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rain ;

The struggle ; vain, against the coiling strain Which reigns when mountains tremble, and And gripe, and deepening of the dragon's the

birds grasp,

Plunge in the clouds for refuge, and with. The old man's clench ; the long envenomed draw chain

From their down-toppling nests; and bel. Rivets the living links,—the enormous asp

lowing herds Enforces pang on pang, and spifles gasp on Stumble o'er heaving plains, and man's dread gasp.

hath no words. 161. Or view the Lord of the unerring bow, Far other scene is Thrasimene now ; The God of life, and poesy, and light Her lake a sheet of silver, and her plain The Sun in human limbs arrayed, and brow Rent by no ravage save the gentle plough ; All radiant from his triumph in the fight; Her aged trees rise thick as once the slain The shaft hath just been shot the arrow Lay where their roots are ; but a brook hath bright

ta'en With an immortal's vengeance ; in his eye A little rill of scanty stream and bedAnd nostril beautiful disdain, and might, A name of blood from that day's sanguine And majesty, flash their full lightnings by, Developing in that one glance the Deity. And Sanguinetto tells ye where the dead 162.

Made the earth wet, and turn'd the unwill. But in his delicate form-a dream of Love, ing waters red. Shaped by some solitary nymph, whose breast Venice, Lombardy, and Tuscany, Long'd for a deathless lover from above, rich as they are in relics of fallen And mudden'd in that vision-are exprest

grandeur and inimitable art, and still All that ideal beauty ever bless'd The mind with in its most unearthly mood, plays herself both in beauty and sub

more so in scenes where nature disWhen each conception was a heavenly guestA ray of immortality and stood,

simity, are, after all, only the avenues Starlike, around, until they gathered to a god! to the main attraction of the poet and

From the smiling beauties of the the poem. Even Greece, with all her Vale of Arno, he rushes to breathe natural graces, and all her heroic reagain, an atmosphere more congenial collections, wants that majestic charm to his soul, among the rugged defiles of unapproached greatness, which of Thrasimene--the imperishable mo

binds the heart of every profound nument of Carthagenian skill and Ro- thinker to the contemplation of the man despair. It is well known that skeleton of Rome. It was here that an earthquake, which shook all Italy, the nature of man arrayed itself in occurred during the battle, and was greatness so terrific, that it almost me. unfelt by any of the combatants. rited the name of a disguise. It was 62.

here that imagination and passion, I roam

disdaining all individual hopes, and By Thrasimene's lake, in the defiles

feelings, and exactions, concentrated Fatal to Roman rashness, more at home ;

themselves with unswerving pertinaciFor there the Carthaginian's warlike wiles Come back before me, as his skill beguiles

ty in the idea of country. The host between the mountains and the

A Roman thought himself great and shore,

noble, not because he was himself, not Where Courage falls in her despairing files, for any thing that himself had done or And torrents, swoln to rivers with their gore, could do, but simply because his birth Reek through the sultry plain, with legions and home were in the eternal city, scatter'd o'er.

All other men are vain, The Roman 63.

only was proud. He looked upon himLike to a forest fell’d by mountain winds ; And such the storm of battle on this day,

selt' as a being animated with the in. And such the phrenzy, whose convulsion spirations of a nobler nature than is blinds

given to other men. Even the Greek, To all save carnage, that, beneath the fray, with all his philosophy, poetry, art, An earthquake reel'd unheededly away! and eloquence, was regarded as an inNone felt stern Nature rocking at his feet, genious anirnal of a lower species. And yawning forth a grave for those who lay Nay, the Greeks, rich as their accom, Upon their bucklers for a winding-sheet ; Such is the absorbing hate when warring ledged their inferiority, whenever they

plishments were, seem to have acknow, nations meet! 64.

were brought into actual contact either The Earth to them was as a rolling bark

with the bodies or the spirits of these Which bore them to Eternity ; they saw

“ Men of Iron."* The Ocean round, but had no time to mark The motions of their vessel ; Nature's law, We had lately sent to us a translation In them suspended, reck'd not of the awe of an Elegy, by William Augustus Schle.



