Chapter IV: Epilogue: 109

Text size

THERE'S something in a stupid ass,
And something in a heavy dunce;
But never since I went to school
I heard or saw so damned a fool
As William Wordsworth is for once.

And now I've seen so great a fool
As William Wordsworth is for once;
I really wish that Peter Bell
And he who wrote it were in hell,
For writing nonsense for the nonce.

It saw the "light in ninety-eight,"
Sweet babe of one and twenty years![110]
And then he gives it to the nation
And deems himself of Shakespeare's peers!

He gives the perfect work to light!
Will Wordsworth, if I might advise,
Content you with the praise you get
From Sir George Beaumont, Baronet,
And with your place in the Excise!

1819.
[First published, _Philadelphia Record_, December 28, 1891.]

FOOTNOTES:

[109] [The MS. of the "Epilogue" is inscribed on the margin of a copy of Wordsworth's _Peter Bell_, inserted in a set of Byron's _Works_ presented by George W. Childs to the Drexel Institute. (From information kindly supplied by Mr. John H. Bewley, of Buffalo, New York.)

The first edition of _Peter Bell_ appeared early in 1819, and a second edition followed in May, 1819. In Byron's Dedication of _Marino Faliero_, "To Baron Goethe," dated October 20, 1820 (_Poetical Works_, 1891, iv. 341), the same allusions to Sir George Beaumont, to Wordsworth's "place in the Excise," and to his admission that _Peter Bell_ had been withheld "for one and twenty years," occur in an omitted paragraph first published, _Letters_, 1891, v. 101. So close a correspondence of an unpublished fragment with a genuine document leaves little doubt as to the composition of the "Epilogue."]

[110] [The missing line may be, "To _permanently_ fill a station," see Preface to _Peter Bell_.]

ON MY WEDDING-DAY.

HERE'S a happy New Year! but with reason
I beg you'll permit me to say--
Wish me _many_ returns of the _Season_,
But as _few_ as you please of the _Day_.[111]

_January_ 2, 1820.
[First published, _Letters and Journals_, 1830, ii. 294.]

FOOTNOTES:

[111] [Medwin (_Conversations_, 1824, p. 156) prints an alternative--

"You may wish me returns of the season,
Let us, prithee, have none of the day!"]

EPITAPH FOR WILLIAM PITT.

WITH Death doomed to grapple,
Beneath this cold slab, he
Who lied in the Chapel
Now lies in the Abbey.

_January_ 2, 1820.
[First published, _Letters and Journals_, 1830, ii. 295.]

EPIGRAM.

IN digging up your bones, Tom Paine,
Will. Cobbett[112] has done well:
You visit him on Earth again,
He'll visit you in Hell.

or--

You come to him on Earth again
He'll go with you to Hell!

_January_ 2, 1820.
[First published, _Letters and Journals_, 1830, ii. 295.]

FOOTNOTES:

[112] [Cobbett, by way of atonement for youthful vituperation (he called him "a ragamuffin deist") of Tom Paine, exhumed his bones from their first resting-place at New Rochelle, and brought them to Liverpool on his return to England in 1819. They were preserved by Cobbett at Normanby, Farnham, till his death in 1835, but were sold in consequence of his son's bankruptcy in 1836, and passed into the keeping of a Mr. Tilly, who was known to be their fortunate possessor as late as 1844. (See _Notes and Queries_, 1868, Series IV. vol. i. pp. 201-203.)]

EPITAPH.

POSTERITY will ne'er survey
A nobler grave than this;
Here lie the bones of Castlereagh:
Stop traveller, * *

_January_ 2, 1820.
[First published, _Lord Byron's Works_, 1833, xvii. 246.]

EPIGRAM.

The world is a bundle of hay,
Mankind are the asses who pull;
Each tugs it a different way,--
And the greatest of all is John Bull!

[First published, _Letters and Journals_, 1830, ii. 494.]

MY BOY HOBBIE O.[113]

New Song to the tune of

"_Whare hae ye been a' day,
My boy Tammy O.!
Courting o' a young thing
Just come frae her Mammie O._"

HOW came you in Hob's pound to cool,
My boy Hobbie O?
Because I bade the people pull
The House into the Lobby O.

What did the House upon this call,
My boy Hobbie O?
They voted me to Newgate all,
Which is an awkward Jobby O.

