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And since not even our Rogers' praise
To common sense his thoughts could raise-
Why would they let him print his lays ?

TO

TO THOMAS MOORE;
WRITTEN THE EVENING BEFORE, HIS VISIT

MR. LEIGH HUNT IN COLBATH-FIELDS PRISON,
MAY 19,

1813.
Oh you, who in all names can tickle the town,
Anacreon, Tom Little, Tom Moore, or Tom Brown,-
For hang me if I know of which you may most bray,
Your Quarto two-pounds, or your Two-penny

Post Bag;

To me, divine Apollo, granl–0!
Hermilda's first and second canto,
I'm fitting up a new portmanteau;
And thus to furnish decent lining,
My own and others' bays I'm twining-
So, gentle Thurlow, throw me thine in,

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TO LORD THURLOW.

“I lay my branch of laurel down:

Then thus to form Apollo's crown, * Let every other bring his own."

Lord Thurlow's lines to Mr. Rogers.

But now to my letter-to yours 't is an answer-
To-morrow be with me, as soon as you can, sir,
All ready and dress'd for proceeding lo spunge on
(According to compact) the wit in the dungeon-
Pray Phæbus at length our political malice
May not yet us lodgings within the same palace!
I suppose that to-night you ’re engaged with some

codgers,
And for Sotheby's Blues have deserled Sam Rogers ;
And I, though with cold I haxe nearly my death got,
Must put on my breeches, and wait on the Heathcote,
But lo-morrow, at four, we will both play the

Scurra,
And you 'll be Catullus, the Regent Mamurra. (1)

"I lay my branch of laurel down." Thoil" lay thy branch of laurel down!”

Why, what thou 'st stole is not enow; And, were it lawfully thine own,

Does Rogers want it most, or thou ? Keep to thyself thy wither'd bough,

Or send it back to Doctor Donne: Were justice done to both, I trow,

He'd have but little, and thou-none.

IMPROMPTU, IN REPLY TO A FRIEND.
WHEN, from the heart where Sorrow sils,

Her dusky shadow mounts loo high,
And o'er the changing aspect fliis,

And clouds the brow, or fills the eye;
Heel not that gloom, which soon shall sink :

My thoughts their dungeon know loo well;
Back to my breast the wanderers shrink,
And droop within their silent cell.(2)

September, 1813.

Then thus to form Apollo's crown.
A crown! why, twist it how you will,
Thy chaplet must be foolscap still.
When next you visit Delphi's town,

Inquire amongst your fellow-lodgers,
They'll tell you Phæbus gave his crown,
Some years before your birth, to Rogers.

Let every other bring his owon." When coals to Newscatle are carried,

And owls sent to Athens, as wonders,
From his spouse when the Regent's unmarrieil,

Or Liverpool weeps o'er his blunders:
When Tories and Whigs cease to quarrel,

When Castlereagh's wife has an heir, Then Rogers shall ask us for laurel,

And thou shalt have plenty to spare.

SONNET, TO GENEVRA.
Thine eyes' blue tenderness, thy long fair hair,

And the wan lustre of thy features-caught

From contemplation-where serenely wrought, Seems Sorrow's softness charmid from its despairHave thrown such speaking sadness in thine air,

That-but I know thy blessed bosom fraught.

With mines of unalloy'd and stainless thought-
I should lave deem'd thee doom’d to earthly care.

some of the beauties of the work. One of the poems was a warm

(1). The reader who wishes 10 understand the full force of and, I need not add, well-deserved panegyric on himself. The

this scandalous insinuation, is referred to Murelus's noles on : opening line of the poem was, as well as I can recollect,

celebraled poem of Calullus, entitled In Cæsarem; but con• When Rogers o'er this labour bent.'

sisting, in fact, of savagely scornful abuse of the favourite HaAnd Lord Byron undertook to read it aloud; but he found it murra :impossible to get beyond the first two words. Our laughter

Quis hoc potest videre? quis potest pati, had now increased to such a pitch that nothing could restrain

Nisi impudicus et voras et helluo? it. Two or three times he began, but, no sooner had the words

Mamurram habere , quod comata Gallia When Rogers ' passed his lips, than our fit burst forth afresh

Habebat uncl'im, et ultima Britannia ? " etc.-E. lilleven Mr. Rogers himself, with all his feeling of our injustice, (2; “These verses are said to have dropped from the poet's found it impossible not to join us; and had the author himself pen, lo excuse a transient expression of melancholy which overbeen of the party, I question much whether he could have re- clouded the general gaiety". Walter Scoll.-E. sisted the infection."- Moore

scorn.

