Childe

PREFACE

TO THE FIRST AND SECOND CANTOS.

The following poem was written, for the most part, amidst the scenes which it attempts to describe. It was begun in Albania; and the parts relative to

(1) This noble composition was begun in 1809, and ended in 1818. Commenced perhaps before the Author's powers had reached their utmost development, the work was always, at whatever intervals,-some of them considerable,-taken up by him as one which he desired and designed to render complete in itself; the realization of a plan and conception entirely novel and peculiar,—that of presenting, in a continuous stream of verse, the essence of the thoughts and feelings elicited from his individual mind, during a succession of years, and at different stages, consequently, of his intellectual and moral being, by the contemplation of those chosen scenes of external nature,-whether in themselves extraordinarily beautiful or sublime, or raised to immortal interest by the transactions which they had witnessed, and the personages with whose names they had come to be inextricably interwoven,-which it had been his own fortune to traverse in the course of his earthly pilgrimage. Taken as a whole, this Poem is, undoubtedly, the most original and felicitous of all Lord Byron's serious efforts. It opens the first specimen of an absolutely new species of composi tion; perhaps the only such specimen that European literature bad received during a period of two centuries-in other words, since Shakspeare founded the Romantic Drama, and Cervantes the Romantic Novel of modern Europe.

The

The first Canto was commenced, as Lord Byron's diaries inform us, at Joannina in Albania, on the 31st of October, 1809; and the second was finished on the 28th of March, in the succeeding year, at Smyrna.* These two Cantos, after having received numberless corrections and additions in their progress through the press, were first published in London in March, 1812, and immediately placed their au thor on a level with the very highest names of his age. impression they created was more uniform, decisive, and triumphant, than any that had been witnessed in this country for at least two generations. "I awoke one morning," he says, and found myself famous." In truth, he had fixed himself, at a single bound, on a summit, such as no English poet had ever before attained, but after a long succession of painful and comparatively neglected efforts.

Those who wish to analyse, with critical accuracy, the progress of Lord Byron in his art, must, of course, interpose their study of various minor pieces, between their perusal of the first and second Cantos of Childe Harold, and that of the third; which was finished at Diodati, near Geneva, in July, 1816, and records the author's mental experiences during his perambulations of the Netherlands, the Rhine country, and Switzerland, in that and the two preceding months the poetical autobiography of, perhaps, the most melancholy period of his not less melancholy than glorious life,

that in which the wounds of domestic misery, that

• The poem was completed during Lord Byron's residence at the bouse of the Consul General, where he remained till the 11th April, with the exception of two or three days employed in visiting the ruins of Ephesus. The following memorandum was prefixed to his original manuscript:

"Byron, Joannina in Albania. Begun October 31, 1809, concluded Canto 2. Smyrna, March 28th, 1810. Byron."-P. E.

Spain and Portugal were composed from the author's observations in those countries. Thus much it may be necessary to state for the correctness of the descriptions. The scenes attempted to be sketched are in Spain, Portugal, Epirus, Acarnania, and Greece. There, for the present, the poem stops: its reception will determine whether the author may venture to

had driven him from his native land, were yet green, and bleeding at the touch. This Canto was published by itself, in August, 1816; and, notwithstanding at once the proverbial hazard of continuations, and the obloquy which envious exaggeration had at the time attached to Lord Byron's name, was all but universally admitted to have more than sustained the elevation of the original flight of Childe Harold. A just and generous article, by Sir Walter Scott, in the Quarterly Review, not only silenced the few cavillers who had ventured to challenge the inspiration of this magnifi. cent Canto, but had a more powerful influence than Lord Byron, gratefully as he acknowledged it, seems to have been aware of, in rebuking the harsh prejudices which had unfortunately gathered about some essential points of his personal character.

The fourth and by far the longest Canto, in itself no doubt the grandest exertion of Lord Byron's genius, appears to have occupied the nearly undivided labour of half a year. It was begun at Venice, in June, 1817, and finished in the same city, in January, 1818; and, being shortly af terwards published in London, carried the Author's fame to the utmost height it ever reached. It is at once the, most flowing, the most energetic, and the most solemn of all his pieces; and would of itself sufficiently justify the taste of the surviving affection that dictated for the sole inscription of his tombstone,-"Here lies the Author of Childe Harold's Pilgrimage."

