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Our souls at least congenial meet,

Nor can thy lot my rank disgrace;
Our intercourse is not less sweet,
Since worth of rank supplies the place.

November, 1802.
TO D— .(1)
In thee I fondly hoped to clasp

A friend, whom death alone could sever;
Till envy, with malignant grasp,

Detach'd thee from my breast for ever.
True, she has forced thee from my breast,

Yet, in my beart thou keep'st thy seat; Tbere, there thine image still must rest,

Until that heart shall cease to beat.
And, when the grave restores her dead,

When life again to dust is given,
On thy dear breast I'll lay my head-
Without thee, where would be my heaven?

February, 1803.

Of the mail-cover'd barons, who proudly to battle
Led their vassals from Europe to Palestine's

plain, (3)
The escutcheon and shield, which with every blast

rattle, Are the only sad vestiges now that remain. No more doth old Robert, with harp-stringing num

bers, Raise a' fame in the breast for the war-laurell’d

wreath; Near Askalon's towers, John of Horistan (4) slumbers,

Unnerved is the hand of his minstrel by death.
Paul and Hubert, too, sleep in the valley of Cressy;(5)

For the safety of Edward and England they fell :
My fathers ! the tears of your country redress ye;
How you fought, how you died, still her annals can

On Marston, (6) with Rupert, (7) 'gainst traitors con-

tending, Four brothers enrich'd with their blood the bleak


ON LEAVING NEWSTEAD ABBEY.(2) For the rights of a monarch their country defending,

Till death their attachment to royalty seal'd.(8) "Why dost thou baild the hall, son of the winged days? Thoc lootest from thy tower to-day: yet a few years, and

Shades of heroes, farewell! your descendant, departing the blast of the desert comes, it bowls in thy empty court."


From the seat of his ancestors, bids you adieu !

| Abroad, or at home, your remembrance imparting Taroogn thy battlements, Newstead, the hollow winds New courage, he'll think upon glory and you.

whistle; Tbou, the hall of my fathers, art gone to decay; Though a tear dim his eye at this sad separation, In thy once smiling garden, the hemlock and thistle 'Tis nature, not fear, that excites his regret; Have choked up the rose which late bloom'd in the Far distant he goes, with the same emulation, way.

The fame of his fathers he pe'er can forget.

(1) The idea of printing a collection of his Poems first oc the Byrons were engaged, if they were put up by the Byrons curred to Lord Byron irr the parlour of that cottage, which, at all. They were probably placed in their present situation daring his visit to Southwell, bad become his adopted home. wbile the building was in possession of the churchmen. One

iss Pigot, who was not before aware of bis turn for versi of the groups, consisting of a female and two Saracens fying, had been reading aloud the Poems of Burns, wben with eyes earnestly fixed upon her, inay have been the old young Byron said, "that he, too, was a poet_sometimes, and favourite ecclesiastical story of Susanna and the Elders. would write down for her some verses of his own which he re The other, which represents a Saracen, with a European membered.” He then, with a pencil, wrote these lines, “To female between him and a christian soldier, is perhaps an D-- A fac-simile of this fronts this page.-L. E.

ecclesiastical allegory, descriptive of the Saracen and the (2) The priory of Newstead, or de Novo Loco, in Sher. christian warrior contending for the liberation of the church. wood, was founded about the year 1170, by Henry II., and

These sort of allegorical stories were cominon among mo. dedicated to God and the Virgin. It was in the reign of

nastic ornaments, and the famous legend of St. George and Henry VIII., on the dissolution of the monasteries, that, by

the Dragon is one of them."--P. B. a royal grant, it was added, with the lands adjoining, to (4) "In the park of Horseley," says Thoroton, there was the otber possessions of the Byron family. The favourite a castle, some of the ruins of which are yet visible, called apon whom they were conferred was the grand-nephew of Horistan Castle, which was the chief mansion of Ralph de the gallant soldier who fought by the side of Richmond at Burun's successors." Bosworth, and is distinguished from the other knights of the

(5) Two of the family of Byron are enumerated as serving same Christian name, in the family, by the title of “Sir

with distinction in the siege of Calais, under Edward III. John Byron the little, with the great beard." A portrait of

and as among the knights who fell on the glorious field of this personage was one of the few family pictures with which

Cressy.-L. E. the walls of the Abbey, while in the possession of the poet, were decorated.-L.E.

