["Yet deem him not from this with breast of steel."-MS.]
His house, his home, his vassals, and his lands,
The Dalilahs," &c.—MS.]

3 [Lord Byron originally intended to visit India.] See" Lord Maxwell's Good Night," in Scott's Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border. Poetical Works, vol. ii. p. 141. ed. 1834. Adieu, madam, my mother dear," &c. — MS.]

[This "little page" was Robert Rushton, the son of one of Lord Byron's tenants. "Robert I take with me," says the poet, in a letter to his mother; "I like him, because, like myself, he seems a friendless animal: tell his father he is well, and doing well."]

6 ["Our best goss-hawk can hardly fly So merrily along."- MS.]"

7 ["Oh, master dear! I do not cry

From fear of waves or wind."— MS.]

[Seeing that the boy was "sorrowful" at the separation from his parents, Lord Byron, on reaching Gibraltar, sent him back to England under the care of his old servant Joe

But when the sun was sinking in the sea

He seized his harp, which he at times could string,
And strike, albeit with untaught melody,
When deem'd he no strange ear was listening:

And now his fingers o'er it he did fling,
And tuned his farewell in the dim twilight.
While flew the vessel on her snowy wing,
And fleeting shores receded from his sight,
Thus to the elements he pour'd his last "Good Night."4
“ADIEU, adieu! my native shore
Fades o'er the waters blue;

The Night-winds sigh, the breakers roar,
And shrieks the wild sea-mew.
Yon Sun that sets upon the sea
We follow in his flight;
Farewell awhile to him and thee,

My native Land-Good Night!
"A few short hours and He will rise
To give the morrow birth;
And I shall hail the main and skies,
But not my mother earth.
Deserted is my own good hall,

Its hearth is desolate;

Wild weeds are gathering on the wall;
My dog howls at the gate.
"Come hither, hither, my little page!"
Why dost thou weep and wail?

Or dost thou dread the billow's rage,
Or tremble at the gale?

But dash the tear-drop from thine eye;
Our ship is swift and strong:
Our fleetest falcon scarce can fly
More merrily along. 6

'Let winds be shrill, let waves roll high,
I fear not wave nor wind: 7

Yet marvel not, Sir Childe, that I

Am sorrowful in mind; 8

For I have from my father gone,

A mother whom I love,

And have no friend, save these alone,
But thee - and one above.

'My father bless'd me fervently,

Yet did not much complain;
But sorely will my mother sigh
Till I come back again.'-
"Enough, enough, my little lad!
Such tears become thine eye;
If I thy guileless bosom had,

Mine own would not be dry. 9

Murray. "Pray," he says to his mother," shew the lad every kindness, as he is my great favourite." He also wrote a letter to the father of the boy, which leaves a most favourable im pression of his thoughtfulness and kindliness. "I have," he says, "sent Robert home, because the country which I am about to travel through is in a state which renders it unsafe, particularly for one so young. I allow you to deduct from your rent five and twenty pounds a year for his education, for three years, provided I do not return before that time, and I desire he may be considered as in my service. He has behaved extremely well."]

[Here follows in the MS.:

66

My Mother is a high-born dame,
And much misliketh me;
She saith my riot bringeth shame
On all my ancestry:

I had a sister once I ween,
Whose tears perhaps will flow;
But her fair face I have not seen
For three long years and moe."]

[William Fletcher, the faithful valet;- who, after a service of twenty years, (" during which," he says, "his Lord was more to him than a father,") received the Pilgrim's last words at Missolonghi, and did not quit his remains, until he had seen them deposited in the family vault at Hucknall. This unsophisticated "yeoman" was a constant source of pleasantry to his master:-e. g. "Fletcher," he says, in a letter to his mother, "is not valiant; he requires comforts that I can dispense with, and sighs for beer, and beef, and tea, and his wife, and the devil knows what besides. We were one night lost in a thunder-storm, and since, nearly wrecked. In both cases he was sorely bewildered; from apprehensions of famine and banditti in the first, and drowning in the second instance. His eyes were a little hurt by the lightning, or crying, I don't know which. I did what I could to console him, but found him incorrigible. He sends six sighs to Sally. I shall settle him in a farm; for he has served me faithfully, and Sally is a good woman.." After all his adventures by flood and field, short commons included, this humble Achates of the poet has now established himself as the keeper of an Italian warehouse, in Charles Street, Berkeley Square, where, if he does not thrive, every one who knows any thing of his character will say he deserves to do so.]

