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With all which Demosthenes wanted endued, Seems proud of the reptile which crawld from her And his rival or victor in all he possess’d.


And for murder repays him with shouts and a smile! Ere Tully arose in the zenith of Rome,

Though unequall’d, preceded, the task was begun Without one single ray of her genius, without But Grattan sprung up like a god from the tomb The fancy, the manhood, the fire of her raceof ages, the first, last, the saviour, the one! The miscreant who well might plange Erin in doubt

If she ever gave birth to a being so base: With the skill of an Orpheus to soften the brute;

With the fire of Prometheus to kindle mankind; If she didlet her long-boasted proverb be busha, Even Tyranny listening sate melted or mute,

Which proclaims that from Erin no reptile can And Corruption shrunk scorch'd from the glance

springof his mind.

See the cold blooded serpent, with venom full flushid, Bat back to our theme! Back to despots and slaves !

Still warming its folds in the breast of a king! Feasts furnish'd by Famine! rejoicings by Pain! Shout, drink, feast, and flatter! Oh! Erin, bow low True freedom but welcomes, while slavery still raves, Wert thou sunk by misfortune and tyranny, till

When a week's saturnalia hath loosen'd her chain. Thy welcome of tyrants hath plunged thee below Let the poor squalid splendour thy wreck can afford

| The depth of thy deep in a deeper gulf still. (As the bankrupt's profusion his ruin would hide) | My voice, though but humble, was raised for thy right, Gild over the palace, Lo! Erin, thy lord!

My vote, as a freeman's, still voted thee free, Kiss his foot with thy blessing, his blessings denied! This hand, though but feeble, would arm in thy fight, Or if freedom past hope be extorted at last,

And this heart, though outworn, had a throb still If the idol of brass find his feet are of clay,

for thee! Must what terror or policy wring forth be class'd Yes, I loved thee and thine, though thou art not by With what monarchs ne'er givé, but as wolves

land, yield their prey ?

I have known poble hearts and great souls in thy

And I wept with the world o'er the patriot band Each brute hath its nature, a king's is to reign,

Who are gone, but I weep them no longer as once. To reign! in that word see, ye ages, comprised The cause of the curses all annals contain,

For happy are they now reposing afar, From Cæsar the dreaded to George the despised!

Thy Grattay, thy Curran, thy Sheridan,-all

Who, for years, were the chiefs in the eloquent war, Wear, Fingal, thy trapping ! O'Connell, proclaim And redeem'd, if they have not retarded, thy fall.

His accomplishments! His!!! and thy country conHalf an age's contempt was an error of fame, (vince

Yes, happy are they in their cold English graves! And that “Hal is the rascaliest, sweetest young

Their shades cannot start to thy shouts of to-dayprince !"

Nor the steps of enslavers and chain-kissing slaves

Be stamp'd in the turf o'er their fetterless clay. Will thy yard of blue riband, poor Fingal, recall The fetters from millions of Catholic limbs ?

Till now I had envied thy sons and their shore, Or, has it not bound thee the fastest of all

Though their virtues were hunted, their liberties filed; The slaves, who now hail their betrayer with hymns?

There was something so warm and sublime in the core

Of an Irishman's heart, that I envy—thy dead. Ay! Build him a dwelling !" let each give his mite! Till, like Babel, the new royal dome hath arisen!

Or, if aught in my bosom can quench for an hour Let thy beggars and helots their pittance unite

My contempt for a nation so servile, though sore, And a palace bestow for a poor-house and prison! | Which though trod like the worm will not turn upea

power, Spread-spread, for Vitellius, the royal repast,

'Tis the glory of Grattan, and genius of Moore! Till the gluttonous despot be stufrd to the gorge! And the roar of his drunkards proclaim him at last The Fourth of the fools and oppressors call’d


Rogers! much honour'd, howsoe'er assail'd

By wanton ignorance or ribald mirth,
Let the tables be loaded with feasts till they groan!

Thy dwelling as a temple has been baild
Till they groan like thy people, through ages of woe! | Sacred to art, to genius, and to worth,
Let the wine flow around the old Bacchanal's throne, Thyself the high priest. Star and coronet
Like their blood which has flow'd, and which yet Are mated there with blushing merit; there
has to flow.

