They perish where they have their birth;
But Love is indestructible.

Its holy flame for ever burneth,

From heaven it came, to heaven returneth;
Too oft on earth a troubled guest,
At times deceiv'd, at times opprest,
It here is tried and purified,

Then hath in heaven its perfect rest;

It soweth here with toil and care,
But the harvest time of Love is there.

SOUTHEY.

LORD BYRON.

George Gordon, Lord Byron, was an English nobleman, descended from Commodore Byron, the celebrated navigator. Lord Byron died at Missolonghi in Greece, April 1824, at the age of thirty-seven. He was distinguished at an early period of his life for his poetical talents; and his genius, if it has not made men better, has opened a source of pleasure to the readers of poetry, which once enjoyed is never forgotten.

Lord Byron had not a well governed mind, and, though he was born to great opulence, and possessed all the resources of knowledge, taste, and cultivated society, he was not happy. His serious poetry is sad and bitter, and his gayer productions are immoral; but there are many parts of his writings of a high character. His strong passions, and his dark views of human nature, cannot be understood by young readers, but his better feelings, and his fine descriptive talent, afford some passages which are highly improving and interesting to them.

The passages of Lord Byron's poetry which immediately succeed, have as much life as sentiment, and on that account they are best adapted to the comprehension and sympathies of young persons. Two only, Night at Corinth, and Turkey, are purely descriptive.

NIGHT AT CORINTH.

In 1715, Corinth, situated on the Isthmus of that name, being in possession of the Venetians, was besieged by the Turks. Lord Byron describes the delicious nights of that fine climate in his poem, the Siege of Corinth. The night described is that previous to the taking of Corinth, while the Turkish army surrounded its walls.

""Tis midnight: on the mountains brown

The cold round moon shines deeply down;
Blue roll the waters, blue the sky
Spreads like an ocean hung on high,

Bespangled with those isles of light,*
So wildly, spiritually bright;

Who ever gazed upon them shining,
And turned to earth without repining,
Nor wish'd for wings to flee away,
And mix with their eternal ray?
The waves on either shore lay there
Calm, clear, and azure as the air;
And scarce their foam the pebbles shook,
But murmured meekly as the brook.
The winds were pillowed on the waves;
The banners drooped along their staves,
And, as they fell around them furling,
Above them shone the crescent curling;
And that deep silence was unbroke,
Save where the watch his signal spoke,
Save where the steed neighed oft and shrill,
And echo answered from the hill,

And the wild hum of that wild host
Rustled like leaves from coast to coast,

As rose the Muezzin's voice in air

In midnight call to wonted prayer."

The Muezzin's voice. The Turks do not use bells to summon the religious to their devotions. They have an appointed person, whose function it is to send forth to the extent of his voice, the call to wonted prayer.

DECAPITATION OF HUGO.

The marquis of Este, the sovereign of Ferrara in Italy, had a son named Hugo, and a beautiful young wife called Parasina. This lady loved Hugo better than his father, and was equally beloved by the young man. When the marquis was fully convinced of this fact, he ordered Hugo and Parasina to be beheaded, and the sentence was executed, according to Lord Byron's authori

*The stars.

ty, about 1405. The execution of Hugo is described in

"The Convent bells are ringing,
But mournfully and slow;
In the gray square turret swinging,
With a deep sound, to and fro.
Heavily to the heart they go!

Hark! the hymn is singing-
The song for the dead below,

Or the living who shortly shall be so !
For a departing being's soul

The death-hymn peals and the hollow-bells knoll;
He is near his mortal goal

Kneeling at the Friar's knee;

Sad to hear--and piteous to see
Kneeling on the bare cold ground,

With the block before and the guards around-
While the crowd in a speechless circle gather
To see the Son fall by the doom. of the Father!
It is a lovely hour as yet

Before the summer sun shall set,
Which rose upon that heavy day,
And mocked it with his steadiest ray;
And his evening beams are shed
Full on Hugo's fated head,
As his last confession pouring
To the monk, his doom deploring

In penitential holiness

He bends to hear his accents bless

With absolution such as may

Wipe our mortal stains away.

That high sun on his head did glisten
As he there did bow and listen-

And the rings of chestnut hair
Curled half down his neck so bare;
But brighter still the beam was thrown
Upon the axe which near him shone
With a clear and ghastly glitter-
Oh! that parting hour was bitter!

Even the stern stood chilled with awe :
Dark the crime, and just the law-
Yet they shuddered as they saw.

The parting prayers are said and over
Of that false son and daring lover!
His beads and sins are all recounted,
His hours to their last minute mounted--
His mantling cloak before was stripped,
His bright brown locks must now be clipped;
'Tis done--all closely are they shorn--
The vest which till this moment worn--
The scarf which Parasina gave--
Must not adorn him to the grave.
Even that must now be thrown aside,
And o'er his eyes the kerchief tied;
But no- -that last indignity

Shall ne'er approach his haughty eye.
'No--yours my forfeit blood and breath--
These hands are chained--but let me die
At least with an unshackled eye--
Strike:'-and as the word he said,
Upon

the block he bowed his head;
These the last accents Hugo spoke :
'Strike'-and flashing fell the stroke---
Rolled the head--and, gushing, sunk
Back the stained and heaving trunk,
In the dust, which each deep vein
Slacked with its ensanguined rain;
His eyes and lips a moment quiver,
Convulsed and quick--then fix for ever."

THE PRISONER OF CHILLON.

The Prisoner of Chillon is a sweet and touching poem. "Chillon is a ruined castle on the lake of Geneva in Switzerland, in the dungeon of which three gallant brothers were confined, each chained to a separate pillar, till, after years of anguish, the two younger died, and were buried under the cold floor of the prison. The el