Lord Byron, The Major Works

Lord Byron, The Major Works, including Don Juan and Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage, Ed. Jerome J. McGann, Oxford University Press, 2000.

Even Satan’s self with thee might dread to dwell,

And in thy skull discern a deeper hell.

(English Bards and Scotch Reviewers)

But since life at most a jest is,

…

Still to laugh by far the best is,

(Lines to Mr Hodgson)

Deep in yon cave Honorius long did dwell,

In hope to merit Heaven by making earth a Hell.

(Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage, Canto I)

Vitality of poison,—a quick root

Which feeds these deadly branches; for it were

As nothing did we die; but Life will suit

Itself to Sorrow’s most detested fruit,

Like to the apples on the Dead Sea’s shore,

All ashes to the taste: Did man compute

Existence by enjoyment, and count o’er

Such hours ’gainst years of life,—say, would he name threescore?

(Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage, Canto III)

But these are deeds which should not pass away,

And names that must not wither, though the earth

Forgets her empires with a just decay,

The enslavers and the enslaved, their death and birth;

The high, the mountain-majesty of worth

Should be, and shall, survivor of its woe,

And from its immortality look forth

In the sun’s face, like yonder Alpine snow,

Imperishably pure beyond all things below.

(Childe Harold Pilgrimages, Canto III)

Then farewell, Horace; whom I hated so,

Not for thy faults, but mine; it is a curse

To understand, not feel thy lyric flow,

To comprehend, but never love thy verse,

Although no deeper Moralist rehearse

Our little life, …

(Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage, Canto IV)

His early dreams of good outsripp’d the truth,

And troubled manhood followed baffled youth;

(Lara)

But haughty still, and loth himself to blame,

He called on Nature’s self to share the shame,

And charged all faults upon the fleshly form,

She gave to clog the soul, and feast the worm;

(Lara)

Then haste thee to thy sullen Isle,

And gaze upon the sea;

That element may meet thy smile,

It ne’er was ruled by thee!

(Ode to Napoleon Buonaparte)

There’s not a joy the world can give like that it takes away,

When the glow of early thought declines in feeling’s dull decay;

(Stanzas for Music [paradox])

The underearth inhabitants—are they

But mingled millions decomposed to clay—

…

Or have they their own language—and a sense

Of breathless being—darkened and intense—

As midnight in her solitude—…

…

The dead are thy inheritors—and we

But bubbles on thy serface: —and the key

Of thy profundity is in the grave, …

(A Fragment)

I have been cunning in mine overthrow

The careful pilot of my proper woe.

(Epistle to Augusta)

Manfred: The lamp must be replenish’d, but even then

It will not burn so long as I must watch:

My slumbers—if I slumber—are not sleep,

But a continuance of enduring thought,

Which then I can resist not: in my heart

There is a vigil, and these eyes but close

To look within; …

(Manfred, I.I.)

Manfred: Sorrow is knowledge: they who know the most

Must mourn the deepest o’er the fatal truth,

(Manfred, I.I., sorrow is knowledge and knowledge is sorrow)

…Good, or evil, life,

Powers, passions, all I see in other beings,

Have been to me as rain unto the sands,

Since that all-nameless hour. I have no dread,

And feel the curse to have no natural fear,

(Manfred, I.I., the curse is estrangement)

…ye, to whom the tops

Of mountains inaccessible are haunts,

And earth’s and ocean’s caves familiar things—

I call upon ye by the written charm

Which gives me power upon you—Rise! Appear!

…

By the strong curse which is upon my soul,

(Manfred, I.I., sin is the cause of the curse; curse is estrangement and power over language)

First Spirit: Mortal! to thy bidding bow’d,

From my mansion in the cloud,

Which the breath of twilight builds,

And the summer’s sun-set gilds

With the azure and vermillion,

Which is mix’d for my pavilion;

(Manfred, I.I)

Second Spirit: Mont Blanc is the monarch of mountains,

They crowned him long ago

On a throne of rocks, in a robe of clouds,

With a diadem of snow.

…

The Avalanche is his hand;

But ere it fall, that thundering ball

Must pause for my command.

…

I am the spirit of the place,

Could make the mountain bow

And quiver to his cavern’d base—

And what with me wouldst Thou?

(Manfred, I.I.)

