The Works of Lord Byron. Complete in one volume. With notes by Thomas Moore, Esq, Lord Jeffrey, Sir Walter Scott ... &c. &c

Front matter

THE WORKS OF LORD BYRON. COMPLETE IN ONE VOLUME. WITH NOTES BY PROFESSOR WILSON, J. d. LOCKHART, ESQ., GEORGE ELLIS, ESQ., THOMAS CAMPBELL, ESQ., REV. H. H. MILMAN, THOMAS MOORE, ESQ., LORD JEFFREY, SIR WALTER SCOTT, BISHOP HEBER, SAMUEL ROGERS, ESQ., &c. &c. &c. LONDON: JOHN MURRAY, ALBEMARLE STREET. MDCCCXXXVII. London : Printed by A. Stottiswoodk, New-Street- Square. ?_om_ ■ [Street, 183'/. H 01 ' W i i ' 5, ■ 7 . \ ! yi e _L7_ara.ve7i ~by 7E. 7F_7U_.cn.. -Fainted. ~ty T. t 'n HEW&TE AB ABB ET. . iosso: JOiŒT^ UriSAT, AlJBErMARJLlE S1BEIT, 183:. TO IME JRJGJHT H0yDJy\MI SIB. ROBE RT PE El, BA 8 &<e . See. MIS coiiectivi .Efirnos OB THE works ©E BIS '■77/0 o:/, a /yjj f o m _ __ .f.ioi. _ - IS BESPECTEUILEX 7 7 § C K i B E ffi BY HIS IFAITHFUI, AI.IJ ©BrEMESsT SEB.-y.AS-_: J O M W M T M. K AY. iibitast pjy j MICCCXXXVII.

Contents Page Page - 316 CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. Preface to the First and Second Cantos - 1 To Ianthe - - - 2 CAIN ; A Mystery Dedication ib. ib. Preface Canto I. - - 3 WERNER ; Or, The Inheritance : a Tragedy 341 Canto IL - - - - 16 Dedication - - - - ib. Canto IH. - - - - 28 ib. Preface Canto IV. - - - - 41 Dedication - - - ib. HOURS OF IDLENESS ; A Series of Poems, Original and Translated - - 375 THE GIAOUR ; A Fragment of a Turkish Tale ... Dedication - - - - ib. G2 ib. ib. Preface .... ib. Dedication On the Death of a Toung Lady, Cousin to the Author, and very dear to him - 376 Advertisement THE BRIDE OF ABYDOS ; A Turkish Tale Dedication - 77 ib. ToE - - - - 377 ToD .... ib. Epitaph on a Friend - - «'*• THE CORSAIR ; A Tale - - - 89 378 Dedication - ib. A Fragment On leaving Newstead Abbey ib.

LARA ; A Tale 108 Lines written in "Letters of an Italian Nun and an English Gentleman ; by J. J. Rousseau: founded on Facts " - 379 THE SIEGE OF CORINTH Dedication Advertisement 120 ib. ib. Answer to the foregoing, addressed to Miss - - - - «'*■ PARISINA - - - - 131 Adrian's Address to his Soul when Dying - ib. Dedication - ... ib. Translation from Catullus. Ad Lesbiam - ib. Advertisement - ib. Translation of the Epitaph on Virgil and Tibullus, by Domitius Marsus - - ib. THE PRISONER OF CHILLON ; A Fable - 138 Sonnet to Chillon - . - - ib. Imitation of Tibullus. " Sulpicia ad Cerinthum" ... - ib. BEPPO ; A Venetian Story MAZEPPA 142 153 Translation from Catullus. "LugeteVeneres, Cupidinesque," &c. - - ib. Advertisement ib. Imitated from Catullus. To Ellen - ib. Translation from Horace. " Justum et tenacem," &c. - 380 From Anacreon.

Preface

. I have now waited till almost all our periodical journals have distributed their usual portion of cri ticism. To the justice of the generality of their criticisms I have nothing to object : it would ill become me to quarrel with their very slight degree of censure, when, perhaps, if they had been less kind they had been more candid. Returning, there fore, to all and each my best thanks for their libe rality, on one point alone shall I venture an observation. Amongst the many objections justly urged to the very indifferent character of the " vagrant Childe" (whom, notwithstanding many hints to the contrary, I still maintain to be a fictitious personage), it has been stated, that, besides the anachronism, he is very unhniyhtbj, as the times of the Knights were times of Love, Honour, and so forth.

