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But still I perceive an emotion the same

Yet the day may arrive when the mountains once As I felt, when a boy, on the crag-cover'd wild : One image alone on my bosom impress’d,

Shall rise to my sight in their mantles of snow :(3) I loved my bleak regions, nor panted for new;

But while these soar above me, unchanged as before, And few were my wants, for my wishes were bless'd; Will Mary be there to rective me?-ah, no! And pure were my thoughts, for my soul was with Adieu then, ye hills, where my childhood was bred!

Thou sweet flowing Dee, to thy walers adieu ! you.

No home in the forest shall shelter my head,I arose with the dawn; with my dog as my guide,

Ah! Mary, what home could be mine but with you? From mountain to mountain I bounded along; I brcasted the billows of Dee's (1) rushing tide,

And heard at a distance the Highlander's song: I WOULD I WERE A CARELESS CHILD. At eve, on my heath-cover'd couch of repose,

No dreams, save of Mary, were spread to my view; I WOULD I were a careless child, And warm to the skies my devotions arose,

Still dwelling in my Highland cave, For the first of my prayers was a blessing on you. Or roaming through the dusky wild,

Or bounding o'er the dark blue wave; I left my bleak home, and my visions are gone; The cumbrous pomp of Saxon (4) pride

The mountains are vanish’d, my youth is no more; Accords not with the freeborn soul, As the last of my race, I must wither alone,

Which loves the mountain's cragey side, And delight but in days I have witness'd before : And seeks the rocks where billow's roll. Ah! splendour has raised but embitter'd my lot ;

Fortune! take back these cultured lands, More dear were the scenes which my infancy

Take back this name of splendid sound! knew,

I hate the touch of servile hands, Though my hopes may have fail'd, yet they are not

I hate the slaves that cringe around. forgot,

Place me along the rocks I love, Though cold is my heart, still it lingers with you.

Which sound to Ocean's wildest roar; When I see some dark hill point its crest to the sky, I ask but this again to rove

I think of the rocks that o'ershadow Colbleen ;(2) Through scenes iny youth hath known before. When I see the soft blue of a love-speaking eye, Few are my years, and yet I feel

I think of those eyes that endear'd the rude scene; The world was ne'er design’d for me: When, haply, some light-waving locks I behold,

Ah! why do darkening shades conceal That faintly resemble my Mary's in hue,

The hour when man must cease lo be ? I think on the long flowing ringlets of gold,

Once I beheld a splendid dream, The locks that were sacred to beauty, and you.

A visionary scene of bliss :

ing of the word! And the effect! My mother used always to passion, considered such early sensibility to be an unerring sign rally me about this childish amour; and, at last, many years of a soul formed for the fine arts; and Canova used to say after, when I was sixteen, she told me one day: 'Oh, Byron, that he was in love when but live years old.”—Galt. I have had a letter from Edinburgh, from Miss Abercroinby, (1) The Dee is a beautiful river, which rises near Mar Lodge, and your old sweetheart, Mary Duff, is married to a Mr. Cock- and falls into the sea at New Aberdeen. burn,' [ Robert Cockburn, Esq. of Edinburgh. ) And what (2) Colbleen is a mountain near the verge of the Highlands, was my answer? I really cannot explain or account for my not far from the ruins of Dee Castle. seelings at that moment; but they nearly threw me into con (3) In the spring of 1807, on recovering from a severe illness, vulsions-o the horror of my mother, and the astonishment of Lord Byron had projected a visit to Scotland. The plan was every body. And it is a phenomenon in any existence (for I not put into execution; but he thus adverts to it, in a lelier was not eight years old), which has puzzled, and will puzzle dated in August, and addressed to his fair correspondent of me to the latest hour of it.” Again, in January, 184., a few days Southwell :-"On Sunday, I set off for the Highlands. A friend after his marriage, in a letter to bis friend Captain Hay, thic of mine accompanies me in my carriage to Edinburgh. There poet thus speaks of his childish attachment :-"Pray tell me more we shall leave it, and proceed in a landem through the western -or as much as you like, of your cousin Mary. I believe I parts to Inverary, where we shall purchase shelties, to enable told you our story some years ago. I was twenty-seven a few us to view places inaccessible to vehicular conveyances. days ago, and I have never seen her since we were children, the coast we shall hire a vessel, and visit the most remarkable and young children too; but I never forget her, nor ever can. of the Hebrides, and, if we have time and savourable weather, You will oblige me with presenting her with my best respects, mean to sail as far as Iceland, only three hundred miles from and all good wishes. It may seem ridiculous-but it is al any the northern extremity of Caledonia, to peep at llecla. I mean rale, I hope, not offensive to her nor hers-in me to pretend to re to collect all the Erse traditions, poems, etc., etc. and translale, collect any thing about her, at so early a period of both our lives, or expand the subject to fill a volume, which may appear next almost, is not quite in our nurseries; but it was a pleasant spring, under the denomination of The Highland Harp,' or some dream, which she must pardon me for remeinbering. Is she prelly title equally picturesque. What would you say to some stanstill? I have the most perfect idea of her person, as a child ; zas on Mount Mecla? They would be written at least with but Time, I suppose, has played the devil with us both."-E. fire' -E.