The frost-nipp'd bud of talent oft hath met
But let not his name be thine idol alone-

The warmth that nursed it till its fruit it bare. On his right hand behold a Sejanus appears!

None more than thou have true desert extolled, Thine own Castlereagh! let him still be thine own!

None more than thou bave scorn'd the heartless prood. A wretch never named but with curses and jeers!(1)

How many sufferers hast thou consoled

All silently! Nor need they speak alond, Till now, when the isle which should blush for his birth, In hopes to shame the wretch condemn'd to carve

Deep, deep as the gore which he shed on her soil, Food for foul stomachs, or himself to starve. (1) In the MS.

A name only utter'd with curses or jeers;" "A name never spoke but with curses or jeers."

A wretch never named but with curses or jeers' u The last line,” writes Lord B. to Mr. Moore, “must run « Spoke,” adds his Lordship. is not a grammar. except in the either

House of Commons.".-P. E.





CANTO V. «Siede la terra dove pata fui

“Tae land where I was born (2) sits by the seas, Su la marina, dove il Po discende,

Upon that shore to which the Po descends,
Per aver pace coi seguaci sui,

With all his followers, in search of peace.
Amor, che al cor gentil ratto s' apprende, Love, which the gentle heart soon apprehends,
Prese costui della bella persona

| Seized him for the fæir person which was ta’en (3) Che mi fu tolta; e il modo ancor m' offende. From me, and me even yet the mode offends. Amor, che a null'amato amar perdona,

Love, who to none beloved to love again
Mi prese del costui piacer si forte,

Remits, seized me with wish to please, so strong, Che, come vedi, ancor non m'abbandona; That, as thou seest, yet, yet it doth remain. Amor condusse noi ad una morte:

Love to one death conducted us along,
Caina attende chi in vita ci spense:"

But Cainà (4) waits for him our life who ended :"(5)
Queste parole da lor ci fur porte,

These were the accents utter'd by her tongue.

ñ peopleme for thin the orig

(1) This translation, of what is generally considered the traordinary conrage, but deformed in his person. His most exquisitely pathetic episode in the Divina Commedia, brother Paolo, who unhappily possessed those graces which was executed in March, 1820, at Ravenna, where, just five the husband of Francesca wanted, engaged her affections ; centuries before, and in the very house in which the un. and being taken in adultery, they were both put to death fortunate lady was born, Dante's poem had been com. by the enraged Lanciotto. The interest of this pathetic posed.

narrative is much increased, when it is recollected that the In mitigation of the crime of Francesca, Boccaccio relates, father of this unfortunate lady was the beloved friend and that “Guido engaged to give his daughter in marriage to generous protector of Dante during his latter days. See Lanciotto, the eldest son of his enemy, the master of Ri. antè, p. 333, and also Canto xxvii. of the Inferno, where mini. Lanciotto, who was bideously deformed in counte Dante, speaking of Ravenna, says nance and figure, foresaw that, if he presented himself in

“L'aquila da Polenta la si cova person, he should be rejected by the lady. He therefore

Si che Cervia ricopre co' suoi vanni." resolved to marry her by proxy, and sent as his represent

"There Polenta's eagle broods, ative his younger brother, Paolo, the handsomest and most

And in his broad circumference of plume accomplished man in all Italy. Francesca saw Paolo ar

O'ershadows Cervia."-Cary. rive, and imagined she beheld her future husband. That Gaido was the son of Ostasio da Polenta, and made him. mistake was the commencement of her passion. The friends self master of Ravenna in 1265. In 1322, he was deprived of Guido addressed bim in strong remonstrances, and of his sovereignty, and died at Bologna in the year followmournful predictions of the dangers to which he exposed a

ing. He is enumerated, by Tiraboschi, among the poets of daughter, whose high spirit would never brook to be sacri.

his time.-L. E. ficed with impunity. But Guido was no longer in a condition

(2) Ravenna. to make war; and the necessities of the politician overcame (3) Among Lord Byron's unpublished letters we find the feelings of the father.”

the following:" Varied readings of the translation from In transmitting his version to Mr. Murray, Lord Byron Dante. says -- Enclosed you will find, line for line, in third rhyme

Seized him for the fair person, which in its (terza rima), of which your British blackguard reader as yet

Bloom was ta'en from me, yet the mode offenda. understands nothing, Fanny of Rimini. You know that she

Or, was born bere, and married, and slain, from Cary, Boyd,

Seized him for the fair form, of which in its

Bloom I was reft, and get the mode offends. and such people. I have done it into cramp English, line

Love, which to none beloved to love remits, for line, and rhyme for rhyme, to try the possibility. If it

with mutual wish to please is publisbed, publish it with the original."

