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And she had shorn, but saved, her raven hair,
And oft would snatch it from her bosom there,
And fold, and press it gently to the ground,
As if she stanched anew some phantom's wound,
Herself would question, and for him reply;
Then, rising, start, and beckon him to fly
From some imagined spectre in pursuit ;
Then seat her down upon some linden's root,
And hide her visage with her meagre hand,
Or trace strange characters along the sand.
This could not last she lies by him she loved;
Her tale untold her truth too dearly proved.

It would be difficult to find any thing more really touching, more full of that irresistible pathos which female sorrow always inspires, than the conclusion of the above stanza.

Nearly at the same period Lord Byron published another poem, of a very different character, which he called an 'Ode to Napoleon Buonaparte.'

The following epigraphe, from 'Gibbon's Decline and Fall,' was prefixed:

The Emperor Nepos was acknowledged by the senate, by the Italians, and by the provincials of Gaul; his moral virtues and military talents were loudly celebrated; and those who derived any private benefit from his government announced in prophetic strains the restoration of public felicity.

By this shameful abdication, he protracted his life a few years, in a very ambiguous state, between an emperor and an exile, till’

This poem, like all others written upon subjects passing immediately before the author's eyes, and of a purely personal nature, is far inferior to those on which he devoted the high powers of his invention and genius. There are, however, some fine passages in it:

'Tis doue-but yesterday a king!

And armed with kings to strive

And now thou art a nameless thing
So abject-yet alive!

Is this the man of thousand thrones,

Who strewed our earth with hostile bones,

And can he thus survive?

Since he, miscalled the Morning Star,
Nor man nor fieud hath fallen so far.

Ill-minded man! why scourge thy kind,
Who bowed so low the knee?
By gazing on thyself grown blind,
Thou taught'st the rest to see.

With might unquestioned-power to save-
Thine only gift hath been the grave
To those that worshipped thee;
Nor till thy fall could mortals guess
Ambition's less than littleness!

After some feeble comparisons with other conquerors the poem con

tinues thus:

But thou-from thy reluctant hand

The thunderbolt is wrung

Too late thou leav'st the high command

To which thy weakness clung:

All evil spirit as thou art,

It is enough to grieve the heart

To see thine own unstrung;

To think that God's fair world hath been
The footstool of a thing so mean;

And Earth hath spilt her blood for him,
Who thus can hoard his own!
And monarchs bowed the trembling limb
And thanked him for a throne!
Fair Freedom! we may hold thee dear,
When thus thy mightiest foes their fear
In humblest guise have shown.
Oh! ne'er may tyrant leave behind
A brighter name to lure mankind!

Thine evil deeds are writ in gore,
Nor written thus in vain-
Thy triumphs tell of fame no more,
Or deepen every stain.

If thou hadst died as honour dies,
Some new Napoleon might arise,
To shame the world again-

But who would soar the solar height,
To set in such a starless night?

The following is the best stanza in the poem:

And she, proud Austria's mournful flower,
Thy still imperial bride;

How bears her breast the torturing hour?
Still clings she to thy side?

Must she too bend, must she too share
Thy late repentance, long despair,

Thou throneless homicide?

If still she loves thee, hoard that gem-
'Tis worth thy vanished diadem!

The prediction in the latter of the two following stanzas has been verified, but hardly so soon as the bard perhaps fancied. Such prophecies are always on the safe side, so rapid is the course of mortality, and the chances were quite as much in favour of the death of one as of the other, of the soothsayer aud of the fallen emperor :

Then haste thee to thy sullen isle,

And gaze upon the sea;
That element may meet thy smile,
It ne'er was ruled by thee!
Or trace with thine all idle hand
In loitering mood upon the sand
That Earth is now as free!
That Corinth's pedagogue hath now
Transferred his by-word to thy brow.
Thou Timour! in his captive's cage
What thoughts will there be thine,
While brooding in thy prisoned rage?
But one-'The world was mine :'
Unless, like he of Babylon,

All sense is with thy sceptre gone,
Life will not long confine
That spirit poured so widely forth-
So long obeyed-so little worth!


