HOURS OF IDLENESS. 63: page, and on the very back of the volume; it follows his name like a favourite part of his style, Much stress is laid upon it in the preface, and the poems are connected with this general statement of his case, by particular dates, substantiating the age at which each was written. Now, the law upon the point of minority we hold to be perfectly clear. It is a plea available only to the defendant; no plaintiff can offer it as a supplementary ground of action. Thus, if any suit could be brought against Lord Byron, for the purpose of compelling him to put into court a certain quantity of poetry, and if judgment were given against him, it is highly probable that an exception would be taken, were he to deliver for poetry the contents of this volume. To this he might plead minority; but, as he now makes voluntary tender of the article, he hath no right to sue, on that ground, for the price in good current praise, should the goods be unmarketable. This is our view of the law on the point, and, we dare to say, so will it be ruled. Perhaps however, in reality, all that he tells us about his youth is rather with a view to increase our wonder, than to soften our censures. He possibly means to say- See how a minor can write! This poem was actually composed by a young man of eighteen, and this by one of only sixteen!'-But, alas! we all remember the poetry of Cowley at ten, and Pope at twelve; and so far from hearing, with any degree of surprise, that 64 ABSURD CRITIQUE very poor verses were written by a youth from his leaving school to his leaving college inclusive, we really believe this to be the most common of all. occurrences; that it happens in the life of nine men in ten, who are educated in England; and that the tenth man writes better verse than Lord Byron. "His other plea of privilege, our author rather brings forward in order to wave it. He certainly, however, does allude frequently to his family and ancestors—sometimes in poetry, sometimes in notes; and while giving up his claim on the score of rank, he takes care to remember us of Dr. Johnson's saying, that when a nobleman appears as an author, his merit should be handsomely acknowledged. In truth, it is this consideration only, that induces us to give Lord Byron's poems a place in our review, besides our desire to counsel him, that he do forthwith abandon poetry, and turn his talents, which are considerable, and his opportunities, which are great, to better account. "With this view, we must beg leave seriously to assure him, that the mere rhyming of the final syllable, even when accompanied by the presence of a certain number of feet; nay, although (which does not always happen) these feet should scan regularly, and have been all counted accurately, upon the fingers,-is not the whole art of poetry. We would entreat him to believe, that a certain portion of liveliness, somewhat of fancy, is ne OF THE EDINBURGH REVIEWERS. 65 cessary to constitute a poem, and that a poem in the present day, to be read, must contain at least one thought, either in a little degree different from the ideas of former writers, or differently expressed. We put it to his candour, whether there is any thing so deserving the name of poetry in verses like the following, written in 1806; and whether, if a youth of eighteen could say any thing so uninteresting to his ancestors, a youth of nineteen should publish it. Shades of heroes, farewell! your descendant, departing Though a tear dim his eye at this sad separation, That fame, and that memory, still will he cherish, When decay'd, may he mingle his dust with your own.' P.3. "Now we positively do assert, that there is nothing better than these stanzas in the whole compass of the noble minor's volume. "Lord Byron should also have a care of attempting what the greatest poets have done before him, for comparisons (as he must have had occasion to see at his writing-master's) are odious.-Gray's 66 ABSURD CRITIQUE Ode on Eton College should really have kept out the ten hobbling stanzas On a distant view of the village and school of Harrow:' 'Where fancy yet joys to retrace the resemblance Of comrades, in friendship and mischief allied; How welcome to me, your ne'er fading remembrance, Which rests in the bosom, though hope is denied.' P. 4. "In like manner, the exquisite lines of Mr. Rogers On a Tear,' might have warned the noble author off those premises, and spared us a whole dozen such stanzas as the following: • Mild Charity's glow, To us mortals below, Shows the soul from barbarity clear; Compassion will melt Where this virtue is felt, And its dew is diffus'd in a Tear. The man doom'd to sail Through billows Atlantic to steer, The green sparkles bright with a Tear.' P. 11. "And so of instances in which former poets had failed. Thus, we do not think Lord Byron was made for translating, during his nonage, Adrian's Address to his Soul, when Pope succeeded so indifferently in the attempt. If our readers, however, are of another opinion, they may look at it: 66 OF THE EDINBURGH REVIEWERS. Ah! gentle, fleeting, wav'ring sprite, To what unknown region borne But pallid, cheerless, and forlorn.' ραις, 67 P. 72. is ren As to However, be this as it may, we fear his translations and imitations are great favourites with Lord Byron. We have them of all kinds, from Anacreon to Ossian; and, viewing them as school exercises, they may pass. Only, why print them after they have had their day and served their turn? And why call the thing in p. 79, a translation, where two words (Eλw eye) of the original are expanded into four lines, and the other thing in p. 81, where μεσονυκ]ιοις ποθ ̓ ὁ dered by means of six hobbling verses? his Ossianic poesy we are not very good judges, being, in truth, so moderately skilled in that species of composition, that we should, in all probability, be criticising some bit of the genuine Macpherson itself, were we to express our opinion of Lord Byron's rhapsodies. If, then, the following beginning of a Song of Bards,' is by his Lordship, we venture to object to it, as far as we can comprehend it. • What form rises on the roar of clouds, whose dark ghost gleams on the red stream of tempests? His voice rolls on the thunder; 'tis Orla, the brown chief of Otihona. He was,' etc. After detaining this brown Chief' some time, the |