The original MS. has furnished many variæ lectiones, which may probably be interesting to an extensive class of the Poet's readers. One, and the most important, in order to avoid repetitions on the margin, we mention once for all here in the first draught of the opening Cantos, the hero is uniformly "Childe Burun."+

Some splendid fragments, which the author never worked into the texture of his piece, will also be found in the notes to this edition; nor, after the lapse of twenty years, will any one, it is presumed, complain that we have printed in like manner certain complete stanzas, which Lord Byron was induced to withhold from the public, only by tenderness for the feelings of individuals now beyond the reach of satire. -L.E.

The reader will probably be amused with the following passage, extracted from one of Lord Byron's letters to Mr. Dallas, on the subject of a new and rather Cockney reading of this title:-"Instruct Mr. Murray not to allow his shopman to call the work Child of Harrow's Pilgrim age!!! as he has done to some of my astonished friends, who wrote to inquire after my sanity on the occasion, as well they might."-P. E.

(2) In a letter to Mr. Dallas, his Lordship thus notices this work:-"The passage is from a little French volume, pub. lished in 1798, a great favourite with me, which I picked

"If there could be any doubt as to his intention of delineating himself in his hero, this adoption of the old Norman name of his family, which he seems to have at first contemplated, would be suffi cient to remove it." Moore.-P. E.

conduct his readers to the capital of the East, through Ionia and Phrygia: these two cantos are merely experimental.

A fictitious character is introduced for the sake of giving some connection to the piece; which, however, makes no pretension to regularity. It has been suggested to me by friends, on whose opinions I set a high value, that in this fictitious character, "Childe Harold," I may incur the suspicion of having intended some real personage: this I beg leave, once for all, to disclaim-Harold is the child of imagination, for the purpose I have stated. In some very trivial particulars, and those merely local, there might be grounds for such a notion; but in the main points, I should hope, none whatever.

It is almost superfluous to mention that the appellation "Childe," as "Childe Waters," "Childe Childers," etc. is used as more consonant with the old structure of versification which I have adopted. The "Good Night," in the beginning of the first canto, was suggested by "Lord Maxwell's Good Night," in the Border Minstrelsy, edited by Mr. Scott.

With the different poems which have been published on Spanish subjects, there may be found some slight coincidence in the first part, which treats of the peninsula, but it can only be casual; as, with the exception of a few concluding stanzas, the whole of this poem was written in the Levant.

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 composition." (1) 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.

LONDON, February, 1812.

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 they had been more candid. Returning, therefore, to all and each my best thanks for their liberality, on one point up in the Archipelago. I don't think it is well known in England; De Montbron is the author."-P. E.

(1) Beattie's Letters.

(2) "Qu'on lise dans l'auteur du roman de Gérard de Ronussillon, en Provençal, les détails très-circonstanciés, dans lesquels il entre sur la réception faite par le Comte Gérard à l'ambassadeur du roi Charles; on y verra des particularités singulières, qui donnent une étrange idée des mœurs et de la politesse de ces siècles aussi corrompus qu'ignorans." - Mémoires sur l'Ancienne Chevalerie, par M. de la Curne de Sainte-Palaye, Paris, 1781, loc. cit.-L. E.

alone shall I venture an observation. Amongst the many objections justly urged to the very indifferent character of the "vagrant Childe" (whom, notwithstanding many hints to the contrary, I still maintain to be a fictitious personage), it has been stated, that, besides the anachronism, he is very unknightly, as the times of the knights were times of love, honour, and so forth. Now, it so happens that the good old times, when "l'amour du bon vieux temps, l'amour antique" flourished, were the most profligate of all possible centuries. Those who have any doubts on this subject may consult Sainte-Palaye, passim, and more particularly vol. ii. p. 69.(2) The vows of chivalry 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 gentillesse," had much more of love than of courtesy or gentleness. See Roland on the same subject with Sainte-Palaye. : Whatever other objection may be urged to that most unamiable personage Childe Harold, he was so far perfectly knightly in his attributes-"No waiter, but a knight templar." (3) By the by, I fear that Sir Tristrem 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 Marie-Antoinette was quite as chaste as most of those! in whose honours lances were shivered, and knights unhorsed.

Before the days of Bayard, and down to those of Sir Joseph Banks (the most chaste and celebrated of ancient and modern times), few exceptions will be found to this statement; and I fear a little investigation will teach us not to regret these monstrous mummeries of the middle ages.

