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But while these soar above me, unchanged as before,

Will Mary be there to receive me?-ah, no! Adicu, then, ye hills, where my childhood was bred!

Thon sweet-flowing Dee, to thy waters adieu ! No home in the forest shall shelter my head,Ah! Mary, what home could be mine but with

you?

TO THE EARL OF CLARE.

Tu semper amoris Sis memor, et cari comitis ne abscedat imago.” Val. FLAC.

Friend of my youth! when young we roved,
Like striplings, mutually beloved,

With friendship's purest glow,
The bliss which wing'd those rosy hours
Was such as pleasure seldom showers

On mortals here below.

TO GEORGE, EARL DELAWARR.' On! yes, I will own we were dear to each other; The friendships of childhood, though fleeting, are

true; The love which yon felt was the love of a brother, Nor less the affection I cherish'd for you.

But Friendship can vary her gentle dominion ; ! The attachment of years in a moment expires : Lke Love, too, she moves on a swift-waving pinion,

Bat glows not, like Love, with unquenchable fires.

The recollection seems alone
Dearer than all the joys I've known,

When distant far from you:
Though pain, 'tis still a pleasing pain,
To trace those days and hours again,

And sigh again, adieu!
My pensive memory lingers o'er
Those scenes to be enjoy'd no more,

Those scenes regretted ever;
The measure of our youth is full,
Life's evening dream is dark and dull,

And we may meet--ah! never!
As when one parent spring supplies
Two streams which from one fountain rise,

Together join’d in vain;
How soon, diverging from their source,
Each, murinuring, seeks another course,

Till mingled in the main !

Full oft hare we wandered through Ida together,

And bless'd were the scenes of our youth, I allow: In the spring of onr life, how serene is the weather !

But winter's rude tempests are gathering now. No more with affection shall memory blending, The wonted delights of our childhood retrace: When pride steels the bosom, the heart is unbending,

And what would be justice appears a disgrace.

However, dear George, for I still must esteem you

The few whom I love I can never upbraidThe chance which has lost may in future redeem

you, Repentance will cancel the vow you have made.

Our vital streams of weal or wo,
Though near, alas ! distinctly flow,

Nor mingle as before :
Now swift or slow, now black or clear
Till death's unfathom'd gulf appear,

And both shall quit the shore.

Our souls, my friend! which once supplied One wish, nor breathed a thought beside,

Now flow in different channels: Disdaining humbler rural sports, 'Tis yours to mix in polish'd courts,

And shine in fashion's annals ;

I will not complain, and though chill'd is affection,

With me no corroding resentment shall live:
My bosom is calm'd by the simple reflection,
That both may be wrong, and that both should

forgive. You knew that my soul, that my heart, my existence,

If danger demanded, were wholly your own;
You knew me unalter'd by years or by distance,

Devoted to love and to friendship alone.
You knew,—but away with the vain retrospection!
The bond of affection no longer endures ;
Too late you may droop o'er the fond recollection,

And sigh for the friend who was formerly yours.

'Tis mine to waste on love my time, Or vent my reveries in rhyme,

Without the aid of reason; For sense and reason (critics know it) Have quitted every amorous poet,

Nor lest a thought to seize on.

For the present, we part,,I will hope not forever;
For time and regret will restore you at last :
To forget our dissension we both should endeavor,

I ask 110 atonement, but days like the past.

Poor LITTLE! sweet, melodious bard! Of late esteem'd it monstrous hard

That he, who sang before all, He who the lore of love expanded,By dire reviewers should be branded,

As void of wit and moral.?

Southstell --"On Sunday I set off for the Highlands. A friend of mine accompanies me in ny carriage to Edinburgh. There we shall leave it, and proceed in a tandem through the western parts to Inverary, where we shall purchase shelties, to enable us to view places inaccessible w vehicular conveyances. On the coast we shall hire a Tesse), and visit the most remarkable of the Hebrides, and, If we have time and favorable weather, mean to sail as far as Iceland, only three bundred miles from the northern extremity of Caledunia, to peep at Hecla. I mean to collect

all the Erse traditions, poems, &c., &c., and translate, or expand the subject to fill a volume, which may appear next spring, under the denomination of The Highland Harp,' or some title equally picturesque. What would you say to some stanzas on Mount Hecla í They would be written at least with fire.")

