m **y L'OIftlD IBY2i®Sf. ,??,(>/?■ - ' ? /A/,V/ ' MEMOIRS THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF &lMft VgtMt* BY GEORGE CLINTON, ESQ. When to their airy hall my father's 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 lengthened scroll, no praise-encumbered 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 remembered, or with that forgot. Bynov. ILon&on JAMES ROBINS AND CO. IVY LANE, PATERNOSTER ROW AND JOSEPH ROBINS, JUN. AND CO. LOWER ORMOND QUAY, DUBLIN. MDCCCXXY. TO ANNE ISABELLA THE DOWAGER LADY BYRON, THIS VOLUME, A\ r EARNEST EFFORT TO PERPETUATE AND TO EXTEND THE FAME OF A POET AND A NOBLEMAN, LATELY ONE OF THE BRIGHTEST ORNAMENTS OF ENGLAND AND OF ENGLISH LITERATURE, IS INSCRIBED WITH MOST SINCERE FEELINGS OF RESPECT FOR HER VIRTUES AND SYMPATHY FOR THE IRREPARABLE LOSS SHE HAS SUSTAINED. £52960 CONTENTS. INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER. Lord Btron's general character. Character as a poet — as a British nobleman . Objects of writing this memoir. Motives for destroying Lord Byron's ' Own Memoirs.' - - - - - -1 CHAPTER I. Family descent. Newstead Abbey granted to Sir John Byron. The building described. Inscription to the memory of Boatswain, a Newfoundland dog, buried at Newstead. Clarendon's character of Sir Nicholas Byron. Soma account of Sir John Byron. His spirited conduct as Governor of the Tower Distinguishes himself, with three of his brothers, in the battle of Edge Hill, for which he is created a baron. Commands the Irish forces during the civil wars. After numerous successes, he is defeated by Sir Thomas Fairfax — Escapes to Holland with the Duke of York. Dies at Paris. His descendants. Elegy on Newstead Abbey. William Lord Byron tried by his Peers for killing Mr. Chaworth in a duel. The Honorable John Byron sails as a midshipman in the Wager, with Commodore,, afterwards Lord, Anson. The Wager parts company with the squadron, and is wrecked on the coast of Patagonia. Suf- ferings of Mr. Byron, Captain Cheap, and the crew. After a captivity of more than five years, Mr. Byron returns to England. Arrives in London pennyless, and finds his sister married to the Earl of Carlisle. Literary character of the Countess. Satire on the present Earl of Carlisle. The Honorable John Byron appointed commodore, and sails for North America. Circumnavigates the globe. Promoted to the rank of admiral. Nicknamed ' Foul-weather Jack.' Superstition of the sailors in consequence. Domestic troubles. Captain Byron, the Admiral's eldest son, a reprobate libertine. His amours with Lady Carmarthen. Her Ladyship divorced in consequence. Married to Captain Byron, and dies of a broken heart. Captain Byron marries Miss Gordon. Dissipates her property, and abandons her, soon after the birth of George Gordon Byron, the subject of these memoirs. Dies at Valenciennes* - 3 CHAPTER II, Birth of Lord Byron. Early infirmity of his constitution. His childhood spent among the romantic scenery of Aberdeen. Inspiration derived therefrom, illustrated by Beattie. Account of his early days, by a Schoolfellow. Sent to the grammar school of Aberdeen. His extreme sensibility. The Brig o' Bal- gownie prophecy. His contempt of titles when at school. Death of his mother. The Earl of Carlisle becomes his guardian, Seul to Harrow school. ' CONTENTS. Removed to Trinity College, Cambridge. Keeps a bear in his rooms. Quits college. At the age of nineteen, publishes a volume of poems, entitled Hours of Idleness. On leaving Newstead Abbey. Epitaph on a Friend. A Fragment. The Tear. Prologue to the Wheel of Fortune. Stanzas to a Lady, with the poems ofCameons. To 31***. To Woman. To M. S. G. Song, ' When I roved a young Highlander.' To . To Mary, on receiving her picture. Damsetus. To Marion. Oscar and Alva, a tale. To the Duke of D . Translations and Imitations. Adrian's address to his Soul when dying. From Catullus ; ad Lesbian. The Epitaph on Virgil and Tibullus, by Domitus Marsus. From Catullus ; Luctus de mortis passeris. From Catullus ; to Ellen. From Anacreon ; to his Lyre — Ode III. Fragments of School Exercises. From the Promotheus Vinctus of /Eschylus. The Episode of Nisus and Euryalus, a paraphrase from the .Eneid, lib. 9. From the Medea of Euripedes. Fugitive Pieces; Thoughts suggested by a college examination. To the Earl of . Granta; a medley. Lachin Y. Gair. To Romance. Childish recollections. The death of Calmar and Orla, in imitation of Macpherson's Ossian. To E. N. L. Esq. To . ' Oh ! had my fate been joined with thine.' ' I wish I were a Highland child.' Lines written beneath an elm, in the churchyard of Harrow on the Hill. Criticism on Hours of Idleness, from the Edinburgh Review. Animadversions thereon. Disposition of Lord Byron on his entrance into life. His fondness for a Newfoundland dog. Lines inscribed upon a cup formed from a skull. His amours. Becomes enamoured of a fair relative, who, however, marries another. Resolves on quitting England in consequence. Becomes a great favorite among the fair sex. The authoress of Glenarvon falls in love with him. Repels the attacks of the Edinburgh Reviewers, by publishing English Bards and Scotch Reviewers, a satire. Remarks on the satire. Curran's reply to Lady A 11. Lord Byron quits England in company with Mr. Hobhouse. They proceed to Lisbon. Travel through Spain to the Mediterranean. Commences his poem of Childe Harold's Pilgrimage. The poem described, accompanied with extracts. Frequency of assassination in the streets of Lisbon. The heroine of Saragoza. The travellers proceed to Greece. Description of Albania. — Attachment of his Albanian servants. Visits Ali Pacha in his palace at Tepalen. Anecdote of Ali Pacha's barbarity. A note to Lady Mor- gan, on Ida of Athens. Lord Byron's partiality for Athens. On travel- ling in Turkey. Remarks on Childe Harold. Opinions of the Quarterly and Edinburgh Reviewers. Lyrical pieces subjoined to Childe Harold. Swims across the Hellespont with Lieutenant Ekenhead. The possibility of this exploit doubted by Mr. Turner in his Travels. Letter from Lord Byron to Mr. Murray on the suhject. .-._..-. 36 CHAPTER III. Lord Byron returns to London. Lives a retired life, and devotes his time. to literary pursuits. The Giaour. The Bride, of Abydos. The Corsairs- Curious particular." respecting Bishop Blackbourne. Lnra. Ode to Napoleon Buonaparte. CONTENTS CHAPTER IV. Lord Byron marries Miss Milbauke. Origin of his domestic afflictions. Hebrew Melodies. Siege of Corinth. Parisina. Extract from Frizzi's History of Ferrara, on which Parasina is founded. 277 CHAPTER V. Domestic disagreements. Birth of Ada Byron. His Lordship becomes one of the committee of management at Drury Lane Theatre, Separation between Lord and Lady Byron. A sketch on domestic circumstances. Interference of the Morning Chronicle in favour of Lord Byron. * Fare thee well !' addressed to Lady Byron. Lord Byron depicted in Glenarvon, a novel. Waters of Elle ! Farewell. Lord Byron resolves on quitting England in consequence of his separation from his wife. Parting stanzas to his friend Moore. - 314 CHAPTER VI. Public sensation on Lord Byron's departure. Description of Lord Byron's person , from the Quarterly Review. Childe Harold, Canto III. On the personal **" allusions of the poem. Wanderings of the self-exile. Reaches Waterloo. Visits the spot where his relative, Major Howard, was mortally wounded and buried. Amende honorable for his former asperity towards the Earl of Carlisle. Causes of that resentment. Circumstances attending Lord Byron's taking his seat in the House of Lords. On quitting Waterloo he wan- ders on the bank of the Rhine. Proceeds to Switzerland. Visits Geneva and Lausanne. Takes up his residence at the latter place. The castle of Chillon described. Sonnet to Liberty. Prisoner of Chillon. Some account of the Life of Bonnivard. A Dream. Lord Byron's acquaintance with Madame de Stael. His habits and society at Lausanne. Removes to Venice, - 324 CHAPTER VII. Lord Byron enters into all the profligacies of Venice. Becomes enamoured of a baker's wife, whom he called his Fornarina. Her excessive attachment and jealousy. On the exaggerations of Lord Byron's aversion to English visitors. Trait of his generosity. Anecdotes of Fletcher, his Lordship's valet. With- drawn from the degradations of Venice by the arrival of Mr. and Mrs. Shelley. Shelley's delineation of his noble friend, under the appellation of Count Maddalo. Extracts from Shelley's Julian and Maddalo. His picture of Lord Byron's child, Allegra. Lord Byron annoyed by the Austrian government, who pro- scribe his works. Quits Venice. Stanzas descriptive of the Countess Guiccioli. Remarks on Captain Medwin's Journal of the conversations of Lord ByTon. Sonnet to the Countess Guiccioli. Remarks on his Lordship's con- nexion with the Countess. Lady Morgan's description of the deplorable state of society at Venice. Causes of its present degraded state. Particulars of the Countess Guiccioli. Address to the Po. Lord Byron removes to Ravenna. Becomes the cavalkre servantc of the Countess. Manfred. Lord Byron visits / the hospital of St. Anna, at Ferrara. Lament of Tasso. Extract from some of Tas&o's letters. Evidence of Lord Byron's friendship for Mr. Hobhousc. VI CONTENTS. J Childe Harold, Canto IV. Recollections of Venice. Description of Arqua, where Petrarch lived and died. Visit to Florence. Proceeds to Rome. , Remarks on the Ottava Rhna. Nature of the Whistlecrafts' Prospoctus. ^ Beppo. Mazeppa. The Vampyre, a tale by ])r. Polidori, who afterwards poisoned himself, attributed to Lord Byron. His Lordship reputed a Vampyre. Publishes A Fragment, in order to disabuse the public mind from the Vampyre reports. ......... $6% CHAPTER VIII. Renewal of Lord Byron'g connexion with the Countess Guiccioli at Ravenna. The Count Guiccioli appeals to the Pope's chancery. Resolves to shut his wife up in a convent. She escapes with Lord Byron to Ravenna. Description of the Countess Guiccioli's person. The intrigues of the Carbonari causes Lord Byron and the Count Gamba to retire to Pisa, where the Countess joins them. Lord Byron's regret at leaving Ravenna. His hatred to the Austrian government. fall upon some expedient, without delay, which rilK LIFE AM) WRITINGS Of LOKM BYRON. 27 might serve the purpose of shelter. Accordingly the u mint r, carpen- ter, and some more, turning the culler keel upwards, and fixing it upon props, made no despicable habitation. Having- thus established some sort of settlement, we had the more leisure to look about us. We soon provided ourselves with some sea-fowl, and found limpets, muscles, and other shell-fish, in tolerable abundance; but this rum- maging of the shore was now becoming extremely irksome to those who had any feeling, by the bodies of our drowned people thrown among the rocks, some of which were hideous spectacles, from the mangled condition they were in by the violent surf that drove in upon the coast. These horrors were overcome uy the distresses of our people, who weie even glad of the occasion of killing the gallinazo (the carrion crow of that country) while preying on these carcasses, in order to make a meal of them. But a provision by no means proportionable to the number of mouths to be fed could, by our utmost industry, be. acquired from that part of the island we bad hitherto traversed : therefore, till we were in a capacity of making more distant excursions, the wreck was to be applied to, as often as possible, for such supplies as could be got out of her. The difficulties we had to encounter in our visits to the wreck cannot be easily described; for no part of it being above water except the quarter-deck and part of the forecastle, we were usually obliged to come at such things as were within reach, by means of large hooks fastened to poles, in which business we were much incommoded by the dead bodies floating between decks. ' In order to secure what we thus L'ot, Captain Cheap ordered a store- tent to be erected near his hut, from which nothing was to be dealt out but in the measure and proportion agreed upon by the officers; and though it was very hard upon us petty officers, who were fatigued with hunting all day in quest of food, to defend this tent from invasion by night, no other means could be devised fortius purpose so effec- tual as the committing this charue to our care, let, notwithstanding our utmost vigilance and care, frequent robberies were committed upon our trust, the tent being accessible in more than one place. The al- lowance which might consistently he dispensed from thence was so little proportionable to our common exigencies, together with our daily and nightly task of roving after food, not in the least relaxed, that many at this time perished with hunger. A boy, when no oilier eatables could be found, having picked up the liver of one of the drown- ed men (whose carcass had been torn to pieces by Hie force with which the sea drove it among the rocks), was with difficulty withheld from 28 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF LORD BYRON. making a meal of it. It must be observed that on the 14tl» of May we were cast away, and it was not till the 25th of this month that provision was served regularly from the store-tent. 'Whenever the weather permitted, which was now grown something drier, but exceeding cold, we employed ourselves about the wreck, from which we had, at sundry times, recovered several articles of pro- vision and liquor: these were deposited in the store tent, lil humour and discontent, from the difficulties we laboured under in procuring subsistence, and the little prospect there was of any amendment in our condition, was now breaking out apace. In some it showed itself by a separation of settlement and habitation; in others, by a resolution of leaving the captain entirely, and making a wild journey by them- selves, without determining upon any plan whatever. For my own part, liking none of their parties, I built a little hut just big enough for myself and a poor Indian dog I found in the woods, who could shift for himself along shore at low water, by getting limpets. This crea- ture grew so fond of me, and faithful, that he would suffer nobody to come near the hut without biting them. ' Our number, which was at first one hundred and forty-five, was now reduced to one hundred, and chiefly by famine, which put the rest upon all shifts and devices to support themselves. One day, when I was at home in my hut with my Indian dog, a party came to my door, and told me their necessities were such, that they must eat the crea- ture or starve. Though their plea was urgent, I could not help using some arguments to endeavour to dissuade them from killing him, as his faithful services and fondness deserved it at my hands ; but, with- out weighing my arguments, they took him away by force, and killed him ; upon which, thinking that I had at least as good a right to a share as the rest, I sat down with them, and partook of their repast. Three weeks after that I was glad to make a meal of his paws and skin, which, upon recollecting the spot where they had killed him, I found thrown aside and rotten/ The use which Lord Byron has made of this incident, in the second canto of ' Don Juan/ has exposed him to the charge of plagiarism by some ' learned Theban/ whose name we forget. We subjoin the passage : — ' Hunger's rage grew wild: So Juan's spaniel, spite of his entreating, Was kill'd and portion'd out for present eating. THE LIFE AND WRITINGS Or LORD BYRON. 2l> On the sixth day they fed upon his hide, And Juan, who had still refused, because The creature was his father's dog that died, Now feeling all the vulture in his jaws, With some remorse received (though first denied) As a great favour one of the fore paws, Which he divided with Pedrillo, who Devoured it, longing for the other too/ After enduring hardships, the mere relation of which is frightful, the remnant of the ship's crew, reduced by various desertions to only five persons, were carried by some Indians to the island of Chiloe. Mr. Byron and Captain Cheap were of this party. The apprehensions which they had reasonably enough entertained of rough usage from the inhabitants of Chiloe turned out to be unfounded : they were treated with great humanity, and, for the first time since their shipwreck, had sufficient food, to satisfy their hunger. From the island of Chiloe they were taken to Castro, where the Spanish corregidor of the town gave them to understand that they, being Englishmen, were prisoners to the government of Spain. Here, however, they were also kindly treated, and had a plentiful supply of food : but such an impression had their former privations made upon them, that their appetites seem to have increased to an ungovernable degree, and to have overcome all notions of decency and propriety, even in men whose education and habits had taught them to observe the customs of civilized life. Such a strange thing is human nature, and so nearly do its mere pas- sions ally it to the brutes that perish! Mr. Byron says, speaking of the amazing quantity which he and his companions ate, * It is amazing that our eating to that excess we had done, from the time we first got among these kind Indians, had not killed us ; we were never satisfied, and used to take all opportunities for some months after of filling our pockets when we were not seen, that we might get up twoorthree times in the night to cram ourselves. Capt. Cheap used to declare that he was quite ashamed of himself.' At Castro, Mr. Byron seems to have made an impression on the niece of a rich old priest, of whom she was the re- puted heiress. 'This young lady,' he says, 'did me the honour to take more notice of me than I deserved ; and proposed to her uncle to convert me, and afterwards begged his consent to marry me. As the old man doted upon her, he readily agreed to it; and, .accordingly, on the next visit I made him, acquainted me wilh the young lady's proposal, and his approbation of it, taking me al the same time into a 30 THE MIL AND WRITINGS OF LORD BYRON. room where there were several chests anil boxes, which he unlocked, first showing me what a number of fine clothes his niece had, and then his own wardrobe, which he said should be mine at his death. Amongst other tilings, he produced a piece of linen, which he said should imme- diately be made up into shirts for me. I own this last article was a great temptation to me : however, I had the resolution to withstand it, and made the best excuses I could for not accepting of the honour they intended me ; for by this time I could speak Spanish well enough to make myself understood.' The confession which he makes of the difficulty he had to withstand the temptation of the shirts is a proof how far the love of clean linen will carry a man. At length the prisoners, whom the death of two had reduced to Cap- tain Cheap, Mr. Byron, and Mr. Hamilton, were taken to Chili in the beginning of 1743, where Mr. Byron was hospitably entertained for nearly two years in the house of Don Patricio Gedd, a physician of Scotch family, settled at that place. On the 20,11 of December, 1 744, they were put on board the Lys, a French frigate belonging to St. Malo, and, after a voyage of twelve months, were landed in Brest harbour. They thence obtained a passage in a Dutch vessel ; and, being boarded by the boat of an English ship, they were carried to Dover. The narrative concludes in the following manner: — 'Captain Masterson immediately sent one of the cutters he had with him to land us at Dover, where we arrived that afternoon, and directly set out for Canterbury upon post horses; but Captain Cheap was so tired by the time ite got there that he could proceed no farther that night. The next morning he still found himself so much fa- tigued that he could ride no longer; therefore it was agreed that he and Mr. Hamilton should take a post-chaise, and that I should ride: but here an unlucky difficulty was started; for, upon sharing the little money we had, it was found to he not sufficient to pay the charges to London; and my proportion fell so short, that it was, by calculation, barely enough to pay for horses, without, a farthing for eating a bit upon the road, or even for the very turnpikes. Those I was obliged to defraud, by riding as hard as I could through them all, not paying the least regard to the men, who called out to stop me. The want of refreshment I bore as well as 1 could. When I got to the Borough 1 took a coach ami drove to Marlborough Street, where my friends had lived when I leit England ; but, when I came there, 1 found the house shut up. Having been absent so many years, and in all that time THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF LORD BYRON. 31 never having heard a word from home, I knew not who was dead or who was living, or where to go next, or even how to pay the coach- man. T recollected a linen-draper's shop, not far from thence, which our family had used : 1 therefore drove there next, and, making my- self known, they paid the coachman. I then inquired after our family, and was told my sister had married Lord Carlisle, and was at that time in Soho Square. I immediately walked to the house, and knocked at the door; hut the porter not liking- my figure, which was half French, half Spanish, with the addition of a large pair of hoots covered with dirt, he was going to shut the door in my face; hut I prevailed with him to let me come in. 