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Trembling, she snatched him (1) from th' unequal strife,

In other fields the torrent to repel;

For nobler combats, here, reserved his life,

To lead the band where godlike FALKLAND (2) 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 for 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.

(1) 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.

(2) Lucius Cary, Lord Viscount Falkland, the most accomplished man of his age, was killed at the battle of Newbury, charging in the ranks of Lord Byron's regiment of cavalry.

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-omened 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 (1) the offering of so dark a death.

The legal ruler (2) 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.

(1) 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 to the casuists of that age to decide. I have made such use of the occurrence as suited the subject of my poem.

(2) Charles II.

The gloomy tenants, Newstead! of thy cells,
Howling, resign their violated nest;
Again the master on his tenure dwells,
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 echo float,
Unwonted foliage mantles o'er the trees ;
And hark! the horns proclaim a mellow note,
The hunters' 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; (1)
Exulting shouts announce the finished 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.

(1) During the lifetime of the fifth Lord Byron, there was found in this Lake-where it is supposed to have been thrown for concealment by the Monks a large brass eagle, in the body of which, on its being sent to be cleaned, was discovered a secret aperture, concealing within it a number of ancient documents connected with the rights and privileges of the found. ation. At the sale of the old Lord's effects, in 1776, this eagle was purchased by a watchmaker of Nottingham; and it now forms, through the liberality Sir Richard Kaye, an appropriate ornament of the fine old church of Southwell,-E.

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 gray 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. (1)

(1) "Come what may," wrote Byron to his mother, in March 1809, "Newstead and I stand or fall together. I have now lived on the spot; I have fixed my heart upon it; and no pressure, present or future, shall induce me to barter the last vestige of our inheritance. I have that pride within me which will enable me to support difficulties. I can endure privations, but could I obtain, in exchange for Newstead Abbey, the first fortune in the country, I would reject the proposition. Set your mind at ease on that score; I feel like a man of honour, and I will not sell Newstead."

Haply thy sun, emerging, yet may shine,
Thee to irradiate with meridian ray ;(1)
Hours splendid as the past may still be thine,
And bless thy future as thy former day. (2)

CHILDISH RECOLLECTIONS. (3)

"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;

(1) "We cannot," said the Critical Review for September, 1807, "but hail, with something of prophetic rapture, the hope conveyed in the closing stanza

66 Haply thy sun, emerging, yet may shine," &c.

(2) The reader who turns from this Elegy to the stanzas descriptive of Newstead Abbey and the surrounding scenery, in the thirteenth canto of Don Juan, cannot fail to remark how frequently the leading thoughts in the two pieces are the same; or to be delighted and instructed, in comparing the juvenile sketch with the bold touches and mellow colouring of the master's picture.-E]

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(3) These verses were composed while Lord Byron was suffering under severe illness and depression of spirits. "I was laid," he says, on my back, when that schoolboy thing was written, or rather dictated-expecting to rise no more, my physician having taken his sixteenth fee." In tne private volume the poem opened with the following lines:"Hence! thou unvarying song of varied loves, Which youth commends, maturer age reproves; Which every rhyming bard repeats by rote, By thousands echo'd to the self-same note! Tired of the dull, unceasing, copious strain, My soul is panting to be free again. Farewell! ye nymphs propitious to my verse, Some other Damon will your charms rehearse ; Some other paint his pangs, in hope of bliss, Or dwell in rapture on your nectar'd kiss.

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