On the horizon verged the distant deck, Then vanish'd. All was ocean, all was joy! Down plunged she through the cave to rouse her boy; Drifting along the tide, without an oar, That eve the strangers chased them from the shore; But when these vanish'd, she pursued her prow, Regain'd, and urged to where they found it now: Nor ever did more love and joy embark, Than now were wafted in that slender ark. XV. Again their own shore rises on the view, With sounding shells, and heralded their way; And from that hour a new tradition gave Their sanctuary the name of 66 Neuha's Cave." A hundred fires, far flickering from the height, (1) [Byron! the sorcerer! He can do with me according to his will. If it is to throw me head-long upon a desert Island; if it is to place me on the summit of a dizzy cliff-his power is the same. I wish he had a friend or a servant, appointed to the office of the slave, who was to knock every morning at the chamber-door of Philip of Macedon, and remind him he was mortal. -DR. PARR.] STANZAS: TO A HINDOO AIR. [These verses were written by Lord Byron a little before he left italy for Greece. They were meant to suit the Hindostanee air-" Alla Malla Punca," which the Countess Guiccioli was fond of singing.] OH!-my lonely-lonely-lonely-Pillow. Is it his bark which my dreary dreams discover? Oh! my lonely-lonely-lonely-Pillow! Why must my head ache where his gentle brow lay? How the long night flags lovelessly and slowly, head droops over thee like the willow. And my [ing, Oh! thou, my sad and solitary Pillow! Then if thou wilt-no more my lonely Pillow, In one embrace let these arms again enfold him, And then expire of the joy-but to behold him! Oh! my lone bosom !-oh! my lonely Pillow! ON THIS DAY I COMPLETE MY THIRTYSIXTH YEAR. Missolonghi, Jan. 22. 1824. (1) 1. 'Tis time this heart should be unmoved, Since others it hath ceased to move: Yet, though I cannot be beloved, Still let me love! 2. My days are in the yellow leaf; The flowers and fruits of love are gone; 3. The fire that on my bosom preys 4. The hope, the fear, the jealous care, And power of love, I cannot share, (1) [This morning Lord Byron came from his bedroom into the apart ment where Colonel Stanhope and some friends were assembled, and said with a smile" You were complaining, the other day, that I never write any poetry now. This is my birth-day, and I have just finished something, which, I think, is better than what I usually write." He then produced these noble and affecting verses. - COUNT GAMBA.] 5. But 'tis not thus-and 'tis not here Such thoughts should shake my soul, nor now, Where glory decks the hero's bier, Or binds his brow. 6. The sword, the banner, and the field, 7. Awake! (not Greece—she is awake!) 8. Tread those reviving passions down, 9. If thou regret'st thy youth, why live? Is here:-up to the field, and give |