(6) The battle of Marston Moor, where the adherents of

Charles I. were defeated. (3) There being no record of any of Lord Byron's ancestors having been engaged in the Holy Wars, Mr. Moore sug.

(7) Son of the Elector Palatine, and nephew to Charles I. gests, that the poet may have had no other authority for

Ile afterwards commanded the fleet in the reign of Charles Il. this notion than the tradition which he found connected with (8) Sir Nicholas Byron served with distinction in the Low certain strange groups of heads, which are represented on Countries; and, in the Great Rebellion, he was one of the the old panel - work in some of the chambers at Newstead. first to take up arms in the royal cause. After the battle in one of these groups, consisting of three heads, strongly of Edgehill, he was made colonel-general of Cheshire and carved and projecting frora the panel, the centre figure Shropshire, and governor of Chester. “He was," says Claevidently represents a Saracen or Moor, with a European rendon, “a person of great affability and dexterity, as female on one side of him, and a Christian soldier on the well as martial knowledge, which gave great life to the other. In a second group, the female occupies the centre, designs of the well-affected; and, with the encouragement wlude on either side is the head of a Saracen, with the of some gentlemen of North Wales, he raised such a power #eges fixed earnestly upon her. Of the exact meaning of of horse and foot, as made frequent skirmishes with the ! these figures there is nothing known; but the tradition is, enemy, sometimes with notable advantage, never with sig that they refer to a love adventure of the age of the Cru- | nal loss." sades.-L.E.

In 1643Sir John Byron was created Baron Byron of "It is not probable,” says Galt, in his Life of Byron, « that | Rochdale in the county of Lancaster; and seldom has a title the figures referred to any transactions in Palestine in which been bestowed for such high and honourable services as those

That fame, and that memory, still will he cherish; If yet thy gentle spirit hover nigh

lle vows that he ne'er will disgrace your renown; The spot where now thy mouldering ashes lie, Like you will he live, or like you will he perish; Here wilt thou read, recorded on my heart, When decay'd, may he mingle bis dust with your A grief too deep to trust the sculptor's art. own!

No marble marks thy couch of lowly sleep,
1803 But living statues there are seen to weep;

Affliction's semblance bends not o'er thy tomb,

AMiction's self deplores thy youthful doom.
When, to their airy hall, my fathers' voice

What though thy sire lament his failing line?

A father's sorrows cannot equal mine! Shall call my spirit, joyful in their choice;

Though none, like thee, his dying hour will cheer, When, poised upon the gale, my form shall ride, Or, dark in mist, descend the mountain's side;

Yet other offspring soothe his anguish here: Oh! may my shade behold no sculptured urns

But who, with me, shall hold thy former place?

Thine image what new friendship can efface?
To mark the spot where earth to earth returns!
No lengthen'd scroll, no praise-encumber'd stone;

Ah, none! - a father's tears will cease to flow, My epitaph shall be my name alone:(1)

Time will assuage an infant brother's woe; If that with honour fail to crown my clay,

To all, save one, is consolation known, Oh! may no other fame my deeds repay!

While solitary friendship sighs alone.

1803. That, only that, shall single out the spot; By that remember'd, or with that forgot.




ENGLISH GENTLEMAN: BY J. J. ROUSSEAU: FOUNDED "Aotip tapi pix Chayamus ivi Gwelou impos." -LAERTIUS. ON FACTS.” Ox, Friend! for ever loved, for ever dear!

“Away, away! your flattering urts What fruitless tears have bathed thy honour'd bier! May now betray some simpler hearts; What sighs re-echo'd to thy parting breath,

And you will smile at their believing,
Whilst thou wast struggling in the pangs of death! ! And they shall weep at your deceiving."
Could tears retard the tyrant in his course;
Could sighs avert bis dart's relentless force;

Could youth and virtue claim a short delay,

Dear, simple girl, those flattering arts, Or beauty charm the spectre from his prey;

From which thou ’dst guard frail female hearts, Thou still hadst lived to bless my aching sight,

Exist but in imagination, Thy comrades' honour and thy friend's delight.