'I need not acquaint my readers with what surprise andjoy my sister received me. She immediately furnished me with money sufficient to appear like the rest of my countrymen : till that time I could not be properly said to have finished all the extraordinary scenes which a series of unfortunate adventures had kept me in for the space of five years and upwards/ The sister of whom he speaks was Isahella Countess of Carlisle — a lady who was distinguished more for that eccentricity of manners which seems to have run in the family than for her poetical talent, of which she was somewhat proud. She wrote the Answer to Mrs. Greville's ingenious ' Prayer for Indifference,' which is published along with that poem in some of the collections : she is said also to have been the author of some clever letters on the Education of Daughters. The present Earl of Carlisle is the son of this lady, and the author of some tragedies which are sufficiently bad; but not so bad as to justify his noble relative, the subject of our work, in putting his kinsman and guar- dian among such company as occupy the following lines in 'English Bards and Scotcli Reviewers :'— 'LetStott, Carlisle, Matilda, and the re^t— Of Giub Street and of Grosvenor Place the best — Scrawl on till death release us from the strain, Or Common Sense assert benights again.' To return, however, to Commodore Byron — the perils which he had passed, great as they were, could not turn him from the profession of his choice. He continued in the service, and was promoted to the rank of captain. In the year 1758 the command of a small squadron was given to him, and he sailed for North America with the rank of Commodore of the British Ships off Louisbourg. He was employed 32 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OP LORD BYRON. to destroy the fortifications of that place, and to remove the stores to Halifax, which commission he executed. In 1764, when the project of ascertaining whether there actually existed a southern continent became popular, Commodore Byron was thought the person best qualified to conduct an expedition for that purpose. He bent his course towards the coast where he had suffered o much before, and there had a friendly interview with some of the gigantic people who inhabit it. He afterwards took possession of the largest of Falkland's Islands ; and having satisfactorily fulfilled his mission, and circumnavigated the globe, he returned home. He was afterwards promoted to the rank of admiral, and employed in the American war ; but such was the singular fatality which at- tended him, that the weather always prevented his bringing the enemy to an engagement. His talents and his courage were beyond all question ; but his ill luck was so constant and so notorious, that the nickname of 'Foul-weather Jack' was bestowed on him throughout the fleet. It was for this reason that the sailors in general were un- willing to sail with him ; and notwithstanding his kindness to all their wants and interests, which engaged their affection and respect for him, they had so strong a superstition that foul weather must attend him wherever he went, that they vould scarcely ever willingly enter his ships. It was not, however, in his professional career that he was only unhappy : his domestic connexions were productive of the greatest affliction to him. One of his daughters married William, the fifth Lord Byron, whose fatal duel with Mr. Chaworth we have already mentioned, and by whom she was treated with the greatest brutality. They had no children, and it was in failure of their issue that the late Lord Byron succeeded to the title. The admiral's eldest son was another source of misery to his father, and, indeed, to every one with whom he was in any degree connected. He was born in the year 1751 ; and after having passed through Westminster school, where he was educated, with the reputation of having excellent parts, but very little disposition to cultivate them, his father bought him a commission in the Guards. He devoted him- self to that irregularity and debauchery, which was even then more com- mon among young men of fashion than it is at the present day. He was shunned by all sober men, feared even by his associates, and of course loved by all the ladies of high rank and light character in town. He seems, indeed, to have been eminently qualified to catch the hearts of THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF LORD BYRON. 33 the fair, for he was handsome, brave, and a libertine. Without one atom of feeling or principle, he pursued his amours for the two-fold purpose of satisfying his passions and supplying Ids purse. It was not the beauty of his fair innamorate that contented him, but he levied pecuniary contributions on them also; and thus made his in- trigues of the back stairs supply the frequent draughts which the gaming-table made on his finances. Husbands in high life have in general so much regard for their own throats, and such laudably phi- losophical notions respecting their wives' chastity, that they wink at * chartered libertinesMike Jack Byron. They knew that he would be quite as ready to fight them as to lie with their wives; and being unquestionably very valiant, but not less discreet, they thought fit to suffer him to hold on in his career unchecked. In the mean time, however, it was ruin to a young man to associate with him; and no women but those whose reputations were already beyond suspicion could suffer even his acquaintance with impunity. His amour with the ill-fated Lady Carmarthen excited a great share of the public attention, and so much indignation against him, that instead of being feared by one description of persons, and repro'ated by others, he became universally hated and despised. The poor lady, who paid the penalty of her crime by a broken heart and early death, commanded the sympathy of every feeling mind, notwithstanding the folly and the fault she had committed. Lady Carmarthen was the only daughter of the Earl of Holdernesse, and was married at the age of nineteen to the Marquis of Carmarthen, afterwards Duke of Leeds, he being then only two-and- twenty years old. It appears that the marriage was one purely of affection; the equality of age and rank gave every promise of future happiness, and for some years after their union this promise was fulfilled. They had three children between November, 1773, when they were married, and 1778, when Lady Carmarthen unfortunately became acquainted with Captain Byron. Up to the latter period there can be no doubt that the affection of Lord and Lady Carmarthen was entirely reciprocal. Her ladyship, indeed, gave one proof of it on her own part, which is cal- culated to cause still greater pity for the suffering which her guilty yielding to her seducer afterwards brought upon her. The Marquis was seized with a violent fever, in consequence of which his life was in imminent danger. Her ladyship, during the whole of his illness, never left his bedside; to her unremitting assiduity he was indebted for the preservation of his life, and her own was placed in great peril in conse- F '54 THF. LIFE AND WRITINGS OF LORD BYRON. quence of the fatigue she had undergone. This instance of her affec- tion, while it increased his lordship's regard for her, induced him to be very reluctant in believing the reports which her subsequent misconduct gave rise to; and it was not until he received absolute conviction of her guilt and his own dishonour that he resorted to the only means that were left him of wiping off the stain. If it did not invariably happen in affairs of this description that the husband is the last person to hear of the injury which has been done him, we should wonder that the Marquis of Carmarthen could have re- mained ignorant of a fact which not only every servant in his own house knew, but which was the town-talk. Captain Byron was in the habit of going to the house of the marquis whenever the latter happened to be out of town. He does not seem to have taken the most common precau- tions against a discovery. The servants found him, on one occasion, fast asleep in her ladyship's chamber; and on another he walked down stairs whistling a tune after he. had passed the night in the same place. Her ladyship was in the habit of writing frequently to her paramour; and it was by means of one of these billets that her intrigue was dis- covered. The servant who was intrusted with the delivery of it did as all servants do by all the letters that fall into their hands ; that is to say, he read it; and, being seized with a sudden fit of virtue, he told the housekeeper, an old servant of Lady lloldernesse's, who thought she should best consult the honour of the family by disclosing the affair to her former mistress. Lady Holdernesse was a person of such strict propriety and inflexible principle, that she was hardly dis- posed to conceal the affair from the Marquis of Carmarthen ; believing, perhaps, also, that, after the iength to which affairs had gone, it would be impossible to reclaim her daughter from the fatal passion which had taken possession of her. The old lady had, however, an interview with Lady Carmarthen, in which her own maternal feelings and her daugh- ter's apparent repentance, and assurances that she would renounce Cap- tain Byron for ever, so far prevailed on her, that she consented the matter should be hushed up. The servant who had made the disco- very was bribed to silence, and for a short time it seemed that the danger was over. Some of the Marquis of Carmarthen's friends, however, now thought it necessary to represent to him that his lady's conduct was the theme of the scandalous world, and prevailed upon him to have her move- ments watched. Her imprudence soon furnished them with un- equivocal proofs of her guilt. Her paramour was absent from London, and, having occasion for a supply of money, he wrote to the mar- THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF LORD BYRON. 35 chioness, requesting her to send him as much as she could. She who had loved him too well to hesitate at the surrender of her honour and her character, did not pause upon the application, hut immediately sent him bank-notes to the amount of one hundred pounds, and with them a letter in which she begged him to come to her. She expressed in this letter the most boundless love for him, and informed him that, the marquis being out of town, they could again enjoy each other's society without the fear of detection. This letter never reached its destination* being intercepted by the agents of the marquis. Captain Byron came to town full of wonder at receiving no answer to his very urgent appli- cation ; and the eclaircissement which took place on his seeing her lady- ship of course convinced them that their connexion was no longer a secret. They learnt that the servants had been examined ; and Lady Carmarthen immediately left her own house, and went to that of Ad- miral Byron. A suit for a divorce was then commenced by the mar- quis, to which no defence was offered on the part of his lady ; and sen- tence was pronounced of a separation between them, a mensa et thoro. Lord and Lady Holdernesse and the old admiral exerted themselves to bring about a marriage between the guilty parties, as the only means of repairing the lady's character: in this they succeeded, but her hap- piness was blighted for ever. Her new husband was brutal and un- principled; his passion for her, which was never, perhaps, very ar- dent, had now entirely subsided ; and after lingering out two years of uninterrupted misery, during which she bore him a daughter, the wretched lady died of remorse, and the incurable pains of a broken heart. Captain Byron was married a second lime, to Miss Gordon, of Gight, in 1785. This lady was of one of the most ancient families in Scotland., and possessed in her own right of a very considerable estate in Aberdeenshire. She, however, experienced tiie fate of every one who came in contact with Captain Byron : he dissipated the whole of her property, and, soon after the birth of his only son, the late Lord Byron, he totally abandoned her: he went to live at Valenciennes, where death put an end to his powers of doing mischief in 1791. He was one of those beings who seem lo possess the active principles of evil alone, and who are permitted to exist for no other purpose, as far as human knowledge can penetrate, but lo work out the punishment of others. The death of the fifth Lord Byron's eldest son having taken place in the same year as the late Lord Byron was born, the latter be- came on his father's death the heir apparent to the honours and estates of the family, which were limited on the heirs male. 36 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF LORD BYRON. CHAPTER II. George Gordon Byron was born on his mother's estate in Aber- deenshire, on the 22d of January, 1788. The extravagance of her hus- band soon afterwards reduced her income to little more than a bare competence; and his subsequent desertion, which compelled her to re" tire to lodgings in the city of Aberdeen, left her no care nor employ- ment but that of educating her son. Her amiable temper and accom- plished mind qualified her for this task, so far as it could be effected by a female; but the infirmity of her child's constitution during his earlier years rendered any thing like application inconsistent with the preser- vation of his health. A lameness, the consequence of the malforma- tion of one of his feet, and some symptoms indicating a tendency towards consumption, induced his mother to suffer him to spend his time at this period of his life with very little restraint. He was permitted to roam at will through the romantic scenery in the neighbourhood of Aberdeen ; and perhaps it was this practice that first cherished those sparks of genius which afterwards burst into ho brilliant a blaze. The effect which the objects of Nature, in her wildest and most sublime forms, (and such are those which she presents in Aberdeenshire,) cau produce upon a mind in which the principles of poetry lie hid are little short of inspiration ; that Lord Byron's was such a mind, and that such were the habits of his infancy, being beyond doubt, seem to prove irrefragably the truth of the position, and to give an air of prophecy to Beattie's delightful poem : — Lo ! where the stripling, rapt in wonder, roves Beneath the precipice o'erhung witii pine; And sees, on high, amidst the encircling groves, From cliff to cliff the foaming torrents shine ! While waters, woods, and winds, in concert join, And Echo swells the chorus to the skies. * * * * And oft he trac'd the uplands, to survey, When o'er the cloud advanced the kindling dawn, The crimson cloud, blue main, and mountain grey, And lake, dim gleaming on the smoky lawn : Far to the west the long long vale withdrawn, Where twilight loves to linger for a while, ; And uow he faintly kens the bounding lawn, And villager abroad at early toil. But, lo ! the sun appears ! and heaven, earth, ocean, smile. THE LIIK AND WRITINGS OF LORD BYRON. xJ7 And oft the craggy tlifl' he loved to climb, When all in mist the world below was lost. What dreadful pleasure ! there to stand sublime, Like shipwreck'd mariner on desert coast, And view th* enormous waste of vapour, tost In billows, lengthening to the horizon round Now scoop'd in gulfs, with mountains now emboss'd ! And hear the voice of mirth and song rebound — Flocks, herds, and waterfalls, along the hoar profound ! The following account of Lord Byron's early days, by a school- fellow, is characteristic, and, we have every reason to believe, quite faithful: — 'As soon as circumstances permitted, he was sent to the Grammar School, and there, though he did not show any symptoms of talent superior to that of his fellow-students, he was among the boldest and bravest of them all. Though weak in body, he was invincible in mind ; and in all sports and amusements which were of a manly nature he took the lead among his schoolfellows. Riding upon horses, fishing, sailing, swimming, and all those occupations which had something of spirit in them, were congenial to his mind ; and in all these he con- ducted himself with a dignity far surpassing what could have been expected from one of his years. Although by no means the sfrongest either in frame or in constitution, he was exceedingly brave; and in the juvenile wars of the school he generally had the victory. Upon one occasion, a boy who had been attacked, rather without just cause, took refuge in his mother's house; and he interposed his authority to say that nobody should be ill used while under his roof and protection. Upon this the aggressor dared him to fight ; and, though the boy was by much the stronger of the two, the spirit of Byron was so determined, that, after they had fought for nearly two hours, the combat had to be suspended, because both were out of breath. ' The most remarkable circumstance of Byron at this time was ex- treme sensibility of mind; and he was exceedingly attached to the customs of the remote place in which he was born, and deeply im- pressed by the legends and sayings which were common among the people. ' One of his schoolfellows had a little Shetland pony ; and, one day, the two together had got the pony to take an alternate ride, or to " ride and tie/' as it was vulgarly called, along the banks of the Don. When they came to the old bridge, Byron stopped his companion, and 38 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF LORD BYRON. insisted that he should dismount, while lie himself rode along the bridge ; " for," said he, " you remember the prophecy — " Brig o' Balgownie, though wight be thy wa', Wi' a widow's ae son, an' a mare's ae foal, Down thou'lt fa'! " Now who knows but the pony may be a ' mare's ae foal ;' and we are both ' widows ae sons ;' but you have a sister, and I have nobody to lament for me but my mother." The other boy consented ; but, as soon as young Byron had escaped the'terrors of the bridge, the other insisted upon following his example. He, too, rode safely across, and they concluded that the pony was not the only production of its mother. 'As an instance of his sensibility, it may be mentioned that, when his name was first called out in the catalogue as " Georgius Dominus de Byron," the boys set up a shout, which the master could not sup- press ; and this had such an effect upon him, that it was with great difficulty he could be prevailed upon to continue at the school. His elevation seemed to give him no great pleasure; and the distance which many of his old companions felt it proper to keep from him, upon its being made generally known, gave him so much pain that he sometimes burst into tears. < At that time, though he was occasionally a moody and thoughtful boy, he was the foremost and gayest in all the more manly sports; but he was extremely kind-hearted, and would not be guilty of any act of cruelty or injustice. All who knew him at that time must hold his memory in the greatest respect.' The death of his noble relative, in 1798, altogether changed the prospects of the subject of these memoirs. His right to the family honours was acknowledged; the Earl of Carlisle undertook the office of his guardian ; and he was sent to Harrow School, to receive an edu- cation more suitable to his rank and fortune than could be procured at the humble Grammar School of Aberdeen. In his progress through thisjustly famous seminary beseems to have differed little from ordinary boys; and perhaps, indeed, at this period, he was but an ordinary bov. The restraint was, of course, hateful to him, because it was repugnant to his temper, and totally opposite to the habits in which he had, up to this time of his life indulged. The nature of the studies to which he was compelled do not seem to have been very congenial with his feelings or his temper; and, although he had every disposition to THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF LOKD BYRON. :$!) be a student, he hail no affection for being a scholar. He has said 'I abhorr'd Too much to conquer for the poet's sake The drill'd dull lesson, forced down word by word, In my repugnant youth with pleasure to record.' It was for this reason, probably, that he neither distinguished himself much at Harrow nor at Trinity College, Cambridge, whither he went on his leaving the former school. His impatience of every kind of domi- nation exposed him to frequent squabbles with the persons having au- thority in college ; and he quitted Cambridge without having excited in the minds of those persons any suspicion that he possessed either talents, or a disposition to cultivate them, beyond those of the l mob of gentlemen' who fill that university. A thousand absurd stories are told of his extravagancies at college, in which, like those of gentle Master Shallow, ' every third word is a lie, more religiously paid than the Turk's tribute/ and which, if they were true, are not worth retailing. From the fact of his having, for a short time, kept a young bear in his rooms at Trinity College, many fruitful inventions have sprung. Among others, it is said he told the master of Trinity that he intended his bear should ' sit for a fellowship.' This is untrue ; and, if it were otherwise, it would be only a bad attempt to imitate the brutal madman, Lord Camelford, who threatened to return his black servant to Parliament for one of his boroughs ; or that better story of Rabelais, who had his mule entered as a member of the Sorbonne, under the title of "Doctor Johannes Caballus.' Although, however, Lord Byron, either from waywardness or pride, did not choose to take a part in the strife for college distinctions, his life was not quite an idle one. His devotion to poetry had long been manifested; and he had occasionally written verses, which, being far superior to the compositions of young men in general, had received the too flattering approbation of his friends. Having quitted college at nineteen, he was induced soon afterwards to publish some of these poems at Newark, under the title of ' Hours of Idleness. ' This first step which he made in the career of literature decided his fate for life, and he became, as Voltaire said to a young man of genius, whose pre- mature death disappointed the hopes which had been formed of him, ' a poet and a man of letters ; not because he chose to be so, but because Nature had so decreed.' There was no evading the destiny 40 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF LORD BYRON. which had been allotted him ; and although he, perhaps, never dreamed, when he published the works of his boyhood, that he should step from them to the highest and most noble place in the literature of his country, yet it is to this circumstance alone that he owes his ce- lebrity,, Whatever has proceeded from the pen of so highly gifted a genius as Lord Byron possesses an interest beyond its own intrinsic merit. Feeble as these poems are when compared with his subsequent writings, they serve to mark, however, indistinctly, the progress which the human mind can make under certain circumstances; and, although they do not amount to proofs, they furnish very important data for those who delight to inquire into the nature of our being, and the exertions which intellect is capable of making. It is for this reason, as well as because the poems are pleasing in themselves, that we have sub- joined the greater and the better part of those contained in the 'Hours of Idleness.* The reader will be enabled, by means of the dates which are annexed to many of the pieces, to ascertain the age of the poet at the period of their composition. 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 j it howls in thy empty courts.— Ossi an. 