He falls indeed, perhaps to rise again,
"Almost as quickly as he conquered Spain.
"Almost as quickly as he conquered Spain.
Byron
with thy gaoler nigh--
Hear! hear Prometheus[294] from his rock appeal
To Earth,--Air,--Ocean,--all that felt or feel
His power and glory, all who yet shall hear
A name eternal as the rolling year; 230
He teaches them the lesson taught so long,
So oft, so vainly--learn to do no wrong!
A single step into the right had made
This man the Washington of worlds betrayed:
A single step into the wrong has given
His name a doubt to all the winds of heaven;
The reed of Fortune, and of thrones the rod,
Of Fame the Moloch or the demigod;
His country's Caesar, Europe's Hannibal,
Without their decent dignity of fall. 240
Yet Vanity herself had better taught
A surer path even to the fame he sought,
By pointing out on History's fruitless page
Ten thousand conquerors for a single sage.
While Franklin's quiet memory climbs to Heaven,
Calming the lightning which he thence hath riven,
Or drawing from the no less kindled earth
Freedom and peace to that which boasts his birth;[295]
While Washington's a watchword, such as ne'er
Shall sink while there's an echo left to air:[296] 250
While even the Spaniard's thirst of gold and war
Forgets Pizarro to shout Bolivar! [297]
Alas! why must the same Atlantic wave
Which wafted freedom gird a tyrant's grave--
The king of kings, and yet of slaves the slave,
Who burst the chains of millions to renew
The very fetters which his arm broke through,
And crushed the rights of Europe and his own,
To flit between a dungeon and a throne?
VI.
But 'twill not be--the spark's awakened--lo! 260
The swarthy Spaniard feels his former glow;
The same high spirit which beat back the Moor
Through eight long ages of alternate gore
Revives--and where? in that avenging clime
Where Spain was once synonymous with crime,
Where Cortes' and Pizarro's banner flew,
The infant world redeems her name of "_New_. "
'Tis the _old_ aspiration breathed afresh,
To kindle souls within degraded flesh,
Such as repulsed the Persian from the shore 270
Where Greece _was_--No! she still is Greece once more.
One common cause makes myriads of one breast,
Slaves of the East, or helots of the West:
On Andes'[298] and on Athos' peaks unfurled,
The self-same standard streams o'er either world:
The Athenian[299] wears again Harmodius' sword;
The Chili chief[300] abjures his foreign lord;
The Spartan knows himself once more a Greek,[301]
Young Freedom plumes the crest of each cacique;
Debating despots, hemmed on either shore, 280
Shrink vainly from the roused Atlantic's roar;
Through Calpe's strait the rolling tides advance,
Sweep slightly by the half-tamed land of France,
Dash o'er the old Spaniard's cradle, and would fain
Unite Ausonia to the mighty main:
But driven from thence awhile, yet not for aye,
Break o'er th' AEgean, mindful of the day
Of Salamis! --there, there the waves arise,
Not to be lulled by tyrant victories.
Lone, lost, abandoned in their utmost need 290
By Christians, unto whom they gave their creed,
The desolated lands, the ravaged isle,
The fostered feud encouraged to beguile,
The aid evaded, and the cold delay,
Prolonged but in the hope to make a prey[302];--
These, these shall tell the tale, and Greece can show
The false friend worse than the infuriate foe.
But this is well: Greeks only should free Greece,
Not the barbarian, with his masque of peace.
How should the Autocrat of bondage be 300
The king of serfs, and set the nations free?
Better still serve the haughty Mussulman,
Than swell the Cossaque's prowling caravan;
Better still toil for masters, than await,
The slave of slaves, before a Russian gate,--
Numbered by hordes, a human capital,
A live estate, existing but for thrall,
Lotted by thousands, as a meet reward
For the first courtier in the Czar's regard;
While their immediate owner never tastes 310
His sleep, _sans_ dreaming of Siberia's wastes:
Better succumb even to their own despair,
And drive the Camel--than purvey the Bear.
VII.
But not alone within the hoariest clime
Where Freedom dates her birth with that of Time,
And not alone where, plunged in night, a crowd
Of Incas darken to a dubious cloud[eb],
The dawn revives: renowned, romantic Spain
Holds back the invader from her soil again.
Not now the Roman tribe nor Punic horde[ec] 320
Demands her fields as lists to prove the sword;
Not now the Vandal or the Visigoth
Pollute the plains, alike abhorring both[ed];
Nor old Pelayo[303] on his mountain rears
The warlike fathers of a thousand years.
That seed is sown and reaped, as oft the Moor
Sighs to remember on his dusky shore.
Long in the peasant's song or poet's page
Has dwelt the memory of Abencerrage;
The Zegri[304], and the captive victors, flung 330
Back to the barbarous realm from whence they sprung.
But these are gone--their faith, their swords, their sway,
Yet left more anti-christian foes than they[ee];
The bigot monarch, and the butcher priest[305],
The Inquisition, with her burning feast,
The Faith's red "Auto," fed with human fuel,
While sate the catholic Moloch, calmly cruel,
Enjoying, with inexorable eye,[ef]
That fiery festival of Agony!
The stern or feeble sovereign, one or both 340
By turns; the haughtiness whose pride was sloth;
The long degenerate noble; the debased
Hidalgo, and the peasant less disgraced,
But more degraded; the unpeopled realm;
The once proud navy which forgot the helm;
The once impervious phalanx disarrayed;
The idle forge that formed Toledo's blade;
The foreign wealth that flowed on every shore,
Save hers who earned it with the native's gore;
The very language which might vie with Rome's, 350
And once was known to nations like their homes,
Neglected or forgotten:--such _was_ Spain;
But such she is not, nor shall be again.
These worst, these _home_ invaders, felt and feel
The new Numantine soul of old Castile[eg],
Up! up again! undaunted Tauridor!
The bull of Phalaris renews his roar[eh];
Mount, chivalrous Hidalgo! not in vain
Revive the cry--"Iago! and close Spain! "[306]
Yes, close her with your armed bosoms round, 360
And form the barrier which Napoleon found,--
The exterminating war, the desert plain,
The streets without a tenant, save the slain;
The wild Sierra, with its wilder troop[ei]
Of vulture-plumed Guerrillas, on the stoop[ej]
For their incessant prey; the desperate wall
Of Saragossa, mightiest in her fall;
The Man nerved to a spirit, and the Maid
Waving her more than Amazonian blade[307];
The knife of Arragon, Toledo's steel; 370
The famous lance of chivalrous Castile[308];
The unerring rifle of the Catalan;
The Andalusian courser in the van;
The torch to make a Moscow of Madrid;
And in each heart the spirit of the Cid:--
Such have been, such shall be, such are. Advance,
And win--not Spain! but thine own freedom, France!
VIII.
But lo! a Congress[309]! What! that hallowed name
Which freed the Atlantic! May we hope the same
For outworn Europe? With the sound arise, 380
Like Samuel's shade to Saul's monarchic eyes,
The prophets of young Freedom, summoned far
From climes of Washington and Bolivar;
Henry, the forest-born Demosthenes,
Whose thunder shook the Philip of the seas[310];
And stoic Franklin's energetic shade,
Robed in the lightnings which his hand allayed;
And Washington, the tyrant-tamer, wake,
To bid us blush for these old chains, or break.
But _who_ compose this Senate of the few 390
That should redeem the many? _Who_ renew
This consecrated name, till now assigned
To councils held to benefit mankind?
Who now assemble at the holy call?
The blest Alliance, which says three are all!
An earthly Trinity! which wears the shape
Of Heaven's, as man is mimicked by the ape.
A pious Unity! in purpose one--
To melt three fools to a Napoleon[ek].
Why, Egypt's Gods were rational to these; 400
Their dogs and oxen knew their own degrees,
And, quiet in their kennel or their shed,
Cared little, so that they were duly fed;
But these, more hungry, must have something more--
The power to bark and bite, to toss and gore.
Ah, how much happier were good AEsop's frogs
Than we! for ours are animated logs,
With ponderous malice swaying to and fro,
And crushing nations with a stupid blow;
All dully anxious to leave little work 410
Unto the revolutionary stork.
IX.
Thrice blest Verona! since the holy three
With their imperial presence shine on thee!
Honoured by them, thy treacherous site forgets[el]
The vaunted tomb of "all the Capulets! "[311]
Thy Scaligers--for what was "Dog the Great,"
"Can Grande,"[312] (which I venture to translate,)
To these sublimer pugs? Thy poet too,
Catullus, whose old laurels yield to new;[313]
Thine amphitheatre, where Romans sate; 420
And Dante's exile sheltered by thy gate;
Thy good old man, whose world was all within
Thy wall, nor knew the country held him in;[314]
Would that the royal guests it girds about
Were so far like, as never to get out!
