The hour draws nigh, a few brief days will close,
To me, this little scene of joys and woes;
Each knell of Time now warns me to resign [mine:
Shades where Hope, Peace, and Friendship all were
Hope, that could vary like the rainbow's hue,
And gild their pinions as the moments flew;
Peace, that reflection never frown'd away,
By dreams of ill to cloud some future day;
Friendship, whose truth let childhood only tell;
Alas! they love not long who love so well."
To these adieu! nor let me linger o'er
Scenes hail'd, as exiles hail their native shore,
Receding slowly through the dark-blue deep,
Beheld by eyes that mourn, yet cannot weep.
Dorset, farewell! I will not ask one part
Of sad remembrance in so young a heart;
The coming morrow from thy youthful mind
Will sweep my name, nor leave a trace behind.
And yet, perhaps, in some maturer year,

Since chance has thrown us in the self-same sphere;
Since the same senate, nay, the same debate,
May one day claim our suffrage for the state,
We hence may meet, and pass each other by
With faint regard, or cold and distant eye.
For me, in future, neither friend nor foe,
A stranger to thyself, thy weal or woe,
With thee no more again I hope to trace
The recollection of our early race;
No more, as once, in social hours rejoice,

Or hear, unless in crowds, thy well-known voice.
Still, if the wishes of a heart untaught

To veil those feelings which perchance it ought;

If these, but let me cease the lengthen'd strain,—-
Oh! if these wishes are not breathed in vain,
The guardian seraph who directs thy fate
Will leave thee glorious, as he found thee great.(1)

1805.

ON A CHANGE OF MASTERS AT A GREAT PUBLIC SCHOOL.(2)

WHERE are those honours, Ida! once your own,

When Probus (3) fill'd your magisterial throne?

As ancient Rome, fast falling to disgrace,

Hail'd a barbarian in her Cæsar's place,

So you, degenerate, share as hard a fate,
And seat Pomposus (4) where your Probus sate.

(1) "I have just been, or rather ought to be, very much shocked by the death of the Duke of Dorset. We were at school together, and there I was passionately attached to him. Since, we have never met, but once, I think, since 1805-and it would be a paltry affectation to pretend that I had any feeling for him worth the name. But there was a time in my life when this event would have broken my heart; and all I can say for it now is, flat-it is not worth breaking. The recollection of what I once felt, and ought to have felt now, but could not, set me pondering, and finally into the train of thought which you have in your hands."- Byron's Letters, 1815.-{The verses referred to were those melancholy ones, beginning,

"There's not a joy the world can give, like that it takes away.” -L. E

(2) In March, 1805, Dr. Drury retired from his situation of head-master at Harrow, and was succeeded by Dr. Butler. -LE.

(3)Dr. Drury, whom I plagued sufficiently, was the best, the kindest (and ye: strict, too) friend I ever had; and I look upon him still as a father."-Diary.

(4) "At Harrow I was a most unpopular boy, but led latterly, and have retained many of my school friendships, and all my dislikes except to Dr. Butler, whom I treated rebelliously, and have been sorry ever since."-Diary.

Of narrow brain, yet of a narrower soul,
Pomposus holds you in his harsh control;
Pomposus, by no social virtue sway'd,
With florid jargon, and with vain parade;
With noisy nonsense, and new-fangled rules,
Such as were ne'er before enforced in schools.
Mistaking pedantry for learning's laws,

He governs, sanction'd but by self-applause.
With him the same dire fate attending Rome,
Ill-fated Ida! soon must stamp your doom:
Like her o'erthrown, for ever lost to fame,
No trace of Science left you, but the name. ✔
July 1805.

GRANTA. A MEDLEY.

4ο Αργυρίαις λόγχαισι μάχου καὶ πάντα κρατήσαις;"
On! Could Le Sage's (5) demon's gift
Be realized at my desire,
This night my trembling form he'd lift

To place it on St. Mary's spire.
Then would, unroof'd, old Granta's halls
Pedantic inmates full display;
Fellows who dream on lawn or stalls,
The price of venal votes to pay.
Then would I view each rival wight,

Petty and Palmerston survey;
Who canvass there with all their might,
Against the next elective day. (6)

Lo! candidates and voters lie (7)

All lull'd in sleep, a goodly number:

A race renown'd for piety,

Whose conscience won't disturb their slumber.

