Or if freedom past hope be extorted at last,

If the idol of brass find his feet are of clay, Must what terror or policy wring forth be class'd With what monarchs ne'er give, but as wolves yield their prey?

Each brute hath its nature; a king's is to reignTo reign! in that word see, ye ages, comprised

If she did-let her long-boasted proverb be hush'd,

Which proclaims that from Erin no reptile can spring[flush'd, See the cold-blooded serpent, with venom full Still warming its folds in the breast of a king!

Shout, drink, feast, and flatter! Oh! Erin, how

low

Wert thou sunk by misfortune and tyranny,

[till The cause of the curses all annals contain, From Cæsar the dreaded to George the de-Thy welcome of tyrants hath plunged thee below spised! The depth of thy deep in a deeper gulf still! Wear, Fingal, thy trapping! O'Connell, pro- My voice, though but humble, was raised for [country convince His accomplishments! His!!! and thy Half an age's contempt was an error of fame,

claim

And that 'Hal is the rascaliest, sweetest young
prince !'

Will thy yard of blue riband, poor Fingal, recall
The fetters from millions of Catholic limbs ?
Or, has it not bound thee the fastest of all

The slaves, who now hail their betrayer with
hymns?

Ay! Build him a dwelling!' let each give his mite!

thy right,

This hand, though but feeble, would arm in thy My vote, as a freeman's, still voted thee free, [still for thee!

fight,

And this heart, though outworn, had a throb

Yes, I loved thee and thine, though thou art not
my land,
[thy sons,

I have known noble hearts and great souls in
And I wept with the world, o'er the patriot band
Who are gone, but I weep them no longer as

once.

war,

Larisen! For happy are they now reposing afar,-Till, like Babel, the new royal dome hath Thy Grattan, thy Curian, thy Sheridan, all Let thy beggars and helots their pittance unite-Who, for years, were the chiefs in the cloquent And a palace bestow for a poor-house and prison ! Spread-spread, for Vitellius, the royal repast, Till the gluttonous despot be stuffd to the gorge!

[last

And the roar of his drunkards proclaim him at The fourth of the fools and oppressors call'd 'George !'

Let the tables be loaded with feasts till they groan!

Till they groan like thy people, through ages [throne,

of woe!

Let the wine flow around the old Bacchanal's

[fall. And redeem'd, if they have not retarded, thy Yes, happy are they in their cold English graves! Their shades cannot start to thy shouts of today[slaves Nor the steps of enslavers and chain-kissing Be stamp'd in the turf o'er their fetterless clay. Till now I had envied thy sons and their shore, Though their virtues were hunted, their liberties fled; [core There was something so warm and sublime in the Of an Irishinan's heart, that I envy-thy dead.

sore,

Like their blood which has flow'd and which Or, if aught in my bosom can quench for an hour yet has to flow. My contempt for a nation so servile, though [upon power, Which though trod like the worm will not turn 'Tis the glory of Grattan, and genius of Moore! September, 1821.

But let not his name be thine idol alone

On his right hand behold a Sejanus appears! Thine own Castlereagh! let him still be thine own! [jeers!

A wretch never named but with curses and Till now, when the isle which should blush for his birth, [soil, Deep, deep as the gore which he shed on her Seems proud of the reptile which crawl'd from her earth, [sinile. And for murder repays him with shouts and a

STANZAS WRITTEN ON THE ROAD

BETWEEN FLORENCE AND PISA.
On, talk not to me of a name great in story;
The days of our youth are the days of our glory;
And the myrtle and ivy of sweet two-and-twenty
Are worth all your laurels, though ever so plenty.
What are garlands and crowns to the brow that
is wrinkled?
[sprinkled.

Without one single ray of her genius, without The fancy, the manhood, the fire of her race-'Tis but as a dead flower with May-dew beThen away with all such from the head that is hoary! [glory! What care I for the wreaths that can only give

The miscreant who well might plunge Erin in doubt

If she ever gave birth to a being so base.

+It is hardly necessary to add, that Pylades was the companion of Orestes, and a partner in one of those friendships which, with those of Achilles and Patroclus, Nisus and Euryalus, Damon and Pythias, have been handed down to posterity Their censures on the hapless victim shower, as remarkable instances of attachments, which in all probability Oh! how I hate the nerveless, frigid song, never existed beyond the imagination of the poet, or the page

HEBREW MELODIES.

THE subsequent poems were written at the request of my friend the Hon. Douglas Kinnaird for a Selection of Hebrew Melodies.

