She's gone, who shared my diadem;

She sunk, with her my joys entombing:
I swept that flower from Judah's stem
Whose leaves for me alone were blooming.
And mine's the guilt, and mine the hell,
This bosom's desolation dooming;

And I have earn'd those tortures well,

Which unconsumed are still consuming!

The agonies of grief are expressed in this melody with the full force of imagery so natural in Lord Byron's writings.

Herod is deeply touched with the pangs of remorse for the rash act he had committed; the sense of Mariamne's innocence stands arrayed before him in vivid colours, and calls forth those ravings of phrenzy which rendered his existence truly miserable: the pleasures of the past recoil upon his recollection, he curses his existence, and from this period all happiness is for ever banished from his breast.

Although the following anecdote may tell rather to my disadvantage, I cannot resist the impulse of committing to paper any point that may assist me in establishing the amiable qualities which Lord Byron really possessed, and more especially as this tends to shew his gentlemanly compliance, and readiness to

make proper and just allowances for unconscious and unintentional offences.

At the time his Lordship was writing for me the poetry to these melodies, he felt anxious to facilitate my views in preserving as much as possible the original airs, for which purpose he would frequently consult me regarding the style and metre of his stanzas. I accordingly desired to be favored with so many lines pathetic, some playful, others martial, &c. One evening, when his Lordship was obligingly submitting to my wishes in that respect, I unfortunately (while absorbed for a moment in worldly affairs) requested so many dull lines-meaning plaintive. His Lordship, observing that I was wrapt up in deep meditation, and understanding my real meaning, instantly caught at the expression, which so much tickled his fancy, that he was convulsed with laughter, and exclaimed, "Well, Nathan! you have at length set me an easy task." This afforded him amusement for the rest of the evening, and observing my confusion whenever his eye met mine, he would occasionally make some witty allusion to the dull lines, until I enjoyed the joke equally with himself. The result, however, proved very fortunate for me, for before we parted he presented me these beautifully pathetic lines, saying, "Here, Nathan, I think you will find them dull enough."

THOU WHOSE SPELL CAN RAISE THE

DEAD.

SAUL.

THOU whose spell can raise the dead,
Bid the prophet's form appear.

"Samuel, raise thy buried head!

66

King, behold the phantom seer!"

Earth yawn'd; he stood the centre of a cloud:
Light changed its hue, retiring from his shroud.
Death stood all glassy in the fixed eye:
His hand was withered, and his veins were dry;
His foot, in bony whiteness, glittered there,
Shrunken, and sinewless, and ghastly bare:
From lips that mov'd not, and unbreathing frame,
Like cavern'd winds the hollow accents came.
Saul saw, and fell to earth, as falls the oak,
At once, and blasted by the thunder-stroke.

Why is my sleep disquieted?

"Who is he that calls the dead?
"Is it thou, Oh King? Behold

"Bloodless are these limbs, and cold:
"Such are mine; and such shall be
"Thine, to-morrow, when with me:
"Ere the coming day is done,
"Such shalt thou be, such thy son.
"Fare thee well, but for a day;
"Then we mix our mouldering clay.
"Thou, thy race, lie pale and low,
"Pierced by shafts of many a bow;
"And the falchion by thy side,

"To thy heart, thy hand shall guide:
"Crownless, breathless, headless fall,
"Son and sire, the house of Saul!"

Whatever subject may occupy the attention of a great mind is worthy of record. In the composition of the sublime lines which form the foregoing melody I had frequent opportunities of conversation with Lord Byron, in which, without any intention of recalling the exploded crime of witchcraft to the reader's re

membrance, it must be observed that his Lordship felt some reluctance to add any thing-even his imagination, to the establishment of a belief so fatal to old women in Judge Hale's time. On delivering the lines he reverted to that subject even with a feeling of indignation, (not very usual with him) and told me it was somewhat difficult to touch on such a history without in some degree encountering the contempt of the moderns, who deservedly execrated the cruel judges who thought proper to execute a law on witches. My reply was, that whatever he had written on that subject must preserve him from contempt. How far he has succeeded in rendering the situation one of sublime effect is not necessary for me to observe. I felt a difficulty in the composition, because I saw the height of beauty his lines had reached, and I trembled least he had soared too high for my imagination's accompaniment: it was therefore with some apprehension I rehearsed the composition to him, and I scarcely need add what delight I felt in discovering his Lordship's enthusiasm in the repetition of his own writing "Why is my sleep disquieted, &c." continued after its performance, and he declared that the passage would haunt him. With perfect good humour he assured me the next morning, that he had greeted some early intruder with what he could recollect of that passage. It is hoped I shall be pardoned when