ON A DISTANT VIEW OF THE VILLAGE AND

SCHOOL OF HARROW ON THE HILL. Oh! mihi præteritos referat si Jupiter annos. – VIRGIL. Ye scenes of my childhood, whose loved recollection

Embitters the present, compared with the past ; Where science first dawn'd on the powers of reflection,

And friendships were form'd, too romantic to last; ?

Where fancy yet joys to trace the resemblance

Of comrades, in friendship and mischief allied ; How welcome to me your ne'er fading remembrance,

Which rests in the bosom, though hope is denied !

TO M 0:! did those eyes, insiead of fire,

With bright but mild affection shine, Though they might kindle less desire,

Love, more than mortal, would be thine. For thou art form'd so heavenly fair,

Howe'er those orbs may wildly beam, We must admire, but still despair ;

That fatal glance forbids esteem. When Nature stamp'd thy beauteous birth,

So much perfection in thee shone, She fear'd that, too divine for earth,

The skics might claim thee for their own : Therefore, to guard her dearest work,

Lest angels might dispute the prize, She bade a secret lightning lurk

'Within those once celestial eyes. These might the boldest sylph appal,

When gleaming with meridian blaze ; Thy beauty must enrapture all;

But who can dare thine ardent gaze ? 'Tis said that Berenice's hair

In stars adorns the vault of heaven; But they would ne'er permit thee there,

Thou wouldst so far outshine the seven.

Again I revisit the hills where we sported, The streams where we swam, and the fields where we fought; ?

(sorted, The school where, loud warn'd by the bell, we re

To pore o'er the precepts by pedagogues taught.

Again I behold where for hours I have ponder'd,

As reclining, at eve, on yon tombstone 3 I lay; Or round the steep brow of the churchyard I wander'd,

To catch the last gleam of the sun's setting ray.

I once more view the room, with spectators sur

rounded, Where, as Zanga , I trod on Alonzo o'erthrown;

I“ Vy school-friendships were with me passions (for I was always violent); but I do not know that there is one which has endured (to be sure some have been cut short by death) till now.” – Dyrun Diary, 1821.)

? (" At Harrow I fought my way very fairly. I think I lost but one battle out of seven.” – Ibid. I

3 (They show a tomb in the churchyard at Harrow, commanding a view over Windsor, which was so well known to be his favourite resting-place, that the boys called it " Byron's Tomh;" and here, they say, he used to sit for hours, wrapt up in thought.)

* (For the display of his declamatory powers, on the speech-days, he selected alwors the most vehement passages ; such as the speech of Zanga over the body of Alonzo, and Lear's address to the storm.]

Mossop, a cotemporary of Garrick, famous for his performance of Zanga.

$(" My grand patron, Dr. Drury, had a great notion that I should turn out an orator, from my fluency, my turbulence, my voice, my copiousness of declamation, and my action.' Byron Diary.)

(In the private volume the two last stanzas ran" I thought this poor brain, fever'd even to madness,

Of tears, as of reason, for ever was drain'd; But the drops which now Aow down this bosom of sadness,

Convince me the springs hare some moisture retain'd. “ Sweet scenes of my childhood ! your blest recollection

Has wrung from these eyelids, to werping long dead,
In torrents the tears of my warmest affection,
The last and the sondesi I ever shall shed."']

TO MARY,

For did those eyes as planets roll,

Thy sister-lights would scarce appear : E'en suns, which systems now control, Would twinkle dimly through their sphere. I

1806.

ON RECEIVING HER PICTURE. S

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.

TO WOMAN.

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.

WOMAN! 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 Aed and passion 's over.
Woman, that fair and fond deceiver,
How prompt are striplicgs 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 truth !
Fondly we hope 't will last for aye,
When lo ! she changes in a day.
This record will for ever stand,
“ Woman, thy vows are traced in sand." ?

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 ?

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.

I do not, love ! suspect your truth,

With jealous doubt my bosom heaves not ; Warm was the passion of my youth,

One trace of dark deceit it leaves not.

No, no, my flame was not pretended ;

For, oh! I loved you most sincerely ; And—though our dream at last is ended

My bosom still esteems you dearly.

