Perhaps no subject has been more frequently canvassed, and more entirely misunderstood, than the religious sentiments of Lord Byron; and it is more than probable, that the philosophic doubts he has sometimes poetically thrown out, may have given rise to the volumes of calumny and abuse which have been heaped on him. The truth is, that under a singularly playful manner, he was wrapped in profound meditation; and it not unfrequently occurred, that he would throw into the conviviality of the moment, the disjointed reflections of his contemplative mind. It must however be added, that these sallies were too often made the subject of grave examination, and sometimes of malicious construction. On the occasion of his presenting me with these verses, I could not refrain from remarking that the monosyllable (if) with which it commenced, would doubtless form the ground of very grave condemnation. He smiled, and observed, that there were two distinct classes of readers, especially of poetry: the one could understand and appreciate the feelings of a writer, without making every imaginative thought the foundation of a judgment on his principles; the other could neither understand nor judge of any thing but matter of fact-line and rule critics with whom he never had any great ambition to become a favorite. It followed that my suggestion was treated as an assertion-numerous attacks were

made on the noble author's religion, and in some, an inference of atheism was drawn.

In a subsequent conversation, he observed to me, "they accuse me of atheism—an atheist I could never be-no man of reflection, can feel otherwise than doubtful and anxious, when reflecting on futurity. Yet," continued he, rising hastily from his seat, and pacing the room,

"It must be so-'tis not for self,

That we so tremble on the brink."

"Alas! Nathan, we either know too little, or feel too much on this subject; and if it be criminal to speculate on it, (as the gentlemen critics say) I fear I must ever remain an awful offender."

SINCE our country, our God-oh, my sire! Demand that thy daughter expire;

Since thy triumph was bought by thy vowStrike the bosom that's bared to thee now.

And the voice of my mourning is o'er,
And the mountains behold me no more:
If the hand that I love lay me low,
There cannot be pain in the blow!

And of this, oh, my father! be sure-
That the blood of thy child is as pure

As the blessing I beg ere it flow,

And the last thought that soothes me below.

Though the virgins of Salem lament,
Be the judge and the hero unbent!

I have won the great battle for thee,
And my father and country are free.

When this blood of thy giving hath gush'd,
When the voice that thou lovest is hush'd,
Let my memory still be thy pride,

And forget not I smiled as I died!

The vows of the ancients, made either in memory of miraculous deliverances, such as the vanquishing of an enemy, or any event of importance, were held as inviolable by the Jewish nation, and those feelings were no less cherished by the Greeks and Romans, even to an unnatural extent.

The filial affection pourtrayed by the daughter of Jephtha is finely expressed in this melody; the submission to that which she considered the imperative duty of a parent, and the soothing, the overwhelming sorrow not only of her father but of the virgin daughters of Salem, are expressed in language well suited to the lamentable tale.

When the last anguish is over, and the stillness of death reigns in the mortal remains of his beloved daughter, she pathetically invokes her father to cherish her memory, and to bear in remembrance that she

was a willing victim, and resigned her life with a smile on her countenance.

It is well known that the tale of Jeptha's sacrifice is involved in much obscurity. The number of instances of fabulous history of a similar mode` of appeasing the gods appears to refer its origin to Greece, the fountain head of all that is romantic. (a)

(a) Some of the literati of the present day, whom I have had occasion to consult on this subject, appear to treat the matter altogether as fictitious. There are, however, many homogeneous narratives, recorded by various writers, which give at least strong colouring to the probability of its authenticity, leaving out of question the indiscreet and barbarous rashness of vows so revolting to common humanity, and to all laws of nature, and the improbability of such moustrous sacrifices proving acceptable to the most high and wonderful Architect of the Universe, whom we are led to believe "all mercy and goodness."

In the History of Telemachus, Idomeneus-the son of Deucalion, and grandson to Minos, who went with the rest of the Grecian kings to the siege of Troy, was, on his return to Crete, surprised by so violent a storm, that the pilot and most experienced mariners in the ship thought they would inevitably be cast away—is made to invoke Neptune in these words :—“ O powerful God! who commandest the empire of the sea, vouchsafe to hear the prayers of the distressed. If thou deliverest me from the fury of the winds, and bringest me again safe to Crete, the first head I see shall fall by my own hands, a sacrifice to thy deity!"

In the meantime the son of Idomeneus, impatient to see his father again, made haste to meet and embrace him at his landing.