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 in battle Led their vassals from Europe to Palestine's plain, The escutcheon and shield, which with every blast rattle, Are the only sad vestiges now that remain. No more doth old Robert, with harp-stringing numbers, 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. * Horistan Castle, in Derbyshire, an ancient seat of the Byron family THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF LORD BYRON. 41 Paul and Hubert too sleep, in the valley of Cressy ; For the safety of Edward and England they fell ; My falhers ! the tears of your country redress ye ; How you fought ! how you died! still her annals can tell. On Marston* with Rupert f 'gainst traitors contending, Four brothers enrich'd with their blood the bleak field ; For the rights of a monarch their country defending, Till death their attachment to royalty seal'd. Shades of heroes, farewell ! your descendant, departing From the seat of his ancestors, bids you adieu ! 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 he cherish ; He vows that he ne'er will disgrace your renown: Like you will he live, or like you will he perish ; Wheu decay'd, may he mingle his dust with your own! EPITAPH ON A FRIEND. Ac-7>jo frgtv jUfy ihap.Ti; tvi %woiaiv luo;, — Laertiits. Oh ! friend for ever lov'd for ever dear ! What fruitless tears have bath'd thy honour'd bier ! What sighs re-echoed 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, * The battle of Marston Moor, where the adherents of Charles I. weie de- feated. t Son of the Elector Palatine, and related to Charles I. He afterwards com- manded the fleet in the reign of Charles II. G 4-> THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF LORD BYRON. Here wilt thou read, recorded on my heart, A grief too deep to trust the sculptor's art. No marble marks the 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 sooth 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. A FRAGMENT. When to their airy hall my father's voice Shall call my spirit, joyful in their choice; When, pois'd 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 : 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. THE TEAR. O lachrymarum fons, tenero sacros Ducentium ortus ex animo ; quater Felix ! in imo qui scatentem Pectore te, pia Nympha, sensit. When friendship or love Our sympathies move, When truth in a dance should appear, Gray, THE Ul J-: ANi) WRITINGS OF LUKD BYRON, 43 The lips may beguile AVitli a dimple or smile, But the test of affection \s a Tear. Too oft is a smile But the hypocrite's wile, To mark detestation or fear; Give rne the soft sigh, Whilst the soul-telling eye Is dimmed for a time with a Tear. Mild Charity's glow, To us mortals below, Shows the soul from barbarity clear ; Compassion will melt Where this virtue is felt, And its dew is diffused in a Tear. 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, And bathes every wound with a Tear. If with high-bounding pride He return to his bride, Renouncing the uore-crimson'd spear, All his toils are repaid, When, embracing the maid, From her eyelid he kisses the Tear. .Sweet, scene of my youth. Seat of friendship and truth, Where love chased each fast-tied in?: year 44 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF LORD BYRON. Loath to leave thee, I mournM, For a last look I turn'd, But thy spire was scarce seen through a Tear. Though my vows I can pour To my Mary no more — My Mary to Love once so dear — In the shade of her bower, I remember the hour, She rewarded those vows with a Tear. By another possessM, May she live ever bless'd ! Her name still my heart must revere : With a sigh I resign What I once thought was mine, And forgive her deceit with a Tear. Ye friends of my heart, Ere from you I depart, This hope to my breast is most near : — • If again we shall meet In this rural retreat, May we meet, as we part, with a Tear ! When my soul wings her flight To the regions of night, And my corse shall recline on its bier, As ye pass by the tomb Where my ashes consume, Oh ! moisten their dust with a Tear. May no marble bestow The splendour of woe, Which the children of Vanity rear ! No fiction of fame Shall blazon my name ; All I ask, all I wish, is a Tear. 1806. THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF LORD BYRON. 45 AN OCCASIONAL PROLOGUE, DELIVERED PREVIOUS TO THE PERFORMANCE OF 'THE WHEEL OF FORTUNE' AT A PRIVATE THEATRE. Since the refinement of this polish'd age Has swept immoral raillery from the stage ; Since taste has now expung'd licentious wit, Which stamped disgrace on all an author writ; Siuce now to please with purer scenes we seek. Nor dare to call the blush from Beauty's cheek; Oh ! let the modest Muse some pity claim, And meet indulgence, though she find not fame ! Still, not for her alone we wish respect, Others appear more conscious of defect; To-night no veteran Roscii you behold, In all the arts of scenic action old ; No Cooke, no Kemble, can salute you here, No Siddons draw the sympathetic tear; To-night you throng to witness the debut Of embryo actors, to the drama new. Here, then, our almost unfledged wings we try, Clip not our pinions ere the birds can fly : Failing in this our first attempt to soar, Drooping, alas! we fall to rise no more. Not one poor trembler only fear betrays, Who hopes, yet almost dreads, to meet your praise; But all our dramatis personce wait, In fond suspense, this crisis of their fate. No venal views our progress can retard, Your generous plaudits are our sole reward ; For these each hero all his power displays, Each timid heroine shrinks before your gaze. Surely the last will some protection find ■ None to the softer sex can prove unkind : Whilst youth and beauty form the female shield, The sternest censor to the fair must yield. Yet, should our feeble efforts nought avail ; Should, after all, our best endeavours fail • Still let some mercy in your bosoms live, And, if you can't applaud, at least forgive. 40 THE LIFE AM) WHITINGS OF LOUD JiYltOW. STANZAS TO A LADY, WITH THE POEMS OF CAMOENS. This votive pledge of fond esteem, Perhaps, dear girl ! from methou'lt prize, It sings of Love's enchanting dream — A theme we never can despise. Who blames it but the envious fool, The old and disappointed maid — Or pupil of the prudish school, In single sorrow doom/d to fade ? Then read, dear girl ! — with feeling read For thou wilt ne'er be one of those ; To thee, in vain, 1 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 ! TO M * * *. Oh ! did those eyes, instead of fire, With bright, but mild, affection shine; Though they might kindle less desire. Love more than mortal would be thine. For thou art form'd so heavenly fair, Howe'er those orbs may wildly beam, We must admire, but still despair ; That fatal glance forbids esteem. When Nature stamped thy beauteous birth, So much perfection in thee shone, She fear'd that, too divine for earth, The skies might claim thee for their own Therefore, to guard her dearest work, Lest angels might dispute the prize, She bade a secret lightning lurk Within those once-celestial eves, THE LITE AND WRITINGS OF LORD BYKON. 47 These might the boldest sylph appal, When gleaming with meridian blaze; Thy beauty must enrapture all, But who can dare thine ardent gaze ? 'Tis said that Berenice's hair In stars adorns the vault of heaven ; But they would ne'er permit thee there, Thou wouldst so far outshine the seven. For, did those eyes as planets roll, Thy sister lights would scarce appear; Even suns, which systems now control, Would twinkle dimly through their sphere. 1806. TO WOMAN. Woman ! experience might have told me That all must love thee who behold thee; Surely experience might have taught Thy firmest promises are nought ; But, placed in all thy charms before me, All I forget but to adore thee. Oh, Memory ! thou choicest blessing, When join'd with hope, when still possessing; But how much cursed by every lover When hope is fled, and passion 's over ! Woman ! that fair and fond deceiver, How prompt are striplings to believe her ! How throbs the pulse when first we view The eye that rolls in glossy blue; Or sparkles black, or mildly throws A beam from under hazel brows ! How quick we credit every oath, And hear her plight the willing troth ! Fondly we hope 'twill last for aye, When, lo ! she changes in a day. This record will for ever stand — ' Woman, thy vows are traced in sand.'* The last line is almost a literal translation from a Spanish proverb. 48 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF LORD BYRON. TO M. S. G. When T dream that you love me, you'll surely forgive ; Extend not your anger to sleep ; For in visions alone your affection can live — I rise, and it leaves me to weep. Then, Morpheus ! envelop my faculties fast, Shed o'er me your languor benign ! Should the dream of to-night but resemble the last, What rapture celestial is mine ! They tell us that Slumber, the sister of Death, Mortality's emblem is given; To Fate how I long to resign my frail breath, If this be a foretaste of Heaven ! Ah ! frown not, sweet lady ! unbend your soft brow, Nor deem me too happy in this; If I sin in my dream, I atone for it now, Thus doom'd but to gaze upon bliss. Though in visions, sweet lady, perhaps you may smile, Oh ! think not my penance deficient ; When dreams of your presence my slumbers beguile, To awake will be torture sufficient. SONG. When I rov'd, a young Highlander, o'er the dark heath And climiyd thy steep summit, oh! Morveu of snow ; To gaze on the torrent that thunder'd beneath, Or the mist of the tempest that gather'd below ;f Untutor'd by science, a stranger to fear, And rude as the rocks where my infancy grew, No feeling, save one, to my bosom was dear — Need I say, my sweet Mary, 'twas centred in you ? * Morven ; a lofty mountain in Aberdeenshire : ' Gormal of snow' is an ex- pression frequently to be found in Ossian. t This will not appear extraordinary to those who have been accustomed to the mountains ; it is by no means uncommon, on attaining the top of Ben-e-vis, Ben-y- bourd, &c. to perceive, between the summit and the valley, clouds pouring down rain, and occasionally accompanied by lightning; while the spectator literally looks down upon the storm, perfectly secure from its effects. .+• THE LTFE AND WRITINGS OF LORD BYRON. 4 <• The pibroch § resouuds, to the piper's loud number, Your deeds, on the echoes of dark Loch na Garr ! Years liavc roll'd on, Loch na Garr, since I left you, Years must elapse ere I tread you again ; Nature of verdure and flowers has bereft you, Yet still are you dearer than Albion's plain. England! thy beautiea are tame and domestic To one who has roved on the mountains afar ; Oh ! for the crags that are wild and majestic — The steep frowning glories of dark Loch na Garr ! TO ROMANCE. Parent of golden dreams, Romance ! Auspicious queen of childish joys ! Who lead'st along in airy dance Thy votive train of girls and boys ; At length, in spells no longer bound, I break the fetters of my youth ; No more I tread thy mystic round, But leave thy realms for those of Truth. * 1 allude here to my maternal ancestors, 'the Gordons,' many of whom fought for the unfortunate Prince Charles, better known by the name of the Pretender. This branch was nearly allied by blood, as well as attachment, to the Stewarts. George, the second Earl of Huntley, married the Princess Annabella Stewart, daughter of James I. of Scotland ; by her he left four sons : the third, Sir William Gordon, I h ave the honour to claim as one of my progenitors. t Whether any perished in the battle of Culloden 1 am not certain ; but, as many fell in the insurrection, I have used the name of the principal action, ' pars pro toto.' J A tract of the Highlands so called ; there is also a castle of Braemar. § The bagpipe. THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF LORD BYRON. And yet 'tis hard to quit the dreams Which haunt the unsuspicious soul, Where every nymph a goddess seems, Whose eyes through rays immortal roll ; While Fancy holds her boundless reign, And all assume a varied hue ; When virgins seem no longer vain, And even Woman's smiles are true. And must we own thee but a name, And from thy hall of clouds descend ; Nor find a sylph in every dame, A Py lades* in every friend; But leave, at once, thy realms of air To mingling hands of fairy elves; Confess that Woman's false as fair. And friends have feeling for— themselves With shame I own Pve felt thy sway ; Repentant, now thy reign is o'er, No more thy precepts I obey, No more on fancied pinions soar. Fond fool ! to love a sparkling eye. And think that eye to Truth was dear To trust a passing wanton's sigh, Romance ! disgusted with deceit. Far from thy motley court 1 fly, Where Affectation holds her seat, And sickly Sensibility; Whose silly tears can never flow For any pangs excepting thine ; Who turns aside from real woe, To steep in dew thy gaudy shrine. * It is hardly necessary to add that Pylades was the companion of Orestes, and a partner in one of those friendships which, with those of Achilles and Patroelus, Nisns and Euryalus, Damon and Pythias, have heen handed down to posterity a^ remarkable instances of attachments which, in ail prohahilil v. ne\er existed bevond "lie imagination of the poet, die page of an historian, or modem novelist. TUP. LIFE AND WRITING*! OF LOUD BYRON. 9-3 Now join with sable Sympathy, Willi cypress crownM, array'd in weeds, Who heaves with thee her simple sigh, Wiiose breast for every bosom bleeds; And call thy sylvan female quire To mourn a swain for ever gone, Who once could glow with equal lire, But bends not now before thy throne. Ye. genial nymphs, whose ready tears On all occasions swiftly flow; Whose bosoms heave with fancied fears, With fancied flames and frenzy glow ; Say, will you mourn my absent name, Apostate from your gentle train ? An infant bard, at least, may claim From you a sympathetic strain. Adieu ! fond race, a long 1 adieu ! The hour of fate is hovering nigh ; Even now the gulf appears in view, Where, unlamented, you must lie : Oblivion's blackening lake is seen, Convulsed by gales you cannot weather, Where you, and eke your gentle queen, Alas ! must perish altogether. CHILDISH RECOLLECTIONS. cannot but remember such things were, and were most dear to me.' Macbeth. ' Et dulces moriens reminiscitur Argos.' — Virgil. When slow Disease, with all her host of pains, Chills the warm tide which flows along the veins ; When Health, affrighted, spreads her rosy wing, And flies with every changing gale of spring; Not to the aching frame alone confin'd, Unyielding pangs assail the drooping mind : What grisly forms, the spectre train of woe ! Bid shuddering Nature shrink beneath the blow, 0(i THE LIFE AND WHITINGS OE LORD BYRON. With Resignation wage relentless strife, While Hope retires appall'd, and clings to life! Yet less the pang - , when, through the tedious hour, Remembrance sheds around her genial power, Calls back the vauish'd days to rapture given, When Love was bliss, and Beauty forin'd our heaven; Or, dear to youth, pourtrays each childish scene, Those fairy bowers, where all in turn have been. As when, through clouds that pour the summer storm. The orb of day unveils his distant form, Gilds with faint beams the crystal dews of rain, And dimly twinkles o'er the watery plain ; Thus, while the future dark and cheerless gleams, The Sun of Memory, glowing through my dreams. Though sunk the radiance of his former blaze, To scenes far distant points his paler rays, Still rules my senses with unbounded sway, The past confounding with the present day. Oft does my heart indulge the rising thought, Which still recurs, unlook'd for, and unsought; My soul to Fancy's fond suggestion yields, And roams romantic o'er her airy fields; Scenes of my youth develop 'd crowd to view, To which I long have paid a last adieu ! THE DEATH OF CALMAR AND ORLA, AN IMITATION OF MACPHERSON's OSSIAN.* Dear are the days of youth ! Age dwells on their remembrance through the mist of time. In the twilight he recalls the sunny hours of morn. He lifts his spear with trembling hand. ' Not thus feebly did I raise the steel before my fathers !' Past is the race of heroes ! but their fame rises on the harp; their souls ride on the wings of the wind ! they hear the sound through the sighs of the storm, and rejoice in their hall of clouds! Such is Calmar ! The grey stone marks his * It may bo necessary to observe that tbe story, though considerably varied in tbe catastropbe, is taken f;>ni ' Ni.-'is and Eurjmlus,' of which episode a transla- tion is already given in the present vol THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OE LORD BYRON. 97 narrow house. He looks down from eddying tempests; he rolls his form in the whirlwind, and hovers on the blast of the mountain. [n Morven dwelt the chief — a beam of war to Fingal. His steps in the field were marked in blood; Lochlin' s sons had fled before his angry spear: but mild was the eye ofCalmar; soft was the flow of his yellow locks; they streamed like the meteor of the night. No maid was the sigh of his soul; his thoughts were given to friendship, to dark-haired Orla, destroyer of heroes! Equal were their swords in battle; but fierce was the pride of Orla; gentle alone to Calmar Togetherthey dwelt in the cave of Oithona. From Lochlin, Swaran bounded o'er the blue waves. Erin's sons fell beneath his might. Fingal roused his chiefs to combat. Their ships cover the ocean ; their hosts throng on the green hills. They come to the aid of Erin. Night rose in clouds. Darkness veils the armies. But the blazing oaks gleam through the valley. The sons of Lochlin slept; their dreams were of blood. They lift the spear, in thought, and Fingal flies. Not so the host of Morven. To watch was the post of Orla. Calmar stood by his side. Their spears were in their hands. Fingal called his chiefs : they stood around. The king was in the midst. Grey were his looks, but strong was the arm of the king : age withered not his powers. ' Sons of Morven/ said the hero, ' to-morrow we meet the foe ; but where is Cuthullin, the shield of Erin ? He rests in the halls of Tm a ; he knows not of our coming. Who will speed through Loch- lin to the hero, and call the chief to arms ? The path is by the swords of foes, but many are my heroes ; they are thunderbolts of war: speak, ye chiefs, who will arise?' 'Son of Trenmor ! mine be the deed,' said dark-haired Orla, 'and mine alone. What is death to me? I love the sleep of the mighty; but little is the danger. The sons of Lochlin dream. I will seek car- borne Cuthullin. If I fall, raise the song of bards; and lay me by the stream of Lubar.' 'And shalt thou fall alone?' said fair-haired Calmar. 'Wilt thou leave thy friend afar? Chief of Oithona ! not feeble is my arm in light. Could 1 see thee die, and not lift the spear ? No, Orla! ours has been tiie chase of the roebuck, and the feast of shells ; ours be the path of danger. Ours has been the cave of Oithona ; ours be the narrow dwelling on the banks of Lubar.' 'Calmar/ said the Chief of Oithona, ' why should thy yellow locks be darkened in the dust of Erin ? Let me fall alone. My father dwells in his hall of air : he will rejoice in his boy : but the blue-eyed Mora spreads the feast for her son in Morven. She listens to the steps of the hunter on the o Oy THE LIFE AM) WHITINGS OF LORD BYRON. heath, and thinks il is the tread of Calmar. Let him not say " Calinar has fallen by the steel of Lochlin ; he died with gloomy Orla, the chief of the dark brow." Why should tears dim the azure eye of Mora*' Why should her voice curse Orla, the destroyer of Calmar ? Live, Cal- mar ! Live to raise my stone of moss ; live to revenge me in the blood of Lochlin. Join the song- of bards above my grave. Sweet will be the song of death to Orla from the voice of Calmar. My ghost shall smile on the notes of praise/ ' Orla/ said the son of Mora, 'could I raise the song of death to my friend P Could I give his fame to the winds P No, my heart would speak in sighs ; faint and broken are the sounds of sorrow. Orla ! our souls shall hear the song together. One cloud shall be ours on high ; the bards will mingle the names of Orla and Calmar/ They quit the circle of the chiefs. Their steps are to the host of Lochlin. The dying blaze of oak dim twinkles through the night. The northern star points the path to Tura. Swaran, the king, rests on his lonely hill. Here the troops are mixed; they frown in sleep, their shields beneath their heads. Their swords gleam at distance in heaps. The fires are faint; their embers fail in smoke. All is hushed ; but the gale sighs on the rocks above. Lightly wheel the heroes through the slumbering band. Half the journey is past, when Mathon, resting on his shield, meets the eye of Orla. It rolls in flame, and glistens through the shade : his spear is raised on high. * Why dost thou bend thy brow, Chief of Oithona?' said fair-haired Calmar; ' we are in the midst of foes. Is this a time for delay V 'It is a time for vengeance/ said Orla of the gloomy brow. * Mathon of Lochlin sleeps: seest thou his spear? Its point is dim with the gore of my father. The blood of Mathon shall reek on mine; but shall I slay him sleeping, son of Mora ? No ! he shall feel his wound : my fame shall not soar on the blood of slumber. Rise ! Mathon ! rise ! The son of Connal calls; thy life is his ; rise to combat!' Mathon starts from sleep; but did he rise alone ? No: the gathering chiefs bound on the plain. ' Fly ! Calmar, fly '/ said dark-haired Orla : ' Ma- thon is mine ; I shall die in joy: but Lochlin crowds around; fly through the shade of night.' Orla turns ; the helm of Mathon is cleft ; his shield falls from his arm : he shudders in his blood. He rolls by the side of the blazing oak. Strumon sees him fall : his wrath rises : his weapon glitters on the head of Orla : but a spear pierced his eye. His brain gushes through the wound, and foams on the spear of Calmar. As roll the waves of Ocean on two mighty barks of the North, so pour the men of Lochlin on the chiefs. As, breaking the surge in foam, proudly steer the barks of the North, so rise the Chiefs of Moiven THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF LORD BYKON. 99 on the scattered crests of Lochlin. The din of arms came to the ear of Fingal. He strikes his shield : his sons throng around ; the people pour along the heath. Ryno bounds in joy. Ossian stalks in his arms. Oscar shakes the spear. The eagle wing of Fillan floats on the wind. Dreadful is the clang of death ! many are the widows of Lochlin. Morven prevails in its strength. Morn glimmers on the hills : no living foe is seen ; but the sleepers are many; grim they lie on Erin. The breeze of Ocean lifts their locks ; yet they do not awake. The hawks scream above their prey. Whose yellow locks wave o'er the breast of a chief? bright as the gold of the stranger, they mingle with the dark hair of his friend. 