"To aid thy mind's developement, to watch
Thy dawn of little joys,-to sit and see
Almost thy very growth,-to view thee catch
Knowledge of objects,-wonders yet to thee!
To hold thee lightly on a gentle knee,

And print on thy soft cheek a parent's kiss,-
This, it should seem, was not reserv'd for me;
Yet this was in my nature:-
-as it is,

I know not what is there, yet something like to this.

"Yet, though dull Hate as duty should be taught,
I know that thou wilt love me; though my name
Should be shut from thee, as a spell still fraught
With desolation, and a broken claim :

Though the grave closed between us,-'twere the same,
I know that thou wilt love me; though to drain

My blood from out thy being, were an aim,

And an attainment, all would be in vain,

--

Still thou would'st love me, still that more than life retain.

"The child of love,-though born in bitterness,
And nurtur❜d in convulsion. Of thy sire
These were the elements,—and thine no less.
As yet such are around thee,—but thy fire
Shall be more tempered, and thy hope far higher.
Sweet be thy cradled slumbers! O'er the sea,
And from the mountains where I now respire,
Fain would I waft such blessing upon thee,

As, with a sigh, I deem thou might'st have been to me!"

We have not room to say all we could wish upon this topic; but the very tenderness of the above lines makes them more cutting to the individual to whom they are applied. Has Lord Byron a right to impute to his wife, that wife whose affection and temper he has before so extolled, that she will endeavour to teach her infant daughter to hate its banished father?-banished by her unrelenting animosity! These are dark accusations referring to circumstances but half known, of the mystery involving which his lordship well knows how to avail himself. Having now dismissed what is merely personal, which however occupies a very considerable portion of the canto, we will enter upon the scenes described in the course of this renewed pilgrimage.

The course taken by his lordship on quitting England is known to have been the common tour through the Netherlands and along the fertile banks of the Rhine to Switzerland. The reflections and descriptions in this third canto

are confined to spots within that range: it terminates as Lord Byron is about to enter Italy. We suppose that the scenery and habits of that country will form the subject of a further portion of the Pilgrimage, for as long as the noble author can travel, and realms remain to be visited, there seems no reason why he should discontinue this history of his peregrinations. Of all his lordship's productions it is to us the most pleasing, from the poetical passages interspersed; the least offensive because no characters are introduced of the revolting passions of all men incongruously mixed in one and the most instructive from the historical recollections and observations upon men and their customs. Of course his lordship could not pass over the field of Waterloo without some remarks upon the causes and consequences of that battle; but they are prosaic and political, and without any novelty in the opinions promul gated. His lordship judiciously does not attempt to describe the battle, but he touches upon what preceded happily and forcibly.

"There was a sound of revelry by night,
And Belgium's capital had gathered then
Her Beauty and her Chivalry, and bright
The lamps shone o'er fair women and brave men ;
A thousand hearts beat happily; and when
Music arose with its voluptuous swell,

Soft eyes look'd love to eyes which spake again,
And all went merry as a marriage-bell;

But hush! hark! a deep sound strikes like a rising knell!

"Within a windowed niche of that high hall

Sate Brunswick's fated chieftain; he did hear
That sound the first amidst the festival,
And caught its tone with Death's prophetic ear;
And when they smiled because he deem'd it near,
His heart more truly knew that peal too well
Which stretch'd his father on a bloody bier,
And roused the vengeance blood alone could quell:
He rush'd into the field, and, foremost fighting, fell.
"Ah! then and there was hurrying to and fro,
And gathering tears, and tremblings of distress,
And cheeks all pale, which but an hour ago
Blush'd at the praise of their own loveliness;
And there were sudden partings, such as press
The life from out young hearts, and choking sighs
Which ne'er might be repeated; who could guess
If ever more should meet those mutual eyes,
Since upon nights so sweet such awful morn could rise?

"And there was mounting in hot haste: the steed,
The mustering squadron, and the clattering car,
Went pouring forward with impetuous speed
And swiftly forming in the ranks of war;
And the deep thunder peal on peal afar,
And near, the beat of the alarming drum
Roused up the soldier ere the morning star;
While throng'd the citizens with terror dumb,

Or whispering, with white lips-The foe! They come ! they

come !'"

The consequences of this great struggle are likewise adverted to, and a character of Buonaparte is subjoined, which we omit, with the less regret because this exhausted subject has only left to his lordship an opportunity of concentrating the attributes commonly assigned: one stanza we will, however, extract, in which justice is attempted to be done to the manner in which the late Emperor of the French sustained his fallen fortunes.

"Yet well thy soul hath brook'd the turning tide
With that untaught innate philosophy,

Which, be it wisdom, coldness, or deep pride,

Is gall and wormwood to an enemy.