Trembling, she snatch'd him from the unequal Again the master on his tenure dwells,
In other fields the torrent to repel; [strife,
For nobler combats, here, reserved his life,

To lead the band where godlike Falkland fell.+
From thee, poor pile! to lawless plunder given,
While dying groans their painful requiem
sound,

Far different incense now ascends to heaven,
Such victims wallow on the gory ground.
There many a pale and ruthless robber's corse,
Noisome and ghast, defiles thy sacred sod;
O'er mingling man, and horse commix'd with
horse,

Corruption's heap, the savage spoilers trod. Graves, long with rank and sighing weeds o'erspread,

Ransack'd, resign perforce their mortal mould;
From ruffian fangs escape not e'en the dead,
Raked from repose in search of buried gold.
Hush'd is the harp, unstrung the warlike lyre,

The minstrel's palsied hand reclines in death;
No more he strikes the quivering chords with fire,
Or sings the glories of the martial wreath.
At length the sated murderers, gorged with prey,
Retire the clamour of the fight is o'er;
Silence again resumes her awful sway,

And sable Horror guards the massy door.
Here Desolation holds her dreary court:

What satellites declare her dismal reign!
Shrieking their dirge, ill-omen'd birds resort,
To flit their vigils in the hoary fane.
Soon a new morn's restoring beams dispel
The clouds of anarchy from Britain's skies;
The fierce usurper seeks his native hell,

And Nature triumphs as the tyrant dies.
With storms she welcomes his expiring groans;
Whirlwinds, responsive, greet his labouring
breath;

Earth shudders as her caves receive his bones,
Loathing the offering of so dark a death.‡
The legal ruler§ now resumes the helm,

He guides through gentle seas the prow of state; Hope cheers, with wonted smiles, the peaceful realm,

And heals the bleeding wounds of wearied hate. The gloomy tenants, Newstead! of thy cells, Howling, resign their violated nest;

Lord Byron and his brother Sir William held high commands in the royal army. The former was general-in-chief in Ireland, lieutenant of the Tower, and governor to James Duke of York, afterwards the unhappy James 11.; the latter had a principal share in many actions.

Lucius Cary, Lord Viscount Falkland, the most accom plished man of his age, was killed at the battle of Newbury, charging in the ranks of Lord Byron's regiment of cavalry. This is an historical fact. A violent tempest occurred immediately subsequent to the death or interment of Cromwell, which occasioned many disputes between his partisans and the cavaliers; both interpreted the circumstance into divine. interposition; but whether as approbation or condemnation, we leave for the casuists of that age to decide. I have made such use of the occurrence as suited the subject of my poem.

§ Charles II.

Enjoy'd, from absence, with enraptured zest.
Vassals, within thy hospitable pale,
Loudly carousing, bless their lord's return;
Culture again adorns the gladdening vale,
And matrons, once lamenting, cease to mourn.
A thousand songs on tuneful echoes float,
Unwonted foliage mantles o'er the trees;
And hark! the horns proclaim a mellow note,
The hunter's cry hangs lengthening on the
breeze.

Beneath their coursers' hoofs the valleys shake:
What fears, what anxious hopes, attend the
chase!

The dying stag seeks refuge in the lake;

Exulting shouts announce the finish'd race.
Ah, happy days! too happy to endure !
Such simple sports our plain forefathers knew:
No splendid vices glitter'd to allure;

Their joys were many, as their cares were few.
From these descending, sons to sires succeed;
Time steals along, and Death uprears his dart;
Another chief impels the foaming steed,

Another crowd pursue the panting hart. Newstead! what saddening change of scene is thine!

Thy yawning arch betokens slow decay!
The last and youngest of a noble line

Now holds thy mouldering turrets in his sway.
Deserted now, he scans thy grey worn towers;
Thy vaults, where dead of feudal ages sleep;
Thy cloisters, pervious to the wintry showers;
These, these he views, and views them but to
weep.

Yet are his tears no emblem of regret :

Cherish'd affection only bids them flow.
Pride, hope, and love forbid him to forget,
But warm his bosom with impassion'd glow.
Yet he prefers thee to the gilded domes

Or gewgaw grottos of the vainly great;
Yet lingers 'mid thy damp and mossy tombs,
Nor breathes a murmur 'gainst the will of fate.
Haply thy sun, emerging, yet may shine,

Thee to irradiate with meridian ray;
Hours splendid as the past may still be thine,
And bless thy future as thy former day.

CHILDISH RECOLLECTIONS.

I cannot but remember such things were,
And were most dear to me.'

