prepossessions, such sympathy with the forces of humanity in movement after freedom, such play of humour and passion, as Byron pours into the common stock, are no slight contributions. Europe does not need to make the discount upon Byron's claims to greatness that are made by his own country. j. A. SYMONDS. WHEN WE TWO PARTED. When we two parted In silence and tears, Half broken-hearted To sever for years, Pale grew thy cheek and colum The dew of the morning Sunk chill on my brow- They name thee before me, In secret we met In silence I grieve, That thy heart could forget, Thy spirit deceive. If I should meet thee After long years, How should I greet thee? With silence and tears. AND THOU ART DEAD, AS YOUNG AND FAIR. And thou art dead, as young and fair As aught of mortal birth; And form so soft, and charms so rare, There is an eye which could not brook I will not ask where thou liest low, There flowers or weeds at will may grow, It is enough for me to prove That what I loved, and long must love, To me there needs no stone to tell, Yet did I love thee to the last As fervently as thou, Who didst not change through all the past, The love where Death has set his seal, Nor age can chill, nor rival steal, Nor falsehood disavow: And, what were worse, thou canst not see Or wrong, or change, or fault in me. The better days of life were ours; The worst can be but mine: The sun that cheers, the storm that lowers, Shall never more be thine. The silence of that dreamless sleep That all those charms have pass'd away; The flower in ripen'd bloom unmatch'd Though by no hand untimely snatch'd, And yet it were a greater grief Since earthly eye but ill can bear I know not if I could have borne The night that follow'd such a morn Thy day without a cloud hath pass'd, As stars that shoot along the sky As once I wept, if I could weep, My tears might well be shed, Yet how much less it were to gain, The all of thine that cannot die Through dark and dread Eternity And more thy buried love endears February, 1812. FROM THE BRIDE OF ABYDOS.' Know ye the land where the cypress and myrtle Now melt into sorrow, now madden to crime! Where the flowers ever blossom, the beams ever shine; And the voice of the nightingale never is mute; Where the tints of the earth, and the hues of the sky, And the purple of ocean is deepest in dye; And all, save the spirit of man, is divine? 'Tis the clime of the East; 'tis the land of the Sun-Can he smile on such deeds as his children have done? Oh! wild as the accents of lovers' farewell Are the hearts which they bear, and the tales which they tell [From The Hebrew Melodies.] 1. SHE WALKS IN BEAUTY. She walks in beauty, like the night Of cloudless climes and starry skies; |