With such an aspect, by his colours blent, And sausages made of a self-slain Jew

When from his beauty-breathing pencil born, And belhought himself what next to do. (Except that thou hast nothing to repent)

"And,” quoth he, “ I 'll take a drive. The Magdalen of Guido saw the morn

I walk'd in the morning, I'll ride to-night; Such seem'st thou—but how much more excellent! In darkness my children take most delight, With nought Remorse can claim-nor Virtue And I'll see how my favourites thrive.

December 17, 1813. (1)

“And what shall I ride in ?" quoth Lucifer then

“If I follow'd my taste, indeed,

I should mount in a waggon of wounded men, SONNET, TO THE SAME.

And smile to see them bleed.

But these will be furnish'd again and again, Tay cheek is pale with thought, but not from woe,

And at present my purpose is speed; And yet, so lovely, that if Mirth could flush

To see my manor as much as I may, lis rose of whiteness with the brightest blush,

And watch that no souls shall be poach'd away. My heart would wish away that ruder glow: And dazzle not thy deep-blue eyes—but, oh! "I have a state-coach at Carlton House,

While gazing on them sterner eyes will gush, A chariot in Seymour Place;

And into mine my mother's weakness rush, But they're lent to iwo friends, who make me Soft as the last drops round heaven's airy bow. By driving my favourile pace:

[amends For, through thy long dark lashes low depending, And they handle their reins with such a grace, The soul of melancholy Genileness

I have something for both at the end of their race. Cleams like a seraph from the sky descending,

"So now for the earth, to take my chance !" Above all pain, yet pitying all distress :

Then up to the earth sprung he, Al once such majesty with sweetness blending,

And making a jump from Moscow to France,
I worship more, but cannot love thee less.

He stepp'd across the sea,
December 17, 1813.

And rested bis hoof on a turnpike road,

No very great way from a bishop's abode.
FROM THE PORTUGUESE.

But first as he flew, I forgot to say,
"Tu mi cbamas."

That he hover'd a moment upon his way In moments to delight devoted,

To look upon Leipsic plain; “My life!” with tenderest tone, you cry;

And so sweet to his eye was its sulphury glare Dear words! on which my heart had doted,

Anil so soft to his ear was the cry of despair, If youth could neither fade nor die.

That he perch'd on a mountain of slain; To death even hours like these must roll,

And he gazed with delight from its growing height: ! Ah! then repeat those accents never ;

Nor often on earth had he seen such a sight, Or change “my life!”inlo “my soul!”

Nor his work done half as well; Which, like my love, exists for ever.

For the field ran so red with the blood of the dead,

That it blush'd like the waves of hell!
ANOTHER VERSION.

Then loudly, and wildly, and long laugh'd he: You call me still your life.-Oh! change the word “Methinks they have here little need of me!

Life is as transient as the inconstant sigh :
Say rather l’m your soul; more just that name,

But the softest note that soothed his ear
For, like the soul, my love can never die.

Was the sound of a widow sighing;
And the sweetest sight was the icy tear,

Which horror froze in the blue eye clear
THE DEVIL'S DRIVE;

Of a maid by her lover lying

As round her fell her long fair hair;
AN UNFINISHED RHAPSODY.(2)

And she look'd lo heaven with that frenzied air, The devil return'd to hell by two,

Which seem':? to ask if a God were there! And he stay'd at home till five;

And, stretch'd by the wall of a ruin'd hut, When he dined on some homicides donein ragout, With its hollow cheek, and eyes half shul, And a rebel or so in an Irish stew,

A child of famine dying:

(1) “Redde some Italian, and wrote iwo sonnets. I never (2) "I have lately written a wild, rambling, unfinished rhapwrote but one sonnet before, and that was not in earnest, and sody, called The Devil's Drive,' the notion of which I took many years ago, as an exercise-and I will never write another. From Porson's Devil's Walk.B. Diary, 1813.-" This strange They are the most puling, petrifying, stupidly platonic compo- wild poem,” says Moore, "is, for the most part, rather clumsily sitions.” Diary, 1813.-E.

executed, wanting the point and condensation of those clever

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And the carnage, begun when resistance is done, and the Devil was shock’d-and quoth he, “I
And the fall of the vainly flying !

For I find we have much better manners below;
But the Devil has reach'd our cliffs so while,

If lhus he harangues when he passes my border,
And what did he there, I pray?

