This stanza was written in Turkey. ? [“ Beauties that need not fear a broken vow." - MS.)

3 ["Long black hair, dark languishing eyes, clear olive complexions, and forms more gracetul in motion than can be I conceived by an Englishman, used to the drowsy, listless air

of his countrywomen, added to the most becoming dress, and, at the saine time, the most decent in the world, render a Spanish beauty irresistible.” – B. to his Blother, Aug. 1809.)

* These stanzas were written in Castri (Delphos), at the foot of Parnassus, now called Auxups (Liakura), Dec. 1809.

${* Upon Parnassus, going to the fountain of Delphi Castril, in 1809, I saw a Hight of twelve eagles (Hobhouse sars 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 tha: 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 leit the past." - B. Diary, 1821.]

${* 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 foriner muzniticence, - buildings which covered two miles of ground. With the exception of the few terraces or supporting *alls, nothing now appears. The various robberies by Sylla, Nero, and Constantinc, are inconsiderable ; for the removal of

the statues of bronze, and marble, and ivory, could not greatly affect 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 casy 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 the mossy torr.bs remain !'" - II. W. Williams's Travels in Greece, vol. ii. p. 231.]

7 ?" And walks with glassy steps o'er Aganippe's wave." — MS.) B (“ Some glorious thought to my petition grant.” – MS.]

Seville was the Hispalis of the Romans. 10 (" The lurking lures of thy enchanting gaze." – MS.]

11 " 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.)

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, Tread on each other's kibes. A long adieu He bids to sober joy that here sojourns : Nought interrupts the riot, though in lieu

Of true devotion monkish incense burns, And love and prayer unite, or rule the hour by turns.'

LXXII. The lists are oped, the spacious area clear'd, Thousands on thousands piled are seated round; Long ere the first loud trumpet's note is heard, Ne vacant space for lated wight is found : Here dons, grandees, but chiefly dames abound, Skill'd in the ogle of a roguish eye, Yet ever well inclined to heal the wound;

None through their cold disdain are doom'd to die, As moon-struck bards complain, by Love's sad archery.

LXVIII. The Sabbath comes, a day of blessed rest ; What hallows it upon this Christian shore ? Lo! it is sacred to a solemn feast : Hark! heard you not the forest-monarch's roar ? Crashing the lance, he snuffs the spouting gore Of man and steed, o'erthrown beneath his horn; The throng'd arena shakes with shouts for more ;

Yells the mad crowd o'er entrails freshly torn, Nor shrinks the female eye, nor ev'n affects to mourn.

LXXIII. Hush'd is the din of tongues - on gallant steeds, With milk-white crest, gold spur, and light-pois'd Four cavaliers prepare for venturous deeds, (lance, And lowly bending to the lists advance ; Rich are their scarfs, their chargers featly prance : It in the dangerous game they shine to-day, The crowd's loud shout and ladies' lovely glance,

Best prize of better acts, they bear away, And all that kings or chiefs e'er gain their toils repay.

LXXIV. In costly sheen and gaudy cloak array'd, But all afoot, the light-limbod Matadore Stands in the centre, eager to invade The lord of lowing herus; but not before The ground, with cautious tread, is traversed o'er, Lest aught unseen should lurk to thwart his speed: His arms a dart, he fights aloof, nor more

Can man achieve without the friendly steed Alas! too oft condemnd for him to bear and bleed.

LXIX. The seventh day this; the jubilee of man. London ! right well thou know'st the day of prayer: Then thy spruce citizen, wash'd artisan, And smug apprentice gulp their weekly air : Thy coach of hackney, whiskey, one-horse chair, And humblest gig through sundry suburbs whirl; To Hampstead, Brentford, Harrow, make repair;

Till the tired jade the wheel forgets to hurl, Provoking envious gibe from each pedestrian churl. 2

LXXV.
Thrice sounds the clarion ; lo! the signal falls,
The den expands, and Expectation mute
Gapes round the silent circle's peopled walls.
Bounds with one lashing spring the mighty brute,
And, wildly staring, spurns, with sounding foot,
The sand, nor blindly rushes on his foe :
Here, there, he points his threatening front, to suit

His first attack, wide waving to and fro
His angry tail ; red rolls his eye's dilated glow.

