No More Learning

change the word--
Life is as transient as the inconstant sigh:
Say rather I'm your Soul; more just that name,
For, like the soul, my Love can never die.

[Stanzas 1, 2 first published, _Childe Harold_, 1814
(Seventh Edition). "Another Version," first published, 1832. ]


To

SAMUEL ROGERS, ESQ.

as a slight but most sincere token

of admiration of his genius,

respect for his character,

and gratitude for his friendship,

THIS PRODUCTION IS INSCRIBED

by his obliged

and affectionate servant,

BYRON.

London, _May_, 1813.




ADVERTISEMENT.

The tale which these disjointed fragments present, is founded upon
circumstances now less common in the East than formerly; either because
the ladies are more circumspect than in the "olden time," or because the
Christians have better fortune, or less enterprise. The story, when
entire, contained the adventures of a female slave, who was thrown, in
the Mussulman manner, into the sea for infidelity, and avenged by a
young Venetian, her lover, at the time the Seven Islands were possessed
by the Republic of Venice, and soon after the Arnauts were beaten back
from the Morea, which they had ravaged for some time subsequent to the
Russian invasion. The desertion of the Mainotes, on being refused the
plunder of Misitra, led to the abandonment of that enterprise, and to
the desolation of the Morea, during which the cruelty exercised on all
sides was unparalleled even in the annals of the faithful.




THE GIAOUR.


No breath of air to break the wave
That rolls below the Athenian's grave,
That tomb[55] which, gleaming o'er the cliff,
First greets the homeward-veering skiff
High o'er the land he saved in vain;
When shall such Hero live again?

* * * * *

Fair clime! where every season smiles[cg]
Benignant o'er those blessed isles,
Which, seen from far Colonna's height,
Make glad the heart that hails the sight, 10
And lend to loneliness delight.
There mildly dimpling, Ocean's cheek
Reflects the tints of many a peak
Caught by the laughing tides that lave
These Edens of the eastern wave:
And if at times a transient breeze
Break the blue crystal of the seas,
Or sweep one blossom from the trees,
How welcome is each gentle air
That wakes and wafts the odours there!
20
For there the Rose, o'er crag or vale,
Sultana of the Nightingale,[56]
The maid for whom his melody,
His thousand songs are heard on high,
Blooms blushing to her lover's tale:
His queen, the garden queen, his Rose,
Unbent by winds, unchilled by snows,
Far from the winters of the west,
By every breeze and season blest,
Returns the sweets by Nature given 30
In softest incense back to Heaven;
And grateful yields that smiling sky
Her fairest hue and fragrant sigh.
And many a summer flower is there,
And many a shade that Love might share,
And many a grotto, meant for rest,
That holds the pirate for a guest;
Whose bark in sheltering cove below
Lurks for the passing peaceful prow,
Till the gay mariner's guitar[57] 40
Is heard, and seen the Evening Star;
Then stealing with the muffled oar,
Far shaded by the rocky shore,
Rush the night-prowlers on the prey,
And turn to groans his roundelay.
Strange--that where Nature loved to trace,
As if for Gods, a dwelling place,
And every charm and grace hath mixed
Within the Paradise she fixed,
There man, enamoured of distress, 50
Should mar it into wilderness,[ch]
And trample, brute-like, o'er each flower
That tasks not one laborious hour;
Nor claims the culture of his hand
To bloom along the fairy land,
But springs as to preclude his care,
And sweetly woos him--but to spare!
Strange--that where all is Peace beside,
There Passion riots in her pride,
And Lust and Rapine wildly reign 60
To darken o'er the fair domain.
It is as though the Fiends prevailed
Against the Seraphs they assailed,
And, fixed on heavenly thrones, should dwell
The freed inheritors of Hell;
So soft the scene, so formed for joy,
So curst the tyrants that destroy!

He who hath bent him o'er the dead[ci][58]
Ere the first day of Death is fled,
The first dark day of Nothingness, 70
The last of Danger and Distress,
(Before Decay's effacing fingers
Have swept the lines where Beauty lingers,)
And marked the mild angelic air,
The rapture of Repose that's there,[cj]
The fixed yet tender traits that streak
The languor of the placid cheek,
And--but for that sad shrouded eye,
That fires not, wins not, weeps not, now,
And but for that chill, changeless brow, 80
Where cold Obstruction's apathy[59]
Appals the gazing mourner's heart,[ck]
As if to him it could impart
The doom he dreads, yet dwells upon;
Yes, but for these and these alone,
Some moments, aye, one treacherous hour,
He still might doubt the Tyrant's power;
So fair, so calm, so softly sealed,
The first, last look by Death revealed! [60]
Such is the aspect of this shore; 90
'Tis Greece, but living Greece no more! [61]
So coldly sweet, so deadly fair,
We start, for Soul is wanting there.
Hers is the loveliness in death,
That parts not quite with parting breath;
But beauty with that fearful bloom,
That hue which haunts it to the tomb,
Expression's last receding ray,
A gilded Halo hovering round decay,
The farewell beam of Feeling past away! 100
Spark of that flame, perchance of heavenly birth,
Which gleams, but warms no more its cherished earth!

Clime of the unforgotten brave! [62]
Whose land from plain to mountain-cave
Was Freedom's home or Glory's grave!
Shrine of the mighty! can it be,[cl]
That this is all remains of thee?
Approach, thou craven crouching slave:[63]
Say, is not this Thermopylae? [cm]
These waters blue that round you lave,-- 110
Oh servile offspring of the free--
Pronounce what sea, what shore is this?