Lord H, (8) indeed, may not demur;
Fellows are sage reflecting men:
They know preferment can occur
But very seldom,-now and then.
They know the Chancellor has got
Some pretty livings in disposal:
Each hopes that one may be his lot,
And therefore smiles on his proposal.

Now from the soporific scene

I'll turn mine eye, as night grows later, To view, unheeded and unseen,

The studious sons of Alma Mater.

The reconciliation which took place between him and Dr. Butler, before his departure for Greece, in 1809, is (says Moore) "one of those instances of placability and pliableness with which his life abounded. Not content with this private atonement to the Doctor, it was his intention, had he published another edition of the Hours of Idleness, to substitute, for the offensive verses against that gentleman, a frank avowal of the wrong he had been guilty of in giving vent to them."-L. E.

(5) The Diable Boiteux of Le Sage, where Asmodeus, the demon, places Don Cleofas on an elevated situation, and unroofs the houses for inspection.

(6) On the death of Mr. Pitt, in January, 1806, Lord Henry Petty and Lord Palmerston were candidates to represent the University of Cambridge in Parliament.-L. E.

(7) The fourth and fifth stanzas ran, in the private volume, thus:

"One on his power and place depends,

The other on-the Lord knows what!
Each to some eloquence pretends,
Though neither will convince by that.

"The first, indeed, may not demur;

Fellows are sage reflecting men," etc.-L. E.

(8) Edward-Harvey Hawke, third Lord Hawke.-E.

The school where, loud warn'd by the bell, we resorted, To pore o'er the precepts by pedagogues taught. Again I behold where for hours I have ponder'd,

As reclining, at eve, on you tombstone (1) I lay; Or round the steep brow of the churchyard I wander'd, To catch the last gleam of the sun's setting ray. I once more view the room, with spectators surrounded, Where, as Zanga (2), I trod on Alonzo o'erthrown; While, to swell my young pride, such applauses resounded,

I fancied that Mossop (3) himself was outshone: Or, as Lear, I pour'd forth the deep imprecation,

By my daughters of kingdom and reason deprived; Till, fired by loud plaudits (4) and self-adulation, I regarded myself as a Garrick revived.

Ye dreams of my boyhood, how much I regret you!
Unfaded your memory dwells in my breast;
Though sad and deserted, I ne'er can forget you:
Your pleasures may still be in fancy possest.

To Ida full oft may remembrance restore me,(5)
While fate shall the shades of the future unroll!
Since darkness o'ershadows the prospect before me,
More dear is the beam of the past to my soul.
But if, through the course of the years which await me,
Some new scene of pleasure should open to view,

I will say, while with rapture the thought shall elate me, "Oh! such were the days which my infancy knew."

TO M. S. G.

1808.

WHEN I dream that you love me, you'll surely forgive; Extend not your anger to sleep;

Fen visions alone your affection can live,

I rise, and it leaves me to weep.

Then, Morpheus! envelop my faculties fast,
Shed o'er me your languor benign;

Should the dream of to-night but resemble the last,
What rapture celestial is mine!

They tell us that Slumber, the sister of Death,
Mortality's emblem is 'given;

To fate how I long to resign my frail breath,
If this be a foretaste of heaven!

Ah! frown not, sweet lady! unbend your soft brow,
Nor deem me too happy in this;

If I sin in my dream, I atone for it now,

Thus doom'd but to gaze upon bliss.

(1) They show a tomb in the churchyard at Harrow, commanding a view over Windsor, which was so well known to be his favourite resting-place, that the boys called it "Byron's Tomb;" and here, they say, he used to sit for hours, wrapt in thought.-L. E.

(2) For the display of his declamatory powers, on the speech-days, he selected always the most vehement passages; such as the speech of Zanga over the body of Alonzo, and Lear's address to the storm.-L. E.

(3) Mossop, a contemporary of Garrick, famous for his performance of Zanga,

(4) "My grand patron, Dr. Drury, had a great notion that should turn out an orator, from my fluency, my turbulence, my voice, my copiousness of declamation, and my action." -Diary.