Now, it so happens that the good old times, when " l'amour du bon vieux terns, l'amour antique" flourished, were the most profligate of all possible centuries. Those who have any doubts on this subject may consult Sainte-Palaye, passim, and more particularly vol. ii. p. 69. • The vows of chivalry were no better kept than any other vows whatsoever ; and the songs of the Troubadours were not more decent, and certainly were much less refined, than those of Ovid. The " Cours d'amour, parlemens d'amour, ou de courtesie et de gentilesse" had much more of love than of courtesy or gentleness. See Roland on the same subject with Sainte-Palaye. Whatever other objection may be urged to that most unamiable personage Childe Harold, he was so far perfectly knightly in his attributes — "No waiter, but a knight templar.

" 2 By the by, I fear that Sir Tristrem and Sir Lancelot were no better than they should be, although very poetical personages and true knights " sans peur," though not "sans reproche." If the story of the institution of the " Garter " be not a fable, the knights of that order have for several centuries borne the badge of a Countess of Salisbury, of in different memory. So much for chivalry. Burke need not have regretted that its days are over, though Marie- Antoinette was quite as chaste as most of those in whose honours lances were shivered, and knights unhorsed. London, 1813. TO IANTHE. 5 Not in those climes where I have late been straying, Though Beauty long hath there been matchless deem'd ; Not in those visions to the heart displaying Forms which it sighs but to have only dream'd, Hath aught like thee in truth or fancy seem'd : Nor, having seen thee, shall I vainly seek To paint those charms which varied as they beam'd — To such as see thee not my words were weak ; To those who gaze on thee what language could they speak?

Ah ! may'st thou ever be what now thou art, Nor unbeseem the promise of thy spring, As fair in form, as warm yet pure in heart, Love's image upon earth without his wing, And guileless beyond Hope's imagining ! And surely she who now so fondly rears Thy youth, in thee, thus hourly brightening, Beholds the rainbow of her future years, Before whose heavenly hues all sorrow disappears. Toung Peri 6 of the West ! — 't is well for me My years already doubly number thine ; My loveless eye unmoved may gaze on thee, And safely view thy ripening beauties shine ; Happy, I ne'er shall see them in decline ; Happier, that while all younger hearts shall bleed, Mine shall escape the doom thine eyes assign To those whose admiration shall succeed, [decreed. But mix'd with pangs to Love's even loveliest hours Before the days of Bayard, and down to those of Sir Joseph Banks (the most chaste and celebrated of ancient and modern times), few exceptions will be found to this statement ; and I fear a little investiga tion will teach us not to regret these monstrous mummeries of the middle ages.

I now leave " Childe Harold " to live his day, such 1 [" Qu'on Use dans l'Auteur du roman de Gerard de Roussillon, en Provencal, les details tres-circonstancies dans lesquels il entre sur la reception faite par le Comte Gerard a l'ambassadeur du roi Charles ; on y verra des particularises singulidres, qui rionnent une etrange idee des mceurs et de la politesse de ces siecles aussi corrompus qu'ignorans." — .1/e moircs sur I' Ancicnne Chcvalerie, par M. dc la Curne de Sainte-Palaye, Paris, 1781, for. cit j '•* The Rovers, or the Double Arrangement — [By Can ning and Frerc • first published in the Anti-jacobin, or Weekly Examiner.] 3 [In one of his early poems — " Childish Recollections," Lord Byron compares himself to the Athenian misanthrope, of whose bitter apophthegms many are upon record, though no authentic particulars of his life have come down to us ; — 4 [It was Dr. Moore's object, in this powerful romance (now unjustly neglected), to trace the fatal effects resulting from a fond mother's unconditional compliance with the humours and passions of an only child.

With high advan tages of person, birth, fortune, and ability, Zeluco is repre sented as miserable, through every scene of life, owing to the spirit of unbridled self-indulgence thus pampered in in fancy.] 5 [The Lady Charlotte Harley, second daughter of Ed. ward fifth Earl of Oxford (now Lady Charlotte Bacon), in the autumn of 1812, when these lines were addressed to her, had not completed her eleventh year. Mr. Westall's portrait of the juvenile beauty, painted at Lord Byron's request, is en graved in " Finden's Illustrations of the Life and Works of Lord Byron."] 6 [Peri, the Persian term for a beautiful intermediate order of beings, is generally supposed to be another form of " Weary of love, of life, devoured with spleen, I rest a perfect Timon, not nineteen," &c] our own word Fairy.-} CHILDE HAROLD S PILGRIMAGE.

