Childe Harold's pilgrimage : a romaunt . osity. With all the evil he had done, and suffered, he hinted at furtherdeeds and woes too dark to be disclosed. This wounded and worn-out spirit, breathing aproud disdain of the world, and boldly avowing obnoxious opinions, gave character to a poem,which even otherwise was full of life and passion. Lord Byrons hatred of hypocrisy, andhis ambition to astonish, made him, like the Regent Orleans, tin fanfuron de crimes. Hedarkened every shadow of his self-portraiture, and instead of putting upon vice the gloss ofvirtue, covered native beauties with a mask
Childe Harold's pilgrimage : a romaunt . osity. With all the evil he had done, and suffered, he hinted at furtherdeeds and woes too dark to be disclosed. This wounded and worn-out spirit, breathing aproud disdain of the world, and boldly avowing obnoxious opinions, gave character to a poem,which even otherwise was full of life and passion. Lord Byrons hatred of hypocrisy, andhis ambition to astonish, made him, like the Regent Orleans, tin fanfuron de crimes. Hedarkened every shadow of his self-portraiture, and instead of putting upon vice the gloss ofvirtue, covered native beauties with a mask of deformity. In a poem of which the topics,and, in general, the language, were entirely modern, the antique phrases were out of place,and the jesting passage on the London Sunday is still less in keeping with the ardent tenorof the surrounding verse. But these trivial defects did not diminish the conviction that thestar of song, which shone dimly at its rising, was bursting forth with unrivalled brilliancy asit advanced to its CASTALIAN SPRING CANTO THE FIRST. Oh, thou ! in Hellas deemd of heavenly birth,Muse ! - formd or fabled at the minstrels will!Since shamed full oft by later lyres on earth,Mine dares not call thee from thy sacred hill : 16 ohilde harolds pilgrimage CANTO I. Yet there Ive wanderd by thy vaunted rill;Yes ! sighd oer Delphis long deserted shrine,Where, save that feeble fountain, all is still,Nor mote my shell aAvake the weary NineTo grace so plain a tale—this lowly lay of mine II. Whilome in Albions isle there dwelt a youth,Who ne in virtues ways did take delight;But spent his days in riot most uncouth,And vexd with mirth the drowsy ear of me ! in sooth he was a shameless wight,Sore given to revel and ungodly glee ;Few earthly tilings found favour in his sightSave concubines and carnal companie,And flaunting wassailers of high and low degree. III. (Jhilde Harold was he hight :—but whence his nameAnd lineage long, it suits me not to sa
Size: 1476px × 1694px
Photo credit: © The Reading Room / Alamy / Afripics
License: Licensed
Model Released: No
Keywords: ., bookcentury1800, bookdecade1860, bookpublisherlondonjohnmurray
