Childe Harold's Pilgrimage: Canto the Third

Original Text: 
Byron, Works. 17 vols. London: John Murray, 1832-33. PR 4351 M6 1832 ROBA
2     Ada! sole daughter of my house and heart?
3     When last I saw thy young blue eyes they smil'd,
4     And then we parted--not as now we part,
5     But with a hope.--Awaking with a start,
6     The waters heave around me; and on high
7     The winds lift up their voices: I depart,
8     Whither I know not; but the hour's gone by,
9When Albion's lessening shores could grieve or glad mine eye.
II
10     Once more upon the waters! yet once more!
11     And the waves bound beneath me as a steed
12     That knows his rider. Welcome to their roar!
13     Swift be their guidance, wheresoe'er it lead!
14     Though the strain'd mast should quiver as a reed,
15     And the rent canvas fluttering strew the gale,
16     Still must I on; for I am as a weed,
17     Flung from the rock, on Ocean's foam to sail
18Where'er the surge may sweep, the tempest's breath prevail.
20     The wandering outlaw of his own dark mind;
21     Again I seize the theme, then but begun,
22     And bear it with me, as the rushing wind
23     Bears the cloud onwards: in that Tale I find
24     The furrows of long thought, and dried-up tears,
25     Which, ebbing, leave a sterile track behind,
26     O'er which all heavily the journeying years
27Plod the last sands of life--where not a flower appears.
IV
28     Since my young days of passion--joy, or pain--
29     Perchance my heart and harp have lost a string,
30     And both may jar: it may be, that in vain
31     I would essay as I have sung to sing.
32     Yet, though a dreary strain, to this I cling;
33     So that it wean me from the weary dream
34     Of selfish grief or gladness--so it fling
35     Forgetfulness around me--it shall seem
36To me, though to none else, a not ungrateful theme.
V
37     He, who grown aged in this world of woe,
38     In deeds, not years, piercing the depths of life,
39     So that no wonder waits him; nor below
40     Can love or sorrow, fame, ambition, strife,
41     Cut to his heart again with the keen knife
42     Of silent, sharp endurance: he can tell
43     Why thought seeks refuge in lone caves, yet rife
44     With airy images, and shapes which dwell
45Still unimpair'd, though old, in the soul's haunted cell.
VI
46     'Tis to create, and in creating live
47     A being more intense, that we endow
48     With form our fancy, gaining as we give
49     The life we image, even as I do now.
50     What am I? Nothing: but not so art thou,
51     Soul of my thought! with whom I traverse earth,
52     Invisible but gazing, as I glow
53     Mix'd with thy spirit, blended with thy birth,
54 And feeling still with thee in my crush'd feelings' dearth.
VII
55     Yet must I think less wildly: I have thought
56     Too long and darkly, till my brain became,
57     In its own eddy boiling and o'er-wrought,
58     A whirling gulf of fantasy and flame:
59     And thus, untaught in youth my heart to tame,
60     My springs of life were poison'd. 'Tis too late!
61     Yet am I chang'd; though still enough the same
62     In strength to bear what time cannot abate,
63And feed on bitter fruits without accusing Fate.
65     And the spell closes with its silent seal.
66     Long absent HAROLD re-appears at last;
67     He of the breast which fain no more would feel,
68     Wrung with the wounds which kill not, but ne'er heal,
69     Yet Time, who changes all, had alter'd him
70     In soul and aspect as in age: years steal
71     Fire from the mind as vigour from the limb;
72And life's enchanted cup but sparkles near the brim.
IX
73     His had been quaff'd too quickly, and he found
74     The dregs were wormwood; but he fill'd again,
75     And from a purer fount, on holier ground,
76     And deem'd its spring perpetual; but in vain!
77     Still round him clung invisibly a chain
78     Which gall'd for ever, fettering though unseen,
79     And heavy though it clank'd not; worn with pain,
80     Which pin'd although it spoke not, and grew keen,
81Entering with every step he took through many a scene.
X
82     Secure in guarded coldness, he had mix'd
83     Again in fancied safety with his kind,
84     And deem'd his spirit now so firmly fix'd
85     And sheath'd with an invulnerable mind,
86     That, if no joy, no sorrow lurk'd behind;
87     And he, as one, might 'midst the many stand
88     Unheeded, searching through the crowd to find
89     Fit speculation; such as in strange land
90He found in wonder-works of God and Nature's hand.
