Which winds its blind but living path beneath you.
Yet hear me still!- -If you condemn me, yet
Remember who hath taught me once too often
To listen to him! Who proclaim'd to me

That there were crimes made venial by the occasion?
That passion was our nature? that the goods
Of Heaven waited on the goods of fortune?
Who show'd me his humanity secured
By his nerves only ? Who deprived me of
All power to vindicate myself and race
In open day? By his disgrace which stamp'd
(It might be) bastardy on me, and on
Himself-a
felon's brand! The man who is
At once both warm and weak invites to deeds
He longs to do, but dare not. Is it strange [done
That I should act what you could think? We have
With right and wrong; and now must only ponder
Upon effects, not causes. Stralenheim,
Whose life I saved from impulse, as, unknown,
I would have saved a peasant's or a dog's, I slew
Known as our foe-but not from vengeance.
Was a rock in our way which I cut through,
As doth the bolt, because it stood between us
And our true destination-but not idly.
As stranger I preserved him, and he owed me
His life : when due, I but resumed the debt.
He, you, and I stood o'er a gulf wherein
I have plunged our enemy. You kindled first
The torch-you show'd the path; now trace me that
Of safety - or let me !

He

Familiar feuds and vain recriminations

Of things which cannot be undone. We have
No more to learn or hide: I know no fear,
And have within these very walls men who [things.
(Although you know them not) dare venture all
You stand high with the state; what passes here
Will not excite her too great curiosity:
Keep your own secret, keep a steady eye,
Stir not, and speak not;-leave the rest to me;
We must have no third babblers thrust between us.
[Exit ULRIC.

Sieg. (solus). Am I awake? are these my father's halls?

Oh fool !

And yon - 1
my son? My son! mine! who have ever
Abhorr'd both mystery and blood, and yet
Am plunged into the deepest hell of both!
I must be speedy, or more will be shed—
The Hungarian's !- Ulric-he hath partisans,
It seems : I might have guess'd as much.
Wolves prowl in company. He hath the key
(As I too) of the opposite door which leads
Into the turret. Now then! or once more
To be the father of fresh crimes, no less
Than of the criminal! Ho! Gabor! Gabor!
[Exit into the turret, closing the door after him.

Enter ULRIC, with others armed, and with weapons drawn.

Ulr. Despatch!-he's there !
Lud.

The count, my lord! You here, sir!

Ulr. (recognising SIEGENDORF).
Sieg. Yes if you want another victim, strike!
Ulr. (seeing him stript of his jewels). Where is the
ruffian who hath plunder'd you?

Vassals, despatch in search of him! You see
'Twas as I said- the wretch hath stript my father
Of jewels which might form a prince's heir-loom!
Away! I'll follow you forthwith.

[Exeunt all but SIEGENDORF and ULRIC.
What's this?

Will you then leave me ?

Denounced-dragg'd, it may be, in chains; and all

By your inherent weakness, half-humanity,
Selfish remorse, and temporising pity,

That sacrifices your whole race to save

A wretch to profit by our ruin ! No, count,
Henceforth you have no son!

Sieg.
I never had one;
And would you ne'er had borne the useless name!

PREFACE. 3

In submitting to the public eye the following collection, I have not only to combat the difficulties that writers of verse generally encounter, but may incur the charge of presumption for obtruding myself on the world, when, without doubt, I might be, at my age, more usefully employed.

These productions are the fruits of the lighter hours of a young man who has lately completed his nineteenth year. As they bear the internal evidence of a boyish mind, this is, perhaps, unnecessary information. Some few were written during the disadvantages of

[First published in 1807.]

2 [Isabella, the daughter of William, fourth Lord Byron (great-great uncle of the Poet), became, in 1742, the wife of Henry, fourth Earl of Carlisle, and was the mother of the fifth Earl, to whom this dedication was addressed. This

illness and depression of spirits: under the former influence," Childish RecoLLECTIONS," in particular, were composed. This consideration, though it cannot excite the voice of praise, may at least arrest the arm of censure. A considerable portion of these poems has been privately printed, at the request and for the perusal of my friends. I am sensible that the partial and frequently injudicious admiration of a social circle is not the criterion by which poetical genius is to be estimated, yet, " to do greatly," we must "dare greatly;" and I have hazarded my reputation and feelings in publishing this volume. "I have passed the Rubicon," and must stand or fall by the "cast of

lady was a poetess in her way. The Fairy's Answer to Mrs. Greville's Prayer of Indifference," in Pearch's Collection, is usually ascribed to her.]

