CANTO II.

Fame.

AIN Hope! to deem this bitter breath we draw

VAIN

Abundant offering to thankless Time

Or think her minions reverence, the more,

Sweet harps which swell with strains of idle rhyme Earth's empty plaint-that from the Soul's fair clime

Deaf ears drink such sad sounds!-Serenely won The Spirit's shining shore, methinks the chime Of yon soft-choiring Spheres should suffer none Save Seraphs' songs to swell, supreme, beyond the

Sun! (1)

Such harmony is in immortal souls;

But whilst this muddy vesture of decay

Doth grossly close us in, we cannot hear it."

[Shakespeare's "Merchant of Venice:" Act V; Scene I.

(') [M. S. "Save seraphs' songs to swell sweet psalms beyond the Sun."-E.]

CANTO II.

Fame.

E who peruse the Poet's pensive page

YE

Full little ken those pangs that pour'd it forth,
Else should sad sympathies your Souls engage
True tears attest glad Gratitude's blest birth: (1)
With our hearts' blood we write! Ah! little worth
His fyttes (2) that from fair founts of Joyaunce
flow; -

The Prophet plods in pain the paths of Earth, Where Sorrow soothes the Eloquence of Woe, (3) For Pleasaunce featly (*) flies it is pursued the moe! (5)

CANTO II.

WITH

Fame.

ITH our hearts' blood we write! (1) Could ye who trace,

How heedlessly, stern strivings of the Soul

Which would repose her from Fame's weary

Turn her tired steps toward Good's still grateful
goal,

Could ye view this could ye divine the whole-
Yea! track the Spirit to her secret cell,

Ye would ne (2) wonder that the ripe years roll, Draped with bleak Barrenness, o'er those that dwell From fellow-worms apart, nor hive with Earth's wide hell!

(1)

"Most wretched men

Are cradled into poetry by wrong:

They learn in suffering what they teach in song."

(2) Not.

[Shelley's "Julian and Maddalo."

Poor

Love.

CANTO II.

Fool! prat'st thou of Love?-hath Heaven indeed

Vouchsaf'd no worthier worship, that ye take
Creatures of clay to crown your trivial creed?
Why at such rills would ye your thirstings slake,
When rivers, rolling by, spread their bright lake
Of rare-reflected Beauty round your feet?

Yet Love, too, hath her minions who would wake Harmonious whispers with their hot hearts' beatLured by the Little God, they find such fetters sweet!

has appeared within this or the last century, and placed at once upon Lord Byron's head the garland for which other men of genius have toiled long, and which they have gained late. He was placed pre-eminent among the literary men of his country by general acclamation. It was amidst such feelings of admiration that he entered the public stage. Everything in his manner, person, and conversation, tended to maintain the charm which his genius had flung around him; and those admitted to his conversation, far from finding that the inspired poet sunk into ordinary mortality, felt themselves attached to him, not only by many noble qualities,

CANTO II.

Love.

OND Love hath her frail legions! for the Tomb

FOND

Teems with pale populace which, drooping, died,
Slain by some sightless wound; but direr doom
Is theirs, worn wand'rers, fickle Fate denied
The Crypt's calm consolation! - these abide,
'Mid men, like living shadows, silently

Plodding Wreck's scowling path with sullen
pride,

Hugging Bond's hateful chain whose clank will

be

Hoar holocaust of hopes which won whilst fancy-free!

but by the interest of a mysterious, undefined, and almost painful curiosity. A countenance exquisitely modelled to the expression of feeling and passion, and exhibiting the remarkable contrast of very dark hair and eyebrows, with light and expressive eyes, presented to the physiognomist the most interesting subject for the exercise of his art. The predominating expression was that of deep and habitual thought, which gave way to the most rapid play of features when he