Whose labour'd lines in chilling numbers flow,
To paint a pang the author ne'er can know !
The artless Helicon I boast is youth ;-
My lyre, the heart; my muse, the simple truth.
Far be't from me the 'virgin's mind' to 'taint:'
Seduction's dread is here no slight restraint.
The maid whose virgin breast is void of guile,
Whose wishes dimple in a modest smile,
Whose downcast eye disdains the wanton leer,
Firm in her virtue's strength, yet not severe-
She whom a conscious grace shall thus refine,
Will ne'er be 'tainted by a strain of mine.
But for the nymph whose premature desires
Torment her bosom with unholy fires,
No net to snare her willing heart is spread;
She would have falien, though she ne'er had
Whose pensive shades around thy ruins glide, Hail to thy pile! more honour'd in thy fall Than modern mansions in their pillar'd state; Proudly majestic frowns thy vaulted hall, Scowling defiance on the blasts of fate. No mail-clad serfs, † obedient to their lord, In grim array the crimson cross demand; ‡ Or gay assemble round the festive board
Their chief's retainers, an immortal band :
Else might inspiring Fancy's magic eye [time,
Retrace their progress through the lapse of
Marking each ardent youth, ordain'd to die,
A votive pilgrim in Judea's clime.
But not from thee, dark pile! departs the chief;
His feudal realm in other regions lay:
In thee the wounded conscience courts relief,
Retiring from the garish blaze of day.
Yes! in thy gloomy cells and shades profound
The monk abjured a world he ne'er could
Or blood-stain'd guilt repenting solace found,
Or innocence from stern oppression flew.
Henry II. founded Newstead soon after the murder of Thomas a Becket.
This word is used by Walter Scott, in his poem, The Wild Huntsman, synonymous with vassal.
* The red cross was the badge of the crusaders.
A monarch bade thee from that wild arise, Where Sherwood's outlaws once were wont to prowl;
And Superstition's crimes, of various dyes,
Sought shelter in the priest's protecting cowl.
Where now the grass exhales a murky dew,
The humid pall of life-extinguish'd clay,
In sainted fame the sacred fathers grew,
Nor raised their pious voices but to pray.
Where now the bats their wavering wings extend, [shade, Soon as the gloaming* spreads her waning The choir did oft their mingling vespers blend, Or matin orisons to Mary paid.+
Years roll on years; to ages, ages yield;
Abbots to abbots, in a line, succeed;
Religion's charter their protecting shield,
Till royal sacrilege their doom decreed.
One holy Henry rear'd the Gothic walls,
And bade the pious inmates rest in peace;
Another Henry the kind gift recalls,
And bids devotion's hallow'd echoes cease. Vain is each threat or supplicating prayer;
He drives them exiles from their blest abode, To roam a dreary world in deep despair
No friend, no home, no refuge but their God. Hark how the hall, resounding to the strain, Shakes with the martial music's novel din! The heralds of a warrior's haughty reign,
High crested banners wave thy halls within. Of changing sentinels the distant hum, [arms, The mirth of feasts, the clang of burnish'd The braying trumpet and the hoarser drum,
Unite in concert with increased alarms. An abbey once, a regal fortress now,
Encircled by insulting rebel powers, [brow, War's dread machines o'erhang thy threatening And dart destruction in sulphureous showers. Ah! vain defence! the hostile traitor's siege, Though oft repulsed, by guile o'ercomes the brave;
His thronging foes oppress the faithful liege, Rebellion's reeking standards o'er him wave. Not unavenged the raging baron yields;
The blood of traitors smears the purple plain ; Unconquer'd still, his falchion there he wields, And days of glory yet for him remain. Still in that hour the warrior wish'd to strew Self-gathered laurels on a self-sought grave; But Charles' protecting genius hither flew,
The monarch's friend, the monarch's hope, to
As 'gloaming,' the Scottish word for twilight, is far more poetical, and has been recommended by many eminent literary men, particularly by Dr Moore in his Letters to Burns, I have ventured to use it on account of its harmony. + The priory was dedicated to the Virgin.