3 [This Preface was omitted in the second edition.]

the die." In the latter event, I shall submit without a murmur; for, though not without solicitude for the fate of these effusions, my expectations are by no means sanguine. It is probable that I may have dared much and done little; for, in the words of Cowper," it is one thing to write what may please our friends, who, because they are such, are apt to be a little biassed in our favour, and another to write what may please every body; because they who have no connection, or even knowledge of the author, will be sure to find fault if they can." To the truth of this, however, I do not wholly subscribe: on the contrary, I feel convinced that these trifles will not be treated with injustice. Their merit, if they possess any, will be liberally allowed: their numerous faults, on the other hand, cannot expect that favour which has been denied to others of maturer years, decided character, and far greater ability.

I have not aimed at exclusive originality, still less have I studied any particular model for imitation : some translations are given, of which many are paraphrastic. In the original pieces there may appear a casual coincidence with authors whose works I have been accustomed to read; but I have not been guilty of intentional plagiarism. To produce any thing entirely new, in an age so fertile in rhyme, would be a Herculean task, as every subject has already been treated to its utmost extent. Poetry, however, is not my primary vocation; to divert the dull moments of indisposition, or the monotony of a vacant hour, urged me" to this sin:" little can be expected from so unpromising a muse. My wreath, scanty as it must be, is all I shall derive from these productions; and I shall never attempt to replace its fading leaves, or pluck a single additional sprig from groves where I am, at best, an intruder. Though accustomed, in my younger days, to rove a careless mountaineer on the Highlands of Scotland, I have not, of late years, had the benefit of such pure air, or so elevated a residence, as might enable me to enter the lists with genuine bards, who have enjoyed both these advantages. But they derive considerable fame, and a few not less profit, from their productions; while I shall expiate my rashness as an interloper, certainly without the latter, and in all probability with a very slight share of the former. I leave to others" virum volitare per ora." I look to the few who will hear with patience "dulce est desipere in loco." To the former worthies I resign, without repining, the hope of immortality, and content myself with the not very magnificent prospect of ranking amongst "the mob of gentlemen who write; "-my readers must determine whether I dare say "with ease," or the honour of a posthumous page in "The Catalogue of Royal and Noble Authors,". '-a work to which the Peerage is under infinite obligations, inasmuch as many names of considerable length, sound, and antiquity, are thereby rescued from the obscurity which unluckily overshadows several voluminous productions of their illustrious bearers.

With slight hopes, and some fears, I publish this

1 The Earl of Carlisle, whose works have long received the meed of public applause, to which, by their intrinsic worth, they were well entitled.

[The passage referred to by Lord Byron occurs in Boswell's Life of Johnson, vol. viii. p. 91. ed. 1835. Dr. Johnson's letter to Mrs. Chapone, criticising, on the whole favourably, the Earl's tragedy of "The Father's Revenge," is inserted in the same volume, p. 242.]

first and last attempt. To the dictates of young ambition may be ascribed many actions more criminal and equally absurd. To a few of my own age the contents may afford amusement: I trust they will, at least, be found harmless. It is highly improbable, from my situation and pursuits hereafter, that I should ever obtrude myself a second time on the public; nor, even, in the very doubtful event of present indulgence, shall I be tempted to commit a future trespass of the same nature. The opinion of Dr. Johnson on the Poems of a noble relation of mine 1, "That when a man of rank appeared in the character of an author, he deserved to have his merit handsomely allowed?," can have little weight with verbal, and still less with periodical censors; but were it otherwise, I should be loth to avail myself of the privilege, and would rather incur the bitterest censure of anonymous criticism, than triumph in honours granted solely to a title.

And, when the grave restores her dead,
When life again to dust is given,
On thy dear breast I'll lay my head.

Without thee, where would be my heaven?
February, 1803.

