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Well, since we met, hath sped my busy time,

But since the dagger suits thee less than brand, If in aught evil, for thy sake the crime:

I'll try the firmness of a female hand. The crime—'tis none to punish those of Seyd. The guards are gain'd-one moment all wore o'erThat hated tyrant, Courad-he must bleed !

Corsair ! we meet in safety of no more ;
I see thee shudder—but my soul is changed

If errs my feeble hand, the morning cloud
Wrong’d, spurn’d, reviled -and it shall be avenged Will hover o'er thy scaffold, and my shroud.
Accused of what till now my heart disdain'd-
Too faithful, though to bitter bondage chain'd.
Yes, smile !-but he had little cause to sneer,

IX.
I was not treacherous then—nor thou too dear: She turn'd, and vanish'd ere he could reply,
But he has said it-and the jealous well,

But his glance follow'd far with eager eye ;
Those tyrants, teasing, tempting to rebel,

And gathering, as he could, the links that bound Deserve the fate their fretting lips foretell.

His form, to curl their length, and curb their sound, I never loved-he bought me—somewhat high Since bar and bolt no more his steps preclude, Since with me came a heart he could not buy. He, fast as fetter'd limbs allow, pursued. I was a slave unmurmuring: he hath said,

'Twas dark and winding, and he knew not where But for his rescue I with thee had fled.

That passage led; nor lamp nor guard were there : 'Twas false thou know'st-but let such augurs nie, He sees a dusky glimmering-shall he seek Their words are omens Insult renders true.

Or shun that ray so indistinct and weak ? Nor was thy respite granted to my prayer;

Chance guides his steps—a freshness seems to bear This fleeting grace was only to prepare

Full on his brow, as if from morning airNew torments for thy life, and my despair.

He reachd an open gallery- on his eye Mine too he threatens; but his dotage still

Gleam'd the last star of night, the cloaring sky: Would fain reserve me for his lordly will :

Yet scarcely heeded these-another light When wearier of these fleeting charms and me, From a lone chamber struck upon his sight. There yawns the sack-and yonder rolls the sea ! Towards it he moved; a scarcely closing door What, am I then a toy for dotard's play,

Reveal'd the ray within, but nothing more. To wear but till the gilding frets away?

With hasty step a figure outward pass'd, I saw theo_loved thee-owe thee all—would save, Then paused--and turn'd-and paused—'tis She at If but to show how grateful is a slave.

last! But had he not thus menaced fame and life,

No poniard in that hand-nor sign of ill — (And well he keeps his oaths pronounced in strife,) “ Thanks to that softening heart-she could not kill!" I still had saved thee-but the Pacha spared.

Again ho look'd, the wildness of her eye Now I am all thine own-for all prepared:

Starts from the day abrupt and fearfully. Thou lov'st me not-nor know'st-or but the worst. She stopp d—threw back her dark far-floating hair, Alas! this love-that hatred are the first

That nearly veild her face and bosom fair: Oh! couldst thou prove my truth, thou wouldst not As if she late had bent her leaning head start,

Above some object of her doubt or dread. Nor fear the fire that lights an Eastern heart; They meet-upon her brow-unknown-forgot'Tis now the beacon of thy safety-now

Her hurrying hand had left-'twas but a spotIt points within the port a Mainote prow:

Its huo was all he saw, and scarce withstood But in one chamber, where our path must lead, Oh! slight but certain pledge of crime— tis blood! There sleeps-he must not wake—the oppressor Seyd!"

1

“ Gulnare-Gulnare-I never felt till now
My abject fortune, wither'd fame so low:
Seyd is mine enemy: had swept my band
From earth with ruthless but with open hand,
And therefore came I, in my bark of war,
To smite the smiter with a scimitar;
Such is my weapon-not the secret knife-
Who spares a woman's seeks not slumber's life.
Thine saved I gladly, Lady, not for this
Let me not deem that mercy shown amiss.
Now fare thee well-more peace be with thy breast !
Night wears apace--my last of earthly rest !"

X.
He had seen battle-he had brooded lono
O'er promised pangs to sentenced guilt foreshown ;
He had been tempted-chasten'd-and the chain
Yet on his arms might ever there remain :
But ne'er from strife--captivity-remorse-
From all his feelings in their inmost force-
So thrilld-50 shudder'd every creeping vein,
As now they froze before that purple stain.
That spot of blood, that light but guilty streak,
Had banish'd all the beauty from her cheek!
Blood he had view'd-could view unmoved-but then
It flow'd in combat, or was shed by men!

