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Although o ir argument was quite foruot;
But, calling the attendants, went to dine
At Maddalo's :-yet neither cheer nor wine
Could give us spirits, for we talked of him,
And nothing else, till daylight made stars din.
And we are dit wasome dreadlul ill
Wrought on him boldly, yet unspeakable,
By a dear friend; som deadly change in love
Of one vow'd deeply which he dreamed not of;
For whose sake he, it seemed, had fixed a blor
Of falsehood in his mind, which flourish'd not
But in the light of all-beholding truth;
And having stamped this canker on luis youth,
She hall abandoned him: and how much more
Might be his woe, we guessed not:-he had store
Of friends and fortune once, as we could guess
From his nice habits and his gentleness:
These now were lost-it were a grief indeed
If hehad changed one unsistaining reed
For all that such a man miglit el-e ador.
The colour of his mind secuned yet unworn :
For the wild language of his grief was high-
Such as in measure were called poetry.
And I remember one remark, which then
Maddalo made: he said- Most wretched men
Are cradled into poetry by wrong:
They learn in suttering what they teach in song.'”

The following is a quaint imitation of the older English poets, and has some beautiful thoughts :

6 Rarely, rarely, comest thou,

Spirit of Delight!
Wherefore hast thou left me now

Many a day and night?
Many a weary night and day
'Tis since thou art fled away.
How shall ever one like ine

Win thee back again?
With the joyous and the free

Tlari wilt scotl' at pain.
Sririt falke! thou hast forrot
All but those who need thee not.
As a lizard with the shade

Of % trembling leal,
Thou with sorrow art dismay'd;

Even the nighs of vrief
Reproach thee, that thou art not near,
And reproach thou wilt not hear.
Let me set my mournful ditty

To a merry measure,
Thou wilt never come for pity,

Thou wilt come for pleasure,
Pity then will cut away
Those cruel wings, and thou wilt stay.
I love all that thou lovest,

Spirit of Delight!
The fresh Earth in new leaves drest,

And the starry night ;
Autumn evening, and the morn
When the golden mists are born.
I love snow, and all the forms

Of the radiant frost;
I love waves, and winds, and storms,

Every thing almost
Which is nature's, and may be
Untainted by man's misery.
I love tranquil solitude,

And such society
As is quiet, wise, and good;

Between thee and me

What difference? but thou dost possess
The things I seck, not love them less.
I love love-though he has wings,

And like light can flee,
But above all other things,

Spirit, I love thee-
Thou art love and life. ( come,

Make once more my heart thy home.”
And these lines, which begin a piece called “the
Boat on the Serchio," are extremely pleasing :

“ Our boat is asleep in Serchio's stream,
Its sails are folded like thoughts in a dream,
The helm sways idly, hither and thither;
Dominic, the boat-man, has brought the mast,
And the oars and the sails; but 'tis sleeping fast,
Like a beast, unconscious of ita tether.
The stars burnt out in the pale blue air,
And the thin white moon lay withering there,
To tower, and cavern, and rist. and tree,
The owl and the bat tied drowsily.
Day bad kindled the dewy woods,
And the rocks above and the streams below,
And the vapours in their multitudes,
And the Apennine shroud of summer snow,
And clothed with light of aery gold
The mists in their castern caves uprolled.
Day had awakened all things that be,
The lark and the thrush and the swallow free,
And the milkmaid's song and the mower's scythe,
And the matin-bell and the mountain bee :
Fire-flies were quenched on the dewy corn,
Glow-worms went out on the river's brim,
Like lamps which a student forgets to trim :
The beetle forgot to wind his horn,
The crickets were still in the meadow and hill:
Like a flock of rooks at a farmer's gun
Night's dreams and terrors, every one,
Fled from the brains which are their prey,
From the lamp's death to the morning ray.
All rose to do the task Ile set to each,
Who shaped us to his ends and not our own;
The million rose to learn, and one to teach
What none yet ever knew or can be known.”

From a volume of scattered and fugitive poetry our extracts must be disorderly and unconnected. If we are not mistaken, the follou ing song has been published before, but it is a very sweet thing:-

" The odour from the flower is gone,

Which like thy kisses breathedon me;
The colour from the floweris flown,

Which glowed of thee, and only thee!
A shrivelled, lifeless, vacant form,

It lies on my abandoned breast,
And mocks the heart which yet is warm

With cold and silent rest.
I weep--my tears revive it not!