Seized me with wish of pleasing him (80 strong. In one of the poet's MS. Diaries we find the following

with the desire to please passage :-" January 29, 1821, past midnight-one of the

That, as thou see'st, not yet that passion quits,' etc. clock. I have been reading Frederick Schlegel till now,

You will find these readings vary from the MS. I sent you. and I can make out nothing. He evidently shows a great

They are closer, but rougher: take which is liked best; or, power of words, but there is nothing to be taken hold of. | if you like, print them as variations. They are all close to He is like Hazlitt in English, who talks pimples; a red and

B. Letters.-L. E. white corruption rising up (in little imitation of mountains (4) From Cain, the first fratricide. By Caind we are to upon maps), but containing nothing, and discharging no. understand that part of the Inferno to which murderers are thing, except their own humours. I like him the worse condemned. (that is, Schlegel), because he always seems upon the vergo

(5) The whole history of woman's love is as highly and of meaning; and, lol he goes down like sunset, or melts

completely wronght, we think, in these few lines, as that of like a rainbow, leaving a rather rich confusion. Of Dante, Juliet in the whole tragedy of Shakspeare. Francesca imhe says, that at no time has the greatest and most national

putes the passion her brother-in-law conceived for her, not of all Italian poets ever been much the favourite of his coun to depravity, but nobleness of heart in him, and to her own trymen!' 'Tis false. There have been more editors and Joveliness. With a mingled feeling of keen sorrow and com. commentators (and imitators ultimately) of Dante, than of placent naiveté, she says she was fair, and that an ignomi. all tbeir poets put together. Not a favourite!Why, they nious death robbed him of her beauty. She confesses that talk Dante-write Dante-and think and dream Dante, at she loved, because she was beloved, -that charm had de. this moment (1821), to an excess which would be ridicuidus, luded her; and she declares, with transport, that joy had but that he deserves it. He says also that Dante's chief | not abandoned her even in hell defect is a want, in a word, of gentle feelings.' Of gentle

piacer si forte, feelings !--and Francesca of Rimini-and the father's feel

Che, come vedi, ancor non m' abbandona." ings in Ugolino-and Beatrice--and La Pia! Why, there It is thus that Dante unites perspicuity with conciseness, and is a gentleness in Dante beyond all gentleness, when he is the most naked simplicity with the profoundest observation tender. It is true that, treating of the Christian Hades, or of the beart. Her guilty passion survives its punishment Hell, there is not much scope or site for gentleness : but by Heaven-but without a shade of impiety. How striking who but Dante could have introduced any gentleness' at all is the contrast of her extreme happiness, in the midst of ipto Hell? Is there any in Milton's? No—and Dante's torments that can never cease; when, resuming her nar. Heaven is all love, and glory, and majesty."

rative, she looks at her lover, and repeats with enthuFrancesca, daughter of Guido da Polenta, Lord of Ra siasm venna and of Cervia, was given by her father in marriage to

Questi, che mai da me non fa diviso'-Lanciotto, son of Malatesta, Lord of Rimini, a man of ex: She nevertheless goes on to relieve her brother-in-law from * Lectures on the History of Literature. Ancient and Modern.-L. E. all imputation of having seduced her. Alone, and uncon

Da ch' io intesi quell' anime offense

Chinai il viso, e tanto il tenni basso

Fin che il poeta mi disse: “ Che pense ?" Quando risposi cominciai: " Ahi lasso !

