TO THE SIGHING STREPHON.

YOUR pardon, my friend, if my rhymes did offend,
Your pardon, a thousand times o'er;
From friendship Istrove your pangs to remove,
But I swear I will do so no more.

Since your beautiful maid your flame has repaid,
No more I your folly regret ;

She's now most divine, and I bow at the shrine
Of this quickly-reform'd coquette.

Yet still, I must own, I should never have known
From your verses, what else she deserved;
Your pain seem'd so great, I pitied your fate,
As your fair was so devilish reserved.

Since the balm-breathing kiss of this magical Miss
Can such wonderful transports produce,
Since the "world you forget, when your lips once
have met,"

My counsel will get but abuse.

You say, when "I rove, I know nothing of love;" 'T is true, I am given to range :

If I rightly remember, I've loved a good number,
Yet there's pleasure, at least, in a change.

[affright,

I will not advance, by the rules of romance,
To humour a whimsical fair;
Though a smile may delight, yet a frown won't
Or drive me to dreadful despair.

While my blood is thus warm I ne'er shall reform,
To mix in the Platonist's school;

Of this I am sure, was my passion so pure,
Thy mistress would think me a fool.

And if I should shun every woman for one,
Whose image must fill my whole breast-
Whom I must prefer, and sigh but for her—
What an insult 't would be to the rest!

Now, Strephon, good bye; I cannot deny
Your passion appears most absurd;
Such love as you plead is pure love indeed,
For it only consists in the word.

TO ELIZA. (1)

ELIZA, what fools are the Mussulman sect,
Who to woman deny the soul's future existence!

Could they see thee, Eliza, they'd own their defect, And this doctrine would meet with a general resistance.

Had their Prophet possess'd half an atom of sense, He ne'er would have women from paradise driven; Instead of his houris, a flimsy pretence!

With women alone he had peopled his heaven.

Yet still, to increase your calamities more,

Not content with depriving your bodies of sprit, He allots one poor husband to share amongst four!— With souls you'd dispense; but this last, who could bear it ?

His religion to plea e neither party is made;"

On husbands 't is hard, to the wives most uncivil: Still I can't contradict, what so oft has been said, "Though women are angels, yet wedlock's the devil."

LACHIN Y GAIR. (2)

AWAY, ye gay landscapes, ye gardens of roses!
In you let the minions of luxury rove;
Restore me the rocks, where the snow-flake reposes,
Though still they are sacred to freedom and love:
Yet, Caledonia, beloved are thy mountains,

Round their white summits though elements war; Though cataracts foam 'stead of smooth-flowing fountains,

I sigh for the valley of dark Loch na Garr.

Ah! there my young footsteps in infancy wander'd;
My cap was the bonnet, my cloak was the plaid;(3)
On chieftains long perish'd my memory ponder'd,
As daily I strode through the pine-cover'd glade:
I sought not my home till the day's dying glory
Gave place to the rays of the bright polar star ;
For fancy was cheer'd by traditional story,

Disclosed by the natives of dark Loch na Garr.
"Shades of the dead! have I not heard your voices
Rise on the night-rolling breath of the gale ?"
Surely the soul of the hero rejoices,

[vale.

And rides on the wind, o'er his own Highland Round Loch na Garr while the stormy mist gathers, Winter presides in his cold icy car:

Clouds there encircle the forms of my fathers;

They dwell in the tempests of dark Loch na Garr.

(2) Tachin y Gair, or, as it is prononced in the Erse, Loch-na Garr, towers proudly pre-eminent in the Northern Highlands,

"Ill starr'd,(1)though brave, did no visions foreboding
│Tell you that fate had forsaken your cause ?"
Ah! were you destined to die at Culloden, (2)
Victory crown'd not your fall with applause:
Still were you happy in death's earthy slumber,
You rest with your clan in the caves of Braemar;(3)
The pibroch resounds, to the piper's loud number,
Your deeds on the echoes of dark Loch na Gar.

Years have 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 beauties 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! (4)

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.

And yet 't is hard to quit the dreams
Which haunt the unsuspicious soul,
Where every nymph a goddess seems,
Whose eyes through rays immortal roll;
While Fancy bolds her boundless reign,
And all assume a varied hue;
When virgins seem no longer vain,

And even woman's smiles are true.

(1)I 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 biood, as well as attachment, to the Stuarts. George, the second Earl of Huntly, married the Princess Annabella Stuart, daughter of James the First of Scotland. By her he left four sons; the third, Sir William Gordon, I have the honour to claim as one of my progenitors.

(2) Whether any perished in the battle of Culloden, I am not certain; but as many fell in the insurrection, I have used the name of the principal action, "pars pro toto."

(3) A tract of the Hghlands so called. There is also a Castle

of Braemar.

