Page images
PDF
EPUB
[ocr errors]

Genuss an seinem hohen Dascyn einigermafsen verkümmert. Der deutsche Bewunderer jedoch, hierdurch nicht geirrt, folgte mit Aufmerksamkeit einem so seltenen Leben und Dichten in aller seiner Excentricität, die freilich um desto auffallender seyn muste, als ihres Gleichen in vergangenen Jahrhunderten nicht wohl zu entdecken gewesen und uns die Elemente zur Berechnung einer solchen Bahn völlig abgingen. Indessen waren die Bemühungen des Deutschen dem Engländer nicht unbekannt geblieben, der davon in seinen Gedichten unzweideutige Beweise darlegte, nicht weniger sich durch Reisende mit manchem freundlichen Grufs vernehmen lies. Sodann aber folgte, überraschend, gleichfalls durch Vermittlung, das Originalblatt einer Dedication des Trauerspiels Sardanapalus in den ehrenreichsten Ausdrücken und mit der freundlichen Anfrage, ob solche gedachtem Stück vorgedruckt werden könnte. Der deutsche mit sich selbst und seinen Leistungen im hohen Alter wohlbekannte Dichter durfte den Inhalt jener Widmung nur als Aeusserung eines trefflichen, hochfühlenden, sich selbst seine Gegenstände schaffenden, unerschöpflichen Geistes mit Dank und Bescheidenheit betrachten; auch fühlte er sich nicht unzufrieden, als, bei mancherlei Verspätung, Sardanapal ohne ein solches Vorwort gedruckt wurde, und fand sich schon glücklich im Besitz eines Ethographirten Fac simile, zu höchst werthem Andenken. Doch gab der edle Lord seinen Vorsatz nicht auf, dem deutschen Zeit- und Geist-Getissen eine bedeutende Freundlichkeit zu erweisen; wie denn das TrauerWerner ein höchst schätzbares Denkmal an der Stirne führt. Hierich wird man denn wohl dem deutschen Dichtergreise zutrauen, dass er so gründlich guten Willen, welcher uns auf dieser Erde selten beregnet, von einem so hoch gefeierten Manne ganz unverhofft erfahrend, sich gleichfalls bereitete mit Klarheit und Kraft auszusprechen, von welcher Hochachtung er für seinen unübertroffenen Zeitgenossen durchdrunvon welchem theilnehmenden Gefühl für ihn er belebt sey. Aber die Aufgabe fand sich so gross, und erschien immer grösser, jemehr man hr näher trat; denn was soll man von einem Erdgebornen sagen, dessen Verdienste durch Betrachtung und Wort nicht zu erschöpfen sind? Als daher ein junger Mann, Herr Sterling, angenehm von Person und rein von Sen, im Frühjahr 1823 seinen Weg von Genua gerade nach Weimar am, und auf einem kleinen Blatte wenig eigenhändige Worte des vererten Mannes als Empfehlung überbrachte, als nun bald darauf das Gericht verlautete, der Lord werde seinen grossen Sinn, seine mannigfalten Kräfte, an erhabengefährliche Thaten über Meer verwenden, da war ich länger zu zaudern und eilig nachstehendes Gedicht geschrieben:

Ein freundlich Wort kommt, eines nach dem andern,
Von Süden her und bringt uns frohe Stunden;

Es ruft uns auf zum Edelsten zu wandern,
Nicht ist der Geist doch ist der Fufs gebunden.

Wie soll ich dem, den ich so lang' begleitet,
Nun etwas Traulich's in die Ferne sagen?
Ihm, der sich selbst im Innersten bestreitet,
Stark angewohnt, das tiefste Weh zu tragen.
Wohl sey ihm doch, wenn er sich selbst empfindet!
Er wage selbst sich hochbeglückt zu nennen,
Wenn Musenkraft die Schmerzen überwindet;

Und wie ich ihn erkannt, mög' er sich kennen.
Weimar, den 22 Juny, 1823.

Es gelangte nach Genua, fand ihn aber nicht mehr daselbst; schon w der treffliche Freund abgesegelt und schien einem jeden schon weit er fernt; durch Stürme jedoch zurückgehalten, landete er in Livorno, ihn das herzlich gesendete gerade noch traf, um es im Augenblicke s ner Abfahrt, den 24 July 1823, mit einem reinen schön-gefühlten Bla erwiedern zu können; als werthestes Zeugniss eines würdigen Verhältniss unter den kostbarsten Documenten vom Besitzer aufzubewahren. So se uns nun ein solches Blatt erfreuen und rühren und zu der schönst Lebenshoffnung aufregen musste, so erhält es gegenwärtig durch d unzeitige Ableben des hohen Schreibenden den grössten schmerzlichst Werth, indem es die allgemeine Trauer der Sitten- und Dichterwelt üb seinen Verlust für uns leider ganz insbesondere schärft, die wir na vollbrachtem grossen Bemühen hoffen durften, den vorzüglichsten Geis den glücklich erworbenen Freund und zugleich den menschlichsten Siege persönlich zu begrüssen. Nun aber erhebt uns die Ueberzeugung, da seine Nation, aus dem, theilweise gegen ihn aufbrausenden, tadelnde scheltenden Taumel plötzlich zur Nüchternheit erwachen und allgeme begreifen werde, dass alle Schalen und Schlacken der Zeit und d Individuums, durch welche sich auch der beste hindurch und heraus arbeiten hat, nur augenblicklich, vergänglich und hinfällig gewesen, wogege der staunungswürdige Ruhm, zu dem er sein Vaterland für jetzt u künftig erhebt, in seiner Herrlichkeit gränzenlos und in seinen Folge unberechenbar bleibt. Gewiss, diese Nation, die sich so vieler gross Namen rühmen darf, wird ihn verklärt zu denjenigen stellen, durch d sie sich immerfort selbst zu ehren hat."

