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Hast soothed thine Idlesse with inglorious lays,

       Soon shall thy voice be lost amid the throng

       Of louder Minstrels in these later days:

       To such resign the strife for fading Bays—

       Ill may such contest now the spirit move

Which heeds nor keen Reproach nor partial Praise,gc Since cold each kinder heart that might approve— And none are left to please when none are left to love.

      XCV.

      Thou too art gone, thou loved and lovely one!

       Whom Youth and Youth's affections bound to me;

       Who did for me what none beside have done,

       Nor shrank from one albeit unworthy thee.

       What is my Being! thou hast ceased to be!

       Nor staid to welcome here thy wanderer home,

       Who mourns o'er hours which we no more shall see—

       Would they had never been, or were to come!

Would he had ne'er returned to find fresh cause to roam!gd200

      XCVI.

      Oh! ever loving, lovely, and beloved!

       How selfish Sorrow ponders on the past,

       And clings to thoughts now better far removed!

But Time shall tear thy shadow from me last.ge All thou couldst have of mine, stern Death! thou hast; The Parent, Friend, and now the more than Friend: Ne'er yet for one thine arrows flew so fast,201 And grief with grief continuing still to blend, Hath snatched the little joy that Life had yet to lend.

      XCVII.

      Then must I plunge again into the crowd,

       And follow all that Peace disdains to seek?

       Where Revel calls, and Laughter, vainly loud,

       False to the heart, distorts the hollow cheek,

       To leave the flagging spirit doubly weak;

       Still o'er the features, which perforce they cheer,

       To feign the pleasure or conceal the pique:

       Smiles form the channel of a future tear,

       Or raise the writhing lip with ill-dissembled sneer.

      XCVIII.

      What is the worst of woes that wait on Age?

       What stamps the wrinkle deeper on the brow?

       To view each loved one blotted from Life's page,

       And be alone on earth, as I am now.

       Before the Chastener humbly let me bow,

       O'er Hearts divided and o'er Hopes destroyed:

       Roll on, vain days! full reckless may ye flow,

Since Time hath reft whate'er my soul enjoyed,gf And with the ills of Eld mine earlier years alloyed.

      Note.—The MS. closes with stanza xcii. Stanzas xciii.-xcviii. were added after Childe Harold was in the press. Byron sent them to Dallas, October 11, 1811, and, apparently, on the same day composed the Epistle to a Friend (F. Hodgson) in answer to some lines exhorting the Author to be cheerful, and to "Banish Care," and the first poem To Thyrza ("Without a stone to mark the Spot"). "I have sent," he writes, "two or three additional stanzas for both 'Fyttes.' I have been again shocked with a death, and have lost one very dear to me in happier times; but 'I have almost forgot the taste of grief,' and 'supped full of horrors' till I have become callous, nor have I a tear left for an event which, five years ago, would have bowed down my head to the earth. It seems as though I were to experience in my youth the greatest misery of age. My friends fall around me, and I shall be left a lonely tree before I am withered." In one respect he would no longer disclaim identity with Childe Harold. "Death had deprived him of his nearest connections." He had seen his friends "around him fall like leaves in wintry weather." He felt "like one deserted;" and in the "dusky shadow" of that early desolation he was destined to walk till his life's end. It is not without cause when "a man of great spirit grows melancholy."

      In connection with this subject, it may be noted that lines 6 and 7 of stanza xcv. do not bear out Byron's contention to Dallas (Letters, October 14 and 31, 1811), that in these three in memoriam stanzas (ix., xcv., xcvi.) he is bewailing an event which took place after he returned to Newstead. The "more than friend" had "ceased to be" before the "wanderer" returned. It is evident that Byron did not take Dallas into his confidence.]

      FOOTNOTES:

113 [Stanzas i.-xv. form a kind of dramatic prologue to the Second Canto of the Pilgrimage. The general meaning is clear enough, but the unities are disregarded. The scene shifts more than once, and there is a moral within a moral. The poet begins by invoking Athena (Byron wrote Athenæ) to look down on the ruins of "her holy and beautiful house," and bewails her unreturning heroes of the sword and pen. He then summons an Oriental, a "Son of the Morning," Moslem or "light Greek," possibly a Canis venaticus, the discoverer or vendor of a sepulchral urn, and, with an adjuration to spare the sacred relic, points to the Acropolis, the cemetery of dead divinities, and then once more to the urn at his feet. "'Vanity of vanities—all is vanity!' Gods and men may come and go, but Death 'goes on for ever.'" The scene changes, and he feigns to be present at the rifling of a barrow, the "tomb of the Athenian heroes" on the plain of Marathon, or one of the lonely tumuli on Sigeum and Rhoeteum, "the great and goodly tombs" of Achilles and Patroclus ("they twain in one golden urn"); of Antilochus, and of Telamonian Ajax. Marathon he had already visited, and marked "the perpendicular cut" which at Fauvel's instigation had been recently driven into the large barrow; and he had, perhaps, read of the real or pretended excavation by Signor Ghormezano (1787) of a tumulus at the Sigean promontory. The "mind's eye," which had conjured up "the shattered heaps," images a skull of one who "kept the world in awe," and, after moralizing in Hamlet's vein on the humorous catastrophe of decay, the poet concludes with the Preacher "that there is no work, nor device, nor knowledge, nor wisdom in the grave." After this profession of unfaith, before he returns to Harold and his pilgrimage, he takes up his parable and curses Elgin and all his works. The passage as a whole suggests the essential difference between painting and poetry. As a composition, it recalls the frontispiece of a seventeenth-century classic. The pictured scene, with its superfluity of accessories, is grotesque enough; but the poetic scenery, inconsequent and yet vivid as a dream, awakens, and fulfills the imagination. (Travels in Albania, by Lord Broughton, 1858, i. 380; ii. 128, 129, 138; The Odyssey, xxiv. 74, sq. See, too, Byron's letters to his mother, April 17, and to H. Drury, May 3, 1810: Letters, 1898, i. 262.)]

do Ancient of days! august Athenæ! where.—[MS. D.]

dp Gone—mingled with the waste——.—[MS. erased.]

114 ["Stole," apart from its restricted use as an ecclesiastical vestment, is used by Spenser and other poets as an equivalent for any long and loosely flowing robe, but is, perhaps inaccurately, applied to the short cloak (tribon),

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