Each fainter trace that memory holds
So darkly of departed years,

In one broad glance the soul beholds,
And all, that was, at once appears.
Before Creation peopled earth,

Its eye shall roll through chaos back;
And where the furthest heaven had birth,
The spirit trace its rising track.
And where the future inars or makes,
. Its glance dilate o'er all to be,
While sun is quenched or system breaks,
Fixed in its own eternity.

Above or Love, hope, hate, or fear,
It lives all passionless and pure:
An age shall fleet like earthly year;

Its years as moments shall endure.
Away, away, without a wing,

O'er all, through all, its thought shall fly ;
A nameless and eternal thing,

Forgetting what it was to die.

There is something passionate and touching in

HEROD'S LAMENT FOR MARIAMNE,
Oh, Mariamne! now for thee

The heart for which thou bled'st is bleeding;
Revenge is lost in agony,

And wild remorse to rage succeeding.

Oh, Mariamne! where art thou?

Thou canst not hear my bitter pleading:

Ah, couldst thou-thou wouldst pardon now,
Though heaven were to my prayer unheeding.

And is she dead ?—and did they dare
Obey my frenzy's jealous raving?

My wrath but doomed my own despair :

The sword that smote her's o'er me waving.—

But thou art cold, my murdered love!

And this dark heart is vainly craving

For her who soars alone above,

And leaves my soul unworthy saving.

Published by J. Robins and (o London, February 26, 1825.

She's gone, who shared my diadem;

She sunk, with her my joys entombing;
I swept that flower from Judah's stem

Whose leaves for me alone were blooming :
And mine's the guilt, and mine the hell,

This bosom's desolation dooming ;
And I have earned those tortures well,

Which unconsumed are still consuming!

It is not in good taste, to say the least of it, to attempt a paraphrase of the sublime psalm on which the following is founded. We only insert it that it may be seen how difficult it is even for so skilful a poet as Lord Byron to succeed in expressing the pathos and the simplicity of the Holy Scriptures in any other words than their own:

BY THE RIVERS OF BABYLON WE SAT DOWN AND

WEPT.

We sate down and wept by the waters

Of Babel, and thought of the day
When our foe, in the hue of his slaughters,
Made Salem's high places his prey;

And ye, oh her desolate daughters!

Were scattered all weeping away.

While sadly we gazed on the river

Which rolled on in freedom below,
They demanded the song; but, oh never
That triumph the stranger shall know!
May this right hand be withered for ever,
Ere it string our high harp for the foe!
On the willow that harp is suspended,
Oh Salem! its sound should be free;
And the hour when thy glories were ended
But left me that token of thee:

And ne'er shall its soft tones be blended
With the voice of the spoiler by me!

The following is a similar instance, and with this we conclude our extracts from a production in every way unworthy of Lord Byron : FROM JOB.

A spirit passed before me: I beheld

The face of Immortality unveiled—

Deep sleep came down on every eye save mine
And, there it stood,-all formless but divine :
Along my bones the creeping flesh did quake;
And, as my damp hair stiffened, thus it spake:

Is man more just than God? Is man more pure
Than he who deems e'en seraphs insecure?
Creatures of clay-vain dwellers in the dust!
The moth survives you, and are ye more just?
Things of a day! you wither ere the night,

Heedless and blind to Wisdom's wasted light!'

Lord Byron soon afterwards published a poem called the Siege of Corinth.' The story relates to the siege of the year 1715, when the Turks conquered the city. The following advertisement contains the historical foundation of the poem :

The grand army of the Turks (in 1715), under the Prime Vizier, to open to themselves a way into the heart of the Morea, and to form the siege of Napoli di Romania, the most considerable place in all that country,* thought it best in the first place to attack Corinth, upon which they made several storms. The garrison being weakened, and the governor seeing it was impossible to hold out against so mighty a force, thought fit to beat a parley: but, while they were treating about the articles, one of the magazines in the Turkish camp, wherein they had six hundred barrels of powder, blew up by accident, whereby six or seven hundred men were killed; which so enraged the infidels, that they would not grant any capitulation, but stormed the place with so much fury, that they took it, and put most of the garrison, with Signior Minotti, the governor, to the sword. The rest, with Antonio Bembo, proveditor extraordinary, were made prisoners of war.'

History of the Turks, vol. iii. p. 151. Lord Byron amply availed himself of that personal knowledge of * Napoli di Romania is not now the most considerable place in the Morea, but Tripolitza, where the Pacha resides, and maintains his government. Napoli is near Argos. I visited all three in 1810-11; and in the course of journeying through the country, from my first arrival in 1809, I crossed the isthmus eight times in my way from Attica to the Morea, over the mountains, or in the other direction, when passing from the gulf of Athens to that of Lepanto. Both the routes are picturesque and beautiful, though very different: that by sea has more sameness, but the voyage being always within sight of land, and often very near it, presents many attractive views of the islands Salamis, Egina, Poro, &c. and the coast of the continent.