were unacquainted with it, we have procured from a friend the following interesting narrative of the main facts, of which he has personal knowledge, and which cannot fail to interest some of our readers. Barrataria is a bay, or a narrow arm of the Gulf of Mexico; it runs through a rich but very flat country, until it reaches within a mile of the Mississipi river, fifteen miles below the city of New Orleans. The bay has branches almost innumerable, in which per sons can lie concealed from the severest scrutiny. It communicates with three lakes which lie on the south-west side, and these, with the lake of the same name, and which lies contiguous to the sea, where there is an island formed by the two arms of this lake and the sea. The east and west points of this island were fortified, in the year 1811, by a band of pirates, under the command of one Monsieur La Fitte. A large majority of these outlaws are of that class of the population of the state of Louisiana who fled from the island of St. Domingo during the troubles there, and took refuge in the island of Cuba; and, when the last war between France and Spain commenced, they were compelled to leave that island with the short notice of a few days. Without ceremony they entered the United States, the most of them the state of Louisiana, with all the negroes they had possessed in Cuba. They were notified by the Governor of that State of the clause in the Constitution which forbad the importation of slaves; but, at the same time, received the assurance of the Governor that he would obtain, if possible, the approbation of the General Government for their retaining this property. The island of Barrataria is situated about lat. 29 deg. 15 min., long. 92. 30.; and is as remarkable for its health as for the superior scale and shell fish with which its waters abound. The chief of this horde, like Charles de Moor, had mixed with his many vices some virtues. In the year 1813, this party had, from its turpitude and boldness, claimed the attention of the Governor of Louisiana; and to break up the establishment he thought proper to strike at the head. He therefore offered a reward of 500 dollars for the head of Monsieur La Fitte, who was well known to the inhabitants of the city of New Orleans, from his immediate connection, and his once having been a fencing-master in that city of great reputation, which art he learnt in Buonaparte's army, where he was a captain. The reward which was offered by the Governor for the head of La Fitte was answered by the offer of a reward from the latter of 15,000 for the head of the Governor. The Governor ordered out a company to march from the city to La Fitte's island, and to burn and destroy all the property, and to bring to the city of New Orleans all his banditti. This company, under the command of a man who had been the intimate associate of this bold Captain, approached very near to the fortified island, before he saw a man, or heard a sound, until he heard a whistle, not unlike a boatswain's call. Then it was he found himself surrounded by armed men, who had emerged from the secret avenues which led into Bayou. Here it was that the modern Charles de Moor developed his few noble traits; for to this man, who had come to destroy his life and all that was dear to him, he not only spared his life, but offered him that which would have made the honest soldier easy for the remainder of his days; which was indignantly refused. He then, with the approbation of his captor, returned to the city. This circumstance, and some concomitant events, proved that this band of pirates was not to be taken by land. Our naval force having always been small in that quarter, exertions for the destruction of this illicit establishment could not be expected from them until augmented; for an officer of the navy, with most of the gun-boats on that station, had to retreat from an overwhelming force of La Fitte's. So soon as the augmentation of the navy authorised an attack, one was made; the overthrow of this banditti has been the result; and, now this almost invulnerable point and key to New Orleans is clear of an enemy, it is to be hoped the Government will hold it by a strong military force."-American Newspaper.

In Noble's continuation of Grainger's Biographical Dictionary there is a singular passage in his account of Archbishop Blackbourne, and, as in some measure connected with the profession of the hero of the foregoing poem, I cannot resist the temptation of extracting it:-"There is something mysterious in the history and character of Dr. Blackbourne. The former is but imperfectly known; and report has even asserted that he was a buccaneer; and that one of his