“Dante is said, as early as nine ars old, to have fallen in (4! Sassenach, or Saxon, a Gaelic word, signifying either Low. love with Beatrice; Allieri, who was himself precocious in the land or English.

Truth !-wherefore did thy hated beam

Where now alone I muse, who oft have tred, Awake me to a world like this?

With those I loved, thy soft and verdant sod; I loved—but those I loved are gone;

With those who, scatter'd far, perchance deplore, Had friends—my early friends are fled:

Like me, the happy scenes they knew before: How cheerless feels the heart alone,

Oh! as I trace again thy winding hill, When all its former hopes are dead!

My eyes admire, mine heart adores thee still, Though gay companions o’er the bowl

Thou drooping elm! beneath whose boughs I lay, Dispel awhile the sense of ill;

And frequent mused the twilight hours away; Though pleasure stirs the maddening sot,

Where, as they once were wont, my limbs recline, The heart—the heart—is lonely still. (1)

But, ah! without the thoughts which then were mine:

How do thy branches, moaning to the blast,
How dull! to hear the voice of those

Invite the bosom to recall the past,
Whom rank or chance, whom wealth or power, And seem to whisper, as they gently swell,
Have made, though neither friends nor foes,

“Take, while thou canst, a lingering last farewell!" Associates of the festive hour! Give me again a faithful few,

When fate shall chill, at length, this fever'd breast, In years and feelings still the same,

And calm its cares and p : sions into rest, And I will fly the midnight crew,

Oft have I thought 't would soothe my dying hourWhere boisterous joy is but a name.

If aught may soothe when life resigns her power-

To know some humbler grave, some narrow cell, And woman, lovely woman! thou,

Would hide my bosom where it loved to dwell; My hope, my comforter, my all!

With this fond dream, methinks, 't were sweet to How cold must be my bosom now,

And here it linger'd, here my heart might lie; (dieWhen e'en thy smiles begin to pall!

Here might I sleep where all my hopes arose, Without a sigh would I resign

Scene of my youth, and couch of my repose; This busy scene of splendid woe,

For ever stretch'd beneath this mantling shade, To make that calm contentment mine,

Press’d by the turf where once my childhood play’d: Which virtue knows, or seems to know.

Wrapl by the soil that veils the spot I loved, Fain would I fly the haunts of men

Mix'd with the earth o'er which iny footsteps moved; I seek to shun, not hate, mankind;

Blest loy the tongues that charm’d my youthfui ear, My breast requires the sullen glen,

Mourn'd by the few my soul acknowledged here; Whose gloom may suit a darken’d mind. Deplored by those in early days allied, Oh! that to me the wings were given

And unremember'd by the world beside. Which bear the turtle to her nest!

September 2, 1807. Then would I cleave the vault of heaven, To flee away, and be at rest. (2)

[The Lines written beneath an Elm at Har

row,were the last in the little volume printed LINES WRITTEN BENEATH AN ELM IN THE

al Newark in 1807. The reader is referred to CHURCHYARD OF HARROW. (3)

Mr. Moore's Life and notes for particulars

respecting the impression produced on Lord Spot of my youth, whose hoary branches sigh, Byron's mind by the celebrated Critique of Swept by the breeze that fans thy cloudless sky; his juvenile performances, put forth in the