Aye, shout! inscribe! [315] rear monuments of shame,
To tell Oppression that the world is tame!
Crowd to the theatre with loyal rage,
The comedy is not upon the stage;
The show is rich in ribandry and stars, 430
Then gaze upon it through thy dungeon bars;
Clap thy permitted palms, kind Italy,
For thus much still thy fettered hands are free!
X.
Resplendent sight! Behold the coxcomb Czar,[316]
The Autocrat of waltzes[317] and of war!
As eager for a plaudit as a realm,
And just as fit for flirting as the helm;
A Calmuck beauty with a Cossack wit,
And generous spirit, when 'tis not frost-bit;
Now half dissolving to a liberal thaw,[em] 440
But hardened back whene'er the morning's raw;
With no objection to true Liberty,
Except that it would make the nations free.
How well the imperial dandy prates of peace!
How fain, if Greeks would be his slaves, free Greece!
How nobly gave he back the Poles their Diet,
Then told pugnacious Poland to be quiet!
How kindly would he send the mild Ukraine,
With all her pleasant Pulks,[318] to lecture Spain!
How royally show off in proud Madrid 450
His goodly person, from the South long hid!
A blessing cheaply purchased, the world knows,
By having Muscovites for friends or foes.
Proceed, thou namesake of great Philip's son!
La Harpe, thine Aristotle, beckons on;[319]
And that which Scythia was to him of yore
Find with thy Scythians on Iberia's shore.
Yet think upon, thou somewhat aged youth,
Thy predecessor on the banks of Pruth;
Thou hast to aid thee, should his lot be thine, 460
Many an old woman,[320] but not Catherine. [321]
Spain, too, hath rocks, and rivers, and defiles--
The Bear may rush into the Lion's toils.
Fatal to Goths are Xeres' sunny fields;[322]
Think'st thou to thee Napoleon's victor yields?
Better reclaim thy deserts, turn thy swords
To ploughshares, shave and wash thy Bashkir[323] hordes,
Redeem thy realms from slavery and the knout,
Than follow headlong in the fatal route,
To infest the clime whose skies and laws are pure 470
With thy foul legions. Spain wants no manure:
Her soil is fertile, but she feeds no foe:
Her vultures, too, were gorged not long ago;
And wouldst thou furnish them with fresher prey?
Alas! thou wilt not conquer, but purvey.
I am Diogenes, though Russ and Hun[324]
Stand between mine and many a myriad's sun;
But were I not Diogenes, I'd wander
Rather a worm than _such_ an Alexander!
Be slaves who will, the cynic shall be free; 480
His tub hath tougher walls than Sinope:[en]
Still will he hold his lantern up to scan
The face of monarchs for an "honest man. "[325]
XI.
And what doth Gaul, the all-prolific land
Of _ne plus ultra_ ultras and their band
Of mercenaries? and her noisy chambers
And tribune, which each orator first clambers
Before he finds a voice, and when 'tis found,
Hears "the lie" echo for his answer round?
Our British Commons sometimes deign to "hear! " 490
A Gallic senate hath more tongue than ear;
Even Constant,[326] their sole master of debate,
Must fight next day his speech to vindicate.
But this costs little to true Franks, who'd rather
Combat than listen, were it to their father.
What is the simple standing of a shot,
To listening long, and interrupting not?
Though this was not the method of old Rome,
When Tully fulmined o'er each vocal dome,
Demosthenes has sanctioned the transaction, 500
In saying eloquence meant "Action, action! "
XII.
But where's the monarch? [327] hath he dined? or yet
Groans beneath indigestion's heavy debt?
Have revolutionary pates risen,
And turned the royal entrails to a prison?
Have discontented movements stirred the troops?
Or have _no_ movements followed traitorous soups?
Have Carbonaro[328] cooks not carbonadoed
Each course enough? or doctors dire dissuaded
Repletion? Ah! in thy dejected looks 510
I read all France's treason in her cooks!
Good classic Louis! is it, canst thou say,
Desirable to be the "Desire? "
Why wouldst thou leave calm Hartwell's green abode,
Apician table, and Horatian ode,
To rule a people who will not be ruled,
And love much rather to be scourged than schooled?
Ah! thine was not the temper or the taste
For thrones; the table sees thee better placed:
A mild Epicurean, formed, at best, 520
To be a kind host and as good a guest,
To talk of Letters, and to know by heart
One _half_ the Poet's, _all_ the Gourmand's art;
A scholar always, now and then a wit,
And gentle when Digestion may permit;--
But not to govern lands enslaved or free;
The gout was martyrdom enough for thee.
XIII.
Shall noble Albion pass without a phrase
From a bold Briton in her wonted praise?
"Arts--arms--and George--and glory--and the Isles, 530
And happy Britain, wealth, and Freedom's smiles,
White cliffs, that held invasion far aloof,
Contented subjects, all alike tax-proof,
Proud Wellington, with eagle beak so curled,[eo]
That nose, the hook where he suspends the world! [329]
And Waterloo, and trade, and----(hush! not yet
A syllable of imposts or of debt)----
And ne'er (enough) lamented Castlereagh,[330]
Whose penknife slit a goose-quill t'other day--[ep]
And, 'pilots who have weathered every storm'--[331] 540
(But, no, not even for rhyme's sake, name Reform). "
These are the themes thus sung so oft before,
Methinks we need not sing them any more;
Found in so many volumes far and near,
There's no occasion you should find them here.
Yet something may remain perchance to chime
With reason, and, what's stranger still, with rhyme. [eq]
Even this thy genius, Canning! [332] may permit,
Who, bred a statesman, still wast born a wit,
And never, even in that dull House, couldst tame 550
To unleavened prose thine own poetic flame;
Our last, our best, our only orator,
Even I can praise thee--Tories do no more:
Nay, not so much;--they hate thee, man, because
Thy Spirit less upholds them than it awes.
The hounds will gather to their huntsman's hollo,
And where he leads the duteous pack will follow;
But not for love mistake their yelling cry;
Their yelp for game is not an eulogy;
Less faithful far than the four-footed pack, 560
A dubious scent would lure the bipeds back.
Thy saddle-girths are not yet quite secure,
Nor royal stallion's feet extremely sure;
The unwieldy old white horse is apt at last
To stumble, kick--and now and then stick fast
With his great Self and Rider in the mud;
But what of that? the animal shows blood.
XIV.
Alas, the Country! how shall tongue or pen
Bewail her now _un_country gentlemen?
The last to bid the cry of warfare cease, 570
The first to make a malady of peace.
For what were all these country patriots born?
To hunt--and vote--and raise the price of corn?
But corn, like every mortal thing, must fall,
Kings--Conquerors--and markets most of all.
And must ye fall with every ear of grain?
Why would you trouble Buonaparte's reign?
He was your great Triptolemus;[333] his vices
Destroyed but realms, and still maintained your prices;
He amplified to every lord's content 580
The grand agrarian alchymy, high _rent_. [er]
Why did the tyrant stumble on the Tartars,
And lower wheat to such desponding quarters?
Why did you chain him on yon Isle so lone?
The man was worth much more upon his throne.
True, blood and treasure boundlessly were spilt,
But what of that? the Gaul may bear the guilt;
But bread was high, the farmer paid his way,
And acres told upon the appointed day. [es]
But where is now the goodly audit ale? 590
The purse-proud tenant, never known to fail?
The farm which never yet was left on hand?
The marsh reclaimed to most improving land?
The impatient hope of the expiring lease?
The doubling rental? What an evil's peace!
In vain the prize excites the ploughman's skill,
In vain the Commons pass their patriot bill;[334]
The _Landed Interest_--(you may understand
The phrase much better leaving out the _land_)--
The land self-interest groans from shore to shore, 600
For fear that plenty should attain the poor. [et]
Up, up again, ye rents, exalt your notes,
Or else the Ministry will lose their votes,
And patriotism, so delicately nice,
Her loaves will lower to the market price;[eu]
For ah! "the loaves and fishes," once so high,
Are gone--their oven closed, their ocean dry,[ev]
And nought remains of all the millions spent,
Excepting to grow moderate and content.
They who are not so, _had_ their turn--and turn 610
About still flows from Fortune's equal urn;
Now let their virtue be its own reward,
And share the blessings which themselves prepared.
See these inglorious Cincinnati swarm,
Farmers of war, dictators of the farm;
_Their_ ploughshare was the sword in hireling hands,
_Their_ fields manured by gore of other lands;
Safe in their barns, these Sabine tillers sent
Their brethren out to battle--why? for rent!
Year after year they voted cent. per cent. 620
Blood, sweat, and tear-wrung millions--why? --for rent!
