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over which he had permitted so wretched a roof to remain, that in about half a dozen years the rain had visited his proudest chambers, the paper had rotted on the walls, and fell, in comfortless sheets upon glowing carpets and canopies, upon beds of crimson and gold, clogging the wings of glittering eagles, and destroying gorgeous coronets. A gentleman who visited the Abbey, gives the following description

of it:

"The long and gloomy gallery, which,'whoever views will be strongly reminded of Lara, as indeed a survey of this place will awaken more than one scene in that poem, had not yet relinquished the sombre pictures of its ancient race. In the study, which is a small chamber overlooking the garden, the books were packed up, but there remained a sofa, over which hung a sword in a gilt sheath, and at the end of the room, opposite the window, stood a pair of light fancy stands, each supporting a couple of the most perfect and finely polished skulls I ever saw, most probably selected, along wit| the far-famed one converted into a drinking cup, and inscribed with some well-known lines, from amongst a vast number taken from the burial-ground of the abbey, and piled up in the form of a mausoleum, but since recommitted to the ground. Between them hung a gilt crucifix.

“ In one corner of the servants' hall lay a stone coffin, in which were fencing gloves and foils ; and on the wall of the ample but cheerless kitchen, was painted in large letters, “Waste not, want not.'

During a great part of his Lordship's minority the abbey was in the occupation of Lord G-, his hounds, and divers colonies of jackdaws, swallows, and starlings. The internal traces of this Goth were swept away; but without, all appeared as rude and unreclaimed as he could have left it. I must confess, that if I was astonished at the heterogeneous mixture of splendor and ruin within, I was more so at the perfect uniformity of wildness throughout. I never had been able to conceive poetic genius in its poetic bower, without figuring it diffusing the polish of its delicate taste on every thing around it: but here that elegant spirit and beauty seemed to have dwelt, but not to have been caressed; it was the spirit of the wilderness. The gardens were exactly as their late owner described them in his earliest lays :•Thro' thy battlements, Newstead, the hollow winds whistle ;

Thou, the hall of my fathers, art gone to decay;
In thy once smiling gardens the hemlock and thistle

Now choke up the rose that late bloom'd in the way.' “ With the exception of the dog's tomb, a conspicuous and elegant object, placed on an ascent of several steps, crowned with a lambent flame, and pannelled with white marble tables, of which, that containing the celebrated epitaph is the most remarkable,

I do not recollect the slightest trace of culture or improvement. The late Lord, a stern' and desperate character, who is never mentioned by the neighboring peasants without a significant shake of the head, might have returned and recognised every thing about him, except perchance an additional crop of weeds. There still gloomily slept that old pond, into which he is said to have burled his lady in one of his fits of fury, whence she was rescued by the gardener, a courageous blade, who was the Lord's master, and chastised him for his barbarity. There still, at the end of the garden, in a grove of oak, two towering satyrs, he with his goat and club, and Mrs. Satyr with her chubby cloven-footed brat, placed on pedestals at the intersections of the narrow and gloomy pathways, struck for a moment, with their grim visages, and silent shaggy forms, the fear into your bosom which is felt by the neighboring peasantry at 'th oud laird's devils.'

“ In the lake before the abbey, the artificial rock, which he filled at a vast expense, still reared its lofty head; but the frigate, which fulfilled old mother Shipton's prophecy, by sailing over dry land from a distant part to this place, had long vanished, and the only relics of his naval whim were the rock, his ship-buoys, and the venerable old Murray, who accompanied me round the premises. The dark haughty impetuous spirit and mad deeds of this nobleinan, the poet's uncle, I feel little doubt, by making a vivid and indelible impression on his youthful fancy, furnished some of the principal materials for the formation of his Lordship’s favorite, and perpetually-recurring, poetical hero. His manners and acts are the theme of many a winter evening in that neighborhood. In a quarrel, which arose out of a dispute between their game-keepers, he killed his neighbor, Chaworth, the lord of the adjoining manor. With that unhappy deed, however, died all family feud; and if we are to believe our noble bard, the dearest purpose of his heart would have been compassed could he have united the two races by an union with the sole remnant of that ancient house,' the present most amiable Mrs. Chaworth-the Mary of his poetry. To those who have any knowledge of the two families, nothing is more perspicuous in his lays than the deep interest with which he has again and again turned to this his boyish, his first most endearing attachment. The Dream' is literally their mutual history. The 'antique oratorie,' where stood his steed caparisoned, and the hill

crowned with a peculiar diadem Of trees in circular array, so fixed,

Not by the sport of nature, but of manare pictures too well known to those who have seen them to be mistaken for a moment.


« It is curious to observe the opinions entertained by country people, of celebrated. literary characters, living at times amongst them. I have frequently asked such persons near Newstead, what sort of man his Lordship was? The impression of his energetic but eccentric character was obvious in their reply, 'He's the d- of fellow for comical fancies. He flogs th’oud Laird to nothing ; but he's a hearty good fellow for a' that.”. One of these mere comical fancies, related by a farmer, who has seen it more than once, is truly Byronic:-He would sometimes get into the boat with his two noble Newfoundland dogs, row into the middle of the lake, then dropping the oars, tumble over into the water; the faithful animals would immediately follow, seize him by the coatcollar, one on each side, and bear him away to land. Dogs tutored in this manner are invaluable, because they may be relied on in cases of actual danger.”


Son of the sky! and hast thou sped

Back to thy native heaven again?
Lord of the lyre ! and art thou dead,

And lies it tuneless on the plain?
And shall it never breathe again,

In whisper'd love, or, rising high,
Shoot round the earth its moral strain,

Loud as the thunder of the sky?
'It cannot be : th' immortal fire,

Not kindled at an earthly flame,
Can never fade--can ne'er expire,

But burns eternally the same.
And men shall read and bless thy name,

While thy loved Freedom, far and wide,
Waves her proud banner, with thy name,

Highest inscribed, o'er land and tide.
And Kindness kneeling at her side,

And Love, with eyes of warmest glow,
And Satire with his whip for pride,

And Iris with her heaven-dipt bow
And Friendship with her fondest vow,

Avd Valor with his firmest soul,
Shall join, and tell the world that thou

Shall last while years--while ages roll.

From Athos' height the Greek shall call,

Andes shall answer to the cry,
“Thy name, thy verse, can never fall,

They're things of immortality;
And Bigotry within his stye,

And Superstition in his cave,
And pyebald peeld Hypocrisy,

Shall feel that BYRON has no grave.”


Translation of Childe Harold. Among the inconveniences of authors in the present day, it is difficult for any who have a name, good or bad, escape

translation. I have had the fortune to see the fourth canto of Childe Harold translated into versi sciotti—that is, a poem written in the Spenserean Stanza into blank verse, without regard to the uatural divisions of the stanza, or of the sense !!"-Preface to the Prophecy of Dante.

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[Translated exclusively for the PAMPHLETEER.]


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