LXX. Some o'er thy Thamis row the ribbon'd fair, Others along the safer turnpike fly; Some Richmond-hill ascend, some scud to Ware, And many to the steep of Highgate hie. Ask ye, Baotian shades ! the reason why? 3 'Tis to the worship of the solemn Horn, Grasp'd in the holy band of Mystery,

In whose dread name both men and maids are sworn, And consecrate the oath + with draught, and dance till morn. 5

LXXI.
An have their fooleries — not alike are thine,
Fair Cadiz, rising o'er the dark blue sea !
Soon as the matin bell proclaimeth nine,
Thy saint adorers count the rosary :
Much is the Virgin teased to shrive them free
(Well do I ween the only virgin there)
From crimes as numerous as her beadsmen be;

Then to the crowded circus forth they fare : Young, old, high, low, at once the same diversion share.

LXXVI. Sudden he stops ; his eye is fix'd : away, Away, thou heedless boy ! prepare the spear : Now is thy time, to perish, or display The skill that yet may check his mad career. With well-timed croupe 6 the nimble coursers veer; On foams the bull, but not unscathed he goes ; Streams from his fank the crimson torrent clear :

He flies, he wheels, distracted with his throes ; Dart follows dart ; lance, lance; loud bellowings speak

his woes.

" monkish temples share The hours misspent, and all in turns is love and prayer."-MS.] ? (" And droughty then alights, and roars for Roman purl.”

- MS) 3 This was written at Thebes, and consequently in the best situation for asking and answering such a question ; not as the birthplace of Pindar, but as the capital of Bæotia, where the first riddle was propounded and solved.

* [Lord Byron alludes to a ridiculous custom which formerly prevailed at the public houses in Highgate, of alministering a burlesque oath to all travellers of the middling rank who stopped there. The party was sworn on a pair of horns, fastened, " never to kiss the maid when he could the mistress; never to eat brown bread when he could get white; never to drink small beer when he could get strong. with many other injunctions of the like kind, - to all which was added the saving clause, - " unless you like it best."]

sc". In thus mixing up the light with the solemn, it was the intention of the poet to imitate Ariosto. But it is far easier to rise, with grace, from the level of a strain generally familiar, into an occasional short bust of pathos or splendour, than to interrupt thus a prolonged tone of solemnity by any descent into the ludicrous or burlesque. In the former case, the transition may have the effect of softening or elerating; while, in the latter, it almost invariably shocks ; - for the same reason, perhaps, that a trait of pathos or high feeling, in comedy, has a peculiar charm; while the intrusion of comic scenes into tragedy, however sanctioned among us by habit and authority, rarely fails to offend. The poet was himself convinced of the failure of the experiment, and in none of the succeeding cantos of Childe Harold repeated it." - MOORE.]

6(* The croupe is a particular leap taught in the manège." - Ms.)

LXXXII. Oh! many a time, and oft, had Harold loved, Or dream'd he loved, since rapture is a dream ; But now his wayward bosom was unmoved, For not yet had he drunk of Lethe's stream ; And lately had he learn'd with truth to deem Love has no gift so grateful as his wings : How fair, how young, how soft soe'er he seem,

Full from the fount of Joy's delicious springs + Some bitter o'er the flowers its bubbling venom flings. 5

LXXVII.
Again he comes; nor dart nor lance avail,
Nor che wild plunging of the tortured horse ;
Though man and man's avenging arms assail,
Vain are his weapons, vainer is his force.
One gallant steed is stretch'd a mangled corse;
Another, hideous sight! unseam'd appears,
His gory chest unveils life's panting source ;

Though death-struck, still his feeble frame he rears; Staggering, but stemming all, his lord unharm'd he bears.

LXXVIII. Foild, bleeding, breathless, furious to the last, Full in the centre stands the bull at bay, Mid wounds, and clinging darts, and lances brast, And foes disabled in the brutal fray : And now the Datadores around him play, Shake the red cloak, and poise the ready brand : Once more through all he bursts his thundering

wayVain rage ! the mantle quits the conynge hand, Wraps bis fierce eye-'tis past -- he sinks upon the sand!!

LXXLX. Where his vast neck just mingles with the spine, Sheathed in his form the deadly weapon lies. He stops — he starts — disdaining to decline : Slowly he falls, amidst triumphant cries, Without a groan, without a struggle dies. The decorated car appears-on high The corse is piled — sweet sight for vulgar eyes 2

Four steeds that spurn the rein, as swift as shy, Hurl the dark bulk along, scarce seen in dashing by.

LXXXIIL Yet to the beauteous form he was not blind, Though now it moved him as it moves the wise ; Not that Philosophy on such a mind E'er deign'd to bend her chastely-awful eyes : But Passion raves itself to rest, or flies ; And Vice, that digs her own voluptuous tomb, Had buried long his hopes, no more to rise :

Pleasure's pallid victim ! life-abhorring gloom Wrote on his faded brow curst Cain's unresting doom.