XI
91     But who can view the ripen'd rose, nor seek
92     To wear it? who can curiously behold
93     The smoothness and the sheen of beauty's cheek,
94     Nor feel the heart can never all grow old?
95     Who can contemplate Fame through clouds unfold
96     The star which rises o'er her steep, nor climb?
97     Harold, once more within the vortex, roll'd
98     On with the giddy circle, chasing Time,
99Yet with a nobler aim than in his youth's fond prime.
XII
100     But soon he knew himself the most unfit
101     Of men to herd with Man; with whom he held
102     Little in common; untaught to submit
103     His thoughts to others, though his soul was quell'd
104     In youth by his own thoughts; still uncompell'd,
105     He would not yield dominion of his mind
106     To spirits against whom his own rebell'd;
107     Proud though in desolation; which could find
108A life within itself, to breathe without mankind.
XIII
109     Where rose the mountains, there to him were friends;
110     Where roll'd the ocean, thereon was his home;
111     Where a blue sky, and glowing clime, extends,
112     He had the passion and the power to roam;
113     The desert, forest, cavern, breaker's foam,
114     Were unto him companionship; they spake
115     A mutual language, clearer than the tome
116     Of his land's tongue, which he would oft forsake
117For Nature's pages glass'd by sunbeams on the lake.
XIV
118     Like the Chaldean, he could watch the stars,
119     Till he had peopled them with beings bright
120     As their own beams; and earth, and earthborn jars,
121     And human frailties, were forgotten quite:
122     Could he have kept his spirit to that flight
123     He had been happy; but this clay will sink
124     Its spark immortal, envying it the light
125     To which it mounts, as if to break the link
126That keeps us from yon heaven which woos us to its brink.
XV
127     But in Man's dwellings he became a thing
128     Restless and worn, and stern and wearisome,
129     Droop'd as a wild-born falcon with clipp'd wing,
130     To whom the boundless air alone were home:
131     Then came his fit again, which to o'ercome,
132     As eagerly the barr'd-up bird will beat
133     His breast and beak against his wiry dome
134     Till the blood tinge his plumage, so the heat
135Of his impeded soul would through his bosom eat.
XVI
136     Self-exil'd Harold wanders forth again,
137     With nought of hope left, but with less of gloom;
138     The very knowledge that he lived in vain,
139     That all was over on this side the tomb,
140     Had made Despair a smilingness assume,
141     Which, though 'twere wild--as on the plunder'd wreck
142     When mariners would madly meet their doom
143     With draughts intemperate on the sinking deck--,
144Did yet inspire a cheer, which he forbore to check.
XVII
145     Stop!--for thy tread is on an Empire's dust!
146     An Earthquake's spoil is sepulchred below!
147     Is the spot mark'd with no colossal bust?
148     Nor column trophied for triumphal show?
149     None; but the moral's truth tells simpler so:
150     As the ground was before, thus let it be;
151     How that red rain hath made the harvest grow!
152     And is this all the world has gain'd by thee,
153Thou first and last of fields! king-making Victory?
XVIII
154     And Harold stands upon this place of skulls,
156     How in an hour the power which gave annuls
157     Its gifts, transferring fame as fleeting too!
159     Then tore with bloody talon the rent plain,
160     Pierc'd by the shaft of banded nations through;
161     Ambition's life and labours all were vain;
162He wears the shatter'd links of the world's broken chain.
XIX
163     Fit retribution! Gaul may champ the bit
164     And foam in fetters--but is Earth more free?
165     Did nations combat to make One submit;
166     Or league to teach all kings true sovereignty?
168     The patch'd-up idol of enlighten'd days?
169     Shall we, who struck the Lion down, shall we
170     Pay the Wolf homage? proffering lowly gaze
171And servile knees to thrones? No; prove before ye praise!
XX
172     If not, o'er one fallen despot boast no more!
173     In vain fair cheeks were furrow'd with hot tears
174     For Europe's flowers long rooted up before
175     The trampler of her vineyards; in vain years
176     Of death, depopulation, bondage, fears,
177     Have all been borne, and broken by the accord
178     Of rous'd-up millions; all that most endears
179     Glory, is when the myrtle wreathes a sword
182     And Belgium's capital had gather'd then
183     Her Beauty and her Chivalry, and bright
184     The lamps shone o'er fair women and brave men;
185     A thousand hearts beat happily; and when
186     Music arose with its voluptuous swell,
187     Soft eyes look'd love to eyes which spake again,
188     And all went merry as a marriage bell;
189But hush! hark! a deep sound strikes like a rising knell!
