trary, I still maintain to be a fictitious personage,) it has been stated, that, besides the anachronism, he is very unknightly, as the times of the Knights were times of love, honor, and so forth. Now it so happens that the good old times, when "l'amour. du bon vieux tems l'amour antique" flourished, were the most profligate of all possible centuries. Those who have any doubts on this subject may consult St. Palaye, passim, and more particularly vol. ii., page 69. The vows of chivalry were no better kept than any other vows whatsoever; and the songs of the Troubadours were not more decent, and certainly were much less refined, than those of To Ovid. The "Cours d'amour, parlemens d'amour ou de courtesie et de gentilesse" had much more of love than of courtesy or gentleness. See Rolland on the same subject with St. Palaye. Whatever other objection may be urged to that most unamiable personage, Childe Harold, he was so far perfectly knightly in his attributes-"No waiter, but a knight templar."* By the by, I fear that Sir Tristrem and Sir Lancelot were no better than they should be, although very poetical personages and true knights "sans peur," though not "sans reproche." If the story of the institution of the "Garter" be not a fable, the knights of that order| have for several centuries borne the badge of a Countess of Salisbury of indifferent memory. So much for chivalry. Burke need not have regretted that its days are over, though Maria Antoinette was quite as chaste as most of those in whose honors. lances were shivered, and knights unhorsed. Before the days of Bayard, and down to those of Sir Joseph Banks, (the most chaste and celebrated of ancient and modern times,) few exceptions will be found to this statement, and I fear a little investigation will teach us not to regret these monstrous mummeries of the middle ages. I now leave "Childe Harold," to live his day, such as he is; it had been more agreeable, and certainly more easy, to have drawn an amiable character. It had been easy to varnish over his faults, to make him do more and express less, but he never was intended as an example, further than to show that early perversion of mind and morals leads to satiety of past pleasures and disappointment in new ones, and that even the beauties of nature, and the stimulus of travel (except ambition, the most powerful of all excitements) are lost on a soul so constituted, or rather misdirected. Had I proceeded with the poem, this character would have deepened as he drew to the close; for the outline which I once meant to fill up for him was, with some exceptions, the sketch of a modern Timon, perhaps a poetical Zeluco. • The Rovers. Antijacobin. TO IANTHE. NOT in those climes where I have late been straying, Though Beauty long hath there been matchless Not in those visions to the heart displaying Ah! may'st thou ever be what now thou art, Young Peri of the West!-'tis well for me decreed. Oh! let that eye, which, wild as the Gazelle's, Such is thy name with this my verse entwined; Of him who hail'd thee, loveliest as thou wast, IX. And none did love him-though to hall and bower Yea! none did love him-not his lemans dear- X. Childe Harold had a mother-not forgot, If friends he had, he bade adieu to none. Yet deem not thence his breast a breast of steel; Ye, who have known what 'tis to dote upon A few dear objects, will in sadness feel Such partings break the heart they fondly hope to heal. XI. His house, his home, his heritage, his lands, And traverse Paynim shores, and pass Earth's central line. XII. The sails were fill'd, and fair the light winds blew, The silent thought, nor from his lips did come One word of wail, whilst others sat and wept, And to the reckless gales unmanly moaning kept. XIII. But when the sun was sinking in the sea He seized his harp, which he at times could string, And strike, albeit with untaught melody, When deem'd he no strange ear was listening: And now his fingers o'er it he did fling, And tuned his farewell in the deep twilight. While flew the vessel on her snowy wing, And fleeting shores receded from his sight, Thus to the elements he pour'd his last "Good Night." 1. "ADIEU, adieu! my native shore Fades o'er the waters blue; The Night-winds sigh, the breakers roar, 2. "A few short hours, and He will rise To give the Morrow birth; And I shall hail the main and skies, Its hearth is desolate; Wild weeds are gathering on the wall; My dog howls at the gate. 3. "Come hither, hither, my little page! Why dost thou weep and wail? Or dost thou dread the billows' rage, Or tremble at the gale? But dash the tear-drop from thine eye, 4. 'Let winds be shrill, let waves roll high, For I have from my father gone, A mother whom I love, And have no friend, save these alone, 5. My father bless'd me fervently, Yet did not much complain; But sorely will my mother sigh Till I come back again.'"Enough, enough, my little lad! Such tears become thine eye; If I thy guileless bosom had, Mine own would not be dry. 6. "Come hither, hither, my staunch yeoman Why dost thou look so pale? Or dost thou dread a French foeman? Sir Childe, I'm not so weak; 7. My spouse and boys dwell near thy hall, And when they on their father call, But I, who am of lighter mood, 8. "For who would trust the seeming sighs Of wife or paramour? Fresh feres will dry the bright blue eyes We late saw streaming o'er. Nor perils gathering near; My greatest grief is that I leave No thing that claims a tear. |