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lation. It was Antonio, his slave, a native of Java, who had accompanied Camoëns to Europe, after having rescued him from the waves, when shipwrecked at the mouth of the Mecon. This faithful attendant was wont to seek alms throughout Lisbon, and at night shared the produce of the day with his poor and brokenhearted master. But his friendship was employed in vain. Camoëns sank beneath the pressure of penury and disease, and died in an alms-house, early in the year 1579.-Strangford.

When age chills the blood, when our pleasures are past

For years flieet away with the wings of the doveThe dearest remembrance will still be the last, Our sweetest memorial the first kiss of love.

(1) The circumstances which lent so peculiar an interest to Lord Byron's introduction to the family of Chaworth are sufficiently explained in his Life, by Moore. "The young lady herself combined," says the writer," with the many worldly advantages that encircled her, much personal beauty, and a disposition the most amiable and attaching. Though already fully alive to her charms, it was at this period (1804) that the young poet seems to have drunk deepest of that fascination whose effects were to be so lasting; six short weeks which he passed in her company being sufficient to lay the foundation of a feeling for all life. With the summer holidays ended this dream of his youth. He saw Miss Chaworth once more in the succeeding year, and took his last farewell of her on that hill near Annesley, which, in his poem of The Dream, he describes so happily as crowned with a peculiar diadem.'" In August, 1805, she was married to John Musters, Esq.; and died at Wiverton Hall, in February, 1832, in consequence, it is believed, of the alarm and danger to which she had been exposed during the sack of Colwick Hall by a party of rioters from Nottingham. The unfortunate lady had been in

FRAGMENT,

WRITTEN SHORTLY AFTER THE MARRIAGE OF MISS
CHAWORTH.

HILLS of Annesley, bleak and barren,

Where my thoughtless childhood stray'd,
How the northern tempests, warring,
Howl above thy tufted shade!

Now no more, the hours beguiling,
Former favourite haunts I see;
Now no more my Mary smiling
Makes ye seem a heaven to me. (1)

1805.

TO THE DUKE OF DORSET. (2)

DORSET! whose early steps with mine have stray`d,
Exploring every path of Ida's glade;
Whom still affection taught me to defend,
And made me less a tyrant than a friend,
Though the harsh custom of our youthful band
Bade thee obey, and gave me to command ; (3)
Thee, on whose head a few short years will shower
The gift of riches and the pride of power;
E'en now a name illustrious is thine own,
Renown'd in rank, not far beneath the throne.
Yet, Dorset! let not this seduce thy soul
To shun fair science, or evade control;

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

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

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

Though passive tutors, (1) fearful to dispraise
The titled child, whose future breath may raise,
View ducal errors with indulgent eyes,
And wink at faults they tremble to chastise.

When youthful parasites, who bend the knee To wealth, their golden idol, not to thee, And even in simple boyhood's opening dawn Some slaves are found to flatter and to fawn, When these declare," that pomp alone should wait On one by birth predestined to be great; That books were only meant for drudging fools, That gallant spirits scorn the common rules; Believe them not;-they point the path to shame, And seek to blast the honours of thy name. Turn to the few in Ida's early throng, Whose souls disdain not to condemn the wrong; Or if, amidst the comrades of thy youth, None dare to raise the sterner voice of truth, Ask thine own heart; 'twill bid thee, boy, forbear; For well I know that virtue lingers there.

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

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

(1) Allow me to disclaim any personal allusions, even the most distant. I merely mention generally what is too often the weakDess of preceptors.

Thomas Sackville, Lord Buckhurst, created Earl of Dorset by James I., was one of the earliest and brightest ornaments to the poetry of his country, and the first who produced a regular drama. "— Anderson's Poets. (3) " Charles Sackville, Earl of Dorset, esteemed the most ac

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Spurn every vice, cach little meanness shun; Not Fortune's minion, but her noblest son. Turn to the annals of a former day; Bright are the decds thine earlier sires display. One, though a courtier, lived a man of worth, And call'd, proud boast! the British drama forth. (2) Another view, not less renown'd for wit; Alike for courts, and camps, or senates fit; | Bold in the field, and favour'd by the Nine; In every splendid part ordain'd to shine;

Far, far distinguish'd from the glittering throng, The pride of princes, and the boast of song. (3) Such were thy fathers: thus preserve their name; Not heir to titles only, but to fame.

The hour draws nigh, a few brief days will close, To me, this little scene of joys and woes; Each knell of Time now warns me to resign [mine: Shades where Hope, Peace, and Friendship all were Hope, that could vary like the rainbow's hue, And gild their pinions as the moments flew; Peace, that reflection never frown'd away, By dreams of ill to cloud some future day; Friendship, whose truth let childhood only tell; Alas! they love not long who love so well. To these adieu! nor let me linger o'er Scenes hail'd, as exiles hail their native shore, Receding slowly through the dark-blue deep, Beheld by eyes that mourn, yet cannot weep.