(1) " The.'imagination all compact,' which the greatest poet has endowed with the power of gilding a distant prospect by who ever lived has assigned as the distinguishing badge of bis the rays of imagination. These reflections, though trile and brethren, is in every case a dangerous gist. Il exaggerales, in- ohvious, are in a manner forced from us by the poetry of Lord deed, our expectations, and can often bid its possessor hope, Byron,-by the sentiments of weariness of life and enmity with where bope is lost to reason : but the delusive pleasure arising the world which they so frequently express, – and by the sinfrom these visions of imagination resembles that of a child, gular analogy which such sentiments hold with well-known inwhose notice is altracted by a fragment of glass lo which a cidents of his life.” — Sir Walter Scolt. sun-beam has given momentary splendour. lle bastens to the (2) " And I said, Oh! that I had wings like a dove! for then spot with breathless impatience, and finds ibe object of his would I fly away, and be at rest.” Psalm 1v. 6. – This verse also

curiosity and expectation is equally vulgar and worthless. Such constitutes a part of the most beautiful anthem in our language. is the man of quick and exalted powers of imagination. His (5) On losing his natural daughter, Allegra, in April, 1822, Lord fancy over-estimates the object of his wishes, and pleasure, Byron sent her remains to be buried at Harrow, “ where,” he fame, distinction, are alternately pursued, altained, and despised says, in a letter to Mr. Murray, “I once loped to have laid my own.” aben in bis power, Like the enchanted fruit in the palace of “There is,” be adds, “ a spot in the church-yard, near the foota sorcerer, the objects of his admiration lose their attraction and path, on the brow of the bill looking towards Windsor, and a value as soon as they are grasped by the adventurer's hand, iomb under a large tree (bearing the name of Peachic or Peachey), and all that remains is regret for the time lost in the chase, where I used 10 sit for hours and hours when a boy. This was and astonishment at the hallucination under which it was un my favourite spot; but, as I wish lo erect a tablet lo ber memory, dishen. The disproportion between hope and possession, le body had better be deposited in the church;" —and il was so which is sell by all men, is thus doubled to those wiom nature accordingly. – E.

Edinburgh Review,- a journal which, at that ham; but on what grounds he had come to that time, possessed nearly undivided influence and conclusion, he no where mentions. It forms, authority. The poets diaries and letters afford however, so important a link in Lord Byron's evidence that, in his latter days, he considered literary history, that we insert it at length. this piece as the work of Mr. (now Lord) Broug- / -E.]

CRITIQUE,

FROM THE EDINBURGI REVIEW FOR JANUARY, 1808.

HOURS OF IDLENESS ; a Series of Poems original, the tenth man writes better verse than Lord Byron.

and translated. By George Gordon Lord By- His other plea of privilege our au’hor rather ron, a Minor. 8vo. pp. 200. Newark, 1807. brings forward in order to waive it. He certainly,

however, does allude frequently to his family and The poesy of this young Lord belongs to the class ancestors, sometimes in poetry, sometimes in notes; which neither gods nor men are said to permit

. and, while giving up his claim on the score of rank, Indeed, we do not recollect to have seen a quantity he takes care to remember us of Dr. Johnson's sayof verse with so few deviations in either direction ing, that when a nobleman appears as an author,

his merit should be bandsomely acknowledged. from that exact standard. His effusions are spread over a dead flat, and can no more get above or below In truth, it is this consideration only that induces the level, than if they were so much stagnant wa

us to give Lord Byron's poems a place in our Reter. As an extenuation of this offence, the noble view, beside our desire to counsel him, that he do author is peculiarly forward in pleading minority. forthwith abandon poetry, and turn his talents, We have it in the title-page, and on the very

which are considerable, and his opportunities,

back of the volume; it follows his name like a favourite which are great, to better account. part of his style. Much stress is laid upon it in the

With this view, we must beg leave seriously to preface; and the poems are connected with this assure him, that the mere rhyming of the final General statement of his case, by particular dates, syllable, even when accompanied by the presence substantiating the age at wbich each was written.

