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SHE WALKS IN BEACTY. 3

Sue walks In beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;

And ail that's best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes:

Thus mellow'd to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.

One shade the more, one ray the less.
Had half impair'd the nameless grace,

Which waves in every raven tress.
Or softly lightens o'er her face j

Where thoughts serenely sweet express,
How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.

And on that cheek, and o'er that brow,

So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,

But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,

A heart whose love is innocent!

THE HARP THE MONARCH MINSTREL
SWEPT. *

Tiu harp the monarch minstrel swept,
The King of men, the loved of Heaven,

1 [Lord Byron never alludes to his share in these Melodies rub complacency. Mr. Moore having, on one occasion, rallied him a little on the manner in which some of them had fteea set to music, —" Sunburn Nathan," he exclaims, "why ^ you always twit me with his Ebrew nasalities? Have l

* told you it was all Klnnaird's doing, and my own exquisite ranllty of temper ? "]

3 [" Neither the ancient Jews," says Dr. Burney, " nor the nodera, have ever had characters peculiar to music; so that tA? melodies used In their religious ceremonies have, at all ttroes, been traditional, and at the mercy of the singers." — Kilsbrenner tells us, that " les Julfs Kspagnols lisent et chantfnt lenrs pseaumes blen difmremment que les Julfs Hollandais, les Juifs Remains autrement que les Julfs dc la Prusse <* de la Hesse; et tous croient chanter comme on chantalt dan* le Temple de Jerusalem 1" —Hist, dc la Muiiqve, torn, i- P- 34.]

3 [These stanzas were written by Lord Byron, on returninjt from a ball-room, where he had seen Mrs. (now Lady) Wilmot Horton, the wife of his relation, the present Governor of Ceylon. On this occasion Mrs. Wllmot Horton had appeared in mourning, with numerous spangles on her dress.]

* [** In the reign of King David, music was held In the highest estimation by the Hebrews. The genius of that prince for music, and his attachment to the study and practice of it, as well as the great number of musicians appointed by him for the performance of religious rites and ceremonies, could not bil to extend its influence and augment its perfections ; for It *ai during this period, that music was first honoured by being

It told the triumphs of our King,

It wafted glory to our God;
It made our gladdcn'd valleys ring.

The cedars bow, the mountains nod;

Its sound aspired to Heaven and there abode!5 Since then, though heard on earth no more,

Devotion and her daughter Love, Still bid the bursting spirit soar

To sounds that seem as from above,

In dreams that day's broad light can not remove.f

IF THAT HIGH WORLD.

Ir that high world, which lies beyond

Our own, surviving Love endears;
If there the cherish'd heart be fond.

The eye the same, except in tears —
How welcome those untrodden spheres 1

How sweet this very hour to die!
To soar from earth and find all fears,

Lost in thy light—Eternity!

It must be so: 't is not for self

That we so tremble on the brink;
And striving to o'crleap the gulf,

Yet cling to Being's severing link.
Oh 1 in that future let us think

To hold each heart the heart that shares;
With them the immortal waters drink,

And soul in soul grow deathless theirs 1

admitted in the ministry of sacrifice, and worship of the ark; as well as by being cultivated by a king." — Bcrxey.]

* [" When Lord Byron put the manuscript into my hand, it terminated with this line. As this, however, did not complete the verse, I wished him to help out the melody. He replied, 'Why, I have sent you to heaven — it would be difficult to go further 1' My attention for a few minutes was called to some other person, and his Lordship, whom I had hardly missed, exclaimed,' Here, Nathan, I have brought you down again ;' and Immediately presonted mo the beautiful lines which conclude the melody."— Nathan.]

6 [The hymns of David excel no less In sublimity and tenderness of expression, than in loftiness and purity of religious sentiment. In comparison with them, the sacred poetry of all other nations sinks into mediocrity. They have embodied so exquisitely the universal language of religious emotion, that (a few fierce and vindictive passages excepted, natural In the warrior-poet of a sterner age.) they have entered, with unquestionable propriety, into the Christian ritual. The songs which cheered the solitude of the desert caves of Kngedi, or resounded from the voice of the Hebrew people as they wound along the glens or the hllt-sldes of Judea, have been repeated for ages In almost every part of the habitable world,— in the remotest islands of the ocean, amongst the forests of America, or the sands of Africa. How many human hearts have they softened, purified, exalted !— of now many wretched beings have they been the secret consolation 1 — on how many communities have they drawn down the blessings of Divine Providence, by bringing the affections in unison with their deep devotional fervour I— Milman.]

THE WILD GAZELLE.