All round us; we but feel our way to err : Oh Rome! my country! city of the soul! The ocean hath his chart, the stars their map, The orphans of the heart must turn to thee, And Knowledge spreads them on her ample Lone mother of dead empires ! and control lap; In their shut breasts their petty misery. But Rome is as the desart, where we steer What are our woes and sufferance ? Come Stumbling o'er recollections ; now we clap and see

Our hands, and cry • Eureka !' it is clear The cypress, hear the owl, and plod your way When but some false mirage of ruin rises O'er steps of broken thrones and temples, Ye !

82 Whose agonies are evils of a day— A world is at our feet as fragile as our clay. The trebly hundred triumphs! and the day

Alas! the lofty city! and alas ! 79.

When Brutus made the dagger'sedge surpass The Niobe of nations ! there she stands, The conqueror's sword in bearing fameaway! Childless and crownless, in her voiceless woe; Alas, for Tully's voice, and Virgil's lay, An empty urn within het withered hands, And Livy's pictur'd page !—but these shall Whose holy dust was scatter'd long ago ;

be The Scipio's tomb contains no ashes now;

Her resurrection ; all beside-decay. The very sepulchres lie tenantless

Alas, for Earth, for never shall we see Of their heroic dwellers : dost thou flow, That brightness in her eye she bore when Old Tiber! through a marble wilderness ?

Rome was free! Rise, with thy yellow waves, and mantle

83. her distress!

Oh thou, whose chariot rollid on Fortune's 80.

wheel, The Goth, the Christian, Time, War, Flood, Triumphant Sylla! Thou, who didst subdue and Fire,

Thy country's foes ere thou would pause to Have dealt upon the seven-hill'd city's pride ; feel She saw her glories star by star expire, The wrath of thy own wrongs, or reap the And up the steep barbarian monarchs ride,

due Where the car climbid the capitol ; far and Of hoarded vengeance till thine eagles flew wide

O'er prostrate Asia ;—thou, who with thy Temple and tower went down, nor left a frown site :

Annihilated senates-Roman, too, Chaos of ruins ! who shall trace the void,

With all thy vices, for thou didst lay downi O'er the dim fragments cast a lunar light, With an atoning smile a more than earthly And say, here was, or is,' where all is doubly night?

84. 81.

The dictatorial wreath, couldst thou di. The double night of ages, and of her,

vine Night's daughter, Ignorance, hath wrapt To what would one day dwindle that which


Thee more than mortal ? and that so supine gel, from which our correspondent supposes By aught than Romans Rome should thus that Lord Byron has borrowed not a little

be laid ? of the spirit, and even of the expressions, of She who was named Eternal, and array'd the Fourth Canto. We cannot, we must

Her warriors but to conquer-she who veil'd confess, observe any thing more than such Earth with her haughty shadow, and discoincidences, as might very well be expected

play'd, from two great poets contemplating the Until the o'er-canopied horizon fail'd, same scene. The opening of the German Her rushing wings-Oh! she who was Alpoem appears to us to be very striking ; but

mighty haila! the whole is pitched in an elegiac key. Lord

85. Byron handles the same topics with the Sylla was first of victors ; but our own deeper power of a tragedian.

The sagest of usurpers, Cromwell; he Trust not the smiling welcome Rome can give, Too swept off senates while he hewed the With her green fields, and her unspotted sky; Down to a block_immortal rebel ! See Parthenope hath taught thee how to live, Let Rome, imperial Rome, now teach to die.

