CIV. 'Twas not for fiction chose Rousseau this spot, Lausanne! and Ferney! ye have been the abodes (23) They were gigantic minds, and their steep aim, Was, Titan-like, on daring doubts to pile Thoughts which should call down thunder, and the flame Of Heaven, again assailed, if Heaven the while On man and man's research could deign do more than smile. The one was fire and fickleness, a child, A wit as various, gay, grave, sage, or wild,- The other, deep and slow, exhausting thought, Which stung his foes to wrath, which grew from fear, Which answers to all doubts so eloquently well. CVIII. Yet, peace be with their ashes,-for by them, It is not ours to judge,-far less condemn; The hour must come when such things shall be made But let me quit man's works, again to read To their most great and growing region, where Italia! too, Italia! looking on thee, Full flashes on the soul the light of ages, Who glorify thy consecrated pages; Thou wert the throne and grave of empires; still, The fount at which the panting mind assuages Her thirst of knowledge, quaffing there her fill, Flows from the eternal source of Rome's imperial hill CXI. Thus far I have proceeded in a theme Renewed with no kind auspices :-to feel Is a stern task of soul :-No matter,-it is taught. CXII. And for these words, thus woven into song, I stood and stand alone,-remembered or forgot. I have not loved the world, nor the world me; Nor coined my cheek to smiles,-nor cried aloud They could not deem me one of such; I stood Of thoughts which were not their thoughts, and still could, Had I not filed (24) my mind, which thus itself subdued. CXIV. I have not loved the world, nor the world me,- Though I have found them not, that there may be Snares for the failing; I would also deem O'er others' griefs that some sincerely grieve: (25) That two, or one, are almost what they seem,— That goodness no name, and happiness no dream. CXV. My daughter! with thy name this song begun— CXVI. To aid thy mind's development,-to watch And print on thy soft cheek a parent's kiss,- I know not what is there, yet something like to this. Yet, though dull Hate as duty should be taught, Though the grave closed between us,-'twere the same, 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, Shall be more tempered, and thy hope far higher. As, with a sich I deem thou might'st have been to me. Venice, January 2, 1818. ΤΟ JOHN HOBHOUSE, ESQ. A. M. F. R. S. &c. &c. &c. MY DEAR HOBHOUSE, AFTER an interval of eight years between the composition of the first and last cantos of Childe Harold, the conclusion of the poem is about to be submitted to the public. In parting with so old a friend it is not extraordinary that I should recur to one still older and better,-to one who has beheld the birth and death of the other, and to whom I am far more indebted for the social advantages of an enlightened friendship, than-though not ungrateful -I can, or could be, to Childe Harold, for any public favour reflected through the poem on the poet,-to one, whom I have known long and accompanied far, whom I have found wakeful over my sickness and kind in my sorrow, glad in my prosperity, and firm in my adversity, true in counsel and trusty in peril-to a friend often tried and never found wanting;-to yourself. In so doing, I recur from fiction to truth; and in dedicating to you in its complete, or at least concluded state, a poetica! work which is the longest, the most thoughtful and comprehensive of my compositions, I wish to do honour to myself by the record of many years' intimacy with a man of learning, of talent, of steadiness, and of honour. It is not for minds like ours to give or to receive flattery; yet the praises of sincerity have ever been permitted to the voice of friendship; and it is not for you, nor even for others, but to relieve a heart which has not elsewhere, or lately, been so much accustomed to the encounter of goodwill as to withstand the shock firmly, that I thus attempt to commemorate your good qualities, or rather the advantages which I have derived from their exertion. Even the recurrence to the date of this letter, the anniversary of the K |