Nor then my soul should sated be, FROM THE PROMETHEUS VINCTUS OF ESCHYLUS. [Μηδάμ' ὁ πάντα νέμων, κ. τ. λ.] GREAT Jove, to whose almighty throne My voice shall raise no impious strain 'Gainst him who rules the sky and azure main. How different now thy joyless fate, The blushing beauty/by thy side, Harrow, Dec. 1, 1804. FROM ANACREON. 'Twas now the hour when Night had driven His arctic charge around the Pole; (1) Lord Byron in one of his diaries says, "My first Har row verses (that is, English, as exercises), a translation of a chorus from the Prometheus of Eschylus, were received by (Ah! little did I think the dart I WISH to tune my quivering lyre To deeds of fame and notes of fire; To echo, from its rising swell, How heroes fought and nations fell, When Atreus' sons advanced to war, Or Tyrian Cadmus roved afar; But still, to martial strains unknown, My lyre recurs to love alone. Fired with the hope of future fame, I seek some nobler hero's name; The dying chords are strung anew, To war, to war, my harp is due: With glowing strings, the epic strain To Jove's great son I raise again; Alcides and his glorious deeds, Beneath whose arm the Hydra bleeds; All, all in vain! my wayward lyre Wakes silver notes of soft desire. Adieu, ye chiefs renown'd in arms! Adieu the clang of war's alarms! To other deeds my soul is strung, And sweeter notes shall now be sung; My harp shall all its powers reveal To tell the tale my heart must feel; Love, Love alone, my lyre shall claim, In songs of bliss and sighs of flame. TO EMMA. SINCE now the hour is come at last, When you must quit your anxious lover; Alas! that pang will be severe, Which bids us part to meet no more; Well! we have pass'd some happy hours, Dr. Drury, my grand patron (our head master) but coolly. No one had, at that time, the least notion that I should subside into poesy."- L. E. When thinking on these ancient towers, Where, from this Gothic casement's height, O'er fields through which we used to run, Whilst I, admiring, too remiss, It dared to give your slumbering eyes: See still the little painted bark, In which I row'd you o'er the lake; Without thee what will they avail? This is the deepest of our woes, For this these tears our cheeks bedew; This is of love the final close, Oh, God! the fondest, last adieu! TO M. S. G. WHENE'ER I view those lips of thine, Alas! it were unhallow'd bliss. For that would banish its repose. A glance from thy soul searching eye Can raise with hope, depress with fear; Yet I conceal my love-and why? I would not force a painful tear. I ne'er have told my love, yet thou To make thy bosom's heaven a hell? Yes! yield those lips, for which I'd brave I bid thee now a last farewell. TO CAROLINE. THINK'ST thou I saw thy beauteous eyes, Throbb'd with deep sorrow as thine own. But when our cheeks with anguish glow'd, When thy sweet lips were join'd to mine, The tears that from my eyelids flow'd Were lost in those which fell from thine. In sighs alone it breathed my name. But that will make us weep the more. Ah! if thou canst, o'ercome regret, Nor let thy mind past joys review,— Our only hope is to forget! Yet still, though we bend with a feign'd resignation, Life beams not for us with one ray that can cheer; Love and hope upon earth bring no more consolation, In the grave is our hope, for in life is our fear. Oh! when, my adored, in the tomb will they place me, Since, in life, love and friendship for ever are fled? If again in the mansion of death I embrace thee, Perhaps they will leave unmolested the dead. TO CAROLINE. WHEN I hear you express an affection so warm, Ne'er think, my beloved, that I do not believe; For your lip would the soul of suspicion disarm, And your eye beams a ray which can never deceive. Yet, still, this fond bosom regrets, while adoring, That love, like the leaf, must fall into the sear; That age will come on, when remembrance, deploring, Contemplates the scenes of her youth with a tear; That the time must arrive when, no longer retaining Their auburn, those locks must wave thin to the breeze, When a few silver hairs of those tresses remaining, Prove nature a prey to decay and disease. 'Tis this, my beloved, which spreads gloom o'er my features, Though I ne'er shall presume to arraign the decree Which God has proclaim'd as the fate of his creatures, In the death which one day will deprive you of me. Mistake not, sweet sceptic! the cause of emotion, Will sleep in the grave till the blast shall awake us, Which from passion like ours may unceasingly flow; Let us pass round the of love's bliss in full mea sure, cup And quaff the contents as our nectar below. 1805. STANZAS TO A LADY, (1) Lord Strangford's translations of Camoëns' Amatory Poems are mentioned by Mr. Moore as having been at this period a favourite study of Lord Byron.