“ Rest! rest! by sunrise must thy sinews shake,
And thy limbs writhe around the ready stake.
I heard the order--saw-I will not see
If thou wilt perish, I will fall with thee.
My life--my love-my hatred—all below
Are on this cast-Corsair ! 'tis but a blow!
Without it flight were idle-how evade
His sure pursuit ? my wro too unrepaid,
My youth disgraced—the long, long wasted years,
One blow shall cancel with our future fears;

XI.
“ 'Tis done—he nearly waked—but it is done.
Corsair! he perish d—thou art dearly won.
All words would now be vain-away-away!
Our bark is tossing—-'tis already day.
The few gain'd over, now are wholly mine,
And these thy yet surviving band shall join:
Anon my voice shall vindicate my hand,
When once our sail forsakes this hated strand."

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XII.

With light alacrity and gaze of pride, She clapp'd her hands—and through the gallery pour, They view him mount onco more his vessel's side ; | Equipp d for flight, her vassals—Greek and Moor ; A smile relaxing in each rugged face, į Slept but quick they stoop, his chains unbind; Their arms can scarce forbear a rough embrace. Once more his limbs are free as mountain wind! He, half forgetting danger and defeat, But on his heavy heart such sadness sate,

Returns their greeting as a chief may greet, As if they there transferr'd that iron weight.

Wrings with a cordial grasp Anselmo's hand,
Vo words are utter'd-at her sign, a door

And feels he yet can conquer and command !
Reveals the secret passage to the shore ;
The city lies behind-they speed, they reach

XVI.
The glad waves dancing on the yellow beach;

These greetings o'er, the feelings that o'erflow, And Conrad following, at her beck, obey'd,

Yet grieve to win him back without a blow; Vor cared he now if rescued or betray'd;

They sail'd prepared for vengeance—had they known Resistance were as useless as if Seyd

A woman's hand secured that deed her own, Yet lived to view the doom his ire decreed.

She were their queen-less scrupulous are they

Than haughty Conrad how they win their way. XIII.

With many an asking smile, and wondering stare, Enabark'd, the sail unfurld, the light breeze blew

They whisper round, and gaze upon Gulnare ; How much had Conrad's memory to review!

And her, at once above-beneath her sex, Sonk he in Contemplation, till the cape

Whom blood appallid not, their regards perplex. Where last he anchor'd rear'd its giant shape. To Conrad turns her faint imploring eye, Ah !--since that fatal night, though brief the time,

She drops her veil, and stands in silence by ; Had swept an age of terror, grief, and crime.

Her arms are meekly folded on that breast, As its far shadow frown'd above the mast,

Which-Conrad safe-to fate resign'd the rest. He reiļd his face, and sorrow'd as he pass'd;

Though worse than phrensy could that bosom fill, He thought of all-Gonsalvo and his band,

Extreme in love or hate, in good or ill, H: fleeting triumph, and his failing hand;

The worst of crimes had left her woman still !
+ Hthought on her afar, his lonely bride :
He turn'd and saw-Gulnare, the homicide!

XVII.
XIV.

This Conrad mark'd, and felt-ah! could he less ?' _ She watch'd his features till she could not bear

Hate of that deed-but grief for her distress; Their freezing aspect and averted air,

What she has done no tears can wash away, And that strange fierceness foreign to her eye,

And Heaven must punish on its angry day: Fell quench'd in tears, too late to shed or dry.

But--it was done : he knew, whate'er her guilt, She knelt beside him and his hand she press'd,

For him that poniard smote, that blood was spilt ; * Thou mayst forgive though Allah's self detest;

And he was free!-and she for him had given But for that deed of darkness what wert thou ?

Her all on earth, and more than all in heaven! Reproach me—but not yet-Oh! spare me now !

And now he turu'd him to that dark-eyed slave, I am not what I seem-this fearful night

Whose brow was bow'd beneath the glance he gave, My brain bewilder'd-do not madden quite !

Who now seem'd changed and humbled :-fuint and If I had never loved-though less my guilt,

meek, | Thou badst not lived to-hate me-if thou wilt.”

