HOMER. Iliad. 10.

DRYDEN.

THE AUTHOR.

ON LEAVING NEWSTEAD ABBEY.

Why dost thou build the hall? Son of the winged days! Thou lookest from thy tower to-day; yet a few years, and the blast of the desert comes; it howls in thy empty court.

OSSIAN.

Taaccca thy battlements, Newstead, the hollow winds whistle;

Thou, the hall of my fathers, art gone to decay; In thy once smiling garden, the hemlock and thistle Have choked up the rose which late bloom'd in the

way.

Of the mail-cover'd barons, who proudly, to battle
Led their vassals from Europe to Palestine's plain,
The escutcheon and shield, which with every blast rattle,
Are the only sad vestiges now that remain.

No more doth old Robert, with harp-stringing numbers,
Raise a flame in the breast, for the war-laurel'd wreath;
Near Askaion's Towers John of Horistan' slumbers,
Unnerved is the hand of his minstrel by death.
Paul and Hubert too sleep, in the valley of Cressy;
For the safety of Edward and England they fell;
My fathers the tears of your country redress ye;
How you fought! how you died! still her annals can
tell.

On Marston,' with Rupert 3 'gainst traitors contending,
Four brothers enrich'd with their blood the bleak field;
Horistan Castle, in Derbyshire, an ancient seat of the Byron

family,

The battle of Marston Moor, where the adherents of Charles 1. wer: defeated.

Son of the Elector Palatine, and related to Charles I. He afterwards commanded the fleet, in the reign of Charles II.

For the rights of a monarch, their country defending,
Till death their attachment to royalty seal'd.
Shades of heroes, farewell! your descendant departing
From the seat of his ancestors bids you adieu!
Abroad or at home, your remembrance imparting
New courage, he'll think upon glory and you.
Though a tear dim his eye at this sad separation,
"T is nature, not fear, that excites his regret;
Far distant he goes, with the same emulation,
The fame of his fathers he ne'er can forget.
That fame, and that memory, still will he cherish,
He vows that he ne'er will disgrace your renown;
Like you will he live, or like you will he perish;
When decay'd, may he mingle his dust with your own.
1803.

EPITAPH ON A FRIEND.

Αστηρ πριν μεν έλαμπες ενι ζωοισιν ενός. LAERTIUS.

On, Friend! for ever loved, for ever dear!
What fruitless tears have bathed thy honour'd bier!
What sighs re-echo'd to thy parting breath,
While thou wast struggling in the pangs of death!
Could tears retard the tyrant in his course;
Could sighs avert his dart's relentless force;
Could youth and virtue claim a short delay,
Or beauty charm the spectre from his prey;
Thou still hadst lived, to bless my aching sight,
Thy comrade's honour, and thy friend's delight.

If, yet, thy gentle spirit hover nigh

The spot where now thy mouldering ashes lie,
Here wilt thou read, recorded on my heart,
A grief too deep to trust the sculptor's art.
No marble marks thy couch of lowly sleep,
But living statues there are seen to weep;
Affliction's semblance bends not o'er thy tomb,
Affliction's self deplores thy youthful doom.
What though thy sire lament his failing line,
A father's sorrows cannot equal mine!
Though none, like thee, his dying hour will cheer,
Yet, other offspring soothe his anguish here:
But who with me shall hold thy former place?
Thine image, what new friendship can efface?
Ah, none! a father's tears will cease to flow,
Time will assuage an infant brother's woe;
To all, save one, is consolation known,
While solitary Friendship sighs alone.

A FRAGMENT.

1803.

WHEN, to their airy hall, my Fathers' voice
Shall call my spirit, joyful in their choice;
When, poised upon the gale, my form shall ride,
Or, dark in mist, descend the mountain's side;
Oh! may my shade behold no sculptured urns,
To mark the spot where earth to earth returns:
No lengthen'd scroll, no praise-encumber'd stone;
My epitaph shall be my name alone:

If that with honour fail to crown my clay,
Oh! may no other fame my deeds repay;
That, only that, shall single out the spot,
By that remember'd, or with that forgot.

As he bends o'er the wave,

Which may soon be his grave,
The green sparkles bright with a Tear.
The soldier braves death,
For a fanciful wreath,
In Glory's romantic career;
But he raises the foe,

When in battle laid low,

And bathes every wound with a Tear.
If, with high-bounding pride,
He return to his bride,
Renouncing the gore-crimson'd spear,
All his toils are repaid,

When embracing the maid

From her eyelid he kisses the Tear.

Sweet scene of my youth,

Seat of Friendship and Truth,

Where love chased each fast-fleeting year,
Loth to leave thee, I mourn'd,

For a last look I turn'd,

But thy spire was scarce seen through a Tear. Though my vows I can pour,

To my Mary no more,

My Mary, to Love once so dear;
In the shade of her bower,

I remember the hour,

She rewarded those vows with a Tear.

