Imagini ale paginilor
PDF
ePub

Though my vows I can pour to my Mary no more, My Mary to Love once so dear;

In the shade of her bower I remember the hour She rewarded those vows with a Tear.

By another possess'd, may she live ever bless d!
Her name still my heart must revere:
With a sigh I resign what I once thought was mine,
And forgive her deceit with a Tear.

Ye friends of my heart, ere from you I depart,
This hope to my breast is most near:
If again we shall meet in this rural retreat,
May we meet, as we part, with a Tear.

TO THE SIGHING STREPHON. YOUR pardon, my friend, if my rhymes did offend, Your pardon a thousand times o'er:

From friendship I strove your pangs to remove, But I swear I will do so no more.

Since your beautiful maid your flame has repaid, No more I your folly regret;

She's now most divine, and I bow at the shrine Of this quickly reformed coquette.

Yet still, I must own, I should never have known From your verses, what else she deserved;

When my soul wings her flight to the regions of night, Your pain seem'd so great, I pitied your fate,

And my corse shall recline on its bier,

As ye pass by the tomb where my ashes consume,

Oh! moisten their dust with a Tear.

May no marble bestow the splendor of wo, Which the children of vanity rear;

No fiction of fame shall blazon my name; All I ask-all I wish-is a Tear.

October 26th, 1806.

REPLY TO SOME VERSES OF J. M. B.
PIGOT, ESQ., ON THE CRUELTY OF HIS
MISTRESS.

WHY, Pigot, complain of this damsel's disdain,
Why thus in despair do you fret?

For months you may try, yet, believe me, a sigh
Will never obtain a coquette.

Would you teach her to love? for a time seem to rove;
At first she may frown in a pet;

But leave her awhile, she shortly will smile,
And then you may kiss your coquette.

For such are the airs of these fanciful fairs,
They think all our homage a debt:
Yet a partial neglect soon takes an effect,
And humbles the proudest coquette.

Dissemble your pain, and lengthen your chain,
And seem her hauteur to regret ;

If again you shall sigh, she no more will deny
That yours is the rosy coquette.

If still, from false pride, your pangs she deride,
This whimsical virgin forget;

Some other admire, who will melt with your fire, And laugh at the little coquette.

For me, I adore some twenty or more, And love them most dearly; but yet,

As your fair was so devilish reserved.

Since the balm-breathing kiss of this magical miss

Can such wonderful transports produce; {met," Since the "world you forget, when your lips once have My counsel will get but abuse.

You say, when "I rove, I know nothing of love;" "Tis true, I am given to range:

If I rightly remember, I've loved a good number, Yet there's pleasure, at least, in a change.

I will not advance, by the rules of romance,
To humor a whimsical fair;

Though a smile may delight, yet a frown won't affright,
Or drive me to dreadful despair.

While my blood is thus warm I ne'er shall reform,
To mix in the Platonists' school;

Of this I am sure, was my passion so pure,
Thy mistress would think me a fool.

And if I should shun every woman for one,

Whose image must fill my whole breastWhom I must prefer, and sigh but for herWhat an insult 'twould be to the rest!

Now, Strephon, good-by; I cannot deny
Your passion appears most absurd;
Such love as you plead is pure love indeed,
For it only consists in the word.

TO ELIZA.1

ELIZA, what fools are the Mussulman sect,
Who to woman deny the soul's future existence;
Could they see thee, Eliza, they'd own their defect.
And this doctrine would ineet with a genera
resistance.

Though my heart they inthral, I'd abandon them all, Had their prophet possess'd half an atom of sense,

[blocks in formation]

His religion to please neither party is made;
On husbands 'tis hard, to the wives most uncivil;
Still I can't contradict, what so oft has been said,
Though women are angels, yet wedlock's the
devil."

LACHIN Y GAIR.'

AWAY, ye gay landscapes, ye gardens of roses!
lu you let the minions of luxury rove;
Restore me the rocks, where the snow-flake reposes,
Though still they are sacred to freedom and love:
Yet, Caledonia, beloved are thy mountains,

Round their white summits though elements war; Though cataracts foam 'stead of smooth-flowing fountains,

I sigh for the valley of dark Loch na Garr.

Ah! there my young footsteps in infancy wander'd;
My cap was the bonnet, my cloak was the plaid;"
On chieftains long perish'd my memory ponder'd,
As daily I strode through the pine-cover'd glade.
I sought not my home till the day's dying glory
Gave place to the rays of the bright polar star;
For fancy was cheer'd by traditional story,

Disclosed by the natives of dark Loch na Garr.