But varying oft the color of her cheek

To deeper shades of paleness—all its red
XV.

That fearful spot which staind it from the dead ! She wrongs his thoughts, they more himself upbraid

He took that handit trembled-now too late Than her, though undesign'd, the wretch he made ;

So soft in love--so wildly nerved in hate; But speechless all , deep, dark, and unexpress’d,

He clasp'd that hand-it trembled—and his own They bleed within that silent cell-his breast.

Had lost its firmness, and his voice its tone. Stil opward, fair the breeze, nor rough the surge,

“Gulnare !”—but she replied not dear Gulnare !" The blue waves sport around the stern they urge ;

She raised her eye-her only answer thereFar on the horizon's verge appears a speck,

At once she sought and sunk in his embrace : A spot-a mast-a sail-an armed deck!

If he had driven her from that resting-place, Their little bark her men of watch descry,

His had been more or less than mortal heart, 1 And ampler canvass woos the wind from high ;

But-good or ill-4t bade her not depart. She bears her down majestically near,

Perchance, but for the bodings of his breast, Speed on her prow, and terror in her tier;

His latest virtue then had join'd the rest. A flash is seen—the ball beyond their bow

Yet even Medora might forgive the ki Booms harmless, hissing to the deep below.

That ask'd from form so fair no more than thin, Up rose keen Conrad from his silent trance,

The first, the last that Fruilty stole froin FaithA long, long absent gladness in his glance ;

To lips where Love had lavish'd all his breath, + "Tis inine-my blood-red flag! again-again

To lips-whose broken sighs such fragrance fling I ara not all deserted on the main !"

As he had fann'd them freshly with his wing!
They own the signal, answer to the hail,
Host out the boat at once, and slacken sail.

XVIII.
- Tis Conrad ! Conrad !" shouting froin the deck, They gain by twilight's hour their lonely islo.
Command nor duty could their transport chock! To them the very rocks appear to smile;

1 ["I have added a section for Gulnare, to fill up the partng, and dismiss her more ceremoniously. If Mr. Gifford or

you dislike, 'tis but a sponge and another midnight."- Lord Byron to Mr. Murray, Jan. 11, 1814.)

The haven hums with many a cheering sound, But the white shroud, and each extended tress, The beacons blaze their wonted stations round, Long-fair-but spread in utter lifelessness, The boats are darting o'er the curly bay,

Which, late the sport of every summer wind, And sportive dolphins bend them through the spray; Escaped the baffled wreath that strove to bind; Even the hoarse sea-bird's shrill, discordant shriek, These—and the pale pure cheek, became the SierGreets like the welcome of his tuneless beak!

But she is nothing-wherefore is he here?
Beneath each lamp that through its lattice gleams,

XXI.
Their fancy paints the friends that trim the beams.
Oh! what can sanctify the joys of home,

He ask'd no question—all were answer'd now Like Hope's gay glance from Ocean's troubled foam? By the first glance on that still—marble brow.

It was enough--she died-what reck'd it how?

The love of youth, the hope of better years,
XIX.
The lights are high on beacon and from bower,

The source of softest wishes, tenderest fears,

The only living thing he could not hate,
And 'midst them Conrad seeks Medora's tower:
He looks in vain—'tis strange--and all remark,

Was reft at once-and he deserved his fate,

But did not feel it less ;—the good explore, Ainid so many, hers alone is dark.

For peace, those realms where guilt can never soar: 'Tis strange--of yore its welcome never fail'd,

The proud-the wayward-who have fix'd below Nor now, perchance, extinguish’d, only veil’d.

Their joy, and find this earth enough for wo,
With the first boat descends he for the shore,
And looks impatient on the lingering oar.

Lose in that one their all-perchance a mite

But who in patience parts with all delight ?
Oh! for a wing beyond the falcon's fight,
To bear him like an arrow to that height!

Full many a stoic eye and aspect stern

Mask hearts where grief hath little left to learn ; With the first pause the resting rowers gave, He waits not looks not-leaps into the wave,

And many a withering thought lies bid, not lost,

In smiles that least befit who wear them most.
Strives through the surge, bestrides the beach, and high
Ascends the path familiar to his eye.

XXII.