At the dissolution of the monasteries, Henry VIII. bestowed Newstead Abbey on Sir John Byron.
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;
Farth shudders as her caves receive his bones,
Loathing the offering of so dark a death.
The legal rulers 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 II.; the latter had a principal share in many actions.
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."
+Lucius Cary, Lord Viscount Falkland, the most accom- WHEN slow Disease with all her host of pains, plished man of his age, was killed at the battle of Newbury, Chills the warm tide which flows along the veins; charging in the ranks of Lord Byron's regiment of cavalry. This is an historical fact. A violent tempest occurred When Health, affrighted, spreads her rosy wing, immediately subsequent to the death or interment of Cromwell, And flies with every changing gale of spring; which occasioned many disputes between his partisans and Not to the aching frame alone confined, the cavaliers; both interpreted the circumstance into divine. interposition but whether as approbation or condemnation, Unyielding pangs assail the drooping mind: we leave for the casuists of that age to decide. I have made What grisly forms, the spectre-train of woe, such use of the occurrence as suited the subiect of my poem. 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,
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.
These with a thousand visions now unite,
To dazzle, though they please, my aching sight.
Ida! blest spot, where Science holds her reign,
How joyous once I join'd thy youthful train !
Eright 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
I bless the former, and forgive the last.
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;
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.
Here first remember'd be the joyous band,
Who hail'd me chief, obedient to command;
Who join'd with me in every boyish sport-
Their first adviser, and their last resort;
Nor shrunk beneath the upstart pedant's frown,
Or all the sable glories of his gown;
Who, thus transplanted from his
Unfit to govern, ignorant of rule--
Succeeded 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.
Hours of my youth! when, nurtured in my Pomposus fills his magisterial chair;
Pomposus governs-but, my muse, forbear:
His name and precepts be alike forgot:
To love a stranger, friendship made me blest,-Contempt, in silence, be the pedant's lot;
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,
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.
Si mea cum vestris valuissent vota, Pelasgi!
Non foret ambiguus tanti certaminis hæres.
No more his mention shall my verse degrade,To him my tribute is already paid.
High, through those elms, with hoary branches crown'd,
Fair Ida's bower adorns the landscape round:
There Science, from her favour'd seat, surveys
The vale where rural Nature claims her praise;
To her awhile resigns her youthful train,
Who move in joy, and dance along the plain;
In scatter'd groups each favour'd haunt pursue;
Repeat old pastimes, and discover new;
Flush'd with his rays, beneath the noontide sun,
In rival bands between the wickets run,
Drive o'er the sward the ball with active force,
Or chase with nimble feet its rapid course.
But these with slower steps direct their way,
Where Brent's cool waves in limpid currents
stray;
While yonder few search out some green retreat,
And arbours shade them from the summer heat:
Others, again, a pert and lively crew, [view,
Some rough and thoughtless stranger placed in
With frolic quaint their antic jests expose,
And tease the grumbling rustic as he goes;
Nor rest with this, but many a passing fray
Tradition treasures for a future day: [fought,
'Twas here the gather'd swains for vengeance
And here we earn'd the conquest dearly bought;
Here have we fled before superior might,
And here renew'd the wild tumultuous fight.'
While thus our souls with early passions swell,
In lingering tones resounds the distant bell;
Th' allotted hour of daily sport is o'er,
And Learning beckons from her temple's door.
No splendid tablets grace her simple hall,
But ruder records fill the dusky wall;
There, deeply carved, behold! each tyro's name
Secures its owner's academic fame;
Here mingling view the names of sire and son-
The one long graved, the other just begun :
These shall survive alike when son and sire
Beneath one common stroke of fate expire;
Perhaps their last memorial these alone,
Denied in death a monumental stone,
Whilst to the gale in mournful cadence wave
The sighing weeds that hide their nameless
grave.
And here my name, and many an early friend's,
Along the wall in lengthen'd line extends,
Though still our deeds amuse the youthful race,
Who tread our steps, and fill our former place,
Who young obey'd their lords in silent awe,
Whose nod commanded, and whose voice was
law;
And now, in turn, possess the reins of power,
To rule the little tyrants of an hour;
Though sometimes with the tales of ancient day,
They pass the dreary winter's eve away-
'And thus our former rulers stemm'd the tide,
And thus they dealt the combat side by side;
Just in this place the mouldering walls they
scaled,
Nor bolts nor bars against their strength avail'd:
Here Probus came, the rising fray to quell,
And here he falter'd forth his last farewell;
And here one night abroad they dared to roam,
While bold Pomposus bravely stay'd at home;'
While thus they speak, the hour must soon arrive,
When names of these, like ours, alone survive :
Yet a few years, one general wreck will whelm
The faint remembrance of our fairy realm.
Dear honest race! though now we meet no
One last long look on what we were before-
Drew tears from eyes unused to weep with you.
Our first kind greetings, and our last adieu--
Through splendid circles, fashion's gaudy world,
Where folly's glaring standard waves unfurl'd,
I plunged to drown in noise my fond regret,
And all I sought or hoped was to forget. [face,
Vain wish! if chance some well-remember'd
Some old companion of my early race,
Advanced to claim his friend with honest joy,
My eyes, my heart, proclaim'd me still a boy;
The glittering scene, the fluttering groups
Were quite forgotten when my friend was found;
The smiles of beauty-(for, alas! I've known
What 'tis to bend before Love's mighty throne)-
The smiles of beauty, though those smiles were
Could hardly charm me, when that friend was
dear,
[near;
My thoughts bewilder'd in the fond surprise,
The woods of Ida danced before my eyes
I saw the sprightly wanderers pour along,
I saw and join'd again the joyous throng;
Panting, again I traced her lofty grove,
And friendship's feelings triumph'd over love.
Yet why should I alone with such delight
Retrace the circuit of my former flight?
Is there no cause beyond the common claim
Endear'd to all in childhood's very name?
Ah! sure some stronger impulse vibrates here,
Which whispers friendship will be doubly dear
To one who thus for kindred hearts must roam,
And seek abroad the love denied at home.
Those hearts, dear Ida, have I found in thee-
A home, a world, a paradise to me.
Stern Death forbade my orphan youth to share
The tender guidance of a father's care.
Can rank, or e'en a guardian's name, supply
The love which glistens in a father's eye?
For this can wealth or title's sound atone,
Made, by a parent's early loss, my own?
What brother springs a brother's love to seek?
What sister's gentle kiss has prest my cheek?
For me how dull the vacant moments rise,
To no fond bosom link'd by kindred ties !
Oft in the progress of some fleeting dream
Fraternal smiles collected round me seem ;
While still the visions to my heart are prest,
The voice of love will murmur in my rest:
I hear I wake-and in the sound rejoice;
I hear again,-but ah! no brother's voice.
A hermit, midst of crowds, I fain would stray
Alone, though thousand pilgrims fill the way.
While these a thousand kindred wreaths entwine, Prudence and sense, a spirit bold and free,
I cannot call one single blossom mine :
What then remains? in solitude to groan,
To mix in friendship, or to sigh alone.
Thus must I cling to some endearing hand,
And none more dear than Ida's social band.
Alonzo! best and dearest of my friends,
Thy name ennobles him who thus commends:
From this fond tribute thou canst gain no praise:
The praise is his who now that tribute pays.
Oh! in the promise of thy early youth,
If hope anticipate the words of truth,
Some loftier bard shall sing thy glorious name,
To build his own upon thy deathless fame.
Friend of my heart, and foremost of the list
Of those with whom I lived supremely blest,
Oft have we drain'd the font of ancient lore;
Though drinking deeply, thirsting still the more.