brethren in that profession having asked, on his arrival in England, what had become of his old chum, Blackbourne, was answered, he is Archbishop of York. We are informed that Blackbourne was installed sub-dean of Exeter in 1694, which office he resigned in 1702; but after his successor Lewis Barnet's death, in 1704, he regained it. In the following year he became dean; and in 1714 held with it the archdeanery of Cornwall. He was consecrated bishop of Exeter, February 24, 1716; and translated to York, November 28, 1724, as a reward, according to court scandal, for uniting George 1. to the Duchess of Munster. This, however, appears to have been an unfounded calumny. As archbishop he behaved with great prudence, and was equally respectable as the guardian of the revenues of the see. Rumour whispered he retained the vices of his youth, and that a passion for the fair sex formed an item in the list of his weaknesses; but so far from being convicted by seventy witnesses, he does not appear to have been directly criminated by one. In short, I look upon these aspersions as the effects of mere malice. How is it possible a buccaneer should have been so good a scholar as Blackbourne certainly was? He who had so perfect a knowledge of the classics (particularly of the Greek tragedians), as to be able to read them with the same ease as he could Shakspeare, must have taken great pains to acquire the learned languages, and have had both leisure and good masters. But he was undoubtedly educated at Christ-church College, Oxford. He is allowed to have been a pleasant man; this however was turned against him, by its being said, he gained more hearts than souls.'"

"The only voice that could soothe the passions of the savage (Alphonso III.) was that of an amiable and virtuous wife, the sole object of his love; the voice of Donna Isabella, the daughter of the Duke of Savoy, and the grand-daughter of Philip II. King of Spain. Her dying words sunk deep into his memory; his fierce spirit melted into tears; and after the last embrace, Alphonso retired into his chamber to bewail his irreparable loss, and to meditate on the vanity of human life."-Gibbon's Miscellaneous Works, vol. iii. p. 473.

["In The Corsair, Lord Byron first felt himself at full liberty; and then all at once he shows the unbroken stream of his native eloquence, of rapid narrative, of vigorous and intense, yet unforced, imagery, sentiment, and thought; of extraordinary elasticity, transparency, purity, ease, and harmony of language; of an arrangement of words, never trite, yet always simple and flowing;-in such a perfect expression of ideas, always impressive, generally pointed, frequently passionate, and often new, that it is perspicuity itself, with not a superfluous word, and not a word out of its natural place. It is strange that he who was so young, who had led a life of adventure more than of study, nay, who had often seemed a good deal encumbered in his phraseology, could all at once arrive at this excellence. It must have been the exaltation of spirit caused by temporary and unexpected favour, which, by removing the gloom from his heart, imparted extraordinary vigour to his intellect." Sir E. Brydges.-L. E.

"The Corsair is written in the regular heroic couplet, with a spirit, freedom, and variety of tone, of which, notwithstanding the example of Dryden, we scarcely believed that measure susceptible. It was yet to be proved that this, the most ponderous and stately verse in our language, could be accommodated to the variations of a tale of passion and of pity, and to all the breaks, starts, and transitions of an adventurous and dramatic narration. This experiment Lord Byron has made, with equal boldness and success; and has satisfied us, that the oldest and most respectable measure that is known amongst us is at least as flexible as any other, and capable, in the hands of a master, of vibrations as strong and rapid as those of a lighter structure." Jeffrey.-L. E. "To the safe and shop-resorting inhabitants of Christendom, The Corsair seems to present many improbabilities; nevertheless it is true to nature, and in every part of the Levant the traveller meets with individuals whose air and physiognomy remind him of Conrad. The incidents of the story also, so wild and extravagant to the snug and legal notions of England, are not more in keeping with the character than they are in accordance with fact and reality." Galt.-P. E.]

CANTO I.

I.

THE serfs (2) are glad through Lara's wide domain,
And Slavery half forgets her feudal chain;
He, their unhoped but unforgotten lord,
The long self-exiled chieftain, is restored:
There be bright faces in the busy hall,
Bowls on the board, and banners on the wall;
Far-checkering o'er the pictured window, plays
The unwonted faggots' hospitable blaze;
And gay retainers gather round the hearth,
With tongues all loudness, and with eyes all mirth.

II.

The chief of Lara is return'd again :
And why had Lara cross'd the bounding main?
Left by his sire, too young such loss to know,
Lord of himself;—that heritage of woe,
That fearful empire which the human breast
But holds to rob the heart within of rest!--
With none to check, and few to point in time
The thousand paths that slope the way to crime;