By those, that deepest feel, is ill expressid He reach'd his turret door-he paused—no sound The indistinctness of the suffering breast; Broke from within ; and all was night around.

Where thousand thoughts begin to end in one, He knock’d, and loudly-footstep nor reply

Which seeks from all the refuge found in none; Announced that any heard or deem'd him nigh; No words suffice the secret soul to show, He knock'd—but faintly-for his trembling hand For Truth denies all eloquence to Wo. Refused to aid his heavy heart's demand.

On Conrad's stricken soul exhaustion pressid, The portal opens— 'tis a well-known face

And stupor almost lulld it into rest; But not the form he panted to embrace.

So feeble now-his mother's softness crept Its lips are silent-twice his own essay'd,

To those wild eyes, which like an infant's wept : And fail'd to frame the question they delay'd ; It was the very weakvess of his brain, He snatch'd the lamp—its light will answer all Which thus confess'd without relieving pain. It quits his grasp, expiring in the fall.

None saw his trickling tears--perchance, if seen, He would not wait for that reviving ray

That useless flood of grief had never been: As soon could he have linger'd there for day;

Nor long they flow'd-he dried them to depart, But, glimmering through the dusky corridore,

In helpless—hopeless—brokenness of heart: Another checkers o'er the shadow d floor;

The sun goes forth--but Conrad's day is dim; His steps the chamber gain-his eyes behold

And the night cometh- ne'er to pass from him. All that his heart believed not-yet foretold !

There is no darkness like the cloud of mind,

On Grief's vain eye-the blindest of the blind! XX.

Which may not—dare not see—but turns aside He turn'd not-spoke not—sunk not-fix'd his look, To blackest shade-nor will endure a guide! And set the anxious frame that lately shook : He gazed-how long we gaze despite of pain,

XXIII. And know, but dare not own, we gaze in vain! His heart was form'd for softness—warp'd to wrong;' In life itself she was so still and fair,

Betray'd too early, and beguiled too long; That death with gentler aspect wither'd there ; Each feeling pure-as falls the dropping dew And the cold flowers' her colder hand contain'd, Within the grot; like that had harden'd too; In that last grasp as tenderly were strain'd

Less clear, perchance, its earthly trials pass'd, As if she scarcely felt, but feign’d a sleep,

But sunk, and chillid, and petrified at last. And made it almost mockery yet to weep:

Yet tempests wear, and lightning cleaves the rock, The long dark lashes fringed her lids of snow,

If such his heart, so shatter'd it the shock. And veil'd—thought shrinks from all that lurk'd There grew one flower beneath its rugged brow, below

Though dark the shade-it shelter'd-saved till now Oh! o'er the eye Death most exerts his might, The thunder came—that bolt hath blasted both, And hurls the spirit from her throne of light;

The Granite's firmness, and the Lily's growth: Sinks those blue orbs in that long last eclipse,

The gentle plant hath left no leaf to tell
But spares, as yet, the charm around her lips Its tale, but shrunk and wither'd where it fell;
Yet, yet they seem as they forebore to smile,

And of its cold protector, blacken round
And wish'd repose—but only for a while ;

But shiver'd fragments on the barren ground!

3 [These sixteen lines are not in the original MS.)

i In the Levant it is the custom to strew flowers on the bodies of the dead, and in the hands of young persons to place a nosegay.

XXIV.
* Tis morn—to venture on his lonely hour
Few dare ; though now Anselmo sought his tower.
He was not there--nor seen along the shore ;
Ere aight, alarm'd, their isle is traversed o'er:
Another morn--another bids them seek,
And shout his name till echo waxeth weak;
Mount-grotto-cavern-valley search'd in vain,
They find on shore a seaboat's broken chain :
Their hope revives—they follow o'er the main.

'Tis idle all-moons roll on moons away,
And Conrad comes not_came not since that day.
Nor trace, nor tidings of his doom declare
Where lives his grief, or perish'd his despair!
Long mourn'd his band whom none could mourn beside;
And fair the monument they gave his bride :
For him they raise not the recording stone-
His death yet dubious, deeds too widely known ;
He left a Corsair's name to other times,
Link'd with one virtue,' and a thousand crimes.?