Who are now the people's men,
My boy Hobbie O?
There's I and Burdett--Gentlemen
And blackguard Hunt and Cobby O.

You hate the house--_why_ canvass, then?
My boy Hobbie O?
Because I would reform the den
As member for the Mobby O.

Wherefore do you hate the Whigs,
My boy Hobbie O?
Because they want to run their rigs,
As under Walpole Bobby O.

But when we at Cambridge were
My boy Hobbie O,
If my memory don't err
You founded a Whig Clubbie O.

When to the mob you make a speech,
My boy Hobbie O,
How do you keep without their reach
The watch within your fobby O?

But never mind such petty things,
My boy Hobbie O;
God save the people--damn all Kings,
So let us Crown the Mobby O!

Yours truly,

(Signed) _INFIDUS SCURRA_.

_March 23d_, 1820.
[First published _Murray's Magazine_, March, 1887,
vol. i. pp. 292, 293.]

FOOTNOTES:

[113] [John Cam Hobhouse (1786-1869) (see _Letters_, 1898, i. 163, _note_ 1) was committed to Newgate in December, 1819, for certain passages in a pamphlet entitled, _A Trifling Mistake in Thomas Lord Erskine's recent Preface_, which were voted (December 10) a breach of privilege. He remained in prison till the dissolution on the king's death, February 20, 1820, when he stood and was returned for Westminster. Byron's Liberalism was intermittent, and he felt, or, as Hobhouse thought, pretended to feel, as a Whig and an aristocrat with regard to the free lances of the Radical party. The sole charge in this "filthy ballad," which annoyed Hobhouse, was that he had founded a Whig Club when he was an undergraduate at Cambridge. He assured Murray (see his letter, November, 1820, _Letters_, vol. iv. Appendix XI. pp. 498-500) that he was not the founder of the club, and that Byron himself was a member. "As for his Lordship's vulgar notions about the _mob_" he adds, "they are very fit for the Poet of the _Morning Post_, and for nobody else." There is no reason to suppose that Byron was in any way responsible for the version as sent to the _Morning Post_.]

"MY BOY HOBBY O.

[ANOTHER VERSION.]

To the Editor of the _Morning Post_.

Sir,--A copy of verses, to the tune of '_My boy Tammy_,' are repeated in literary circles, and said to be written by a Noble Lord of the highest poetical fame, upon his quondam friend and annotator. My memory does not enable me to repeat more than the first two verses quite accurately, but the humourous spirit of the Song may be gathered from these:--

Why were you put in Lob's pond,
My boy, HOBBY O? (_bis_)
For telling folks to pull the House
By the ears into the Lobby O!

Who are your grand Reformers now,
My boy, HOBBY O? (_bis_)
There's me and BURDETT,--gentlemen,
And Blackguards HUNT and COBBY O!

Have you no other friends but these,
My boy, HOBBY O? (_bis_)
Yes, Southwark's Knight,[*] the County BYNG,
And in the City, BOBBY O!

[*] "Southwark's Knight" was General Sir Robert Thomas Wilson (1777-1849), who was returned for Southwark in 1818, and again in 1820; "County Byng" was George Byng, M.P. for Middlesex; and "Bobby" was Sir Robert Waithman (1764-1833), who represented the City of London in 1818, but lost his seat to Sir William Curtis in 1820. All these were advanced Liberals, and, as such, Parliamentary friends of Hobhouse.

How do you recreate yourselves,
My boy, HOBBY O? (_bis_)
We spout with tavern Radicals,
And drink with them hob-nobby O!

What purpose can such folly work,
My boy, HOBBY O? (_bis_)
It gives our partisans a chance
Watches to twitch from fob-by O!

Have they no higher game in view,
My boy, HOBBY O? (_bis_)
Oh yes; to stir the people up,
And then to head the mob-by O.

But sure they'll at their ruin pause,
My boy, HOBBY O? (_bis_)
No! they'd see King and Parliament
Both d--d without a sob-by O!

But, if they fail, they'll be hanged up,
My boy, HOBBY O? (_bis_)
Why, then, they'll swing, like better men,
And that will end the job-by O!

PHILO-RADICLE.
April 15, 1820."

LINES

ADDRESSED BY LORD BYRON TO MR. HOBHOUSE
ON HIS ELECTION FOR WESTMINSTER.[114]

WOULD you go to the house by the true gate,
Much faster than ever Whig Charley went;
Let Parliament send you to Newgate,
And Newgate will send you to Parliament.