Canto I

3 Oh ! let that eye, which, wild as the Gazelle's, ' Now brightly bold or beautifully shy, IH. Childe Harold 4 was hehight: — butwhencehis name And lineage long, it suits me not to say ; Suffice it, that perchance they were of fame, And had been glorious in another day : i Wins as it wanders, dazzles where it dwells, Glance o'er this page, nor to my verse deny That smile for which my breast might vainly sigh, Could I to thee be ever more than friend *. This much, dear maid, accord ; nor question why To one so young my strain I would commend, But one sad losel soils a name for aye, j However mighty in the olden time ; Nor all that heralds rake from coffin'd clay, I Nor florid prose, nor honied Ues of rhyme, I Can blazon evil deeds, or consecrate a crime. I But bid me with my wreath one matchless lily blend.

Such is thy name with this my verse entwined ; And long as kinder eyes a look shall cast On Harold's page, Ianthe's here enshrined Shall thus be first beheld, forgotten last : My days once number'd, should this homage past Attract thy fairy fingers near the lyre rv. Childe Harold bask'd him in the noontide sun, Disporting there like any other fly, Nor deem'd before his little day was done One blast might chill him into misery. But long ere scarce a third of his pass'd by, Worse than adversity the Childe befell ; He felt the fulness of satiety : Of him who hail'd thee, loveliest as thou wast, Such is the most my memory may desire ; Though more than Hope can claim, could Friendship less require ? Then loathed he in his native land to dwell, Which seem'd to him more lone than Eremite's sad cell.

V. For he through Sin's long labyrinth had run, Nor made atonement when he did amiss, Had sigh'd to many though he loved but one, And that loved one, alas ! could ne'er be his. Ah, happy she ! to 'scape from him whose kiss Had been pollution unto aught so chaste ; Who soon had left her charms for vulgar bliss, And spoil'd her goodly lands to gild his waste, €f)iI5e ifcaroHJ'0 pilgrimage. CANTO THB FIRST. Nor calm domestic peace had ever deign'd to taste. I. VI. Oh, thou ! in Hellas deem'd of heavenly birth, Muse ! form'd or fabled at the minstrel's will ! And now Childe Harold was sore sick at heart, And from his fellow bacchanals would flee ; 'Tis said, at times the sullen tear would start, But Pride congeal'd the drop within his ee ; Apart he stalk'd in joyless reverie, Since shamed full oft by later lyres on earth, Mine dares not call thee from thy sacred hill : Tet there I 've wander'd by thy vaunted rill ; Tes ! sigh'd o'er Delphi's long deserted shrine, - And from his native land resolved to go, And visit scorching climes beyond the sea ; With pleasure drugg'd, he almost long'd for woe, Where, save that feeble fountain, all is still ; Nor mote my shell awake the weary Nine To grace so plain a tale — this lowly lay of mine. 3 And e'en for change of scene would seek the shades below. ,J II.

VII. Whilome in Albion's isle there dwelt a youth, The Childe departed from his father's hall ; It was a vast and venerable pile ; Who ne in virtue's ways did take delight ; But spent his days in riot most uncouth, And vex'd with mirth the drowsy ear of Night. Ah, me ! in sooth he was a shameless wight, Sore given to revel and ungodly glee ; So old, it seemed only not to fall, Tet strength was pillar'd in each massy aisle. Monastic dome ! condemn'd to uses vile ! Where Superstition once had made her den Now Paphian girls were known to sing and smile ; And monks might deem their time was come agen, If ancient tales say true, nor wrong these holy men. Few earthly things found favour in his sight Save concubines and carnal companie, And flaunting wassailers of high and low degree. a [This stanza is not in the original MS.] 4 ["Childe Buron."— MS.] 1 [A species of the antelope.

" You have the eyes of a gazelle," is considered all over the East as the greatest com. pliment that can be paid to a woman.] 2 The little village of Castri stands partly on the site of Delphi. Along the path of the mountain, from Chrysso, are the remains of sepulchres hewn in and from the rock. " One," said the guide, " of a king who broke his neck hunting." His majesty had certainly chosen the fittest spot for such an achievement. A little above Castri is a cave, supposed the Pythian, of immense depth ; the upper part of it is paved, and now a cowhouse. On the other side of Castri stands a Greek monastery ; some way above which is the cleft in the rock, with a range of caverns difficult of ascent, and apparently leading to the interior of the mountain ; probably to the Co^. rycian Cavern mentioned by Pausanias.