Shades of the dead! have I not heard your voices Rise on the night-rolling breath of the gale?" Surely the soul of the hero rejoices,

And rides on the wind, o'er his own Highland vale. Read Loch na Garr while the stormy mist gathers, Winter presides in his cold icy car:

Clouds there encircle the forms of my fathers;
They dwell in the tempests of dark Loch na Garr.

Il-starr'd,' though brave, did no visions foreboding
Tell you that fate had forsaken your cause?"
Ah! were you destined to die at Culloden,*

Victory crown'd not your fall with applause: Still were you happy in death's earthy slumber, You rest with your clan in the caves of Braemar;5 The pibroch resounds, to the piper's loud number, Your deeds on the echoes of dark Loch na-Garr.

1 Lechia y Gair, or, as it is pronounced in the Erse, Loch Garr, towers proudly pre-eminent in the Northern Highlands, near Invercauld. One of our modern tourists menas it as the highest mountain, perhaps, in Great Britain. Be this as it may, it is certainly one of the most sublime picturesque amongst our "Caledonian Alps." Its appearance is of a dusky hue, but the summit is the seat of eternal snows. Near Lachin y Gair I spent some of the early part of my life, the recollection of which has given Birth to these stanzas.

This word is erroneously pronounced plad: the proper unciation (according to the Scotch) is shown by the orthography.

* 1 allude here to my maternal ancestors, "the Gordons," many of whom fought for the unfortunate Prince Charles, better known by the name of the Pretender. This branch was nearly allied by blood, as well as attachment, to the Starts. George, the second Earl of Huntley, married the Princess Annabella Stuart, daughter of James the First of Scotland. By her he left four sons: the third, Sir William Gordon, I have the honor to claim as one of my progenitors. • Whether any perished in the battle of Culloden, I am int certain; but, as many fell in the insurrection, I have sed the name of the principal action, "pars pro toto."

A tract of the Highlands so called. There is also a Castle f Braemar.

[blocks in formation]

PARENT of golden dreams, Romance!
Auspicious queen of childish joys,
Who lead'st along, in airy dance,

Thy votive train of girls and boys;
At length, in spells no longer bound,
I break the fetters of my youth;
No more I tread thy mystic round,

But leave thy realms for those of Truth.

And yet 'tis hard to quit the dreams
Which haunt the unsuspicious soul,
Where every nymph a goddess seems,

Whose eyes through rays immortal roll;
While Fancy holds her boundless reign,
And all assume a varied hue;
When virgins seem no longer vain,

And even woman's smiles are true. And must we own thee but a name,

And from thy hall of clouds descend
Nor find a sylph in every dame,

A Pylades' in every friend?
But leave at once thy realms of air

To mingling bands of fairy elves;
Confess that woman 's false as fair,
And friends have feeling for-themselves!
With shame I own I've felt thy sway
Repentant, now thy reign is o'er:
No more thy precepts I obey,

No more on fancied pinions soar.
Fond fool! to love a sparkling eye,
And think that eye to truth was dear;
To trust a passing wanton's sigh,

And melt beneath a wanton's tear!

"He who first met the Highlands' swelling blue Will love each peak that shows a kindred hue, Hail in each crag a friend's familiar face, And clasp the mountain in his mind's embrace. Long have I roam'd through lands which are not mine, Adored the Alp, and loved the Apennine, Revered Parnassus, and beheld the steep Jove's Ida and Olympus crown the deep: But 'twas not all long ages' lore, nor all Their nature held me in their thrilling thrall; The infant rapture still survived the boy, And Loch na Garr with Ida look'd o'er Troy, Mix'd Celtic memories with the Phrygian mount, And Highland linns with Castalie's clear fount." "When very young," (he adds in a note,) "about "ight years of age, after an attack of the scarlet fever at Aberdeen, I was removed, by medical advice, into the Highlands, and from this period I date my love of mountainous countries. I can never forget the effect, a few years afterwards, in England, of the only thing I had long seen, even in miniature, of a mountain, in the Malvern Hills. After I returned to Cheltenham, I used to watch them every afternoon, at sunset, with a sensation which I cannot describe."]

↑ It is hardly necessary to add, that Pylades was the companion of Orestes, and a partner in one of those friendships which, with those of Achilles and Patroclus, Nisus and Euryalus, Damon and Pythias, have been handed down to posterity as remarkable instances of attachments, which in all

* (in “The Island," a poem written a year or two before probability never existed beyond the imagination of the Lord Bylon's death, we have these lines-

poet, or the page of an historian, or modern novelist.