I now leave "Childe Harold” to live his day, such as he is; it had been more agreeable, and certainly more easy, to have drawn an amiable character. It had been easy to varnish over his faults, to make him do more and express less; but he never was intended as an example, further than to show, that early perversion of mind and morals leads to satiety of past pleasures and disappointment in new ones, and that even the beauties of nature, and the stimulus of travel (except ambition, the most powerful of all excitements) are lost on a soul so constituted, or rather misdirected. Had I proceeded with the poem, this character would have deepened as he drew to the close; for the outline which I once meant to fill up for him was, with some exceptions, the sketch of a modern Timon, (4) perhaps a poetical Zeluco. (5)

LONDON, 1813.

(3) The Rovers, or the Double Arrangement.- [By Messrs. Canning and Frere; first published in the Antijacobin.-L. E.] (4) In one of his early poems-"Childish Recollections," antè, p. 30, Lord Byron compares himself to the Athenian misanthrope, of whose bitter apophthegms many are upon record, though no authentic particulars of his life have come down to us:

"Weary of love, of life, devour'd with spleen, I rest a perfect Timon, not nineteen," etc.--L. E. (5) It was Dr. Moore's object, in this powerful romance (now unjustly neglected), to trace the fatal effects resulting

TO IANTHE. (1)

Not in those climes where I have late been straying, Though Beauty long hath there been matchless 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'dTo 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 (2) 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 eyes assign
To those whose admiration shall succeed,

But mix'd with pangs to Love's even loveliest hours decreed.

Of! let that eye, which, wild as the gazelle's, (3) Now brightly hold or beautifully shy, Wins as it wanders, dazzles where it dwells, Glance o'er this page, nor to my verse deny That smile for which my breast might vainly sigh, Could I to thee be ever more than friend: This much, dear maid! accord; nor question why To one so young my strain I would commend, But bid me with my wreath one matchless lily blend.

Such is thy name with this my verse entwined; And long as kinder eyes a look shall cast

from a fond mother's unconditional compliance with the humours and passions of an only child. With high advan

tages of person, birth, fortune, and ability, Zeluco is represented as miserable, through every scene of life, owing to the spirit of unbridled self-indulgence thus pampered in infancy.-L. E.

(1) The Lady Charlotte Harley, second daughter of Edward fifth Earl of Oxford (now Lady Charlotte Bacon), in the autumn of 1812, when these lines were addressed to her, had not completed her eleventh year. Mr. Westall's portrait of the juvenile beauty, painted at Lord Byron's request, is engraved in Finden's Illustrations.-L. E.

"Lord Byron appears to have been much struck with the sweetness and beauty of this young lady. The introductory stanzas, "To lanthe," did not appear until after the sale of several editions of Childe Harold."-Finden's Illustrations. -P. E.

(2) Peri, the Persian term for a beautiful intermediate order of beings, is generally supposed to be another form of our own word Fairy.-L. E.

(3) A species of the antelope. "You have the eyes of a gazelle," is considered all over the East as the greatest compliment that can be paid to a woman.-I. E.

(4) The little village of Castri stands partly on the site

On Harold's page, Ianthe's here enshrined
Shall thus be first beheld, forgotten last:
My days once number'd, should this homage past
Attract thy fairy fingers near the lyre

Of him who hail'd thee, loveliest as thou wast,
Such is the most my memory may desire;
Though more than Hope can claim, could Friendship
less require?

CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE.

CANTO I.

I.

Oн, thou! in Hellas deem'd of heavenly birth, Muse! 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; Yes! sigh'd o'er Delphi's long deserted shrine,(4) Where, save that feeble fountain, all is still; Nor mote my shell awake the weary Nine To grace so plain a tale-this lowly lay of mine. II.

Whilome in Albion's isle there dwelt a youth, (5) Who ne in virtue's ways did take delight; But spent his days in riot most uncouth, And vex'd with mirth the drowsy ear of Night. Ah, me! in sooth he was a shameless wight, Sore given to revel and ungodly glee; Few earthly things found favour in his sight Save concubines and carnal companie, And flaunting wassailers of high and low degree. (6)

III.