Quanti dolci pensier, quanto disio

Meno costoro al doloroso passo!" Poi mi rivolsi a loro, e parlai io,

E cominciai: “Francesca, i tuoi martiri

A lagrimar mi fanno tristo e pio. Ma dimmi : al tempo de' dolci sospiri

A che, e come concedette Amore

Che conosceste i dubbiosi desiri?"
Ed ella a me: “Nessun maggior dolore

Che ricordarsi del tempo felice

Nella miseria:(1) e ciò sa il tuo dottore. Ma, se a conoscer la prima radice

Del nostro amor tu hai cotanto affetto

Farò (2) come colui che piange e dice. Noi leggevamo un giorno per diletto

Di Lancillotto,(3) come Amor lo strinse:

Soli eravamo, e senza alcun sospetto. Per più fiate gli occhi ci sospinse

Quella lettura, e scolorocci il viso :

Ma solo un punto fu quel che ci vinse. Quando leggemmo il disiato riso

Esser baciato da cotanto amante,

Questi, che mai da me non fia diviso, La bocca mi baciò tutto tremante:

Galeotto fu il libro, e chi lo scrisse-

Quel giorno più non vi leggemmo avante." Mentre che l' uno spirto questo disse,

L'altro piangeva sì,che di pietade

Io veuni men così com' io morisse, E caddi,come corpo morto cade.

Since I first listend to these souls offended,

I bow'd my visage, and so kept it till

" What think'st thou ?” said the bard; when I me And recommenced : “Alas! unto such ill (bended, (4)

How many sweet thoughts, what strong ecstasies

Led these their evil fortune to fulfil!
And then I turn'd unto their side my eyes,

And said, “ Francesca, thy sad destinies

Have made me sorrow till the tears arise. But tell me, in the season of sweet sighs

By what and how thy love to passion rose,

So as his dim desires to recognise ?"
Then she to me: “The greatest of all woes

Is to remind us of our happy days (5)

In misery, and that thy teacher knows.(6) But if to learn our passion's first root preys

Upon thy spirit with such sympathy,

I will do even as he who weeps and says.(7). We read one day for pastime, seated nigh,

of Lancilot, how love enchain'd him too.

We were alone, quite unsuspiciously.
But oft our eyes met, and our cheeks in hoe

All o'er discoloar'd by that reading were;

But one point only wholly us o'erthrew;(8) When we read the long-sigh'd-for smile of her,

To be thus kiss'd by such devoted lover, (9)

He who from me can be divided ne'er
Kiss'd my mouth, trembling in the act all orer.

Accursed was the book and he who wrote!

That day no further leaf we did uncover." While thus one spirit told us of their lot,

The other wept, so that with pity's thralls

I swoon'd as if by death I had been smote. And fell down even as a dead body falls.(10)

scious of their danger, they read a love-story together. They gazed upon each other, pale with emotion; but the secret of their mutual passion never escaped their lips:

• Per più fate gli occhi ci sospinse

Quella lettura, e scolorocci il viso;

Ma solo un punto fa qual che ci vinse." The description of two happy lovers in the story was the ruin of Francesca. It was the romance of Lancilot and Genevra, wife of Arthur, King of England:

Quando leggemmo il disiato riso

Esser baciato da cotanto amante,

Questi, che mai da me non fia diviso

La bocca mi baciò tutto tremante.' After this avowal, she hastens to complete the picture with one touch which covers her with confusion :

Quel giorno più non vi leggemmo avante." She utters got another word and yet we fancy her before us, with her downcast and glowing looks; whilst her lover stands by her side, listening in silence and in tears. Dante, too, wbo had bitherto questioned her, no longer ventures to inquire in what manner ber husband had put her to death; but is so overawed by pity, that he sinks into a swoon. Nor is this to be considered as merely a poetical exaggeration. The poet had probably known her when a girl, blooming in innocence and beauty under the paternal roof. This, we think, is the true account of the overwhelming sympathy with which her form overpowers him. The episode, too, was written by him in the very bouse in which she was born, and in which he had himself, during the last ten years of his exile, found a constant asylum." Macaulay.-L. E.