1 That the point of honor which is represented in one in as the augmentation of the navy anthorized an attack, one stance of Conrad's character has not been carried beyond was made: the overthrow of this banditti has been the reLe bounds of probability, may perhaps be in some degree sult; and now this almost invulnerable point and key to corárned by the following anecdote of a brother buccaneer New Orleans is clear of an enemy, it is to be hoped the in the year 1814:—“Our readers have all seen the account government will hold it by a strong military force."of the enterprise against the pirates of Barrataria ; but few, American Newspaper. He mese, were informed of the situation, history, or na In Noble's continuation of Granger's Biographical History ture of that establishment. For the information of such as there is a singular passage in his account of Archbishop were un acquainted with it, we have procured from a friend Blackbourne; and as in some measure connected with the the bllowing inieresting narrative of the main facts, of profession of the hero of the foregoing poem, I cannot resist when he has personal knowledge, and which cannot fail to ihe teinptation of extracting it.-" There is something niysinterest some of our readers.--Barrataria is a bay, or a nar. terious in the history and character of Dr. Blackbourne. towar of the Gulf of Mexico ; it runs through a rich but The former is but imperfectly known; and report has even I very fat country, until it reaches within a mile of the asserted he was a buccaneer; and that one of his brethren in Verissippi river, fifteen miles below the city of New Or. that profession having asked, on his arrival in England, what kans. The bay has branches almost innumerable, in which had become of his old chum, Blackbourne, was answered, lle persons can be concealed from the severest scrutiny. It is Archbishop of York. We are informed, that Blackbourne con punicates with three lakes which lie on the southwest was installed sub-dean of Exeter in 1694, which office he reple, and these, with the lake of the same name, and which signed in 1702 ; but after his successor Lewis Barnet's death, les contiguous to the sea, where there is an island formed in 1704, he regained it. In the following year he became by the tvo arms of this lake and the sea. The east and dean; and in 1714, held with it the archdeanery of Cornwall. wes points of this island were fortified, in the year 1811, He was consecrated bishop of Exeter, February 24, 1716