[blocks in formation]

Vainly the dotard mends her prudish pace,
Outstripp'd and vanquish'd in the mental chase.
The young, the old, have worn the chains of love:
Let those they ne'er confined my lay reprove:
Let those whose souls contemn the pleasing power
Their censures on the hapless victim shower.
Oh how I hate the nerveless, frigid song,
The ceaseless echo of the rhyming throng,
Whose labor'd lines in chilling numbers flow,
To paint a pang the author ne'er can know!
The artless Helicon I boast is youth ;-
My lyre, the heart; my muse, the simple truth.
Far be 't from me the "virgin's mind" to "taint:"
Seduction's dread is here no slight restraint.
The maid whose virgin breast is void of guile,
Whose wishes dimple in a modest smile,
Whose downcast eye disdains the wanton leer,
Firm in her virtue's strength, yet not severe-
She whom a conscious grace shall thus refine
Will ne'er be "tainted" by a strain of mine.
But for the nymph whose premature desires
Torment her bosom with unholy fires,

No net to snare her willing heart is spread;
She would have fallen, though she ne'er had read.
For me, I fain would please the chosen few,
Whose souls, to feeling and to nature true,
Will spare the childish verse, and not destroy
The light effusions of a heedless boy.

I seek not glory from the senseless crowd;
Of fancied laurels I shall ne'er be proud:
Their warmest plaudits I would scarcely prize,
Their sneers or censures I alike despise.

November 26, 1806.

ANSWER TO SOME ELEGANT VERSES SENT BY A FRIEND TO THE AUTHOR, COMPLAINING THAT ONE OF HIS DESCRIPTIONS WAS RATHER TOO WARMLY DRAWN.

"But if any old lady, knight, priest, or physician,
Should condemn me for printing a second edition;
If good Madam Squintum my work should abuse,
May I venture to give her a smack of my muse?"
New Bath Guide

CANDOR compels me, BECHER!' to commend
The verse which blends the censor with the friend.
Your strong yet just reproof extorts applause
From me, the heedless and imprudent cause.
For this wild error which pervades my strain,
I sue for pardon,-must I sue in vain?
The wise sometimes from Wisdom's ways depart:
Can youth then hush the dictates of the heart?
Precepts of prudence curb, but can't control,
The fierce emotions of the flowing soul.
When Love's delirium haunts the glowing mind,
Limping Decorum lingers far behind:

[The Rev. John Becher, prebendary of Southwell, the well-known author of several philanthropic plans for the amelioration of the condition of the poor. In this gentleman the youthful poet found not only an honest and judicious critic, but a sincere friend. To his care the superintendence of the second edition of "Hours of Idleness," during its progress through a country press, was intrusted, and at his suggestion several corrections and omissions were made. "I must return you," says Lord Byron, in a letter written in February, 1808, "my best acknowledgments for the interest you have taken in me and my poetical bantlings, and

ELEGY ON NEWSTEAD ABBEY' "It is the voice of years that are gone! they roll before me with all their deeds."-Ossian.

NEWSTEAD! fast-falling, once-resplendent dome!
Religion's shrine! repentant HENRY's pride!
Of warriors, monks, and dames the cloister'd tomb,
Whose pensive shades around thy ruins glide,

Hail to thy pile! more honor'd in thy fall
Than modern mansions in their pillar'd state;
Proudly majestic frowns thy vaulted hall,
Scowling defiance on the blasts of fate.

No mail-clad serfs, obedient to their lord,
In grim array the crimson cross demand;
Or gay assemble round the festive board

Their chief's retainers, an immortal band:

Else might inspiring Fancy's magic eye
Retrace their progress through the lapse of time,
Marking each ardent youth, ordain'd to die,
A votive pilgrim in Judea's clime.

I shall ever be proud to show how much I esteem the sec and the adviser."]

As one poem on this subject is already printed, the at thor had, originally, no intention of inserting the follow It is now added at the particular request of some friead* 3 Henry II. founded Newstead soon after the murder of Thomas a Becket. [See ante, p. 388, note.]

4 This word is used by Walter Scott, in his poem, "The Wild Huntsman ;" synonymous with vassal.

• The red cross was the badge of the crusaders.

But not from thee, dark pile! departs the chief;
His feudal realm in other regious lay:
In thee the wounded conscience courts relief,
Retiring from the garish blaze of day.

Yes. in thy gloomy cells and shades profound
The monk abjured a world he ne'er could view ;
Or blood-stain'd guilt repenting solace found,
Or innocence from stern oppression flew.