Seventh Spirit: The star which rules thy destiny,

Was ruled, ere earth began, by me:

…

An thou! beneath its influence born—

Thou worm! whom I obey and scorn—

Forced by a power (which is not thine,

And lent thee but to make thee mine)

For this brief moment to descend,

(Manfred, I.I., language)

The Seven Spirits: What wouldst thou with us, son of mortals—say?

Manfred: Forgetfulness—

First Spirit: Of what—of whom—and why?

Manfred: Of that which is within me; read it thee—

Ye know it, and I cannot utter it.

First Spirit: We can but give thee that which we possess:

Ask of us subjects, sovereignty, the power

O’er earth, the whole, or portion…

(Manfred, I.I.)

First Spirit: It is not in our essence, in our skill;

But—thou mayst die.

Manfred:                    Will death bestow it on me?

First Spirit: We are immortal, and do not forget;

…

Manfred: Ye mock me—but the power which brought ye here

Hath made you mine. Slaves, scoff not at my will!

The mind, the spirit, the Promethean spark,

The lightning of my being, is as bright,

Pervading, and far-darting as your own,

(Manfred, I.I., language)

Manfred: I feel the impulse—yet I do not plunge;

I see the peril—yet do not recede;

And my brain reels—and yet my foot is firm:

(Manfred, I.II.)

[The Shepherd’s pipe in the distance is heard]

Manfred: The natural music of the mountain reed—

For here the patriarchal days are not

A pastoral fable—pipes in the liberal air,

Mix’d with the sweet bells of the sauntering herd;

My soul would drink those echoes.—Oh, that I were

The viewless spirit of a lovely sound,

A living voice, a breathing harmony,

A bodiless enjoyment—born and dying

With the blest tone which made me!

(Manfred, I.II)

Manfred: I tell thee, man! I have lived many years,

Many long years, but they are nothing now

To those which I must number: ages—ages—

…

Chamois Hunter: Why, on the brow the seal of middle age

Hath scarce been set; I am thine elder far.

Manfred: Think’st thou existence doth depend on time?

It doth; but actions are our epochs: mine

Have made my days and nights imperishable,

(Manfred, II.I., guilt and hell extend time)

Manfred: …I can bear—

However wretchedly, ’tis still to bear—

In life what others could not brook to dream,

(Manfred, II.I)

Manfred: … From my youth upwards

My spirits walk’d not with the souls of men,

Nor look’d upon the earth with human eyes;

The thirst of their ambition was not mine,

The aim of their existence was not mine;

…

I said, with men, and with the thoughts of men,

I held but slight communion; but instead,

My joy was in the Wilderness, …

…

Or to look, list’ning, on the scattered leaves,

While Autumn winds were at their evening song.

These were my pastimes, and to be alone;

For if the beings, of whom I was one,—

Hating to be so,—cross’d me in my path,

I felt myself degraded back to them,

And was all clay again. …

(Manfred, II.II)

Manfred: …I have not named to thee

Father or mother, mistress, friend, or being,

With whom I wore the chain of human ties;

If I had such, they seem’d not such to me—

Yet there was one—

(Manfred, II.II)

Manfred: … yet we live,

Loathing our life, and dreading still to die.

(Manfred, II.II. How I hate this live I never want to leave)

All the Spirits: Prostrate thyself, and thy condemned clay,

Child of the Earth! or dread the worst.

Manfred: I know it;

And yet ye see I kneel not.

Fourth Spirit: ’Twill be taught thee.

Manfred. ’Tis taught already;—many a night on the earth,

On the bare ground, have I bow’d down my face,

And strew’d my head with ashes; I have known

The fullness of humiliation, for

I sunk before my vain despair, and knelt

To my own desolation.

Fifth Spirit: Dost thou dare

Refuse to Arimanes on his throne

What the whole earth accords, behold not

The terror of his Glory—Crouch! I say.

Manfred: Bid him bow down to that which is above him,

The overruling Infinite—the Maker

Who made him not for worship—let him kneel,

And we will kneel together.

(Manfred, II.IV)

Herman: … thou hast dwelt within the castle—

How many years is’t?

Manuel: Ere Count Manfred’s birth,

I served his father, whom he nought resembles.

