Chapter 4

One sigh of thy sorrow--one look of thy love Shall turn me or fix, shall reward or reprove; And the heartless may wonder at all we resign, Thy lip shall reply not to them--but to mine.

Many of the best poetical pieces of Lord Byron, having the least amatory feeling, have been strangely distorted by his calumniators, as if applicable to the lamented circumstances of his latter life.

The foregoing verses were written more than two years previously to his marriage; and to show how averse his lordship was from touching in the most distant manner upon the _theme_ which might be deemed to have a personal allusion, he requested me the morning before he last left London, either to suppress the verses entirely or to be careful in putting the date when they were originally written.

At the close of his lordship's injunction, Mr. Leigh Hunt was announced, to whom I was for the first time introduced, and at his request I sang "O Marianne," and this melody, both of which he was pleased to eulogize; but his lordship again observed, "Notwithstanding my own partiality to the air, and the encomiums of an excellent judge, yet I must adhere to my former injunction."

Observing his lordship's anxiety, and fully appreciating the noble feeling by which that anxiety was augmented, I acquiesced, in signifying my willingness to withhold the melody altogether from the public rather than submit him to any uneasiness. "No, Nathan," ejaculated his lordship, "I am too great an admirer of your music to suffer a single _phrase_ of it to be lost; I insist that you publish the melody, but by attaching to it the date it will answer every purpose, and it will prevent my lying under greater obligations than are absolutely necessary for the _liberal encomiums_ of my _friends_."

IN THE VALLEY OF WATERS.

In the valley of waters we wept o'er the day When the host of the stranger made Salem his prey, And our heads on our bosoms all droopingly lay, And our hearts were so full of the land far away.

The song they demanded in vain--it lay still In our souls as the wind that hath died on the hill; They call'd for the harp--but our blood they shall spill Ere our right hand shall teach them one tone of their skill.

All stringlessly hung on the willow's sad tree, As dead as her dead leaf those mute harps must be. Our hands may be fettered--our tears still are free, For our God and our glory--and Sion!--Oh thee.

THEY SAY THAT HOPE IS HAPPINESS.

"_Felix qui potuit ferum cognoscere causas_."--Virgil.

They say that Hope is happiness; But genuine Love must prize the past, And mem'ry wakes the thoughts that bless: They rose the first--they set the last; And all that mem'ry loves the most Was once our only hope to be, And all that Hope ador'd and lost Hath melted into memory.

Alas! it is delusion all: The future cheats us from afar, Nor can we be what we recall Nor dare we think on what we are.

The foregoing lines were officiously taken up by a person who arrogated to himself some self-importance in criticism, and who made an observation upon their demerits, on which his lordship quaintly observed, "they were written in haste and they shall perish in the same manner," and immediately consigned them to the flames; as my music adapted to them, however, did not share the same fate, and having a contrary opinion of any thing that might fall from the pen of Lord Byron, I treasured them up, and on a subsequent interview with his lordship I accused him of having committed suicide in making so valuable a _burnt offering_: to which his lordship smilingly replied, "the act seems to _inflame_ you: come, Nathan, since you are displeased with the _sacrifice_, I give them to you as a _peace offering_, use them as you may deem proper."

When the Hebrew Melodies were first published, Sir Walter, then Mr. Scott, honoured me with a visit at my late residence in Poland Street: I sang several of the melodies to him--he repeated his visit, and requested I would allow him to introduce his lady and his daughter; they came together, when I had the pleasure of singing to them Jephtha's Daughter and one or two more of the most favourite airs; they entered into the spirit of the music with all the true taste and feeling so peculiar to the Scotch.

Mr. Scott again called on me to take leave before his return to Scotland; we entered into conversation respecting the sublimity and beauty of Lord Byron's poetry, and he spoke of his lordship with admiration, exclaiming "He is a man of wonderful genius--he is a great man."