_April 9, 1820_.
[First published, _Miscellaneous Poems_, printed for
J. Bumpus, 1824.]

FOOTNOTES:

[114] ["I send you 'a Song of Triumph,' by W. Botherby, Esq^re^ price sixpence, on the election of J.C.H., Esqre., for Westminster (_not_ for publication)."--Letter to Murray, April 9, 1820, _Letters_, 1901, v. 6.]

A VOLUME OF NONSENSE.

DEAR MURRAY,--
You ask for a "_Volume of Nonsense_,"
Have all of your authors exhausted their store?
I thought you had published a good deal not long since.
And doubtless the Squadron are ready with more.
But on looking again, I perceive that the Species
Of "Nonsense" you want must be purely "_facetious_;"
And, as that is the case, you had best put to press
Mr. Sotheby's tragedies now in M.S.,
Some Syrian Sally
From common-place Gally,
Or, if you prefer the bookmaking of women,
Take a spick and span "Sketch" of your feminine _He-Man_.[115]

_Sept. 28, 1820._
[First published, _Letters_, 1900, v. 83.]

FOOTNOTES:

[115] [For Felicia Dorothea Browne (1793-1835), married in 1812 to Captain Hemans, see _Letters_, iii. 368, _note_ 2. In the letter which contains these verses he writes, "I do not despise Mrs. Heman; but if she knit blue stockings instead of wearing them it would be better." Elsewhere he does despise her: "No more _modern_ poesy, I pray, neither Mrs. Hewoman's nor any female or male Tadpole of poet Wordsworth's."--_Ibid._, v. 64.]

STANZAS.[116]

WHEN a man hath no freedom to fight for at home,
Let him combat for that of his neighbours;
Let him think of the glories of Greece and of Rome,
And get knocked on the head for his labours.

To do good to Mankind is the chivalrous plan,
And is always as nobly requited;
Then battle for Freedom wherever you can,
And, if not shot or hanged, you'll get knighted.

_November 5, 1820_.
[First published, _Letters and Journals_, 1830, ii. 377.]

FOOTNOTES:

[116] [The lines were sent in a letter to Moore (November 5, 1820) by way of _Autoepitaphium_, "if 'honour should come unlooked for' to any of your acquaintance;" i.e. if Byron should fall in the cause of Italian revolution, and Moore should not think him worthy of commemoration, here was a threnody "ready at hand."]

TO PENELOPE.[117]
JANUARY 2, 1821.

THIS day, of all our days, has done
The worst for me and you:--
'T is just _six_ years since we were _one_,
And _five_ since we were _two_.

_November 5, 1820._
[First published, Medwin's _Conversations_, 1824, p. 106.]

FOOTNOTES:

[117] ["For the anniversary of January 2, 1821, I have a small grateful anticipation, which, in case of accident, I add."--Letter to Moore, November 5, 1820, _Letters_, 1891, v. 112.]

THE CHARITY BALL.[118]

WHAT matter the pangs of a husband and father,
If his sorrows in exile be great or be small,
So the Pharisee's glories around her she gather,
And the saint patronises her "Charity Ball!"

What matters--a heart which, though faulty, was feeling,
Be driven to excesses which once could appal--
That the Sinner should suffer is only fair dealing,
As the Saint keeps her charity back for "the Ball!"

_December 10, 1820._
[First published, _Letters and Journals_, 1830, ii. 540.]

FOOTNOTES:

[118] [Written on seeing the following paragraph in a newspaper: "Lady Byron is this year the lady patroness at the annual Charity Ball, given at the Town Hall, at Hinckley, Leicestershire...."--_Life_, p. 535. Moore adds that "these verses [of which he only prints two stanzas] are full of strong and indignant feeling,--every stanza concluding pointedly with the words 'Charity Ball.'"]

EPIGRAM

ON THE BRAZIERS' ADDRESS TO BE PRESENTED
IN _ARMOUR_ BY THE COMPANY TO QUEEN CAROLINE.[119]

IT seems that the Braziers propose soon to pass
An Address and to bear it themselves all in brass;
A superfluous pageant, for by the Lord Harry!
They'll _find_, where they're going, much more than they carry.