I shall hint to friend Moloch lo call him to order."
If his eyes were good, he but saw by night

What we see every day:
But hc made a tour, and kept a journal

WINDSOR POETICS.(1)
Of all the wondrous sights nociurnal,

Lines composed on the occasion of Ilis Royal Highness the Prince
And he sold it in shares to the men of the Row,

Regent being seen standing between the collins of Henry VIII.
Who bid pretty well-but they cheated him, though! and Charles I., in the royal vault at Windsor.
The Devil first saw, as he thought, the mail,

Famed for contemptuous breach of sacred lies,
Its coachman and his coat;

By headless Charles see heartless Henry lies;
So instead of a pistol he cock’d his tail,

Belween them stands another sceptred thing-
And seized him by the throat :

It moves, it reigns, in all but name, a king:
“Aha!” quoth he, “what have we here?

Charles to his people, Henry to his wife,
'T is a new barouche, and an ancient peer!” In him the double lyrant starts to life:
So he sat him on his box again,

Justice and death have mix'd their dust in vain,
And bade him have no fear,

Each royal vampire wakes to life again.
But be true to his club, and stanch to his rein, Ah, what can lombs avail!-since these disgorge
His brothel, and his beer;

The blood and dust of both-10 mould a George.
“Next to seeing a lord at the council-board,
I would rather see him here."

ODE TO NAPOLEON BONAPARTE.(2)
The devil gat next to Westminster,

“Expende Annibalem :--quot libras in duce summo
And he turn’d to "the room” of the Commons; lavenies?

Juvenal, Sat. X. (3)
But he heard, as he purposed to enter in there,

“The Emperor Nepos was acknowledged by the Senate, by
That “The Lords” had received a summons;

the Italians, and by the Provincials of Gaul: bis moral virtues,

and military talents, were loudly celebrated; and those who
And he thought, as a quondam aristocrat,” derived any private benefit from his government announced in
He might peep at the peers, though to hear them prophetic strains the restoration of public felicily.

were flat;
And he walk'd up the house so like one of our own, By this shameful abdication, he protracted his lise a few years,
That they say that he stood pretty near the throne. in a very ambiguous stale, between an Emperor and an exile,
He saw the Lord Liverpool seemingly wise,

Gibbon's Decline and Fall, vol. vi. p. 230. (4)
The Lord Westmoreland certainly silly.
And Johnoy of Norfolk-a man of some size-

'T is done-but yesterday a king!
And Chatham, so like his friend Biily;

And arm'd with kings to strive-
And he saw the tears in Lord Eldon's eyes,

And now Thou art a nameless thing:
Because the Catholics would not rise,

So abject-yet alive!
In spite of his prayers and his prophecies;

Is this the man of thousand throres,
And he heard-which set Satan himself a staring Who sirew'd our earth with hostile bones,
Acertain Chief Justice say something like swearing. And can he thus survive? (5)

till ----"

verses of Mr. Coleridge, which Lord Byron, adopling a notion do with great facility, as the inside of the costin was smooth,
long prevalent, has allribuled 10 Professor Porson."-E. and the whole body visible.' Wonderful to relate, he found the

11; "I cannot conceive how the Vault has got about—bul so whole did not exceed in weight one ounce and a ball! ANDIS THIS
it is. Il is too farouche; but, truth to say, my sallies are not ALL! Alas! the quot libras itself is a satirical exaggeration."
very playsul.” Lord B. to Mr. Moore.

Gifford.-E.
(?) “ To day I have boxed one hour-written an Ode to Na. (4. "I send you an additional molto from Gibbon, which you
poleon Bonaparte--copied il-eaten six biscuits-drunk four will find singularly appropriate.” Lord B. to Mr. M. April 12,
boliles of soda water, and redde away the rest of my lime." 1811.-E.
B. Diary, April 10.

(5) "I don't know-but I think I, even 1 (an inseci compared
(3) *. Produce the urn that Hannibal contains,

with this creature, have set my life on casts nol a millionth part
And weigh the mighly dust which yel remains: of this man's. But, after all, a crown may not be worth diing
AND IS IDIS ALL!'

for. Yet, to outlivc Lodi for this!!! Oh that Juvenal or Johnson
I know not that this was ever done in the old world; at least, could rise from the dead ! 'Expende-quotlibras in duce sumuno
with regard to llannibal: but, in the Sialistical Account of invenies?' I knew they were light in the balance of mortality;
Scotland, I find that Sir John Paterson had the curiosity to co- but I thought their living dust weighed more carals. Alas!
lect, and weigh, the ashes of a person, discovered a few years this imperial diamond bath a flaw in it, and is now hardly fit
since in the parish or Eccles; which he was liappily enabled to 10 stick in a glazier's pencil;—the pen of the bistorian wou'l

He who of old would rend the oak (3)

Dream'd not of the rebound!
Chain’d by the trunk he vainly broke-

Alone-how look'd he round?
Thou, in the sternness of thy strength,
An equal deed hast done at length,

And darker fate hast found:
He fell, the forest prowlers' prey;
But thou must eat thy heart away!

