SUN OF THE SLEEPLESS.

BY LORD BYRON.

Sun of the sleepless! melancholy star!

Whose tearful beam glows tremulously far,
That show'st the darkness thou can'st not dispel,
How like art thou to joy remembered well!

So gleams the past, the light of other days,

Which shines, but warms not, with its powerless rays, 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!
Whose circling sleeve still polishes thy hat,
Offering at once thyself and it to sell;

How like art thou to him remembered well,
The apostate Lord, the rat of other days,
Enrich'd, but never warm'd by Royal rays!
The rising Sun still watching to behold;

Clever, but callous; shrewd-but tame and cold.

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.

Fare

ye well-and if for Easter

Still for Easter fare

ye well

Till the call ye now released are,

'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,
Seats so often filled by you,

While that placid sleep came o'er ye,
Which my speeches lull'd ye to.

Would, before the Session's over,
That the house could hear me through,

Then at last they might discover

Though I may grow rather prozy,

Though my jokes fall flat and dead,

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

Though it be a bore to stay,

Thus to treat your Chief, believe not,

Can to office pave the way.

Still those ministerial faces

Grin at us -still ours look blue

And

our curse!—they keep their places

Still, whate'er we say or do.

Then when "Ay," they loudly hollow,

Will ye stoutly echo "No!"

And are all prepared to follow
When I to the lobby go?-

If rival BROUGHAM should press ye, my

Listen not to him, I pray

Will ye sorely thus distress me,

Poor old Snouch thus turn away?