'Tis Calmar ! he lies on the bosom of Orla. Theirs is one stream of blood. Fierce is the look of the gloomy Orla. He breathes not; but his eye is still a flame. It glares in death unclosed. His hand is grasped in Calmar's; but Calmar lives ! he lives, though low. 'Rise/ said the king, 'rise, son of Mora! 'tis mine to heal the wounds of heroes. Calmar may yet bound on the hills of Morven/ ' Never more shall Calmar chase the deer of Morven with Orla/ said the hero : ' what were the chase to me alone ? Who would share the spoils of battle with Calmar ? Orla is at rest ! Rough was thy soul, Orla ! yet soft to me as the dew of morn. It glared on others in lightning; to me a silver beam of night. Bear my sword to blue- eyed Mora; let it hang in my empty hall. It is not pure from blood : but it could not save Orla. Lay me with my friend : raise the song when 1 am dark/ They are laid by the stream of Lubar. Four grey stones mark the dwelling of Orla and Calmar. When Swaran was bound, our sails rose on the blue waves. The winds gave our barks to Morven. The bards raised the song. ' What form rises on the roar of clouds ? Whose dark ghost gleams on the red streams of tempests ? His voice rolls on the thunder : 'tis Orla, the brown Chief of Oithona. He was unmatched in war. Peace to thy soul, Orla ! Thy fame will not perish. Nor thine ! Cal- mar ! Lovely wast thou, son of blue-eyed Mora ; but not harmless was thy sword. It hangs in thy cave. The ghosts of Lochlin shriek around its steel. Hear thy praise, Calmar ! It dwells on the voice of the mighty. Thy name shakes on the echoes of Morven. Then raise thy fair locks, son of Mora. Spread them on the arch of the rain- bow ; and smile through the tears of the storm/* * I fear Laing's late edition has completely overthrown every hope that Mac- 100 THF LIFE AND WRITINGS OF LORD BYRON. TO E. N. L. Esq, Nil ego contulerimjucundo sanus amico. — Hor. E. Dear L , in this sequestered scene, While all around in slumber lie, The joyous days, which ours have been, Come rolling fresh on Fancy's eye : Thus if, amidst the gathering storm, While clouds the darkened noon deform, Yon heaven assumes a varied glow, I hail the sky's celestial bow, Which spreads the sign of future peace, And bids the war of tempests cease. Ah ! though the present brings but pain, I think those days may come again ; Or if, in melancholy mood, Some lurking envious fear intrude, To check my bosom's fondest thought, And interrupt the golden dream — I crush the fiend with malice fraught, And still indulge my wonted theme. Although we ne'er again can trace, In Granta's vale, the pedant's lore, Nor through the groves of Ida chase Our raptured visions as before; Though Youth has flown on rosy pinion, And Manhood claims his stern dominion, Age will not every hope destroy, But yield some hours of sober joy. Yes, I will hope that Time's broad wing Will shed around some dews of spring; But, if his sithe must sweep the flowers Which bloom among the fairy bowers, pherson'B Ossian might prove the Translation of a series of Poems, complete in themselves ; but, while the imposture is discovered, the merit of the work remains undisputed, though not without faults ; particularly, in some parts, turgid and bombastic diction. — The present humble imitation will be pardoned by the ad- mirers of the original, as an attempt, however inferior, which evinces an attach- ment to their favorite author. THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF LOKV) IJYRON. 101 Where smiling; Youth delights to dwell, And hearts with eurly rapture swell ; If frowning Age, witli cold control, Confines the current of the soul, Congeals the tear of Pity's eye, Or checks the sympathetic sigh, Or hears unmoved Misfortune's groan, And bids me feel for self alone — Oh ! may my bosom never learn, To sooth its wonted heedless flow, Still, still despise the censor stern, But ne'er forget another's woe. Yes, as you knew me in the days O'er which Remembrance yet delays, Still may I rove, untutored, wild, And, even in age, at heart a child. Though now, on airy visions borne, To you my soul is still the same, Oft has it been my fate to mourn, And all my former joys are tame : But, hence, ye hours of sable hue ! Your frowns are gone, my sorrow's o'er By every bliss my childhood knew, I'll think upon your shade no more ! Thus, when the whirlwind's rage is past, And caves their sullen roar enclose, We heed no more the wintry blast, When lulled by Zephyr to repose. Full often has my infant Muse Attuned to love her languid lyre ; But now, wilhout a theme to choose, The strains in stolen sighs expire : My youthful nymphs, ales ! are flown, E — — is a wife, and C a mother ; And Carolina sighs alone, And Mary's given to another ; And Cora's eye, which rolled on me, Can now no more my love recall ; In truth, dear L , 'twas time to flee, For Cora's eye will shine on all. H)2 TJ4E UfV *NP WRITINGS OF LORD BYRON. And though the Sun, with genial rays, His beams alike to all displays, And every lady's eye's a sun, These last should be confined to one. The soul's meridian don't become her, Whose sun displays a general summer. Thus faint is every former flame, And Passion's self is now a name. As, when the ebbing flames are low, The aid which once improved their light, And made them burn with fiercer glow, Now quenches all their sparks in night ; Thus has it been with Passion's fires, As many a boy and girl remembers, While all the force of love expires, Extinguished with the dying embers. But now, dear L , 'tis midnight's noon, And clouds obscure the watery moon, Whose beauties I shall not rehearse, Described in every stripling's verse; For why should I the path go o'er, Which every bard has trod before ? Yet ere yon silver lamp of night Has thrice performed her stated round, Has thrice retraced her path of light, And chased away the gloom profound, I trust that we, my gentle friend, Shall see her rolling orbit wend Above the dear loved peaceful seat, Which once contained our youth's retreat; And then, with those our childhood knew, We'll mingle with the festive crew ; While many a tale of former day Shall wing the laughing hours away ; And all the flow of soul shall pour The sacred intellectual shower, Nor cease till Luna's waning horn Scarce glimmers through the mist of morn. HE LIFE AND WRITINGS 01- LORD BYRON. 103 TO Oh ! had my fate been joined with thine, As once this pledge appeared a token, These follies had not then been mine, For then my peace had not been broken. To thee these early faults I owe- To thee, the wise and old reproving ; They know my sins, but do not know 'Twas thine to break the bonds of loving. For once my soul like thine was pure, And all its rising fires could smother ; But now thy vows no more endure, Bestow'd by thee upon another. Perhaps his peace I could destroy, And spoil the blisses that await him ; Yet let my rival smile in joy, For thy dear sake I cannot hate him. Ah ! since thy angel form is gone, My heart no more can rest with any ; But what it sought in thee alone, Attempts, alas ! to find in many. Then fare thee well, deceitful maid ! 'Twere vain and fruitless to regret thee; Nor Hope nor Memory yield their aid, But Pride may teach me to forget thee. Yet all this giddy waste of years, This tiresome round of palling pleasures; These varied loves, these matron's fears, These thoughtless strains to Passion's me If thou wert mine, had all been hushed — This cheek, now pale from early riot, With Passion's hectic ne'er had flushed, But bloom'd in calm domestic quiet. Yes, once the rural scene was sweet, For Nature seemed to smile before thee ; And once my breast abhorred deceit, For then it beat but to adore thee. 104 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS Ol LORD BYRON. But now J seek for other joys — To think would drive my soul to madness ; Tn thoughtless throng's, and empty noise, I conquer half my bosom's sadness. Yet even in these a thought will steal, In spite of every vain endeavour; And fiends might pity what I feel, To know that thou art lost for ever. STANZAS. I would I were a careless child, Still dwelling in my Highland cave, Or roaming through the dusky wild, Or bounding o'er the dark blue wave : The cumbrous pomp of Saxon* pride Accords not with the freeborn soul, Which loves the mountain's craggy side, And seeks the rocks where billows roll. Fortune ! take back these cultured lands, Take back this name of splendid sound ! I hate the touch of servile hands, I hate the slaves that cringe around : Place me along the rocks I love, AVhich sound to Ocean's wildest roar ; I ask but this — again to rove Through scenes my youth hath known before. Few are my years, and yet I feel The world was ne'er designed for me : Ah ! why do darkening shades conceal The hour when man must cease to be ? Once I beheld a splendid dream, A visionary scene of bliss : Truth ! wherefore did thy hated beam Awake me to a world like this ? I loved — but those I loved arc ijoiie ; Had friends — my early friends are tied ; How cheerless feels the heart alone, When all its former hopes are dead ! Sasbcnayh, or Saxon, a Gaelic word, signifying either Lowland or English, THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF LORD BYRON. 105 Though gay companions, o'er Ihc bowl, Dispel awhile the sense of ill, Though pleasure stirs the maddening soul, The heart — the heart is lonely still. How dull ! to hear the voire of those Whom rank or chance, whom wealth or power, Have made, though neither friends nor foes, Associates of the festive hour : Give me again a faithful few, In years and feelings still the same, And I will fly the midnight crew, Where boisterous joy is but a name. And Woman ! lovely Woman, thou ! My hope, my comforter, my all ! How cold must be my bosom now, When e'en thy smiles begin to pall ! Without a sigh would I resign This busy scene of splendid woe, To make that calm contentment mine, Which virtue knows, or seems to know. Fain would I fly the haunts of men ; I seek to shun, not hate, mankind ; My breast requires the sullen glen, Whose gloom may suit a darkened mind : Oh ! that to me the wings were given, Which bear the turtle to her nest ! Then would I cleave the vault of heaven, To flee away, and be at rest.* LINES WRITTEN BENEATH AN ELM IN THE CHURCH- YARD OF HARROW ON THE HILL. SEPTEMBER 2, 1807. 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 ; * Psalm lv. verse 6. — ' And I said, Oh that I had wings like a dove ! then would I fly away, and be at rest.' This verse also constitutes a part of the most beautiful anthem in our language. P 106 THE LIFF. AND WRITINGS OF LORD BYRON. With those who, scattered far, perchance deplore, Like me, the happy scenes they knew before; Oil ! as T 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 brandies, moaning to the blast, Invite the bosom to recall the past, And seem to whisper, as they gently swell, ' Take, while thou canst, a lingering, last, farewell !' When Fate shall chill, at length, this fevered breast, And calm its cares and passions into rest, Oft have I thought 'twould sooth my dying hour (If aught may sooth, 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 lingered, here my heart might lie; Here might I sleep, where ail my hopes arose, Scene of my youth, and couch of my repose : For ever stretched beneath this mantling shade, Pressed by the turf where once my childhood played; Wrapt by the soil that veils the spot I loved, Mixed with the earth o'er which my footsteps moved ; Blessed by the tongues that charmed my youthful ear, Mourned by the few my soul acknowledged here; Deplored, by those in early days allied, And unremembered by the world beside. Now, although we are not so much enamoured of Lord Byron's genius as to contend that these poems are the best that ever were written, we do not hesitate to assert they are better than I lie greater part of those which men, of whatever powers, can write, or have written, at the age of nineteen. They might have been suffered to pass without a very harsh censure from the critics of our own time; and, bearing the stamp of mediocrity, they had been sufficiently damned by Horace's Non homines, non dii, now concessere columnar. THE LITE ANJ) WRITINGS OF LORD BYRON. 1()7 But the Edinburgh reviewers thought otherwise. The year lhON was a time when they had every thing pretty much their own way. Radicalism was a more thriving plant then than it is now, because the people were more heavily burdened, and the government deservedly less popular. A spirit of levelling-, and the most ferocious abuse, dis- tinguished the 'Edinburgh Review' from its periodical compeers then, as much as its dulness does now. Some one of the mercenaries — report says it was the Condottiere himself — resolved to divert the public with the edifying spectacle of a young lord's flagellation; and it must be confessed the critic did not spare the lash. If he had chosen only to ridicule the poems, they afforded a suf- ficient opportunity to a man who was bent upon that design. There was even an air of boyish dignity about the young author wbicli might have been fairly laughed at; but there was nothing which could justify the flagrant insolence and malignity with which this Scotch Zoilus handled his victim. As the critic is condemned to ever- lasting disgrace by the failure of his attempt, and the reVenge which it provoked, we have thought fit to add his review of ' Hours of Idle- ness.' He is wedded to Lord Byron's fame, and must go down to posterity, chained to the wheels of his lordship's triumphant chariot. ' The poesy of this young lord/ says he, * belongs to the class which neither gods nor man are said to permit. Indeed, we do not recollect to have seen a quantity of verse wit!) so few deviations in either direction from that exact standard. His effusions are spread over a dead flat, and can no more get above or below the level than ii they were so much stagnant water. As an extenuation of this oftbnee, the noble author is peculiarly forward iu pleading minority. We have it in the title-page, and on the very back of the volume; it follows his name, like a favorite part of his style. Much stress is laid upon it in the preface; and the poems are connected with this general statement of his case by pailicular dates, substantiating the age at which each was written. Now, the law upon the point of minority we hold to be perfectly clear. It is a plea available only to the de- fendant ; no plaintiff can ofler it as a supplementary ground of action. Thus, if any suit could be brought against Lord Byron, for the pur- pose of compelling him to put into court a certain quantity of poetry, and if judgment were givs-n agiiinst him, it is highly probable that an exception would be taken, were he to deliver for poetry the contents of this volume, To this he might plead minority; but as he now 10S THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF LORD BYRON. makes voluntary tender of the article, he hath no right to sue, on that ground, for the price in good current praise, should the goods he un- marketable. This is our view of the law on the point, and we dare say so will it be ruled. Perhaps, however, in reality, all that he tells us about his youth is rather with a view to increase our wonder than to soften our censures. He possibly means to say " See how a minor can write ! This poem was actually composed by a young man of eighteen, and this by one of only sixteen !" — But, alas ! we all remem- ber the poetry of Cowley at ten, and Pope at twelve; and so far from hearing, with any degree of surprise, that very poor verses were written by a youth from his leaving school to his leaving college in- clusive, we really believe this to be the most common of all occur- rences ; that it happens in the life of nine men in ten who are educated in England ; and that the tenth man writes better verse than Lord Byron. ' His other plea of privilege our author rather brings forward in order to wave it, He certainly, however, does allude frequently to his family and ancestors ; sometimes in poetry, sometimes in notes : and, while giving up his claim on the score of rank, he takes care to remember us of Dr. Johnson's saying, that, when a nobleman appears as an author, his merit should be handsomely acknowledged.' — And here we are obliged, however unwillingly, to break in upon the thread of the learned reviewer's critique, that we may call our readers' espe- cial attention to the passage which immediately follows. We have caused it to be printed, as it deserves to be, in large letters; and, if the task of passing sentence on the poor rogue who wrote it were intrusted to us, we would decree only that he should have written over the door of his house (if he has one) while he lives, and upon his grave (if some provision which may supersede the necessity of a grave should not be made for him) when he shall have died — ' In TRUTH, IT IS THIS CONSIDERATION ONLY THAT INDUCES US TO GIVE LORD BYRON'S POEMS A PLACE IN OUR REVIEW; BESIDE OUR DESIRE TO COUNSEL HIM THAT HE DO FORTHWITH ABANDON POETRY, AND TURN HIS TALENTS, WHICH ARE CONSIDERABLE, AND HIS OPPORTUNITIES, WHICH ARE GREAT, TO BETTER ACCOUNT.' * With this view, we must beg leave seriously to assure him that the mere rhyming of the final syllable, even when accompanied by the presence of a certain number of feet — nay, although (which does not always happen) these feet should scan regularly, and have been all counted accurately upon the fingers — is not the whole art of poetry. THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF LOUD BYRON. 109 We would entreat him to believe that a certain portion of liveliness, somewhat of fancy, is necessary to constitute a poem; and that a poem in the present day, to be read, must contain at least one thought cither in a little degree different from the ideas of former writers, or differently expressed. We put it to his candour whether there is any thing so deserving the name of poetry in verses like the following, written in 1806? and whether, if a youth of eighteen could say any thing so uninteresting to his ancestors, a youth of nineteen should publish it ? " Shades of heroes, farewell ! your descendant, departing From the seat of his ancestors, bids you adieu I 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 he cherish ; He vows that he ne'er will disgrace your renown : Like you will he live, or like you will he perish ; When decayed, may he mingle his dust with your own !" ' Now we positively do assert that there is nothing better than these stanzas in the whole compass of the noble minor's volume. ' Lord Byron should also have a care of attempting what the greatest poets have done before him, for comparisons (as he must have had occasion to see at his writing-master's) are odious. Gray's Ode to Eton College should really have kept out the ten hobbling stanzas on a distant view of the village and school at Harrow. " Where Fancy yet joys to retrace the resemblance Of comrades in friendship or mischief allied, How welcome to me your ne'er-fading remembrance, Which rests in the bosom, though hope is denied." ' In like manner the exquisite lines of Mr. Rogers, " On a Tear/' might have warned the noble author off those premises, and spared us a whole dozen such stanzas as the following: " Mild Charity's glow, To us mortals below, HO THE LITE AND WHITINGS 01' 10 III) liYRON. Shows the soul from barbarity clear; Compassion will melt Where this virtue is felt, And its dew is diffused in a Tear. The man doomed 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." ' And so of instances in which former poets had failed. Thus, v- do not think Lord Byron was made for translating, during his non-age, " Adrian's Address to his Soul," when Pope succeeded indifferently in the attempt. If oar readers, however, are of another opinion, they may look at it : "Ah ! gentle, fleeting, wavering- sprite, Friend and associate of this clay ! To what unknown region borne, Wilt thou now wing thy distant flight;' No more with wonted humour gay, But pallid, cheerless, and forlorn." ' However, be this as it may, we fear his translations and imitations are great favorites with Lord Byron. We have them of all kinds, from Anacreon to Ossian ; and, viewing them as school exercises, they may pass. Only, why print them after they have had their day and served their turn ? And why call the thing in p. 79 a translation, where two words (kxo Tisyetv) of the original are expanded into four lines, and the other thing in p. 81, where fjutarovvxriois Troy' ogatc is ren- dered by means of six hobbling verses ? — As to his Qssianic poesy, we are not very good judges; being, in truth, so moderately skilled in that species of composition, that we should, in all probability, be criticising some bit of the genuine Macpherson itself, wore we to ex- press our opinion of Lord Byron's rhapsodies. li\ liieu, the following beginning of a " Song of Bards" is by his Lordship, we venture to object to it, as far as we can comprehend it. " What form rises on the roar of clouds:' Whose dark ghost gleams on the rod streams oi tempests ? His voice rolls on the thunder: 'tis Orla, the brown Chief of Otthona. lie was/' &c. After detaining this " brown rHE I.TFL AND WRITINGS OF T.ORO BYRON. 1]| chief " some time, I lie bards conclude by giving him their advice to " raise his fair locks ;" then to " spread them on the arcli of the rainbow ;" and to "smile throng!) the tears of the storm." Of this kind of thing there are no Jess than nine pages; and we can so far venture an opinion in their favour, that they look very like Mac- pherson ; and we are positive they are pretty nearly as stupid and tiresome. ' It is a sort of privilege of poets to be egotists ; but they should " use it as not abusing it ;" and particularly one who piques himself (though indeed at the ripe age of nineteen) of being " an infant bard" — (" The artless Helicon I boast is youth'") — should either not know, or should seem not to know, so much about his own ancestry. Besides a poem, above cited, on the family seat of the Byrons, we have another of eleven pages on the self-same subject, introduced with an apology, " he certainly had no intention of inserting it;" but really " the particular request of some friends," &c. &c. It con- cludes with five stanzas on himself, "the last and youngest of the noble line." There is a good deal also about his maternal ancestors in a poem on Lachin y Gair, a mountain where he spent a part of his youth, and might have learnt that pibroch is not a bagpipe, any more than duet means a fiddle. 