Since he, miscall'd the Morning Star,
Nor man nor fiend hath fallen so far.
Ill-minded man! why scourge thy kind

Who bow'd so low the knee?
By gazing on thyself grown blind,

Thou taught'st the rest to see.
With might unquestion'd, -power to save, -
Thine only gift hath been the grave

To those that worshipp'd thee:
Nor lill thy fall could mortals guess
Ambition's less than littleness !
Thanks for that lesson it will teach

To after-warriors more
Than high Philosophy can preach,

And vainly preach'd before.
That spell upon the minds of men
Breaks never to unite again,

That led them to adore
Those pagod things of sabre-sway,
With fronts of brass, and feet of clay.

The Roman, (3) when his burning heart

Was slaked with blood of Rome,
Threw down the dagger-dared depart,

In savage grandeur, home.
He dared depart, in utter scorn
Of men that such a yoke had borne,

Yet left him such a doom!
His only glory was that hour
Of self-upheld abandou'd power.

The triumph, and the vanity,

The rapture of the strife (1)
The earthquake voice of Victory,

To thee the breath of life;
The sword, the sceptre, and that sway
Which man seem'd maile but to obey,

Wherewith renown was rife-
All quellid !—Dark Spirit! what must be
The madness of thy memory!
The desolator desolate!

The victor overthrown!
The arbiter of others' fate

A suppliant for his own!
Is it some yet imperial hope
That with such change can calmly cope ?

Or dread of death alone ?
To die a prince-or live a slave-
Thy choice is most ignobly brave!

The Spaniard, when the lust of sway

Had lost its quickening spell,(4)
Cast crowns for rosaries away,

An empire for a cell;
A strict accountant of his beads,
A subtle disputant on creeds,

His dolage trifled well: (5)
Yet better had he neither known
A bigot's shrine nor despoi's throne. (6)
But thou-from thy reluctant hand

The Thunderbolt is wrung-
Too late thou leav'st the high command

To which thy weakness clung;
All evil spirit as thou art,
It is enough to grieve the heart

To see thine own unstrung;
To think that God's fair world hath been
The footstool of a thiny so mean!
And Earth hath spilt her blood for him,

Who thus can hoard his own!

rate it worth a ducal. Psha! something loo much of this.' But Charles the Fifth but so so; but Napoleon worst of all." B I won't give him up, even now; though all his admirers have, Diary, April, 9). like the Thanes, fallen from him." B. Diary, April 9.-E. (4) “Alter 'polent spell’to quickening spell:' the first (as

(1) “Certaminis gaudia-the expression of Altila in his ha- Polonius says, 'is a vile phrase,' and means nothing, besides rangue to his army, previous to the battle of Clialons, given in being common-place and Kosa-Malildaish. After the resoluCassiodorus.

tion of not publishing, though our Ode is a thing of liule length (2) “Out or lown six days. On my return, find my poor little and less consequence, it will be beller allogether that it is pagod, Napoleon, pushed off his pedestal it is bis own saull. anonymous.” Lord B. to Mr. M. April 11.-E. Like Milo, he would rend the oak; but it closed again, wedged (5) Charles the Fifth, Emperor of Germany, and King of Spain, l.is hands, and now the beasts-lion, bear, down to the dirtiest resigned, in 1585, bis imperial crown to his brother Ferdinand, jackall-may all lear him. That Muscovite winter wedged his and the kingdom oi Spain to his son Philip, and relired to a arms;-ever since, he has sought with his feet and teetti. The monastery in Estremadura, where he copformed, in his manner last may still leave their marks: and I guess now' (as the of living, to all the rigour of monastic austerity. Not satisfied Yankees say), that he will yet play them a pass.” B. Diary, with this, he dressed himself in his shroud, was laid in his collin April 8.

with much solemnily, joined in the prayers wbich were offered (5) Sylla.—(We find the germ of this stanza in the diary of up for the rest of his soul, and mingled his lears with those the evening before it was written :-'Methinks Sylla did better; i which bis aliendants shed, as if they had been celebrating : for he revenged, and resigned in the height of his sway, red real funeral.-E. with the slaughter of his foes-the finest instance of glorious (6) "I looked," says Boswell, “ into Lord Kaimes's Sketches contempt of the rascals upon recoril. Dioclesian did well 100- of The History of Man, and mentioned to Dr. Johnson his cerAinuraih not amiss, bad he become aught except a dervise- sure of Charles the Fifth, for celebrating his funeral obsequies

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In loitering mood upon the sand

That Earth is now as free!
That Corinth's pedagogue(3) hath now
Transferr'd his by-word to thy brow'.