1 (See antè, p. 418.)

2 These stanzas were written soon after the appearance of a severe critique, in a northern review, on a new publication of the British Anacreon.-(See Edinburgh Review, July, 1807,

And yet, while Beauty's praise is thine,
Harmonious favorite of the Nine!

Repine not at thy lot.
Thy soothing lays may still be read,
When Persecution's arm is dead,

And critics are forgot.

And though some trifling share of praise,
To cheer my last declining days,

To me were doubly dear;
Whilst blessing your beloved name,
I'd waive at once a poet's fame,

To prove a prophet here.

Still I must yield those worthies merit,
Who chasten, with unsparing spirit,

Bad rhymes, and those who write them;
And though myself may be the next,
By critic sarcasm to be vex’d,
I really will not fight them.'

Perhaps they would do quite as well
To break the rudely sounding shell

Of such a young beginner.
He who offends at pert nineteen,
Ere thirty may become, I ween,

A very harden'd sinner.

Now, Clare, I must return to you;
And, sure, apologies are due :

Accept, then, my concession.
In truth, dear Clare, in fancy's flight
I soar along from left to right!

My muse admires digression.

LINES WRITTEN BENEATH AN ELM IN

THE CHURCHYARD OF HARROW.
Spot of my youth! whose hoary branches sigh,
Swept by the breeze that fans thy cloudless sky;
Where now alone I muse, who oft have trod,
With those I loved, thy soft and verdant sod;
With those who, scatter'd far, perchance deplore,
Like me, the happy scenes they knew before:
Oh! as I trace again thy winding hill,
Mine eyes admire, my heart adores thee still,
Thou drooping Elm! beneath whose boughs I lay,
And frequent mused the twilight hours away;
Where, as they once were wont, my limbs recline,
But, ah! without the thoughts which then were

mine:
How do thy branches, moaning to the blast,
Invite the bosom to recall the past,
And seem to whisper, as they gently swell,
“ Take, whilst thou can, a lingering, last farewell!"

When fate shall chill, at length, this severd breast
And calm its cares and passions into rest,
Oft have I thought, 'twould soothe my dying hour,
If aught may soothe when life resigns her power,-
To know some humbler grave, some narrow cell,
Would hide my bosom where it loved to dwell;
With this fond dream, methinks, 'twere sweet to

die-
And here it linger'd, here my heart might lie;
Here might I sleep where all my hopes arose,
Scene of my youth, and couch of my repose ;
Forever stretch'd beneath this mantling shade,
Press'd by the turf where once my childhood play'a;
Wrapp'd by the soil that veils the spot I loved,
Mix'd with the earth o'er which my footsteps moved ;
Bless'd by the tongues that charm'd my youthful ear,
Mourn'd by the few my soul acknowledged here;
Deplored by those in early days allied,
And unremember'd by the world beside.

September 2, 1807.

1

I think I said 'twould be your fato
To add one star to royal state ;-

May regal smiles attend you !
And should a noble monarch reign,
You will not seek his smiles in vain,

If worth can recommend you.

Yet since in danger courts abound,
Where' specious rivals glitter round,

From spares may saints preserve you ;
And grant your love or friendship no'er
From any claim a kindred care,

But those who best deserve you!

Not for a moment may you stray
From truth's secure, unerring way!

May no delights decoy!
O'er roses may your footsteps move,
Your smiles be ever smiles of love,

Your tears be tears of joy!

Oh! if you wish that happiness
Your coming days and years may bless,

And virtues crown your brow;
Be still as you were wont to be,
Spotless as you've been known to me,

Be still as you are now.'

[The Lines written beneath an Elm at Harrov," mere the last in the little volume printed at Vevark in 1807. TV reader is referred to Mr. Moore's Notices, for earious sou teresting particulars respecting the impression produced as Lord Byron's mind by the celebrated Critique of his juterike

article on “ Epistles, Odes, and other Poems, by Thomas experience only, but from all I have ever heard of tira Little, Esq.")

from others, during absence and distance."-Bytes Diary

1821.) 1 A bard (horresco referens) defied his reviewer to mortal combat. If this example becomes prevalent, our periodical Lord Byron sent her remains to be buried at Hart *.

