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But thou art cold, my murder'd love!

And this dark heart is vainly craving For her who soars alone above,

And leaves my soul unworthy saving. She 's gone, who shared my diadem;

She sunk, with her my joys entombing; I swept that flower from Judah’s stem

Whose leaves for me alone were blooming; And mine ’s the guilt, and mine the hell,

This bosom's desolation dooming; - And I have earn'd those tortures well

Which, unconsumed, are still consuming!

They demanded the song; but, oh never

That triumph the stranger shall know !
May this right hand be witherd for ever,

Ere it string our high harp for the foe!
On the willow that harp is suspended,

Oh Salem! its sound should be free;
And the hour when thy glories were ended

But left me that token of thee:
And ne'er shall its soft tones be blended

With the voice of the spoiler by me!


The Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold, ON THE DAY OF THE DESTRUCTION OF And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold; JERUSALEM BY TITUS.

And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the From the last hill that looks on thy once holy dome When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee.

sea, I beheld thee, O Sion! when render'd to Rome : ’T was thy last sun went down, and the flames of Like the leaves of the forest when summer is green, thy fall

That host with their banners at sunset were seen : Flash'd back on the last glance I gave to thy wall.

Like the leaves of the forest when autumn hath

blown, I look'd for thy temple, I look'd for my home, And forgot for a moment my bondage to come;

That host on the morrow lay wither'd and strown. I beheld but the death-fire that fed on thy fane,

For the Angel of Death spread his wings on the And the fast-fetter'd hands that made vengeance in

blast, vain.

And breathed in the face of the foe as he pass’d; On many an eve, the high spot whence I gazed

And the eyes of the sleepers wax'd deadly and chill,

And their hearts but once heaved, and for ever grew Had reflected the last beam of day as it blazed;

still! While I stood on the height, and beheld the decline Of the rays from the mountain that shone on thy And there lay the steed with his nostril all wide, shrine.

But through it there rolld not the breath of his pride:

And the foam of his gasping lay white on the turf, And now on that mountain I stood on that day,

And cold as the spray of the rock-beating surf. But I mark'd not the twilight beam melting away; Oh! would that the lightning had glared in ils stead, and there lay the rider, distorted and pale, And the thunderbolt burst on the conqueror's head! With the dew on his brow and the rust on his mail;

And the tents were all silent, the banners alone, But the gods of the

pagan shall never profane The lances unlifted, the trumpet unblown. The shrine where Jehovah disdain'd not to reign;

And the widows of Ashur are loud in their wail, And scatter'd and scorn'd as thy people may be,

And the idols are broke in the temple of Baal; Our worship, O Father! is only for thee.

And the might of the Gentile, unsmote by the sword,

Hath melted like snow in the glance of the Lord!

We sat down and wept by the waters

Of Babel, and thought of the day
When our foe, in the hue of his slaughters, A SPIRIT pass'd before me: I beheld
Made Salem's high places his prey;

The face of Immortality unveil'da
And ye, 0 her desolate daughters !

Deep sleep came down on every eye save mine-
Were scatter'd all weeping away.

And there it stood,--all formless—but divine.

Along my bones the creeping flesh did quake; While sadly we gazed on the river

And, as my damp hair stiffen'd, thus it spake: Which rollid on in freedom below,

“ Is man more just than God? Is man more pure

Than he who deems even seraphs insecure ? was haunted by the image of the murdered Mariamne, until dis- Creatures of clay-vain dwellers in the dust! Larder of the mind brought on disorder of body, which led to temporary derangement.” Millman.

The moth survives you, and are ye more just ?

Things of a day! you wither ere the night,
Heedless and blind to Wisdom's wasted light !”(1)

Our hands may be fetter'd--our tears still are free
For our God and our glory-and Sion! oh thee!


In the valley of waters we wept o'er the day
When the host of the stranger made Salem his prey,
And our heads on our bosoms all droopingly lay,
And our hearts were so full of the land far away.
The song they demanded in vain-it lay still
In our souls, as the wind that hath died on the hill;
They call'd for the harp-but our blood they shall

Ere our right hands shall teach them one tone of our

skill. All stringlessly hung on the willow's sad tree, As dead as her dead leaf those mute harps must be ;

They say that hope is happiness;

But genuine love must prize the past,
And memory wakes the thoughts that bless ;.

