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Declining gently, falls a fading flower;
Thus, sweetly drooping, bends his lovely head,
And lingering beauty hovers round the dead.

But fiery Nisus stems the battle's tide,
Revenge his leader, and despair his guide;
Volscens he seeks amidst the gathering host,
Volscens must soon appease his comrade's ghost;
Steel, flashing, pours on steel, foe crowds on foe;
Rage nerves his arm, fate gleams in every blow :
In vain beneath unnumber'd wounds he bleeds,
Nor wounds, nor death, distracted Nisus heeds;
In viewless circles wheel'd, his falchion flies,
Nor quits the hero's grasp till Volscens dies;
Deep in his throat its end the weapon found,

The tyrant's soul fled groaning through the wound.
Thus Nisus all his fond affection proved -
Dying, revenged the fate of him he loved;
Then on his bosom sought his wonted place,
And death was heavenly in his friend's embrace!
Celestial pair! if aught my verse can claim,
Wafted on Time's broad pinion, yours is fame!
Ages on ages shall your fate admire,

No future day shall see your names expire,
While stands the Capitol, immortal dome!
And vanquish'd millions hail their empress, Rome!

TRANSLATION FROM THE MEDEA OF EURIPIDES.

Ερωτὲς ὑπὲρ μὲν ἄγαν, και το λο]

WHEN fierce conflicting passions urge The breast where love is wont to glow, What mind can stem the stormy surge

Which rolls the tide of human woe? The hope of praise, the dread of shame, Can rouse the tortured breast no more; The wild desire, the guilty flame,

Absorbs each wish it felt before.

But if affection gently thrills

The soul by purer dreams possest, The pleasing balm of mortal ills

In love can soothe the aching breast : If thus thou comest in disguise,

Fair Venus! from thy native heaven,
What heart unfeeling would despise
The sweetest boon the gods have given ?
But never from thy golden bow

May I beneath the shaft expire!
Whose creeping venom, sure and slow,
Awakes an all-consuming fire:
Ye racking doubts! ye jealous fears!
With others wage internal war;

Repentance, source of future tears,

From me be ever distant far! May no distracting thoughts destroy The holy calm of sacred love! May all the hours be wing'd with joy, Which hover faithful hearts above! Fair Venus! on thy myrtle shrine May I with some fond lover sigh, Whose heart may mingle pure with mineWith me to live, with me to die! My native soil! beloved before, Now dearer as my peaceful home, Ne'er may I quit thy rocky shore,

A hapless banish'd wretch to roam! This very day, this very hour,

May I resign this fleeting breath! Nor quit my silent humble bower;

A doom to me far worse than death.
Have I not heard the exile's sigh,

And seen the exile's silent tear,
Through distant climes condemn'd to fly,
Ap ensive weary wanderer here?
Ah! hapless dame! (1) no sire bewails,

No friend thy wretched fate deplores,
No kindred voice with rapture hails

Thy steps within a stranger's doors. Perish the fiend whose iron heart,

To fair affection's truth unknown,
Bids her he fondly loved depart,

Unpitied, helpless, and alone;
Who ne'er unlocks with silver key (2)

The miider treasures of his soul,-
May such a friend be far from me,

And ocean's storms between us roll!

THOUGHTS SUGGESTED BY A COLLEGE
EXAMINATION.

HIGH in the midst, surrounded by his peers,
MAGNUS (3) his ample front sublime uprears:
Placed on his chair of state, he seems a god,
While Sophs and Freshmen tremble at his nod.
As all around sit wrapt in speechless gloom,
His voice in thunder shakes the sounding dome;
Denouncing dire reproach to luckless fools,
Unskill'd to plod in mathematic rules.

Happy the youth in Euclid's axioms tried,
Though little versed in any art beside;
Who, scarcely skill'd an English line to pen,
Scans Attic metres with a critic's ken.
What though he knows not how his fathers bled,
When civil discord piled the fields with dead,

(1) Medea, who accompanied Jason to Corinth, was deserted by him for the daughter of Creon, king of that city. The chorus from which this is taken here addresses Medea; though a considerable liberty is taken with the original, by (3) No reflection is here intended against the person mentioned

expanding the idea, as also in some other parts of the translation. (3) The original is Καθαρὰν ἀνοίξαντι κλῆδα φρενών, literally "disclosing the bright key of the mind."