3 (On losing his natural daughter, Allegra, in April, 130 censors must be dipped in the river Styx: for what else can

“where,” he says, in a letter to Mr. Murray, "TODE secure them from the numerous host of their enraged as.

hoped to have laid my own." “There is," he addis, "a sailants?

spot in the churchyard, near the footpath, on the brow of the ? (" Of all I have ever known, Clare has always been the hill looking towards Windsor, and a torb under a large least altered in every thing from the excellent qualities and tree, (bearing the name of Peachie, or Peachey :) where I kind affections which attached me to him so strongly at used to sit for hours and hours wben a boy. This was my school. I should hardly have thought it possible for society favorite spot; but as I wish to erect a tablet to her menet: (or the world, as it is called) to leave a being with so little the body had better be deposited in the church;"--and a of the leaven of bad passions. I do not speak from personal was so accordingly.)

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performances, put forth in the Edinburgh Review,--a journal “That fame, and that memory, still will he cherish: which, at that time, possessed nearly undivided influence and au

He vows that he ne'er will disgrace your renown;

Like you will he live, or like you will he perish; hority. The Poet's diaries and letters afford evidence that, in

When decay'd, may he mingle his dust with your own.” ke latter days, he considered this piece as the work of Mr. (now

Now, we positively do assert, that there is nothing better LES) Breugham; but on rehat grounds he had come to that con

than these stanzas in the whole compass of the noble minor's casion be now here mentions. It forms, however, from whatever volume. pa it may have proceeded, so important a link in Lord Byron's Lord Byron should also have a care of attempting what

the greatest poets have done before him, for comparisons terary history, Lhat we insert it at length.)

(as he must have had occasion to see at his writing-master's) ARTICLE FROM THE EDINBURGI REVIEW,

are odious. Gray's Ode on Eion College should really have

kept out the ten hobbling stanzas, “On a distant View of FOR JANUARY, 1808.

the Village and School of Harrow." Haars of Idleppis; @ Series of Poems, original and translated.

“Where fancy yet joys to retrace the resemblance B: George Gordon, Lord Byron, a Minor. 8vo. pp. 200. New

Of comrades, in friendship and mischief allied, ork, 1931.

How welcome to me your ne'er-fading remembrance, THE poesy of this young lord belongs to the class which Which rests in the bosom, though hope is denied." Tether gots nor men are said to permit. Indeed, we do In like manner, the exquisite lines of Mr. Rogers, “ Ona Due recollect to have seen a quantity of verse with so few Tear," might have warned the noble author off those prederations in either direction from that exact standard. His mises, and spared us a whole dozen such stanzas as the Efesons are spread over a dead flat, and can no more get following: vie or below the level. than if they were so much stag.

"Mild Charity's glow, to us mortals below, Calt water. As an extenuation of this offence, the noble

Shows the soul from barbarity clear; itbor is peculiarly forward in pleading minority. We have

Compassion will melt where this virtue is felt, If a the title-page, and on the very back of the volume ; it

And its dew is diffused in a Tear. Glows his game like a favorite part of his style. Much stress is iad upon it in the preface; and the poems are con

“The man doom'd to sail with the blast of the gale, perted with this general statement of his case, by particular

Through billows Atlantic to steer, 3. substantiating the age at which each was written.

As he bends o'er the wave, which may soon be his grave, Vo*, the law upon the point of minority we hold to be per

The green sparkles bright with a Tear.” fectif elear. It is a plea available only to the defendant ; And so of instances in which former poets have failed. 1. plaunutf can offer it as a supplementary ground of action. Thus we do not think Lord Byron was made for translating, Thuis, if any suit could be brought against Lord Byron, for during his nonage, “ Adrian's Address to his Soul," when the purpose of compelling him to put into court à certain Pope succeeded so indifferently in the attempt. If our readquantity of poetry, and if judgment were given against him, ers, however, are of another opinion, they may look at it. is bahiy probable that an exception would be taken, were

“Ah! gentle, fleeting, wavering sprite, be to deliver for poetry the contents of this volume. To this

Friend and associate of this clay! he might plead minorily; but, as he now makes voluntary