They roared, they dined, they drank, they swore they meant
To die for England--why then live? --for rent!
The peace has made one general malcontent
Of these high-market patriots; war was rent!
Their love of country, millions all mis-spent,
How reconcile? by reconciling rent!
And will they not repay the treasures lent?
No: down with everything, and up with rent!
Their good, ill, health, wealth, joy, or discontent, 630
Being, end, aim, religion--_rent_--_rent_--_rent_!
Thou sold'st thy birthright, Esau! for a mess;
Thou shouldst have gotten more, or eaten less;
Now thou hast swilled thy pottage, thy demands
Are idle; Israel says the bargain stands.
Such, landlords! was your appetite for war,
And gorged with blood, you grumble at a scar!
What! would they spread their earthquake even o'er cash?
And when land crumbles, bid firm paper crash? [335]
So rent may rise, bid Bank and Nation fall, 640
And found on 'Change a _Fundling_ Hospital?
Lo, Mother Church, while all religion writhes,
Like Niobe, weeps o'er her offspring--Tithes;[336]
The Prelates go to--where the Saints have gone,
And proud pluralities subside to one;
Church, state, and faction wrestle in the dark,
Tossed by the deluge in their common ark.
Shorn of her bishops, banks, and dividends,
Another Babel soars--but Britain ends.
And why? to pamper the self-seeking wants, 650
And prop the hill of these agrarian ants.
"Go to these ants, thou sluggard, and be wise;"
Admire their patience through each sacrifice,
Till taught to feel the lesson of their pride,
The price of taxes and of homicide;
Admire their justice, which would fain deny
The debt of nations:--pray _who made it high? _[337]
XV.
Or turn to sail between those shifting rocks,
The new Symplegades[338]--the crushing Stocks,
Where Midas might again his wish behold 660
In real paper or imagined gold.
That magic palace of Alcina[339] shows
More wealth than Britain ever had to lose,
Were all her atoms of unleavened ore,
And all her pebbles from Pactolus' shore.
There Fortune plays, while Rumour holds the stake
And the World trembles to bid brokers break.
How rich is Britain! not indeed in mines,
Or peace or plenty, corn or oil, or wines;
No land of Canaan, full of milk and honey, 670
Nor (save in paper shekels) ready money:
But let us not to own the truth refuse,
Was ever Christian land so rich in Jews?
Those parted with their teeth to good King John,
And now, ye kings, they kindly draw your own;
All states, all things, all sovereigns they control,
And waft a loan "from Indus to the pole. "
The banker--broker--baron[340]--brethren, speed
To aid these bankrupt tyrants in their need.
Nor these alone; Columbia feels no less 680
Fresh speculations follow each success;
And philanthropic Israel deigns to drain
Her mild per-centage from exhausted Spain.
Not without Abraham's seed can Russia march;
Tis gold, not steel, that rears the conqueror's arch.
Two Jews, a chosen people, can command
In every realm their Scripture-promised land:--
Two Jews, keep down the Romans,[341] and uphold
The accursed Hun, more brutal than of old:
Two Jews,--but not Samaritans--direct 690
The world, with all the spirit of their sect.
What is the happiness of earth to them?
A congress forms their "New Jerusalem,"
Where baronies and orders both invite--
Oh, holy Abraham! dost thou see the sight?
Thy followers mingling with these royal swine,
Who spit not "on their Jewish gaberdine,"
But honour them as portion of the show--
(Where now, oh Pope! is thy forsaken toe?
Could it not favour Judah with some kicks? 700
Or has it ceased to "kick against the pricks? ")
On Shylock's shore behold them stand afresh,
To cut from Nation's hearts their "pound of flesh. "
XVI.
Strange sight this Congress! destined to unite
All that's incongruous, all that's opposite.
I speak not of the Sovereigns--they're alike,
A common coin as ever mint could strike;
But those who sway the puppets, pull the strings,
Have more of motley than their heavy kings.
Jews, authors, generals, charlatans, combine, 710
While Europe wonders at the vast design:
There Metternich, power's foremost parasite,
Cajoles; there Wellington forgets to fight;
There Chateaubriand[342] forms new books of martyrs;
And subtle Greeks[343] intrigue for stupid Tartars;
There Montmorenci, the sworn foe to charters,[344]
Turns a diplomatist of great eclat,
To furnish articles for the "Debats;"
Of war so certain--yet not quite so sure
As his dismissal in the "Moniteur. " 720
Alas! how could his cabinet thus err!
Can Peace be worth an ultra-minister?
He falls indeed, perhaps to rise again,
"Almost as quickly as he conquered Spain. [345]"
XVII.
Enough of this--a sight more mournful woos
The averted eye of the reluctant Muse.
The Imperial daughter, the Imperial bride,[346]
The imperial Victim--sacrifice to pride;
The mother of the Hero's hope, the boy,
The young Astyanax of Modern Troy;[347] 730
The still pale shadow of the loftiest Queen
That Earth has yet to see, or e'er hath seen;
She flits amidst the phantoms of the hour,
The theme of pity, and the wreck of power.
Oh, cruel mockery! Could not Austria spare
A daughter? What did France's widow there?
Her fitter place was by St. Helen's wave,
Her only throne is in Napoleon's grave.
But, no,--she still must hold a petty reign,
Flanked by her formidable chamberlain; 740
The martial Argus, whose not hundred eyes[348]
Must watch her through these paltry pageantries.
What though she share no more, and shared in vain,
A sway surpassing that of Charlemagne,
Which swept from Moscow to the southern seas!
Yet still she rules the pastoral realm of cheese,
Where Parma views the traveller resort,
To note the trappings of her mimic court.
But she appears! Verona sees her shorn
Of all her beams--while nations gaze and mourn-- 750
Ere yet her husband's ashes have had time
To chill in their inhospitable clime;
(If e'er those awful ashes can grow cold;--
But no,--their embers soon will burst the mould;)
She comes! --the Andromache (but not Racine's,
Nor Homer's,)--Lo! on Pyrrhus' arm[349] she leans! [ew]
Yes! the right arm, yet red from Waterloo,
Which cut her lord's half-shattered sceptre through,
Is offered and accepted? Could a slave
Do more? or less? --and _he_ in his new grave! 760
Her eye--her cheek--betray no inward strife,
And the _Ex_-Empress grows as _Ex_ a wife!
So much for human ties in royal breasts!
Why spare men's feelings, when their own are jests?
XVIII.
But, tired of foreign follies, I turn home,
And sketch the group--the picture's yet to come.
My Muse 'gan weep, but, ere a tear was spilt,
She caught Sir William Curtis in a kilt! [350]
While thronged the chiefs of every Highland clan
To hail their brother, Vich Ian Alderman! 770
Guildhall grows Gael, and echoes with Erse roar,
While all the Common Council cry "Claymore! "[351]
To see proud Albyn's tartans as a belt
Gird the gross sirloin of a city Celt,
She burst into a laughter so extreme,
That I awoke--and lo! it was _no_ dream!
Here, reader, will we pause:--if there's no harm in
This first--you'll have, perhaps, a second "Carmen. "
B. J^n 10^th^ 1823.
FOOTNOTES:
[dv] {535} _Annus Mirabilis_. --MS.
[253] [It has been suggested by Dr. Garnett (late keeper of the Printed
Books in the British Museum) that the motto to _The Age of Bronze_ may,
possibly, contain a reference to the statue of Achilles, "inscribed by
the women of England to Arthur, Duke of Wellington, and his brave
companions in arms," which was erected in Hyde Park, June 18, 1822. ]
[dw] {541} _Want nothing of the little, but their_ will. --[MS. ]
[254] [_Measure for Measure_, act ii. sc. 2, line 121. ]
[255] [Fox used to say, "_I_ never want _a_ word, but Pitt never wants
_the_ word. "]
[256] [The grave of Fox, in Westminster Abbey is within eighteen inches
of that of Pitt. Compare--
"Nor yet suppress the generous sigh.
Because his rival slumbers nigh;
Nor be thy _requiescat_ dumb,
Lest it be said o'er Fox's tomb.
Where,--taming thought to human pride! --
The mighty chiefs sleep side by side.
Drop upon Fox's grave the tear,
'Twill trickle to his rival's bier," etc.
_Marmion_, by Sir Walter Scott, Introduction to
Canto I. lines 125-128, 184-188.
Compare, too, Macaulay on Warren Hastings: "In that temple of silence
and reconciliation, where the enmities of twenty generations lie buried,
in the Great Abbey . . . the dust of the illustrious accused should have
mingled with the dust of the illustrious accusers. This was not to
be. "--_Critical and Historical Essays_, 1843, iii. 465. ]
[257] {542}[The Cleopatra whose mummy is preserved in the British Museum
was a member of the Theban Archon family. Her date was _circ. _ A. D.