The wild gazelle on Juclah's hills

Exulting yet may bound.
And drink from all the living rill*

That gush on holy ground:
Its airy step and glorious eye
May glance in tameless transport by: —

A step as fleet, an eye more bright,

Hath Judah witness'd there;
And o'er her scenes of lost delight

Inhabitants more fair.
The cedars wave on Lebanon,
But Judah's statelier maids are gone!

More blest each palm that shades those plains

Than Israel's scatter'd race;
For, taking root, it there remains

In solitary grace:
It cannot quit its place of birth.
It will not live in other earth.

But we must wander witheringly,

In other lands to die;
And where our fathers' ash?s be,

Our own may never lie:
Our temple hath not left a stone,
And Mockery sits on Salem's throne.

OH! WEEP FOK THOSE.
Oh! weep for those that wept by Babel's stream,
Whose shrines are desolate, whose land a dream;
Weep for the harp of J udah's broken shell; [dwell:
Mourn—where their God hath dwelt the Godless

And where shall Israel lave her bleeding feet?
And when shall Zion's songs again seem sweet?
And Judah's melody once more rejoice
The hearts that leap'd before its heavenly voice?

Tribes of the wandering foot and weary breast,
How shall ye flee away and be at rest 1
The wild-dove hath her nest, the fox his cave,
Mankind their country—Israel but the grave!

ON JORDAN'S BANKS.
On Jordan's banks the Arab's camels stray,
On Sion's hill the False One's votaries pray,
The Baal-adorer bows on Sinai's steep— [sleep:
Yet there—even there—Oh Godl thy thunders

There — where thy finger scorch'd the tablet stone!
There—where thy shadow to thy people shone!
Thy glory shrouded in its garb of fire:
Thyself—none living see and not expire!

Oh! in the lightning let thy glance appear;
Sweep from his shiver'd hand the oppressor's spear!
How long by tyrants shall thy land be trod?
How long thy temple worshipless, Oh God?

i [ Jephtha, a bastard son of Gllead, having been wrongfully expelled from his father's house, had taken refuge In a wild country, and become a noted captain of freebooters. His kindred, groaning under foreign oppression, began to look to their valiant, though lawless compatriot, whose profession, according to their usage, was no more dishonourable than that of a pirate in the elder days of Greece. They sent for him, and made him head of their city. Before he went forth against the Ammonites, he made the memorable row, that. If he returned victorious, he would sacrifice as a burnt

JEPHTHA'S DAUGHTER. I

Since Out Country, our God—Oh, my Sire!
Demand that thy Daughter expire;
Since thy triumph was bought by thy vow—
Strike the bosom that's bared for thee now 1

And the voice of my mourning is o'er,
And the mountains behold me no more:
If the hand that I love lay me low,
There cannot be pain in the blow 1

And of this, oh, my Father 1 be sure—
That the blood of thy child is as pure
As the blessing I beg ere It flow,
And the last thought that soothes me below.

Though the virgins of Salem lament,
Be the judge and the hero unbent!
I have won the great battle for thee,
And my Father and Country are free:
When this blood of thy giving hath gush'd,
When the voice that thou Ibvest is hush'd,
Let my memory still be thy pride,
And forget not I smiled as I died!

OH I SNATCH'D AWAY IN BEAUTY'S BLOOM.

Oh! snatch'd away in beauty's bloom.
On thee shall press no ponderous tomb;
But on thy turf shall roses rear
Their leaves, the earliest of the year;
And the wild cypress wave in tender gloom:

And oft by yon blue gushing stream
Shall §orrow lean her drooping head,

And feed deep thought with many a dream,
And lingering pause and lightly tread;
Fond wretch I as If her step disturb'd the dead 1

Away! we know that tears are vain,
That death nor heeds nor hears distress:

Will this unteach us to complain?
Or make one mourner weep the less?

And thou—who tcll'st me to forget.

Thy looks are wan, thine eyes are wet.

MY SOUL IS DARK.

My soul is dark — Oh I quickly

The harp I yet can brook to hear; And let thy gentle fingers fling

Its melting murmurs o'er mine ear. If in this heart a hope be dear.