To what unknown region borne eader of the article, he hath no right to sue, on that ground,

Wilt thou now wing thy distant flight ? or the price in good current praise, should the goods be un

No more with wonted humor gay, Tarbetable. This is our view of the law on the point, and,

But pallid, cheerless, and forlorn." se dare to say, so will it be ruled. Perhaps, however, in reality, all that he tells us about his youth is rather with a

However, be this as it may, we fear his translations and Tex to locrease our wonder than to soften our censures.

imitations are great favorites with Lord Byron. We have Ne possibly means to say, “See how a minor can write! them of all kinds, from Anacreon to Ossian; and, viewing This poem was aciually composed by a young man of eigh

them as school exercises, they may pass. Only, why print teen, and this by one of only sixteen. But, alas! we all re

them after they have had iheir day and served their turn? member the poetry of Cowley at ten, and Pope at twelve ;

And why call the thing in p. 79 (see p. 390) a translation, and so far from hearing, with any degree of surprise, that

where two words (9cw deyelv) of the original are expanded very poor verses were written by a youih from his leaving into four lines, and the other thing in p. 81, (see itd.) where school to his leaving college, inclusive, we really believe this μεσονυκτιαις ποθ' ώραις 18 rendered by means of six hobbling

be the most common of all occurrences; that it happens verses? As to his Ossianic poesy, we are not very good o the life of nine men in ten who are educated in England ; judges, being, in truth, so moderately skilled in that species and that the tenth man writes better verse than Lord Byron. of composition, that we should, in all probability, be critiHis other plea of privilege our author rather brings for cising some bit of the genuine Macpherson itself, were we ward in order to waive it. He certainly, however, does to express our opinion of Lord Byron's rhapsodies. If, then, ande frequently to his family and ancestors-sometimes in the following beginning of a " Song of Bards" is by his lordpatry, sometimes in notes; and, while giving up his claim ship, we venture to object to it, as far as we can compre98 the score of rank, he takes care to remember us of Dr. hend it. " What form rises on the roar of clouds? whose Johnson's saying, that when a nobleman appears as an au dark ghost gleams on the red stream of tempesis? His thor, bis merit should be handsomely acknowledged. In voice rolls on the thunder ; 'tis Orla, the brown chief of Prih, it is this consideration only that induces us to give Oithona. He was,” &c. After detaining this “brown chief" Lord Byron's poems a place in our review, besides our de some time, the bards conclude by giving him their advice to sre to counsel him, that he do forthwith abandon poetry, “raise his fair locks;" then to "spread them on the arch adal tum his talents, which are considerable, and his oppor of the rainbow ;” and “ to smile through the tears of the tunities, which are great, to better account.

storm." or this kind of thing there are no less than nine With this view, we must beg leave seriously to assure pages; and we can so far venture an opinion in their favor, him, that the mere rhyrning of the final syllable, even when that they look very like Macpherson; and we are positive lccompanied by the presence of a certain number of lect, they are pretty nearly as stupid and tiresome. tas, although which does not always happen) those feet It is a sort of privilege of poets to be egotists; but they

old scan regularly, and have been all counted accurately should use it as not abusing it;" and particularly one who upon the fingers,--is not the whole art of poetry. W would piques

(though indeed at the ripe age of nineteen) tüirat bim to believe, that a certain portion of liveliness, on being "an infant bard,”-“ The artless Helicon I boast poniewhat of fancy, is necessary to constitute a poem, and is youth")---should either not know, or should seem not to that a poem in the present day, to be read, must contain at know, so much about his own ancestry. Besides a poem least one thought, either in a little degree different from the above cited, on the family seat of the Byrons, we have an. Heas of former writers, or differently expressed. We put it other of eleven pages, on the self-same subject, introduced to his candor, whether there is any ihing so deserving the with an apology, he certainly had no intention of inserting nane of poetry in verses like the following, written in 1806 ; it," but really "the particular request of some friends, and whether, if a youth of eighteen could say any thing so &c. &c. It concludes with five stanzas on himself, "the uninteresting to his ancestors, a youth of nineteen should last and youngest of a noble line." There is a good deal pab.ish it :

also about his maternal ancestors, in a poem on Lachin y * Shades of heroes, farewell! your descendant, departing

Gair, a mountain where he spent part of his youth, and From the seat of his ancestors, bids you adieu!

might have learned that pibroch is not a bagpipe, any more Abroad or at home, your remembrance imparting

than duet means a fiddle. New courage, he't think upon giory and you.

