CLXVIII. Scion of chiefs and monarchs, where art thou? In the sad midnight, while thy heart still bled, Death hush'd that pang for ever: with thee fled Which fill'd the imperial isles so full it seem'd to cloy. CLXIX. Peasants bring forth in safety. - Can it be, Those who weep not for kings shall weep for thee, And desolate consort-vainly wert thou wed! CLXX. Of sackcloth was thy wedding garment made; Our children should obey her child, and bless'd beam'd. CLXXI. Woe unto us, not her 1; for she sleeps well: Which from the birth of monarchy hath rung Within the opposing scale, which crushes soon or late,— CLXXII. These might have been her destiny; but no, Our hearts deny it and so young, so fair, Good without effort, great without a foe; But now a bride and mother—and now there! How many ties did that stern moment tear! From thy Sire's to his humblest subject's breast Is link'd the electric chain of that despair, Whose shock was as an earthquake's, and opprest The land which loved thee so that none could love thee best, ["The death of the Princess Charlotte has been a shock even here (Venice), and must have been an earthquake at home. The fate of this poor girl is melancholy in every respect; dying at twenty or so, in childbed-of a boy too, a present princess and future queen, and just as she began to be happy, and to enjoy herself, and the hopes which she inspired. I feel sorry in every respect." Byron Letters.] 2 Mary died on the scaffold; Elizabeth of a broken heart; Charles V. a hermit; Louis XIV. a bankrupt in means and glory; Cromwell of anxiety; and, "the greatest is behind," Napoleon lives a prisoner. To these sovereigns a long but superfluous list might be added of names equally illustrious and unhappy. CLXXIII. Lo, Nemi! navell'd in the woody hills So far, that the uprooting wind which tears Its foam against the skies, reluctant spares And, calm as cherish'd hate, its surface wears CLXXIV. And near Albano's scarce divided waves The Sabine farm was till'd, the weary bard's delight. 2 1 The village of Nemi was near the Arician retreat of Egeria, and, from the shades which embosomed the temple of Diana, has preserved to this day its distinctive appellation of The Grove. Nemi is but an evening's ride from the comfortable inn of Aibano. 2 The whole deciivity of the Alban hill is of unrivalled beauty, and from the convent on the highest point, which has succeeded to the temple of the Latian Jupiter, the prospect embraces all the objects alluded to in this stanza; the Mediterranean; the whole scene of the latter half of the Eneid, and the coast from beyond the mouth of the Tiber to the headland of Circæum and the Cape of Terracina. See "Historical Notes," No. XXXI. CLXXV. But I forget. My Pilgrim's shrine is won, Our friend of youth, that Ocean, which when we Those waves, we follow'd on till the dark Euxine roll'd CLXXVI. Upon the blue Symplegades: long years Long, though not very many, since have done Their work on both; some suffering and some tears Have left us nearly where we had begun : Yet not in vain our mortal race hath run, We have had our reward—and it is here; That we can yet feel gladden'd by the sun, And reap from earth, sea, joy almost as dear As if there were no man to trouble what is clear. CLXXVII. Oh! that the Desert were my dwelling-place, Accord me such a being? Do I err In deeming such inhabit many a spot? Though with them to converse can rarely be our lot. CLXXVIII. There is a pleasure in the pathless woods, What I can ne'er express, yet can not all conceal. CLXXIX. Roll on, thou deep and dark blue Ocean-roll! Man marks the earth with ruin his control Stops with the shore; upon the watery plain The wrecks are all thy deed, nor doth remain A shadow of man's ravage, save his own, When, for a moment, like a drop of rain, He sinks into thy depths with bubbling groan, Without a grave, unknell'd, uncoffin'd, and unknown. CLXXX. His steps are not upon thy paths, thy fields Are not a spoil for him, thou dost arise And shake him from thee; the vile strength he wields Spurning him from thy bosom to the skies, And dashest him again to earth : — there let him lay. |