The Works of Lord Byron Volume VI Part 34

And now they were diverted by their suite, Dwarfs, dancing girls, black eunuchs, and a poet, Which made their new establishment complete; The last was of great fame, and liked to show it; His verses rarely wanted their due feet-- And for his theme--he seldom sung below it, He being paid to satirise or flatter, As the Psalm says, "inditing a good matter."

LXXIX.

He praised the present, and abused the past, Reversing the good custom of old days, An Eastern anti-jacobin at last He turned, preferring pudding to _no_ praise-- For some few years his lot had been o'ercast By his seeming independent in his lays, But now he sung the Sultan and the Pacha-- With truth like Southey, and with verse[191] like Crashaw.[ct]

Lx.x.x.

He was a man who had seen many changes, And always changed as true as any needle; His Polar Star being one which rather ranges, And not the fixed--he knew the way to wheedle: So vile he 'scaped the doom which oft avenges; And being fluent (save indeed when fee'd ill), He lied with such a fervour of intention-- There was no doubt he earned his laureate pension.

Lx.x.xI.

But _he_ had genius,--when a turncoat has it, The _Vates irritabilis_[192] takes care That without notice few full moons shall pa.s.s it; Even good men like to make the public stare:-- But to my subject--let me see--what was it?-- Oh!--the third canto--and the pretty pair-- Their loves, and feasts, and house, and dress, and mode Of living in their insular abode.

Lx.x.xII.

Their poet, a sad trimmer, but, no less,[cu]

In company a very pleasant fellow, Had been the favourite of full many a mess Of men, and made them speeches when half mellow;[cv]

And though his meaning they could rarely guess, Yet still they deigned to hiccup or to bellow The glorious meed of popular applause, Of which the first ne'er knows the second cause.[cw]

Lx.x.xIII.

But now being lifted into high society, And having picked up several odds and ends Of free thoughts in his travels for variety, He deemed, being in a lone isle, among friends, That, without any danger of a riot, he Might for long lying make himself amends; And, singing as he sung in his warm youth, Agree to a short armistice with Truth.

Lx.x.xIV.

He had travelled 'mongst the Arabs, Turks, and Franks, And knew the self-loves of the different nations; And having lived with people of all ranks, Had something ready upon most occasions-- Which got him a few presents and some thanks.

He varied with some skill his adulations; To "do at Rome as Romans do,"[193] a piece Of conduct was which _he_ observed in Greece.

Lx.x.xV.

Thus, usually, when _he_ was asked to sing, He gave the different nations something national; 'T was all the same to him--"G.o.d save the King,"

Or "ca ira," according to the fas.h.i.+on all: His Muse made increment of anything, From the high lyric down to the low rational;[cx][194]

If Pindar sang horse-races, what should hinder Himself from being as pliable as Pindar?

Lx.x.xVI.

In France, for instance, he would write a chanson; In England a six canto quarto tale; In Spain he'd make a ballad or romance on The last war--much the same in Portugal; In Germany, the Pegasus he'd prance on Would be old Goethe's--(see what says De Stael);[195]

In Italy he'd ape the "Trecentisti;"

In Greece, he'd sing some sort of hymn like this t' ye:[196]

1.

The Isles of Greece, the Isles of Greece!

Where burning Sappho loved and sung, Where grew the arts of War and Peace, Where Delos rose, and Phoebus sprung!

Eternal summer gilds them yet, But all, except their Sun, is set.

2.

The Scian and the Teian muse, The Hero's harp, the Lover's lute, Have found the fame your sh.o.r.es refuse: Their place of birth alone is mute To sounds which echo further west Than your Sires' "Islands of the Blest."[197]

3.

The mountains look on Marathon--[cy]

And Marathon looks on the sea; And musing there an hour alone, I dreamed that Greece might still be free; For standing on the Persians' grave, I could not deem myself a slave.

4.[198]

A King sate on the rocky brow Which looks o'er sea-born Salamis; And s.h.i.+ps, 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?

5.

And where are they? and where art thou, My Country? On thy voiceless sh.o.r.e The heroic lay is tuneless now-- The heroic bosom beats no more![cz]

And must thy Lyre, so long divine, Degenerate into hands like mine?

6.

'T is something, in the dearth of Fame, Though linked among a fettered race, To feel at least a patriot's shame, Even as I sing, suffuse my face; For what is left the poet here?

For Greeks a blush--for Greece a tear.

7.

Must _we_ but weep o'er days more blest?

Must _we_ but blush?--Our fathers bled.

Earth! render back from out thy breast A remnant of our Spartan dead!

Of the three hundred grant but three, To make a new Thermopylae!

8.

What, silent still? and silent all?

Ah! no;--the voices of the dead Sound like a distant torrent's fall, And answer, "Let one living head, But one arise,--we come, we come!"

'T is but the living who are dumb.

9.

In vain--in vain: strike other chords; Fill high the cup with Samian wine!

Leave battles to the Turkish hordes, And shed the blood of Scio's vine!

Hark! rising to the ign.o.ble call-- How answers each bold Baccha.n.a.l!

10.

You have the Pyrrhic dance as yet,[199]

Where is the Pyrrhic phalanx gone?

Of two such lessons, why forget The n.o.bler and the manlier one?

You have the letters Cadmus gave-- Think ye he meant them for a slave?

11.

Fill high the bowl with Samian wine!