220

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,

231

The voice of love will murmur in my rest:

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 horror burst from every tongue;
Whilst I, in combat with another foe,
Fought on, unconscious of th' impending
blow;
Your arm, brave boy, arrested his career
Forward you sprung, insensible to fear; 280
Disarm'd and baffled by your conquering
hand,

The grovelling savage roll'd upon the sand.
An act like this, can simple thanks repay ?
Or all the labours of a grateful lay?
Oh no! whene'er my breast forgets the
deed,

That instant, Davus, it deserves to bleed.

Lycus! on me thy claims are justly great: Thy milder virtues could my muse relate, To thee alone, unrivall'd, would belong The feeble efforts of my lengthen'd song. Well canst thou boast, to lead in senates fit, A Spartan firmness with Athenian wit: Though yet in embryo these perfections shine,

291

Lycus! thy father's fame will soon be

thine.

years,

How wilt thou tower above thy fellow peers!

Prudence and sense, a spirit bold and free, With honour's soul, united beam in thee. 300

Shall fair EURYALUS pass by unsung, From ancient lineage, not unworthy, sprung? What though one sad dissension bade us part,

Thy name is yet embalm'd within my heart; Yet at the mention does that heart rebound, And palpitate, responsive to the sound. Envy dissolved our ties, and not our will: We once were friends, - I'll think we are so still.

At last, concluded our scholastic life,
We neither conquer'd in the classic strife:
As speakers each supports an equal name,
And crowds allow to both a partial fame:
To soothe a youthful rival's early pride
Though Cleon's candour would the palm
divide,

Yet candour's self compels me now to own
Justice awards it to my friend alone.

340

Yet greets the triumph of my boyish mind, As infant laurels round my head were twined,

Oh! could I soar above these feeble lays, These young effusions of my early days,

give:

The song might perish, but the theme might live.

360

Yet why for him the needless verse essay?
His honour'd name requires no vain display:
By every son of grateful IDA blest,
It finds an echo in each youthful breast;
A fame beyond the glories of the proud,
Or all the plaudits of the venal crowd.

IDA! not yet exhausted is the theme, Nor closed the progress of my youthful

dream.

Ah, no! amidst the gloomy calm of age You turn with faltering hand life's varied page;

Peruse the record of your days on earth, Unsullied only where it marks your birth; Still lingering pause above each checker'd leaf,

And blot with tears the sable lines of grief, Where Passion o'er the theme her mantle threw,

Or weeping Virtue sigh'd a faint adieu; But bless the scroll which fairer words adorn,

Traced by the rosy finger of the morn, 410 When Friendship bow'd before the shrine of truth,

And Love, without his pinion, smiled on youth.

ANSWER TO A BEAUTIFUL POEM, ENTITLED 'THE COMMON LOT'

[By James Montgomery, author of The Wanderer in Switzerland.]

MONTGOMERY! true, the common lot
Of mortals lies in Lethe's wave;
Yet some shall never be forgot,

Some shall exist beyond the grave.

'Unknown the region of his birth,' The hero rolls the tide of war;

Chill'd by misfortune's wintry blast,
My dawn of life is overcast,

Love, Hope, and Joy, alike adieu ! Would I could add Remembrance too! 1806.

TO A LADY

WHO PRESENTED THE AUTHOR WITH
THE VELVET BAND WHICH BOUND HER
TRESSES

THIS Band, which bound thy yellow hair,
Is mine, sweet girl! thy pledge of love;
It claims my warmest, dearest care,
Like relics left of saints above.

Oh! I will wear it next my heart;
'T will bind my soul in bonds to thee;
From me again 't will ne'er depart,
But mingle in the grave with me.

The dew I gather from thy lip
Is not so dear to me as this;
That I but for a moment sip,
And banquet on a transient bliss:

This will recall each youthful scene,
E'en when our lives are on the wane;
The leaves of Love will still be green
When Memory bids them bud again.

Oh! little lock of golden hue,

In gently waving ringlet curl'd,
By the dear head on which you grow,
I would not lose you for a world.

Not though a thousand more adorn
The polish'd brow where once you shone,
Like rays which gild a cloudless morn,
Beneath Columbia's fervid zone.

AN IMITATION OF MACPHERSON'S OSSIAN

[Byron states that the story of this Imitation, though considerably varied in the catastrophe, is taken from "Nisus and Euryalus."" Like Goethe and others of the period, Byron was an admirer of Ossian, although he was early acquainted with the true nature of these rhapsodies.]

DEAR are the days of youth! Age dwells on their remembrance through the mist of time. In the twilight he recalls the sunny hours of morn. He lifts his spear with trembling hand. 'Not thus feebly did I raise the steel before my fathers!' Past is the race of heroes! But their fame rises on the harp; their souls ride on the wings of the wind; they hear the sound through the sighs of the storın, and rejoice in their hall of clouds! Such is Calmar. The gray stone marks his narrow house. He looks down from eddying tempests: he rolls his form in the whirlwind, and hovers on the blast of the mountain.

In Morven dwelt the chief, a beam of war to Fingal. His steps in the field were marked in blood. Lochlin's sons had fled before his angry spear: but mild was the eye of Calmar; soft was the flow of his yellow locks: they streamed like the meteor of the night. No maid was the sigh of his soul: his thoughts were given to friendship, to dark-haired Orla, destroyer of heroes! Equal were their swords in battle; but fierce was the pride of Orla: - gentle alone to Calmar. Together they dwelt in the cave of Oithona.

From Lochlin, Swaran bounded o'er the