Page:The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero) - Volume 2.djvu/67

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A nation swoln with ignorance and pride,[1]
Who lick yet loathe the hand that waves the sword[2]
To save them from the wrath of Gaul's unsparing lord.


But whoso entereth within this town,
That, sheening far, celestial seems to be,
Disconsolate will wander up and down,
'Mid many things unsightly to strange ee;[3]
For hut and palace show like filthily:[4]
The dingy denizens are reared in dirt;[5]
Ne personage of high or mean degree
Doth care for cleanness of surtout or shirt,
Though shent with Egypt's plague, unkempt, unwashed, unhurt.


Poor, paltry slaves! yet born 'midst noblest scenes—

Why, Nature, waste thy wonders on such men?
  1. [For Byron's estimate of the Portuguese, see The Curse of Minerva, lines 233, 234, and note to line 231 (Poetical Works, 1898, i. 469, 470). In the last line of the preceding stanza, the substitution of the text for var. i. was no doubt suggested by Dallas in the interests of prudence.]
  2. Who hate the very hand that waves the sword
    To shield them, etc.—[MS. D.]
    To guard them, etc.—[MS. pencil.]

  3. Mid many things that grieve both nose and ee.—[MS.]
    Midst many ——.—[MS. D.]
  4. —— smelleth filthily.—[MS. D.]
  5. —— clammed with dirt.—[MS. erased.]