WHEN slow Disease with all her host of pains,
Chills the warm tide which flows along the veins;
When Health, affrighted, spreads her rosy wing,
And flies with every changing gale of spring;
Not to the aching frame alone confined,
Unyielding pangs assail the drooping mind:
What grisly forms, the spectre-train of woe,
Bid shuddering Nature shrink beneath the blow,

With Resignation wage relentless strife,
While Hope retires appall'd, and clings to life!
Yet less the pang when, through the tedious
hour,

Remembrance sheds around her genial power,
Calls back the vanish'd days to rapture given,
When love was bliss, and beauty form'd our
heaven;

Or, dear to youth, portrays each childish scene,
Those fairy bowers, where all in turn have been.
As when through clouds that pour the summer
The orb of day unveils his distant form,. [storm
Gilds with faint beams the crystal dews of rain,
And dimly twinkles o'er the watery plain;
Thus, while the future dark and cheerless
gleams,

When now the boy is ripen'd into man,
His careful sire chalks forth some wary plan;
Instructs his son from candour's path to shrink,
Smoothly to speak, and cautiously to think;
Still to assent, and never to deny—
A patron's praise can well reward the lie:
And who, when Fortune's warning voice is heard,
Would lose his opening prospects for a word?
Although against that word his heart rebel,
And truth indignant all his bosom swell.

Away with themes like this! not mine the task
From flattering friends to tear the hateful mask;
Let keener bards delight in satire's sting;
My fancy soars not on Detraction's wing:
Once, and but once, she aim'd a deadly blow,
To hurl defiance on a secret foe;

The sun of memory, glowing through my dreams,
Though sunk the radiance of his former blaze,
To scenes far distant points his paler rays;
Still rules my senses with unbounded sway,
The past confounding with the present day.
Oft does my heart indulge the rising thought,
Which still recurs, unlook'd for and unsought;
My soul to Fancy's fond suggestion yields,
And roams romantic o'er her airy fields.
Scenes of my youth, developed, crowd to view,
To which I long have bade a last adieu !
Seats of delight, inspiring youthful themes;
Friends lost to me for aye, except in dreams :
Some who in marble prematurely sleep,
Whose forms I now remember but to weep;
Some who yet urge the same scholastic course
Of early science, future fame the source;
Who, still contending in the studious race,
In quick rotation fill the senior place.
Here first remember'd be the joyous band,
These with a thousand visions now unite,
Who hail'd me chief, obedient to command;
To dazzle, though they please, my aching sight. Who join'd with me in every boyish sport-
Ida! blest spot, where Science holds her reign,Their first adviser, and their last resort;
How joyous once I join'd thy youthful train !
Bright in idea gleams thy lofty spire,
Again I mingle with thy playful quire;
Our tricks of mischief, every childish game,
Unchanged by time or distance, seems the same;
Through winding paths along the glade, I trace
The social smile of every welcome face;
My wonted haunts, my scenes of joy and woe,
Each early boyish friend, or youthful foe.
Our feuds dissolved, but not my friendship

But when that foe, from feeling or from shame,
The cause unknown, yet still to me the same,
Warn'd by some friendly hint, perchance,
retired,

With this submission all her rage expired.
From dreaded pangs that feeble foe to save,
She hush'd her young resentment, and forgave ;
Or, if my muse a pedant's portrait drew,
Pomposus' virtues are but known to few:
I never fear'd the young usurper's nod,
And he who wields must sometimes feel the rod.
If since on Granta's failings, known to all
Who share the converse of a college hall,
She sometimes trifled in a lighter strain,
'Tis past, and thus she will not sin again;
Soon must her early song for ever cease,
And all may rail when I shall rest in peace.

To love a stranger, friendship made me blest,-
Friendship, the dear peculiar bond of youth,
When every artless bosom throbs with truth;
Untaught by worldly wisdom how to feign,
And check each impulse with prudential rein;
When all we feel, our honest souls disclose-
In love to friends, in open hate to foes;
No varnish'd tales the lips of youth repeat,

Nor shrunk beneath the upstart pedant's frown,
Or all the sable glories of his gown;
Who, thus transplanted from his father's
Unfit to govern, ignorant of rule-- [school-
Succceded him, whom all unite to praise,
The dear preceptor of my early days:
Probus, the pride of science, and the boast,*
To Ida now, alas! for ever lost.
[page,
With him, for years, we search'd the classic
And fear'd the master, though we loved the sage;
Retired at last, his small yet peaceful seat
From learning's labour is the blest retreat.
Pomposus fills his magisterial chair;
Pomposus governs-but, my muse, forbear:
Contempt, in silence, be the pedant's lot;
His name and precepts be alike forgot :

Dr Drury. This most able and excellent man retired from his situation in March, 1805, after having resided thirty-five years at Harrow; the last twenty as head-master; an office he held with equal honour to himself and advantage to the very extensive school over which he presided. Panegyric would here be superfluous; it would be useless to enumerate qualifi cations which were never doubted. A considerable contest

No dear-bought knowledge purchased by deceit. took place between three rival candidates for his vacant chair:

Hypocrisy, the gift of lengthen'd years,

Matured by age, the garb of prudence wears.

of this I can only say,

Si mea cum vestris valuissent vota, Pelasgi?
Non foret ambiguus tauti certaminis hæres.