LXXXIV. Still he beheld, nor mingled with the throng; But view'd them not with misanthropic hate : Fain would he now have join'd the dance, the song; But who may smile that sinks beneath his fate ? Nought that he saw his sadness could abate : Yet once he struggled 'gainst the demon's sway, And as in Beauty's bower he pensive sate,

Pour'd forth this unpremeditated lay, To charms as fair as those that soothed his happier day.

TO INEZ.

LXXX. Such the ungentle sport that oft invites The Spanish maid, and cheers the Spanish swain. Nurtured in blood betimes, his heart delights In vengeance, gloating on another's pain. What private feuds the troubled village stain ! Though now one phalanx'd host should meet the foe, Enough, alas ! in humble homes remain,

To meditate 'gainst friends the secret blow, For some slight cause of wrath, whence life's warm

stream must flow, 9

1. Nay, smile not at my sullen brow;

Alas ! I cannot smile again : Yet Heaven avert that ever thou Shouldst weep, and haply weep in vain.

2. And dost thou ask, what secret woe

I bear, corroding joy and youth ? And wilt thou vainly seek to know

A pang, ev'n thou must fail to soothe ?

3. It is not love, it is not hate,

Nor low Ambition's honours lost, That bids me loathe my present state,

And fly from all I prized the most :

LXXXI. But Jealousy has fled : his bars, his bolts, His wither'd centinel, Duenna sage ! And all whereat the generous soul revolts, Which the stern dotard deem'd he could encage, Have pass'd to darkness with the vanish'd age. Who late so free as Spanish girls were seen, (Ere War uprose in his volcanic rage,)

With braided tresses bounding o'er the green, While on the gay dance shone Night's lover-loving

Queen ? (The reader will do well to compare Lord Byron's ani. mated pieture of the popular sport is of the Spanish nation, with the very circumstantial details contained in the charining

Letters of Don Leucadio Doblado," (i. e, the Rev. Blanco White) published in 1822. So inveterate was, at one time, the rage of the people for this amusement, that even boys mi. micked its features in their play. In the slaughter-house itsell the professional bull-fighter gave public lessons; and such was the force of depraved custom, that ladies of the hizhest rank were not ashamed to appear amidst the blth and borror of the shambles. The Spaniards received this gport froin the Moors, among whom it was celebrated with great pomn and splendour. - See various Notes to Mr. Lockhart's Collection of Ancient Spanish Ballads. 1822.]

4. It is that weariness which springs

From all I meet, or hear, or see :
To me no pleasure Beauty brings ;

Thine eyes have scarce a charm for me.
(" The trophy corse is reared - disgusting prize"

Or, “ The corse is reared - sparkling the chariot Mies." - MS.] 35" The Spaniards are as revengeful as ever. At Santa Otella I heard a young peasant threaten to stab a woman (an old one to be sure, which mitigates the offence), and was told, on expressing some small surprise, that this ethic was by no means uncommon." - - MS.)

Medio de fonte leporum,
Surgit amari aliquid quod in ipsis foribus angat." -

Luc. 5 [“ Some bitter bubbles up, and e'en on roses stings.".

MS.]

When all were changing thou alone vert true,
First to be free and last to be subdued :
And if amidst a scene, a shock so rude,
Some native blood was seen thy streets to dye ;
A traitor only fell beneath the feud : 4

Here all were noble, save Nobility ;
None hugg'd a conqueror's chain, save fallen Chivalry !

5. It is that settled, ceaseless gloom

The fabled Hebrew wanderer bore ; That will not look beyond the tomb, But cannot hope for rest before.

6.
What Exile from himself can flee?!

To zones, though more and more remote,
Still, still pursues, where-e'er I be,
The blight of life — the demon Thought. ?

7.
Yet others rapt in pleasure seem,

And taste of all that I forsake;
Oh! may they still of transport dream,
And ne'er, at least like me, awake !

8.
Through many a clime 'tis mine to go,

With many a retrospection curst;
And all my solace is to know,
Whate'er betides, I've known the worst.

9.
What is that worst? Nay do not ask -

In pity from the search forbear: Smile on — nor venture to unmask

Man's heart, and view the Hell that 's there. 3

LXXXVI. Such be the sons of Spain, and strange her fate ! They fight for freedom who were never free; A Kingless people for a nerveless state, Her vassals combat when their chieftains flee, True to the veriest slaves of Treachery ; Fond of a land which gave them nought but life, Pride points the path that leads to liberty ;

Back to the struggle, baffled in the strife, War, war is still the cry, “ War even to the knife!"}

LXXXV. Adicu, fair Cadiz ! yea, a long adieu ! Who may forget how well thy walls have stood ? 1 [" What Exile from himself can fee?