And monarchs bow'd the trembling linib,

And thank'd hiin for a throne!
Fair Freedom!we may hold thee dear,
When thus thy mightiest foes their fear

In humblest guise have shown.
Oh! ne'er may tyrant leave behind
A brighter name to lure mankind!
Thine evil deeds are writ in gore,

Nor written thus in vain-
Thy triumphs lell of fame no more,

Or deepen every stain:
If thou hadst died as honour dies,
Some new Napoleon might arise,

To shame the world again-
But who would soar the solar height,
To set in such a starless night? (1)
Weigh'd in the balance, hero-dust

Is vile as vulgar clay;
Thy scales, Mortality! are just

To all that pass away:
But yet methought the living great
Some higher sparks should animate,

To dazzle and dismay:
Nor deem’d Contempt could thus make mirih
Of these, the conquerors of the earth.
And she, proud Austria's mournful fower,

Thy still imperial bride;
How bears her breast the torturing lour ?

Still clings she lo thy side ?
Must she loo bend, must she loo share
Thy late repentance, long despair,

Thou Throneless homicide?
If still she loves thee, hoard that gem,
'Tis worth thy vanish'd diadem !(2)
Then haste thee to thy sullen Isle,
And gaze upon

the sea ;
That element may meet thy smile-

It ne'er was ruled by thee!
Or trace with thine all-idle hand

Thou, Timour! in his captive's cage (4)

What thoughts will there be thine,
While brooding in thy prison'd rage?

But one-". The world was mine!”
Uniess, like he of Babylon,
All sense is with thy sceptre gone,

Life will not long confine
That spirit, pour’d so widely forth-
So long obey'd-so little worth!
Or, like the thief of fire from heaven,(5)

Wilt thou withstand the shock?
And share with him, the uuforgiven,

His vulture and his rock!
Foredoom’d by God-by man accursi,(6)
And that last act, though not thy worst,

The very fiend's arch mock;(7)
He in his fall preserved his pride,
And, if a mortal, had as proudly died !
There was a day-there was an hour, (8)

While earth was Gaul's-Gaul thine-
When that immeasurable power

Unsaled to resign
Had been an act of purer fame
Than gathers round Marengo's name,

And gilded thy decline
Through the long twilight of all time,
Despite some passing clouds of crime.

But thou, forsooth! must be a king,

And don the purple vest, –
As if that foolish robe could wring

Remembrance from thy breast.
Where is that faded garment? where
The gewgaws thou wert fond to wear,

The star-the string-the crest ?

in his life-time, wbich, I told him, I had been used to think a

(5) Prometheus. solemn and affecting act.” Jounson. “Why, sir, a man may

(6) In the first draughtdispose bis mind lo ibink so of that act of Charles; but it is so

" He suffered for kind acts to men liable lo ridicule, that is one man out often thousand laughs a!

Who have nol seen his like again, it, be 'll make the other nine thousand nine hundred and ninety

At least of kingly stock; nine laugh too."-Croker's Boswell, vol. iv. p. 102.- E.

Since be was good, and thou but great, (1) In the MS.

Thou canst out quarrel with thy iule."-E, “But who would rise in brightest day

(7) The very fiend's arch mockTo set wilbuut one parting ray?"-E.

To lip a wanton, and suppose her chaste."-Shakspeure. (2) Count Neipperg, a gentleman in the suite of the Emperor | We believe there is no doubt of the anecdote bere alluded 10 of Austria, who was first presented to Maria Louisa within a -of Napoleon's having sound leisure for an unworthy amour, few days after Napoleon's abdication, became, in the sequel, the very evening of his arrival al Fontainebleau.-E.) her Chamberlain, and then her husband. He is said to have (8) The three last stanzas, which Lord Byron had been solibeen a man of remarkably plain appearance. The Count died cited by Mr. Murray to write, to avoid the stamp duty then imin 1831.-E.

posed upon publicalions not exceeding a sheel, were nol pub(3) Dionysius the Younger, esteemed a greater tyrant than lished with the rest of the poem. "I don't like them at all," his father, on being for the second time banished (rom Syracuse, says Lord Byron, “and they had better be lest out. The fact is, retired to Corinth, where he was obliged to turn schoolmaster I can't do any thing I am asked 10 do, however gladly I would : for a subsistence.--E.

and at the end of a week my interest in a composition goes (4) The cage of Bajazel, by order of Tamerlane.

off."--E.

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