As the author has dedicated so large a part of his volume

to immortalize his employments at school and college, we "Thongh a tear dim his eye at this sad separation,

cannot possibly dismiss it without presenting the reader "Tis nature, not fear, that excites his regret :

with a specimen of these ingenious effusions. In an ode Far distant he goes, with the same emulation ;

with a Greek motto, called Granta, we have the following The same of his fathers he ne'er can forget.

magnificent stanzas :

“There, in apartments small and damp,

The candidate for college prizes
Sits poring by the inidnight lamp,

Goes late to bed, yet early rises.
“ Who reads false quantities in Sele,

Or puzzles o'er the deep triangle,
Deprived of many a wholesome meal,

In barbarous Latin doom'd to wrangle :
"Renouncing every pleasing page,

From authors of historic use,
Preferring to the letter'd sage,

The square of the hypothenuse.
Still harmless are these occupations,

That hurt none but the hapless student,
Compared with other recreations,

Which bring together the imprudent."
We are sorry to hear so bad an account of the college
psalmody as is contained in the following Attic stanzas :-

thorough-bred poets ; and " though he once rored a care
less mountaineer in the Highlands of Scotland," he has and
of late enjoyed this advantage. Moreover, he expects to
profit from his publication; and, whether it succeeds orn
“it is highly improbable, from his situation and pursuit
hereafter," that he should again condescend to become an
author. Therefore, let us take what we get, and be the
ful. What right have we poor devils to be nice? We are
well off to have got so much from a man of this lord's $3.
tion, who does not live in a garret, but " has the sway of
Newstead Abbey. Again, we say, let us be thankful, and
with honest Sancho, bid God bless the giver, por look the
gift horse in the mouth.*

"Our choir would scarcely be excused

Even as a band of raw beginners ;
All mercy now must be refused

To such a set of croaking sinners
"If David, when his toils were ended,

Had heard these blockheads sing before him,
To us his psalms had ne'er descended :

In furious mood he would have tore 'em !"

*[The Monthly Reviewers, in those days the next in circulation to the Edinburglı, gave a much more favorable notice of the "Hours of Idleness." These composites (said they) are generally of a plaintive or an amatory cast, with an occasional mixture of satire ; and they display toth ease and strength-both pathos and fire. It will be espit that marks of juvenility and of haste should be discoverez! in these productions: and we seriously advise our young bard to fulfil with submissive perseverance, the doties of revision and correction. We discern, in Lord Byron, a de gree of mental power, and a turn of mental disposioon, which render us solicitous that both should be well cus vated and wisely directed, in his career of life. He has received talents, and is accountable for the use of them We trust that he will render them beneficial to man, and a source of real gratification to himself in declining aze. Then may he properly exclaim with the Roman orator, non lubet mihi deplorare vitam, quod multi, et u duct, sæpe fecerunt ; neque me vixisse penliet: quoniam ita sli, ut non frustra me natum existimem.?"--Lord Byron reja! the Edinburgh Critique with a satire-and became hilsek a Monthly Reviewer.)

But, whatever judgment may be passed on the poems of this noble minor, it seems we must take them as we find them, and be content ; for they are the last we shall ever have from him. He is, at best, he says, but an intruder into the groves of Parnassus : he never lived in a garret, like

ENGLISH BARDS AND SCOTCH REVIEWERS:

A SATIRE.'

“I had rather be a kitten, and cry mew!