Dorset, farewell! I will not ask one part Of sad remembrance in so young a heart; The coming morrow from thy youthful mind Will sweep my name, nor leave a trace behind. And yet, perhaps, in some maturer year, Since chance has thrown us in the self-same sphere; Since the same senate, nay, the same debate, May one day claim our suffrage for the state, We hence may meet, and pass each other by With faint regard, or cold and distant eye. For me, in future, neither friend nor foe, A stranger to thyself, thy weal or woe, With thee no more again I hope to trace The recollection of our early race;

No more, as once, in social hours rejoice,
Or hear, unless in crowds, thy well-known voice.
Still, if the wishes of a heart untaught

To veil those feelings which perchance it ought;
If these, but let me cease the lengthen'd strain,
Oh! if these wishes are not breathed in vain,
The guardian seraph who directs thy fate
Will leave thee glorious, as he found thec great. (4)

1805.

complished man of his day, was alike distinguished in the voluptuous court of Charles II. and the gloomy one of William 111. He behaved with great gallantry in the sea-fight with the Dutch in 1665; on the day previous to which he composed his celebrated song, To all you ladies now at land.' His character has been drawn in the highest colours by Dryden, Pope, Prior, and Congreve."-- Anderson's Poets.

(4)" I have just been, or rather ought to be, very much shocked

ON A CHANGE OF MASTERS AT A GREAT
PUBLIC SCHOOL. (1)

WHERE are those honours, Ida! once your own,
When Probus (2) fill'd your magisterial throne?
As ancient Rome, fast falling to disgrace,
Hail'd a barbarian in her Cæsar's place,
So you, degenerate, share as hard a fate,
And seat Pomposus (3) where your Probus sate.
Of narrow brain, yet of a narrower soul,
Pomposus holds you in his harsh control;
Pomposus, by no social virtue sway'd,
With florid jargon, and with vain parade;
With noisy nonsense, and new-fangled rules,
Such as were ne'er before enforced in schools.
Mistaking pedantry for learning's laws,
He governs, sanction'd but by self-applause.
With him the same dire fate attending Rome,
Il-fated Ida! soon must stamp your doom:
Like her o'erthrown, for ever lost to fame,
No trace of Science left you, but the name.

July, 1805.

GRANTA. A MEDLEY.

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“ 'Αργυρέαις λόγχαισι μαχου καὶ πάντα κρατήσαις;”

OH! Could Le Sage's (4) demon's gift

Be realized at my desire,

This night my trembling form he 'd lift
To place it on St. Mary's spire.

Then would, unroofd, old Granta's halls
Pedantic inmates full display;
Fellows who dream on lawn or stalls,
The price of venal votes to pay.

Then would I view each rival wight,
Petty and Palmerston survey;

by the death of the Duke of Dorset. We were at school together, and there I was passionately attached to him. Since, we have never met, but once, I think, since 1805 -- and it would be 1 paltry affectation to pretend that I had any feeling for him worth the name. But there was a time in my life when this event would have broken my heart; and all I can say for it now is, that it is not worth breaking. The recollection of what I once felt, and ought to have felt now, but could not, set me pondering, and finally into the train of thought which you have in your hands." Byron's Letters, 1818. — The verses referred to were those melancholy ones, beginning,

"There's not a joy the world can give, like that it takes away."- E.

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

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

(3) "At Harrow I was a most unpopular boy, but led latterly, and have retained many of my school friendships, and all my dislikes except to Dr. Butler, whom I treate drebelliously, and have heen sorry ever since."― Diary.

The reconciliation which took place between him and Dr. Butler, before his departure for Greece, in 1809, is one of those instances of placability and pliableness with which

Who canvass there with all their might,
Against the next elective day. (5)

Lo! candidates and voters lie (6)

All lull'd in sleep, a goodly number :
A race renown'd for piety,

Whose conscience won't disturb their slumber.

Lord H, (7) indeed, may not demur;
Fellows are sage reflecting men:
They know preferment can occur

But very seldom,—now and then.
They know the Chancellor has got

Some pretty livings in disposal :
Each hopes that one may be his lot,

And therefore smiles on his proposal.

Now from the soporific scene

I'll turn mine eye, as night grows later,
To view, unheeded and unseen,

The studious sons of Alma Mater.
There, in apartments small and damp,
The candidate for college prizes
Sits poring by the midnight lamp;
Goes late to bed, yet early rises.

