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(1) The idea of printing a collection of his Poems first oc curred to Lord Byron in the parlour of that cottage, which, during his visit to Southwell, had become his adopted home. Miss Pigot, who was not before aware of his turn for versi fying, had been reading aloud the Poems of Burns, when young Byron said, "that he, too, was a poet sometimes, and would write down for her some verses of his own which he remembered." He then, with a pencil, wrote these lines, "To D-- A fac-simile of this fronts this page.-L. E.

(2) The priory of Newstead, or de Novo Loco, in Sherwood, was founded about the year 1170, by Henry II., and dedicated to God and the Virgin. It was in the reign of Henry VIII., on the dissolution of the monasteries, that, by a royal grant, it was added, with the lands adjoining, to the other possessions of the Byron family. The favourite apon whom they were conferred was the grand-nephew of the gallant soldier who fought by the side of Richmond at Bosworth, and is distinguished from the other knights of the same Christian name, in the family, by the title of "Sir John Byron the Little, with the great beard." A portrait of this personage was one of the few family pictures with which the walls of the Abbey, while in the possession of the poet, were decorated.-L. E.

(3) There being no record of any of Lord Byron's ancestors having been engaged in the Holy Wars, Mr. Moore suggests, that the poet may have had no other authority for this notion than the tradition which he found connected with certain strange groups of heads, which are represented on the old panel-work in some of the chambers at Newstead. In one of these groups, consisting of three heads, strongly carved and projecting from the panel, the centre figure evidently represents a Saracen or Moor, with a European female on one side of him, and a Christian soldier on the other. In a second group, the female occupies the centre, while on either side is the head of a Saracen, with the eyes fixed earnestly upon her. Of the exact meaning of these figures there is nothing known; but the tradition is, that they refer to a love adventure of the age of the Crusades.-L. E.

"It is not probable," says Galt, in his Life of Byron, "that the figures referred to any transactions in Palestine in which

Of the mail-cover'd barons, who proudly to battle Led their vassals from Europe to Palestine's plain, (3)

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-laurell'd wreath;

Near Askalon's towers, John of Horistan (4) slumbers, Unnerved is the hand of his minstrel by death.

Paul and Hubert, too, sleep in the valley of Cressy; (5) 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, (6) with Rupert, (7) 'gainst traitors contending,

Four brothers enrich'd with their blood the bleak field;

For the rights of a monarch their country defending, Till death their attachment to royalty seal'd. (8) 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, 'Tis 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.

the Byrons were engaged, if they were put up by the Byrons at all. They were probably placed in their present situation while the building was in possession of the churchmen. One of the groups, consisting of a female and two Saracens with eyes earnestly fixed upon her, may have been the old favourite ecclesiastical story of Susanna and the Elders. The other, which represents a Saracen, with a European female between him and a christian soldier, is perhaps an ecclesiastical allegory, descriptive of the Saracen and the christian warrior contending for the liberation of the church. These sort of allegorical stories were common among monastic ornaments, and the famous legend of St. George and the Dragon is one of them."-P. E.

(4) "In the park of Horseley," says Thoroton, "there was a castle, some of the ruins of which are yet visible, called Horistan Castle, which was the chief mansion of Ralph de Burun's successors."

(5) Two of the family of Byron are enumerated as serving with distinction in the siege of Calais, under Edward III. and as among the knights who fell on the glorious field of Cressy.-L. E.

(6) The battle of Marston Moor, where the adherents of Charles I. were defeated.

(7) Son of the Elector Palatine, and nephew to Charles I. Ile afterwards commanded the fleet in the reign of Charles II. (8) Sir Nicholas Byron served with distinction in the Low Countries; and, in the Great Rebellion, he was one of the first to take up arms in the royal cause. After the battle of Edgehill, he was made colonel-general of Cheshire and Shropshire, and governor of Chester. "He was," says Clarendon, "a person of great affability and dexterity, as well as martial knowledge, which gave great life to the designs of the well-affected; and, with the encouragement of some gentlemen of North Wales, he raised such a power of horse and foot, as made frequent skirmishes with the enemy, sometimes with notable advantage, never with sig. nal loss."