a band of pirates, under the command of one Monsieur and translated to York, No ember 28, 1724, as a reward, acLa Fitte. A large majority of these outlaws are of that cording to court scandal, for uniting George l. to the Duchess class of the population of the state of Louisiana who fled of Munster. This, however, appears to have been an unfrein the island of St. Domingo during the troubles there, founded calumny. As archbishop he behaved with great u took refuge in the island of Cuba; and when the last prudence, and was equally respectable as the guardian of the Far belseca France and Spain commenced, they were revenues of the see. Rumor whispered he retained the compelled to leave that island with the short notice of a vices of his youth, and that a passion for the fair sex formed he dars Without ceremony, they entered the United an item in the list of his weaknesses; but so far from being States, the most of them the state of Louisiand, with all convicted by seventy witnesses, he does not appear to have te ne zroes they had possessed in Cuba. They were noti. been directly criminated by one. In short, I look upon these fel by the Gorernor of that State of the clause in the con aspersions as the effects of mere malice. How is it possible suu.on which forbadle the importation of slaves ; but, at a buccancer should have been so good a scholar as Blackthe are tine, received the assurance of the Governor that bourne certainly was? He who had so perfect a knowledge bë would obtain, if possible, the approbation of the Gen of the classics, (particularly of the Greek tragedians,) as to eral Government for their retaining this property.-The be able to read them with the same ease as he could sland of Barrataria is situated about lat. 29 deg. 15 min., Shakspeare, must have taken great pains to acquire the lac 92 9; and is as remarkable for its health as for the learned languages; and have had both leisure and good Superior scale and shell fish with which its waters abound. masters. But he was undoubtedly educated at Christ The chief of this horde, like Charles de Moor, had mixed Church College, Oxford. He is allowed to have been a with his many rices some virtues. In the year 1813, this pleasant man: this, however, was turned against him by its parte had. from its turpitude and boldness, claimed the at being said, he gained more hearts than souls.'" teatre of the Governor of Louisiana ; and to break up the " The only voice that could soothe the passions of the Balkiment, he thought proper to strike at the head. He savage (Alphonso III) was that of an amiable and virtuous to relore offered a reward of 500 dollars for the head of wife, the sole object of his love; the voice of Donna Isabella, Vendeur La Fitte, who was well known to the inhabitants the daughter of the Duke of Savoy, and the grand-daughter of of the city of New Orleans, from his immediate connection, Philip II. King of Spain. -Her dying words sunk deep into 100 tus once having been a fencing-inaster in that city of his memory; his fierce spirit melted into tears; and after the greu reputation, which art he learned in Bonaparte's last einbrace, Alphonso retired into his chamber to bewail arer, where he was a captain. The reward which was of. bis irreparable loss, and to meditate on the vanity of human lerel by the Governor for the head of La Fitte was an life."- Gibbon's Miscellaneous Works, vol. in. p. 473. Swered by the offer of a reward from the latter of 15,000 for 2 [In “ The Corsair," Lord Byron first felt himself at full the head of the Governor The Governor ordered out a liberty; and then all at once he shows the unbroken strean Chapang lo march from the city to La Fitte's island, and of his native eloquence, of rapid narrative, of vigorous and to burn and destroy all the property, and to bring to the intense, yet unforced imagery, sentiment, and tholight; of ety of New Orleans all his banditii. This company, under extraordinary elasticity, transparency, punty, eat, and har. the command of a man who had been the intunate asso mony of language ; of an arrangement of words, leverinite, ciate of thus bold Captain, approached very near to the yet always surple and flowing ;-in such a perfect expression fortbed island, before he saw a man, or heard a sound, of ideas, always impressive. generaliy pointed, frequently uul he heard a whistle, not unlike a boatswain's call. passionate, and often new, that it is perspicuity itself, with Then it was he found himself surrounded by armed men not a superfluous word, and not a word out of its natural sto bad emerged from the secret avenues which led into place.--Sir E. BRYDGES. The Corsair" is written in the Bajou. Here it was that the modern Charles de Moor de regular heroic couplet, with a spirit, freedom, and variety Feore his few noble traits ; for to this man who had coine of tone. of which, notwithstanding the example of Dryden, lo destroy his bife and all that was dear to him, he not we scarcely believed that measure susceptible. It has yet | only pared his life, but offered him that which would have to be proved that this, the most ponderous ann ta'riy vorne male the honest soldier easy for the reinainder of his in our language, could be accommodated w the variations ; days; which was indignantly refused. He then, with the of a tale of passion and of pity, and to all the break, probatwn of his captor, returned to the city. This cir starts, and transitions of an adventurous and drama'ie nás. nance, and some concomitant events, proved that this ration. This experiment Lord Byron has male, mal beard of pirates was not to be taken by land. Our naval boldness and success; and has 9 fed us that the inte forter having always been small in that quarter, exertions most respectable measure that I known among tumi for the destruction of this illicit establishment could not be at least as flexible as any other, and capab., inte harde The from them until augmented; for an officer of the of a master, of vibralbos as strong and radar 1.046 oli aury, with most of the gunboats on that station, had to re lighter structure.--JEFFRET.) treat from an overwhelming force of La Fitte's. So soon

LARA:

A TALE.

LARA.

With none to check and few to point in time
The thousand paths that slope the way to crime ;
Then, when he most required commandment, then
Had Lara's daring boyhood govern'd men.
It skills not, boots not step by step to trace
His youth through all the mazes of its race ;
Short was the course his restlessness had run,
But long enough to leave him half undone."

CANTO THE FIRST.

I.
THE Serfs are glad through Lara's wide domain,
And slavery half forgets her feudal chain;
He, their unhoped, but unforgotten lord,
The long self-exiled chieftain, is restored:
There be bright faces in the busy hall,
Bowls on the board, and banners on the wall ;
Far checkering o'er the pictured window, plays
The unwonted fagots' hospitable blazo;
And gay retainers gather round the hearth,
With tongues all loudness, and with eyes all mirth.