Mere phantoms of thine own creation;

by which he deserved the gratitude of his royal master, Through almost every page of the History of the Civil Wars, we trace his name in connection with the varying fortunes of the king, and find him faithful, persevering, and disin. terested to the last. "Sir John Biron,” says Mrs. Hutchinson, “afterwards Lord Biron, and all his brothers, bred up in arms, and valiant men in their own persons, were all passionately the king's." We find also, in the reply of Colonel Hutchinson, when governor of Nottingham, to his cousingerman Sir Richard Byron, a noble tribute to the chivalrous fidelity of the race. Sir Richard, having sent to prevail on his relative to surrender the castle, received for answer, that “except he found his own heart prone to such treachery, he might consider there was, if nothing else, so much of a Byron's blood in him, that be should very much scorn to betray or quit a trust he had undertaken."

On the monument of Richard, the second Lord Byron, who lies buried in the chancel of Hucknal- Tokard church, there is the following inscription : "Beneath, in a vault, is in. terred the body of Richard Lord Byron, who, with the rest of his family, being seven brothers, faithfully served King Charles the First in the civil wars, who suffered much for their loyalty, and lost all their present fortunes: yet it pleased God so to bless the humble endeavours of the said Richard Lord Byron, that he re-purchased part of their ancient inberitance, which he left to his posterity, with a laudable memory for his great piety and charity."-L.E.

(1) of the sincerity of this youthful aspiration, the poet "has left repeated proofs. By his will, drawn up in 1811, be

directed that "no inscription, save his name and age, should be written on his tomb;" and, in 1819, he wrote thus to Mr. Murray:-“Some of the epitaphs at the Certosa cemetery, at Ferrara, pleased me more than the more splendid monuments at Bologna; for instance

• Martini Luigi

Implora pace.' Can any thing be more full of pathos? I hope whoever may survive me will see those two words, and no more, put over ine."-L.E

(2) This poem appears to have been, in its original state,

intended to commemorate the death of the same lowly-born youth, to whom the affectionate verses, given in page 2, were addressed :

“Though low thy lot, since in a cottage born," ete. But, in the altered form of the Epitaph, not only this pas. sage, but every other containing an allusion to the low rank of his young companion, is omitted; while, in the added parts, the introduction of such language as

"What though thy sire lament bis failing line ?" . seems calculated to give an idea of the youth's station in life, wholly different from that which the whole tenour of the original Epitaph warrants. That he grew more conscious of his high station, as he approached to manhood, is not improbable, and this wish to sink bis early friendship with the young cottager may have been a result of that feeling. -Moore. Le

The following is a copy of the lines, as they first appeared in the private volume:

"Oh, Boy! for ever loved, for ever dear!

What fruitless tears have bathed thy honour'a bier !
What sighs re-echoed to thy parting breath,
While thou wast struggling in the pangs of death!
Could tears retard the tyrant in his course;
Could sighs avert his dart's relentless force;
Could youth and virtue claim a short delay,
Or beauty charm the spectre from his prey,
Thou still hadst lived to bless my aching sight,
Thy comrades' honour and thy friend's delight,
Though low thy lot, since in a cottage born,
No titles did thy humble name adorn :
To me far dearer was thy artless love,
Than all the joys wealth, fame, and friends could prove,
For thee alone I lived, or wish'd to live;
Oh God! if impious, this rash word forgive!
Heart-broken now, I wait an equal doom,
Content to join thee in thy turf-clad tomb;
Where, this frail. form composed in endless rest,
I'll make my last cold pillow on thy breast;
That breast where oft in life I've laid my head,
Will yet receive me mouldering with the dead:
This life resign'd, without one parting sigh,
Together in one bed of earth we 'n lie!
Together share the fate to mortals given;
Together mix our dust, and hope for heaven."-L. E.