100. ]
[258] [According to Strabo (_Rerum Geog. _, xvii. ed. 1807, ii. 1127),
Ptolemaeus Soter brought Alexander's body back from Babylon, and buried
it in Alexandria, in the spot afterwards known as the _Soma_. There it
lay, in Strabo's time, not in its original body-mask of golden
chase-work, which Ptolemaeus Cocces had stolen, but in a casket of
glass. Great men "turned to pilgrims" to visit Alexander's grave.
Augustus crowned the still life-like body with a golden laurel-wreath,
and scattered flowers over the tomb: Caligula stole the breastplate, and
wore it during his pantomimic triumphs; Septimius Severus buried in the
sarcophagus the writings of the priests, and a clue to the
hieroglyphics. Finally, the sarcophagus and its sacred remains
disappear, and Alexander himself passes into the land of fable and
romance. In 1801 a sarcophagus came into the possession of the English
Army, and was presented by George III. to the British Museum.
Hieroglyphics were as yet undeciphered, and, in 1805, the traveller
Edward Daniel Clarke published a quarto monograph (_The Tomb of
Alexander, etc. _), in which he proves, to his own satisfaction, that
"this surprising sarcophagus in one entire block of green Egyptian
_breccia_," had once contained the ashes of Alexander the Great. Byron
knew Clarke, and, no doubt, respected his authority (see letter December
15, 1813, _Letters_, 1898, ii. 308); and, hence, the description of
"Alexander's urn" as "a show. " The sarcophagus which has, since 1844,
been assigned to its rightful occupant, Nectanebus II. (Nekht-neb-f), is
a conspicuous object in the Egyptian Gallery of the British Museum. It
is a curious coincidence that in the Ethiopic version of the
Pseudo-Callisthenes, Alexander is said to have been the son of
Nectanebus II. , who threw a spell over Olympias, the wife of Philip of
Macedon, and won her love by the exercise of nefarious magic. (See the
_Life and Exploits of Alexander the Great_, by E. A. Wallis Budge,
Litt. D. , F. S. A. , Keeper of the Egyptian and Assyrian Antiquities in the
British Museum, 1896, i, ix. )]
[259] {543}[Arrian (_Alexand. Anabasis_, vii. i, 4, ed. 1849, p. 165)
says that Alexander would never have rested content with what he had
acquired; "that if he had annexed Europe to Asia, and the British Isles
to Europe, he would have sought out some no-man's-land to conquer. " So
insatiable was his ambition, that when the courtly philosopher
Anaxarchus explained to him the theory of the plurality of worlds he
bemoaned himself because as yet he was not master of one. "_Heu me_,
inquit, _miserum, quod ne uno quidem adhuc potitus sum_. "--Valerius
Maximus, _De Dictis, etc. _, lib. viii. cap. xiv. ex. 2. See, too,
_Juvenal_, x. 168, 169. Burton (_Anatomy of Melancholy_, 1893, i. 64)
denies that this was spoken like a prince, but, as wise Seneca censures
him [on another occasion, however], 'twas _vox iniquissima et
stultissima_, "'twas spoken like a bedlam fool. "]
[260] [Compare _Werner_, act iii. sc. I, lines 288, 289, "When he
[Sesostris] went into the temple or the city, his custom was to cause
the horses to be unharnessed out of his chariot, and to yoke four kings
and four princes to the chariot-pole. "--Diodori Siculi _Bibl. Hist_. ,
lib. i. p. 37, C, ed. 1604, p. 53. ]
[261] {544}[In a speech delivered in the House of Commons, February 17,
1800, "On the continuance of the War with France," Pitt described
Napoleon as the "child and champion of Jacobinism. " Coleridge, who was
reporting for the _Morning Post_, took down Pitt's words as "nursling
and champion" (unpublished MS. note-book)--a finer and more original
phrase, but substituted "child" for "nursling" in his "copy. " (See
_Letters of S. T. Coleridge_, 1895, i. 327, note i. ) The phrase was
much in vogue, _e. g. _ "All that survives of Jacobinism in Europe looks
up to him as its 'child and champion. '"-_Quarterly Review_, xvi. 48. ]
[dx] Lines 55-58 not in MS.
[262] [O'Meara, under the dates August 19, September 5, September 7, 13,
etc. (see _Napoleon in Exile_, 1888, i. 95, 96, 114, 121, etc. ), reports
complaints on the part of Napoleon with regard to the reduction of
expenses suggested or enforced by Sir Hudson Lowe, and gives specimens
of the nature and detail of these reductions. For a refutation of
O'Meara's facts and figures (as given in _Napoleon in Exile_, 1822, ii.
Appendix V. ), see the _History of the Captivity of Napoleon_, by William
Forsyth, Q. C. , 1853, iii. 121, _sq_. ; see, too, _Sir Hudson Lowe and
Napoleon_, by R. C. Seaton, 1898. It is a fact that Sir Hudson Lowe, on
his own responsibility, increased the allowance for the household
expenses of Napoleon and his staff from ? 8000 to ? 12,000 a year, and it
is also perfectly true that opportunities for complaint were welcomed by
the ex-Emperor and his mimic court. It was _la politique de Longwood_ to
make the worst of everything, on the off-chance that England would get
to hear, and that Radical indignation and Radical sympathy would gild,
perhaps unbar, the eagle's cage. It is true, too, that a large sum of
money was spent on behalf of a prisoner of war whom the stalwarts of the
Tory party would have executed in cold blood. But it is also true that
Napoleon had no need to manufacture complaints, that he was exposed to
unnecessary discomforts, that useless and irritating precautions were
taken to prevent his escape, that the bottles of champagne and madeira,
the fowls and the bundles of wood were counted with an irritating
preciseness, inconsistent with the general scale of expenditure, which
saved a little waste, and covered both principals and agents with
ridicule. It is said that O'Meara, in his published volumes, manipulated
his evidence, and that his own letters give him the lie; but there is a
mass of correspondence, published and unpublished, between him and Sir
Thomas Reade, Sir Hudson Lowe, and Major Gorrequer (see Addit. MSS.
Brit. Mus. 20,145), which remains as it was written, and which testifies
to facts which might have been and were not refuted on the spot and at
the moment. With regard to "disputed rations," the Governor should have
been armed with a crushing answer to any and every complaint. As it was,
he was able to show that champagne was allowed to "Napoleon Buonaparte,"
and that he did not exceed his allowance. ]
[263] {545}[In his correspondence with Lord Bathurst, Sir Hudson Lowe
more than once quotes "statements" made by Dr. O'Meara (_vide post_, p.
546). But the surgeon may be William Warden (1777-1849), whose _Letters
written on board His Majesty's Ship the Northumberland, and at St,
Helena_, were published in 1816. ]
[264] [Henry, Earl of Bathurst (1762-1834), Secretary for War and the
Colonies, replied to Lord Holland's motion "for papers connected with
the personal treatment of Napoleon Buonaparte at St. Helena," March 18,
1817. _Parl. Deb. _, vol. 35, pp. 1137-1166. ]
[265] [A bust of Napoleon's son, the Duke of Reichstadt, had been
forwarded to St. Helena. O'Meara (_Napoleon in Exile, etc. _, 1822, i. p.
100) says "that it had been in the island fourteen days, during several
of which it was at Plantation House," before it was transferred to
Longwood. Forsyth (_History of Napoleon in Captivity_, 1853, ii. 146)
denies this statement. It was, no doubt, detained on board ship for
inspection, but not at Plantation House. ]
[266] [The book in question was _The Substance of some Letters written
by an Englishman in Paris_, 1816 (by J. C. Hobhouse). It was inscribed
"To the Emperor Napoleon. " Lowe's excuse was that Hobhouse had submitted
the work to his inspection, and suggested that if the Governor did not
think fit to give it to Napoleon, he might place it in his own library.
(See _Napoleon in Exile_, 1822, i. 85-87; and Forsyth, 1853, i. 193. )]
[dy] _Weep to survey the Tamer of the Great_. --[MS. ]
[267] [Lieutenant-General Sir Hudson Lowe, K. C. B. (1769-1844), was the
son of an army surgeon, John Hudson Lowe. His mother was Irish. He was
appointed Governor of St. Helena, August 23, 1815, and landed in the
island April 14, 1816. Byron met him at Lord Holland's, before he sailed
for St. Helena, and was not impressed by his remarks on Napoleon and
Waterloo (_Letters_, 1901, v. 429). He was well-intentioned, honourable,
and, in essentials, humane, but he was arrogant and tactless. The
following sentence, from a letter written by Lowe to O'Meara, October 3,
1816 (Forsyth, i.
