Another vivid picture is that of an Alpine storm :— The sky is changed!—and such a change! O night, Of a dark eye in woman! Far along, From peak to peak, the rattling crags among, And this is in the night :-Most glorious night! And now again 'tis black,—and now the glee Here is another fine allusion to the grandeur of Alpine scenery : Above me are the Alps, The palaces of Nature, whose vast walls How carth may pierce to heaven, yet leave vain man below. Byron's power is seen in the following passage, because it admirably exemplifies the union of great simplicity, both in conception and expression, with true poetic sublimity. The scene which excites the emotion is the memorable plain of Marathon, situated between a range of mountains on the one side, and the sea on the other : The mountains look on Marathon, and Marathon looks on the sea; And musing there an hour alone, I dreamed that Greece might still be free; For, standing on the Persian's grave, I could not deem myself a slave. A king sat on the rocky brow which looks o'er sea-born Salamis; And ships, by thousands, lay below, and men in nations; all were his! He counted them at break of day; And when the sun set,-where were they? Campbell used to say, that the lines which first convinced him that Byron was a true poet, were these, from the Childe Harold :— Yet are thy skies as blue, thy crags as wild; Sweet are thy groves, and verdant are thy fields, And still his honeyed wealth Hymettus yields; The Childe Harold, which appeared at various intervals, is generally supposed to be a narration of the author's life and travels. Shall we cite more of the brilliant passages which sparkle over its 1 Childe is the old word for Knight. pages Rogers thought Byron's finest passage was that on Solitude, in the second canto of the poem :— To sit on rocks, to muse o'er flood and fell, Alone o'er steeps and foaming falls to lean; Converse with Nature's charms, and see her stores unroll'd. But midst the crowd, the hum, the shock of men, And roam along, the world's tired denizen, With none who bless us, none whom we can bless; If we were not, would seem to smile the less, Here are his moral reflections on a skull : Look on its broken arch, its ruined wall, The dome of thought, the palace of the soul: And passion's host, that never brook'd control: Can all saint, sage, or sophist ever writ, How vividly he presents to us the scene of a Spanish bull The lists are oped, the spacious area cleared, Thousands on thousands piled are seated round; Skill'd in the ogle of a roguish eye, Yet ever well inclined to heal the wound: None through their cold disdain are doom'd to die, Hushed is the din of tongues-on gallant steeds, With milk-white crest, gold spur, and light-poised lance, Four cavaliers prepare for venturous deeds, And lowly bending to the lists, advance. Rich are their scarfs, their chargers featly prance: If in the dangerous game they shine to-day, The crowd's loud shout and ladies' lovely glance, Best prize of better acts, they bear away, And all that kings or chiefs e'er gain, their toils repay. In costly sheen and gaudy cloak arrayed, But all a-foot, the light-limb'd Matadore Stands in the centre, eager to invade The lord of lowing herds; but not before The ground, with cautious tread, is traversed o'er, Thrice sounds the clarion; lo! the signal falls, The sand, nor blindly rushes on his foe : Here, there, he points his threatening front, to suit Sudden he stops: his eye is fix'd: away, Away, thou heedless boy! prepare the spear: Now is thy time to perish, or display The skill that yet may check his mad career. With well-timed croupe the nimble coursers veer; On foams the bull, but not unscathed he goes; Streams from his flank the crimson torrent clear; He flies, he wheels, distracted with his throes; Dart follows dart; lance, lance; loud bellowings speak his woes. |