(daughter and grand-daughter of the two Admirals Parker),
one of the most beautiful of evanescent beings. I have long
forgotten the verse; but it would be difficult for me to forget
her- her dark eyes - her long eye-lashes her completely
Greek cast of face and figure! I was then about twelve-
she rather older, perhaps a year. She died about a year or
two afterwards, in consequence of a fall, which injured her
spine, and induced consumption. Her sister Augusta (by
some thought still more beautiful,) died of the same malady;
and it was, indeed, in attending her, that Margaret met with
the accident which occasioned her death. My sister told
me, that when she went to see her, shortly before her death,
upoa accidentally mentioning my name, Margaret coloured,
throughout the paleness of mortality, to the eyes, to the great
astonishment of my sister, who knew nothing of our attach-
ment, nor could conceive why my name should affect her at
such a time. I knew nothing of her illness being at Har-
row and in the country-till she was gone.
Some years
after, I made an attempt at an elegy-a very dull one.
I do
not recollect scarcely any thing equal to the transparent
beauty of my cousin, or to the sweetness of her temper,
during the short period of our intimacy. She looked as if
she had been made out of a rainbow- all beauty and peace."
- Byron Diary, 1821.]

[This little poem, and some others in the collection, refer to a boy of Lord Byron's own age, son of one of his tenants at Newstead, for whom he had formed a romantic attachment, of earlier date than any of his school friendships.]

[Lord Delawarr. The idea of printing a collection of his Poems first occurred to Lord Byron in the parlour of that cottage, which, during his visit to Southwell, had become his adopted home. Miss Pigot, who was not before aware of his turn for versifying, had been reading aloud the Poems of Burns, when young Byron said, that "he, too, was a poet sometimes, and would write down for her some verses of his own which he remembered." He then, with a pencil, wrote these lines, "To D-," A fac-simile of the first four lines of this pencilling fronts p. 1.]

[This poem appears to have been, in its original state, intended to commemorate the death of the same lowly-born youth, to whom the affectionate verses given in the opposite column were addressed:

EPITAPH ON A FRIEND. 3

Αστὴς πρὶν μὲν ἔλαμπες ἐνὶ ζωοῖσιν ἑῷος. — LAERTIUS.

Он, 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;
Could youth and virtue claim a short delay,
Or beauty charm the spectre from his prey;
Thou still hadst lived to bless my aching sight,
Thy comrade's honour and thy friend's delight.
If yet thy gentle spirit hover nigh

The spot where now thy mouldering ashes lie,
Here wilt thou read, recorded on my heart,
A grief too deep to trust the sculptor's art.
No marble marks thy couch of lowly sleep,
But living statues there are seen to weep;
Affliction's semblance bends not o'er thy tomb,
Affliction's self deplores thy youthful doom.
What though thy sire lament his failing line,
A father's sorrows cannot equal mine!
Though none, like thee, his dying hour will cheer,
Yet other offspring soothe his anguish here:
But, who with me shall hold thy former place?
Thine image, what new friendship can efface?
Ah! none!-a father's tears will cease to flow,
Time will assuage an infant brother's woe;
To all, save one, is consolation known,
While solitary friendship sighs alone.

1803.

"Though low thy lot, since in a cottage born," &c.

But, in the altered form of the Epitaph, not only this passage, but every other containing an allusion to the low rank of his young companion, is omitted; while, in the added parts, the introduction of such language as

"What though thy sire lament his failing line,"

seems calculated to give an idea of the youth's station in life, wholly different from that which the whole tenour of the original Epitaph warrants. "That he grew more conscious," says Mr. Moore," of his high station, as he approached to manhood, is not improbable, and this wish to sink his early friendship with the young cottager may have been a result of that feeling. The following is a copy of the lines as they first appeared in the private volume:

"Oh, Boy! for ever loved, for ever dear!

What fruitless tears have bathed thy honour'd bier!
What sighs re-echo'd to thy parting breath,
While thou wast struggling in the pangs of death!
Could tears retard the tyrant in his course;
Could sighs avert his dart's relentless force;
Could youth and virtue claim a short delay,
Or beauty charm the spectre from his prey;
Thou still hadst lived to bless my aching sight,
Thy comrade's honour, and thy friend's delight.
Though low thy lot, since in a cottage born,
No titles did thy humble name adorn,
To me, far dearer was thy artless love
Than all the joys wealth, fame, and friends could prove :
For thee alone I lived, or wish'd to live;
Oh God! if impious, this rash word forgive!
Heart-broken now, I wait an equal doom,
Content to join thee in thy turf-clad tomb;
Where, this frail form composed in endless rest,
I'll make my last cold pillow on thy breast;
That breast where oft in life I've laid my head,
Will yet receive me mouldering with the dead;
This life resign'd, without one parting sigh,
Together in one bed of earth we 'll lie!
Together share the fate to mortals given;
Together mix our dust, and hope for heaven."]

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, no praise-encumber'd stone;
My epitaph shall be my name alone; 1
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.

1803.