XXII
190     Did ye not hear it?--No; 'twas but the wind,
191     Or the car rattling o'er the stony street;
192     On with the dance! let joy be unconfin'd;
193     No sleep till morn, when Youth and Pleasure meet
194     To chase the glowing Hours with flying feet--
195     But hark!--that heavy sound breaks in once more,
196     As if the clouds its echo would repeat;
197     And nearer, clearer, deadlier than before!
198Arm! Arm! it is--it is--the cannon's opening roar!
XXIII
199     Within a window'd niche of that high hall
201     That sound the first amidst the festival,
202     And caught its tone with Death's prophetic ear;
203     And when they smil'd because he deem'd it near,
204     His heart more truly knew that peal too well
205     Which stretch'd his father on a bloody bier,
206     And rous'd the vengeance blood alone could quell:
207He rush'd into the field, and, foremost fighting, fell.
XXIV
208     Ah! then and there was hurrying to and fro,
209     And gathering tears, and tremblings of distress,
210     And cheeks all pale, which but an hour ago
211     Blush'd at the praise of their own loveliness;
212     And there were sudden partings, such as press
213     The life from out young hearts, and choking sighs
214     Which ne'er might be repeated; who could guess
215     If ever more should meet those mutual eyes,
216Since upon night so sweet such awful morn could rise!
XXV
217     And there was mounting in hot haste: the steed,
218     The mustering squadron, and the clattering car,
219     Went pouring forward with impetuous speed,
220     And swiftly forming in the ranks of war;
221     And the deep thunder peal on peal afar;
222     And near, the beat of the alarming drum
223     Rous'd up the soldier ere the morning star;
224     While throng'd the citizens with terror dumb,
225Or whispering, with white lips--"The foe! they come! they come!'
227     The war-note of Lochiel, which Albyn's hills
228     Have heard, and heard, too, have her Saxon foes.
229     How in the noon of night that pibroch thrills,
230     Savage and shrill! But with the breath which fills
231     Their mountain-pipe, so fill the mountaineers
232     With the fierce native daring which instils
233     The stirring memory of a thousand years,
234And Evan's, Donald's fame rings in each clansman's ears!
236     Dewy with nature's tear-drops as they pass,
237     Grieving, if aught inanimate e'er grieves,
238     Over the unreturning brave--alas!
239     Ere evening to be trodden like the grass
240     Which now beneath them, but above shall grow
241     In its next verdure, when this fiery mass
242     Of living valour, rolling on the foe
243And burning with high hope, shall moulder cold and low.
XXVIII
244     Last noon beheld them full of lusty life,
245     Last eve in Beauty's circle proudly gay,
246     The midnight brought the signal-sound of strife,
247     The morn the marshalling in arms, the day
248     Battle's magnificently stern array!
249     The thunder-clouds close o'er it, which when rent
250     The earth is cover'd thick with other clay,
251     Which her own clay shall cover, heap'd and pent,
252Rider and horse--friend, foe--in one red burial blent!
XXIX
...
XXXVI
316     There sunk the greatest, nor the worst of men,
317     Whose spirit, antithetically mixt,
318     One moment of the mightiest, and again
319     On little objects with like firmness fixt;
320     Extreme in all things! hadst thou been betwixt,
321     Thy throne had still been thine, or never been;
322     For daring made thy rise as fall: thou seek'st
323     Even now to re-assume the imperial mien,
324And shake again the world, the Thunderer of the scene!
XXXVII
325     Conqueror and captive of the earth art thou!
326     She trembles at thee still, and thy wild name
327     Was ne'er more bruited in men's minds than now
328     That thou art nothing, save the jest of Fame,
329     Who woo'd thee once, thy vassal, and became
330     The flatterer of thy fierceness, till thou wert
331     A god unto thyself; nor less the same
332     To the astounded kingdoms all inert,
333Who deem'd thee for a time whate'er thou didst assert.
XXXVIII
334     Oh, more or less than man--in high or low,
335     Battling with nations, flying from the field;
336     Now making monarchs' necks thy footstool, now
337     More than thy meanest soldier taught to yield;
338     An empire thou couldst crush, command, rebuild,
339     But govern not thy pettiest passion, nor,
340     However deeply in men's spirits skill'd,
341     Look through thine own, nor curb the lust of war,
342Nor learn that tempted Fate will leave the loftiest star.