From this part descend the fountain and the " Dews of Castalie." — [" We were sprinkled," says Mr. Hobhouse, " with the spray of the immortal rill, and here, if any where, should have felt the poetic inspiration : we drank deep, too, of the spring ; but — (I can answer for myself) — without feeling sensible of any 5 [In these stanzas, and indeed throughout his works, we must not accept too literally Lord Byron's testimony against himself— he took a morbid pleasure in darkening every shadow of his self-portraiture. His interior at Newstead had, no doubt, been, in some points, loose and irregular enough ; but it certainly never exhibited any thing of the profuse and Satanic luxury which the language in the text might seem to indicate. In fact, the narrowness of his means at the time the verses refer to would alone have precluded this.

His household economy, while he remained at the abbey, is known to have been conducted on a very moderate scale ; and, besides, his usual companions, though far from being averse to con vivial indulgences, were not only, as Mr. Moore says, " of habits and tastes too intellectual for mere vulgar debauchery," but assuredly, quite incapable of playing the parts of flatterers and parasites.] B 2 extraordinary effect."] XHL vrn. Tet oft-times in his maddest mirthful mood Strange pangs would flash along Childe Harold's brow, As if the memory of some deadly feud Or disappointed passion lurk'd below : But this none knew, nor haply cared to know ; For his was not that open, artless soul But when the sun was sinking in the sea He seized his harp, which he at times could string, And strike, albeit with untaught melody, When deem'd he no strange ear was listening : And now his fingers o'er it he did fling, And tuned his farewell in the dim twilight While flew the vessel on her snowy wing, And fleeting shores receded from his sight, That feels relief by bidding sorrow flow, Nor sought he friend to counsel or condole, Whate'er this grief mote be, which he could not control.

Thus to the elements he pour'd his last " Good Night " 4 " Adieu, adieu ! my native shore Fades o'er the waters blue ; IX. And none did love him — though to hall and bower He gather'd -evellers from far and near, The Night-winds sigh, the breakers roar, And shrieks the wild sea-mew. He knew then flatt'rers of the festal hour ; The heartless parasites of present cheer. Tea ! none did love him — not his lemans dear — But pomp and power alone are woman's care, And where these are light Eros finds a feere ; Maidens, like moths, are ever caught by glare, And Mammon wins his way where Seraphs might Ton Sun that sets upon the sea We follow in his flight ; Farewell awhile to him and thee, My native Land — Good Night I " A few short hours and He will rise To give the morrow birth ; despair. And I shall hail the main and skies, But not my mother earth.

X. Childe Harold had a mother — not forgot, Deserted is my own good hall, Its hearth is desolate ; Though parting from that mother he did shun ; A sister whom he loved, but saw her not Wild weeds are gathering on the wall ; My dog howls at the gate. Before his weary pilgrimage begun : If friends he had, he bade adieu to none. Tet deem not thence his breast a breast of steel : ' Te, who have known what 't is to dote upon A few dear objects, will in sadness feel Such partings break the heart they fondly hope to heal. " Come hither, hither, my little page ! 5 Why dost thou weep and wail ? Or dost thou dread the billow's rage, Or tremble at the gale ? But dash the tear-drop from thine eye ; Our ship is swift and strong : XI. His house, his home, his heritage, his lands, The laughing dames in whom he did delight, 2 Whose large blue eyes, fair locks, and snowy hands, Might shake the saintship of an anchorite, And long had fed his youthful appetite ; His goblets brimm'd with every costly wine, And all that mote to luxury* invite, Without a sigh he left to cross the brine, [line. 3 And traverse Paynim shores, and pass Earth's central Our fleetest falcon scarce can fly More merrily along. 6 ' Let winds be shrill, let waves roll high, I fear not wave nor wind : ' Tet marvel not, Sir Childe, that I Am sorrowful in mind ; 8 For I have from my father gone, A mother whom I love, And have no friend, save these alone, But thee — and one above. xn.

The sails were fill'd, and fair the light winds blew, As glad to waft him from his native home ; And fast the white rocks faded from his view, And soon were lost in circumambient foam : Aud then, it may be, of his wish to roam ' My father bless'd me fervently, Tet did not much complain ; But sorely will my mother sigh Till I come back again.' — " Enough, enough, my little lad ! Such tears become thine eye ; Repented he, but in his bosom slept The silent thought, nor from his lips did come One word of wail, whilst others sate and wept If I thy guileless bosom had, And to the reckless gales unmanly moaning kept. Mine own would not be dry. 9 ' [" Yet deem him not from this with breast of steel."— MS.] 2 [" His house, his home, his vassals, and his lands, The Dalilahs," Kc. — MS.] a [Lord Byron originally intended to visit India.] « [ See " Lord Maxwell's Good Night," in Scott's Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border.

Poetical Works, vol. ii. p. 141. ed. 1834. — « Adieu, madam, my mother dear," &c. — MS.] *> [This " little page" was Robert Rushton, the son of one of Lord Byron's tenants. " Robert I take with me," says the poet, in a letter to his mother ; " 1 like him, because, like myself, he seems a friendless animal : tell his father he is well, and doing well."] 6 r" Our best goss-hawk can hardly fly So merrily along." — MS.]' Murray. " Pray," he says to his mother, " shew the lad every kindness, as he is my great favourite." He also wrote a letter to the father of the'boy, which leaves a most favourable im pression of his thoughtfulness and kindliness. " I have," he says, " sent Robert home, because the country which I am about to travel through is in a state which renders it unsafe, particularly for one so young.

I allow you to deduct from your rent five and twenty pounds a year for his education, for three years, provided I do not return before that time, and I desire he may be considered as in my service. He has behaved extremely well."] » [Here follows in the MS.: — " My Mother is a high-born dame, And much misliketh me ; She saith my riot bringeth shame On all my ancestry : I had a sister once I ween. Whose tears perhaps will flow ; But her fair face I have not seen For three long years and inoe."] 1 [" Oh, master dear ! I do not cry From fear of waves or wind." — MS.] B [Seeing that the boy was " sorrowful " at the separation from his parents. Lord Byron, on reaching Gibraltar, sent him back to England under the care of his old servant Joe CHILDE HAROLD ■'S PILGRIMAGE. 5

CANTO I.

" Come hither, hither, my staunch yeoman, ' Why dost thou look so pale ? " With thee, my bark, 1 11 swiftly go Athwart the foaming brine ; Nor care what land thou bear'st me to, Or dost thou dread a French foeman ? Or shiver at the gale ? " — So not again to mine. ' Deem'st thou I tremble for my life ? Sir Childe, I 'm not so weak ; Welcome, welcome, ye dark blue waves ! And when you fail my sight, Welcome, ye deserts, and ye caves ! But thinking on an absent wife Will blanch a faithful cheek. My native Land — Good Night !"? XIV. ' My spouse and boys dwell near thy hall, Along the bordering lake, And when they on their father call, On, on the vessel flies, the land is gone, And winds are rude, in Biscay's sleepless bay. Four days are sped, but with the fifth, anon, New shores descried make every bosom gay ; And Cintra's mountain greets them on their way, And Tagus dashing onward to the deep, What answer shall she make » ' — " Enough, enough, my yeoman good, Thy grief let none gainsay ; But I, who am of lighter mood, His fabled golden tribute bent to pay ; Will laugh to flee away. 3 And soon on board the Lusian pilots leap, [reap.

And steer 'twixt fertile shores where yet few rustics " For who would trust the seeming sighs Of wife or paramour ? XV. Oh, Christ I it is a goodly sight to see Fresh feres will dry the bright blue eyes We late saw streaming o'er. 3 What Heaven hath done for this delicious land ! For pleasures past I do not grieve, Nor perils gathering near ; What fruits of fragrance blush on every tree ! What goodly prospects o'er the hills expand ! But man would mar them with an impious hand : And when the Almighty lifts his fiercest scourge 'Gainst those who most transgress his high command, My greatest grief is that I leave No thing that claims a tear. * With treble vengeance will his hot shafts urge Gaul's locust host, and earth from fellest foemen purge. 8 " And now I'm in the world alone, Upon the wide, wide sea : But why should I for others groan, When none will sigh for me ?

XVI. What beauties doth Lisboa 9 first unfold ! Her image floating on that noble tide, i ' Which poets vainly pave with sands of gold, 10 But now whereon a thousand keels did ride Of mighty strength, since Albion was allied, Perchance my dog i will whine in vain, Till fed by stranger hands ; But long ere I come back again He'd tear me where he stands. 6 > [William Fletcher, the faithful valet; — who, after a service of twenty years, (" during which," he says, " his Lord was more to him than a father,") received the Pilgrim's last words at Missolonghi, and did not quit his remains, until he had seen them deposited in the family vault at Hucknall. This unsophisticated " yeoman " was a constant source of pleasantry to his master : — e. g. " Fletcher," he says, in a letter to his mother, '* is not valiant ; he requires comforts that I can dis pense with, and sighs for beer, and beef, and tea, and his wife, and the devil knows what besides.

We were one night lost in a thunder-storm, and since, nearly wrecked. In both cases he was sorely bewildered ; from apprehensions of famine and banditti in the first, and drowning in the second instance. His eyes were a little hurt by the lightning, or crying, I don't know which. I did what I could to console him, but found him incorrigible. He sends six sighs to Sally. 1 shall settle him in a farm ; for he has served me faithfully, and Sally is a good woman." After all his adventures by flood and field, short commons included, this humhle Achates of the poet has now established himself as the keeper of an Italian warehouse, in Charles Street, Berkeley Square, where, if he does not thrive, every one who knows any thing of his character will say he deserves to do so.] 2 [" Enough, enough, my yeoman good, All this is well to say ; But if I in thy sandals stood, I'd laugh to get away." — MS.]

" Methinks it would my bosom glad, To change my proud estate, And be again a laughing lad With one beloved playmate. Since youth I scarce have pass'd an hour Without disgust or pain, Except sometimes in Lady's bower, Or when the bowl I drain."] 1 [Originally, the "little page" and the "yeoman" were introduced in the following stanzas : — " And of his train there was a henchman page, A peasant boy, who served his master well ; And often would his pranksome prate engage Childe Harold's ear, when his proud heart did swell With sable thoughts that he disdain'd to tell. Then would he smile on him, and Alwin smiled, When aught that from his young lips archly feU . The gloomy film from Harold's eye beguiled ; And pleased for a glimpse appear'd the woeful Childe. Him and one yeoman only did he take To travel eastward to a far countrie ; And, though the boy was grieved to leave the lake On whose fair banks he grew from infancy, Eftsoons his little heart beat merrily With hope of foreign nations to behold, And many things right marvellous to see, Of which our vaunting voyagers oft have told.

In many a tome as true as Mandeville's of old."] s [" These Lusian brutes, andearth from worst of wretches purge." — MS.] 9 T" A friend advises Ulissipont ; but Lisboa is the Por tuguese word, consequently the best. Ulissipont is pedantic ; and as I had lugged in Hellas and Eros not long before, there would have been something like an affectation of Greek terms, which I wished to avoid. On the submission of Lusitama to the Moors, they changed the name of the capital, which till then had been Ulisipo, or Lispo ; because, in the Arabic al phabet, the letter p is not used. Hence, I believe, Lisboa, whence again, the French Lisbonne, and our Lisbon,— God knows which the earlier corruption ! "—Byron, MS.] io [" Whichpoets, prone tolie.havepavedwith gold."— MS.] 3 [" For who would trust a paramour, Or e'en a wedded freere, Though her blue eyes were streaming o'er, And torn her yellow hair ?" — MS.] * [" I leave England without regret — I shall return to it without pleasure.

I am like Adam, the first convict sentenced to transportation ; but I have no Eve, and have eaten no apple but what was sour as a crab." — lord S. to Mr. Hodgson.} * [From the following passage in a letter to Mr. Dallas, it would appear that that gentleman had recommended the sup pression or alteration of this stanza: — "I do not mean to exchange the ninth verse of the ' Good Night.' I have no reason to suppose my dog better than his brother brutes, mankind ; and Argus, we know to be a fable."] 6 Here follows, in the original MS. : — B And to the Lusians did her aid afford : A nation swoln with ignorance and pride, Who lick yet loathe the hand that waves the sword To save them from the wrath of Gaul's unsparing XX. Then slowly climb the many-winding way, And frequent turn to linger as you go, From loftier rocks new loveliness survey, And rest ye at *' Our Lady's house of woe;" * "Where frugal monks their little relics show, And sundry legends to the stranger tell : Here impious men have pnnish'd been, and lo !