That sound shall charm it forth again: If in these eyes there lurk a tear,

'Twill flow, and cease to be

But bid the strain be wild and deep.
Nor let thy notes of joy be first:

I tell thee, minstrel, I must weep,
Or else this heavy heart will burst;

whatever first met him on his entrance Into bis native cirr He gained a splendid victory. At the news of k. his cah daughter came dancing forth. In the gladneM of heart, with jocund instruments of music, to tolute the deurem ■ * hU people. The miserable father rent his clothes in araoybut the noble-r-plrited maiden would not hear of the drjrerari of the vow: she only demanded a short period to be*ail u>c the mountains, like the Antigone of Sopbocles, her dvn| without hope of becoming a bride or mother, and then remitted to her fate Milhan.J

For it hath been l>y sorrow nursed,
And ached In sleepless silence long;

And now't is doom'd to know the worst.
And break at once—or yield to song.1

I SAW THEE WEEP.

I Saw thee weep—the big bright tear

Came o'er that eye of blue;
And then methought it did appear

A violet dropping dew:
I saw thee smile—the sapphire's blue

Beside tbee ceased to shine;
It could not match the living rays

That flll'd that glance of thine.

As clouds from yonder sun receive

A deep and mellow dye. Which scarce the shade of coming eve

Can banish from the sky, Those smiles unto the moodiest mind

Their own pure joy impart; Their sunshine leaves a glow behind

That lightens o'er the heart.

THY DATS ARE DONE.

Thy days are done, thy fame begun;

Thy country's strains record
The triumphs of her chosen Son,

The slaughters of his sword!
The deeds he did, the fields he won,

The freedom he restored!

Though thou art fall'n, while we are free Thou shalt not taste of death!

The generous blood that flow'd from thee
Disdain'd to sink beneath:

Within our veins its currents be,
Thy spirit on our breath!

Thy name, our charging hosts along,

Shall be the battle-word I
Thy fall, the theme of choral song

From virgin voices pour'd!
To weep would do thy glory wrong;

Thou shalt not be deplored.

1 [" It was generally conceived that Lord Byron's reported i.iigularities approached on some occasions to derangement; and at one period, indeed, it was very currently asserted that hU intellects were actually Impaired. The report only served to amuse his Lordship. He referred to the circumstance, and declared that he would try how a madman could write: seizing the pen with eagerness, he for a moment fixed his eyes in majestic wlldness on vacancy; when, like a flash of inspiration, without erasing a single word, the above verses were the result." — Nathan.]

4 [Haunted with that insatiable desire of searching Into the secrets of ftiturity, inseparable from uncivilised man, Saul knew not to what quarter to turn. The priests, outraged by hit cruelty, had forsaken him: the prophets stood aloof; no dreams visited his couch; he had persecuted even the unlawful diviners. He hears at last of a female necromancer, a -s oman with the spirit of Ob; strangely similar in sound to the Obeah women in the West Indies. To the cave-dwelling of this woman, in Endor, the monarch proceeds in disguise. He commands her to raise the spirit of Samuel. At this daring demand, the woman first recognises, or pretends to recognise, ber royal visitor. "Whom secst thou?" says the king—" Mighty ones ascending from the earth."—" Of what form?"—"An old man covered with a mantle." Saul, in

SONG OF SAUL BEFORE HIS LAST BATTLE.

Warriors and chiefs! should the shaft or the sword
Pierce me in leading the host of the Lord,
Heed not the corse, though a king's, in your path:
Bury your steel in the bosoms of Gath I

Thou who art bearing my buckler and bow,
Should the soldiers of Saul look away from the foe,
Stretch me that moment in blood at thy feet!
Mine be the doom which they dared not to meet.

Farewell to others, but never we part,
Heir to my royalty, son of my heart I
Bright is the diadem, boundless the sway,
Or kingly the death, which awaits us to-day!

SAUL.'

Thou whose spell can raise the dead,

Bid the prophet's form appear.
"Samuel, raise thy buried head!
King, behold the phantom seer 1"
Earth yawn'd j he stood the centre of a cloud:
Light changed its hue, retiring from his shroud.
Death stood all glassy in his fixed eye;
His hand was wither'd, and his veins were dry;
His foot, in bony whiteness, glitter'd there,
Shrunken and sinewless, and ghastly bare;
From lips that moved not and unbreathlng frame.
Like cavern'd winds, the hollow accents came.
Saul saw, and fell to earth, as falls the oak.
At once, and blasted by the thunder-stroke.

