that a ship has been seen in the offing. After a short apostrophe to tobacco, of which, after investigating its varied shapes, Lord Byron prefers its naked beauties—a cigar,' the figure of this sailor is described, and has given a subject to the very spirited engraving which is inserted here: Our sailor's jacket, though in ragged trim, His constant pipe, which never yet burned dim, Surveyed him in his garb heteroclite. Torquil hears his news with dismay, not because he fears the fate which he may have to endure, but because it brings with it the necessity of being separated from his loved and loving Neuha. The resistance which Christian and his comrades make against the pursuing crew of the ship is short and vain: the few who are not either killed or taken retreat to a rock, where they stand thus: Stern, and aloof a little from the rest, Stood Christian, with his arms across his chest. The ruddy, reckless, dauntless hue once spread A beacon which had cheered ten thousand nighis. Still the noise of the pursuit nears, and at this moment two canoes appear. Neuha is with them: she places Torquil in one; Christian, with the other survivors, enters the other; and they row away with the utmost rapidity, followed by the ship's boats. For the purpose of diverting the pursuers, the two canoes take separate courses. Neuba rows to a large rock, where to land was impossible-and where the hope of escape seemed to be cut off. While Torquil is beginning to despair, Neuha plunges into the water, and bids him follow her: They rested on their paddles, and uprose Neuha, and, pointing to the approaching foes, Hailed him to yield, and by his forfeit name. Headlong he leapt to him the swimmer's skill But how or where? He dived, and rose no more; Who left no marble (mournful as an heir); The quiet proa wavering o'er the tide Was all that told of Torquil and his bride; And but for this alone the whole might seem Glared in his figure, more than mortal tall ; But no-he had melted from them like the spray. Within this rock was a cavern, the existence of which was a secret to all but Neuha. After diving for a short time, she and her lover, who followed her, rose on the other side, and found a fafe and convenient asylum in the rocky cavern. Christian was, in the mean time, followed by the sailors, who had been baffled in their hope of taking Torquil. The mutineers land on a rugged rock, and sell their lives dearly: they are all killed, but not before many of their assailants have fallen. The manner of Christian's death is a vigorous picture : Christian died last-twice wounded; and once more Down the tube dashed it, levelled, fired, and smiled Cast one glance back, and clenched his hand, and shook With scarce a shred to tell of human form, Or fragment for the sea-bird or the worm; A fair-haired scalp, besmeared with blood and weeds, Neuha keeps her lover in safety in the cavern until the ship has left the shore; when she returns him to her wondering countrymen, who, to honour her courage and devotion, call the cavern Neuha's Cave' to this day. The general character of this poem is, that it is more tame-that it contains more of a quiet beauty, but not perhaps, therefore, less of beauty-than most of his previous publications. It was certainly a subject which pleased himself; and, although there is not great care evident in its construction, or elaborateness in its finish, it is full of interest and delightful excitement. In the early part of 1824 a drama was produced, called The Deformed Transformed.' It had long been talked of as having engaged Lord Byron's labours. It is founded upon a very horrible romance, called the Three Brothers;' the author of which is not certainly known, but who is supposed to have been the late M. G. Lewis. In the first scene Arnold, the hero of the drama, who is the youngest of seven sons, is driven from his paternal hovel by his mother, who loads him with abuse and reproach for no other than the very unnatural reason that he is deformed. The grief and despair which the youth feels at this cruel treatment impel him to get rid of a life which has become hateful to him he is about to destroy himself, when he sees a cloud issue from the neighbouring fountain. A tall black man comes from it, and approaches him. This, to be brief, is the devil himself, who offers to give Arnold, in exchange for the misshapen figure which he bears at present, his choice of the brightest forms that the world ever held. Arnold, startled at the offer, asks upon what terms. The devil replies: We will talk of that hereafter. But I'll be moderate with you, for I see Great things within you. You shall have no bond But your own will, no contract save your deeds. The demon then conjures up the shapes of Julius Cæsar, of Alcibiades, of Socrates, of Anthony, of the Macedonian Demetrius, and of Achilles, upon the last of which Arnold fixes his choice. The following speech of Arnold's will display that character of mind which the poet has meant to convey in his person : Had no Power presented me The possibility of change, I would Have done the best which Spirit may, to make The eyes of happier man. I would have looked Of all we know or dream of beautiful |