(1) Between the publication of The Corsair and Lara Lord Byron adopted the most extraordinary resolution that, perhaps, ever entered into the mind of an author of any celebrity. Annoyed at the tone of disparagement in which his assailants-not content with blackening his moral and social character-now affected to speak of his genius, and somewhat mortified, there is reason to believe, by finding that his own friends dreaded the effects of constant publications on his ultimate fame, he came to the determination, not only to print no more in future, but to purchase back the whole of his past copyrights, and suppress every line he had ever written. With this view, on the 29th of April, he actually enclosed his publisher a draft for the money. "For all this," he said, "it might be as well to assign some reason: I have none to give, except my own caprice, and I do not consider the circumstance of consequence enough to require explanation." An appeal, however, from Mr. Murray, to his good-nature and considerateness, brought, in eight-and-forty hours, the following reply:-"If your present note is serious, and it really would be inconvenient, there is an end of the matter: tear my draft, and go on as usual: that I was perfectly serious, in wishing to suppress all future publication, is true; but certainly not to interfere with the convenience of others, and more particularly your Own."

The following passages in his Diary depict the state of Lord Byron's mind at this period:- Murray has had a letter from his brother bibliopole of Edinburgh, who says, he is lucky in having such a poet'-something as if one was a pack horse, or ass, or any thing that is his;' or like Mrs. Packwood, who replied to some inquiry after the Odes on Razors, Laws, sir, we keeps a poet.' The same illus. trious Edinburgh bookseller once sent an order for books, poesy, and cookery, with this agreeable postscript- The Harold and Cookery are much wanted.' Such is fame! and, after all, quite as good as any other life in others' breath.' 'Tis much the same to divide purchasers with Hannah Glasse or Hannah More."- March 17th, Redde the Quarrels of Authors, a new work, by that most entertaining and researching writer, D'Israeli. They seem to be an irritable set, and I wish myself well out of it. 'I'll not march through Coventry with them, that's flat.' What the

Then when he most required commandment, then
Had Lara's daring boyhood govern'd men.
It skills not, boots not, step by step to trace
His youth through all the mazes of its race;
Short was the course his restlessness had run,
But long enough to leave him half undone. (3)
III.

And Lara left in youth his father-land;
But from the hour he waved his parting hand
Each trace wax'd fainter of his course, till all
Had nearly ceased his memory to recall.
His sire was dust, his vassals could declare,
'Twas all they knew, that Lara was not there;
Nor sent nor came he, till conjecture grew
Cold in the many, anxious in the few.
His hall scarce echoes with his wonted name,
His portrait darkens in its fading frame,
Another chief consoled his destined bride,
The young forgot him, and the old had died;
"Yet doth he live!" exclaims the impatient heir,
And sighs for sables which he must not wear.
A hundred scutcheons deck with gloomy grace
The Laras' last and longest dwelling-place;

devil had I to do with scribbling? It is too late to inquire. and all regret is useless. But an' it were to do again-1 should write again, I suppose. Such is human nature, at least my share of it;-though I shall think better of myself if I have sense to stop now. If I have a wife, and that wife has a son, I will bring up mine beir in the most anti-poetical way-make him a lawyer, or a pirate, or anything. But if he writes too, I shall be sure he is none of mine, and will cut him off with a bank token."-April 19. 1 will keep no further journal; and, to prevent me from returning. like a dog, to the vomit of memory, I tear out the remaining leaves of this volume. Oh fool! I shall go mad.'"

These extracts are from the Diary of March and April. Before the end of May he had begun the composition of Lara, which has been almost universally considered as the continuation of The Corsair. This poem was published anonymously in the following August, in the same volume with Mr. Rogers's elegant tale of Jacqueline; an unnatural and unintelligible conjunction, which, however, gave rise to some pretty good jokes. "I believe," says Lord Byron, in one of his letters, "I told you of Larry and Jacquy. A friend of mine-at least a friend of his-was reading said Larry and Jacquy in a Brighton coach. A passenger took up the book, and queried as to the author. The proprietar said, there were two;'-to which the answer of the un known was. Ay, ay,-a joint concern, I suppose, suma like Sternhold and Hopkins.' Is not this excellent? I would not have missed the vile comparison' to have escaped being the Arcades ambo et cantare pares.'"-L. E.

(2) The reader is apprised, that the name of Lara being Spanish, and no circumstance of local and natural descrip tion fixing the scene or hero of the poem to any country or age, the word serf,' which could not be correctly applied to the lower classes in Spain, who were never vassals of the soil, has nevertheless been employed to designate the followers of our fictitious chieftain.-[Lord Byron elsewhere intimates, that he meant Lara for a chief of the Morea. - L. E.]