Or--

THE Braziers, it seems, are determined to pass
An Address, and present it themselves all in brass:--
A superfluous {pageant/trouble} for, by the Lord Harry!
They'll find, where they're going, much more than they carry.

_January 6, 1821._
[First published, _Letters and Journals_, 1830, ii. 442.]

FOOTNOTES:

[119] [The allusion is explained in Rivington's _Annual Register_, October 30, 1820 (vol. lxii. pp. 114, 115)--

"ADDRESSES TO THE QUEEN.

" ... The most splendid exhibition of the day was that of the brass-founders and braziers. The procession was headed by a man dressed in a suit of burnished plate armour of brass, and mounted on a handsome black horse, the reins being held by pages ... wearing brass helmets.... A man in a complete suite of brass armour ... was followed by two persons, bearing on a cushion a most magnificent imitation of the imperial Crown of England. A small number of the deputation of brass-founders were admitted to the presence of her Majesty, and one of the persons in armour advanced to the throne, and bending on one knee, presented the address, which was enclosed in a brass case of excellent workmanship."--See _Letters_, 1901, v. 219, 220, _note_ 2.

In a postscript to a letter to Murray, dated January 19, 1821, he writes, "I sent you a line or two on the Braziers' Company last week, _not_ for publication. The lines were even worthy

'Of ----dsworth the great metaquizzical poet,
A man of great merit amongst those who know it,
Of whose works, as I told Moore last autumn at _Mestri_
I owe all I know to my passion for _Pastry_.'"

He adds, in a footnote, "_Mestri_ and _Fusina_ are the ferry trajects to Venice: I believe, however, that it was at Fusina that Moore and I embarked in 1819, when Thomas came to Venice, like Coleridge's Spring, 'slowly up this way.'"

Again, in a letter to Moore, dated January 22, 1821, he encloses slightly different versions of both epigrams, and it is worth noting that the first line of the pendant epigram has been bowdlerized, and runs thus--

"Of Wordsworth the grand metaquizzical poet."

--_Letters_, 1901, v. 226, 230.]

ON MY THIRTY-THIRD BIRTHDAY.

JANUARY 22, 1821.[120]

THROUGH Life's dull road, so dim and dirty,
I have dragged to three-and-thirty.
What have these years left to me?
Nothing--except thirty-three.

[First published, _Letters and Journals_, 1830, ii. 414.]

FOOTNOTES:

[120] ["To-morrow is my birthday--that is to say, at twelve o' the clock, midnight; _i.e._ in twelve minutes I shall have completed thirty and three years of age!!! and I go to my bed with a heaviness of heart at having lived so long, and to so little purpose. * * * It is three minutes past twelve--''Tis the middle of night by the castle clock,' and I am now thirty-three!--

'Eheu, fugaces, Posthume, Posthume,
Labuntur anni;'--

but I don't regret them so much for what I have done, as for what I might have done."--Extracts from a Diary, January 21, 1821, _Letters_, 1901, v. 182.

In a letter to Moore, dated January 22, 1821, he gives another version--

"Through Life's road, so dim and dirty,
I have dragged to three-and-thirty.
What _have_ these years left to me?
Nothing--except thirty-three."

_Ibid._, p. 229.]

MARTIAL, LIB. I. EPIG. I.

"Hic est, quem legis, ille, quem requiris,
Toto notus in orbe Martialis," etc.

HE, unto whom thou art so partial,
Oh, reader! is the well-known Martial,
The Epigrammatist: while living,
Give him the fame thou would'st be giving;
So shall he hear, and feel, and know it--
Post-obits rarely reach a poet.

[N.D. ?1821.]
[First published, _Lord Byron's Works_, 1833, xvii. 245]

BOWLES AND CAMPBELL.

To the air of "How now, Madam Flirt," in the _Beggar's Opera_.[121]

BOWLES.

"WHY, how now, saucy Tom?
If you thus must ramble,
I will publish some
Remarks on Mister Campbell.
Saucy Tom!"

CAMPBELL.

"WHY, how now, Billy Bowles?
Sure the priest is maudlin!
(_To the public_) How can you, d--n your souls!
Listen to his twaddling?
_Billy Bowles_!"

_February 22, 1821._
[First published, _The Liberal_, 1823, No. II. p. 398.]

