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the local particulars to which he alludes in the above note; and this gives a very striking air of reality to the whole.

The opening stanza describes, in few but powerful words, the situation of the famed city:

Many a vanished year and age,

And tempest's breath, and battle's rage,
Have swept o'er Corinth; yet she stands
A fortress formed to Freedom's hands.
The whirlwind's wrath, the earthquake's shock,
Have left untouched her hoary rock,

The keystone of a land, which still,
Though fallen, looks proudly on that hill,
The landmark to the double tide

That purpling rolls on either side,
As if their waters chafed to meet,
Yet pause and crouch beneath her feet.
But could the blood before her shed
Since first Timoleon's brother bled,
Or baffled Persia's despot fled,
Arise from out the earth which drank
The stream of slaughter as it sank,
That sanguine ocean would o'erflow
Her isthmus idly spread below:
Or could the bones of all the slain,
Who perished there, be piled again,

That rival pyramid would rise

More mountain-like, through those clear skies,

Than yon tower-capt Acropolis,

Which seems the very clouds to kiss.

Among the Moslem warriors assembled before the walls of Corinth, and then carrying on a fierce attack upon it, none was more renowned than the hero of the poem, Alp, the Adrian renegade:

From Venice-once a race of worth

His gentle sires-he drew his birth;
But, late an exile from her shore,
Against his countrymen he bore
The arms they taught to bear; and now
The turban girt his shaven brow.

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Published by J. Robins and Co London, February 26, 1825.

She's gone, who shared my diadem;

She sunk, with her my joys entombing;
I swept that flower from Judah's stem

Whose leaves for me alone were blooming :
And mine's the guilt, and mine the hell,

This bosom's desolation dooming;
And I have earned those tortures well,

Which unconsumed are still consuming!

It is not in good taste, to say the least of it, to attempt a paraphrase of the sublime psalm on which the following is founded. We only insert it that it may be seen how difficult it is even for so skilful a poet as Lord Byron to succeed in expressing the pathos and the simplicity of the Holy Scriptures in any other words than their own:

BY THE RIVERS OF BABYLON WE SAT DOWN AND

WEPT.

We sate down and wept by the waters

Of Babel, and thought of the day
When our foe, in the hue of his slaughters,
Made Salem's high places his prey;

And ye, oh her desolate daughters!

Were scattered all weeping away.

While sadly we gazed on the river
Which rolled on in freedom below,
They demanded the song; but, oh never
That triumph the stranger shall know!
May this right hand be withered for ever,
Ere it string our high harp for the foe!
On the willow that harp is suspended,

Oh Salem! its sound should be free;
And the hour when thy glories were ended
But left me that token of thee:

And ne'er shall its soft tones be blended
With the voice of the spoiler by me!

The following is a similar instance, and with this we conclude our extracts from a production in every way unworthy of Lord Byron : FROM JOB.

A spirit passed before me: I beheld

The face of Immortality unveiled

Deep sleep came down on every eye save mine-
And, there it stood,-all formless-but divine:
Along my bones the creeping flesh did quake;
And, as my damp hair stiffened, thus it spake:

Is man more just than God? Is man more pure
Than he who deems e'en seraphs insecure?
Creatures of clay-vain dwellers in the dust!
The moth survives you, and are ye more just? ·
Things of a day! you wither ere the night,

Heedless and blind to Wisdom's wasted light!'

Lord Byron soon afterwards published a poem called the 'Siege of Corinth.' The story relates to the siege of the year 1715, when the Turks conquered the city. The following advertisement contains the historical foundation of the poem :

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*

The grand army of the Turks (in 1715), under the Prime Vizier, to open to themselves a way into the heart of the Morea, and to form the siege of Napoli di Romania, the most considerable place in all that country, thought it best in the first place to attack Corinth, upon which they made several storms. The garrison being weakened, and the governor seeing it was impossible to hold out against so mighty a force, thought fit to beat a parley: but, while they were treating about the articles, one of the magazines in the Turkish camp, wherein they had six hundred barrels of powder, blew up by accident, whereby six or seven hundred men were killed; which so enraged the infidels, that they would not grant any capitulation, but stormed the place with so much fury, that they took it, and put most of the garrison, with Signior Minotti, the governor, to the sword. The rest, with Antonio Bembo, proveditor extraordinary, were made prisoners of war.'

History of the Turks, vol. iii. p. 151.. Lord Byron amply availed himself of that personal knowledge of * Napoli di Romania is not now the most considerable place in the Morea, but Tripolitza, where the Pacha resides, and maintains his government. Napoli is near Argos. I visited all three in 1810-11; and in the course of journeying through the country, from my first arrival in 1809, I crossed the isthmus eight times in my way from Attica to the Morea, over the mountains, or in the other direction, when passing from the gulf of Athens to that of Lepanto. Both the routes are picturesque and beautiful, though very different: that by sea has more sameness, but the voyage being always within sight of land, and often very near it, presents many attractive views of the islands Salamis, Egina, Poro, &c. and the coast of the continent.

the local particulars to which he alludes in the above note; and this gives a very striking air of reality to the whole.

The opening stanza describes, in few but powerful words, the situation of the famed city :

Many a vanished year and age,

And tempest's breath, and battle's rage,
Have swept o'er Corinth; yet she stands
A fortress formed to Freedom's hands.
The whirlwind's wrath, the earthquake's shock,
Have left untouched her hoary rock,

The keystone of a land, which still,
Though fallen, looks proudly on that hill,
The landmark to the double tide

That purpling rolls on either side,
As if their waters chafed to meet,
Yet pause and crouch beneath her feet.
But could the blood before her shed
Since first Timoleon's brother bled,
Or baffled Persia's despot fled,
Arise from out the earth which drank
The stream of slaughter as it sank,
That sanguine ocean would o'erflow
Her isthmus idly spread below:
Or could the bones of all the slain,
Who perished there, be piled again,

That rival pyramid would rise

More mountain-like, through those clear skies,

Than yon tower-capt Acropolis,

Which seems the very clouds to kiss.

Among the Moslem warriors assembled before the walls of Corinth, and then carrying on a fierce attack upon it, none was more renowned than the hero of the poem, Alp, the Adrian renegade:

From Venice-once a race of worth

His gentle sires-he drew his birth;
But, late an exile from her shore,
Against his countrymen he bore

The arms they taught to bear; and now
The turban girt his shaven brow.

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