"The name only is Spanish; the country is not Spain, but the Morea." Lord B. to Mr. M. July 24.-P. E.

(3) "Lord Byron's own tale is partly told in this section Sir Walter Scott.-L. E.

"

But one is absent from the mouldering file, That now were welcome in that Gothic pile.

IV.

He comes at last in sudden loneliness,
And whence they know not, why they need not guess;
They more might marvel, when the greeting's o'er,
Not that he came, but came not long before :
No train is his beyond a single page,

Of foreign aspect, and of tender age.
Years had roll'd on, and fast they speed away
To those that wander as to those that stay;
But lack of tidings from another clime
Had lent a flagging wing to weary Time.
They see, they recognise, yet almost deem
The present dubious, or the past a dream.

He lives, nor yet is past his manhood's prime,
Though sear'd by toil, and something touch'd by time;
His faults, whate'er they were, if scarce forgot,
Might be untaught him by his varied lot;
Nor good nor ill of late were known, his name
Might yet uphold his patrimonial fame :
His soul in youth was haughty, but his sins
No more than pleasure from the stripling wins;
And such, if not yet harden'd in their course,
Might be redeem'd, nor ask a long remorse.

V.

And they indeed were changed-'t is quickly seen,
Whate'er he be, 'twas not what he had been.
That brow in furrow'd lines had fix'd at last,
And spake of passions, but of passion past:
The pride, but not the fire, of early days,
Coldness of mien, and carelessness of praise;
A high demeanour, and a glance that took
Their thoughts from others by a single look;
And that sarcastic levity of tongue,

The stinging of a heart the world hath stung,(1)
That darts in seeming playfulness around,
And makes those feel that will not own the wound:
All these seem'd his, and something more beneath
Than glance could well reveal, or accent breathe.
Ambition, glory, love, the common aim,

That some can conquer, and that all would claim,

(1) "It is a remarkable property of the poetry of Lord Byron, that although his manner is frequently varied,— although he appears to have assumed for an occasion the characteristic stanza and style of several contemporaries. yet not only is his poetry marked in every instance by the strongest cast of originality, but in some leading particulars, and especially in the character of his heroes, each story so closely resembled the other, that, managed by a writer of less power, the effect would have been an unpleasant monotony. All, or almost all, his heroes have somewhat the attributes of Childe Harold:-all, or almost all, have minds which seem at variance with their fortunes, and exhibit high and poignant feelings of pain and pleasure; a keen sense of what is noble and honourable; and an equally keen susceptibility of injustice or injury, under the garb of stoicism of contempt of mankind. The strength of carly passion, and the glow of youthful feeling, are uniformly painted as chilled or subdued by a train of early imprudences or of darker guilt, and the sense of enjoyment tarnished by too intimate an acquaintance with the vanity of human wishes. These general attributes mark the stern features of all Lord Byron's heroes, from those which are shaded by the scalloped hat of the illustrious Pilgrim, to those which lurk under the turban of Alp the Renegade. It was reserved to him to present the same character on the public stage again and again, varied only by the exertions

Within his breast appear'd no more to strive, Yet seem'd as lately they had been alive; And some deep feeling it were vain to trace At moments lighten'd o'er his livid face.

VI.

Not much he loved long question of the past,
Nor told of wondrous wilds, and deserts vast,
In those far lands where he had wander'd lone,
And as himself would have it seem-unknown:
Yet these in vain his eye could scarcely scan,
Nor glean experience from his fellow man;
But what he had beheld he shunn'd to show,
As hardly worth a stranger's care to know:
If still more prying such inquiry grew,
His brow fell darker, and his words more few.
VII.

Warm was his welcome to the haunts of men;
Not unrejoiced to see him once again,
Born of high lineage, link'd in high command,
He mingled with the magnates of his land;
Join'd the carousals of the great and gay,
And saw them smile or sigh their hours away; (2)
But still he only saw, and did not share,
The common pleasure or the general care;
He did not follow what they all pursued,
With hope still baffled, still to be renew'd;
Nor shadowy honour, nor substantial gain,
Nor beauty's preference, and the rival's pain:
Around him some mysterious circle thrown,
Repell'd approach, and show'd him still alone.
Upon his eye sat something of reproof,
That kept at least frivolity aloof;
And things more timid that beheld him near
In silence gazed, or whisper'd mutual fear;
And they, the wiser friendlier few, confess'd
They deem'd him better than his air express'd.