2 [Enough, enough, my yeoman good, All this is well to say;

But if I in thy sandals stood,

I'd laugh to get away.' -MS.]

3 [For who would trust a paramour,

Or e'en a wedded freere,

Though her blue eyes were streaming o'er,
And torn her yellow hair?"-MS.

I leave England without regret - I shall return to it without pleasure. I am like Adam, the first convict sentenced to transportation; but I have no Eve, and have eaten no apple but what was sour as a crab."—Lord B. to Mr. Hodgson.]

[From the following passage in a letter to Mr. Dallas, it would appear that that gentleman had recommended the suppression or alteration of this stanza:-"I do not mean to exchange the ninth verse the Good Night.' I have no reason to suppose my dog better than his brother brutes, mankind; and Argus, we know to be a fable."]

* Here follows, in the original MS. :

Oh, Christ! it is a goodly sight to see

What Heaven hath done for this delicious land! What fruits of fragrance blush on every tree! What goodly prospects o'er the hills expand! But man would mar them with an impious hand: And when the Almighty lifts his fiercest scourge 'Gainst those who most transgress his high command, With treble vengeance will his hot shafts urge Gaul's locust host, and earth from fellest foemen purge. 8 XVI.

What beauties doth Lisboa 9 first unfold!

Her image floating on that noble tide,
Which poets vainly pave with sands of gold, 10
But now whereon a thousand keels did ride
Of mighty strength, since Albion was allied,

"Methinks it would my bosom glad,

To change my proud estate,

And be again a laughing lad

With one beloved playmate.

Since youth I scarce have pass'd an hour
Without disgust or pain,

Except sometimes in Lady's bower,

Or when the bowl I drain."]

7 [Originally, the "little page" and the "yeoman introduced in the following stanzas:

were

"And of his train there was a henchman page,
A peasant boy, who served his master well;
And often would his pranksome prate engage
Childe Harold's ear, when his proud heart did swell
With sable thoughts that he disdain'd to tell.
Then would he smile on him, and Alwin smiled,
When aught that from his young lips archly fell
The gloomy film from Harold's eye beguiled;
And pleased for a glimpse appear'd the woeful Childe.
Him and one yeoman only did he take

To travel eastward to a far countrie;
And, though the boy was grieved to leave the lake
On whose fair banks he grew from infancy,
Eftsoons his little heart beat merrily

With hope of foreign nations to behold,

And many things right marvellous to see,

Of which our vaunting voyagers oft have told,

In many a tome as true as Mandeville's of old."]

8 ["These Lusian brutes, and earth from worst of wretches purge."-MS.]

9 ["A friend advises Ulissipont; but Lisboa is the Portuguese word, consequently the best. Ulissipont is pedantic ; and as I had lugged in Hellas and Eros not long before, there would have been something like an affectation of Greek terms, which I wished to avoid. On the submission of Lusitania to the Moors, they changed the name of the capital, which till then had been Ulisipo, or Lispo; because, in the Arabic alphabet, the letter p is not used. Hence, I believe, Lisboa whence again, the French Lisbonne, and our Lisbon,-God knows which the earlier corruption 1"-Byron, MS.]

10 ["Which poets, prone to lie, have paved with gold."-MS.]

And to the Lusians did her aid afford:

A nation swoln with ignorance and pride, Who lick yet loathe the hand that waves the sword To save them from the wrath of Gaul's unsparing lord. I

XVII.

But whoso entereth within this town,
That, sheening far, celestial seems to be,
Disconsolate will wander up and down,

'Mid many things unsightly to strange ee; 2
For hut and palace show like filthily:
The dingy denizens are rear'd in dirt;

Ne personage of high or mean degree
Doth care for cleanness of surtout or shirt,
Though shent with Egypt's plague, unkempt, un-
wash'd; unhurt.

XVIII.

Poor, paltry slaves! yet born 'midst noblest scenesWhy, Nature, waste thy wonders on such men ? Lo! Cintra's glorious Eden intervenes In variegated maze of mount and glen. Ah, me! what hand can pencil guide, or pen, To follow half on which the eye dilates Through views more dazzling unto mortal ken Than those whereof such things the bard relates, Who to the awe-struck world unlock'd Elysium's gates?