Hear! hear Prometheus[294] from his rock appeal
To Earth,--Air,--Ocean,--all that felt or feel
His power and glory, all who yet shall hear
A name eternal as the rolling year; 230
He teaches them the lesson taught so long,
So oft, so vainly--learn to do no wrong!
A single step into the right had made
This man the Washington of worlds betrayed:
A single step into the wrong has given
His name a doubt to all the winds of heaven;
The reed of Fortune, and of thrones the rod,
Of Fame the Moloch or the demigod;
His country's Caesar, Europe's Hannibal,
Without their decent dignity of fall. 240
Yet Vanity herself had better taught
A surer path even to the fame he sought,
By pointing out on History's fruitless page
Ten thousand conquerors for a single sage.
While Franklin's quiet memory climbs to Heaven,
Calming the lightning which he thence hath riven,
Or drawing from the no less kindled earth
Freedom and peace to that which boasts his birth;[295]
While Washington's a watchword, such as ne'er
Shall sink while there's an echo left to air:[296] 250
While even the Spaniard's thirst of gold and war
Forgets Pizarro to shout Bolivar! [297]
Alas! why must the same Atlantic wave
Which wafted freedom gird a tyrant's grave--
The king of kings, and yet of slaves the slave,
Who burst the chains of millions to renew
The very fetters which his arm broke through,
And crushed the rights of Europe and his own,
To flit between a dungeon and a throne?
VI.
But 'twill not be--the spark's awakened--lo! 260
The swarthy Spaniard feels his former glow;
The same high spirit which beat back the Moor
Through eight long ages of alternate gore
Revives--and where? in that avenging clime
Where Spain was once synonymous with crime,
Where Cortes' and Pizarro's banner flew,
The infant world redeems her name of "_New_. "
'Tis the _old_ aspiration breathed afresh,
To kindle souls within degraded flesh,
Such as repulsed the Persian from the shore 270
Where Greece _was_--No! she still is Greece once more.
One common cause makes myriads of one breast,
Slaves of the East, or helots of the West:
On Andes'[298] and on Athos' peaks unfurled,
The self-same standard streams o'er either world:
The Athenian[299] wears again Harmodius' sword;
The Chili chief[300] abjures his foreign lord;
The Spartan knows himself once more a Greek,[301]
Young Freedom plumes the crest of each cacique;
Debating despots, hemmed on either shore, 280
Shrink vainly from the roused Atlantic's roar;
Through Calpe's strait the rolling tides advance,
Sweep slightly by the half-tamed land of France,
Dash o'er the old Spaniard's cradle, and would fain
Unite Ausonia to the mighty main:
But driven from thence awhile, yet not for aye,
Break o'er th' AEgean, mindful of the day
Of Salamis! --there, there the waves arise,
Not to be lulled by tyrant victories.
Lone, lost, abandoned in their utmost need 290
By Christians, unto whom they gave their creed,
The desolated lands, the ravaged isle,
The fostered feud encouraged to beguile,
The aid evaded, and the cold delay,
Prolonged but in the hope to make a prey[302];--
These, these shall tell the tale, and Greece can show
The false friend worse than the infuriate foe.
But this is well: Greeks only should free Greece,
Not the barbarian, with his masque of peace.
How should the Autocrat of bondage be 300
The king of serfs, and set the nations free?
Better still serve the haughty Mussulman,
Than swell the Cossaque's prowling caravan;
Better still toil for masters, than await,
The slave of slaves, before a Russian gate,--
Numbered by hordes, a human capital,
A live estate, existing but for thrall,
Lotted by thousands, as a meet reward
For the first courtier in the Czar's regard;
While their immediate owner never tastes 310
His sleep, _sans_ dreaming of Siberia's wastes:
Better succumb even to their own despair,
And drive the Camel--than purvey the Bear.
VII.
But not alone within the hoariest clime
Where Freedom dates her birth with that of Time,
And not alone where, plunged in night, a crowd
Of Incas darken to a dubious cloud[eb],
The dawn revives: renowned, romantic Spain
Holds back the invader from her soil again.
Not now the Roman tribe nor Punic horde[ec] 320
Demands her fields as lists to prove the sword;
Not now the Vandal or the Visigoth
Pollute the plains, alike abhorring both[ed];
Nor old Pelayo[303] on his mountain rears
The warlike fathers of a thousand years.
That seed is sown and reaped, as oft the Moor
Sighs to remember on his dusky shore.
Long in the peasant's song or poet's page
Has dwelt the memory of Abencerrage;
The Zegri[304], and the captive victors, flung 330
Back to the barbarous realm from whence they sprung.
But these are gone--their faith, their swords, their sway,
Yet left more anti-christian foes than they[ee];
The bigot monarch, and the butcher priest[305],
The Inquisition, with her burning feast,
The Faith's red "Auto," fed with human fuel,
While sate the catholic Moloch, calmly cruel,
Enjoying, with inexorable eye,[ef]
That fiery festival of Agony!
The stern or feeble sovereign, one or both 340
By turns; the haughtiness whose pride was sloth;
The long degenerate noble; the debased
Hidalgo, and the peasant less disgraced,
But more degraded; the unpeopled realm;
The once proud navy which forgot the helm;
The once impervious phalanx disarrayed;
The idle forge that formed Toledo's blade;
The foreign wealth that flowed on every shore,
Save hers who earned it with the native's gore;
The very language which might vie with Rome's, 350
And once was known to nations like their homes,
Neglected or forgotten:--such _was_ Spain;
But such she is not, nor shall be again.
These worst, these _home_ invaders, felt and feel
The new Numantine soul of old Castile[eg],
Up! up again! undaunted Tauridor!
The bull of Phalaris renews his roar[eh];
Mount, chivalrous Hidalgo! not in vain
Revive the cry--"Iago! and close Spain! "[306]
Yes, close her with your armed bosoms round, 360
And form the barrier which Napoleon found,--
The exterminating war, the desert plain,
The streets without a tenant, save the slain;
The wild Sierra, with its wilder troop[ei]
Of vulture-plumed Guerrillas, on the stoop[ej]
For their incessant prey; the desperate wall
Of Saragossa, mightiest in her fall;
The Man nerved to a spirit, and the Maid
Waving her more than Amazonian blade[307];
The knife of Arragon, Toledo's steel; 370
The famous lance of chivalrous Castile[308];
The unerring rifle of the Catalan;
The Andalusian courser in the van;
The torch to make a Moscow of Madrid;
And in each heart the spirit of the Cid:--
Such have been, such shall be, such are. Advance,
And win--not Spain! but thine own freedom, France!
VIII.
But lo! a Congress[309]! What! that hallowed name
Which freed the Atlantic! May we hope the same
For outworn Europe? With the sound arise, 380
Like Samuel's shade to Saul's monarchic eyes,
The prophets of young Freedom, summoned far
From climes of Washington and Bolivar;
Henry, the forest-born Demosthenes,
Whose thunder shook the Philip of the seas[310];
And stoic Franklin's energetic shade,
Robed in the lightnings which his hand allayed;
And Washington, the tyrant-tamer, wake,
To bid us blush for these old chains, or break.
But _who_ compose this Senate of the few 390
That should redeem the many? _Who_ renew
This consecrated name, till now assigned
To councils held to benefit mankind?
Who now assemble at the holy call?
The blest Alliance, which says three are all!
An earthly Trinity! which wears the shape
Of Heaven's, as man is mimicked by the ape.
A pious Unity! in purpose one--
To melt three fools to a Napoleon[ek].
Why, Egypt's Gods were rational to these; 400
Their dogs and oxen knew their own degrees,
And, quiet in their kennel or their shed,
Cared little, so that they were duly fed;
But these, more hungry, must have something more--
The power to bark and bite, to toss and gore.
Ah, how much happier were good AEsop's frogs
Than we! for ours are animated logs,
With ponderous malice swaying to and fro,
And crushing nations with a stupid blow;
All dully anxious to leave little work 410
Unto the revolutionary stork.
IX.
Thrice blest Verona! since the holy three
With their imperial presence shine on thee!
Honoured by them, thy treacherous site forgets[el]
The vaunted tomb of "all the Capulets! "[311]
Thy Scaligers--for what was "Dog the Great,"
"Can Grande,"[312] (which I venture to translate,)
To these sublimer pugs? Thy poet too,
Catullus, whose old laurels yield to new;[313]
Thine amphitheatre, where Romans sate; 420
And Dante's exile sheltered by thy gate;
Thy good old man, whose world was all within
Thy wall, nor knew the country held him in;[314]
Would that the royal guests it girds about
Were so far like, as never to get out!