-L. E (2) The latter years of Camoëns present a mournful pictare, not merely of individual calamity, but of national ingratitude. He whose best years had been devoted to the service of his country, he who had taught her literary fame to rival the proudest efforts of Italy itself, and who seemed born to revive the remembrance of ancient gentility and Lusian heroism, was compelled to wander through the streets, & wretched dependant on casual contribution. One friend AWAY with your fictions of flimsy romance; Ye rhymers, whose bosoms with phantasy glow, Whose pastoral passions are made for the grove; From what blest inspiration your sonnets would flow, Could you ever have tasted the first kiss of love! If Apollo should e'er his assistance refuse, Or the Nine be disposed from your service to rove, I hate you, ye cold compositions of art! [prove, And Eden revives in the first kiss of love. When age chills the blood, when our pleasures are past For years fleet away with the wings of the doveThe dearest remembrance will still be the last, Our sweetest memorial the first kiss of love. FRAGMENT, WRITTEN SHORTLY AFTER THE MARRIAGE OF MISS CHAWORTH. HILLS of Annesley, bleak and barren, alone remained, to smooth his downward path, and guide his steps to the grave with gentleness and consolation. It was Antonio, his slave, a native of Java, who had accompanied Camoëns to Europe, after having rescued him from the waves, when shipwrecked at the mouth of the Mecon. This faithful attendant was wont to seek alms throughout Lisbon, and at night shared the produce of the day with his poor and broken-hearted master. But his friendship was em ployed in vain. Camoëns sank beneath the pressure of penury and disease, and died in an alms-house, early in the year 1579.-Strangford. DORSET! whose early steps with mine have stray'd, Yes! I have mark'd thee many a passing day, (I) The circumstances which lent so peculiar an interest to Lord Byron's introduction to the family of Chaworth are sufficiently explained in Moore's Life. "The young lady | herself combined," says the writer, "with the many worldly advantages that encircled her, much personal beauty, and a disposition the most amiable and attaching. Though already fally alive to her charms, it was at this period (1804) that the young poet seems to have drunk deepest of that fascination whose effects were to be so lasting; six short weeks which he passed in her company being sufficient to lay the foundation of a feeling for all life. With the summer holidays ended this dream of his youth. He saw Miss Chaworth once more in the succeeding year, and took his last farewell of her on that hill near Annesley, which, in bis poem of The Dream, he describes so happily as 'crowned | with a peculiar diadem.'" In August, 1805, she was married to John Masters, Esq.; and died at Wiverton Hall, in February, 1832, in consequence, it is believed, of the alarm and danger to which she had been exposed during the sack of Colwiek Hall by a party of rioters from Nottingham. The unfortunate lady had been in a feeble state of health for several years, and she and her daughter were obliged to take shelter from the violence of the mob in a shrubhery, where, partly from cold, partly from terror, her constitution sustained a shock which it wanted vigour to resist. I-LE (2) In looking over my papers to select a few additional poems for this second edition, I found the above lines, which I had totally forgotten, composed in the summer of 1805, a short time previous to my departure from Harrow. They were addressed to a young schoolfellow of high rank, who had been my frequent companion in some rambles through Yes! I have mark'd within that generous mind "T is not enough, with other sons of power, To gleam the lambent meteor of an hour; To swell some peerage page in feeble pride, With long-drawn names that grace no page beside; Then share with titled crowds the common lotIn life just gazed at, in the grave forgot; While nought divides thee from the vulgar dead, Except the dull cold stone that hides thy head, The mouldering 'scutcheon, or the herald's roll, That well-emblazon'd but neglected scroll, Where lords, unhonour'd, in the tomb may find One spot, to leave a worthless name behind; There sleep, unnoticed as the gloomy vaults That veil their dust, their follies, and their faults, A race, with old armorial lists o'erspread, In records destined never to be read. Fain would I view thee, with prophetic eyes, Exalted more among the good and wise, A glorious and a long career pursue, As first in rank, the first in talent too: Spurn every vice, each little meanness shun; Not Fortune's minion, but her noblest son. Turn to the annals of a former day; Bright are the deeds thine earlier sires display. One, though a courtier, lived a man of worth, And call'd, proud boast! the British drama forth.