Arm'd, thence they go, while all th' assembled train, His prayer he sends; but what can prayers avail, The trench is pass'd, and, favor'd by the night, Through sleeping foes they wheel their wary flight. When shall the sleep of many a foe be o'er? Alas! some slumber who shall wake no more! Chariots and bridles, mix'd with arms, are seen; And flowing flasks, and scatter'd troops between: Bacchus and Mars to rule the camp combine; A mingled chaos this of war and wine. "Now," cries the first, "for deeds of blood prepare, With me the conquest and the labor share: Here lies our path; lest any hand arise, Watch thou, while many a dreaming chieftain dies: Il carve our passage through the heedless foe, And clear thy road with many a deadly blow." H's whispering accents then the youth repress'd, And pierced proud Rhamnes through his panting breast: Stretch'd at his ease, th' incautious king reposed; From the swoll'n veins the blackening torrents pour; In slaughter'd fold, the keepers lost in sleep, His hungry fangs a lion thus may steep; Mid the sad flock, at dead of night he prowls, With murder glutted, and in carnage rolls: Insatiate still, through teeming herds he roams; In seas of gore the lordly tyrant foams. Nor less the other's deadly vengeance came, Now where Messapus dwelt they bend their way, "Hence let us haste, the dangerous path is pass'd; With silver arms, with various art emboss'd, What bowls and mantles in confusion toss'd, They leave regardless! yet one glittering prize Attracts the younger hero's wandering eyes; The gilded harness Rhamnes' coursers felt, The gems which stud the monarch's golden belt: This from the pallid corse was quickly torn, Once by a line of former chieftains worn. Th' exulting boy the studded girdle wears, Messapus' helm his head in triumph bears; Then from the tents their cautious steps they bend, To seek the vale where safer paths extend. Just at this hour, a band of Latian horse To Turnus' camp pursue their destined course : While the slow foot their tardy march delay, The knights, impatient, spur along the way: Three hundred mail-clad men, by Volscens led, To Turnus with their master's promise sped: Now they approach the trench, and view the walls, When, on the left, a light reflection falls; The plunder'd helmet, through the waning night, Sheds forth a silver radiance, glancing bright. Volscens with question loud the pair alarms:"Stand, stragglers! stand! why early thus in arms? From whence, to whom?"-He meets with no reply? Trusting the covert of the night, they fly: The thicket's depth with hurried pace they tread, While round the wood the hostile squadron spread. With brakes entangled, scarce a path between, The boughs and winding turns his steps mislead; If e'er myself, or sire, have sought to grace Spare, spare, ye chiefs! from him your rage remove; But fiery Nisus stems the battle's tide, Revenge his leader, and despair his guide; Volscens he seeks amidst the gathering host, Volscens must soon appease his comrade's ghost; Steel, flashing, pours on steel, foe crowds on foe; Rage nerves his arm, fate gleams in every blow; In vain beneath unnumber'd wounds he bleeds, Nor wounds, nor death, distracted Nisus heeds; In viewless circles wheel'd, his falchion flies, Nor quits the hero's grasp till Volscens dies; Deep in his throat its end the weapon found, The tyrant's soul fled groaning through the wound. Thus Nisus all his fond affection provedDying, revenged the fate of him he loved; Then on his bosom sought his wonted place, And death was heavenly in his friend's embrace. Celestial pair! if aught my verse can claim, No future day shall see your names expire, 1 Medea, who accompanied Jason to Corinth, was deserted by him for the daughter of Creon, king of that city. The chorus from which this is taken here addresses Medea; TRANSLATION FROM THE MEDEA OF [ Έρωτες υπερ μεν άγαν, κ. τ. λ.] Which rolls the tide of human wo? Can rouse the tortured breast no more; But if affection gently thrills The soul by purer dreams possess'd, The pleasing balm of mortal ills In love can soothe the aching breast: If thus thou comest in disguise, Fair Venus! from thy native heaven, What heart unfeeling would despise The sweetest boon the gods have given? But never from thy golden bow May I beneath the shaft expire! Whose creeping venom, sure and slow, Awakes an all-consuming fire: Ye racking doubts! ye jealous fears! With others wage internal war; Repentance, source of future tears, From me be ever distant far! May no distracting thoughts destroy May I with some fond lover sigh, My native soil! beloved before, Now dearer as my peaceful home, Ne'er may I quit thy rocky shore, A hapless banish'd wretch to roam! This very day, this very hour, May I resign