Aye, shout! inscribe! [315] rear monuments of shame,
To tell Oppression that the world is tame!
Crowd to the theatre with loyal rage,
The comedy is not upon the stage;
The show is rich in ribandry and stars, 430
Then gaze upon it through thy dungeon bars;
Clap thy permitted palms, kind Italy,
For thus much still thy fettered hands are free!
X.
Resplendent sight! Behold the coxcomb Czar,[316]
The Autocrat of waltzes[317] and of war!
As eager for a plaudit as a realm,
And just as fit for flirting as the helm;
A Calmuck beauty with a Cossack wit,
And generous spirit, when 'tis not frost-bit;
Now half dissolving to a liberal thaw,[em] 440
But hardened back whene'er the morning's raw;
With no objection to true Liberty,
Except that it would make the nations free.
How well the imperial dandy prates of peace!
How fain, if Greeks would be his slaves, free Greece!
How nobly gave he back the Poles their Diet,
Then told pugnacious Poland to be quiet!
How kindly would he send the mild Ukraine,
With all her pleasant Pulks,[318] to lecture Spain!
How royally show off in proud Madrid 450
His goodly person, from the South long hid!
A blessing cheaply purchased, the world knows,
By having Muscovites for friends or foes.
Proceed, thou namesake of great Philip's son!
La Harpe, thine Aristotle, beckons on;[319]
And that which Scythia was to him of yore
Find with thy Scythians on Iberia's shore.
Yet think upon, thou somewhat aged youth,
Thy predecessor on the banks of Pruth;
Thou hast to aid thee, should his lot be thine, 460
Many an old woman,[320] but not Catherine. [321]
Spain, too, hath rocks, and rivers, and defiles--
The Bear may rush into the Lion's toils.
Fatal to Goths are Xeres' sunny fields;[322]
Think'st thou to thee Napoleon's victor yields?
Better reclaim thy deserts, turn thy swords
To ploughshares, shave and wash thy Bashkir[323] hordes,
Redeem thy realms from slavery and the knout,
Than follow headlong in the fatal route,
To infest the clime whose skies and laws are pure 470
With thy foul legions. Spain wants no manure:
Her soil is fertile, but she feeds no foe:
Her vultures, too, were gorged not long ago;
And wouldst thou furnish them with fresher prey?
Alas! thou wilt not conquer, but purvey.
I am Diogenes, though Russ and Hun[324]
Stand between mine and many a myriad's sun;
But were I not Diogenes, I'd wander
Rather a worm than _such_ an Alexander!
Be slaves who will, the cynic shall be free; 480
His tub hath tougher walls than Sinope:[en]
Still will he hold his lantern up to scan
The face of monarchs for an "honest man. "[325]
XI.
And what doth Gaul, the all-prolific land
Of _ne plus ultra_ ultras and their band
Of mercenaries? and her noisy chambers
And tribune, which each orator first clambers
Before he finds a voice, and when 'tis found,
Hears "the lie" echo for his answer round?
Our British Commons sometimes deign to "hear! " 490
A Gallic senate hath more tongue than ear;
Even Constant,[326] their sole master of debate,
Must fight next day his speech to vindicate.
But this costs little to true Franks, who'd rather
Combat than listen, were it to their father.
What is the simple standing of a shot,
To listening long, and interrupting not?
Though this was not the method of old Rome,
When Tully fulmined o'er each vocal dome,
Demosthenes has sanctioned the transaction, 500
In saying eloquence meant "Action, action! "
XII.
But where's the monarch? [327] hath he dined? or yet
Groans beneath indigestion's heavy debt?
Have revolutionary pates risen,
And turned the royal entrails to a prison?
Have discontented movements stirred the troops?
Or have _no_ movements followed traitorous soups?
Have Carbonaro[328] cooks not carbonadoed
Each course enough? or doctors dire dissuaded
Repletion? Ah! in thy dejected looks 510
I read all France's treason in her cooks!
Good classic Louis! is it, canst thou say,
Desirable to be the "Desire? "
Why wouldst thou leave calm Hartwell's green abode,
Apician table, and Horatian ode,
To rule a people who will not be ruled,
And love much rather to be scourged than schooled?
Ah! thine was not the temper or the taste
For thrones; the table sees thee better placed:
A mild Epicurean, formed, at best, 520
To be a kind host and as good a guest,
To talk of Letters, and to know by heart
One _half_ the Poet's, _all_ the Gourmand's art;
A scholar always, now and then a wit,
And gentle when Digestion may permit;--
But not to govern lands enslaved or free;
The gout was martyrdom enough for thee.
XIII.
Shall noble Albion pass without a phrase
From a bold Briton in her wonted praise?
"Arts--arms--and George--and glory--and the Isles, 530
And happy Britain, wealth, and Freedom's smiles,
White cliffs, that held invasion far aloof,
Contented subjects, all alike tax-proof,
Proud Wellington, with eagle beak so curled,[eo]
That nose, the hook where he suspends the world! [329]
And Waterloo, and trade, and----(hush! not yet
A syllable of imposts or of debt)----
And ne'er (enough) lamented Castlereagh,[330]
Whose penknife slit a goose-quill t'other day--[ep]
And, 'pilots who have weathered every storm'--[331] 540
(But, no, not even for rhyme's sake, name Reform). "
These are the themes thus sung so oft before,
Methinks we need not sing them any more;
Found in so many volumes far and near,
There's no occasion you should find them here.
Yet something may remain perchance to chime
With reason, and, what's stranger still, with rhyme. [eq]
Even this thy genius, Canning! [332] may permit,
Who, bred a statesman, still wast born a wit,
And never, even in that dull House, couldst tame 550
To unleavened prose thine own poetic flame;
Our last, our best, our only orator,
Even I can praise thee--Tories do no more:
Nay, not so much;--they hate thee, man, because
Thy Spirit less upholds them than it awes.
The hounds will gather to their huntsman's hollo,
And where he leads the duteous pack will follow;
But not for love mistake their yelling cry;
Their yelp for game is not an eulogy;
Less faithful far than the four-footed pack, 560
A dubious scent would lure the bipeds back.
Thy saddle-girths are not yet quite secure,
Nor royal stallion's feet extremely sure;
The unwieldy old white horse is apt at last
To stumble, kick--and now and then stick fast
With his great Self and Rider in the mud;
But what of that? the animal shows blood.
XIV.
Alas, the Country! how shall tongue or pen
Bewail her now _un_country gentlemen?
The last to bid the cry of warfare cease, 570
The first to make a malady of peace.
For what were all these country patriots born?
To hunt--and vote--and raise the price of corn?
But corn, like every mortal thing, must fall,
Kings--Conquerors--and markets most of all.
And must ye fall with every ear of grain?
Why would you trouble Buonaparte's reign?
He was your great Triptolemus;[333] his vices
Destroyed but realms, and still maintained your prices;
He amplified to every lord's content 580
The grand agrarian alchymy, high _rent_. [er]
Why did the tyrant stumble on the Tartars,
And lower wheat to such desponding quarters?
Why did you chain him on yon Isle so lone?
The man was worth much more upon his throne.
True, blood and treasure boundlessly were spilt,
But what of that? the Gaul may bear the guilt;
But bread was high, the farmer paid his way,
And acres told upon the appointed day. [es]
But where is now the goodly audit ale? 590
The purse-proud tenant, never known to fail?
The farm which never yet was left on hand?
The marsh reclaimed to most improving land?
The impatient hope of the expiring lease?
The doubling rental? What an evil's peace!
In vain the prize excites the ploughman's skill,
In vain the Commons pass their patriot bill;[334]
The _Landed Interest_--(you may understand
The phrase much better leaving out the _land_)--
The land self-interest groans from shore to shore, 600
For fear that plenty should attain the poor. [et]
Up, up again, ye rents, exalt your notes,
Or else the Ministry will lose their votes,
And patriotism, so delicately nice,
Her loaves will lower to the market price;[eu]
For ah! "the loaves and fishes," once so high,
Are gone--their oven closed, their ocean dry,[ev]
And nought remains of all the millions spent,
Excepting to grow moderate and content.
They who are not so, _had_ their turn--and turn 610
About still flows from Fortune's equal urn;
Now let their virtue be its own reward,
And share the blessings which themselves prepared.
See these inglorious Cincinnati swarm,
Farmers of war, dictators of the farm;
_Their_ ploughshare was the sword in hireling hands,
_Their_ fields manured by gore of other lands;
Safe in their barns, these Sabine tillers sent
Their brethren out to battle--why? for rent!
Year after year they voted cent. per cent. 620
Blood, sweat, and tear-wrung millions--why? --for rent!