To other zones, howe'er remote,
Still, still pursuing clings to me

The blight of life -- the demon Thought." - MS.] ? [“ Written January 25. 1810." - MS.)

3 In place of this song, which was written at Athens, January 25, 1810, and which contains, as Moore says, "some of the dreariest touches of sadness that ever Byron's pen let fall," we tind, in the first draught of the Canto, the following:

1.
Oh never talk again to me

of northern climes and British ladies
It has not been your lot to see,

Like me, the lovely girl of Cadiz.
Although her eye be not of blue,

Nor fair her locks, like English lasses,
How far its own expressive hue
The languid azure eye surpasses !

2.
Prometheus-like, from heaven she stole

The fire, that through those silken lashes
In darkest glances seems to roll,

From eyes that cannot hide their flashes:
And as along her bosom steal

In lengthen' now her raven tresses,
You'd swear each clustering lock could feel,
And curl'd to give her neck caresses.

3.
Our English maids are long to woo,

And frigid even in possession ;
And if their charms be fair to view,

Their lips are slow at Love's confession :
But, vorn beneath a brighter sun,

For love ordain'd the Spanish maid is,
And who, when fondly, fairly won, ----
Enchants you like the Girl of Cadiz ?

4.
The Spanish maid is no coquette,

Nor joys to see a lover tremble,
And if she love, or if she hate,

Alike she knows not to dissemble.
Her heart can ne'er be bought or sold -

Howe'er it beats, it beats sincerely ;
And, though it will not bend to gold,
'Twill love you long and love you dearly.

5.
The Spanish girl that meets your love

Ve'er taunts you with a mock denial,
For every thought is bent to prove

ller passion in the hour of trial.
When thronging foemen menace Spain,

She dares the deed and shares the danger ;

LXXXVII. Ye, who would more of Spain and Spaniards know, Go, read whate'er is writ of bloodiest strife : Whate'er keen Vengeance urged on foreign foe Can act, is acting there against man's life : From flashing scimitar to secret knife, War mouldeth there each weapon to his need So may he guarı the sister and the wife,

So may he make each curst oppressor bleed,
So may such foes deserve the most remorseless deed! 6

And should her lover press the plain,
She hurls the spear, her love's avenger.

6.
And when, beneath the evening star,

She mingles in the gay Bolero,
Or sings to her attuned guitar

Oi Christian knight or Moorish hero,
Or counts her beads with fairy hand

Beneath the twinkling rays of Hesper,
Or joins devotion's choral band,
To chaunt the sweet and hallow'd vesper ; -

7.
In each her charms the heart must move

of all who venture to behold her;
Then let not maids less fair reprove

Because her bosom is not colder:
Through many a clime 'tis mine to roam

Where many a soft and melting maid is,
But none abroad, and few at home.

May match the dark-eyed Girl of Cadiz. 4 Alluding to the conduct and death of Solano, the governor of Cadiz, in May, 1809.

5" War to the knife." Palafox's answer to the French general at the siege of Saragoza. [In his proclamation, also, he stated, that, should the French commit any robberies, devastations, and murders, no quarter should be given them. The dogs by whom he was beset, he said, scarcely left him time to clean his sword from their blood, but they still found their grave at Saragoza. All his addresses were in the same spirit. " His language,” says Mr. Southey, "had the high tone, and something of the inflation of Spanish romance, suiting the character of those to whom it was directed." See History of the Peninsular War, vol. iii. p. 152.]

6 The Canto, in the original MS., closes with the following stanzas:

Ye, who would more of Spain and Spaniards know,
Sights, Saints, Antiques, Arts, Anecdotes, and War,
Go! hie ye hence to Paternoster Row -
Arc they not written in the Book of Carr,
Green Erin's Knight and Europe's wandering star !
Then listen, Reuders, to the Man of Ink,
Hear what he did, and sought, and wrote arar,

All these are coop'd within one Quarto's brink.
This borrow, steal, -- don't buy, - and tell us what you think.

• Porphyry said, that the prophecies of Daniel were written after their coniplction, and such may be my fate here ; but it requires no second siiht to foretella tome: the first glimpse of the knight was enough. [In a letter written from Gibraltar. August 6. 1809, to his friend Ilodson, Lord Byron sars - 1 have seen Sir John Carr at Seville and Cadiz ; and, like Swift': barber, have been down on my knees to beg he would act put po into black and white."]