I sigh-it breathes no more on me;
Its mute and uncomplaining lot

Is such as mine should be."
With a dirge for the year, and a sonnet on Political
Greatness, our quotations must end.

“ Orphan hours, the ycar is dead

Come and sigh, come and weep!
Merry hours, smile instead,

For the year is but asleep,

See, it smiles as it is sleeping,

As to biographies of great artists, they are all foreignMocking your untimely weeping.

ers, and Englishmen have an antipathy to foreigners. As an earthquake rocks a corse,

It would be difficult to point out a single account of In its coffin in the clay,

any old master in our language which possesses the So White Winter, that rough nurse, Rocks the death-cold year to-day;

slightest merit. Duppa's compilations are wishySolemn hours ! wait aloud

washy things, and Mr. Graham's Poussin is not much For your motlier in her shroud.

better. As one way of remedying the deficiency, we As the wild air stirs and sways

wish we could see well translated and judiciously The tree-swung cradle of a child,

abridged, the excellent work of the Abate Lanzi. So the breath of these rude days

It is the best general treatise on the history, biography, Rocks the year;---be calm and mild,

and character of painting, that any language contains. Trembling hours, she will arise With new love within her eyes.

With respect to M. de Quincy's Work, before us,

it is a superficial compilation; better to be sure than January grey is here, Like a sexton by her grave;

Duppa's, but still not good. Raphael deserves some February bears the bier,

nobler monument. His is the greatest name in the March with grief doth howl and rave,

annals of painting. The splendour of his genius And April werps---but, 0, ye hours,

eclipsed that of all others, whilst he lived, and it Follow with May's fairest flowers."

has streamed down to our times with unabated ra“ Nor happiness, nor majesty, nor fame,

diance. Three centuries and a half have not dimmed Nor peace, nor strength, nor skill in anns or arts,

the lustre of his fame. All sorts of styles have been Shepherd those herds whom tyranny makes tame;

attenipted in art, and yet his retains its supremacy. Verse echocs not one beating of their hearts, History is but the shadow of their shame,

His works have been injured by time, and detaced by Art veils her glass, or from the pageant starts

bad taste, and still they are the finest extant. EngraAsto oblivion their blind millions fleet,

vers have consecrated iheir lives to the transcription Staining that Heaven with obscene imagery

and multiplication of his productions, and no gallery Of their own likeness. What are numbers knit By force or custom? Man who man would be,

is deemed valuable which does not possess one or Must rule the empire of himself; in it

more of his pictures. Such a man merits a better triMust be supreme, establishing his throne

bute from posterity than the imperfect potice of Vasari On vanquished will, quelling the anarchy

-the shallow compilation of Duppa—the brief but Of hopes and lears, being himself alone.

| judicious account of Lauzi,--and the common place A good portion of the volume is made up of trans- |volume before (is. lations from different languages. Amongst these is one It is impossible for us to give an abridgement of the of the Cyclops, an imperfect drama of Euripides ; and a || works of M. de Quincy. It takes up Raphael at his a part of Goethe's Faust. The first is curious, the lat- || birth, and traces him through life to his decease. The ter excellent. It is to be lamented that he had not | anecdotes of his early education under Perugino, his completed it.

visits to Florence, his invitation to Rome, the patronage On the merits of Mr. Shelley's poetry, it is scarcely of Julius II. and the rivalry of Michael Angelo-his necessary to dilate. Its characteristics, good or bad, || extraordinary productions, Þis wide-spread fame, his are well known, and with the extracts given above, we | influence, wealth and station, are all too well known to leave it to the judgment and taste of the reader. require any repetition. Raphael appeared at a period

particularly favourable to his genius. Painting in a

comparatively rude state :-Great poverty of invention Histoire de la l'ie et des Ouvrages de Raphael, ornee d'un

and meagreness of truth. Perugino has for some Portrait. Par M. Quatremere de Quincy. I'uris : Gos

years been the best painter of his time, was remarkable selin, 1824.