Childe Harold was he hight:-but whence his name And lineage long, it suits me not to say; Suffice it that, perchance, they were of fame, And had been glorious in another day: But one sad losel soils a name for aye, However mighty in the olden time; Nor all that heralds rake from coffin'd clay, Nor florid prose, nor honied lies of rhyme, Can blazon evil deeds, or consecrate a crime.

of Delphi. Along the path of the mountain, from Chrysso, are the remains of sepulchres hewn in and from the rock. "One," said the guide, "of a king who broke his neck hunting." His majesty had certainly chosen the fittest spot for such an achievement. A little above Castri is a cave, supposed the Pythian, of immense depth; the upper part of it is paved, and now a cow-house. On the other side of Castri stands a Greek monastery; some way above which is the cleft in the rock, with a range of caverns difficult of ascent, and apparently leading to the interior of the mountain; probably to the Corycian Cavern, mentioned by Pausanias. From this part descend the fountain and the "Dews of Castalie."-["We were sprinkled," says Mr. Hobhouse, with the spray of the immortal rill, and here, if any where, should have felt the poetic inspiration: we drank deep, too, of the spring; but-(I can answer for myself)-without feeling sensible of any extraordinary effect." -L. E.]

The names of Lord Byron and Mr. Hobhouse are found at Delphi, cut or scratched in conspicuous places, as records of their pilgrimage to Castaly.-P. E.

(5) We learn from Mr. Dallas that this stanza originally began the poem.-P. E.

(6) With regard to any resemblance, real or imaginary,

IV.

Childe Harold bask'd him in the noontide sun,
Disporting there like any other fly;
Nor deem'd, before his little day was done,
One blast might chill him into misery.
But long ere scarce a third of his pass'd by,
Worse than adversity the Childe befell;
He felt the fullness of satiety:

Then loathed he in his native land to dwell,
Which seem'd to him more lone than eremite's sad cell.

V.

For he through Sin's long labyrinth had run, Nor made atonement when he did amiss, Had sigh'd to many though he loved but one, (1) And that loved one, alas! could ne'er be his. Ah! happy she! to 'scape from him whose kiss Had been pollution unto aught so chaste; Who soon had left her charms for vulgar bliss, And spoil'd her goodly lands to gild his waste, Nor calm domestic peace had ever deign'd to taste.

VI.

And now Childe Harold was sore sick at heart, And from his fellow bacchanals would flee; "Tis said, at times the sullen tear would start, But Pride congeal'd the drop within his ee: Apart he stalk'd in joyless (2) reverie, And from his native land resolved to go, And visit scorching climes beyond the sea; With pleasure drugg'd, he almost long'd for woe, And e'en for change of scene would seek the (3) shades below.

VII.

The Childe departed from his father's hall: It was a vast and venerable pile; So old, it seemed only not to fall, Yet strength was pillar'd in each massy aisle. Monastic dome! condemn'd to uses vile! Where Superstition once had made her den Now Paphian girls were known to sing and smile; And monks might deem their time was come agen, If ancient tales say true, nor wrong these holy men.(4)

between the poet and his hero, Lord Byron observes, in a letter to Mr. Dallas:-"I by no means intend to identify myself with Harold, but to deny all connection with him. If in parts I may be thought to have drawn from myself, believe me it is but in parts, and I shall not own even to that. I would not be such a fellow as I have made my hero for the world."-P. E.

(1) See "Stanzas written to a Lady," antè, p. 41.-L. E. (2) "Originally written sullen reverie,' but subsequently altered, to avoid the repetition of the epithet, which occurs in the third line of the stanza." Dallas.-P. E.

(3) In these stanzas, and indeed throughout his works, we must not accept too literally Lord Byron's testimony against himself-he took a morbid pleasure in darkening every shadow of his self-portraiture. His interior at Newstead had, no doubt, been, in some points, loose and irregular enough; but it certainly never exhibited any thing of the profuse and Sultanic luxury which the language in the text might seem to indicate. In fact, the narrowness of his means at the time the verses refer to would alone have precluded this. His household economy, while he remained at the Abbey, is known to have been conducted on a very moderate scale; and, besides, his usual companions, though far from being averse to convivial indulgences, were not only, as Mr. Moore says, "of habits and tastes too in

VIII.

Yet oft-times in his maddest mirthful mood Strange pangs would flash along Childe Harold's As if the memory of some deadly feud [brow,

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.

