Away! away! my early dream Remembrance never must awake: Oh! where is Lethe's fabled stream? My foolish heart! be still, or break. INSCRIPTION ON THE MONUMENT OF A WHEN some proud son of man returns to earth, The sculptor's art exhausts the pomp of woe, Who knows thee well must quit thee with disgust, Thy love is lust, thy friendship all a cheat, (1) Lord Byron wrote to his mother on this same 2d November, announcing his intention of sailing for India in March 1809.-L. E. (2) This monument is still a conspicuous ornament in the garden of Newstead. The following is the inscription by which the verses are preceded : "Near this spot Are deposited the Remains of one Courage without Ferocity, And all the Virtues of Man without his Vices. Who was born in Newfoundland, May, 1803; Lord Byron thus announced the death of his favourite to Mr. Hodgson:-"Boatswain is dead!-he expired in a state of madness, on the 18th, after suffering much, yet retaining all the gentleness of his nature to the last; never attempting to do the least injury to any one near him. I have now lost every thing except old Murray." By the will, which he executed in 1811, he directed that his own body should be buried in a vault in the garden, near his faithful dog.-L. E. "Of this favourite," says Moore, "some traits are told indicative not only of intelligence, but of a generosity of spirit, which might well win for him the affections of such a master as Byron." It seems that a deadly feud having long existed between Boatswain and a fox-terrier called Gilpin, belonging to Mrs. Byron, that lady prudently sent her favourite out of the way of his more powerful antagonist. One morning the servant, to whose guardianship Boatswain was confided, was much alarmed by the disappearance of his charge, and throughout the whole of the day no tidings could be heard of him. "At last, towards evening, the stray dog arrived, accompanied by Gilpin, whom he led immediately to the kitchen fire, licking him, and lavishing upon him every possible demonstration of joy. The fact was, he had been all the way to Newstead to fetch him, and having now established his former foe under the roof once more, agreed so perfectly well with him ever after, that he even protected him against the insults of other dogs,-a task which the quarrelsomeness of the little terrier rendered no sinecure." By nature vile, ennobled but by name, ON TO A LADY, BEING ASKED MY REASON FOR QUITTING WHEN man, expell'd from Eden's bowers And bade him curse his future fate. But, wandering on through distant climes, And found in busier scenes relief. And I must view thy charms no more; For, while I linger near to thee, I sigh for all I knew before. In flight I shall be surely wise, Escaping from temptation's snare; I cannot view my paradise Without the wish of dwelling there. (5) It is worthy of remark that the poet Pope, when about the same age as Lord Byron, passed a similar eulogy on his dog, at the expense of human nature, adding that "Histories are more full of examples of the fidelity of dogs than of friends." He had also at one time, as appears from an anecdote preserved by Spence, some thoughts of burying this dog in his garden, and placing a monument over him, with the inscription, "O rare Bounce." In speaking of the members of Rousseau's domestic establishment, Hume says: "She (Thérèse) governs him as absolutely as a nurse does a child. In her absence, bis dog has acquired that ascendant. His affection for that creature is beyond all expression of conception." Private Correspondence. In Burns's elegy on the death of his favourite Mailie, we find the friendship even of a sheep set on a level with that of man: "Wr kindly bleat, when she did spy him, A friend mair faithful ne'er came nigh him In speaking of the favourite dogs of great poets, we must not forget Cowper's little spaniel "Beau," nor will posterity fail to add to the list the name of Sir Walter Scott's "Maida." See Moore's Life of Byron.-P. E. (3) In Mr. Hobhouse's Miscellany, in which the epitaph was first published, the last line ran thus: "I knew but one unchanged-and here he lies." The reader will not fail to observe, that this inscription was written at a time when the poet's early feelings with respect to the lady of Annesley had been painfully revived. -L. E. (4) In the first copy, "Thus, Mary!"-(Mrs. Musters.) The reader will find a portrait of this lady in Finden's Illustrations of Lord Byron's 'orks, No. iii.