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deeds and qnalities than if all had been personal. Be it so if I have deviated into the gloomy vanity of "drawing from self,” the pictures are probably like, since they are unfavourable; and if not, those who know me are undeceived, and those who do not, I have little interest in undeceiving. I have no particular desire that any but my acquaintance should think the author better than the beings of his imagining; but I cannot help a little surprise, and perhaps amusement, at some odd critical exceptions in the present instance, when I see several bards (far more deserving, I allow) in very reputable plight, and quite exempted from all participation in the faults of those heroes, who, nevertheless, might be found with little more morality than "The Giaour,” and perhaps

I must admit Childe Harold to be a very repulsive personage; and as to his identity, those who like it must give him whalever “ alias” they please.

but no

If, however, it were worth while to remove the impression, it might be of soine service to me, that the man who is alike the delight of his readers and his friends, the poet of all circles, and the idol of his own, permits me here and olsewhere to subscribe myself,

most truly,

and affectionately,

his obedient servant,

BYRON.

January, 2, 1814.

THE CORSAIR;

A TALE.

CANTO 1.

" nessun maggior dolore,
“Che ricordarsi del tempo felice
“ Nella miseria,

DANTE,

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I. “O'er the glad waters of the dark blue sea, “Our thoughts as boundless, and our souls as free, “Far as the breeze can bear, the billows foam, “Survey our empire and behold our home! “ These are our realms, no limits to their sway “Our flag the sceptre all who meet obey. “Ours the wild life in tumult still to range “From toil to rest, and joy in every change.

"Oh! who can tell? not thou, luxurious slave! “Whose soul would sicken o'er the heaving wave; 10 “Not thou, vain lord of wantonness and ease! “Whom slumber soothes not — pleasure cannot

please “Oh, who can tell, save he whose heart hath tried, « And danced in triumph o'er the waters wide, “ The exulting sense -- the putse's maddening play, « That thrills the wanderer of that trackless way? That for itself can woo the approaching fight, “And turn what some deem danger to delight; “That seeks what cravens shun with more than

zeal, And where the feebler faint-can only feel - 20 Feel — to the rising bosom's inmost core, "Its hope awaken and its spirit soar? “No dread of death — if with us die our foes “Save that it seems even duller than repose: “Come when it will - we snatch the life of life '“\Vhen lost-what recks it - by disease or strife? “Let him who crawls enamoured of decay, “ Cling to his couch, and sicken years away; “Heave his thick breath; and shake his palsied

head; Ours - the fresh turf, and not the feverish bed. 30 “While gasp by gasp le faulters fort), his soul,

-, one bound

« Ours with one pang

escapes controul. “His corse may boast its urn and narrow cave, “And they who loathed his life may gild his grave: “Ours are the tears, though few, sincerely shed, “When Ocean shrouds and sepulchres our dead. "For us, even banquets fond regret supply “In the red cup that crowns our memory; « And the brief epitaph in danger's day, “When those who win at length divide the prey, 40 “And cry, Remembrance saddening o'er each brow, “How had the brave who fell exulted now !

II. Such were the notes that from the Pirate's isle, Around the kindling watch - fire rang the while; Such were the sounds that thrilled the rocks along, And unto ears as rugged seemed a song! In scattered groups upon the golden sand, They game

carouse

brand; Select the arms to each his blade assign, And careless eyc the blood that dims its shine: 50 Repair the boat, replace the helm or oar, While others straggling muse along the shore; For the wild bird the busy springes set,

- converse

or whet the

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