By another possest,

May she live ever blest,

Her name still my heart must revere; With a sigh I resign,

What I once thought was mine, And forgive her deceit with a Tear.

Ye friends of my heart,

Ere from you I depart,

This hope to my breast is most near,

If again we shall meet,

In this rural retreat,

May we meet, as we part, with a Tear.

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

And my corse shall recline on its bier,
As ye pass by the tomb,

Where my ashes consume,

Oh! moisten their dust with a Tear.

May uo marble bestow

The splendour of woe,
Which the children of vanity rear;

No fiction of fame

Shail blazon my name,

All I ask, all I wish, is a Tear.

AN OCCASIONAL PROLOGUE.

1806.

Delivered previous to the performance of « The Wheel of Fortune,» at a private theatre.

SINCE the refinement of this polish'd age
Has swept immoral raillery from the stage;
Since taste has now expunged licentious wit,
Which stamp'd disgrace on all an author writ;

Since, now, to please with purer scenes we seek,
Nor dare to call the blush from Beauty's cheek;
Oh! let the modest Muse some pity claim,
And meet indulgence though she find not fame.
Still, not for her alone we wish respect,
Others appear more conscious of defect;
To-night no veteran Roscii you behold,
In all the arts of scenic action old;

No COOKE, no KEMBLE, can salute you here,
NO SIDDONS draw the sympathetic tear;
To-night, you throng to witness the debut
Of embryo actors, to the drama new.

Here, then, our almost unfledged wings we try;
Clip not our pinions ere the birds can fly;
Failing in this our first attempt to soar,
Drooping, alas! we fall to rise no more.
Not one poor trembler, only, fear betrays,

Who hopes, yet almost dreads, to meet your praise,
But all our Dramatis Persona wait,
In fond suspense, this crisis of their fate.
No venal views our progress can retard,
Your generous plaudits are our sole reward;
For these, each Hero all his power displays,
Each timid Heroine shrinks before your gaze;
Surely the last will some protection find-
None to the softer sex can prove unkind;
Whilst Youth and Beauty form the female shield,
The sternest Censor to the fair must yield.
Yet should our feeble efforts nought avail,
Should, after all, our best endeavours fail,
Still, let some mercy in your bosoms live,
And, if you can't applaud, at least forgive.

ON THE DEATH OF MR FOX.

The following illiberal Impromptu appeared in a Morning Paper.

OUR nation's foes lament on Fox's death,

But bless the hour when PITT resign'd his breath;
These feelings wide, let Sense and Truth unclue,
We give the palm where Justice points it due.

To which the Author of these Pieces sent the following
Reply.

On! factious viper! whose envenom'd tooth
Would mangle still the dead, perverting truth;
What, though our nation's foes » lament the fate,
With generous feeling, of the good and great;
Shall dastard tongues essay to blast the name
Of him, whose meed exists in endless fame?
When PITT expired, in plenitude of power,
Though ill success obscured his dying hour,
Pity her dewy wings before him spread,
For noble spirits war not « with the dead.»
His friends, in tears, a last sad requiem gave,
As all his errors slumber'd in the grave;
He sunk, an Atlas, bending 'neath the weight
Of cares o'erwhelming our conflicting state;
When, lo! a Hercules, in Fox, appear'd,
Who, for a time, the ruin'd fabric rear'd.
He, too, is fallen, who Britain's loss supplied;
With him our fast reviving hopes have died:
Not one great people only raise his urn,
All Europe's far extended regions mourn.

« These feelings wide, let Sense and Truth unclue,
To give the palm where Justice points it due ;»

Yet let not canker'd calumny assail,

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

STANZAS TO A LADY. With the Poems of Camoens. THIS votive pledge of fond esteem, Perhaps, dear girl! for me thou'lt prize; It sings of Love's enchanting dream, A theme we never can despise. Who blames it but the envious fool, The old and disappointed maid? Or pupil of the prudish school,

In single sorrow doom'd to fade.
Then read, dear girl, with feeling read,
For thou wilt ne'er be one of those;
To thee in vain I shall not plead,

In pity for the Poet's woes.
He was, in sooth, a genuine bard;

His was no faint fictitious flame;
Like his, may love be thy reward,
But not thy hapless fate the same.

TO M***.

