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! Ye friends of my heart, ere from you I depart, 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. WHY, Pigot, complain of this damsel's disdain, For months you may try, yet, believe me, a sigh Would you teach her to love? for a time seem to rove; But leave her awhile, she shortly will smile, For such are the airs of these fanciful fairs, Dissemble your pain, and lengthen your chain, If again you shall sigh, she no more will deny If still, from false pride, your pangs she deride, 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, Though a smile may delight, yet a frown won't affright, While my blood is thus warm I ne'er shall reform, Of this I am sure, was my passion so pure, 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 TO ELIZA.1 ELIZA, what fools are the Mussulman sect, Though my heart they inthral, I'd abandon them all, Had their prophet possess'd half an atom of sense, His religion to please neither party is made; LACHIN Y GAIR.' AWAY, ye gay landscapes, ye gardens of roses! 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; 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; Il-starr'd,' though brave, did no visions foreboding 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. PARENT of golden dreams, Romance! Thy votive train of girls and boys; But leave thy realms for those of Truth. And yet 'tis hard to quit the dreams Whose eyes through rays immortal roll; And even woman's smiles are true. And must we own thee but a name, And from thy hall of clouds descend A Pylades' in every friend? To mingling bands of fairy elves; No more on fancied pinions soar. 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. Vainly the dotard mends her prudish pace, No net to snare her willing heart is spread; I seek not glory from the senseless crowd; 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, CANDOR compels me, BECHER!' to commend [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! Hail to thy pile! more honor'd in thy fall No mail-clad serfs, obedient to their lord, Their chief's retainers, an immortal band: Else might inspiring Fancy's magic eye 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; Yes. in thy gloomy cells and shades profound 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, Nor raised their pious voices but to pray. Where now the bats their wavering wings extend Years roll on years; to ages, ages yield; One holy HENRY rear'd the gothic walls, And bids devotion's hallow'd echoes cease. Vain is each threat or supplicating prayer; Hark how the hall, resounding to the strain, Of changing sentinels the distant hum, An abbey once, a regal fortress now, War's dread machines o'erhang thy threatening brow, A vain defence! the hostile traitor's siege, 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 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, 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: Yet he prefers thee to the gilded domes 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, WHEN slow Disease, with all her host of pains, 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; [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, was written, or rather, dictated--expecting to rise no more. |