'As the anlhor has dedicated so large a part of his volume to im- mortalize his employments at school and college, we cannot possibly dismiss it without presenting the reader with a specimen of these in- genious effusions. In an ode with a Greek motto, called Grauta, we have the following magnificent stanzas : " There, in apartments small and damp, The candidate for college prizes Sits poring Ly the midnight 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 doomed to wrangle; — * This alludes to the ' Analysis of Greek Metres,' by J. B. Sele, D. D. of Christ's College; a standard v.ork on the construction of the Greek poetry, and which Lord Byron ought to have studied, and made himself master of before he tried his wit upon it. 112 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF LORD BYRON. Renouncing - every pleasing page From authors of historic use; Preferring to the lettered 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 : " 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 'era," ' 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 thorough-bred poets; and, " though he once roved a careless mountaineer in the Highlands of Scotland," he has not of late enjoyed this advantage. Moreover, he expects no profit from his publication ; and, whether it succeeds or not, " it is highly improbable, from his situation and pursuits hereafter," that he should again condescend to become an author. Therefore, let us take what we get, and be thank- 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 station, 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, nor look the gift horse in the mouth/ Such was the bitter draught which these professors of the ' gentle craft* of reviewing had prepared for the young poet, and which they were themselves soon afterwards compelled to drain to the very dregs. Up to tiiis period Lord Byron's life had been like that of most young men of fashion. He had not plunged very deeply into the THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF LORD BYRON. 1 \U excesses of the metropolis, but his forbearance had rather been in con- sequence of his limited means than of any want of inclination to gaiety. His connexions were of the best description; and the Earl of Carlisle, who, though a bad poet, is a very good man, had every disposition to make his kinsman's entree into the great world such as befitted his rank. His kind intentions were, however, frustrated : Lord Byron chose to be independent of the ' great vulgar ;' and neither at this, nor indeed at any period of his life, formed very extensive acquaintance with the aristocracy of the country. He lived more at Newstead than in London; and indulged much of that sullen eccentricity which was un- questionably a part of his character, and perhaps of his constitution. Many strange stories are told of him at this period, the greater part of which are the fruitful inventions of his friends and acquaint- ances, founded perhaps upon some slender fact, which has been so much exaggerated and altered that it bears no longer any resemblance to" the truth. His fondness for the Newfoundland dog, to whose memory he wrote the epitaph at page 8, is of this description. In consequence of his having taught the dog to plunge into the water at a signal, it is said that he used to throw himself in for the sake of being brought to shore. Another tale, of a skull converted into a drinking-cup, is equally true. The skull, which was discovered acci- dentally in what had been the old Abbey cemetery, happened to be of a remarkable whiteness. Lord Byron had it mounted, for the purpose of preserving it ; and he afterwards wrote the following verses on it as a mere jew d'esprit : but he never used it to drink out of, nor can it be adduced as a proof of that misanthropy of which he has been so often accused, and of which he had not the slightest particle : — LINES INSCRIBED UPON A CUP FORMED FROM A SKULL. Start not ! — nor deem my spirit tied : In me behold the only skull From which, unlike a living head, Whatever flows is never dull. I lived — I loved — I quaffed like thee; 1 died — let earth my bones resign. Fill up— thou canst not injure me ; The worm hath fouler lips than thine. Q 114 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF LORD BYRON. Better to bold the sparkling grape Than nurse the earth-worm's slimy brood ; And circle in the goblet's shape The drink of gods, than reptiles' food. Where once my wit perchance hath shone, In aid of others let me shine ; And when, alas ! our brains are gone, What nobler substitute than wine ? Quaff while thou canst — another race, When thou and thine like me are sped, May rescue thee from earth's embrace, And rhyme and revel with the dead. Why not ? since, through life's little day, Our heads such sad effects produce, Redeemed from worms and wasting clay, This chance is theirs to be of use. Neicstead Abbey, 1808. Of his amours, too, many accounts are afloat, equally fabulous* He was deeply enamoured of a lady who was his relation, through the un- fortunate gentleman whom his ancestor killed in a duel ; but the passion was by no means reciprocal. The lady loved another gentle- man better than her noble relative : she afterwards married that gentleman, and is at this moment his wife, and the mother of a beau- tiful family. Lord Byron took his disappointment to heart, or fancied that he did so, and announced his intention of leaving England as soon as he should have attained his majority. In the mean time, however, he solaced himself by flirtations, more or less serious, with several other ladies, whose names it is not worth while to remember. His manners, which were highly fascinating, and the beauty of his face, rendered him a general favorite with the sex; but we are induced to believe, as he often said himself, that his heart was not capable of either a very pure or a very lasting passion. The follies of one of the ladies who made love to him at this time have rendered her so remarkable that we cannot avoid alluding to her in this place, and speaking of her at greater length hereafter. The authoress of ' Glenarvon' had, perhaps, at this period of Lord Byron's life, reason to believe that he was attached to her ; but, as it was at a subsequent period that she amused THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF LORD BYRON. I \0 the town with her despair and extravagance, we shall at presen! postpone the particulars relating to her very whimsical conduct. The critique in the ' Edinburgh Review' had the effect of rousing the young nobleman from his dreams : Newfoundland dogs, skulls, and mistresses, all gave place to the desire of revenge, which now filled his mind ; and he resolved not to endure tamely the insult which had been put upon him so wantonly and unjustly ; he resolved to throw a brave defiance in the teeth of that formidable band of marauders by whom he had been attacked. However great may be the disgust which the perusal of the malig- nant diatribe of the Edinburgh Reviewers cannot fail to excite in the mind of every candid and honest man, it must be remembered that it produced at least one good effect for the world; its venomous sting roused in Lord Byron the consciousness of his own strength, and gave to us the greatest poet of our age. Thus it is that, in the economy of this world's affairs, the basest and meanest things are made to produce the most glorious and beneficial results. Lord Byron fell upon his insulting critics as suddenly, and made nearly as much havoc among them, as an avalanche could have done, by publishing an imitation of ' Juvenal's first Satire,' under the title of ' English Bards and Scotcli Reviewers,' with the following mottos : 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 abandoned critics too.' Pope. He expected not only that the poem would make a noise, but that he should be called to a personal account by some of the persons who were attacked in it, and who, as it should seem, had given him no cause of offence. The preface shows that he was at least in expectation of this result from his Satire. PREFACE. All my friends, learned and unlearned, have urged me not to pub- lish this Satire with my name. If I were to be ' turned from the career of my humour by quibbles quick, and paper bullets of the brain/ I should have complied with their counsel. But I am not to be terri- fied by abuse, or bullied by reviewers, with or without arms. I can safely say that 1 have attacked hoik* personally who did not commence Mtf THE LIFE AND WRITINGS 01 LOUD BYRON. on the offensive. An author's works are public property : he who purchases may judge, and publish his opinion if he pleases; and the authors I have endeavored to commemorate may do by me as I have done by them : I dare say they will succeed better in condemning my scribblings than in mending their own. But my object is not to prove that I can write well, but, if possible, to make others write better. As the Poem has met with far more success than I expected, I have endeavored in this edition to make some additions and alterations, to render it more worthy of public perusal. In the first edition of this Satire, published anonymously, fourteen lines on the subject of Bowles's Pope were written and inserted at the request of an ingenious friend of mine, who has now in the press a volume of poetry. In the present edition they are erased, and some of my own substituted in their stead ; my only reason for this being that which I conceive would operate with any other person in the same manner — a determination not to publish with my name any production which was not entirely and exclusively my own composition. With regard to the real talents of many of the poetical persons whose performances are mentioned or alluded to in the following pages, it is presumed by the author that there can be little difference of opinion in the public at large; though, like other sectaries, each has his separate tabernacle of proselytes, by whom his abilities are overrated, his faults overlooked, and his metrical canons received without scruple and without consideration. But the unquestionable possession of consi- derable genius by several of the writers here censured renders their mental prostitution more to be regretted. Imbecility may be pitied, or, at worst, laughed at and forgotten; perverted powers demand the most decided reprehension. No one can wish more than the author that some known and able writer had undertaken their exposure: but Mr. Gifford has devoted himself to Massinger; and, in the absence of the regular physician, a country practitioner may, in cases of absolute necessity, be allowed to prescribe his nostrum to prevent the extension of so deplorable an epidemic, provided there be no quackery in his treatment of the malady. A caustic is here offered, as it is to be feared nothing short of actual cautery can recover the numerous patients afflicted with the present prevalent and distressing rabies for rhyming. — As to the Edinburgh reviewers, it would, indeed, require a Hercules to crush the hydra; but if the author succeeds in merely < bruising one of the heads of the serpent/ though his own hand should sutler in the encounter, he will be amply satisfied, THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF LORD BYRON. I |7 ENGLISH BARDS AND SCOTCH REVIEWERS. Still must I hear ? — shall hoarse * Fitzgerald bawl His creaking couplets in a tavern hall, And I not sing-, lest, haply, Scotch Reviews Should dub me scribbler, and denounce my Muse ? Prepare for rhyme — I'll publish, right or wrong : Fools are my theme, let Satire be my song. Oh ! Nature's noblest gift, my grey-goose quill ! Slave of my thoughts, obedient to my will, Torn from thy parent bird to form a pen, That mighty instrument of little men ! The pen ! foredoomed to aid the mental throes Of brains that labour, big with verse or prose, Though nymphs forsake, and critics may deride, The lover's solace, and the author's pride. What wits, what poets, dost thou daily raise ! How frequent is thy use, how small thy praise ! Condemned at length to be forgotten quite, With all the pages which 'twas thine to write. But thou, at least, mine own especial pen ! Once laid aside, but now assumed again, Our task complete, like Hamet's f shall be free; Though spurned by others, yet beloved by me : Then let us soar to-day ; no common theme, No Eastern vision, no distempered dream, Inspires — our path, though full of thorns, is plain ; Smooth be the verse, and easy be the strain. When Vice triumphant holds her sovereign sway, And men, through life her willing slaves, obey ; * IMITATION. ' Semper ego auditor tantum ? nunquamne reponam Vexatus toties rauci Theseide Codri V Juvenal, Sat. 1. Mr. Fitzgerald, facetiously termed by Cobbett the ' Small-Beer Poet,' inflicts his annual tribute of verse on the ' Literary Fund :' not content with writing, he spouts in person after the company have imbibed a reasonable quantity of bad port, to enable them to sustain the operation. t Cid Hamet Benengeli promises repose to his pen in the last chapter of Don Quixote. Oh ! that our voluminous gentry would follow ^the example of Cid Hamet Bencnaeli ! 118 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF LORD BYRON. When Folly, frequent harbinger of crime, Uufolds her motley store to suit the time ; When knaves and fools combined o'er all prevail., When Justice halts, and Right begins to fail ; Even then the boldest start from public sneers, Afraid of shame, unknown to other fears ; More darkly sin, by Satire kept in awe, And shrink from ridicule, though not from, law. Such is the force of wit ! but not belong To me the arrows of satiric song : The royal vices of our age demand A keener weapon, and a mightier hand. Still there are follies even for me to chase, And yield at least amusement in the race : Laugh when I laugh, I seek no other fame ; The cry is up, and scribblers are my game : Speed, Pegasus ! — ye strains of great and small, Ode ! epic ! elegy ! have at you all ! I, too, can scrawl, and once upon a time I poured along the town a flood of rhyme — A school-boy freak, unworthy praise or blame ; I printed — older children do the same. 'Tis pleasant, sure, to see one's name in print ; A book's a book, although there's nothing in't. Not that a title's sounding charm can save Or scrawl or scribbler from an equal grave : This Lambe must own, since his patrician name Failed to preserve the spurious Farce from shame.* No matter, George continues still to write, f Though now the name is veiled from public sight. Moved by the great example, I pursue The self-same road, but make my own Review : Not seek great Jeffrey's, yet, like him, will be Self-constituted judge of poesy. A man must serve his time to every trade Save censure, — critics all are ready made. * This ingenuous youth is mentioned more particularly, with his production, n .mother place. t In the ' Edinburgh Review.' THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF LOUD BYRON. 119 Take hackneyed jokes from Miller, got by rote, Willi just enough of learning to misquote; A mind well skilled to find or forge a fault; A turn for punning, call it Attic salt; To Jeffrey go, be silent and discreet, His pay is just ten sterling pounds per sheet : Fear not to lie, 'twill seem a lucky hit; Shrink not from blasphemy, 'twill pass for wit ; Care not for feeling — pass your proper jest, And stand a critic, hated, yet caressed. And shall we own such judgment ? No — as soon Seek roses in December — ice in June ; Hope constancy in wind, or corn in chaff, Believe a woman or an epitaph, Or any other thing that's false, before You trust in critics who themselves are sore; Or yield one single thought to be misled By Jeffrey's heart, or Lambe's Boeotian head.* To these young tyrants, f by themselves misplaced, Combined usupers on the throne of Taste; To these when authors bend in humble awe, And hail their voice as truth, their word as law ; While these are censors, 'twould be sin to spare : While such are critics, why should I forbear ? But yet, so near all modern worthies run, 'Tis doubtful whom to seek, or whom to shun ; Nor know we when to spare, or where to strike, Our bards and censors are so much alike. % Then should you ask me, why I venture o'er The path that Pope and Gifford trod before ? * Messrs. Jeffrey and Lambe are the Alpha and Omega, the first and last, of the ' Edinburgh Review ;' the others are mentioned hereafter, t ' Stulta est Clementia, cum tot ubique occurras periturfe parcere chartae.' Juvenal, Sat. 1. % imitation. ' Cur tamen hoc libeat potius decurrere campo Per quern magnus equos Auruncfc flexit alumnus : Si vacat, et placidi rationem admittitis, edam.' Juvenal, Sat. 1. 120 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF LORD BYRON. If not yet sickened, you can still proceed ; Go on — my rhyme will tell you as you read. Time was, ere yet, in these degenerate days, Ignoble themes obtained mistaken praise ; When Sense and Wit, with Poesy allied, No fabled Graces, flourished side by side, From the same fount their inspiration drew, And, reared by Taste, bloomed fairer as they grew. Then, in this happy isle, a Pope's pure strain Sought the rapt soul to charm, nor sought in vain; A polished nation's praise aspired to claim, And raise the people's as the poet's fame. Like him great Drydeu poured the tide of song, In stream less smooth, indeed, yet doubly strong. Then Congreve's scenes could cheer, or Otway's niell ; For Nature then an English audience felt. But why these names, or greater still, retrace, When all to feebler bards resign their place? Yet to such times our lingering looks are cast, When taste and reason with those times are past. Now look around, and turn each trifling page; Survey the precious works that please the age : This truth, at least, let Satire's self allow, No dearth of bards can be complained of now : The loaded Press beneath her labour groans, And printers' devils shake their weary bones'; While Southey's Epics cram the creaking shelves, And Little's Lyrics shine in hot-press'd twelves. Thus saith the Preacher;* "nought beneath the sun Is new ;" yet still from change to change we run : What varied wonders tempt us as they pass ! The cow-poc, tractors, galvanism, and gas, In turns appear to make the vulgar stare, Till the swoln bubble bursts — and all is air ! Nor less new schools of poetry arise, Where dull pretenders grapple for the prize: O'er taste awhile these pseudo-bards prevail ; Each country book-club bows the knee to Baal, * Ecclesiastes, chap. 1. THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF LORD BYRON. 121 And, hurling lawful Genius from the throne, Erects a shrine and idol of its own ; Some leaden calf — but whom it matters not, From soaring Southey down to grovelling Stott.* Behold ! in various throngs the scribbling crew, For notice eager, pass in long review: Each spurs his jaded Pegasus apace, And Rhyme and Blank maintain an equal race : Sonnets on sonnets crowd, and ode on ode, And Tales of Terror jostle on the road ; Immeasurable measures move along, For simpering Folly loves a varied song — To strange mysterious Dulness still the friend, Admires the strain she cannot comprehend. Thus Lays of Minstrelsf — may they be the last ! On half-strung harps whine mournful to the blast; While mountain spirits prate to river sprites, That dames may listen to the sound at nights ; And goblin brats of Gilpin Horner's brood + Decoy young Border-nobles through the wood, * Stott, better known in the ' Morning Post' by the name of Hafiz. This per- son is at present the most profound explorer of the Bathos. I remember, when the reigning family left Portugal, a special ode of Master Stott's, beginning thus : (Stott loquitur quoad Hibernia.) ' Princely offspring of Braganza, Erin greets thee with a stanza,' &c. &c. Also a sonnet to Rats, well worthy of the subject 5 and a most thundering ode, commencing as follows : ' Oh ! for a lay ! loud as the surge That lashes Lapland's sounding shore.' Lord have mercy on us ! the ' Lay of the Last Minstrel' was nothing to this. t See the ' Lay of the last Minstrel,' passim. Never was any plan so incon- gruous and absurd as the groundwork of this production. The entrance of Thun- der and Lightning prologuising to Bayes' Tragedyjunfortunately takes away the merit of originality from the dialogue between Messieurs the Spirits of Flood and Fell in the first canto. Then we have the amiable William of Deloraine, ' a stark moss-trooper,' videlicet, a happy compound of poacher, sheep- stealer, and high- wayman. The propriety of his magical lady's injunction not to read can only be equalled by his candid acknowledgment of his independence of the trammels of spelling, although, to use his own elegant phrase, ''twas his neck-verse at hairibee,' i.e. the gallows. t The biography of Gilpin Homer, and the marvellous pedestrian page, who R 122 "HIE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF IORD BYRON. Anil skip at every step, Lord knows how high, And frighten foolish babes, the Lord knows why ; While high-born Indies in their magic eel!, Forbidding knights to read who cannot spell , Dispatch a cornier to a wizard's grave, And fight with honest men to shield a knave. Next view in state, proud prancing on his roan, The golden-crested haughty Marmion, Now forging scrolls, now foremost in the fight, Not quite a felon, yet but half a knight, The gibbet or the field prepared to grace ; A mighty mixture of the great and base. And thinkest thou, Scott !Jby vain conceit perchance On public taste to foist thy stale romance, Though Murray with his Miller may combine To yield thy Muse just half a crown perjine ? No ! when the sons of Song descend to trade, Their bays are sear, their former laurels fade. Let such forego the poet's sacred name, Who rack their brains for lucre, not for fame : Low may they sink to merited contempt, And scorn remunerate the mean attempt ! Such be their meed, such still the just reward Of prostituted Muse and hireling bard ! For this we spurn Apollo's venal son, And bid a long c good night to Marmion. '* travelled twice as fast as his master's horse without the aid of seven-leagued boots, are chefd'eeuvresin the improvement of taste. For incident we have the in- visible, but by no means sparing, box on the ear, bestowed on the page ; and the en- trance of a knight and charger into the castle, under the very natural disguise of a wain of hay. Marmion, the hero of the latter romance, is exactly what William of Deloraine would have been had he been able to read and write. The poem was manufactured for Messrs. Constable, Murray, and Miller, worshipful booksellers. in consideration of the receipt of a sum of money ; and truly, considering the in- spiration, it is a very creditable production. If Mr. Scott will write for hire, let him do his best foi hie ,-. >::-.::.:.