They roared, they dined, they drank, they swore they meant
To die for England--why then live? --for rent!
The peace has made one general malcontent
Of these high-market patriots; war was rent!
Their love of country, millions all mis-spent,
How reconcile? by reconciling rent!
And will they not repay the treasures lent?
No: down with everything, and up with rent!
Their good, ill, health, wealth, joy, or discontent, 630
Being, end, aim, religion--_rent_--_rent_--_rent_!
Thou sold'st thy birthright, Esau! for a mess;
Thou shouldst have gotten more, or eaten less;
Now thou hast swilled thy pottage, thy demands
Are idle; Israel says the bargain stands.
Such, landlords! was your appetite for war,
And gorged with blood, you grumble at a scar!
What! would they spread their earthquake even o'er cash?
And when land crumbles, bid firm paper crash? [335]
So rent may rise, bid Bank and Nation fall, 640
And found on 'Change a _Fundling_ Hospital?
Lo, Mother Church, while all religion writhes,
Like Niobe, weeps o'er her offspring--Tithes;[336]
The Prelates go to--where the Saints have gone,
And proud pluralities subside to one;
Church, state, and faction wrestle in the dark,
Tossed by the deluge in their common ark.
Shorn of her bishops, banks, and dividends,
Another Babel soars--but Britain ends.
And why? to pamper the self-seeking wants, 650
And prop the hill of these agrarian ants.
"Go to these ants, thou sluggard, and be wise;"
Admire their patience through each sacrifice,
Till taught to feel the lesson of their pride,
The price of taxes and of homicide;
Admire their justice, which would fain deny
The debt of nations:--pray _who made it high? _[337]
XV.
Or turn to sail between those shifting rocks,
The new Symplegades[338]--the crushing Stocks,
Where Midas might again his wish behold 660
In real paper or imagined gold.
That magic palace of Alcina[339] shows
More wealth than Britain ever had to lose,
Were all her atoms of unleavened ore,
And all her pebbles from Pactolus' shore.
There Fortune plays, while Rumour holds the stake
And the World trembles to bid brokers break.
How rich is Britain! not indeed in mines,
Or peace or plenty, corn or oil, or wines;
No land of Canaan, full of milk and honey, 670
Nor (save in paper shekels) ready money:
But let us not to own the truth refuse,
Was ever Christian land so rich in Jews?
Those parted with their teeth to good King John,
And now, ye kings, they kindly draw your own;
All states, all things, all sovereigns they control,
And waft a loan "from Indus to the pole. "
The banker--broker--baron[340]--brethren, speed
To aid these bankrupt tyrants in their need.
Nor these alone; Columbia feels no less 680
Fresh speculations follow each success;
And philanthropic Israel deigns to drain
Her mild per-centage from exhausted Spain.
Not without Abraham's seed can Russia march;
Tis gold, not steel, that rears the conqueror's arch.
Two Jews, a chosen people, can command
In every realm their Scripture-promised land:--
Two Jews, keep down the Romans,[341] and uphold
The accursed Hun, more brutal than of old:
Two Jews,--but not Samaritans--direct 690
The world, with all the spirit of their sect.
What is the happiness of earth to them?
A congress forms their "New Jerusalem,"
Where baronies and orders both invite--
Oh, holy Abraham! dost thou see the sight?
Thy followers mingling with these royal swine,
Who spit not "on their Jewish gaberdine,"
But honour them as portion of the show--
(Where now, oh Pope! is thy forsaken toe?
Could it not favour Judah with some kicks? 700
Or has it ceased to "kick against the pricks? ")
On Shylock's shore behold them stand afresh,
To cut from Nation's hearts their "pound of flesh. "
XVI.
Strange sight this Congress! destined to unite
All that's incongruous, all that's opposite.
I speak not of the Sovereigns--they're alike,
A common coin as ever mint could strike;
But those who sway the puppets, pull the strings,
Have more of motley than their heavy kings.
Jews, authors, generals, charlatans, combine, 710
While Europe wonders at the vast design:
There Metternich, power's foremost parasite,
Cajoles; there Wellington forgets to fight;
There Chateaubriand[342] forms new books of martyrs;
And subtle Greeks[343] intrigue for stupid Tartars;
There Montmorenci, the sworn foe to charters,[344]
Turns a diplomatist of great eclat,
To furnish articles for the "Debats;"
Of war so certain--yet not quite so sure
As his dismissal in the "Moniteur. " 720
Alas! how could his cabinet thus err!
Can Peace be worth an ultra-minister?
He falls indeed, perhaps to rise again,
"Almost as quickly as he conquered Spain. [345]"
XVII.
Enough of this--a sight more mournful woos
The averted eye of the reluctant Muse.
The Imperial daughter, the Imperial bride,[346]
The imperial Victim--sacrifice to pride;
The mother of the Hero's hope, the boy,
The young Astyanax of Modern Troy;[347] 730
The still pale shadow of the loftiest Queen
That Earth has yet to see, or e'er hath seen;
She flits amidst the phantoms of the hour,
The theme of pity, and the wreck of power.
Oh, cruel mockery! Could not Austria spare
A daughter? What did France's widow there?
Her fitter place was by St. Helen's wave,
Her only throne is in Napoleon's grave.
But, no,--she still must hold a petty reign,
Flanked by her formidable chamberlain; 740
The martial Argus, whose not hundred eyes[348]
Must watch her through these paltry pageantries.
What though she share no more, and shared in vain,
A sway surpassing that of Charlemagne,
Which swept from Moscow to the southern seas!
Yet still she rules the pastoral realm of cheese,
Where Parma views the traveller resort,
To note the trappings of her mimic court.
But she appears! Verona sees her shorn
Of all her beams--while nations gaze and mourn-- 750
Ere yet her husband's ashes have had time
To chill in their inhospitable clime;
(If e'er those awful ashes can grow cold;--
But no,--their embers soon will burst the mould;)
She comes! --the Andromache (but not Racine's,
Nor Homer's,)--Lo! on Pyrrhus' arm[349] she leans! [ew]
Yes! the right arm, yet red from Waterloo,
Which cut her lord's half-shattered sceptre through,
Is offered and accepted? Could a slave
Do more? or less? --and _he_ in his new grave! 760
Her eye--her cheek--betray no inward strife,
And the _Ex_-Empress grows as _Ex_ a wife!
So much for human ties in royal breasts!
Why spare men's feelings, when their own are jests?
XVIII.
But, tired of foreign follies, I turn home,
And sketch the group--the picture's yet to come.
My Muse 'gan weep, but, ere a tear was spilt,
She caught Sir William Curtis in a kilt! [350]
While thronged the chiefs of every Highland clan
To hail their brother, Vich Ian Alderman! 770
Guildhall grows Gael, and echoes with Erse roar,
While all the Common Council cry "Claymore! "[351]
To see proud Albyn's tartans as a belt
Gird the gross sirloin of a city Celt,
She burst into a laughter so extreme,
That I awoke--and lo! it was _no_ dream!
Here, reader, will we pause:--if there's no harm in
This first--you'll have, perhaps, a second "Carmen. "
B. J^n 10^th^ 1823.
FOOTNOTES:
[dv] {535} _Annus Mirabilis_. --MS.
[253] [It has been suggested by Dr. Garnett (late keeper of the Printed
Books in the British Museum) that the motto to _The Age of Bronze_ may,
possibly, contain a reference to the statue of Achilles, "inscribed by
the women of England to Arthur, Duke of Wellington, and his brave
companions in arms," which was erected in Hyde Park, June 18, 1822. ]
[dw] {541} _Want nothing of the little, but their_ will. --[MS. ]
[254] [_Measure for Measure_, act ii. sc. 2, line 121. ]
[255] [Fox used to say, "_I_ never want _a_ word, but Pitt never wants
_the_ word. "]
[256] [The grave of Fox, in Westminster Abbey is within eighteen inches
of that of Pitt. Compare--
"Nor yet suppress the generous sigh.
Because his rival slumbers nigh;
Nor be thy _requiescat_ dumb,
Lest it be said o'er Fox's tomb.
Where,--taming thought to human pride! --
The mighty chiefs sleep side by side.
Drop upon Fox's grave the tear,
'Twill trickle to his rival's bier," etc.
_Marmion_, by Sir Walter Scott, Introduction to
Canto I. lines 125-128, 184-188.
Compare, too, Macaulay on Warren Hastings: "In that temple of silence
and reconciliation, where the enmities of twenty generations lie buried,
in the Great Abbey . . . the dust of the illustrious accused should have
mingled with the dust of the illustrious accusers. This was not to
be. "--_Critical and Historical Essays_, 1843, iii. 465. ]
[257] {542}[The Cleopatra whose mummy is preserved in the British Museum
was a member of the Theban Archon family. Her date was _circ. _ A. D.