(5) In the private volume the two last stanzas ran

Though in visions, sweet lady! perhaps you may smile,
Oh! think not my penance deficient!
When dreams of your presence my slumbers beguile,
To awake will be torture sufficient.

TO M——.

Oa! did those eyes, instead of fire,
With bright but mild affection shine,
Though they might kindle less desire,
Love, more than mortal, would be thine.
For thou art form'd so heavenly fair,

Howe'er those orbs may wildly beam,
We must admire, but still despair;

That fatal glance forbids esteem.
When Nature stamp'd thy beauteous birth,
So much perfection in thee shone,
She fear'd that, too divine for earth,

The skies might claim thee for their own:
Therefore, to guard her dearest work,
Lest angels might dispute the prize,
She bade a secret lightning lurk

Within those once-celestial eyes.

These might the boldest sylph appal,
When gleaming with meridiau blaze;
Thy beauty must enrapture all;

But who can dare thine ardent gaze? "Tis said that Berenice's hair

In stars adorns the vault of heaven;
But they would ne'er permit thee there,
Thou wouldst so far outshine the seven.

For did those eyes as planets roll,

Thy sister-lights would scarce appear: E'en suns, which systems now control, Would twinkle dimly through their sphere.(6)

TO MARY,

ON RECEIVING HER PICTURE.(7) Tars faint resemblance of thy charms, Though strong as mortal art could give, My constant heart of fear disarms,

Revives my hopes, and bids me live. Here I can trace the locks of gold

1806.

Which round thy snowy forehead wave, The cheeks which sprung from beauty's mould, The lips which made me beauty's slave.

I thought this poor brain, fever'd even to madness, Of tears, as of reason, for ever was drain'd; But the drops which now flow down this bosom of sadness Convince me the springs have some moisture re'sin'd. "Sweet scenes of my childhood! your blest recollection Has wrung from these eyelids, to weeping long dead, In torrents the tears of my warmest affection,

The last and the fondest I ever shall shed."—L. E. (6) "Two of the fairest stars in all the heaven, Having some business, do intreat her eyes

To twinkle in their spheres till they return."- Shaksp. (7) Of this "Mary," who is not to be contounded with the heiress of Annesley, or "Mary" of Aberdeen, all that has been ascertained is, that she was of an humble, if not equivocal, station in life, and that she had long light golden hair, of which." says Moore, he used to show a lock, as well as her picture, among his friends."-L. E.

Here I can trace-ah, no! that eye,
Whose azure floats in liquid fire,

Must all the painter's art defy,

And bid him from the task retire. Here I behold its beauteous hue;

Eat where's the beam so sweetly straying (1) Which gave a lustre to its blue,

Like Luna o'er the ocean playing?

Sweet copy! far more dear to me,
Lifeless, unfeeling as thou art,
Than all the living forms could be,

Save her who placed thee next my heart.
She placed it, sad, with needless fear,

Lest Time might shake my wavering soul, Unconscious that her image there

Held every sense in fast control.

Thro' hours, thro' years, thro' time, 't will cheer;
My hope, in gloomy moments, raise;

In life's last conflict 't will appear,
And meet my fond expiring gaze.

TO LESBIA.

LESBIA! since far from you I've ranged,
Our souls with fond affection glow not;
You say 'tis I, not you, have changed,
I'd tell you why, but yet I know not.
Your polish'd brow no cares have crost;

And, Lesbia! we are not much older,
Since, trembling, first my heart I lost,

Or told my love, with hope grown bolder.

Sixteen was then our utmost age,

Two years have lingering past away, love!
And now new thoughts our minds engage,
At least I feel disposed to stray, love!
"Tis I that am alone to blame,

I, that am guilty of love's treason;
Since your sweet breast is still the same,
Caprice must be my only reason.

I do not, love! suspect your truth,

With jealous doubt my bosom heaves not;
Warm was the passion of my youth,

One trace of dark deceit it leaves not.

No, no, my flame was not pretended;
For, oh! I loved you most sincerely;
And though our dream at last is ended-
My bosom still esteems you dearly.