•::, but no! di«>g ace hi^ genius, which is un- doubtedly gnat, Ly s, iv) ' : hi )■■ ' ■ ■ a ': ...••■:;.:.-, * 'Good nighi to \I.'v.-n.ion — ib pathetic and ->i ■ > prophetic cxdam.ition of Henry Blount, Esqube on he death, oi honest jViurmu.u. THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF LORD BYRON. 123 These are the themes that claim our plaudits now ; These are the hards to whom the Muse must bow; While Milton, Dryden, Pope, alike forgot, Resign their hallowed bays to Walter Scott. The time has been, when yet the Muse was young, When Homer swept the lyre, and Maro sung ; An Epic scarse ten centuries could claim, While awe-struck nations hailed the magic name* The work of each immortal bard appears The single wonder of a thousand years.* Empires have mouldered from the face of earth, Tongues have expired with those who gave them birth, Without the glory such a strain can give, As even in ruin bids the language live. Not so with us, though minor bards, content, On one great work a life of labour spent. With eagle pinion soaring to the skies, Behold the ballad-monger Southey rise ! To him let Camocns, Milton, Tasso, yield, Whose annual strains, like armies, take the field. First in the ranks see Joan of Arc advance, The scourge of England, and the boast of France " Though burnt by wicked Bedford for a witch, Behold her statue placed iif Glory's niche ; Her fetters burst, and just released from prison, A virgin phoenix from her ashes risen. Next see tremendous Thalaba come on,f Arabia's monstrous, wild, and wondrous son ; * As the Odyssey is so closely connected with the story of the Iliad, they may almost be classed as one grand historical poem. In alluding to Milton and Tasso, we consider the ' Paradise Lost,' and ' Gierusalemme Liberata,' as their standard efforts, since neither the ' Jerusalem Conquered' of the Italian, nor the ' Paradise Regained' of the English bard, obtained a proportionate celebrity to their former poems. Query : Which of Mr. Southey's will survive 1 t ' Thalaba,' Mr. Southey's second poem, is written in open defiance of pre- cedent and poetry. Mr. S. wished to produce something novel, and succeeded to a miracle. ' Joan of Arc' was marvellous enough, but * Thalaba' was one of those poems ' which,' in the words of Porson, ' will be read when Homer and Virgil are forgotten, but — not till then.' 124 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF LORD BYRON. Doindaniel's dread destroyer, who o'erthrew More mad magicians than the world e'er knew. Immortal hero ! all thy foes o'ercome, For ever reign — the rival of Tom Thumb ! Since startled metre fled before thy face, Well wert thou. doomed the last of all thy race ! Well might triumphant Genii bear thee hence, Illustrious conqueror of common sense ! Now, last and greatest, Madoc spreads hi3 sails, Cacique in Mexico, and Prince in Wales ; Tells us strange tales, as other travellers do, More old than Mandeville's, and not so true. Oh! Southey, Southey !* cease thy varied song , A bard may chant too often and too long : As thou art strong in verse, in mercy spare ! A fourth, alas ! were more than we could bear. But if, in spite of all the world can say, Thou still wilt verseward plod thy weary way ; If still, in Berkley ballads most uncivil, Thou wilt devote old women to the devil,f The babe unborn thy dread intent may rue ; ' God help thee/ Southey, and thy readers too If Next comes the dull disciple of thy school, That mild apostate from poetic rule, The simple Wordsworth, framer of a lay As soft as evening in his favorite May, * We beg Mr. Soutliey's pardon : ' Madoc disdains the degraded title of Epic.' See his preface. Why is Epic degraded 1 and by whom ? Certainly the late Romaunts of Masters Cottle, Laureat Pye, Ogilvy, Hole, and gentle Mistress Cowley, have not exalted the Epic Muse ; but, as Mr. Southey's poem ' disdains the appellation,' allow us to ask — has he substituted any thing better in its stead 1 or must he be content to rival Sir Richard Blackmore in the quantity as well as quality of his verse ? t See the ' Old Woman of Berkley, ' a ballad by Mr. Southey, wherein an aged gentlewoman is carried away by Beelzebub on a ' high trotting horse.' t The last, line, ' God help thee,' is an evident plagiarism from the ' Anti- jacobin'Ho Mr. Southey, on his Dactylics : ' God help thee, silly one !' — Poetry of the * Anti-jacobin,' page 23. THE LIFE AND WHITINGS OF LORD BYRON. 125 Who warns his friend * To shake oil" toil and trouble, And quit his books for fear of growing double ;'* Who, both by precept and example, shows That prose is verse, and verse is merely prose, Convincing all, by demonstration plain, Poetic souls delight in prose insane ; And Christmas stories tortured into rhyme Contain the essence of the true sublime : Thus when he tells the tale of Betty Foy, The idiot mother of ' an idiot boy ;' A moon-struck silly lad, who lost his way, And, like his bard, confounded night with day ;i So close on each pathetic part he dwells, And each adventure so sublimely tells, That all who view the ' idiot in his glory* Conceive the bard the hero of the story. Shall gentle Coleridge pass unnoticed here. To turgid ode and tumid stanza dear ? Though themes of innocence amuse him best, Yet still Obscurity's a welcome guest. If Inspiration should her aid refuse, To him who takes a Pixy for a Muse,t Yet none in lofty numbers can surpass The bard who soars to eulogize an ass. * Lyrical Ballads, page 4.——' The tables turned.' Stanza 1. ' Up, up, my friend, and clear your looks, Why all this toil and trouble 2 Up, up, my friend, and quit your books, Or surely you '11 grow double.' t Mr. W. in his preface labours hard to prove that prose and verse are much the same, and certainly his precepts and practice are strictly conformable. * And thus to Betty's question he Made answer like a traveller bold, The cock did crow to-whoo, to-whoo, , And the sun did shine so cold/ &c. &c. Lyrical Ballads, page 129. I Coleridge's Poem3, page 11/ Songs "of the Pixies, i. e. Devonshire Fairies ; page -42, we have ' Lines to a Young Lady':' and, page 52, ' Lines to a Young Asb.' i26 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS Of LOUD BYRON. How well the subject suits his noble mind ! ' A fellow-feeling makes us wondrous kind.' Oh! wonder-working Lewis! monk, or bind. Who fain wouldst make Parnassus a churchyard ! Lo ! wreaths of yew, not laurel, bind thy brow. Thy Muse a sprite, Apollo's sexton thou ! Whether on ancient tombs thou tak/st thy stand, By gibbering spectres hailed, thy kindred band , Or tracest chaste descriptions on thy page, To please the females of our modest age ; All hail, M. P.!* from whose infernal brain Thin sheeted phantoms glide, a grisly train ; At whose command 'grim women* throng in crowds And kings of fire, of water, and of cloudy, W 7 ith ' small grey men/ r wild yagers,' and what noi To crown with honour thee and Walter Scott : Again all hail ! if tales like thine may please, St. Luke alone can vanquish the disease ; Even Satan's self with thee might dread to dwell, And in thy skull discern a deeper hell. Who in soft guise, surrounded by a choir Of virgins melting, not to Vesta's hie, With sparkling eyes, and cheek by passion flushed, Strikes his wild lyre, whilst listening dames are hushed '■' 'Tis Little ! young Catullus of his day, As sweet, but as immoral, in his lay ! Grieved to condemn, the Muse must still be just, Nor spare melodious advocates of lust. Pure is the flame which o'er her altar burns ; From grosser incense with disgust she turns ; Yet, kind to youth, this expiation o'er, She bids thee ' mend thy line, and sin no more. 1 For thee, translator of the tinsel song, To whom such glittering ornaments belong, * ' For every one knows little Matt's an M. IV S..v a poeflfs iO iUr. Lewi- n the ' Statesman,' supposed to be written l>v .Mr. JekyJI. rnn life a\d writings of lord uyrok. I>7 Hibernian Strang ford ! with thine eyes of blur, * V:;«i boasted locks of rid, or auburn hue, Whose plaintive stiain each love-sick Miss admire*, And o'er harmonious fustian half expires, Learn, if thou canst, to yield thine author's sense, Nor vend thy sonnets on a false pretence. Think'st thou to gain thy verse a higher place By dressing Camoeus in a suit of lace? Mend, Strangford ! mend thy morals and thy taste; Be warm, hut pure ; he amorous, hut be chaste : Cease to deceive, thy pilfered harp restore, Nor teach the Lusian bard to copy Moore. In many marble-covered volumes view Hayiey, in vain attempting something' new : Whether he spin his comedies in rhyme, Or scrawl, as Wood and Barclay walk, 'gainst time. His style in youth or age is still the same — For ever feeble and for ever tame. Triumphant first see ' Temper's Triumphs' shine ! At least I'm sure they triumphed over mine. Of ' Music's Triumphs' all who read may swear That luckless Music never triumphed there. f Moravians, rise ! bestow some meet reward On dull Devotion — lo ! the Sabbath bard, Sepulchral Grahame, pours Ids notes sublime In mangled prose, nor even aspires to rhyme, Breaks into blank the Gospel of St. Luke, And boldly pilfers from the Pentateuch ; * The reader who may wish for an explanation of this may refer to ' Strang- ford's Camoens,' page L27, note to page 56, or to the last page of the Edinburgh Review of Strangford's Camoens. It is also to be remarked that the things given to the public as poems of Camoens are no more to be found in the original Portuguese than in the Song of Solomon. t Ilayley's two most notorious vers*- productions ore ' Triumphs of Temper' and 'Triumphs of Music. 1 Re lias also written much Comedy in rhyme, Epistles, *.\e. ike. Vs he is rather an \ levant writer oi notes and biography, let us recom- mend Pope's advice to Wydi^ric; to Mr. FI.'s :on side ration : viz. ' to convert his poetry into ^rose,' which rnr\ W easily done h\ taking away the final syllable of each couplet. 128 THE LIFT. AND WRITINGS OF LORD BYRON, And, undisturbed by conscientious qualms, Perverts the Prophets, and purloins the Psalms.* Hail, Sympathy ! thy soft idea brings A thousand visions of a thousand things, And shows, dissolved in thine own melting tears, The maudlin prince of mournful sonneteers. And art thou not their prince, harmonious Bowles ! Thou first great oracle of tender souls — Whether in sighing winds thou seek'st relief, Or consolation in a yellow leaf; Whether thy Muse most lamentably tells What merry sounds proceed from Oxford bells, { Or, still in bells delighting, finds a friend In every chime that jingled from Ostend ? Ah ! how much juster were thy Muse's hap, If to thy bells thou wouldst but add a cap ! Delightful Bowles! still blessing and still bless'd, All love thy strain, but children like it best. 'Tis thine, with gentle Little's moral song, To sooth the mania of the amorous throng ! With thee our nursery damsels shed their tears, Ere Miss, as yet, completes her infant years: But in her teens thy whining powers are vain ; She quits poor Bowles for Little's purer strain. Now to soft themes thou scornest to confine The lofty numbers of a harp like thine: ' Awake a louder and a loftier strain/ j Such as none heard before, or will again ; * Mr. Grahame has poured fourth two volumes of cant, under the name of * Sabbath Walks' and ' Biblical Pictures.' t See Bowles's Sonnets, &c. ' Sonnet to Oxford,' and ' Stanzas on hearing the bells of Ostend.' X 'Awake a louder,' &c. &c. is the first line in Bowles's * Spirit of Discovery ;' a very spirited and pretty dwarf Epic. Among other exquisite liues we have the following : — ' A kiss Stole on the listening silence, never yet Here heard ; they trembled even as if the power,' &c. Sec. That is, the woods of Madeira trembled to a kiss ; very much astonished, as well they might be, at such a phenomenon. THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF LOUD BYRON. [<><) Where all discoveries jumbled from the flood. Since first the leaky ark reposed in mud, By more or less, are sung in every hook, From Captain Noah down to Captain Cook. Nor this alone, but, pausing on the road, The bard sighs forth a gentle episode-* And gravely tells— attend, eacli beauteous Miss!— . When first Madeira trembled to a kiss. Bowles! in thy memory let this precept dwell — Stick to thy sonnets, man ! at least they sell. But if some new-born whim or larger bribe Prompt thy crude brain, and claim thee for a scribe If chance some bard, though once by dunces feared, Now, prone in dust, can only be revered — If Pope, whose fame and genius from the first Have foiled the best of critics, needs the worst — Do thou essay; each fault, each failing, scan; The first of poets was, alas ! but man ! Rake from each ancient dunghill every pearl, Consult Lord Fanny, and confide in Curll ; { Let all the scandals of a former age Perch on thy pen and flutter o'er thy page ; Affect a candour which thou canst not feel, Clothe envy in the garb of honest zeal ; Write as if St. John's soul could still inspire, And do from hate what Mallet| did for hire. Oh ! hadst thou lived in that congenial time, To rave with Dennis, and with Ralph to rhyme ;§ * The episode above alluded to is the story of ' Roberta Maehin' and ' Anna d'Arfet,' a pair of constant lovers, who performed the kiss above mentioned, that startled the woods of Madeira. t Curll is one of the heroes of the ' D unclad,' and was a bookseller. Lord Fanny is the poetical name of Lord Ilervey, author of ' Lines to the Imitator of Horace.' X Lord Bolingbroke hired Mallet to traduce Pope after his decease, because the poet had retained some copies of a work by Lord Bolingbroke, (the Patriot King,) which that splendid, but malignant genius, had ordered to be destroyed. § Dennis, the critic, and Ralph, the rhymester. ' Silence, ye wolves ! while Ralph to Cynthia howls, Making night hideous; answer him, ye owls !' Dunciad 130 THK LIFE AND WRITINGS OF LORD BYRON. Thronged with the rest around his living head, Not raised thy hoof against the lion dead ; A meet reward had crowned thy glorious gams, And linked thee to ihe Dunciad for thy pains,' Another Epic ! who inflicts again More books of hiank upon the sons of men ? Bceotian Cottle, rich Bristowa's boast, Imports old stories from the Cambrian coast, And sends hits goods to market— all alive ! Lines forty thousand, cantos twenty-five ! Fresh fish from Helicon! who'll buy ? who'll buy ? The precious bargain's cheap — In faith, not I : Too much in turtle Bristol's sons delight. Too much o'er bowls of rack prolong the night: If Commerce fills the purse, she clogs the brain, And Amos Cottle strikes the lyre in vain. In him an author's luckless lot behold ! Condemned to make the books which once he sold. Oh ! Amos Cottle — (Phoebus ! what a name To fill the speaking-trump of future fame !) — Oh ! Amos Cottle ! for a moment think What meagre profits spring from pen and ink ! When thus devoted to poetic dreams, Who will peruse thy prostituted reams ? Oh ! pen perverted ! paper misapplied ! Had Cottle j still adorned the counter's side., Bent o'er the desk, or, born So useful toils. Been taught to make the paper which he soils, Ploughed, delved, or plied the oar with lusty limb, He had not sung of Wales, nor 1 of him. As Sisyphus against the infernal steep Ro!ls the huge rock, whose motions ne'er may sleep, * See Bowles's late edition of Pope's works, for which he received three hun- dred pounds: thus Mr. B. lias experienced how much easier it is to profit by the reputation of nnother than to elevate Ins own. t Mr. Cottle, Amos, 01 Joseph, I don'i know which, hut one or both, once sellers of books they did not write and now writers of books that do not sell. have published a pair of Epics. ' Alfred,' (poor Hired! Pyo lias been at him too THE I !FE XND WHITINGS OF LORD BYRON, )'M So up thy hill, ambrosial Richmond! heaves Dull Maurice* all his granite weight of leaves : Smooth solid monuments of mental pain ! The petrifactions of a plodding brain, That, ere they reach the top, fall lumbering kick ag mi With broken lyre and cheek serenely pale, Lo ! sad Alcseus wanders down the vale ! Though fair they rose, and might have bloomed at last, His hopes have perished by the Northern blast : Nipped in the bud by Caledonian gales, His blossoms wither as the blast prevails ! O'er his lost works let classic Sheffield weep: May no rude hand disturb their early sleep ! + Yet, say ! why should the bard, at once, resign His claim to favour from the sacred Nine, For ever startled by the mingled howl Of Northern wolves that still in darkness prowl; A coward brood, which mangle as they prey, By hellish instinct, all that cross their way ? Aged or young, the living or the dead, No mercy find — these harpies must be fed. Why do the injured unresisting yield The calm possession of their native field ? Why tamely thus before their fangs retreat, Nor hunt the bloodhounds back lo Arthur's Seat ?J Health to immortal Jeffrey ! once, in name, England could boast a judge almost the same: In soul so like, so merciful, yet just, Some think that Satan has resigned his trust, * Mr. Maurice bath manufactured the component parts of a ponderous quarto, upon the beauties of ' Richmond Hill,' and the like : — it also takes in a charm- ing view of Turnham Green, Hammersmith, Brentford, Old and JSew, and the parts adjacent. t Poor Montgomery, though praised by every English Review, has been bitterly reviled by tbe Edinburgh. After all, the Bard of Sheffield is a man of considerable genius : his ' Wanderer of Switzerland' is worth a thousand ' Lyrical Ballads,' and at least fifty 'de ; rraded Epics.' t Arthur's Seat; the bill which overhangs Edinburgh. 132 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF LORD BYRON* And given the spirit to the world again, To sentence letters as he sentenced men ; Willi hands less mighty, but with heart as black, With voice as willing to decree the rack ; Bred in the Courts betimes, though all that law As yet hath taught him is to find a flaw. Since, well instructed in the patriot school To rail at party, though a party tool, Who knows, if chance his patrons should restore Back to the sway they forfeited before, His scribbling toils some recompense may meet, And raise this Daniel to the judgment-seat? Let Jeffries , shade indulge the pious hope, And, greeting thus, present him with a rope : ' Heir to my virtues ! man of equal mind ! Skilled to condemn as to traduce mankind, This cord receive! for thee reserved with care, To wield in judgment, and at length to wear.* Health to great Jeffrey ! Heaven preserve his life, To flourish on the fertile shores of Fife, And guard it sacred in his future wars, Since authors sometimes seek the field of Mars ! Can none remember that eventful day, That ever-glorious, almost fatal, fray, When Little's leadless pistol met his eye, And Bow-street myrmidons stood laughing by ?* Oh ! day disastrous ! on her firm-set rock Dunedin's castle fell a sacred shock; Dark rolled the sympathetic waves of Forth, Low groaned the startled whirlwinds of the North; Tweed ruffled half his waves to form a tear, The other half pursued its calm career;! * In 1806 Messrs. Jeffrey and Moore met at Chalk Farm. The duel was prevented by the interference of the magistracy ; and, on examination, the balls of the pistols, like the courage of the combatants, were found to have evaporated. This'incident gave occasion to much waggery in the daily prints. t The Tweed here behaved with proper decorum ; it would have been highly reprehensible in the English half of the river to have shown the smallest symptom of apprehension. FIIE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF LORD BYRON. [ Xi Arthur's steep summit nodded to its base, The surly Tolbooth scarcely kept her place; The Tolbooth felt — (for marble sometimes can, On such occasions, feel as much as man) — The Tolbooth felt defrauded of his charms, If Jeffrey died, except within her arms:* Nay, last, not least, on that portentous morn The sixteenth story, where himself was born. His patrimonial garret, fell to ground, And pale Edina shuddered at the sound : Strewed were the streets around with milk-white reams, Flowed all the Canongate with inky streams; This of his candour seemed the sable dew, That of his valour showed the bloodless hue; And all with justice deemed the two combined The mingled emblems of his mighty mind. But Caledonia's goddess hovered o'er The field, and saved him from the wrath of Moore, From either pistol snatched the vengeful lead, And straight restored it to her favorite's head. That head, with greater than magnetic power, Caught it, as Danae caught the golden shower ; And, though the thickening dross will scarce refine, Augments its ore, and is itself a mine. * My son/ she cried, ' ne'er thirst for gore again ; Resign the pistol, and resume the pen ; O'er politics and poesy preside, Boast of thy country, and Britannia's guide ! For, long as Albion's heedless sons submit, Or Scottish taste decides on English wit, So long shall last thine unmolested reign, Nor any dare to take thy name in vain. Behold, a chosen band shall aid thy plan, And own thee chieftain of the critic clan. * This display of sympathy on the part of the Tolbooth, (the principal prison in Edinburgh,) which truly seems to have been most affected on this occasion, is much to be commended. It was to be apprehended that the many unhappy criminals executed in the front might have rendered the edifice more callous. She is said to be of the softer sex, because her delicacy of feeling on this day was truly feminine, though, like most feminine impulses, perhaps a little selfish. 134 THE LIFF AND WRITINGS OF LORD BYRON First in tlio ranks illustrious shall be seen The travelled thane ! Athenian Aberdeen.