He who sublime in epic numbers roll’d,

And he who struck the softer lyre of love, By Death's (2) unequal hand alike controll'd,

Fit comrades in Elysian regions move!

For he who views that witching grace,
That perfect form, that lovely face,
With eyes admiring, oh! believe me,
He never wishes to deceive thee.
Once in thy polish'd mirror glance,
Thou 'lt there descry that elegance
Which from our sex demands such praises,
But envy in the other raises :
Then he who tells thee of thy beauty,
Believe me, only does his duty:
Ah! fly not from the candid youth;
It is not flattery,—'t is truth.


(ANIMLA! vagala, blandula,
Hospes comesque corporis,
Quæ nunc abibis in loca?
Pallidula, rígida, nudula,

Nec, ut soles, dabis jocos.)
Ah! gentle, fleeting, wav'ring sprite,
Friend and associate of this clay!

To what unknown region borne,
Wilt thou now wing thy distant flight?
No more with wonted humour gay,

But pallid, cheerless, and forlorn.


(Lugete, Veneres, Cupidinesque, etc.)
YE Cupids, droop each little head!
Nor let your wings with joy be spread,
My Lesbia's favourite bird is dead,

Whom dearer than her eyes she loved :
For he was gentle, and so true,
Obedient to her call he flew,
No fear, no wild alarm, he knew,

But lightly o'er her bosom moved:
And, softly fluttering here and there,
He never sought to cleave the air,
But chirupp'd oft, and, free from care,

Tuned to her ear his grateful strain.
Now having pass'd the gloomy bourne
From whence he never can return,
His death and Lesbia's grief I mourn,

Who sighs, alas! but sighs in vain.
Oh! curst be thou, devouring grave!
Whose jaws eternal victims crave,
From whom no earthly power can save,

For thou hast ta'en the bird away: From thee my Lesbia's eyes o'erflow, Her swollen cheeks with weeping glow; Thou art the cause of all her woe,

Receptacle of life's decay.


AD LESBIAM. Equal to Jove that youth must beGreater than Jove he seems to me Who, free from Jealousy's alarms, Securely views thy matchless charms. That cheek, which ever dimpling glows, That mouth, from whence such music flows, To him, alike, are always known, Reserved for him, and him alone. Ah! Lesbia! though 't is death to me, I cannot choose but look on thee; But, at the sight, my senses fly; I Deeds must gaze, but, gazing, die; Whilst trembling with a thousand fears, Parch'd to the throat my tongue adheres, My pulse beats quick, my breath heaves short, My limbs deny their slight support, Cold dews my pallid face o'erspread, With deadly languor droops my head, My ears with tingling echoes ring, And life itself is on the wing; My eyes refuse the cheering light, Their orbs are veiled in starless night: Sach pangs my nature sinks beneath, Aod feels a temporary death.


(Justum et tenacem propositi virum, etc.)
The man of firm and noble soul

No factious clamours can control;
No threat'ning tyrant's darkling brow

Can swerve him from his just intent:
Gales the warring waves which plough,
By Auster on the billows spent

To curb the Adriatic main,
Would awe his fix'd determined mind in vain.
Ay, and the red right arm of Jove,

Hurtling his lightnings from above,
With all his terrors there unfurl'd,

He would, unmoved, unawed, behold.
The flames of an expiring world,
Again in crashing chaos rollid,

In vast promiscuous ruin hurld,
Might light his glorious funeral pile:
Still dauntless 'midst the wreck of earth he'd smile.


« Sulpicia ad Cerintham.”- Lib. 4. CROEL. Cerinthus! does the fell disease Which racks my breast your fickle bosom please? Alas! I wish'd but to o'ercome the pain, That I might live for love and you again: But now I scarcely shall bewail my fate: By death alone I can avoid your bate. (1) This and several little pieces that follow appear to be fragments of school exercises done at Harrow.-L. E.


On! might I kiss those eyes of fire,
A million scarce would quench desire:
Still would I steep my lips in bliss,

And dwell an age on every kiss; (2) The hand of Death is said to be most unjust or unequal, as Virgil was considerably older than Tibullus at bis decease.

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