for nothing but freshness of tones and want of expres* Works relating to the elementary principles of sion. Da Vinci and Michael Angelo had burst out into the fine arts, or biographies of celebrated artists are a nobler style. Raphael was inspired by the producvery rare in this country. We excel in the practice | tions of the one and the fame of the other. At the age rather than in the theory. A few good books have of seventeen he began to distinguish himself by the been published, and a great many bad ones. Sir novelty and grandeur of his conceptions; and the rest Joshua Reynolds' Discourses are indisputably the best, of his life was one of constant advancement. M. de and yet they are full of inconsistencies. His lectures may Quincy names his pictures in their chronological order, fairly represent the national feeling upon the subject || and gives a critical account of them, but we cannot of theories of art. Some of the other lecturers have || insert any of these notices. Nothing can be more dry collected together from different authors, or generalized and disagreeable than criticisms on unseen aud unknown from their own practice many useful and ingenious pictures, especially when written by a critic who has observations, but we are still without any code of art. || never seen what he criticises. We will however quote Can this be said of any other country in Europe ? || some passages containing the writer's opinion as to the

(A

influence of Da Vinci, and Michael Angelo over the studied this admirable cartoon, where was the necessity mind and works of Raphael.

of his afterwards causing the Sistine Chapel to be “ There is no proof that Raphael during his frequent vi

secretly opened, in order that he might study the grand sits to Florence, ever contracted any friendship for Leonardo manner of his rival ? da Vinci. On the other hand, no proof is required to shew

" It is probable that Raphael learned from Michel Angelo that there was between them a great natural sympathy, and an equal taste for the same kind of grace and purity. More

to give a fuller developement of form to his designs, and than one picture of Rapbael painted about this period, that

greater freedom and amplitude to his style. All this howfor instance, of the Virginia Giardineira,--one might de

ever did not change in any respect his own peculiar characscribe as belonging to the same family. How, indeed, is it

ter, nor his already established gusto. The works which be possible to believe that the bee of Urbino did not gather

produced at that time do not really denote any sensible insomething valuable from the flowers of da Vinci ? It is,

Huence of Michael Angelo's manner over his rule. He did

not cease to pursue the line which his own geniug marked however, always necessary to avow that the rare combina

out for him. His progression was slow, but it was a protion of qualities which the artist requires from the study of nature and art, results from a mental operation beyond the

gression, without any sudden change or abrupt advance.” power of theory to analyze. We might as well pretend to The great reputation of Raphael induced Julius II. detect in the honey of the insect, all the elements of the to invite him to Rome for the purpose of completing different juices which it has amalgamated. It is just so

the chambers of the Vatican. He was then twenty-five with the product of intellect and taste, combining the manner of different masters. This is one of the mysteries of years of age, and although his first works after his arthe faculty of imitation, the effect of which is often con rival, did not equal those of more mature years, yet founded with the art of the copyist, or with the repetitions

|| they are marvellous prools of talent and genius in so which the pupil is wont to make of the works of the saine master. Hence has arisen that interminable dispute as to

young a man. Rome, in its wreck and ruin, has the influence of Michael Angelo oyer Raphael-an influence scarcely any thing more curious and wonderful to boast of which we shall have to speak when we come to notice of, than the halls of the Vatican. The subsequent imthese two great rivals at Rome, acting in a more extended

provement of Raphael in grandeur and boldness gives theatre."

occasion for another essay by M. de Quincy as to the The imitation of some fragments of ancient sculp- l probable influence of Michael Angelo's produ ture, and above all, the profound and incessant study of I decides in the affirmative, and with every appearance anatomy soon raised Michael Angelo in drawing far l of reason. From the comparison between Raphael above all his contemporaries.

and Michael Angelo, one extract shall be made:M. de Quincy then speaks of a cartoon by Michael | The genius of these two great men had nothing in comAngelo, of the war of Pisa, which combined all the mon. It sprung from a different germ, and could not proexcellencies of design, and raised his reputation to the duce similar fruit. To be convinced of this, it is only nehighest pitch. Varasi bestows on it the most enthusi

cessary to refer back to the epoch of their birth, and to

recollect the low state in which the art of design was kept astic praise. It was destroyed soon after without being

by the prevalent ignorance of anatomical studies. The completed, but some of the figures still exist, and profound researches and inveterate study of Michael Angelo evince the profound knowledge of Michael Angelo in in anatomy, opened out and indicated to his successors the anatomy, and his prodigious ability in shewing the

fundamental science of the human form. Raphael, on the

other hand, studied design in the best works of his time; human form in its most difficult and most imposing

| ameliorated by the study of antiquity, which he never inattitudes :

termitted. It may be asked whether these different modes " We cannot dissemble the impression which this cele