XXXIX
343     Yet well thy soul hath brook'd the turning tide
344     With that untaught innate philosophy,
345     Which, be it wisdom, coldness, or deep pride,
346     Is gall and wormwood to an enemy.
347     When the whole host of hatred stood hard by,
348     To watch and mock thee shrinking, thou hast smil'd
349     With a sedate and all-enduring eye;
350     When Fortune fled her spoil'd and favourite child,
351He stood unbow'd beneath the ills upon him pil'd.
XL
352     Sager than in thy fortunes; for in them
353     Ambition steel'd thee on too far to show
354     That just habitual scorn, which could contemn
355     Men and their thoughts; 'twas wise to feel, not so
356     To wear it ever on thy lip and brow,
357     And spurn the instruments thou wert to use
358     Till they were turn'd unto thine overthrow;
359     'Tis but a worthless world to win or lose;
360So hath it prov'd to thee, and all such lot who choose.
XLI
361     If, like a tower upon a headland rock,
362     Thou hadst been made to stand or fall alone,
363     Such scorn of man had help'd to brave the shock;
364     But men's thoughts were the steps which pav'd thy throne,
365      Their admiration thy best weapon shone;
367     (Unless aside thy purple had been thrown)
368     Like stern Diogenes to mock at men;
369For sceptred cynics earth were far too wide a den.
XLII
370     But quiet to quick bosoms is a hell,
371     And there hath been thy bane; there is a fire
372     And motion of the soul which will not dwell
373     In its own narrow being, but aspire
374     Beyond the fitting medium of desire;
375     And, but once kindled, quenchless evermore,
376     Preys upon high adventure, nor can tire
377     Of aught but rest; a fever at the core,
378Fatal to him who bears, to all who ever bore.
XLIII
379     This makes the madmen who have made men mad
380     By their contagion; Conquerors and Kings,
381     Founders of sects and systems, to whom add
382     Sophists, Bards, Statesmen, all unquiet things
383     Which stir too strongly the soul's secret springs,
384     And are themselves the fools to those they fool;
385     Envied, yet how unenviable! what stings
386     Are theirs! One breast laid open were a school
387Which would unteach mankind the lust to shine or rule:
XLIV
388     Their breath is agitation, and their life
389     A storm whereon they ride, to sink at last,
390     And yet so nurs'd and bigoted to strife,
391     That should their days, surviving perils past,
392     Melt to calm twilight, they feel overcast
393     With sorrow and supineness, and so die;
394     Even as a flame unfed, which runs to waste
395     With its own flickering, or a sword laid by,
396Which eats into itself, and rusts ingloriously.
XLV
397     He who ascends to mountain-tops, shall find
398     The loftiest peaks most wrapt in clouds and snow;
399     He who surpasses or subdues mankind,
400     Must look down on the hate of those below.
401     Though high above the sun of glory glow,
402     And far beneath the earth and ocean spread,
403      Round him are icy rocks, and loudly blow
404     Contending tempests on his naked head,
405And thus reward the toils which to those summits led.
XLVI
...
LXVIII
644     Lake Leman woos me with its crystal face,
645     The mirror where the stars and mountains view
646     The stillness of their aspect in each trace
647     Its clear depth yields of their far height and hue:
648     There is too much of man here, to look through
649     With a fit mind the might which I behold;
650     But soon in me shall loneliness renew
651     Thoughts hid, but not less cherish'd than of old,
652Ere mingling with the herd had penn'd me in their fold.
LXIX
653     To fly from, need not be to hate, mankind:
654     All are not fit with them to stir and toil,
655     Nor is it discontent to keep the mind
656     Deep in its fountain, lest it over boil
657     In the hot throng, where we become the spoil
658     Of our infection, till too late and long
659     We may deplore and struggle with the coil,
660     In wretched interchange of wrong for wrong
661Midst a contentious world, striving where none are strong.
LXX
662     There, in a moment we may plunge our years
663     In fatal penitence, and in the blight
664     Of our own soul turn all our blood to tears,
665     And colour things to come with hues of Night;
666     The race of life becomes a hopeless flight
667     To those that walk in darkness: on the sea
668     The boldest steer but where their ports invite;
669     But there are wanderers o'er Eternity
670Whose bark drives on and on, and anchor'd ne'er shall be.
LXXI
671     Is it not better, then, to be alone,
672     And love Earth only for its earthly sake?
673     By the blue rushing of the arrowy Rhone,
674     Or the pure bosom of its nursing lake,
675     Which feeds it as a mother who doth make
676     A fair but froward infant her own care,
677     Kissing its cries away as these awake--
678     Is it not better thus our lives to wear,
679Than join the crushing crowd, doom'd to inflict or bear?