They rose the first--they set the last.
And all that memory loves the most

Was once our only hope to be,
And all that hope adored and lost

Hath melted into memory.
Alas! it is delusion all;

The future cheats us from afar,
Nor can we be what we recall,

Nor dare we think on what we are. (2)

(1) “The Hebrew Melodies, though obviously inserior to Lord diately consigned them to the flames. As my music adapled to Byron's other works, display a skill in versification, and a mastery them, however, did not share the same fate, and having a contrary in diction, which would bave raised an inferior artist to the very opinion of any thing that might fall from the pen of his Lordship, I summit of distinction. Jeffrey.

treasured them up, and on a subsequent interview with his Lurd(2) The musical composer of the Hebrew Melodies, Mr. Nathan, ship, I accused him of having commilted suicide in making so gives the annexed anecdote relative to these lines:—“Having been valuable a burnt-offering: to which he smilingly replied, “The officiously taken up by a person who arrogated to himself some act seems to inflame you; come, Nathan, since you are displeased sell-imporlance in criticism, and who made an observation upon with the sacrifice, I will give them lo you as a peace-offering, use their demerits, Lord Byron quaintly observed,‘They were writien them as you may deem proper.”” in basie, and they shall perish in the same manner ! and imme

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the heart of the Morea, and to form the siege of Napoli di Romania, the most considerable place in all

that country, (2) thought it best in the first place to "The grand army of the Turks (in 1715), under attack Corinth, upon which they made several the Prime Vizier, to open to themselves a way into storms. The garrison being weakened, and the

(1) The Siege of Corinth, which appears, by the original MS. assure you, that I refuse to worship him; but what is right is lo have been beguo in July, 1815, made its appearance in January, right, and must not yield 10 circumstances. I am very glad that 1816. Mr. Murray having enclosed Lord Byron a thousand gui- the hand-writing was a favourable omen of the morale of the Deas for the copyright of this poem and of Parisina, he replied, - piece; but you must not trust to thal, for my copyist would "Your offer is liberal in the extreme, and much more than the two write out any thing I desired, in all the ignorance of innocence poems can possibly be worth; but I cannot acceplit, nor will not. - hope, however, in this instance, with no great peril to either.” You are most welcome lo them, as additions to the collected vo The copyist was Lady Byron. Lord Byron gave Mr. Gifford i lumes; but I cannot consent to their separate publication. I do carle-blanche 10 strike out or alter any ibing at his pleasure in not like to risk any fame (whether merited or not) which I have this poem, as it was passing through the press; and the reader been favoured with upon compositions which I do not feel to be will be amused with the variæ lectiones which had their origin

at all equal to my own notions of what they should be : though in this extraordinary conlidence. Mr. Gilford drew his pen, it they may do very well as things without pretension, to add to tlie will be seen, through at least one of the most admired passages. publication with the lighter pieces. I have enclosed your drast

-E. torn, for fear of ccidents by the way I wish you would not (2) Napoli di Romania is not now the most considerable place ibrow temptation in mine. It is not from a disdain of the uni- in the Mørea, but Tripolitza, where the Pacha resides, and mainversal idol, por from a present superfluity of bis treasures, I can tains his government. Napoli is near Argos. I visited all three

Governor seeing it was impossible to hold out against so mighty a force, thought it fit to beat a parley: but while they were treating about the articles, one of the magazines in the Turkish camp, wherein they had six hundred barrels of powder, blew up by accident, whereby six or seven hundred men were killed; which so enraged the infidels, that they would not grant any capitulation, but stormed the place with so much fury, that they took it, and put most of the garrison, with Signior Minolli, the governor, to the sword. The rest, with | Antonio Bembo, proveditor extraordinary, were made prisoners of war.”History of the Turks, vol. iii. p. 151.

Or stretch'd on the beach, or our saddles spread
As a pillow beneath the resting head,
Fresh we woke upon the morrow
All our thoughts and words had

We had health, and we had hope,
Toil and travel, but no sorrow.
We were of all longues and creeds;-
Some were those who counted beads,
Some of mosque, and some of church,

And some, or I mis-say, of neither;
Yet through the wide world might ye search,

Nor find a mollier crew nor blither.


