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! [of the sincerity of this youthful aspiration, the Poet has left repeated proofs. By his will, drawn up in 1811, he directed, that “no inscription, save his name and age, should be written on his tomb : " and, in 1819, he wrote thus to Mr. Murray : —“Some of the epitaphs at the Certosa cemetery, at Ferrara, pleased me more than the more splendid monuments at Bologna ; for instance —
Can anything be more full of pathos ? I hope whoever may o me will sce those two words, and no more, put over me.”
2 (The priory of Newstead, or de Novo Loco, in sherwood.
was founded about the year 1170, by Henry II., and dedicated to God and the Virgin. It was in the reign of Henry VIII., on the dissolution of the monasteries, that, by a royal grant, it was added, with the lands adjoining, to the other possessions of the Byron family. The favourite upon whom they were conferred, was the grand-nephew of the gallant soldier who fought by the side of Richmond at Bosworth, and is distinguished from the other knights of the same Christian name, in the family, by the title of “Sir John Byron the Little, with the great beard.” A portrait of this personage was one of the few family pictures with which the walls of the abbey, while in the possession of the Poet, were decorated.]
3 [There being no record of any of Lord Byron's ancestors having been engaged in the Holy Wars, Mr. Moore suggests, that the Poet may have had no other authority for this notion, than the tradition which he found connected with certain strange groups of heads, which are represented on the old panel-work in some of the chambers at Newstead. In one of these groups, consisting of three heads, strongly carved and projecting from the panel. the centre figure evidently represents a Saracen or Moor, with an European female on one side of him, and a Christian soldier on the other. In a second group, the female occupies thu centre, while on either side is the so of a Saracen, with the eyes fixed earnestly upon her. Of the exact meaning of these figures there is nothing known ; but the tradition is, that they refer to a love adventure of the age of the Crusades.]
* [“. In the park of Horseley," says Thoroton, “there was a castle, some of the ruins of which are yet visible, called IIoristan Castle, which was the chief mansion of Ralph de Burun's successors.")
* [Two of the family of Byron are enumerated as serving
No more doth old Robert, with harp-stringing numbers, [wreath; Raise a flame in the breast for the war-laurcil'd Near Askalon's towers, John of Horistan + slumbers; Unnerved is the hand of his minstrel by death.
Paul and Hubert, too, sleep in the valley of Cressy; * For the safety of Edward and England they fell: My fathers the tears of your country redress ye; How you fought, how you died, still her annals can tell.
On Marston", with Rupert 7, 'gainst traitors contending, field : Four brothers enrich'd with their blood the bleak For the rights of a monarch their country defending, Till death their attachment to royalty seal’d. *
Shades of heroes, farewell your descendant, departing
Abroad, or at home, your remembrance imparting
Though a tear dim his eye at this sad separation,
Far distant he goes, with the same emulation,
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 decay'd, may he mingle his dust with your own : 1803.
