« A few weeks after he had written them (says the relater), the well-known artist, R. R. Reinagle, a friend of mine, arrived in Brussels, when I invited him to dine with me and showed him the lines, requesting him to embellish them with an appropriate vignette to the following passage : Here his last flight the haughty eagle flew, Then tore, with bloody beak, the fatal plain; He wears the shatter'd links of the world's broken chain. Mr Reinagle sketched with a pencil a spirited chained eagle, grasping the earth with his talons. «I had occasion to write to his lordship, and mentioned having got this clever artist to draw a vignette to his beautiful lines, and the liberty he had taken by altering the action of the eagle. In reply to this, he wrote to me- 'Reinagle is a better poet and a better ornithologist than I am; eagles, and all birds of prey, attack with their talons, and not with their beaks, and I have altered the line thus Then tore, with bloody talon, the rent plain. This is, I think, a better line, besides its poetical justice.' I need hardly add, when I communicated this flattering compliment to the painter, that he was highly gratified." From Brussels the noble traveller pursued his course along the Rhine, a line of road which he has strewed over with all the riches of poesy; and, arriving at Geneva, took up his abode at the well-known hotel, Sécheron. After a stay of a few weeks at this place, he removed to a villa, in the neighbourhood, called Diodati, very beautifully situated on the high banks of the Lake, where he established his residence for the remainder of the summer. I shall now give the few letters in my possession written by him at this time, and then subjoin to them such anecdotes as I have been able to collect relative to the same period. LETTER CCXLII. TO MR MURRAY. Ouchy, near Lausanne, June 27th, 1816. I am thus far (kept by stress of weather) on my way back to Diodati (near Geneva) from a voyage in my boat round the Lake; and I enclose you a sprig of Gibbon's acacia and some rose-leaves from his garden, which, with part of his house, I have just seen. You will find honourable mention, in his Life, made of this 'acacia,' when he walked out on the night of concluding his history. The garden and summer-house, where he composed, are neglected, and the last utterly decayed; but they still show it as his 'cabinet,' and seem perfectly aware of his memory. My route, through Flanders, and by the Rhine, to Switzerland, was all I expected and more. « I have traversed all Rousseau's ground with the Heloise before me, and am struck to a degree that I cannot express with the force and accuracy of his descriptions, and the beauty of their reality. Meillerie, Clarens, and Vevay, and the Chateau de Chillon, are places of which I shall say little, because all I could say must fall short of the impressions they stamp. <<Three days ago, we were most nearly wrecked in a squall off Meillerie, and driven to shore. I ran no risk, being so near the rocks, and a good swimmer; but our party were wet, and incommoded a good deal. The wind was strong enough to blow down some trees, as we found at landing: however, all is righted and right, and we are thus far on our return. « Dr Polidori is not here, but at Diodati, left behind in hospital with a sprained ankle, which he acquired in tumbling from a wall-he can't jump. « I shall be glad to hear you are well, and have received for me certain helms and swords, sent from Waterloo, which I rode over with pain and pleasure. « I have finished a third Canto of Childe Harold (consisting of one hundred and seventeen stanzas), longer than either of the two former, and in some parts, it may be, better; but of course on that I cannot determine. I shall send it by the first safe-looking opportunity. « Ever, etc.>> LETTER CCXLIII. TO MR MURRAY. « Diodati, near Geneva, July 22d, 1816. "I wrote to you a few weeks ago, and Dr Polidori received your letter; but the packet has not made its appearance, nor the epistle, of which you gave notice therein. I enclose you an advertisement,' which was 'The following was the advertisement enclosed: Neatly printed and hot-pressed, 2s. 6d. Lord Byron's Farewell to England, with three other Poems-Ode to St Helena, to My Daughter on her Birthday, and to the Lily of France. « Printed by J. Johnston, Cheapside, 335; Oxford, 9. The above beautiful Poems will be read with the most lively interest, as it is probable they will be the last of the author's that will appear in England.» copied by Dr Polidori, and which appears to be about the most impudent imposition that ever issued from Grub-street. I need hardly say that I know nothing of all this trash, nor whence it may spring,- Odes to St Helena,'-'Farewells to England,' etc. etc.—and if it can be disavowed, or is worth disavowing, you have full authority to do so. I never wrote, nor conceived, a line on any thing of the kind, any more than of two other things with which I was saddled--something about 'Gaul,' and another about 'Mrs La Valette;' and as to the 'Lily of France,' I should as soon think of celebrating a turnip. 'On the morning of my daughter's birth,' I had other things to think of than verses; and should never have dreamed of such an invention, till Mr Johnston and his pamphlet's advertisement broke in upon me with a new light on the crafts and subtleties of the demon of printing,-or rather publishing. "I did hope that some succeeding lie would have superseded the thousand and one which were accumulated during last winter. I can forgive whatever may be said of or against me, but not what they make me say or sing for myself. It is enough to answer for what I have written; but it were too much for Job himself to bear what fone has not. I suspect that when the Arab Patriarch wished that his enemy had written a book,' he did not anticipate his own name on the title-page. I feel quite as much bored with this foolery as it deserves, and more than I should be if I had not a headache. « Of Glenarvon, Madame de Staël told me (ten days ago, at Copet) marvellous and grievous things; but I have seen nothing of it but the motto, which promises amiably for us and for our tragedy.' If such be the posy, what should the ring be?— a name to all suc ceeding," etc. The generous moment selected for the publication is probably its kindest accompaniment, and-truth to say-the time was well chosen. I have not even a guess at the contents, except from the very vague accounts I have heard. « I ought to be ashamed of the egotism of this letter. It is not my fault altogether, and I shall be but too happy to drop the subject when others will allow me. << I am in tolerable plight, and in my last letter told you what I had done in the way of all rhyme. I trust that you prosper, and that your authors are in good condition. I should suppose your stud has received some increase by what I hear. Bertram must be a good horse; does he run next meeting? I hope you will beat the Row. « Yours alway, etc.» LETTER CCXLIV. TO MR ROGERS. Diodati, near Geneva, July 29th, 1816. « Do you recollect a book, Mathieson's Letters, which you lent me, which I have still, and yet hope to return to your library? Well, I have encountered at Copet and elsewhere Gray's correspondent, that same Bonstetten, to whom I lent the translation of his correspondent's epistles for a few days; but all he could remember of Gray amounts to little, except that he w 'The motto is He left a name to all succeeding times, was the most Link'd with one virtue and a thousand crimes. |