But some are dead, and some are gone
And some are scatter'd and alone,
And some are rebels on the hills(4)

That look along Epirus' valleys,

Where freedom still at moments rallies,
And pays in blood oppression's ills;

And some are in a far countree,
And some all restlessly at home;

But never more, oh! never, we,
Shall meet to revel and to roam.

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But those hardy days flew cheerily!
And when they now fall drearily,
My thoughts, like swallows, skim the main,
And bear my spirit back again
Over the earth, and through the air,
A wild bird and a wanderer.

in 1810-11; and in the course of journeying through the country ment to Mr. Murray, says, “I send some lines, written some from my first arrival in 1809, I crossed the Isthmus eight times time ago, and intended as an opening to the Siege of Corinth. in my way from Attica to the Morea, over the mounlains; or in I had forgotten thein, and am not sure that they had not better the other direction, when passing from the Gulf of Athens to be left out now ;-on that, you and your synod can determine." that of Lepanto. Both the routes are picturesque and beautiful, -" They are written,” says Moore, " in the loosest form of that though very different : that by sea has more sameness; but the rambling style of melre, which bis admiration of Mr. Coleridge's voyage being always within sight of land, and often very near Christabel led him, at this time, lo adopl." It will be seen, il, presents many attractive views of the islands Salamis, Ægina, hereafter, that the poet had never read Christabel at the time Poro, ctc. and the coast of the Continent.

when he wrote these lines ;-he had, however, the Lay of the (1) “With regard to the observations on carelessness, etc." | Last Minstrel. With regard to the character of the species of wrote Lord Byron to a friend, “I think, with all humility, that versification at this time so much in favour, il may be observed the gentle reader has considered a rather uncommon, and de that feeble imitations have since then vulgarised it a good deai cidedly irregular, versification for haste and negligence. The to the general ear; but that, in the hands of Mr. Coleridge, Sir measure is not that of any of the other poems, which (I believe) Walter Scoll, and Lord Byron himself, it has often bren employed were a lowed to be tolerably correct, according to Byshe and the with the most happy elfect. Its irregularity, when moulded fingers-or-cars-by which bards wrile, and readers reckon. under the guidance of a delicate taste, is more to the eye than Great part of the Siege is in (I think) what the learned call ana to the ear, and in fact not greater than was admitted in some of pests, though I am not sure, being heinqusly forgelful of my the most delicious of the lyrical measures of thc ancient Greeks. metres and my Gradus, and many of the lines intentionally -E. longer or shorter than its rhyming companion; and the rhyme (5) In one of his sea excursions, Lord Byron was nearly lost in also occurring at greater or less intervals of caprice or conve a Turkish ship of war, owing to the ignorance of the captain and nience. I mean nol to say that this is right or good, but merely crew. “Fletcher,” he says, “yelled; the Greeks called on all that I could have been smoother, 1:ad it appeared to me of advan- the saints; the Mussulmans on Alla; while the caplain burst into Lage; and that I was not otherwise without being aware of the lears, and ran below deck. I did what I could to console Fleldeviation, though I now feel sorry for it, as I would undoubtedly cher; but linding him incorrigible, I wrapped myself up in my rather please iban not. My wish has been to try at something Albanian capote, and lay down to wait the worst.” This strikdifferent from my former efforts; as I endeavoured to make them ing instance of the poet's coolness and courage is thus confirmed differ from each other. The versification of The Corsair is not by Mr. IJobhouse:-"Finding that, from his lameness, he was that of Lara; nor the Giaour that of the Bride : Chile Harold unable to be of any service in the exertions wbich our very is, again, varied from these; and I strove to vary the last some serious danger called for, after a laugh or lwo at the panic of what from all of the others. Excuse all this nonsense and ego his valet, he not only wrapped himself up and lay dowo, in the lism. The fact is, that I am rather trying to think on the subject manner he has described, but when our difficulties were termiof this nole, than really thinking on it."-B. Lellers, Feb. 1816. nated was found fast asleep."-E.

(2) On Christmas-day, 1815, Lord Byron, enclosing this frag (4) The last tidings recently heard of Dervish (one of the Ar

'T is that ever wakes my strain,
And oft, too oft, implores again
The few who may endure my lay,
To follow me so far away.
Stranger-wilt thou follow now,
And sit with me on Acro-Corinth's brow ?


