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Declining cently, falls a fading flower ;

Repentance, source of future lears, Thus, sweetly drooping, bends his lovely head,

From me be ever distant far! Aod lingering beauly hovers round the dead.

May no distracting thoughts destroy But fiery Nisus stems the battle's tide,

The holy calm of sacred love! Revenge his leader, and despair his guide;

May all the hours be wing'd with joy, Volscens he seeks amidst the gathering host,

Which hover faithful hearts above ! Volscens must soon appease his comrade's ghost; Fair Venus ! on thy myrtle shrine Steel, Alasbing, pours on steel, foe crowds on foe; May I with some fond lover sigh, Rage nerves his arm, fale gleams in every blow : Whose heart may mingle pure with mine| In vain beneath unnumber'd wounds he bleeds,

With me to live, with me to die! Nor wounds, nor death, distracted Nisus heeds;

My native soil ! beloved before, In viewless circles wheeld, his falchion flies,

Now dearer as my peaceful home, Nor quits the hero's grasp till Volscens dies;

Ne'er may I quit thy rocky shore, Deep in his throat its end the weapon found,

A hapless banish'd wretch to roam! The tyrant's soul fled groaning through the wound.

This very day, this very bour, Thus Nisus all his fond affection proved

May I resign this fleeting breath! Dying, revenged the fale of him he loved;

Nor quit my silent humble bower; Then on his bosom sought his wonted place,

A doom to me far worse than death. And death was heavenly in his friend's embrace !

Have I not heard the exile's sigh, Celestial pair ! if aught my verse can claim,

And seen the exile's silent tear, Wafled on Time's broad pinion, yours is fame ! Through distant climes condemn'd to fly, Ages on ages shall your fate admire,

Ap ensive weary wanderer here? No future day shall see your names expire,

Ah! hapless dame! (1) no sire bewails, While stands the Capitol, inmortal dome !

No friend thy wretched fate deplores, And vanquish'd millions hail their empress, Rome!

No kindred voice with rapture hails

Thy steps within a stranger's doors.
TRANSLATION FROM THE MEDEA OF

Perish the fiend whose iron heart,
EURIPIDES.

To fair affection's truth unknown,
[Ερωτές υπέρ μέν άγαν, και τ..]

Bids her he fondly loved depart,

Unpitied, helpless, and alone;
When fierce conflicting passions urge

Who ne'er unlocks with silver key (2)
The breast where love is wont to glow,

The miider treasures of his soul,
What mind can stem the stormy surge

May such a friend be far from me,
Which rolls the tide of human woe ?

And ocean's storms between us roll!
The hope of praise, the dread of shame,

Can rouse the tortured breast no more; The wild desire, the guilty flame,

THOUGHTS SUGGESTED BY A COLLEGE Absorbs each wish it felt before.

EXAMINATION. But if affection gently thrills

Higu in the midst, surrounded by his peers, The soul by purer dreams possest,

MACNUS (3) his ample front sublime uprears: The pleasing balm of mortal ills

Placed on his chair of state, he seems a god, In love can soothe the aching breast : While Sophs and Freshmen tremble at his nod. If thus thou comest in disguise,

As all around sit wrapt in speechless gloom, Fair Venus ! from thy native heaven,

His voice in thunder shakes the sounding dome; What heart unfeeling would despise

Denouncing dire reproach to luckless fools,
The sweetest boon the gods have given ? Unskill'd to plod in mathematic rules.
But never from thy golden bow

Happy the youth in Euclid's axioms tried,
May I beneath the shaft expire !

Though little versed in any art beside; Whose creeping venom, sure and slow, Who, scarcely skill'd an English line to pen, Awakes an all-consuming fire :

Scans Attic metres with a critic's ken. Ye racking doubts ! ye jealous fears!

