網頁圖片
PDF
ePub 版
[merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][ocr errors]

Mutdep us uan avvee junte ti veixeti

HOMER. Iliad, 10.
He whistled as he went for want of thought.

DRYDEN.

ADVERTISEMENT

This Edition is reprinted from the second English one, as the latter contains several , Poems not comprised in the first. — To it is

subjoined the critique of the Edinburgh Review, which gave rise to his Lordship’s Poem, entitled « English Bards and Scotch Reviewers. »

TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE FREDERICK, EARL OF CARLISLE,

KNIGHT OF THE GARTER, etc. etc.

THESE POEMS ARE INSCRIBED,

BY HIS OBLIGED WARD,

AND AFFECTIONATE KINSMAN,

THE AUTHOR.

[ocr errors][merged small]

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 desart comes; it howls in thy empty court.'

Ossian.

Turo'thy battlements, Newstead, the hollow wiuds whistle;

Thou, the hall of my Fathers, art gone to decay; In thy once smiling garden, the hemlock and thistle · Have chok'd up therose, which late bloom'd in the way,

2.

Of the mail-cover'd Barons, who, proudly, to 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.

3.

No more doth old Robert, with harp-stringing numbers,

Raise a flame in the breast, for the war-laurelled wreath; Near Askalon's towers, John of Horistan (1) slumbers ;

Unnery'd is the hand of his minstrel, by death.

(1) Horistan Castle , in Derbyshire, an ancient seat of the Byron Family

« 上一頁繼續 »