-L. E. (5) In Mr. Hobhouse's volume, the line stood,-"Without a wish to enter there." The following is an extract from an unpublished letter of Lord Byron, written in 1823, only three days previous to his leaving Italy for Greece:-" Miss Chaworth was two years older than myself. She married a man of an ancient and respectable family, but her mar Her conduct, riage was not a happier one than my own. however, was irreproachable; but there was not sympathy between their characters. I had not seen her for many years, when an occasion offered. I was upon the point, with her consent, of paying her a visit; when my sister, who MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. REMIND ME NOT, REMIND ME NOT. Of those beloved, those vanish'd hours With eyes so languid, breast so fair, And lips, though silent, breathing love. When thus reclining on my breast, Those eyes threw back a glance so sweet, And still we near and nearer press'd, And still our glowing lips would meet, And then those pensive eyes would close, Veiling the azure orbs below; I dream'd last night our love return'd, Then tell me not, remind me not, Of hours which, though for ever gone, Till thou and I shall be forgot, And senseless as the mouldering stone THERE WAS A TIME, I NEED NOT NAME. THERE was a time, I need not name, As still my soul hath been to thee. And from that hour, when first thy tongue has always had more influence over me than any one else, (I) The melancholy which was now gaining fast upon the young poet's mind was a source of much uneasiness to his friends. It was at this period that the following pleasant verses were addressed to him by Mr. Hobhouse : EPISTLE TO A YOUNG NOBLEMAN IN LOVE. Hail! generous youth, whom glory's sacred flame Inspires, and animates to deeds of fame; Who feel the noble wish before you die To raise the finger of each passer-by: Hail! may a future age admiring view A Falkland, or a Clarendon, in you. But as your blood with dangerous passion boils, Beware! and fly from Venus' silken toils: Though many a grief my heart hath wrung, None, none hath sunk so deep as this- But transient in thy breast alone. Remembrance of the days that were. Yes! my adored, yet most unkind! Though thou wilt never love again, To me 'tis doubly sweet to find Remembrance of that love remain. Yes! 'tis a glorious thought to me, Nor longer shall my soul repine, Whate'er thou art or e'er shalt be, Thou hast been dearly, solely, mine. AND WILT THOU WEEP WHEN I AM LOW. Sweet lady! speak those words again: I would not give that bosom pain. My heart is sad, my hopes are gone, My blood runs coldly through my breast; Wilt sigh above my place of rest. Doth through my cloud of anguish shine; To know thy heart hath felt for mine. O lady! blessed be that tear-- To those whose eyes no tear may steep. Yet wilt thou weep when I am low? Sweet lady! speak those words again; Ah! let the head protect the weaker heart, But if 't is fix'd that every lord must pair, And you and Newstead must not want an heir, Lose not your pains, and scour the country round, To find a treasure that can ne'er be found! No! take the first the town or court affords, Trick'd out to stock a market for the lords; By chance perhaps your luckier choice may fall On one, though wicked, not the worst of all: One though perhaps as any Maxwell free, A little pert indeed, but not a scold; But, as your early youth some time allows, Nor custom yet demands you for a spouse, 107 FILL THE GOBLET AGAIN. (1) A SONG. FILL the goblet again! for I never before Felt the glow which now gladdens my heart to its core: Let us drink!-who would not?—since, through life's varied round, In the goblet alone no deception is found. I have tried, in its turn, all that life can supply; I have loved!-who has not?-but what heart cau declare That pleasure existed while passion was there? In the days of my youth, when the heart's in its spring, And dreams that affection can never take wing, I had friends!-who has not?-but what tongue will avow, That friends, rosy wine! are so faithful as thou? The heart of a mistress some boy may estrange, Friendship shifts with the sunbeam-thou never canst change: Thou grow'st old-who does not?--but on earth what appears, Whose virtues, like thine, still increase with its years? Yet if blest to the utmost that love can bestow, Should a rival bow down to our idol below, [alloy; We are jealous!-who's not?