When Edward bade his conquering bands advance,
Or Henry trampled on the crest of France;
Though marvelling at the name of Magna Charta,
Yet well he recollects the laws of Sparta;
Can tell what edicts sage Lycurgus made,
While Blackstone's on the shelf neglected laid;
Of Grecian dramas vaunts the deathless fame,
Of Avon's bard remembering scarce the name.

Such is the youth whose scientific pate
Class-honours, medals, fellowships, await;
Or even, perhaps, the declamation prize,
If to such glorious height he lifts his eyes.
But lo! no common orator can hope
The envied silver cup within his scope.
Not that our heads much eloquence require,
The ATHENIAN'S (1) glowing style, or Tully's fire.
A manner clear or warm is useless, since
We do not try by speaking to convince.
Be other orators of pleasing proud,

We speak to please ourselves, not move the crowd:
Our gravity prefers the muttering tone,

A proper mixture of the squeak and groan :
No borrow'd grace of action must be seen;
The slightest motion would displease the Dean; (2)
Whilst every staring graduate would prate
Against what he could never imitate.

The man who hopes to obtain the promised cup
Must in one posture stand, and ne'er look up;
Nor stop, but rattle over every word—
No matter what, so it can not be heard.
Thus let him hurry on, nor think to rest :
Who speaks the fastest 's sure to speak the best;
Who utters most within the shortest space
May safely hope to win the wordy race.

The sons of science these, who, thus repaid,
Linger in ease in Granta's sluggish shade;
Where on Cam's sedgy banks supine they lie
Unknown, unhonour'd live, unwept for die :
Dull as the pictures which adorn their halls,
They think all learning fix'd within their walls :

under the name of Magnus. He is merely represented as performing an unavoidable function of his office. Indeed, such an attempt could only recoil upon myself; as that gentleman is now as much distinguished by his eloquence, and the dignified propriety with which he fills his situation, at he was in his younger days for wit and conviviality.

[Dr. William Lort Mansel was, in 1798, appointed to the headship of Trinity College, by Mr. Pitt. He was indebted to the influence of his fellow collegian, the late Mr. Perceval, for his subsequent promotion to the see of Bristol. He is supposed to have materially assisted in the Pursuits of Literature. His Lordship died at Trinity Lodge, in June, 1820.-E.] (1) Demosthenes.

In manners rude, in foolish forms precise,
All modern arts affecting to despise;

Yet prizing Bentley's, Brunck's, or Porson's (3) note,
More than the verse on which the critic wrote:
Vain as their honours, heavy as their ale,
Sad as their wit, and tedious as their tale;
To friendship dead, though not untaught to feel
When Self and Church demand a bigot zeal.
With eager haste they court the lord of power,
Whether 't is Pitt or Petty rules the hour; (4)
To him, with suppliant smiles, they bend the head,
While distant mitres to their eyes are spread.
But should a storm o'erwhelm him with disgrace,
They'd fly to seek the next who fill'd his place.
Such are the men who learning's treasures guard!
Such is their practice, such is their reward!
This much, at least, we may presume to say—
The premium can't exceed the price they pay.

1806.

TO A BEAUTIFUL QUAKER.

SWEET girl! though only once we met,
That meeting I shall ne'er forget;
And though we ne'er may meet again,
Remembrance will thy form retain.

I would not say, "I love," but still
My senses struggle with my will:
In vain, to drive thee from my breast,
My thoughts are more and more represt ;
In vain I check the rising sighs,
Another to the last replies;
Perhaps this is not love, but yet
Our meeting I can ne'er forget.

What though we never silence broke,
Our eyes a sweeter language spoke!
The tongue in flattering falsehood deals,
And tells a tale it never feels:
Deceit the guilty lips impart;
And hush the mandates of the heart;

to have seen Porson at Cambridge, in the hall of our college, and in private parties; and I never can recollect him except as drunk or brutal, and generally both. I mean in an evening; for, in the hall, he dined at the Dean's table, and I at the Vice-master's; and he then and there appeared sober in his demeanour ; but i have seen him, in a private party of under-graduates, take up a poker to them, and heard him use language as blackguard as his action. Of all the disgusting brutes, sulky, abusive, and intolerable, Porson was the most bestial, as far as the few times I saw him went. He was tolerated in this state amongst the young men for his talents; as the Turks think a madman inspired, and bear with him. He used to recite, or rather vomit, pages of all languages, and could hiccup Greek like a Helot : and certainly Sparta

(2) In most colleges, the Fellow who superintends the chape Inever shocked her children with a grosser exhibition than this service is called Dean.-E.

