FOOTNOTES:

[127] [George Frederick Nott (1767-1841), critic and divine, was Rector of Harrietsham and Woodchurch, a Prebendary of Winchester and of Salisbury. He was Bampton Lecturer in 1802, and, soon afterwards, was appointed sub-preceptor to the Princess Charlotte of Wales. He was a connoisseur of architecture and painting, and passed much of his time in Italy and at Rome. When he was at Pisa he preached in a private room in the basement story of the house in Pisa where Shelley was living, and fell under Byron's displeasure for attacking the Satanic school, and denouncing Cain as a blasphemous production. "The parsons," he told Moore (letter, February 20, 1820), "preached at it [Cain] from Kentish Town to Pisa." Hence the apostrophe to Dr. Nott. (See Records of Shelley, Byron, and the Author, by E. T. Trelawny, 1887, pp. 302, 303.)]

[128] [According to Lady Anne Hamilton (Secret History of the Court of England, 1832, i. 198-207), the Princess Charlotte incurred the suspicion and displeasure of her uncles and her grandmother, the Queen, by displaying an ardent and undue interest in her sub-preceptor. On being reproved by the Queen for "condescending to favour persons in low life with confidence or particular respect, persons likely to take advantage of your simplicity and innocence," and having learnt that "persons" meant Mr. Nott, she replied by threatening to sign a will in favour of her sub-preceptor, and by actually making over to him by a deed her library, jewels, and all other private property. Lady Anne Hamilton is not an accurate or trustworthy authority, but her extremely circumstantial narrative was, no doubt, an expansion of the contemporary scandal to which Byron's lampoon gave currency.]

LUCIETTA. A FRAGMENT.

Lucietta, my deary,
 That fairest of faces!
 Is made up of kisses;
 But, in love, oft the case is
 Even stranger than this is—
 There's another, that's slyer,
 Who touches me nigher,—
 A Witch, an intriguer,
 Whose manner and figure
 Now piques me, excites me,
 Torments and delights me—
 Cætera desunt.

[From an autograph MS. in the possession of Mr. Murray, now for the first time printed.]

EPIGRAMS.

Oh, Castlereagh! thou art a patriot now;
 Cato died for his country, so did'st thou:
 He perished rather than see Rome enslaved,
 Thou cut'st thy throat that Britain may be saved!
So Castlereagh has cut his throat!—The worst
 Of this is,—that his own was not the first.
So He has cut his throat at last!—He! Who?
 The man who cut his country's long ago.

?August, 1822.
[First published, The Liberal, No. I. October 18, 1822, p. 164.]

THE CONQUEST.[129]

The Son of Love and Lord of War I sing;
 Him who bade England bow to Normandy,
 And left the name of Conqueror more than King
 To his unconquerable dynasty.
 Not fanned alone by Victory's fleeting wing,
 He reared his bold and brilliant throne on high;
 The Bastard kept, like lions, his prey fast,
 And Britain's bravest Victor was the last.

March 8-9, 1823.
[First published, Lord Byron's Works, 1833, xvii. 246.]

FOOTNOTES:

[129] [This fragment was found amongst Lord Byron's papers, after his departure from Genoa for Greece.]

IMPROMPTU.[130]

Beneath Blessington's eyes
 The reclaimed Paradise
 Should be free as the former from evil;
 But if the new Eve
 For an Apple should grieve,
 What mortal would not play the Devil?

April, 1823.
[First published, Letters and Journals, 1830, ii. 635.]

FOOTNOTES:

[130] [With the view of inducing these friends [Lord and Lady Blessington] to prolong their stay at Genoa, he suggested their taking a pretty villa, called "Il Paradiso," in the neighbourhood of his own, and accompanied them to look at it. Upon that occasion it was that, on the lady expressing some intention of residing there, he produced the following impromptu.—Life, 577.]

JOURNAL IN CEPHALONIA.

The dead have been awakened—shall I sleep?
 The World's at war with tyrants—shall I crouch?
 The harvest's ripe—and shall I pause to reap?
 I slumber not; the thorn is in my Couch;
 Each day a trumpet soundeth in mine ear,
 Its echo in my heart——

June 19, 1823.
[First published, Letters, 1901, vi. 238.]

SONG TO THE SULIOTES.

1.

Up to battle! Sons of Suli
 Up, and do your duty duly!
 There the wall—and there the Moat is:
 Bouwah![131] Bouwah! Suliotes!
 There is booty—there is Beauty,
 Up my boys and do your duty.

2.

By the sally and the rally
 Which defied the arms of Ali;
 By your own dear native Highlands,
 By your children in the islands,
 Up and charge, my Stratiotes,
 Bouwah!—Bouwah!—Suliotes!

3.

As our ploughshare is the Sabre:
 Here's the harvest of our labour;
 For behind those battered breaches
 Are our foes with all their riches:
 There is Glory—there is plunder—
 Then away despite of thunder!

[From an autograph MS. in the possession of Mr. Murray, now for the first time printed.]

FOOTNOTES:

[131] "Bouwah!" is their war-cry.

[LOVE AND DEATH.]

1.

I watched thee when the foe was at our side,
 Ready to strike at him—or thee and me.
 Were safety hopeless—rather than divide
 Aught with one loved save love and liberty.