Many a vanish'd year


And, downward to the Isthmian plain,
From shore to shore of either main,
The tent is pitch'd, the crescent shines
Along the Moslem's leaguering lines;
And the dusk Spahi’s bands (4) advance
Beneath each bearded pacha’s glance;
And far and wide as eye can reach
The turban'd cohorts throng the beach;
And there the Arab's camel kneels,
And there his steed the Tartar wheels;
The Turcoman hath left his herd, (5)
The sabre round his loins to gird;
And there the volleying thunders pour
Till waves grow smoother io the roar.
The trench is dug, the cannon's breath
Wings the far-hissing globe of death;
Fast whirl the fragments from the wall,
Which crumbles with the ponderous ball;
And from that wall the foe replies,
O’er dusty plain and smoky skies,
With fires that answer fast and well
The summons of the Infidel.

And tempest's breath, and battle's rage,
Have swept o'er Corinth; yet she stands,
A fortress form’d to Freedom's hands. (1)
The whirlwind's wrath, the earthquake's shock,
Have left untouch'd her hoary rock,
The keystone of a land, which still,
Though fall'n, looks proudly on that hill;
The landmark to the double tide
That purpling rolls on either side,
As if their waters chafed to meet,
Yet pause and crouch beneath her feet.
But could the blood before her shed
Since first Timoleon's brother bled, (2)
Or baffled Persia's despot-fled,
Arise from out the earth which drank
The stream of slaughter as it sank,
That sanguine ocean would o'erflow
Her isthmus idly spread below:
Or could the bones of all the slain,
Who perish'd there, be piled again,
That rival pyramid would rise
More mountain-like, through those clear skies,
Than yon tower-capp'd Acropolis,
Which seems the very clouds to kiss. (3)

But near and nearest to the wall
Of those who wish and work its fall,
With deeper skill in war's black art
Than Othman's sons, and high of heart
As any chief thal ever stood
Triumphant in the fields of blood;
From post to post, and deed to deed,
Fast spurring on his reeking steed,
Where sallying ranks the trench assail,
And make the foremost Moslem quail;
Or where the battery, guarded well,
Remains as yet impregnable,
Alighting cheerly to inspire
The soldier slackening in his fire;


On dun Cithæron's ridge appears
The gleam of twice ten thousan.A cars;

Daouts who followed me) state him to be in revolt upon the Olympus, still preserve a poetical empire, was spread before us mountains, at the head of some of the bands common in that in Lord Byron's poetry, varied by all the moral effect derived country in times of trouble.

from what Greece is and what she has been, while it was doubled (1) In the original MS.

by comparisons, perpetually excited, between the philosophers and

heroes who formerly inhabited that romantic country, and their “ A marvel from her Moslem bands."-E.

descendants, who either stoop to their Scythian conquerors, or (2) Timoleon, who had saved the life of his brother Timophanes maintain, among the recesses of their classical monntains, an inin battle, afterwards killed him for aiming at the supreme power dependence as wild and savage as it is precarious. The orientat in Corinth, preferring his duty to his country to all the obligation manners, also, and diction, so peculiar in their picturesque eflect of blood Dr. Warton says, tbal Pope once intended to write that they can cast a charm even over the absurdities of an eastern an epic poem on the story, and that Dr. Akenside had the same tale, had here the more honourable occupation of decorating design.-E.

that which in itself was beautiful, and enhancing by novelty what 3) “ The Giaour, the Bride of Abydos, the Corsair, Lara, would have been captivating without its aid. The powerful imthe Siege of Corinth, followed each other with a celerity which pression produced by this peculiar species of poetry confirmed

was only rivalled by their success; and is at times the author us in a principle, which, though it wilt hardly be challenged when seemed to pause in his poetic career, with the threat of forbearing slated as an axiom, is very rarely complied with in practice. It further adventure for a time, the public eagerly pardon ed the is, that every author should, like Lord Byron, form to himself,

breach of a promise by keeping which they must have been suf- and communicate to the reader, a precise, defined, and distinct ferers. Exqutsitely beautiful in themselves, these tales received view of the landscape, sentiment, or action, which he intends to

a new charm from the romantic climes into which they intro- describe to the reader.” Sir Waller Scott. duced us, and from the oriental costume so strictly preserved and (4) Turkish holders of military fiefs which oblige them to join so picturesquely exhibited. Greece, the cradle of the poetry the army, mounted at their own expense.--E. with which our earliest studies are familiar, was presented to us (B) The life of the Turcomans is wandering and patriarchal : among her ruins and her sorrows. Her delightful scenery, once they dwell in lents. dedicated to those deities who, though dethroned from their own

The first and freshest of the host
Which Stamboul's sultan there can boast,
To guide the follower o'er the field,
To point the tube, the lance to wield,
Or whirl around the bickering blade ;-
Was Alp, the Adrian renegade!

