How different now thy joyless fate, Nor yet thy doom was fix'd, nor Jove relentless frown'd.1 Harrow, Dec. 1, 1804. TO EMMA. SINCE now the hour is come at last, When you must quit your anxious lover; Since now our dream of bliss is past, One pang, my girl, and all is over. Alas! that pang will be severe, Which bids us part to meet no more; Which tears me far from one so dear, Departing for a distant shore. Well! we have pass'd some happy hours, And joy will mingle with our tears; When thinking on these ancient towers, The shelter of our infant years; 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; Who can conceive, who has not proved, 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! ["My first Harrow verses, (that is, English, as exercises, a translation of a chorus from the Prometheus of Eschylus, were received by Dr. Drury, my grand patron TO M. S. G. WHENEVER I view those lips of thine, Their hue invites my fervent kiss; Yet I forego that bliss divine, Alas! it were unhallow'd bliss. Whene'er I dream of that pure breast, How could I dwell upon its snows! Yet is the daring wish repress'd; For that, would banish its repose. A glance from thy soul-searching eye I ne'er have told my love, yet thou By any ties but those divine, Mine, my beloved, thou ne'er shalt be. Then let the secret fire consume, Rather than spread its guilty glow. I will not ease my tortured heart, Each thought presumptuous I resign. Yes! yield those lips, for which I'd brave Yes! yield that breast, to seek despair, And hope no more thy soft embrace; Which to obtain my soul would dare, All, all reproach-but thy disgrace. At least from guilt shalt thou be free, No matron shall thy shame reprove; Though cureless pangs may prey on me, No martyr shalt thou be to love. TO CAROLINE THINK'ST thou I saw thy beauteous eyes, Though keen the grief thy tears express'd, When love and hope lay both o'erthrown; Yet still, my girl, this bleeding breast Throbb'd with deep sorrow as thine own. (our head master) but coolly. No one had, at that time, the least notion that I should subside into poesy."-Byron Diary. I hate you, ye cold compositions of art! I court the effusions that spring from the heart, Your shepherds, your flocks, those fantastical themes, What are visions like these to the first kiss of love? Oh! cease to affirm that man, since his birth, And Eden revives in the first kiss of love. When age chills the blood, when our pleasures are For years fleet away with the wings of the dove- As ancient Rome, fast falling to disgrace, TO THE DUKE OF DORSET. When youthful parasites, who bend the knee ON A CHANGE OF MASTERS AT A GREAT On one by birth predestined to be great; PUBLIC SCHOOL.1 WHERE are those honors, Ida! once your own, 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 employed in vain. Camoëns sank beneath the pressure of penury and disease, and died in an almshouse early in the year 1579.-STRANGFORD.] In March, 1805, Dr. Drury retired from his situation of head-master at Harrow, and was succeeded by Dr. Butler.] 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."-Byron Diary.} ["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 rebellously, and have been sorry ever since."-Byron Diary.The reconciliation which took place between him and Dr. Batler, before his departure for Greece, in 1809, is, says Mr. 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, That books were only meant for drudging fools, a frank avowal of the wrong he had been guilty of in giving vent to them."] 4 In looking over my papers to select a few additional poems for this second edition, I found the above lines, which 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 the neighboring 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 duchess-dowager, and her second husband, Charles Earl of Whitworth, then Lord Lieutenant of Ireland.} 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 com mand in turn those who succeed. Allow me to disclaim any personal allusions, even the most distant: merely mention generally what is too often the weakness of preceptors. Turn to the few in Ida's early throng, Yes! I have mark'd thee many a passing day, "Tis 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 naught 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, unhonor'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.' Another view, not less renown'd for wit; Alike for courts, and camps, or senates fit; Bold in the field, and favor'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.2 Such were thy fathers; thus preserve their name; The hour draws nigh, a few brief days will close 1["Thomas Sackville, Lord Buckhurst, was born in 1527. While a student of the Inner Temple, he wrote his tragedy of Gorboduc, which was played before Queen Elizabeth at Whitehall, in 1561. His tragedy, and his contribution of the Induction and legend of the Duke of Buckingham to the "Mirror for Magistrates," compose the poetical history of Sackville. The rest of it was political. In 1604, he was created Earl of Dorset by James I. He died suddenly at the council table, in consequence of a dropsy on the brain." CAMPBELL.] 2 [Charles Sackville, Earl of Dorset, was born in 1637, and died in 1706. He was esteemed the most accomplished man of his day, and alike distinguished in the voluptuous court of Charles II. and the gloomy one of William III. He behaved with considerable gallantry in the sea-fight with the Dutch in 1665; on the day previous to which he is said to have composed his celebrated song, To all you Ladies now at Land. His character has been drawn in the highest colors by Dryden, Pope, Prior, and Congreve.] Hope, that could vary like the rainbow's hue, Dorset, farewell! I will not ask one part For me, in future, neither friend nor foe, A stranger to thyself, thy weal or wo, With thee no more again I hope to trace The recollection of our early race; No more, as once, in social hours rejoice, Or hear, unless in crowds, thy well-known voice: Still, if the wishes of a heart untaught To veil those feelings which perchance it ought, If these, but let me cease the lengthen'd strain,Oh! if these wishes are not breathed in vain, The guardian seraph who directs thy fate Will leave thee glorious, as he found thee great. FRAGMENT. 1805. WRITTEN SHORTLY AFTER THE MARRIAGE OF MISS CHA WORTH. HILLS of Annesley! bleak and barren, Where my thoughtless childhood stray'd, How the northern tempests, warring, Howl above thy tufted shade! Now no more, the hours beguiling, Former favorite haunts I see; Now no more my Mary smiling Makes ye seem a heaven to me.* 1805. 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 fel: now, but could not, set me pondering, and finally into the train of thought which you have in your hands.”—Byron Let ters, 1815.-The Verses referred to were those melancholy ones, beginning,-"There's not a joy the world can give, like those it takes away."] 4 [The circumstances which lent so peculiar an interest to Lord Byron's introduction to the family of Chaworth, are sufficiently explained in the "Notices of his Life." The young lady herself combined," says Mr. Moore, with the many worldly advantages that encircled her, much personal beauty, and a disposition the most amiable and attaching. 3 "I have just been, or rather ought to be, very much Though already fully alive to her charms, it was at this period (1804) that the young port seems to have drug deeper off that fascination whose effects were IL DE SC astme NOT weeks which he passed in her company ten suficient lay the foundation of a feetur for al te Will the summ hobdays ended thus dream of his youLL He saw X worth once more in the succeeding year and 1904 Ls ar farewell of her on that h. near Albespr VLL II HA poem of 'The Dream, he describes so happy as JKIA with a peculiar dindem." In August 190 she was me. to John Musters Esq., and Get a Wieron BL 1 F ruary, 1832, in consequence it as bebeted of the LIETTI EDİ danger to which she had beet exposed curing The Mark o Colwick Hall by a party of roters from Nottingham unfortunate lady had been in a feeble state of health for several years, and she and her daughter were obliged 20 take sheiter from the violence of the mob in a strucoeTS. where, partly from cold, partly from terror, her constDELIDA sustained a shock which it wanted vigor to resist.] The Diable Boiteux of Le Sage, where Asmodeus, the demon, places Don Cieofas on an elevated situation, and unroofs the houses for inspection. [On the death of Mr. Pitt, in January, 1806, Lord Henry |