FOOTNOTES:

[121] [Compare the Beggar's Opera, act ii. sc. 2--

Air, "Good morrow, Gossip Joan."
"Polly. _Why, how now, Madam Flirt?
If you thus must chatter,
And are for flinging dirt,
Let's try who best can spatter,
Madam Flirt_!
"Lucy. _Why, how now, saucy jade?
Sure the wench is tipsy!
How can you see me made
The scoff of such a gipsy_? [To him.]
_Saucy jade_!" [To her.]

Bowles replied to Campbell's Introductory Essay to his _Specimens of the English Poets_, 7 vols., 1819, by _The Invariable Principles of Poetry_, in a letter addressed to Thomas Campbell. For Byron's two essays, the "Letter to.... [John Murray]" and "Observations upon Observations," see _Letters_, 1901, v. Appendix III. pp. 536-592.]

ELEGY.

BEHOLD the blessings of a lucky lot!
My play is _damned_, and Lady Noel _not_.

_May 25, 1821._
[First published, Medwin's _Conversations_, 1824, p. 121.]

JOHN KEATS.[122]

WHO killed John Keats?
"I," says the Quarterly,
So savage and Tartarly;
"'T was one of my feats."

Who shot the arrow?
"The poet-priest Milman
(So ready to kill man)
"Or Southey, or Barrow."

_July 30, 1821._
[First published, _Letters and Journals_, 1830, ii. 506.]

FOOTNOTES:

[122] [For Croker's "article" on Keats's _Endymion_ (_Quarterly Review_, April, 1818, vol. xix. pp. 204-208), see _Don Juan_, Canto XI. stanza lx. line 1, _Poetical Works_, 1902, vi. 445, _note_ 4.]

FROM THE FRENCH.

ÆGLE, beauty and poet, has two little crimes;
She makes her own face, and does not make her rhymes.

_Aug. 2, 1821._
[First published, _The Liberal_, 1823, No. II. p. 396.]

TO MR. MURRAY.

FOR Orford[123] and for Waldegrave[124]
You give much more than me you _gave_;
Which is not fairly to behave,
My Murray!

Because if a live dog, 't is said,
Be worth a lion fairly sped,
A live lord must be worth _two_ dead,
My Murray!

And if, as the opinion goes,
Verse hath a better sale than prose,--
Certes, I should have more than those,
My Murray!

But now this sheet is nearly crammed,
So, if _you will_, _I_ shan't be shammed,
And if you _won't_,--_you_ may be damned,
My Murray![125]

_August 23, 1821._
[First published, _Letters and Journals_, 1830, ii. 517.]

FOOTNOTES:

[123] [Horace Walpole's _Memoirs of the Last Nine Years of the Reign of George II._ ]

[124] [_Memoirs_ by James Earl Waldegrave, Governor of George III. when Prince of Wales.]

[125] ["Can't accept your courteous offer [_i.e._ £2000 for three cantos of _Don Juan, Sardanapalus_, and _The Two Foscari_.] These matters must be arranged with Mr. Douglas Kinnaird. He is my trustee, and a man of honour. To him you can state all your mercantile reasons, which you might not like to state to me personally, such as 'heavy season'--'flat public'--'don't go off'--'lordship writes too much'--'won't take advice'--'declining popularity'--'deductions for the trade'--'make very little'--'generally lose by him'--'pirated edition'--'foreign edition'--'severe criticisms,' etc., with other hints and howls for an oration, which I leave Douglas, who is an orator, to answer."--Letter to Murray, August 23, 1821, _Letters_, 1901, v. 348.]

[NAPOLEON'S SNUFF-BOX.][126]

LADY, accept the box a hero wore,
In spite of all this elegiac stuff:
Let not seven stanzas written by a bore,
Prevent your Ladyship from taking snuff!

1821.
[First published, _Conversations of Lord Byron_, 1824, p. 235.]

FOOTNOTES:

[126] [Napoleon bequeathed to Lady Holland a snuff-box which had been given to him by the Pope for his clemency in sparing Rome. Lord Carlisle wrote eight (not seven) stanzas, urging her, as Byron told Medwin, to decline the gift, "for fear that horror and murder should jump out of the lid every time it is opened."--_Conversations_, 1824, p. 362. The first stanza of Lord Carlyle's verses, which _teste_ Medwin, Byron parodied, runs thus--

"Lady, reject the gift! 'tis tinged with gore!
Those crimson spots a dreadful tale relate;
It has been grasp'd by an infernal Power;
And by that hand which seal'd young Enghien's fate."