2.

I watched thee on the breakers, when the rock
 Received our prow and all was storm and fear,
 And bade thee cling to me through every shock;
 This arm would be thy bark, or breast thy bier.

3.

I watched thee when the fever glazed thine eyes,
 Yielding my couch and stretched me on the ground,
 When overworn with watching, ne'er to rise
 From thence if thou an early grave hadst found.

4.

The earthquake came, and rocked the quivering wall,
 And men and nature reeled as if with wine.
Whom did I seek around the tottering hall?
 For thee. Whose safety first provide for? Thine.

5.

And when convulsive throes denied my breath
 The faintest utterance to my fading thought,
 To thee—to thee—e'en in the gasp of death
 My spirit turned, oh! oftener than it ought.

6.

Thus much and more; and yet thou lov'st me not,
 And never wilt! Love dwells not in our will.
 Nor can I blame thee, though it be my lot
 To strongly, wrongly, vainly love thee still.[132]

[First published, Murray's Magazine, February, 1887, vol. i. pp. 145, 146.]

FOOTNOTES:

[132] ["The last he ever wrote. From a rough copy found amongst his papers at the back of the 'Song of Suli.' Copied November, 1824.—John C. Hobhouse."

"A note, attached to the verses by Lord Byron, states they were addressed to no one in particular, and were a mere poetical Scherzo. —J. C. H."]

LAST WORDS ON GREECE.

What are to me those honours or renown
 Past or to come, a new-born people's cry?
 Albeit for such I could despise a crown
 Of aught save laurel, or for such could die.
 I am a fool of passion, and a frown
 Of thine to me is as an adder's eye.
 To the poor bird whose pinion fluttering down
 Wafts unto death the breast it bore so high;
Such is this maddening fascination grown,
 So strong thy magic or so weak am I.

[First published, Murray's Magazine, February, 1887, vol. i. p. 146.]

ON THIS DAY I COMPLETE MY THIRTY-SIXTH YEAR.[133]

1.

'T is time this heart should be unmoved,
 Since others it hath ceased to move:
 Yet, though I cannot be beloved,
 Still let me love!

2.

My days are in the yellow leaf;
 The flowers and fruits of Love are gone;
 The worm, the canker, and the grief
 Are mine alone!

3.

The fire that on my bosom preys
 Is lone[iii] as some Volcanic isle;
 No torch is kindled at its blaze—
 A funeral pile.

4.

The hope, the fear, the jealous care,
 The exalted portion of the pain
 And power of love, I cannot share,
 But wear the chain.

5.

But 't is not thus—and 't is not here—[iv]
 Such thoughts should shake my soul, nor now
 Where Glory decks the hero's bier,[v]
 Or binds his brow.

6.

The Sword, the Banner, and the Field,[vi]
 Glory and Greece, around me see!
 The Spartan, borne upon his shield,[134]
 Was not more free.

7.

Awake! (not Greece—she is awake!)
 Awake, my spirit! Think through whom
 Thy life-blood tracks its parent lake,[vii]
 And then strike home!

8.

Tread those reviving passions down,[ix]
 Unworthy manhood!—unto thee
 Indifferent should the smile or frown
 Of Beauty be.

9.

If thou regret'st thy youth, why live?
 The land of honourable death
 Is here:—up to the Field, and give
 Away thy breath!

10.

Seek out—less often sought than found—
 A soldier's grave, for thee the best;
 Then look around, and choose thy ground,
 And take thy Rest.

Missolonghi, Jan. 22, 1824.
[First published, Morning Chronicle, October 29, 1824.]

FOOTNOTES:

[133] ["This morning Lord Byron came from his bedroom into the apartment where Colonel Stanhope and some friends were assembled, and said with a smile—'You were complaining, the other day, that I never write any poetry now:—this is my birthday, and I have just finished something, which, I think, is better than what I usually write.' He then produced these noble and affecting verses, which were afterwards found written in his journals, with only the following introduction: 'Jan. 22; on this day I complete my 36th year.'"—A Narrative of Lord Byron's Last Journey to Greece, 1825, p. 125, by Count Gamba. In the Morning Chronicle, October 29, 1824, the lines are headed, "Lord Byron's Latest Verses," and are prefaced by the following note: "We have been indebted to a friend for the following immortal verses, the last he ever composed. Four of the lines have already appeared in an article in the Westminster Review" ("Lord Byron in Greece," July, 1824, vol. ii. p. 227).]

[iii] Is like to——.—[M.C.]

[iv] —— it is not here.—[M.C.]

[v] —— seals the hero's bier.—[M.C.]

[vi] The steed—the Banner—and the Field.—[MS. B.M.]

[134] I. [The slain were borne on their shields. Witness the Spartan mother's speech to her son, delivered with his buckler: "either with this or on this" (B.M. Addit. MS. 31,038).]

[vii] My life-blood tastes——.—[M.C.]

[ix] I tread reviving——.—[M.C.]

A
BIBLIOGRAPHY
of the
SUCCESSIVE EDITIONS AND TRANSLATIONS
of
LORD BYRON'S POETICAL WORKS.

typographical flourish