(1) In the private volume

But where's the beam of soft desire?

Which gave a lustre to its blue,

Love, only love, could e'er inspire."-L. E.

(2, The last line is almost a literal translation from a Spanish proverb.

(3. The occurrence took place at Southwell, and the beautiful lady to whom the lines were addressed was Miss Houson.-LE

Pistol-firing at a mark seems to have been a favourite pattime of Lord Byron. He laways," says Captain Medwin, in his Conversations, has pistols in his holster, and eight or ten pair, by the first makers in London, carried by his courier." Moore, in his Life says—“Such a passion, indeed had he for arms of every description, that there generally lay a small sword by the side of his bed, with which he used to amase himself, as he lay awake in the morning, by thrusting it through the bed-hangings. The person who purchased

No more we meet in yonder bowers;

Absence has made me prone to roving; But older, firmer, hearts than ours Have found monotony in loving.

Your cheek's soft bloom unimpair'd, New beauties still are daily bright'ning, Your eye for conquest beams prepared, The forge of Love's resistless lightning. Arm'd thus, to make their bosoms bleed,

Many will throng to sigh like me, love! More constant they may prove, indeed; Fonder, alas! they ne'er can be, love!

TO WOMAN.

WOMAN! experience might have told me
That all must love thee who behold thee:
Surely experience might have taught
Thy firmest promises are nought;

But, placed in all thy charms before me,
All I forget, but to adore thee.

Oh memory! thou choicest blessing,

When join'd with hope, when still possessing;
But how much cursed by every lover
When hope is fled and passion's over!
Woman, that fair and fond deceiver,
How prompt are striplings to believe her!
How throbs the pulse when first we view
The eye that rolls in glossy blue,
Or sparkles black, or mildly throws
A team from under hazel brows!
How quick we credit every oath,
And hear her plight the willing troth!
Fondly we hope 't will last for aye,
When, lo! she changes in a day.
This record will for ever stand,

"Woman, thy vows are traced in sand."(2)

LINES ADDRESSED TO A YOUNG LADY.

[As the author was discharging his pistols in a garden, two ladies passing near the spot were alarmed by the sound of a bullet hissing near them; to one of whom the following stanzas were addressed the next morning.] (8)

DOUBTLESS, Sweet girl! the hissing lead,
Wafting destruction o'er thy charms,
And hurtling (4) o'er thy lovely head,

Has fill'd that breast with fond alarms.

the bed at the sale of Mrs. Byron's furniture, on her removal to Newstead, gave out, with the view of attaching a stronger interest to the holes in the curtains, that they were pierced by the same sword with which the old Lord had killed Mr. Chaworth, and which his descendant always kept as a memorial by his bed-side. Such is the ready process by which fiction is often engrafted upon fact."

"Lord Byron had one little hobby which he has shared, I believe, with many distinguished men. He had a great fond. ness for curious arms of every description. He never saw a handsome or a useful sabre, a curious or a good pair of pistols, or a carbine of a peculiar construction, but he coveted it, and generally contrived to obtain it, at however great a cost. He had, consequently, a perfect magazine of curious and extraordinary, but at the same time useful, weapons."— Parry.-P. E.

(4) This word is used by Gray, in his poem of The Fatal Sisters:

"Iron sleet of arrowy shower
Hurtles through the darken'd air."

Surely some envious demon's force,
Vex'd to behold such beauty here,
Impell'd the bullet's viewless course,
Diverted from its first career.
Yes! in that nearly fatal hour

The ball obey'd some hell-born guide;
But Heaven, with interposing power,
In pity turn'd the death aside.
Yet, as perchance one trembling tear
Upon that thrilling bosom fell;
Which I, the unconscious cause of fear,
Extracted from its glistening cell:
Say, what dire penance can atone

For such an outrage done to thee? Arraign'd before thy beauty's throne,

What punishment wilt thou decree? Might I perform the judge's part,

The sentence I should scarce deplore; It only would restore a heart

Which but belong'd to thee before.
The least atonement I can make

Is to become no longer free;
Henceforth I breathe but for thy sake,
Thou shalt be all in all to me.
But thou, perhaps, may'st now reject
Such expiation of my guilt:
Come then, some other mode elect;

Let it be death, or what thou wilt. Choose then, relentless! and I swear Nought shall thy dread decree prevent; Yet hold-one little word forbear!

