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-gather'd laurels on a self-sought grave;
But Charles' protecting genius hither flew,

The monarch's friend, the monarch's hope, to save.

Trembling, she snatch'd him from th' unequal
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 spoiler's 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.

At length, the sated murderers, gorged with prey,
Retire; the clamor 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 fit 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 laboring breath; Earth shudders, as her caves receive his bones, Loathing the offering of so dark a death.

• Lord Byron and his brother: Sir William held high command 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.-Vide ClarenJon, Hume, &c.

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

Martial. The private volume reads laurell'd.

Sable Horror. In the private volume, Horror stalking.

This is an historical fact. A violent tempest occurred immediately subse

quent to the death or interment of Cromwell, which occasioned many disputes

Charles II.

"Fortune may smile upon a future line, And Heaven restore an ever cloudless day."

442

PUBLIC SCHOOL.*

WHERE are those honors, Ida! once your own,
When Probust fill'd your magisterial throne?
As ancient Rome, fast falling to disgrace,
Hail'd a barbarian in her Cæsar's place,
So you, degenerate, share as hard a fate,
And seat Pomposust where your Probus sate.
Of narrow brain, yet of a narrower soul,
Pomposus holds you in his harsh control;
Pomposus, by no social virtue sway'd,
With florid jargon, and with vain parade;
With noisy nonsense, and new-fangled rules,
Such as were ne'er before enforced in schools.
Mistaking pedantry for learning's laws,
He governs, sanction'd but by self-applause.
With him the same dire fate attending Rome,
Ill-fated Ida! soon must stamp your doom:
Like her o'erthrown, forever lost to fame,
No trace of science left you but the name.

July, 1805.

CHILDISH RECOLLECTIONS.§

"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;

• These lines were only printed in the private volume. Lord Byron most sincerely regretted having written this and the subsequent attack on Dr. Butler, cortained in the poem called Childish Recollections. A reconciliation took place between them before Lord Byron's first departure for Greece; and Mr. Moore informs us that, "not content with this private atonement to Dr. Butler, it was Lord Byron's intention, had he published another edition of the Hours of Idleness, to substitute for the offensive verses against that gentleman,

a frank avowal of the wrong he had been guilty of, in giving vent to them."

-Life of Byron, vol. i. p. 188.

† Probus, Dr. Drury.

Pomposis, Dr. Butler.

§ This poem was published in the private volume; and, with many addi

And flies with every changing gale of spring;
Not to the aching frame alone confined,
Unyielding pangs assail the drooping mind:
What grisly forms, the spectre-train of wo,
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 formed 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

storm

The orb of day unveils his distant form,
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,

In the 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.
Those beauties, grateful to my ardent sight,
No more entrance my senses in delight;
Those bosoms, form'd of animated snow,
Alike are tasteless, are unfeeling now.
These to some happier lover I resign-
The memory of those joys alone is mine.
Censure no more shall brand my humble name,
The child of passion and the fool of fame.
Weary of love, of life, devour'd with spleen,
I rest a perfect Timon, not nineteen.
World! I renounce thee I all my hope's o'ercast;
One sigh I give thee, but that sigh's the last.
Friends, foes, and females now alike adieu !
Would I could add, remembrance of you too!
Yet, though the future dark and cheerless gleams,
The curse of memory, hov'ring in my dreams,
Depicts with glowing pencil all those years,
Ere yet my cup, empoison'd, flows with tears;
Still rules my senses with tyrannic sway,
The past confounding with the present day.

Alas! in vain I check the maddening thought:

It still recurs, unlook'd for and unsought:

My soul to Fancy's," &c., &c., &c., as at line twenty-nine.

IDA! bless'd spot, where Science holds her reign,
How joyous once I join'd thy youthful train!
Bright in idea gleams thy lofty spire,
Again I mingle with thy playful choir;
Our tricks of mischief, every childish game,
Unchanged by time or distance, seem 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 wo,
Each early boyish friend, or youthful foe,
Our feuds dissolved, but not my friendship pass'd:-
I bless the former, and forgive the last.
Hours of my youth! when, nurtured in my breast,
To love a stranger, friendship made me bless'd:-
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,
No dear-bought knowledge purchased by deceit;

The next fifty-six lines, to

"Here first remember'd be the joyous band," were added in the first edition of Hours of Idleness.

Hypocrisy, the gift of lengthen'd years,
Matured by age, the garb of prudence wears.
When now the boy is ripen'd into man,
His careful sire chalks forth some wary plan;
Instructs his son from candor'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 fiends 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 aimed 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 forever 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 father's school-
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! forever lost.

With him, for years, we search'd the classic page,
And fear'd the master, though we loved the sage;
Retired at last, his small yet peaceful seat
From learning's labor is the blest retreat.
* Pomposus fills his magisterial chair;
Pomposus governs,-but, my muse, forbear:
Contempt, in silence, be the pedant's lot;
His name and precepts be alike forgot: +
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 favor'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 favor'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 current's stray,
While yonder few search out some green retreat,
And arbors shade them from the summer heat;
Others again, a pert and lively crew,

Some rough and thoughtless stranger placed in view,
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:
"Twas here the gather'd swains for vengeance

fought,

And here we earn'd the conquest dearly bought;
Here have we fled before superior might,
And here renew'd the wild tumultuous flight."
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;

Pomposus fills his magisterial chair;

Pomposus governs, &c.

Had Lord Byron published another edition of Hours of Idleness, it was his intention to give the following turn to this passage:

"Another fills his magisterial chair;
Reluctant Ida owns a stranger's care;

Oh! may like honors crown his future name,

If such his virtues, such shall be his fame."

Moore's Life of Byron, vol. i. p. 189.

↑ His name, &c. Instead of this line, the private volume reads, "Soon shall his shallow precepts be forgot."

This alludes to a character printed in a former private edition for the perusal of some friends, which, with many other pieces, is withheld from the present volume. To draw the attention of the public to insignificance, would be deservedly reprobated; and another reason, though not of equal consequence, may be given in the following couplet :

"Satire or sense, alas! can Sposus feel?
Who breaks a butterfly upon the wheel?"
POPE.-Prologue to the Satires.

The ensuing hundred and twenty-two lines, to
"Alonzo ! best and dearest of my friends,"

for his vacant chair: of this I can only say,

Si mea, cum vestris valuissent vota, Pelangi !

Non foret ambiguus tanti certaminis Heres.

Hours of Idleness.

• Those pieces are reprinted in the second edition. The character alluded to is contained in the preceding poem,

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 thembat 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 stayed 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 more,
One last long look on what we were before-
Our first kind greetings, and our last adieu-
Drew tears from eyes unused to weep with you.
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.
Vain wish! if chance some well-remember'd face,
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 around,
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 dear,
Could hardly charm me when that friend was 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 must stray
Alone, though thousand pilgrims fill the way;
While these a thousand kindred wreaths entwine,
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 poised in air the massy weapon hung,
A cry of terror burst from every tongue;
Whilst I, in combat with another foe,
Fought on, unconscious of th' impending blow,

Alonzo. In the private volume, Johannes.

The following four lines of the private volumes were omitted in the Hours of Idleness:

"Could aught inspire me with poetic fire,

For thee alone I'd strike the hallow'd lyre;
But to some abler hand the task. I waive,
Whose strains immortal may outlive the grave."
Pliant. Private volume, lusty.