(4) In The Island, a poem written a year or two before Lord Byron's death, we have these lines:

"He who first met the Highland's swelling blue,
Will love each peak that shows a kindred hue,
Hail in each crag a friend's familiar face,
And clasp the mountain in his mind's embrace.
Long have I roam'd through lands which are not mine,
Adored the Alp, and loved the Apennine,
Revered Parnassus, and beheld the steep

Jove's Ida and Olympus crown the deep:

"When very young," (he adds in a note) "about eight years of age, after an attack of the scarlet fever at Aberdeen, I was removed, by medical advice, into the Highlands, and from this period I date my love of mountainous countries. I can never forget the effect, a few years afterwards, in England, of the only thing I had long seen, even in miniature, of a mountain, in the Malvern Hills. After I returned to Cheltenham, I used to watch them every afternoon, at sunset, with a sensation which I cannot describe." - E.

(8) It is hardly necessary to add, that Pylades was the companion af Orestes, and a partner in one of those friendships which, with those of Achilles and Patroclus, Nisus and Euryalus, Damon

| No mail-clad serfs (1), obedient to their lord, In grim array the crimson cross (2) demand; Or gay assemble round the festive board

Their chief's retainers, an immortal band : Else might inspiring Fancy's magic eye

Retrace their progress through the lapse of time,
Marking each ardent youth, ordain'd to die
A votive pilgrim in Judea's clime.

But not from thee, dark pile! departs the chief;
His feudal realm in other regions lay :'
In thee the wounded conscience courts relief,
Retiring from the garish blaze of day.

Yes! in thy gloomy cells and shades profound
The monk abjured a world he ne'er could view
Or blood-stain'd guilt repenting solace found,
Or innocence from stern oppression flew.

A monarch bade thee from that wild arise,
Where Sherwood's outlaws once were wont to
prowl;

And Superstition's crimes, of various dyes,
Sought shelter in the priest's protecting cowl.
Where now the grass exhales a murky dew,
The humid pall of life-extinguish'd clay,
In sainted fame the sacred fathers grew,

;

Nor raised their pious voices but to pray. Where now the bats their wavering wings extend, Soon as the gloaming (3) spreads her waning shade,

The choir did oft their mingling vespers blend,
Or matin orisons to Mary (4) paid.

Years roll on years; to ages, ages yield;
Abbots to abbots, in a line, succeed :
Religion's charter their protecting shield,
Till royal sacrilege their doom decreed.
One holy HENRY rear'd the gothic walls,
And bade the pious inmates rest in peace;
Another HENRY (5) the kind gift recalls,

And bids devotion's hallow'd echoes cease.
Vain is each threat or supplicating prayer;
He drives them exiles from their blest abode,
To roam a dreary world in deep despair-
No friend, no home, no refuge, but their God.

Hark how the hall, resounding to the strain,
Shakes with the martial music's novel din!

(1) This word is used by Walter Scott, in his poem "The Wild Huntsman,” as synonymous with vassals.

(2) The red cross was the badge of the crusaders. (5) As "g'oaming" the Scottish word for twilight, is far more poetical, and has been recommended by many eminent literary men, particularly by Dr. Moore in his Letters to Burns, I have ventured to use it on account of its harmony.

(4) The priory was dedicated to the Virgin.

The heralds of a warrior's haughty reign,
High-crested banners wave thy walls within.
Of changing sentinels the distant hum,

[brow,

The mirth of feasts, the clang of burnish'd arms, The braying trumpe, and the hoarser drum, Unite in concert with increased alarms. An abbey once, a regal fortress (6) now, Encircled by insulting rebel powers, War's dread machines o'erhang thy threatening And dart destruction in sulphureous showers. Ah, vain defence! the hostile traitor's siege, Though oft repulsed, by guile o'ercomes the brave; His thronging foes oppress the faithful liege, Rebellion's reeking standards o'er him wave.

Not unavenged the raging baron yields;

The blood of traitors smears the purple plain;
Unconquer'd still, his falchion there he wields,
And days of glory yet for him remain.

Still, in that hour, the warrior wished to strew
Self-gather'd laurels on a self-sought grave;
But Charles' protecting genius hither flew,
The monarch's friend, the monarch's hope, to save.
Trembling, she snatched him (7) from the unequal
In other fields the torrent to repel ;
For nobler combats, here, reserved his life,
To lead the band where godlike FALKLAND (8) fell.

[strife,

From thee, poor pile! to lawless plunder given, While dying groans their painful requiem sound, Far different incense now ascends to heaven,

Such victims wallow on the gory ground. There many a pale and ruthless robber's corse, Noisome and ghast, defiles thy sacred sod; O'er mingling man, and horse commix'd with horse, Corruption's heap, the savage spoilers trod.

Graves, long with rank and sighing weeds o'erspread,

Ransack'd, resign perforce their mortal mould: From ruffian fangs escape not e'en the dead,

Raked from repose in search for buried gold.

Hush'd is the harp, unstrung the warlike lyre,

The minstrel's palsied hand reclines in death; No more he strikes the quivering chords with fire, Or sings the glories of the martial wreath.

