The same, who overthrew in ages past
Damascus' sons that lay'd Samaria waste!
'Thou, therefore, (as the most afflicted may,)
Still hope, and triumph, o'er thy evil day!
Look forth, expecting happier times to come,
And to enjoy, once more my native home!

The first verses in the volume, on finding the heel of a Shoe at Bath, are in the manner of the Splendid Shilling, and display at the age of seventeen that exuberant humour which attended our author in after-life. The Epistle to Lloyd is full of liveliness, and that to Lady Austen unites innocent gaiety with just and dignified reflection. The dialogue between the Pipe and the Snuff-box is a counterpart to the Report of an Adjudged Case, not to be found in any of the Books: the Colubriad is of the same stamp. The following tribute of praise to the memory of Ashley Cowper, Esq. has great merit.

"Farewell! endued with all that could engage
All hearts to love thee, both in youth and age!
In prime of life, for sprightliness enroll'd
Among the gay, yet virtuous as the old d;
In life's last stage-O blessings rarely found---
Pleasant as youth with all its blossoms crown'd:
Through ev'ry period of this changeful state
Unchang'd thyself---wise, good, affectionate!

" Marble may flatter; and lest this should seem
O'ercharged with praises on so dear a theme,
Although thy worth be more than half supprest,
Love shall be satisfied, and veil the rest.'

The fragment on the Four Ages might have been the introduction to a second Task:' that on the Yardley Oak is, perhaps, the most characteristic specimen of Cowper; with his usual alloy of homeliness, and want of selection, it exhibits a copiousness of thought and expression, worthy of Dryden or Cowley. We close our extracts with the following

beautiful sonnet-.

'To Mrs. UNWIN.

Mary! I want a lyre with other strings,

Such aid from heav'n as some have feign'd they drew,
An eloquence scarce giv'n to mortals, new

And undebas'd by praise of meaner things, :
That ere through age or woe I shed my wings,

I may record thy worth with honour due,
In verse as musical as thou art true,
And that immortalizes whom it sings.
But thou hast little need. There is a book
By seraphs writ with beams of heav'nly light,
On which the eyes of God not rarely look,
A chronicle of actions just and bright:
There all my deeds, my faithful Mary, shine,
And since thou own'st that praise, I spare thee mine.'

REMARKS on LORD BYRON'S POEMS.

Distinguished by title and descent from an illustrious line of ancestry, Lord Byron shewed, even in his earliest years, that nature had added to those advantages the richest gifts of genius and fancy. His own tale is partly told in two lines of Lara :

'Left by his sire, two young such loss to know,
Lord of himself, that heritage of woe.'-

It was in 1812, when Lord Byron returned to England, that Childe Harold's Pilgrimage made its first appearance, producing an effect upon the public, at least equal to any work which has appeared within this or the last century. Reading is indeed so general among all ranks and classes, that the impulse received by the public mind on such occasions is instantaneous through all but the very lowest classes of society, instead of being slowly communicated from one set of readers to another, as was the case in the days of our fathers. The Pilgrimage,' acting on such an extensive medium, was calculated to rouse and arrest the attention in a peculiar degree. The fictitious personage, whose sentiments, however, no one could help identifying with those of the author himself, presented himself with an avowed disdain of all the attributes which most men would be gladly supposed to possess. Childe Harold is represented as one satiated by indulgence in pleasure, and seeking in change of place and clime a relief from the tedium of a life