of study were the result, or the cause of the disposition of

their minds, and the tendency of their tastes ? Whatever brated work must have produced. To appreciate it justly,

be the answer, it is certain that both modes would have a we should recollect the method and style of design which

necessary influence on the works and the impression prothen prevailed, with some slight exceptions, in all the Ita

duced by those works. Michael Angelo from an early age lian schools. The usages of the time had not favoured the

was accustomed to see in the study of man-the physical study of the human form; nor did the nature of devotional subjects and the babits of religious decency render it ne

man composed of bones, muscles, and tendons. The ex

treme skill with which he made this sort of knowledge stared cessary; and the few antique statues then discovered had

out in his works, and led him to choose such subjects as would not supplied any considerable knowledge of the naked form. There was a great deal of pictorial truth, but it never rose

display it to the greatest advantage. But the disadvantage

of anatomical knowledge, when it prevails over all others, above the line of portrait. It was an exact copy of the li*

is, to substitute an energetic expression of corporeal form, physiognomy and the ordinary habiliments of the times.

for the moral expression of soul and feel ng. Thus, Michael The naked form was delineated in right lines without articu

Angelo seems to be more occupied with giving motion (in lation or anatomical precision. The drawing was in exact

which he has no equal to his figures than in giving them correspondence to the composition. The painter did not dare to hazard any of those contracted attitudes wbich re

thought and passion. Generally speaking, his heads want

sensibility, his groupings and composition want grace, and present the hunan body in positions more or less difficult

he is unskilful in the expression of beauty and the varieties to size ; in varied groupes, or complicated situations,

Il of sex, condition and manners. He has but one quality in which at present form so fine a field for masterly concep

perfection, power: but one mode of expression--sombreness tions."

of disposition. The talent of Raphael was formed out of a This cartoon became the object of every artist's greater diversity of elements and the taste for the antique study. Raphael is mentioned amongst those, who de

purified and harmonized them. Prepared and prompted at

an early age to seize the whole of those qualities which convoted themselves to its contemplation : but a difficulty

stitute a painter, he constantly advanced from his first to here presents itself; for if Raphael early saw, felt, and his last work, towards that point of moral view which

all."

places the impressions of sentiment above those of science. ll of literature, and make occasional inroads upon the This was not his end, still less his sole end, but only one | legitimate domains of a class of persons very different means of giving a better form to his ideas and of expressing the character of each subject according to its proprieties.

from themselves. The frequency of this does not Thus, when in form and design, his rival had but a single | abate our wonder, though it provokes our wrath. Critone; he charges it according to his will, or rather accord

tics may be regarded as the police ofhcers of literature, ing to the necessity of the subject he handles. Besides, he

| and it is their duty to see that the peace be well and exercised his genius on all topics, from the simplest to the most sublime : his paintings embrace religious, historical,

duly kept. It is a duty which they often exercise with mythological, and allegorical compositions, and he revived || a cheerful severity, but rarely we think with a severity aniongst the moderns all the inventions which belonged to disproportioned to the enormous guilt or folly of the the poetical world of Greece. If Michael Angelo is the

offenders. greatest of designers, Raphael is the first of painters. But the idea of a painter comprehends more than that of a de

Whether the work now before us, will fall under the signer. If in the one respect of originality of design, Michael | lash is difficult to say, but to us it seems to be a very Angelo is not to be compared with anyone; Rapliael on the pleasing poem,-full of natural and just sentiments, contrary, may challenge comparison in every respect with

expressed with great neatness and taste. It does not

possess any of those lofty qualities which are essential These opinions are not very clearly and neatly ex

to high poetry, but holds a middle station, whuch pressed, but they appear to us to be in the main cor

though less commanding is at the same time less rect. M. de Quincy developes them at some length,

perilous, and with considerable ingenuity. He is still more We do not know how to describe this poem more ingenious in his examination of the different Virgins

completely, than by saying it relates to “ the Pleasures of Raphael, and his conjectures about the painter's

of Society." The theme is presented in all its ditferent ideal of sacred beauty.

appearances, and its delights descanted upon with • After finishing his notices of Raphael's works in the

great earnestness of feeling, and fluent eloquence of Vatican, M. de Quincy considers him as a portrat ||

expression. It begins with the social pleasures of very painter, and an architect : in both of which pursuits he

young children, and dwells on their little sports with was eminent. The plan of St. Peter's he eulogizes as

an agreeable simplicity. It traces the feeling of sociabeing nearly perfect. Several palaces and villas at

lity through boyhood and youth, into manhood. Of Rome, and Florence, of his design, still remain, and

course the “universal passion" is not forgotten, as will testify his architectural taste. His decorations of the

appear from these pleasing verses:Farnesina palace are noticed at great length, as are his celebrated cartoons.