"Why is my sleep disquieted?
Who is he that calls the dead?
Is It thou, O King? Behold,
Bloodless are these limbs, and cold:
Such are mine; and such shall be
Thine to-morrow, when with me:
Ere the coming day is done,
Such shalt thou be, such thy son.
Fare thee well, but for a day,
Then we mix our mouldering clay.
Thou, thy race, lie pale and low,
Pierced by shafts of many a bow;
And the falchion by thy side
To thy heart thy hand shall guide:
Crownlcss, breathless, headless fall,
Son and sire, the house of Saul I"'

terror, bows down his head to the earth ; and, It should seem, not daring to look up, receives from the voice of the spectre the awful intimation of his defeat and death. On the reality of this apparition we pretend not to decide: the figure, if figure there were, was not seen by Saul; and, excepting the event of the approaching battle, the spirit said nothing which the living prophet had not said before, repeatedly and publicly. But the fact is curious, as showing the popular belief of the Jews in departed spirits to have been the same with that of most other nations Milman.]

3 f" Since we have spoken of witches," said Lord Byron, at Cepfialonia, In 1823, " what think you of the witch of Endor? I have always thought this the finest and most finished witchscene that ever was written or conceived; and you will be of my opinion, if you consider all the circumstances and the actors In the case, together with the gravity, simplicity, and dignity of the language. It beats all the ghost scenes I ever read. The finest conception on a similar subject is that of Goethe's Devil, Mephistopheles ; and though, of course, you will give the priority to the former, as being inspired, yet the latter, If you know it, will appear to you — at least it does to me — one of the finest and most sublime specimens of human conception."]

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BYRON'S WORKS.

« ALL IS VANITY, SAITH THE PREACHER."

Fame, wisdom, love, and power were mine,

And health and youth possess'd me;
My goblets blush'd from every vine,

And lovely forms caress'd me;
I sunn'd my heart in beauty's eyes,

And felt my soul grow tender;
All earth can give, or mortal prize,

Was mine of regal splendour.

I strive to number o'er what days

Remembrance can discover,
Which all that life or earth displays

Would lure me to live over.
There rose no day, there roll'd no hour

Of pleasure unembitter'd;
And not a trapping deck'd my power

That gall'd not while it gUtter'd.

The serpent of the field, by art

And spells, is won from harming;
But that which coils around the heart.
Oh! who hath power of charming?
It will not list to wisdom's lore,
Nor music's voice can lure it;
But there it stings for evermore
The soul that must endure it.

WHEN COLDNESS WRAPS THIS SUFFERING CLAY.

When coldness wraps this suffering clay,

Ah ! whither strays the immortal mind?
It cannot die, it cannot stay,

But leaves its darken'd dust behind.
Then, uncmbodied, doth it trace

By steps each planet's heavenly way?
Or fill at once the realms of space,

A thing of eyes, that all survey >

Eternal, boundless, undecay'd,

A thought unseen, but seeing all,
All, all in earth, or skies display'd,

Shall it survey, shall it recall:
Each fainter trace that memory holds

So darkly of departed years,
In one broad glance the soul beholds,

And all, that was, at once appears.

Before Creation peopled earth,

Its eye shall roll through chaos back;
And where the furthest heaven had birth,

The spirit trace its rising track.
And where the future mars or makes,

Its glance dilate o'er all to be,
While sun is quench'd or system breaks,

Fix'd in its own eternity.

Above or Love, Hope, Hate, or Fear,

It lives all passionless and pure:
An age shall fleet like earthly year; .

Its years as moments shall endure.
Away, away, without a wing.

O'er ail, through all, its thought shall fly;
A nameless and eternal thing,

Forgetting what it was to die.

VISION OF BELSHAZZAR.

The King was on his throne.

The Satraps throng'd the hall; A thousand bright lamps shone

O'er that high festival. A thousand cups of gold,

In Judah deem'd divine— Jehovah's vessels hold

The godless Heathen's wine.

In that same hour and hall,

The fingers of a hand Came forth against the wall.

And wrote as if on sand: The fingers of a man ;—

A solitary hand Along the letters ran,

And traced them like a wand.

The monarch saw, and shook,

And bade no more rejoice; All bloodless wax'd his look,

And tremulous bis voice. "Let the men of lore appear,

The wisest of the earth, And expound the words of fear,

Which mar our royal mirth."

Chaldea's seers are good,

But here they have no skill; And the unknown letters stood

Untold and awful still And Babel's men of age

Are wise and deep in lore; But now they were not sage,

They saw—but knew no

A captive in the land,

A stranger and a youth, He heard the king's command,

He saw that writing's truth. The lamps around were bright,

The prophecy in view; He read it on that night,—

The morrow proved it true.

"Belshazzar's grave is made.

His kingdom pass'd away, He, in the balance wcigh'd,

Is light and worthless clay, The shroud his robe of state.

His canopy the stone: The Mede Is at his gate!

The Persian on his throne!"

SUN OF THE SLEEPLESS!