* Herbert shall wield Thor's hammer, t and sometimes I)i gratitude thou'lt praise his rugged rhymes. Smug Sydney + too thy bitter page shall seek, And classic Hailam,§ much renowned for Greek. Scott may perchance his name and influence lend, And paltry Pillansfj shall traduce his friend. While gay Thalia's luckless votary, Lambe,^] As he himself was damned, shall try to damn. Known be thy name, unbounded be thy sway ; Thy Holland's banquets shall each toil repay ! While grateful Britain yields the praise she owes To Holland's hirelings and to Learning's foes. Yet mark one caution, ere thy next ' Review' Spread its light wings of saffron and of blue, * His lordship has been much abroad, is a member of the Athenian Society, and Reviewer of ' Gell's Topography of Troy.' t Mr. Herbert is a translator of Icelandic and other poetry. One of the prin- cipal pieces is a 'Song on the Recovery of Thor's Hammer:' the translation is a pleasant chant in the vulgar tongue, and endeth thus : — ' Instead of money and rings, I wot, The hammer's bruises were her lot, Thus Odin's son his hammer got.' | The Rev. Sydney Smith, the reputed author of Peter Plymney's Letters, and sundry criticisms. § Mr. Ilallam reviewed Payne Knight's ' Taste,' and was exceedingly severe on some Greek verses therein : it was not discovered that the lines were Pindar's till the press rendered it impossible to cancel the critique, which still stands an everlasting monument of Hallam's ingenuity. The said Ilallam is incensed, because he is falsely accused, seeing that he never dineth at Holland House. — If this be true, I am sorry — not for having said so, but on his account, as I understand his lordship's feasts are preferable to his com- positions. If he did not review Lord Holland's performance I am glad, because it must have been painful to read and irksome to praise it. If Mr. Ilallam will tell me who did review it, the real name shall find a place in the text, provided, nevertheless, the said name be of two orthodox musical syllables, and will come into the verse ; till then, Hallam must stand, for want of a better. || Tillans is a tutor at Eaton. % The Honourable G. Lambe reviewed ' Beresford's Miseries,' and is more- over author of a Farce enacted with much applause at the Priory, Stanmore, and damned with great expedition at the late theatre, Covent Garden. It was en- titled ' Whistle for it." THE LIFE AND WHITINGS OF LORD BYRON. 135 Beware lest blundering Brougham* destroy the sale. Turn beef to bannocks, cauliflowers to kail.' Thus having said, the kilted goddess kissed Her son, and vanished in a Scottish niist.j Illustrious Holland ! hard would be his lot, His hirelings mentioned, and himself forgot ! Holland, with Henry Petty at his back, The whipper-in and huntsman of the pack. Blessed be the banquets spread at Holland House, Where Scotchmen feed, and critics may carouse! Long, long beneath that hospitable roof, Shall Grub-street dine, while duns are kept aloof. See honest Hallam lay aside his fork, Resume his pen, review his Lordship's work; And, grateful to the founder of the feast, Declare his landlord can translate at least ! j Dunedinl view thy children with delight; They write for food, and feed because they write : And lest, when, heated with th' unusual grape, Some glowing thoughts should to the press escape, And tinge with red the female reader's cheek, My lady skims the cream of each critique; * Mr. Brougham, in No. XXV. of the ' Edinburgh Review,' throughout the article concerning Don Pedro de Cevallos, has displayed more politics than policy • many of the worthy burgesses of Edinburgh being so incensed at the in- famous principles it evinces as to have withdrawn their subscriptions. It seems that Mr. Brougham is not a Pict, as I supposed, but a Borderer, and his name is pronounced Broom from Trent to Tay : — So be it. t I ought to apologize to the worthy deities for introducing a new goddess with short petticoats to their notice ; but, alas ! what was to be done ? 1 could not say Caledonia's genius, it being well known there is no genius to be found from Clackmannan to Caithness ; yet, without supernatural agency, how was Jeffrey to be saved] The national 'kelpies,' &c. are too unpoetical ; and tbe ' brownies' and ' gude neighbours' (spirits of a good disposition) refused to ex- tricate him. A goddess, therefore, has been called for the purpose ; and great ought to be the gratitude of Jeffrey, seeing it is the only communication he ever held, or is likely to hold, with any thing heavenly. $ Lord 11. has translated some specimens of Lope De Vega, inserted in his Life of the Author: both are bepiaised by his disinterested guests. 136 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF LORD BYRON, Breathes o'er the page her purity of soul, Reforms each error, and refines the whole.* Now to the Drama turn — oh ! motley sight ! What precious scenes the wondering eyes invite ! Puns, and a prince within a barrel pent,f And Dibdin's nonsense, yield complete content. Though now, thank Heaven ! the Rosciomania's o'er, And full-grown actors are endured once more; Yet, what avails their vain attempts to please, While British critics suffer scenes like these? While Reynolds vents his 'dammes/ 'poohs/ and 'zounds/ } And common place and common sense confounds P While Kenny's World, just suffered to proceed, Proclaims the audience very kind indeed; And Beaumont's pilfered Caratach affords A tragedy complete in all but words ?§ Who but must mourn, while these are all the rage, The degradation of our vaunted stage P Heavens! is all sense of shame, and talent, gone ? Have we no living Bard of merit ? — none P Awake, George Colman ! Cumberland, awake ! Ring the alarum-bell, let Folly quake ! Oh ! Sheridan ! if aught can move thy pen, Let Comedy resume her throne again ; Abjure the mummery of German schools, Leave new Pizarros to translating fools; Give, as thy last memorial, to the age One classic drama, and reform the stage. * Certain it is her ladyship is suspected of having displayed her matchless wii in the ' Edinburgh Review :' however that may be, we know, from good authority, that the manuscripts are submitted to her perusal — no doubt for correction. t In the melo-drama of 'Tekeli,' that heroic prince is clapped into a barrel on the st-*ge — a new asylum for distressed heroes ! t All these are favorite expressions of Mr. It. and prominent in his Comedies, living and defunct. § Mr. T. Sheridan, the new manager of Drury-lane Theatre, stripped the tragedy of' Bonduca' of the dialogue, and exhibited the scenes as the spectacle of Caractacus. Was this worthy of his sire or of himself I THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF LORD BYRON. [37 Gods ! o'er those boards shall Folly rear lier head, Where Garrick trod, and Kemble lives to tread ? On those shall Farce display buffoonery's mask, And Hook conceal his heroes in a cask ? Shall sapient managers new scenes produce From Cherry, Skefrington, and Mother Goose ? While Shakspeare, Otway, Massiuger, forgot, On stalls must moulder, or in closets rot ? Lo ! with what pomp the daily prints proclaim The rival candidates for Attic fame ! In grim array though Lewis' spectres rise, Still Skeffington and Goose divide the prize. And sure great Skeffington must claim our praise, For skirtless coats and skeletons of plays Renowned alike; whose Genius ne'er confines Her flight to garnish Greenwood's gay designs;* Nor sleeps with 'Sleeping Beauties/ but, anon, In five facetious acts comes thundering on,f While poor John Bull, bewildered with the scene, Stares, wondering what the devil it cau mean ; But as some hands applaud, a venal few ! Rather than sleep, why John applauds it too. Such are we now : ah ! wherefore should we turn To what our fathers were, unless to mourn ? Degenerate Britons ! are ye dead to shame, Or, kind to dulness, do you fear to blame? Well may the nobles of our present race Watch each distortion of a Naldi's face ; Well may they smile on Italy's bulibons, And worship Catalani's pantaloons; J Since their own Drama yields no fairer trace Of wit than puns, of humour than grimace. * Mr. Greenwood is, we believe, scene-painter to Drury Lane Theatre— as such, Mr. S. is much indebted to him. f Mr. S. is the illustrious author of the ' Sleeping Beauty ;' and some Comedies, particularly ' Maids and Bachelors :' Baculaurii baculo magis quani lauro digni. i Naldi and Catalani require little notice — for the visage of the one, and the salary of the other, will enable us long to recollect these amusing vagabonds ; besides, we are still black and blue from the squeeze on the first night of the lady's appearance in trowsers. T 13$ THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF LOUD EVRON, Then let Ausonia, skilled in every art To soften manners, but corrupt the heart, Pour her exotic follies o'er the town, To sanction vice and hunt decorum down: Let wedded strumpets languish o'er Deshayes, And bless Hie promise which his form displays : While Gay ton bounds before the enraptured looks Of hoary marquisses and stripling dukes ; Let high-born lechers eye the lively Presle Twirl her light limbs, that spurn the needless veil , Let Angiolini bare her breast of snow, Wave the white arm, and point the pliant toe; Collini trill her love-inspiring song, Strain her fair neck, and charm the listening throng I Raise not your sithe, Suppressors of our Vice ! Reforming Saints! too delicately nice ! By whose decrees, our sinful souls to save, No Sunday tankards foam, no barbers shave; And beer undrawn and beards unmowii display Your holy reverence for the Sabbath-day. Or, hail, at once the patron and the pile Of vice and folly, Grevilleand Argyle!* Where yon proud palace, Fashion's hallowed fane, Spreads wide her portals for the motley train, Behold the new Petroniusf of the day, The arbiter of pleasure and of play ! * To prevent any blunder, such as mistaking a street for a man, I Leg leave to state that it is the Institution, and not the Duke, of that name, which is here al luded to. A gentleman, with whom I am slightly acquainted, lost in the Argyle Rooms several thousand pounds at backgammon : it is but justice to the manager in this instance to say that some degree of disapprobation was manifested ; but why are the implements of gaming allowed in a place devoted to the society of both sexes ? A pleasant thing for the wives and daughters of those, who are blessed or cursed with such connexions, to hoar die billiard-tables rattling in one room and the dice in another ! That this is the case I myself can testify, as a late umvorth) member of an institution which materially affects the morals of the higher orders, while the lower may not even move to the sound of a tabor and iiddle without a chance of indictment for riotous behaviour. t Petronius, 'arbiter elegantiarum' to r\ero, ' and a very pretty fellow in his day,' as Mr. Congreve's ' Old Bachelor' saith. THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF LORD BYRON, J )£) There the hired eunuch, the Hesperian choir, The melting lute, the soft lascivious lyre, The song - from Italy, the step from France, The midnight orgy and the mazy dance, The smile of beauty and the flush of wine, For fops, fools, gamesters, knaves, and lords, combine; Each to his humour — Cornus all allows; Champaign, dice, music, or your neighbour's spouse. Talk not to us, ye starving sons of Trade, Of piteous ruin, which ourselves have made: Jn Plenty's sunshine Fortune's minions bask, Nor think of Poverty, except c en masque,' When, for the night, some lately titled ass Appears the beggar which his grandsire was. The curtain dropped, the gay burletta o'er, The audience take their turn upon the floor; Now round the room the circling dow'gers sw T eep, Now in loose waltz the thin-clad daughters leap: The first in lengthened line majestic swim, The last display the free unfettered limb : Those for Hibernia's lusty sons repair, With art, the charms which Nature could not spare; These after husbands wing their eager flight, Nor leave much mystery for the nuptial night. Oh, blessed retreats of infamy and ease ! Where, all forgotten but the power to please, Each maid may give a loose to genial thought, Each swain may teach new systems, or be taught: There the blithe youngster, just returned from Spain, Cuts the light pack, or calls the rattling main; The jovial caster's set, and seven's the nick, Or — ' Done ! a thousand on the coming trick I 7 If, mad with loss, existence 'gins to tire, And all your hope or wish is to expire, Here's Power's pistol ready for your life, And, kinder still, a Paget for your wife : Fit consummation of an earthy race, Begun in folly, ended in disgrace, While none but menials o'er the bed of death Wash thy red wounds, or watch thy wavering breath ; 140 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF LORD BYR >N. Traduced by liars, and forgot by all, The mangled victim of a drunken brawl, To live like Clodius,* and like Falklandf fall. Truth ! rouse some genuine bard, and guide his hand To drive this pestilence from out the land. E'en I, least thinking of a thoughtless throng, Just skilled to know the right and choose the wrong, Freed at that age when Reason's shield is lost, To fight my course through Passion's countless host, Whom every path of Pleasure's flowery way Has lured in turn, and all have led astray — E'en I must raise my voice, e'en I must feel Such scenes, such men, destroy the public weal: Although some kind censorious friend will say, 'What art thou better, meddling fool, than they ?' /\nd every brother rake will smile to see That miracle — a moralist — in me. No matter: when some bard, in virtue strong, (Giffbrd, perchance,) shall raise the chastening song, Then sleep my pen for ever ! and my voice Be only heard to hail him, and rejoice; Rejoice, and yield my feeble praise, though I May feel the lash that Virtue must apply. As for the smaller fry, who swarm in shoals, From silly Hafizj up to simple Bowles, * Mutato nomine de te Fabula narratur. | I knew the late Lord Falkland well. On Sunday night I beheld him pre- siding at his own table in all the honest pride of hospitality ; on Wednesday morning, at three o'clock, I saw stretched before me all that remained of courage, feeling, and a host of passions. He was a gallant unsuccessful officer ; his faults were the faults of a sailor ; as such, Britons will forgive them. He died like a brave man in a better cause ; for, had he fallen in like manner on the deck of the. frigate to which he was just appointed, his last moments would have been held up by his countrymen as an example to succeeding heroes. X What would be the sentiments of the Persian Anacreon, Hafiz, could he rise from his eplondid sepulchre at Sheeraz, where he reposes with Ferdousi and Sadi, the Oriental Homer and Catullus, and behold his name assumed by one Stott, of Dromore, the most impudent, and execrable of literary poachers for tbe daily prints 1 THF. LFFE AND WRITINGS OF LORD BYRON. Mi Why should we tall them from their dark abode In Broad St. Giles's, or in Tottenham Road ? Or (since some men of fashion nobly dare To scrawl in verse) from Bond Street or the Square? If things of ton their harmless lays indite, Most wisely doom* d to shun the public sight, What harm ? in spite of every critic elf, Sir T. may read his stanzas to himself; Miles Andrews still his strength in couplets try, And live in prologues, though his dramas die. Lords, too, are bards; such things at limes befall, And 'tis some praise in peers to write at all. Yet, did or taste or reason sway the times, Ah ! who would take their titles with their rhymes P Roscommon ! Sheffield ! with your spirits fled, No future laurels deck a noble head ; No Muse will cheer, with renovating smile, The paralytic puling of Carlisle : The puny schoolboy and his early lay Men pardon, if his follies pass away ; But who forgives the senior's ceaseless verse, Whose hairs grow hoary as his rhymes grow worse 3 What heterogeneous honours deck the peer! Lord, rhymester, petit-maitre, pamphleteer!* So dull in youth, so drivelling in his age, His scenes alone had damned our sinking stage; But managers for once cried ' Hold, enough !' Nor drugged their audience with the tragic stuff. Yet at their judgment let his lordship laugh, And case his volumes in congenial calf; Yes ! doff that covering where Morocco shines, And hang a calf-skinf on those recreant lines. * The Earl of Carlisle has lately published an eighteen-penny pamphlet on the .state of the stage, and offers his plan for building a new theatre : it is to be hoped his lordship will be permitted to bring forward any thing for the stage, except his own tragedies. t ' Dcff that lion's hide, And hang a calf-skin on those recreant limbs.' Sh a k . King John. Lord C.'s works, most resplendently bound, form a conspicuous ornament to his book-shelves : • The Test is all but leather and prunella.' 142 THE LIFE AND WHITINGS OF LORD BYRON. With you, ye druids! rich in native lead, Who daily scribble for your daily bread — With you I war not: Gilford's heavy han " Has crushed, without remorse, your numerous hand On ' All the Talents' vent your venal spleen; Want your defence, let Pity be your screen. Let Monodies on Fox regale your crew, And Melville's Mantle* prove a blanket too ! One common Lethe waits each hapless bard, And peace be with you ! 'tis your best reward. Such damning fame as Dunciads only give Could bid your lines beyond a morning live; But now at once your fleeting labours close, With names of greater note, in blessed repose. Far be't from me unkindly to upbraid The lovely Rosa's prose in masquerade, Whose strains, the faithful echoes other mind, Leave wondering comprehension far behind. + Though Bell has lost his nightingales and owls, Matilda snivels still, and Hafiz howls ; And Crusca's spirit, rising from the dead, Revives in Laura, Quiz, and X. Y. Z.j When some brisk youth, the tenant of a stall, Employs a pen less pointed than his awl, Leaves his snug shop, forsakes his store of shoes, St. Crispin quits, and cobbles for the Muse, Heavens ! how the vulgar stare ! how crowds applaud ' How ladies read ! and literati laud ! If chance some wicked wag should pass his jest, 'Tis sheer ill nature; don't the world know best <* Genius must guide when wits admire the rhyme, And Cupel Lofft§ declares 'tis quite sublime. * ' Melville's Mantle,' a parody on ' Elijah's Mantle,' a poem. t This lovely little Jessica, the daughter of the noted Jew K , seems to be a follower of the Delia Crusca school, and has published two volumes of very re- spectable absurdities in rhyme, as times go ; besides sundry novels, in the style of the first edition of the Monk. X These are the signatures of various worthies who figure in the poetical de- partments of the newspapers. § Capel Lofft, Esq. the Maecenas of shoemakers, and preface-writer-general to distressed versemen ; a kind of gratis accoucheur to those who wish to be deli- vered of rhyme, but do not know how to bring it forth. THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF LOUD BYRON. 143 Hear, then, ye happy sons of needless trade! Swains! quit the plough, resign the useless spade ! Lo ! Burns and Bloomfield,* nay, a greater far, Gifford was horn beneath an adverse star, Forsook the labours of a servile state, Stemmed the rude storm, and triumphed over Fate. Then why no more? if Phoebus smiled on you, Bloomfield ! why not on brother Nathan too? Him too the mania, not the Muse, has seized ; Not inspiration, but a mind diseased : And now no boor can seek his last abode, No common be enclosed, without an ode. Oh, since increased refinement deigns to smile On Britain's sons, and bless our genial isle, Let Poesy go forth, pervade the whole, Alike the rustic and mechanic soul ! Ye tuneful cobblers ! still your notes prolong, Compose at once a slipper and a song; So shall the fair your handywork peruse, Your sonnets sure shall please — perhaps your shoes, May Moorland weavers t boast Pindaric skill, And tailors' lays be longer than their bill ! While punctual beaux reward the grateful notes, And pay for poems — when they pay for coats. To the famed throng now paid the tribute due, Neglected Genius! let me turn to you. Come forth, oh Campbell !j give thy talents scope; Who dares aspire if thou must cease to hope ? And thou, melodious Rogers ! rise at last, Recall the pleasing memory of the past. Arise ! let blessed remembrance still inspire, And strike to wonted tunes thy hallowed Ivre; * See Nathaniel Bloomfield' s ode, elegy, or whatever he or any one else choose* to call it, on the enclosure of ' Honington Green.' t Vide ' Recollections of a Weaver in the Moorlands of Staffordshire.' + It would be superfluous to recall to the mind of the reader the author of ' The Pleasures of Memory' and 'The Pleasures of Hope,' the most beautiful didactic poems in our language, if we except Pope's ' Essay on Man ;' but so many poetasters have started up, that even the names of Campbell and Rogers have become strange. 144 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF LORD BYRON. Restore Apolio to liis vacant throne, Assert thy country's honour and thine own. What ! must deserted Poesy still weep Where her last hopes with pious Cow per sleep ? Unless, perchance, from his cold bier she turns, To deck the turf that wraps her minstrel, Burns ! No ! though contempt hath marked the spurious brood, The race who rhyme from folly or for food, Yet still some genuine sons 'tis hers to boast, Who, least affecting-, still effect the most- Feel as they write, and write but as they feel — Bear witness, Gifford, Sothehy, Macneil.* ' Why slumbers Gifford ?' once was asked in vain :-f Why slumbers Gifford ? let us ask again. Are there no follies for his pen to purge ? Are there no fools whose backs demand the scourge '' Are there no sins for Satire's bard to greet? Stalks not gigantic Vice in every street ? Shall peers or princes tread pollution's path, And 'scape alike the law's and Muse's wrath ? Nor blaze with guilty glare through future time, Eternal beacons of consummate crime ? Arouse thee, Gifford ! be thy promise claimed, Make bad men better, or at least ashamed. Unhappy White !J while life was in its spring, And thy young Muse just waved her joyous wing, The spoiler came; and all thy promise fair Has sought the grave, to sleep forever there. • Gifford, author of the ' Baviad' and ' Mseviad,' the first satires of the day, and translator of Juvenal. Sotheby, translator of Wieland's ' Oberon' and Virgil's ' Georgics,' and author of ' Saul,' an epic poem. Macneil, whose poems are deservedly popular ; particularly ' Scotland's S aitli, or the Waesof War,' of which ten thousand copies were sold in one month. t Mr. Gifford promised publicly that the ' Baviad' and ' M.eviad' should not be his last original works ; let him remember, ' Mox in reluctantes Dracones.' J Henry Kirke White died at Cambridge in October, 180b, in consequence of too much exertion in the pursuit of studies that would have matured a mind which disease and poverty could not impair, and which death hseli destroyed rather than subdued. His poems abound in such beauties a.^ must impress the reader with the liveliest regret that so short a period was allotted to talents which would have dignified even the sacred functions he was destined to assume. THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF LORD BYRON. 