A monarch bade thee from that wild arise,

Where Sherwood's outlaws once were wont to prowl; And Superstition's crimes, of various dyes, Sought shelter in the priest's protecting cowl.

Where now the grass exhales a murky dew,
The humid pall of life-extinguish'd clay,
I sainted fame the sacred fathers grew,

Nor raised their pious voices but to pray.

Where now the bats their wavering wings extend
Soon as the gloaming' spreads her waning shade,
The choir did oft their mingling vespers blend,
Or matin orisons to Mary' paid.

Years roll on years; to ages, ages yield;
Abbots to abbots, in a line, succeed:
Region's charter their protecting shield
Till royal sacrilege their doom decreed.

One holy HENRY rear'd the gothic walls,
And bade the pious inmates rest in peace;
Another HENRY the kind gift recalls,

And bids devotion's hallow'd echoes cease.

Vain is each threat or supplicating prayer;
He drives them exiles from their bless'd abode,
To roam a dreary world in deep despair-
No friend, no home, no refuge, but their God.

Hark how the hall, resounding to the strain,
Shakes with the martial music's novel din!
The heralds of a warrior's haughty reign,
High crested banners wave thy walls within.

Of changing sentinels the distant hum,
The mirth of feasts, the clang of burnish'd arms,
The braying trumpet and the hoarser drum,
Laite in concert with increased alarms.

An abbey once, a regal fortress now,
Encircled by insulting rebel powers,

War's dread machines o'erhang thy threatening brow,
And dart destruction in sulphureous showers.

A vain defence! the hostile traitor's siege,
Though oft repulsed, by guile o'ercomes the brave;
H's througing foes oppress the faithful liege,
Rebellion's reeking standards o'er him wave.

As "gloaming," the Scottish word for twilight, is far more poetical, and has been recommended by many emiliterary men, particularly by Dr. Moore in his Letters Burns, I have ventured to use it on account of its harmony. The priory was dedicated to the Virgin.

At the dissolution of the monasteries, Henry VIII. beStowed Newstead Abbey on Sir John Byron. [See ante, p.

note.] Newstead sustained a considerable siege in the war betacen Charles I. and his parliament.

Lord Byron, and his brother Sir William, held high Commands in the royal army. The former was general in Chief in Ireland, lieutenant of the Tower, and governor to

[blocks in formation]

James, Duke of York, afterwards the unhappy James II.; the latter had a principal share in many actions.

Lucius Cary, Lord Viscount Falkland, the most accomplished man of his age, was killed at the battle of Newbury, charging in the ranks of Lord Byron's regiment of cavalry. 7 This is an historical fact. A violent tempest occurred immediately subsequent to the death or interment of Cromwell, which occasioned many disputes between his partisans and the cavaliers: both interpreted the circumstance into divine interposition; but whether as approbation or condemnation, we leave for the casuists of that age to decide. I have made such use of the occurrence as suited the supject of my poem. 8 Charles II.

The gloomy tenants, Newstead! of thy cells,
Howling, resign their violated nest;
Again the master on his tenure dwells,
Enjoy'd, from absence, with enraptured zest.

Vassals, within thy hospitable pale,

Loudly carousing, bless their lord's return; Culture again adorns the gladdening vale, And matrons, once lamenting, cease to mourn.

A thousand songs on tuneful echo float,

Unwonted foliage mantles o'er the trees; And hark! the horns proclaim a mellow note, The hunters' cry hangs lengthening on the breeze.

Beneath their coursers' hoofs the valleys shake: What fears, what anxious hopes, attend the chase! The dying stag seeks refuge in the Lake;'

Exulting shouts announce the finish'd race.

Ah happy days! too happy to endure!

Such simple sports our plain forefathers knew: No splendid vices glitter'd to allure;

Their joys were many, as their cares were few.

From these descending, sons to sires succeed;

Time steals along, and Death uprears his dart; Another chief impels the foaming steed,

Another crowd pursue the panting hart.

Yet are his tears no emblem of regret:
Cherish'd affection only bids them flow.
Pride, hope, and love forbid him to forget,
But warm his bosom with impassion'd glow.

Yet he prefers thee to the gilded domes
Or gewgaw grottoes of the vainly great;
Yet lingers 'mid thy damp and mossy tombs,
Nor breathes a murmur 'gainst the will of fate."

Haply thy sun, emerging, yet may shine,

Thee to irradiate with meridian ray ;3 Hours splendid as the past may still be thine, And bless thy future as thy former day.1

CHILDISH RECOLLECTIONS.