(1) "In omni adversitate fortunæ infelicissimum genus infortunii est fuisse felicem." -Boetius. Dante himself tells us, that Boetius and Cicero de Amicitia were the two first books that engaged his attention.-L. E. • "I pass each day where Dante's bones are laid;

A little cupola, more neat than solemn,
Protects his dust, but reverence here is paid

To the bard's tomb, and not the warrior's column :
The time must come when, both alike decay'd,

The chieftain's trophy, and the poet's volume,
Will sink where lie the songs and wars of earth,
Before Pelides' death, or Homer's birth." -Don Juan, C. iii. i

In some of the editions it is dirò,' in others faro;an essential difference between saying' and doing, which I know not how to decide. Ask Foscolo. The

d e li tions drive me mad." Lord B. to Mr. M.-LE

(3) One of the Knights of Arthur's Round Table, and the lover of Genevra, celebrated in romance. See Seatbey's King Arthur, vol. i. p. 62. Whitaker, the historian of Nas chester, makes out for the knight both a local babitatora and a name “The name of Lancelot," he says, "is an ap pellation truly British, and significative of royalty : Lance being a Celtic term for a spear, and Leod, Lod, or Lot, is porting a people. He was therefore (1) a British sovereiga; and since he is denominated Lancelot of the Lake, perhaps be resided at Coccium, in the region Linnis, and was the monarch of Lancashire; as the kings of Croones, living at Selma, on the forest of Morven, are generally denominated sovereigos of Morven; or, more properly, was King of Che shire, and resided at Pool-ton Lancelot, in the hundred of Wirral." See also Ellis's Specimens of early Romances, vol. i. p. 271.-L.E. (4) In the MS.

(then ) «•What think'st thou ?” said the bard; I unbended.-P.L.

when (5) In the MS.

recall to mind our happy days. "-LE.

I remind us of (6) In the MS.

" In misery and . thy teacher knows."-LL (7) In the MS :

in relate) "I will

as he who weeps and says. "LE “ do even (8) In the MS."But one point only us

overthrew , (9) Ip the MS.** To be thus kiss'd by sach

"Is to!


a servent


| devoted The episode of Francesca of Rimini is thas translated by Cary: and it is only justice to Lord Byron to give the passage bere, in order to show how he succeeded in over



JANUARY 22, 1821.(3) TAROUGH life's dull road, so dim and dirty, I have dragg'd to three-and-thirty, What have these years left to me? Nothing-except thirty-three.


When a man hath no freedom to fight for at home,

Let him combat for that of his neighbours; Let him think of the glories of Greece and of Rome,

And get knock'd on the head for his labours.
To do good to mankind is the chivalrous plan,

And is always as nobly requited;
Tben battle for freedom wherever you can,

And, if not shot or bang’d, you 'll get knighted.

Hic est, quem legis, ille, quem requiris,

Toto notus in orbe Martialis, etc.
He unto whom thou art so partial,
Oh reader! is the well-known Martial,
The Epigrammatist : while living,
Give bim the fame thou wouldst be giving;
So shall he hear, and feel, and know it
Post-obits rarely reach a poet.

ON QUEEN CAROLINE. MR. Hoby the boot-maker's heart is quite sore, For seeing the Queen makes him think of Jane Shore; And, in fact



Tuis day, of all our days, has done .

The worst for me and you :
'Tis just six years since we were one,
And five since we were two.

January 2, 1821. coming all the difficulties of rhyme, with which Mr. Cary does not grapple:

" . The land that gave me birth
Is situate on the coast, where Po descends
To rest in ocean with his sequent streams.

" Love, that in gentle heart is quickly learnt,
Entangled him by that fair form, from me
Ta'en in such cruel sort. as grieves me still:
Love, that denial takes from none beloved,
Caught me with pleasing him so passing well,
That, as thou seest, he yet deserts me not.
Love brought us to one death: Caina waits
The soul, who spilt our life. Such were their words;
At hearing which downward I bent my looks.
And beld then there so long, that the bard cried :
• What art thou pondering?' I in answer thus :
• Alas! by what sweet thoughts, what fond desire,
Mast they at length to that ill pass have reach'd!'