with distinction in the siege of Calais, under Edward III., and as among the knights who fell on the glorious field of Cressy.) * The battle of Marston Moor, where the adherents of Charles I. were defeated. 7 Son of the Elector Palatine, and nephew to Charles 1. He afterwards commanded the fleet in the reign of Charles 11. * [Sir Nicholas Byron served with distinction in the Low Conntries; and, in the Great Rebellion, he was one of the first to take up arms in the royal cause. After the battle of Edgehill, he was made colonel-general of Cheshire and Shropshire, and governor of Chester. " He was,” says Clarendon, “a person of great affability and dexterity, as well as martial knowledge, which gave great life to the designs of the well affected ; and, with the encouragement of some gentlemen of North Wales, he raised such a power of horse and foot, as made frequent skirmishes with the enemy, sometimes with notable advantage, never with signal loss.” – In 1643, Sir John Byron was created Baron Byron of Rochdale in the county of Lancaster ; and seldom has a title been bestowed for such high and honourable services as those by which he deserved the gratitude of his royal master. Through almost every page of the History of the Civil Wars, we trace his name in connection with the varying fortunes of the king, and find him faithful, persevering, and disinterested to the last. “Sir John Biron,” says Mrs. Hutchinson, “afterwards Lord Biron, and all his brothers, bred up in arms, and waiiant men in their own persons, were all passionately the king's." We find also, in the reply of Colonel Hutchinson, when vernor of Nottingham, to his cousin-german Sir Richard yron, a noble tribute to the chivalrous fidelity of the race. Sir Richard, having sent to prevail on his relative to surrender the castle, received for answer, that “except he found his own heart prone to such treachery, he might consider there was, if nothing else, so much of a Byron's blood in him, that he should very much scorn to betray or quit a trust he had undertaken.” – On the monument of Richard. the second Lord Byron, who lies buried in the chancel of Hucknal-Tokard church, there is the following inscription : —“Beneath, in a vault, is interred the body of Richard I. ord Byron, who, with the rest of his family, being seven brothers, faithfully served King Charles the First in the civil wars, who suffered much for their loyalty, and lost all their present fortunes : yet it pleased God so to bless the humble endeavours of the said Richard Lord Byron, that he re-purchased part of their ancient inheritance, which he left to his posterity, with a laudable memory for his great piety and charity.”]
Dcar, simple girl, those flattering arts,
ADRIAN'S ADDRESS TO HIS SOUL WHEN
TRANSLATION FROM CATULLUS. AD LESBIAM. Equal to Jove that youth must be— Greater than Jove he seems to me— Who, free from Jealousy's alarms, Securely views thy matchless charms, That cheek, which ever dimpling glows, That mouth, from whence such music flows, To him, alike, are always known, Reserved for him, and him alone. Ah! Lesbia: though 'tis death to me, I cannot choose but look on thee; But, at the sight, my senses fly; I needs must gaze, but, gazing, die; Whilst trembling with a thousand fears, Parch'd to the throat my tongue adheres, My pulse beats quick, my breath heaves short, My limbs deny their slight support, Cold dews my pallid face o'erspread, With deadly languor droops my head, ! [This and several little pieces that follow appear to be fragments of school czercises done at Harrow.]
* The hand of Death is said to be unjust or unequal, as Virgil was considerably older than Tibullus at his decease.
I wish to tune my quivering lyre
'Twas now the hour when Night had driven Her car half round yon sable heaven; Boötes, only, seem'd to roll His arctic charge around the pole; While mortals, lost in gentle sleep, Forgot to smile, or ceased to weep. At this lone hour, the Paphian boy, Descending from the realms of joy, Quick to my gate directs his course, And knocks with all his little force. My visions fled, alarm'd I rose, – “What stranger breaks my blest repose 2" “Alas!” replies the wily child, In faltering accents sweetly mild, “A hapless infant here I roam, Far from my dear maternal home. Oh! shield me from the wintry blast ! The nightly storm is pouring fast. No prowling robber lingers here. A wandering baby who can fear?” I heard his seeming artless tale, I heard his sighs upon the gale: My breast was never pity's foe, But felt for all the baby's woe. I drew the bar, and by the light, Young Love, the infant, met iny sight; His bow across his shoulders flung, And thence his fatal quiver hung (Ah little did I think the dart Would rankle soon within my heart). With care I tend my weary guest, His little fingers chill my breast; His glossy curls, his azure wing, Which droop with nightly showers, I wring: His shivering limbs the embers warm; And now reviving from the storm, Scarce had he felt his wonted glow, Than swift he seized his slender bow : — “I fain would know, my gentle host," He cried, “if this its strength has lost; I fear, relax'd with midnight dews, The strings their former aid refuse.” With poison tipt, his arrow flies, Deep in my tortured heart it lies; Then loud the joyous urchin laugh'd : — “My bow can still impel the shaft: 'Tis firmly fix'd, thy sighs reveal it ; Say, courteous host, canst thou not feel it?”