When the whole host of hatred stood hard by,

To watch and mock thee shrinking, thou hast smiled
With a sedate and all-enduring eye;-

When Fortune fled her spoil'd and favourite child,
He stood unbowed beneath the hills upon him piled."

The contemplation of the disposition and conduct of this unprecedented man, naturally produces some reflections on ambition, and the miseries of those who, in the hope of reigning over others, make themselves miserable slaves. The topic is stale enough, nor is it treated in a very new way, but what is said is well said, and the comparison at the close, though highly wrought, is extremely felicitous.

"But quiet to quick bosoms is a hell,

And there hath been thy bane; there is a fire
And motion of the soul which will not dwell
In its own narrow being, but aspire
Beyond the fitting medium of desire;
And, but once kindled, quenchless evermore,
Preys upon high adventure, nor can tire
Of aught but rest: a fever at the core,

Fatal to him who bears, to all who ever bore.

"This makes the madmen who have made men mad

By their contagion; Conquerors and Kings,

Founders of sects and systems, to whom add
Sophists, Bards, Statesmen, all unquiet things
Which stir too strongly the soul's secret springs,
And are themselves the fools to those they fool:
Envied, yet how unenviable! what stings

Are theirs! One breast laid open were a school
Which would unteach mankind the lust to shine or rule.

"Their breath is agitation, and their life

A storm whereon they ride, to sink at last,
And yet so nurs'd and bigotted to strife,
That should their days, surviving perils past,
Melt to calm twilight, they feel overcast
With sorrow and supineness, and so die;
Even as a flame unfed, which runs to waste
With its own flickering, or a sword laid by
Which eats into itself, and rusts ingloriously.

"He who ascends to mountain-tops, shall find
The loftiest peaks most wrapt in clouds and snow;
He who surpasses or subdues mankind,
Must look down on the hate of those below.
Though high above the sun of glory glow,
And far beneath the earth and ocean spread,
Round him are icy rocks, and loudly blow
Contending tempests on his naked head,

And thus reward the toils which to those summits led."

The reader is of course aware that in Childe Harold's Pilgrimage there is no connected story, though hints are here and there obscurely given of events in the life of the hero: they are inserted rather to account for the state of his mind, which in the two first cantos is one dark sombre mass unillumined by a ray of hope either for the present or the future religion inspired him with no zeal, and love with no ardour: he was one of those souls "with whom revenge is virtue," and who disclaimed all kindred with the benevolences of human nature. We have already stated that his mind is represented in the third canto, by the noble author as having undergone considerable alterations both of passion and opinion: his religious tenets, as they are now and then developed, savour less of infidelity: on one point, regarding a future state, he even ceases to be a sceptic; and in the delightful prospects he views he acknowledges, not reluctantly, "the wonder-working hand of heaven." He begins also, in conformity with this change, no longer absolutely to detest his species because they are unlike himself; and the playful innocence of children at

tracts his affections. It appears likewise more distinctly that he has been capable of love, and he pours out his feelings very pathetically. All these amendments in his disposition may easily be accounted for, and they constitute one more feature of resemblance between Lord Byron and Harold.

"Nor was all love shut from him, though his days
Of passion had consumed themselves to dust.
It is in vain that we would coldly gaze

On such as smile upon us; the heart must
Leap kindly back to kindness, though disgust
Hath wean'd it from all worldlings: thus he felt,
For there was soft remembrance, and sweet trust
In one fond breast, to which his own would melt,
And in its tenderer hour on that his bosom dwelt."

"And he had learn'd to love,-I know not why,
For this in such as him seems strange of mood,-
The helpless looks of blooming infancy,
Even in its earliest nurture; what subdued,
To change like this, a mind so far imbued
With scorn of man, it little boots to know;
But thus it was; and though in solitude

Small power the nipp'd affections have to grow,
In him this glowed when all beside had ceased to glow.

"And there was one soft breast, as hath been said,
Which unto his was bound by stronger ties
Than the church links withal; and, though unwed,
That love was pure, and, far above disguise,
Had stood the test of mortal enmities

Still undivided, and cemented more

By peril, dreaded most in female

eyes;

But this was firm, and from a foreign shore

Well to that heart might his these absent greetings pour!",

To this succeed four stanzas in a different metre, supposed to be addressed, by the disconsolate Harold, to his absent mistress; the burden of which is the increased enjoyment he should experience in wandering over the banks of the Rhine were she his companion. After mentioning several ancient castles, and stories connected with them, Lord Byron bids farewell to the Rhine in the subsequent descriptive passages.

"Adieu to thee, fair Rhine! How long delighted
The stranger fain would linger on his way
Thine is a scene alike, where souls united

Or lonely Contemplation thus might stray;