What crimes it cost to be a moment free

And famous through all ages! but beneath 'Tis true, the land is fair as land may be, His fate the moral lurks of destiny; One radiant canopy of azure lies

His day of double victory and death O'er the seven hills far downward to the sea, Beheld him win two realms, and, happier, And upward where yon Sabine heights arise. yield his breath. Yet sorrowful and sad, I wend my way Through this long ruined labyrinth, alone

87. Each echo whispers of the elder day, And thou, dread statue ! yet existent in I see a monument in every stone.

The austerest form of naked majesty,

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thou yet

Thou who beheldest, ʼmid the assassins' din, Without an ark for wretched man's abode, At thy bath'd base the bloody Cæsar lie, And ebbs but to reflow !-Renew thy rain. Folding his robe in dying dignity,

bow, God! An offering to thine altar from the queen After several magnificent stanzas, in of gods and men, great Nemesis ! did he die, And thou, too, perish, Pompey? have ye been which the poet pours out his indignaVictors of countless kings, or puppets of a

tion on the present political degradascene ?

tion of Rome and Italy, he adverts to 88.

the fantastic but generous designs of And thou, the thunder-stricken nurse of Rienzi, the friend of Fetrarch, who Rome!

perished in a vain attempt to restore She-wolf! whose brazen-imaged duge impart the Roman republic in the fourteenth The milk of conquest yet within the dome

century. Where, as a monument of antique art,

114. Thoustandest:-Mother of the mighty heart, Rienzi ! last of Romans! While the tree Which the great founder suck'd from thy Of Freedom's withered trunk puts forth a leaf, wild teat,

Even for thy tomb a garland let it beScorch'd by the Roman Jove's etherial dart, The forum's champion, and the people's And thy limbs black with lightning-dost chief

Her new-born Ņuma thou-with reign, Guard thine immortal cubs, nor thy fond alas! too brief. charge forget ?

115. 89.

Egeria! sweet creation of some heart Thou dost ;-—but all thy foster-babes are Which found no mortal resting-place so fair dead

As thine ideal breast ; whate'er thou art The men of iron; and the world hath reard Or wert, a young Aurora of the air, Cities from out their sepulchres: men bled The nympholepsy of some fond despair ; In imitation of the things they fear'd, Or, it might be, a beauty of the earth, And fought and conquer'd, and the same

Who found a more than common votary there course steer'd,

Too much adoring ; whatsoe'er thy birth, At apish distance ; but as yet none have, Thou wert a beautiful thought, and softly Nor could, the same supremacy have near’d, bodied forth. Save one vain man, who is not in the grave,

116. But, vanquish'd hy himself, to his own

The mosses of thy fountain still are sprinkled slaves a slave

With thine Elysian water-drops ; the face 90.

Of thy cave-guarded spring, with years unThe fool of false dominion-and a kind

wrinkled, Of bastard Cæsar, following him of old Reflects the meek-eyed genius of the place, With steps unequal; for the Roman's mind Whose green wild margin now no more erase Was modell'd in a less terrestrial mould, Art's works ; nor must the delicate waters With passions fiercer, yet a judgment cold, sleep, And an immortal instinct which redeem'd Prisoned in marble, bubbling from the base The frailties of a heart so soft, yet bold,

Of the cleft statue, with a gentle leap Alcides with the distaff now he seem'd The rill runs o'er, and round, fern, flowers, At Cleopatra's feet,

and now himself he beam'd,

117. 91.

Fantastically tangled ; the green hills And came—and saw-and conquer'd ! But Are clothed with early blossoms, through the the man

grass Who would have tamed his eagles down to flee, The quick-eyed lizard rustles, and the bills Like a train'd falcon, in the Gallic van, Of summer-birds sing welcome as ye pass; Which he, in sooth, long led to victory, Flowers fresh in hue, and many in their class, With a deaf heart which never seem'd to be Implore the pausing step, and with their dyes, A listener to itself, was strangely fram'd;

Dance in the soft breeze in a fairy mass ; With but one weakest weakness-vanity,

The sweetness of the violet's deep blue eyes, Coquettish in ambition-still he aim'd— Kiss'd by the breath of heaven, seems coAt what ? can he avouch-or answer what loured by its skies. he claim'd ?

118. 92.