Let it be aught but banishment.

LOVE'S LAST ADIEU.
Ai, d'aci pe pobyt.-ANACREON.

THE roses of love glad the garden of life,
Though nurtured 'mid weeds dropping pestilent dew,
Till time crops the leaves with unmerciful knife,
Or prunes them for ever, in love's last adieu!

In vain with endearments we soothe the sad heart,
In vain do we vow for an age to be true;
The chance of an hour may command us to part,
Or death disunite us in love's last adieu!

Still Hope, breathing peace through the grief-swollen breast,

Will whisper, "Our meeting we yet may renew:" With this dream of deceit half our sorrow's represt, Nor taste we the poison of love's last adieu! Oh! mark you yon pair: in the sunshine of youth Love twined round their childhood his flow'rs as

they grew;

They flourish awhile in the season of truth,

Till chill'd by the winter of love's last adieu! Sweet lady! why thus doth a tear steal its way Down a cheek which outrivals thy bosom in hue? Yet why do I ask?-to distraction a prey,

Thy reason has perish'd with love's last adieu!

(1) See ante, p. 12, col. 2, note 7-P. E.

(2) In the above little piece the author has been accused by some candid readers of introducing the name of a lady from whom he was some hundred miles distant at the time this was written; and poor Juliet, who has slept so long in the tomb of all the Capulets," has been converted, with a tri

Oh! who is yon misanthrope, shunning mankind?
From cities to caves of the forest he flew :
There, raving, he howls his complaint to the wind;
The mountains reverberate love's last adieu!
Now hate rules a heart which in love's easy chains
Once passion's tumultuous blandishments knew;
Despair now inflames the dark tide of his veins;
He ponders in frenzy en love's last adieu!

How he envies the wretch with a soul wrapt in steel!
His pleasures are scarce, yet his troubles are few,
Who laughs at the pang that he never can feel,
And dreads not the anguish of love's last adieu!
Youth flies, life decays, even hope is o'ercast;

No more with love's former devotion we sue :
He spreads his young wing, he retires with the blast;
The shroud of affection is love's last adieu!
In this life of probation, for rapture divine
Astrea declares that some penance is due;
From him who has worshipp'd at love's gentle shrine,
The atonement is ample in love's last adieu!
Who kneels to the god, on his altar of light

Must myrtle and cypress alternately strew:
His myrtle, an emblem of purest delight;
His cypress, the garland of love's last adieu!

TO A LADY,

WHO PRESENTED TO THE AUTHOR A LOCK OF HAIR
BRAIDED WITH HIS OWN, AND APPOINTED A NIGHT

IN DECEMBER TO MEET HIM IN THE GARDEN. (1)
THESE locks, which fondly thus entwine,
In firmer chains our hearts confine
Than all the unmeaning protestations
Which swell with nonsense love orations.
Our love is fix'd, I think we've proved it,
Nor time, nor place, nor art, have moved it;"
Then wherefore should we sigh and whine,
With groundless jealousy repine,

With silly whims and fancies frantic,
Merely to make our love romantic?

Why should you weep, like Lydia Languish,
And fret with self-created anguish?
Or doom the lover you have chosen,
On winter nights to sigh half-frozen;
In leafless shades to sue for pardon,
Only because the scene's a garden?
For gardens seen, by one consent,
Since Shakspeare set the precedent,
Since Juliet first declared her passion,
To form the place of assignation. (2)
Oh! would some modern muse inspire,
And seat her by a sea-coal fire;

Or had the bard at Christmas written,
And laid the scene of love in Britain,
He surely, in commiseration,

Had changed the place of declaration.
In Italy I've no objection;

Warm nights are proper for reflection;
But here our climate is so rigid,
That love itself is rather frigid!

fling alteration of her name, into an English damsel, walking in a garden of their own creation, during the month of December, in a village where the author never passed a winter. Such has been the candour of some ingenious critics. We would advise these Iberal commentators on taste and arbiters of decorum to read Shakspeare.