(6) Newstead sustained a considerable siege in the war between Charles I. and his parliament.

(7) Lord Byron, and his brother Sir William, held high commands in the royal army. The former was general in chief in Ireland, lieutenant of the Tower, and governor to James Duke of York, afterwards the unhappy James II.; the latter båd a principal share in many actions.

At length the sated murderers, gorged with prey,
Retire; the clamour of the fight is o'er;
Silence again resumes her awful sway,
And sable Horror guards the massy door.
Here Desolation holds her dreary court:

What satellites declare her dismal reign!
Shrieking their dirge, ill-omened birds resort,
To fit their vigils in the hoary fane.
Soon a new morn's restoring beams dispel
The clouds of anarchy from Britain's skies;
The fierce usurper seeks his native hell,

And Nature triumphs as the tyrant dies.
With storms she welcomes his expiring groans;
Whirlwinds, responsive, greet his labouring
breath;

Earth shudders as her caves receive his bones,
Loathing (1) the offering of so dark a death.
The legal ruler (2) now resumes the helm,

He guides through gentle seas the prow of state;
Hope cheers, with wonted smiles, the peaceful realm,
And heals the bleeding wounds of wearied hate.
The gloomy tenants, Newstead! of thy cells,
Howling, resign their violated nest;
Again the master on his tenure dwells,
Enjoy'd, from absence, with enraptured zest.

Vassals, within thy hospitable pale,

Loudly carousing, bless their lord's return; Culture again adorns the gladdening vale, And matrons, once lamenting, cease to mourn.

A thousand songs on tuneful echo float,

Unwonted foliage mantles o'er the trees; And hark! the horns proclaim a mellow note, The hunters' cry hangs lengthening on the breeze. Beneath their coursers' hoofs the valleys shake: What fears, what anxious hopes, attend the chase! The dying stag seeks refuge in the Lake; (3)

Exulting shouts announce the finish'd race.

(1) This is an historical fact. A violent tempest occurred immediately subsequent to the death or interment of Cromwell, which occasioned many disputes between his partisans and the Cavaliers: both interpreted the circumstance into Divine interposition; but whether as approbation or condemnation, we leave to the casuists of that age to decide. I have made such use of the occurrence as suited the subject of my poem. (2) Charies 11.

(3) During the lifetime of the fifth Lord Byron, there was found in this Lake-where it is supposed to have been thrown for concealment by the Monks-a large brass eagle, in the body of which, on its being sent to be cleaned, was discovered a secret aperture, concealing within it a number of ancient documents connected with the rights and privileges of the foundation. At the sale of the old Lord's effects, in 1776, this eagle was purchased by a watchmaker of Nottingham; and it now forms, through the liberality of Sir Richard Kaye, an appropriate ornament of the fine old church of Southwell. -E.

Ah happy days! too happy to endure!

Such simple sports our plain forefathers knew: No splendid vices glitter'd to allure;

Their joys were many, as their cares were few. From these descending, sons to sires succeed; Time steals along, and Death uprears his dart; Another chief impels the foaming steed,

Another crowd pursue the panting hart.
Newstead! what saddening change of scene is thine!
Thy yawning arch betokens slow decay;
The last and youngest of a noble line
Now holds thy mouldering turrets in his sway.
Deserted now, he scans thy grey-worn towers;
Thy vaults, where dead of feudal ages sleep;
Thy cloisters, pervious to the wintry showers;
These, these he views, and views them but to weep.
Yet are his tears no emblem of regret :

Cherish'd affection only bids them flow.
Pride, hope, and love, forbid him to forget,
But warm his bosom with impassion'd glow.
Yet he prefers thee to the gilded domes

Or gewgaw grottos of the vainly great;
Yet lingers 'mid thy damp and mossy tombs,
Nor breathes a murmur 'gainst the will of fate. (4)

Haply thy sun, emerging, yet may shine,

Thee to irradiate with meridian ray; (5) Hours splendid as the past may still be thine, And bless thy future as thy former day. (6)

on the spot; I have fixed my heart upon it; and no pressure, present or future, shall induce me to barter the last vestige of our inheritance. I have that pride within me which will enable me to support difficulties. I can endure privations; but could I obtain, in exchange for Newstead Abbey, the first fortune in the country, I would reject the proposition. Set your mind at ease on that score; I feel like a man of honour, and I will not sell Newstead. "-E.

(5) "We cannot," said the Critical Review for September, 1807, "but hail with something of prophetic rapture, the hope conveyed in the closing stanza,

Haply thy sun, emerging, yet may shine," etc.-E. (6) The reader who turns from this Elegy to the stanzas descriptive of Newstead Abbey and the surrounding scenery, in the thirteenth canto of Don Juan, cannot fail to remark how frequently the leading thoughts in the two picces are the same; or to be delighted and instructed, in comparing the juvenile sketch with the bold touches and mellow colouring of the mas