I called on Lord Byron the same day, and mentioned to him that Walter Scott had been with me that morning. His lordship observed, "Then, Nathan, you have been visited by the greatest man of the age, and," continued his lordship, "I suppose you have read _Waverley_." I replied in the negative. "Then," returned his lordship, "you have a pleasure to come, let me recommend it to you; it is decidedly the best novel I ever read; you are of course aware that it was written by Walter Scott." It had at this period scarcely been rumoured that such was actually the case, but Lord Byron was more than usually positive in identifying the author with his writings.

In speaking of Moore, as a poet, Lord Byron acknowledged his powers, and spoke highly of his effusions generally. "The Irish Melodies," said his lordship, "will outlive all his other productions, and will be hailed by the Irish nation as long as music and poetry exist in that country."

Many coincidences in life may seem to border on superstition, without any existing reality; and, although never personally taxed with the sin of superstition, yet the following circumstance brings strongly to my remembrance what passed relative to my friend and patron.

I was with Lord Byron, at his house in Piccadilly, the best part of the three last days before he left London, to quit England; I expressed my regret at his departure, and desired to know if it was really his intention not to return (little anticipating what eventually took place;) he fixed his eyes upon me with an eager look of inquiry, exclaiming at the same time, "Good God! I never had it in contemplation to remain in exile--why do you ask that question?" I stated that such a report had been rumoured. "I certainly intend returning," continued his lordship, "unless the _grim tyrant_ should be playing his pranks on me."

He appeared very anxious for the voyage, and walked about the room in great agitation, waiting the return of a messenger who had been sent respecting some delay which was likely to take place; the messenger however soon entered, and presented him a letter, which his lordship opened with great eagerness. In reading the letter his countenance, like the earth illumined by the re-appearance of the moon, after having been obscured by dark clouds, brightened up, and at the close he exultingly exclaimed "this is kind--very kind--Nathan! to-morrow I quit." I soon after left him; he shook me heartily by the hand, and left with his impression a fifty pound note, saying, "Do not be offended with me at this mode of expressing the delight you have afforded me--until we meet again, farewell!--I shall not forget my promise." His lordship here alluded to some promised verses.

Having left the room he called me back, and reverting once more to my first allusion of the rumour about his not returning, laughingly said, "Remember, Nathan, you shall certainly see me again in body or in spirit."

There are several other interesting anecdotical Recollections of Lord Byron, especially of his connexion with Drury Lane Theatre, and above all, a _new light_ is thrown on his Lordship's affair with Mrs. Mardyn. Appended are likewise some characteristic _traits_ of the late Lady Caroline Lamb, with some pleasing specimens of her Ladyship's poetical talent. Altogether, Mr. Nathan's is just the book for _the season_; and we have penciled a few of its pleasantries for our next number.

* * * * *

THE RUSSIAN NAVY.

One of the most striking and gigantic buildings in St. Petersburg is the Admiralty. The principal front on the land side is considerably more than one-third of an English mile in length, and its wings, in depth, extend six hundred and seventy two feet, down to the edge of the Neva, this noble river forming the fourth side of the quadrangle. Within the three sides (the Neva and two wings) are ranges of parallel buildings, which form the magazines, artificers' shops, mast and boat houses, offices, &c.; and in the area within these are four slips for building the largest, and two for a smaller class of ships of war. The whole of the outer range of buildings consists of grand suites of rooms, and long and beautifully ornamented galleries, filled with the natural history and curiosities collected in every part of the globe, and brought by the different navigators which Russia, of late years, has sent forth on discovery. In one room are assembled all the different nautical and mathematical instruments; in another all the models of ships of different nations and different eras; in another a complete library connected with every branch of the marine service.--_Granville's Travels_.

* * * * *

_Printed and Published by J. LIMBIRD, 143, Strand, (near Somerset House,) London; sold by ERNEST FLEISCHER, 626, New Market, Leipsic; and by all Newsmen and Booksellers_.