As here I stand and look on thee,

Before mine eyes doth pass-
(Clearing and quick'ning as I gaze)
An evening scene of other days,
As in a magic glass.

I see a small old-fashion'd room,
With pannell'd wainscot high-
Old portraits round in order set,
Carved heavy tables, chairs, buffet
Of dark mahogany.

Four china jars, on brackets high,

With grinning Monsters crown'd; And one, that like a Phoenix' nest, Exhales all Araby the Blest,

From yon old bookcase round.

And there a high-back'd, hard settee,
On six brown legs and paws.
Flow'r'd o'er with silk embroidery,
And there, all rich with filigree,—
Tall screens on gilded claws.

Down drops the damask curtain here
In many a lustrous fold;
The fire light flashing broad and high,
Floods its pale amber gorgeously
With waves of redder gold.

And lo! the flamy brightness wakes Those pictured shapes to lifeMy Lady's lip grows moist and warm, And dark Sir Edward's mailed form, Starts out for mortal strife

And living, breathing forms are roundSome, gently touch'd by Time, Staid Elders, clust'ring by the hearth, And one, the soul of youthful mirth Outlasting youthful prime

And there-where she presides so well,
With fair dispensing hands-
Where tapers shine, and porcelain gleams,
And muffins smoke, and tea-urn steams,

The Pembroke Table stands

That heir-loom Tea-pot !-Graphic Muse !
Describe it if thou'rt able-
Methinks were such advances meet-
On those three, tiny, tortoise feet,
"T would toddle round the table,

And curtsey to the Coffee-pot, (Coquettishly demure,)

Tall, quaint compeer!-fit partner he To lead her out, so gracefully,

Le menuet de la cour!

Ah, precious Monsters! dear Antiques! More beautiful to me,

Than modern, fine, affected things,
With classic claws, and beaks, and wings,
("God save the mark !") can be-

How grateful tastes th' infused herb!
How pleasant its perfume!
Some sit and sip, with cup in hand-
One saunters round, when others stand
In knots about the room-

In cozy knots-there three and four-
And here, one, two, and three-
Here by my little dainty flower-
Oh fragrant thing! Oh pleasant hour!
Oh gentle company!

Come, Idler, set that cup aside,

And tune the flute for me

Some, far away in other lands

In this some worse than dead

That air I love-" Te bien aimer

Pour toujours, ma Zelie.”

Sweet air!-sweet flower!-sweet social looks!

Dear friends!-young, happy heart! How now!-What! all alone am I? Came they with cruel mockery

Like shadows to depart?

Aye, shadows all—gone every face
I loved to look upon-
Hush'd every voice I loved to hear,
Or sounding in a distant ear-

"All gone!-all gone!—all gone!"

One, slumb'ring in the deep, deep sea

All gone!-all lost!-all fled !9 And here am I—I live and breathe, And stand, as then I stood, Beside my little dainty flowerBut now, in what an alter'd hour! In what an alter'd mood!

And yet I love to linger here

To inhale this od'rous breath-
(Faint as a whisper from the tomb)
To gaze upon this pallid bloom
As on the face of Death.

IT

T was on the noon of a cold, bleak day in February, that I set out to visit the memorable Abbey of Newstead, once the property and abode of the immortal Byron. The gloomy state of the weather, and the dreary aspect of the surrounding country, produced impressions more appropriate to the view of such a spot than the cheerful season and scenery of summer. With melancholy feelings, then, did I proceed in search of this noble relic of conventual times, over which the departed spirit of the poet has now thrown the mantle of his genius, and cast a halo of fame, which ages will not dissipate. The estate lies on the left-hand side of the high north road, eight miles beyond Nottingham; but, as I approached the place, I looked in vain for some indication of the Abbey. Nothing is seen but a thick plantation of young larch and firs, bordering the road, until you arrive at the Hut, a small public-house by the way-side. Nearly opposite to this is a plain white gate, without lodges, which opens into the park. From the appearance which the Hut makes in Cary's Road-book, one might be led to think it an inn; and being situated so near the entrance to the park, of course a convenient place of accommodation for all visi tors to the Abbey. It is, however, only a small pot-house belonging to the

estate, and does not afford even one bed. Before the gate stands a fine, spreading oak, one of the few remaining trees of Sherwood forest, the fanious haunt of Robin Hood and his associates, which once covered all this part of the county, and whose centre was about the domain of Newstead. To this oak, the only one of any size on the estate, Byron was very partial. It is pretty well known that his great uncle (to whom he suc ceeded) cut down almost all the valuable timber, partly to pay gambling debts, and partly for pure mischief's sake, to injure the property which he knew would pass into another branch of the family, all of whom, in consequence of his having killed Mr. Chaworth, had forsaken him. So that when Byron came into possession of the estate, and indeed the whole time he had it, it presented a very bare and desolate appearance. Unluckily he had not fortune enough to do what has since been done on such an enlarged scale, and with so much taste, by the present owner, Lieut. Colonel Wildman, and which alone can render the property intrinsically valuable. The soil is very poor, and fit only for the growth of larch and firs; and of these upwards of 700 acres have been planted. Byron could not afford the first outlay which was necessary in order ultimately to increase its worth, so

On entering, I came into a large stone hall, and turning to the left, went through it to a smaller, beyond which is the staircase. The whole of this part has been almost entirely rebuilt by Col. Wildman: indeed, during Byron's occupation, the only habitable rooms were some small