What though he knows not how his fathers bled, With others wage internal war;

When civil discord piled the fields with dead, (1) Medea, who accompanied Jason 10 Corinth, was de expanding the idea, as also in some other parts of the translation. serted by him for the daughter of Creon, king of that city. (2) The original is Καθαράν ανοίξαντι κλήδα φρενών, literally The chorus from which this is taken bere addresses Medea; “ disclosing the bright key of the mind.” though a considerable liberty is taken with the original, by (3) No reflection is bere intended against the person mentioned

When Edward bade his conquering bands advance, In manners rude, in foolish forms precise,
Or Henry trampled on the crest of France; All modern arts affecting to despise;
Though marvelling at the name of Magna Charta, Yet prizing Bentley's, Brunck's, or Porson's (3) note,
Yet well he recollects the laws of Sparta;

More than the verse on which the critic wrote: Can tell what edicts sage Lycurgus made,

Vain as their honours, heavy as their ale, While Blackstone's on the shelf neglected laid; Sad as their wit, and tedious as their tale; Of Grecian dramas yaunts the deathless fame, To friendship dead, though not untaught to feel Of Avon's bard remembering scarce the name. When Self and Church demand a bigot zeal.

With eager haste they court the lord of power, Such is the youth whose scientific pate

Whether 't is Pitt or Pelty rules the hour;(4) Class-honours, medals, fellowships, await;

To him, with suppliant smiles, they bend the head, Or even, perhaps, the declamation prize,

While distant mitres to their eyes are spread. If to such glorious height he lifts his eyes.

But should a storm o'erwhelm him with disgrace, But lo! no common orator can hope

They'd fly to seek the next who fill'd his place. The envied silver cup within his scope.

Such are the men who learning's treasures guard! Not that our heads much eloquence require,

Such is their practice, such is their reward ! The ATHENIAN'S (1) glowing style, or Tully's fire.

This much, at least, we may presume to say— A manner clear or warm is useless, since

The premium can't exceed the price they pay.
We do not try by speaking to convince.

1806.
Be other orators of pleasing proud,
We speak to please ourselves, not move the crowd :
Our gravity prefers the muttering tone,

TO A BEAUTIFUL QUAKER.
A proper mixture of the squeak and groan:
No borrow'd grace of action must be seen;

Sweet girl! though only once we met,
The slightest motion would displease the Dean; (2)

That meeting I shall ne'er forget; Whilst every staring graduate would prate

And though we ne'er may meet again, Against what he could never imitate.

Remembrance will thy form retain. The man who hopes to obtain the promised cup I would not say, “ I love," but still Must in one posture stand, and ne'er look up; My senses struggle with my will : Nor stop, but rattle over every word

In vain, to drive thee from my breast, No matter what, so it can not be heard.

My thoughts are more and more represt; Thus let him hurry on, nor think to rest :

In vain I check the rising sighs, Who speaks the fastest 's sure to speak the best ;

Another to the last replies ; Who utters most within the shortest space

Perhaps this is not love, but yet
May safely hope to win the wordy race.

Our meeting I can ne'er forget.
The sons of science these, who, thus repaid, What though we never silence broke,
Linger in ease in Granta's sluggish shade;

Our eyes a sweeter language spoke!
Where on Cam's sedgy banks supine they lie

The tongue in flattering falsehood deals,
Unknown, unhonour'd live, unwept for die : And tells a tale it never feels :
Dull as the pictures which adorn their halls, Deceit the guilty lips impart;
They think all learning fix'd within their walls : And hush the mandates of the heart;

under the name of Magnus. He is merely represented as performing to have seen Porson at Cambridge, in the hall of our college, and an unavoidable function of his oftice. Indeed, such an allempl in private parties; and I never can recollect him except as drunk could only recoil upon myself; as that gentleman is now as much or brutal, and generally both. I mean in an evening; for, in the distinguished by his eloquence, and the dignified propriety with hall, he dined at the Dean's table, and I at the Vice-master's; which he fills bis situation, at he was in his younges days for wit and he then and there appeared sober in his demeanour; but I and conviviality.