66 Where the broad oak its aged branches throws, In the midst of his fame, and in the full perfection

A silver stream, in seeming sorrow, flows,

Modest and meek, as shunning vulgar eyes, of his powers, this great artist died. The honors paid

There oft the musing lover sits and signs; to his remains, evince the immense estimation in which In silence hangs o'er that sequentered strean, he was held at Rome. M. de Quincy then examines Rapt in the visions of the loveliest dream the merits of Raphael as a painter, in the different Of future bliss, when freed from all alarms,

He clasps his Laura in his faithful armis. qualities of invention, composition, expression, design,

Now seeks he far from wonted scenes to rove, colouring and manner. He is very diffuse and pane

To breathe, in solitude, bis secret love, gyrical in them all, but not very novel; a slight Unheard, unseen, he courts the forest's glade, notice of what he calls the school of Raphael concludes

What time the evening throws her lengthen'd shade.

Soft is the music of that pensive stream, the volume.

Soit on its bosom sleeps the moon's palc beam;

O’er every sense a calm emotion steals, A Geneulogy of the Kings of England from Alfred the Wakes a fond wish to tell of all he feels, Great. By R. MITCHELL, 1824.

Whispers of pleasure past, when first he hung

In breathless silence on his Laura's tongue. Having recently had occasion to make some references to different works on English History, we found

" To this lone spot the pensive lover fies,

But, e'en in solitude, for scenes le sighs, the chart, the title of which heads this notice, of great

Where social virtues, social bliss combine, utility, and recommend it to those who are engaged in And sportive loves a rosy wreath entwine. similar studies. It has often struck us that a very ser His Laura smiles, his fondest wishes true, viceable paper might be written pointing out several

And real now the picture which he drew. useful works of this sort, and whenever we find suffi-|

“ No more he flies to solitary dells, cient leisure, we have determined on attempting it Nor to the pale moon now his sorrow tells; ourselves.

Unheeded flows that once-beloved stream,
Where, oft reclined, he saw, in fancy's dream,

The brightest visions of a lover's mind,
The Pleasures of Society: a Poem. London: C. and J.

And heard sweet voices in the passing wind.
Rivington, 1824.

Of love and Laura unseen spirits spoke,

Delightful thoughts of fairy hope awoke, We have more than once expressed our surprise at

Told him of social scenes and wedded love, the vast number of small poets who infest the outskirts The first, the purest blessing from above !"

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The joys of domestic happiness, and their influence || And oft, like a frolicksome child, when at play, on general society are described at some length. The

She peeps from her screen, and then hastens away : prevalence of the social feeling in all climes, and all | More brilliant, we fancy, the featbery surge;

|| And when, at the last, we see her emerge, ages, and amongst all ranks and conditions of life,

More dazzling the alders that bend to the breeze, furnishing materials for a large portion of the poem, And brighter her silvery light on the trees; which concludes with some moral and religious reflec

More sparkling the river that drinks in ber light,

More awfully calm the fair picture of night, tions on the uses to which that feeling ought to be put.

More sacred the visions that rise in the soul, We repeat that the perusal of this poem has given us More holy the pray’rs that abundantly roll, a great deal of pleasure, and perhaps this is more praise Like bright shocks electric, and thrill thro' the frame; than can be safely awarded to many of far higher pre

The tongue mute as death, but the heart in a flame.

In moments like these, how curtail'd is the span teosions.

From spirits ethereal, to matter form'd man;

How trivial the effort to burst the clay band,
Sacred Melodies, preceded by an Admonitory Appeal to the

And, orb by orb mounting, reach heaven's high strand !"
Right Honourable Lord Byron, with other Small Poems.
By Mrs. I. H. R. Mott. London: Westley, 1824.

Il “ It makes my heart ache, as I look to the day,

When thou on thy mother's breast, pendent, didst lay;
This little volume was published a few days before || Her only son too! if I read thee aright;
the news of Lord Byron's death arrived in this country. Thus render'd more precious to her doting sight:
We had prepared a short notice of it, which the pro.