On! did those eyes, instead of fire,

With bright but mild affection shine;
Though they might kindle less desire,

Love more than mortal would be thine.
For thou art form'd so heavenly fair,
Howe'er those orbs may wildly beam,
We must admire, but still despair,
That fatal glance forbids esteem.
When Nature stamp'd thy beauteous birth,
So much perfection in thee shone,
She fear'd that, too divine for earth,

The skies might claim thee for their own.
Therefore, to guard her dearest work,
Lest angels might dispute the prize,
She bade a secret lightning lurk
Within those once celestial eyes.
These might the boldest sylph appal,
When gleaming with meridian blaze;
Thy beauty must enrapture all,

But who can dare thine ardent gaze!

T is said, that Berenice's hair

In stars adorn the vault of heaven;
But they would ne'er permit thee there,
Thou wouldst so far outshine the seven.
For, did those eyes as planets roll,

Thy sister lights would scarce appear;
Een suns, which systems now control,

Would twinkle dimly through their sphere.

1806.

TO WOMAN.

WOMAN! experience might have told me,
That all must love thee who behold thee,
Surely, experience might have taught,
Thy firmest promises are nought;
But, placed in all thy charms before me,
All I forget, but to adore thee.
Oh Memory! thou choicest blessing,
When join'd with hope, when still possessing;
But how much cursed by every lover,
When hope is fled, and passion 's over.
Woman, that fair and fond deceiver,
How prompt are striplings to believe her!
How throbs the pulse, when first we view
The eye that rolls in glossy blue,
Or sparkles black, or mildly throws
A beam from under hazel brows!

How quick we credit every oath,
And hear her plight the willing troth!
Fondly we hope 't will last for aye,
When lo! she changes in a day.
This record will for ever stand,

« Woman! thy vows are traced in sand.»1

TO M. S. G.

Untutor'd by science, a stranger to fear,

And rude as the rocks where my infancy grew, No feeling, save one, to my bosom was dear,

Need I say, my sweet Mary, 't was centred in you? Yet it could not be love, for I knew not the name; What passion can dwell in the heart of a child? But, still, I perceive an emotion the same

As I felt, when a boy, on the crag-cover'd wild: One image alone on my bosom impress'd,

I loved my bleak regions, nor panted for new; And few were my wants, for my wishes were blest, And pure were my thoughts, for my soul was with you. I arose with the dawn; with my dog as my guide, From mountain to mountain I bounded along, I breasted' the billows of Dee's rushing tide,

And heard at a distance the Highlander's song: At eve, on my heath-cover'd couch of repose,

No dreams, save of Mary, were spread to my view, And warm to the skies my devotions arose,

For the first of my prayers was a blessing on you.

I left my bleak home, and my visions are gone,
The mountains are vanish'd, my youth is no more;
As the last of my race, I must wither alone,

And delight but in days I have witness'd before.
Ah! splendour has raised but embitter'd my lot,
More dear were the scenes which my infancy knew;

Extend not your anger to sleep,

For in visions alone your affection can live;

I rise, and it leaves me to weep.

Then, Morpheus! envelop my faculties fast,
Shed o'er me your languor benign;

Should the dream of to-night but resemble the last,
What rapture celestial is mine!

They tell us, that slumber, the sister of death,
Mortality's emblem is given;

To fate how I long to resign my frail breath,
If this be a foretaste of heaven!

Ah! frown not, sweet lady, unbend your soft brow,
Nor deem me too happy in this;

If I sin in my dream, I atone for it now,
Thus doom'd but to gaze upon bliss.

Though in visions, sweet lady, perhaps you may smile,
Oh! think not my penance deficient;
When dreams of your presence my slumbers beguile,
To awake will be torture sufficient.

SONG.

WHEN I roved, a young Highlander, o'er the dark heath, And climb'd thy steep summit, oh! Morven of Snow," To gaze on the torrent that thunder'd beneath,

Or the mist of the tempest that gather'd below, 3

Though cold is my heart, still it lingers with you.
When I see some dark hill point its crest to the sky,
I think of the rocks that o'ershadow Colbleen; 3
When I see the soft blue of a love-speaking eye,
I think of those eyes that endear'd the rude scene;
When, haply, some light-waving locks I behold,
That faintly resemble my Mary's in hue,

I think on the long flowing ringlets of gold,
The locks that were sacred to beauty and

you.

Yet the day may arrive, when the mountains once more
Shall rise to my sight, in their mantles of snow:
But while these soar above me, unchanged as before,
Will Mary be there to receive me? ah, no!
Adieu! then, ye hills, where my childhood was bred,
Thou sweet-flowing Dee, to thy waters adieu!

No home in the forest shall shelter my head;
Ah! Mary, what home could be mine, but with you?

TO***

On! yes, I will own we were dear to each other,
The friendships of childhood, though fleeting, are
true;
The love which you felt was the love of a brother,

Nor less the affection I cherish'd for you.

But Friendship can vary her gentle dominion,

The attachment of years in a moment expires; Like Love too, she moves on a swift-waving pinion, But glows not, like Love, with unquenchable fires.