have seen him, in a private party of under-graduates, take up a (Dr. William Lort Mansel was, in 1798, appointed to the head-poker to them, and heard him use language as blackguard as his ship of Trinity College, by Mr. Pitt. He was indebted to the in- action. Of all the disgusting brutes, sulky, abusive, and intoler. fluence of his fellow collegian, the late Mr. Perceval, for his able , Porson was the most bestial, as far as the sew times I say subsequent promotion to the see of Bristol. He is supposed to him went. He was tolerated in this state amongst the young men have materially assisted in the Pursuits of Literature. His for his talents; as the Turks think a madman inspired, and bear Lordship died at Trinity Lodge, in June, 1820.-E.)

with him. He used to recite, or rather vomit, pages of all lan(1) Demosthenes.

guages, and could hiccup Greek like a Helot : and certainly Sparta (2) lo most colleges, the Fellow who superintends the chape Inever shocked her children with a grosser exhibition than this service is called Dean.-E.

man's intoxication.” 1818.- E.) (5) Tbe present Greek professor at Trinity College, Cambridge; (4) Since this was written, Lord Henry Petty has lost his place, a man whose powers of mind and writings may, perhaps, justify and subsequently (I had almost said consequently) the honour of their preference.

representing the University. A fact so glaring requires no com(Lord Byron, in a letter written in 1818, says:-" I remember ment. (Lord Henry Pelty is now Marquess of Lansdowne.-E.

THE CORNELIAN.(2)

No specious splendour of this stone

Endears it to my memory ever;
With lustre only once it shone,

And blushes modest as the giver. (3)

But, souls interpreters, the eyes,
Spurn such restraint, and scorn disguise.
As thus our glances oft conversed,
And all our bosoms felt rehearsed,
No spirit, from within, reproved us,
Say rather “I was the spirit moved us."
Though what they utter'd I represi,
Yell conceive thou 'lı partly guess ;
For as on thee my memory ponders,
Perchance to me thine also wanders.
This for myself, at least, I'll say,
Thy form appears through night, through day :
Awake, with it my fancy teems;
In sleep, il smiles in fleeting dreams;
The vision charms the hours away,
And bids me curse Aurora's ray
For breaking slumbers of delight
Which make me wish for endless night;
Since, oh! whate'er my future fate,
Shall joy or woe my steps await,
Tempted by love, by storms beset,
Thine image I can ne'er forget.
Alas! again no more we meet,
No more our former looks repeat;
Then let me breathe this parting prayer,
The dictate of my bosom's care :
"May Heaven so guard my lovely quaker,
That anguish never can o'ertake her;
That peace and virtue ne'er forsake her,
But bliss be aye her heart's partaker !
Ob! may the happy mortal, fated
To be, by dearest ties, related,
For her each hour new joys discover,
And lose the husband in the lover!
May that fair bosom never know
What 't is to feel the restless woe
Which stings the soul, with vain regret,
Of him who never can forget!”(1)

Some, who can sneer at friendship’s ties,

Have, for my weakness, oft reproved me;
Yet still the simple gift I prize,

For I am sure the giver loved me.
He offer'd it with downcast look,

As fearful that I might refuse it;
I told him when the gift I took,

My only fear should be lo lose it.
This pledge attentively I view'd,

And sparkling as I held it near,
Methought one drop the stone bedew'd,

And ever since I've loved a tear.

Still, to adorn his humble youth,

Nor wealth nor birth their treasures yield; But he who seeks the flowers of truth

Must quit the garden for the field. 'T is not the plant upreard in sloth

Which beauty shows, and sheds perfume; The flowers which yield the most of both

In Nature's wild luxuriance bloom.

Had Fortune aided Nature's care,

For once forgetting to be blind,
His would have been an ample share,

If well proportion'd to his mind.

But had the goddess clearly seen,

His form had fix'd her fickle breast;
Her countless hoards would his have been,

And none remain'd to give the rest.