Here didst thou dwell, in this enchanted And would be all or nothing--nor could wait

Egeria ! thy all heavenly bosom beating For the sure grave to level him ; few years For the far footsteps of thy mortal lover ; Had fix'd him with the Cæsars in his fate, The purple Midnight veil'd that mystic On whom we tread : For this the conqueror meeting

With her most starry canopy, and seating The arch of triumph! and for this the tears Thyself by thine adorer, what befel ? And blood of earth flow on as they have flowed, This cave was surely shap'd out for the An universal deluge, which appears


and ivy, creep,




Of an enamour'd Goddess, and the cell Time, the avenger! unto thee I lift Haunted by holy Love the earliest oracle! My hands, and eyes, and heart, and crave 119.

of thee a gift :

131. And didst thou not, thy breast to his re

Amidst this wreck, where thou hast made plying,

a shrine Blend a celestial with a human heart; And Love, which dies as it was born, in Among thy mightier offerings here are mine,

And temple more divinely desolate, sighing, Share with immortal transports ? could thine if thou hast ever seen me too elate,

Ruinsof years though few, yet full of fate:


Hear me not ; but if calınly I have borne Make them indeed immortal, and impart

Good, and reserved my pride against the hate The purity of heaven to earthly joys,

Which shall not whelm me, let me not have Expel the venom and not blunt the dart The dull satiety which all destroys

This iron in my soul in vain-shall they And root from out the soul the deadly weed

not mourn ? which cloys ?

132. The intensely personal nature of And thou, who never yet of human wrong Byron's poetry was never so perfectly Lost the unbalanced scale, great Nemesis ! displayed, as in his meditations over

Here, where the ancient paid thee homage the ruins of the imperial city. Deeply Thou, who didst call the Fories from the

longas he is impressed with the nothing

abyss, ness of individual sorrows, when set And round Orestes bade them howl and hiss by the side of departed nations and de- For that unnatural retribution-just, serted cities, he cannot look either at Had it but been from hands less near-in the coliseum, the pantheon, the forum, this or the capitol, without mingling with Thy former realm, I call thee from the dust! the meditations which these excite, Dost thou not hear my heart !-Awake!

thou shalt, and must. the agonizing wanderings of his own

133. wounded spirit. He is standing by It is not that I may not have incurr’d moonlight within the coliseum-our For my ancestral faults or mine the wound readers have not forgotten the beauti- I bleed withal, and, had it been conferr'd ful allusion to the same scene in Man- With a just weapon, it had flowed unbound; fred.

But now my blood shall not sink in the ground; 128.

To thee I do devote it thou shalt take Arches on arches ! as it were that Rome,

The vengeance, which shall yet be sought Collecting the chief trophies of her line,

and found, Would build up all her triumphs in one dome, Which if I have not taken for the sakeHer Coliseum stands; the moonbeams shine But let that pass-I sleep, but thou shalt yet As 'twere its natural torches, for divine

awake. Should be the light which streams here, to Our extracts have run out to a very

illume This long-explor'd but still exhaustless mine fault for which we expect an easy par

disproportionate extent, but this is a Of contemplation; and the azure gloom Of an Italian night, where the deep skies It was a thought worthy of the great

don. Once more, and we have done. 129.

spirit of Byron, after exhibiting to us Hues which have words, and speak to ye ing scenes of earthly grandeur and

his pilgrim amidst all the most strikof heaven, Float o'er this vast and wondrous monument, earthly decay,--after teaching us, like And shadow forth its glory. There is given him, to sicken over the mutability, and Unto the things of earth, which time hath bent, vanity, and emptiness of human greatA spirit's feeling, and where he hath leant ness, to conduct him and us at last to His hand,

but broke hisscythe, there is a power the borders of “ the great deep.” It And magic in the ruined battlement, is there that we may perceive an image For which the palace of the present hour of the awful and unchangeable abyss Must yield its pomp, and wait till ages are its dower.

of eternity, into whose bosom so much

has sunk, and all shall one day sink, 130. Oh Time! the beautifier of the dead,

of that eternity wherein the scorn and

the Adorper of the ruin, comforter

contempt of man, and “ the love

of And only healer when the heart hath bled

woman, and the melancholy of Time! the corrector whereour judgments err, great, and the fretting of little minds, The test of truth, love, sole philosopher,

shall be at rest for ever. No one, but For all beside are sophists, from thy thrift, a true poet of man and of nature, Which never loses though it doth defer would have dared to frame such a terVOL. III.

