The Works of Lord Byron Volume VII Part 2

O THOU yclep'd by vulgar sons of Men Cam Hobhouse![8] but by wags Byzantian Ben!

Twin sacred t.i.tles, which combined appear To grace thy volume's front, and gild its rear, Since now thou put'st thyself and work to Sea And leav'st all Greece to _Fletcher_[9] and to me, Oh, hear my single muse our sorrows tell, _One_ song for _self_ and Fletcher quite as well--

First to the _Castle_ of that man of woes Dispatch the letter which _I must_ enclose, And when his lone Penelope shall say _Why, where_, and _wherefore_ doth my William stay?

Spare not to move her pity, or her pride-- By all that Hero suffered, or defied; The _chicken's toughness_, and the _lack_ of _ale_ The _stoney mountain_ and the _miry vale_ The _Garlick_ steams, which _half_ his meals enrich, The _impending vermin_, and the threatened _Itch_, That _ever breaking_ Bed, beyond repair!

The hat too _old_, the coat too _cold_ to wear, The Hunger, _which repulsed from Sally's door_ Pursues her grumbling half from sh.o.r.e to sh.o.r.e, Be these the themes to greet his faithful Rib So may thy pen be smooth, thy tongue be glib!

This duty done, let me in turn demand Some friendly office in my native land, Yet let me ponder well, before I ask, And set thee swearing at the tedious task.

First the Miscellany![10]--to Southwell town _Per coach_ for Mrs. _Pigot_ frank it down, So may'st them prosper in the paths of Sale,[11]

And Longman smirk and critics cease to rail.

All hail to Matthews![12] wash his reverend feet, And in my name the man of Method greet,-- Tell him, my Guide, Philosopher, and Friend, Who cannot love me, and who will not mend, Tell him, that not in vain I shall a.s.say To tread and trace our "old Horatian way,"[13]

And be (with prose supply my dearth of rhymes) What better men have been in better times.

Here let me cease, for why should I prolong My notes, and vex a _Singer_ with a _Song_?

Oh thou with pen perpetual in thy fist!

Dubbed for thy sins a stark Miscellanist, So pleased the printer's orders to perform For Messrs. _Longman_, _Hurst_ and _Rees_ and _Orme_.

Go--Get thee hence to Paternoster Row, Thy patrons wave a duodecimo!

(Best form for _letters_ from a distant land, It fits the pocket, nor fatigues the hand.) Then go, once more the joyous work commence[14]

With stores of anecdote, and grains of sense, Oh may Mammas relent, and Sires forgive!

And scribbling Sons grow dutiful and live!

Constantinople, _June_ 7^th^, 1810.

[First published, _Murray's Magazine_, 1887, vol. i. pp. 290, 291.]

FOOTNOTES:

[8] [For John Cam Hobhouse (1786-1869), afterwards Lord Broughton de Gyfford, see _Letters_, 1898, i. 163, _note_ i.]

[9] [Fletcher was an indifferent traveller, and sighed for "a' the comforts of the saut-market." See Byron's letters to his mother, November 12, 1809, June 28, 1810.--_Letters_, 1898, i. 256, 281.]

[10] [Hobhouse's Miscellany (otherwise known as the _Miss-sell-any_) was published in 1809, under the t.i.tle of _Imitations and Translations from The Ancient and Modern Cla.s.sics_. Byron contributed nine original poems.

The volume was not a success. "It foundered ... in the Gulph of Lethe."--Letter to H. Drury, July 17, 1811, _Letters_, 1898, i. 319.]

[11] [The word "Sale" may have a double meaning. There may be an allusion to George Sale, the Orientalist, and translator of the Koran.]

[12] ["In Matthews I have lost my 'guide, philosopher, and friend.'"--Letter to R.C. Dallas, September 7, 1811, _Letters_, 1898, ii. 25. (For Charles Skinner Matthews, see _Letters_, 1898, i. 150, _note_ 3.)]

[13] [Compare-- "In short, the maxim for the amorous tribe is Horatian, 'Medio tu tutissimus ibis.'"

_Don Juan_, Canto V. stanza xvii. lines 8, 9.

The "doctrine" is Horatian, but the words occur in Ovid, _Metam._, lib.

ii. line 137.--_Poetical Works_, 1902, vi. 273, _note_ 2.]

[14] [Hobhouse's _Journey through Albania and other Provinces of Turkey_, 4^to^, was published by James Cawthorn, in 1813.]

TRANSLATION OF THE NURSE'S DOLE IN THE _MEDEA_ OF EURIPIDES.

OH how I wish that an embargo Had kept in port the good ship Argo!

Who, still unlaunched from Grecian docks, Had never pa.s.sed the Azure rocks; But now I fear her trip will be a d.a.m.n'd business for my Miss Medea, etc., etc.[15]

_June_, 1810.

[First published, _Letters and Journals_, 1830, i. 227.]

FOOTNOTES:

[15] ["I am just come from an expedition through the Bosphorus to the Black Sea and the Cyanean Symplegades, up which last I scrambled with as great risk as ever the Argonauts escaped in their hoy. You remember the beginning of the nurse's dole in the _Medea_ [lines 1-7], of which I beg you to take the following translation, done on the summit;--[A 'd.a.m.ned business'] it very nearly was to me; for, had not this sublime pa.s.sage been in my head, I should never have dreamed of ascending the said rocks, and bruising my carca.s.s in honour of the ancients."--Letter to Henry Drury, June 17, 1810, _Letters_, 1898, i.

276.

Euripides, _Medea_, lines 1-7-- ???' ?fe?' ?????? ? d?apt?s?a? s??f?? ?.t.?.

[Ei)/th' o)/phel' A)rgou~s me diapta/sthai ska/phos k.t.l.]

MY EPITAPH.[16]

YOUTH, Nature, and relenting Jove, To keep my lamp _in_ strongly strove; But Romanelli was so stout, He beat all three--and _blew_ it _out_.

_October_, 1810.

[First published, _Letters and Journals_, 1830, i. 240.]

FOOTNOTES:

[16] ["The English Consul ... forced a physician upon me, and in three days vomited and glystered me to the last gasp. In this state I made my epitaph--take it."--Letter to Hodgson, October 3, 1810, _Letters_, 1898, i. 298.]

SUBSt.i.tUTE FOR AN EPITAPH.

KIND Reader! take your choice to cry or laugh; Here HAROLD lies--but where's his Epitaph?

If such you seek, try Westminster, and view Ten thousand just as fit for him as you.

Athens, 1810.

[First published, _Lord Byron's Works_, 1832, ix. 4.]

EPITAPH FOR JOSEPH BLACKET, LATE POET AND SHOEMAKER.[17]

STRANGER! behold, interred together, The _souls_ of learning and of leather.

Poor Joe is gone, but left his _all_: You'll find his relics in a _stall_.

His works were neat, and often found Well st.i.tched, and with _morocco_ bound.

Tread lightly--where the bard is laid-- He cannot mend the shoe he made; Yet is he happy in his hole, With verse immortal as his _sole_.

But still to business he held fast, And stuck to Phoebus to the _last_.

Then who shall say so good a fellow Was only "leather and prunella?"