VIII.

'Twas strange-in youth all action and all life,
Burning for pleasure, not averse from strife;
Woman-the field-the ocean-all that gave
Promise of gladness, peril of a grave,
In turn he tried-he ransack'd all below,
And found his recompense in joy or woe,

of that powerful genius which, searching the springs of passion and of feeling in their innermost recesses, knew how to combine their operations, so that the interest was eternally varying, and never abated, although the most important personage of the drama retained the same lineaments. It will one day be considered as not the least remarkable literary phenomenon of this age, that during a period of four years, notwithstanding the quantity of distinguished poetical talent of which we may be permitted to boast, a single author-and he managing his pen with the careless and negligent ease of a man of quality, and choosing for his theme subjects so very similar, and personages bearing so close a resemblance to each other,- did, in despite of these circumstances, of the unamiable attributes with which he usually invested his heroes, and of the proverbial fickleness of the public, maintain the ascendancy in their favor which he had acquired by his first matured production. So, however, it indisputably has been." Sir Walter Scott.-L. E.

(2) This description of Lara, suddenly and unexpectedly returned from distant travels, and re-assuming his station in the society of his own country, has strong points of resemblance to the part which the author himself seemed occasionally to bear amid the scenes where the great mingle with the fair." Sir Walter Scott.-L. E.

CANTO I.

I.

THE serfs (2) are glad through Lara's wide domain,
And Slavery half forgets her feudal chain;
He, their unhoped but unforgotten lord,
The long self-exiled chieftain, is restored:
There be bright faces in the busy hall,
Bowls on the board, and banners on the wall;
Far-checkering o'er the pictured window, plays
The unwonted faggots' hospitable blaze;
And gay retainers gather round the hearth,
With tongues all loudness, and with eyes all mirth.

II.

The chief of Lara is return'd again :
And why had Lara cross'd the bounding main?
Left by his sire, too young such loss to know,
Lord of himself;-that heritage of woe,
That fearful empire which the human breast
But holds to rob the heart within of rest!-
With none to check, and few to point in time
The thousand paths that slope the way to crime;

(1) Between the publication of The Corsair and Lara Lord Byron adopted the most extraordinary resolution that, perhaps, ever entered into the mind of an author of any celebrity. Annoyed at the tone of disparagement in which his assailants-not content with blackening his moral and social character-now affected to speak of his genius, and somewhat mortified, there is reason to believe, by finding that his own friends dreaded the effects of constant publications on his ultimate fame, he came to the determination, not only to print no more in future, but to purchase back the whole of his past copyrights, and suppress every line he had ever written. With this view, on the 29th of April, he actually enclosed his publisher a draft for the money. "For all this," he said, "it might be as well to assign some reason I have none to give, except my own caprice, and I do not consider the circumstance of consequence enough to require explanation." An appeal, however, from Mr. Murray, to his good-nature and considerateness, brought, in eight-and-forty hours, the following reply:-"If your present note is serious, and it really would be inconvenient, there is an end of the matter: tear my draft, and go on as usual: that I was perfectly serious, in wishing to suppress all future publication, is true; but certainly not to interfere with the convenience of others, and more particularly your own."

The following passages in his Diary depict the state of Lord Byron's mind at this period:-" Murray has had a letter from his brother bibliopole of Edinburgh, who says, he is lucky in having such a poet'-something as if one was a pack horse, rass, or any thing that is his;' or like Mrs. Packwood, who replied to some inquiry after the Odes on Razors, Laws, sir, we keeps a poet.' The same illustrious Edinburgh bookseller once sent an order for books, poesy, and cookery, with this agreeable postscript-The Harold and Cookery are much wanted.' Such is fame! and, after all, quite as good as any other life in others' breath.' 'Tis much the same to divide purchasers with Hannah Glasse or Hannah More."-" March 17th, Redde the Quarrels of Authors, a new work, by that most entertaining and researching writer, D'Israeli. They seem to be an irritable set, and I wish myself well out of it. 'I'll not march through Coventry with them, that's flat.' What the

Then when he most required commandment, then
Had Lara's daring boyhood govern'd men.
It skills not, boots not, step by step to trace
His youth through all the mazes of its race;
Short was the course his restlessness had run,
But long enough to leave him half undone. (3)
III.