which glided on without an object. The assuming of such a character as the medium of communicating his poetry and his sentiments indicated a feeling towards the public, which, if it fell short of contemning their favour, disdained, at least, all attempt to propitiate them. Yet the very audacity of this repulsive personification, joined to the energywith which it was supported, and to the indications of a bold, powerful, and original mind which glanced through every line of the poem, electrified the mass of readers, and placed at once upon Lord Byron's head the garland for which other men of genius have toiled long, and which they have gained late. He was placed pre-eminent among the literary men of his country by general acclamation. Those who had so rigorously censured his juvenile essays, and perhaps dreaded such another field,' were the first to pay warm and, we believe sincere homage to his matured ef forts; while others, who saw in the sentiments of Childe Harold much to regret and to censure, did not withhold their tribute of applause to the depth of thought, the power and force of expression, the beauty of description, and the energy of sentiment which animated the Pilgrimage.' If the volume was laid aside for a moment, under the melancholy and unpleasing impression that it seemed calculated to chase hope from the side of man, and to dim his prospects both of this life and futurity, it was immediately and almost involuntarily assumed again, as our feeling of the author's genius predominated over our dislike to contemplate the gloomy views of human nature which it was his pleasure to place before us. Something was set down to the angry tecollection of his first failure, which might fairly authorize so high a mind to hold the world's opinion in contempt; something was allowed for the recent family losses to which the poem alluded, and under the feeling of which it had been partly written and it seemed to most readers as if gentler and more kindly features were, at times, seen to glance from under the cloud of misanthropy, which the author had flung around his hero. Thus, as all admired the Pilgrimage of Childe Harold, all were prepared to greet the author with that fame which is the poet's best reward, and which is chiefly and most justly due to one who, in these exhausted days, strikes out a new and original line of composition.

To be continued.

LINES.

"YOUNG LOVE ONCE LIVED”

MOORE.

Through these still woods an Infant stray'd,
A glowing child of matchless grace;

Through trembling leaves the sunbeams play'd,
And lightly sparkled o'er his face.
His eyes, the lustre of his brow,
So brightly shot, or blithely beam'd
O'er his complexion, that they seem'd
Sweet starlight o'er a world of snow.
His cheeks, fine golden hair was shading,
Which idly little hands were brading,-
His cheeks, the young boy's only wealth,
Were rich in comeliness and health :-
He seem'd in very carelessness to rove-
And oft with flowers he lingered

:

was it love?

J. H. R.

THE UNFORTUNATE RECLUSE.

(Conlinued from page 96.)

This they did for two hours; when, crossing the straight, Schabraco coasted the shore, till a small inlet appearing, overshadowed by some vast trees, the felucca made towards it, and was soon hidden by the shady covering. To follow any farther was dangerous; at least so argued the boatmen. Rinaldo entreated,-commanded, but in vain. They would wait, if he chose to land; and with this argument he was ob liged to comply.

A few stepping stones soon delivered him on the shore and, mounting a small eminence, he perceived the gothic points of an irregular edifice upon the horizon, which the mild ray of a setting sun rendered tolerably conspicuous. To the north and west end of his situation all was wild and dreary. Vast woods, deep and dangerous dales, with barren hills, formed a comfortless prospect; when the sight of Scha braco, in a sort of rude path leading from the water, quickened his curiosity as he watched him making towards the building in question.

Determined, then, to gratify the desire he had conceived to develope the mystery of Schabraco, he hastily descended, and making a lucrative bargain with the men to stay for him till midnight, which they unwillingly promised, once more ascended to his station, to look for a path that might lead towards the house, which he now supposed to be the Signor's habitation, but no track could be discerned that might favor his intention; but it was evident from the increasing gloom, that he should not only lose all traces of the edifice, but of its inhabitant, for so his fancy had decided the Signor, whom he could dimly notice as he slowly drew towards his home. To pursue him immediately argued the most incautious conduct; but caution, at that moment, formed no part of Rinaldo's character, and he hazarded the safety of his person with very little reluctance.

Taking, then, the most probable direction, he walked swiftly onward, and, by the time Schabraco totally disappeared, found himself in a path skirted with oak, that led to a ruined pavilion, beyond this he caught a glimpse of the building; and, looking up, observed a light stream from one of its windows Rinaldo paused, to ask himself a very necessary question "To what purpose had he plunged into danger? (for danger there certainly was in the experi ment he was making) What motive could he urge in favour