of a certain number of feet-nay, although (which Now the law upon the point of minority we hold to does not always happen ) those feet should scan be perfectly clear. It is a plea available only to the regularly, and have been all counted accurately defendant; no plaintiff can offer it as a supplemen- upon the fingers—is not the whole art of poetry. tary ground of action. Thus if any suit could, be We would entreat him to believe that a certain porbrought against Lord Byron, for the purpose of tion of liveliness, somewhat of fancy, is necessary

compelling him to put into court a certain quantity to constitute a poem; and that a poem in the preof poetry, and if judgment were given against him, sent day, to be read, must contain at least one it is highly probable that an exception would be thought, either in a little degree different from the taken, were he to deliver for poetry the contents ideas of former writers, or differently expressed. of this volume. To this he might plead minority; We put it to his candour, whether there is any but, as he now makes voluntary tender of the ar

thing so deserving the name of poetry in verses like ticle, he hath no right to sue, on that ground, for the following, written in 1806; and whether, if a the price in good current praise, should the goods youth of eighteen could say any thing so uninterbe unmarketable. This is our view of the law on the esting to his ancestors, a youth of nineteen should point, and we dare to say, so will it be ruled. Per

publish it: haps, however, in reality, all that he tells us about his

“ Shades of heroes, farewell! your descendant, departing youth is rather with a view to increase our wonder

From the seat of his ancestors, bids you adieu!

Abroad or at home, your remembrance imparting than to soften our censures. He possibly means to New courage, he'll think upon glory and you. say,

“See how a minor can write! This poem was “ Though a tear dim his eye at this sad separation, actually composed by a young man of eighteen, and 'T is nature, not fear, that excites his regret : this by one of only sixteen !" But, alas! we all remem

Far distant he goes, with the same emulation;

The fame of his fathers he ne'er can forget. ber the poetry of Cowley at ten, and Pope at twelve;

“ That same, and that memory, still will be cherish; and so far from hearing, with any degree of surprise, He vows that he ne'er will disgrace your repown; that very poor verses were written by a youth from Like you will he live, or like you will he perish; his leaving school to his leaving college, inclusive,

When decay'd, may be mingle his dust with your own!" we really believe this to be the most common of all Now, we positively do assert, that there is nothing occurrences ; that it happens in the life of nine better than these stanzas in the whole compass of men in ten who are educated in England ; and that the noble minor's volume.

Lord Byron should also have a care of attempting some time, the bards conclude by giving him their what the greatest poets have done before him, for advice to raise his fair locks ;" then to “spread comparisons (as he must have had occasion to see them on the arch of the rainbow;" and to“ smile at his writing-master's) are odious. Gray's Ode on through the tears of the storm.” Of this kind of Elon College should really have kept out the ten thing there are no less than nine pages; and we can hobbling stanzas, On a distant View of the Village so far venture an opinion in their favour, that they and School of Harrow.

look very like Macpherson; and we are positive

they are pretty nearly as stupid and tiresome. "Where fancy yet joys to retrace the resemblance

It is a sort of privilege of poets to be egotists; but Of comrades in friendship and mischief allied ; How welcome to me your ne'er-fading remembranco,

they should “use it as not abusing it;” and paiiiWhich rests in the bosom, though hope is denied."

cularly one who piques himself (though indeed at

the ripe age of nineteen) on being “an infant bard,” In like manner, the exquisite lines of Mr. Rogers, On a Tear, might have warned the noble author of The artless Helicon I boast is youth" )-- should those premises, and spared us a whole dozen such either not know, or should seem not to know, so

much about his own ancestry. Besides a poem stanzas as the following:

above cited, on the family-seat of the Byrons, we "Mild charity's glow, lo us mortals below

have another of eleven pages, on the self-same subShows the soul from barbarisy clear;

ject, introduced with an apology,“he certainly had Compassion will melt where this virtue is felt, And ils dew is diffused in a Tear.

no intention of inserting it,” but really “the par

ticular request of some friends,” etc. etc. It con* The man doom'd lo sail with the blast of the gay, Through billows Atlantic to sleer,

cludes witn tive stanzas on himself, the “last and As he bends o'er the wave, which may soon be his grave, youngest of a noble line.” There is a good deal The green sparkles bright with a Tear."

also about his maternal ancestors, in a poem on And so of instances in which former poets had Lachin y Gair, a mountain where he spent part failed. Thus, we do not think Lord Byron was made of his youth, and might have learnt thal pibroch for translating, during his nonage, Adrian's Ad- is not a bagpipe, any more than duet means a dress to his Soul, when Pope succeeded so indif- fiddle. ferently in the attempt. If our readers, however,

As the author has dedicated so large a part of his are of another opinion, they may look at it.

volume to immortalise his employments at school

and college, we cannot possibly dismiss it without " Ah! gentle, fleeting, wavering sprite, Friend and associate of this c.ay!

presenting the reader with a specimen of these inTo what unknown region borne

genious effusions. In an ode, with a Greek motto, Wilt thou now wing thy distant fight?

called Granta, we have the following magnificent No more with wonted humour gay,

stanzas :But pallid, cheerless, and forlorn."

