SUN OF THE SLEEPLESS. BY LORD BYRON. 37 Sun of the sleepless! melancholy star! So gleams the past, the light of other days, A night-beam sorrow watcheth to behold, Distinct, but distant; clear-but, oh how cold! IMITATED. TO THE HONOURABLE Son of the faithless melancholy rat! K ENGLISH MELODIES. No. V. "THE Leader's Lament," which we lay before our readers, in this number, is a happy imitation of the lines, which have within this day or two appeared, entitled "Fare thee well," and attributed to the pen of Lord BYRON; and we think we may venture to say, that though our imitation does not crawl servilely on all fours, it possesses almost as much tenderness and pathos as the original:* THE LEADER'S LAMENT. BY THE RIGHT HON. GEORGE PONSONBY. Still for Easter fare ye well- 'Gainst the Serjeant none rebel. * I have not thought it necessary to reprint this original, for several reasons. -E. On those seats no longer snore ye, Would, before the Session's over, Then at last they might discover "Tis not well to snouch* me so. If ye do not choose to cheer me, my adherents are, Ye, who Though I may grow rather prozy, Why must you, the first, get dozy? Why, the first, go home to bed? * Mr. Ponsonby on some occasion had used the word snouch, with what meaning is not clear.-E. Yet-oh yet-yourselves deceive not- Still those ministerial faces Grin at us- -still ours look blueAnd our curse!-they keep their places Still, whate'er we say or do. Then when "Ay," they loudly hollow, And are all prepared to follow When I to the lobby go?— If my rival BROUGHAM should press ye, ye sorely thus distress me, Poor old Snouch thus turn away? Will |