Than one of these same metre ballad-mongers."--SHAKSPEARE. “ Such shameless bards we have : and yet 'tis true,

There are as mad, abandon'd critics too."-Pope.

as I have done by them. I dare say they will sucPREFACE.'

ceed better in condemning my scribblings, than in All my friends, learned and unlearned, have urged mending their own. But my object is not to prore me not to publish this Satire with my name. If I that I can write well, but, if possible, to make others were to be “turned from the career of my humor write better. by quibbles quick, and paper bullets of the brain," As the poem has met with far more success than I I should have complied with their counsel. But I expected, I have endeavored in this edition to make am not to be terrified by abuse, or bullied by re some additions and alterations, to render it more worviewers, with or without arms. I can safely say thy of public perusal. that I have attacked none personally, who did not

In the first edition of this satire, published ancay. commence on the offensive. An author's works are mously, fourteen lines on the subject of Bowies':' public property: he who purchases may judge, and Pope were written by, and inserted at the request publish his opinion if he pleases; and the authors I of, an ingenious friend of mine,who has now in have endeavored to commemorate may do by me the press a volume of poetry. In the present edition

[The first edition of this satire, which then began with what is now the ninety-seventh line, (* Time was, ere yet," &c.,) appeared in March, 1903. A second, to which the author prefixed his name, followed in October of that year; and a third and fourth were called for during his first pil grimage, in 1810 and 1811. On his return to England, a tilth edition was prepared for the press by himself, with considerable care, but suppressed, and, except one copy, destroyed, when on the eve of publication. The text is now printed from the copy that escaped ; on casually meeting with which, in 1816, he reperused the whole, and wrote on the margin some annotations, which also we shall preserve, -distinguishing them, by the insertion of their date, from

those affixed to the prior editions. The first of these Vs. notes of 1816 appears on the fly-lear and runs thus: -" The binding of this volume is considerabky too valuable for the contents; and nothing but the consideration of its being the property of another prevents me from consigning the miserable record of misplaced anger and indiscriminate acte mony to the flames."]

? This preface was written for the second edition, an! printed with it. The noble author had left ibis (vun!!! previous to the publication of that edition, and is not re returned. - Note to the fourth edition, 1811.-" He is, and gone again."- Lord B. 1816.)

[Mr. Hobhouse. See post, p. 436, note.]

they are erased, and some of my own substituted in their stead; my only reason for this being that which I conceire would operate with any other person in the

ENGLISH BARDS, ETC. same manner,-a determination not to publish with

pame any production, which was not entirely and exclusively my own composition.

With regard to the real talents of many of the Still must I hear?'—shall hoarse Fitzgeraldó bawl petical persons whose performances are mentioned or His creaking couplets in a tavern hall, allnded to in the following pages, it is presumed by the And I not sing, lest, haply, Scotch reviews author that there can be little difference of opinion in Should dub me scribbler, and denounce my muse? the public at large; though, like other sectaries, each Prepare for rhyme-I'll publish, right or wrong: bas his separate tabernacle of proselytes, by whom Fools are my theme, let satire be my song. bir abilities are overrated, his faults overlooked, and his metrical canons received without scruple and with Oh ! nature's noblest gift—my gray goose-quill! out consideration. But the unquestionable possession Slave of my thoughts, obedient to my will, oi considerable genius by several of the writers here Torn from thy parent bird to form a pen, censored renders their mental prostitution more to be That mighty instrument of little men ! regretted. Imbecility may be pitied, or, at worst, The pen! foredoom'd to aid the mental throcs langhed at and forgotten ; perverted powers demand Of brains that labor, big with verse or prose, the most decided reprehension. No one can wish Though nymphs forsake, and critics may deride, Türe than the author that some known and able wri. The lover's solace, and the author's pride. ter bad undertaken their exposure ; but Mr. Gifford What wits! what poets dost thou daily raise ! has devoted himself to Massinger, and, in the absence How frequent is thy use, how small thy praise ! of the regular physician, a country practitioner may, Condemi'd at length to be forgotten quite, in cases of absolute necessity, be allowed to prescribe with all the pages which 'twas thine to write. his poetrum to prevent the extension of so deplorable But thou, at least, mine own especial pen! at epidemic, provided there be no quackery in his Once laid aside, but now assumed again, treatment of the malady. A caustic is here offered ; Our task complete, like Hamet's shall be free; 23 it is to be feared nothing short of actual cautery Though spurn’d by others, yet beloved by me: ean recover the numerous patients afflicted with the Then let us soar to-day; no common theme, present prevalent and distressing rabies for rhyming. No eastern vision, no distemper'd dream® - As to the Edinburgh Reviewers, it would indeed Inspires--our path, though full of thorns, is plain ; tequire a Hercules to crush the Hydra; but if the Smooth be the verse, and easy be the strain. author succeeds in merely “ bruising one of the heads of the serpent,” though his own hand should suffer in When Vice triumphant holds her sov'reign sway, lhe encounter, he will be amply satisfied."