-thou hast no such For the more that enjoy thee, the more we enjoy. Then the season of youth and its vanities past, When the box of Pandora was open'd on earth, Long life to the grape! for when summer is flown, The age of our nectar shall gladden our own: We must die-who shall not?-May our sins be for given, And Hebe shall never be idle in heaven. Some hours of freedom may remain as yet And snatch at youthful comforts whilst you may! Shall these no more confess a manly sway. STANZAS TO A LADY, (2) ON LEAVING 'Tis done-and, shivering in the gale, But could I be what I have been, "Tis long since I beheld that eye As some lone bird, without a mate, I look around, and cannot trace And I will cross the whitening foam, I ne'er shall find a resting-place; The poorest veriest wretch on earth I go but wheresoe'er I flee, Roll down the terrace to a gay parterre, Forget the fair one, and your fate delay; If not avert, at least defer the day When you beneath the female yoke shall bend, (1) This song, although classed among Lord Byron's early compositions in the London Edition, appears to have been composed at Pisa, after one of his Lordship's dinners, in company with Captain Medwin.-P. E. (2) Mrs. Musters. (3) This poem, which is, throughout, full of tenderness, was written under the influence of that despondent feeling to which we are indebted for those touching stanzas, "Well thou art happy," etc.. and the verses on his quitting England in the Spring.-P. E. In his mother's copy of Mr. Hobhouse's volume, now before us, } Lord Byron has here written with a pencil,-"I have lost them aŭ, and shall WED accordingly. 1811. B.-L. E. To think of every early scene, MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. Of what we are, and what we've been, And who that dear loved one may be I've tried another's fetters too, With charms perchance as fair to view; "Twould soothe to take one lingering view, LINES TO MR. HODGSON. 1809. (1) Thus corrected by himself, in his mother's copy of Mr. Hobhouse's Miscellany; the two last lines being originally "Though wheresoe'er my bark may run, I love but thee, I love but one."-L. E. (2) Moore, in his Life, mentions a strange story which this officer related to Lord Byron on the passage. He stated that "being asleep one night in his berth, he was awakened by the pressure of something heavy on his limbs, and there being a faint light in the room, could see, as he thought, distinctly, the figure of his brother, who was at that time in the naval service in the East Indies, dressed in his uniform and stretched across the bed. Concluding it to be an illusion of the senses, he shut his eyes and made an effort to sleep. But still the same pressure continued, and still, as often as he ventured to take another look, he saw the figure lying across in the same position. To add to the wonder, on putting his hand forth to touch this form, he found the uniform, in which it appeared to be dressed, dripping wet. On the entrance of one of his brother officers, to whom he called out in alarm, the apparition vanished; but in a few months after he received the startling intelligence that, on that night, his brother had been drowned in Now our boatmen quit their mooring, Stop the boat-I'm sick-oh Lord!" Men and women, All are wrangling, Stuck together close as wax.- the Indian seas. Of the supernatural character of this ap pearance, Captain Kidd himself did not appear to have the slightest doubt."-P. E. (3) Lord Byron's three servants.-L. E. an un Of the veteran Joe Murray's attachment to his master, Moore in his Life makes frequent and honourable mention. The following anecdote is characteristic:-"In 1810, there had been an execution on Newstead for a debt of 15001. To the faithful old servant, jealous of the ancient honour of the Byrons, the sight of the notice of sale, pasted up on the Abbey door, could not be otherwise than sightly and intolerable nuisance. Having enough, however, of the fear of the law before his eyes, not to tear the writ ing down, he was at last forced, as his only consolatory expedient, to paste a large piece of brown paper over it." -In proof of the kindly feeling which Lord Byron ever entertained towards "Ola Joe Murray," Moore also states that a constant visiter at Newstead has often "seen Lord Byron, at the dinner-table, fill out a tumbler of madeira and hand it over his shoulder to Joe Murray, who stood behind his chair, saying, with a cordiality that brightened his whole countenance, Here, my old fellow.'"