LXXII
680     I live not in myself, but I become
681     Portion of that around me; and to me
682     High mountains are a feeling, but the hum
683     Of human cities torture: I can see
684     Nothing to loathe in nature, save to be
685     A link reluctant in a fleshly chain,
686     Class'd among creatures, when the soul can flee,
687     And with the sky--the peak--the heaving plain
688Of ocean, or the stars, mingle--and not in vain.
LXXIII
689     And thus I am absorb'd, and this is life:
690     I look upon the peopled desert past,
691     As on a place of agony and strife,
692     Where, for some sin, to sorrow I was cast,
693     To act and suffer, but remount at last
694     With a fresh pinion; which I feel to spring,
695     Though young, yet waxing vigorous as the blast
696     Which it would cope with, on delighted wing,
697Spurning the clay-cold bonds which round our being cling.
LXXIV
698     And when, at length, the mind shall be all free
699     From what it hates in this degraded form,
700     Reft of its carnal life, save what shall be
701     Existent happier in the fly and worm,
702     When elements to elements conform,
703     And dust is as it should be, shall I not
704     Feel all I see, less dazzling, but more warm?
705     The bodiless thought? the Spirit of each spot?
706Of which, even now, I share at times the immortal lot?
LXXV
707     Are not the mountains, waves and skies a part
708     Of me and of my soul, as I of them?
709     Is not the love of these deep in my heart
710     With a pure passion? should I not contemn
711     All objects, if compar'd with these? and stem
712     A tide of suffering, rather than forego
713     Such feelings for the hard and worldly phlegm
714     Of those whose eyes are only turn'd below,
715Gazing upon the ground, with thoughts which dare not glow?
LXXVI
716     But this is not my theme; and I return
717     To that which is immediate, and require
718     Those who find contemplation in the urn
720     A native of the land where I respire
721     The clear air for a while--a passing guest,
722     Where he became a being--whose desire
723     Was to be glorious; 'twas a foolish quest,
724The which to gain and keep, he sacrific'd all rest.
LXXVII
725     Here the self-torturing sophist, wild Rousseau,
726     The apostle of affliction, he who threw
727     Enchantment over passion, and from woe
728     Wrung overwhelming eloquence, first drew
729     The breath which made him wretched; yet he knew
730     How to make madness beautiful, and cast
731     O'er erring deeds and thoughts a heavenly hue
732     Of words, like sunbeams, dazzling as they past
733The eyes, which o'er them shed tears feelingly and fast.
LXXVIII
734     His love was passion's essence--as a tree
735     On fire by lightning, with ethereal flame
736     Kindled he was, and blasted; for to be
737     Thus, and enamour'd, were in him the same.
738     But his was not the love of living dame,
739     Nor of the dead who rise upon our dreams,
740     But of ideal beauty, which became
741     In him existence, and o'erflowing teems
742Along his burning page, distemper'd though it seems.
LXXIX
743      This breathed itself to life in Julie, this
744     Invested her with all that's wild and sweet;
746     Which every morn his fever'd lip would greet
747     From hers, who but with friendship his would meet;
748     But to that gentle touch through brain and breast
749     Flash'd the thrill'd spirit's love-devouring heat;
750     In that absorbing sigh perchance more blest
751Than vulgar minds may be with all they seek possest.
LXXX
752     His life was one long war with self-sought foes,
753     Or friends by him self-banish'd; for his mind
754     Had grown Suspicion's sanctuary, and chose,
755     For its own cruel sacrifice, the kind,
756     'Gainst whom he rag'd with fury strange and blind.
757     But he was frenzied--wherefore, who may know?
758     Since cause might be which skill could never find;
759     But he was frenzied by disease or woe,
760To that worst pitch of all, which wears a reasoning show.
LXXXI
761     For then he was inspir'd, and from him came,
763     Those oracles which set the world in flame,
764     Nor ceas'd to burn till kingdoms were no more:
765     Did he not this for France? which lay before
766     Bow'd to the inborn tyranny of years?
767     Broken and trembling to the yoke she bore,
768     Till by the voice of him and his compeers
769Rous'd up to too much wrath, which follows o'ergrown fears?
LXXXII
770     They made themselves a fearful monument!
771     The wreck of old opinions--things which grew,
772     Breath'd from the birth of Time: the veil they rent,
773     And what behind it lay, all earth shall view.
774     But good with ill they also overthrew,
775     Leaving but ruins, wherewith to rebuild
777     Dungeons and thrones, which the same hour refill'd
778As heretofore, because ambition was self-will'd.
