Yet wish I not those eyes to weep
For him that wanders o'er the deep;
His home, his hope, his youth, are gone,
Yet still he loves, and loves but one."

Some time after this, Byron was invited to dine at Annesley. When the infant daughter of his fair hostess and former favorite was brought into the room, he started involuntarily, and could scarcely retain his emotion. To the feelings of that moment, we are indebted for the following beautiful and touching.

stanzas:

"Well! thou art happy, and I feel

That I should thus be happy too;
For still my heart regards thy weal,
Warmly as it was wont to do.

Thy husband's blest-and 't will impart
Some pangs to view his happier lot;
But let them pass-Oh! how my heart
Would hate him, if he lov'd thee not!

When late I saw thy favorite child,

I thought my jealous heart would break;
But when the unconscious infant smiled,
I kissed it for its mother's sake.

I kiss'd it-and repressed my sighs,
Its father in its face to see;
But then it had its mother's eyes,
And they were all to love and me.

Mary, adieu-I must away:

While thou art blest, I'll not repine;
But near thee I can never stay,

My heart would soon again be thine.

I deemed that time, I deemed that pride,
Had quenched at length my boyish flame;

Nor knew, till seated by thy side,

My heart in all, save hope, the same."

We have anticipated our story, for these last events occurred when he was nearly twenty years old. We must go back to the year 1805, when, at seventeen years of age he was admitted to Trinity College, Cambridge. This ancient seat of learning is situated fifty miles north of London, and contains thirteen colleges, constituting the University. The establishment, which dates back for twelve hundred years, has a library of one hundred thousand volumes, and affords ample aids to instruction. It is next to the University of Oxford in renown, and like that, has sent forth many famous men.

Here Byron spent several years of his life, devoting himself by alternate spasms to study and pleasure. He was very dissipated and addicted to eccentric amusements. He caused a good deal of disturbance, by keeping a bear and several bull-dogs. He cultivated poetry, which, from the age of ten years, he had been in the habit of composing; and drew around him all the collegians most distinguished for wit and talent, and attached them to himself by his noble and generous qualities. To the friendships thus early formed, he was much devoted during the remainder of his life.

In 1806, while yet at college, he printed a thin volume of poetry, for circulation among his friends, but which never was regularly published. In 1807, he published his "Hours of Idleness," an octavo volume of poems, which led to some curious results. At that time, the Edinburgh Review was in high repute,

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many of the ablest writers of England and Scotland being among its contributors. When Byron's volume appeared, the Review fell upon it in the following merciless strain:

"The poesy of this young lord belongs to the class which neither gods nor men are said to permit. Indeed, we do not recollect to have seen a quantity of verse with so few deviations in either direction from that exact standard. His effusions are spread over a dead flat, and can no more get above or below the level, than if they were so much stagnant water. As an extenuation of this offence, the noble author is peculiarly forward in pleading minority. We have it in the title-page, and on the very back of the volume; it follows his name, like a favorite part of his style. Much stress is laid upon it in the preface; and the poems are connected with this general statement of his case, by particular dates, substantiating the age at which each was written. Now, the law upon the point of minority we hold to be perfectly clear. It is a plea available only to the defendant; no plaintiff can offer it as a supplementary ground of action. Thus, if any suit could be brought against Lord Byron, for the purpose of compelling him to put into court a certain quantity of poetry, and if judgment were given against him, it is highly probable that an exception would be taken, were he to deliver for poetry the contents of this volume. To this he might plead minority, but as he now makes voluntary tender of the article, he hath no right to sue, on that ground, for the price in good current. phrase, if the goods be unmarketable. This is one

view of the law on the point, and we dare say, so will it be ruled.

"Perhaps, however, in reality, all that he tells us about his youth, is rather with a view to increase our wonder, than to soften our censures. He possibly means to say, 'See how a minor can write. This poem was actually composed by a young man of eighteen, and this by one of only sixteen!' But, alas! we all remember the poetry of Cowley, at ten, ánd Pope, at twelve; and, so far from hearing, with any surprise, that very poor verses were written by a youth from his leaving school till his leaving college, inclusive, we really believe this to be the most common of all occurrences; that it happens in the life of nine men in ten who are educated in England, and that the tenth man writes better verse than Lord Byron.

"His other plea of privilege, our author brings forward in order to waive it. He certainly, however, does allude frequently to his family and ancestors,— sometimes in poetry, sometimes in notes; and while giving up his claim on the score of rank, he takes care to remind us of Dr. Johnson's saying, that when a nobleman appears as an author, his merit should be handsomely acknowledged. In truth, it is this consideration only, that induces us to give Lord Byron's poems a place in our Review, beside our desire to counsel him, that he do forthwith abandon poetry, and turn his talents, which are considerable, and his opportunities, which are great, to better account.

"With this view, we must beg leave seriously to assure him that the mere rhyming of the final sylla

ble, even when accompanied by the presence of a certain number of feet,-nay, although (which does not always happen) those feet should scan regularly, and have been all counted regularly upon the fingers, -is not the whole art of poetry. We would entreat him to believe, that a certain portion of liveliness and somewhat of fancy, are necessary to constitute a poem ; and that a poem of the present day, to be read, must contain at least, one thought, either in a little degree different from the ideas of former writers, or differently expressed. We put it to his candor, whether there is anything so deserving the name of poetry in verses like the following, written in 1806, and whether, if a youth of eighteen could say anything so uninteresting to his ancestors, a youth of nineteen should publish it.

'Shades of heroes, farewell! your descendant, departing From the seat of his ancestors, bids you adieu! Abroad, or at home, your remembrance imparting

New courage, he'll think upon glory and you,' &c.

Now, we positively do assert that there is nothing better than these stanzas in the whole compass of the noble minor's volume.

"It is a sort of privilege of poets to be egotists; but they should use it as not abusing it;' and particularly one who piques himself (though, indeed, at the ripe age of nineteen) on being an infant bard,' ('the artless Helicon I boast is youth !') should either not know, or should seem not to know, so much about his own ancestry. Besides a poem above cited on the family seat of the Byrons, we have another of eleven pages, on the self-same subject, introduced