« PreviousContinue »
Match me, ye climes! which poets love to laud ;
Oh, thou Parnassus !4 whom I now survey,
Would gladly woo thine Echoes with his string Though from thy heights no more one Muse will wave
1 This stanza was written in Turkey.
[“ Beauties that need not fear a broken vow.” – MS.] 3 Ç“ Long black hair, dark languishing eyes, clear olive complexions, and forms more graceful in motion than can be con. ceived by an Englishman, used to the drowsy, listless air of his countrywomen, added to the most becoming dress, and, at the same time, the most decent in the world, render a Spanish beauty irresistible." — Lord Byron to his Mother, Aug. 1809.]
4 These stanzas were written in Castri (Delphos), at the foot of Parnassus, now called Asarugce (Liakura), Dec. 1809.
Oft have I dream'd of Thee! whose glorious name
But gaze beneath thy cloudy canopy
Happier in this than mightiest bards have been,
Sighs in the gale, keeps silence in the cave,
?. [“ Upon Parnassus, going to the fountain of Delphi (Castri), in 1809, I saw flight of twelve eagles (Hobhouse says they were vultures - at least in conversation), and I seized the omen. On the day before, I composed the lines to Parnassus (in Childe Harold), and on beholding the birds, had a hope that Apollo had accepted my homage. I have at least had the name and fame of a poet, during the poetical period of life (from twenty to thirty); whether it will last is another matter : but I have been a votary of the deity and the place, and am grateful for what he has done in my behalf, leaving the future in his hands, as I left the past.”. B. Diary, 1821.]
2 [“ Casting the eye over the site of ancient Delphi, one cannot possibly imagine what has become of the walls of the numerous buildings which are mentioned in the history of its former magnificence, -- buildings which covered two miles of ground. With the exception of the few terraces or supporting walls, nothing now appears. The various robberies by Scylla, Nero, and Constantine, are inconsiderable ; for the removal of the statues of bronze, and marble, and ivory, could not greatly affect
Of thee hereafter. — Ev'n amidst my strain
Yield me one leaf of Daphne's deathless plant, 1
But ne'er didst thou, fair Mount! when Greece was
Ah! that to these were given such peaceful shades As Greece can still bestow, though Glory fly her glades.
the general appearance of the city. The acclivity of the hill, and the foundations being placed on rock, without cement, would no doubt render them comparatively easy to be removed or hurled down into the vale below ; but the vale exhibits no appearance of accumulation of hewn stones ; and the modern village could have consumed but few. In the course of so many centuries, the débris from the mountain must have covered up a great deal, and even the rubbish itself may have acquired a soil sufficient to conceal many noble remains from the light of day. Yet we see no swellings or risings in the ground, indicating the graves of the temples. All therefore is mystery, and the Greeks may truly say, ' Where stood the walls of our fathers ?' scarce their mossy tombs remain !" H. W. Williams's Travels in Greece, vol. ii. p. 254.]
'p“ Some glorious thought to my petition grant.” – MS.]
Fair is proud Seville; let her country boast
A Cherub-hydra round us dost thou gape,
When Paphos fell by time — accursed Time!
Her worship, but, devoted to her rite,
LXVII. From morn till night, from night till startled Morn Peeps blushing on the revel's laughing crew, The song is heard, the rosy garland worn; Devices quaint, and frolics ever new,
| Seville was the Hispalis of the Romans. 2 [“ The lurking lures of thy enchanting gaze.” – MS.] 3 [“ Cadiz, sweet Cadiz !- it is the first spot in the creation. The beauty of its streets and mansions is only excelled by the liveliness of its inhabitants. It is a complete Cythera, full of the finest women in Spain; the Cadiz belles being the Lancashire witches of their land." - Lord B. to his Mother, 1809.]
Tread on each other's kibes. A long adieu
Of true devotion monkish incense burns,
The Sabbath comes, a day of blessed rest :
Yells the mad crowd o’er entrails freshly torn,
The seventh day this; the jubilee of man.
Till the tired jade the wheel forgets to hurl,
Some o'er thy Thamis row the ribbon'd fair,
1 [" mo
temples share The hours misspent, and all in turns is love and prayer." -MS.]