LXXXIII
779     But this will not endure, nor be endur'd!
780     Mankind have felt their strength and made it felt.
781     They might have us'd it better, but, allur'd
782     By their new vigour, sternly have they dealt
783     On one another; pity ceas'd to melt
784     With her once natural charities. But they,
785     Who in oppression's darkness cav'd had dwelt,
786     They were not eagles, nourish'd with the day;
787What marvel then, at times, if they mistook their prey?
LXXXIV
788     What deep wounds ever clos'd without a scar?
789     The heart's bleed longest, and but heal to wear
790     That which disfigures it; and they who war
791     With their own hopes, and have been vanquish'd, bear
792     Silence, but not submission: in his lair
793     Fix'd Passion holds his breath, until the hour
794     Which shall atone for years; none need despair:
795     It came--it cometh--and will come--the power
796To punish or forgive--in one we shall be slower.

Notes

1] The first two cantos were first published in 1812 and the hero's pilgrimage covers much of the ground of Byron's recent tour (1809-11) in southern Europe. In April 1816, Byron quit England for good, travelled through Brussels, sailed up the Rhine to Switzerland, then settled on the shores of Lake Geneva (Leman), where Shelley was his neighbour and frequent companion during the spring and summer. Canto the Third was written in May and June and first published in November. Childe Harold takes the same journey as Byron had just taken, and the line between the poet's own meditations and those he attributes to his pilgrim is rarely easy to draw. Canto the Fourth was written in 1817 and first published in 1818. Byron here uses his travels in Italy as poetic material without resorting to the fictional hero, Harold. "It was in vain that I asserted, and imagined I had drawn, a distinction between the author and the pilgrim; and the very anxiety to preserve this difference, and disappointment at finding it unavailing, so far crushed my efforts in the composition, that I determined to abandon it altogether--and have done so" (Byron's "Preface" to Canto the Fourth).
Childe: an archaic title of courtesy once given to a nobleman's eldest son.
Byron's daughter Ada was born in December 1815. He had not seen her since she was five weeks old. Back to Line
19] I did sing: refers to his composition of the first two cantos. Back to Line
64] Something too much of this: Hamlet, II, 160: the phrase with which Hamlet abruptly brings to a close a revelation of personal feelings to Horatio. Back to Line
155] Waterloo. The battle was fought on June 18, 1815. Back to Line
158] "pride of place": "a term of falconry, and means the highest pitch of flight" (Byron's note). Back to Line
167] reviving Thraldom: the Holy Alliance and reviving despotism in general; the restoration of Bourbon rule in France and Italy in particular. Back to Line
180] Harmodius and Aristogeiton slew Hipparchus, the Athenian tyrant, at the Panathenaic festival, having hidden their swords in myrtle. Back to Line
181] sound of revelry. The Duke of Richmond's famous ball was actually on June 15, the eve of the battle of Quatrebras not Waterloo. Back to Line
200] Brunswick's fated chieftain. Frederick William, Duke of Brunswick and nephew of George III, was killed at Quatrebras. His father had been killed at the battle of Jena in 1806. Back to Line
226] The "Cameron's Gathering" is a war song of the clan Cameron, Lochiel the name for the chief of the Camerons, Albyn a name for Scotland, pibroch the music of the bagpipes. Evan fought against Cromwell and Donald for the Young Pretender. Back to Line
235] Ardennes. For obscure literary and geographical reasons Byron identifies the nearby forest of Soignies with Ardennes or Arden. Back to Line
366] Philip's son: Alexander the Great. Back to Line
719] One: Rousseau (1712-1778), a native of Geneva. The lines which follow refer to the revelation of himself in his Confessions, to the love story, La Nouvelle Héloise, with its heroine Julie, and to the influence of Rousseau's political doctrine in the two Discours and the Contrat Social in bringing about the French Revolution. See Shelley's presentation of Rousseau in The Triumph of Life. Back to Line
745] the memorable kiss. This and the rest of the stanza refer to Rousseau's account of his love for Madame D'Houdetot in the Confessions. Back to Line
762] Pythian's mystic cave: Apollo's shrine at Delphi, from which a priestess uttered oracles. Back to Line
776] renew / Dungeons and thrones. See note on line 167. Back to Line
Publication Start Year: 
1816
RPO poem Editors: 
M. T. Wilson
RPO Edition: 
3RP 2.498.
Rhyme: