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Then read, dear girl ! with feeling read,

For thou wilt ne'er be one of those ; To thee in vain I shall not plead

In pity for the poet's woes.

He was in sooth a genuine bard ;

His was no faint, fictitious flame : Like his, may love be thy reward,

But not thy hapless fate the same. !

Oh! then let us drain, while we may, draughts of

pleasure, Which from passion like ours may unceasingly flow; Let us pass round the cup of love's bliss in full mea. And quaff the contents as our nectar below. (sure,

1805, "(Lord Strangford's translations of Camoëns' Amatory Poems, Verses, and Little's Poems, are mentioned by Mr. Moore as having been at this period the favourite study of Lord Byron.)

? (" The latter years of Camoëns present a mournful picture, not merely of individual calamity, but of national'in. gratitude. He whose best years had been devoted to the

service of his country, he who had taught her literary fame to rival the proudest efforts of Italy itself, and who seemed born to revive the remembrance of ancient gentility and Lusian heroism, was compelled to wander through the streets, a wretched dependent on casual contribution. One friend alone remained to smooth his downward path, and guide his steps to the grave with gentleness and consolation. It was


'A Bzecitos do zodzis
'Ερωτα μουνον ήχι.

ANACREON. Away with your fictions of flimsy romance;

Those tissues of falsehood which folly has wove ! Give me the mild beam of the soul-breathing glance,

Or the rapture which dwells on the first kiss of love.

As ancient Rome, fast falling to disgrace,
Hail'd a barbarian in her Casar's place,
So you, degenerate, share as hard a fate,
And seat Pomposus where your Probus sate.
Of narrow brain, yet of a narrower soul,
Pomposus 9 holds you in his harsh control ;
Pomposus, by no social virtuc sway'd,
With florid jargon, and with vain parade ;
With noisy nonsense, and new-fangled rules,
Such as were ne'er before enforced in schools.
Mistaking pedantry for learning's laws,
He governs, sanction'd but by self-applause,
With him the same dire fate attending Rome,
Ill-fated Ida ! soon must stamp your doorn :
Like her o'erthrown, for ever lost to fame,
No trace of science left you, but the name.

July, 1805.

Te rhymers, whose bosoms with phantasy glow,

Whose pastoral passions are made for the grove ; From what blest inspiration your sonnets would flow,

Could you ever have tasted the first kiss of love !

If Apollo should e'er his assistance refuse,

Or the Nine be disposed from your service to rove, Invoke them no more, bid adieu to the muse,

And try the effect of the first kiss of love !


I hate you, ye cold compositions of art !
Though prudes may condemn me, and bigots re-

I court the effusions that spring from the heart,

Which throbs with delight to the first kiss of love.

Your shepherds, your flocks, those fantastical themes,

Perhaps may amuse, yet they never can move : Arcadia displays but a region of dreams :

What are visions like these to the first kiss of love ?

Oh! cease to affirm that man, since his birth,

From Adam till now, has with wretchedness strove; Some portion of paradise still is on earth,

And Eden revives in the first kiss of love.

Dorset 5! whose early steps with mine have stray'd,
Exploring every path of Ida's glade ;
Whom still affection taught me to defend,
And made me less a tyrant than a friend,
Though the harsh custom of our youthful ban
Bade thee obey, and gave me to command ; 6
Thee, on whose head a few short years will shower
The gift of riches, and the pride of power ;
E'en now a name illustrious is thine own,
Renown'd in rank, not far beneath the throne.
Yet, Dorset, let not this seduce thy soul
To shun fair science, or evade control,
Though passive tutors 7, fearful to dispraise
The titled child, whose future breath may raise,
View ducal errors with indulgent eyes,
And wink at faults they tremble to chastise.

When youthful parasites, who bend the knce
To wealth, their golden idol, not to thee,
And even in simple boyhood's opening dawn
Some slaves are found to flatter and to fawn,-
When these declare, “ that pomp alone should wait
On one by birth predestined to be great ;
That books were only meant for drudging fools,
That gallant spirits scorn the common rules ;”
Believe them not; — they point the path to shame,
And seek to blast the honours of thy name.

When age chills the blood, when our pleasures are

past For years fleet away with the wings of the dove – The dearest remembrance will still be the last,

Our sweetest memorial the first kiss of love.



Where are those honours, Ida! once your own, When Probus ? filled your magisterial throne ?

Antonio, his slave, a native of Java, who had accompanied Camoens to Europe, after having rescued himn irom the waves, when shipwrecked at the mouth of the Mecon. This faithful attendant was wont to seek alms throughout Lisbon, anu at night shared the prodi e of the day with his poor and broken-hearted master. But his friendship was employed in vain. Camoens sank beneath the pressure of penury and disease, and died in an alms-house early in the year 1579. — STRANGFORD.)

[In March, 1805, Dr. Drury retired from his situation of head-master at Harrow, and was succeeded by Dr. Butler.]

? (" Dr. Drury, whom I plagued sufficiently, was the best, the kindest (and yet strict, too) friend I ever had; and I look upon him still as a father.- Byron Diary.]

3 [" At Harrow I was a most unpopular boy, but led latterly, and have retained many of my school friendships, and all my dislikes – except to Dr. Butler, whom I treated rebelliously, and have been sorry ever since." - Byron Diary: The reconciliation which took place between him and Dr, Butler, before his departure for Greece, in 1809, is, says Mr. Moore, " one of those instances of placability and pliableness with which his life abounded. Not content with this private atonement to the Doctor, it was his intention, had he published another edition of the Hours of Idleness, to substitute, for the offensive verses against that gentleman.

a frank avowal of the wrong he had been guilty of in giving vent to them.”)

* In looking over my papers to select a few additional poems for this second edition, I found the abore lines, which I had totally forgotten, composed in the summer of 1805, a short time previous to my departure from Harrow. They were addressed to a young schoolfellow of high rank, who had been my frequent companion in some rambles through the neighbouring country: however, he never saw the lines, and most probably never will. As, on a re-perusal, I found them not worse than some other pieces in the collection, I have now published them, for the first time, after a slight revision.

? (George-John-Frederick, fourth Duke of Dorset, born November 15. 1793. This amiable nobleman was killed by a fall from his horse, while hunting near Dublin, February 22. 1815, being on a visit at the time to his mother, the duchess. duwager, and her second husband, Charles Earl of Whitworth, then Lord Lieutenant of Ireland.)

6 At every public school the junior boys are completely subservient to the upper forms till they attain a seat in the higher classes. From this state of probation, rery properly, no rank is exempt; but after a certain period, they command in turn those who succeed.

i Allow me to disclaiin any personal allusions, even the most distant : I merely mention generally what is too often the weakness of preceptors.

Turn to the few in Ida's early throng,
Whose souls disdain not to condemn the wrong ;
Or if, amidst the comrades of thy youth,
None dare to raise the sterner voice of truth,
Ask thine own heart ; 't will bid thee, boy, forbear;
For well I know that virtue lingers there.

Yes! I have mark'd tbee many a passing day,
But now new scenes invite me far away ;
Yes! I have mark'd within that generous mind
A soul, if well matured, to bless mankinil.
Ah! though myself, by nature haughty, wild,
Whom Indiscretion hail'd her favourite child ;
Though every error stamps me for her own,
And dooms my fall, I fain would fall alone ;
Though my proud heart no precept now can tame,
I love the virtues which I cannot claim.

'T is not cnough, with other sons of power, To gleam the lambent meteor of an hour ; To swell some peerage page in feeble pride, With long-drawn names that grace no page beside ; Then share with titled crowds the common lot In life just gazed at, in the grave forgot ; While nought divides thee from the vulgar dead, Except the dull cold stone that bides thy head, The inouldering 'scutcheon, or the herald's roll, That well-emblazon'd but neglected scroll, Where lords, unhonour'd, in the tomb may find One spot, to leave a worthless name behind. There sleep, unnoticed as the gloomy vaults That veil their dust, their follies, and their faults, A race, with old armorial lists o'erspread, In records destined never to be read. Fain would I view thee, with prophetic eyes, Exalted more among the good and wise, A glorious and a long career pursue, As first in rank, the first in talent too : Spurn every vice, each little meanness shun; Not Fortune's minion, but her noblest son.

Turn to the annals of a former day ; Bright are the deeds thine earlier sires display. One, though a courtier, lived a man of worth, And callid, proud boast! the British drama forth. I Another view, not less renown'd for wit ; Alike for courts, and camps, or senates fit; Bold in the field, and favour'd by the Nine; In every splendid part ordain'd to shine ; Far, far distinguish'd from the glittering throng, The pride of princes, and the boast of song. Such were thy fathers; thus preserve their name ; Not heir to titles only, but to fame. The hour draws nigh, a few brief days will close To me, this little scene of joys and woes ;

Each knell of Time now warns me to resign
Shades where Hope, Peace, and Friendship all were

Hope, that could vary like the rainbow's hue,
And gild their pinions as the moments flew;
Peace, that reflection never frown'd away,
By dreams of ill to cloud some future day;
Friendship, whose truth let childhood only tell;
Alas! they love not long, who love so well.
To these adieu ! nor let me linger o'er
Scenes haild, as exiles hail their native shore,
Receding slowly through the dark-blue deep,
Beheld by eyes that mourn, yet cannot weep.

Dorset, farewell ! I will not ask onc part
Of sad remembrance in so young a heart;
The coming morrow from thy youthful mind
Will sweep my name, nor ieave a trace behind.
And yet, perhaps, in some maturer year,
Since chance has thrown us in the self-same sphere,
Since the same senate, nay, the same debate,
May one day claim our suffrage for the state,
We hence may meet, and pass each other by,
With faint regard, or cold and distant eye.

For me, in future, neither friend nor foe, A stranger to thyself, thy weal or woe, With thee no more again I hope to trace The recollection of our early race; No more, as once, in social hours rejoice, Or hear, unless in crowds, thy well-known voice : Still, if the wishes of a heart untaught To veil those feelings which perchance it ought, If these, — but let me cease the lengthend strain,Oh! if these wishes are not breathed in vain, The guardian seraph who directs thy fate Will leave thee glorious, as he found thee great. 3


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! (" Thomas Sackville, Lord Buckhurst, was born in 1527. While a student of the loner Temple, he wrote his tragedy of Gorboduc, which was played before Queen Elizabeth at Whitehall, in 1561. His tragedy, and his contribution of the Induction and legend of the Duke of Buckingham to the " Mirror for Magistrates," compose the poetical history of Sackville. The rest of it was political. In 1604, he was created Earl of Dorset by James I. He died suddenly at the council table, in consequence of a dropsy on the brain.”— CAMPBELL.)

? [Charles Sackville, Carl of Dorset, was born in 1637, and died in 1706. He was esteemed the most accomplished man of his day, and alike distinguished in the voluptuous court of Charles II. and the gloomy one of William 111. Ile behaved with considerable gallantry in the sea-fight with the Dutch in 1665 : on the dar previous to which he is said to have composed his celebrated song, To all you Ladies now at Land. llis character has been drawn in the highest colours by ryden, Pope, Prior, and Congrere.) ??" I have just been, or rather ought to be, very much

shocked by the death of the Duke of Dorset. We were at school together, and there I was passionately attached to him. Since, we have never met, but once, I think, since 1805 - and it would be a paltry affectation to pretend that I had any feeling for him worth the name. But there was a time in my life when this event would have broken my heart; and all I can say for it now is that it is not worth breaking. The recollection of what I once felt, and ought to hare felt now, but could not, set me pondering, and finally into the train of thought which you have in your hands. – Burin Letters, 1815. - The Verses referred to were those melan. choly ones, beginning, -" There's not a joy the world can give, like those it takes away."]

* (The circumstances which lent so peculiar an interest in Lord Byron's introduction to the family of Chaworth, are: sufficiently explained in the “ Notices of his Life." "Tt.e young lady herself combined,” says Mr. Moore, " with the many worldly advantages that encircled her, much personal beauty, and a disposition the most amiable and attaching. Though already fully alive to her charms, it was at this period

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(1804) that the young poet seems to have drunk deepest of that fascination whose effects were to be so lasting: six short weeks which he passed in her company being sufficient to lay the foundation of a feeling for all life. With the summer holidars ended this dream of his youth. He saw Miss Chaworth once more in the succeeding year, and took his last farewell of her on that hill near Annesley, which, in his poem of. The Dream,' he describes so happily as crowned with a peculiar diadem.'” In August, 1805, she was married to John Musters, Esq. ; and died at Wiverton Hall, in February, 1832, in consequence, it is believed, of the alarm and danger to which she had been exposed during the sack of Coluick Hall by a party of rioters from Nottingham. The unfortunate lady had been in a feeble state of health for sereral years, and she and her daughter were obliged to take shelter from the violence of the mob in a shrubbery, where, partly from cold, partly from terror, her constitution sustained a shock which it wanted vigour to resist.)

| The Diable Boiteux of Le Sage, where Asmodeus, the demon, places Don Cleofas on an elevated situation, and unroofs the houses for inspection.

? (On the death of Mr. Pitt, in January, 1806, Lord Henry

Petty and Lord Palmerston were candidates to represent the University of Cambridge in parliament.)

3 [In the private volume, the fourth and fifth stanzas ran thusi

“One on his power and place depends,

The other on the Lord knows what !
Each to some eloquence pretends,

Though neither will convince by that.
" The first, indeed, may not demur;

Fellows are sage reflecting men," &c.] * (Edward-Harvey Hawke, third Lord Hawke. His lord. ship died in 1824.)

Seale's publication on Greek Metres displays considerable talent and ingenuity, but, as might be expected in so difficult a work, is not remarkable for accuracy.

& The Latin of the schools is of the canine species, and not very intelligible.

7 The discovery of Pythagoras, that the square of the hy. pothenuse is equal to the squares of the other two sides or a right-angled triangle. 8 On a saint's day, the students wear surplices in chapel.


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