WE now approach a period of Lord Byron's life, on which it is impossible to expatiate, and which it is difficult even to touch, without wounding feelings which ought to be respected, and inflicting pain on ourselves. He had been long attached to Miss Milbanke, the only child of Sir Ralph Noel Milbanke. He had proposed for her hand, and his offer had been declined, but at the same time with professions of great respect on the part of the lady. This was before Lord Byron went abroad: on his return his intimacy with the lady's family was renewed, and even a correspondence was kept by his lordship with Miss Milbanke, which was solely relating to literary and indifferent subjects, but no mention was made of that affection which his lordship had entertained for the lady.

Perhaps the sentiment which he had professed for her never amounted to passion,-perhaps (although this suggestion may startle those persons who look upon a man's writings as the transcript of his heart) Lord Byron was not capable of a very ardent passion, nor of great constancy. However this may be, the correspondence between his lordship and Miss Milbanke was continued for many months without disturbing their tranquillity, although it was, of course, very agreeable to both parties. Lady Byron's acquirements and her natural abilities are superior to those of most women of her own rank, and Lord Byron, who was penetrated with a great regard for her, found considerable gratification in answering her letters.

In this state affairs remained when, by means which it is not necessary to explain, Lord Byron learned that the reason which had induced Miss Milbanke to refuse the offer he had made her of his hand was the want of competent fortune as well on her own as on his side. The knowledge of such a circumstance was quite enough to induce a man like Lord Byron to renew his pretensions. It was well known that, although his own estate was encumbered, and Sir Ralph Milbanke's was not of that description which enabled him to give his daughter a large fortune, yet that the lapse of a few years must add very considerably to their joint property, and that reversions, of which there was the greatest probability, must make them comparatively rich. In the mean time economy, and the love of quietness, which was common to Miss Milbanke and to Lord Byron, would enable them to bear

the little privations to which they might be exposed with cheerfulness and with very little inconvenience.

Lord Byron lost no time, after he became acquainted with the fact to which we have alluded, in renewing his offer to Miss Milbanke. A short explanation sufficed to ensure his pretensions-already very agreeable-a favorable reception. His lordship went to Seaham, Sir Ralph Milbanke's seat, and, after a residence there of a few months, he was married on the 2d of January, 1815.

Such an union presented as fair a prospect for the happiness of both parties as could be imagined. Without being beautiful, Lady Byron's person is highly agreeable. Good sense, talents-even genius, on the part of the lady, and the corresponding qualities which his lordship was known to possess, might, one should have thought, have ensured domestic felicity; and although that fervent passion, which is of its nature short-lived, was wanting, the more lasting sentiment of esteem might have supplied its place.

Circumstances, however, happened, which disturbed the tranquillity of the menage, and put the good temper of both parties to a test which they could not bear. Lord Byron had borrowed money, under the disadvantageous terms upon which minors can alone borrow money. The repayment of such loans is always difficult in proportion to the facility with which they are raised. Jews and attorneys, money agents, and, at last, sheriffs' officers, beset his lordship's house in town. He knew nothing of business; the people who had the management of his affairs did as all such people do,—that is to say, they took care to keep him in their own clutches. His embarrassments, therefore, were never removed, and not always relieved. No man stays at home while bailiffs are billetted on him.-No lady likes to see sheriffs' officers in her servants' hall. Lord Byron, therefore, was a good deal from home, and Lady Byron was discontented. The most important things in the world often begin from very insignificant causes; and from trumpery pecuniary embarrassments in Lord Byron's family sprung first those disagreements which afterwards assumed a growth so fatal to the happiness of both-perhaps to the life of one of the parties.

In the midst of these affairs, however, and in spite of the res angusta domi, Lord Byron found time to compose some lyrical poems, of a character very different from any that he had hitherto written, and which, being of a devotional character, were hardly expected from him.

Mr. Nathan and Mr. Braham, who either are or have been Jews, and who, whether they still profess that religion in which they were

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