(3) The present Greek professor at Trinity College, Cambridge; a man whose powers of mind and writings may, perhaps, justify their preference.

man's intoxication." 1818.-E.]

(4) Since this was written, Lord Henry Petty has lost his place, and subsequently (I had almost said consequently) the honour of representing the University. A fact so glaring requires no com[Lord Byron, in a letter written in 1818, says: "I remember ment. [Lord Henry Petty is now Marquess of Lansdowne. —E.

But, soul's 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 "t was the spirit moved us."
Though what they utter'd I repress,
Yet I conceive thou 'It 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, it 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 :

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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!
Oh! 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)

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

(2) The cornelian of these verses was given to Lord Byron by the Cambridge chorister, Eddlestone, whose musical talents first introduced him to the young poet's acquaintance, and for whom be appears to have entertained, subsequently, a sentiment of the ost romantic friendship.-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)

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 to 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 uprear'd 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.

in 1811. Lord Byron, on bearing of his death, thus writes to the mother of his fair correspondent: :-"I am about to write to you on a silly subject, and yet I cannot well do otherwise. You may remember a cornelian, which some years ago I consigned to Miss Pigot, indeed gave to her, and now I am about to make the most selfish and rude of requests. The person who gave it to me, when I was very young, is dead, and though a long time has elapsed since we met, at it was the only memorial I possessed of that person (in whom I was very much interested), it has acquired a value by this event I could have wished it never to have borne in my eyes. If, therefore, Miss Pigot should have preserved it, I must, under these circumstances, beg her to excuse my requesting it to be transmitted to me, and I will replace it by something she may remember me by equally well. As she was always so kind as to feel interested in the fate of him who formed the subject of our conversation, you may tell her that the giver of that cornelian died in May last, of a consumption, at the age of twenty-one, an-making the sixth, within four months, of friends and relations that I have lost between May and the end of August. "The cornelian heart was returned accordingly; and, indeed, Miss Pigot reminded Lord Byron that he had left it with her as a deposit, not a gift. It is now in the possession of the Hon. Mrs. Leigh. - E.

"During this period of his stay in Greece, we find him forming one of those extraordinary friendships of which I have already mentioned two or three instances in his younger days. The object was a Greek youth, named Nicolo Giraud, the son, I believe, of a widow lady, in whose house the artist Lusieri lodged. In this young man he appears to have taken the most lively and even brotherly interest; so much so, as not only to have presented to him, on their parting at Malta, a considerable sum of money, but to have subsequently designed for him a still more unificent, as well as permanent, provision." — Moore. (3) In a letter to Miss Pigot, of Southwell, written in June, 1807, Lord Byron thus describes Eddlestone:-"He is exactly to bour two years younger than myself, nearly my height, very thin, very fair complexion, dark eyes, and light locks. My opinion of his mind you already know; I hope I shall never have occasion to change it." Eddlestone, on leaving his choir, entered into a mercantile house in the metropolis, and died of a consumption,

AN OCCASIONAL PROLOGUE,

DELIVERED PREVIOUS TO THE PERFORMANCE OF
"THE WHEEL OF FORTUNE" AT A PRIVATE
THEATRE. (1)

SINCE the refinement of this polish'd age
Has swept immoral raillery from the stage;
Since taste has now expunged licentious wit,
Which stamp'd disgrace on all an author writ;
Since now to please with purer scenes we seek,
Nor dare to call the blush from Beauty's cheek;
Oh! let the modest Muse some pity claim,
And mest indulgence, though she find not fame.
Still, not for her alone we wish respect,
Others appear more conscious of defect:
To-night no veteran Roscii you behold,
In all the arts of scenic action old;
No Cooke, no Kemble, can salute you here,
No Siddons draw the sympathetic tear;
To-night you throng to witness the début (2)
Of embryo actors, to the Drama new :
Here then, our almost unfledged wings we try;
Clip not our pinions ere the birds can fly :
Failing in this our first attempt to soar,
Drooping, alas! we fall to rise no more.
Not one poor trembler only fear betrays,

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

ON THE DEATH OF MR. FOX,

THE FOLLOWING ILLIBERAL IMPROMPTU APPEARED
IN A MORNING PAPER.

