Lord Byron

Childe Harold's Pilgrimage (With Byron's Biography)


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href="#ulink_69662ff2-0755-5510-92d4-04def79f81d8">de The trophy corse is reared—disgusting prize. or, The corse is reared—sparkling the chariot flies.—[MS. M.]

      "Pedibusque informe cadaver

       Protrahitur. Nequeunt expleri corda tuendo—"]

      Full from the heart of Joy's delicious springs Some Bitter bubbles up, and even on Roses stings.—[MS.]

      "Patriæ quis exsul

       Se quoque fugit?"]

      To other zones howe'er remote Still, still pursuing clings to me.—[MS. erased.]

      "In the remotest wood and lonely grot

       Certain to meet that worst of evils—thought."]

      Ye, who would more of Spain and Spaniards know, Sights, Saints, Antiques, Arts, Anecdotes and War, Go hie ye hence to Paternoster RowAre they not written in the Boke of Carr,A 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 those are cooped 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,B As if therein they meant to colonise, How many troops y-crossed 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.C

      There may you read (Oh, Phoebus, save Sir John! That these my words prophetic may not err)D All that was said, or sung, and lost, or won, By vaunting Wellesley or by blundering Frere,E He that wrote half the "Needy Knife-Grinder,"F Thus Poesy the way to grandeur pavesG Who would not such diplomatists prefer? But cease, my Muse, thy speed some respite craves, Leave legates to the House, and armies to their graves.

      Yet here of Vulpes mention may be made,HJ Who for the Junta modelled sapient laws, Taught them to govern ere they were obeyed: 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