At last He fell, and sorrow wreath'd his form,
His beautiful form in Darkness,-and the Night
Of Ignorance rose o'er him,-and the storm
Making all desolate eclips'd the light.

Wm. Mac Laurin, London.

"So stars that shoot along the sky

Seem brightest when they fall from high."

1828, Aug. 30.

Sept. 12.

Miss Pearson, Sheffield.

Sept. 14.

BYRON.

Mr. Fred. Walker, Nottingham.

Geo. Dakeyne.

Geo. Dakeyne, jun. 63, Lincoln's Inn

Fields, London.

Henry Mitchell, London.

Elizabeth Dakeyne.

Sir Frans. S. Darwin and party.

Edwin W. Field, London.

Mr. Chas. Fellows, London.

Robt. Hancock, Basford.
James Whittle, Nottingham.
Joseph Marriott, Nottingham.
Benj. Bown, Nottingham.
John Derrick, Nottingham.

Richd. Foster, Nottingham.

ALBUM.

1828, Sept. 2. Jno. Savage.

William Cant, London.

123

Lines composed by William Cant, who was born in the Village of Annesley Woodhouse, 1777, now residing at No. 5, Crawford St. Marylebone, London.

From darkness rose a hollow sound
As we past slowly by,

How sad our looks, we gazed around,
Alas! do Poets die.

Thick darkness now had veil'd our mind,
And silent thought now strayed,
Toss'd to and fro, no peace could find,
Each pulse, appear'd afraid.

Did sov'reign grace with shining rays
Disperse those gloomy hours,

Did love's fond raptures turn to blaze,
To warm thy dying powers.

Did faith advance, while love drew near,
To warm thy heart to prayer,
Thy pulse now ceas'd no more refus'd
The soul, triumphant through the air.

We now can say, here Byron lay,

In thoughts we view his charms,

The bud's now clos'd, what sweet repose,

In love's unblemish'd arms.

That dust shall wake when mountains break,

And sea gives up her dead,

Wide open to view the fiery lake,

And then the Lamb that bled

Whose charms invite the Poet's flight

To sing eternal lays,

Darkness no more obscures the light,

Transforming glory's blaze.

No more thy heart provoke thy tongue,
No more thy bosom sigh,

Thy lips no more sweet tunes prolong,
The drooping willows die.

Our languid footsteps slowly mov'd,
We look'd, we gaz'd, we sigh'd,
Ye slothful wealthy, I'll reprove,

A monument in England's pride.

Go search the tombs where monarchs lay,
Not far from Egypt's shore,

To Golgotha thought flies away,

To view the marble shores.

Thought wings her way from lonesome night,

From where the Poet slept,

Wide o'er the sea, bright stars gave light,
Thought sigh'd provok'd, and wept.

The widow's tears for reasons flow
Rachel in a cavern weep,

In deeper caverns' greater woes,
The hoary head retires to sleep.

Ye Grecians! naked and forlorn,
Byron's dead! alas, no more,
Sons of freedom! where he's borne,
Thundering cannons louder roar.

Shall thy name by us be slighted?
No, not even on our shore,
While kind freedom's arm respite us,
Joys awake, to sleep no more.

Rejoice ye hills, ye springs spread wide,
Oppression cease for ever more,
Blow, gentle breeze, from Jordan's side,
Enrich the waste lands near the shore.

Awake, kind Freedom, spread thy power,
Heal the wounds, so long hath bled;
Grecians; hail the precious hour,

Mahomet, Prince of darkness, dead.

1828, Sept. 21. Joseph Carr, Engraver, Hound's-gate Nottingham, visited this place for the first time to witness the funeral of Lady Byron (nother of the much lamented late Lord Byron), August 9th, 1811, whose coffin plate I engraved, and now I once more revisit the spot to drop a tear, as a tribute of unfeigned respect to the mortal remains of that noble British Bard

'Tho' lost to sight, to memory dear.'

Oct. 16. John Moore, Grosvenor-street West,
London.

Byron! to tread where thou hast trod-to see
What thou hast gaz'd on-woods, and streams, and fields;
Perchance thy inspiration was to day

My destiny-and also is a bliss

Which shall not from my memory pass away.

And now I come to gaze upon thy grave

And shrine my soul within my written name,

To bend a viewless statue over thee
For evermore-to weep and to regret
A sun so glorious should so early set.

Henry Moore, London.
Olive Moore, Nottingham.
J. S. Howitt, Nottingham.

Henry Sayer, Surveyor, Rickmansworth,

Herts.

Joseph Frith, Sheffield.

"All Greece shall be his monument, when the fane from which he is now excluded shall be itself a ruin and

a tomb."

"Sydney."

1828, Nov. 21.

Dec. 1.

Dec. 7.

Lieut.-Colonel D'Aguilar.

Eliza D'Aguilar.

Lt. Colonel James Hughes, of Llysdulles.
Samuel Reed Thurman, Nottingham.

126

ALBUM.

1829, Jan. 20.

John Wilson, Manchester.

"I stood beside the grave of him who blazed
The meteor of a season."-BYRON.

Pause, gentle reader, here, and weave thy wreath
Where hapless Byron sleeps in early death!
Let fairest roses, palest lilies join

With earliest violets and the laughing vine:
Yet, O, let darkest cypress add her leaf,
To tell each fond admirer's heartfelt grief!

Within this consecrated wall lies one

Who once was England's wildest-wayward son ;
But when in future days her tale is told,
'Mongst many children valiant, sage, or bold
Scarce shall the spirit-stirring voice of fame
Record in all that list a brighter name!

His death was sudden, and his life a waste,
He sigh'd for glories which he would not taste,
Contempt for others was his chiefest bane,
Yet praise he sought, and almost sought in vain.
Lie lightly on his breast, thou mother earth,
O hide his sins, yet give us all his worth.

Those are all written in the books on high,
Where busy, meddling fools can never pry.
-Your God is merciful as well as just,
Or where were all your hopes, ye sons of dust?
Yet if the wish that once he breath'd below
Did from his heart, indeed, sincerely flow-

If 'twas his dearest hope, his living line
With his land's language should for ever twine-
Great Bard! the wish is won. In every clime,
In every age down to the wreck of time
Shall all posterity confess thy claim,

And with Britannia join her BYRON's name!

W. J. Butler, Feb. 1829.