow Say, will you mourn my absent name, Apostate from your gentle train?

An infant Bard, at least, may claim From you a sympathetic strain.

8.

Adieu, fond race! a long adieu!

The hour of fate is hovering nigh; E'en now the gulf appears in view, Where unlamented you must lie: [iv]

Oblivion's blackening lake is seen, Convuls'd by gales you cannot weather, Where you, and eke your gentle queen, Alas! must perish altogether.

[Footnote 1: It is hardly necessary to add, that Pylades was the companion of Orestes, and a partner in one of those friendships which, with those of Achilles and Patroclus, Nisus and Euryalus, Damon and Pythias, have been handed down to posterity as remarkable instances of attachments, which in all probability never existed beyond the imagination of the poet, or the page of an historian, or modern novelist.]

[Footnote i: