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CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE.
CANTO THE THIRD. 1
Is thy face like thy mother's, my fair child !
Awaking with a start,
Whither I know not;s but the hour's gone by, When Albion's lessening shores could grieve or glad
[“ Begun July 10th, 1816. Diodati, near Lake of Geneva." MS.)
2 [In a hitherto unpublished letter, dated Verona, November 6. 1816, Lord Byron says “ By the way, Ada's name (which I found in our pedigree, under king John's reign), is the same with that of the sister of Charlemagne, as I redde, the other day, in a book treating of the Rhine."]
3 [Lord Byron quitted England, for the second and last time, on the 25th of April
, 1816, attended by William Fletcher and Robert Rushton, the " yeoman" and page of Canto 1, ; his
Once more upon the waters ! yet once more !
Flung from the rock, on Ocean's foam to sail Where'er the surge may sweep, the tempest's breath
In my youth's summer I did sing of One,
O’er which all heavily the journeying years
[In the “Two Noble Kinsmen” of Beaumont and Fletcher, (a play to which the picture of passionate friendship delineated in the characters of Palamon and Arcite would be sure to draw the attention of Byron in his boyhood) we find the following passage :
“ Oh, never
Like proud seas under us." Out of this somewhat forced simile, by a judicious transposition of the comparison, and by the substitution of the more definite word "waves " for “seas,” Lord Byron's clear and noble thought has been produced. - MORE.]
[“ And the rent canvass tattering."- MS.)
Since my young days of passion-joy, or pain,
-it shall seem To me, though to none else, a not ungrateful theme.
He, who grown aged in this world of woe,
With airy images, and shapes which dwell
'Tis to create, and in creating live
Mix'd with thy spirit, blended with thy birth,
Yet must I think less wildly :- I have thought
In strength to bear what time can not abate,
Something too much of this: — but now 'tis past,
Fire from the mind as vigour from the limb;
1 [" The first and second cantos of Childe Harold's Pilgrimage produced, on their appearance in 1812, an effect upon the public, at least equal to any work which has appeared within this or the last century, and placed at once upon Lord Byron's head the garland for which other men of genius have toiled long, and which they have gained late. He was placed pre-eminent among the literary men of his country by general acclamation. It was amidst such feelings of admiration that he entered the public stage. Every thing in his manner, person, and conversation, tended to maintain the charm which his genius had flung around him; and those admitted to his conversation, far from finding that the inspired poet sunk into ordinary mortality, felt themselves attached to him, not only by many noble qualities, but by the interest of a mysterious, undefined, and almost painful curiosity. A countenance exquisitely modelled to the expression of feeling and passion, and exhibiting the remarkable contrast of very dark hair and eyebrows, with light and expressive eyes, presented to the physiog
His had been quaff'd too quickly, and he found
Which pined although it spoke not, and grew keen, Entering with every step he took through many a scene.
Secure in guarded coldness, he had mix'd
Fit speculation ; such as in strange land
nomist the most interesting subject for the exercise of his art. The predominating expression was that of deep and habitual thought, which gave way to the most rapid play of features when he engaged in interesting discussion; so that a brother poet compared them to the sculpture of a beautiful alabaster vase, only seen to perfection when lighted up from within. The flashes of mirth, gaiety, indignation, or satirical dislike, which frequently animated Lord Byron's countenance, might, during an evening's conversation, be mistaken, by a stranger, for the habitual ex. pression, so easily and so happily was it formed for them all ; but those who had an opportunity of studying his features for a length of time, and upon various occasions, both of rest and emotion, will agree that their proper language was that of melancholy; Sometimes shades of this gloom interrupted even his gayest and most happy moments." ŠIR WALTER Scott.]