-P. E. I shall not survive the racket Of this brutal Lisbon Packet." Now at length we're off for Turkey, Lord knows when we shall come back! Great and small things, Let's have laughing— Who the devil cares for more? Falmouth Roads, June 30, 1809. LINES WRITTEN IN AN ALBUM, AT MALTA. Some name arrests the passer-by; And when by thee that name is read, Reflect on me as on the dead, And think my heart is buried here. TO FLORENCE. (2) On Lady! when I left the shore, The distant shore which gave me birth, I hardly thought to grieve once more, To quit another spot on earth: Yet here, amidst this barren isle, Where panting Nature droops the head, Where only thou art seen to smile, I view my parting hour with dread. Though far from Albin's craggy shore, Divided by the dark-blue main ; (1) In the letter in which these lively verses were enclosed, Lord Byron says:-"I leave England without regret-I shall return to it without pleasure. I am like Adam, the first convict sentenced to transportation; but I have no Eve, and have eaten no apple but what was sour as a crab; and thus ends my first chapter."-L. E. (2) These lines were written at Malta. The lady to whom they were addressed, and whom he afterwards apostrophises in the stanzas on the thunder-storm of Zitza, and in Childe Harold, is thus mentioned in a letter to his mother:-"This letter is committed to the charge of a very extraordinary lady, whom you have doubtless heard of, Mrs. Spencer Smith, of whose escape the Marquis de Salvo published a narrative a few years ago. She has since been shipwrecked; and her life has been from its commencement so fertile in remarkable incidents, that in a romance they would appear improbable. She was born at Constantinople, where her father, Baron Herbert, was Austrian ambassador; married unhappily, yet has never been impeached in point of character; excited the vengeance of Bonaparte, by taking a part in some conspiracy; several times risked her life; and is not yet five-and-twenty. She is here on her way to England to join her husband, being obliged to leave Trieste, where she was paying a visit to her mother, by the approach of the French, and embarks soon in a ship of war. Since my ar A few, brief, rolling seasons o'er, Through scorching clime, and varied sea, All charms which heedless hearts can move, Whom but to see is to admire, And, oh! forgive the word-to love. Forgive the word, in one who ne'er With such a word can more offend; And since thy heart I cannot share, Believe me, what I am, thy friend. And who so cold as look on thee, Thou lovely wanderer, and be less? Nor be, what man should ever be, The friend of Beauty in distress? Ah! who would think that form had pass'd Through Danger's most destructive path, Had braved the death-wing'd tempest's blast, And 'scaped a tyrant's fiercer wrath? Lady! when I shall view the walls Where free Byzantium once arose, The Turkish tyrants now enclose; And, though I bid thee now farewell, STANZAS COMPOSED DURING A THUNDER-STORM. (3) CHILL and mirk is the nightly blast, Where Pindus' mountains rise, And angry clouds are pouring fast The vengeance of the skies. rival here I have had scarcely any other companion. I have found her very pretty, very accomplished, and extremely eccentric. Bonaparte is even now so incensed against ber, that her life would be in danger if she were taken prisoner a second time."-L. E. (3) This thunder-storm occurred during the night of the 11th October 1809, when Lord Byron's guides had lost the road to Zitza, near the range of mountains formerly called Pindus, in Albania. Mr. Hobhouse, who had rode on before the rest of party, and arrived at Zitza just as the evening set in, describes the thunder as "roaring without intermission, the echoes of one peal not ceasing to roll in the mountains, before another tremendous crash burst over our heads; whilst the plains and the distant hills appeared in a perpetual blaze." "The tempest," he says, "was altogether terrific, and worthy of the Grecian Jove. My friend, with the priest and the servants, did not enter our hut till three in the morning. I now learnt from him that they had lost! their way, and that, after wandering up and down in total ignorance of their position, they had stopped at last near some Turkish tomb-stones and a torrent, which they saw by the flashes of lightning. They had been thus exposed for nine hours. It was long before we ceased to talk of the thunder-storm in the plain of Zitza."--L. E. |