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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.' "]

12.-Page 9, line 9.

" Come hither, hither, my staunch yeoman, (William Fletcher, his faithful valet. Notwithstanding that he is made in this stanza to disclaim being timid, Lord Byron says in his letters that he was the reverse of valiant, and that he sighed for home comforts,- beef, beer, and tea, -as well as for his wife.]

13.- Page 9, line 24.

Will laugh lo flee away."
("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.)

14.- Page 10, line 4.

We late saw streaming o'er.
[“ 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.]

15.- Page 10, line 8.

No thing that claims a tear. [" 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 Byron to Mr. Hodgson.]

16.- Page 10, line 13.

Perchance my dog will whine in vain, (" I do not mean," Lord Byron wrote to Mr. Dallas, “ to exchange the ninth ver of the 'Good Night. I have no reason to suppose my dog better than his brother brutes, mankind; and Aryus we know to be a fable.” In Don Juan, also, one of the felicities that are said to await " an honest gentleman" on his return, after a lengthened absence,

"Is that his Argus bites him by-the breechea."

Byron had reason for his rhyme, for he had experienced the treatment in his own person. In the original MS. the ninth stanza was succeeded by what follows:

* 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."]

17.- Page 10, line 24.

My native Land-Good Night!" [In the original draught these two stanzas stood in the place of the lyric “ Adieu, adieu! my native shore:"

" And of his train there was a henchman page,
A peasant boy, who served his master well;
And often wonld 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 appeared 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."

After the twenty-fourth stanza was a passage which the poet omitted at the entreaty of his friends :

“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 Pans 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,
Then burst the blatant. beast, and roar'd, and raged, and

-slept!
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? t)
Yet knaves, not idiots, should the law condemn;
Then live, ye gallant knights ! and bless your Judges

phlegm !

The Canto, in the MS., concludes with another satiric passage, which there follows stanza eighty-six.

“Ye, who would more of Spain and Spaniards know
Sights, Saints, Antiques, Arts, Anecdotes, and War,
Go! hie ye hence to Paternoster Row-
Are they not written in the Book of Carr, 1

• “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.'

| Porphyry said, that the prophecies of Daniel were written after their completion, and such may be my fate here; but it requires no second sight to foretel a tome; the first glimpse of the knight was enough. _(In a letter written August 6, 1809, Lord Byron says, “I have seen Sir John

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Green Erin's Knight and Europe's wandering star!
Then listen, readers, to the Man of Ink,
Hear what he did, and sought, and wrote afar;

All these are coop'd within one Quarto's brink,
This borrow, steal,--don't buy-and tell us what you think.

There may you read, with spectacles on eyes,
How many Wellesleys did embark for Spain,
As if therein they meant to colonize,
How many troops y-cross'd the laughing main
That ne'er beheld the said return again :
How many buildings are in such a place,
How many leagues from this to yonder plain,

How many relics each cathedral grace,
And where Giralda stands on her gigantic base.

There may you read (Oh, Phæbus, save Sir John!
That these my words prophetic may not err)
All that was said, or sung, or lost, or won,
By vaunting Wellesley or by blundering Frere,
He that wrote half the Needy Kuife-Grinder.***
Thus poesy the way to grandeur paves-
Who would not such diplomatists prefer?

But cease, my Muse, thy speed some respite craves,
Leave Legates to their house, and armies to their graves.

Yet here of Vulpes mention may be made,
Who for the Junta modell'd sapient laws,
Taught them to govern ere they were obey'd :
Certes, fit teacher to command, because
His soul Socratic no Xantippe awes;
Blest with a dame in Virtue's bosom nurst,--
With her let silent admiration pause!-

True to her second husband and her first:
On such unshaken fame let Satire do its worst."

The melancholy ong to Inez, at the eighty-fourth stanza, replaced one in a gayer and far inferior strain :

1.
"Oh never talk again to me

Of northern climes and British ladies;
It has not been your lot to see,

Like me, the lovely girl of Cadiz.
Although her eye be not of blue,

Nor fair her locks, like English lasses
How far its own expressive hue

The languid azure eye surpasses !

Carr at Seville and Cadiz; and, like Swift's barber, have been down on my knees to beg he would not put me into black and white."]

* (The "Needy Knife-grinder," in the Anti-Jacobin, was a joint production of Messrs. Frere and Canning.]

Prometheus-like, from heaven she stole

The fire, that through those silken lashes In darkest glances seems to roll,

From eyes that cannot hide their flashes: And as along her bosom steal

In lengthen'd flow her raven tresses, You'd swear each clustering lock could feel,

And curl'd to give her neck caresses.

3. Our English maids are long to woo,

And frigid even in possession; And if their charms be fair to view,

Their lips are slow at Love's confession : But born beneath a brighter sun,

For love ordain'd the Spanish maid is, And who,--when fondly, fairly won,

Enchants you like the Girl of Cadiz ?

4. The Spanish maid is no coquette,

Nor joys to see a lover tremble, And if she love, or if she hate,

Alike she knows not to dissemble. Her heart can ne'er be bought or sold

Howe'er it beats, it beats sincerely; And, though it will not bend to gold,

'Twill love you long and love you dearly.

5. The Spanish girl that meets your love

Ne'er taunts you with a mock denial, For every thought is bent to prove

Her passion in the hour of trial. When thronging foemen menace Spain,

She dares the deed and shares the danger; And should her lover press the plain,

She hurls the spear, her love's avenger.

6. And when, beneath the evening star,

She mingles in the gay Bolero, Or sings to her attuned guitar

Of Christian knight or Moorish hero, Or counts her beads with fairy hand

Beneath the twinkling rays of Hesper, Or joins devotion's choral band,

To chaunt the sweet and hallow'd vesper;

7. In each her charms the heart must move

Of all who venture to behold her;

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