No more we meet in yonder bowers ;

Absence has made me prone to roving ; But older, firmcr hearts than ours

Have found monotony in loving.

Your cheek's soft bloom is unimpair'd,

New beauties still are daily bright’ning, Your eye for conquest beams prepared,

The forge of love's resistless lightning.

Arm'd thus, to make their bosoms bleed,

Many will throng to sigh like me, love! More constant they may prove, indeed ;

Fonder, alas ! they ne'er can be, love !

LINES ADDRESSED TO A YOUNG LADY. (As the author was discharging his pistols in a garden, two ladies passing near the spot were alarmed by the sound of a bullet hissing near them ; to one of whom the following stanzas were addressed the next morning.)'

DOUBTLESS, sweet girl ! the hissing lead,

Wafting destruction o'er thy charms,
And hurtling 2 o'er thy lovely head,

Has fil'd that breast with fond alarms.

Surely some envious demon's force,

Vex'd to behold such beauty here, Impell’d the bullet's viewless course,

Diverted from its first career.

Yes ! in that nearly fatal hour

The ball obey'd some hell-born guide ; But Heaven, with interposing power,

In pity turn'd the death aside.

Yet, as perchance one trembling tcar

Upon that thrilling bosom fell; Which I, th' unconscious cause of fear,

Extracted from its glistening cell : Say, what dire penance can atone

For such an outrage done to thee ? Arraign'd before thy beauty's throne,

What punishment wilt thou decree ?

Might I perform the judge's part,

The sentence I should scarce deplore ; It only would restore a heart

Which but belong'd to thee before.

The least atonement I can make

-Is to become no longer free ; Henceforth I breathe but for thy sake,

Thou shalt be all in all to me.

! [The occurrence took place at Southwell, and the brau. tilul lady to whom the lines were addressed was Miss lloucon.)

In this life of probation for rapture divine,

Astrea declares that some penance is due ; From him who has worshipp'd at love's gentle shrinc,

The atonement is ample in love's last adieu !

Who kneels to the god, on his altar of light

Must myrtle and cypress alternately strew: His myrtle, an emblem of purest delight;

His cypress the garland of love's last adieu !

DAMÆTAS.

In law an infant , and in years a boy,
In mind a slave to every vicious joy ;
From every sense of shame and virtue wean'd;
In lies an adept, in deceit a fiend ;
Versed in hypocrisy, while yet a child ;
Fickle as wind, of inclinations wild ;
Woman his dupe, his heedless friend a tool;
Old in the world, though scarcely broke from school;
Damætas ran through all the maze of sin,
And found the goal when others just begin :
Even still conflicting passions shake his soul,
And bid him drain the dregs of pleasure's bowl ;
But, pall'd with vice, he breaks his former chain,
And what was once his bliss appears his bane. ?

All I shall therefore say (whate'er
I think, is neither here nor there)
Is, that such lips, of looks endearing,
Were form'd for better things than snccring:
Of smoothing compliments divested,
Advice at least 's disinterested;
Such is my artless song to thee,
From all the flow of flattery free ;
Counsel like mine is like a brother's
My heart is given to some others;
That is to say, unskill'd to cozeni,
It shares itself among a dozen.
Marion, adieu ! oh, pr’ythee slight not
This warning, though it may delight not ;
And, lest my precepts be displeasing
To those who think remonstrance tcasing,
At once I 'll tell thee our opinion
Concerning woman's soft dominiou :
Howe'er we gaze with admiration
On eyes of blue or lips carnation,
Howe'er the flowing locks attract us,
Howe'er those beauties inay distract us,
Still fickle, we are prone to rove,
These cannot fix our souls to love :
It is not too severe a stricture
To say they form a pretty picture ;
But wouldst thou see the secret chain
Which binds us in your humble train,
To hail you queens of all creation,
Know, in a word, 't is ANIMATION.

TO MARION.