III.
And Lara left in youth his father-land;
But from the hour he waved his parting hand
Each trace wax'd fainter of his course, till all
Had nearly ceased his memory to recall.
His sire was dust, his vassals could declaro,
"Twas all they know, that Lara was not there ;
Nor sent, nor came he, till conjecture grow
Cold in the many, anxious in the few.
His hall scarce echocs with his wonted name,
His portrait darkens in its fading frame,
Another chief consoled his destined bride,
The young forgot him, and the old had died ;
“ Yet doth he live !" exclaims the impatient heir,
And sighs for sables which he must not wear.
A hundred scutcheons deck with gloomy grace
The Laras' last and longest dwelling-placo ;

II.
The chief of Lara is return'd again :
And why had Lara cross'd the bounding main ?
Left by his sire, too young such loss to know,
Lord of himself;—that heritage of wo,
That fearful empire which the human breast
But holds to rob the heart within of rest!-

1(A few days after he had put the finishing hand to the do with the scribbling? It is too late to inquire, and all re“Ode to Napoleon Bonaparte,” Lord Byron adopted the gret is useless. But 'an it were to do again-I should write inost extraordinary resolution that, perhaps, ever entered again,

I suppose. Such is human nature, at least my share into the mind of an author of any celebrity. Annoyed at the of it ;-though I shall think better of myself if I have sense tone of disparagement in which his assailants-not content to stop now.

If I have a wife, and that wife has a son, I with blackening his moral and social character-now af. will bring up inine heir in the most anti-poetical wayfected to speak of his genius, and somewhat mortified, there make him a lawyer, or a pirate, or any thing. But if he is reason to believe, by finding that his own friends dreaded writes too, I shall be sure he is none of mine, and will cut the effects of constant publication on his ultimate fame, he him off with a Bank token."-"April 19, I will keep no came to the determination, not only to print no more in fu further journal; and, to prevent me from returning, like a ture, but to purchase back the whole of his past copyrights, dog, to the vomit of memory, I tear out the remaining and suppress every line he had ever written. With this leaves of this volume. • Oh fool! I shall go mad.' view, on the 291h of April, he actually enclosed his pub These extracts are from the Diary of March and April, 1814. lisher a draft for the money. “ For all this," he said, " it Before the end of May he had begun the composition of might be as well to assign some reason: I have none to “Lara," which has been almost universally considered as give, except my own caprice, and I do not consider the cir. the continuation of " The Corsair." This poem was pubcumstance of consequence enough to require explanation.' lished anonymously in the following August, in the same An appea), however, from Mr. Murray, io his good-nature volume with Mr. Rogers's elegant tale of " Jacqueline;" an and considerateness, brought, in eight and forty hours, the unnatural and unintelligible conjunction, which, however, following reply:- If your present note is serious, and it gave rise to some pretty good jokes. "I believe," says really would be inconvenient, there is an end of the matter : Lord Byron, in one of his letters, “I told you of Larry tear my draft, and go on as usual : that I was perfectly and Jacquy. A friend of mine--at least a friend of hisserious, in wishing to suppress all future publication, is was reading said Larry and Jacquy in a Brighton coach. A true ; but certainly not to interfere with the convenience of passenger took up the book and queried as to the author. others, and more particularly your own.".

The proprietor said, there were two;'-to which the The following passages in his Diary depict the state of answer of the unknown was, 'Ay, ay,-a joint concern, I Lord Byron's mind at this period :-" Murray has had a suppose, summot like Sternbold and Hopkins. Is not this letter from his brother bibliopole of Edinburgh, who says, excellent? I would not have missed the • vile comparison' "he is lucky in having such a poet'-something as if one to have escaped being the Arcades ambo et cantare was a pack-horse, or ass, or any thing that is his ;' or like pares.'"] Mrs. Packwood, who replied to some inquiry after the Odes on Razors, · Laws, sir, we keeps a poet.' The same illus

The reader is apprized, that the name of Lara being trious Edinburgh bookseller once sent an order for books, Spanish, and no circumstance of local and natural descrip poesy, and cookery, with this agreeable postscript - The

tion fixing the scene or hero of the poem to any country or Harold and Cookery are much wanted. Such is faine ! and,

age, the word “Serf,” which could not be correctly applied

to the lower classes in Spain, who were never vassals of after all, quite as good as any other life in others' breath.

the soil, has nevertheless been employed to designate the 'Tis much the same to divide purchasers with Hannah Glasse or Hannah More.”—“March 17th, Redde the 'Quar

followers of our fictitious chieftain. - Lord Byron elserels of Authors,' a new work by that most entertaining and

where intimates, that he meant Lara for a chief of the

Morea.) researching writer, D’Israeli. They seem to be an irritable set, and I wish myselí well out of it. I'll not march through * (Lord Byron's own tale is partly told in this section, Coventry with them, that's flat.' What the devil had I to SIR WALTER Scott. )

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