(1) Written at Harrowgate, in August 1806.- E.

in 1811. Lord Byron, on bearing of his death, thus writes to the (2) The cornelian of these verses was given to Lord Byron by mother of his fair correspondent :-“I am about to write to you the Cambridge chorister, P.ddlestone, whose musical lalents first on a silly subject, and yet I cannot well do otherwise. You may introduced him to the young poet's acquaintance, and for whom remember a cornelian, which some years ago I consigned to Miss be appears to have entertained, subsequently, a sentiment of the Pigot, indeed gave to her, and now I am about to make the most taost romantic friendship.- E.

sellish and rude of requests. The person who gave it to me, when * buring this period of bis stay in Greece, we find him forming I was very young , is dead, and though a long time has elapsed one of those extraordinary friendships of which I have already since we met, at it was the only memorial 1 possessed or that mentioned two or three instances in his younger days. The person (in whom I was very much interested), it has acquired a

object was a Greek youth, named Nicolo Giraud, the son , 1 value by this event I could have wished it never to have borne in believe, of a widow lady, in whose house the artist Lusieri lodge my eyes. If, therefore, Miss Pigot should have preserved it, I must, ed. In this young man he appears to have taken the most lively under these circumstances, beg her to excuse my requesting it and even brotherly interest; 80 much so, as not only to have to be transmitted to me, and I will replace it by something she presented to him, on their parting at Malta, a considerable sum may remember me by equally well. As she was always so kind of money, but to have subsequently designed for him a still more

as to feel interested in the fate of bim who formed the subject of faunificent, as well as permanent, provision. ” Moore. our conversation, you may tell her that the giver of that corne(3) lo a letter to Miss Pigot, of Southwell, written in June, 1807, lian died in May last, of a consumption, at the age of twenty-one, Lord Byron thus describes Eddlestone: — "He is exactly to an -making the sisth, within four months, of friends and relations bour two years younger than myself, nearly my height, very thing that I have lost between May and the end of August.” — The cor

very fair complexion, dark eyes, and light locks. My opinion of nelian heart was returned accordingly; and, indeed, Miss Pigot bis mind you already know; I hope I shall never have occasion reminded Lord Byron that he had left it with her as a deposit

, not la change it." Eddlestone, on leaving his choir, entered into a

a gift. It is now in the possession of the Hon. Mrs. Leigh. mercantile house in the metropolis, and died of a consumption,

E.

AN OCCASIONAL PROLOGUE,

Still let some mercy in your bosoms live,
And, if you can't applaud, at least forgive.

DELIVERED PREVIOUS TO THE PERFORMANCE OF

THE WHEEL OF FORTUNE” AT A PRIVATE THEATRE. (1)

ON THE DEATH OF MR. FOX,

Since the refinement of this polish'd age

THE FOLLOWING ILLIBERAL IMPROMPTU APPEARED Has swept immoral raillery from the stage ;

IN A MORNING PAPER. Since laste has now expunged licentious wit,

“ OUR nation's foes lament on Fox's death, Which stamp'd disgrace on all an author writ;

But bless the hour when Pitt resign'd his breath : Since now to please with purer scenes we seek,

These feelings wide, let sense and truth unclue, Nor dare to call the blush from Beauty's cheek; Oh ! let the modest Muse some pity claim,

We give the palm were Justice points it due.”
And me:t indulgence, though she find not fame. TO WHICH THE AUTHOR OF THESE PIECES SENT TILE
Still, not for her alone we wish respect,

FOLLOWING REPLY.
Olhers appear more conscious of defect :
To-night no veteran Roscii you behold,

Oh factious viper! whose envenom'd tooth
In all the arts of scenic action old;

Would mangle still the dead, perverting truth; No Cooke, no Kemble, can salute you here,

What though our " nation's foes " lament the fate, No Siddons draw the sympathetic tear;

With generous feeling, of the good and great, To-night you throng to witness the début (2)

Shall dastard tongues essay to blast the name Of embryo actors, to the Drama new :

Of him whose meed exists in endless fame? Here then, our almost unfledged wings we try;

When Pitt expired in plenitude of power, Clip not our 'pinions ere the birds can fly :

Though ill success obscured his dying hour, Fajling in this our first attempt to soar,

Pity her dewy wings before him spread, Drooping, alas! we fall to rise no more.