TO A LADY

WHO PRESENTED TO THE AUTHOR A LOCK OF HAIR

BRAIDED WITH HIS OWN, AND APPOINTED A NIGIIT IN DECEMBER TO MEET HIM IN THE GARDEN. 3

MARION! why that pensive brow ?
What disgust to life hast thou ?
Change that discontented air ;
Frowns become not one so fair.
'Tis not love disturbs thy rest,
Love's a stranger to thy breast ;
He in dimpling smiles appears,
Or mourns in sweetly timid tears,
Or bends the languid eyelid down,
But shuns the cold forbidding frown.
Then resume thy former fire,
Some will love, and all admire ;
While that icy aspect chills us,
Nought but cool indifference thrills us.
Wouldst thou wandering hearts beguile,
Smile at least, or seem to smile.
Eyes like thine were never meant
To hide their orbs in dark restraint;
Spite of all thou fain wouldst say,
Still in truant beams they play.
Thy lips — but here my modest Muse
Her impulse chaste must needs refuse :
She blushes, curt'sies, frowns in short she
Dreads lest the subject should transport me ;
And flying off in search of reason,
Brings prudence buck in proper season.

These locks, which fondly thus entwine,
In firmer chains our hearts confine,
Than all th' unmeaning protestations
Which swell with nonsense love orations.
Our love is fix'd, I think we ’ve proved it,
Nor time, nor place, nor art have moved it;
Then wherefore should we sigh and whine,
With groundless jealousy repine,
With silly whims and fancies frantic,
Merely to make our love romantic ?
Why should you weep like Lydia Languish,
And fret with self-created anguish
Or doom the lover you have chosen,
On winter nights to sigh half frozen;
In leafless shades to sue for pardon,
Only because the scene 's a garden ?
For gardens seem, by one consent,
Since Shakspeare set the precedent,
Since Juliet first declared her passion
To form the place of assignation. +

In law every person is an infant who has not attained the age of twenty-one.

3 [" When I went up to Trinity, in 1805, at the age of seventeen and a half, I was miserable and untoward to a degree. I was wretched at leaving Harrow -- wretched at going to Cambridge instead of Oxford - wretched from some private domestic circumstances of different kinds; and, consequently, about as unsocial as a wolf taken from the troop." - Diary. Mr. Moore adds, " The sort of life which young Byron led at this period, between the dissipations of London and of Cambridge, without a home to welcome, or even the roof of a single relative to receive him, was but little calculated

to render him satisfied either with himself or the world. Unrestricted as he was by deference to any will but his own, even the pleasures to which he was naturally most inclined prematurely palled upon him, for want of those best zests of all enjoyment — rarity and restraint."]

3 [See antè, p. 387. note.]

* In the abore little piece the author has been accused by some candid readers of introducing the name of a lady from whom he was some hundred miles distant at the time this was written ; and poor Juliet, who has slept so long in "the tomb of all the Capulets," has been converted, with a triding

Oh! would some modern muse inspire,
And seat her by a sea-coal fire ;
Or had the bard at Christmas written,
And laid the scene of love in Britain,
He surely, in commiseration,
Had changed the place of declaration.
In Italy I've no objection ;
Warm nights are proper for reflection ;
But here our climate is so rigid,
That love itself is rather frigid:
Think on our chilly situation,
And curb this rage for imitation ;
Then let us meet, as oft we've done,
Beneath the influence of the sun ;
Or, if at midnight I must meet you,
Within your mansion let me greet you :
There we can love for hours together,
Much better, in such snowy weather,
Than placed in all th' Arcadian groves
That cver witness'd rural loves ;
Then, if my passion fail to please,
Next night I'll be content to freeze ;
No more I'll give a loose to laughter,
But curse my fate for ever after. 1

OSCAR OF ALVA. 3

A TALE.

How sweetly shines through azure skies,

The lamp of heaven on Lora's shore ; Where Alva's hoary turrets rise,

And hear the din of arins no more.

But often has yon rolling moon

On Alva's casques of silver play'd ; And view'd, at midnight's silent noon,

Her chiefs in gleaming mail array'd :

And on the crimson'd rocks beneath,

Which scowl o'er occau's sullen flow Pale in the scatter'd ranks of death,

She saw the gasping warrior low;

While many an eye which ne'er again

Could mark the rising orb of day, Turn'd feebly from the gory plain,

Bebeld in death her fading ray.

Once to those eyes the lamp of Love,

They blest bör dear propitious light; But now she glimmerd vom above,

A sad, funereal torch of night.

Faded is Alva's noble race,

And gray her towers are seen afar