this fleeting breath! Nor quit my silent humble bower; A doom to me far worse than death. Have I not heard the exile's sigh? And seen the exile's silent tear, Through distant climes condemn'd to fly, A pensive weary wanderer here? Ah! hapless dame!' no sire bewails, No friend thy wretched fate deplores, No kindred voice with rapture hails Thy steps within a stranger's doors. Perish the fiend whose iron heart, To fair affection's truth unknown, Bids her he fondly loved depart, Unpitied, helpless, and alone; though a considerable liberty is taken with the original, by expanding the idea, as also in some other parts of the translation. Who ne'er unlocks with silver key1 The milder treasures of his soul,— May such a friend be far from me, And ocean's storms between us roll! No borrow'd grace of action must be seen The man who hopes t'obtain the promised cup THOUGHTS SUGGESTED BY A COLLEGE Nor stop, but rattle over every word EXAMINATION. HIGH in the midst, surrounded by his peers, Happy the youth in Euclid's axioms tried, What, though he knows not how his fathers bled, Such is the youth whose scientific pate Be other orators of pleasing proud: We speak to please ourselves, not move the crowd: Our gravity prefers the muttering tone, A proper mixture of the squeak and groan: 1. The original is « Καθαρὰν ἀνοίξαντι κλῆδα φρενῶν,” literally, "disclosing the bright key of the mind." No reflection is here intended against the person menfoced under the name of Magnus. He is merely represent elas performing an unavoidable function of his office. Indeed, such an attempt could only recoil upon himself; as that gentleman is now as much distinguished by his eloquence, and the dignified propriety with which he fills his situation, as he was in his younger days for wit and conTivahty-Dr. William Mansel was, in 1790, appointed to the headship of Trinity College, by Mr. Pitt. bachelor of arts, he distinguished himself as the author of several jeur d'esprit. Dr. Jowett, of Trinity Hall, having aused both himself and the public, by a pretty little fairy garden, with narrow gravel walks, besprinkled with shells peiluci pebbles, and enclosed by a Chinese railing, Dr. Mansel wrote the following lines thereon: While a "A little garden, little Jowett made, No matter what, so it can not be heard. The sons of science these, who, thus repaid, Linger in ease in Granta's sluggish shade; Where on Cam's sedgy bank supine they lie Unknown, unhonor'd live, unwept for die: Dull as the pictures which adorn their halls, They think all learning fix'd within their walls: In manners rude, in foolish forms precise, All modern arts affecting to despise ; Yet prizing Bentley's, Brunck's, or Porson's" note, More than the verse on which the critic wrote: Vain as their honors, heavy as their ale, Sad as their wit, and tedious as their tale; To friendship dead, though not untaught to feel When Self and Church demand a bigot zeal. With eager haste they court the lord of power, Whether 'tis Pitt or Petty rules the hour; To him, with suppliant smiles, they bend the head, While distant mitres to their eyes are spread. But should a storm o'erwhelm him with disgrace, They'd fly to seek the next who fill'd his place. Such are the men who learning's treasures guard! Such is their practice, such is their reward! This much, at least, we may presume to sayThe premium can't exceed the price they pay. TO A BEAUTIFUL QUAKER. SWEET girl! though only once we met, That meeting I shall ne'er forget; And though we ne'er may meet again, Remembrance will thy form retain. I would not say, "I love," but still My senses struggle with my will: 1806. [In most colleges, the fellow who superintends the chapel service is called Dean.] bridge; a man whose powers of mind and writings may, The present Greek professor of Trinity College, Camperhaps, justify their preference. [In a letter written in 1818, Lord Byron says:-"I remember to have seen Porson at Cambridge, in the hall of our college, and in private parties; and I never can recollect him except as drunk or brutal, and generally both: I mean in an evening; for in the hall, he dined at the Dean's table, and I at the Vicemaster's; -and he then and there appeared sober in his demeanor; but I have seen him, in a private party of under-graduates, blackguard as his action. take up a poker to them, and heard him use language as Of all the disgusting brutes, sulky, abusive, and intolerable, Porson was the most bestial, as far as the few times I saw him went. He was tolerated in this state amongst the young men for his talents; as the Turks think a madman inspired, and bear with him. Ile used to recite, or rather vomit, pages of all languages, and could hiccup Greek like a Helot and certainly Sparta never shocked her children with a grosser exhibition than this man's intoxication."] Since this was written, Lord Henry Petty has lost his He was indebted to the influence of his pupil, the late Mr. 