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There, in apartments small and damp,
To this is join'd the sacred song, The candidate for college prizes
The royal minstrel's hallow'd strain; Sits poring by the midnight lamp;
Though he who hears the music long Goes late to bed, yet early rises.
Will never wish to hear again. He surely well deserves to gain them,
Our choir would scarcely be excused, With all the honours of his college,
Even as a band of raw beginners; Who, striving hardly to obtain them,
All mercy now must be refused Thas seeks unprofitable knowledge:
To such a set of croaking sinners. Who sacrifices hours of rest
If David, when his toils were ended, To scan precisely metres Attic;
Had heard these blockheads sing before him, Or agitates his anxious breast
To us his psalms had ne'er descended, la solving problems mathematic:
In furious mood he would have tore 'em. Who reads false quantities in Seale, (1)
The luckless Israelites, when taken Or puzzles o'er the deep triangle;
By some inhuman tyrant's order, Deprived of many a wholesome meal;
Were ask'd to sing, by joy forsaken, In barbarous Latin (2) doom'd to wrangle:
On Babylonian river's border. Renouncing every pleasing page
Oh! had they sung in notes like these, From authors of historic use;
Inspired by stratagem or fear, Preferring, to the letter'd sage,
They might have set their hearts at ease, The square of the hypothenuse.(3)
The devil a soul had stay'd to hear. Still, harmless are these occupations,
But if I scribble longer now, That hurt none but the hapless student,
The deuce a soul will stay to read: Compared with other recreations,
My pen is biunt, my ink is low; Which bring together the imprudent;
'Tis almost time to stop, indeed, Whose daring revets shock the sight,
Therefore, farewell, old Granta's spires! When vice and infamy combine,
No more, like Cleofas, I fly; When drunkenness and dice invite,
No more thy theme my muse inspires ; As every sense is steep'd in wine.
The reader's tired, and so am I,
1806. Not so the methodistic crew, Who plans of reformation lay:
ON A DISTANT VIEW OF THE VILLAGE AND In humble attitude they sue, And for the sins of others pray:
SCHOOL OF HARROW ON THE HILL.(5) Forgetting that their pride of spirit,
Oh! mihi præteritos referat si Jupiter annos.- Vladih. Their exultation in their trial,
Ye scenes of my childhood, whose loved recollection Detracts most largely from the merit
Embitters the present, compared with the past; Of all their boasted self-denial.
Where science first dawn'd on the powers of reflection, "Tis morn:- from these I turn my sight.
And friendships were form'd, too romantic to last;(6) What scene is this which meets the eye? Where fancy yet joys to retrace the resemblance A numerous crowd, array'd in white, (4)
Of comrades, in friendship and mischief allied ; Across the green in numbers fly.
How welcome to me your ne'er-fading remembrance, Loud rings in air the chapel bell;
Which rests in the bosom, though hope is denied ! 'Tis hush’d:-what sounds are these I hear? | Again I revisit the hills where we sported, The organ's soft celestial swell
The streams where we swam, and the fields where Rolls deeply on the list’ning ear.
1) Seale's publication on Greek Metres displays consider | «While Lord Byron and Mr. Peel were at Harrow together, able talent and ingennity, but, as migbt be expected in so a tyrant a few years older claimed a right to fag little Peel, difficolt a work, is not remarkable for accuracy.
which claim (whether rightly or wrongly I know not) Peel (2) The Latin of the schools is of the canine species, and resisted. His resistance, however, was in vain: ..... Bot very intelligible.
not only subdued him, but determined to punish the refrac. (3) The discovery of Pythagoras, that the square of the tory slave; and proceeded to put this determination in prac. hypothequse is equal to the squares of the other two sides of tice by inflicting a kind of bastinado on the inner fleshy side a right-angled triangle.
of the boy's arm, which, during the operation, was twirled (4) On a saint's-day, the students wear surplices in chapel. round with some degree of technical skill, to render the pain
(5) The free Grammar.scbool at Harrow ranks as one of more acute. While the stripes were succeeding each other, the greatest schools of England, for the learned reputation and poor Peel writhing under them, Byron saw and felt for of its masters, and the distinction which its scholars have the misery of his friend, and although he knew that he was obtained in the world. Its founder was Jobn Lyon, a wealthy not strong enough to fight ..... with any hope of success, Jeoman of Preston, in the parish of Harrow. He obtained, and that it was dangerous even to approach him, he ad. ia the 14th year of Queen Elizabeth, an especial license for vanced to the scene of action, and with a blush of rage, tears perpetuating his benevolence by this foundation for gratuitous in his eyes, and a voice trembling between terror and indig. instruction. -Finden's Niustrations.-P.E.
nation, asked, very humbly, if ..... would be pleased to tell (6) "My school-friendships were with me passions (for him how many stripes be meant to inflict? Wby,' returned was always violent), but I do not know that there is one which the executioner, you little rascal, what is that to you?' has endured to be sure some have been cut short by death) Because, if you please,' said Byron, holding out his arin, till now." -- Diary, 1821.