140 Oh ! what a noble heart was here undone, When Science 'self destroyed her favorite son ! Yes, she too much indulged thy fond pursuit — She sowed the seeds, but Death has reaped the fruit. 'Twas thine own Genius gave the final blow, And helped to plant the wound that laid thee low : So the struck eagle, stretched upon the plain, No more through rolling clouds to soar again, Viewed his own feather on the fatal dart, And winged the shaft that quivered in his heart: Keen were his pangs, but keener far to feel He nursed the pinion which impelled the steel, While the same plumage that had warmed his nest Drank the last life-drop of his bleeding breast. There be who say, in these enlightened days, That splendid lies are all the poet's praise ; That strained invention, ever on the wing, Alone impels the modern bard to sing. 'Tis true that all who rhyme, nay, all who write, Shrink from that fatal word to Genius — Trite: Yet Truth sometimes will lend her noblest fires, And decorate the verse herself inspires : This fact in Virtue's name let Crabbe attest — Though Nature's sternest painter, yet the best. And here let Shee* and genius find a place, Whose pen and pencil yield an equal grace ; To guide whose hand the sister Arts combine, And trace the poet's or the painter's line ; Whose magic touch can bid the canvass glow, Or pour the easy rhyme's harmonious flow, While honours doubly merited attend The poet's rival, but the painter's friend. Blessed is the man who dare approach the bower Where dwelt the Muses at their natal hour; Whose steps have pressed, whose, eye has marked afar, Jhe clime that nursed the sons of song and war, The scenes which glory still must hover o'er ; Her place of birth, her own Achaian shore ! Mr. Shee, author of ' Rhyme3 on Art' and ' Elements of Art.' U 14G THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF LORD BYRON. But doubly blessed is be whose heart expands With hallowed feelings for those elassic lands ; Who rends the veil of ages long- gone by, And views their remnants with a poet's eye! Wright,* 'twas thy happy lot at once to view Those shores of glory, and to sing them too; And sure no common Muse inspired thy pen To hail the land of gods and godlike men. And you, associate bards !+ who snatched to light Those gems too long withheld from modern sight ; Whose mingling taste combined to cull the wreath Where Attic flowers Aonian odours breathe, And all their renovated fragrance flung, To grace the beauties of your native tongue; Now let those minds that nobly could transfuse The glorious spirit of the Grecian Muse, Though soft the echo, scorn a borrowed tone : Resign Achaia's lyre, and strike your own. Let these, or such as these, with just applause, Restore the Muse's violated laws; But not in flimsy Darwin's pompous chime, That mighty master of unmeaning rhyme; Whose gilded cymbals, more adorned than clear, The eye delighted, but fatigued the ear, In show the simple lyre could once surpass, But now, worn down, appear in native brass ; While all his train of hovering sylphs around Evaporate in similes and sound : Him let them shun, with him let tinsel die : False glare attracts, but more offends, the eye.£ Yet let them not to vulgar Wordsworth stoop, The meanest object of the lowly group, * Mr. Wright, late consul-general for the Seven Islands, is author of a very beautiful poem just published : it is entitled ' Horre Ionicae/ and is descriptive of the isles and the adjacent coast of Greece. t The translators of the ' Anthology' have since published separate poems, which evince geniu3 that only requires opportunity to attain eminence. } The neglect of the ' Botanic Garden' is some proof of returning taste : the scenery is its sole recommendation. THli LIFE AND WRITINGS OF LORD BYRON. 147 Whose verse, of all but childish prattle void, Seems blessed harmony to Lambe and Lloyd:* Let them — but hold, my Muse, nor dare to teacli A strain far, far, beyond thy humble reach ; The native genius with their feeling given Will point the path, and peal their notes to heaven. And thou, too, Scott !f resign to minstrels rude The wilder Slogan of a Border feud : Let others spin their meagre lines for hire! Enough for Genius if itself inspire ! Let Southey sing, although his teeming Muse, Prolific every spring, be too profuse; Let simple Wordsworth chime his childish verse, And brother Coleridge lull the babe at nurse; Let spectre-mongering Lewis aim, at most, To rouse the galleries, or to raise a ghost; Let Moore be lewd; let Strangford steal from Moore, And swear that Camoens sang such notes of yore ; Let Hayley hobble on; Montgomery rave; And godly Grahame chant a stupid stave; Let sonneteering Bowles his strains refine, And whine and whimper to the fourteenth line; Let Stott, Carlisle,; Matilda, and the rest Of Grub-street, and of Grosvenor-place the best, * Messrs. Lambe and Lloyd, the most ignoble followers of Southey and Co. t By-the-by, I hope that in Mr. Scott's next poem his hero or heroine will be less addicted to ' Gramarye,' and more to Grammar, than the Lady of the Lay, and her bravo, William of Deloraine. X It may be asked why I have censured the Earl of Carlisle, my guardian and relative, to whom I dedicated a volume of puerile poems a few years ago. The guardianship was nominal, at least as far as I have been able to discover ; the relationship I cannot help, and am very sorry for it; but, as his lordship seemed to forget it on a very essential occasion to me, I shall not burden my memory with the recollection. I do not think that personal differences sanction the unjust con- demnation of a brother scribbler ; but I see no reason why they should act as a preventive, when the author, noble or ignoble, has for a series of years beguiled a ' discerning public' (as the advertisements have it) with divers reams of most orthodox imperial nonsense. Besides, I do not step aside to vituperate the Earl ; no — his works come fairly in review with those of other patrician literati. If, before I escaped from my teens, I said any thing in favour of his Lordship's paper books, it was in the way of dutiful dedication, and more from the advice of others tban my own judgment, and I seize the first opportunity of pronouncing my sincere 14& THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF LOUD BYRON. ►Scrawl on 'till death release us from the strain, Or Common Sense asserl her rights again ; But thou, with powers that mock the aid of praise, Shouldst leave to humbler bards ignoble lays : Thy country's voice, the voice of all the Nine, Demand a hallowed harp — that harp is thine. Say ! will not Caledonia's annals yield The glorious record of some nobler field Than the vile foray of a plundering clan, Whose proudest deeds disgrace the name of man P Or Marmion's acts of darkness, fitter food For outlawed Sherwood's tales of Robin Hood ? Scotland ! still proudly claim thy native bard, And be thy praise his first, his best, reward ! Yet not with thee alone his name should live, But own the vast renown a world can give; Be known, perchance, when Albion is no more, And tell the tale of what she was before ; To future times her faded fame recall, And save her glory, though his country fall. Yet what avails the sanguine poet's hope? To conquer ages, and with Time to cope ! New eras spread their wings, new nations rise, And other victors* fill th' applauding skies; A few brief generations fleet along, Whose sons forget the poet and his song : E'en now what once-loved minstrels scarce may claim The transient mention of a dubious name ? When Fame's loud trump hath blown its noblest blast, Though long the sound, the echo sleeps at last; recantation. I have heard that some persons conceive me to be under obligations to Lord Carlisle : if so, I shall be most particularly happy to learn what they are, and when conferred, that they may be duly appreciated, and publicly acknowledged. What 1 have humbly advanced as an opinion on his printed tilings, 1 am prepared to support, if necessary, by quotations from elegies, eulogies, odes, episodes, and certain facetious and dainty tragedies bearing his name and mark : ' What can ennoble knaves, or fools, or cowards I Alas ! not all the blood of all the Howards !' So says Pope. Amen ! * ' Tollere humo, victorquc virum volitare per ora.' \ utc.ii.. THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF LORD BYRON. 149 And Glory, like the phoenix 'midst her fires, Exhales her odours, blazes, and expires. Shall hoary Granta call her sable sons, Expert in science, more expert at puns ? Shall these approach the Muse ? Ah no ! she flies, And even spurns the great Seatonian prize, Though printers condescend the press to soil With rhyme by Hoare, and epic blank by Hoyle : Not him whose page, if still upheld by whist, Requires no sacred theme to bid us list.* Ye ! who in Granta's honours would surpass, Must mount her Pegasus, a full-grown ass ; A foal well worthy of her ancient dam, Whose Helicon is duller than her Cam. There Clarke, still striving- piteously ' to please, 5 Forgetting doggrel leads not to degrees, A would-be satirist, a hired buffoon, A monthly scribbler of some low lampoon, Condemned to drudge the meanest of the mean, And furbish falsehoods for a magazine, Devotes to scandal his congenial mind ; Himself a living libel on mankind. f Oh, dark asylum of a Vandal race! J At once the boast of learning, and disgrace; So sunk in dulness, and so lost in shame, That Smythe and Hodgson§ scarce redeem thy fame ! * The ' Games of Hoyle,' well known to the votaries of whist, chess, &e. are not to be superseded by the vagaries of his poetical namesake, whose poem com- prised, as expressly stated in the advertisement, all the ' Plagues of Egypt.' t This person, who has lately betrayed the most rapid symptoms of confirmed authorship, is writer of a poem denominated the ' Art of Pleasing,' as ' Lucus a non lucendo,' containing little pleasantry, and less poetry. He also acts as monthly stipendiary and collector of calumnies for the ' Satirist.' If this unfortunate yo una; man would exchange the magazines for the mathematics, and endeavour to take a decent degTee in his university, it might eventually prove more serviceable than his present salary. } ' Into Cambridgeshire the Emperor Probus transported a considerable body of Vandals.' — Gibbon's Decline and Fall, page 83, vol. ii. There is no reason to doubt the trutli of this assertion ; the breed is still in high perfection. § This gentleman'3 name requires no praise : the man who, in translation, dis- plays unquestionable genius, may welbbe expected to excel in original composition, of which it is to be hoped we shall soon sec a splendid specimen. 150 THE LIFE AM) WRITINGS OF LORD BYRON. But where fair lsis rolls her purer wave The partial Muse delighted loves to lave; On her green banks a greener wreath is wove, To crown the hards that haunt her classic grove,, Where Richards wakes a genuine poet's tires, And modern Britons justly praise their sires.* For me, who thus unasked have dared to tell My country what her sons should know too well, Zeal for her honour bade me here engage The host of idiots that infest her age. No just applause her honoured name shall lose. As first in freedom, dearest to the Muse. Oh ! would thy bards but emulate thy fame, And rise more worthy, Albion, of thy name, What Athens was in science, Rome in power, What Tyre appeared in her meridian hour, 'Tis thine at once, fair Albion, to have been, Earth's chief dictatress, Ocean's mighty queen : But Rome decayed, and Athens strewed the plain, And Tyre's proud piers lie shattered in the main ; Like these thy strength may sink in ruin hurled. And Britain fall, the bulwark of the world. But let me cease, and dread Cassandra's fate, With warning ever scoffed at, till too late ; To themes less lofty still my lay confine, And urge thy bards to gain a name like thine. Then, hapless Britain ! be thy rulers blessed The senate's oracles, the people's jest ! Still hear thy motley orators dispense The flowers of rhetoric, though not of sense; Wh le Canning's colleagues hate him for his wit, And old dame Portland! tills the place of Pitt. Yet once again adieu ! ere this the sail That wafts me hence is shivering in the gale; And Afric's coast and Calpe'sj adverse height, And Stamboul's§ minarets, must greet my sight : * 'the ' Aboriginal Britons,' an excellent ]>oem by Richards. t A friend of mine, being asked why his Grace of 1'. was likened lo an olc woman, replied, ' he supposed it was because he was past bearing.' | Calpe is the ancient name of Gibraltar. Is this a boon so kindly given, That, being, thou wouldsl be again, and go, THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF LORD BYRON. 165 Thou knowest not, reck'st not, to what region, so On earth no more, but mingled with the skies ? Still wilt thou dream on future joy and woe ? Regard and weigh yon dust before it flies : That little urn saith more than thousand homilies. Or burst the vanished Hero's lofty mound ; Far on the solitary shore he sleeps :* He fell, and falling nations mourned around; But now not one of saddening thousands weeps, Nor warlike worshipper his vigil keeps Where demi-gods appeared, as records tell. Remove yon skull from out the scattered heaps : Is that a temple where a god may dwell P Why e'en the worm at last disdains her shattered cell ! Look on its broken arch, its ruined wall, Its chambers desolate, and portals foul : Yes, this was once Ambition's airy hall, The dome of Thought, the palace of the Soul : Behold, through each lack-lustre eyeless hole, The gay recess of Wisdom and of Wit, And Passion's host, that never brooked control : Can all saint, sage, or sophist ever writ, People this lonely tower, this tenement refit ? Well didst thou speak, Athena's wisest son ! * All that we know is, nothing can be known.' Why should we shrink from what we cannot shun ? Each has his pang, but feeble sufferers groan With brain-born dreams of evil all their own. Pursue what Chance or Fate proclaimeth best; Peace waits us on the shores of Acheron : There no forced banquet claims the sated guest, But Silence spreads the couch of ever-welcome rest. * It was not always the custom of the Greeks to burn their dead ; the greater Ajax in particular was interred entire. Almost all the chiefs became gods after their decease, and he was indeed neglected, who had not annual games near his tomb, or festivals in honour of his memory by his countrymen, as Achilles, Bra- sidas, &c. and at last even Antinous, whose death was as heroic as his life was infamous. 166 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF LORD BYRON. Yet if, as holiest men have deemed, there be A land of souls beyond that sable shore, To shame the doctrine of the Sadducee And sophists, madly vain of dubious lore: How sweet it were in concert to adore With those who made our mortal labours light! To hear each voice we feared to hear no more ! Behold each mighty shade revealed to sight, The Bactrian, Samian sage, and all who taught the right ! Lord Byron's indignation was excited (and we must say, as it appears lous, rather needlessly) at the proceedings of Lord Elgin, who preserved the remains of the works of art in Athens from the destruction to which they were doomed, and sent them to England. Some angry verses and some bitter notes are devoted to this subject, which we shall be obliged to recur to in mentioning another poem— (' Minerva's Curse/) Lord Byron speaks of Albania with great delight, and seems to have been more pleased with this part of Greece, and its people, than with any other. He thus apostrophizes it : Land of Albania ! where Iskander rose, Theme, of the young, and beacon of the wise, And he his namesake, whose oft-baffled foes Shrunk from his deeds of chivalrous emprise : Land of Albania ! let me bend mine eyes On thee, thou rugged nurse of savage men ! The cross descends, thy minarets arise, And the pale crescent sparkles in the glen, Through many a cypress grove within each city's ken. A very long note is subjoined, which is highly characteristic of the author; and its interest will be heightened when the reader learns that it conveys a very true notion of the spirit and tone of Lord Byron's conversation. He was in the habit of speaking exactly in the manner in which this note is written : ' Albania comprises part ofMacedonia, Illyria, Chaonia, and Epirus. Iskander is the Turkish word for Alexander ; and the celebrated Scan- derbeg (Lord Alexander) is alluded to in the third and fourth lines of the thirty-eighth stanza. I do not know whether I am correct in making Scauderbeg the countryman of Alexander, who was born at Pella in THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF LORD BYRON. 167 Macedon ; but Mr. Gibbon terms him so, and adds Pyrrhus to the list in speaking of his exploits. 'Of Albania Gibbon remarks, that a country " within sight of Italy is less known than the interior of America." Circumstances, of little consequence to mention, led Mr. Hubhouse and myself into that coun- try before we visited any other part of the Ottoman dominions; and with the exception of Major Leake, then officially resident at Joan- nina, no other Englishmen have ever advanced beyond the capital into the interior, as that gentleman very lately assured me. Ali Pacha was at that time (October, 1809) carrying on war against Ibrahim Pacha, whom he had driven to Berat, a strong fortress which he was then be- sieging : on our arrival at Joannina we were invited to Tepaleni, his highness's birth-place, and favorite Serai, only one day's distance from Berat : at this juncture the Vizier had made it his head-quarters. 'After some stay in the capital we accordingly followed; but though furnished with every accommodation, and escorted by one of the Vizier's secretaries, we were nine days (on account of the rains) in accomplish- ing a journey, which, on our return, barely occupied four. ' On our route we passed two cities, Argyrocastro and Libochabo, apparently little inferior to Yanina in size; and no pencil or pen can ever do justice to the scenery in the vicinity of Zitza and Delvinachi, the frontier villages of Epirus and Albania Proper. ' On Albania and its inhabitants I am unwilling to descant, because this will be done so much better by my fellow-traveller, in a work which may probably precede this in publication, that I as little wish to follow as I would to anticipate him. But some few observations are necessary to the text. ' The Arnaouts, or Albanese, struck me forcibly by their resemblance to the Highlanders of Scotland in dress, figure, and manner of living. Their very mountains seemed Caledonian with a kinder climate. The kilt, though white; the spare, active form; their dialect, Celtic in its sound; and their hardy habits; all carried me back to Morven. No nation are so detested and dreaded by their neighbours as the Albanese : the Greeks hardly regard them as Christians, or the Turks as Moslems; and in fact they are a mixture of both, and sometimes neither. Their habits are predatory : all are armed ; and the red-shawled Arnaouts, the Montenegrins, Chimariots, and Gegdes, are treacherous : the others ditfer somewhat in garb, and essentially in character. As far as my own experience goes, I can speak favorably. I was attended by two, an Infidel and a Mussulman, to Constantinople, and every other part of 168 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF LOUD BYRON. Turkey which came within my observation ; and more faithful in peril, or indefatigable in service, are rarely to be found. The Infidel was named Basilius; the Moslem, Dervish Tahiri : the former a man of middle age, and the latter about my own. Basili was strictly charged by Ali Pacha in person to attend us; and Dervish was one of fifty who accompanied us through the forests of Acarnaniato the banks of Ache- lous, and onward to Messalunghi in iEtolia. There I took him into my own service, and never had occasion to repent it till the moment of my departure. ' When, in 1810, after the departure of my friend Mr. H. for Eng- land, I was seized with a severe fever in the Morea, these men saved my life by frightening away my physician, whose throat they threat- ened to cut if I was not cured within a given time. To this consolatory assurance of posthumous retribution, and a resolute refusal of Dr. Romanelli's prescriptions, I attributed my recovery. I had left my last remaining English servant at Athens; my dragoman was as ill as my- self, and my poor Arnaouts nursed me with an attention which would have done honour to civilization. 'They had a variety of adventures ; for the Moslem, Dervish, being a remarkably handsome man, was always squabbling with the husbands of Athens; insomuch that four of the principal Turks paid me a visit of remonstrance at the convent, on the subject of his having taken a woman from the bath — whom he had lawfully bought, however — a thing quite contrary to etiquette. ' Basili also was extremely gallant amongst his own persuasion, and had the greatest veneration for the church, mixed with the highest con- tempt of churchmen, whom he cuffed upon occasion in a most heterodox manner. Yet he never passed a church without crossing himself; and I remember the risk he ran in entering St. Sophia, in Stambol, because it had once been a place of his worship. On remonstrating with him on his inconsistent proceedings, he invariably answered "Our church is holy, our priests are thieves;" and then he crossed himself as usual, and boxed the ears of the first " papas" who refused to assist in any required operation, as was always found to be necessary where a priest had any influence with the Cogia Bashi of his village. Indeed a more abandoned race of miscreants cannot exist than the lower orders of the Greek clergy. ' When preparations were made far my return, my Albanians were summoned to receive their pay. Basili took his with an awkward show of regret at my intended departure, and marched away to hia THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF LORD BYRON. 169 quarters with lu's hag of piastres. I sent for Dervish, but for some time he was not to be found: at last he entered, just as Signor Logotheti, father to the ci-devant Anglo-consul of Athens, and some other of my Greek acquaintances, paid me a visit. Dervish took the money, but on a sudden dashed it to the ground ; and clasping his hands, which he raised to his forehead, rushed out of the room weeping bitterly. From that moment to the hour of my embarkation he continued his lamentations, and all our efforts to console him only produced this answer, " M'a