IX.

And none did love him (5)—though to hall and bower He gather'd revellers from far and near, He knew them flatterers 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, And Mammon wins his way where Seraphs might despair.

X.

Childe Harold had a mother-not forgot,
Though parting from that mother he did shun;
A sister whom he loved, but saw her not
Before his weary pilgrimage begun:

If friends he had, he bade adieu to none.

Yet deem not thence his breast a breast of steel: (6) Ye, who have known what 'tis to dote upon A few dear objects, will in sadness feel Such partings break the heart they fondly hope to heal.

XI.

His house, his home, his heritage, his lands,
The laughing dames in whom he did delight,
Whose large blue eyes, fair locks, and snowy hands,
Might shake the saintship of an anchorite,
And long had fed his youthful appetite;
His goblets brimm'd with every costly wine,
And all that mote to luxury invite,

Without a sigh he left, to cross the brine, [line. (7) And traverse Paynim shores, and pass Earth's central

tellectual for mere vulgar debauchery," but, assuredly, quite incapable of playing the parts of flatterers and parasites. -L. E.

(4) "For some years after the event that had so much influence on my fate (the marriage of Miss Chaworth), I tried to drown the remembrance of it and her in the most depraving dissipation: but the poison was in the cup." Medwin.-P. E.

(5) Throughout his writings Byron invariably lays much stress on his friendlessness, which to us, we confess, appears to have been rather imaginary than real. On this subject Galt justly remarks:-"In respect both to it and to his ravelled fortune a great deal too much has been too often said, and the manliness of his character has suffered by the puling. His correspondence shows that he had several friends, to whom he was much attached; and his disposition justifies the belief that, had he not been well persuaded the attachment was reciprocal, he would not have remained on terms of intimacy with them."-P. E. (6) From a letter of Mr. Dallas, we find that the line originally ran thus:

"Yet deem him not from this with breast of steel.”—P. E. (7) Lord Byron originally intended to visit India.L. E.

XII.

The sails were fill'd, and fair the light winds blew,
As glad to waft him from his native home;
And fast the white rocks faded from his view,
And soon were lost in circumambient foam:
And then, it may be, of his wish to roam
Repented he, but in his bosom slept

The silent thought, nor from his lips did come One word of wail, whilst others sate and wept, And to the reckless gales unmanly moaning kept. XIII.

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."(1)

1.

"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!

2.

"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.

3.

"Come hither, hither, my little page! (2) Why dost thou weep and wail?

(1) See "Lord Maxwell's Good Night," in Scott's Border Minstrelsy, vol. i. p. 297:

"Adieu, madame, my mother dear," etc.-L. E.

(2) This "little page" was Robert Rushton, the son of one of Lord Byron's tenants. "I take Robert with me," says the poet, in a letter to his mother; "I like him, because, like myself, he seems a friendless animal."-L. E.

(3) 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 Murray. "Pray," he says to his mother, show the lad every kindness, as he has behaved extremely well, and is a great favourite." He also wrote a letter to the father of the boy, which leaves a most favourable impression 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 the expense of his education, for three years, provided I do not return be. fore that time, and I desire he may be considered as in my service."-L. E.

(4) Here follows, in the original MS. :—

"My mother is a high-born dame,

And much misliketh me;

She saith my riot bringeth shame
On all my ancestry:

Or dost thou dread the billows' 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."

4.

'Let winds be shrill, let waves roll high,
I fear not wave nor wind;
Yet marvel not, Sir Childe, that I
Am sorrowful in mind; (3)

For I have from my father gone,

A mother whom I love,
And have no friend, save these alone,
But thee-and one above.

5.

'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. (4)

6.

"Come hither, hither, my staunch yeoman, (5) Why dost thou look so pale?

Or dost thou dread a French foeman!
Or shiver at the gale?"

'Deem'st thou I tremble for my life?
Sir Childe, I'm not so weak;
But thinking on an absent wife
Will blanch a faithful cheek.

7.

'My spouse and boys dwell near thy hall, Along the bordering lake,

And when they on their father call,
What answer shall she make?'—
"Enough, enough, my yeoman good,
Thy grief let none gainsay;
But I, who am of lighter mood,
Will laugh to flee away.

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."-L. E.

(5) 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 Hucknell. 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 anything of his character will say he deserves to do so.-L. E.