Obey'd by all who naught beside obey;

[Here the preface to the first edition commenced.] [For the long period of thirty-two years, this harmless ?"I well recollect," said Lord Byron, in 1821, "the ef

poetaster was an attendant at the anniversary dinners of the leri which the critique of the Edinburgh Reviewers on my

Literary Fund, and constantly honored the occasion with first poem, had upon me-it was rage and resistance, and an ode, which he himself recited with most comical dignity Teles, but not despondency nor despair. A savage review

of emphasis. He was fortunate in having for his patron abemlock to a sucking author, and the one on me (which

Viscount Dudley and Ward, on whose death, without a will, produced the English Bards, &c) knocked me down-but I

his benevolent intentions towards the bard were fulfilled by got up again. That critique was a master-piece of low wit,

his son, the late Earl Dudley, who generously sent him a a tissue of scurrilous abuse. I remember there was a great

draft for 50001. Fitzgerald died in 1829. Of his numerous deal of vulgar trast, about people being thankful for what

loyal effusions only a single linc has survived its author; but they could get,' -- not looking a gift horse in the mouth,' the characteristics of his style have been so happily hit off

in the “ REJECTED ADDRESSES"-(a work which Lord Byron Und such stable expressions. But so far from their bullying IE, or deterring me from writing, I was bent on falsifying

has pronounced to be " by far the best thing of the kind i ter raven predictions, and determined to show thein,

since the Rolliad,")-that we cannot resist the templation creak as they would, that it was not the last time they

of an extract:should hear from me."]

“ Who burnt (confound his soul!) the houses twain, ${"The severity of the criticism," as Sir Egerton Brydges Of Covent Garden and of Drury Lane? 122s well observed, touched Lord Byron in the point where

Who, while the British squadron lay off Cork, bis original strength lay: it wounded his pride, and roused

(God bless the Regent and the Duke of York!) bi birer indignation. He published · English Barus and

With a soul earthquake ravaged the Caraccas, Scotch Reviewers,' and bowed down those who had hither

And raised the price of drygoods and tobaccos? to held a despotic victory over the public mind. There was,

Who makes the quartern loaf and Luddites rise ? ater all, more in the boldness of the enterprise, in the fear

Who fills the butchers' shops with large blue flies ? sistess of the attack, than in its intrinsic force. But the

Who thought in flames St. James's court to pinch ? mral effect us the gallantry of the assault, and of the justice

Who burnt the wardrobe of poor Lady Finch !-of the cause, made it victorious and triumphant. This was

Why he, who forging for this isle a yoke, We of those lucky developments which cannot often oc

Reminds me of a line I lately spoke --
que; and which fixed Lord Byron's fame. From that day The tree of freedom is the British Oak.'
be engaged the public notice as a writer of undoubted Bless every man possess'd of aught to give!
Talent and energy both of intellect and temper.”]

Long may Long Tilney Wellesley Long Pole live!
God bless the army, bless their coats of scarlet!

God bless the navy, bless the Princess Charlotte ! * Seiser ego auditor tantum ? nunquamne reponam,

God bless the Guards though worsted Gallia scoff! Vexatus toties rauci Theseide Codri?"- Juv. Sat. I.

God bless their pig tails, though they're now cut off! Haare Fitzgerald.”_" Right enough; but why notice

And oh! in Downing-street should Old Nick revel, such a mountebank.”Byron, 1816.)

England's prime minister, then bless the Devil!"] Mr. Fitzgerald, facetiously termed by Cobbett the

7 Cid Hamet Benengeli promises repose to his pen, in the Sunall Beer Poet," inflicts his annual tribute of verse on

last chapter of Don Quixote. Oh! that our voluminous the Literary Fund: not content with writing, he spouts in

gentry would follow the example of Cid Hamet Benengeli. kerson, after the company have imbibed a reasonable guan * (" This must have been written in the spirit o prolity of bad port, to enable them to sustain the operation.- | phecy."-B. 1816.)

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