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* [“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 treated rebelliously, and have been sorry ever since.” Byron Diary. The reconciliation which took place between him and Dr. Butler, before his departure for Greece, in 1809, is, says Mr. Moore, “one of those instances of placability and pliableness with which his life abounded. Not content with this o atonement to the Doctor, it was his intention, had published another edition of the Hours of Idleness, to substitute, for the offensive verses against that gentleman.

As ancient Rome, fast falling to disgrace,
Hail'd a barbarian in her Caesar's place,
So you, degenerate, share as hard a fate,
And seat Pomposus where your Probus sate.
Of narrow brain, yet of a narrower soul,
Pomposus 3 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,
Ill-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.

TO THE DUKE OF DORSET. 4

Donset 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 ban
Bade thee obey, and gave me to command ; 6
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,
Though passive tutors 7, 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 knce
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.

a frank avowal of the wrong he had been guilty of in giving vent to them.”] * In looking over my papers to select a few additional ms for this second edition, I found the above lines, which had totally forgotten, composed in the summer of 1805, a short time previous to my departure from Harrow. They were addressed to a young school fellow of high rank, who had been my frequent companion in some rambles through the neighbouring country: however, he never saw the lines, and most probably never will. 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 duchessdowager, and her second husband, Charles Earl of Whitworth, then Lord Lieutenant of Ireland.] * 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. 7 Allow me to disclaim any personal allusions, even the most distant: I merely mention generally what is too often the weakness of preceptors.

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; 't will bid thee, boy, forbear;
For well I know that virtue lingers there.
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 mo precept now can tame,
I love the virtues which I cannot claim.
'T is not cnough, 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 lot —
In 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 :
Spurn every vice, each little meanness shun ;
Not Fortune's minion, but her noblest son.
Turn to the annals of a former day;
Bright are the deeds thine earlier sires display.
One, though a courtier, lived a man of worth,
And call'd, proud boast ! the British drama forth.
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. *
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;

! [“Thomas Sackville, Lord Buckhurst, was born in 1527. While a student of the Inner Temple, he wrote his tragedy of Gorboduc, which was played before Queen Elizabeth at Whitehall, in 1561. His tragedy, and his contribution of the Induction and legend of the 1).uke of Buckingham to the “Mirror for Magistrates,” compose the poetical history of Sackville. The rest of it was political. In 1604, he was created learl of Dorset by James I. He died suddenly at the council table, in consequence of a dropsy on the brain.” – CAMI Phell.] 2 [Charles Sackville, Earl of Dorset, was born in 1637, and died in 1706. He was esteemed the most accomplished man of his day, and alike distinguished in the voluptuous court of Charles II. and the gloomy one of William III. He behaved with considerable gallantry in the sea-fight with the Dutch in 1565; on the day previous to which he is said to have comosed his celebrated song, To all you Ladies now at Land, I is character has been drawn in the highest colours by 19ryden, Pope, Prior, and Congreve.] * [“I have just been, or rather ought to be, very much

Each knell of Time now warns me to resign
Shades where Hope, Peace, and Friendship all were
mine :
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 onc 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 sclf-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 thee great. 5
I so.

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shocked 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, 1 think, since 1805 – and it would be a 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 Letters, 1815. – The Verses referred to were those melancholy ones, beginning, — “ There 's not a joy the world can give, like those it takes away."]

4. Th; circumstances which lent so peculiar nn interest to Lord Byron's introduction to the family of Chaworth, are sufficiently explained in the “ Notices of his Life.” “The young lady, herself combined,” says Mr. Moore, “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 perica

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(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. holidays ended this dream of his youth. worth once more in the succeeding year, and took his last sarewell 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 a feeble state of health for several years, and she and her daughter were obliged to take shelter from the violence of the mob in a shrubbery, where, partly from cold, partly from terror, her constitution sustained a shock which it wanted vigour to resist.]

With the summer He saw Miss Cha

1 the Diable Boiteux of Le Sage, where Asmodeus, the

demon, places Don Cleofas on an elevated situation, and unroofs the houses for inspection.