XIX.

The horrid crags, by toppling convent crown'd, The cork-trees hoar that clothe the shaggy steep, The mountain-moss by scorching skies imbrown'd, The sunken glen, whose sunless shrubs must weep, The tender azure of the unruffled deep, The orange tints that gild the greenest bough, The torrents that from cliff to valley leap, The vine on high, the willow branch below, Mix'd in one mighty scene, with varied beauty glow.

[By comparing this and the thirteen following stanzas with the account of his progress which Lord Byron sent home to his mother, the reader will see that they are the exact echoes of the thoughts which occurred to his mind as he went over the spots described. MOORE.]

2["Mid many things that grieve both nose and ee."-MS.] 3 ["To make amends for the filthiness of Lisbon, and its still filthier inhabitants, the village of Cintra, about fifteen miles from the capital, is, perhaps, in every respect the most delightful in Europe. It contains beauties of every description, natural and artificial: palaces and gardens rising in the midst of rocks, cataracts, and precipices: convents on stupendous heights; a distant view of the sea and the Tagus; and, besides (though that is a secondary consideration), is remarkable as the scene of Sir Hew Dalrymple's convention. It unites in itself all the wildness of the western Highlands with the verdure of the south of France."- B. to Mrs. Byron, 1809.]

The convent of " Our Lady of Punishment," Nossa Señora de Pena, on the summit of the rock. Below, at some distance, is the Cork Convent, where St. Honorius dug his den, over which is his epitaph. From the hills, the sea adds to the beauty of the view. Note to 1st Edition. Since the publication of this poem, I have been informed of the misappre hension of the term Nossa Senora de Pena. It was owing to the want of the tilde or mark over the n, which alters the signification of the word: with it, Pena signifies a rock; without it, Pena has the sense I adopted. I do not think it necessary to alter the passage; as, though the common acceptation affixed to it is "Our Lady of the Rock," I may well assume the other sense from the severities practised there. Note to 2d Edition.

5 It is a well known fact, that in the year 1809, the assassin. ations in the streets of Lisbon and its vicinity were not confined by the Portuguese to their countrymen; but that Englishmen were daily butchered: and so far from redress being obtained, we were requested not to interfere if we perceived any compatriot defending himself against his allies. I was once stopped

in the way to the theatre at eight o'clock in the evening, when the streets were not more empty than they generally are at that nour, opposite to an open shop, and in a carriage with a friend had we not fortunately been armed, I have not the least doubt that we should have "adorned a tale" instead of telling one. The crime of assassination is not confined to Portugal: in Sicily and Malta we are knocked on the head at a handsome average nightly, and not a Sicilian or Maltese is ever punished!

6 ["Vathek" (says Lord Byron, in one of his diaries,)" was one of the tales I had a very early admiration of. For correctness of costume, beauty of description, and power of imagination, it far surpasses all European imitations; and bears such marks of originality, that those who have visited the East will find some difficulty in believing it to be more than a translation. As an eastern tale, even Rasselas must bow before it; his happy valley will not bear a comparison with the Hall of Eblis."-[William Beckford, Esq., son of the once celebrated alderman, and heir to his enormous wealth, published, at the early age of eighteen, "Memoirs of extraordinary Painters; " and in the year after, the romance thus eulogised. After sitting for Hindon in several parliaments, this gifted person was induced to fix, for a time, his residence in Portugal, where the memory of his magnificence was fresh at the period of Lord Byron's pilgrimage. Returning to England, he realised all the outward shows of Gothic grandeur in his unsubstantial pageant of Fonthill Abbey; and has more recently been indulging his fancy with another, probably not more lasting, monument of architectural caprice, in the vicinity of Bath. It is much to be regretted, that, after a lapse of fifty years, Mr. Beckford's literary reputation should continue to rest entirely on his juvenile, however remarkable, performances. It is said, however, that he has prepared several works for posthumous publication.]

7 ["When Wealth and Taste their worst and best have done, Meek Peace pollution's lure voluptuous still must shun." MS.]

