Gaiety is not English: we can be sentimental,
tender, witty, pretty, pompous, and glorious in our songs; but we ever
want the essential quality of gaiety--gaiety of heart--the dancing life of
the spirit, that makes the voice hum, the fingers crack merrily, and the
feet fidget restlessly on the ground.--_Spectator Newspaper_.
* * * * *
LORD BYRON'S EARLY POEMS.
[The following specimens are from the Seventh Volume of the elegant
Edition of Lord Byron's Life and Works, now in the course of publication,
under the editorship of Mr. Moore:]
THE ADIEU.
_Written under the impression that the Author would soon die._
Adieu, thou hill![4] where early joy
Spread roses o'er my brow;
Where science seeks each loitering boy
With knowledge to endow.
Adieu, my youthful friends or foes,
Partners of former bliss or woes;
No more through Ida's path we stray;
Soon must I share the gloomy cell,
Whose ever-slumbering inmates dwell
Unconscious of the day.
Adieu, ye hoary Regal Fanes,
Ye spires of Granta's vale,
Where learning robed in sable reigns,
And melancholy pale.
Ye comrades of the jovial hour,
Ye tenants of the classic bower,
On Cama's verdant margin placed,
Adieu! while memory still is mine,
For offerings on oblivion's shrine,
These scenes must be effaced.
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