Then turning, I to them my speech address'd,
And thus began. Francesca ! your sad fate
Even to tears my grief and pity moves.
But tell me; in the time of your sweet sighs,
By what, and how Love granted, that ye knew
Your yet uncertain wishes ?' She replied:

No greater grief than to remember days
or juy, when misery is at hand. That kens
Thy learn'd instructor. Yet so eagerly
If thou art bent to know the primal root
From wbence our love gat being, I will do
As one, who weeps and tells his tale. One day,
For our delight, we read of Lancelot,
How him love thrallid. Alone we were, and no
Suspicion near is. Ofttimes by that reading
Our eyes were drawn together, and the hue
Fled from our alter'd cherk. But at one point
Alone we fell. When of that smile we read,
The wished smile, so rapturously kiss'd
By one so deep in love, then he, who ne'er
From me shall separate, at once my lips
All trembling kiss'd. The book and writer both
Were love's purveyors. In its leaves that day
We read no more. While thus one spirit spake,
The other wail'd so sorely, that heart-struck,
I, through compassion fainting, seer'd not far

From death, and like a corse fell to the ground." The story of Francesca and Paolo is a great favourite with the Italians. It is noticed by all the historians of Ravenna. Petrarch introduces it, in bis Trionfi d'Amore, among his examples of calamitous passion; and Tassoni, in his Secchia Rapita, represents Paolo Malatesta as leading the troops of Rimini, and describes him, when mounted on his charger, as contemplating a golden sword chain, presented to him by Francesca :

· Rimini vien con la bandiera sesta,

Guida mille cavalli, e mille fanti...
Halli donata al dipartir Francesca'
L' aurea catena, a cui la spada appende.
la va mirando il misero, e rinfresca
Quel foco ognor, che l'anima gli accende,

Quanto cerca fuggir, tanto s' invesca."
• To him Francesca gave the golden chain

At parting-time, from which his sword was hung;
The wretebed lover gazed at it with pain,

Adding new pangs to those his heart had wrang :
The more he sought to dy the luscious bane,

The firmer he was bound, the deeper stung."-L. E.


the s

(1) In allusion to these stanzas, Lord Byron writes thus to Mr. Moore, from Ravenna, 1820:-“If honour should come unlooked for' to any of your acquaintance, make a melody of it, that his ghost, like poor Yorick's, may have the satisfaction of being plaintively pitied-or still more nobly commemorated, like Oh breathe not his name. In case you should not think him worth it, here is a chant for you instead."-PE. (2) Another version of this epigram runs thus:

“How strangely Time his course has run,

Since Grst I pair'd with you;
Six years ago we made but ONE,

Now five have made us two."-P.E. (3) In Lord Byron's MS. Diary of tbe preceding day, we find the following entry: January 21, 1821. Dined-visited-came home-read. Remarked on an anecdote in Grimm's Correspondence, which says, that Reguard et la plupart des poètes comiques étaient gens bilieux et mélan. coliques; et que M. de Voltaire, qui est très-gai, n'a jamais fait que des tragédies--et que la comédie gaie est le seul genre où il n'ait point réussi. C'est que celui qui rit et celui qui fait rire sont deux hommes fort différents !' At this moment I feel as bilious as the best comic writer of them all (even as Regnard himself, the next to Molière, who bas written some of the best comedies in any language, and who is supposed to have committed suicide), and am not in spirits to continue my proposed tragedy. To-morrow is my birth-day-that is to say, at twelve o' the clock, midnight; i. e. in twelve minutes, I shall have completed thirty-andthree years of age!!!-and I go to my bed with a beasiness of heart at having lived so long, and to so little purpose.

. It is three minutes past twelve'Tis the middle of night by the castle clock,' and I am now thirty-three

. Eheu, fugaces, Posthume, Posthume,

Labuntur anni;'but I don't regret them so much for what I have done, as | for what I might have done."-LE.

To this passage Lord Byron added the following whimsical epitaph :


Here lies
interred in the eternity

of the Past,
from whence there is no

for the Days-whatever there may be

for the Dust-
the Thirty-Tbird Year
of an ill-spent life,

wbich, after
a lingering disease of many months,

sunk into a lethargy,

and expired,
January 890 1821, A.D.
Leaving a Successor

for the very loss which

occasioned its -P.E.


hall be

[blocks in formation]

POSTERITY will ne'er survey

A nobler grave than this:
Here lie the bones of Castlereagh:

Stop, traveller, and


Ox, 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 ?
'Tis but as a dead-flower with May-dew besprinkled :
Then away with all such from the head that is hoary!
What care I for the wreaths that can only give glory?
Oh Fame!(5)—if I 'e'er took delight in thy praises,
’T was less for the sake of thy high-sounding phrases,
Than to see the bright eyes of the dear one discover
She thought that I was not unworthy to love her.

