CHURCHILL'S GRAVE; A FACT LITERALLY RENDERED. I STOOD beside the grave of him who blazed The Gardener of that ground, why it might be That for this plant strangers his memory task'd Through the thick deaths of half a century; And thus he answer'd-" Well, I do not know Why frequent travellers turn to pilgrims so; He died before my day of Sextonship, And I had not the digging of this grave." And is this all? I thought, and do we rip The veil of Immortality? and crave I know not what of honour and of light (1) [On the sheet containing the original draught of these lines, Lord Byron has written :-"The following poem (as most that I have endeavoured to write) is founded on a fact; and this detail is an attempt at a serious imitation of the style of a great poet-its beauties and its defects: I say, the style; for the thoughts I claim as my own. In this, if there be any thing ridiculous, let it be attributed to me, at least as much as to Mr. Wordsworth; of whom there can exist few greater admirers than myself. I have blended what I would deem to be the beauties as well as defects of his style; and it ought to be remembered, that, in such things, whether there be praise or dispraise, there is always what is called a compliment, however unintentional."-E] For Earth is but a tombstone, did essay Thus spoke he, "I believe the man of whom And therefore travellers step from out their way Your honour pleases," then most pleased I From out my pocket's avaricious nook [shook(') Some certain coins of silver, which as 'twere Perforce I gave this man, though I could spare So much but inconveniently:-Ye smile, I see ye, ye profane ones! all the while, Because my homely phrase the truth would tell. You are the fools, not I-for I did dwell With a deep thought, and with a soften'd eye, On that Old Sexton's natural homily, In which there was Obscurity and Fame, The Glory and the Nothing of a Name. (2) (1) [Originally Diodati, 1816. "then most pleased, I shook My inmost pocket's most retired nook, And out fell five and sixpence." — E.] (1) [The Grave of Churchill might have called from Lord Byron a deeper commemoration; for, though they generally differed in character and genius, there was a resemblance between their history and character. The satire of Churchill flowed with a more profuse, though not a more embittered, stream; while, on the other hand, he cannot be compared to Lord Byron in point of tenderness or imagination. But both these poets PROMETHEUS. I. TITAN! to whose immortal eyes Were not as things that gods despise ; The rock, the vulture, and the chain, Until its voice is echoless. II. Titan! to thee the strife was given The ruling principle of Hate, held themselves above the opinion of the world, and both were followed by the fame and popularity which they seemed to despise. The writings of both exhibit an inborn, though sometimes ill-regulated, generosity of mind, and a spirit of proud independence, frequently pushed to extremes. Both carried their hatred of hypocrisy beyond the verge of prudence, and indulged their vein of satire to the borders of licentiousness. Both died in the flower of their age in a foreign land. - SIR WALTER SCOTT.] Which for its pleasure doth create Refused thee even the boon to die: Was thine-and thou hast borne it well. That in his hand the lightnings trembled. III. Thy Godlike crime was to be kind, The sum of human wretchedness, Still in thy patient energy, In the endurance, and repulse Of thine impenetrable Spirit, Which Earth and Heaven could not convulse, A mighty lesson we inherit : Thou art a symbol and a sign To Mortals of their fate and force; Like thee, Man is in part divine, A troubled stream from a pure source; And Man in portions can foresee His wretchedness, and his resistance, And a firm will, and a deep sense, Its own concenter'd recompense, Diodati, July, 1816. A FRAGMENT. ["COULD I REMOUNT," &c.] COULD I remount the river of my years Into the number of the nameless tides. * * What is this Death? -a quiet of the heart? Of all which lives alone is life to me, And being so - the absent are the dead, Who haunt us from tranquillity, and spread |