Did at once my vessel fill. "Did they? Jesus, How you squeeze us! Would to God they did so still: Then I'd 'scape the heat and racke Of the good ship, Lisbon Packet." Fletcher! Murray! Bob! where are you? On Braganza Help!"-" a couplet?"-" No, a cup Of warm water-" "What's the matter?" "Zounds! my liver's coming up: I shall not survive the racket Of this brutal Lisbon Packet." Now at length we're off for Turkey, May unship us in a crack. As philosophers allow, Great and small things, Who the devil cares for more ? Some good wine! and who would lack 11, Even on board the Lisbon Packet? Falmouth Roads, June 30th, 1809 LINES IN THE TRAVELLERS' BOOK AT ORCHOMENUS. IN THIS BOOK A TRAVELLER HAD WRITTEN "FAIR Albion, smiling, sees her son depart BENEATH WHICH LORD BYRON INSERTED THE FOLLOWING REPLY: • Thus corrected by himself in a copy of the Miscellany-the two last lines THE modest bard, like many a bard unknown, sing, originally, as follows: "Though wheresoe'er my bark may run, love but thee, I love but one." Rhymes on our names, but wisely hides his own; "OH! banish care "-such ever be 'Twere long to tell, and vain to hear, But let this pass-I'll whine no more, [ hie me to its haunts again. thou hear st of one, whose deepening crimes Suit with he sablest of the times ON LORD THURLOW'S POEMS. DEDICATED TO MR. ROGERS. WHEN Thurlow this damn'd nonsense sent, (I hope I am not violent,) Nor men nor gods knew what he meant. "Then thus to form Apollo's crown.” A crown! why, twist it how you will, Thy chaplet must be foolscap still. When next you visit Delphi's town, Inquire among your fellow-lodgers, They'll tell you Phœbus gave his crown, Some years before your birth, to Rogers. "Let every other bring his own." When coals to Newcastle are carried, And owls sent to Athens as wonders, From his spouse when the Regent's unmarried Or Liverpool weeps o'er his blunders; When Tories and Whigs cease to quarrel, When Castlereagh's wife has an heir, Then Rogers shall ask us for laurel, And thou shalt have plenty to spare TO THOMAS MOORE. WRITTEN THE EVENING BEFORE HIS VISIT, IN COM- But now to my letter-to yours 'tis an answer- And for Sotheby's Blues have deserted Sam Rogers; FRAGMENT OF AN EPISTLE TO THOMAS MOORE. WHAT say I?"-not a syllable further in prose; I'm your man "of all measures," dear Tom,-so here goes! Here goes, for a swim on the stream of old Time, On those buoyant supporters, the bladders of rhyme. If our weight breaks them down, and we sink in the flood, We are smother'd, at least, in respectable mud, Where the Divers of Bathos lie drown'd in a heap, And Southey's last Pæan has pillow'd his sleep; That "Felo de se," who, half drunk with his malmsey, Walk'd out of his depth and was lost in a calm sea, Singing "Glory to God" in a spick and span stanza, The like (since Tom Sternhold was choked) never THE DEVIL'S DRIVE. [Of this strange, wild poem, which extends to about two nundred and lines, the only copy that Lord Byron, I believe, ever wrote, he presented la Lord Holland. Though with a good deal of vigor and imagination, iz for the most part, rather clumsily executed, wanting the point and conden sation of those clever verses of Mr. Coleridge which Lord Byron, adopting a notion long prevalent, has attributed to Professor Porson. There are however, some of the stanzas of "The Devil's Drive" well word pro serving.]-Moore. THE Devil return'd to hell by two, And he staid at home till five; When he dined on some homicides done in ragout, I walk'd in the morning, I'll ride to-night. "And what shall I ride in?" quoth Lucifer then"If I follow'd my taste, indeed, I should mount in a wagon of wounded men, But these will be furnish'd again and again, And watch that no souls shall be poach'd away. "I have a state-coach at Carlton House, A chariot in Seymour Place; But they're lent to two friends, who make me amends And they handle their reins with such a grace. "So now for the earth to take my chance." But first as he flew, I forgot to say, To look upon Leipsic plain; And he gazed with delight from its growing height For the field ran so red with the blood of the dead, That it blushed like the waves of hell! Then loudly, and wildly, and long laugh'd he; "Methinks they have here little need of me!" The Czar's look, I own, was much brighter and But the softest note that soothed his ear brisker, But then he is sadly deficient in whisker; And wore but a starless blue coat, and in kersey -mere breeches whisk'd round, in a waltz with the Jersey, Who, lovely as ever, seem'd just as delighted With majesty's presence as those she invited. June, 1814. Was the sound of a widow sighing: And the sweetest sight was the icy tear, Which horror froze in the blue eye clear Of a maid by her lover lying As round her fell her long fair hair; And she look'd to heaven with that frenzied afr He saw the Lord Liverpool seemingly wise, In spite of his prayers and his prophecies; For I find we have much better manners below. December, 1813. WINDSOR POETICS. Les compoux ou the occasion of His Royal Highness the Prince Regent teing seen standing between the coffins of Henry VIII. and Charles 1. in the royal vault at Windsor. FAMED for contemptuous breach of sacred ties, By headless Charles see heartless Henry lies; Between them stands another sceptered thingIt moves, it reigns-in all but name, a king: Charles to his people, Henry to nis wife, ADDITIONAL STANZAS, TO THE ODE TO NAPOLEON BONAPARTE. But thou forsooth must be a king Where may the wearied eye repose TO LADY CAROLINE LAMB. AND say'st thou that I have not felt, On one unbroken dream of thee? And I will learn to prize thee less; As thou hast fled, so let me flee, And change the heart thou mayest not bless They'll tell thee, Clara! I have seem'd, What thou hast done too well, for me This mask before the babbling crewThis treachery-was truth to thee. I have not wept while thou wert gone, |