Shall secret scenes thy filial sorrows hide,
Scorn'd by the world, to factious guilt allied?
Ah! no; methinks the generous and the good
Will woo thee from the shades of solitude!
O'er friendless grief compassion shall awake,
And smile on Innocence, for Mercy's sake!"

Inspiring thought of rapture yet to be,
The tears of love were hopeless, but for thee!

If in that frame no deathless spirit dwell,

If that faint murmur be the last farewell!

If fate unite the faithful but to part,

Why is their memory sacred to the heart?

Why does the Brother of my childhood seem
Restor❜d a while in every pleasing dream?

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460

Why do I joy the lonely spot to view,

By artless friendship bless'd when life was new?

Eternal Hope? when yonder spheres sublime Peal'd their first notes to sound the march of Time, Thy joyous youth began-but not to fade.

When all the sister planets have decay'd;

When rapt in fire the realms of ether glow,

And Heav'n's last thunder shakes the world below;

Thou, undismay'd, shalt o'er the ruins smile,

And light thy torch at Nature's funeral pile!

END OF PART SECOND.

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470

NOTES.

ON PART I.

Note 1. And such thy strength-inspiring aid that bore The hardy Byron to his native shore.

THE following picture of his own distress, given by Byron in his simple and interesting narrative, justifies the description in page 10.

After relating the barbarity of the Indian cacique to his child, he proceeds thus :-"A day or two after, we put to sea again, and crossed the great bay I mentioned we had been at the bottom of when we first

hauled away to the westward. The land here was very low and sandy, and something like the mouth of a river which discharged itself into the sea, and which had been taken no notice of by us before, as it was so shallow, that the Indians were obliged to take every thing out of their canoes, and carry it over land.

up the river four or five leagues, and then

We rowed

took into a

branch of it that ran first to the eastward, and then to the northward: here it became much narrower, and the stream excessively rapid, so that we gained but little way, though we wrought very hard. At night we landed upon its banks, and had a most uncomfortable. lodging, it being a perfect swamp; and we had nothing to cover us, though it rained excessively. The Indians were little better off than we, as there was no wood here to make their wigwams; so that all they could do was to prop up the bark, which they carry in the bot

tom of their canoes, and shelter themselves as well as they could to the leeward of it. Knowing the difficulties they had to encounter here, they had provided themselves with some seal; but we had not a morsel to eat, after the heavy fatigues of the day, excepting a sort of root we saw the Indians make use of, which was very disagreeable to the taste. We laboured all next day against the stream, and fared as we had done the day before. The next day brought us to the carrying place. Here was plenty of wood, but nothing to be got for sustenance. We passed this night as we had frequently done, under a tree; but what we suffered at this time is not easy to be expressed. I had been three days at the oar, without any kind of nourishment except the wretched root above mentioned. I had no shirt, for it had rotted off by bits. All my clothes consisted of a

short grieko (something like a bear-skin), a piece of red