childe-harold's-pilgrimage

There is a pleasure in the pathless woods,
There is a rapture on the lonely shore,
There is society, where none intrudes,
By the deep sea, and music in its roar:
I love not man the less, but Nature more,
From these our interviews, in which I steal
From all I may be, or have been before,
To mingle with the Universe, and feel
What I can ne'er express, yet cannot all conceal.
—  George Gordon Byron (born January 22, 1788), Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage, Canto IV, Verse 178
There is a pleasure in the pathless woods,
There is a rapture on the lonely shore,
There is society, where none intrudes,
By the deep sea, and music in its roar:
I love not man the less, but Nature more.
—  George Gordon Byron, Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage   

They mourn, but smile at length; and, smiling, mourn:
The tree will wither long before it fall:
The hull drives on, though mast and sail be torn;
The roof-tree sinks, but moulders on the hall
In massy hoariness; the ruined wall
Stands when its wind-worn battlements are gone;
The bars survive the captive they enthral;
The day drags through though storms keep out the sun;
And thus the heart will break, yet brokenly live on:

E’en as a broken mirror, which the glass
In every fragment multiplies; and makes
A thousand images of one that was,
The same, and still the more, the more it breaks;
And thus the heart will do which not forsakes,
Living in shattered guise, and still, and cold,
And bloodless, with its sleepless sorrow aches,
Yet withers on till all without is old,
Showing no visible sign, for such things are untold.

~ Excerpt from Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage
Lord Byron

from childe harold's pilgrimage
Developing the mountains, leaves and flowers,
And shining in the brawling brook, where-by,				290
Clear as its current, glide the sauntering hours
With a calm languor, which, though to the eye
Idlesse it seem, hath its morality.
If from society we learn to live,
'Tis solitude should teach us how to die;
It hath no flatterers; vanity can give
No hollow aid; alone -- man with his God must strive:
From "Childe Harold's Pilgrimage"

XXXII

They mourn, but smile at length; and smiling, mourn:
The tree will wither long before it fall;
The hull drives on, though mast and sail be torn;
The roof-tree sinks, but moulders on the hall
In massy hoariness; the ruin’d wall
Stands when its wind-worn battlements are gone;
The bars survive the captive they enthrall;
The day drags through though storms keep out the sun;
And thus the heart will break, yet brokenly live on:

“But I have lived, and have not lived in vain:
My mind may lose its force, my blood its fire,
And my frame perish even in conquering pain,
But there is that within me which shall tire
Torture and Time, and breathe when I expire;
Something unearthly, which they deem not of,
Like the remembered tone of a mute lyre,
Shall on their softened spirits sink, and move
In hearts all rocky now the late remorse of love.”

- Lord Byron, Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage, Canto IV Stanza 137

This makes the madmen who have made men mad  
By their contagion! Conquerors and Kings,  
Founders of sects and systems, to whom add  
Sophists, Bards, Statesmen, all unquiet things  
Which stir too strongly the soul’s secret springs,  
And are themselves the fools to those they fool;  
Envied, yet how unenviable! what stings  
Are theirs! One breast laid open were a school
Which would unteach mankind the lust to shine or rule:
—  George Gordon, Lord Byron, Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage
from childe harold's pilgrimage

Great as thou art, yet parallel’d by those,
Thy countrymen, before thee born to shine,
The Bards of Hell and Chivalry: first rose
The Tuscan father’s comedy divine;
Then, not unequal to the Florentine,
The southern Scott, the minstrel who call’d forth
A new creation with his magic line,
And, like the Ariosto of the North,
Sang ladye-love and war, romance and knightly worth. 360

flickr

Meeting a good friend, Lord Byron by Babis Kavvadias
Via Flickr:
Oh Rome! my country! city of the soul! The orphans of the heart must turn to thee, Lone mother of dead empires! and control In their shut breasts their petty misery. What are our woes and sufferance? Come and see The cypress, hear the owl, and plod your way O'er steps of broken thrones and temples, Ye! Whose agonies are evils of a day – A world is at our feet as fragile as our clay. Byron’s “Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage”, Canto IV, Stanza LXXVIII

youtube

The theme of this week, “Viola, the mysterious instrument” was inspired partly because of how it is given less love an attention in the soloist repertoire than say the violin or cello, even though all three instruments are equally commonly used in ensembles. For today, I decided to share one major viola work,

Berlioz - Harold en Italie

The virtuoso violinist Niccolò Paganini met Berlioz and, after hearing his Symphonie fantastique, had asked him to write something that Paganini could use to showcase a recent gift he’d received: a Stradivarius viola. Berlioz accepted the offer, but what started out as a large scale work for the viola alone, became a work for viola and orchestral accompaniment, but as that grew larger, and after being influenced by Lord Byron’s poem, “Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage”, it became something like a programatic sinfonia concertante. This work displays many ideas of the Romantic aesthetic; it’s based off of a poem, the music is purposefully telling a story, the poem itself is an example of the “Byronic hero”, a dark mysterious and misunderstood artist, and the piece transcends traditional form, written for an expanded orchestra. Paganini was disappointed because he had expected something that would put him at the center stage, continuously playing, instead of being an important part of a larger ensemble. Even so, Paganini was awestruck by the music, and was beyond pleased with the commission. It has since kept its status as one of Berlioz’s major works in the standard repertoire.

Movements:

1. Harold aux montagnes

2. Marche des pèlerins

3. Sérénade

4. Orgie de brigands

Stay tuned for more music for the “mysterious viola”, this week on Musica in Extenso! - Nick Olinger

Loki Reading Byron ( I don’t know why)

I would think Loki’s favorite poem might be Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage, which includes the lines:

I have not loved the world, nor the world me, –
But let us part fair foes; I do believe,
Though I have found them not, that there may be
Words which are things, – hopes which will not deceive,
And virtues which are merciful, nor weave
Snares for the failing: I would also deem
O'er others’ griefs that some sincerely grieve;
That two, or one, are almost what they seem, –
That goodness is no name, and happiness no dream.

Lesson the First

For those who don’t seem to understand the concept of “Byronic hero”, and/or realize that Killian Jones is OUAT’s ONLY VERSION OF THIS PARTICULAR CHARACTER ARCHETYPE.  (Meaning no, he’s not a “trite” or redundant character, he’s something that was sorely LACKING before his appearance on the show - the show didn’t have a formerly “bad” character who wanted to change for altruistic reasons - who wasn’t seeking power or domination or some sense of entitlement, but who was, instead, simply broken).

There’s a whole lot of examples and text behind the Read More, click if you dare~

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