From Venice-once a race worth
His gentle sires—he drew his birth;
But late an exile from her shore,
Against his countrymen he bore
The arms they taught to bear; and now
The turban girt his shaven brow,
Through many a change had Corinth pass'd
With Greece to Venice' rule at last;
And here, before her walls, with those
To Greece and Venice equal foes,
He stood a foe, with all the zeal
Which young and fiery converts feel,
Within whose heated bosom throngs
The memory of a thousand wrongs.
To him had Venice ceased to be
Her ancient civic boast-“the Free;"
And in the palace of St. Mark
Unnamed accusers in the dark
Within the “Lion's mouth” had placed
A charge against him uneffaced :
He fled in time, and saved his life,
To waste his future years in strife,
That taught his land how great her loss
In him who triumph'd o'er the cross,
'Gainst which he reard the crescent high,
And battled to avenge or die.

Coumourgi (1)—he whose closing scene
Adorn'd the triumph of Eugene,
When on Carlowitz' bloody plain,
The last and mightiest of the slain,
He sank, regretting not to die,
But cursed the Christian's victory-
Coumourgi-can his glory cease,
That latest conqueror of Greece,
Till Christian hands to Greece restore
The freedom Venice gave of yore?
A hundred years have roll’d away
Since he refix'd the Moslem's sway,
And now he led the Mussulman,
And gave the guidance of the van
To Alp, who well repaid the trust
By cities levell’d with the dust;

And proved, by many a deed of death,
How firm his heart in novel faith.

The walls grow weak; and fast and hot
Against them pour’d the ceaseless shot,
With unabating fury sent
From battery to battlement ;
And, thunder-like, the pealing din
Pose from each heated culverin;
And here and there some crackling dome
Was fired before the exploding bomb;
And as the fabric sank beneath
The shattering shell's volcanie breath,
In red and wreathing columns flash'd
The flame, as loud the ruin crashid,
Or into countless meteors driven,
Its earth-stars melted into heaven;
Whose clouds that day grew doubly dun,
Impervious to the hidden sun,
With volumed smoke that slowly grew
To one wide sky of sulphurous hue.

But not for vengeance, long delay'd,
Alone, did Alp, the renegade,
The Moslem warriors sternly teach
His skill to pierce the promised breach;
Within these walls a maid was pent
His hope would win without consent
Of that inexorable sire,
Whose heart refused him in its ire,
When Alp, beneath his Christian name,
Her virgin hand aspired to claim.
In happier mood, and earlier time,
While unimpeach'd for traitorous crime,
Gayest in gondola or hall,
He glitter'd through the carnival;
And tuned the softest serenade
That e'er on Adria's waters play'd
At midnight to Italian maid.(2)

And many deem'd her heart was won;
For sought by numbers, given to none,
Had young Francesca's hand remain'd
Still by the church's bonds unchain'd:
And when the Adriatic bore
Lanciotto to the Paynim shore,
Her wonted smiles were seen to fail,
And pensive wax'd the maid and pale;

(1) Ali Coumourgi, the favourite of three Sultans, and Grand dogs!" a speech and act not unlike one of Caligula. He was a Vizier 10 Achmet III., after recovering Peloponnesus from the Ve- young man of great ambition and unbounded presumption : on nelians in one compaign, was mortally wounded in the next, being told that Prince Eugene, then opposed to bim, " was a against the Germans, at the battle of Peterwaradin (in the plain greal general,” he said, "I shall become a greater, and at his of Carlowitz), in Hungary, endeavouring to rally his guards. expense.” He died of his wounds next day. His last order was the decapi (2) In the MS.tation of General Breuner, and some other German prisoners; and his last words, “Oh that I could thus serve all the Christian

“ In midnight courtship to Italian maid."-B.

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