Yet, when confinement's lingering hour was
done,
Our sports, our studies, and our souls were one:
Together we impell'd the flying ball;
Together waited in our tutor's hall;
Together join'd in cricket's manly toil,
Or shared the produce of the river's spoil;
Or, plunging from the green declining shore,
Our pliant limbs the buoyant billows bore;
In every element, unchanged, the same,
All, all that brothers should be, but the name.
Nor yet are you forgot, my jocund boy!
Davus, the harbinger of childish joy;
For ever foremost in the ranks of fun,
The laughing herald of the harmless pun;
Yet with a breast of such materials made-
Anxious to please, of pleasing half afraid;
Candid and liberal, with a heart of steel
In danger's path, though not untaught to feel.
Still I remember, in the factious strife,
The rustic's musket aim'd against my life:
High pois'd in air the massy weapon hung,
A cry of horror burst from every tongue;
Whilst I, in combat with another foe,
Fought on, unconscious of th' impending blow;
Your arm, brave boy, arrested his career-
Forward you sprung, insensible to fear;
Disarm'd and baffled by your conquering hand,
The grovelling savage roll'd upon the sand:
An act like this, can simple thanks repay?
Or all the labours of a grateful lay?
Oh no! whene'er my breast forgets the deed,
That instant, Davus, it deserves to bleed.
Lycus on me thy claims are justly great:
Thy milder virtues could my muse relate,
To thee alone, unrivall'd, would belong
The feeble efforts of my lengthen'd song.
Well canst thou boast, to lead in senates fit,
A Spartan firmness with Athenian wit :
Though yet in embryo these perfections shine,
Lycus! thy father's fame will soon be thine.
Where learning nurtures the superior mind,
What may we hope from genius thus refined!
When time at length matures thy growing years,
How wilt thou tower above thy fellow peers!
With honour's soul, united beam in thee.
Shall fair Euryalus pass by unsung?
From ancient lineage, not unworthy sprung:
What though one sad dissension bade us part?
That name is yet embalm'd within my heart;
Yet at the mention does that heart rebound,
And palpitate, responsive to the sound.
Envy dissolved our ties, and not our will:
We once were friends,-I'll think we are so still.
A form unmatch'd in nature's partial mould,
Yet not the senate's thunder thou shalt wield,
A heart untainted, we in thee behold:
Nor seek for glory in the tented field;
To minds of ruder texture these be given-
Thy soul shall nearer soar its native heaven.
But that thy tongue could never forge deceit :
Haply, in polish'd courts might be thy seat,
The courtier's supple bow and sneering smile,
Would make that breast with indignation burn,
The flow of compliment, the slippery wile,
And all the glittering snares to tempt thee spurn.
Domestic happiness will stamp thy fate;
Sacred to love, unclouded e'er by hate;
The world admire thee, and thy friends adore;
Ambition's slave alone would toil for more.
Now last, but nearest, of the social band,
See honest, open, generous Cleon stand,
With scarce one speck to cloud the pleasing
No vice degrades that purest soul serene.
On the same day our studious race begun,
On the same day our studious race was run;
Thus side by side we pass'd our first career,
Thus side by side we strove for many a year;
At last concluded our scholastic life,
We neither conquer'd in the classic strife:
As speakers, each supports an equal name,'
And crowds allow to both a partial fame :
To soothe a youthful rival's early pride,
Though Cleon's candour would the palm divide,
Yet candour's self compels me now to own
Justice awards it to my friend alone.
Oh! friends regretted, scenes for ever dear,
Remembrance hails you with her warmest tear!
Drooping, she bends o'er pensive Fancy's urn,
To trace the hours which never can return;
Yet with the retrospection loves to dwell,
And soothe the sorrows of her last farewell!
Yet greets the triumph of my boyish mind,
As infant laurels round my head were twined,
When Probus' praise repaid my lyric song,
Or placed me higher in the studious throng;
Or when my first harangue received applause,
His sage instruction the primeval cause,
What gratitude to him my soul possest,
While hope of dawning honours fill'd my breast!
For all my humble fame, to him alone
The praise is due, who made that fame my own.
This alludes to the public speeches delivered at the school where the author was educated.
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