In 1643, Sir John Byron was created Baron Byron of Rochdale in the county of Lancaster; and seldom has a title been bestowed for such high and honourable services as those

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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: (1)
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.

1803.

EPITAPH ON A FRIEND.(2) “Αστὴρ πρὶν μὲν ἔλαμπες ἐνὶ ζωοῖσιν ἑῷος.”-LAERTIUS. OB, 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, Whilst 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 comrades' honour and thy friend's delight.

by which he deserved the gratitude of his royal master, Through almost every page of the History of the Civil Wars, we trace his name in connection with the varying fortunes of the king, and find him faithful, persevering, and disinterested to the last. "Sir John Biron," says Mrs. Hutchinson, "afterwards Lord Biron, and all his brothers, bred up in arms, and valiant men in their own persons, were all passionately the king's." We find also, in the reply of Colonel Hutchinson, when governor of Nottingham, to his cousingerman Sir Richard Byron, a noble tribute to the chivalrous fidelity of the race. Sir Richard, having sent to prevail on his relative to surrender the castle, received for answer, that "except he found his own heart prone to such treachery, he might consider there was, if nothing else, so much of a Byron's blood in him, that he should very much scorn to betray or quit a trust he had undertaken."

On the monument of Richard, the second Lord Byron, who lies buried in the chancel of Hucknal-Tokard church, there is the following inscription:-"Beneath, in a vault, is interred the body of Richard Lord Byron, who, with the rest of his family, being seven brothers, faithfully served King Charles the First in the civil wars, who suffered much for their loyalty, and lost all their present fortunes: yet it pleased God so to bless the humble endeavours of the said Richard Lord Byron, that he re-purchased part of their ancient inheritance, which he left to his posterity, with a laudable memory for his great piety and charity."-L. E.

(1) of the sincerity of this youthful aspiration, the poet has left repeated proofs. By his will, drawn up in 1811, he directed that "no inscription, save his name and age, should be written on his tomb;" and, in 1819, he wrote thus to Mr. Murray:-"Some of the epitaphs at the Certosa cemetery, at Ferrara, pleased me more than the more splendid monu. ments at Bologna; for instance

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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.

LINES

1803.

WRITTEN IN LETTERS OF AN ITALIAN NUN AND AN
ENGLISH GENTLEMAN: BY J. J. ROUSSEAU: FOUNDED
ON FACTS."

"AWAY, away! your flattering arts
May now betray some simpler hearts;
And you will smile at their believing,
And they shall weep at your deceiving."

ANSWER TO THE FOREGOING, ADDRESSED TO MISS
Dear, simple girl, those flattering arts,

From which thou 'dst guard frail female hearts,
Exist but in imagination,-

Mere phantoms of thine own creation;

intended to commemorate the death of the same lowly-born youth, to whom the affectionate verses, given in page 2, were addressed:

"Though low thy lot, since in a cottage born," etc. But, in the altered form of the Epitaph, not only this pas sage, but every other containing an allusion to the low rank of his young companion, is omitted; while, in the added parts, the introduction of such language as

"What though thy sire lament his failing line?" seems calculated to give an idea of the youth's station in life, wholly different from that which the whole tenour of the original Epitaph warrants. That he grew more conscions of his high station, as he approached to manhood, is not improbable, and this wish to sink his early friendship with the young cottager may have been a result of that feeling. -Moore.

The following is a copy of the lines, as they first appeared in the private volume:

"Oh, Boy! for ever loved, for ever dear!

What fruitless tears have bathed thy honour'd bier!
What sighs re-echoed 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 comrades' honour and thy friend's delight,
Though low thy lot, since in a cottage born,
No titles did thy humble name adorn:
To me far dearer was thy artless love,
Than all the joys wealth, fame, and friends could prove,
For thee alone I lived, or wish'd to live;
Oh God! if impious, this rash word forgive!
Heart-broken now, I wait an equal doom,
Content to join thee in thy turf-clad tomb;
Where, this frail form composed in endless rest,
I'll make my last cold pillow on thy breast;
That breast where oft in life I've laid my head,
Will yet receive me mouldering with the dead:
This life resign'd, without one parting sigh,
Together in one bed of earth we 'll lie!
Together share the fate to mortals given;
Together mix our dust, and hope for heaven."-L. E.