Over

ones in the south-east angle. the cloister, on the four sides of the building, runs the gallery, from which doors open into various apartments, now fitted up with taste and elegance for the accommodation of a family, but then empty, and fast going to decay. In one of the galleries hang two oil paintings of dogs, as large as life one a red wolf-dog, and the other a black Newfoundland with white legs-the celebrated Boatswain. These are the dogs that used to drag him out of the lake, into which he would purposely fall to try their fidelity. They both died at Newstead. Of the latter, Byron felt the loss as of a dear friend. These are almost the only paintings of Byron's that remain at the Abbey. From the gallery I entered the refectory, now the grand drawing-room -an apartment of great dimensions, facing south, with a fine vaulted roof and polished oak floor, and splendidly furnished in the modern style. The walls are covered with fulllength portraits of the old school. As this room has been made fit for use entirely since the days of Byron, there are not those associations connected with it which are to be found in many of the other, though of inferior appearance. Two objects there are, however, which demand observation. The first that caught my attention was the portrait of Byron, by Phillips, over the fire-place, upon which I gazed with strong feelings: it is certainly the handsomest and most pleasing likeness of him I have seen. The other is a thing about which every body has heard, and of which few have any just idea. In a cabinet at the end of the room, carefully preserved and concealed in a sliding case, is kept the celebrated

skull cup, upon which are inscribed those splendid verses:—

"Start not, nor deem my spirit fled," &c. People often from the name, suppose, that the cup retains all the terrific appearances of a death's head, and imagine that they could "Behold through each lack-lustre, eyeless hole, The gay recess of wisdom and of wit:" not at all-there is nothing whatever startling in it; nothing can be cleaner and less offensive-in fact, nobody would know, were he not told, that it was not a common bone bowl. It is made of the crown of the head cut straight off, so that all the disgusting portion of a skull is avoided; is well polished; its edge is bound by a broad rim of silver; and it is set in a neat stand of the same metal, which serves as a handle, and upon the four sides of which, and not on the skull itself, the verses are engraved. It is, in short, in appearance, a very handsome utensil, and one from which the most fastidious person might (in my opinion) drink without scruple. It was always produced after dinner when Byron had com-. pany at the Abbey, and a bottle of claret poured into it. It was wrought by a man at Nottingham, who was severely reproved by a worthy di vine not far from Newstead for this profanation of the dead. The reply of the workman, that he should be happy to make a similar one out of his head after death, upon being equally well paid for the trouble, so alarmed the reverend gentleman, that he was taken seriously ill, and confined for a considerable time to his house. An elegant round library table is the only article of furniture in this room that belonged to Byron, and this he constantly used. It may here be observed as a matter of course, and a thing applicable to the other rooms as well as to this, that the windows of the Abbey origi nally looked into the cloister or quadrangle, and that the present ones are of modern date. With this exception, and not taking into consi

deration the destruction of the church and other buildings belonging to the Abbey, it does not appear that the structure has undergone material changes in its external form or internal arrangement. Beyond the refectory, on the same floor, is Byron's study, now used as a temporary dining-room, the entire furniture of which is the same that was used by him it is all very plain-indeed ordinary. A good painting of a battle, over the sideboard, was also his. This apartment, perhaps beyond all others, deserves the attention of the pilgrim to Newstead, as more intimately connected with the poetical existence of Byron. It was here that he prepared for the press those first effusions of his genius, which were published at Newark under the title of Hours of Idleness. It was here that he meditated, planned, and for the most part wrote, that splendid refort to the severe critique they had called down, which placed him at once among the first poets, and stamped him as the keenest satirist of the day. And it was here that his tender and beautiful verses to Mary Chaworth (afterwards and now Mrs. Musters,) and many of those sweet pieces found among his miscellaneous poems, were composed. Then a place of deep and abstracted thought-now of merriment and rejoicing but the memory of Byron flings over it a charm which attracts more strongly than the most sumptuous banquet. From the study I passed through several other rooms, fitted in the modern style as sitting and bed-rooms for the use of a family of rank all extremely neat and tasteful, and kept in beautiful order: but having been in his time totally unhabitable, in no way remarkable as concerns the noble poet. His bed-room is small, and still remains in the same state as when he occupied it. It contains little worthy of notice besides the bed, which is of common size, with gilt posts, surmounted by coronets. Over the fire-place is a picture of Murray the old family servant (now dead,) who

:

accompanied Byron to Gibraltar when he first went abroad. A picture of Henry VIII., and another portrait in this room, complete the enumeration of all the furniture or paintings of Byron's remaining at the Abbey. In some of the rooms are very curiously carved mantlepieces with grotesque figures, evidently of old date. In a corner of one of the galleries there still remained the fencing foils, gloves, masks, and single sticks, he used in his youth. A certain honourable M. P., who was once as able a combatant in blows as he has since proved in words, might perchance recognise these implements of war, having received from them raps as severe, perhaps, as any he has had within the walls of St, Stephen's. In a corner of the cloister lies a stone coffin (which may also be remembered by another gentleman, Mr. S D

-), taken from the burial-ground of the Abbey. The ground floor contains some spacious halls, and divers apartments for domestic offices -many in a state unfit for occupation, and filled with repairing materials. There is a neat little private chapel in the cloister, where service is performed on Sundays. Byron's sole recreation here was his boat and dogs, and boxing and fencing for exercise, and to prevent a tendency to obesity-which he dreaded. His constant employment was writing; for which he used to set up as late as two or three o'clock in the morning. His life here was an entire seclusion, devoted to poetry.

The present servants' hall was then the dining-room; it is a large cold place, paved with stone: but was one of the few rooms impervious to the weather. Byron first sold the estate to Mr. Claughton, for the sum, as I am informed by the then bailiff to it, of 135,0007.; and upon the agreement not being completed, Mr. C. paid forfeit of 25,000l.;-but I do not vouch for the accuracy of this statement. It was then sold to Lieut. Col. Wildman for 95,000l.much more than its intrinsic value.