The snuff-box is now in the jewel-room in the British Museum.]

THE NEW VICAR OF BRAY.

DO you know Doctor Nott?[127]
With "a crook in his lot,"
Who seven years since tried to dish up
A neat Codi_cil_
To the Princess's Will,[128]
Which made Dr. Nott _not_ a bishop.

So the Doctor being found
A little unsound
In his doctrine, at least as a teacher,
And kicked from one stool
As a knave or a fool,
He mounted another as preacher.

In that Gown (like the Skin
With no Lion within)
He still for the Bench would be driving;
And roareth away,
A new Vicar of _Bray_,
Except that _his bray_ lost his living.

"Gainst Freethinkers," he roars,
"You should all block your doors
Or be named in the Devil's indentures:"
And here I agree,
For who e'er would be
A Guest where old Simony enters?

Let the Priest, who beguiled
His own Sovereign's child
To his own dirty views of promotion,
Wear his Sheep's cloathing still
Among flocks to his will,
And dishonour the Cause of devotion.

The Altar and Throne
Are in danger alone
From such as himself, who would render
The Altar itself
But a step up to Pelf,
And pray God to pay his defender.

But, Doctor, one word
Which perhaps you have heard
"He should never throw stones who has windows
Of Glass to be broken,
And by this same token
As a sinner, you can't care what Sin does.

But perhaps you do well:
Your own windows, they tell,
Have long ago sufferéd censure;
Not a fragment remains
Of your character's panes,
Since the Regent refused you a glazier.

Though your visions of lawn
Have all been withdrawn,
And you missed your bold stroke for a mitre;
In a very snug way
You may still preach and pray,
And from bishop sink into backbiter!"

[First published, _Works_ (Galignani), 1831, p. 116.]

FOOTNOTES:

[127] [George Frederick Nott (1767-1841), critic and divine, was Rector of Harrietsham and Woodchurch, a Prebendary of Winchester and of Salisbury. He was Bampton Lecturer in 1802, and, soon afterwards, was appointed sub-preceptor to the Princess Charlotte of Wales. He was a connoisseur of architecture and painting, and passed much of his time in Italy and at Rome. When he was at Pisa he preached in a private room in the basement story of the house in Pisa where Shelley was living, and fell under Byron's displeasure for attacking the Satanic school, and denouncing _Cain_ as a blasphemous production. "The parsons," he told Moore (letter, February 20, 1820), "preached at it [_Cain_] from Kentish Town to Pisa." Hence the apostrophe to Dr. Nott. (See _Records of Shelley, Byron, and the Author_, by E.T. Trelawny, 1887, pp. 302, 303.)]

[128] [According to Lady Anne Hamilton (_Secret History of the Court of England_, 1832, i. 198-207), the Princess Charlotte incurred the suspicion and displeasure of her uncles and her grandmother, the Queen, by displaying an ardent and undue interest in her sub-preceptor. On being reproved by the Queen for "condescending to favour persons in low life with confidence or particular respect, persons likely to take advantage of your simplicity and innocence," and having learnt that "persons" meant Mr. Nott, she replied by threatening to sign a will in favour of her sub-preceptor, and by actually making over to him by a deed her library, jewels, and all other private property. Lady Anne Hamilton is not an accurate or trustworthy authority, but her extremely circumstantial narrative was, no doubt, an expansion of the contemporary scandal to which Byron's lampoon gave currency.]

LUCIETTA. A FRAGMENT.

LUCIETTA, my deary,
That fairest of faces!
Is made up of kisses;
But, in love, oft the case is
Even stranger than this is--
There's another, that's slyer,
Who touches me nigher,--
A Witch, an intriguer,
Whose manner and figure
Now piques me, excites me,
Torments and delights me--
_Cætera desunt_.

[From an autograph MS. in the possession of Mr. Murray,
now for the first time printed.]

EPIGRAMS.

OH, Castlereagh! thou art a patriot now;
Cato died for his country, so did'st thou:
He perished rather than see Rome enslaved,
Thou cut'st thy throat that Britain may be saved!

* * * * *

So Castlereagh has cut his throat!--The worst
Of this is,--that his own was not the first.

* * * * *

So _He_ has cut his throat at last!--He! Who?
The man who cut his country's long ago.