As oft o'er thine infantile features she hung,

While Fancy to Vision thy future lite flung, mulgation of those melancholy tidings induced us to

She saw thee, perhaps, as fond mothers will see, cancel. Death is a great pacificator, and our quarrels Brave ! noble ! high minded! as Byron should be. with some of Lord Byron's faults, were mitigated and Ah! what does she say, if she yet lift her head appeased by his decease. That which we trusted he

Above the mausoleum that shelters the dead?

Ah! says she the months that she number'd in pain, would live to reform, has, we hope, long ere this been

Thy shadowless virtues have paid her again? forgiven, Mrs. Mott has written an “Admonitory Ap- || Or sunk she, torn-hearted! and lonely! and pale! peal," which never reached him to whom it was ad | To shroud her deep sorrows in Death's peaceful vale ? dressed, but the feeling and the principle of it are so honourable to her, that we will make from it a few

“ One thought for thee more! after which I've quite

donec extracts:

This thought through the rest has continued to run" But thou, buoyant spirit! when thine was the doom, A parent can feel for a parent's lone fate, To part from thy country, thy halls, and thy home,

And parents should pause o'er their children's estate.
Tho' tears may have flow'd, and some hearts have been The ivy will cling to the towering oak,
wrung,

But take its support, and 'tis rent by the stroke:
Thy lyre has been never a moment unstrung;

And that which was destin'd to flourish on high,
No cave so remote, that thy verse has not rung.

| Thus torn from its root may soon wither and die.
Alike, unto thee, are the court and the tow'r,

Oh! think of thy daughter! If she live to rise
The green bills of Zion, or Endor's dark bow'r;

To maidenly womanhood, should she despise
The storm on the mountain, the calm in the plain,

Or should she revere thee? The choice was thine own,
The rude torrent roaring, the dew-distill'd rain,

But distant the tracts as the wild flaming zone
The nightingale's plaint, or the moon-chequer'd flow'r,“ From opposite poles. Be advis'd-turn thee round-
The thunders of Sinai, the law's scorching pow'r,

Let Peace, in the circle which hallow'd loves bound,
The cold dews of midnight, the tempest-beat shore,

Weave chaplets more green than the myrtle or bays, The whirlwind's loud howl, or the cataract's roar.

And Hymen's pure torch cast its light o'er thy days.
Now fabling an ocean, hung high in the air,

In marriage there's much to endure and forbear;
Bespangled with many a luminous star,

Yet, take it in all, 'tis as barren of care
And peopled with spirits, who joyfully sail

As any state is. Here thy harp has the will
On cherubim's wings, along Death's mirky vale:

To make our best feelings with extasy thrill.
Or turning, with sorrow, to earth and its care,

I cannot believe thou couldst write to thy wife,
From fancies so soothing, from visions so fair;

(As if in her center'd the joys of thy life),
To where the lone step of the centinel rang,

Like cold-hearted actor, who plays o'er his part,
On listening cars, its deep-measured clang;

But feels no emotion subduing his heart.
With horror to look on the Musselman's skull,

Ah! no, my Lord Byron, 'tis since, that thy part
Escap'd thro' the jaws (when their hunger grew dull) Thou actest, to hide the deep, rankling dart,
Of ravenous dogs, who held under the wall

Shot fast in thy mind. Once again, I adjure!
Of Isthmian Corinth, their wild carnival.”

Be nobly thyself ! for 'tis virtue to cure,

By patient endurance, the ills we may meet,
66 I look'd thro’ thy midnight, and Fancy, keen eyed, In transit through lise; which, at most, is as ficet
The gossamer web'of thy vision has spied,

As vapour; Oh! turn thee! quick! turn thee! and come
As maidenly soft and as clear to the view,

To pleasure enshrin'd in the circle of Home:
Ag curtains of mist with a moon riding through.

There hoard thee up treasures for Age yet to come.
'Tis sacred! in silence to watch the clouds sail

“ Yes, Byron ; if living, thou too wilt grow old ;
O’er night's wand'ring orb, and her loveliness veil ;

The flash of thy youth will decay and be cold;
When pensively ent’ring the regions of shade,

The last draught of rapture will pass o'er thy lip;
Her beam, on the threshold, is modestly laid ;

I The last drop of transport delirium can sip,
As onward she moves, through the inantle of 'night,

Will vanish away, as a cloud of the morn,
Her progress is mark'd by a halo of light;

More fleet than the vapour of summer-heat born.

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