'Another fills his magisterial chair;
Reluctant Ida owns a stranger's care;
Oh! may like honours crown his future name:
If such his virtues, such shall be his fame.'
['MS. M.']
[Footnote vii:
'Joannes! best and dearest of my friends.'
['P. on V. Occasions.']]
[Footnote viii:
'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 wave,
Whose strains immortal may outlive the grave'.--
['P. on V. Occasions.']]
[Footnote ix:
'Our lusty limbs.'
['P. on V. Occasions.']
'--the buoyant waters bore.'
['Hours of Idleness.']]
[Footnote x:
'Thus did you save that life I scarcely prize--
A life unworthy such a sacrifice.
Oh! when my breast forgets the generous deed.'
['P. on V. Occasions'.] ]
[Footnote xi:
'For ever to possess a friend in thee,
Was bliss unhop'd, though not unsought by me;
Thy softer soul was form'd for love alone,
To ruder passions and to hate unknown;
Thy mind, in union with thy beauteous form,
Was gentle, but unfit to stem the storm;
That face, an index of celestial worth,
Proclaim'd a heart abstracted from the earth.
Oft, when depress'd with sad, foreboding gloom,
I sat reclin'd upon our favourite tomb,
I've seen those sympathetic eyes o'erflow
With kind compassion for thy comrade's woe;
Or, when less mournful subjects form'd our themes,
We tried a thousand fond romantic schemes,
Oft hast thou sworn, in friendship's soothing tone.
Whatever wish was mine, must be thine own.
The next can boast to lead in senates fit,
A Spartan firmness,--with Athenian wit;
Tho' yet, in embryo, these perfections shine,
Clarus! thy father's fame will soon be thine.'--
['P. on V. Occasions'.]
A remonstrance which Lord Clare addressed to him at
school; was found among his papers (as were most of the
notes of his early favourites), and on the back of it was an
endorsement which is a fresh testimony of his affection:--
"This and another letter were written at Harrow, by my 'then' and, I
hope, 'ever' beloved friend, Lord Clare, when we were both schoolboys;
and sent to my study in consequence of some 'childish'
misunderstanding,--the only one which ever arose between us. It was of
short duration, and I retain this note solely for the purpose of
submitting it to his perusal, that we may smile over the recollection
of the insignificance of our first and last quarrel."
See, also, Byron's account of his accidental meeting with Lord Clare in
Italy in 1821, as recorded in 'Detached Thoughts', Nov. 5, 1821; in
letters to Moore, March 1 and June 8, 1822; and Mme. Guiccioli's
description of his emotion on seeing Clare ('My Recollections of Lord
Byron', ed. 1869, p. 156).]
[Footnote xii:
'Where is the restless fool, would wish for more?'
['P. on V. Occasions.']]
[Footnote xiii:
'As speakers, each supports a rival name,
Though neither seeks to damn the other's fame,
Pomposus sits, unequal to decide,
With youthful candour, we the palm divide.'--
['P. on V. Occasions']]
[Footnote xiv:
'Yet in the retrospection finds relief,
And revels in the luxury of grief.'--
['P. on V. Occasions.']]
[Footnote xv:
'When, yet a novice in the mimic art,
I feign'd the transports of a vengeful heart;
When, as the Royal Slave, I trod the stage,
To vent in Zanga, more than mortal rage;
The praise of Probus, made me feel more proud,
Than all the plaudits of the list'ning crowd.
Ah! vain endeavour in this childish strain
To soothe the woes of which I thus complain!
What can avail this fruitless loss of time,
To measure sorrow, in a jingling rhyme!
No social solace from a friend, is near,
And heartless strangers drop no feeling tear.
I seek not joy in Woman's sparkling eye,
The smiles of Beauty cannot check the sigh.
