guarding the coast from smuggling, and enforcing the quarantine laws. This view was however mistaken the means of bringing about this reform or revolt may be considered, the object of his whole life and writings seems to have been to develope them. This is particularly observable in his next work, the 'Prometheus Unbound,' a bold attempt to revive the play of Eschylus. This drama shews an acquaintance with the Greek tragedians that perhaps no other person possessed in an equal degree; and was written at Rome in the flowercovered ruins of the Baths of Caracalla. Here also he formed into a tragedy the story of The Cenci:' which, but for the harrowing nature of the subject, would not have failed to obtain the greatest success, both on the stage and in the closet. After passing several months at Naples, he bounded by an immense extent of the Italian Alps, which are here particularly picturesque finally settled in Tuscany, where he passed with an amiable wife the last four years of his life in domestic retirement, and intense application. His acquirements were great. He was perhaps the best classic in Europe. The books he considered as the models of style in prose and poetry were Plato and the Greek dramatists. He made himself equally master of the modern languages: Calderon in Spanish, Petrarch and Dante in Italian, and Goethe in German, were his favourite authors. French poetry he never read; and said he never could understand the beauty of Racine's verses. Discouraged by the ill success of his writings; persecuted by the malice of reviewers, to which, however, he was indifferent-for the last three years, though he continued to write, he had almost given up publishing. There were only two from their volcanic and manifold appearances, and which being composed of white occasions that induced him to deviate from the resolution. His ardent love of liberty inspired him to write 'Hellas, or the Triumph of Greece,' since translated into Greek, which he dedicated to his friend Prince Mavrocordato:-and his attachment to Keats produced an Elegy, that he entitled 'Adonais.' This is perhaps the most finished and beautiful of all his compositions, and the one he considered his best. I cannot give a fairer specimen of his style and manner, or a better portrait of Shelley, than the one he drew of himself in this poem, and afterwards expunged from it. "'Mid others of less note came one frail form, A phantom among men, companionless As the last cloud of an expiring storm, Whose thunder is its knell;-he, as I guess, marble, exhibit on their summits the resem blance of snow. Had gazed on Nature's naked loveliness Actæon-like; and now he fled astray With feeble steps o'er the world's wilderness, And his own thoughts along that rugged way Pursued, like raging hounds, their father and their prey. His head was bound with pansies overblown, And faded violets, white and pied and blue; And a light spear topp'd with a cypress cone, (Round whose rough stem dark ivy tresses grew, Yet dripping with the forest's noonday dew,) Vibrated as the ever beating heart Shook the weak hand that grasp'd it ;-of that crew He came the last, neglected and apart, A herd-abandon'd deer, struck by the hunter's dart." As a foreground to this picture appeared as extraordinary a group. Lord Byron and The last eighteen months of his short but eventful life (he used to say he had lived to an hundred) were passed in daily intercourse with Lord Byron, to whom the amiability, gentleness, and elegance of his manners, and his great talents and acquirements, had endeared him. Like his friend, he wished to die young, and he perished in the 30th year of his age in the Mediterranean, between Leghorn and Lerici, in a storm, from the upsetting of an open boat. The sea had ever been his great delight; and in the following lines, written as early as 1814, he seems to have anticipated that it would prove his grave: "To-morrow comes: Cloud after cloud with dark and deep'ning mass |