And Lara left in youth his father-land;
But from the hour he waved his parting hand
Each trace wax'd fainter of his course, till all
Had nearly ceased his memory to recall.
His sire was dust, his vassals could declare,
'Twas all they knew, that Lara was not there;
Nor sent nor came he, till conjecture grew
Cold in the many, anxious in the few.
His hall scarce echoes with his wonted name,
His portrait darkens in its fading frame,
Another chief consoled his destined bride,
The young forgot him, and the old had died;
"Yet doth he live!" exclaims the impatient heir,
And sighs for sables which he must not wear.
A hundred scutcheons deck with gloomy grace
The Laras' last and longest dwelling-place;

devil had I to do with scribbling? It is too late to inquire, and all regret is useless. But an' it were to do again-1 should write again, I suppose. Such is human nature, at least my share of it;-though I shall think better of myself if I have sense to stop now. If I have a wife, and that wife has a son, I will bring up mine heir in the most anti-poetical way-make him a lawyer, or a pirate, or anything. But if he writes too, I shall be sure he is none of mine, and will cut him off with a bank token."-" April 19. 1 will keep no further journal; and, to prevent me from returning, like a dog, to the vomit of memory, I tear out the remain. ing leaves of this volume. Oh fool! I shall go mad.'"

These extracts are from the Diary of March and April. Before the end of May he had begun the composition of Lara, which has been almost universally considered as the continuation of The Corsair. This poem was published anonymously in the following August, in the same volume with Mr. Rogers's elegant tale of Jacqueline; an unnatural and unintelligible conjunction, which, however, gave rise to some pretty good jokes. "I believe," says Lord Byron, in one of his letters, "I told you of Larry and Jacquy. A friend of mine-at least a friend of his-was reading said Larry and Jacquy in a Brighton coach. A passenger took up the book, and queried as to the author. The proprietor said, 'there were two;'-to which the answer of the unknown was, Ay, ay, a joint concern, I suppose, summot like Sternhold and Hopkins.' Is not this excellent? I would not have missed the vile comparison' to have escaped being the Arcades ambo et cantare pares.'"-L. E.

(2) The reader is apprised, that the name of Lara being Spanish, and no circumstance of local and natural descrip tion fixing the scene or hero of the poem to any country or age, the word 'serf,' which could not be correctly applied to the lower classes in Spain, who were never vassals of the soil, has nevertheless been employed to designate the followers of our fictitious chieftain.-[Lord Byron elsewhere intimates, that he meant Lara for a chief of the Morea. —L. E.]

"The name only is Spanish; the country is not Spain, but the Morea." Lord B. to Mr. M. July 24.—P. E.

(3) "Lord Byron's own tale is partly told in this section." Sir Valler Scott.-L. E.

But one is absent from the mouldering file, That now were welcome in that Gothic pile.

IV.

He comes at last in sudden loneliness,

And whence they know not, why they need not guess;
They more might marvel, when the greeting's o'er,
Not that he came, but came not long before:
No train is his beyond a single page,

Of foreign aspect, and of tender age.
Years had roll'd on, and fast they speed away
To those that wander as to those that stay;
But lack of tidings from another clime
Had lent a flagging wing to weary Time.
They see, they recognise, yet almost deem
The present dubious, or the past a dream.

He lives, nor yet is past his manhood's prime,
Though sear'd by toil, and something touch'd by time;
His faults, whate'er they were, if scarce forgot,
Might be untaught him by his varied lot;
Nor good nor ill of late were known, his name
Might yet uphold his patrimonial fame:
His soul in youth was haughty, but his sins
No more than pleasure from the stripling wins;
And such, if not yet harden'd in their course,
Might be redeem'd, nor ask a long remorse.

V.

