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. 2 LXXXIII. Yet to the beauteous form he was not blind, 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 pall'd victim! life-abhorring gloom Wrote on his faded brow curst Cain's unresting doom. LXXXIV. Still he beheld, nor mingled with the throng; To charms as fair as those that soothed his happier day. 1 "Medio de fonte leporum Surgit amari aliquid quod in ipsis floribus angat."-Luc. 2["Full from the heart of Joy's delicious springs Some bitter bubbles up, and e'en on roses stings."- MS.] TO INEZ. 1. NAY, smile not at my sullen brow; 2. And dost thou ask what secret woe 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: 4. It is that weariness which springs From all I meet, or hear, or see: 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. 1 What Exile from himself can flee? 1 To zones though more and more remote, -- The blight of life — the demon Thought. 2 7. Yet others rapt in pleasure seem, And taste of all that I forsake; 8. Through many a clime 't is mine to go, Whate'er betides, I've known the worst. 9. What is that worst? Nay do not ask Smile on nor venture to unmask Man's heart, and view the Hell that's there. 3 "What exile from himself can flee? To other zones, howe'er remote, Still, still pursuing clings to me The blight of life-the demon Thought."-MS.] 2 ["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 find, 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. LXXXV. Adieu, fair Cadiz! yea, a long adieu ! Who may forget how well thy walls have stood? When all were changing thou alone wert true, First to be free and last to be subdued: And if amidst a scene, a shock so rude, Although her eye be not of blue, 2. Prometheus-like, from heaven she stole The fire, that through those silken lashes From eyes that cannot hide their flashes: In lengthen'd flow her raven tresses, 3. Our English maids are long to woo, Their lips are slow at Love's confession: For love ordain'd the Spanish maid is, 4. The Spanish maid is no coquette, And if she love, or if she hate, Alike she knows not to dissemble. Her heart can ne'er be bought or sold- 5. The Spanish girl that meets your love For every thought is bent to prove Some native blood was seen thy streets to die ; A traitor only fell beneath the feud: 1 Here all were noble, save Nobility; None hugg'd a conqueror's chain, save fallen Chivalry! LXXXVI. Such be the sons of Spain, and strange her fate! Fond of a land which gave them nought but life, When thronging foemen menace Spain, She dares the deed and shares the danger; And should her lover press the plain, 6. And when, beneath the evening star, Or sings to her attuned guitar Of 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 ; May match the dark-eyed Girl of Cadiz. 1 Alluding to the conduct and death of Solano, the governor of Cadiz, in May, 1809. 2" War to the knife." Palafox's answer to the French general |