…

Manuel: Count Sigismund was proud,—but gay and free,—

A warrior and a reveler; he dwelt not

With books and solitude, nor made the night

A gloomy vigil, but a festal time,

Merrier than day;

(Manfred, III.III, Hamlet)

Manfred: Look there, I say,

And steadfastly;—now tell me what thou seest?

Abbot: That which should shake me,—but I fear it not—

I see a dusk and awful figure rise

Like an infernal god from out the earth;

(Manfred, III, III)

Spirit: Come!

Abbot: What are thou, unknown being? Answer!—Speak!

Spirit: The genius of this mortal.—Come! ’tis time.

Manfred: I am prepared for all things, but deny

The power which summons me. Who sent thee here?

Spirit: Thou’lt know anon—Come! Come!

Manfred: I have commanded

Things of an essence greater far than thine,

And striven with thy masters. Get thee hence!

Spirit: Mortal! thine hour is come—Away! I say.

Manfred: I knew, and know my hour is come, but not

To render up my soul to such as thee:

Away! I’ll die as I have lived—alone.

(Manfred, III, III)

I love the language, that soft bastard Latin,

Which melts like kisses from a female mouth,

…

…not a single accent seems uncouth,

Like our harsh northern whistling, grunting, guttural,

Which we’re oblig’d to hiss, and spit, and sputter all.

(Beppo)

Perfect she was, but as perfection is

Inspid in this naughty world of ours,

(Don Juan)

A little curly-headed, good-for-nothing,

And mischief-making monkey from his birth;

(Don Juan)

’Tis sweet to hear the watchdog’s honest bark

Bay deep-mouth’d welcome as we draw near home;

(Don Juan)

…this ambrosial sin, …

(Don Juan)

I’m fond of fire, and crickets, and all that,

A lobster-salad, and champagne, and chat.

(Don Juan)

My poem’s epic, and is meant to be

Divided in twelve books; each book containing,

With love, and war, a heavy gale at sea,

A list of ships, and captains, and kings reigning,

(Don Juan, The Tunnel)

My days of love are over, …

…

The copious use of claret is forbid too,

So for a good old-gentlemanly vice,

I think I must take up with avarice.

(Don Juan)

But I being fond of true philosophy,

Say very often to myself, ‘Alas!

All things that have been born were born to die,

And flesh (which Death mows down to hay) is grass;

You’ve pass’d your youth not so unpleasantly,

And if you had it o’er again—’twould pass—

So thank your stars that matters are no worse,

And read your Bible, sir, and mind your purse.’

(Don Juan)

There’s nought, no doubt, so much the spirit calms

As rum and true religion; …

(Don Juan)

But man is a carnivorous production,

And must have meals, at least one meal a day;

(Don Juan)

And the same night there fell a shower of rain,

For which their mouths gaped, like the cracks of earth

When dried to summer dust; till taught by pain,

Men really know not what good water’s worth;

If you had been in Turkey or in Spain,

Or with a famish’d boat’s –crew had your berth,

Or in the desert heard the camel’s bell,

You’d wish yourself where Truth is—in a well.

(Don Juan)

A virgin always on her maid relies

(Don Juan)

Much English I cannot pretend to speak,

Learning that language chiefly from its preachers,

Barrow, South, Tillotson, whom every week

I study, also Blair, the highest reachers

Of eloquence in piety and prose—

I hate your poets, so read none of those.

(Don Juan)

Then came her freedom, for she had no mother,

So that, her father being at sea, she was

Free as a married woman, …

…

The freest she that ever…

(Don Juan)

And the small ripple split upon the beach

Scarcely o’erpassed the cream of your champagne,

When o’er the brim the sparkling bumpers reach,

That spring-dew of the spirit! the heart’s rain!

Few things surpass old wine; and they may preach

Who please,—the more because they preach in vain,—

Let us have wine and woman, mirth and laughter,

Sermons and soda water the day after.

…

…Get very drunk; and when

You wake with head-ache, you shall see what then.

/

Ring for your valet—bid him quickly bring

Some hock and soda-water, then you’ll know

A pleasure worthy Xerxes the great king;

(Don Juan)

They fear’d no eyes nor ears on that lone beach,

(Don Juan)

‘Eat, drink, and love, what can the rest avail us?’

(Don Juan)

Marriage from love, like vinegar from wine—

(Don Juan)

A day of gold from out an age of iron

Is all that life allows the luckiest sinner;

(Don Juan)