“ There, in apartments small and damp, However, be this as it may, we fear his transla

The candidate for college prizes lions and imitations are great favourites with Lord Sits poring by the midnightlamp, Byron. We have them of all kinds, from Anacreon

Goes late to bed, yet early rises.

· Who reads false quantities in Seale, lo Ossian; and, viewing them as school exercises,

Or puzzles o'er the deep triangle, they may pass. Only, why print them, after they

Deprived of many a wholesome meal, have had their day and served their turn ? And

In barbarous Latin doom'd to wrangle : why call the thing in p. 79 a translation, where “ Renouncing every picasing page, two words (sic diyiro) of the original are expanded

From authors of historic use,

Preserring to the letter'd sage into four lines, and the other thing, in p. 81,

The square of the hypothenuse. where μεσονυκτιρις πού' ωραις is rendered by means of

“ Still harmless are these occupations, six hobbling verses ? As to his Ossianic poesy, we

That hurt none but the bapless student, are not very good judges, being, in truth, so mode

Compared with other recreations,

Which bring together the imprudent." rately skilled in that species of composition, that We should, in all probability, be criticising some We are sorry to hear so bad an account of the bit of the genuine Macpherson itself, were we to college psalmody as is contained in the following express our opinion of Lord Byron's rhapsodies. Attic stanzas :If, then, the following beginning of a Song of Bards

" Our choir would scarcely be excused is by his Lordship, we venture to object to it, as far

Even as a band of raw beginners; as we can comprehend it:—“What form rises on All mercy now must be refused the roar of clouds, whose dark ghost gleams on the

To such a set of croaking sinners. red stream of tempests ? His voice rolls on the

“ If David, when his toils were ended, thunder; 't is Orla, ihe brown chief of Oithona. He

llad heard these blockheads sing before him,

To us fiis psalms had ne'er descended : Fas," etc. After detaining this “ brown chief”

In furious mood be would have tore 'em!”

But, whatever judgment may be passed on the his situation and pursuits hereafter,” that he should poems of this noble minor, it seems we must take again condescend to become an author. Therethem as we find them, and be content ; for they are ; fore, let us take what we get, and be thankful. the last we shall ever have from him. He is, at best, What right have we poor devils to be nice ? We he says, but an intruder into the groves of Parnas- are well off to have got so much from a man of this sus : he never lived in a garret, like thorough-bred Lord's station, who does not live in a garret, but poets; and though he once roved a careless moun- “has the sway” of Newstead Abbey. Again, we say, taineer in the Highlands of Scotland," he has not let us be thankful; and, with honest Sancho, bid of late enjoyed this advantage. Moreover, he ex- God bless the giver, nor look the gift horse in the pects no profit from his publication; and, whether mouth. (1) it succeeds or not, “it is highly improbable, from

(1) The Monthly Reviewers, in those days the next in circola- render as sollicilous that both should be well cultivated and wisely lion to the Edinburgh, gave a much more favourable notice of directed, in his career of life. He has received talents, and is the Hours of Idleness.These compositions (said they) are gene- accountable for the use of them. We trust that he will render rally of a plaintive or an amatory cast, with an occasional mixture them beneficial to man, and a source of real gratification to himof satire; and they display both ease and strength — both pathos sell in declining age. Then may he properly exclaim with the Roand fire. It will be expected that marks of juvenility and of haste man oralor, 'Non lubet mihi deplorare vitam, quod multi, et ii should be discovered in these productions; and we seriously ad- docti, sæpe fecerunt ; neque me vixisse pænitet : quoniam ita visi, vise our young bard to fulfil with submissive perseverance the ut non frustra me natum existimem.'”—Lord Byron repaid the duties of revision and correction. We discern, in Lord Byron, a Edinburgh Critiquo with a Satire-and became himself a Monthly degree of mental power, and a turn of mental disposition, which Reviewer. -X.

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