LORD BYRON'S LAST LINES.

[blocks in formation]

The sword, the banner, and the field,
Glory and Greece around us see;
The Spartan borne upon his shield
Was not more free.

Awake! not Greece-she is awake!—
Awake my spirit—think through whe
My life-blood tastes its parent lake
And then strike hom

I tread reviving passions down,
Unworthy Manhood - unto thee
Indifferent should the smile or frown
Of beauty be.

If thou regret thy youth-why live?—
The land of honourable death
Is here-up to the field, and give
Away thy breath!

Seek out-less often sought than found
A soldier's grave, for thee the best;
Then look around, and choose thy groun
And take thy rest.

Missolunghi, February, 1824.

CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE.

A ROMA U N T.

Lunivers est une espèce de livre dont on n'a lu que la première page, quand on n'a u que son pays. J'en ai feuilleté un assez grand nombre, que j'ai trouvé également manaises. Cet examen ne m'a point été infructueux. Je haissais ma patrie. Tantes les impertinences des peuples divers, parmi lesquels j'ai vécu, m'ont cancilié avec elle. Quand je n'aurais tiré d'autre bénéfice de mes voyages que cela, je n'en regretterais ni les frais, ni les fatigues.

LE COSMOPOLITE.

PREFACE.

Te following Poem was written, for the part, amidst the scenes which it attempts to describe. It was begun in Albania, and the parts relative to Spain and Portugal were ed from the author's observations in de countries. Thus much it may be necestestate for the correctness of the descripThe scenes attempted to be sketched Spain, Portugal, Epirus, Acarnania, Greece. There for the present the poem its reception will determine whether athor may venture to conduct his readthe capital of the East, through Ionia Phrygia: these two cantos are merely

perimental.

fctitious character is introduced for the of giving some connexion to the piece, wh, however, makes no pretention to rety It has been suggested to me by on whose opinions I set a high value, this fictitious character, "Childe HaI may incur the suspicion of having ded some real personage: this I beg Tnce for all, to disclaim-Harold is hild of imagination, for the purpose I stated. In some very trivial particuhand those merely local, there might be rds for such a notion; but in the main

The stanza of Spenser, according to one of our most successful poets, admits of every variety. Dr. Beattie makes the following observation: "Not long ago I began a poem in the style and stanza of Spenser, in which I propose to give full scope to my inclination, and be either droll or pathetic, descriptive or sentimental, tender or satirical, as the humour strikes me; for, if I mistake not, the measure which I have adopted admits equally of all these kinds of compositions." Strengthened in my opinion by such authority, and by the example of some in the highest order of Italian poets, I shall make no apology for attempts at similar variations in the following composition; satisfied that, if they

are unsuccessful, their failure must be in the execution, rather than in the design sanctioned by the practice of Ariosto, Thomson, and Beattie.

ADDITION TO THE PREFACE. I have now waited till almost all our periodical journals have distributed their usual portion of criticism. 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 should hope, none whatever. they had been more candid. Returning,therefore, to all and each my best thanks for their It is most superfluous to mention that liberality, on one point alone shall I venture appelation "Childe," as "Childe Waan observation. Amongst the many objections Sery-Childe Childers," is used as more con- justly urged to the very indifferent character with the old structure of versifica-of the "vagrant Childe" (whom, notwithwhich I have adopted. The "Good standing many hints to the contrary, I still in the beginning of the first canto, maintain to be a fictitious personage), it has gested by Lord Maxwell's Good been stated, that besides the anachronism, in the Border Minstrelsy, edited by he is very unknightly, as the times of the

[ocr errors][merged small]

Knights were times of love, honour, and so forth. Now it so happens that the good old times, when "l'amour du bon vieux tems, l'amour antique" flourished, were the most profligate of all possible centuries. Those who have any doubts on this subject may consult St. Palaye, passim, and more particnlarly vol. II. page 69. The vows of chivalry

Before the days of Bayard, and down t those of Sir Joseph Banks (the most chast and celebrated of ancient and modern times few exceptions will be found to this state ment, and I fear a little investigation wil teach us not to regret these monstrous mum meries of the middle ages.