Adieu, thou world! thy pleasure's still a dream,
Thy virtue, but a visionary theme;
Thy years of vice, on years of folly roll,
Till grinning death assigns the destin'd goal,'
'Where all are hastening to the dread abode,
To meet the judgment of a righteous God;
Mix'd in the concourse of a thoughtless throng,
A mourner, midst of mirth, I glide along;
A wretched, isolated, gloomy thing,
Curst by reflection's deep corroding sting;
But not that mental sting, which stabs within,
The dark avenger of unpunish'd sin;
The silent shaft, which goads the guilty wretch
Extended on a rack's untiring stretch:
Conscience that sting, that shaft to him supplies--
His mind the rack, from which he ne'er can rise,
For me, whatever my folly, or my fear,
One cheerful comfort still is cherish'd here.
No dread internal, haunts my hours of rest,
No dreams of injured innocence infest;
Of hope, of peace, of almost all bereft,
Conscience, my last but welcome guest, is left.
Slander's empoison'd breath, may blast my name,
Envy delights to blight the buds of fame:
Deceit may chill the current of my blood,
And freeze affection's warm impassion'd flood;
Presaging horror, darken every sense,
Even here will conscience be my best defence;
My bosom feeds no "worm which ne'er can die:"
Not crimes I mourn, but happiness gone by.
Thus crawling on with many a reptile vile,
My heart is bitter, though my cheek may smile;
No more with former bliss, my heart is glad;
Hope yields to anguish and my soul is sad;
From fond regret, no future joy can save;
Remembrance slumbers only in the grave.'
['P. on V. Occasions']]
[Footnote xvi:
'The song might perish, but the theme must live.'
['Hours of Idleness.']]
[Footnote xvii:
'----his venom'd tooth.'
['Hours of Idleness'.]]
ANSWER TO A BEAUTIFUL POEM, WRITTEN BY MONTGOMERY,
AUTHOR OF "THE WANDERER OF SWITZERLAND," ETC.,
ENTITLED "THE COMMON LOT." [1]
1.
Montgomery! true, the common lot
Of mortals lies in Lethe's wave;
Yet some shall never be forgot,
Some shall exist beyond the grave.
2.
"Unknown the region of his birth,"
The hero [2] rolls the tide of war;
Yet not unknown his martial worth,
Which glares a meteor from afar.
3.
His joy or grief, his weal or woe,
Perchance may 'scape the page of fame;
Yet nations, now unborn, will know
The record of his deathless name.
4.
The Patriot's and the Poet's frame
Must share the common tomb of all:
Their glory will not sleep the same;
'That' will arise, though Empires fall.
5.
The lustre of a Beauty's eye
Assumes the ghastly stare of death;
The fair, the brave, the good must die,
And sink the yawning grave beneath.
6.
Once more, the speaking eye revives,
Still beaming through the lover's strain;
For Petrarch's Laura still survives:
She died, but ne'er will die again.
7.
The rolling seasons pass away,
And Time, untiring, waves his wing;
Whilst honour's laurels ne'er decay,
But bloom in fresh, unfading spring.
8.
All, all must sleep in grim repose,
Collected in the silent tomb;
The old, the young, with friends and foes,
Fest'ring alike in shrouds, consume.
9.
The mouldering marble lasts its day,
Yet falls at length an useless fane;
To Ruin's ruthless fangs a prey,
The wrecks of pillar'd Pride remain.
10.
What, though the sculpture be destroy'd,
From dark Oblivion meant to guard;
A bright renown shall be enjoy'd,
By those, whose virtues claim reward.
11.
Then do not say the common lot
Of all lies deep in Lethe's wave;
Some few who ne'er will be forgot
Shall burst the bondage of the grave.
1806.
[Footnote 1: Montgomery (James), 1771-1854, poet and hymn-writer,
published:
'Prison Amusements' (1797),
'The Ocean; a Poem' (1805),
'The Wanderer of Switzerland, and other Poems' (1806),
'The West Indies, and other Poems' (1810),
'Songs of Sion' (1822),
'The Christian Psalmist' (1825),
'The Pelican Island, and other Poems' (1827),
'etc.' ('vide post'), 'English Bards',
'etc.', line 418, and 'note'.]
[Footnote 2: No particular hero is here alluded to. The exploits of
Bayard, Nemours, Edward the Black Prince, and, in more modern times, the
fame of Marlborough, Frederick the Great, Count Saxe, Charles of Sweden,
etc., are familiar to every historical reader, but the exact places of
their birth are known to a very small proportion of their admirers.]