Breasting the lofty surge.-SHAKSPEARE.

The Dee is a beautiful river, which rises near Mar Lodge, and falls into the sea at New Aberdeen.

3 Colbleen is a mountain near the verge of the Highlands, not far from the ruins of Dee Castle.

Full oft have we wandered through Ida together,
And blest were the scenes of our youth, I allow;
In the spring of our life, how serene is the weather!
But winter's rude tempests are gathering now.
No more with Affection shall Memory blending

The wonted delights of our childhood retrace;
When Pride steels the bosom, the heart is unbending,
And what would be Justice appears a disgrace.
However, dear S, for I still must esteem you,
The few whom I love I can never upbraid,

The chance, which has lost, may in future redeem you,
Repentance will cancel the vow you have made.

I will not complain, and though chill'd is affection,
With me no corroding resentment shall live;
My bosom is calm'd by the simple reflection,

That both may be wrong, and that both should
forgive.

You knew that my soul, that my heart, my existence,
If danger demanded, were wholly your own;
You knew me unalter'd, by years or by distance,
Devoted to love and to friendship alone.
You knew, but away with the vain retrospection!
The bond of affection no longer endures;
Too late you may droop o'er the fond recollection,
And sigh for the friend who was formerly yours.
For the present we part,-I will hope not for ever,
For time and regret will restore you at last;
To forget our dissension we both should endeavour;
I ask no atonement, but days like the past.

TO MARY.

On receiving her picture.

Tais faint resemblance of thy charms,
Though strong as mortal art could give,
My constant heart of fear disarms,
Revives my hopes, and bids me live.
Here, I can trace the locks of gold,

Which round thy snowy forehead wave;

The cheeks, which sprung from Beauty's mould,
The lips, which made me Beauty's slave.
Here, I can trace--ah no! that eye,
Whose azure floats in liquid fire,

Must all the painter's art defy,

And bid him from the task retire.

Here I behold its beauteous hue,

But where's the beam so sweetly straying? Which gave a lustre to its blue,

Like Luna o'er the ocean playing. Sweet copy! far more dear to me,

Lifeless, unfeeling as thou art, Than all the living forms could be,

Save her who placed thee next my heart.

She placed it, sad, with needless fear,

Lest time might shake my wavering soul,
Unconscious, that her image, there,
Held every sense in fast controul.

Thro' hours, thro' years, thro' time, 't will cheer;

My hope, in gloomy moments, raise;

In life's last conflict 't will appear,

And meet my fond expiring gaze.

DAMETAS.

In law an infant,' and in years a boy,
In mind a slave to every vicious joy,
From every sense of shame and virtue wean'd,
In lies an adept, in deceit a fiend;
Versed in hypocrisy, while yet a child,

Fickle as wind, of inclinations wild;

Woman his dupe, his heedless friend a tool,
Old in the world, tho' scarcely broke from school:
Damætas ran through all the maze of sin,
And found the goal, when others just begin;
Even still conflicting passions shake his soul,
And bid him drain the dregs of pleasure's bowl;
But, pall'd with vice, he breaks his former chain,
And, what was once his bliss, appears his bane.

TO MARION.

MARION! Why that pensive brow?
What disgust to life hast thou?
Change that discontented air;
Frowns become not one so fair.
"T is not love disturbs thy rest,
Love's a stranger to thy breast;
He in dimpling smiles appears;
Or mourns in sweetly timid tears;
Or bends the languid eyelid down,
But shuns the cold forbidding frown.
Then resume thy former fire,

Some will love, and all admire;
While that icy aspect chills us,

Nought but cold indifference thrills us.
Wouldst thou wandering hearts beguile,
Smile, at least, or seem to smile;
Eyes like thine were never meant
To hide their orbs, in dark restraint;
Spite of all, thou fain wouldst say,
Still in truant beams they play.
Thy lips, but here my modest Muse
Her impulse chaste must needs refuse.
She blushes, curtsies, frowns,-in short she
Dreads, lest the subject should transport me ;
And flying off, in search of reason,
Brings prudence back in proper season.
All I shall therefore say (whate'er

I think is neither here nor there),

Is that such lips, of looks endearing,

Were form'd for better things than sneering;

Of soothing compliments divested,
Advice at least 's disinterested;
Such is my artless song to thee,
From all the flow of flattery free;
Counsel, like mine, is as a brother's,
My heart is given to some others;
That is to say, unskill'd to cozen,
It shares itself amongst a dozen.
Marion, adieu! oh! prithee slight not
This warning, though it may delight not;
And, lest my precepts be displeasing

To those who think remonstrance teazing,
At once I'll tell thee our opinion,
Concerning woman's soft dominion:

In law, every person is an infant who has not attained the age of twenty-one.