STANZAS WRITTEN ON THE ROAD BETWEEN FLORENCE AND PISA. (1)

I.

Он, talk not to me of a name great in story;
The days of our youth are the days of our glory;
And the myrtle and ivy of sweet two-and-twenty
Are worth all your laurels, though ever so plenty.

II.

What are garlands and crowns to the brow that is wrinkled?

'Tis but as a dead-flower with May-dew besprinkled. Then away with all such from the head that is hoary! What care I for the wreaths that can only give glory?

III.

Oh FAME! (2)—if I e'er took delight in thy praises, 'Twas less for the sake of thy high sounding phrases, Than to see the bright eyes of the dear one discover She thought that I was not unworthy to love her.

(1) ["I composed these stanzas (except the fourth, added now) a few days ago, on the road from Florence to Pisa."-B. Diary, Pisa, 6th Nov. 1821.]

(2) [In the same Diary, we find the following painfully interesting passage:- As far as FAME goes (that is to say, living Fame), I have had my share, perhaps - indeed, certainly – -more than my deserts. Some odd instances have occurred to my own experience of the wild and strange places to which a name may penetrate, and where it may impress. Two years ago (almost three, being in August, or July, 1819) — I received at Ravenna a letter in English verse from Drontheim in Norway, written by

IV.

There chiefly I sought thee, there only I found thee; Her glance was the best of the rays that surround

thee;

[story, When it sparkled o'er aught that was bright in my I knew it was love, and I felt it was glory.

In the same

a Norwegian, and full of the usual compliments, &c. &c. month I received an invitation into Holstein, from a Mr. Jacobson, I think, of Hamburgh; also (by the same medium) a translation of Medora's song in the Corsair,' by a Westphalian baroness (not Thunderton-tronck'), with some original verses of hers (very pretty and Klopstockish), and a prose translation annexed to them, on the subject of my wife. As they concerned her more than me, I sent them to her with Mr. Jacobson's letter. It was odd enough to receive an invitation to pass the summer in Holstein, while in Italy, from people I never knew. The letter was addressed to Venice. Mr. J. talked to me of the wild roses growing in the Holstein summer:' why, then, did the Cimbri and the Teutones emigrate? -What a strange thing is life and man! Were I to present myself at the door of the house where my daughter now is, the door would be shut in my face, unless (as is not impossible) I knocked down the porter; and if I had gone in that year (and perhaps now) to Drontheim (the furthest town in Norway), or into Holstein, I should have been received with open arms into the mansions of strangers and foreigners attached to me by no tie but that of mind and rumour. As far as Fame goes, I have had my share it has, indeed, been leavened by other human contingencies; and this in a greater degree than has occurred to most literary men of a decent rank in life; but, on the whole, I take it that such equipoise is the condition of humanity."]

THE BLUES;

A LITERARY ECLOGUE.

"Nimium ne crede colori."-- VIRGIL,

O trust not, ye beautiful creatures, to hue,
Though your hair were as red, as your stockings are blue.

[THIS trifle, which Lord Byron has himself designated as "a mere buffoonery, never meant for publication," was written in 1820, and first appeared in "The Liberal." The personal allusions in which it abounds are, for the most part, sufficiently intelligible; and, with a few exceptions, so good-humoured, that the parties concerned may be expected to join in the laugh.-E]

THE BLUES, (1)

A LITERARY ECLOGUE.

ECLOGUE FIRST.

London-Before the Door of a Lecture Room.

Enter TRACY, meeting INKEL.

Ink. You're too late.

Tra.

Ink.

Is it over?

Nor will be this hour.

But the benches are cramm'd, like a garden in flower,

(1) [" About the year 1781, it was much the fashion for several ladies to have evening assemblies, where the fair sex might participate in conversation with literary and ingenious men, animated by a desire to please. These societies were denominated Blue-stocking Clubs; the origin of which title being little known, it may be worth while to relate it. One of the most eminent members of those societies, when they first commenced, was Mr. Stillingfleet, whose dress was remarkably grave, and in particular it was observed that he wore blue stockings. Such was the excellence of his conversation, that his absence was felt as so great a loss, that it used to be said, 'We can do nothing without the blue stockings;' and thus by degrees the title was established."— CROKER's Boswell, vol. iv. p. 480. — Sir William Forbes, in his Life of Dr. Beattie, says, that " a foreigner of distinction hearing the expression, translated it literally ' Bas Bleu,' by which these meetings came to be distinguished. Miss Hannah More, who was herself a member, has written a poem with the title of Bas Bleu,' in allusion to this mistake of the foreigner, in which she has characterised most of the eminent personages of which it was composed."]