1 The Convention of Cintra was signed in the palace of the Marchese Marialva. -[" The armistice, the negotiations, the convention itself, and the execution of its provisions, were all commenced, conducted, and concluded, at the distance of thirty miles from Cintra, with which place they had not the slightest connection, political, military, or local; yet Lord Byron has gravely asserted, in prose and verse, that the convention was signed at the Marquis of Marialva's house at Cintra ; and the author of The Diary of an Invalid,' improv. ing upon the poet's discovery, detected the stains of the ink spilt by Junot upon the occasion."- Napier's History of the Peninsular War.]

2 The passage stood differently in the original MS. Some verses which the poet omitted at the entreaty of his friends can now offend no one, and may perhaps amuse many :

In golden characters right well design'd,
First on the list appeareth one "Junot; "
Then certain other glorious names we find,
Which rhyme compelleth me to place below:
Dull victors! baffled by a vanquish'd foe,
Wheedled by conynge tongues of laurels due,
Stand, worthy of each other, in a row-
Sir Arthur, Harry, and the dizzard Hew
Dalrymple, seely wight, sore dupe of t' other tew.

Convention is the dwarfish demon styled
That foil'd the knights in Marialva's dome :
Of brains (if brains they had) he them beguiled,
And turn'd a nation's shallow joy to gloom.
For well I wot, when first the news did come,
That Vimiera's field by Gaul was lost,
For paragraph ne paper scarce had room,
Such Paans teemed for our triumphant host,
In Courier, Chronicle, and eke in Morning Post:

But when Convention sent his handy-work,
Pens, tongues, feet, hands, combined in wild uproar;
Mayor, aldermen, laid down the uplifted fork ;*
The Bench of Bishops half forgot to snore;
Stern Cobbett, who for one whole week forbore

To question aught, once more with transport leapt,
And bit his devilish quill agen, and swore
With foe such treaty never should be kept, [-slept!
Then burst the blatant beast, and roar'd, and raged, and

Thus unto Heaven appeal'd the people: Heaven,
Which loves the lieges of our gracious King,
Decreed, that, ere our generals were forgiven,
Inquiry should be held about the thing.
But Mercy cloak'd the babes beneath her wing;
And as they spared our foes, so spared we them;
(Where was the pity of our sires for Byng? †)
Yet knaves, not idiots, should the law condemn ;
Then live, ye gallant knights! and bless your Judges'
phlegm !

3 ["After remaining ten days in Lisbon, we sent our bag. gage and part of our servants by sea to Gibraltar, and travelled on horseback to Seville; a distance of nearly four hundred miles. The horses are excellent: we rode seventy miles a day. Eggs and wine, and hard beds, are all the accommodation we found, and, in such torrid weather, quite enough." B. Letters, 1809.]

4"Her luckless Majesty went subsequently mad; and Dr. Willis, who so dexterously cudgelled kingly pericraniums, could make nothing of hers."- Byron MS. [The queen laboured under a melancholy kind of derangement, from which she never recovered. She died at the Brazils, in 1816.] 5 The extent of Mafra is prodigious: it contains a palace,

"Blatant beast"—a figure for the mob, I think first used by Smollett in his "Adventures of an Atom." Horace has the "bellua multorum capitum: " in England, fortunately enough, the illustrious mobility have not even one.

By this query it is not meant that our foolish generals should have been shot, but that Byng might have been spared, though the one suffered and the others escaped, probably for Candide's reason, "pour encourager les autres." [See Croker's "Boswell," vol. i. p. 298. ; and the Quarterly Review, vol. xxvii. p. 207., where the question, whether the admiral was or was not a political martyr, is treated at large.]

But ere the mingling bounds have far been pass'd,
Dark Guadiana rolls his power along 2
In sullen billows, murmuring and vast,
So noted ancient roundelays among. 9
Whilome upon his banks did legions throng

convent, and most superb church. The six organs are the most beautiful I ever beheld, in point of decoration: we did not hear them, but were told that their tones were correspondent to their splendour. Mafra is termed the Escurial of Portugal. [ About ten miles to the right of Cintra," says Lord Byron, in a letter to his mother, "is the palace of Mafra, the boast of Portugal, as it might be of any country, in point of magnificence, without elegance. There is a convent annexed the monks, who possess large revenues, are courteous enough, and understand Latin; so that we had a long conversation. They have a large library, and asked me if the English had any books in their country."- Mafra was erected by John V., in pursuance of a vow, made in a dangerous fit of illness, to found a convent for the use of the poorest friary in the kingdom. Upon inquiry, this poorest was found at Maira; where twelve Franciscans lived together in a hut. There is a magnificent view of the existing edifice in "Finden's Illustrations."]