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 courtoisie et de gentilesse," had much more of love than of courtesy or gentleness.See Roland on the same subject with St. Pa- I now leave "Childe Harold" to live hi laye. Whatever other objection may be ur- day, such as he is; it had been more agreea ged to that most unamiable personage Childe ble, and certainly more easy, to have draw Harold, he was so far perfectly knightly in his an amiable character. It had been easy to var attributes "No waiter, but a knight tem-nish over his faults, to make him do more an plar."-By the by, I fear that Sir Tristram 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 indifferent memory. So much for chivalry. Burke need not have regretted that its days are over, though Maria Antoinette was quite as chaste as most of those in whose honours lances were shivered, and knights unhorsed.

express less, but he never was intended as a example, further than to show that earl perversion of mind and morals leads to satiet of past pleasures and disappointment in ne ones, and that even the beauties of nature and the stimulus of travel (except ambition the most powerful of all excitements), a lost on a soul so constituted, or rather mi directed. Had I proceeded with the Poen this character would have deepened as b drew to the close; for the outline which once meant to fill up for him was, with som exceptions, the sketch of a modern Timo perhaps a poetical Zeluco.

TO IANTHE.

Nor in those climes where I have late been
straying,
Though Beauty long hath there been match-
less 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.

Young Peri of the West!-'tis 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 cy assign

To those whose admiration shall succeed, But mix'd with pangs to Love's even lov liest hours decreed.

Oh! let that eye, which, wild as the Gazelle'
Now brightly bold or beautifully shy,
Wins as it wanders, dazzles where it dwell
Glance o'er this page, nor to my ver
deny

That smile for which my breast might vain
sigh,

Could I to thee be ever more than friend: This much, dear maid, accord; nor questio why

To one so young my strain I would commen But bid me with my wreath one matchle lily blend.

Such is thy name with this my verse e
twined;

And long as kinder eyes a look shall cast
On Harold's page, lanthe's here enshrined
Shall thus be first beheld, forgotten last:
My days once number'd, should this homag
past

Attract thy fairy fingers near the lyre
Of him who hailed thee, loveliest as the
wast,

Such is the most my memory may desire ;
Though more than Hope can claim, coul
Friendship less requir

1

CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE.

CANTO I.

A ROMAUNT.

On then! inHellas deem'd of heavenly birth,
Mase form'd or fabled at the minstrel's will!
Since shamed full oft by later lyres on earth,
Mine dares not call thee from thy sacred hill:
Yet there I've wander'd by thy vaunted rill;
le sighed o'er Delphi's long-deserted
shrine,

Where, save that feeble fountain, all is still;
Vermote my shell awake the weary Nine
To grace so plain a tale-this lowly lay of

mine.

Whilome in Albion's isle there dwelt a youth,
hone in Virtue's ways did take delight;
t spent his days in riot most uncouth,
Laven'd with mirth the drowsy ear of Night.
à me! in sooth he was a shameless wight,
given to revel and ungodly glee;
arthly things found favour in his sight
concubines and carnal companie,
La faunting wassailers of high and low
degree.

[blocks in formation]

The Childe departed from his father's hall :
So old, it seemed only not to fall,
It was & vast and venerable pile;
Yet strength was pillar'd in each massy aisle.

Monastic dome! condemned to uses vile! Where Superstition once had made her den Balde Harold was he hight: --- but whence Now Paphian girls were known to sing and

[ocr errors]

his name

Aaage long, it suits me not to say;
Nice it, that perchance they were of fame,
had been glorious in another day:
me sad losel soils a name for aye,
her mighty in the olden time;
beral that heralds rake from coffin'd clay,

1

farid prose, nor honied lies of rhyme, Cabazon evil deeds, or consecrate a crime.

Childe Harold bask'd him in the noon-tide

sun,

Tag there like any other fly;

red before his little day was done
Ob might chill him into misery.
But long ere scarce a third of his pass'd by,
Were than adversity the Childe befell;

He felt the fulness of satiety :

smile;

And monks might deem their time was come agen,

If ancient tales say true, nor wrong these holy men.

Yet oft-times in his maddest mirthful mood
Strange pangs would flash along Childe ifa-
rold'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
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.

The loathed he in his native land to dwell, And none did love him—though to hall and

Wurk seem'd to him more lone than Eremite's sad cell.

To be through Sin's long labyrinth had run,

made atonement when he did amiss, dadigh'd to many though he loved but one, fat that loved one, alas! could ne'er be his. A happy she! to 'scape from him whose

kiss

ad been pollution unto aught so chaste;

bower

He gather'd revellers from far and near,
He knew them flatt'rers of the festal hour;

The heartless parasites of present cheer.

Yea! 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,

Whoon had left her charms for vulgar And Mammon wins his way where Seraphs

bliss,

might despair.

« ՆախորդըՇարունակել »