(5) Another view, not less renown'd for wit; Alike for courts, and camps, or senates fit; Bold in the field, and favour'd by the Nine; In every splendid part ordain'd to shine; Far, far distinguish'd from the glittering throng, The pride of princes, and the boast of song. (6) Such were thy fathers: thus preserve their name; Not heir to titles only, but to fame. the neighbouring country: however, he never saw the lines, and most probably never will. As, on a re-perusal, I found them not worse than some other pieces in the collection, I have now published them, for the first time, after a slight revision. [George-John-Frederick, fourth Duke of Dorset, born November 15, 1793. This amiable nobleman was killed by a fall from his horse, while hunting near Dublin, February 22, 1815, being on a visit at the time to his mother, the duchessdowager, and her second husband, Charles Earl of Whitworth, then Lord Lieutenant of Ireland.-L. E.] (3) At every public school the junior boys are completely subservient to the upper forms, till they attain a seat in the higher classes. From this state of probation, very properly, no rank is exempt; but, after a certain period, they command in turn those who succeed. (4) Allow me to disclaim any personal allusions, even the most distant. I merely mention generally what is too often the weakness of preceptors. (5) "Thomas Sackville, Lord Buckhurst, created Earl of Dorset by James I. was one of the earliest and brightest ornaments to the poetry of his country, and the first who produced a regular drama."-Anderson's Poets. (6) "Charles Sackville, Earl of Dorset, esteemed the most accomplished man of his day, was alike distinguished in the voluptuous court of Charles II. and the gloomy one of William III. He behaved with great gallantry in the sea-fight with the Dutch in 1665; on the day previous to which he composed his celebrated song, To all you ladies now at land.' His character has been drawn in the highest colours by Dryden, Pope, Prior, and Congreye."-Anderson's Poets. The hour draws nigh, a few brief days will close, Dorset, farewell! I will not ask one part Since chance has thrown us in the self-same sphere; Or hear, unless in crowds, thy well-known voice. To veil those feelings which perchance it ought; 1805. ON A CHANGE OF MASTERS AT A GREAT WHERE are those honours, Ida! once your own, (1) "I have just been, or rather ought to be, very much shocked by the death of the Duke of Dorset. We were at school together, and there I was passionately attached to him. Since, we have never met, but once, I think, since 1805 and it would be a paltry affectation to pretend that I had any feeling for him worth the name. But there was a time in my life when this event would have broken my heart; and all I can say for it now is, that-it is not worth breaking. The recollection of what I once felt, and ought to have felt now, but could not, set me pondering, and finally into the train of thought which you have in your hands.”—Byron's Letters, 1815.-(The verses referred to were those melancholy ones, beginning, "There's not a joy the world can give, like that it takes away.” -L. E. (2) In March, 1805, Dr. Drury retired from his situation of head-master at Harrow, and was succeeded by Dr. Butler. -L. E. (3) "Dr. Drury, whom I plagued sufficiently, was the best, the kindest (and yet strict, too) friend I ever had; and I look upon him still as a father."-Diary. (4) "At Harrow I was a most unpopular boy, but led latterly, and have retained many of my school friendships, and all my dislikes except to Dr. Butler, whom I treated rebelliously, and have been sorry ever since."-Diary. Of narrow brain, yet of a narrower soul, He governs, sanction'd but by self-applause. GRANTA. A MEDLEY. July 1805. 46. Αργυρέαις λόγχαισι μάχου καὶ πάντα κρατήσαις;" Petty and Palmerston survey; Lo! candidates and voters lie (7) All lull'd in sleep, a goodly number: A race renown'd for piety, Whose conscience won't disturb their slumber. Lord H-, (8) indeed, may not demur; I'll turn mine eye, as night grows later, The studious sons of Alma Mater. The reconciliation which took place between him and Dr. Butler, before his departure for Greece, in 1809, is (says Moore) "one of those instances of placability and pliableness with which his life abounded. Not content with this private atonement to the Doctor, it was his intention, had he published another edition of the Hours of Idleness, to substitute, for the offensive verses against that gentleman, a frank avowal of the wrong he had been guilty of in giving vent to them."-L. E. (5) The Diable Boiteux of Le Sage, where Asmodeus, the demon, places Don Cleofas on an elevated situation, and unroofs the houses for inspection. (6) On the death of Mr. Pitt, in January, 1806, Lord Henry Petty and Lord Palmerston were candidates to represent the University of Cambridge in Parliament.-L. E. (7) The fourth and fifth stanzas ran, in the private volume, thus: "One on his power and place depends, The other on-the Lord knows what! "The first, indeed, may not demur;" Fellows are sage reflecting men," etc.-L. E. (8) Edward-Harvey Hawke, third Lord Hawke.-L. E. |