Loyola College - Review Yearbook (Montreal, Quebec Canada)

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тилу ү үш у утуу чт , „, Тт чиа т УЧ РӘК om LOYOLA COLLEGE REVIEW 17 О years, murmuring the names so dear to him, of his wif e, his sister, and his child, Lord George Gordon Byron breathed his last. When the last sunshine of expiring day In summer's twilight weeps itself away, Who has not felt the sadness of the hour Sink on the heart, as dew along the flower? With a pure feeling which absorbs and awes While Nature makes that melancholy pause, Her breathing moment on the bridge where Time Of light and darme forms an arch sublime. Who has not shared that calm, so still and deep. The voiceless thought which would not speak but weep. A holy concord, and a bright regret, A glorious sympathy with suns that set? 1s not sorrow, but a tenderer woe, Nameless, but dear to hearts below, Felt without bitterness, but full and clear, A sweet dejection, a transparent tear, Shed without shame, and secret without pain. I wonder if in his last moments those lines which he composed while still a stu- dent at Cambridge, came back to him to comfort and to solace that fevered brow. DoucLas Аксш® Масрокатр, 26. i | | 1 4 E = К, A WINTER, SCENE Out o’er the wintry wastes I watched the snow Upon the land a virgin mantle lay, Deep hiding, from the searching eyes of day, The earthy baseness that was there below: Far o’er the glist’ning ice the north winds blow A silvern cloud of snowflakes bright and gay; And each, as if it were a sunny ray, A blessing on the hard ground doth bestow. O Winter sweet! which o’er the years hast rolled This saving pall that turns base lead to gold, Be with us e’er, from God’s discerning sight To cloak our wrongs, as day is hid by night; That when the glory of thy time is gone, A beauteous spring a newer dress may don. T. Lawrence BARTLEY, 27. fas аана, g БРЗИ АБ” ту . бела раса 2а:

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16 LOYOLA COLLEGE REVIEW —Ж— 4 Amid the furore resultant upon the publication of this satire, the poet with- drew from England, visited the Mediter- ranean, and rested awhile in Turkey and Greece. He returned in 1812, and as an outcome of these travels we have the first two cantos of “Childe Harold's Pilgrim- age. These poems are written in Spen- serian stanza and are remarkable for their strength, elasticity and brilliant illustra- tions, as may be judged by the first stanza of canto one:— Oh, thou, in He llas, deem'd of heavenly birth, Muse, form'd or fabled at the minstrel’s will; Since shamed full oft by later lyres on earth, Mine dares not call thee from the sacred hill; Yet there I've wandered by thy vaunted rill; Yes! Sighed o'er Delphi's long-deserted shrine, Where, save that feeble fountain, all is still; Nor mote my shell awake the weary Nine To grace so plain a tale—this lowly lay of mine. Indeed, such was the enthusiasm with which this poem was received, that the author himself declared, “1 awoke one morning and found myself famous. “Childe Harold was followed in the succeeding year by the “Bride of Abydos” and, in 1814, by “The Corsair” and “Laura,” two compositions of a very high order. Byron was now at the head of the English poets and at the height of his popularity in London. In 1815 he married Miss Millbanke, the daughter of Sir Ralphe Millbanke, a Durham baronet. This marriage proved an unhappy one and within a year Byron parted from his wife and left England his native country in 1816, never to return. The remainder of his life he spent in Switzerland, Italy and Greece. It was while at Geneva that he wrote the third canto of “Childe Harold and “Тһе Pris oner of Chillon. The latter concerns a certain Francois de Bonnivard, son of Louis de Bonnivard, a native of Seysel and Seigneur of Lunes, who was born in 1496. Educated at Turin, he received from his uncle in 1510 the Priory of Saint Victor, which was a considerable living. The style of the poem itself, is musical, abound- ing in rhythm, with a strong strain of pathos throughout. The following year Byron removed to Venice where he completed “Childe Har- old and wrote “Beppo—An Italian Ro- mance. ТЕ was about this period—the exact date is not known—that he com- posed “Manfred,” the first and probably the best of all his dramatic productions. An idea may be gained of the depth of feeling and wealth of word-painting of this masterpiece from the following soliloquy of “Manfred” taken from Scene IV, Act III: The stars are forth, the moon above the tops Of the snow-shining mountains,—Beautiful! I linger yet with nature, for the night Hath been to me a more familiar face Than that on man; and in her starry shade Of dim and solitary loveliness, I learn'd the language of another world. I do remember me, that in my youth, When I was wandering—upon such a night I stood within the Coliseum's wall, Midst the chief relics of Almighty Rome; The trees which p along the broken arches Waved dark in the blue midnight, and the stars Shone through the rents of ruin; from afar The watchdog bay'd beyond the Tiber; and More near from out the Саезаг’з palace сате The owl’s long cry, and, interruptedly, Of distant sentinels the fitful son Begun and died beyond the gentle wind. Some cypresses beyond the time-worn breach Appeared to skirt the horizon, yet they stood ithin a bowshot. His poetical production, within the last three years, ending іп 1821, were “ Maz- eppa,” his tragedies of “Marino Faliero,” the “Two Foscari and ‘“‘Sardanapalus,” “The Prophesy of Dante,” “Cain,” and several cantos of “ Don Juan,” the sixteenth canto of which he completed at Pisa. At this place ће also wrote “Werner,” “The Deformed Transformed,” “Heaven and Earth,” and the celebrated “Vision of Judgment;” the two last of which appeared in “The Liberal,” the joint production of himself, Mr. Shelly and Mr. Leigh Hunt, who had joined his lordship at Pisa. In 1821 the Greek nation rose in revolt against the cruelties and oppression of the Turkish rule, and Byron’s sympathies were strongly enlisted on the side of the Greeks. He helped the struggling little country with contributions of money; and, in 1823, sailed from Geneva to take a personal share in the war of liberation. He got no further than Missolonghi, however, when he was seized with a fever that proved fatal. On the morning of the nineteenth of April, 1824, at the age of thirty-six '

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18 LOYOLA COLLEGE REVIEW A CHILD'S GRAVE The breath of Spring that blows To moisture Winter’s snows, Is never half so sweet as yon white cross; Your little mound of clay, So silent in its way, Tells more than any sculptor could emboss. The brightness of those eyes, Like deep blue of the skies, Has fled with all the gladness of your song. As bluebells near a brook Ring joy to every nook, Your spotless spirit joined the gladsome throng. In fancy yet I hear Your sweet voice ringing clear As soft as fairy chorus in the night; But now in realms above You sing to God your love And see with wond’ring eyes the Shining NIGHT IN GREECE Silver and blue is the sky to-night, Spangled with stars as on garment bright, Scented with odor of jasmine and rose, Wafted along by the sweet breeze that blows. Soft o’er the gardens that lie ’neath its course, As it gently descends from its heavenly source. | Yon lies the river—no breath stirsits calm, Shaded by ilex and feathery palm. Over its surface the pale moonlight glints, Gilding the green depths with silvery tints. Soft from yon grove and its shadows long The nightingale pours forth its lovelorn song. Everything here is at rest and at peace, On this night of allurement in far-storied With sword of frost and shield of blinding snow, For gentle spring its secrets yearns to tell, And long held waters pine to onward flow. = m Light. Greece. 5 Кемметн J. McAnprs, '27. D. McCrea, '26. | у y | 4 A WINTER'S DAY 3 КЕ. О Winter Winds, that race the whole day long, k And guide the snowflakes through the frosty air, 4 Race on, while loud you sing your clarion song, | And spread o'er all the land a carpet fair. | E O Winter Winds, that never cease to roam, 29 And rule all space, from clouds to sleeping earth, ч Too soon shall burning rays from heaven's dome | Descend upon you and your whirling mirth. ч So while you тау, О run your race full well, | D. Frank MacDona p, 727.