For noble spirits “ war not with the dead : Not one poor trembler only fear betrays,

His friends, in tears, a last sad requiem gave, Who hopes, yet almost dreads, to meet your praise ;

As all his errors slumber'd in the grave; But all our dramatis personæ wait,

He sunk, an Atlas bending 'neath the weight In fond suspense, this crisis of their fate.

Of cares o'erwhelming our conflicting state; No venal views our progress can retard,

When, lo! a Hercules in Fox appear'd, Your generous plaudits are our sole reward; Who for a time the ruin'd fabric rear'd : For these, each Hero all his power displays, He, too, is fall'n, who Britain's loss supplied, Each timid Heroine shrinks before your gaze.

With him our fast-reviving hopes have died; Surely the last will some protection find ?

Not one great people only raise his urn, None to the softer sex can prove unkind :

All Europe's far extended regions mourn. While Youth and Beauty form the female shield, “These feelings wide, let sense and truth unclue, The sternest censor to the fair must yield.

To give the palm where Justice points it due ;" Yet, should our feeble efforts nought avail, Yet let not canker'd Calumny assail, Should, after all, our best endeavours fail, Or round our statesman wind her gloomy veil.

(1) “When I was a youth, I was reckoned a good actor. Be- all the persons concerned in the representation. Some insides Harrow speeches, in which I shone, I enacted Penruddock, timation of this design having got among the actors, an alarm in The Wheel of Forlune, and Tristram Fickle, in the farce of was felt instantly at the ridicule thus in store for them. To The Weathercock, for three nights, in some private theatrica's quiet their apprehensions , the author was obliged to assure at South well, in 1806, with great applause. The occasional pro- them that is, after having heard his epilogue at rehearsal, logue for our volunteer play was also of my composition. The they did not of themselves pronounce it harmless, and even other performers were young ladies and gentlemen of the neigh- request that it should be preserved, be would most willingly bourhood; and the whole went off with great effect upon our withdraw it. In the mean time it was concerted between this good-natured audience.” – Diary, 1821.

gentleman and Lord Byron, that the latter should, on the morning (2) This prologue was written by the young poet, between of rehearsal, deriver the verses in a tone as innocent, and as free stages, on his way from Harrowgate. On getting into the car from all point, as possible, reserving his mimicry, in which the riage at Chesterfield, he said to his companion, “ Now Pigot, I'll / whole sting of the pleasantry lay, for the evening of represpin a prologue for our play;" and before they reached Mansfield sentation. The desired effect was produced. All the personages lie had completed his task,-interrupting only once his rhyming of the green-room were satisfied, and even wondered how a susreverie, to ask the proper pronunciation of the French word picion of waggery could have attached itself to 80 well-bred a "début," and, on being answered (not, it would seem, very production. Their wonder, however, was of a different nature a correctly ), exclaimed, “ Ay that will do for rhyme lo “new. night or two after, when, on bearing the audience convulsed with The epilogue, which was from the pen of the Rev. Mr. Becher, laughter at this same composition, they discovered at last the was delivered by Lord Byron.- E.

erick which the unsuspected mimic had played on them, and bad " For the purpose of affording Lord Byron, who was to no other resource than that of joining in the laugh which his speak it, an opportunity of displaying bis powers of mimicry, playsul imitation of the whole dramatis persona excited.” this composition consisted of good-humoured portraits of Moore.