For Orford (6) and for Waldegrave(7)
You give much more than me you gave;
Which is not fairly to behave,

My Murray.
Because if a live dog, 'tis said,
Be worth a lion fairly sped,
A live lord must be worth two dead,

My Murray.

(1) The procession of the Brasiers to Braudenburgh House occurred to my own experience of the wild and strana was one of the most absurd fooleries of the time of the late places to which a name may penetrate, and where it may Queen's trial.-L.E.

impress. Two years ago-almost three, being in August, "Have you heard that the Brasiers' Company' have, or or July, 1819-1 received at Ravenna a letter in English mean to present an address at Brandenburgh House, in verse from Drontbeim in Norway, written by a Norwegian, armour,' and with all possible variety and splendour of and full of the usual compliments, etc. ete. In the same brazen apparel ? » Lord B. to Mr. Moore, Ravenna, 1821. month I received an invitation into Holstein, from a NT: P. E.

Jacobson, I think, of Hamburgh; also (by the same medium “There is an epigram for you, is it not?-worthy a translation of Medora's song in the Corsair, by a West Or Wordsworth, the grand metaqnizzical poet,

phalian baroness (not "Thunderton-tronck'), with some of A man of vast merit, though few people know it:

ginal verses of bers (very pretty and Klopstockisb), kad The perusal of whom (as I told you at Mestri)

prose translation annexed to them, on the subject of I owe, in great part, to my passion for pastry."

wife. As they concerned her more than me, I sent them to B. Letters, January 22, 1821.-L. E. her with Mr. Jacobson's letter. It was odd enough to it (3) In a letter to Mr. Murray, date of July 30th, 1821, Lord

ceive an invitation to pass the summer in Holstein, w Byron thus addresses that gentleman :"Are you aware

Italy, from people ) never knew. The letter was addresses that Shelley has written an Elegy on John Keats?"-en.

to Venice. Mr. J. talked to me of the wild roses grown titled Adonais," and accuses the Quarterly Review of kill

in the Holstein summer:' why, then, did the Cimbri and ing him.” Then come the above lines, a parody on “ Who

Teutones emigratel-What a strange thing is life and killed poor Cock Robin ?" By such drollery his Lordship ko

Were I to present myself at the door of tbe bouse where doubt meant to ridicule this idea of his friend, which, in

daughter now is, the door would be shut in my face, ani. deed, he had already more gravely disputed, in a letter to

(as is not impossible) I knocked down the porter ; ante Shelley himself. Moore. - P.E.

had gone in that year (and perhaps dow) to Drontben." (4) “I composed these stanzas (except the fourth, added

furthest town in Norway), or into Holstein, I should now a few days ago, on the road from Florence to Pisa."

been received with open arms into the mansions of strange B. Diary, Pisa, 6th Nov. 1821.-L.E.

and foreigners-attached to me by no tie but that of a “enclose you some lines written not long ago, wbich

and rumour. As far as Fame goes, I have had my shar you may do what you like with, as they are very harm.

it has, indeed. been leavened by other human contingence less. Only, if copied, or printed, or set, I could write it

and this in a greater degree than has occurred to most more correctly than in the usual way in which one's

terary men of a decent rank in bfe; but, on the whole nothings are monstered,' as Coriolanus says." Lord B. to

I take it that such equipoise is the condition of humanity Yr Moore. Pisa, 1821.-P. E.

--L. E. (6) In the same Diary, we find the following painfully in. (6) Horace Walpole's Memoirs of the last Nine

passage:-"As far as FAME goes (that is to say, the Reign of George II.-L.E. living Fame), I have bad my share, perhaps- indeed, cer. (7) Memoirs by James Earl Valdegrave, Goveras tainly-more than my deserts. Some odd instances have | George III. when Prince of Wales.-L. E.

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