All is still! In blood and ashes, What is reeking by his side? Terrors on his vision rise: Murderer! thou hast had thy prize! As decays the final spark, Forms are flashing through the dark, Ever, till the endless night, Neckar, while thy stream shall run! LORD BYRON'S LAST VERSES. 'Tis time this heart should be unmoved, Since others it hath ceased to move: Yet, though I cannot be beloved, Still let me love. My days are in the yellow leaf, The flowers and fruits of love are gone ; The worm, the canker, and the grief, Are mine alone. The fire that in my bosom preys Is like to some volcanic isle: No torch is kindled at its blaze A funeral pile. The hopes, the fears, the jealous care, But wear the chain. But 'tis not here, it is not here, Such thoughts should shake my soul, nor now Where glory seals the hero's bier, Or binds his brow. The sword, the banner, and the field, Was not more free. Awake not Greece !-she is awake! Awake my spirit -think through whom My life-blood tastes its parent lake— And then strike home. I tread reviving passions down, Of beauty be. If thou regret thy youth, why live? Away thy breath! Seek out-less often sought than found- Then look around, and choose thy ground, And take thy rest. Missolonghi, January 22, 1824. On this day I complete my 36th year. BYRON. A WORD TO THE FEW. 66 MALCOLM ROSS. FROM THE CITY MUSE," THE world is not wholly deserted If we prove, in our search for subsistence, Perhaps when least look'd for—a friend. Abuses lie mostly within, And these are worse, far worse to cure; Be true to yourself, and you win Ꮓ Be false, and to lose be as sure. The spirit of freedom increases That moment will comfort increase. And if you be arm'd with the right, THE TWO FOUNTAINS. THOMAS MOORE. FROM EVENINGS IN GREECE," 1827. I SAW, from yonder silent cave, Two fountains running side by side, The one was Memory's limpid wave, The other cold Oblivion's tide. "Oh Love!" said I, in thoughtless dream, But who could bear that gloomy blank, |