1 As I found the Portuguese, so I have characterised them. That they are since improved, at least in courage, is evident. The late exploits of Lord Wellington have effaced the follies of Cintra. He has, indeed, done wonders: he has, perhaps, changed the character of a nation, reconciled rival superstitions, and baffled an enemy who never retreated before his predecessors. 1812.

["But ere the bounds of Spain have far been pass'd,
For ever famed in many a noted song."— MS.]

3 [Lord Byron seems to have thus early acquired enough of Spanish to understand and appreciate the grand body of

Of Moor and Knight, in mailed splendour drest : Here ceased the swift their race, here sunk the strong; The Paynim turban and the Christian crest Mix'd on the bleeding stream, by floating hosts oppress'd. XXXV.

Oh, lovely Spain ! renown'd, romantic land! Where is that standard which Pelagio bore, When Cava's traitor-sire first call'd the band That dyed thy mountain streams with Gothic gore? + Where are those bloody banners which of yore Waved o'er thy sons, victorious to the gale, And drove at last the spoilers to their shore? Red gleam'd the cross, and waned the crescent pale, While Afric's echoes thrill'd with Moorish matrons' wail.

XXXVI.

Teems not each ditty with the glorious tale? Ah! such, alas! the hero's amplest fate! When granite moulders and when records fail, A peasant's plaint prolongs his dubious date. Pride! bend thine eye from heaven to thine estate, See how the mighty shrink into a song! Can Volume, Pillar, Pile, preserve thee great? Or must thou trust Tradition's simple tongue, When Flattery sleeps with thee, and History does thee wrong ?

XXXVII.

Awake, ye sons of Spain! awake! advance!
Lo! Chivalry, your ancient goddess, cries;
But wields not, as of old, her thirsty lance,
Nor shakes her crimson plumage in the skies:
Now on the smoke of blazing bolts she flies,
And speaks in thunder through yon engine's roar !
In every peal she calls-" Awake! arise!"
Say, is her voice more feeble than of yore,
When her war-song was heard on Andalusia's shore?
XXXVIII.

Hark! heard you not those hoofs of dreadful note?
Sounds not the clang of conflict on the heath?
Saw ye not whom the reeking sabre smote;
Nor saved your brethren ere they sank beneath
Tyrants and tyrants' slaves? -the fires of death,
The bale-fires flash on high :- from rock to rock
Each volley tells that thousands cease to breathe;
Death rides upon the sulphury Siroc, 5

Red Battle stamps his foot, and nations feel the shock. which ancient popular poetry, unequalled in Europe, must ever form the pride of that magnificent language. See his beautiful version of one of the best of the ballads of the Granada war-the "Romance muy doloroso del sitio y toma de Alhama."]

4 Count Julian's daughter, the Helen of Spain. Pelagius preserved his independence in the fastnesses of the Asturias, and the descendants of his followers, after some centuries, completed their struggle by the conquest of Grenada. — ["Almost all the Spanish historians, as well as the voice of tradition, ascribe the invasion of the Moors to the forcible violation by Roderick upon Florinda, called by the Moors Caba, or Cava. She was the daughter of Count Julian, one of the Gothic monarch's principal lieutenants, who, when the crime was perpetrated, was engaged in the defence of Ceuta against the Moors. In his indignation at the ingratitude of his sovereign, and the dishonour of his daughter, Count Julian forgot the duties of a Christian and a patriot, and, forming an alliance with Musa, then the Caliph's lieutenant in Africa, he countenanced the invasion of Spain by a body of Saracens and Africans, commanded by the celebrated Tarik; the issue of which was the defeat and death of Roderick, and the occuThe pation of almost the whole peninsula by the Moors. Spaniards, in detestation of Florinda's memory, are said, hy Cervantes, never to bestow that name upon any human female, reserving it for their dogs."-- SIR WALTER SCOTT.]

"from rock to rock

Blue columns soar aloft in sulphurous wreath, Fragments on fragments in confusion knock."-MS.]