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ON LEAVING NEWSTEAD ABBEY.
Why dost thou build the hall! Son of the winged days! Thou lookest from thy tower to-day; yet a few years and the blast of the desert comes; it howls in thy empty court.-Ossian. THROUGH thy battlements, Newstead, the hollow
winds whistle; Thou, the hall of my Fathers, art gone to decay; In thy once smiling garden, the hemlock and thistle
Have choked up the rose which late bloom'd in
Of the mail cover'd Barons, who, proudly, to battle Led their vassals from Europe to Palestine's
plain, Th' escutcheon, and shield, which with every blast
rattle, Are the only sad vestiges now that remain. No more doth old Robert, with harp-stringing num
bers, Raise a flame in the breast for the war-laurell'd
wreath; Near Askalon's towers John of Horistan* slumbers,
Unnerved is the hand of his minstrel by death. Paul and Hubert, too, sleep in the valley of Cressey;
For the safety of Edward and England they fell; My Fathers, the tears of your country redress ye; How you fought, how you died, still her annals
can tell. * Horistan Castle, in Derbyshire, an ancient seat of the Byron family.
On Marston,* with Rupertot 'gainst traitors con
tending, Four brothers enrich'd with their blood the bleak
For the rights of a monarch, their country defend
ing, Till death their attachment to royalty seal'd. Shades of heroes, farewell! your descendant de
parting From the seat of his ancestors, bids you
adiea! Abroad, or at home, your remembrance imparting
New courage, he'll think upon glory and you. Though a tear dim his eye at this sad separation,
"Tis nature, not fear, that excites his regret; Far distant he goes, with the same emulation,
The fame of his fathers he ne'er can forget. That fame, and that memory, still will be cherish,
He vows that he ne'er will disgrace your renown; Like you will he live, or like you will he perish; When decay'd, may he mingle his dust with
EPITAPH ON A FRIEND.
'Αστήρ πρίν μεν έλαμπες ένα ζωοίσιν έφος. OH, Friend! for ever loved, for ever dear, What fruitless tears have bathed thy honour'd bier! What sighs re-echo'd to thy parting breath, Whilst thou wast struggling in the pangs of death! Could tears retard the tyrant in his course; Could sighs avert his dart's relentless force;
* The battle of Marston Moor, where the adherents of Charles I. were defeated.
+ Son of the Elector Palatine, and related to Charles I. He afterward commanded the fleet in the reign of Charles II.
Could youth and virtue claim a short delay,
A FRAGMENT. WHEN, to their airy hall, my Fathers' voice Shall call my spirit, joyful in their choice; When, poised upon the gale, my form shall ride, Or, dark in mist, descend the mountain's side ; Oh may my shade behold no sculptured urns To mark the spot where earth to earth returns ! No lengthen'd scroll, uo praise-encumber'd stone; My epitaph shall be my name alone : If that with honour fail to crown my clay, Oh may no other fame my deeds repay! That, only that, shall single out the spot, By that remember'd, or with that forgot.
O lachrymarum fons, tenero sacros
Felix ! in imo qui scatentem
Pectore te, pia Nympha, sensit-Gray. When Friendship or Love
Our sympathies move; When Truth in a glance should appear;
The lips may beguile
With a dimple or smile,
Too oft is a smile
But the hypocrite's wile To mask detestation, or fear;
Give me the soft sigh,
Whilst the soul-telling eye
Mild Charity's glow,
To us mortals below,
Compassion will melt
Where this virtue is felt,
The man doom'd to sail
With the blast of the gale, Through billows Atlantic to steer ;
As he bends o'er the wave
Which may soon be his grave, The green sparkles bright with a Tear.
The soldier braves death
For a fanciful wreath In Glory's romantic career;
But he raises the foe
When in battle laid low,