"OUR nation's foes lament on Fox's death,
But bless the hour when PITT resign'd his breath :
These feelings wide, let sense and truth unclue,
We give the palm were Justice points it due."

TO WHICH THE AUTHOR OF THESE PIECES SENT THE
FOLLOWING REPLY.

OH factious viper! whose envenom'd tooth
Would mangle still the dead, perverting truth;
What though our "nation's foes " lament the fate,
With generous feeling, of the good and great,
Shall dastard tongues essay to blast the name
Of him whose meed exists in endless fame ?
When PITT expired in plenitude of power,
Though ill success obscured his dying hour,
Pity her dewy wings before him spread,
For noble spirits" war not with the dead : "
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,
In fond suspense, this crisis of their fate.
No venal views our progress can retard,
Your generous plaudits are our sole reward;
For these, each Hero all his power displays,
Each timid Heroine shrinks before your gaze.
Surely the last will some protection find?
None to the softer sex can prove unkind :
While Youth and Beauty form the female shield,
The sternest censor to the fair must yield.
Yet, should our feeble efforts nought avail,
Should, after all, our best endeavours fail,

He sunk, an Atlas bending 'neath the weight
Of cares o'erwhelming our conflicting state;
When, lo! a Hercules in Fox appear'd,
Who for a time the ruin'd fabric rear'd:
He, too, is fall'n, who Britain's loss supplied,
With him our fast-reviving hopes have died;
Not one great people only raise his urn,
All Europe's far extended regions mourn.
"These feelings wide, let sense and truth unclue,
To give the palm where Justice points it due ;"
Yet let not canker'd Calumny assail,

Or round our statesman wind her gloomy veil.

Το

all the persons concerned in the representation. Some in-
timation of this design having got among the actors, an alarm
was felt instantly at the ridicule thus in store for them.
quiet their apprehensions, the author was obliged to assure
them that if, after having heard his epilogue at rehearsal,
they did not of themselves pronounce it harmless, and even

(1) "When I was a youth, I was reckoned a good actor. Besides Harrow speeches, in which I shone, I enacted Penruddock, in The Wheel of Fortune, and Tristram Fickle, in the farce of The Weathercock, for three nights, in some private theatrica's at Southwell, in 1806, with great applause. The occasional prologue for our volunteer play was also of my composition. The other performers were young ladies and gentlemen of the neigh-request that it should be preserved, he would most willingly bourhood; and the whole went off with great effect upon our good-natured audience.” — Diary, 1821.

(2) This prologue was written by the young poet, between stages, on his way from Harrowgate. On getting into the carriage at Chesterfield, he said to his companion," Now Pigot, I'll spin a prologue for our play ;" and before they reached Mansfield he had completed his task,-interrupting only once his rhyming reverie, to ask the proper pronunciation of the French word "début," and, on being answered (not, it would seem, very correctly), exclaimed, "Ay that will do for rhyme to "new." The epilogue, which was from the pen of the Rev. Mr. Becher, was delivered by Lord Byron.-E.

"For the purpose of affording Lord Byron, who was to speak it, an opportunity of displaying his powers of mimicry, this composition consisted of good-humoured portraits of

withdraw it. In the mean time it was concerted between this gentleman and Lord Byron, that the latter should, on the morning of rehearsal, deliver the verses in a tone as innocent, and as free from all point, as possible, reserving his mimicry, in which the whole sting of the pleasantry lay, for the evening of representation. The desired effect was produced. All the personages of the green-room were satisfied, and even wondered how a suspicion of waggery could have attached itself to so well-bred a production. Their wonder, however, was of a different nature a night or two after, when, on hearing the audience convulsed with laughter at this same composition, they discovered at last the trick which the unsuspected mimic had played on them, and had no other resource than that of joining in the laugh which his playful imitation of the whole dramatis personas excited. " Moore.