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EQUAL to Jove that youth must be-
Greater than Jove he seems to me-
Who, free from Jealousy's alarms,
Securely views thy matchless charms.
That cheek, which ever dimpling glows,
That mouth, from whence such music flows,
To him, alike, are always known,
Reserved for him, and him alone.
Ah! Lesbia! though 'tis death to me,
I cannot choose but look on thee;
But, at the sight, my senses fly;
I needs must gaze, but, gazing, die;
Whilst trembling with a thousand fears,
Parch'd to the throat my tongue adheres,

My pulse beats quick, my breath heaves short,
My limbs deny their slight support,
Cold dews my pallid face o'erspread,
With deadly languor droops my head,
My ears with tingling echoes ring,
And life itself is on the wing;
My eyes refuse the cheering light,
Their orbs are veiled in starless night:
Such pangs my nature sinks beneath,
And feels a temporary death.

IMITATION OF TIBULLUS.
"Sulpicia ad Cerinthum."- Lib. 4.

CRUEL. Cerinthus! does the fell disease
Which racks my breast your fickle bosom please?
Alas! I wish'd but to o'ercome the pain,
That I might live for love and you again:
But now I scarcely shall bewail my fate:

By death alone I can avoid your hate.

(1) This and several little pieces that follow appear to be fragments of school exercises done at Harrow.-L. E.

TRANSLATION OF THE EPITAPH ON VIRGIL AND TIBULLUS.

BY DOMITIUS MARSUS.

He who sublime in epic numbers roll'd, And he who struck the softer lyre of love, By Death's (2) unequal hand alike controll'd, Fit comrades in Elysian regions move!

TRANSLATION FROM CATULLUS.
[Lugete, Veneres, Cupidinesque, etc.]
YE Cupids, droop each little head!
Nor let your wings with joy be spread,
My Lesbia's favourite bird is dead,
Whom dearer than her eyes she loved:
For he was gentle, and so true,
Obedient to her call he flew,
No fear, no wild alarm, he knew,
But lightly o'er her bosom moved:
And, softly fluttering here and there,
He never sought to cleave the air,
But chirupp'd oft, and, free from care,

Tuned to her ear his grateful strain.
Now having pass'd the gloomy bourne
From whence he never can return,
His death and Lesbia's grief I mourn,

Who sighs, alas! but sighs in vain.
Oh! curst be thou, devouring grave!
Whose jaws eternal victims crave,
From whom no earthly power can save,
For thou hast ta'en the bird away:
From thee my Lesbia's eyes o'erflow,
Her swollen cheeks with weeping glow;
Thou art the cause of all her woe,
Receptacle of life's decay.

TRANSLATION FROM HORACE.
[Justum et tenacem propositi virum, etc.]
THE man of firm and noble soul
No factious clamours can control;
No threat'ning tyrant's darkling brow
Can swerve him from his just intent:
Gales the warring waves which plough,
By Auster on the billows spent
To curb the Adriatic main,

Would awe his fix'd determined mind in vain.

Ay, and the red right arm of Jove,
Hurtling his lightnings from above,
With all his terrors there unfurl'd,

He would, unmoved, unawed, behold.
The flames of an expiring world,
Again in crashing chaos roll'd,
In vast promiscuous ruin hurl'd,
Might light his glorious funeral pile:

Still dauntless 'midst the wreck of earth he'd smile.

IMITATED FROM CATULLUS.

TO ELLEN.

On! might I kiss those eyes of fire,
A million scarce would quench desire:
Still would I steep my lips in bliss,
And dwell an age on every kiss;

(2) The hand of Death is said to be most unjust or unequal, as Virgil was considerably older than Tibullus at his decease.

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