For! o'er whose corse a mourning world must weep, With a sigh I resign what I once thought was mine,
Whose dear remains in honour'd marble sleep; And forgive her deceit with a Tear.
For whom, at last, e'en hostile nations groan,

Ye friends of my heart, ere from you l depart, While friends and foes alike his talents own;

This hope to my breast is most near : Fox shall in Britain's future annals shine,

If again we shall meet in this rural retreat,
Nor e'en to Pitt the patriot's palm resign,

May we meet, as we part, with a Tear.
Which Envy, wearing Candour's sacred mask,
For Pitt, and Pirt alone, has dared to ask. (1)

When my soul wings her flight to the regions of

night,

And my corse shall recline on its bier,
THE TEAR.

As ye pass by the tomb where my ashes consume,

Oh! moisten their dust with a Tear.
"O lachrymarum fons, tenero sacros
Ducentium ortus ex animo; quater

May no marble bestow the splendour of woe
Felix! in imo qui scatentem

Which the children of vanity rear;
Pectore te, pia Nympha, sensit.”—Gray. No fiction of fame shall blazon my name,
When Friendship or Love our sympathies move,

All I ask-all I wish-is a Tear.

October 26th, 1806 When Truth in a glance should appear, The lips may beguile with a dimple or smile, But the test of affection's a Tear.

REPLY Too oft is a smile but the hypocrite's wile,

TO SOME VERSES OF J. M. B. PIGOT, ESQ., ON To mask detestation or fear;

THE CRUELTY OF HIS MISTRESS. Give me the soft sigh, whilst the soul-telling eye

Way, Pigot, complain of this damsel's disdain, Is dimm'd for a time with a Tear.

Why thus in despair do you

fret? Mild Charity's glow, to us mortals below,

For months you may try, yet, believe me, a sigh Shows the soul from barbarity clear ;

Will never obtain a coquette. Compassion will melt where this virtue is felt, Would you teach her to love? for a time seem to rove; And its dew is diffused in a Tear.

At first she may frown in a pet;

But leave her awhile, she shortly will smile,
The man doom'd to sail with the blast of the gale,

And then you may kiss your coquette.
Through billows Atlantic to steer,
As he bends o'er the wave which may soon be his For such are the airs of these fanciful fairs,
grave,

They think all our homage a debt:
The green sparkles bright with a Tear.

Yet a partial neglect soon takes an effect,

And humbles the proudest coquette.
The soldier braves death for a fanciful wreath
In Glory's romantic career;

Dissemble your pain, and lengthen your chain,

And seem her hauteur to regret;
But he raises the foe when in battle laid low,
And bathes every wound with a Tear.

If again you shall sigh, she no more will deny

That yours is the rosy coquette.
If with high-bounding pride he return to his bride, If still, from false pride, your pangs she deride,

Renouncing the gore-crimson'd spear,
All his toils are repaid when, embracing the maid, Sonie other admire, who will melt with your fire,

This whimsical virgin forget ;
From her eyelid he kisses the Tear.

And laugh at the little coquette.
Sweet scene of my youth! (2) seat of Friendship and

For I adore some twenty or more,
Truth,
Where love chased each fast-fleeting year,

And love them most dearly; but yet,
Loth to leave thee, I mourn’d, for a last look Iturn'd, Though my heart they enthral, I'd abandon them all,

Did they act like your blooming coquette.
But that spire was scarce seen through a Tear.

No longer repine, adopt this design,
Though my vows I can pour to my Mary no more, And break through her slight-woven net;
My Mary, to Love once so dear,

Ayay with despair, no longer forbear
In the shade of her bower I remember the hour

To fly from the captious coquette. She rewarded those vows with a Tear.

Then quit her, my friend! your bosom defend, By another possest, may she live ever blest !

Ere quite with her snares you ’re beset : Her name still my heart must revere :

Lest your deep-wounded heart, when incensed by (1) The "lliberal impromptu” appeared in the Morning Post,

the smart, and Lord Byron's " reply" in the Morning Chronicle.- E. Should lead you to curse the coquette. (9) Harrow.

October 27th, 1876.

me,

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