_?August, 1822._
[First published, _The Liberal_, No. I. October 18, 1822, p. 164.]

THE CONQUEST.[129]

THE Son of Love and Lord of War I sing;
Him who bade England bow to Normandy,
And left the name of Conqueror more than King
To his unconquerable dynasty.
Not fanned alone by Victory's fleeting wing,
He reared his bold and brilliant throne on high;
The Bastard kept, like lions, his prey fast,
And Britain's bravest Victor was the last.

_March 8-9, 1823._
[First published, _Lord Byron's Works_, 1833, xvii. 246.]

FOOTNOTES:

[129] [This fragment was found amongst Lord Byron's papers, after his departure from Genoa for Greece.]

IMPROMPTU.[130]

BENEATH Blessington's eyes
The reclaimed Paradise
Should be free as the former from evil;
But if the new Eve
For an Apple should grieve,
What mortal would not play the Devil?

_April, 1823._
[First published, _Letters and Journals_, 1830, ii. 635.]

FOOTNOTES:

[130] [With the view of inducing these friends [Lord and Lady Blessington] to prolong their stay at Genoa, he suggested their taking a pretty villa, called "Il Paradiso," in the neighbourhood of his own, and accompanied them to look at it. Upon that occasion it was that, on the lady expressing some intention of residing there, he produced the following impromptu.--_Life_, 577.]

JOURNAL IN CEPHALONIA.

THE dead have been awakened--shall I sleep?
The World's at war with tyrants--shall I crouch?
The harvest's ripe--and shall I pause to reap?
I slumber not; the thorn is in my Couch;
Each day a trumpet soundeth in mine ear,
Its echo in my heart----

_June 19, 1823._
[First published, _Letters_, 1901, vi. 238.]

SONG TO THE SULIOTES.

UP to battle! Sons of Suli
Up, and do your duty duly!
There the wall--and there the Moat is:
Bouwah![131] Bouwah! Suliotes!
There is booty--there is Beauty,
Up my boys and do your duty.

By the sally and the rally
Which defied the arms of Ali;
By your own dear native Highlands,
By your children in the islands,
Up and charge, my Stratiotes,
Bouwah!--Bouwah!--Suliotes!

As our ploughshare is the Sabre:
Here's the harvest of our labour;
For behind those battered breaches
Are our foes with all their riches:
There is Glory--there is plunder--
Then away despite of thunder!

[From an autograph MS. in the possession of Mr. Murray,
now for the first time printed.]

FOOTNOTES:

[131] "Bouwah!" is their war-cry.

[LOVE AND DEATH.]

I WATCHED thee when the foe was at our side,
Ready to strike at him--or thee and me.
Were safety hopeless--rather than divide
Aught with one loved save love and liberty.

I watched thee on the breakers, when the rock
Received our prow and all was storm and fear,
And bade thee cling to me through every shock;
This arm would be thy bark, or breast thy bier.

I watched thee when the fever glazed thine eyes,
Yielding my couch and stretched me on the ground,
When overworn with watching, ne'er to rise
From thence if thou an early grave hadst found.

The earthquake came, and rocked the quivering wall,
And men and nature reeled as if with wine.
Whom did I seek around the tottering hall?
For thee. Whose safety first provide for? Thine.

And when convulsive throes denied my breath
The faintest utterance to my fading thought,
To thee--to thee--e'en in the gasp of death
My spirit turned, oh! oftener than it ought.

Thus much and more; and yet thou lov'st me not,
And never wilt! Love dwells not in our will.
Nor can I blame thee, though it be my lot
To strongly, wrongly, vainly love thee still.[132]

[First published, _Murray's Magazine_, February, 1887,
vol. i. pp. 145, 146.]

FOOTNOTES:

[132] ["The last he ever wrote. From a rough copy found amongst his papers at the back of the 'Song of Suli.' Copied November, 1824.--John C. Hobhouse."

"A note, attached to the verses by Lord Byron, states they were addressed to no one in particular, and were a mere poetical Scherzo. --J.C.H."]

LAST WORDS ON GREECE.

WHAT are to me those honours or renown
Past or to come, a new-born people's cry?
Albeit for such I could despise a crown
Of aught save laurel, or for such could die.
I am a fool of passion, and a frown
Of thine to me is as an adder's eye.
To the poor bird whose pinion fluttering down
Wafts unto death the breast it bore so high;
Such is this maddening fascination grown,
So strong thy magic or so weak am I.