He surely well deserves to gain them,
With all the honours of his college,
Who, striving hardly to obtain them,
Thus seeks unprofitable knowledge :
Who sacrifices hours of rest

To scan precisely metres Attic;
Or agitates his anxious breast

In solving problems mathematic:
Who reads false quantities in Seale, (8)
Or puzzles o'er the deep triangle;
Deprived of many a wholesome meal;

In barbarous Latin (9) doom'd to wrangle :

his life abounded. Not content with this private atonement to the Doctor, it was his intention, had he published another edition of the Hours of Idleness, to substitute, for the offensive verses against that gentleman, a frank avowal of the wrong he had been guilty of in giving vent to them." - Moore.

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

(5) On the death of Mr. Pitt, in January, 1806, Lord Henry Petty and Lord Palmerston were candidates to represent the University of Cambridge in Parliament.-E.

(6) The fourth and fifth stanzas ran, in the private volume, thus:

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"One on his power and place depends,
The other on the Lord knows what!
Each to some eloquence pretends,

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

Fellows are sage reflecting men," etc.- E.

(7) Edward-Harvey Hawke, third Lord Hawke. — E. (8) Seale's publication on Greek Metres displays considerable talent and ingenuity, but, as might be expected in so difficult a work, is not remarkable for accuracy.

(9) The Latin of the schools is of the canine species, and not very intelligible.

Renouncing every pleasing page
From authors of historic use;
Preferring, to the letter'd sage,

The square of the hypothenuse. (1)

Still, harmless are these occupations,
That hurt none but the hapless student,
Compared with other recreations,

Which bring together the imprudent;

Whose daring revels shock the sight,
When vice and infamy combine,
When drunkenness and dice invite,
As every sense is steep'd in wine.
Not so the methodistic crew,
Who plans of reformation lay:
In humble attitude they sue,

And for the sins of others pray :
Forgetting that their pride of spirit,
Their exultation in their trial,
Detracts most largely from the merit
Of all their boasted self-denial.

'Tis morn :-from these I turn my sight.
What scene is this which meets the eye?
A numerous crowd, array'd in white, (2)
Across the green in numbers fly.

Loud rings in air the chapel bell;

"T is hush'd :— what sounds are these I hear? The organ's soft celestial swell

Rolls deeply on the list'ning ear.

To this is join'd the sacred song,

The royal minstrel's hallow'd strain;
Though he who hears the music long
Will never wish to hear again.

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,

(1) The discovery of Pythagoras, that the square of the hypothenuse is equal to the squares of the other two sides of a rightangled triangle.

(2) On a saint's-day, the students wear surplices in chapel. (5) The Harrow free Grammar-school was founded by John Lyon, a rich yeoman of Preston, in the parish of Harrow. He obtained, in the 14th year of Elizabeth, an especial license for perpetuating his benevolence by this foundation for gratuitous instruction. Finden's Illustrations.

(4)" My school-friendships were with me passions (for I was always violent), but I do not know that there is one which has endured (to be sure some have been cut short by death) till now." -Diary, 1821.

"While Lord Byron and Mr. Peel were at Harrow together, atyrant a few years older claimed a right to fag little Peel, which claim (whether rightly or wrongly I know not) Peel resisted. His resistance, however, was in vain :**** not only

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subdued him, but determined to punish the refractory slave; and proceeded to put this determination in practice by inflicting a kind of bastinado on the inner fleshy side of the boy's arm, which, during the operation, wast wirled round with some the stripes were suceeding each other, and poor Peel writhing degree of technical skill, to render the pain more acute. While under them, Byron saw and felt for the misery of his friend, and although he knew that he was not strong enough to fight***** with any hope of success, and that it was dangerous even to approach him, he advanced to the scene of action, and with a blush of rage, tears in his eyes, and a voice trembling between terror and indignation, asked, very humbly, if***** would be pleased to tell him how many stripes he meant to inflict? Why,' returned the executioner, 'you little rascal, what is that to you?' Because, if you please,' said Byron, holding out his arm, I would take half."- Moore.

(5) "At Harrow I fought my way very fairly. I think I lost but one battle out of seven."-Diary, 1821.

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They tell us that Slumber, the sister of Death, Mortality's emblem is given;

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

Oh! think not my penance deficient! [smile, When dreams of your presence my slumbers beguile, To awake will be torture sufficient.

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 stamp'd 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 eyes. 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:
E'en suns, which systems now control,
Would twinkle dimly through their sphere.(6)

1806.

voice, my copiousness of declamation, and my action.”—Diary. (5) In the private volume the trast two stanzas ran

"I thought this poor brain, fever'd even to madness,
Of tears, as of reason, for ever was drain'd;
But the drops which now flow down this bosom of sadness
Convince me the springs have some moisture retain'd.

"Sweet scenes of my childhood! your blest recollection

Has wrung from these eyelids, to weeping long dead, In torrents the tears of my warmest affection,

The last, and the fondest I ever shall shed."- E.

(6) "Two of the fairest stars in all the heaven,

Having some business, do intreat her eyes To twinkle in their spheres till they return.”—Shakap.

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