'Demosthenes. the honor of representing the University. A fact so glaring requires no comment. [Lord Henry Petty is now (1836) Marquess of Lansdowne.] In vain, to drive thee from my breast, What though we never silence broke, Thy form appears through night, through day: [These verses were written at Harrowgate, in Aug. 1806.] [The cornelian of these verses was given to Lord Byron by the Cambridge chorister, Eddlestone, whose musical talents first introduced him to the young poet's acquaintance, and for whom he appears to have entertained, subsequently, a sentiment of the most romantic friendship.] [In a letter to Miss Pigot, of Southwell, written in June, 1807, Lord Byron thus describes Eddlestone:-" He is exactly to an hour two years younger than myself, nearly my height, very thin, very fair complexion, dark eyes, and light locks. My opinion of his mind you already know; I hope I shall never have occasion to change it." Eddlestone, on leaving his choir, entered into a mercantile house in the metropolis, and died of a consumption, in 1811. On hearing of his death, Lord Byron thus wrote to the mother of his fair correspondent:-"I am about to write to you on a silly subject, and yet I cannot well do otherwise. You may remember a cornelian, which some years ago I consigned to Miss Pigot, indeed gave to her, and now I am about to make the most selfish and rude of requests. The person who gave it to me, when I was very young, is dead, and though a long THE CORNELIAN." No specious splendor of this stone Endears it to my memory ever; With lustre only once it shone, And blushes modest as the giver.3 Some, who can sneer at friendship's ties, He offer'd it with downcast look, This pledge attentively I view'd, Still, to adorn his humble youth, Nor wealth nor birth their treasures yield; But he who seeks the flowers of truth, Must quit the garden for the field. "Tis not the plant uprear'd in sloth, Which beauty shows, and sheds perfume; The flowers which yield the most of both In Nature's wild luxuriance bloom. Had Fortune aided Nature's care, But had the goddess clearly seen, His form had fix'd her fickle breast; Her countless hoards would his have been, And none remain'd to give thee rest. AN OCCASIONAL PROLOGUE, DELIVERED PREVIOUS TO THE PERFORMANCE OF "THE time has elapsed since we met, as it was the only memorial I possessed of that person, (in whom I was very much interested,) it has acquired a value by this event I could have wished it never to have borne in my eyes. If, therefore, Miss Pigot should have preserved it, I must, under thesË circumstances, beg her to excuse my requesting it to be transmitted to me, and I will replace it by something she may remember me by equally well. As she was always so kind as to feel interested in the fate of him who formed the subject of our conversation, you may tell her that the giver of that cornelian died in May last, of a consumption, at the age of twenty-one,-making the sixth, within four months, of friends and relations that I have lost between May and the end of August."-The cornehan heart was returned arcordingly; and, indeed, Miss Pigot reminded Lord Byron. that he had left it with her as a deposite, not a gift. It now in the possession of the Hon. Mrs. Leigh.] 4 ["When I was a youth, I was reckoned a good actor. Besides Harrow speeches, in which I shone, I enacted PELruddock, in the Wheel of Fortune,' and Tristram Ficke, in the farce of The Weathercock,' for three nights, in some private theatricals at Southwell, in 1806, with great Since taste has now expunged licentious wit, No Cooke, no Kemble, can salute you here Here, then, our almost unfledged wings we try; Who hopes, yet almost dreads, to meet your praise; ON THE DEATH OF MR. FOX, THE FOLLOWING ILLIBERAL IMPROMPTU APPEARED IN A MORNING PAPER. "OUR nation's foes lament on Fox's death, But bless the hour when PITT resign'd his breath: TO WHICH THE AUTHOR OF THESE PIECES SENT THE On factious viper! whose envenom'd tooth applause. The occasional prologue for our volunteer play was also of my composition. The other performers were young ladies and gentlemen of the neighborhood; and the whole went off with great effect upon our good-natured audience."-Byron Diary, 1821.] [This prologue was written by the young poet, between stages, on his way from Harrowgate. On getting into the Carriage at Chesterfield, he said to his companion, " Now, Pigot, I'll spin a prologue for our play;" and before they He sunk, an Atlas bending 'neath the weight Or round our statesman wind her gloomy veil. |