100. ]
[258] [According to Strabo (_Rerum Geog. _, xvii. ed. 1807, ii. 1127),
Ptolemaeus Soter brought Alexander's body back from Babylon, and buried
it in Alexandria, in the spot afterwards known as the _Soma_. There it
lay, in Strabo's time, not in its original body-mask of golden
chase-work, which Ptolemaeus Cocces had stolen, but in a casket of
glass. Great men "turned to pilgrims" to visit Alexander's grave.
Augustus crowned the still life-like body with a golden laurel-wreath,
and scattered flowers over the tomb: Caligula stole the breastplate, and
wore it during his pantomimic triumphs; Septimius Severus buried in the
sarcophagus the writings of the priests, and a clue to the
hieroglyphics. Finally, the sarcophagus and its sacred remains
disappear, and Alexander himself passes into the land of fable and
romance. In 1801 a sarcophagus came into the possession of the English
Army, and was presented by George III. to the British Museum.
Hieroglyphics were as yet undeciphered, and, in 1805, the traveller
Edward Daniel Clarke published a quarto monograph (_The Tomb of
Alexander, etc. _), in which he proves, to his own satisfaction, that
"this surprising sarcophagus in one entire block of green Egyptian
_breccia_," had once contained the ashes of Alexander the Great. Byron
knew Clarke, and, no doubt, respected his authority (see letter December
15, 1813, _Letters_, 1898, ii. 308); and, hence, the description of
"Alexander's urn" as "a show. " The sarcophagus which has, since 1844,
been assigned to its rightful occupant, Nectanebus II. (Nekht-neb-f), is
a conspicuous object in the Egyptian Gallery of the British Museum. It
is a curious coincidence that in the Ethiopic version of the
Pseudo-Callisthenes, Alexander is said to have been the son of
Nectanebus II. , who threw a spell over Olympias, the wife of Philip of
Macedon, and won her love by the exercise of nefarious magic. (See the
_Life and Exploits of Alexander the Great_, by E. A. Wallis Budge,
Litt. D. , F. S. A. , Keeper of the Egyptian and Assyrian Antiquities in the
British Museum, 1896, i, ix. )]
[259] {543}[Arrian (_Alexand. Anabasis_, vii. i, 4, ed. 1849, p. 165)
says that Alexander would never have rested content with what he had
acquired; "that if he had annexed Europe to Asia, and the British Isles
to Europe, he would have sought out some no-man's-land to conquer. " So
insatiable was his ambition, that when the courtly philosopher
Anaxarchus explained to him the theory of the plurality of worlds he
bemoaned himself because as yet he was not master of one. "_Heu me_,
inquit, _miserum, quod ne uno quidem adhuc potitus sum_. "--Valerius
Maximus, _De Dictis, etc. _, lib. viii. cap. xiv. ex. 2. See, too,
_Juvenal_, x. 168, 169. Burton (_Anatomy of Melancholy_, 1893, i. 64)
denies that this was spoken like a prince, but, as wise Seneca censures
him [on another occasion, however], 'twas _vox iniquissima et
stultissima_, "'twas spoken like a bedlam fool. "]
[260] [Compare _Werner_, act iii. sc. I, lines 288, 289, "When he
[Sesostris] went into the temple or the city, his custom was to cause
the horses to be unharnessed out of his chariot, and to yoke four kings
and four princes to the chariot-pole. "--Diodori Siculi _Bibl. Hist_. ,
lib. i. p. 37, C, ed. 1604, p. 53. ]
[261] {544}[In a speech delivered in the House of Commons, February 17,
1800, "On the continuance of the War with France," Pitt described
Napoleon as the "child and champion of Jacobinism. " Coleridge, who was
reporting for the _Morning Post_, took down Pitt's words as "nursling
and champion" (unpublished MS. note-book)--a finer and more original
phrase, but substituted "child" for "nursling" in his "copy. " (See
_Letters of S. T. Coleridge_, 1895, i. 327, note i. ) The phrase was
much in vogue, _e. g. _ "All that survives of Jacobinism in Europe looks
up to him as its 'child and champion. '"-_Quarterly Review_, xvi. 48. ]
[dx] Lines 55-58 not in MS.
[262] [O'Meara, under the dates August 19, September 5, September 7, 13,
etc. (see _Napoleon in Exile_, 1888, i. 95, 96, 114, 121, etc. ), reports
complaints on the part of Napoleon with regard to the reduction of
expenses suggested or enforced by Sir Hudson Lowe, and gives specimens
of the nature and detail of these reductions. For a refutation of
O'Meara's facts and figures (as given in _Napoleon in Exile_, 1822, ii.
Appendix V. ), see the _History of the Captivity of Napoleon_, by William
Forsyth, Q. C. , 1853, iii. 121, _sq_. ; see, too, _Sir Hudson Lowe and
Napoleon_, by R. C. Seaton, 1898. It is a fact that Sir Hudson Lowe, on
his own responsibility, increased the allowance for the household
expenses of Napoleon and his staff from ? 8000 to ? 12,000 a year, and it
is also perfectly true that opportunities for complaint were welcomed by
the ex-Emperor and his mimic court. It was _la politique de Longwood_ to
make the worst of everything, on the off-chance that England would get
to hear, and that Radical indignation and Radical sympathy would gild,
perhaps unbar, the eagle's cage. It is true, too, that a large sum of
money was spent on behalf of a prisoner of war whom the stalwarts of the
Tory party would have executed in cold blood. But it is also true that
Napoleon had no need to manufacture complaints, that he was exposed to
unnecessary discomforts, that useless and irritating precautions were
taken to prevent his escape, that the bottles of champagne and madeira,
the fowls and the bundles of wood were counted with an irritating
preciseness, inconsistent with the general scale of expenditure, which
saved a little waste, and covered both principals and agents with
ridicule. It is said that O'Meara, in his published volumes, manipulated
his evidence, and that his own letters give him the lie; but there is a
mass of correspondence, published and unpublished, between him and Sir
Thomas Reade, Sir Hudson Lowe, and Major Gorrequer (see Addit. MSS.
Brit. Mus. 20,145), which remains as it was written, and which testifies
to facts which might have been and were not refuted on the spot and at
the moment. With regard to "disputed rations," the Governor should have
been armed with a crushing answer to any and every complaint. As it was,
he was able to show that champagne was allowed to "Napoleon Buonaparte,"
and that he did not exceed his allowance. ]
[263] {545}[In his correspondence with Lord Bathurst, Sir Hudson Lowe
more than once quotes "statements" made by Dr. O'Meara (_vide post_, p.
546). But the surgeon may be William Warden (1777-1849), whose _Letters
written on board His Majesty's Ship the Northumberland, and at St,
Helena_, were published in 1816. ]
[264] [Henry, Earl of Bathurst (1762-1834), Secretary for War and the
Colonies, replied to Lord Holland's motion "for papers connected with
the personal treatment of Napoleon Buonaparte at St. Helena," March 18,
1817. _Parl. Deb. _, vol. 35, pp. 1137-1166. ]
[265] [A bust of Napoleon's son, the Duke of Reichstadt, had been
forwarded to St. Helena. O'Meara (_Napoleon in Exile, etc. _, 1822, i. p.
100) says "that it had been in the island fourteen days, during several
of which it was at Plantation House," before it was transferred to
Longwood. Forsyth (_History of Napoleon in Captivity_, 1853, ii. 146)
denies this statement. It was, no doubt, detained on board ship for
inspection, but not at Plantation House. ]
[266] [The book in question was _The Substance of some Letters written
by an Englishman in Paris_, 1816 (by J. C. Hobhouse). It was inscribed
"To the Emperor Napoleon. " Lowe's excuse was that Hobhouse had submitted
the work to his inspection, and suggested that if the Governor did not
think fit to give it to Napoleon, he might place it in his own library.
(See _Napoleon in Exile_, 1822, i. 85-87; and Forsyth, 1853, i. 193. )]
[dy] _Weep to survey the Tamer of the Great_. --[MS. ]
[267] [Lieutenant-General Sir Hudson Lowe, K. C. B. (1769-1844), was the
son of an army surgeon, John Hudson Lowe. His mother was Irish. He was
appointed Governor of St. Helena, August 23, 1815, and landed in the
island April 14, 1816. Byron met him at Lord Holland's, before he sailed
for St. Helena, and was not impressed by his remarks on Napoleon and
Waterloo (_Letters_, 1901, v. 429). He was well-intentioned, honourable,
and, in essentials, humane, but he was arrogant and tactless. The
following sentence, from a letter written by Lowe to O'Meara, October 3,
1816 (Forsyth, i.