Fox! o'er whose corse a mourning world must weep,
Whose dear remains in honour'd marble sleep;
For whom, at last, e'en hostile nations groan,
While friends and foes alike his talents own;
Fox shall in Britain's future annals shine,
Nor e'en to PITT the patriot's palm resign,
Which Envy, wearing Candour's sacred mask,
For PITT, and PITT alone, has dared to ask. (1)

THE TEAR.

"O lachrymarum fons, tenero sacros
Ducentium ortus ex animo; quater
Felix! in imo qui scatentem

Pectore te, pia Nympha, sensit."-Gray.

WHEN Friendship or Love our sympathies move,
When Truth in a glance should appear,
The lips may beguile with a dimple or smile,
But the test of affection's a Tear.

Too oft is a smile but the hypocrite's wile,
To mask detestation or fear;

Give me the soft sigh, whilst the soul-telling eye
Is dimm'd for a time with a Tear.

Mild Charity's glow, to us mortals below,

Shows the soul from barbarity clear; Compassion will melt where this virtue is felt, And its dew is diffused in a Tear.

The man doom'd to sail with the blast of the gale, Through billows Atlantic to steer,

As he bends o'er the wave which may soon be his

grave,

The green sparkles bright with a Tear.

The soldier braves death for a fanciful wreath
In Glory's romantic career;

But he raises the foe when in battle laid low,
And bathes every wound with a Tear.

If with high-bounding pride he return to his bride,
Renouncing the gore-crimson'd spear,

All his toils are repaid when, embracing the maid, From her eyelid he kisses the Tear.

Sweet scene of my youth! (2) seat of Friendship and Truth,

Where love chased each fast-fleeting year,

With a sigh I resign what I once thought was mine,
And forgive her deceit with a Tear.

Ye friends of my heart, ere from you I depart,
This hope to my breast is most near :
If again we shall meet in this rural retreat,
May we meet, as we part, with a Tear.

When my soul wings her flight to the regions of night,

And my corse shall recline on its bier,
As ye pass by the tomb where my ashes consume,
Oh! moisten their dust with a Tear.

May no marble bestow the splendour of woe
Which the children of vanity rear;

No fiction of fame shall blazon my name,
All I ask-all I wish-is a Tear.

REPLY

October 26th, 1806

TO SOME VERSES OF J. M. B. PIGOT, ESQ., ON
THE CRUELTY OF HIS MISTRESS.

WHY, Pigot, complain of this damsel's disdain,
Why thus in despair do you fret?

For months you may try, yet, believe me, a sigh
Will never obtain a coquette.

Would you teach her to love? for a time seem to rove;
At first she may frown in a pet;

But leave her awhile, she shortly will smile,
And then you may kiss your coquette.
For such are the airs of these fanciful fairs,
They think all our homage a debt:
Yet a partial neglect soon takes an effect,
And humbles the proudest coquette.
Dissemble your pain, and lengthen your chain,
And seem her hauteur to regret;

If again you shall sigh, she no more will deny
That yours is the rosy coquette.

If still, from false pride, your pangs she deride,

Sone other admire, who will melt with your fire,

This whimsical virgin forget;

And laugh at the little coquette.

For me,
I adore some twenty or more,
And love them most dearly; but yet,

Loth to leave thee, I mourn'd, for a last look I turn'd, Though my heart they enthral, I'd abandon them all,

But that spire was scarce seen through a Tear. Though my vows I can pour to my Mary no more, My Mary, to Love once so dear,

In the shade of her bower I remember the hour

She rewarded those vows with a Tear.

By another possest, may she live ever blest!
Her name still my heart must revere :

(1) The "illiberal impromptu" appeared in the Morning Post, and Lord Byron's" reply" in the Morning Chronicle.- E. (2) Harrow.

Did they act like your blooming coquette. No longer repine, adopt this design,

And break through her slight-woven net; Away with despair, no longer forbear

To fly from the captious coquette. Then quit her, my friend! your bosom defend, Ere quite with her snares you 're beset : Lest your deep-wounded heart, when incensed by

the smart,

Should lead you to curse the coquette.

October 27th, 1896.

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