[First published, _Murray's Magazine_, February,
1887, vol. i. p. 146.]

ON THIS DAY I COMPLETE MY THIRTY-SIXTH YEAR.[133]

'T IS time this heart should be unmoved,
Since others it hath ceased to move:
Yet, though I cannot be beloved,
Still let me love!

My days are in the yellow leaf;
The flowers and fruits of Love are gone;
The worm, the canker, and the grief
Are mine alone!

The fire that on my bosom preys
Is lone[iii] as some Volcanic isle;
No torch is kindled at its blaze--
A funeral pile.

The hope, the fear, the jealous care,
The exalted portion of the pain
And power of love, I cannot share,
But wear the chain.

But 't is not _thus_--and 't is not _here_--[iv]
Such thoughts should shake my soul, nor now
Where Glory decks the hero's bier,[v]
Or binds his brow.

The Sword, the Banner, and the Field,[vi]
Glory and Greece, around me see!
The Spartan, borne upon his shield,[134]
Was not more free.

Awake! (not Greece--she _is_ awake!)
Awake, my spirit! Think through _whom_
Thy life-blood tracks its parent lake,[vii]
And then strike home!

Tread those reviving passions down,[viii]
Unworthy manhood!--unto thee
Indifferent should the smile or frown
Of Beauty be.

If thou regret'st thy youth, _why live_?
The land of honourable death
Is here:--up to the Field, and give
Away thy breath!

10.

Seek out--less often sought than found--
A soldier's grave, for thee the best;
Then look around, and choose thy ground,
And take thy Rest.

Missolonghi, _Jan_. 22, 1824.
[First published, _Morning Chronicle_, October 29, 1824.]

FOOTNOTES:

[133] ["This morning Lord Byron came from his bedroom into the apartment where Colonel Stanhope and some friends were assembled, and said with a smile--'You were complaining, the other day, that I never write any poetry now:--this is my birthday, and I have just finished something, which, I think, is better than what I usually write.' He then produced these noble and affecting verses, which were afterwards found written in his journals, with only the following introduction: 'Jan. 22; on this day I complete my 36^th^ year.'"--_A Narrative of Lord Byron's Last Journey to Greece_, 1825, p. 125, by Count Gamba. In the _Morning Chronicle_, October 29, 1824, the lines are headed, "Lord Byron's Latest Verses," and are prefaced by the following note: "We have been indebted to a friend for the following immortal verses, the last he ever composed. Four of the lines have already appeared in an article in the _Westminster Review_" ("Lord Byron in Greece," July, 1824, vol. ii. p. 227).]

[iii] _Is like to_----.--[M.C.]

[iv] ---- _it is not here_.--[M.C.]

[v] ---- _seals the hero's bier_.--[M.C.]

[vi] _The steed--the Banner--and the Field.--_[MS. B.M.]

[134] I. [The slain were borne on their shields. Witness the Spartan mother's speech to her son, delivered with his buckler: "either _with_ this _or on_ this" (B.M. Addit. MS. 31,038).]

[vii] _My life-blood tastes_----.--[M.C.]

[viii] _I tread reviving_----.--[M.C.]

A BIBLIOGRAPHY
OF THE
SUCCESSIVE EDITIONS AND TRANSLATIONS
OF
LORD BYRON'S _POETICAL WORKS_.

COLLECTED EDITIONS.

The/ Poetical Works/ of/ Lord Byron./ In Two Volumes./ Vol. I./ [Vol. II.] From the last London Edition./ Philadelphia:/ Published by Moses Thomas,/ No. 52, Chesnut Street./ William Fry, Printer./ 1813./ [16º.

[A bound copy: smooth blue calf, lettered "LORD BYRON."]

_Collation_--

Vol. I.--Title, one leaf; Cont.; Half-title; Dedication; and Text, pp. _1_-203.

Vol. II--Title, one leaf; Cont.; Half-title; Preface, etc, pp. i.-xii.; Text, pp. _1_-261.

_Contents_--

Vol. I.:--Poems, Original and Translated p. 1 English Bards, etc. p. 137 Vol. II.:--Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Canto I. p. 13 (xciii. stanzas)

Previous Next

Comments

The Works of Lord Byron, Vol. 7. PoetryChapter IV: Epilogue: 109

0%20 min left in chapter