Di due vaghe donzelle, oneste, accorte
Lieti miseri padri il ciel ne feo,

Il ciel, che degne di più nobil sorte
L' una e l'altra veggendo, ambo chiedeo.
La mia fu tolta da veloce morte

A le fumanti tede d' imeneo;

La tua, Francesco, in sugellate porte
Eterna prigioniera or si rendeo.
Ma tu almeno potrai de la gelosa

Irremeabil soglia, ove s' asconde,
La sua tenera udir voce pietosa.
Io verso un fiume d' amarissim' onda,

Corro a quel marmo, in cui la figlia or posa,
Batto, e ribatto, ma nessun risponde.

shortly after her marriage; and addressed to the father of her who had lately taken the veil.

Or two fair virgins, modest, though admired,
Heaven made us happy; and now, wretched sires,
Heaven for a nobler doom their worth desires,
And gazing upon either, both required.
Mine, while the torch of Hymen newly fired
Becomes extinguish'd, soon-too soon-expires:
But thine, within the closing grate retired,
Eternal captive, to her God aspires.

But thou at least from out the jealous door,

Which shuts between your never-meeting eyes, May'st hear her sweet and pious voice once more: I to the marble where my daughter lies, Rush,-the swoln flood of bitterness I pour, [plies. And knock, and knock, and knock-but none re

"The only circumstance I know, that bears even remotely on the subject of this poem, is the following. About a year or two before the date affixed to it, he wrote to his mother, from Harrow, (as I have been told by a person, to whom Mrs. Byron herself communicated the circumstance,) to say, that he had lately a good deal of uneasiness on account of a young woman, whom he knew to have been a favorite of his late friend, Curzon, and who, finding herself after his death in a state of progress towards maternity, had declared Lord Byron was the father of her child. This, he positively assured his mother was not the case; but believing, as he did firmly, that the child belonged to Curzon, it was his wish that it should be brought up with all possible care, and he therefore entreated that his mother would have the kindness to take charge of it. Though such a request might well (as my informant expresses it) have discomposed a temper more mild than Mrs. Byron's, she notwithstanding answered her son in the kindest terms, saying that she would willingly receive the child as soon as it was borh, and bring it up in whatever manner he desired. Happily, however, the infant died almost Immediately, and was thus spared the being a tax on the good nature of any body.-Moore.

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Her lowly grave the turf has press'd, And thou hast known a stranger's breast. Derision sneers upon thy birth,

And yields thee scarce a name on earth; Yet shall not these one hope destroy,A father's heart is thine, my Boy!

Why, let the world unfeeling frown,
Must I fond Nature's claim disown?
Ah, no-though moralists reprove,
I hail thee, dearest child of love,
Fair cherub, pledge of youth and joy-
A father guards thy birth, my Boy!

Oh, 'twill be sweet in thee to trace
Ere age has wrinkled o'er my face,
Ere half my glass of life is run,
At once a brother and a son;
And all my wane of years employ
In justice done to thee, my Boy!

Although so young thy heedless sire, Youth will not damp parental fire; And, wert thou still less dear to me, While Helen's form revives in thee, The breast, which beat to former joy, Will ne'er desert its pledge, my Boy!

EPITAPH ON JOHN ADAMS, OF SOUTHWELL,

A CARRIER, WHO DIED OF DRUNKENNESS

561

JOHN ADAMS lies here, of the parish of Southwell
A Carrier who carried his can to his mouth well;
He carried so much, and he carried so fast,
He could carry no more-so was carried at last;
For, the liquor he drank, being too much for one,
He could not carry off,— -so he's now carri-on.
Sept. 1807.

FRAGMENT.

[The following lines form the conclusion of a poem written by Lord Byron under the melancholy impression that he should soon die.]

FORGET this world, my restless sprite,
Turn, turn thy thoughts to heaven:
There must thou soon direct thy flight,
If errors are forgiven.

To bigots and to sects unknown,

Bow down beneath th' Almighty Throne,

To him address thy trembling prayer,
He, who is merciful and just,
Will not reject a child of dust,
Although his meanest care.

Father of light! to thee I call,
My soul is dark within;
Thou, who canst mark the sparrow fall,
Avert the death of sin.

Thou, who canst guide the wandering star,
Who calm'st the elemental war,