Sus of the sleepless I melancholy star!
Whose tearful beam glows tremulously far,
That show'st the darkness thou canst not dispel.
How like art thou to joy remember'd well!
So gleams the past, the light of other days;
Which shines, but warms not with its powerless rays:
A night-beam Sorrow watcheth to behold.
Distinct, but distant—clear—but oh, how cold!

WERE MY BOSOM AS FALSE AS THOU DEEM'ST IT TO BE.

Tui my bosom as false as thou deem'st it to be,

I need not have wander'd from far Galilee;

It was but abjuring my creed to cflace

The curse which, thou say'st, is the crime of my race.

If the bad never triumph, then God is with thee!
If the slave only sin, thou art spotless and free!
If the Exile on earth is an Outcast on high,
Live on in thy faith, but in mine I will die.

I have lost for that faith more than thou canst bestow,
As the God who permits thee to prosper doth know;
In his hand is my heart and my hope—and in thine
The land and the life which for him I resign.

HEROD'S LAMENT FOR MARIAMNE. 1

Ob, Mariamne! now for thee

The heart for which thou bled'st is bleeding; Revenge is lost in agony,

And wild remorse to rage succeeding.
Oh, Mariamne! where art thou?

Thou canst not hear my bitter pleading:
Ah! couldst thou—thou wouldst pardon now,

Though Heaven were to my prayer unheeding.

And is she dead ? —and did they dare

Obey my frenzy's jealous raving?
My wrath but doom'd my own despair:

The sword that smote her's o'er me waving

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 bell,

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

Which unconsumed are still consuming!

ON THE DAY OF THE DESTRUCTION OF
JERUSALEM BY TITUS.

Fhom the last hill that looks on thy once holy dome
I beheld thee, oh Sion! when render'd to Rome:
T was thy last sun went down, and the flames of thy fall
Flash'd back on the last glance I gave to thy wall.

I look'd for thy temple, I look'd for my home.
And forgot for a moment my bondage to come;
I beheld but the death-flre that fed on thy fane,
And the fast-fetter'd hands that made vengeance in vain.

On many an eve, the high spot whence I gazed
Had reflected the last beam of day as it blazed;
While I stood on the height, and beheld the decline
Of the rays from the mountain that shone on thy shrine.

i f/Mariamne, the wife of Herod the Great, failing under the suspicion of infidelity, was put to death by bis order. She waj a woman of unrivalled beauty, and a haughty sp irit: unln being the object of passionate attachment, which on frenzy, to a man who had more or less concern In

And now on that mountain I stood on that day,
But I mark'd not the twilight beam melting away;
Oh ! would that the lightning had glared in its stead,
And the thunderbolt burst on the conqueror's head I

But the gods of the Pagan shall never profane
The shrine where Jehovah disdain'd not to reign;
And scatter'd and seorn'd as thy people may be,
Our worship, oh Father! is only for thee.

BY THE RIVERS OF BABYLON WE SAT

DOWN AND WEPT.
We sat down and wept by the waters

Of Babel, and thought of the day
When our foe, in the hue of his slaughters,

Made Salem's high places his prey;
And ye, oh her desolate daughters!

Were scatter'd all weeping away.

While sadly we gazed on the river
Which roll'd on in freedom below,

They demanded the song j but, oh never
That triumph the stranger shall know I

May this right hand be withcr'd 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 DESTRUCTION OF SENNACHERIB. The Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold, And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold; And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the sea, win'!) the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee.

Like the leaves of the forest when Summer is green. That host with their banners at sunset were seen: Like the leaves of the forest when Autumn hath blown, That host on the morrow lay wither'd and strown.

For the Angel of Death spread his wings on the blast,
And breathed In the face of the foe as he pass'd;
And the eyes of the sleepers wax'd deadly and chill,
And their hearts but once heav'd, and for ever grew
still!

And there lay the steed with his nostril all wide,
But through it there roll'd not the breath of his pride:
And the foam of his gasping lay white on the turf,
And cold as the spray of the rock-beating surf.

And there lay the rider distorted and pale,
With the dew on his brow and the rust on his mall;
And the tents were all silent, the banners alone,
The lances unlifted, the trumpet unblown.

And the widows of Ashur are loud in their wail,
And the idols are broke in the temple of Baal;
And the might of the Gentile, unsmote by the sword,
Hath melted like snow in the glance of the Lord I

the murder of her grandfather, father, brother, and uncle, and who had twice commanded her death, in case of his own. Ever after, Herod was haunted by the image of the murdered Mariamne, until disorder of the mind brought on disorder of

body, which led to temporary derangement Milhak.]

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