'I would take half.'”—P.E. In proof of the warmth and generosity of Byron's early (0) * At Harrow I fought my way very fairly, I think I friendships, Moore gives the following interesting anecdote. I lost but one battle out of seven." -Diary, 1821.
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.
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 yon 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 re
sounded, 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."
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,
That fatal glance forbids esteem.
So much perfection in thee shone,
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 meridian 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 M. S. G.
Extend not your anger to sleep;
I rise, and it leaves me to weep.
Shed o'er me your languor benign;
What rapture celestial is mine!
Mortality's emblem is given;
If this be a foretaste of heaven!
Nor deem me too happy in this;
Thus doom'd but to gaze upon bliss.
Though strong as mortal art could give,
Revives my hopes, and bids me live. Here I can trace the locks of gold
Which round thy snowy forehead wave, The cheeks which sprung from beauty's mould,
The lips which made me beauty's slave.
(1) They show a tomb in the churchyard at Harrow, com "I thonght this poor brain, fever'd even to madness, manding a view over Windsor, which was so well known to
of tears, as of reason, for ever was drain'd; be his favourite resting place, that the boys called it " Byron's
But the drops which now flow down this bosom of sadness
Convince me the springs have some moisture retain'd. Tomb ;” and here, they say, he used to sit for hours, wrapt in thought.-L. E.
"Sweet scenes of my childhood! your blest recollection
Has wrung from these eyelids, to weeping long dead, (2) For the display of his declamatory powers, on the
In torrents the tears of my warmest aflection, speech-days, he selected always the most vehement passages;
The last and the fondest I ever shall shed."-LE. such as the speech of Zanga over the body of Alonzo, and
(6) “Two of the fairest stars in all the heaven, Lear's address to the storm.-L. E.
Having some business, do intrent her eyes (3) Mossop, a contemporary of Garrick, famous for his
To twinkle in their spheres till they return." Shaksp. performance of Zanga,
(7) of this “Mary, who is not to be confounded with the (4) “My grand patron, Dr. Drury, bad a great notion that heiress of Annesley, or “Mary” of Aberdeen, all that has I should turn out an orator, from my fluency, my turbulence, been ascertained is, that she was of an humble, if not equi. my voice, my copiousness of declamation, and my action.” vocal, station in life,--and that she had long light golden -Diary.
hair, “of which,” says Moore," he used to show a lock, as (6) In the private volume the two last stanzas ran
well as her picture, among his friends."-LE.
Here I can traceab, no! that eye,
Whose azure floats in liquid fire, Mast all the painter's art desy,
Aud bid him from the task retire. Here I behold its beauteous hue;
But where's the beam so sweetly straying (1) Which gave a lustre to its blue,
Like Lana o'er the ocean playing ? Sweet copy! far more dear to me,
Lifeless, un feeling as thou art, Than all the living forms could be,
Save ber 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. Tbro' hours, thro' years, thro' time, 't will cheer;
My hope, in gloomy moments, raise; In life's last conflict 't will appear,
And meet ny fond expiring gaze.
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 is unimpair'd,
New beauties still are daily brightning, 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!
Our souls with fond affection glow not;
I'd tell you why,—but yet I know not. Yoar polish'd brow po cares have crost;
And, Lesbia! we are not much older, Since, trembling, first my beart 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, ny 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.
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 beam 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.) (3)
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.
1 (1) la the private volume
** Bat where's the beam of soft desire ? Which gave a lastre to its blue,
Love, only love, could e'er inspire."L.E.
2, The last line is almost a literal translation from a Sasia proverb. 1. 3) The occurrence took place at Southwell, and the leastfel lady to whom the lines were addressed was Miss Hosseo_LE
Mstal-firing at a mark seems to have been a favourite pastime of Lord Byron. “He laways," says Captain Medwin, is his Carersations, “has pistols in his holster, and eight *tes pair, by the first makers in London, carried by his osarier. Moore, in his Life says-“Such a passion, indeed had be far arins of every description, that there generally lay a small sword by the side of his bed, with which he used to smuse himself, as he lay awake in the morning, by thrust. ng it taroogh the bed hangings. The person who purchased
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 fondness 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.
() 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 demou'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.
Upon that thrilling bosom fell;
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;
Thou shalt be all in all to me.
Such expiation of my guilt:
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.
Oh! who is yon misanthrope, sbunning 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 on 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!
LOVE'S LAST ADIEU.
Åsi, s'ari que peuye:.-Anachron. The roses of love glad the garden of life,
Though nurtured 'mid weeds dropping pestilent dew, Till time crops the leaves with uninerciful knife,
Or prunes them for ever, in love's last adieu!
In vain do we vow for an age to be true;
Or death disunite us in love's last adieu!
breast, Will whisper, “Our meeting we yet may reuew:" 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 bis 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 !
TO A LADY, WHO PRESENTED TO THE AUTHOR A LOCK OP VAIR
BAAIDED WITH HIS OWN, AND APPOINTED A NIGHT
These locks, which fondly thus entwine,
See ante, p. 12, col. 2, note 7.-P. E.
fling alteration of her name, into an English damsel, walking (2) In the above little piece the author has been accused in a garden of their own creation, during the month of De. by some candid readers of introducing the name of a lady cember, in a village where the author pever passed a winter. from whom he was some hundred miles distant at the time Such has been the candour of some ingenious critics. We this was written; and poor Juliet, who has slept so long in would advise these liberal commentators on taste and arbiters "the tomb of all the Capulets,” has been converted, with a tri. I of decorum to read Shakspeare.