ON LEAVING NEWSTEAD ABBEY. 2 "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 the way.

Of the mail-cover'd Barons, who proudly to battle

Led their vassals from Europe to Palestine's plain, 3 The escutcheon and shield, which with every blast Are the only sad vestiges now that remain. [rattle,

[Of the sincerity of this youthful aspiration, the Poet has left repeated proofs. By his will, drawn up in 1811, he directed, that no inscription, save his name and age, should be written on his tomb: and, in 1819, he wrote thus to Mr. Murray: "Some of the epitaphs at the Certosa cemetery, at Ferrara, pleased me more than the more splendid monuments at Bologna; for instance

'Martini Luigi Implora pace.'

Can any thing be more full of pathos? I hope whoever may survive me will see those two words, and no more, put over me."]

2 [The priory of Newstead, or de Novo Loco, in Sherwood, was founded about the year 1170, by Henry II., and dedicated to God and the Virgin. It was in the reign of Henry VIII., on the dissolution of the monasteries, that, by a royal grant, it was added, with the lands adjoining, to the other possessions of the Byron family. The favourite upon whom they were conferred, was the grand-nephew of the gallant soldier who fought by the side of Richmond at Bosworth, and is distinguished from the other knights of the same Christian name, in the family, by the title of "Sir John Byron the Little, with the great beard." A portrait of this personage was one of the few family pictures with which the walls of the abbey, while in the possession of the Poet, were decorated.]

3 [There being no record of any of Lord Byron's ancestors having been engaged in the Holy Wars, Mr. Moore suggests, that the Poet may have had no other authority for this notion, than the tradition which he found connected with certain strange groups of heads, which are represented on the old panel-work in some of the chambers at Newstead. In one of these groups, consisting of three heads, strongly carved and projecting from the panel. the centre figure evidently represents a Saracen or Moor, with an European female on one side of him, and a Christian soldier on the other. second group, the female occupies the centre, while on either side is the head of a Saracen, with the eyes fixed earnestly upon her. Of the exact meaning of these figures there is nothing known; but the tradition is, that they refer to a love adventure of the age of the Crusades.]

In a

["In the park of Horseley," says Thoroton," there was a castle, some of the ruins of which are yet visible, called Horistan Castle, which was the chief mansion of Ralph de Burun's successors."]

5 [Two of the family of Byron are enumerated as serving

last.

7 Son of the Elector Palatine, and nephew to Charles I. He afterwards commanded the fleet in the reign of Charles II. 8 [Sir Nicholas Byron served with distinction in the Low Countries; and, in the Great Rebellion, he was one of the first to take up arms in the royal cause. After the battle of Edgehill, he was made colonel-general of Cheshire and Shropshire, and governor of Chester. "He was," says Clarendon, "a person of great affability and dexterity, as well as martial knowledge, which gave great life to the designs of the well affected; and, with the encouragement of some gentlemen of North Wales, he raised such a power of horse and foot, as made frequent skirmishes with the enemy, sometimes with notable advantage, never with signal loss." In 1543, Sir John Byron was created Baron Byron of Rochdale in the county of Lancaster; and seldom has a title been bestowed for such high and honourable services as those by which be deserved the gratitude of his royal master. Through almost every page of the History of the Civil Wars, we trace his name in connection with the varying fortunes of the king, and find him faithful, persevering, and disinterested to the "Sir John Biron," says Mrs. Hutchinson," afterwards Lord Biron, and all his brothers, bred up in arms, and valant men in their own persons, were all passionately the king's We find also, in the reply of Colonel Hutchinson, when governor of Nottingham, to his cousin-german Sir Richard Byron, a noble tribute to the chivalrous fidelity of the race. Sir Richard, having sent to prevail on his relative to surreader the castle, received for answer, that "except be for naď his own heart prone to such treachery, he might consider there was, if nothing else, so much of a Byron's biond in him, that he should very much scorn to betray or quit a trust he had undertaken.". - On the monument of Richard, the second Lord Byron, who lies buried in the chancel of Hucknal-Tokard church, there is the following insert; tim "Beneath, in a vault, is interred the body of Richard Lord Byron, who, with the rest of his family, being seven brolders, faithfully served King Charles the First in the divi wara, who suffered much for their loyalty, and lost all their prese st fortunes; yet it pleased God so to bless the humble endear vours of the said Richard Lord Byron, that he re-purchasexi part of their ancient inheritance, which he left to his pran terity, with a laudable memory for his great pirty and charity."]