"I cannot but remember such things were,
And were most dear to me."

WHEN slow Disease, with all her host of pains,
Chills the warm tide which flows along the veins;
When Health, affrighted, spreads her rosy wing,
And flies with every changing gale of spring;
Not to the aching frame alone confined,
Unyielding pangs assail the drooping mind:
What grisly forms, the spectre-train of wo,
Bid shuddering Nature shrink beneath the blow,
With Resignation wage relentless strife,
While Hope retires appall'd, and clings to life.

Newstead what saddening change of scene is thine! Yet less the pang when, through the tedious hour

Thy yawning arch betokens slow decay! The last and youngest of a noble line

Now holds thy mouldering turrets in his sway.

Deserted now, he scans thy gray worn towers;
Thy vaults, where dead of feudal ages sleep;
Thy cloisters, pervious to the wintry showers;
These, these he views, and views them but to
weep.

[During the lifetime of the fifth Lord Byron, there was found in this lake-where it is supposed to have been thrown for concealment by the monks-a large brass eagle, in the body of which, on its being sent to be cleaned, was discovered a secret aperture, concealing within it a number of ancient documents connected with the rights and privileges of the foundation. At the sale of the old Lord's effects, in 1776, this eagle was purchased by a watchmaker of Nottingham; and it now forms, through the liberality of Sir Richard Kaye, an appropriate ornament of the fine old church of Southwell.]

2 ["Come what may," wrote Lord Byron to his mother, in March, 1800, Newstead and I stand or fall together. I have now lived on the spot; I have fixed my heart upon it; and no pressure, present or future, shall induce me to barter the last vestige of our inheritance I have that pride within me which will enable me to support difficulties. I can endure privations; but could I obtain, in exchange for Newstead Abbey, the first fortune in the country, I would reject the proposition. Set your mind at ease on that score, I feel like a man of honor, and I will not sell Newstead."]

["We cannot," says the Critical Review for September, 1807, "but hail, with something of prophetic rapture, the hope conveyed in the closing stanza

Haply thy sun, emerging, yet may shine,'" &c.]

4 [The reader who turns from this Elegy to the stanzas

descriptive of Newstead Abbey an I the surrounding scenery,

in the thirteenth canto of Don Juan, cannot fail to remark how frequently the leading thoughts in the two pieces are the same; or to be delighted and instructed, in comparing the juvenile sketch with the bold touches and mellow coloring of the master's picture.]

These verses were composed while Lord Byron was suffering under severe illness and depression of spirits. "I was laid," he says, "on my back, when that schoolboy thing

Remembrance sheds around her genial power,
Calls back the vanish'd days to rapture given,
When love was bliss, and Beauty form'd our heaven;
Or, dear to youth, portrays each childish scene,
Those fairy bowers, where all in turn have been.
As when through clouds that pour the summer storm.
The orb of day unveils his distant form,
Gilds with faint beams the crystal dews of rain,
And dimly twinkles o'er the watery plain;

was written, or rather, dictated--expecting to rise no more.
my physician having taken his sixteenth fee." In the privait
volume the poem opened with the following lines:-
"Hence! thou unvarying song of varied loves,
Which youth commends, maturer age reproves;
Which every rhyming bard repeats by rote,
By thousands echo'd to the self-same note!
Tired of the dull unceasing, copious strain,
My soul is panting to be free again.
Farewell ye nymphs propitious to my verse.
Some other Damon will your charms rehearse;
Some other paint his pangs, in hope of bliss,
Or dwell in rapture on your nectar'd kiss.
Those beauties, grateful to my ardent sight,
No more entrance my senses in delight;
Those bosoms, form'd of animated show,
Alike are tasteless, and unfeeling now.
These to some happier lover I resign-
The niemory of those joys alone is mine.
Censure no more shall brand my humble name,
The child of passion and the fool of fame.
Weary of love, of life, devour'd with spleen,
I rest a perfect Timon, not nineteen.
World! I renounce thee! all my hope 's o'ercast:
One sigh I give thee, but that sigh 's the last.
Friends, foes, and females, now alike adieu!
Would I could add remembrance of you teo!
Yet though the future dark and cheerless gleams,
The curse of memory, hovering in my dreams,
Depicts with glowing pencil all those years,
Ere yet my cup, impoison'd, flow'd with tears;
Still rules my senses with tyrannic sway,
The past confounding with the present day.
"Alas! in vain I check the maddening thought;
It still recurs, unlook'd for and unsought:
My soul to Fancy's," &c. &c., as at line 29.]

« ÎnapoiContinuă »