LXXIII. Once more upon the woody Apennine, And in Chimari heard the thunder-hills of fear, LXXIV. Th' Acroceraunian mountains of old name; much like " the hell of waters," that Addison thought the descent alluded to by the gulf in which Alecto plunged into the infernal regions. It is singular enough, that two of the finest cascades in Europe should be artificial - this of the Velino, and the one at Tivoli. The traveller is strongly recommended to trace the Velino, at least as high as the little lake, called Pie' di Lup. The Reatine territory was the Italian Tempe (Cicer. Epist. ad Attic. xv. lib. iv.), and the ancient naturalists (Plin. Hist. Nat. lib. ii. cap. lxii.), amongst other beautiful varieties, remarked the daily rainbows of the lake Velinus. A scholar of great name has devoted a treatise to this district alone. See Ald. Manut. de Reatina Urbe Agroque, ap. Sallengre, Thesaur. tom. i. p. 773. 1 In the greater part of Switzerland, the avalanches are known by the name of lauwine, LXXV. For our remembrance, and from out the plain In my repugnant youth, with pleasure to record 1 These stanzas may probably remind the reader of Ensign Northerton's remarks, "D-n Homo," &c.; but the reasons for our dislike are not exactly the same. I wish to express, that we become tired of the task before we can comprehend the beauty; that we learn by rote before we can get by heart; that the freshness is worn away, and the future pleasure and advantage deadened and destroyed, by the didactic anticipation, at an age when we can neither feel nor understand the power of compositions which it requires an acquaintance with life, as well as Latin and Greek, to relish, or to reason upon. For the same reason, we never can be aware of the fulness of some of the finest passages of Shakspeare ("To be, or not to be," for instance), from the habit of having them hammered into us at eight years old, as an exercise, not of mind, but of memory: so that when we are old enough to enjoy them, the taste is gone, and the appetite palled. In some parts of the continent, young persons are taught from more common authors, and do not read the best classics till their maturity. I certainly do not speak on this point from any pique or aversion towards the place of my education. I was not a slow, though an idle boy; and I believe no one could, or can be, more attached to Harrow than I have always been, and with reason; - a part of the time passed there was the happiest of my life; and my preceptor, the Rev. Dr. Joseph Drury, was the best and worthiest friend I ever possessed, whose warnings I have remembered but too well, though too late when I have erred, - and whose counsels I have but followed when I have done well or wisely. If ever this imperfect record of my feelings towards him should reach his eyes, let it remind him of one who never thinks of him but with gratitude and veneration - of one who would more gladly boast of having been his pupil, if, by more closely following his injunc tions, he could reflect any honour upon his instructor. LXXVI. Aught that recalls the daily drug which turn'd Its health; but what it then detested, still abhor. LXXVII. Then farewell, Horace; whom I hated so, 1 LXXVIII. Oh Rome! my country! city of the soul! A world is at our feet as fragile as our clay. 1 [Lord_Byron's prepossession against Horace is not without a parallel. It was not till released from the duty of reading Virgil as a task, that Gray could feel himself capable of enjoying the beauties of that poet. - MOORE.] LXXIX. The Niobe of nations! there she stands, 1 Childless and crownless, in her voiceless woe; An empty urn within her wither'd hands, Whose holy dust was scatter'd long ago; The Scipios' tomb contains no ashes now;2 The very sepulchres lie tenantless Of their heroic dwellers: dost thou flow, Old Tiber! through a marble wilderness? Rise, with thy yellow waves, and mantle her distress. LXXX. The Goth, the Christian, Time, War, Flood, and Fire, Have dealt upon the seven-hill'd city's pride; She saw her glories star by star expire, And up the steep barbarian monarchs ride, Where the car climb'd the capitol; far and wide Temple and tower went down, nor left a site : Chaos of ruins! who shall trace the void, O'er the dim fragments cast a lunar light, And say, "here was, or is," where all is doubly night? 1 ["I have been some days in Rome the Wonderful. I am delighted with Rome. As a whole - ancient and modern, - it beats Greece, Constantinople, every thing- at least that I have ever seen. But I can't describe, because my first impressions are always strong and confused, and my memory selects and reduces them to order, like distance in the landscape, and blends them better, although they may be less distinct. I have been on horseback most of the day, all days since my arrival. I have been to Albano, its lakes, and to the top of the Alban Mount, and to Frescati, Aricia, &c. As for the Coliseum, Pantheon, St. Peter's, the Vatican, Palatine, &c. &c. they are quite inconceivable, and must be seen." - Byron Letters, May, 1817.] 2 For a comment on this and the two following stanzas, the reader may consult "Historical Illustrations," p. 46. LXXXI. The double night of ages, and of her, Stumbling o'er recollections; now we clap LXXXII. Alas! the lofty city! and alas! The trebly hundred triumphs 1! and the day Her resurrection; all beside - decay. Alas, for Earth, for never shall we see [free! That brightness in her eye she bore when Rome was LXXXIII. Oh thou, whose chariot roll'd on Fortune's wheel, With an atoning smile a more than earthly crown 1 Orosius gives 320 for the number of triumphs. He is followed by Panvinius; and Panvinius by Mr. Gibbon and the modern writers. |