* 2 E




ty's form


mination for such a pilgrimage. The

182. image of the wanderer may well be Thy shores are empires, changed in all associated for a time with the rock of

save theeCalpe, the shattered temples of Athens, Assyria, Greece, Rome, Carthage, what are or the gigantic fragments of Rome;

they ? but when we wish to think of this Thy waters wasted them while they were free, dark personification as of a thing

which the stranger, slave, or savage ; their decay

And many a tyrant since ; their shores obey is, where can we so well imagine him

Has dried up realms to desarts :—not so thou, to have his daily haunt as by the roar. Unchangeable save to thy wild waves' playing of the waves ? It was thus that Time writes no wrinkle on thineazure browHomer represented Achilles in his Such as creation's dawn beheld, thou rollest moments of ungovernable and inconsolable grief for Patroclus.

It was

183. thus he chose to depict the paternal Thou glorious mirror, where the Almighdespair of Chriseus. Bm 8 9ινα πολυφλοισβοιο

Glasses itself in tempests ; in all time,
axbw nepa

Calm or convuls'd_in breeze, or gale, or

storm, 178.

Icing the pole, or in the torrid clime There is a pleasure in the pathless woods, Dark-heaving ;-boundless, endless, and There is a rapture on the lonely shore,

sublimeThere is society, where none intrudes, The image of Eternity—the throne By the deep Sea, and music in its roar : Of the Invisible ; even from out thy slime I love not Man the less, but Nature more, The monsters of the deep are made ; each From these our interviews, in which I steal From all I may be, or have been before, Obeys thee; thou goest forth, dread, faTo mingle with the Universe, and feel

thomless, alone. What I can ne'er express, yet can not all


And I have loved thee, Ocean ! and my

joy Roll on, thou deep and dark blue ocean

Of youthful sports was on thy breast to be roll !

Borne, like thy bubbles, onward: from a boy Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in rain ; I wantoned with thy breakers they to me Man marks the earth with ruin_his control

Were a delight; and if the freshening sea Stops with the shore;

upon the watery plain Made them a terror— 'twas a pleasing fear, The wrecks are all thy deed, nor doth remain

For I was as it were a child of thee, A shadow of man's ravage, save his own, And trusted to thy billows far and near, When, for a moment, like a drop of rain, He sinks into thy depths with bubbling groan,

And laid my hand upon thy mane as I

do here. Without a grave, unknell'd, uncoffin'd, and unknown.

185. 180.

My task is donemy song hath ceased His steps are not upon thy paths,-thy Has died into an echo ; it is fit

my theme fields Are not a spoil for him,—thou dost arise

The spell should break of this protracted And shake him from thee ; the vile strength The torch shall be extinguish'd which hath lit

dream. he wields For earth’s destruction thou dost all despise, My midnight lamp—and what is writ, is

writ, Spurning him from thy bosom to the skies, And send'st him, shivering in thy playful Would it were worthier ! but I am not now

That which I have been—and my visions fiit spray And howling, to his Gods, where haply lies Less palpably before me and the glow His petty hope in some near port or bay,

Which in my spirit dwelt, is futtering, And dashest him again to earth :-there let

faint, and low. him lay.

186. 181.

Farewell! a word that must be, and hath The armaments which thunderstrike the


A sound which makes us linger ;-yetOf rock-built cities, bilding nations quake,

farewell I And monarchs tremble in their capitals, Ye! who have traced the Pilgrim to the scene The oak leviathans, whose huge ribs make Which is his last, if in your memories dwell 'Their clay creator the vain title take A thought which once was his, if on ye swell Of lord of thee, and arbiter of war;

A single recollection, not in vain These are thy toys, and, as the snowy flake, He wore his sandal-shoon, and scallop-shell; They melt into thy yeast of waves, which mar Farewell! with him alone may rest the pain, Alike the Armada's pride, or spoils of Tra. If such there were with you, the moral of falgar.

his strain !

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