And they indeed were changed-'t is quickly seen,
Whate'er he be, 't was not what he had been.
That brow in furrow'd lines had fix'd at last,
And spake of passions, but of passion past:
The pride, but not the fire, of early days,
Coldness of mien, and carelessness of praise;
A high demeanour, and a glance that took
Their thoughts from others by a single look;
And that sarcastic levity of tongue,

The stinging of a heart the world hath stung,(1)
That darts in seeming playfulness around,
And makes those feel that will not own the wound:
All these seem'd his, and something more beneath
Than glance could well reveal, or accent breathe.
Ambition, glory, love, the common aim,

That some can conquer, and that all would claim,

(1) "It is a remarkable property of the poetry of Lord Byron, that although his manner is frequently varied,although he appears to have assumed for an occasion the characteristic stanza and style of several contemporaries, yet not only is his poetry marked in every instance by the strongest cast of originality, but in some leading particulars, and especially in the character of his heroes, each story so closely resembled the other, that, managed by a writer of less power, the effect would have been an unpleasant monotony. All, or almost all, his heroes have somewhat the attributes of Childe Harold:-all, or almost all, have minds which seem at variance with their fortunes, and exhibit high and poignant feelings of pain and pleasure; a keen sense of what is noble and honourable; and an equally keen susceptibility of injustice or injury, under the garb of stoicism or contempt of mankind. The strength of early passion, and the glow of youthful feeling, are uniformly painted as chilled or sabdued by a train of early impru dences or of darker guilt, and the sense of enjoyment tarnished by too intimate an acquaintance with the vanity of human wishes. These general attributes mark the stern features of all Lord Byron's heroes, from those which are shaded by the scalloped hat of the illustrious Pilgrim, to those which lurk under the turban of Alp the Renegade. It was reserved to him to present the same character on the public stage again and again, varied only by the exertions

Within his breast appear'd no more to strive,
Yet seem'd as lately they had been alive;
And some deep feeling it were vain to trace
At moments lighten'd o'er his livid face.

VI.

Not much he loved long question of the past,
Nor told of wondrous wilds, and deserts vast,
In those far lands where he had wander'd lone,
And as himself would have it seem-unknown:
Yet these in vain his eye could scarcely scan,
Nor glean experience from his fellow man;
But what he had beheld he shunn'd to show,
As hardly worth a stranger's care to know:
If still more prying such inquiry grew,
His brow fell darker, and his words more few.
VII.

Not unrejoiced to see him once again,
Warm was his welcome to the haunts of men;
Born of high lineage, link'd in high command,
He mingled with the magnates of his land;
Join'd the carousals of the great and gay,
And saw them smile or sigh their hours away; (2)
But still he only saw, and did not share,
The common pleasure or the general care;
He did not follow what they all pursued,
With hope still baffled, still to be renew'd;
Nor shadowy honour, nor substantial gain,
Nor beauty's preference, and the rival's pain:
Around him some mysterious circle thrown,
Repell'd approach, and show'd him still alone.
Upon his eye sat something of reproof,
That kept at least frivolity aloof;
And things more timid that beheld him near
In silence gazed, or whisper'd mutual fear;
And they, the wiser friendlier few, confess'd
They deem'd him better than his air express'd.

VIII.

'Twas strange-in youth all action and all life,
Burning for pleasure, not averse from strife;
Woman-the field-the ocean-all that gave
Promise of gladness, peril of a grave,
In turn he tried-he ransack'd all below,
And found his recompense in joy or woe,

of that powerful genius which, searching the springs of passion and of feeling in their innermost recesses, knew how to combine their operations, so that the interest was eternally varying, and never abated, although the most important personage of the drama retained the same lineaments. It will one day be considered as not the least remarkable literary phenomenon of this age, that during a period of four years, notwithstanding the quantity of distinguished poetical talent of which we may be permitted to boast, a single author-and he managing his pen with the careless and negligent ease of a man of quality, and choosing for his theme subjects so very similar, and personages bearing so close a resemblance to each other,- did. in despite of these circumstances, of the unamiable attributes with which he usually invested his heroes, and of the proverbial fickleness of the public, maintain the ascendancy in their favor which he had acquired by his first matured production. So, however, it indisputably has been." Sir Waller Scott.-L. E.

(2) This description of Lara, suddenly and unexpectedly returned from distant travels, and re-assuming his station in the society of his own country, has strong points of resemblance to the part which the author himself seemed occasionally to bear amid the scenes where the great mingle with the fair." Sir Walter Scott.-L. E,