Think on our chilly situation, And curb this rage for imitation; Then let us meet, as oft we've done, Beneath the influence of the sun; Or, if at miduight I must meet you, Within your mansion let me greet you: There we can love for hours together, Much better, in such spowy weather, Than placed in all the Arcadian groves That ever witness'd rural loves. Then, if my passion fail to please, Next night I'll be content to freeze; No more I'll give a loose to laughter, But curse my fate for ever after. (1)
That is to say, unskill'd to cozen, It shares itself among a dozen. Marion, adieu! oh, pr'ythee slight not This warning, though it may delight not; And, lest my precepts be displeasing To those who think remonstrance teasing, At once I'll tell thee our opinion Concerning woman's soft dominion : Howe'er we gaze with admiration On eyes of blue or lips carnation, Howe'er the flowing locks attract us, Howe'er those beauties may distract us, Still fickle, we are prone to rove, These cannot fix our souls to love: It is not too severe a stricture To say they form a pretty picture; But wouldst thou see the secret chain Which binds us in your humble train, To hail you queens of all creation, Know, in a word, 'tis ANIMATION.
TO MARION. MARIOS! why that pensive brow? What disgust to life hast thou? Change that discontented air; Frowns become not one so fair. "T is not love disturbs thy rest, Love's a stranger to thy breast; He in dimpling smiles appears, Or mourns in sweetly timid tears, Or bends the languid eyelid down, But shuns the cold forbidding frown. Then resume thy former fire, Some will love, and all admire; While that icy aspect chills us, Nought but cool indifference thrills us. Wouldst thou wandering hearts beguile? Smile at least, or seem to smile. Eyes like thine were never meant To hide their orbs in dark restraint; Spite of all thou fain wouldst say, Still in truant beams they play. Thy lips—but here my modest Muse Her impulse chaste must needs refuse: She blashes, curtsies, frowns,-in short she Dreads lest the subject should transport me; And, flying off in search of reason, Brings prudence back in proper season. All I shall therefore say (whate'er I think, is neither here for there) Is, that such lips, of looks endearing, Were form'd for better things than sneering. Of soothing compliments divested, Advice at least's disinterested: Sach is my artless song to thee, From all the flow of flattery free. Counsel like mine is as a brother's, My heart is given to some others;
DAMÆTAS. In law an infant (2), and in years a boy, In mind a slave to every vicious joy; From every sense of shame and virtue wean d; In lies an adept, in deceit a fiend; Versed in hypocrisy, while yet a child; Fickle as wind, of inclinations wild; Woman his dupe, his heedless friend a tool; Old in the world, though scarcely broke from school; Damætas ran through all the maze of sin, And found the goal when others just begin: Even still conflicting passions shake his soul, And bid him drain the dregs of pleasure's bowl; But, palld with vice, he breaks his former chain; And what was once his biiss appears his bane. !3)
OSCAR OF ALVA.(4)
A TALE. How sweetly shines, through azure skies,
The lamp of heaven on Lora's shore! Where Alva's hoary turrets rise,
And hear the din of arms no more. But often has yon rolling moon
On Alva's casques of silver play'd; And view'd, at midnight's silent noon,
Her chiefs in gleaming mail array'd: And on the crimson'd rocks beneath,
Which scowl o'er ocean's sullen flow, Pale in the scatter'd ranks of death,
She saw the gasping warrior low;
(1 Having heard that a very severe and indelicate censure has been passed on the above poem, I beg leave to reply in a quotation from an admired work, Carr's Stranger in France. - As we were contemplating a painting on a large scale, ia which, among other figures, is the uncovered whole-length af a warrior, a prudish-looking lady, who seemed to have touched the age of desperation, after having attentively surveyed it through her glass, observed to her party, that there was a great deal of indecorum in that picture. Madame S. shrewdly whispered in my ear, that the indecorum was in the remark."
(2) la law every person is an infant who has not attained the age of twenty-one.
(3) "When I weat up to Trinity, in 1803, at the age of seventeen and a balf, I was miserable and untoward to a defree. I was wretched at leaving Harrow-wretched at going
to Cambridge instead of Oxford-wretched from some private domestic circumstances of different kinds; and, consequently, about as unsocial as a wolf taken from the troop.” Diary. - Mr. Moore adds, “The sort of life which young Byron led at this period, between the dissipations of London and of Cambridge, without a home to welcome, or even the roof of a single relative to receive him, was but little calculated to render him satisfied either with himself or the world. Un. restricted as he was by deference to any will but his own, even the pleasures to which he was naturally most inclined prematurely palled upon him, for want of those best zests of all enjoyment-rarity and restraint."--LE.
(4) The catastrophe of this tale was suggested by the story of Jeronymo and Lorenzo," in the first volume of Schiller's Armenian, or the Ghost-Seer. It also bears some resemblance to a scene in the third act of Macbeth.