2 [on the death of Mr. Pitt, in January, 1806, Lord Henry

Who reads false quantities in Seale, 5
Or puzzles o'er the deep triangle;

Deprived of many a wholesome meal;
In barbarous Latino doom'd to wrangle:

Renouncing every pleasing page
From authors of historic use;

Preferring to the letter'd sage,
The square of the hypothenuse. 7

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.

'T is morn: —from these I turn my sight.
What scene is this which meets the eye 7

A numerous crowd, array'd in white, *
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.

Petty and Lord Palmerston were candidates to represent the University of Cambridge in parliament.] i. [In the private volume, the fourth and fifth stanzas ran thus : — “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,” &c.] * [Fdward-Harvey Hawke, third Lord Hawke. ship died in 1824.] * 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. * The Latin of the schools is of the canine species, and not very intelligible. 7. The discovery of Pythagoras, that the square of the hypothen use is equal to the squares of the other two sides of a right-angled triangle. * On a saint's day, the students wear surplices in chapel. C c

His lord

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For did those eyes as planets roll,
Thy sister-lights would scarce appear:
Een suns, which systems now control,
Would twinkle dimly through their sphere. 1
- 1806.

TO WOMAN.

WoxIAN experience might have told me,
That all must love thee who behold thce :
Surely experience might have taught
Thy firmest promises are nought:
But, placed in all thy charms before me,
All I forget, but to adore thee.
Oh memory ! thou choicest blessing
When join'd with hope, when still possessing ;
But how much cursed by every lover
When hope is fled and passion's over.
Woman, that fair and fond deceiver,
How prompt are striplings to believe her
How throbs the pulse when first we vicw
The eye that rolls in glossy blue,
Or sparkles black, or mildly throws
A beam from under hazel brows :
How quick we credit every oath,
And hear her plight the willing troth !
Fondly we hope 'twill last for aye,
When lo! she changes in a day.
This record will for ever stand,
“Woman, thy vows are traced in sand." 2

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TO MARY, on Receiving HER Picture. 3

This faint resemblance of thy charms,
Though strong as mortal art could give,

My constant heart of fear disarms,
Revives my hopes, and bids me live.

Here I can trace the locks of gold
Which round thy snowy forehead wave,

The cheeks which sprung from beauty's mould,
The lips which made me beauty's slave.

Here I can trace—ah, no that eye,
Whose azure floats in liquid fire,

Must all the painter's art defy,
And bid him from the task retire.

Here I behold its beauteous hue;
But where's the beam so sweetly straying,"

Which gave a lustre to its blue,
Like Luna o'er the ocean playing 2

Sweet copy : far more dear to me,
Lifeless, unfeeling as thou art,

Than all the living forms could be,
Save her who placed thee next my heart.

She placed it, sad, with needless fear,
Lest time might shake my wavering soul,

Unconscious that her image there
Held every sense in fast control.

Through hours, through years, through time, 'twill
My hope, in gloomy moments, raise; [cheer;

In life's last conflict ’t will appear,
And meet my fond expiring gaze.

TO LESBIA.

Lesbia ; since far from you I've ranged,
Our souls with fond affection glow not ;

You say 'tis I, not you, have changed,
I'd tell you why, - but yet I know not.

Your polish'd brow no cares have crost;
And Lesbia we are not much older

Since, trembling, first my heart I lost,
Or told my love, with hope grown bolder.

Sixteen was then our utmost age,
Two years have lingering past away, love 1

And now new thoughts our minds engage,
At least I feel disposed to stray, love :

'T is I that am alone to blame,
I, that am guilty of love's treason ;

Since your sweet breast is still the same,
Caprice must be my only reason.

vocal, station in life, – and that she had long light golden hair, “ of which,” says Mr. Moore, “the Poet used to show a look, as well as her picture, among his friends."]

* [In the private volume —

But where's the beam of soft desire 2 Which gave a lustre to its blue, Love, only love, could e'er inspire.]

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